#(but i feel like leaning too far into that cuts room for everything else)

[gojozballs]

Gojo x Reader x Geto "Squid Game"

Warning: [This story contains Yandere themes, possessive and obsessive behavior, graphic violence, gunshots, and blood]

Materialist

Part 3

In a deadly game where survival is the only option, Y/N, with a painful injury, relies on her two protective boyfriends, Satoru and Suguru, to navigate the perilous chaos, unaware that the true threat lies right beside her

Y/n's POV

Once again, I find myself in the room, a place where survival doesn't mean fighting for our lives at least, not yet. The air around me feels sterile, yet suffocating. It's a toxic mix of dread and denial that clings to the walls and presses on my chest as we sit to eat the tiny portion of food. My head spins as I try to process everything: the deaths, the sacrifices, the mind-numbing futility of it all. Lives lost in an instant, snuffed out like they never mattered.

And yet, the worst part? The nagging fear that my boyfriends might be next. The thought twists my stomach into knots.

God, I feel so fucking stupid for even being here.

“Hey, baby. What’s got you so lost in thought?” Suguru’s voice cuts through the haze, his arm draping around my shoulders like it can shield me from the weight of reality.

Satoru glances back, his striking blue eyes gleaming with that familiar mischievous glint. “Just so we’re clear,” he announces, loud enough for the whole room to hear, “I’m not sharing my food.” His voice is so random, so absurd that I can��t help but chuckle despite everything.

Suguru snorts, clearly unamused. “You’re full of shit. Didn’t you just feed her your food last time?”

“I was only talking about you, babe,” Satoru grins, his eyes twinkling as he shoves a piece of bread into my mouth with far too much confidence.

They’re always like this joking, bickering, pushing each other's buttons. Even here, in the middle of a deadly game. It’s both a comfort and a curse. Because when they shift gears? When the game begins? They turn into something else entirely. Something terrifying.

“I hope we win this time,” I murmur, my voice barely above a whisper. “I just want to leave. I don’t want any more of this.”

Satoru hums, popping a bread into his mouth and eyeing me with that devil-may-care smile. "Well, let’s just pray the ones who begged to stay already met their unfortunate end..”

I frown, the bitter taste of unease crawling up my throat, but before I can say anything, Suguru adds, so casually, “We made sure at least one of them did.”

My heart drops, the food in my mouth suddenly sour. “What… what do you mean?”

Satoru smirks, leaning his chin on his hand like this is some inside joke I’m too slow to understand. “Don’t overthink it, sweetcheeks. Some people just aren’t cut out for survival.” His tone is smooth, but there’s a cold edge beneath it that sends a shiver down my spine.

Were they serious? Or were they messing with me? I can’t tell anymore, and that’s what scares me the most.

Dread

"The votings will now begin..." The announcement echoes through the room, a chill running down my spine. A heavy silence fills the air as everyone rises, some frantically whispering their last prayers, others nervously laughing, awaiting their fate. The tension is suffocating.

"How cruel," I mutter under my breath, my gaze flicking to the men beside me. I can feel the weight of their presence, their proximity pulling me in, both comforting and suffocating.

“Y/N, you’re standing too far away from us,” Suguru’s voice cuts through the murmur of voices, his hand suddenly on my arm, pulling me closer. I’m wedged between him and Satoru, the pressure of their bodies making my breath hitch. It’s protective, possessive like they’re making sure no one can get too close.

I should be grateful, right? But there's a strange gnawing unease in the pit of my stomach. What if something happens to them? What if I can’t keep them safe?

Before I can get lost in my own thoughts, it’s my turn to vote. I take a shaky breath as I step toward the platform, the chaos around me escalating people shouting, crying, pleading. The noise is overwhelming. But I don’t care. I press the red button with a trembling hand. I just want out of this place, away from the madness, the fear.

Then

A collective groan, followed by cheers and cries, fills the room as the decision is made. We’re staying. Another round. Tears sting my eyes, and before I can stop myself, they spill over. I hiccup, my sobs coming in uneven gasps, and I can't hide them anymore.

“Hey, hey, sweetie,” Suguru’s voice is soft, a contrast to the storm of emotions inside me. His hand tilts my chin up, his gaze intense as he meets my eyes. “It’s okay. It’s okay, shhh…” He pulls me into his arms, but no matter how tight he holds me, I can’t feel at ease. I want to scream. I want to make it stop.

“I got you both into this,” I whisper, my voice barely a breath. “You two always protect me, but… but I’m the one putting you at risk.”

Suguru and Satoru exchange a look, but their faces are unreadable, a shared understanding flickering between them. Suguru pulls back, his hands still cupping my face, his touch gentle but firm. He wipes away my tears, his gaze softening, but there's an underlying intensity I can't quite place.

“Y/N,” he says, his voice low, every word wrapped in something that feels almost… dangerous. “Look at us. We’re here because we want to be. We chose to be with you, and we’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. Even if that means playing these games again and again.”

His thumb brushes over my cheek, the softness of the gesture masking the unspoken promise in his words.

“Besides,” Satoru interjects with a smirk, his attempt at lightening the mood falling flat. There’s something darker in his eyes, something calculating. “have you seen me out there? I’m a pro at this. You’ve got the best of the best protecting you, baby.”

I try to smile, but it doesn’t reach my heart. How could I not love them? They’re the only thing keeping me anchored in this nightmare.

"Sweetcheeks” Satoru adds, his voice dropping, his tone laced with something darker. “This is our decision. To be with you. To protect you. Nothing else matters. Understand?”

Before I can ask how they even got here, how they managed to bypass the system, I’m struck by the nagging thought that keeps haunting me. They’re too loaded with money to have been invited into a game meant for people desperate for cash. I can’t fathom how they managed to slip past the system, how they of all people could end up in a place like this.

The thought lingers, a sickening twist in my stomach, but before I can voice my confusion, we’re interrupted by the announcement of the next game. My heart thunders in my chest. I want to stay lost in their presence, to bury the questions and unease that are gnawing at me, but I know I can’t let my guard down not in this place.

We’re ushered into a new room, and my eyes dart around. The doors are different colors reds, blues, blacks each one more unsettling than the last. It feels… off. I turn to Suguru and Satoru, hoping for some sign of reassurance, but their faces are unreadable, their eyes sharp and calculating.

“What game is this?” My voice trembles slightly, and I can’t hide the unease in my chest.

“This one’s easy,” Satoru says, his smirk returning, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The cold calculation in his gaze gives me a chill. They're already thinking ahead, plotting moves, and I can’t help but feel a twinge of fear. I swallow hard, my stomach tightening.

Then I see them. Yuuji and Nobara. Their bright smiles stand out like beacons in the gloom, their youthful innocence a stark contrast to the twisted world we’re trapped in.

“Y/N-oneesan! Thank god you're doing okay!” Nobara calls, her voice bright and innocent, as though none of this is real.

“Yeah and we’ll get through this game, together again!” I say, trying to muster some semblance of courage. I don’t want them to see the fear that’s clawing at me from the inside.

But before I can say anything more, the voice of the game master booms, cutting through the silence like a knife.

“The next game will be ‘Mingle.’ A number will be announced, and you must quickly find your group and enter a room before the countdown ends. Failure to do so will result in elimination.”

The words echoed in my mind, and the first thought that came to me was that I had to prioritize them Suguru and Satoru. I groaned inwardly, the weight of the situation settling on me. This game… once again, I was going to be a burden because of my leg injury.

Let The Game Begin

The platform beneath us begins to shift, spinning slowly, and I’m pulled against Satoru’s side. His arm around my waist tightens, holding me steady as chaos erupts all around us.

“Four!” the announcer’s voice booms, and without hesitation, Suguru grabs my hand. Together, the three of us dash toward the nearest door, just making it through before another man squeezes in behind us.

Before I can catch my breath, Satoru pulls me into a dark corner, his body pressing close against mine. “Stay close, sweetcheeks,” he murmurs, his voice dripping with something dangerous and sweet, all at once.

The man inches forward, his eyes darting nervously between us. I glance at Suguru, who stands still, eyes locked onto the guy with an almost predatory focus.

"Two!"

The number echoes through the speakers, and my heart drops to my stomach. I gasp, spinning around to face them. “Y-you guys go with each other!” I shout, but my words feel useless. It’s like they’ve already planned it out in their heads, without even a glance at each other. Suguru doesn’t even hesitate he scoops me up into his arms, while Satoru bolts off in the opposite direction.

“NO! Please! Satoru! Suguru, just go with him!” I scream, my voice catching in panic. But they don’t listen. They’re already committed.

Suguru carries me into a nearby room, his grip firm yet oddly gentle, as if he’s trying to soothe me while everything around us falls apart. “Oh my god, Satoru…” I whisper, trembling uncontrollably, my mind racing.

“Shhh, baby, it’s Satoru. It’ll be okay,” Suguru’s voice is calm, but I can hear the edge in it he’s trying to reassure me, but even he knows there’s nothing really okay about this. I try to steady my breath, clinging to him for comfort.

“But what if—” I begin, only to be immediately cut off by Suguru’s voice, low but firm.

“You’ll hurt his ego if you think he’ll die over this. He’s not like them,” Suguru says, his words wrapping around me like a protective shield. But I can’t shake the feeling gnawing at me what if?

The sound of gunshots rings through the air, sharp and fast. My heart skips a beat, and I flinch, sinking into Suguru’s embrace as if it will somehow block out the noise. But it doesn’t. The gunfire continues, and my body trembles even harder.

Suguru holds me tighter, his arms tightening around me, though it doesn’t shield me from the fear. The only comfort is the steady beat of his heart and the knowledge that, for now, I’m alive. Safe.

Back in the platform a familiar voice cuts through the chaos, booming and undeniably confident. “I’m wounded, sweetcheeks. You think I’ll die over a game like this? Don’t lump me with them.” Satoru’s voice is loud, mocking the tension, even as the sounds of fighting continue around us.

Suguru growls in response, irritation flickering across his features. “Quiet it down, cocky bastard,” he mutters, his tone just as dangerous as Satoru’s bravado.

Despite the chaos unfolding around us, I can’t help but smile softly at Satoru’s voice, a sense of relief flooding through me. He’s alive. And that’s enough for now.

I don’t care about the judging stares or the whispers of the others. My hands find Satoru’s arms, gently caressing them, tracing the muscles I know so well. It’s my way of grounding myself in the moment. He’s here. He’s alive.

“Six!” The number rings out, but all I can hear are the panicked voices around me, the chaos intensifying. My heart races as I spot Yuuji and Nobara dashing toward us. “Yuuji! Nobara!” I shout, and they sprint over to us, barely slowing down before we all head toward the nearest door.

Suguru and Satoru are right behind us, each of them carrying an elderly woman between them. I breathe heavily in relief. Thank god they’re okay.

“Y/N oneesan, thank god you're safe!” Nobara's voice is full of worry as we hug, but my gaze drifts to the old lady in Suguru and Satoru’s arms, her frail body barely reacting to the chaos around her.

“Are you okay, ma’am?” I ask gently, but she doesn’t respond. Her face is pale, and I feel a pang of guilt. It’s like she’s completely checked out, her mind lost in some place far from this madness.

I can’t help but feel sorry for her, but then my thoughts shift back to the game. I just want my boyfriends to be safe, and honestly, that’s all that matters right now. I’m happy as long as they’re with me, but this game is getting worse with every passing minute.

When will this end? Are they planning to wipe us all out? The thought gnaws at the back of my mind, and I can’t help but feel the tension tightening around my chest.

The situation is spiraling out of control. People are fighting over doors now, desperate and vicious, as if they think that a door will be their ticket to survival. The fear is palpable, and it’s only growing.

"Three!" The number blares through the air, and before I can even react, Satoru grabs me, pulling me along with him as Suguru runs alongside us. Yuuji and Nobara split off, each taking their own path, but my mind is too clouded to follow them. All I can focus on is the one thing I can’t control.

“The doors!” I scream, panic flooding my chest as I watch them one by one slam shut.

“There!” Suguru yells, his voice sharp with frustration. His eyes dart to the door ahead of us, wide open, a moment of hope flashing across his face. We make a dash for it, only to come face-to-face with a man already inside.

“It’s taken!” I scream, my hands trembling as I turn, ready to find another exit.

But Satoru’s voice, cool and calm, interrupts me. “No, it’s not.”

I look up at him in confusion as he leads us inside. The countdown is nearing its end, and I can already hear the doors locking trapping us all inside with no way out.

“What do you mean? We’ll get killed if we’re more than three!” I say, my voice rising in panic.

Satoru chuckles, low and dangerously playful, his hands pulling me closer. “Baby, why don’t you just give me a hug?” His voice is teasing, but there’s an edge to it, a darkness hiding beneath the surface. I stare at him in confusion, but before I can respond, his arms wrap around me tightly, pulling my face into his chest. My heart pounds as his grip tightens, his presence overwhelming.

But then, it happens. I hear it the faint, desperate sounds of a man begging, pleading, “Pl-please, no!” My body goes numb, the blood draining from my face as I realize what’s happening. Suguru is going to kill him. I try to pull away, to stop it, but the door locks behind us. There’s nothing I can do.

The sounds of struggling of someone’s life slipping away—fill the room. I feel the urge to shout, to scream, to stop this madness, but it’s like I’m paralyzed. The door’s locked, my body frozen in place, but my mind races.

Why does this feel so... normal? Is it just survival instinct? Or is it something darker?

Satoru pulls away, his hands gently brushing through my hair, and I glance up, my heart sinking into my stomach. The man on the floor is lifeless, his eyes wide in death, a pool of blood spreading beneath him.

“Y/N,” Suguru says softly, his voice almost tender as he approaches me. “It’s bound to happen.” His words should comfort me, but all I can feel is the growing weight of dread. I step back instinctively, and I don’t even realize it until I see the way Suguru’s gaze darkens.

“Are you scared of me?” he asks, his voice barely a whisper, but there's an intensity in it that makes my chest tighten. I can’t speak. I can’t even look at him.

“I... I...” I stammer, my voice faltering as I try to process everything. My eyes flick to the blood on Suguru’s face, and my stomach turns.

Suguru's voice, smooth and dark, cuts through the silence. “Y/N, you know what I said earlier, right? We’ll protect you, even if it means I have to kill again and again,” he says, his words light, almost playful. But there's a twisted edge to them that makes my skin crawl. Satoru spoke up reaching for me “It’s inevitable, baby. He was alone. He was going to die.” He smirks, his eyes glinting with something darker. “No biggie, sweetcheeks.”

No biggie? I feel my blood run cold, and my mind goes numb. Am I hearing this right?

I finally look up at them—Suguru with blood on his face, his eyes dark and unreadable, and Satoru, his expression that sickeningly serene smile, as if this is all part of some twisted game.

I’m scared. I’m so scared. The terror claws at my chest, making my hands shake. But... they’re safe. Right? Aren’t they?

They’re mine. They’ll protect me. But at what cost? As I stare at their faces Suguru’s sharp, calculating eyes and Satoru’s playful yet chilling smile I realize something deeper is happening.

I’m caught. Trapped between fear and longing, between the twisted desire to feel safe in their arms and the horrifying truth that safety comes with a price.

But then, as my heart races and my breath catches in my throat, I realize something else:

Isn’t this what I wanted? For them to be alive, no matter the cost?

[thesixthstar]

i just did a rewatch and like yes its insane already how fun and surprisingly good Teen Beach Movie and Teen Beach 2 are, but its more insane how good they could be if they bothered to use the incredible potential and the THEMES

Like. Wet Side Story - The time loop vibes. the "what if Sisyphus WAS happy rolling the rock, until he remembered the nature of his predicament". and "what if Sisyphus put down the rock and walked away and then HAD to go back". the Orpheus and Eurydice of Brady and Mack. feminist icon Lela. perfect ken doll Tanner.

like my god. Someone has GOT to make the two movies into a single stage musical where the song lyrics are less empty and gut a bunch of exposition to make room for expanding on the Themes/character development.

[beloveds-embrace]

Okay what if (and stop me if I'm wrong here I'm new to A/B/O) the guys see someone flirting with the designation-less reader and they start subtly start marking them with pheromones to tell everyone else to back off?

I love this idea so much ugh 😩 scenting in the omegaverse always makes me so jdjsjen and no worries! Nothing about what you said is wrong and welcome to the blessed cursed space that is a/b/o

Original post

It started with Price and Ghost stepping into the armory.

You hadn’t noticed them at first, too focused on trying to edge away from the overly friendly Alpha soldier who just wouldn’t take the hint, no matter how disinterested you made sure you looked. He was leaning in closer than necessary, voice dropping lower with each word like he was trying to make the conversation feel more personal. Though your nose picked nothing, you just knew he was probably, likely, drowning the area with his stench.

You didn’t know how to stop it without making a scene. It wasn’t like he’d done anything wrong- just too many compliments, too much interest in your plans after hours, too much weight in the way he said your name. It left you off balance, unsure if you were imagining the tension curling low in your stomach. Unpleasant tension, as if youmd accidentally eaten spoiled food.

These days, it seemed as if you either garnered no attention, and when you did, it was unwelcome attention. At least it was different and far more pleasant with the 141.

“So, love, I was wondering-“

Then Price cleared his throat.

It wasn’t loud, but it cut through the room like a gunshot, sharp and commanding. Both you and the soldier froze, heads snapping toward the sound, and there he was- Captain Price, standing in the doorway like he owned the entire building, eyes locked right on the man in front of you.

Ghost was just behind him, silent and still as a shadow, but the weight of him filled the room like a second presence- dark, heavy, watching, shoulders tense like Price. You’ve been with them long enough to tell when they are angry based on body cues, and right now, that’s what they were.

Not for the first time, you wondered just what they’d smell like. Would it be heavy and harsh on your nose? Somehow, you doubted it. Then again, Soap did tell you that angry Alphas smell like burnt rubber most of the time.

You eyed the way your… admirer’s nose wrinkled, jaw tight, eyes shifting around.

You hoped it smelled worse.

The soldier stumbled over a few words before making an excuse to leave. He didn’t even try to finish the conversation- rude- and barely managed to keep his composure as he slipped out the door.

Letting out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, your shoulders relaxed slightly as you turned to thank them- but the words caught in your throat when you saw the way they were now looking at you.

It wasn’t anger, exactly. It was something… sharper. Something that made your pulse quicken and your palms feel clammy, even though you hadn’t done anything wrong.

But then Price strode towards you and nodded, low and firm, clasping a hand on your shoulder, and Ghost lingered just long enough to brush his shoulder against yours before following him out the door.

… weird Alphas.

“Weird Alphas.” You said outloud as well, huffing.

You thought that was the end of it.

It wasn’t.

It was subtle, so subtle that you almost didn’t notice at first.

Soap was the easiest to miss, playful and touchy by nature so much so even one as people-averse as you were comfortable next to him by now. He slung an arm over your shoulders whenever you were nearby, leaning into your space like it was nothing. He’d linger there just long enough that your skin was warm before pulling away, flashing you a knowing grin you didn’t understand.

Gaz was more deliberate. He’d pass you things- gear, water bottles, paperwork, pens- and his fingers always brushed yours and lingered. Small steady touches, leaving traces of his warmth on everything he handed you, leaving traces of his warmth on your skin. When you worked together, he’d lean in close enough that his presence settled over you, wrapping around your skin like a second layer. Your shoulders and thighs would touch, and sometimes you swore you could feel a deep purr coming from him.

Price didn’t touch you often, but when he did, it lingered and was acutely felt. A hand at the small of your back to guide you through a crowded hallway. A warm palm resting against your shoulder during debriefings, right where your faulty scent glands are. Solid, steady touches that felt heavier than they should’ve- clearly intentional even to the likes of you, and yet you didn’t want to really, truly acknowledge them.

And Ghost- Ghost was the worst.

He didn’t say a single word when he draped his jacket over your shoulders after a long, rain-soaked training session, the heavy fabric still warm from his body and shielding you from the wafting chill. You’d tried to give it back later, but he pushed it into your hands with a low, demanding “Keep it.” That left no room for argument. You didn’t think much of it at first- just a practical gesture- but you caught the way the others looked at you after, the raised brows and faint smirks that made you second-guess what it really meant, especially when you found yourself wearing it long after the cold had faded. You’d tried wearing your own jacket, but the look he gave you had you sighing, leaving, and returning to wearing his.

You didn’t understand it at first, didn’t recognize it for what it was. But others did.

It was possessive. Territorial.

The stares started- quick, assessing glances from the other soldiers that led to widened eyes. People moved out of your way in the hallways, gave you more space than before. Conversations shifted when you walked into a room, voices dropping, eyes darting toward the men who always seemed to hover just behind you.

You didn’t know what to make of it.

And then Soap grinned at you over lunch one day where you wearing a shirt of John’s now and Ghost’s jacket, leaning close enough to bump his shoulder against yours, and said, “Looking good, bonnie. Don’t think anyone’s stupid enough to try sniffin’ around you now.”

It took you a second too long to process what he’d said. When you finally did, your eyes darted toward the others- toward Price, who didn’t even look up from his plate, and Gaz, who only smirked and in your shock, slipped the bracelet he was wearing on your wrist. Toward Ghost, who met your gaze with something dark and unreadable before leaning back in his chair like he wasn’t affected at all. No; he was satisfied, like a smug bear.

You swallowed.

It should’ve felt suffocating, overwhelming, but it didn’t.

It felt… safe. Secure in a way you didn’t know how to explain. The guy that had been bothering you had even requested a transfer.

You didn’t say anything, didn’t call them out on it.

But later, when Price pulled you in his face and rubbed his face, his chin and beard all across your neck, you didn’t move away.

The “good girl” you got was all you could think about hours later.

[shadowbriar]

Five Hargreeves - Back To You

Pairing : Five Hargreeves x (she/her) Reader Word Count : 2.8k Warning : Angst. Season 4 references. Synopsis : After one too many subway trips, Five's plan of temporal refuge extended as he met someone he refuse to lose. Notes : I refuse to acknowledge what happened in Episode 5 and 6 though I use the gif of said episodes. Don't come at me if you don't agree. If you like this story and would like to support me, please visit my kofi page and perhaps get me a coffee?☕

Living in a small cottage by the lake has never been in his cards. To settle down and watch the sun sets everyday, hearing the rocking chair creak as he takes a sip of his coffee. This was beyond anything he could ever hoped for, anything he could afford. He knew that this wasn’t the life he’s supposed to lead. Lord, this wasn’t even a life he owns to begin with. But with each second passed in this universe, Five finds it hard to drag himself back to that subway and return to his own timeline.

“Enjoying the scenery, are we?” She whispers as she sits on his lap, clinging her arms around his neck “You know, I could really use the help stuffing that chicken. It is afterall your special request.”

The boy raised an eyebrow, “Shouldn’t I be off of any chores since it is my special request?”

“Just because it’s your birthday, doesn’t mean you’re having a vacation, big guy,” She reasoned “We’ve only got two hands and this house is only getting bigger than smaller.”

The boy couldn’t bite his grin when he leaned in to kiss her. His heart swells. She was right. The house feels like it’s growing along with them. They might not have much, certainly far from the wealth his father possesses, but it was much more than enough. Having her was much more than enough.

“You know that I love you, right?” Five asks as he pulls away, his left hand still cupping her cheek as his thumb caresses her gently.

“I know,” She nods, smiling “But you can’t sweet talk your way out of kitchen duty, Mister.”

Five chuckles, standing from his seat as he carried her in his arms, “Alright, Missy, let’s see what this chicken fuss is all about.”

—-

The muscles on his cheeks were aching but he couldn’t fight the need to grin as wide as he could. He was happy, watching her carry that awful looking cake out of the oven. The icing that supposedly spelled ‘happy birthday’ was crooked, its colour pale compared to the bright fondant covering it. Thank God the candles were their only source of light, otherwise she wouldn’t even bring it out, he reckons.

“It’s ugly, I know,” She says as she lets it rest on the table “But it tastes better than it looks, I promise.”

Five shakes his head, disagreeing with her discouraging comments as he steals a kiss, “It’s perfect.”

“Well, go on and make a wish!”

The boy closes his eyes. His hands holding hers as he whispers his wish: I wish for this to last forever. Her squeals of excitement was music to his ears as he blew the candles. It is indeed the best birthday of his life.

“I’d ask but I know you wouldn’t tell me your wish.”

“Who said I made any wish?”

“You did,” She says as she helps him cut the cake “You make that little frown everytime you say your little prayer, do you know that?”

“I don’t pray, Love.”

“You do. Well, not religiously, but sometimes you do. You say your little prayer, your hopes. You whisper them sometimes, but most times you just close your eyes and do that little frown thing.”

Five raised an eyebrow, “Have you been watching me?”

“I might,” She teases “I mean who wouldn’t watch such a handsome man like you?”

The night continues as the couple finishes their dinner. Fulfilled would be such an understatement for what he feels right now. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever dreamed of, is served right in that room. He wouldn’t trade this for anything in the world.

“So can I take a guess about what you wished for?”

“Really, Love?” He asked, putting down his glass of wine.

She shrugs, “We’ve talked about everything else, haven’t we?”

“You know, there’s a belief that if you say your prayers, it won’t happen.”

“Well, you’re not saying what it was, I’m just taking a guess what it’s about.” She argues, still persistent “And what’s so bad with it not happening? Do you really want it that bad?”

“I— Nothing, I just don’t—”

“What is it that you could wish for? What is it that you don’t have?”

“Nothing, I’m not saying that I want anything, I just—”

“Is it your family?”

Five pauses. It was as if he was stupefied. He hadn’t thought about his family in a while. Shameful of him, sure, but after one too many subway trips, he figured that a little rest shouldn’t be so bad. He just had to find a timeline where there weren't that many people shooting at him. Perhaps take a week or two to rest and gather his strength before jumping into another subway.

It just had to be her. The girl he bumped into right after he got out of the station. He remembers vividly the concerned look on her face when she saw him. He was littered with bruises, dirt and dust covering his body. He looked more like trouble than a lover yet she still found it in her heart to ask if he needed any help.

And here he was, feeling the happiness in his heart wither as the thought of his family returned to his consciousness. He knew that the universe is cruel, that he couldn’t have the best of both worlds in this lifetime, that he had to choose between his lover or his family. Some nights he wonders if his family had succeeded in preventing another apocalypse without him. Some nights he wonders if his family had found a way to another timeline. Some nights he wonders if his family were still alive. But most nights he tried his best to ignore these wonders. His family must have found a way to stop the apocalypse, or at least escape another one.

Taking a deep breath, Five reaches for her hands. Guilt and regret were evident on her face. He knew that she didn’t mean to sound as cruel. Perhaps it was the wine that made their blood more sensitive or that the fatigue of the day had clouded their minds. Either way he knew that they both would be sorry when the morning came.

“I love you,” He starts gently “I love you more than anything in this and every timeline.”

A tear left her eye. It was painful. To love someone you know doesn’t belong to you. To desperately grasp into the moments you knew would end anytime soon. To selfishly stay in a relationship that was doom from the start. Neither of them deserved this, yet neither of them wanted to let go.

“It’s been six years, Five,” She reasoned “As much as I love you.. We can’t keep living like this.”

“Time works differently there, my love. Six years here might only mean a couple hours there.”

“That doesn’t make it any less wrong for you to stay. Those couple hours might be the most crucial hours for your family. They might be fighting for their lives right now, they might be dying, for all we know! You need to come back to them, Five. You have to.”

Five forces a laugh, “Wait, what are you saying?”

She remained silent. Her tears were falling, biting her lips to conceal her tremble. A bitter feeling is brewing in his stomach now.

“Your family needs you and—”

“Okay, stop,” He stood from his seat with an offended look “Are you breaking up with me? On my birthday?”

She looks away, unable to meet his eyes.

“Goodness, you can’t be serious.”

“What choice do we have, Five? One way or another, you’d have to go back to your family. They need you—”

“And you? You don’t need me anymore?”

Her jaw clenches, “That’s beside the point.”

“No, that is the whole point, actually,” He argues, this time coming close to her “I love you, alright? Why is it so wrong for me to want to be with the person that I love? I’ve lived more than a lifetime alone, why can’t I have someone for once?”

“You don’t belong in this timeline. I—”

“I belong with you,” He cuts in “It’s not the timeline that matters, it’s where you are. I belong with you.”

If there’s anything she loves most about Five other than his gentle and caring nature towards her, it would be how adamant he is once he’s set his mind into something. There’s no doubt in her heart about the genuinity of his words. But as much as she’s grateful and touched over it, she knew that they could only spend so long before the guilt eats them whole.

She lets go of his hands softly, placing them on his cheeks instead. She admires him. The beautiful man that’s now standing in front of her with his heart on his sleeves, announcing his devotion to her on the day when he’s supposed to be the one showered with attention and love. His eyes were glossy, clearly conflicted.

“I love you, Five,” She whispers, gently caressing his skin as if it was their last goodbye “But I can’t keep you here, I can’t. I can’t keep you from your family.”

Five looks defeated, silent.

“Don’t you want to know what happened to them? If they’re okay? If they’ve figured out how to stop the apocalypse? Don’t you want to know?”

“I— I don’t know.” He answers “What I know is that I want to be with you.”

“I’ll always be with you, Love,” She reassures, kissing his cheek “I might not understand how this whole different timelines work, but I know that whichever timeline it is, whatever universe we live in, I will always belong to you. I will always be with you.”

And he finally cries. His tears flowing and wetting her palms. His heart shatters, finally succumbing to the guilt he’s tried so hard to bury and forget. He misses his family, he wanted so badly to get back and pick up where he left off, but would it be worth it? Would leaving everything here be worth it? Would leaving her be worth it?

“We’ll find our way,” She reassures, pulling the broken man into her embrace “You’ll find me in your timeline. Maybe we’ll meet at the grocery store, or at a bar, or perhaps at another train station.”

Five chuckles a little, letting a shaky breath as he asks, “And if we don’t?”

“We will,” She says firmly, giving a little space between them so they could gaze into each other’s face “I’m too much of a troublemaker and you’re too much of a problem solver for us to not meet. It’ll be too hard to ignore each other with our nature, Love. We’re bound to meet each other, in any timeline, in any universe. Trust me.”

The boy forces a smile. He leans in, kissing his lover gently as if she’d burst into petals if he pushed too much. Her hold around his neck feels different. Like she wasn’t looking for support but giving one instead. He could feel her trembling a little as his hands pulled her closer by the waist. Her heart is breaking too, as much as his is, but they knew that it’s inevitable. It’s only a matter of time before time pulls them apart and it certainly would be much more painful then.

“I’ll find you,” He whispers “I promise.”

—-

Canada is certainly much colder than home. Five rubs his hands and blows some air to his palms in hope to gain some warmth, but it’s obvious that the only comfort he’ll find in this weather is to get in Viktor’s bar and ask for some drink. That is, if Diego could start the car and get them going.

“It says here that Viktor’s bar is only five minutes by foot,” Klaus says “Who wants to run to the bar with me?”

“No one is getting out of this car!” Diego says in frustration, irritatedly trying his best to start the engine “We’re going to get to his bar together, in this car. That’s the whole point of a family road trip. We go to the bar by car, not by foot!”

“Yes, but it’s freezing here, Diego! The heater is not even on!” Alison argues.

“Well, it won’t be unless the engine is on.”

“No shit, Luther,” Ben says “I vote to run.”

Lila raises her hand, “Second to run.”

“No! No one is getting out of this car!” Diego yells once more, hitting the steering wheel frustratedly “I just need to—”

And by God’s miracle, the engine turns back on. Though their trip would soon reach its main destination, the bicker done by the family persists. The coldness of Canadian weather and how the heater broke almost twenty kilometres ago has made the seven heads’ temper raise. They really need to get to Viktor’s bar before they start to kill each other.

“I’m out of here,” Five announce as the car gets into the parking space of the bar. He space jumped inside, finding himself on one of the empty stools “Good to see you, Viktor.”

“Five,” VIktor greets, a little startled but his smile grows “You’re here. Where are the others?”

“Still figuring their way out to get here. Can I get whiskey on rocks?”

“On it.”

Five taps on the wooden table as he waits for his drink. His heart was content, as much as it might mean now. Their plan to stop the apocalypse worked. Viktor managed to take the marigold off of Ben before the Cleanse happened and now they’re trying to get back or rebuild their life. For once they finally managed to stop the apocalypse from happening.

Right after they succeeded in preventing the cleanse, Five found himself running to the subway station. He could still feel his feet burning from how fast he tried to get back to the station, wanting to jump in the train and go back to her timeline, but once he got there, the station vanished. There was no trace of it, no matter how many times he tried to run around and look for it. The subway is gone. She is gone.

Perhaps it was the price he has to pay for saving the universe. One’s happiness in exchange for the lives of millions doesn’t seem to be a hard sacrifice to make, but it’s still a tough pill for him to swallow. He knew that she would be proud. That she would hug and kiss him for doing all the hard work in saving the world. But the more he thinks about it, the more it stings for such touch would only be as good as a dream now.

“You ordered whiskey on rocks?” A voice asked, breaking his train of thoughts.

Five’s mouth went agape. He couldn’t tell if he was daydreaming or if this was some sick new power he gained from the marigold, but she was there. Standing right in front of him with a glass of whiskey in her hand.

“Viktor said his brother ordered whiskey on rocks, I assume that’s you?”

“I— Uh, yes,” He stammers, getting off the stool “You’re here.”

Five couldn’t believe his eyes. In his heart he knew that they would meet again, that somehow the universe would let him keep both her and his family, but he never expected that it was true. He never expected that he would meet her again. Not this fast, not this way.

“Sorry?” She asks, raising an eyebrow “Are you okay?”

“Y-Yes. Yes, I’m fine,” Five said, shaking his head and taking the glass “Thank you.”

The girl smiles. It was a different smile than what he’s used to seeing. There wasn’t much love in her eyes, but he wasn’t in the position to complain. The girl he’s staring at and his lover might be the same person but she’s yet to know him here. She’s yet to know that he’s hers. She’s yet to know that he loves her. She’s yet to know that he belongs to her.

“Sorry, but have we met before?” She asks, still staring back at him “You look very familiar.”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so,” He lied, offering his hand “I’m Five. Five Hargreeves. Viktor’s brother.”

She took his hand, telling him her name, “I didn’t know Viktor had a baby brother.”

“Yeah, well, I’m not really his baby brother. It’s— It’s complicated.” Five could feel his cheeks burning like a little boy, bashful “It’s a long story.”

“You mind telling me about it?” She asks, leaning on the table “I’ve got time. I love hearing stories.”

“I know you do,” He says with a big smile “Well, where do I start..”

[n0vazsq]

Pretty Boy | LN4 x Reader

pairing . . . lando norris x gf!artist!reader

summary . . . While you're sketching a drawing of Lando, you notice that something's off with him. Then, you remind him that he's much more than what people think of him

request . . . no!

word count . . . 759

warnings . . . none! just one use of 'damn'

faceclaim . . . N/A

alexavia yaps . . . first lando fic!!! a bit short but i hope you guys like it <33

. . . The room smelled like salted caramel and the leather of the couch you were currently sitting on. Lando sat across from you, sat on the arm of the chair, one leg bouncing restlessly. The glow from his phone lit up his face every few seconds, softening the sharpness of his jawline, but it didn’t hold his attention for long. He set it down after scrolling aimlessly, leaning back with a sigh.

"You know," you started, stretching out your legs, "you really need to learn how to sit still. You’re stressing me out."

He flashed you that damn grin, the one he knew you hated for how effortlessly it made you forgive him for everything. "You sound like my engineer," he laughed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees.

"Maybe I should be," you shot back, holding up the sketchpad in your lap. "You’re not exactly making this easy for me."

His eyes flicked to the page, and he tilted his head, squinting slightly. "That’s me?"

"Who else do you think I’ve been sketching this whole time? Your mum?"

Lando grinned, leaning in closer to get a better look. His hair was slightly messy, still damp from the shower he’d taken earlier, and you could smell the faint trace of his shampoo as he hovered over your shoulder. "Not bad," he said with mock seriousness, tapping his chin. "You almost got my nose right."

You turned your head, glaring playfully. "Almost? You’re lucky I even attempted that ski slope you call a nose."

He pretended to be offended, leaning back dramatically, a hand on his chest. "Ski slope? That’s rich coming from someone who-" He cut himself off, laughing at your raised eyebrow.

"Go on," you urged, smirking now.

"Nah," he said, still laughing as he settled back into the chair. "You’re not worth the fight."

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. Lando had this way of lighting up a room without even trying, of making you feel like the only person who mattered when he turned that adorable charm your way. It was infuriating, really.

But tonight, something about him seemed quieter. The usual spark in his eyes was dimmer, and the edges of his grin didn’t reach as far.

"What’s going on with you?" you asked, setting the sketchpad aside.

He shrugged, looking down at his hands, which were fidgeting with the hem of his hoodie. "Nothing. Just thinking."

"About....?"

He hesitated, chewing on the inside of his cheek before finally meeting your gaze. "You ever feel like… I don’t know. Like people only see what they want to see when they look at you?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "Where’s this coming from?"

He shrugged again, more defensively this time. "It’s just… I don’t know. Everyone’s always saying stuff, you know? About me. Pretty boy this, golden boy that. Like that’s all I am."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees. "You know that’s not true, right?"

"Isn’t it?" he countered, his voice softer now, more uncertain.

"My beloved Lando." You said his name like it was the answer to a question he didn’t want to ask. "You’re so much more than what people say. You’re brilliant, and kind, and funny, annoyingly so, actuall. You care about the people around you more than you probably should."

He didn’t say anything, just stared at you with this look that made your chest tighten.

"I don’t see some ‘pretty boy,’" you continued. "I see you. The real you. And if other people don’t, that’s their loss. But just saying, you are pretty."

The corner of his mouth twitched, and he looked away, rubbing the back of his neck. "You’re too good at this whole therapy talk thing, you know that?"

You smirked, leaning back against the couch again. "Yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep your ego contained."

He laughed then, the sound breaking through the tension like sunlight through a cloud. And when he looked back at you, the spark in his eyes was there again, faint but unmistakable.

"Thanks," he said simply.

"For what?"

"For being here. For being… ," He took a deep breath, arms raising and falling, like he was trying to cut the air. "You.”

Your smile softened, and you shrugged. "Someone’s gotta put up with you."

He laughed again, shaking his head. "Lucky me, huh?"

And in the glow of the room, with the soft hum of the music in the background, you thought maybe you were the lucky one.

[dreamdragonkadia]

A/n; I want Xaden kisses. This man is just so so fine

The "You're Mine" Kiss

It’s not subtle. Never with Xaden. He doesn’t ask; he declares. These kisses usually come when someone’s pushed his buttons, stirring that fierce, protective side of him—or when he’s feeling the slightest flicker of jealousy. Whether it’s a lingering glance from someone else, a whispered comment he doesn’t like, or your casual flirtation with danger, his reaction is immediate.

Xaden’s hand curls around the back of your neck, his fingers threading into your hair, while his thumb presses lightly against your pulse. It’s deliberate, as if he’s savoring the way your heartbeat quickens under his touch. His other hand finds your waist, holding you firm, anchoring you to him.

When his lips crash against yours, it’s not a question—it’s an answer. There’s nothing tentative about the way he kisses you. It’s fierce, unapologetic, and possessive, the kind of kiss that takes and keeps, like he’s trying to carve his name into your very soul. His tongue brushes against yours in a commanding and relentless way, until the world fades into the heat of his touch and the fire of his kiss.

When he finally pulls away, your lips are swollen, your breath uneven, and yet he still doesn’t move back, his forehead resting against yours. His dark eyes lock onto yours, smoldering with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His voice is low, roughened by the kiss, as he mutters against your lips, "Don’t forget it."

The Silent Apology Kiss

Xaden doesn’t stumble over apologies. He is honest—sometimes brutally so—and he rarely sugarcoats his words. It’s just who he is. But that honesty cuts both ways, and when his temper gets the better of him, the feeling of his regret is visible in the aftermath.

He doesn’t apologize right away. Instead, he clutches his fists tight enough that his knuckles turn white, jaw set in frustration, and leaves the room to cool off. It’s not anger at you—it’s at himself.

Later, when the quiet stretches too long and the sharp edges of the fight haven’t dulled, he finds you. You’re sitting alone, arms wrapped around yourself, the anger still coiled between you like a living thing. Xaden pauses in the doorway for a moment, as though gathering the resolve to step closer.

When he does, he doesn’t say a word. He crosses the room with quiet stubbornness, his shadow stretching long across the floor. Without hesitation, he kneels in front of you, his dark eyes meeting yours, raw and unguarded, willing you to see his apology. His hand moves to your chin, tilting your face toward him with a touch so gentle it almost breaks you.

Then his lips press to your forehead—warm, steady, and conscious. The kiss lingers, longer than normal, like he’s trying to say everything he can’t put into words. You feel his breath against your skin, the slight tremor in his exhale, and the unspoken apology that hums in the quiet between you.

When he pulls back, staring into your eyes, his fingers still resting lightly against your jaw. “I shouldn’t have snapped,” he finally mutters.

But you both know the words aren’t necessary. The kiss already said it all.

The Teasing Peck

These are the kisses that catch you off guard, the ones that leave your thoughts scattering like leaves in the wind. It’s usually when you’re rambling, your mind spiraling in a dozen directions while you pace the room, oblivious to his gaze. Xaden leans lazily against a doorframe, arms crossed, his infuriatingly smug grin tugging at the corner of his lips.

He doesn’t interrupt—yet. He’s watching you, his eyes following the gestures of your hands as you emphasize your points, but you’re too focused to notice the way his thoughts wander. He’s imagining you in ways he probably shouldn’t: sprawled beneath him, lips swollen from his kisses, cheeks flushed as you—

“Xaden, are you even listening to me?” you snap, finally noticing the far-off gleam in his eyes.

He doesn’t answer. He just steps forward, closing the space between you with ease. His hand grabs yours, the roughness of his fingers distracting you for a split second before he dips down and presses the quickest of kisses to your lips.

It’s fleeting—barely more than a brush—but the warmth lingers, and before you can even process it, he’s pulling back. You’re frozen mid-sentence, the words catching in your throat as you gape at him, completely derailed.

His smirk deepens, satisfaction rolling off him in waves. His eyes glitter with amusement as he says, “I am now.”

Then he steps back, leaving you standing there while he saunters away like he hasn’t just turned your entire train of thought into a pile of rubble.

The "I’m Proud of You" Kiss

Xaden’s praise is rare, which makes these moments all the more significant. He’s not the type to toss around compliments lightly—they’re earned, and when he gives them, you know they’re sincere. It’s after you’ve done something he didn’t expect—holding your ground in a heated argument, outmaneuvering him in a sparring match, or catching him off guard by being a step ahead of his usually unshakable intuition.

He won’t show his admiration immediately when there are other eyes watching or more pressing matters at hand. That’s not his style, particularly when serious things are going down. But once the adrenaline fades and it’s just the two of you, that’s when you see it.

The moment comes quietly. His hands finding your waist with a confidence that feels like second nature. His touch is familiar yet tender, like all he wants in that moment is to hold you, to ground himself in you. His gaze softens, the hard edges of his usual intensity melting into something gentler, more vulnerable.

“You amaze me, you know that?” he says, his voice intimate, meant only for you.

There’s no smirk this time, no teasing gleam in his eyes—just quiet reverence as his lips find yours. The kiss is slow, unhurried, and meaningful, carrying none of the urgency or fire you might expect from him after a meeting. Instead, it’s full of something deeper, something that speaks volumes more than words ever could.

His hands tighten slightly at your waist, pulling you just a fraction closer, as though to keep you in the moment. It’s not about heat or desire; it’s about acknowledgment, admiration, and the way he sees you as someone who continually surprises him, challenges him, and is there for him.

When he pulls back, he lets out a soft exhale, as though saying the words aloud was as much for him as it was for you. The corner of his mouth lifts in a faint smile, his thumb brushing over your side as he adds, “I love you.”

The Protective Kiss

These kisses come when fear shadows his features—something you rarely see. Xaden seems unshakable, the rock in any storm, but when it’s you, when it’s your life that’s been on the line, that unyielding façade cracks.

It might be after a battle, when the adrenaline is still coursing through his veins and the memory of you being too close to danger burns fresh in his mind. Or maybe it’s in the quiet aftermath of a dangerous mission, when the reality of what could have happened finally catches up with him.

His hands are on you before you can even speak, his grip hard, almost bruising, as they settle on your arms. His dark eyes sweep over you, searching for any sign of injury, his jaw clenched so tightly it looks like it might snap. It’s as if he’s trying to convince himself that you’re really here, whole and unbroken, standing in front of him.

He doesn’t say a word—he can’t, not yet. Instead, he leans in, his lips finding yours with a desperation that borders on frantic. The kiss is desperate, unrelenting, like he’s trying to breathe you in, to memorize the feel of you against him. There’s nothing soft or measured about it; it’s raw, primal, and filled with the kind of fear that only comes from almost losing the one thing that matters most.

His hands slide down to your waist, his fingers curling into the fabric of your shirt as though he’s afraid you might disappear if he lets go.

His voice, when it comes, is low and hoarse, laced with an edge of anger that’s born entirely of fear. “Don’t you ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, the words both a command and a plea.

You can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens even further as he pulls you into his chest, holding you close like he needs to feel your heartbeat to steady his own. And in that moment, you realize just how much power you hold over him—and how much he’d risk to keep you safe.

The Slow-Burn Kiss

This kiss doesn’t start with lips; it starts with a look. A glance that’s lingered far too long, one of those smoldering gazes that sets your pulse racing and makes the room feel suddenly too warm. Xaden’s been giving you that look all day—subtle, deliberate, the kind that curls low in your stomach and leaves you wondering if he’s toying with you or if he’s just biding his time.

It’s not just the look, either. It’s the small touches: his hand brushing yours as he hands you something, his fingertips ghosting over your lower back as he passes by, the way his thumb lingers a fraction too long when he presses it to your cheek. And yet, somehow, he’s avoided your lips. He’s kissed your forehead in the early morning light, his lips soft and fleeting, and later, he brought your hand to his mouth, his eyes never leaving yours as he pressed a kiss to your knuckles. But your lips? Not once.

It’s a game, you realize—a maddeningly obvious one. He’s drawing it out, savoring your growing impatience with the kind of quiet control that only makes you want him more.

When he finally moves, it’s with an intended slowness that feels like it’s meant to unnerve you. He steps closer, his presence overwhelming, and the space between you vanishes until he’s right there. His hand comes up, his fingertips tracing the line of your jaw, his touch impossibly soft.

He leans in, his breath warm against your skin, and for a moment, you think he’s going to kiss you. But his lips brush against yours so lightly it feels more like a question than an answer, a whisper of what’s to come. It’s intentional—teasing, torturous—like he’s testing your patience, drawing out the moment until it stretches impossibly thin.

And then, finally, when you tilt your head and close the gap, he lets you have it. His lips press to yours, a kiss that’s all-consuming without ever feeling rushed. His hands slide around your waist, pulling you flush against him, and the world around you fades until there’s nothing left but him—the warmth of his touch, the steadiness of his breath, and the unspoken promise that this moment is entirely yours.

It’s not just a kiss; it’s a claiming, a vow in its own right. And you can’t help but wonder how you ever managed to breathe without him.

[idkwhatever580]

You Like Me?

Pairings: WandaNat, WandaNatxreader (eventually)

Prompt: I decided to pair this prompt and this prompt together to create one big mess :)

Warnings: Poly couple, swearing, Nat being kind of a bitch, crying, a wee bit of angst I assume, fluff, soft Wanda, suggestive tones, shit writing, really im serious this writing is so shit, lmk if I missed any!

A/N: I really hope I did y'all justice because this is my first time writing WandaxNatxreader so please bear with me as I probably write a trainwreck of a story @sxlfishbrokenheart

Also don't ask what is going on with the povs I am clearly struggling throughout the whole damn thing T-T

Natasha's thoughts = Red

Wanda's thoughts = Orange

Y/n's thoughts = Purple

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Movie night at the Avengers' tower means cry night for you. Everyone in the tower has strict assigned seating so that nobody gets in a fight, even though it doesn't always keep the peace.

Everything seems to be great except for the fact that you have to sit beside Wanda and Natasha. Which isn't a problem for everyone else right? Wanda, Nat, and Y/N the towers' favorite trio...

Bestie trio, that is.

While Wanda and Nat are the perfect power couple, you're left as the third wheel that also happens to be pining for the both of them. So, while everyone thinks you love sitting with them on movie nights, you sit in agony while watching them out of the corner of your eye.

Sometimes Wanda, who sits in the middle of you and Nat, will pull you into her and claim that it's just what besties do. You of course, can't say no to her, so you end up running back to your room after most movie nights to cry about your wishful thinking.

You honestly can't even remember a movie night where you actually watched the movie. You usually just fall asleep in their arms trying to soak up the affection while you can.

But your dynamic has changed in the past few months...

Wanda is still super lovey and always pulls you in, maybe even more so than before, while Nat has become meaner and ruder towards you. So, you really feel like you're impeding on their relationship, which makes you get into your head.

Maybe Nat is being mean to me because she is jealous. Of course, she has a right to be jealous when Wands has been really close with me. I don't want to ruin their relationship. I'm not even trying anything. Maybe it is because they can sense that I like them. Oh my gosh, it is... Of course! Wanda is being extra nice because she pities me, while Nat is being mean because she is blunter and more obvious that she doesn't like me. I need to leave them alo-

You are cut out of your thoughts when a hand is placed on your thigh. That hand is none other than Wanda's, she leans in and says, "Hey, you alright?"

You quickly nod your head, and she visibly relaxes, but she continues, "Are you sure? Because we haven't even started watching anything and you look like you're zoned out on the tv that isn't even on."

This conversation peaks Natasha's interest, so she leans forward so she can see you past Wanda with an eyebrow raised. She is clearly waiting for you to conjure up an answer.

You quickly stutter out, "Oh- yeah, um, I am fine, I just- I just zoned out for a sec, you know how my ADHD can be."

Wanda squints her eyes and exchanges a look with Nat, but they let it slide. You still decide that you need to pull away from them, you can't be pretending like they are yours to love when they aren't.

So, you scooch over to the other side of the couch you three share, which isn't too far considering there is almost no wiggle room between the three of you. It still saddens Wanda regardless, but you don't see that it also saddens Nat.

The movie starts and Wanda tries to pull you in again, you consider letting it happen, but today is different. Today you pull away again, but the look of hurt that flashes over Wanda's face hurts you more than any sort of cuddling could ever.

Her expression pains you so much in fact that you get up and go to run off. Nat grabs your hand to try and catch you and see what is going on with you, but you are somehow swifter, so you just pull your arm away from her grasp and walk off.

Nobody saw you run off because your couch is in the back, but Wanda and Natasha exchange each other's glances and immediately jump up to go comfort you.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Wanda's pov

Y/n just ran off after I tried to cuddle with her, so Natasha and I are currently going to find her.

We are standing in the elevator waiting for it to go to our floor which is also Y/n's.

"Wanda, why did she run off like that?"

I look over at Nat and shrug with wide eyes, "I don't know, she doesn't normally do this. She pulled away earlier before the movie started but I didn't think anything of it. Oh God she didn't want to cuddle today, and I did it anyways I totally made her uncomfortable!"

Natasha cuts me off, "Hey! You're spiraling, clearly Y/n needs us to be there for her, so we have to stay calm. I am sure there is a very good explanation as to why she didn't want to cuddle tonight."

The elevator dings and we rush over to Y/n's room and before Nat bangs on the door, I lean up and hear her sniffles.

Nat hears this too and loudly knocks on the door.

I say, "Y/n? Honey? Can you let us in?"

She lets out a sob, but doesn't answer, and I am concerned for her safety, so I say, "Okay, I'm going to come in now."

I carefully pry open the door and see her sitting on her floor in tears, so I quickly make my way over to her and sit down next to her, "Darling can I hold you?"

She shakes her head, so I sigh and stay seated next to her. Eventually though, she ends up leaning into me and I wrap my arms around her. Once her tears cease, I softly say, "Can you tell us what's going on?"

She looks up at Natasha and gets scared and shakes her head. Natasha tries to ask, "Why did you run off Y/n?"

I know that she means well when she asks this, but the way it comes out is really harsh and Y/n starts crying a little bit again, and just starts shaking her head, so I hush her and lean into her ear to whisper, "Do you not want to say in front of Natasha?"

Y/n thinks about it and softly shakes her head.

I sigh and say, "I can send her out if you'd feel more comfortable."

She stays silent for a moment, and right when I think she is going to start crying again, she nods her head into my shoulder, so I lift my head up and use my powers to silently conversate with Nat in her head.

"She wants you out..."

"What?! Why?"

"Not sure."

"Then why do I have to go?"

"I know you don't get it, but she needs to feel comfortable and if that means that you have to leave then you need to go, please, I love you baby, but we have to get to the bottom of what is going on. I'll let you know after."

Natasha huffs and nods her head without another word, and she leaves the room to presumably go lay in our bed waiting for me to come and give her an update.

Once Nat leaves I go back to tending to Y/n. "Do you want to go on your bed? This floor might hurt your back."

Y/n nods softly and I pick her up and carry her to the bed. When I set her down, she sits up, so I know she is ready to talk. "Alright, what was that whole thing about? You never leave a movie night early, and you definitely don't run off crying... Right?"

The defeated look Y/n sends my way makes me realize this crying is a normal thing for her, "Oh dorogoy, why do you do this? Why don't you come to me or Nat?"

She sighs and says, "I can't go to you because- because... I- I can't tell you."

This hits me kind of hard, I don't want the woman that we love to feel like she can't come to us for anything. "Why do you say that?"

She gets frustrated and just blurts out, "Because Wanda! I-" Her face contorts to surprise at her outburst, and she quickly tries to cover it up, "I said I can't tell you for a reason."

I sigh and secretly read her mind, She is struggling because she thinks Natasha hates her.

All I see when I subtly read her mind are flashes of Nat being a complete and utter bitch to her, and that is all it takes for me to realize that she thinks Nat totally hates her guts.

I nod and say, "Okay, well I will let you figure it out, since you seem to want to be by yourself. We're always here if you need us. I am gonna go to bed I guess, Nat is waiting in our room, are you alright on your own?"

She simply nods and I ask another question, "You'll come to us if you need anything?"

She nods again and we say our goodbyes.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I almost run to my shared room and immediately start telling Natasha everything. "Natasha, she does like us!"

Nat furrows her eyebrows, because I only use her full name when I am mad at her. So, she looks at me and says, "That's old news, but are you mad at me? And it also doesn't explain why she was crying."

I sit down on the bed and tell her, "Nat, I am not mad at you, you are just dumb."

Her jaw drops a bit, and she says, "I'm not stupid!"

I laugh when her subtle Russian accent comes out, (she's been hanging around Yelena way too much recently, but I like it) and say, "I called you dumb, not the same thing as stupid. Anyways, Y/n was crying because she likes both of us, and she is scared she is going to split us up because you don't like her."

She frowns and retorts, "but- I do like her?"

I glare and say, "I know that, but Y/n thinks you hate her because you are mean to her! You know she is a sensitive soul; you have to try a different approach than what you did with me."

The crease across her forehead never goes away, if anything, it gets bigger, "But I am only flirting with her, you know that is how I flirt."

I laugh and say, "Oh Natty, I knew you liked me because I can read minds, Y/n cannot do that, so she can't tell that you like her if you are a bitch to her, no offense."

She looks down and realization washes over her, so she says, "So what do I do? She barely talks to me anymore, and she definitely won't let me in her room right now."

I sigh and say, "you'll have to figure it out somehow."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

idk pov (guys I can't- I seriously don't know right now)

It has been a few days since the day you locked yourself away from everyone, and you have been avoiding both of them since.

You have locked yourself up in your part of Tony's lab and you just can't bring yourself to face them. You also skipped movie night last night and everyone was trying to see if you are okay, but you just told FRIDAY to let them know you are fine.

You are tinkering with one of your suit pieces when you realize you need a tool that you don't have, but you know Tony has it on his work bench.

So, you walk over to his side of the lab and of course none other than the Natasha Romanoff is sitting at his bench looking for something. You sigh and contemplate waiting for her to leave, but you really need this tool, and you see it right on a shelf above his desk. So, you sigh and make you way quietly over to the desk, but while you reach out to grab it, Nat also reaches up for the same tool and you bump each other's hands.

Within the blink of an eye, three things happen; Nat and you bump hands, you end up hitting the shelf, and one of Tony's weird gadgets fall onto your wrists effectively locking around your wrists and binding you together.

You groan and Nat says, "Shit, I didn't see you."

You shake my head and turn away as much as you can, and you say "It's fine, I should have made my presence known."

She starts looking at the gadget and you take a second to examine it closer and say, "Oh. My. God."

Natasha furrows her eyebrows in confusion and says, "What is it?"

You groan and say, "These are the vibranium tondricuffs Tony has been working on."

She rolls her eyes when you don't explain and says, "And what does that mean? I might be a spy, but I don't know this sciencey shit you do."

You shake your head from the soft thoughts of her perfect lips and say, "Oh- uhh it is just what he calls them, but when I say he is working on them, it means that he hasn't figured them out yet and I don't think he knows how to unlock them."

Nat takes a deep breath and says, "So, you're telling me, that since Tony can't seem to put away his stupid toys, we are locked together for the foreseeable future?"

You sigh and nod your head, dropping it the second you feel heat rising to your face at the thought of all the things you might have to do with Nat. "Who do we tell? Isn't Tony on a mission?"

Nat groans even louder at the realization and says, "I guess we should go tell Wanda, and then she will help make a plan right?"

You bite your lip at the thought of facing her, and Nat sees your hesitation, "Hey, what's up with you lately? You always want to see Wanda."

You make brief eye contact with Nat and quickly look away until she puts her fingers to your chin and pulls you to look at her. She looks deep into your eyes and says, "You've been distant, ever since..."

You sigh and say, "Sorry, I guess I don't like when people see me cry."

Nat furrows her eyebrows and says, "You're a terrible liar."

You look at her with shock and say, "I am not lying!"

She laughs and says, "Oh really?"

When you nod your head she smirks and says, "If you really didn't like when people see you cry, then why did you never shut us out before? You have cried in our arms before, and you have never done something like this."

You sigh and say, "Okay, well- maybe I have changed."

Nat rolls her eyes as you decide to continue your work on your suit, effectively dragging Nat along wherever you go, not that she minds. She keeps pressing even though you clearly want to drop the subject, "You're hiding something."

"Am not."

"Are too."

"No. I'm. Not."

"If you weren't hiding anything then why don't you tell me why you couldn't face me the other night? And why you can barely look at me today?"

This seems to break you, her constant nagging is really pissing you off and you just slam your tools on the work bench and say, "Alright fine! You really want to know why I have been avoiding you?"

She nods her head, "yes please do enlighten me."

You groan and turn to her completely and just blab everything, "Because! You clearly see that I like Wanda and you are mad so you have been really mean, which is understandable, because she is your girlfriend, but what you don't know is that I like both of you and I know you probably hate my guts even more than before, but I really needed to get that off of my chest and-"

Before you can let any more word vomit fall out of your mouth Natasha's lips are on yours in an instant. They shut you up really well.

Your eyes widen and you push her away as much as you can, given the fact that you're still handcuffed together.

"Nat what are you doing?!"

She looks at you, "Is that not what you wanted this whole time?"

"Well, yes, but what about Wanda?"

She realizes that you don't know that she and Wanda knew, "Oh! Right! Wanda knows you like her. And I knew I just didn't know how to flirt. I am apparently a really shitty flirt when I am being genuine. I can fake flirt, but when I have a real crush, I turn into an asshole. It worked for Wands, but I realized it didn't necessarily work for you huh?"

You shake your head with wide eyes. Still trying to wrap your mind around the fact that both of your crushes like you back. Before you can fall deeper into your thoughts, Nat asks, "Wanna continue what we were doing?"

All you can do is nod, but her lips are immediately locked on your own. The feeling burns but it burns so so good. You two continue to swap spit until you hear someone speak, "Am I interrupting something ladies?"

You both pull away and look to see Wanda standing in the doorway. You freeze, still unsure if she is okay with you kissing her girlfriend, and she starts to step towards the two of you.

Once she gets up really close to you, she gives you a soft look and walks by you to kiss Nat pulling away to say, "Hi baby."

They exchange some small talk, and you are really uncomfortable because you have no idea what to do. They are just acting like you're not there and that you and Nat weren't just kissing.

Then, they both turn to you and Wanda leans closer to you, "Tell me Natasha, was it your intention to keep this sweet thing from me?"

Your eyes widen as Nat shakes her head aggressively letting out a soft 'no'.

Who knew Natasha was a bottom... they even acted like she was the top around me. Impressive.

Wanda lifts your chin a bit to look at her and she smirks, "What is going on in that pretty little head of yours, y/n/n?"

You snap out of it and whine a bit, and Wanda smiles and says, "Do you want a kiss too?"

You nod your head.

"Words sweet one."

"Y-yes please."

She smiles and looks back at Natasha briefly saying, "This one has good manners. She knows her place well. We've known her for all this time and yet we're just finding this out. Oh, we're going to have so much fun with her Natty."

Nat nods her head, and Wanda turns back to you to say, "Now... about that kiss."

She leans in, and you meet her halfway to interlock her delicate lips together with yours. It is likes soft pillows meeting sparkling fireworks.

You get lost in the kiss and try to push a little more for a deeper one, but Wanda pulls away with a soft smirk. As much as you want to pout for losing contact with her, all you can do is send a dopey smile her way.

Wanda exchanges looks with Natasha and they both look back at you. Nat speaks first, "So, now that we have that out of the way, Wands and I were wondering if you wanted to be our girlfriend?"

Your eyes widen and Wanda speaks up a bit, "Don't feel pressured to give us an answer right now. We understand it's new, and you might be feeling overwhelmed, we just want to put the offer on the table."

Then she leans closer to you and speaks in a low tone, "Although we don't like to be kept waiting."

Her silky voice makes you blush a bit, but you clear your throat and say, "Date both of you? At the same time?"

They both nod their heads and you say, "Yes! A thousand times yes!"

They both smile as you kiss each of them multiple times.

Natasha sighs and says, "Alright, what do you want to do as our official girlfriend now?"

You smile and say, "As much as I would love to go watch movies to make up for the last two movie nights that I missed, I really would like to get this thing off."

You hold up both Natasha's and your connected arms up to show Wanda the tondricuffs.

Wanda's eyebrows raise, she's probably wondering what happened to get that locked onto you. Natasha sighs in defeat and says, "Oh, right... that." You softly grab Nat's hand.

Wanda is about to ask questions, but you cut in and say, "Ask questions later, find Tony now. Please."

Safe to say there was a lot to discuss, but it will all work out now that you have your girls.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: I'm so terribly sorry for how long this took me to write... I genuinely thought it would be quick and easy, but college is kicking my ass, and I really didn't want to leave you with nothing. So, it's a little shitty, but it's something!

Masterlist

Taglist

@ilovesnat @ihartnat @marvelnatasha12346 @moistblobfish @justarandomreaderxoxo @lovelyy-moonlight @symp4nat @ale-estrabao @mrsrushman @kkreader78o @cheekysnake

[jasmines-library]

Remus Lupin whose sense of smell heightens around the full moon. You come to him and you’re stinking of Sirius. Obviously, he’s really jealous, especially around this time, and he’s clutching you to his side, rubbing his scent all over you, basically claiming his territory.

Lunar Possession

(Art not mine, found on Pinterest. Cred to original owner)

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Note: When I say I dropped EVERYTHING the second this came into my inbox...

Warnings: Pre-full moon remus angst, possessive-ish (?) remus

Word Count: 1.7k

⛧ MARAUDERS MASTERLIST⛧

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

Remus Lupin was not in a good mood. He was antsy. With the full moon so close, everything put him on edge: His ears seemed to twitch at the smallest shift in the floorboards and his nose seemed to smell every person that passed his dormitory door on their way to and from the common room. It made his stomach churn, like a boat being tossed about on the sea. It made his head pound in a steady rhythm that made it hard to focus on anything else beside the tedious beat. It was followed by a tightness too; pressing harshly against his temples. 

Remus thought he should be used to it by now. He had been dealing with the effects of the full moon for practically as long as he could remember, but he would never truly get used to it. Having you and Sirius by his side always helped though. Remus wouldn’t ever dare admit it out loud, he spent far too much time trying to convince the two of you that he was dangerous and not to be trusted, but you and Sirius calmed his nerves. You made the transformation just that bit more bearable.

He would forever remember the day that you revealed your animagus form to him. Remus could hardly find the words to express how he felt. Never before in his life had he had someone care for him the way that you and Sirius did. James too. He was scared at first,  Remus didn’t know how his friends were going to react when he told them about his lycanthropy. Almost certainly he had expected you to run and to never speak to him again. But that night you did the opposite and held him close. And Remus had never felt more loved and accepted. Now, of course he was cautious at first. Angry. Scared. But slowly the three of you had talked him into realising it was a good idea: He was coming home after each transformation with fewer injuries and seemed to be managing much easier with your help. Of course, seeing the scratches and cuts appear on his friends bodies each night made him grimace and try to convince you to stop. He was supposed to protect you and, instead, he was allowing you to get hurt. But you stayed. And Remus was impossibly grateful for that. 

Remus groaned as another ache shot through his body, and he turned tugging the blanket closer to him. The moon made him feel the need to hold you close all of the time. He yearned for the smell of your shampoo and the coolness of your skin flush against his. When the moon made him get like this Remus often found himself missing class. All of the people just made his nerves sizzle. Unfortunately, your boyfriend's condition did not mean that you also got a free pass to skip class. Or Sirius for that matter. So, instead of having you close, Remus lay curled up in his bed as his bones ached, waiting antagonisingly for you to return. 

When you finally pushed the door open quietly as to stop it creaking, you were clinging onto Sirius’ arm. You arm was looped between his and you leaned your head against the crook of his shoulder. The two of you had been like that all day, he could tell. 

You and Sirius had had a busy day to say the least. Not only had potions class run over, but you also had homework that you needed to catch up on during your lunch break. Not that you actually got much done with Sirius around. Sirius was an observer. He could tell from the way you held your shoulders higher than usual and walked with heavier steps that you were stressed. So he did all he could to help you relax a little. Knowing that you were also worried about your boyfriend, he placed gentle kisses to your forehead whilst you worked, or stole them from your lips in the corridor. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you to his chest to try and expel the tension from your body. Your boyfriend's efforts seemed to have helped because by the time the bell finally rang and the doors spilled open to reveal the flood of students, you were feeling much better. Especially because you could now fill the empty space that Remus’ absence had created. 

“Rem?” Your voice was quiet and tender, near a whisper in case he was asleep, or was finding everything too loud.

He peeked his head out from under the blanket, his hair tousled from hours of restlessness. You smiled at him brightly. It was enough for him to return it, and lift his sour mood.

“Hey, Dove.” he greeted, shuffling out of bed to greet you. He couldn’t help but eye his boyfriend who stood with his hand placed tenderly on your lower back. Remus’ fingers twitched. “Good day?”

You hummed, slipping off your shoes and making your way over him to wrap him up in your embrace. You knew it had likely been a tough day for him. “Better now you’re here.”

As you took another step closer to him and away from Sirius the tender moment between the two of you was interrupted. At first, Remus had thought it was because he was standing right next to you. That his nose was getting confused, another side effect of the moon, but now you were standing right beside him across the room from your other partner, Remus knew that he was not mistaken. You stank entirely of Sirius: warm, musky, rich, honey-like and a little earthy. It was complemented by the faint smell of cigarette smoke and leather from his jacket. Normally, the boy would savour the smell of his partner, but you smelt so much like him that it completely drowned out everything about your scent. Something possessive inside him seemed to switch on. 

Remus snatched you up immediately, pressing you so tight to his chest that you thought he was going to smother you. He couldn’t help the glare he sent to his boyfriend over the top of your head. Glowering, he pressed a kiss to your head as his fingers reached to fiddle with the hem of your jumper, trying to inch it upward.

You pulled away and frowned at him. Sirius also bore a similar expression. “Moony?”

“You smell of him.” It was a simple statement that came out almost as a growl in his voice. 

“Who?”

Remus gestured to Sirius, who had moved to sit on the edge of his bed, with a nod of his head. When he spoke, his tone was filled with something Remus did not possess often. Jealousy.  “Sirius.” 

Sirius furrowed his brows, before realisation crossed his face and he gave you a look. Remus was feeling left out. He had been feeling rotten all day and now he was being left with a constant reminder of how you and Sirius had been spending the day clinging onto each other instead of him. To make matters worse, the moon was making him possessive: he needed to state what was his. 

“Take it off.” Remus’ voice was demanding, but you could hear the need hidden deep behind it. “Please.”

You nodded, your hands slipping over him as you helped him to remove your jumper. Remus tossed it to Sirius and pulled you back to him. Although the jumper was gone, which had helped a little, he could still smell his boyfriend all over you. Understanding this from the way Remus shifted antstily, being the loving boyfriend that he is, Sirius moved to Remus’ trunk to pull out one of his jumpers for you to wear. Before he could reach it however, Remus snapped. 

“Don’t touch them.” Remus moved toward his trunk and took a sweater before a very startled Sirius could react. Siri nodded slowly, taking a step back and raising his hands in a surrendering gesture. When after seeing you slip it on, the boy released a breath he hadn’t even known he was holding. It was better, but his mind still screamed at him: mineminemine.

“You alright Moons?” Sirius asked hesitantly, unsure or not whether to approach or not. Remus was still holding you close to him, peppering you with kisses, though he seemed to be less tense now.

He hummed, twisting toward his boyfriend but still not letting you go. This time his expression held much less venom than it had before “Sorry…” He started “I don’t know what came over me.”

Sirius took his chance to move toward him. Instinctively, Moony turned you away, but instead of trying to move you as he thought Sirius would, his boyfriend placed an arm on his shoulder. “It’s alright Rem. I understand.”

Remus tucked your head beneath his chin as your hand wandered to his own to fiddle with the rings on his fingers. “Still. I guess I thought I could handle being alone today… but it was all just a bit much. And seeing her come in here smelling of you…”

“Shh” Siri hushed, smoothing Remus’ hair. “You want to lay down?”

Remus nodded. “Is that okay with you, Dove?” He asked.

“Of course.” You smiled. Taking Remus’ hand you moved over to the bed, shifting the covers out of the way so you could climb beneath them. Remus followed, tucking you close to his body once more, and then Sirius lay on the other side of Remus, resting his head on his shoulder. 

Remus relaxed into the mattress as you ran lazy circles over the palm of the hand he was using to keep you in place. He pressed his lips to your head.

“I love you.” He murmured. “I’m so glad I can call you mine.”

“And we are glad to be yours.” Siri told him. 

“Thank you for doing this. I’m sorry if I overreacted…”

“Never.” You said. “Anything for our Moony.”

Remus pulled you closer to him. You had a feeling you weren’t going to be moving anytime soon.

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

MARAUDERS TAGS:

⛤⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽⛧☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅⛤

[theemporium]

and to the poll voters who i thought i cheated you out of these two idiots, here they are!!

series masterlist

.

“You know I love you, right?”

Max lifted his head when you stopped right in front of him. He raised his brows, leaning back in his seat on the couch as he took you in. You looked serious, which was only slightly unsettling, as you stood with your hands on your hips.

“Yes?” He said eventually, though it came out more like a question.

“And I only want what’s best for you. You know that, right?”

He frowned a little. “Yes. Although stressing me out with whatever you are going to say next doesn’t feel like it’s best for me…” 

“Okay, good. As long as you remember those things in a few minutes when you’re cursing me out,” you said with a nod, ignoring the discombobulated look on your husband’s face before you let out a sharp whistle. 

Max’s frown deepened. “What’s—”

However, he was promptly cut off when the door swung open and all three Leclerc brothers made their way into the flat. Max barely had a chance to acknowledge them before they were grabbing him—two on his legs and one on his arms—and carrying him out the house. 

“What the fuck?! Let me down!” 

“I’m sorry, baby!” You called out as you followed the four of them out of the house. “But this fear of the dentist can’t keep getting in the way of your health!”

Max’s struggles seemed to quicken at the mention of the dentist. “Baby—”

“Max, you know it’s for the best.”

And it was. He knew that. He knew that the second he was outside of the dental practice, there was little else he could do. But he would put on a great damn struggle until then, on the off chance he could escape and top up on the painkillers he had been having over the last week to numb the pain in his mouth.

…

“Do you think he will be mad at me?”

“He could never be mad at you,” Lorenzo assured you as he tugged you into his side. “You were doing what’s best for him. He knows that.”

“What if I broke his trust doing this and he never forgives me?” You continued, letting out a shaky breath. “He was just in so much pain and I couldn’t just sit there—”

“The man worships the ground you walk on,” Arthur pointed out. “He couldn’t even give you the silent treatment for longer than five minutes the last time he tried.”

But his words didn’t ease the tightness in your chest. “But what if—”

“He’s not going to break up with you over this,” Charles spoke up, a sincere understanding glimmering in his eyes that your other two brothers lacked. “He loves you far too much for that.” 

You nodded, opening your mouth to say something else but a voice interrupted. 

“Mrs Verstappen?”

You barely glanced back at your brothers as you followed the nurse through the dental practice. You nodded as you listened intently, taking in everything she said about how to best treat Max at home with painkillers and the healing process in general. 

You were about to ask a few more questions when you heard a familiar voice that made your stomach flip.

“WHERE’S MY WIFE? I WANT MY WIFE! BABY? WHERE ARE YOU?” 

Your cheeks burned as you shot the nurse an apologetic look before quickly rushing into the room, making your way towards Max as you tried to quieten him down. However, the second he noticed you, his face instantly lit up and he had little care in the world for anything else.

“Where have you been?” The words were muffled and slightly slurred, but the slight lisp made your smile widen. 

“Waiting for you,” you assured him as you took his hand, raising it to your lips to place a quick kiss on the back of his hand.

He stared at you blankly. “That’s not my lips.”

You snorted. “Your mouth is a bit too busy right now for me to kiss.”

Max frowned before he turned to the dentist. “Take these out right now! My wife won’t kiss me!”

Your eyes widened. “Max!” 

“No, I want kisses from my wife!” Max said, shaking his head before he tried to reach out and pull the gauze out himself.

“Looks like you’re gonna have a handful with him,” a nurse teased as she watched you grab both of his hands before he could rip his stitches open in his mouth.

You smiled. “Yeah but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Because she loves me!” Max added. 

“I do.”

“Soooooo much!”

“That is also true.”

“She loves me so much that she even lets me—”

“Okay, that’s enough talking, babe!”

.

[wolvietxt]

💭 thinking about…

𝗅𝗈𝗀𝖺𝗇 𝗁𝗈𝗐𝗅𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗑 𝗍𝖾𝗅𝖾𝗉𝖺𝗍𝗁𝗂𝖼!𝗋𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋

pairing : logan howlett x fem!reader warnings : anxiety, panic, angst, fluff, overstimulation, implied age gap, pet names, budding relationship au wc : 1.5k a/n : i’m thinking about maybe making the odd prompt list, not sure if anyone would be interested? idk i feel like i have so many ideas on what to write but not enough time to actually write them. lmk if it’s something anyone would be interested in😭

you'd always hated crowded spaces, but this - this was something else entirely.

the pounding bass from the club’s speakers seemed to vibrate through your whole body, and the flashing lights made it impossible to focus on anything for too long. it was all too loud, too chaotic. the mission had been simple: blend in, keep an eye on the target, and extract information. easy enough. except no one had accounted for the fact that a telepath like you could hardly stand in the middle of a packed nightclub without being bombarded by the overwhelming flood of thoughts and emotions from every single person around you.

the drinks, the laughter, the flirtations happening at every corner - they were suffocating. you tried to block them out, but your mental shields were already thin, your energy worn down from the mission prep. and now, with the music and flashing lights adding to the noise in your head, everything was starting to blur together. the alcohol from earlier wasn’t helping either.

you stood near the edge of the room, trying to focus on anything other than the mental cacophony around you. the team was scattered throughout the club, everyone doing their part to blend in with the crowd. but for you, it was becoming harder to concentrate on the task at hand. the target’s thoughts were buried under a thousand others, each one screaming for attention inside your mind.

you felt sick, like the world was spinning too fast. the room was closing in. your head pounded, and you could feel a sharp nausea creeping up your throat. you needed to get out of there, away from the noise, the thoughts, the people.

a warm hand suddenly brushed against your arm, pulling you out of the spiral you were falling into. you turned, blinking, and found logan standing beside you. his sharp eyes were locked on you, concern written all over his face. he’d always been able to read you better than anyone else on the team, even without telepathy.

“you alright, kid?” his voice cut through the haze, gruff but steady. it was like an anchor, something real and solid to focus on.

you nodded quickly, though it was a lie. “i’m fine,” you muttered, but the words felt weak, shaky.

logan didn’t buy it for a second. “yeah, bullshit,” he muttered, his hand still resting on your arm, grounding you. “you’re lookin’ pale as hell. c’mon, bub.”

before you could protest, logan gently but firmly led you toward the exit, weaving through the crowd with ease. you followed, grateful for his presence. the second you stepped outside, the cool night air hit you, and you felt like you could finally breathe again.

logan guided you away from the line of people waiting to get in and toward a quieter spot around the corner of the building, far from the pounding music. the noise from inside was muffled now, and without the sea of thoughts crashing into you from all sides, your head began to clear, just a little.

“better?” logan asked, his voice softer now, though still carrying that rough edge that was so inherently him.

you nodded, taking a deep breath. “yeah… yeah, much better. thanks.”

he leaned back against the brick wall, folding his arms across his chest, watching you carefully. he didn’t push, didn’t demand an explanation, but you could tell by the way his eyes narrowed slightly that he knew something was wrong.

“it’s just... the noise in there,” you said after a moment, your voice quiet, almost embarrassed. “not just the music, but the people. their thoughts. it’s... it’s a lot.”

logan’s expression softened, just a little. he might not understand telepathy the way you experienced it, but he got it in his own way. he knew what it was like to have too much going on in your head, to feel overwhelmed by things out of your control.

“should’ve said somethin’,” he muttered, though his tone wasn’t harsh. “i would’ve gotten you outta there sooner.”

you shook your head. “i didn’t want to mess up the mission.”

“the mission doesn’t matter if you’re about to pass out,” he shot back, his eyes flashing with irritation - not at you, but at the situation. “you gotta take care of yourself.”

you sighed, leaning against the wall beside him. “i know. ‘s just... hard. when you’re in a place like that, and everyone’s thinking all at once, it’s like - ” you shrugged, trying to find the right words. “it’s like being underwater. you can hear everything muffled, but it’s all too much at the same time. i couldn’t block them all out.”

logan was quiet for a moment, processing what you said. then he nodded, as if he understood. “well, you’re outta there now. you don’t need to go back in. the rest of us can handle it.”

you frowned, shaking your head. “no, i can’t leave the team like that. we’re supposed to - ”

“hey,” he interrupted, his voice low but firm. “you’ve done enough, kid. let us take it from here.” his gaze softened as he looked down at you. “besides, you ain’t leavin’ us hangin’. you’re just takin’ a breather. nothin’ wrong with that.”

you met his eyes, feeling a little less guilty under his steady gaze. he was right, of course. but it still felt wrong to step back when the rest of the team was inside, working.

“how about this,” logan added, his tone softening. “you stay out here for a bit, get your head straight, and if you’re feelin’ up to it, we’ll go back in together. but only if you’re ready.”

his words made you relax a little more. the pressure to keep pushing through was gone, and the idea of taking a break, even if just for a few minutes, didn’t feel so bad when he framed it like that.

“okay,” you agreed softly. “i think... i think i need a few minutes.”

logan nodded, satisfied with your answer. he pushed away from the wall and motioned toward a nearby bench. “sit down for a sec. no rush.”

you followed him, sinking onto the bench gratefully. the fresh air felt good, like it was clearing away the fog in your mind. logan sat beside you, silent but present, his arm resting on the back of the bench, his fingers grazing your shoulder lightly.

“how do you do it?” you asked after a few minutes, your voice barely above a whisper.

logan glanced at you, eyebrow raised. “do what?”

“stay so calm,” you murmured, staring down at your hands. “you’re always in control. even when everything’s going crazy, you just... keep it together.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “you think i’m calm?”

you looked at him, a little surprised by his response. “well, yeah. you always seem like you’ve got it under control.”

logan’s gaze softened as he met your eyes. “darlin’, i ain’t always calm. most of the time, i’m just as pissed off or frustrated as the next guy. but i learned a long time ago that lettin’ it take over don’t do any good. doesn’t mean it’s easy, but... you get used to it.”

you frowned slightly, processing what he said. “so... you’re just used to it?”

“nah,” he corrected, his voice softer now. “i’m used to dealin’ with it. there’s a difference. but i had to figure that out the hard way. you’ll get there, bub. more easily i hope.”

you nodded slowly, letting his words sink in. it wasn’t the same as what you were dealing with, but in a way, it felt like he understood more than anyone else on the team ever could. and the fact that he was here, sitting with you, offering quiet support, meant more than you could express.

“thanks,” you said after a moment, glancing up at him with a small smile. “for getting me out of there. for... everything.”

logan looked at you for a beat, his expression softening. “anytime,” he muttered, his voice gruff but genuine.

for a while, the two of you just sat there in the quiet, the night air cool against your skin. the noise and chaos of the club were distant now, and with logan beside you, the overwhelming thoughts and emotions that had threatened to drown you finally felt manageable.

“you ready to head back in?” logan asked after a few minutes, though his tone wasn’t pushy.

you hesitated for a second, then shook your head. “not yet.”

he smirked slightly, nodding. “good. let’s stay out here a bit longer.”

you smiled, leaning into his shoulder, and he didn’t pull away. instead, his arm settled around you, holding you close as the night stretched on, the two of you finding a moment of peace amidst the chaos.

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[sirenedeslily]

‘tis the season, i guess. 𑇓 ⊹ ᳝ ࣪ | ( bf!matt & fem!reader ) angsty fluff + soft hours. established relationship 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐞 wc 778

the clock on matt’s bedside table glowed with a faint red hue, its numbers ticking steadily toward 3 a.m. the room was dark except for the soft light from the window, where snow swirled lazily under the streetlamp’s golden glow. the window was cracked open just slightly, enough to let the sharp, wintry air curl its way into the room, nipping at your skin and chilling the tips of your fingers.

you sat by the window, knees drawn tightly to your chest, chin resting against them as you stared out at the falling snow. your breath fogged the glass faintly, though you didn’t notice, lost in the endless rhythm of watching each flake vanish into the ground below.

the world felt unnervingly quiet. it wasn’t the comforting stillness of rest but a hollow kind of silence that stretched far too wide. the kind that let the weight in your chest grow heavier, pressing down until you felt impossibly small. the kind that seemed to amplify the ache that had settled inside you, that had been there for as long as you could remember.

it wasn’t any one thought—not really. it was everything and nothing all at once. that indescribable pull in your chest, a tangle of dread and melancholy that you couldn’t unravel. the exhaustion of it all, of having to do this over and over, year after year, dragging yourself forward when it already felt like too much.

the holidays only made it harder. they brought with them the weight of expectation, of cheer and light and warmth, when all you could feel was the sharp edges of everything you weren’t. no amount of laughter or sparkling lights or soft music could drown out the voice inside, the one that reminded you, over and over, that it would never be enough.

you didn’t notice the cold at first. the way it had seeped into your skin, numbing your fingers, stinging at your nose. you had been downstairs earlier, curled against matt on the couch, the chatter of his family filling the room with a kind of joy you couldn’t quite reach. at some point, you’d drifted away, first in your thoughts and then up here, drawn to the window like it might hold an answer to a question you couldn’t even form.

the door creaked open softly behind you, but you didn’t react. you felt him before you saw him—the shift in the air, the quiet, familiar weight of his presence. matt didn’t say anything as he stepped inside, the door clicking shut gently behind him.

you heard his slow, steady footsteps, the soft sound of his breathing. he didn’t ask what you were doing or why you were up here alone in the cold. he didn’t need to. matt knew. he always knew.

he came to sit beside you, close but not touching, the warmth of him cutting through the chill. for a long moment, he was silent, his gaze following yours out the window. the room filled with the faint sounds of the outside world—the snow brushing against the glass, the distant hum of the heater below.

“you’re freezing,” he said finally, his voice soft, more observation than admonishment.

you didn’t respond, still watching the snow fall.

matt shifted, his movements slow and deliberate, pulling the blanket off the bed and draping it around your shoulders. his hand brushed against your arm as he adjusted it, his touch warm and grounding. he didn’t say anything else, didn’t try to fill the silence or pull you out of whatever space you were trapped in.

instead, he just sat there, his presence steady and unwavering, as if to say, i’m here.

the cold started to ebb away, replaced by the quiet heat radiating from him. you didn’t lean into him—not yet—but you let the weight of the blanket and his closeness pull you back just a little, enough to remind you that you weren’t entirely alone.

when he did move, it was with that same gentle purpose. he slipped his arms around you, lifting you effortlessly, and you let him. let him carry you from the window to the living room, where the christmas tree still glowed faintly in the dark. he set you down on the couch and settled in beside you, pulling you into his lap and wrapping the blanket more securely around you both.

matt didn’t speak again, didn’t try to fix anything or chase the feeling away. he just held you, his chin resting against the top of your head, his arms locked around you like a barrier against the world.

and for the first time that night, the quiet wasn’t so heavy.

𝒢𝜚 💭 ࣪ ✸ 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ∿ winter blues hitting hard ///: love you all so very much, i know how hard the holidays can be.. please take care of yourselves and your beautiful hearts !!! hugging you all through my screen 🫂 !! credits for the layout inspo to the talented @kiemiu

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[scorpioriesling]

I (Almost) Don't Believe You

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Brennan x reader

Warnings: mutual pining, tiny mention of injury

Summary: It was already bad enough to find out your father and brother invaded your best friend's privacy; but sending you on a mission where it nearly killed her? Unbelieveable. What else is unbelieveable? The boy you'd fallen for so long ago would only be waiting for you on the other side...

SR’s Note: Um okay, as I am progressing through Iron Flame rn... like, Brennan is... ooh okay I am liking him quite a bit. He's helping ease the pain of loosing Liam (': Jokes, jokes... I don't think I'll ever get over that reality. Enjoy, lovelies.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

The hours you'd been counting seemed to blur together as exhaustion weighed heavily on your shoulders. Was it exhaustion? Maybe it was just guilt. After everything you'd seen and gone through today, differentiating the two was... well, near impossible.

Your dragon has been all but silent, giving you time as thoughts race through your mind. Would your best friend wake up? If she didn't, the male sitting to your left would be all but gone too. A male you've come around to, especially seeing the way your closest friend reacts in his presence.

Gods, you wished for something like that.

Violet stirrs, her brow furrowing and shoulders moving on the cot where she lay. Both you and Xaden lean forward instinctively at the same time, and he huffs a small laugh as he glances sidelong at you. The two of you haven't spoken much since the arrival, and you're sure his mind is racing just as yours is.

"Vi... I hope you wake soon, you have people who've been waiting forever to see you," Xaden whispers. Your heart warms at his words -- long gone is the fearsome Wingleader you'd met only a year ago, and his familiar warmth is graciously returned in Violet's presence. She rolls to her side, eyes squeezing closed as she lets out a wide yawn. Xaden is on his feet in an instant -- you're quick to follow, flanking to her bedside.

"Violet?" You whisper. Xaden extends his hand, brushing hair from her face as she slowly blinks her eyes open. You can practically count the emotions swirling in her green eyes -- the one she registers and lands on quickly though, is confusion.

"Xaden... Y/N..." She pushes to a sitting position, Xaden clutching her shoulders and helping her readjust. She rubs her eyes with the back of her hand, and looks around the room in confusion.

"Where... what is this?" She asks. Xaden sighs, hanging his head low. Her eyes meet yours in silent question, and you shrug. "Hey, I could ask the same thing. The more important thing right now is that you're awake..." You say.

"Awake and healing quickly," Xaden adds. His fingers have threaded through hers, and her confusion quickly turns to anger.

"Don't... don't think I've forgotten-" She yanks up the side of her shirt, revealing a dull purple bruise on her side. Angry black veins thread from the injury, and her gaze flicks back to Xaden.

"I haven't forgotten." Is all she says, and you feel sorry for Xaden. Sure; you're grateful your spitfire of a best friend is alive and well, but her gaze could cut right through him.

"I know." Is all he says, so hushed that you barely hear it. You nod once, and begin backing away from the bed.

"I'll... leave you guys for a while." You say. Xaden nods, and Violet shoots you a pleading glance. You can see her asking you not to leave her alone with him, but you know they have a lot to talk about.

You decide instead to head down the hallway outside the door, finding a kitchen shortly along your way. If you were going to give your friends space, you might as well do something productive. A million thoughts raced through your mind; where were you? Where were the others? How far from Basgiath were you? Not to mention the millions of thoughts plaguing your brain about your father, your brother; knowing what they were sending not only this section, but their own family into...

You shake your head. Productive. Rifling through the foreign cabinets, you look for something to make.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ

The afternoon sun is dipped low beyond the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of violet and navy as night falls. It didn't take long for the others to find you -- perhaps it was the smell of the dinner you'd scraped together that drew them in.

The first two days, Garrick or Bodhi were sent out to retrieve food for the group, and you decided by day three that you should lend a hand. After all, you'd been shown many house-chores like this over the years; your father never expected you to become a rider rather than a housewife, that is. Neither did your brother, and you knew he didn't like it one bit.

Your older brother Dain had always been protective over you; but his overprotection only intensified when your best friend's brother died, and he practically treated the two of you as though you were made of glass. When you'd braced the parapet, he looked ready to hurl, never expecting his little sister (or her fearless best friend, for that matter) to dare entering the rider's quadrant.

But, your appreciation for his overprotection died the moment he used his signet to send your section to certain death. Not only did he send you, his only sibling; but the girl he'd oogled over, swore so many times he loved with all of his heart, right along with you.

It didn't matter now. Everything was different.

"I don't know how you did it," Garrick smiles, sitting on the bench seat near the small dining table in the kitchen. "But you've got some skill, Y/N. I mean seriously, who scrounges all this up in a place they've never been, and produces such a delicious meal?" He shakes his head, shoveling a huge bite of stew into his mouth. You smile as Imogene makes her way into the space.

"Gods, I could simply kiss you for this," Bodhi follows her in, snatching up a bowl and waiting behind Imogene for his turn to scoop from the pot. You chuckle.

"You mean to tell me that you don't enjoy going out and hoping to return with food for us all?" You raise an eyebrow playfully, and before he can answer, Violet enters the kitchen. You instinctively make your way to her, and her pained smile emerges as she pulls you in for a light hug.

"How are you feeling?" Imogene chides, perching in a chair across from Garrick and looking Violet over. You let go of her, and she glances around to everyone.

"I'm... I'll be alright." She says, and you nod. Her eyes meet yours, and she quickly whispers, "We need to talk."

Your eyes widen, and you glance to the stove where the awaiting pot sits. "Violet, you haven't eaten in days-"

"It can wait." She rushes, taking hold of your wrist and all but dragging you into the hallway and out of earshot from the others. You glance around, and she sighs.

"Violet, I know you have questions; I mean, so do I, but-"

"Brennan is alive." She stares straight into your eyes, and a wave of adrenaline rushes over you at her words.

"Violet, what are you-"

"He's alive. He's here. Brennan. He's..." She fumbles, her hands clasping and releasing frantically. You place a hand on her shoulder lightly. "He's alive, Y/N." She says in finality. You shake your head, a small smile appearing on your lips.

"Violet, you might be thinking some wild things, they did give you a lot of medicine-" She grasps both of your shoulders with her hands, holding tight and giving you an incredulous look.

"Would I lie about something like this?" She whisper shouts. You furrow your brows at her.

"No! Gods no, I don't think you're lying, I just..." You shrug defeatedly. "He's been dead for six years, Vi. The last time we spoke of him..." Your throat tightens at the memory. "His soul was being condemned to Malek." The way the fire sparked as his belongings were thrown in. The way Violet cried for weeks, you sleeping in her room with her for sheer comfort. The way your heart tightened every time you thought of the way he used to look at you; his soft voice, so contrasted against his mother's uniformed nature. The way he'd lend you his books, sitting and talking with you for hours on end...

"Fine. Go see for yourself." She gestures down the hallway, the countless doors fading to dark as it stretched on. "Fifth door on the left. He's probably still in there." She says. You sigh, looking to her once more.

"Violet-"

"I'm going in to eat." She walks through the kitchen entryway once more, leaving you alone in the hallway. You sigh, wiping your clammy hands on your pants. You head down the hallway, counting the doors as you go. One, two, three... four...

You stood, face-to-face with the fifth wooden door, the only sound this far down the hall was your ragged breaths. You swallowed, raking your fingers through your hair as you remembered you'd been wearing the same, disgusting leathers for three days. If he really was on the other side of this door, you hated that the first thing he'd see of you in six years was... well, not your favorite look.

You knock softly, and the door creaks open. You hastily shove it open, breath catching as you peered around the room. The empty room, that is. Moving inside, you took in various things; tons of papers, many books, quills and ink pots upon the desk-

Your breath catches in your throat as you spot a tome that you'd recognized. It was one Brennan gave to you all those years ago, when you were nothing but a teenager with a crush. Your heart still fluttered at the feeling, the ache in your heart as fresh as it was the day he died.

You huff, not sure why you expected anything but this. VIolet was on many remedies, and there was no world in which a man that had died would come back to life, no matter how convincing your best friend sounded.

A small knock sounds on the door behind you, and your head whips around from the papers you'd begun staring at. Your heart immediately seizes as your eyes meet those familiar brown irises you'd longed for, for so, so long.

"Y/N?" Brennan whispers, and you can't help the immediate sting of tears behind your pupils as you look him up and down. It felt surreal; his cream-colored button down is only buttoned up half way; his fitted trousers outlining every muscle along his masculine legs. Your hand flies to your mouth as you gasp, the words choked behind a sob rising in your throat.

"Brennan?" You stutter, and his eyes widen as he immediately surpasses the door way. You don't stop yourself from stepping quickly toward him, throwing your arms around his neck as a soft cry escapes your lips. He was real. He was really real, he had to be. The ends of his brown curls, longer now than when you'd seen him last, tickle your forarms as you pull him close. His arms wrap tightly around your waist, lifting you on to your tip toes as he stands at his full height.

You can't contain the tears flowing from your eyes as you breathe him in deep; his familiar scent of cedar and cotton bringing you back to all of those special moments you'd shared before; sitting close, sharing stories and thoughts. All of those almosts.

Before he …died, anyway.

You pull back to look up at him, but he doesn't release you. Instead, his fingers card through your hair, stroking lovingly as he continues his embrace. You shake slightly, allowing every emotion taking over your mind to run free. You never thought you'd see, feel him again. All of your greif receeding as you accept the reality that you had only ever dreamed of.

"Y/N I'm... I'm so sorry." He whispers. You cry harder, only wishing he'd keep talking and convincing you this was real. But, you forced yourself to believe it was; the boy you loved, now in front of you once more, holding you, physically touching you-

"Gods, I missed you so much." You retreated from his hold, his hands still braced on your hips as your watery eyes bore into his. Taking him in, you realized he was different. Older. No more was the boy you'd been in love with six years ago; now before you, was a man. A handsome one, nonetheless.

"I... I don't..." you stutter, and a small smile braces his lips as his soft hands brush the few stray tears from your cheeks. "I... I don't know what to say." You admit, and his thumb brushes along your cheekbone.

"Well... at least you're saying something," he says, chuckling softly. The sound is like music to your ears, a sound you hadn't heard in so long. "I was afraid Violet would shread me with one of her daggers when I tried talking to her." You swallow, your gaze drifting to his mouth as he spoke.

"I... I don't say I could blame her," you say softly, your eyes reconnecting with his as shame takes over his expression once more. He sighs, the hands on your waist falling as he takes a step back. You immediately wish he wouldn't have, already hoping to be back in his embrace as soon as you could.

"Look, Y/N, I..." his eyes peer at the wall above you, as he seems to contemplate his words. "I never meant to hurt anyone, alright? I had to do it because-" You step forward, taking his hand in yours. You stare up at him longingly, shaking your head that this was all truly real.

"You can explain it all later," you say, and his mouth closes. You can't help but take in the familiar slant of his nose, his more defined jawline, the golden planes of his skin...

"You can't keep staring at me like that, Aetos." His voice has dropped so low it’s almost gravelly, as his gaze darkens upon glancing toward your mouth. You grin, your deft fingers unlacing his and moving to slide thorugh the mass of curls on his head softly.

"I'm just... I'm really, really happy you're okay." You whisper. His hands slide around you, finding purchase along the small of your back. You suck in a breath as he pulls you against him once more, and you spot the tears pooling along his waterline at your words.

"I thought you'd hate me," he whispers, his breath a gentle caress down the slope of your nose. His perfect lips, ones you'd pined over for years were so, so close. So... real. His chest lets out uneven breaths pushed up against yours, and your nerves threaten to eat you alive as you raise to your tippy toes once more to be eye-level with him.

"I don't think I could ever hate you, Brennan." He smiles, the motion only growing as your eyes search his once more. His perfect teeth are still the same; the sparkle in his eye, the way he chuckles softly. It's as if you're transported back in time.

"I didn't think I could love you more than I did the last day I saw you." A single tear slips, and your quick to catch it with your finger. As you retract your hand, his fingers are quick to curl around yours, holding your hands against his heart. Your brows knit in confusion as you lower your heels, but his grasp on you does not falter.

"You're..." you start. His hand caresses your cheek, guiding you as close to his lips as you could get without touching. Your heartbeat races as his thumb traces soft circles on the back of your hand pressed to his heart. His heartbeat picks up at the closeness, and you can't help but smile. Whether its anxiety, fear, pure love... you've never been quite the expert at sorting out your feelings anyway.

"I'm …what?" He whispers, and you can't stand it any longer. You lean up, pressing a hesitant kiss to his lips. He stills, and you pull back, eyes as wide as his in shock.

"I'm so sorry, I-" He tugs you close again, your mouth colliding with his as he kisses you more forcefully. He keeps kissing you, both of his hands now cupping your face as yours grab onto the unbuttoned collar of his shirt. His lips part, allowing you access at your own pace; but you're quick to oblige, sliding your tongue along his bottom lip. A soft groan escapes his throat, and you inhale through your nose sharply at the sound. He's definitely more grown up than he was six years ago; more confident too. Gone was the shy, 19 year old who’d been deemed “too old” for you back then — now, he didn’t seem to mind the 5 year age gap now that you’d finally turned 20.

You continue indulging, before the strike of the clock from the hallway sounds. He doesn't seem to care as he explores your mouth; hands continuing their exploration, too. As the quiet overtakes the room once more, you finally pull back, gasping for air as he smirks down at you.

"I've waited… so long for that," he says, and your face heats. Little does he know, so have you. “Not coming back to find you, tell you I was alright was so hard, Y/N.” He leans back in for more, but you turn so his lips connect with your cheek instead.

"Oh, nuh uh," you hum. "You've got some explaining to do first before any of..." you motion between the two of you. "...this, continues." He rolls his eyes (glad to know he hasn't changed all that much), and backs up, shoving his hands in his pockets.

"Okay, okay." He says. "I have to be in a meeting, uh..." He glances quickly at his watch. Your eyes track the movement; wishing his delicious fingers were holding you close again. "Uh, now, actually." He laughs sheepishly.

"Better get to it, then." You fold your arms over your chest, tilting your chin up in mock confidence. His hand slides along your jaw one more time, and he gazes down into your eyes.

"Later, we'll talk. I promise," he says. You continue your confident expression as his hand retreats, and he heads for the door, leaving it open behind him. You wait a few seconds before you follow behind him, but freeze as you enter the hallway and are met with a familiar stare you've come to know all too well. Leaning against the wall is your best friend, a smirk so similar to her brothers plastered on her face as she pins you with an accusatory look.

"I told you he'd be in there."

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

[helioooss]

silver springs

chapter one: what just happened?

paris was supposed to be the pinnacle. the culmination of years of sacrifice: the end of chaos theory’s first world tour. it was the city of light, love and the dreams you had nurtured since high school.

instead, it felt like the city of heartbreaks — the final place where everything was meant to fall apart.

you stood backstage in a venue that seemed far too beautiful to contain the rising tension within chaos theory. pacing under the grey parisian sky through the thick curtains, you could hear the low hum of a gathering crowd, muffled murmurs of excitement echoing through the walls.

soundcheck was supposed to have started fifteen minutes ago, but instead of running through your songs, you and the rest of the band were waiting for the one person who wasn’t here: minjeong.

again.

no one wasn’t taking it lightly; everyone was on edge.

jimin leaned against the wall with her arms crossed, glaring at her phone as if sheer force of will could make minjeong answer her messages. aeri sat on the edge of the stage, her drumsticks tapping an erratic rhythm against her thigh that only served to worsen the anxiety hanging in the air whilst yizhuo paced back and forth, wringing her hands together like she was trying to squeeze the tension out of her body.

“she’s not fucking answering her phone,” jimin’s voice was low and tight, the clipped edges betraying her barely contained anger. “for fuck’s sake, winter!”

“big surprise,” aeri muttered, tossing her drumsticks into her bag with a sharp motion. “what is this now? the fourth time this week?”

“third,” yizhuo corrected, though her voice was soft, almost apologetic. she had always been the most optimistic one in the band, but even her usual warmth was waning under the weight of minjeong’s absence. “maybe something came up. traffic, or —”

“traffic doesn’t explain why she hasn’t been answering anyone all day,” aeri cut in, her tone sharper now. “she knows how important tonight is. we’re in fucking paris, for god’s sake. this isn’t just another city. this is it — the last show of the tour. and who knows what she’s even fucking up to these days.”

“do you think she even cares anymore?” jimin’s voice was cold, her words cutting through the room like a blade. she finally looked up from her phone, her dark eyes narrowing as she turned her attention to you. “y/n, where is she?”

you swallowed hard, your chest tightening under the weight of their stares. “i don’t know,” you admitted, though the words tasted bitter.

and you really didn’t. you had sent her six texts and called her nine times since this morning. each message was read, but none were answered.

the silence that followed your words was heavy, filled with unspoken frustration and growing worry.

“maybe she’s just overwhelmed,” yizhuo said hesitantly, though even she sounded unsure. “we have to cut her some slack, she feels it —“

“we’re all overwhelmed, ning,” aeri snapped, standing up and crossing her arms over her chest. “but we’re here. you have to stop making excuses for the bullshit she pulls.”

you remained silent, your gaze fixed on the door as if staring at it hard enough would make her magically walk through it.

“y/n?” jimin’s voice pulled you from your thoughts. “we will eventually need to step in, or she’s out.”

“i’ll find her,” you said abruptly, grabbing your jacket. “no one is kicking her out of the band she built.”

“y/n, wait —”

“and what else am i supposed to do?” you cut her off, your voice sharper than you intended. “sit here and hope she shows up?”

jimin’s lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn’t argue.

“you can’t keep doing this,” aeri said, her voice softer now but no less firm. “you can’t keep cleaning up after her mess. it’s not fair to you, or any of us.”

you didn’t respond because deep down, you knew she was right, but you couldn’t help yourself. you had always been the one to pick up the pieces, to drag minjeong back from the edge when no one else could.

“this is — no, this band is a fucking shit show!” manager kim walked by, screaming with his phone in hand as he paused, looking at you with fury in his eyes. “if minjeong doesn’t get her ass here in an hour, i’m terminating her fucking contract.”

you sighed, shaking your head. “i’ll get her, alright? everybody, just calm the fuck down for a minute!”

the cold parisian air bit at your skin as you stepped onto the street and walked out of the venue, slamming the door behind you. hard. it wasn’t just the chill of the evening that made your chest feel tight.

you hailed a cab, sliding into the backseat and giving the driver the name of your hotel. as the car pulled away from the venue, the weight in your chest only grew heavier.

paris passed by in a blur outside the window. the glittering lights of the city of love felt mocking, their beauty a cruel contrast to the heaviness in your chest. it had been months of this — worrying about minjeong, cleaning up after her, holding the band together when she couldn’t seem to hold herself.

you gripped your phone tightly, some of your unanswered messages glaring back at you.

-

to: mindungie

where are you?

soundcheck started thirty minutes ago.

minjeong, pick up. please.

read 3:45 PM

-

each text was marked as read, the small blue ticks on the screen like tiny daggers but there were no replies, no calls, no explanations.

you clenched your jaw, trying to shove the memories away. but they came anyway, unbidden and relentless.

the memories clashed violently with the present.

you remembered the minjeong from before — the one who used to sit with you in your parents’ garage, strumming her old acoustic guitar until her fingers blistered, the girl who smiled so brightly when you finally nailed the harmony to her melody that you thought your chest might burst, the woman who pulled you aside after your first gig in a dingy seoul bar and whispered, “we’re going to make it, y/n. i know we will. and i love you, never stop believing that. as long as we’re together, as long as we love each other —“

fame had stolen her from you.

she had been disappearing piece by piece since the day chaos theory signed their first major deal.

it hadn’t been obvious at first; just small things. the way she avoided your eyes in meetings with the label, the excuses she made to skip rehearsals, the late nights she spent with people you didn’t recognise.

and over time, those small things turned into something bigger, worst.

the signs had been there. you thought about the grammy’s afterparty in los angeles — the first time you really saw it. she had vanished for hours, leaving you and the rest of the band to awkwardly fend off questions from industry insiders who wanted to meet “the voice of the band of the century.”

when she finally reappeared, her eyes were glassy, her movements slow and unsteady. she laughed it off, saying she’d just had “a little too much fun.”

but you knew. you’d known even then.

and now there was sungchan.

the thought of him made your stomach churn. you had warned her about him from the beginning, begged her to stay away. his reputation wasn’t just bad, it was pretty fucking catastrophic.

scandals followed him like a shadow: drugs, parties and rumours of fights with his own bandmates. he was the kind of person who thrived on chaos, and somehow, he had pulled her into his orbit.

you’d tried to talk to her about him once, months ago, after you caught her sneaking out of his apartment. you still remembered the way her expression hardened, her walls going up so fast it was like she became someone else entirely.

“you don’t get to tell me who to hang out with, y/n,” she said, her voice icy.

“i’m not trying to control you,” you replied, desperate to make her understand. “i’m just worried about you.”

“well, don’t be,” she had snapped. “i don’t need you to worry about me.”

“hotel molitor again, right?” the driver, in his strong french accent, pulled you out of your thoughts, glancing at you in the rearview mirror.

you nodded without looking up, your throat too tight to form words as phone buzzed against your thigh. you pulled it out and saw jimin’s name light up the screen.

-

from: rina <3

don’t do anything stupid, please.

sent 5:45 PM

-

you shoved the phone back into your pocket and exhaled sharply. your chest felt heavy, your ribs tight as if the weight of everything you’d been carrying for months was finally suffocating you.

“everything okay back there?” the cab driver asked, his accented english cutting through your spiral of thoughts.

you looked up, startled. he was an older man, his salt-and-pepper hair peeking out from under a worn cap. his eyes met yours in the rearview mirror, kind but curious.

“yeah,” you lied, forcing a tight smile.

his gaze lingered for a second before flicking back to the road. “you look familiar,” he said after a moment. “are you — wait a minute,” his eyes lit up, and he grinned wide. “you’re in chaos theory, aren’t you? y/n?”

your heart skipped a beat. “uh, yeah,” you said cautiously, not sure where this was going.

“my kids are huge fans,” he said, his excitement bubbling over. “they’re at your concert right now! well, they’re outside, waiting for the show to start. chaos theory has been the soundtrack to our house for the past year.”

something in his words made your chest loosen, just a little. for a brief moment, the crushing weight lifted. “that’s…that’s really nice to hear,”

“oh, they’d lose their minds if they knew I was driving you,” he said, laughing as he glanced back at you. “my daughter — her favourite is minjeong, but my son? he’s all about you. thinks you’re the coolest guitarist alive. i think he’s trying to learn because of you.”

despite everything, you felt the corners of your lips twitch upward. “that’s sweet.”

“do you mind?” he asked, one hand on the wheel while the other reached into the glove compartment. he pulled out a stack of cds and a crumpled hat, his smile sheepish. “i know you’re busy, but if you could sign these, it’d make their year.”

“of course,” you leaned forward, taking the cds and hat. fishing a pen in your pocket, you scrawled your signature on the covers of the albums, each one bringing a small but genuine relief to your chest. “what’s his name?”

“jules,” he grinned proudly. “my daughter’s name is josephine.”

“beautiful names,” as you signed the hat, you added a quick note: keep rocking, jules and josephine! - all love, y/n.

“thank you so much,” the driver said, his gratitude palpable. “they’re going to frame these, i’m sure of it. you know, music means everything to them. and to me too. it’s been a hard year, but…your songs have been a bright spot.”

his words struck a chord in you, and for the first time that evening, the tension in your chest eased. the band had started as a dream — a way to make people feel something, to give them an escape. and even if everything felt like it was falling apart now, you have done that.

your music reached people.

“thank you,” you said quietly. “it means a lot to hear that.”

the rest of the ride passed in a more comfortable silence. as the cab pulled up to your hotel, the driver turned to you, his smile still warm. “good luck tonight...and can we take a photo?”

you nodded. “of course!” then, you moved into the frame as you gestured a thumbs up.

“thank you, y/n,” he shook your hand. “i’ll remember this.”

you stepped out of the cab, pausing before you shut the door. “tell your kids i said thank you…i mean it.”

the weight returned — but it was softer now, dulled by the reminder of why you were doing this in the first place.

the staff greeted you warmly, but you barely registered them as you strode your way to the elevator. the ride up to her floor felt endless, each ding of the elevator a reminder of what might be waiting for you on the other side.

your thoughts raced. what if she wasn’t there? what if she was hurt? or worse? and if she was there, what would you find?

you didn’t want to think about sungchan. you didn’t want to imagine him in her room, his arm around her, his influence pulling her further and further away but the image was there, sharp and vivid in your mind and it made your hands curl into fists.

you hated him. but more than that, you hated yourself. for not being enough to pull her back.

for loving her so much that it hurt to breathe when she looked at anyone else the way you wished she would look at you.

the elevator dinged, the doors sliding open with a soft chime. you stepped into the hallway, your heart pounding in your chest as you approached her door.

as you swiped the keycard, your hands began to tremble; the soft beep of the door sounding impossibly loud in the silence.

and then your heart broke.

the smell hit you first — stale smoke, alcohol, and something sharper, acrid almost. the room was dim, the curtains drawn tightly shut. discarded clothes, empty plastic bags and crushed cigarette butts littered the floor, creating a mess that screamed of indulgence and recklessness.

but none of it mattered.

there she was. minjeong. curled up, her head resting on sungchan’s shoulder. his arm was draped lazily around her, his fingers toying with a strand of her hair. their closeness was casual, intimate and it felt like a slap to your face.

your chest tightened painfully, the air rushing out of your lungs like someone had knocked the wind out of you.

“minjeong,” you said, your voice low and trembling.

she didn’t stir, her eyes half-lidded as she leaned into him but sungchan looked up, his expression slow to register you before a lazy smirk spread across his face.

“oh, great,” he drawled, his voice thick and slurred. “the babysitter’s here.”

something in you just snapped. the worry, the anger and the sound of your own heart shattering; it all boiled over in an instant.

you crossed the room in three quick strides, your fists clenched at your sides. “get up,” you demanded, your voice sharp enough to cut through the haze hanging in the room.

sungchan chuckled, barely moving. “relax, would you? we’re just hanging out.”

“get the fuck up up,” you said again, your voice louder now.

“or what?” he shot back, sitting up slightly. his smirk widened, infuriatingly smug. “you gonna lecture me too? god, no wonder she’s always running away from you.”

the words were gasoline on the fire already raging inside you. before you knew it, your hand shot out, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt.

“i said get up,” you snarled, yanking him off the bed with a force that startled even you.

“what the fuck is your problem?” he spat, shoving your hands off him as he struggled to balance himself.

slamming him against the wall, your grip tightened on his shirt as your face hovered inches away from his. “what sort of drugs did you give her?”

the smirk on his face disappeared, replaced by a scowl. “who the fuck do you think you are to speak to me like that?”

his fist came out of nowhere, connecting with your ribs. the pain exploded through your side and made you stagger, but you didn’t let go. instead, you turned, using the opportunity to shove him toward the small coffee table in the corner of the room.

he managed to get up on his feet; laughing with no care in the world.

and then it happened. your fist connected with his jaw, the impact sending a sharp jolt up your arm. the sound of it was loud in the otherwise silent room, a sickening crack that echoed in your ears.

he stumbled back once more, crashing into the nightstand and knocking over a lamp as it cluttered all over the floor, but he recovered quickly, his face twisting with anger as he lunged at you; his fist hitting your cheek.

the pain only fueled your rage.

you grabbed him again, your grip tightening as you shoved him backward. he crashed onto the wall by the window, the wood splintering under his weight. he groaned, clutching his side as he tried to push himself up.

“you’re fucking insane,” he spat, blood dripping from his mouth.

“i told you to get the fuck out,” you growled, your voice low and deadly. “too slow.”

he didn’t move fast enough. you grabbed him by the arm and hauled him toward the door, throwing it open and practically shoving him into the hallway. he stumbled, muttering curses under his breath as he limped away, his pride and body equally battered.

you slammed the door shut, your chest heaving as you turned back to the room.

and there she was. minjeong. sitting up now, her wide eyes filled with a mixture of anger and fear.

“what the fuck was that, y/n?” she yelled, her voice trembling.

you stared at her, your hands still trembling from the fight. “what the hell, minjeong?” you shot back, your voice rising. “this is what you’ve been doing? while we’re out there — while i’m out there, holding everything together, you’re here with him?”

she flinched at the venom in your tone but quickly recovered, her expression hardening. “you don’t get to come in here and act like you’re better than me,” she snapped, standing up. “i didn’t ask for you to clean up after me.”

“you didn’t have to,” you said, your voice cracking. “you don’t care about anything anymore, do you? not the band, not yourself, not —”

“not what?” she challenged, stepping closer.

“not me,” you finished, the words spilling out before you could stop them.

her eyes widened briefly, but then she laughed bitterly, the sound cutting through you like a knife. “this isn’t about you, y/n. not everything is about you.”

“this isn’t about me!” you yelled, your voice breaking. “this is about you throwing your life away. do you even realise what you’re doing? what you’re giving up?”

“don’t lecture me,” she spat, her voice rising to match yours. “you don’t know what it’s like. you don’t know what it feels like to have everyone watching you, waiting for you to fail.”

“then let me help you,” you pleaded, your voice softening. “please, minjeong. you don’t have to do this alone.”

“i don’t want your help!” she screamed, her voice cracking under the weight of her words. “i don’t need you to fix me!”

“i’m not trying to fix you,” you said, your voice trembling. “i’m trying to save you. but you won’t let me. you keep pushing me away, and it’s killing me.”

“then maybe you should just stop,” she said coldly, her eyes narrowing. “if it’s so hard for you, then maybe you should leave.”

you stared at her, your heart pounding in your chest. “is that what you want?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “for me to leave?”

she didn’t answer.

“minjeong,” you said, stepping closer. “look at me. please. tell me you don’t care. tell me none of it mattered. tell me all those nights, all those words, meant nothing.”

the silence was suffocating as you stood frozen in the middle of the room, her cold words echoing in your head like a cruel mantra.

you clenched your fists at your sides, the pain in your ribs from sungchan’s punches now mixing with the ache in your chest. the minjeong in front of you — the one glaring at you with bloodshot eyes, standing in a room littered with the aftermath of her recklessness — was a stranger.

“you think this is growing up? lying in bed with someone like sungchan, surrounded by —” you gestured to the mess on the floor, your voice shaking with disbelief. “you think this is who you’re supposed to be?”

“don’t you dare lecture me,” she snapped, her voice cracking. “you don’t get to stand there and judge me. you don’t know what it’s like.”

“what what’s like, minjeong?” you shot back. “having everything you’ve ever wanted? being adored by millions of people? doing what we dreamed of? tell me what’s so unbearable about it that you have to throw it all away like this.”

her eyes flared with anger and she took a step closer. “you think this is what i wanted? to have no privacy? to be picked apart by strangers every second of my life? i can’t even breathe without someone telling me what i’m supposed to do or who i’m supposed to be!”

“so this is your solution? destroying yourself? destroying us?”

her lips trembled, but before she could respond, the door burst open.

“what the hell is going on here?” jimin’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a knife.

you turned to see the rest of the band rushing in. jimin’s eyes darted between you and minjeong, narrowing when they landed on your trembling, bloody hands. aeri and yizhuo followed close behind, their faces pale with concern.

“y/n,” jimin added, stepping toward you. “what did you do?”

“what did i do?” you snapped, your voice rising again. “why don’t you ask her what she’s been doing?”

her gaze shifted to minjeong, taking in her disheveled appearance and the wreckage around her. her jaw tightened.

“minjeong,” she began, her voice low and steady, but there was no mistaking the anger simmering beneath it. “you promised us.”

“i don’t owe you anything,” minjeong shot back, her voice defensive.

“bullshit,” aeri cut in, stepping forward. “you owe all of us. we’ve been carrying your weight for weeks — no, months, and you don’t even care.”

“you think this is easy for me?” she yelled, her voice breaking. “do you think i wanted this? i never asked for any of it!”

“but you have it!” yizhuo’s voice was louder than usual, her usual soft demeanor replaced with rare frustration. “we all worked for this, together. and now you’re throwing it all away like it means nothing. do we mean nothing to you?”

she flinched, her eyes darting to the floor, but she didn’t answer.

“you don’t get to do this,” jimin interjected, stepping in front of her. “you don’t get to act like you’re the only one struggling. we’re all tired. we’re all under pressure but we’re still here, showing up because we made a promise to each other. and you’re breaking it.”

“i didn’t ask for this life!” minjeong screamed, her voice cracking. her hands clenched at her sides as her shoulders began to shake.

“but you chose it,” you said, your voice trembling as you stepped forward. “you chose it with us. we built this together, mindungie. don’t act like you’re the only one suffering. i’ve been right there with you through everything, trying to help you, trying to pull you back from the edge and you just keep pushing me away.”

“i don’t need your help,” she spat, her voice filled with venom. “i never asked for it.”

“because you’re too scared to admit that you can’t do this alone,” you said, your voice rising. “you’re drowning and you know it. but instead of reaching out, you’re dragging us all down with you.”

minjeong’s eyes flashed and for a moment, you thought she might cry. but instead, her expression hardened. “why can’t you just fucking let me live my life?”

“because watching you destroy yourself is killing me!” the words burst out of you before you could stop them. the room went silent, everyone staring at you. your chest heaved as you tried to steady your breathing, but the dam had already broken.

“it’s killing me, minjeong,” you said once more, your voice softer now but still trembling. “to see you with him, to see you like this, to see you turn into someone i don’t even recognise anymore. because i —” you stopped, swallowing hard. “because i love you.”

her eyes widened, but she quickly masked it with a bitter laugh. “you love me?” she said, her voice dripping with disbelief. “you’ve got a funny way of showing it.”

“don’t do that,” you begged, your voice shaking. “don’t act like this is nothing. like we’re nothing. all those nights we spent together, all the times you said you loved me — what was that? was it all a lie?”

“we got caught up in the moment,” she said, her voice cold.

the words hit you like a punch to the gut.

you swallowed hard, the weight of her silence crushing you. “you don’t mean that,” you said, your voice cracking. “i know you don’t.”

“i couldn’t care less if you walked out of my life tomorrow,” she added coldly, her words like a dagger straight to your heart.

the silence that followed was deafening.

you stared at her, the girl you had loved for years, and like a missing puzzle piece clicking into place, you realised she wasn’t the same person anymore.

the fame, the pressure, the choices she had made— they had all changed her.

silence fell over the room, heavy and suffocating. and in that silence something inside you broke.

finally, you exhaled, the fight draining out of you. “i’m done. i quit.”

the room erupted in protests — jimin, aeri, yizhuo, but you didn’t hear them. you turned and walked out, leaving behind the band, the tour and the girl who had shattered your heart into pieces.

the door slammed shut behind you with a resounding thud, the muffled voices of the band barely audible through the thick wood. the hallway outside her hotel room was quiet, unnervingly so, a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just walked away from.

your breaths came in uneven gasps and your chest ached — not just from sungchan’s earlier punch, but from the weight of everything you had just said.

you stood frozen, your hand still on the door handle, as if part of you was waiting for it to burst open. for her to come after you.

but the door remained closed.

with a deep, shuddering breath, you let go of the handle and forced yourself to move. the patterned carpet underfoot blurred as you stumbled down the hallway towards the lifts; your ribs throbbing with every step.

the memory of him — of his smug smirk, the way he held her — made you sick. you clenched your fists, your knuckles still raw and stinging from the fight.

but the physical pain was nothing compared to the hollow ache spreading through your chest. her words replayed in your mind on an endless loop:

i couldn’t care less if you walked out of my life tomorrow.

as the lift doors slid open, you stepped inside and leaned heavily against the mirrored wall, staring at your reflection. your face was pale, your eyes red-rimmed, your lip split from where you had been clipped.

you looked as wrecked as you felt.

the lift descended with a soft hum and you couldn’t help but think about how it had all fallen apart.

a lifetime’s worth of friendship — and this was how it was ending.

the lobby was eerily quiet when you stepped out, the soft glow of the chandeliers above casting long shadows across the polished floors.

a few members of staff gave you polite nods, but no one stopped you. you made your way through the main doors and out into the crisp night. the city was alive with its usual vibrancy, the streets bustling with late-night wanderers, couples holding hands and the distant hum of music from nearby cafés.

but you felt disconnected from it all, like you were watching a film from behind a glass screen.

you walked aimlessly for a while, the events of the past hour replaying in your head. minjeong’s face, twisted with anger. her voice, sharp and cutting — the way she looked at you like you were a stranger.

surprisingly, you found yourself by the seine, the water reflecting the lights of the city in soft ripples. leaning against the railing, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

eventually, exhaustion won out. you turned back towards the hotel, your steps slow and heavy. when you reached the lobby, the new concierge on shift gave you a concerned look but smiled anyway.

as the lift doors opened on your floor, you stepped out and immediately froze.

jimin was standing outside your room, her arms crossed and her expression unreadable. aeri was there too, sitting on the floor against the wall.

they both looked up when they saw you, their faces a mixture of relief and frustration.

“we need to talk,” jimin said firmly, not waiting for an invitation before stepping inside as soon as you tapped the door open. “please?”

aeri trailed quietly, shutting the door behind her.

“not now,” you muttered, rubbing a hand over your face. “can’t it wait?”

“yes, now,” jimin said, crossing her arms. “the show starts in an hour and twice is running out of songs to keep the crowd entertained — we were meant to be there already. we don’t have time to sit around and sulk.”

you flinched at her words, guilt stabbing through your chest. you knew she was right, but the thought of stepping onto that stage felt impossible.

“jimin,” aeri scolded, her gaze flicking to you. “go easy.”

she sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “look, i get it. tonight has been a fucking mess but we’ve worked too hard to let it all fall apart now,” she looked at you, eyes searching yours. “please, y/n. just one more show. finish what we started.”

“what’s the point?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “minjeong doesn’t care. why should i?”

“because this isn’t just about her,” aeri said, stepping closer. “it’s about all of us. about everyone who’s been waiting for this night. about the band we built together. don’t let her ruin that for you.”

you sat on the edge of the bed, your head in your hands. their words made sense, but the weight in your chest felt immovable.

“look,” she added, her tone softening. “you don’t have to do it for her. do it for us. for the fans. for yourself.”

you lifted your head, meeting her gaze. the determination in her eyes was unwavering and for a moment, you felt a flicker of the resolve you used to carry.

they were right; just because minjeong couldn’t get her shit together doesn’t mean they should get punished for it too.

“fine,” you closed your eyes with a sigh. “i’ll do it.”

jimin exhaled in relief and aeri gave you a small, encouraging smile.

“thank you,” jimin mumbled quietly. “yizhuo’s with minjeong, trying to sober her up. we’re going to meet in the lobby in thirty minutes. get ready.”

you nodded and they left, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more.

one last show.

downstairs, the lobby buzzed with tension. chaos theory’s managers had arrived, their faces stormy as they spoke in hushed tones to hotel staff. you spotted one of them, seonghwa, pacing near the entrance with a phone pressed to his ear.

“y/n.”

you turned to see the other manager, jinah, walking toward you with a look that was equal parts concern and fury. her eyes flicked to the faint cut on your lip and the way you were holding your ribs.

“are you okay?” she asked, her voice sharp but tinged with worry.

“i’m fine,” you waved her off, though the ache in your ribs told a different story.

“don’t lie to me,” she said, lowering her voice. “i know what happened. seonghwa’s already making calls about pressing charges against sungchan.”

you blinked, startled. “pressing charges?”

“he assaulted you, y/n,” jinah said firmly. “that’s not something we can let slide.”

the thought of dragging this mess into a courtroom made your stomach turn. you shook your head. “it’s not worth it. just let it go.”

“we can’t,” she said, her voice softening. “not after what he did to you. this isn’t just about protecting you — it’s about sending a message.”

you didn’t have the energy to argue, so you nodded faintly, hoping that would satisfy her. just then, the lift doors opened and minjeong stepped out with yizhuo at her side.

she looked different now — cleaned up, her face free of makeup but scrubbed of the earlier haze. her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she wore a hoodie and jeans, the most unassuming outfit she could have chosen.

it wasn’t her clothes that caught your attention, anyways. it was her tired eyes and the way they avoided meeting yours completely.

the sight of her made your chest tighten all over again.

“we’re all here,” seonghwa began briskly, his phone now tucked into his pocket. “let’s move. the car is waiting outside.”

you stepped forward, your voice steady but firm. “i’m not going in the same car as her.”

the room fell silent. yizhuo glanced between you and minjeong, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but she didn’t. minjeong didn’t look up, her shoulders tensing at your words.

jinah exchanged a glance with seonghwa, neither of them daring to ask what had happened. finally, she nodded. “you can ride with me,” she said simply.

the car ride to the venue was quiet at first, the hum of the engine filling the silence. she sat beside you, her expression unreadable as she scrolled through her phone. you stared out the window, the streets of paris rushing past in a blur of light and shadow once again.

“you’re thinking about quitting,” her voice broke the silence, calm and steady, but her words cut straight through you.

you didn’t deny it. “yeah.”

she set her phone down and turned to face you fully. “do you know what that means?”

you nodded faintly. “termination fees. legal battles. years of contracts down the drain.”

“it’s not just about money,” she said. “it’s your reputation. your career. chaos theory is your foundation, y/n. if you walk away now, everything you’ve built could crumble.”

you swallowed hard, the weight of her words pressing down on you.

“do you think it’s worth it?” she asked gently.

you hesitated, staring at your hands. “i don’t know,” you admitted. “but i don’t think i can keep doing this. not like this — i’m so tired.”

she was silent for a moment, her gaze softening. “you’re not wrong to feel that way, but quitting isn’t just about leaving minjeong or the band. it’s about leaving everything. the music, the fans, the dream you’ve worked so hard for.”

her words hit you harder than you expected.

“you don’t have to decide now,” she continued. “finish the show. then take some time to think about what you really want. no one’s forcing you to stay but if you leave, make sure it’s for the right reasons.”

the car pulled to a stop outside the venue and jinah placed a hand on your shoulder. “just get through tonight, okay? one last time. then we won’t have to do this again for awhile.”

you nodded, taking a deep breath as you stepped out of the car. the roar of the crowd was faint in the distance and for the first time in hours, you felt a flicker of purpose.

you could do this one more time.

backstage was an echo chamber of tension. the low hum of the crowd seeped through the walls, a reminder of the thousands of fans waiting for chaos theory, but the energy that usually thrived in these moments was nowhere to be found.

instead, silence stretched between the band members, punctuated only by the occasional scuffle of shoes or a whispered instruction from the crew.

the room was filled with a fragile, uneasy silence as you stood near your guitar, meticulously tuning it even though you’ve already done it twice. your hands moved mechanically, but your mind was elsewhere — flashing through the events of the past few hours.

minjeong stood across the room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. she hadn’t said much since the last confrontation, but you could feel her eyes on you, heavy with unspoken words.

finally, she spoke, her voice low but firm. “we need to talk about the setlist.”

you didn’t look up, your fingers plucking at a string as you adjusted the tuning peg. “what about it?”

she stepped closer, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. her voice was strained, though she was trying to keep it calm. “you can’t close with silver springs. it’s not even part of the set.”

you finally looked up, meeting her gaze with a coldness that made her falter. “yes, it is.”

her brow furrowed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “no, it’s not. we haven’t even rehearsed it properly as a band. it’s not ready.”

“it’s ready enough for me,” you said, your tone sharp and dismissive.

“you can’t just decide that on your own,” she snapped. “we’re a band, y/n. we make these decisions together.”

“do we?” you shot back, finally looking at her. “because it doesn’t feel like it lately.”

her jaw tightened, her frustration bubbling just below the surface. “this isn’t the time for this.”

“no, it’s not,” you said, standing straight and slinging your guitar over your shoulder. “but here we are anyway.”

the rest of the band watched the exchange from a distance, their unease palpable. jimin leaned against the wall, her arms crossed and her gaze flicking between you and minjeong. aeri sat on a stool, her drumsticks resting loosely in her lap, while yizhuo hovered near the keyboard, her expression unsure.

“why are you doing this?” minjeong demanded, her voice rising slightly.

you took a step closer, your voice cold and steady. “because i want to. because it’s my song. and because, for once, i’m doing something for me.”

“you’re being selfish,” she snapped.

you laughed bitterly. “maybe. but it’s about time, don’t you think?”

“y/n —” jimin started, but you cut her off with a sharp look.

“don’t,” you said. “not now.”

aeri opened her mouth as if to say something, but then the stage manager appeared, clipboard in hand.

“chaos theory,” she called, her tone brisk. “stop fucking bickering; you’re up in ten. let’s go.”

the band began to move, each of you grabbing your gear and heading toward the stage door. minjeong ended up walking beside you, her shoulder brushing yours as you made your way through the narrow hallway.

you flinched at the contact and stepped away. “don’t touch me,” you said quietly but sharply, not even glancing her way.

her steps faltered for a moment, and you caught the brief flicker of hurt in her eyes before she looked away.

the stage lights blinded you as you stepped into position, the roar of the crowd washing over you like a tidal wave. it was the kind of energy you’d lived for — the kind that made the sleepless nights and endless rehearsals worth it. but tonight, it felt different. heavier.

and you all knew why.

minjeong took her place at the centre of the stage, microphone in hand. her smile was radiant, her voice bright as she addressed the audience. if you hadn’t just fought with her backstage, you might have believed it was genuine.

“paris,” she called, drawing out the name of the city with that familiar playful tone in her voice. “are you ready for one last night of chaos?”

the crowd erupted, their cheers a deafening wave of sound.

you adjusted your guitar strap and stepped into your spot at stage right, the weight of it settling comfortably against your body.

the band launched into the first song, the opening riff sharp and electric and just like that, the music took over.

on stage, you and minjeong were untouchable. no matter what had happened offstage, no matter how broken things felt behind the scenes, the chemistry between you was undeniable. her voice soared, clear and powerful and your guitar answered her with equal force; weaving together in a way that felt effortless.

as the set went on, you found yourself slipping into memories.

you thought of the early days, playing small venues in seoul to crowds of barely twenty people. the nights spent crammed in cheap motels, laughing over instant noodles and dreaming of the big stage. the way she used to look at you, her eyes filled with a light that made you believe anything was possible.

those days felt like a distant dream now.

the crowd’s energy was electric, their voices rising with every song. minjeong worked the stage like a pro, her movements fluid and confident as she engaged with the audience. and despite everything, you couldn’t help but be drawn to her.

when the band transitioned into the next song, you stepped toward the mic.

“before we go on,” you said, your voice cutting through the noise, “i just want to give a quick shoutout to josephine and jules. your dad gave me a ride earlier and he told me how much you love chaos theory. this one’s for you!”

the crowd erupted into cheers, and you saw a few people in the front row light up, waving excitedly.

the band launched into the next track, the energy building with each chord. for the audience, it was just another unforgettable concert.

for you, it was goodbye.

as the final notes of the second-to-last song faded into the applause, you stepped forward to the mic before minjeong could.

“this next song,” you began, your voice steady despite the storm inside you, “is called silver springs. it’s a song i wrote for someone i thought i knew. someone i thought i loved…my soulmate.”

the crowd hushed, their anticipation palpable.

her expression was unreadable when you glanced at her then, her hands gripping the microphone stand like it was the only thing keeping her steady. you didn’t look at her for long.

“this is for them,” you added, your voice softer now. “and for all of you.”

you started the first chords, the haunting melody filling the venue. the band hesitated for a split second before falling in behind you, their accompaniment careful and restrained.

the lyrics poured out of you, raw and unfiltered, each word a confession you’d been holding back for years.

“time casts a spell on you, but you won’t forget me,

i know i could have loved you, but you would not let me.”

as you sang, memories flooded your mind — the way she used to laugh, the nights you’d spent tangled together in whispered promises, the weight of her saying “i love you” like it was the only truth in the world.

you thought of the nights spent crammed into your parents’ garage; the hours of laughter, of dreaming, of believing that the five of you could conquer the world. and you did. you thought of your first show, a tiny venue with barely twenty people in the audience, but the way she had grinned at you afterward like it was the biggest triumph of your lives.

her voice joined yours in the chorus, her harmony blending with yours in a way that felt like second nature. despite everything, the connection between you burned just as brightly as it always had.

you thought of your first real show, a tiny venue with less than fifty people and how she had grabbed your hand afterward, grinning so brightly it made your chest ache. “this is just the beginning,” she had said, her voice filled with certainty.

and you remembered the way jimin and aeri used to fight over not being in sync — or the way yizhuo would hum soft melodies after a heavy day at the studio. you were all so young then.

the tears came, hot and unrelenting. they blurred your vision, but you kept singing, pouring every ounce of heartbreak and love and gratitude into the song.

the crowd noticed. their cheers softened into a reverent silence, a few scattered voices calling out, “we love you, y/n!”

you closed your eyes, the memories playing like a film reel in your mind. the late-night rehearsals, the endless van rides to nowhere gigs, the microwaved meals crammed into a barely functioning bus and the first time a fan told you that your music saved their life.

“i’ll follow you down,

’til the sound of my voice will haunt you.

give me just a chance,

you’ll never get away from the sound

of the woman that loved you.”

as the last chord rang out, you stood frozen, your guitar hanging heavily against your body. the crowd erupted into applause, their cheers thunderous and reverent.

you stepped back, your chest heaving, and wiped at the tears on your face before stepping up to face the crowd one last time.

“thank you, paris,” you took a sharp breath, your voice trembling but strong. “thank you everyone….for everything. being a part of chaos theory has been the greatest journey of my life.”

your gaze swept across the crowd, the band and finally landing on aeri.

“i want to thank the people who made this possible. giselle, for being the heartbeat of this band. your drive, your passion — it’s unmatched. thank you for keeping us grounded.”

aeri looked stunned, her drumsticks frozen in her hands, but she nodded, her lips twitching into a small, grateful smile.

“ningning,” you continued, your voice softening. “you’ve been the light of this band, the one who always reminded us why we started. your kindness and strength have carried us through the hardest times.”

yizhuo’s eyes shimmered with unshed tears, and she gave you a small wave from behind the keyboard, her lips quivering into a smile.

“karina,” you said, turning toward her. “you’ve been my rock. the one who kept us moving forward when things felt impossible. your leadership, your fire — i’m proud to say you’ve been the backbone of this band.”

jimin’s jaw tightened, her eyes locked on yours. she gave a short nod, her face unreadable, though her eyes glistened.

finally, you turned to minjeong.

“and winter,” you smiled, your voice breaking slightly. “you’ve been the soul of chaos theory. your voice, your heart — it’s what made people fall in love with us. with you. and it made me believe in something…it kept all of us going, actually. thank you for that.”

minjeong’s lips parted, her eyes wide and shining with something you couldn’t name, but she didn’t speak.

you turned back to the crowd, your hands gripping the mic stand tightly.

“but tonight…” you paused, the words catching in your throat. “tonight is my last show.”

gasps rippled through the audience, and the band stood frozen behind you.

“thank you for being here. for believing in us. for believing in me. i’ll never forget you.”

you stepped back, your gaze lingering on the band for a moment before you turned and walked off the stage. behind you, the crowd roared, their voices a mix of cheers and cries but you didn’t hear them. you walked away from the music, the fans, and the band that had once been your whole world.

and this time, you knew you weren’t coming back.

[sorceresssundries]

A Study of Hands

Pairing: Emmrich x Female Rook

Tags: Oral Sex, masturbation, Porn with Feelings, Emmrich Volkarin being a soft dom.

Word Count: 4.1k

A/N: First Veilguard fic and it's smut. I am nothing if not predictable. Anyway, I had a vision of Emmrich very slowly taking off all that slutty jewellery he wears and then this happened.

Bon appetit!!! <3

Another battle done, another day survived. More bruises to body and ego. Things had not gone as planned - they so rarely did these days. But Rook was still alive, and so was the team. So was Emmrich.

She had retreated to her quarters to breathe, to let the steady, reliable rhythm of her lungs remind her she was here, still standing. Her love, as usual, wasn’t far behind her. 

His breathing was not as steady as hers. 

“You almost died,” he said, his voice tight as he crossed the room. Without hesitation, he reached for her, his elegant fingers brushing along her jaw, trailing softly across her cheekbone, where a bruise was just beginning to bloom into full colour.

She winced at the contact, and he immediately began to pull his hand away. She stopped him, covering his hand with hers, holding it in place. She needed to feel his touch, even if it hurt. 

“But I didn’t”, She closed her eyes, leaning into his touch, pretending for a moment that they weren’t in the Fade, weren’t in someone else’s domain. That they were somewhere real, somewhere with day and night and time and a heartbeat. Maker, she thought, i’d give anything for more time. 

“I’m pretty tough,” she added, opening her eyes and smirking at him, trying for a lightness that didn’t quite escape the shadows. “It will take more than merely two unkillable Gods and a few hundred...”

Her teasing faltered as his lips crashed into hers, cutting her words short. His hand slid from her cheek to cradle the back of her head, holding her to him as though she might vanish if he let go. 

Too soon, he pulled back, his lips leaving hers as abruptly as they’d claimed them. The fire simmered and waited. He looked at her, his breathing ragged, and in his eyes, she saw everything he didn’t say - the fear, the need, the relief.

“I… My apologies,” he said, his voice uneven as he stepped back, running a glittering, ring-adorned hand through his hair. “I lost the run of myself. Adrenaline has… certain effects on the body, and I am only flesh and blood, after all. And you…”

“Emmrich,” she interrupted, her voice sharper than she intended. “If you start with your gallantry, I swear I’ll crack the spine of every book you own.”

That drew a quiet, warm laugh from him, and the tension in his posture eased just slightly. He rubbed the back of his neck, a crooked, sheepish smile tugging at his lips. “Well, we can’t have that, can we?”

His gaze flicked over her, lingering on the bruises that mocked him with their shameless display of her mortality. He was always so eloquent, so dexterous and purposeful with his words, but they had all abandoned him now. He couldn’t think of how to express the depth of his feelings; perhaps there were no words for it, or perhaps they had been stolen along with his heart.

Finally, he made a weak attempt, “Darling, I cannot watch you almost slip away again.”

“I didn’t slip away. I’m right here.” She stepped closer, placing a hand over his chest, feeling the wild thrum of his heart beneath the layers of fine fabric. “And so are you.”

Before she realised it, her back hit the wall, her smaller body bracketed by his. His hand left her hair, trailing down to cup her jaw, his thumb brushing the edge of her bruised cheek like an apology. She felt the tremor in his touch, the barely restrained hunger in the way his lips trailed from her mouth to her jaw, down to the curve of her neck. His breath was hot against her skin, and her knees almost buckled when he nipped lightly at the sensitive spot just below her ear.

“Emmrich,” she managed to breathe, her voice shaky. He hummed softly at the sound of his name on her lips, his fingers splayed against the small of her back.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured against her throat, his voice dark velvet. His lips were back on hers, swallowing whatever words she might have said. Her hands slid up to his hair,  and the low, rumbling sound he made at the sensation sent sparks dancing across her skin.

She had lost sight of him earlier, during the battle. She thought she had lost him completely. 

A brief silence settled between them, not awkward, but heavy with the unspoken. Their combined breaths mingled in the narrow space left between their bodies. His eyes searched hers. 

“Is everything all right?” He pulled back, his hand still cupping her face. “We can stop here, if that’s what you want,” he murmured, his voice and eyes kind. 

She shook her head, her fingers tightening in his hair. “Don’t stop,” she whispered. 

He leant in slowly, giving her every opportunity to change her mind. But her mind was as steeled and immovable as her newly-given heart. 

Emmrich’s hands moved with care, sliding from Rook’s face down to her hips. Without breaking the kiss, he guided her gently, his touch featherlight, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the sofa. His lips parted from hers just long enough to whisper, “Lie back for me, my love.”

She obeyed, her breath shallow, her body alight beneath his gaze. Emmrich undressed her slowly, reverently, as though she were a gift so desired, so deeply hoped for, that to rush would dishonour the moment. Each button of her blouse came undone with measured precision, his hands never faltering.

When he pushed the fabric from her shoulders his breath caught, his lips parting slightly as though the sight of her had stolen the air from his very lungs.

“Beautiful”, he said as he took in her soft and scar-flecked skin in the pulsing blue light of the aquarium, making the marks and lines of her body dance like an aurora across a midnight sky. 

His hands came to rest on her waist as he knelt above her, his fingers flexing around her sides, thumbs brushing her abdomen. She arched under his touch, her back bowing instinctively, and a shiver passed through her at the cool press of his rings and bangles against the heat of her sensitised skin. Leaning forward, he pressed a long, devoted kiss to the space between her bare breasts, lingering there as though offering a silent prayer. Then, without a word, he let her go and stepped away.

Rook’s eyes snapped open, her breath hitching as the loss of his warmth sent panic flooding through her. She sat up, her mind racing. Had she done something wrong? Too much? Not enough?

Her fears were met with the sound of his soft, rich chuckle - intoxicating as aged brandy. Standing by the small bowl on her dressing table, Emmrich lifted his eyes to hers, a faint smile playing on his lips.

“Apologies, darling,” he said, his tone smooth, “Let me strip off these trappings. I wish to touch you properly, without jangling like a jailor.”

Rook’s eyes followed his every move, unblinking, as he turned his attention to the task. He moved with his usual grace, deliberate and unhurried, his hands steady as he slid the first bangle free from his wrist. The metallic sound of it landing in the bowl—clink— echoed in the stillness, resonating in her chest and low in her stomach.

He worked at the clasp of the next bracelet with calm precision, maddeningly slow, every motion purposeful. The deliberate pace of it - the care, the sensuality - had her chest rising and falling rapidly, her breaths uneven.

She couldn’t look away. Those hands, so elegant, so recently mapping the curves of her body, now moved as though performing a sacred ritual. Every flick of his fingers, every twist of metal, felt deliberate, charged, and she could feel her composure coming apart with the golden clasps.

Another bracelet fell into the bowl. Clink.

Heat pooled in her abdomen, spreading across her skin as her thighs pressed together involuntarily. She was burning, the tension inside her coiling tighter with every piece he removed. Emmrich paused, glancing up at her.

“Growing impatient, are we?” he teased, the crooked grin on his lips devastating.

Rook shook her head steadily, though her voice betrayed her. “Not at all,” she managed, her breath uneven. “Please, take your time. I’m very much enjoying watching you.”

His head tilted slightly, a subtle, feline movement, his expression one of curiosity.

“Fascinating,” he murmured thoughtfully. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen this particular reaction before. You’re practically breathless, my dear.”

He was hesitant to touch her, to put his desires into practice without first understanding the intricate theory of her. Emmrich was a scholar at heart, an academic by nature, and he could never bring himself to handle something so intricate, so breathtakingly delicate, without first understanding its every nuance. She was a symphony waiting to be composed, a masterpiece to be studied in exquisite detail. He wanted to get this right. No, not just right. Perfect. 

He would require a demonstration. 

Her half-lidded gaze and the flush blooming across her skin captivated him as he methodically worked another ring from his fingers. Every one of his movements was deliberate, each moment stretched and savoured.

“I’m going to take all of these off,” he stated, his voice low and steady, “slowly. And then, my darling, I’m going to touch you.”

Clink.

As soon as his ring hit the dish she gave a soft, uncontrolled moan, her lips parting, the sound like magic newly discovered. His jaw tightened, but he held his composure, his hands still moving with practiced control.

“But first,” he continued, the silken patience of his voice wrapping around her, “I would very much like you to touch yourself.”

Clink. Another ring in the dish. 

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t waver. Her hands trembled slightly as they moved to obey. She let out a shaky exhale as her fingers dipped lower, brushing through the curls between her thighs and finally to the place where her body burned with need. Where she had touched herself before, in secret moments spent imagining him speaking to her like this, watching her like this.

“You’re doing beautifully” he murmured, his molten voice guiding her forward. 

His fingers found the last ring on his thumb, twisting it slowly before slipping it free and added it to the bowl with the others.

Clink.

Her fingers moved delicately at first, trying to pace herself, basking in the delight and eroticism of watching him unadorn his beautiful scholar's hands. She wanted him to touch her, so desperately, but she also wanted him to see her like this and know it was all for him. She wanted more than just sex, she wanted every intimacy. She wanted him to know, without doubt or question, that he was worthy of being wanted. That she wanted him now, as she always would. 

As her fingers slowly caressed herself she gasped and tilted her head back, she was hurtling far too quickly towards rapture. 

“Don’t stop looking at me, darling.” Emmrich said, as he worked another cuff off his wrist. He was finding it more and more difficult to keep steady, his fingers stumbling a little over some of the clasps, so focused was he on watching what she was doing, how she was touching herself. 

Clink.

She was slow, delicate, moving in featherlight circles. Occasionally stopping to dip the tips of her fingers inside herself, even from here he could see, he could tell how slick she was. He studied her rhythm and pressure as he continued to delight in the vision of her. 

Just a couple more bangles, and he would be free to touch her, to rest the pads of his fingers upon each dip and swerve of her body. 

"Tell me, what does it feel like when you touch yourself like this? What goes through your mind?” He wasn’t commanding, he was curious. Yes, his voice was deeper than usual and slow like thick honey - but he wasn’t trying to take charge of her, he was trying to learn from her. 

“You,” she confessed, bold now, her blush forgotten as her gaze locked with his. “It’s you. And it feels…” Her words broke off with a gasp, her hips rising to meet the rhythm of her own fingers, and his composure wavered. He fought the urge to grasp her by the ankles and pull her to him, his restraint hanging by a thread. He was slipping, and they both knew it.

“More, dearest,” he coaxed, his voice hoarse but steady. “I need more than that. Specifics, if you please.”

She exhaled sharply, the challenge in his words igniting something reckless in her. Fine, she thought. No more teasing. If he wanted the details, she’d give them to him—and let him act on every single one.

“Your hands,” she began, her gaze dropping to them. She groaned softly, watching as he stripped the cuff from his wrist, his fingers deft and deliberate. She wanted to grab those wrists, pull his hands to her body. She wanted those fingers in her mouth, on her skin, inside her.  “Those fingers… I think of them. Everywhere.”

His breath hitched, his composure cracking as her words painted vivid images in his mind. Images he had also lost himself to in his solitude. His mouth went dry. She wasn’t done. 

“Your mouth,” she continued, her voice low and sultry now, “your tongue… On me…”

“Where?”

Her answer was a moan first, then words. “On my cunt.”

She tried to continue, her lips parted as though to speak, but no words came. Instead, she let her hand move faster, her breathing turning into soft gasps, and Emmrich felt his control unravelling. His heart pounded in his chest, his hands tightening into fists as he fought the urge to abandon his methodical restraint and close the distance between them.

For all his careful planning, for all his scholarly precision, he knew one thing with absolute certainty: he had never desired anything, anyone, as much as he desired her.

“Emmrich, please.” 

That’s all he needed, he would never deny her. The last of his cuffs slid off his wrist in quick succession, and he finally made his way over to her. To kiss her. To capture her moans and sighs and taste the sweetness of them. He cradled her face, he would touch her like this first. Like he had waited a lifetime just to feel her lips upon his. 

“You are perfect.” He said gently, “You did so well, my love”

She hummed softly, a sound of pure contentment, as he lifted the hand she had used to pleasure herself. Slowly, he brought her fingers to his mouth, his gaze never leaving hers. He took them in deeply, his tongue swirling around them with deliberate reverence, humming like a starved man savouring the first taste of a feast. His teeth grazed her fingers gently before releasing them.

“May I take over from here?” he asked.

She laughed lightly at the politeness of his request, as though she had not just begged him, as though she had not been fucking him with her eyes and her words and stroking herself to almost-completion at the very idea of his hands upon her. He was a romantic, a gentleman through and through, and she adored him for it. She played along, because she knew this mattered to him - that this wasn’t just about passion, but about care.

"You may, but I would like to study you a little first" she lilted, taking his hand in hers. His hands, now bare - free of rings and cuffs - were beautiful: lithe, strong, and elegant. They were hands made for conjuring magic, for turning the pages of ancient tomes. Hands made to touch her. 

She brought his fingers to her lips, pressing soft, deliberate kisses to the places where his rings had rested. One by one, she kissed each faint indentation, reverent of every spot where the weight of his adornments had marked him. Her lips trailed to the delicate veins at his wrist, where she lingered, savouring the thrum and rush of his pulse beneath her mouth.

It was her turn to undress him. He looked achingly beautiful in his loosely buttoned shirt tucked carelessly into his slacks—so different from the polished, formal attire he typically favoured. His hair, usually immaculate, was slightly tousled, a stray strand dancing across his brow. His shirt was rumpled from her wandering hands.

Rook’s shaky fingers undid the buttons of his shirt, until he stood bare from the waist up in front of her. She drank him in, pale and lithe, like a sculpture carved from marble and brought to life. His slacks hung low on his hips, drawing her gaze to the sharp, defined V that disappeared below the fabric. The sight of him made her breath hitch, and she couldn’t resist leaning forward to press her lips to the planes of his stomach.

The sound he made - low, raw, unrestrained - was a revelation she had never heard from him before. It was nothing like the measured, gentlemanly demeanour he always carried. She felt a surge of smug satisfaction that she could unravel him, piece by piece, with just the brush of her lips.

Her kisses trailed lower, her mouth finding the soft, sensitive skin just above the waistband of his trousers. She pressed her lips there, featherlight. His thumb brushed tenderly against her cheek, his fingers combing gently through her hair,

“You do not have to…” 

She didn’t wait to hear the rest of his polite protest. She was done with his control, his formality, his carefully composed demeanour. Those were the parts of him she cherished, but tonight, she wanted them undone - wanted him undone, entirely by her hand.

Her lips curved into a triumphant smile against his skin as she eased his slacks lower, freeing him. The sharp hiss of his breath and the way his body tensed beneath her touch were all the confirmation she needed. His head fell back, his composure shattering as a single word escaped him, raw and unrestrained.

“Maker.”

The sound of it, desperate and wrecked, sent a wave of pure exhilaration through her.

She let her kisses trail from his stomach to his length, her tongue tasting him, savouring the heat and the way his breath hitched with every movement. Slowly, deliberately, she used her mouth to drive him further from that refined man she adored, coaxing him into a state of pure, unfiltered need. And as his hands tightened in her hair, his low, broken moans filling the space around them, she knew she was succeeding.

He closed his eyes, his breath hitching as her lips moved over his skin. She smiled against him, revelling in how this slow worship left him helpless, and as she took him as far back as she could and hummed with pleasure, he gasped and bucked and she knew he was close. 

But just as he teetered on the edge, he pulled her upright, his strength effortless as he brought her face to his. 

“Not yet.” 

He didn’t want to finish yet, he wished to prolong the exquisite and wholly perfect feeling of being this desperate and priapic for her. Most importantly, he wanted to witness the crest of her pleasure before his own. 

After one final kiss to the fullness of her lips, he knelt before her. An acolyte at his altar, a scholar at his tome, and when she gasped his name as he pressed his lips to her core, he decided he would never hear it said so perfectly again. 

The taste of her was an elixir, a rejuvenation, a nectar that the Gods themselves would bottle and lock away if they knew the glory of it. Sharp and deep and singular, he mimicked the movements he had watched her demonstrate, keeping the strokes of his tongue light and focused where she needed, occasionally dipping his tongue inside her, gathering more of her taste on his tongue, savouring her like an Nevarran vintage. 

Rook was shaking, breathless at his worship. At the lap and hum of him against her. Her hands reached for him greedily, her fingers threading through his hair, tugging him closer as she whimpered his name again, her voice breaking on the syllables. Her hips lifted instinctively toward him, seeking more of the pleasure he so skillfully offered.

“Exquisite” he breathed against her, his lips brushing her skin, the timbre of his voice vibrating through her, “I could stay here forever, my love.”

The words sent a new wave of heat flooding through her, and she felt herself teetering dangerously close to the edge. Her breath hitched, her body tightening as the tension inside her coiled impossibly tight.

“It won’t take forever” she gasped, and his low chuckle against her sensitive nerves made her back bow. 

He didn’t falter. His focus was unwavering, attuned to every sound she made, every shift and quiver of her body. He listened intently, learning her as if she were a concertino, each moan, gasp, and tremor guiding him. Her cries grew louder, her breaths shorter, and the trembling in her legs turned to uncontrollable quaking. Ever the rigorous study, he allowed himself a brief, smug satisfaction in his success—but his hunger for perfection remained insatiable. There was always more to learn, more to explore, and he intended to make this particular discipline a daily, devoted pursuit.

When she finally shattered beneath him, it was with a cry of his name, her voice raw and filled with abandon. He held her through it, his hands steady on her thighs, caressing her even as she came undone. His lips and tongue coaxed out every last shiver and aftershock, prolonging her ecstasy until she collapsed back onto the bed, utterly spent—boneless, breathless, and radiant.

Only then did he pull away, his chest rising and falling heavily as he watched her, his lips shining with evidence of his devotion. He looked at her as though she were the centre of his universe. 

“You are extraordinary,” He leaned forward to press a soft, lingering kiss to her inner thigh. Then, with the same care he had shown her throughout, he moved to join her on the sofa wrapping his arms around her trembling form, pulling her against him. His hands, steady and warm, cradled her as though she might break under anything less than absolute gentleness. “And I would do this again, and again, and again, just to grant you a single moment of peace and pleasure.”

"Believe me, it was much more than just a moment." Her voice sounded unfamiliar to her own ears, softened by a serenity she hadn’t felt in as long as she could remember.

He held her tighter, burying his face against her hair. He refused to let his fears seep out and blight the perfection of this night. How many moments like this would they have? The question loomed and sneered at him, but he banished it, focusing instead on the warmth of her in his arms.

They spent the night in blissful discovery - talking, laughing, teasing, and drifting between bouts of comfortable snoozing and slow, tender lovemaking. Time stretched and sighed around them, and Emmrich’s laughter was unguarded as he teased her about her stubbornness. She would fire back, calling out his incurable weakness for romance, and inevitably their banter dissolved into playful kisses that deepened and slowed into seduction.

When exhaustion finally stole them into slumber, their bodies remained entwined, her head resting on his chest while his fingers combed idly through her hair. But sleep was fleeting; neither could hold still for long. Time and again, they would wake, their gazes and mouths meeting in the dim light. Without a word, they came together, hungry and hot, not wanting to waste any time when there was no sun or moon to guide them. 

As she lay asleep in his arms, peaceful and radiant in the bloom of dreamlight, Emmrich watched her, still not quite believing his privilege. She was the glow in the lighthouse in a land without seas, where no storms raged and no darkness fell. She was his anchor in an unmoored place.

If death had ever scared him before, it terrified him now. The thought of her being pulled into it without him, of existing in some plane where he was not, was an agony he could not endure. 

He held her a little tighter, and eventually followed her into sleep, slipping into an uncertain tomorrow where he vowed he would not lose sight of her again. 

[fel-09]

"Intoxicating Night"

Moonlight gently streamed into the room, painting intricate patterns on the walls. The air was filled with the faint aroma of oaken wine mingled with the rich scent of wax candles softly burning on the table. The wine in the crystal goblets sparkled like liquid rubies, but it seemed that Thranduil had no intention of stopping at just one glass.

He sat sprawled in his chair, a lazy smile playing on his lips. His usually immaculate hair was now tousled—several strands had fallen across his face, partially concealing the cold glimmer in his eyes. His linen shirt was slightly unbuttoned, and his fingers played idly with an empty goblet, as if debating whether to pour more or leave it be.

"You’re so... serious," he muttered, lifting his gaze. His voice was low but unexpectedly soft, as though the alcohol had stripped away some of his majesty.

You sat opposite him, watching him closely. This wasn’t the regal king you were used to. Thranduil seemed entirely different: relaxed, almost fragile in his human vulnerability.

Suddenly, he squinted slightly, swaying a little, and without hesitation, pulled you toward him. You had no time to protest or resist as you found yourself seated on his lap.

"You’re sitting too far away," he said with a contented chuckle, as if stating something of utmost importance.

His arm wrapped around your waist, holding you as if you might disappear at any moment. Thranduil leaned his head closer, his forehead brushing against your neck, and you felt his warm breath against your skin.

"You know, wine makes everything so... simple," he said, his voice tinged with a lazy smile as his fingers hesitantly brushed against your cheek. "I see you, I hear you, I feel you... and I think I want even more."

You felt his lips glide across your cheek, and then he chuckled softly, burying his nose against your shoulder. It wasn’t a loud laugh—more a warm, lazy sound that resonated with a faint vibration in his chest.

"You’re so soft," he murmured, his fingers gently tracing the fabric of your dress. His movements were slow, as though the wine had made him less confident but infinitely more tender.

"Thranduil..." you began, but he cut you off, raising his head and softly cupping your chin.

"Shh... Tonight, I’m not a king," he said with a dreamy smile. "Tonight, I’m just... me. And it feels so warm being near you."

His hand slowly trailed down your back as he pulled you even closer. Thranduil’s hair lightly brushed against your cheeks, its silken texture sending a shiver through you. He chuckled again, this time huskily, as if he’d discovered something immensely amusing.

"You know, I’ve never allowed myself anything like this before," he added, and there was something vulnerable in his voice.

Thranduil leaned his head back, letting his hair cascade over his shoulders. His eyes were half-closed, and he looked surprisingly defenseless. Yet his hand still held you in place, and his lips grazed your skin, leaving faint, fleeting traces of kisses.

"Tell me, meleth nin," he murmured, lowering his head to your neck once more. "Will you stay with me until morning?"

You felt his fingers tighten slightly, as though he feared you might leave. But there was something in his warmth, in his lazy, almost childlike affection, that made you forget everything else.

[luveline]

grumpy!joel and sunshine!reader? like he is very gruff and short with people until his girl comes around and tess is like wow are you soft now?

tysm for ur request! disclaimer: I am not an expert in tlou I just think Joel is very fit and also scary ♥︎ tess and joel are roommates here (and also no hate on tess at all I tried to make her a realist rather than a pessimist but she may sound a little jaded) idk lol pls enjoy! fem!reader 

Joel's asleep when you come around. Tess is stirring her drink, small spoon bouncing against the sides of her mug with a metallic tap-tap-tap as your familiar knock raps the door. She doesn't bother yelling, just opens the door to let you in. 

"Hello," you say, though you wince when you spot Joel dozing on the couch. You drop your voice to a whisper. "Nice shiner, Tess." 

"Thanks." She steps aside to give you free reign, rolling her eyes when you toe off your shoes. 

You're not right in the head, in Tess' opinion. You're too soft for this life, and your continued survival feels like luck and nothing more. You know how she feels about you, and you know what she thinks: that to be vulnerable is to kill yourself. You don't feel the same. 

Joel's flat on his back. You push him against the cushions of the couch to make room, perching at his hip with a small sigh. He couldn't have been with Tess when she got hurt, his face clean of contusions. No speckled bruising, no scabbing cuts. 

You place your hand over the solid plane of his stomach and lean forward just a touch. You could kiss him. 

"Joel," you murmur, hand sliding to his waist. His jeans are rough under your palm. "Wake up. I have good news." 

He never wakes gently. His eyes scrunch, his lips tug down into a scowl. When he sees you, it takes a good long second for his agitation to fade into a more neutral expression. 

"Hey," you say, smiling. 

He doesn't smile back. "Where have you been?" he asks succinctly, voice rough with the lingering dregs of sleep. 

"Why should I tell you?"

He almost pushes you off of the couch as he sits up and swings his legs to the side. His shoes touch the floor, and of course he sleeps with his shoes on, he's ready for everything.

"Don't play games." 

You hum in delight at his dark tone and stand up before he can grab you, shivering at the feeling of his fingertips scratching your thighs. You backtrack through the room for your bag thrown haphazardly by the door. You pick it up, excited and scared at once, and scrabble to procure your promised 'good news'. 

"I wasn't far." 

"Your definition of far isn't one I trust," he says. 

"She's a big girl, Joel," Tess says, sipping her drink. She winces at the taste but isn't deterred. "She can take care of herself." 

And if you can't, who cares? You shouldn't be anybody else's problem, and to your credit you aren't. You take care of yourself. You take care of Joel, too, whenever you can, which is why you've brought him the book you found. 

"Here, handsome," you say, holding it out with little ceremony. 

Joel stands up to take it. He stares at the cover in silence. 

"It's a shame they can't include a snippet on every page," you lament. "Like when they used to put perfume samples straight on the paper. I don't know what half of those songs sound like. Which is weird, right? The biggest Billboard hits and I can't remember them." 

"And this is for…" 

"Your codes. Your radio codes?" Your beaming smile starts to shutter. Maybe it isn't useful after all.

Joel knows better than to ask what you want for it. You never ask for anything, ever. You give and you give and at first he'd thought you were stupid, just plain dumb. Generosity is a myth and everybody has their motives. He'd been suspicious of your angle, rejecting you, talking down on you, practically spitting at you to get lost. And you'd listened, for the most part, but then he'd see you in line after shifts for cards, around dark corners talking to dirty FEDRA officers, and you'd always impossibly feel his gaze and pin him with a smile. You've eroded his reluctance over time, and now you're here, sprightly and pretty in his too-big apartment filling every inch with light. 

He reaches across the gap and takes your hand. He squeezes, savouring the warmth of your smaller hand. You have delicate fingers compared to his, and they look smaller still enveloped in his grasp. 

"I'll make you something to eat," he says. 

You nod once, a pop of movement. "Thank you." 

You're not the one who should be saying it but you're the only one who's willing to. Thank you has become synonymous with I owe you. 

Tess lets her gaze flick between your two bodies, clearly startled. Joel drops your hand and it's too late, far too late, she's already gearing up to make fun. 

"Is this how it's gonna be now?" she asks. 

Joel huffs quietly. Tess talks with a brittle kind of love, the familiarity of knowing someone for a long time softening what would otherwise be ridicule. She thinks, without malice, that you and Joel are a bad idea.  

"Hasn't it been like this for a while?" you ask, turning to face her, your usual sunshine attitude worsened by Joel's affection. 

"You're fucking up my guy." 

"Don't get stiffed so often and you won't need a bodyguard," you say lightly. 

Joel snorts, tossing your catalogue of songs on the counter. He doesn't know if they have anything worth eating here, but he's gonna damn well try and find something. 

"You're soft," Tess says to Joel, quick and quipping as she dumps what's left of her drink into the sink. "I'm going out." 

Not much changes when she goes. You come to stand beside him at the counter, your elbow brushing his arm. He doesn't move away. 

Joel doesn't understand why you stick around. Doesn't know what it is that makes you so sweet on him. The first time you met, outside the old meat market on the edge of curfew, he'd been standing watch as Tess made a deal. You'd slunk up on him from the right, and said, "You look unhappy," with your usual softness. 

He'd turned to you in wonder. Wonder in the very worst sense of the word; what could possibly possess you to approach him? Agitation struck like the powdery head of a match against its box, fuck off on the tip of his tongue, and you'd said, "You ever hear that Bill Withers song? 'Ain't no sunshine without rain?'" 

He'd thought you were a wannabe member of the resistance, and that fuck off had rolled right out of his mouth with ease. Your smile hardly wavered. 

"It's 'when she's gone,'" he says now.

You look up at him, he looks down at you. His thick brows relax, and his brown eyes calm. It suits him, and you'd tell him, but you're confused. 

"Huh?" 

"That Bill Withers song. It's 'ain't no sunshine when she's gone,'" he corrects you, the you from the past. He's trying to tell you something without saying it out loud. 

"Oh," you say. Your eyelashes kiss in the corners as you smile. "Right. What am I thinking of?" 

"How should I know?" He doesn't sound mad, smiling at you very briefly.

"I don't know, I thought you knew everything." 

That's not true. He can't know everything, because he doesn't have a clue in the world what he did to deserve meeting you. 

—

please forgive any inaccuracies, I only played the game a little when I was much younger, and so this was made of my watching the first episode twice and some help from people / the wiki!! it's just for fun lol so I hope you enjoyed <3<3<3