#and the rest were either closed or said no

[manmuncher777]

hi hi! I see you're writing for DMC? Could you write something with female reader being Dante's and Vergil's best friend and like they're sooo close to her, they cuddle with her all the time and she feels so safe and protected in their arms :( either SFW or NSFW it's up to you <3

Hello my love!!!! This was so cute to write, and I really hope you like the way it came out. I kept it pretty SFW with just a little tension 💓

It wasn’t unusual to end up sandwiched between them like this. Not anymore.

Dante’s arm was slung lazily over your waist, his hand resting heavy and warm on your hip. His breath tickled your neck as he chuckled softly at whatever dumb joke he’d made earlier, the rumble of it sinking into your bones. On your other side, Vergil sat pressed against you, book in hand, silent as ever—but his thigh stayed flush against yours, his presence as solid and immovable as stone.

You felt… held. Completely encased between the brothers, their bodies like a wall of heat and muscle and quiet strength. Safe. So safe.

“I don’t know why you bother reading around us,” Dante drawled, his thumb lazily stroking the curve of your hip. “You never get through a page.”

“I’m not reading for you,” Vergil said without looking up, though his gaze flicked briefly toward you. “She’s comfortable.”

That was the thing. You always were. Even now, curled into Dante’s chest with Vergil’s thigh pressed close enough that his warmth bled through your skin, you felt like nothing could touch you. Nothing could hurt you, not with them wrapped around you like this.

But sometimes… sometimes the way they looked at you made your skin prickle. Like now.

Dante’s playful grin lingered just a little too long, his gaze dropping down your body as his thumb traced slow, absentminded circles against your hip. Vergil’s book hadn’t turned a page in ten minutes, his pale eyes lingering on the curve of your neck, the pulse beating there.

“You’re warm,” Vergil murmured, voice low. “So soft.”

You swallowed, heart fluttering unexpectedly at the words.

Dante leaned in closer, his nose brushing behind your ear as he inhaled, grin sharpening. “Yeah. Smell so good, too. Like you belong here.”

His hand splayed wider on your waist, fingers pressing just a bit firmer. Not rough, exactly. Just… grounding. A reminder that he could hold tighter, if he wanted.

“Don’t you?” Vergil’s voice was quieter, almost thoughtful, like he was asking a real question. “Belong here.”

Between them. Encased. Protected.

Pinned.

You shifted slightly, suddenly aware of how little room you had to move. Dante’s arm tightened just a fraction. Vergil’s thigh pressed a little closer.

“You’re safe,” Dante murmured, lips ghosting the shell of your ear. “We’ve got you, sweetheart.”

And you did feel safe. So safe it was almost dizzying. So safe it was terrifying.

“Always,” Vergil added, and for a heartbeat, his hand brushed your knee—just a fleeting touch, but enough to make your breath hitch.

Their warmth pressed in closer. The room felt smaller. Their gazes a little heavier.

Safe. Protected. Wanted.

But the longer you stayed between them, the more you realized:

You weren’t going anywhere

[godmadeaterribleerror]

If You Need To Hear It

Main Masterlist - Dean Masterlist

Read on A03!

Tags: Dean Winchester/Female Reader, pre-established relationship (sort), light fluff, light angst, lotta smut (fingering, p in v), humor.

Summary/Warnings: After a tense case, Dean decides to remind you of what you mean to him on the roof of the Impala.

Author's Note: Request from @grosskyjaja! Once again, I can't just be horny, I gotta have feelings too. Enjoy!

Word Count: 4.4k

You’re drenched in things that should never be outside of bodies. Your hair is stuck to your brow, and your fingers are caked in dry blood. Something thick is spattered over your jeans, and there might be hair that isn’t yours in your mouth.

And that was a good hunt.

No deaths. No major injuries, either. Just a few traumatized housewives, and fingernail marks on your palm from when they’d been flirting with Dean in front of you. So you have no real reason to feel horrible. You’ve been covered in worse. You’ve killed more things, and come a lot closer to losing Dean—and actually lost him—in a much realer way.

But you were tired. The week had been filled with women—who had teeth that were straighter than yours, and hair that was better kept—shooting you bitter glares as you stood a little closer to Dean than you needed to. Now, you just want to go home.

And Dean hasn’t fared much better, in the aftermath. At least he remembered extra clothing, though. Clothing that he ditched in favor of his stupid fake-fed suit, in favor of you—after a long, hot shower and a lot of scrubbing your skin until you skin is raw and untouched by blood—wearing his extra shirt and too big boxers.

“They look like shorts-“

“Not they don’t.” You’d grumbled, and Dean had sighed.

“We can stay the night,” he’d said your name, not fully looking you in the eyes. “Most places are closed, I’ll go out and get you a new shirt and pants in the morning.”

“From where?”

“Store.”

“Dean.” You’d given him a flat look, shoving your bra—the only thing you’d been wearing that wouldn’t have to be burned—into your bag. “We’re in Northern Idaho.”

He shrugs. “They got stores. Don’t be classist, sweetheart-“

“I’m not. They won’t have anything I’ll wear twice.”

“They might-“

“They won’t.” Maybe he doesn’t want you to keep wearing his shirt. The thought just makes you more exhausted. “I’m being pragmatic, not elitist.”

Dean frowns. “I didn’t say elitist.”

You shrug, wrapping your arms around your chest. “I know. Elitist is what you meant.”

He snorts. “I love it when you talk dirty-“

“Dean.” You’d snapped, and he’d stilled. Your distress must have been audible. “I just want to go home.”

That had been enough. You had fresh clothing at home, and a bed without lumps, and—if you were lucky—maybe Dean would let you crawl into his arms and not let go until morning. 

He’d packed everything up and into the trunk of the Impala without another joke, and when you crawl next to him on the bench, his arm goes over your shoulder and stays there. He doesn’t stop touching you for the entirety of the drive. Lots of fields and forests and sky, Dean’s hand either rubbing small circles on your upper arm or resting on your thigh.

You know he’s pushing Baby to her limits, just to get you home. Or get away from your sulking sooner. You can’t blame him. You’re glaring out the window as if the trees are responsible for your exhaustion.

And it’s so stupid. It was a good hunt. It was an objectively good hunt. And Dean didn’t even flirt back. 

But you’re not his. Not officially—though through your whole body you’re only ever sure of one thing, and it’s that you’re Dean’s—and not in a way that gives him any claim over you. 

Which means that Dean’s not yours. And you have no claim over him. So if he’d decided to indulge one of those housewives, you’d have no good reason to stop him.

You try not to think about it too often. How Dean could, on any day, just decide that he was done with you. You’d wake up, and suddenly last night would be the last night. The last time you’d touch him. The last time he’d touch you.

And you really, really try not to think about it. But the floodgates have been opened, and now you can’t stop.

Dean might be able to sense it. 

Maybe that’s why he’s touching you, even as the air becomes wired with silence. He’s trying to remind you that for now, he’s here with you.

For now.

“It’s gettin’ late.” He mutters, and you only hum. You’d left at dawn, but Montana was a big state. You’d only just crossed the border into Wyoming, and the sky is already dark and scattered with scars.

“You know where we are?” 

Dean shakes his head. “Think it’s nowhere. Haven’t see a sign for miles. And I can soldier through, sweetheart-“

“No.” You sigh. “It’s fine. I can-“

“You’re not driving.”

“Dean-“

“It’s not cause I don’t trust you,” he says your name, giving you a pointed look. “It’s cause you’re tired. We’ll just sleep out here.”

“Out-“ You blink at him. “In the car?”

“Yeah, Baby’s safer than a motel. I used to sleep in her all the time, when it was just me-“

“But it’s not just you-“

“We’ve been closer than squished in the car, sweetheart.” Dean’s voice is a drawl, and he squeezes your thigh like a reminder. As if you could ever forget. “It’ll be fine. I’ve got a gun, and you’ve got me.”

You don’t have him. 

You give in anyway.

And it’s only an hour before it’s too much. Dean pressed up right behind you—there wasn’t any cold to huddle against, but he hadn’t seemed interested in hearing that—with his knee almost between your thighs, his face near your neck, and his arms wrapped around your stomach. 

Everything smells like him. Even the blanket he’d pulled from the trunk. And you’d thought it would be good for him to hold you like this, but this isn’t in the sanctity of his bedroom. No one but you has ever been allowed in his bedroom. You know for a fact other girls have been in this position.

In the Impala, Dean wrapped around them like he’s never wanted to be anywhere else.

You used to be jealous of them, and how they got to be close to Dean, even for a night.

Now, you know it’s never enough. And you’ll never be able to admire those girls more, for having Dean once, then walking away.

There’s a chance they didn’t have him quite like you do. His laughter and company and stupid blanket, his shirt over their body and his total vulnerability as he sleeps.

You’re trying not to think about it.

But it’s hard with Dean pressed right behind you. 

It’s another hour before you squirm away and climb outside. You need the air, the isolation, the anything but Dean holding you like he’d like to keep you, when he doesn’t. 

You just need space.

And there’s a lot of it, above you. Glittering in the sky as you climb onto the roof, and seemingly infinite with the flat skyline. You lay flat on your back and watch it until you feel sleepy again. And Dean will be pissed if you fall asleep outside, but you’re so tired-

“Come back inside.” 

You feel a tap on your knee, and push up to see Dean frowning at you.

“You’ll get sick, sweetheart-“

“I’m fine.” You mutter, lying back down. “I’ll be in soon.”

Dean makes an odd sound. “Will you.”

“Yeah.”

“Why’d you come out in the first place.”

“I- Just wanted to watch the stars.”

“Could’ve woken me up.”

You rise back up, and Dean’s almost glaring at you. As if you’ve offended him. “I didn’t want to disturb you.”

His jaw twitches. “That’s what you’re going with?”

“What I-“ You frown at him. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He lets out a long sigh, rubbing his brow with a hand. “Alright. We’re doing this.”

“Doing- Dean!”

He’s yanked you forward until your knees are dangling off the side, and he’s standing between your legs. Pressed between your legs. Pressed into you, and barely a breath away as he scans over your face.

“Dean?” You whisper, unable to move away, and his face tightens. “What’s-“

“You’re avoiding me.”

“I- I’ve been in the car with you all day-“

“But you’re not talking!” He snaps, his tone heavy. Like this is painful. “Ever since we did the interviews, you haven’t talked to me or let me touch you, and I don’t know what I did wrong, baby, but I can’t fix it if you keep-“

“You didn’t do anything wrong.” You grab Dean’s face between your hands, shaking your head. He can’t be allowed to think that. “I- It was me. And it’s stupid.”

He frowns. “Not stupid if it makes you upset.”

“It is,” you mumble. “It’s- Don’t worry about it. You didn’t even do anything, or pretend you would, but I- Never mind.”

Dean’s not pulling away. He’s just examining you. Like the answer will be written all over your face. 

It might be.

Because you can see the exact moment he gets it. His eyes widen, he lets out a sharp breath, and then he presses in closer with a small smirk.

“Were you jealous?”

“I- no-“

“Yeah, you were.” He shakes his head, letting out a dry laugh. “You were upset I might- Son of a bitch-“ He says your name, and looks far too amused for how your face might be burning. “Why didn’t you say something-“

“Because it’s dumb!” You snap, and he doesn’t even pretend to flinch when you shove at his chest. “You weren’t doing anything, and it’s- it’s not like we’re together-“

Dean catches your hand and tugs you forwards, all but pinning you to his chest and scanning over your features with a small frown. “Say that again.”

“I- It-“ You voice is going a little hoarse, but Dean won’t stop staring at you. “It’s not like we’re together-“

“Wrong.” Dean certainly looks offended now, shaking his head with a tight frown. “I got two women in my life, and it’s her.” He pats Baby’s hood with a grin, and it’s hard not to roll your eyes at him. “And- Hey. Saw that.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You’re starting to smile.

You’re not sure how he always pulls that out of you.

But he’s Dean. So he does.

“Stop getting smart with me,” He mutters, leaning forward to bump his nose with yours. “I’m trying to be helpful-“

“You are being helpful.” You sigh, dropping your head into his shoulder. “I told you it was stupid.”

“Wasn’t stupid.” Dean’s hand finds its way into your hair, running it carefully through his fingers. “Nothing you do is stupid. Can be dramatic, but not stupid.”

“Thanks.” You mumble, and he shrugs, his fingers stilling suddenly in your hair. 

When he speaks again, his voice is impossible low, and rough, and right in your fucking ear. “You still doubting that I mean it, babygirl?”

“Mean what?”

He chuckles, and god, his voice is getting deeper. “You know what I’m talking about.”

“I-“

“Don’t play dumb, sweetheart,” Dean’s palm starts to rub right over the cloth of your shorts, and your breath hitches against his skin. “You’re not that good at it.”

“‘m good at it.” You’re already a little dizzy, but Dean’s all around you and pressing down. “You- I-“

“I know. You need some extra attention? Need me to fuck you until you get that I damn mean it?”

There it is. The deepest voice. The sex voice, that he’ll almost growl in your ear on a case before pulling you into a closet, or hum at you in the kitchen before herding you back to his bedroom.

Asshole. 

He knows you’d jump off a roof if he asked you with that voice.

“Answer me,” he mutters your name, teasing his thumb up and down your still-clothed slit. “Gotta hear it.”

“Ye-“ You let out a breathy moan into his shoulder. “Yes, please-“

“There she is.” He’s almost crooning at you, and it’s enough to make you start grinding onto his hand. “Never anything stupid with you, my smart girl.”

You squeak as Dean tugs you back by your hair, and even in the dark of the night, he’s the best thing you’ve ever seen. Pretty green eyes darkened and focused wholly on you, an expression of something dangerously close to reverence all over his face as he scans over you. 

His hand moves away from your core, bracing him on the hood of the Impala, but you don’t get a whine in protest before he’s pulling you into a long, deep kiss. Taking his time, pressing his tongue into your mouth and humming when you part without a thought, never coming up for air because you don’t need it. You have Dean, grunting when you almost fall over his body, moaning his name against his mouth because if he’s going to let you have this, you’re going to take all of it. 

“Son of a bitch.” Dean mutters your name, pulling you back with a lazy grin, and you can only pant and drop your brow against his. “Never think I want anyone but you. Ever.”

“Dean, you-“

“No.” He shakes his head, pressing a softer kiss and mumbling against your lips. “You’re my girl, baby. Don’t forget it.”

You sigh. “I can’t tell if you’re talking to me or the car.”

Dean barks a laugh, and it pulls a smaller smile onto your lips, that splits into an almost stupid grin when Dean grabs you back into another long, slightly rougher kiss. More teeth and spit, a little bruising and mind-numbing. He might be trying to sedate your brain into not overthinking.

If he is, it’s working.

“Right now I’m talking about you, pretty girl.” He hums, the outline of his cock pressing against your inner thigh, and you can’t even think of a quick comeback.

All you can really think is Dean, handsome and somehow yours. Against all odds and reason, Dean seems to think he’s yours.

And you could never hate yourself enough to deny him.

“That’s good.” You whisper, and Dean chuckles.

“Yeah, it is. C’mon,” his hand goes back to pressing between your thighs, and your hips buck. “Lemme show you, sweetheart. Gonna make you feel so good.”

You nod, already humping his hand as he rubs around your clothed clit, and Dean hums your name.

“Words-“

“Yes, please.” You whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, and you can hear the grin in his voice.

“Hold on.”

 Dean hooks his fingers on your underwear, pushing it to the side before shoving one finger right into your pussy, and you let out a high squeak.

“Jesus.” He mutters, glancing down to where you’re squeezing around him. “You’re fuckin’ soaked, baby. This all for me?”

You nod, your brow pressed back to his. “Only for you, Dean, only ever for you-“

“Fucking-“ Dean groans, pulling your lower lip between his teeth. “You’re so perfect baby. Always so ready for me-“

You moan as two fingers slam into you, scissoring and pumping with a rough, precise speed, Dean grabbing your chin and angling your head to the side. His kisses fall to your neck as you start to hump against him, scratching at his neck and whining whenever he lets his thumb flick over your clit. You’re already going out of your mind, Dean’s somehow still tucked into his pants, and you want more. 

You must have said it aloud, because Dean chuckles against your neck. “This not enough for you, sweetheart?”

“I- It is- I- Feels so good-“ You moan, your hips jerking as Dean crooks his fingers against the deepest spot inside of you, and his grip tightens.

“Gotta stop squirming, baby.”

“But I want you-“

“You got me.” Dean starts to rub over your clit, and you shake your head, your voice almost a whine.

“But I want you,” You repeat, grinding over his bulge, and he lets out a long hiss, his fingers in your cunt picking up to a brutal pace. “Please.”

“Son of a bitch,” he mutters, pulling back to watch you with that reverence again. “This not enough for you, babygirl? You wanna take my cock too?”

You nod frantically, squeaking when his fingers start to rub on that deep spot, his thumb teasing feather-light touches over your clit, and you’re going to fly out of your skin-

“One time.” He holds your gaze, and you might fall apart just from the sight of him. Blown-out pupils on yours, his jaw set as he watches you, so handsome and somehow yours- 

“Dean-“

“Just one, babygirl.” His thumb presses down and starts to roll firm circles around you, and your mouth falls open in a silent moan. “There you go, wanna see you cum one time before you take my cock, you can do it-“

It’s like he flips a switch. Your orgasm crashes through you with a high, wanting sound of Dean mixed with pleas, and he swallows it with another rough kiss. You’re only seeing stars and feeling an impossibly good rush of pleasure through your whole body. There’s a brief moment where Dean fingers are gone and you whimper at the lost, but Dean’s knee presses right against your cunt, and you let out a soft, easy sigh.

“Feel good, sweetheart?”

If his question is teasing or mocking, you really don’t fucking care, and nod dumbly as he pulls away. 

Dean only laughs, his fingers—the ones that had just been fucking in you—coming up to his mouth. He licks them clean, his gaze never leaving yours, and your hips roll against his knee.

 “I- C’mon, Dean, please-“ 

“Christ,” Dean mutters your name, brushing some of the hair stuck to your brow away. “You’re like- My dream girl. You know that, right?”

“I- I think I do.” You lean forward, continuing to grind onto him as your hand wanders down to squeeze his cock, straining through his pants. “Can you show me?”

His eyes flash, and he swats your hand away, pinning it to the hood. “You still need my cock, sweet girl? Still need me to fuck you on the roof, make you scream so all of Montana can hear?”

“We’re in Wyoming,” you whisper, and Dean shrugs.

“They can hear too. You want it?”

You nod, not breaking Dean’s gaze. “Yes.”

He’s so fast you almost aren’t ready. Kissing you so harsh you think he’s trying to meld his lips to yours, before pulling you right into his chest and sucking a sloppy line along your jaw and neck. Your fingers dig into his shoulder in a desperate play to keep steady, but it’s not needed. 

Dean won’t let you fall.

There are a few things that break through the haze of Dean’s lip, nipping on your neck. The sound of the Impala door opening and the rustle of a belt, as well as the feeling of big, calloused hands kneading up your thigh before pulling down your shorts, and taking your panties with them.

It’s a quick second, where you’re completely bare and shivering from the cold air on your pussy. But then you hear the door close, Dean’s mouth slams back over yours in a demanding, harsh kiss, and you’re never going to be cold again.

His dick slams into you in one, movement, and your mouth falls open at the perfect stretch of him inside you. Dean takes advantage of it, pushing the kiss further until you’re melted over him, fluttering slightly around him as a second, tiny orgasm rips through you.

“God, fucking-“ Dean groans your name, pulling all the way out before slamming back in, and you whine. “Yeah, I know baby. You’re so fuckin’ tight, feel so good wrapped around my cock, wanna-“

“Do it.” You mumble, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Wanna feel it, please. Need to feel it.”

He groans, his hand moving back to brace himself against the Impala’s roof. “You sure-“

“Yes.” It’s the easier question to answer. 

And the certainty in your voice pays off. Dean’s will snaps with a half growl of your name, and you’re gone.

Usually, Dean lets you lead with sex. And you almost always make it slow. You’ve wanted to savor it as much as you could, to stretch out the stolen moments because you’d thought, one day, you’d never have them again. You’d give Dean everything you had—on your knees and riding him and splayed out below him, trying to put on a show when he’d bury his face in your cunt—because you’d thought it was what you needed to do for him to come back. 

He’s going to come back no matter what. 

And it seems to be your turn to take.

Dean’s almost feral against you. Hammering his hips into your sensitive cunt, splitting you open and pressing against that needy spot over and over until you’re a moaning, writhing mess in his arms. His lips never leave your skin for a second, kissing and biting over your shoulder, nipping at the base of your neck before rising back up to mutter filthy praise against your lips.

“Takin’ me so good, sweetheart, fuckin’ made for my cock,” his thrust are already starting to grow uneven, and when you bite on his lower lip, he slams into you so hard stars start to form behind your eyes.

“Dean.” You gasp, and he groans as you squeeze around him. “Feels so good, you’re- God-“

“You like takin’ my big dick, baby?” He drawls against you, adjusting your hips to hit you impossibly deeper. “Shit, you feel like heaven, wanna- Fuck-“

There’s a tension in his voice, even if he doesn’t stop moving, and you frown. “What’s-“

“Forgot a condom.” Dean grunts, rutting against you as he drops to bury his face in the crook of your neck. “I’m not gonna last, sweetheart- I gotta-“

“Inside.” You mumble, your breath hitching as he bottoms out again, the angle making your clit rub against his abdomen. “Dean, please- I said I wanna feel it-“

“Shit,” he moans your name against your skin, cock twitching in your cunt. “You’re so- Fuckin’ love you, baby, I’m gonna-“

He moves back up to kiss you as he chases his release, still fucking moaning down your throat as he fucks you desperately through it.

But then he doesn’t stop. Dean’s cum is dripping out of your pussy, down your thighs and onto the roof of the car, but he’s not slowing down. Still half-hard and grabbing your waist until you’re sure it’s going to leave a bruise—you hope it does—and fucking his cum back into you, until you’re so impossibly full you think you’re going to fucking die from it, and he- He’d said-

“Dean-“

“Last one,” he mutters against your lips, rolling his hips in a sharp circle that makes your squeak. “You can gimme one more, pretty girl, c’mon,” his thumb moves to your clit, and your hips jerk off the bed.

“God-“

“Not god. Just me” Dean laughs at his own joke, pinching you and rolling the nerves between his fingers, and there’s a tight coil deep in your gut that about to snap, and-

“Dean, please-“

“I know,” he hums, and this is too soft a kiss for how he’s still bruising your cervix, how you’re on fire and he’s still using his sex voice. “Squirt on my cock, baby, you can do it, so fuckin’ gorgeous all fucked out ’n full of me-“

He gives a small, harsh slap to your clit before pressing his palm and rubbing it back and forth, right as his cock presses on that hypersensitive place inside of you, and you cum with a scream that echoes through the night.

Something is flooding out from between your thighs, but in the white-hot daze of your orgasm, you really can’t tell if it’s pee or Dean’s cum-

Not Dean’s cum. He’s still buried inside you, mumbling low words as he kisses all over your face, holding you as you shake slightly against him. 

“You fucking soaked me, sweetheart.” He chuckles, kneading gently against your skin. “C’mon let’s get you inside before you catch a cold.”

There’s no way you’re in danger of catching a cold. You’re all warm as Dean slowly pulls away, making a movement like he’s considering diving between your legs and licking you clean, but deciding against it and hauling you fully into his arms instead.

You’re grateful. Right now it feels like one touch could set you over the edge again, and you’re not sure you’d be able to take it. Dean’s mouth on your still aching cunt might actually kill you. It can be an experiment for another time, when you’re not in the middle of nowhere.

Because there will be another time. Dean wouldn’t have done that if he didn’t want more times. Wouldn’t be cleaning you up with his own shirt, and grinning at you so affectionately when he tries to replace your shirt, and you shake your head in a cock-drunk daze. 

“Sweetheart, it’s covered in-“

“I know.” You mumble. “I like it.”

He laughs, kissing you once with a grin. “Alright then, dirty girl. Keep the freakin’ cum shirt, see if I care.”

You smile like an idiot as he pulls away—likely cleaning the roof—and then it hits you again. There will be more, because Dean- He- He said-

You sit up suddenly, pushing open the door, and Dean is running back in a second. He doesn’t get to bend down to your level, though. You wrap your arms around his waist and bury your face in his stomach before he gets the chance.

“I, uh-“ He clears his throat, tugging on your hair until you look up to meet his gaze. “What’s- Are you good?”

In the dark, with all the shadows and lights, and the vast night sky above him, he looks like an angel. Not the real kind, but the story kind. That only protect and care and guide you home, even if—as long as Dean is here, with you—you’ll never need to be guided.

Dean is home.

“I love you too.” You whisper, and his eyes widen. “And you don’t have to say anything. I know you feel it too, and I- you’re mine, and I’m yours, and that’s it.”

He nods slowly, his thumb dropping to trace over your lips. 

“Only competition I have is Baby, right?”

Normally, Dean would laugh at that. But tonight, his throat just bobs as he shakes his head.

And his voice is hoarse when he speaks.

“Never any competition for you. I feel it.” He mutters your name with that same reverence returned. “Always feel it. And I- Thank you.”

You can’t stop your smile. “Of course. I love you, Dean. I mean it.”

His lips twitch. “I know.”

End Note: God, help me. I'm giving myself impossible standards.

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[simplygojo]

Friend-Of-A-Friend ⸺ Chapter Six

author's note ⸺ Hello all!!! I wanna say again, thank you SO MUCH for all the support on this series!! I am blown away by your comments and support and DMs. I SERIOUSLY LOVE Y'ALL!!! ANYways here is chapter 6 pls lmk ur thoughts ilysm <3 pairing ⸺ Suguru Geto x Reader content ⸺ corporate-worker!reader, emotional tension, modern au, the good-ole-days trope, sexual themes mentioned, reader uses female pronouns, taglist at end, 3.9k, this is an 18+ series - mdni

divider credit: @/toastray ୨୧ art credit: @/juziluohai

previous chapter ୨୧ series masterlist ୨୧ next chapter

The rest of the evening unfolded gently, like the warm glide of a second drink—smoother, slower, and softer around the edges. Conversation flowed easily, the kind that didn’t need to be clever or loud to feel good. 

There were no revelations, no confessions, just small, steady moments: Geto nursing his drink long after yours was gone, you reaching for the bowl of bar snacks just as he pushed it toward you, the unspoken agreement to linger a little while longer than either of you expected to.

When it was time to leave, he walked with you to the subway.

Not because it was on his way—it wasn’t—but because, as he shrugged with a faint smile, “You never know.” 

He rode with you all the way to your stop, never getting off, never needing a reason. He stayed close, quiet but attentive, occasionally murmuring something about the people passing through—soft observations more than conversation. 

It felt less like small talk and more like a way to keep you company and make sure you got home safe.

He really was kind…

The two of you drifted through the city’s flickering lights in the quiet of the subway car, the hum of the tracks beneath you a kind of peaceful backdrop to the steady beat of your thoughts. 

You had the strangest feeling that time was moving a little slower than usual. 

But that’s what these kinds of moments felt like, didn’t they? 

Moments that felt effortless, where even the silence didn’t feel like an absence.

You weren’t sure when exactly…but at some point, you stopped thinking. 

Your mind wandered, drawn to the way Geto’s features softened in the dim light of the subway, the glow casting shadows across his face, making him seem somehow even more present, more real. 

You sat side by side, both of your hands resting between you on the seat, close but not touching.

At least, you thought they weren’t—until you felt it.

A brief, subtle contact, as if the universe had nudged you closer in that moment. 

Geto’s fingers brushed lightly against yours, the touch so faint, so fleeting, that for a second, you questioned whether it had happened at all. It was almost as if he didn’t even notice, his hand remaining still, his focus elsewhere, his attention absorbed by the world outside the subway window.

But before you could really lose yourself in the thought, the sound of the automated voice broke through, crackling over the speakers like an old radio.

Your station. 

You recognized it instantly, its familiar tone cutting through the fog of your thoughts.

You blinked, suddenly pulled back to reality, and stood up from your seat. Glancing down at Geto, you gave him a small smile. 

“Well, this is me,” you said softly.

He didn’t move right away. 

A look lingered in his eyes, like he hadn’t quite accepted that the night was over. The subway car hummed around you, the city lights flickering outside the windows, a faint reminder of the world outside.

His hand rested just beside where your fingers had just touched, barely an inch away, the space between you somehow feeling heavier now—although it was probably just all in your head. 

The soft rush of the city, the low murmur of the train all seemed to seep into the quiet that settled in the air between you.

He finally spoke, his voice a touch softer than usual, “It was really nice catching up. Feels like it’s been longer than it has.”

You met his gaze and nodded, warmth beginning to bloom in your cheeks. 

“Yeah, it was. I’ve missed it.” You paused, unsure how to keep the conversation from slipping into the usual goodbyes.

Then, as the train slowed, he added, “I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

The way he said it, like it wasn’t a question, like there was no doubt about it, made the air between you tighten just a little more.

You gave him a smile, a little slower this time. “Yeah, I’ll see you soon.”

The door slid open with a soft chime. You stepped out, the sound of your shoes against the platform unusually loud in the quiet night.

"Goodnight, Geto," you said, your voice steady despite the subtle undercurrent that ran through it.

He didn’t immediately respond, but his eyes stayed on you, watching as you moved, a flicker of something unspoken in his expression. 

He didn’t follow, didn’t reach for you. He simply stood there, the door sliding shut between you, leaving the space between you both quiet, full of things unsaid.

As the train pulled away, you could almost feel the weight of his gaze lingering, still suspended in the space between you, even though he was gone. The stillness clung to the air, heavy, unbroken.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You turned and made your way up the stairs, with the station mostly empty at this hour your footsteps echoed against the tiled walls. 

Outside, the city had quieted. 

The sharp edges of the day had worn down, leaving behind something gentler—cool air, the muted glow of streetlights, the distant hush of passing cars.

It was the kind of night that asked nothing of you. 

You walked slowly, not in a rush to get home, the hush of the streets matching the quiet stillness that had settled inside you.

There was nothing particularly remarkable about the evening. 

No grand turning point, no dramatic shift. And yet you couldn’t quite shake the feeling that something had shifted anyway—something small, something soft. You felt lighter. Steady. As though something in you had been gently realigned without you even noticing.

Its warmth stayed with you all the way home.

Inside your apartment, you moved through the motions of your routine with easy familiarity. 

Coat off, shoes by the door, bag dropped with a soft thud. 

The apartment was quiet, but not in a way that made you feel alone more like the world had given you a little space to exhale.

You glanced at the clock: 10:13 p.m.

Funny—it hadn’t felt like nearly five hours. Somehow, the time had just… folded in on itself.

You made your way to the bathroom, peeled off the day layer by layer. 

The water from the shower was already hot, fogging up the mirror and curling into the corners of the room like it was settling in for the night too. You stepped under the stream and let it wash over you, a steady, comforting heat that eased the faint chill from your walk home.

It was the kind of warmth that didn’t just touch your skin—it sank deeper, unwinding something knotted just beneath the surface. 

You tilted your head back and closed your eyes, letting the water drum gently against your scalp, the steam rising around you like a shield. 

You didn’t rush. There was no need. 

Your thoughts wandered loosely, untethered—you hadn’t realized that you missed chatting with Geto until tonight. 

It wasn’t just the conversation itself, but the way it felt—effortless, like playing a familiar melody you hadn’t heard in years, and still knowing every note. It had been a while since you’d let yourself settle into something like that, where the silence between words didn’t feel heavy, but comforting.

You inhaled deeply, the steam filling your lungs, and in that moment the world outside seemed to slip away. There was something about the rhythm of the water, the soft thrum of the pipes, that made everything else feel distant—like it was only you, here, and the quiet.

You thought of the way his eyes had lingered earlier, just a little longer than usual. But you didn’t dwell on it.

By the time you stepped out and towelled off, the tension from the week had left your shoulders entirely.

Later, dressed in a soft t-shirt and tucked beneath the cool weight of clean sheets, you sank into bed with the kind of ease that only comes when the night has given more than it’s taken.

You were tired, but not worn out—just full, in a quiet, settled way.

There was a peace to it. No buzzing thoughts, no spirals to chase. Just the soft afterglow of good company, of laughter that hadn’t needed to be loud, of silences that had felt like enough. A night that hadn’t demanded anything from you but your presence.

You reached over, turned off the light, and let the darkness fill the room. 

For a while, you simply listened—to nothing, to everything.

And as your eyes adjusted to the shadows, a small, contented smile tugged at your lips, warm and weightless.

It had been a good night. And it made you happy to know you had another friend in the city. 

And for once, that felt like more than enough.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

You woke just past ten.

Not late by most standards, but enough of a sleep-in to feel like a small luxury—especially on a weekend, when your body usually insisted on rising with the same weekday discipline. The light in your room was gentle, filtered through the blinds, casting pale strips across the floor.

For a moment, you didn’t move. 

Just let yourself exist in that thin space between sleep and wakefulness, where the mind is soft and the world feels a little quieter. 

Your limbs were warm beneath the sheets, heavy in the best way, like your body hadn’t quite let go of the calm from the night before.

Eventually, you stirred, stretching your limbs beneath the blankets before swinging your legs over the edge of the bed. The hardwood floor was cool beneath your feet, grounding you further into the day. 

You padded softly into the kitchen, still wrapped in the gentle quiet of the morning.

It was the kind of morning that asked nothing of you. No urgency, no noise.

And then your phone buzzed—loud and insistent, rattling against the kitchen counter like it had something to prove.

You flinched at the sound, the stillness around you abruptly shattered.

Gojo. His name lit up your screen in bold, unmistakable letters, followed by a series of increasingly chaotic emojis in the preview of his missed messages.

You sighed, already bracing yourself as you picked up the phone. It buzzed again in your hand, this time with a video call request.

Because—of course—he couldn’t just text like a normal person.

The call connected with a sharp buzz, and Gojo’s face filled your screen—bright-eyed and messy-haired, already halfway through what looked like a green smoothie in a too-big mason jar.

“Well, well,” he said, grinning. “Look who finally woke up.”

You rolled your eyes, voice still gravelly from your sleep. “It’s barely past ten.”

“For you, that’s practically noon.”

You gave him one of your fakest smiles and walked over to the counter, propping your phone up against the fruit bowl so you could continue doing your morning routine whilst yapping. 

He talked as you filled the kettle and flicked it on, his words folding easily into your usual weekend rhythm—something about his hot coworker who got a nosebleed during a fire drill, and how he, naturally, had been the only one equipped with both tissues and sarcastic commentary.

You laughed as you rinsed your mug and set it down. “How do these things always happen to you?”

“I attract chaos. It’s a gift.” He lifted his smoothie like a toast.

You moved around your kitchen, wiping down the counter absentmindedly, the familiar cadence of Gojo’s voice a steady backdrop to your morning. 

It was easy like this—comfortable. This was what your weekends often looked like. A sleepy catch-up call—either with Gojo or one of your other friends from university. 

You opened the cupboard and reached for the tin of loose-leaf tea. Just as you were spooning it into the strainer, Gojo’s voice dipped casually into something quieter as he changed the topic of conversation.

“Soooo, you ended up hanging out with Geto last night, huh?”

Your hand stilled, spoon hovering just above the tin.

The soft rattle of the kettle heating filled the silence that followed.

You glanced at your phone. Gojo hadn’t said it with any particular weight—just a statement, light on the surface, but with a thread you weren’t sure you wanted to pull yet.

You didn’t look up as you answered. “Yeah.”

The word was light, clipped. Not defensive, just... efficient. Like you didn’t feel the need to elaborate.

You put two spoonfuls of tea into your mug and stepped around the open dishwasher, nudging it shut with your hip. 

Gojo didn’t say anything right away, and that was suspicious in itself. You could feel it—his silence had shape to it.

Still, you kept going. Wiped down the counter, flicked a crumb into your palm and tossed it in the sink. “We just caught up,” you added casually, voice over your shoulder. “It wasn’t a thing.”

You didn’t have to look at the screen to know he was smiling.

“Oh yeah?” He said, leaning into the space between you like he always did when he smelled something interesting. “That’s not what heee said about last night.”

You paused with the towel in your hand.

“…What?”

Gojo let out a loud laugh, delighted at your colour-drained face. “Relax. I’m kidding.”

But your heartbeat had already ticked upward, just for a second.

“I haven’t even talked to him since Wednesday,” he added, totally unbothered, eyes squinting with a grin. “You should’ve seen your face, though. Goddamn.”

You stared at the screen, lips parting like you had half a dozen things to say and none of them made it to the surface. Then you blinked once. Twice.

“…You’re so annoying,” you said finally, turning back to your tea like it owed you something. The strainer clinked a little harder than necessary against the side of the mug.

Gojo was still grinning. “Aw, come on. You make it too easy.”

“I hate you.”

“You’re deflecting.”

You exhaled through your nose, slow and pointed, and reached for the honey. “You’re insufferable.”

“You say that, but I know for a fact you miss me every day of your life.”

You squeezed the bottle in your hand a little too tightly. “You’re gonna miss your life if you ever do that again. What the hell is wrong with you?”

He just laughed again, head tipping back against the couch cushions wherever he was. “Okay, okay. Truce. Promise. No more fake-outs.”

You hummed, noncommittal.

The kettle clicked off with a soft pop. You poured the water slowly over the leaves, steam rising between you and the phone propped up on the counter.

“So, to answer your question,” you continued, carefully neutral, “yes—it was fine. Good, actually. It was nice to know there’s another friend in the city.”

Gojo raised a brow, tilting his head like a smug little parrot. “Mmm. Friend, huh?”

You gave him a look. “Yes, Gojo. Friend. Capital F.”

Gojo wiggled his brows. “You say friend like that means something it didn’t used to...”

“Oh my lord, do you ever shut up.” you said flatly, fake-scandalized, snatching up your phone. “You weren’t even there!” 

But even as the words left your mouth, you could feel the warmth creeping up your neck.

Gojo dissolved into laughter, head tipping back.

“You don’t know anything!” You added, brandishing the phone like a weapon.

“And yet,” he wheezed, “I know everything.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait—no, don’t—”

Click.

You held the phone in your hand for a second longer, staring at the dark screen, lips twitching upwards at that chaotic interaction.

Then you let out a small, exasperated laugh and went back to your tea.

‘Gojo always blows things out of proportion — this was just another example of that.’  You thought to yourself as you went to sit on your couch to start your lazy morning.

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

The rest of the morning passed with a softness that settled into your bones like the warmth of your tea. You let yourself sink deeper into the couch, curling your legs beneath you as the quiet of the apartment embraced you. 

The sound of the show you were catching up on drifted lazily in the background, the plot unfolding at its own pace. 

You didn’t pay it too much attention, letting it wash over you in the same way the morning sun had slowly warmed the room.

Time seemed to slip away. Hours passed in a soft, steady rhythm—just enough to remind you that the world was still moving, but not enough to demand your attention. 

There was no rush, no schedule to follow, just the steady pulse of your own thoughts and the low hum of everyday life.

A few errands nudged their way into your day—nothing major. 

You picked up groceries, took a slow walk through the park, and checked a few emails. The air outside was crisp, the sun filtering through the branches of trees that were just beginning to show signs of spring. 

It was a small reprieve from the buzz of the workweek, a brief moment to catch your breath.

But despite the ease of the day, there was a persistent thought that lingered, always hovering just beneath the surface. 

You tried to push it away, tried to focus on the small details of your errands or the quiet hum of the city around you. 

It didn’t work. No matter how many times you distracted yourself, it crept back in.

Why hadn’t Geto texted you?

He wasn’t obligated to keep in touch. The two of you were just barely friends, and last night hadn’t been anything special or unusual. 

Just a casual catch-up. Nothing to read into.

But still, the thought wouldn’t leave no matter how far you tried to push it back.

Maybe this was just how things would go—occasional texts, brief exchanges, and that was it. 

Once a month you’d get together to catch up, maybe, like a fleeting check-in between old friends. Which is totally fine, because that's all you were—friends.

Nothing more.

You fiddled with the hem of your sweater, walking down the street back towards your apartment with your gaze fixed ahead as you tried to fight the odd twist in your gut.

You couldn’t quite pin the feeling down, but the absence of a text—the silence between the moments you’d shared—felt different than you expected. 

Something about it tugged at the edges of your thoughts, like the quiet undercurrent of a stream you couldn’t see, but knew was there.

You stopped at a crosswalk, waiting for the light to change, and tried to shake it off. 

You almost reached for your phone to check—check what exactly? 

You weren’t sure. 

୨୧ ୨୧ ୨୧

It wasn’t until the following night that you heard from Geto again.

You were standing in the kitchen, folding a dish towel still warm from the dryer, when your phone buzzed on the countertop. The sound was unremarkable, the kind of everyday chime that usually meant a notification from some app you hadn’t opened in weeks.

But something about it made your hands still.

You glanced over, and there it was—his name lighting up your screen, steady and quiet like it had been waiting for you to notice.

Geto: Busy weekend. Sorry I ghosted.

Two short sentences. No emoji, no punctuation embellishments. Just that even, familiar tone you’d come to recognize—casual, but never careless.

You read it once, then again. The tightness you hadn’t fully acknowledged in your chest loosened, just a little.

It shouldn’t have mattered. 

He didn’t owe you anything. He could ghost you if he wanted. 

And yet the silence had curled around you over the last day like a thread you couldn’t untangle. Now, with just a handful of words, it unravelled.

You: All good. Hope it wasn’t anything too chaotic, lol.

You hit send, then set the phone down—face down—as if that would keep your thoughts from spiralling back into it. But your hands betrayed you, fingers tapping the edge of the counter, heart thudding in a rhythm you couldn’t quite ignore.

Outside, the city breathed in its own quiet way—the low murmur of traffic, the occasional bark of a dog several blocks away, the muted clatter of a neighbour’s life just beyond the thin walls of your apartment. Rain tapped at the windows in a slow, unhurried rhythm, like fingers drumming on glass, steady and soft enough to almost blend into the background.

Inside, time stretched.

Then—another buzz.

Geto: Just some work stuff. Nothing I couldn’t handle.

You smiled before you could stop yourself. It was faint, but real.

Another message came through a moment later.

Geto: Was gonna text last night. Didn’t want to overdo it.

You blinked at that. 

Something shifted low in your chest—quiet and unnameable, quiet and unnameable, but warm, like the weight of a blanket pulled over you in the middle of the night by someone who thought you might get cold.

The words landed softly, but something about them lingered—like the faint trace of perfume in an elevator, or the ghost of a thought you’d almost forgotten. 

‘Overdo it’... overdo what exactly?

It wasn’t the kind of thing someone said unless they thought about it a lot. Considered what the boundaries were. Wondered if they might cross one. Did you even have the kind of relationship where you had to set boundaries? You barely ever see him?

You let your fingers hover over the screen, unsure if you wanted to step into that space he’d opened—or if you were just imagining it.

You: Not sure I’d call one text ‘overdoing it’.

The typing indicator appeared.

Then disappeared.

Then returned.

You waited. The moment swelled.

Geto: Fair.

And then, barely a breath later:

Geto: You doing anything right now? If you don’t have any plans, do you want some company?

Your breathing simply stopped for a moment.

You never did anything on Sundays.

That was the rule—even if it wasn’t one you ever said aloud. Sundays were for soft clothes and quiet routines. For folding laundry and eating leftovers in front of the TV. For getting into bed before ten and letting the weight of the week ahead settle gently onto your shoulders. The kind of day you kept for yourself, tucked away like a pressed leaf between the pages of a worn book.

You hadn’t so much as considered going out tonight.

It wasn’t even a question. You’d already washed your hair, already lit the candle on your nightstand that always meant we’re winding down now. The world had been filed away under tomorrow.

But then—

You: Sure.

You stared at the message, at that one syllable blinking back at you from the screen, and felt something shift in your chest—quiet and irreversible, like the soft click of a door swinging shut behind you. 

It wasn’t what you meant to say. 

Or maybe it was. Maybe some part of you had been waiting for this—waiting for him—to reach through the static and routine of your carefully constructed quiet, and ask.

The typing bubble appeared again, this time almost immediately. No hesitation.

Geto: Okay. You good with me just coming to chill for a bit?

You looked around your apartment— The laundry was still folded in the basket. The half-empty mug of tea on the coffee table. The quiet hum of your Sunday night life, suddenly feeling like a stage you hadn’t meant to set. 

You: Yeah sure! That's fine!!

He didn’t answer right away. 

Why did you use so many exclamation marks…

The typing bubble blinked on, then off, and when it finally returned—

Geto: Great, I’ll be there in 30 :)

And just like that, your night cracked open.

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[followthestarliight]

the LI the LADS Men are jealous of

featuring - Xavier x F!Reader, Rafayel x F!Reader, Sylus x F!Reader, Caleb x F!Reader, Zayne x F!Reader

a/n - Sylus's is kind of sad, im sorry...

XAVIER

Every single one, but none of them elicit a stronger reaction from him than Caleb.

It's a little funny, because while Xavier doesn't usually express emotion unless he's with you, his expressions take you out when he sees Caleb. He either pouts, glares, or stares very, very intensely at the Colonel - as if trying to will him out of existence. He finds it very hard to keep a straight face around your childhood friend, and you find it even harder to keep yourself from laughing.

It was very rare for Caleb to visit you in Linkon. He was so busy that you usually went up to Skyhaven to see him, though you hadn't gone in weeks due to the influx of missions you'd been assigned. So you were in the middle of planning a trip to Skyhaven, Xavier having insisted on coming with you this time.

"Xav, won't the Hunters Assoc-"

"I've asked for a few days leave."

"You don't need-"

"I want to," he said so sweetly, with an even sweeter smile, his bright eyes never failing to make you melt.

"...Okay."

But now, as you two were looking for accommodation - you figured that offering to stay at Caleb's was out of the question, even if you had a key - there was a knock on your apartment door.

"I'll get it," Xavier stood up, walking over to open it. His body tensing moments later told you exactly who was at the door.

"Colonel," your boyfriend greeted him formally, stepping aside, "What brings you to Linkon?"

"Just wanted to see my pipsqueak," Caleb grinned, oblivious to the sharp, terrifying glare that followed him as he walked deeper into your apartment.

Xavier hated that nickname. More than he hated Wanderers.

"Caleb!" You beamed, jumping up from the couch.

Did the Colonel really need his eyes? Xavier wondered, as he came up with a dozen different ways to kidnap and blind your poor childhood friend, who was really doing nothing wrong.

Not only did Caleb have a very annoying nickname for you, but he had also grown up with you. He was close to you in ways Xavier could only dream of being, and he knew everything about you - mannerisms, habits, favourites, likes, dislikes...much more than Xavier knew, because he was still discovering all of that. You had spent your entire childhood with the Farspace Fleet Colonel, whereas Xavier had only thus far had just over a year of time spent with you.

And...maybe he was also jealous that Caleb was more outgoing, more expressive, than he was. The stark differences between them gnawed at him, like an itch that wouldn't go away.

Xavier joined you on the couch quietly, his eyes flitting between you and Caleb as the Colonel asked you if you've been eating well and getting enough sleep. Why was he asking? Xavier took care of you, and he did it well. You ate together, and fell asleep together. He was perfectly capable of-

"Xav, you okay?" You cut off his train of thought, a worried expression settling on your face at the look on his. He looked like he was going to take out the whole city block's lights.

"I'm fine," he replied calmly, in his usual tone. Though you knew him well, and you noticed the slight pout on his lips and you picked up on the jealousy in his voice.

Once Caleb was gone - everyone had agreed it might be best if he stayed in Xavier's apartment while Xavier stayed with you - you sidled up to the pouty Hunter on the couch.

"Xav," you poked his cheek, "Were you jealous of someone I only consider an older brother?"

"No," he mumbled, trying to appear cool and collected.

You laughed, resting your head on his shoulder. Your hands slipped into the warm pockets of his hoodie, earning you the slightest of smiles.

"You don't have to worry, I love my sleepy Hunter boyfriend more than anyone," you kissed his cheek. "I'm yours, for as long as you want me."

"Forever."

RAFAYEL

Rafayel asserted multiple times that he did not ever get jealous - but for every time he made that preposterous claim, there was a time that he very obviously got jealous of Xavier.

"It's always the quiet ones!" He would retort, when you chided him for being so hostile towards your partner.

"He's harmless! To you, anyway!"

"Sure...until one day I wake up and you're gone...with him!"

Your poor, overdramatic fishie would never admit it out loud, but he was jealous of the Hunter's ability to stay calm in any situation. He was quiet, reserved, mature - not dramatic, loud and childish like Rafayel was. He was Rafayel's opposite, and sometimes...sometimes the fear got the best of Rafayel and he'd think one day you'll be tired of his antics and run off with the Hunter. Xavier also didn't necessarily need a bodyguard, so that also worried Rafayel - his deepest insecurity when it came to this one-sided rivalry was that he was too reliant on you, unlike your partner.

Today he seemed to be especially bothered by your association with the blue-eyed 'menace' - Rafayel's "insulting" nickname for him.

"Do you have to go?" He pouted, bottom lip sticking out so adorably that you were almost tempted to stay and cuddle him longer.

"Yes, I do. But I'll be back soon," you kissed his cheek.

"Mhm," he crossed his arms, sulking. "I'll give you one hour, then I'm going to drown him in the ocean for thinking he can steal you away from me!"

"He doesn't-!" You laughed. "Where did you get that idea??"

"Shhh, go now before I spit bubbles at you."

His indignant tone forced you to bite your lip so you wouldn't provoke him further with your amusement.

When you returned, the weariness drained from your system as your eyes widened, becoming comically large at the sight of the painting that was adorning the wall before you - the painting that your boyfriend was currently working on.

Red.

That's pretty much all you saw.

On the surface, it was a beautiful painting with no clear meaning or no visible references. But because you knew Rafayel, and you knew how he could be, you immediately knew that the blue and silver laced together within the chaos of the red was meant to symbolise Xavier.

"What is this?" You asked him, amused but also a little frightened.

"You like it?" His voice had an uncharacteristically unstable edge to it, "It came to me right after you left."

"...Yeah...I'll bet..."

You approached him, ready to give him a kiss, but he didn't climb down to meet you like he usually did. His eyes remained fixed on the canvas, his paintbrush moving swiftly. You tugged on his pants, thinking he didn't see you standing there, but he stubbornly refused to give you any attention.

"Rafayel!" You smacked his calf, making him yelp and drop his paintbrush, red paint splattering all over the tiles.

He finally looked at you, his expression a mix between a pout and a glare, "Yes?"

"Can you please come down?"

"That depends, are you actually going to stay with me this time or run away with your Prince Charming?"

You sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose, "I'm considering the latter."

That got his attention, an undignified screech leaving his lips as he practically hurled himself at you. The two of you hit the ground in a tangled mess of limbs, his arms wrapping around you like tendrils, tightening when you tried to struggle.

"Rafayel!"

"Sorry, not sorry, cutie," he grinned at you, peppering your face with kisses. "I caught you, so by rule you are mine to keep."

"Technically, I caught you..."

SYLUS

Sylus never struck you as the jealous type, but you soon learned that he was not always as composed as he made himself out to be, especially whenever the name Zayne came up in a conversation.

It was harmless, too, a comment that you didn't think would be problematic. But it sparked some unwelcome thoughts in his mind.

"I'm fine, Sylus. Doctor Zayne was there. He helped finish off the Wanderer and then took me home after treating my wounds."

Sylus's jaw clenched. Why was another man taking care of you? Why was another man taking you home? That was his job, and his job alone. You were dating him, not whoever this Zayne was. So yes, maybe his possessive streak flared up a little.

So he did his research.

This doctor was well-known, and had earned a very respectable reputation. He also earned well enough to live luxuriously, but seemed to choose a simpler life instead. Humility.

He found himself scoffing as he read more and more.

But that may have been an attempt to hide his growing insecurity. He knew he wasn't good for you - quite the opposite in fact. His reputation, what he did for a living, how he handled things...he always knew you were too good for him. Before, it was easier to ignore because you were happy.

Now?

Much harder, knowing that you had someone who could take care of you just as well as, if not better than, he did. Someone who was just as pure as you, someone who lived in the same place as you and could see you whenever he wanted.

Sylus didn't tell you about this. He didn't want to make you choose. Or maybe, he was avoiding it because he was scared...that your choice wouldn't be him.

When you finally got to the N109 Zone, Sylus couldn't stop himself from engulfing you in what felt like the tightest embrace he'd ever got you in. Like he was trying to crush you, though not intentionally.

"I missed you," his deep voice was muffled by your hair.

"I missed you too," your expression softened, a warm smile on your lips as you wrapped your arms around him. "But what's prompted this sudden, unexpected affection?"

"Can I not just miss my girlfriend without having an ulterior motive?" He chuckled, pulling away to give you a once-over. "Are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Doctor Zayne-"

Behind Sylus, Luke and Kieran shook their heads frantically, as if trying to tell you not to say what you were going to say. They were trying to be discreet, but then you frowned.

"Luke, Kieran, out," Sylus commanded, without even looking.

"Do you not like Zayne?" You raised an eyebrow.

"Oh, now it's Zayne, hmm? What happened to 'Doctor'?" He chuckled, clearly trying to brush this off.

"Sylus."

He sighed, "The doctor seems...nice." Saying even that was clearly a struggle for him.

You laughed.

"Is my misery amusing to you, kitten?" He asked, though his eyes betrayed his own amusement. "You like seeing me suffer?"

"Nooo," you giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck, "I just...it's so unexpected. I didn't think any man in existence could make you jealous...since you're the guy making other boyfriends jealous. Or, well you would, if you spoke to any other women..."

His amusement only increased, though your words did bring him comfort, "Would you like me to speak to other women, then? Test out your little claim."

"Absolutely not."

Sylus's laugh was rich, deep and full of joy.

CALEB

Like Xavier, Caleb is jealous of every single one of the LIs, though his Operation: Get Rid of The Other LIs didn't officially start until he found out about your encounters with Sylus, the head of Onychinus.

In this situation, his concern over your wellbeing (and your constant visits to the N109 Zone) warred with his intense jealousy and possessive nature. He didn't know whether to be more worried about you going into such a dangerous place so often, or worried about you being around Sylus more than he'd liked.

You had met Sylus before you found out Caleb was alive, that much he knew. The only way he could rationalise your behaviour in this regard was that he hadn't been there to stop you.

And now you spoke about the Onychinus leader as if he was a saint - which he was far from being.

"Next time you need to go to the N109 Zone, for whatever, tell me," he murmured in your ear one night, as you lay in his arms watching a movie.

"That's random..." You looked up at him, "What made you think of that?"

"Promise me," his eyes darkened.

"Okay, okay, I promise. But don't you think...that the Farspace Fleet's Colonel being in the N109 Zone would draw some...unwanted attention?"

"Last I checked, pipsqueak, you did that by yourself," his tone lightened, turning teasing.

"Hold on," you raised an eyebrow, "Are you-"

"Nope."

"You didn't even know what I was going to ask!"

"Yes I did," he flashed you a mischievous smile, "You were going to ask if I was joking. Which I wasn't."

"I wasn't-"

"Shhh, the movie is playing."

"Sylus."

Immediately the Colonel tensed beneath you. His arms tightened around your body, almost squeezing the life out of you. His hot breath warmed your neck, before he bit you.

"Don't say that name," he was trying to sound playful, but the dark undertones made you shiver. "Don't even think it."

Caleb was trying his best to keep calm. But hearing you say the Onychinus leader's name, even playfully, was really pushing his limits. His low growl was an indication of that, if his possessive bite wasn't.

"You're jealous," you laughed, amused and slightly disturbed.

"And you're mine," he growled once more. "Mine."

"That wasn't in question-"

"That guy," he pointed to a character on screen, one of the worst developed characters in the movie, with the worst appearance, "Reminded me of the Onychinus leader."

"You mean Sylus?" You laughed.

"No, the leader of Onychinus."

"So....Sylus."

"Stop that!" He growled.

"We're saying the same thing!"

"Every time you say his name, pipsqueak, I'm going to bite you. Hard."

Despite that sounding like a good thing, you shivered. When Caleb wanted to bite you as a punishment, it definitely was a punishment. He latched his teeth onto your shoulder, and kept them there until you squirmed uncomfortably and tried pushing him off. Usually leaving indents that you could not, for the life of you, make an excuse for in public when anyone saw it.

"...Alright fine...Caleb."

"Much better."

ZAYNE

Rafayel's new painting this, Rafayel's new painting that. Zayne was, ironically, sick and tired of hearing those words. Those specific words. He was a patient man, so it wasn't the other women in the hospital talking about Rafayel that got to him.

It was when you spoke about him.

Zayne was well aware that Rafayel had hired you as his bodyguard, which really wasn't a problem. You were a good Hunter, you could be trusted. But could Rafayel?

Zayne often wondered why you'd chosen him. Especially when he comes across men like the purple-haired artist. He knew he wasn't the most lively or fun person, he could be stern and restrictive, and he absolutely did not know how to flirt or be romantic in an 'aw, that's sweet' kind of way, the kind that makes people swoon.

He worked late, he couldn't spend much time with you beyond morning office visits and very rare lunches or dinners, and sometimes he had to leave during those, too.

Yet you endured everything, with a smile on your face.

And Zayne was content, for a while, knowing you had no qualms about all of this. But then you met Rafayel, the eccentric, bright-eyed artist that had a knack for flirting and making you laugh. The man whom you had much more fun with, always off doing something dangerous, or something simple like one of his art exhibitions or going to the carnival.

Things Zayne was too busy to do with you.

"Zayne?" Your voice brought him back to reality. "Are you alright?"

The doctor blinked, lifting his head to see you settling into the chair across from him, on the other side of his desk. A brown paper bag sat in front of you, and your eyes were studying his face worriedly.

"Hmm? Oh, yes, I'm fine." He adjusted his glasses. "Is this-"

"Yes," you finished eagerly, your eyes brightening, "I figured you would want some. You barely had time for breakfast this morning."

"And you think a brownie will fill me?" He asked, not realising how badly that came out until his eyes landed on your face, watching it fall as hurt flashed in your own eyes.

"Oh, well, I-" You reached for the bag. "I'm sorry, I'll-"

"Don't," he gently grabbed your wrist. "Please, don't go."

You sat back down, but stayed quiet.

"I'm sorry," he sighed, taking off his glasses, "I was just thinking about how much time you have spent with the artist, and it reminded me that we haven't spent enough time together."

"Rafayel?" You frowned. "Why-"

"Some of the nurses were talking about him," he leaned forward, his arms coming to rest on his desk. "You always laugh when you talk about him."

Your eyes widened, realising what was wrong, and then you reached over to take his hands in yours, "Because he's an idiot. Seriously. I tune out half of the things he says!"

"But...you have fun with him," the doctor frowned, as if your response didn't make sense.

"Yeah, but not the kind of fun I have with you," you smiled, then realised how that sounded. "I-I mean, not that kind of fun, but the kind of fun that...oh forget it." Your cheeks burned.

Zayne chuckled at that, "I understand." His heart fluttered at the implication.

"Ah, the romantic kind of fun, that's what I mean!" You looked proud of yourself, for finally saying it. "The dates, the cuddling, the short but incredibly sweet moments we share...Zayne, I don't have that with anyone else and I would never want to. You're what I want, and certainly what I need. A grounded, responsible man to keep me from doing stupid, reckless things."

"You do them anyway," he pointed out, though his smile was now a little bigger.

"Yes, yes, details," you waved his extremely logical point away, "What I'm trying to say here is...I like our dynamic best. You, the mature and responsible one, and me, the reckless and playful one. I don't want another me in a relationship!"

That's when Zayne laughed, a genuine laugh that only you ever heard. And you smiled, because being able to ease his worries was something you enjoyed doing more than anything else.

"I love you, Zayne. Only you."

[darnell-la]

MADE THE FIRST MOVE

pairing: Robert “Bob” Reynolds x reader

summary: y/n knew her job as a hero would be difficult, and most people don’t look after Bob like she does. somehow, she enjoyed it, and couldn’t help but fall for the guy. sadly, his depression kept her back from showing any feeling. that was until he surprised her with the first move.

warnings: smut, depression mentioned, mutants, etc

———

Bob has always been an insurance guy. Ever since y/n got to know him, she’s tried to build his confidence. Even after he almost wiped out everyone in New York a few mo the ago.

The Avengerz live in the old Tony Stark tower, helping each other out in life, even after saying multiple times how they couldn’t stand each other.

Y/n and Bob were the only ones who loved being around each other. After a while, they’ve became close, so close Bob could barely function around y/n. It’s almost like his heart would stop any time she’d come around.

“I’m sorry about like this — Usually I’m fine, but he’s just being difficult right now,” Bob said, speaking above the Void who had started getting to close to taking Bob over again.

For the past month, Bob grew a huge heart for y/n, and Void began taking the chance to make Bog over think every possible detail about y/n and him being anything but friends.

“It’s fine, Bob — Really,” y/n said as she slipped off her house shoes and got under the covers. Y/n had been staying with Bob for the night to make sure he felt needed and wanted. Not in any sexual way, but as a friend.

She would be lying if she said she had no feelings for Bob. She just couldn’t bring herself explain it to him or anyone. She felt like it was wrong, especially with that Bob had going on with himself.

“Why do you do this? I know you see something in me, but y/n- I’m a grown man. And, adult, and I can’t even control my emotions. I suck so bad at it that if I feel too down, I could get rid off the whole city in seconds,”

Bob wouldn’t stop speaking down about himself, as y/n switched the TV off to have something going on in the background as they rested for the night.

“Bob, look — We’ve all got our problems, but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve help. Why would I watch you and ignore you when u can help? You’re not bothering in any kind of way. Trust me,” y/n said as she turned to look at Bob.

Y/n’s stomached filled with butterflies at the way Bob was looking at her. “I appreciate you, y/n, you know that, right?” Bob asked as he scanned her face, falling in love with her for probably the thousandth time today.

“And, why is that?” Y/n asked, knowing why, but wanting him to speak about her in a way that may make her fall for him harder. “I mean- Just look at you. A gorgeous girl wanting to take care of me — That sounds like a dream,”

“I think you’re over exaggerating just a little bit,” y/n said as she went to tuck under her covers but Bob stopped her by moving closer to put his hand in her cheek. “Not even a little,” Bob said, feeling some courage to show her how much he appreciates her.

“I don’t know what to say,” y/n spoke low, now feeling shy. “You never have to say anything to make me happy,” Bob said as his eyes sprightly glowed yellow. “You’re perfect no matter what you do or say,” y/n was at a loss for words at the moment.

Bob has never been then type of man to have confidence and show it. This was very new for him and her, and she didn’t know how to react. She was happy, yet too shocked to say anything.

“I think I’m actually happy,” was the last thing Bob said before he leaned into y/n, connecting his lips onto hers. Before either of them could settle in, Bob deepened the kiss as he moved on top of her.

“Tell me if you’re uncomfortable, and I’ll stop — I promise,” Bob pulled back to make sure he wasn’t ruining anything by his quick decisions. “I would never tell you to stop. Ever,”

That’s all it took for y/n and Bob to be sweating, moaning, and shaking underneath the covers. They both weren’t to experienced, or had a great person to do this with. Now, they finally do.

“I swear, I love you, y/n — I really do. You’ve changed my perspective on life — On living,” Bob said as he softly, but same time roughly thrusted down into y/n. “I-I’m glad I could h-help,” y/n stuttered as her back arched.

“I want you to — I need you,

[softlymellow]

The Order Forgot Me First - Chapter 9

☆⁠ PAIRING : Anakin Skywalker x Reader

☆⁠ word count: 4.5k

☆⁠ story themes: lovers to enemies to eventually lovers

☆⁠ warnings: spoilers to swtcw, angstttt

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

“Why did you come back?”

You didn’t know what to expect when you saw Coruscant again. You just felt nauseous. The moment the docking gear touched down, you had to fight back the growing urge to vomit.

The city hadn’t changed. It was you that did.

You stood besides Obi-wan in silence, your arms crossed and your hood drawn low. You felt Anakin standing somewhere behind you. You didn’t turn around.

The ramp hissed open and wind swept your robes as you stepped down first. Each wobbly step you took was carefully watched by temple guards ready to escort Dev.

And then your boots hit the ground. The marble and polished floor dirtied by your muddy boots that have now seen far more planets than you imagined. The temple was still as breathtaking as ever. The ornate walls and the golden arches, all gleaming with honour and discipline.

Anakin and Obi-wan had made it down and it was then that two guards rushed past you and inside the cruiser. And without a minute passing, they returned, silent but dragging an unconscious Dev. The minute that they had arrived he would be placed in the Republic’s Judiciary Central Detention Center, a high security prison meant for people like Dev. People who targeted and attempted to kill Jedi’s.

You didn’t say a word as you watched them take him away. His hair seemed darker now. Maybe it always was. His golden locks no longer radiated that same innocence they had.

A cluster of senators were ready to greet Obi-wan and Anakin. And standing among them, in a violet silk gown that reached the floor —Padme Amidala.

Gosh.

She was always beautiful. The way her wavy locks were tied up in an intricate updo that you could never do. Her clothes were always ironed down and clean compared to your dark and brooding robes. A kind smile always paired with a twinkle in her eyes.

She was just that girl.

And you loved her for it. Who didn’t?

But what caught your attention was the way her gaze instantly found Anakin’s. It was like something shifted.

And she smiled.

And she walked over.

And then she—

Hugged him.

….

And Anakin’s right arm rested on her waist while his robotic arm was left hanging. You saw the way Padme leaned into his neck a little too closely, almost like it had been instinct. And it lasted for a second too long before she pulled away. “Oh my god, I heard terrible things,” her warm voice sounded concerned.

And as if to make things casual, she went and hugged Obi-wan for a quick second too. Her eyebrows furrowed and her smile changed to a frown. It was like you weren’t even there. Like it hadn’t been a year since she’s seen you.

“Once we heard the protests and the bombing –gosh– the Senate was a mess.” Her fingers rubbed the side of her forehead in stress. “And then I heard you two were caught in the mix…” She looked away. “I-I was so worried.” And then she looked at Anakin.

“Well, we did manage to get away in time.” Anakin said, his tone the lightest you’ve heard since you saw him.

Obi-wan crossed his arms, a smile creeping on his face. “That was thanks to your help.”

“Stars, no.” Padme waved her hand dismissively. And then her eyes drifted behind the pair. It was you.

Her eyes widened and her mouth agape.

“Y/n?” She asked softly. “Is that really you?”

You swallowed awkwardly. “Hi.”

“Oh my-” And then she pushed past the pair and engulfed you in a hug. Her arms crushed you and all you could smell was her lavender parfum. You suddenly felt extremely insecure. You needed a shower and you needed to change out of your grimy clothes.

“I missed you!” She shrieked, pulling back but her arms on either side of your shoulders.

“I’m so glad you’re safe. What Barriss did —what she put you through— it was horrible. I’m so sorry.” She was with the most apologetic face ever.

Wait what.

You blinked.

“Barriss?”

“Hmm?” Padme hummed in confusion.

“What did Barriss do?”

Padme pulled away completely, her eyebrows drawn together. “You didn’t know?”

You turned to look at Obi-wan and Anakin whose gaze was anywhere but you.

And that’s when it clicked.

Barriss was the one that framed you. This entire time you were framed by someone you trusted. It wasn’t because they believed you to be innocent but rather they found the culprit.

They all knew. And no one told you.

You took a step back. “That’s why I’m not cuffed.”

The pair said nothing and would not even look at you. As if they were doing so much before.

You had thought that the reason you weren’t cuffed was because they must’ve slightly trusted you. That even after everything Anakin has said, it was still you at the end of the day. But it seems that if Barriss was never caught out, you would have still been under fire.

Padme’s face was instantly full of guilt. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I thought—”

“It’s fine,” you cut her off, and then your eyes locked with Obi-wan. “Thanks.”

The platform felt colder now.

Obi-wan cleared his throat, wanting to relieve the sudden tension. “I believe we should be making our way.”

You nodded stiffly, your gaze lingering on Anakin.

He hadn’t said a word. But he stepped forward slightly. His eyes flickered to Obi-wan — then to you — and then away. You hated it but even then you felt your heart skip a beat.

“I guess I will escort Senator Amidala back to her transport,” he said neutrally. Almost as if it was rehearsed. But you didn’t miss the way his jaw clenched.

Obi-wan noticed this. He paused and raised a brow.

“Very well,” his voice was quiet. “Meet us in the council chamber when you are ready.”

Anakin gave a sharp nod, already turning to walk away. Padme moved besides him, professional and poise, but close enough that both their robes brushed. She didn’t say anything more to you or Obi-wan, afraid that she would worsen the already worse situation.

As you stood still and watched Anakin and Padme walk away, you noticed the way Padme’s head leaned to the left where Anakin was. You saw her mouth move as she said something in a low voice that you couldn’t hear. You felt frozen in place. Waiting for someone, anyone to turn around.

“Y/n,” Obi-wan quietly broke you from your trance. “We should speak.” You nodded but your eyes were still fixed on their disappearing figures.

— — — — — — — —

As Padme and Anakin walked towards the Senators private transport sector, Padme couldn’t shake off your reaction.

“Why didn’t you tell her?” She asked in a hushed voice.

“She didn’t ask,” he muttered.

Padme’s eyes narrowed as she tilted her head. “She was exiled, Anakin. They thought she betrayed the Republic. Betrayed us. Don’t you think she deserves to know the truth?”

His jaw clenched. “She left. We didn’t force her out.”

“She was pushed.”

“She still left.”

And then Padme’s voice dropped in a much sadder tone. “What would you have done in her place?” Anakin didn’t meet her eyes. He didn’t answer either.

Padme stepped closer, her face inches away from his. Anakin looked down at her, her eyes began searching his face. Trying her hardest to read the parts of him he would never expose. She was so close he could feel her breath warm against his jaw.

“You’re not angry she left. You’re angry she left you.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw and he stepped away from her, allowing there to be a gap between them. She didn’t follow. Just watched him.

“When she was gone,” Padme began, “I was the only one who stayed. Who listened. And you let me.”

He didn’t respond, he couldn’t. This felt wrong. All of this felt wrong and it made his stomach tighten uncomfortably.

“You knew how I felt. Even then.”

Silence.

“And now that she’s back,” Padme continued. “You’re acting like none of it mattered. Like she doesn’t matter. But she always did.”

What could Anakin say? He couldn’t say anything because it was true. His expression shifted, just barely.

“Padme…” He said quietly. Not angry. Not warm.

“This isn’t the time.”

“Then when will it be?”

“Enough.” His voice came out rougher than he intended.

Padme felt her heart sink as the silence between them was heavy with things he would not say. He wouldn’t look at her. Just waited for her to let it go.

Padme nodded. Said nothing more. And they walked on.

— — — — — — — —

The corridors felt too familiar. It was quiet in the Jedi temple. All that would be heard was the sound of Obi-wan and your boots against the marble floor and the sounds of Obi-wan’s robe flowing as he walked.

Obi-wan’s hands were clasped behind his back.

He didn’t say anything for a long time. Just walking.

And then, so soft you could almost miss it.

“Your room’s still as messy as you left it.”

Your lips twitched up but it didn’t meet your eyes. “I guess I was always bad at packing,” you said quietly. Obi-wan smiled a little and then it fell just as fast.

And the silence.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” You asked quietly, both of you slowing down.

He didn’t answer right away. He couldn’t find the exact words to give you.

“Before I left…When I saw you that last time, did you know?” Your voice cracked on that last word.

He looked tired. Older than you remembered. “I thought it would only make it worse.”

You shook your head, “how?”

It wasn’t until Obi-wan stopped walking that you realised you were right outside your old room.

“If you found out that it was Barriss who did that to you-” he began. “-you would have never returned knowing that the Council treated you like a traitor.”

Shaking your head abruptly, you pressed again. “I don’t understand, Obi-wan.”

He paused, his voice heavy with the things he hadn’t said before.

“If you had known it was Barriss —someone we had all trusted— someone they protected while you were being hunted…”

His voice dropped. “There would be no more faith in the Jedi left for you.” He finally looked at you.

“I needed you, Y/n, to come back with enough belief that the Order would still stand for you.”

A beat passed.

“I wanted you to have something left to believe in.”

It was no longer about hiding the truth. It was about Obi-wan protecting you, even in your darkest moments, he protected you like you were his own padawan. He was preserving a reason for you to not give up on everything.

And the weight of it all hit her. Why did you ever doubt him? He was the one who didn’t look away when everyone else did.

He had never been anything worse than kind.

You stared at the door in front of you, then at him. Obi-wan didn’t try to justify what the Order had done to you. He had just been there for you. And recently? That was more than what anyone else had done.

“You’ve always been kind to me, Obi-wan.” Your voice wavered. Suddenly feeling shy under his eyes, you directed your gaze to your feet. Your muddy boots. You needed to clean those later.

“Even when I’m hard on myself.” That was all you could say.

Obi-wan felt his shoulders lowering slightly and that the tension in his jaw eased up. It was like your words lifted something heavy off of him.

He nodded. “Get some rest, Y/n. They want to see you first thing in the morning.” You looked up at him as keyed your door open for you. It hissed with a soft release.

“Who?”

“The council,” he said softly, afraid even the mention of them would frighten you off. “Anakin and I will be there.” He said, attempting to be reassuring. If he hadn’t named the fellow Jedi you would have been more than relieved. But you didn’t say anything, understanding that he was part of the mission initially.

You nodded, stepping into your room. Nothing had quite changed. Inside was your bed. Your datapads. A half burnt candle on the shelf. But it was hard to miss the pristine blue dress that laid on your desk.

It was…your birthday gift.

That Anakin had bought for you.

It was still the exact same place that you had left it. When you were rummaging through your closet, trying to find a dark robe to wear in the underlevels of Coruscant.

You made small steps towards your desk made of roo-wood, your eyes never leaving the dress. Towering over your desk, your fingers gracefully felt the lacey hem of the gown.

Obi-wan lingered by the doorway, watching as you relived your memories. He wanted to see you happy. But you blinked hard. And your back stiffened.

“Allow your mind to rest, Y/n.” You fought the urge to scoff. It was the one thing you could not do. But you nodded anyway, turning your back against the desk to look at Obi-wan. He smiled faintly, bowing his head slightly before leaving.

The door hissed shut behind him.

You stared at the spot where he stood.

And then you sat on the bed. Your bed. And allowed yourself to fall back into its cushions. Not as a Jedi. Or a bounty hunter. Just as a girl who wanted her life back.

— — — — — — —

The Jedi council chamber felt colder in the morning. Like the windows that stretched to the ceiling had been cut from ice. It was almost serene. There were few automobiles that flew across the sky in the early morning. Everyone was only beginning their day now.

That wasn’t the case for you.

You had taken a shower and thrown on your favourite robes. Your fingers ghosted over soft blue fabric that cinched at your waist. The outer layer draped in a baby blue and fastened with a worn leather belt. Your lightsaber and your blaster gun rested at your hips. You wore a white underlayer, simple, sleeveless and the neckline dipping just above your chest. You had long cream gloves that hugged your arms to your elbows with the same leather bands wrapped at the top and you wore dark leggings that disappeared into high boots. It was everything the Council expected. Somehow, it still felt like you.

It would be a lie to say that this was the nicest you had dressed since…Dev.

Oh, Dev…

Just as fast as you thought it, you quickly broke out of it. You can’t let nostalgia ruin you anymore.

You walked in beside Obi-wan. The room was mostly full. It was actually full of the same people from the hologram you were spying in on —with the addition of Adi Gallia. Anakin stood near the window, staring out at the skyline.

He didn’t turn around when you entered.

You kept your eyes forward and forced your back straight as you took your place in the center of the room. It wasn’t a seat but rather a platform for you to be stared at like an animal. You could feel your ears ringing and your breath hitching at your throat. You felt exposed. Examined.

Obi-wan, though, as if he could sense your uncertainty, stood beside you. Not behind or ahead but right next to you.

It was Mace who had broken the silence.

“You have returned under extraordinary circumstances, L/n.” He said your last name with no title, no commander, no knight.

But then, he rose. That made your heart stop.

“We were wrong. You were not only accused but abandoned by the very Order you were raised in.”

You pursed your lips and waited for him to continue.

It was then Plo Koon who rose. “This was not your trial, Y/n, but ours. The councils. ”

A beat passed. As if they were waiting for you to say something, but you didn’t.

“You are aware of the Republic’s current state, correct?” Mace Windu asked you.

You nodded slowly. Your eyes flickered to Anakin who stood a little apart from the others. His arms crossed and his jaw tight, but now facing you. Yet still, he would not look at you.

“The war is nearing its final stages and we are losing.” Ki-Adi added flatly. “Our resources are thin, our morale thinner.”

Yoda’s gaze sharpened. “Needed, you are.”

And that’s when you realised they weren’t here to discuss or hear you justify your actions. That was already done. They were here to tell you the outcome. Your very being was already determined.

Mace leaned in.

“You are no longer a Jedi Knight. That status is stripped. Permanently.”

It was as if you had been stabbed.

The very things that made you you were what you had learned from the Order. They were the very foundations of yourself.

You couldn’t help but gulp down your questions. You knew why. You had acted irrationally and you ultimately left the Jedi Order. A Jedi and a bounty hunter do not work together.

Obi-wan couldn’t help but look down in shame, as if he was the culprit of such words.

“I hope you understand whether or not you knew his intent, you wore that title willingly. After the mission briefing, it was revealed that Dev had his own bounties on either Anakin or Obi-wan. Captured. Dead or alive. Your involvement with a rogue Jedi —especially Dev— changes how the Republic sees you. ” You felt your throat tighten.

“You have lived by a code that is not ours. The force moves within you, but not through the path of a Jedi.” He paused. “I hope you understand that certain Senators would view your return as a violation of protocol.” Your eyebrows narrowed at this.

“However,” Mace continued, “your skill set remains valuable to the Republic. The senate has authorised the commission of Special Field Operatives. You will serve directly under Republic command.”

Your heart thudded against your chest as reality dawned on you.

They weren’t here to ask you to come back. Nor was their apology sincere.

They were using you.

Like you were a tool.

A weapon.

“You are answerable to both the Senate and the High Command. You will no longer be affiliated as a Jedi but rather assigned a rank as a Special Field Commander.” Ki-adi said.

You felt your ribs caving in as you made your best attempts of steady breathing. Your eyes drifted to a seated Plo Koon. His head down.

Mace’s eyes sharpened. “Your lightsaber is to remain with you. But it is not your weapon of field use. You will carry Republic-issued arms and defences. And there will be no force application without direct authorisation.” He warned.

This was ridiculous.

You had nothing.

You weren’t you.

Plo Koon then spoke.“You do not have to accept,” his voice low, almost apologetic. “You may leave if you wish.”

What other option did you have?

If you weren’t a Jedi. If you didn’t have Dev anymore and you could no longer be a bounty hunter, what did you have?

You had lost everything.

At least this came with accommodation.

Wait, did it? Or was it straight to the barracks like a soldier.

Then Yoda spoke as if he had read your mind.

“Kept your room, we did.” You swallowed.

“Hoped, we had…that return, you might. And now you have.” A pause. And then his ears dipped slightly. “Take it back, we will not.” You blinked. Of everything they had taken away from you. Your life. Your freedom. Your title. Your rank. This was the first thing they had given back.

It was small but your room being kept was —in the most Jedi way possible— a way to tell you that you were never unloved.

“I accept.”

Mace nodded curtly.

“Then it is decided.”

Anakin didn’t move or speak. His chin dipped slightly but his eyes lifted. Watching your every move.

“May the Force be with you.” Mace said, catching you off guard.

Your teeth gnawed at the inside of your mouth, your nerves catching up to you. You hadn’t heard that saying in far too long.

“May the Force be with you too” You bowed your head at your masters.

And just like that, you turned away and left the Jedi Council chambers. The door hissing behind you as it closed.

You were already halfway down the hall when you realised you were shaking. Your boots hit the marble floor harder than intended, the sounds echoing off the walls. You just needed to get away. The overly large hallway was empty in the mornings, as the respective Jedi’s were either in classes training their padawans, off to their own missions or honing their skills.

The hallway was large and the pristine walls had golden edges. It was a perfect temple. The golden pillars spiralled towards the arched ceilings above. Their surface polished smooth with the generations of Jedi passing between them. Above you, the rays of Coruscant morning casted long shadows between each pillar.

You were almost at the end when—

“Y/n.”

You abruptly stopped. Your spine straightened, but you didn’t turn.

His voice was behind you. A step. Then another.

“Wait.”

You stayed silent as you tried to maintain your breathing. Your fingers immediately clenched into fists, afraid that he would notice the tremor you had. His footsteps quickened until he was close enough to you. Yet not close.

You slowly turned around, your face unreadable. He was a foot away from you. Close but far enough that even his shadow couldn’t reach yours.

Anakin’s eyes met yours, finally. But they weren’t what you had expected. They were cold. Almost furious. As if he loathed your very presence.

“Why did you come back?”

You blinked, physically flinched. That was his opening line?

You didn’t answer at first. Your mouth opened in disbelief that he would ask you such a question.

“Excuse me?” A cold laugh escaped your chest.

“It’s a question. Answer it.”

You stared at him dumbfounded. That same mouth that was curled downwards was the same mouth that once whispered things only a lover would dare speak. “Is that really all you want to say to me?” Your brows drew together. “I had the right to accept their offer.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t have.” You blinked, stepping one step closer to him. You could feel your ears burn red in frustration.

“You think I wanted to? Do you think I missed this place?” You seethed.

“You think I missed you?”

“You left me-” He pointed to his chest in equal anger, “-No message. No word.” He began to count with his fingers, quick and sharp movements.

“I searched for you like a fool.” His voice lowered, and his eyes squinting down at you. “I defended you and every single time-” he pointed to the floor, “-everytime I opened my mouth they looked at me like I was delusional!” His voice is much louder now.

“I was framed, Anakin. I lost everything. I lost my name —my future—” You shook your head.

“That was your choice, Y/n! You could have came back.” His hands then began to grip his chest, his robes scrunching up underneath his palms. “You could have came back to me.”

“Instead, you worked with Dev. He used you for a year and you were too blind to see it. How could I pretend you’re not a threat now?”

“You’re calling me blind?”

“You can’t see past your ego,” you laughed in disbelief, your eyes widening. “You think that everything’s about you! That I left because of you.”

Your first clenched and your voice cracked but you couldn’t stop. “Does siding with the Council make you feel better? Does turning your back on me make you feel safe? Less of a threat?” You mocked, stepping closer to him. You were now looking up at him, his squinted eyes, his nose crinkled and his lips turned down. Both your chests are barely an inch in between.

“You let them call me a traitor! Back on the ship! I heard the meeting!” You revealed.

“Because I didn’t know who you were anymore!” He shouted at you.

Both your raised voices didn’t go unnoticed by the very few Jedi in the temple corridors. Stopping to watch the both of you at each other's necks.

“You let him into your head —and I’m supposed to believe you’re still one of us?” He paused. “You were never one of us,” he spat. “You stopped the moment you left us —me— at those tunnels.”

“You left me!” You jabbed a finger into his chest.

“You left yourself!” he yelled over you.

“I couldn’t come back, Anakin” You could almost pull your hair out in anger. “You don’t how it feels when the ones you trust make you to be as…as some kind of villain!”

“Because you made it easy to believe!”

“Oh, screw you!” You shoved his shoulder back. Not hard nor soft. And he didn’t even flinch.

Anakin’s hands balled up into his fists. “You knew how I felt about Ahsoka.”

You felt your chest tighten immediately.

“You knew what it did to me —my own padawan— when she walked away.” His voice cracked but the anger in his face did not disappear

“You looked me in the eye, comforted me and tried to help me only to make me feel all of it again.”

You tried to speak but he immediately cut you off.

“This isn’t about being framed or about the council,” he glared at you, “you promised you’d never do what she did and you did worse.”

There was nothing you could say back. He was right. And you haven’t thought of it that way.

About Ahsoka—

Yet still, your own feelings were valid too. Anakin didn’t have the right to treat you this way. It was two people who hurt each other and can’t find a way to come back from it.

Silence.

He stared at you. Breathing. Trembling.

“I’m glad I didn’t find you earlier.” His voice faltered. “Before…I wouldn’t have been able to let you go.” His chest heaving.

“But I see you now.”

“And I don’t recognise a thing.”

Your mouth parted, just slightly.

…

Did he really mean it?

You couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t take it.

You nodded once, taking a step back. Another step back. Away from him.

“Then stop looking for her.” You pleaded, exasperated.

Anakin watched. And just for a second. Barely longer than a breath.

His expression cracked.

There was a flicker in his eyes, and his lips parted almost to call after you. And somewhere in your face, between your trembling mouth and the way your eyes looked at him in sadness, it almost made him take it back.

But he didn’t.

You turned around —your hands shaking— and you walked away.

You didn’t cry.

Not until you knew he couldn’t see.

A/n: THIS ONE WAS A LONGGG ONE i rlly didn't want to put the confrontation in this chapter and keep it in the next BUT U GUYS R TOO CUTE i swear to god when i see all ur comments and reposts and stuff it makes my heart so warm like gen thank u guys sm for staying around and reading this

also random side note i realised that since im writing in the clone wars show era when im actually writing as anakin i imagine clone wars anakin and not as much hayden i feel like a lot of the things in here hayden wouldn't say just cuz prequels script was.... and clone wars anakin would say these things 100%

LMK WHAT U GUYS THINK!

Taglist: @endairachristensen26 @hayden-christensen-verse @ducks118 @seventeen-x @movingalongthekiwi @ssnapsaurus @caramelfondu @dayrin085 @devilslittlehelper @f1wh0recom @green-lxght @bettysgardenswift @heyitsbeeeb @user-3113s-blog @fandomhoe101 @veronaspencil @zudooms @hiphopdancer101universe

if u want to be added or removed lmk!

[ttdamian]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ᯋ ݁ Broken records ݂

⸺ summary ; In which Tim falls helplessly in love with a rockstar. ⸺ Authors note ; Tim drake x Fem ! reader, possessive/controlling behaviors, obsessive behaviors, yandere, stalking. english isnt my first language. wc : 2,2k. Not beta read.

It started with Kon dragging him to a concert.

He hadn’t wanted to go. Hadn’t planned to stand in the middle of a sea of strangers with bass rattling in his lungs and neon strobing across his face like war paint. But Kon had smiled—so Tim came.

And the moment he stepped inside, he regretted it.

The noise. The press of bodies. The way people screamed the band’s name like it was something holy. Like this was church and they were ready to bleed for it.

He didn’t belong here.

Not really.

But then the music changed.

A guitar ripped through the air—raw, unfiltered, almost angry. Like the sound had teeth. Like it wanted to bite.

And that’s when he saw you.

You weren’t center stage. You didn’t bask in the spotlight. But the second his eyes found you, everything else blurred.

You didn’t beg for attention. Didn’t demand it either.

But you held it.

The kind of presence that didn’t ask. It just was. Like gravity. Like the undertow.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t blink.

Just watched you with something he couldn’t name growing quietly in his chest—something slow and hungry and a little afraid.

You looked like a storm wearing skin.

And he—

He was already lost. He didn’t remember the rest of the song.

Just the way your fingers moved—sharp, certain, alive. The way your mouth twisted around lyrics that didn’t ask to be understood. They were meant to be felt. And he did. God, he did.

The crowd screamed. You didn’t flinch. Instead your eyes scanned the chaos like you were miles above it. Like none of it touched you. Until—

They landed on him.

It wasn’t long.

Just a flicker. A glance across the dark, through the noise, through the lights that pulsed like a heartbeat gone wrong.

But it was enough.

It felt like being caught in a current. Dragged somewhere deeper than the surface, where breath didn’t matter anymore.

He looked away first.

Didn’t mean to. Just happened. Like his body knew he couldn’t take much more of that gaze. Not tonight.

But when he looked back, you were still watching.

Still singing.  Still playing. Still looking.

And for a moment—just one—he let himself believe it meant something.

The song ended.

The crowd roared.

You turned.

Gone, just like that.

It should’ve ended there.

One set. One song. One look.

But it didn’t.

It clung to him—like smoke in his lungs. Like something half-dreamed and half-remembered. He kept seeing your face when he closed his eyes. Kept hearing that guitar as if the notes were stitched into his ribs.

He didn’t tell Kon. Not at first.

Didn’t know how to say; “I think I saw someone who made the world stop for a second.”

But a few nights later, it slipped out—casual, offhand, like it meant nothing.

“What was the band’s name again?”

Kon raised an eyebrow, smirked. “Didn’t think you were paying attention.”

Tim shrugged. “I wasn’t. Not really.”

That was a lie.

Kon rattled off the name—some small, local group that barely had a footprint outside of Gotham’s underground scene. Niche. Grimy. Honest.

Exactly the kind of place Tim never wandered into.

But he did now.

He started researching.

Late nights blurred by in a haze of dim light and static audio clips. Grainy concert footage. Forums. Interviews. Nothing major—just enough to stitch a picture together.

Your name came up.

Not often. Just enough.

He read it like it was something sacred.

Watched every video he could find. Eyes locked on you even when the camera shook or drifted elsewhere. He didn’t care about the music anymore—not really.

He cared about you.

He told himself it was curiosity. That it would pass. That maybe he just needed a distraction, something to pull him out of his own head.

But the way your voice lodged under his skin said otherwise.

He started frequenting the places your band was known to hang around. Dive bars. Record stores. Venues tucked into corners of the city that didn’t show up on maps. Always alone. Always hoping.

It didn’t feel healthy.

It didn’t feel optional, either.

And then—like the universe finally exhaled—

He saw you again.

Not onstage.

Not surrounded by lights or noise or eyes.

Just sitting in a corner booth at a quiet café. Hoodie pulled over your head. Headphones in. A sketchpad open in front of you. Coffee cooling by your table.

You looked ordinary.

It was devastating.

His chest tightened, and for a moment, he just… stood there. Like maybe you were a mirage. Like if he blinked, you’d dissolve.

But you didn’t.

You were real. Solid. Breathing.

He debated turning around. Pretending he never saw you. Letting the moment stay unbroken, safe in the fantasy where you didn’t look through him like smoke.

But then you looked up.

Right at him.

And just like that—again—

The world stopped.

You blink when you see him.

And then—you smile. Small. Tired. Real.

Like maybe you recognize him. Or maybe he just looks familiar in the way people do when they’re meant to collide.

He swallows the knot in his throat, steps forward.

Careful.

Measured.

He points vaguely to the seat across from you, voice softer than he means it to be.

“Is this seat taken?”

You glance at the empty chair across from you, then back at him.

“Nope.”

He sits before he can second-guess it. Slides into the moment like it’s something fragile he might break if he breathes too loud.

You take your headphones out slowly. Let them fall around your neck.

He tries not to stare.

You don't say anything right away. Neither does he.

And still—it doesn't feel awkward.

It feels quiet. Safe.

Finally, he speaks. “I saw you play one night. At that warehouse venue. With the busted speaker and that guy who crowd-surfed into a ceiling fan.”

You laugh—really laugh—and it does something to him. Knocks loose whatever part of him he pretends doesn’t feel things.

“Oh god, that night,” you say, rubbing your eyes. “I thought the fan was gonna kill him.”

“He deserved it,” Tim says. “He was barefoot.”

You snort. “Barbaric.”

The conversation unfurls like a thread pulled loose from a sweater—slow, accidental, impossible to stop once it starts. You talk about the band. He tells you bits about Kon, vague hints about himself. You tease a smile out of him that makes your stomach flip.

Somewhere between your second coffee and his half-eaten croissant, it hits you.

This feels like a date.

You didn’t plan it. He didn’t ask. But here it is—soft and unspoken, humming quietly between you both.

You glance at your phone. Then back at him.

He notices. “Hey,” he says, voice light but careful. “Would it be weird if I asked for your number?”

You tilt your head. “Are you asking as a fan?”

He smiles—small, crooked. A little vulnerable. “I’m asking as someone who hopes this doesn’t end here.”

You give it to him.

And just like that, something shifts.

The texts start later that night.

Little things at first. Jokes. Music recs. Half-thoughts sent at midnight that turn into full conversations by dawn.

You start looking forward to the buzz of your phone.

You start looking forward to him.

It doesn’t feel like falling—not yet.

It feels like leaning. Like letting someone close enough to see the parts of you that don’t always sound pretty.

And he listens.

Every time.

You invite him to a practice session three weeks later.

Kon comes too—because apparently, they’re a package deal, and he likes your band.

Tim stays near the back at first, hands in his pockets, expression unreadable.

But he watches you like he did the first night. Like there’s no one else in the room.

You try to ignore it. You fail.

After the second song, you catch his eye. And he doesn’t look away.

He’s there the next week.

And the next.

Somehow, he starts becoming a fixture—always tucked in the corner with a half-smile and that look in his eyes like he’s memorizing you.

You start showing him the stuff you don’t show anyone else. Old lyrics. Rough demos. Songs that didn’t quite work but almost did.

He never critiques.

He listens.

And when he talks about your music, it’s like it means something to him. Like you mean something to him.

You think you’re in trouble.

The good kind.

The real kind.

One night after practice, you walk him to his ride. The sky is bruised purple. The air smells like wet pavement and cigarette smoke from the corner bar.

You don’t say anything at first.

Then—quiet, almost shy—you ask, “Why do you keep showing up?”

Tim glances at you. His voice is low when he answers.

“Because every time I see you,” he says, “I feel like I’m where I’m supposed to be.”

That’s when it happens.

That moment. The shift.

Your chest aches in that specific, dangerous way.

You don’t kiss him.

But your hand finds his.

And you don’t let go. That ended up being your biggest mistake. Because at first, you thought it was sweet. The way he showed up early to your sets and stayed late after rehearsals. The way his texts came like clockwork—good morning, are you eating enough, be safe tonight. Like he cared. Like he was steady. Like he needed you okay.

But then it started shifting.

Subtly. Quietly. Like a storm building behind glass.

It started with your phone.

Miss a text, and another would come.

Then another.  Each one a little more clipped than the last. Hey, everything okay? You good? Where are you? Who’re you with?

You’d blink and there’d be ten messages stacked in a row. You told yourself it was just concern. That he was just wired tight—always had been. But then he started showing up unannounced. First, it was the record store. You’d mentioned you liked browsing there on Sundays. He didn’t ask. He just appeared—shoulders tense, eyes scanning until they landed on you. Then it was the bar after your gig. Then it was your apartment. The first time, you hadn't even told him where you lived. But there he was, leaning against the hallway wall outside your door. Holding flowers. Smiling. Like it was normal. “Figured I’d surprise you,” he said. You hesitated—because part of you liked it. Liked the way he looked at you like you were the only thing anchoring him to the earth. But the other part—quieter, colder—knew better. Knew this was something else. Still, you let him in. That was your second mistake. Because once Tim got inside, he didn’t really leave. Not physically—he always went home eventually. But something of him stayed. His jacket on your chair. His playlist looping on your speakers. His toothbrush in your bathroom.

And the way he watched you. God, the way he watched you. Like he was afraid to blink. Like someone might steal you if he looked away too long. And the worst part?

He never said it. Never raised his voice. Never told you not to go out. Never forbid anything.

He just… made you feel like you were being selfish when you did.

You skipped a band hang one night—just to be with him. Then another. Then a meeting with your producer. It didn’t feel like compromise. It felt like slipping. Like you were trading parts of yourself in exchange for not watching his face fall.

And when you did push back—just a little— Like the time you went out with your bassist after a gig without telling him— He didn’t yell. Didn’t accuse.

He just showed up the next morning, eyes rimmed red, voice quiet.

“I thought something happened,” he said. “I couldn’t sleep. I checked the ER logs.”

You stared at him, heart sinking. “You… what?”

“I had to make sure you were okay.”

You told yourself it came from love. That maybe he just didn’t know how to handle it. That his life had been chaos, and maybe he was trying to hold on too tight because he didn’t know how not to.

But that didn’t explain why he started asking for your schedule. Didn’t explain the time you caught him reading your journal when you walked out of the shower.

Didn’t explain the GPS app you found on your phone—one you didn’t install.

That night, you confronted him.

His jaw clenched. “I just wanted to make sure you were safe. You go to these shitty venues alone—what if something happened and no one knew where you were?”

“You could’ve asked me,” you said, shaking.

“I did. You said you didn’t want to be tracked.” He stepped closer. “And I listened. But then I worried. And I couldn’t sleep knowing you were out there with people I don’t know, places I don’t trust—”

“You don’t have to trust them. You have to trust me.”

That made him stop.

For a long second, he just looked at you. And when he finally spoke, his voice was a whisper.

“I do,” he said. “That’s why I can’t lose you.”

You didn’t sleep that night.

And somewhere between the hours of three and five, you realized something awful.

You didn’t know when you stopped being in love with him.

You just knew that now—it felt like drowning in someone else’s need. Like you’d become the only thing holding him together. And if you ever let go—

He’d shatter.

But you were shattering too.

And you didn’t know how to make him stop without breaking everything.

@ TTDAMIAN. pretty please, translate and rewrite any of my works, or repost my works in any other platform without asking. (ts a joke get out)

[e-therealife]

Feel It.

requested by: anon warnings: none, just kissing pairing: lottie matthews x reader description: your best friend doesn't want you to hold back. tags: best friend!lottie, inexperienced!reader, first kiss

After hauling your final shopping bag into Lottie's room, you flop down onto her bed.

Once a month—more if something caught Lottie's eye in a magazine—Lottie took you shopping. Well, a mixture of shopping and stealing. Either way, she wasn't letting you pay for anything, pulling out her credit card at cash registers or grabbing items you were carrying and nonchalantly slipping them into her bag.

Lottie comes in behind you, dropping more bags on the floor before laying herself down next to you.

"Hey." She pokes your side, looking at you sweetly. "You can't be tired. I need a fashion show."

You groan as you sit up, resulting in a giggle from Lottie. You were tired from how many stores she insisted on visiting today, but you couldn't complain about her, especially when she bought everything for you. "Okay." You stand from Lottie's bed, walking over to your shopping bags and kneeling to fish through them.

You decide to try on a top that Lottie had pointed out while shopping, one she had said "that's so you" about. She was right, it was something you'd love, and now, thanks to her, it was yours.

"I don't have any bottoms that work with these…" you murmur, trying to see what outfit you could construct with your options.

Lottie smiles, like she's glad you mentioned that. "I've got the perfect thing." She quickly bounces off the bed, opening up her walk-in closet. Her hands run over the hanging items, all perfectly ironed without wrinkles.

She lands on one piece, releasing it from its hanger and walking over to you with it. It's something you haven't seen her wear before, so she may have gotten the wrong size on accident, or maybe she stole it just because. It also happens to be a piece that fits your style.

"Try this," she suggests, holding it out to you. You agree, taking it, walking into her closet, and closing the doors to change.

Once you're done, you open the doors of the closet to see Lottie. She's sitting on her bed, gazing out the window. When she hears the closet doors open, she whips her head around to see you and smiles, clapping her hands together and standing.

"See? I knew it would be perfect," she says as she walks over to you. She places her hands on your waist and looks up and down your body. Lottie was pretty touchy with you, and although that meant this position wasn't out of the ordinary, it didn't keep your heartbeat from quickening.

When her gaze flits back up to yours, it's oddly more serious, her dark eyes deeper. She brings a hand up to your chest, tracing the neckline of your clothing. Her fingertips brush your skin, and her eyes drop down to follow the path they lead. You watch, too, seeing the speedy rise and fall of your chest from your unstable breaths.

Then, she's turning your body to face the mirror in her room, holding you by your hips as she stands behind you. "See? You look so good." Her voice is intense and admiring, and in the back of your mind, you notice that she's speaking in a way that's akin to reverence. Worship.

"Thanks, Lott," you smile, feeling your cheeks heat. "You're sweet."

"I'm just honest," she replies earnestly. Then, she wraps her arms around your waist, hugging you from behind, and leans down, resting the side of her face against your head. Her voice becomes softer as she says, "You make it seem so much more… alive in here. I love it." Then, she drops to a whisper. "Thank you."

Anything would make it more lively in Lottie's room. It felt like a hospital, clinically cool and dead.

"You don't gotta thank me, Lott. I'm always here for you. You know that."

"I know," she replies, and it sounds like she truly believes you. Sighing, Lottie steps back, trying to steel herself. "Alright. You hungry?"

After a dinner that would have emptied your wallet, Lottie had suggested a walk through a nearby forest preserve. Where Lottie had taken you was quite far off the path for visitors, but she assured you she knew the area well.

Now, she's on your right with her arm linked around yours. It's warm out, and you can hear the wind rustle through the trees as you both walk. Other than that, the forest is quiet, lacking the sounds of buzzing bugs or chirping birds. Coupled with the dense foliage, it's as if only you two exist here, in your own little world.

"Thanks for dinner. You seriously didn't have to."

"I wanted to," Lottie replies quickly. "You don't have to be so… resistant, y'know. You can just accept my love," she teases. "It's cool, I promise. I wouldn't do all this for you if I didn't want to."

"I know, but I feel bad that, like, I'm not giving anything in return."

"You're my best friend in return. And I'm not expecting anything from you, anyway. Just… relax. You deserve everything. So I'm trying to give you as much as I can."

You tilt your head curiously, furrowing your brows. "You don't have to give me anything, Lott. I'm fine. I don't need clothes or food that bad. I can take care of myself. Though, I definitely appreciate it."

"I'm not just talking about clothes or food," she replies, slightly more stern. "I'm talking about… everything. Anything you want. You just…" She pauses with a sigh.

You can feel the breeze pick up a bit, blowing against your left side. You stumble a little closer to Lottie from the strength of the wind.

"Lottie, what do you mean? I really don't need much—"

"You do," she interrupts. "That's the problem. You're denying yourself what you need. Isn't there anything that you just... wish you had?"

"I mean…"

"You can tell me. Please," she slightly begs. She moves her hand up to your cheek, cupping it, and begins running her thumb over your cheekbone. "I'm your best friend. You know I'd never judge you."

"Promise? You're not gonna stop being friends with me no matter what?"

"I'd never stop being friends with you. Never. And I'm not gonna judge you. I just want you to be yourself with me."

You nod. "Yeah. You're right. I just…" You pause, taking a deep inhale, then sighing. "I know we're friends, and I know saying this might mess everything up, and if I could stop myself from wanting it, I would, but I can't," you ramble. "I just really wanna kiss you."

Lottie grins. "Yeah? You do." It sounds more like a statement than a question, like she knows every little part of you, and she's going to guide you through yourself.

"Don't stop yourself from wanting it." She leans down, leaving little space between you and her, and places her other hand on your cheek so she's holding your face firmly. "Just take it."

Your voice is weak as you admit, "I don't know how. I haven't done it before, Lottie."

"That's okay," she coos. "Just let it come to you. Feel it." She pauses before urging you, "Kiss me."

Hearing that strips you of any worries. You lean in quickly, pressing your lips to hers, and Lottie reciprocates with equal enthusiasm. It's quick and needy from both of you, especially for a first kiss. Your uncoordinated lips move with uncertainty, clearly not practiced, against her experienced ones.

But Lottie doesn't seem to mind one bit. Lottie takes her hands off your face to pull your arms around her back, then holds you close by the back of your head. It seems like she just can't get close enough to you.

Despite the speed and intensity of the kiss, your mind seems calmer than you think it ever has, a satisfying feeling of certainty and connection in your chest. You didn't have to worry with Lottie. She wanted to see every part of you, and she'd take it all eagerly.

Suddenly, you feel something drop on your head. You pull away from Lottie, and she lets out a frustrated grunt, following your lips for a moment. "Why are we stopping?" Her voice is strong and confused, like spending any moment away from each other is a ridiculous idea.

Just when you look up, you see a large drop of rain that has collected on a leaf drop and fall on Lottie's nose. Her face scrunches, eyes closed, and then you both laugh. Looking up, each of you sees the spray of rain that's starting to wash down. Slits of sunlight slip through the leaves, causing the droplets to glisten as they fall in the air.

Lottie and you look back at each other, and you can see the drops of rain catching and shining in her hair like they would in a spiderweb. "You wanna leave?" she asks. It's clear what answer Lottie's hoping you give, her gaze expectant as if this is a test she's prepared you for.

"No," you reply. "I don't."

author's note: i tried to mix lottie's pre-crash and wilderness personalities. hopefully that comes through nicely.

[lightsoutmatthews]

congrats on 100 followers! for the celebration, can I request: You´re sick. You´re not going to work, end of story + auston matthews

"You´re sick. You´re not going to work." - Auston Matthews

summary: you´re not sick, at least that is what you are telling yourself.

pairing: Auston Matthews x female!reader

word count: 1.8k

warnings: being sick (headache, stomach cramps), mentions of being close to fainting

authors note:

Third installment of the 100 Follower celly!! Thanks for the really positive feedback on the other two!!!

----------------------------

The bright light of the open curtains of the bedroom stung in your eyes and immediately shot a string of pain through your head. Instinctively you covered your eyes with one of your hands to stop the light from burning in your face.

You hadn’t felt well when you went to bed last night, Auston shooting you worried glances when he joined you in your shared bedroom, but you brushed him off by saying it was just a headache and that it would be better after a few hours of sleep.

Unfortunately, you were wrong and the pounding in your head was even worse than the night prior.

Additionally, your stomach was cramping up as soon as you even thought about getting up and a cold sweat was running down your spine, sending shivers all over your body. You didn’t have time to be sick right now. A big presentation was coming up at work next week and there was still so much to do, you couldn’t miss a day this close to the deadline.

Getting up felt like the most difficult thing you had to do in weeks. Your body felt so heavy you had no idea how you even managed to swing your legs over the edge of the bed and walk into the bathroom to take a hot shower with the hope that it would at least make you feel somewhat better. At least to a point where you could show up to the office and get some work done.

Downstairs you heard dishes clinking together as well as some music playing. Even though it was faint the sound stung in your head, sending a new wave of pain through your body making you sink together in pain.

Using the limited strength you had left to get to the bathroom directly connected to your bedroom and turned on the shower so it could run hot while you got undressed and grabbed a towel from the towel warmer.

Exhaustion overtook you before you could do either of these things and you had to sit down on the toilet seat as to not fall over right then and there.

You weren’t sure how long you sat there. The shower still running, slowly filling up the room with hot steam that made you sweat even more than you had before.

“Baby?” Auston´s warm voice ripped you from the sickness void you were trapped in, but you didn’t have the strength to look up and see where he was shouting from. His voice sounding distant and too close all at the same time.

“Babe?” he shouted again, this time sounding even closer than before.

When a shadow overcast you, you knew he had entered the bathroom. He turned off the shower before kneeling in front of you, taking your hands in his. “Are you okay?” he asked.

You knew he wasn’t talking very loudly but to you it sounded like he was shouting. Wincing and moving backwards, away from where his loud voice was coming from you slipped your hands from his and moved them to cover your eyes again.

“I´m fine,” you hardly muttered out. “I just need a second to get dressed.” The two of you had been together for long enough that you knew he wasn’t believing a word you were saying but you said it anyways, you needed to get to work.

“What time is it?” you asked weakly. “Time to go back to bed and rest,” he shot back. “Babe, excuse me saying that but you look like shit, you need to rest.” You shook your head which resulted in more wincing given it was making your headache ten times worse.

“Can´t. Presentation.” Was all you mustered up the strength to say and you didn’t have to look up at him to see that he was shaking his head.

“You can barely hold yourself up, there is no way you make it out of the house much less are you in any condition to drive,” you wanted to roll your eyes at him and tell him he should not be so dramatic, but you could not because your stomach cramped together once again, sending a painful whimper out of your mouth.

Auston let out a quiet sigh. “Baby, …” he didn’t say anything else, but you could hear the frustration and concern in his voice. He knew he had no real leverage here because of the many times where he went to practice or to a game with lingering injuries which he should have let heal properly before taking the ice again. Every time you told him he should sit out one more game, wait one more practice but he had never listened.

“I´m fine, Auston.” The first full sentence you managed to say since he entered the bathroom. “I just need to get showered and dressed. I´m probably already late.” Another sigh left his mouth, but he got up from the floor. “Fine, if you manage to get out the door without wincing in pain, I will let you go. See you downstairs in a bit.” And with that he left you alone, just like you asked him to.

Getting showered and dressed felt like running a marathon. You were exhausted by the time you got out of the shower, barely managing to keep standing up during it because everything hurt, and your head was still hurting like someone was slamming a hammer right to your brain.

Your muscles ached and you felt like you would throw up any second if you moved too quickly. For a second you considered if Auston was right, and you should go back to bed and just sleep. Your body certainly told you to do so, but you couldn’t let your team down this close to the finish line.

With another painful whimper you opened the bedroom door and made your way downstairs. Every step hurt, your head still pounding, the ground suddenly getting blurry, stopping you in the middle of the stairs to make sure you wouldn’t fall.

When you felt relatively stable again you continued walking, slow but steady.

Auston awaited you at the kitchen island. Two plates of breakfast and two cups of coffee placed neatly on coasters waiting for you. The thought of eating or drinking anything sent another clench through your stomach but you tried to put on a brave face, remembering what he said in the bathroom earlier.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice once again sounding like he was shouting. “Yeah, splendid,” you breathed out trying not to indicate that you were still in any pain. The ibuprofen you took upstairs not quite working yet.

“Great, sit down, eat some toast before you go.” he was clearly mocking you, knowing there was no way you would make it out the front door much less drive the 30 minutes to work.

Your stomach clenched even harder than before when he mentioned food. A whine leaving your mouth immediately as you cramped together in pain.

“Yeah, that’s it. You´re sick. You´re not going to work, end of discussion.” With that he walked over to you and picked you up bridal style as if you weigh nothing. “Couch or bed?” he asked stopping in his movement when he realized the suddenness just made you feel more pain. “Bed,” you mumbled and leaned your pounding head against his chest. The warmth radiating from his body something comfortable but the smell of his shower gel doing nothing to make your head feel better.

He carried you up the stairs, took of your work outfit and draped one of his large shirts over your body that had already started to shiver again. “Can you close the blinds?” you requested quietly when you were nestled under the sheets again. The ibuprofen slowly making your head less painful and your stomach clenches almost bearable. “Of course,” Auston mumbled, moving unhurried to close them, casting the room in almost darkness. “I texted your work group chat and let them know you are sick. Your boss said to take all the time you need.” Of course she would. She was like an angel sent from heaven directly when it came to her employees.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, already half asleep again, the sickness taking over your body.

“Sleep, sweetheart. If you don’t feel better when you wake up, we´ll go see the doctor, okay?” You just nodded sleepily before closing your eyes fully, drifting off to a light sleep.

When you wake up again it was dark outside, which told you nothing because it was almost 24/7 dark in Toronto during the long winters.

The apartment was quiet, you noticed Felix was sleeping next to you like he was sent to protect you from anyone trying to enter the room while Auston was not here.

Your head felt significantly better, but a lingering pain was still in the back of your head. At least your stomach was back to normal because it was grumbling, like it was complaining about the lack of food throughout the day.

Getting up and walking down the stairs, with Felix in tow, was much easier than earlier in the day. A quick look to you phone told you that it was early evening. Auston should have gotten back home from practice hours ago. The faint voices coning from the living room an indication that he was in fact here.

When you entered, he was playing some video game you didn’t bother learning the name off. He had his headphones on and was probably talking to some of his teammates who were online with him.

Plopping down on the couch next to him, leaning your head on his shoulder got his attention away from the screen as he welcomed you with his signature smile. “Guys, I gotta go, see you tomorrow,” he immediately said, logging off a second after, giving you his full attention.

“Good morning, sleepyhead,” he laughed, brushing his thumb over your cheek in soft circles. You leaned into the touch, enjoying the moment before sitting back up again. “How are you feeling,” he questioned, a concerned frown on his face as he looked you over.

“Much better, for real this time,” you mumbled, tiredness still lingering in your body. “Are you sure?” he questioned. “Yes, I promise,” you replied, snuggling deeper into his side as he lifted his arm to make room for you.

A comfortable silence overtook the living room. The TV quietly playing whatever program was on before he turned the console on, Felix resting at your feet. Auston brushing soft patterns over your upper arm, not helping you staying awake.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you mumbled into his shoulder which earned you a kiss to the top of your head. “It´s kind of my job, isn’t it.” He laughed.

“I love you,” you muttered, already half asleep against him again. “Love you too, sweetheart. Rest up, I´ll make sure you have everything you need.” And with that you drifted off again, knowing he would make sure everything would be alright.

[luvly-writer]

Aretia: You are who I worship

Xaden Riorson x Gamlyn! Reader

Masterlist

The sun had begun its slow descent behind the mountains of Aretia, casting the Riorson estate in a warm golden hue. The rebellion's main courtyard was quiet for once, the chaos of planning and training giving way to rare downtime. Y/n sat nestled beside Xaden on a low stone bench beneath the blooming trellis, his large hand laced with hers, thumb occasionally brushing the back of her palm.

Around them, the rest of their group had scattered—some napping, others reading—but Violet, Rhiannon, and Imogen had gathered near, sprawled on picnic blankets with cups of tea in hand and laughter on their lips.

It had started innocently enough—jokes, teasing, shared glances.

Until Violet, grinning into her cup, said, “Okay, but seriously. First time with a marked, experienced rider? 12 out of 10, would recommend.”

Rhiannon laughed. “I wouldn’t know. Mine was just... awkward and fast.”

Imogen raised a brow. “Mine was in the Archives. Don’t ask. Too many books around.”

They all laughed, and Y/n gave a tight smile, her fingers twitching slightly in Xaden’s grip.

Then Rhiannon turned to her. “What about you, Y/n? Was yours at Basgiath or...?”

Y/n froze.

It was the subtlest shift—shoulders going rigid, smile faltering just a touch—but Xaden felt it instantly. He turned his head slightly toward her, his thumb pausing mid-stroke.

She cleared her throat. “Um... I—uh, excuse me. I think I need to grab something from the main hall.”

She stood too quickly, brushing off imaginary dust from her trousers before walking away, not quite fast, but definitely not casual.

Xaden stood too.

“I’ll go,” he muttered.

The girls exchanged glances, instantly sobering.

He found her in one of the quieter halls of the estate, near a window where sunlight filtered in soft gold. She was staring out, arms crossed tightly across her chest.

“Y/n,” he said gently.

She didn’t turn. “I’m sorry. I just... I didn’t know they’d talk about that. I should’ve just laughed it off.”

He took a few steps closer. “You don’t have to explain.”

“But I feel like I should,” she whispered. “I’ve never... I haven’t. And I know you have. And it’s not that I’m scared of you. I just—no one's ever made me feel safe enough. Until you.”

That made him freeze.

She turned to face him now, eyes vulnerable, voice low. “And I keep thinking... what if that makes me too inexperienced? What if you’re disappointed? What if—?”

Xaden gently cupped her face. “Stop.”

His voice was so soft it made her chest ache.

“I don’t care if you’ve never had sex,” he said. “You could never disappoint me, Y/n. You don’t need to give me anything to be enough.”

Her eyes watered, and he kissed her forehead.

“When—if—we ever do anything, it’ll be because you want to. Not because you feel like you have to catch up or meet some expectation. I want you, all of you, the way you are.”

She let out a soft laugh, one hand grabbing his shirt. “Gods, you’re making it hard not to fall in love with you.”

His eyes crinkled. “Too late.”

She smiled through misty lashes. “Yeah. Same.”

And when he pulled her into his arms, just holding her close in the quiet hallway, she finally felt it—safe, loved, and more than enough.

Later that night, after the fire had burned low in the Aretia common room and most of the squad had either gone to bed or wandered off, Y/n found herself sitting with Rhiannon, Imogen, and Violet on the large, plush rug near the hearth.

She was curled up with a warm cup of cinnamon tea, her silk tie loose around her wrist, her usual polish still glinting dark blue from Sgaeyl’s inspiration. The laughter had quieted into soft conversations. The air felt safe, almost sacred.

She took a breath. “Can I... say something? Kind of personal?”

Three pairs of eyes turned to her instantly, alert but warm.

“Always,” Violet said, voice gentle.

Y/n looked down at her tea. “Earlier, when you all were talking about... your first times,” she said softly, “I panicked because... I haven’t. Not yet.”

Rhiannon blinked, surprised—but didn’t say a word.

“I mean, I’ve kissed, flirted, all that. But I’ve just never... been with anyone. And I guess I’ve been so scared that when Xaden found out, he’d... I don’t know. See me differently. Like I’m some little girl playing grown-up.”

Imogen leaned forward immediately. “Y/n. Sweetheart. That is so normal.”

Rhiannon nodded, reaching out to squeeze her hand. “Seriously. There’s no ‘right’ timeline for that. It’s about trust. Comfort. And gods know we’ve all been with people who didn’t make us feel safe. You’re being careful—and that’s strong, not childish.”

Violet gave a small smile. “And it’s Xaden. The man practically melts if you so much as smile at him. He’s already so gone for you, and if he has half a brain—which he does—he’ll treasure that part of you too.”

Y/n blinked, touched.

Imogen smirked. “Plus, let’s be honest. When you do decide the time is right? That man is going to worship you.”

That made all of them laugh.

Rhiannon added, “You’re allowed to take your time. It doesn’t make you less experienced, less mature, or less worthy. If anything, it means you know your worth.”

Y/n felt her eyes sting a little, and she leaned into Violet’s shoulder. “Thank you. I think I needed to hear that more than I realized.”

Violet smiled, brushing Y/n’s curls back gently. “Anytime. That’s what sisters are for.”

And in that moment, surrounded by flickering firelight and women who held her heart with gentle hands, Y/n felt grounded again—steady in her choice, and in the love that surrounded her.

It happened a few days later.

The room was quiet, save for the steady rhythm of rain tapping gently against the windows of the Riorson estate. Aretia had fallen into a rare, peaceful stillness. The fire crackled low in the hearth, casting warm gold across the walls, but neither of them noticed—too caught up in the quiet gravity of each other.

Xaden sat on the edge of the bed, legs parted just slightly, one hand cradling Y/n’s waist as she stood between his knees. She cupped his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and he leaned into her touch like it grounded him.

He kissed her first—slow, reverent. And when she deepened it, when her fingers threaded through his hair and tugged, just a little, the low growl in his throat made her knees nearly buckle.

It was gentle at first. Kisses that lingered. Hands that moved with unspoken reverence. But then his hands slid beneath the hem of her shirt, and her breath caught as his fingertips danced across her skin.

Her eyes fluttered open. “Xaden.”

He stilled instantly, gaze searching hers. “Are you sure?” he whispered, voice rougher than usual, the restraint in his body trembling at the edge.

She didn’t hesitate. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

And gods, the way his expression broke at that—like reverence, like awe, like he couldn’t believe she was choosing him.

He kissed her again, slower now, as if making a vow with every pass of his mouth. As if saying I’ll never hurt you. I’ll never rush you. I’ll cherish every piece of you you’re willing to give.

When he finally laid her down, it was like he was memorizing her—his fingers brushing over her skin like she was sacred, his lips lingering on every inch like a prayer. “You’re perfect,” he murmured against her shoulder, against the line of her throat. “You don’t even know what you do to me.”

She laughed softly, curling her fingers in his hair. “I might have an idea.”

He paused, hovering above her, and she saw it—the emotion in his eyes. “This isn’t just sex to me, Y/n. It never could be. You’re... everything.”

She touched his cheek. “I know. Me too.”

And when he moved, it was with all the patience in the world. With devotion. With fire and softness all at once. He made her feel beautiful, powerful, safe—and so loved, her heart ached.

And when it was over, when they lay tangled beneath the sheets, her head tucked into the curve of his shoulder and his arms wound tightly around her, he pressed a kiss to her temple and whispered, “Mine.”

She smiled against his skin. “Yours.”

.

..

...

The first thing Y/n felt was warmth—his warmth.

Sunlight was beginning to filter softly through the curtains in Xaden’s quarters, casting streaks of gold across the sheets tangled around their bodies. She was tucked against his chest, one of his arms banded tightly around her waist, the other hand buried in her curls, his fingers gently tracing patterns along her scalp.

Then came the kisses.

Featherlight ones at first. Against her shoulder, her collarbone, the back of her neck. She smiled sleepily, eyes still closed, as another kiss landed just beneath her jaw.

“Mmm,” she murmured, voice thick with sleep, “someone’s feeling affectionate this morning.”

“I always feel affectionate with you,” Xaden whispered against her skin, his voice low and full of lazy warmth. Another kiss. “Especially after last night.”

She laughed quietly, shifting to face him. Her silk tie had fallen off at some point during the night, and her hair was a halo of soft curls. Xaden looked at her like she was the sunrise itself.

His hand came up to cradle her cheek, thumb brushing beneath her eye. “You’re even more beautiful like this,” he said softly. “Barefaced. Mine.”

Y/n felt her cheeks flush, even as she nuzzled into his palm. “You’re so sappy in the mornings.”

“Only with you,” he replied, and then he was leaning in, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to her lips. One that didn’t ask for anything, just gave. “I still can’t believe you’re mine.”

She kissed him again. “You’ve always had me, Xaden. Even before last night.”

His lips curved, and he dipped his head to press more kisses—over her throat, her shoulder, her chest. Lazy, loving ones. Worshipful. “I don’t think I’ll ever stop touching you.”

“You better not,” she teased, but her voice turned softer. “Thank you… for being so patient. So gentle.”

His eyes found hers again, something raw in them. “There’s no other way I’d ever want to be with you, Y/n.”

They stayed like that, tangled in warmth and sheets and each other, as the rest of the world waited quietly outside their door.

Author's note: I suck at writing smut plz dont ask that of me lmao. Update: I love listening to old Disney love songs while I edit cause it just sets the mood right!

Taglist: @eepyfaerie @dreamdragonkadia @hiraethjules @nikfigueiredo @galaxystern08 @taleiaargenis @minidemont @poeticbookwormcat @eternallyrosyfire @shadowhuntyi @bubble300 @messageforthesmallestman @iheartshopping @fangirling-galore @nesiris21 @itsbeenmyhonor20 @stelena-klayley @littleemissperfecttt @lagrandeourse @readinf @barbreadsbooks

[vioartemis]

Forever hers

(wilderness! Lottie Matthews x wilderness sensitive! fem! reader)

Back with another Lottie thingy hehe 🤭 again idk what I did but here you go hope it makes sense 😭

Warnings: s3 spoilers kinda, mention of blood, tasting blood while kissing, mention of Lottie axe murdering someone

Ever since you had found the cabin, you had a bad feeling about it, like something bad happened in this place. That ended up being proven right when Lottie found a dead body in the attic.

Even before that, you spent as much time as possible outside of the cabin, only going in to sleep. The forest was a little more peaceful, the air was less thick, but whatever was in the cabin was still out there.

You didn’t want to alarm anyone so you kept your worries to yourself, just like those weird carving in some trees, the same that were in the attic around the dead guy. Whatever it meant, it couldn’t be good, but again everyone was going through too much to add anything to it.

Then everything went so fast you could barely register it; Lottie started having weird visions, Laura Lee tried to fly an old plane and… well it didn’t end well, then Jackie froze to death, and some of your remaining teammates joined Lottie’s weird rituals.

You didn’t participate in those rituals, rather staying inside with Natalie and Shauna. They didn’t believe in Lottie’s visions, and you said you didn’t either, but truly you weren’t sure.

Sometimes when you were outside, the rustling of the snowy leaves sounded like whispers, the wind felt like it was purposefully blowing around you, like it was trying to go through you and leave something behind.

It was stupid though, right? It’s not like trees could talk or anything…

Yet here you were, in front of a tree with one of those weird carvings, fingers lingering on it. Maybe it was worth a try, whatever Lottie told the others…

You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, like you heard her tell them, listening to the wind, to every sound around you. After a few moments, you started to feel a weird sensation, like something was touching you, to a deeper level than just physically.

The feeling persisted, and you started to hear some kind of whisper. It was difficult to understand, you weren’t even sure you were hearing words, but if you had to associate it to something you knew, it would sound like…

You were suddenly brought back to reality when someone bumps into you — or rather you bumped into them. You blinked a few times, a little confused, to find Lottie in front of you, holding your arms.

You looked around, obviously not in front of the tree anymore, and notice footsteps in the snow, yours.

“Are you okay?”

Lottie’s soft voice made you turn back around to face her.

“You walked straight into me, were you daydreaming?” she continued

“I… yeah I must have been…” you reply, still a little confused as to how you got here.

Lottie could see that there was something more that you weren’t telling her, you seemed preoccupied, more than usual. Her hands slide down your arms to hold your hands.

“Did you… did It talk to you?”

You looked up at her, her eyes soft and… almost hopeful.

“I’m not sure…” you start hesitantly “it was like… like whispers? But it wasn’t really words… more like… like an idea? It’s hard to explain…”

“It’s okay”

Lottie smiled and cupped your face gently, looking deep into your eyes.

“We’ll figure it out together. We’ll start with the morning meeting with the others, and then-“

“No no, wait… I don’t want anyone to know…”

Your words surprised Lottie, and they even surprised yourself to an extent. You didn’t know why you said that, why you didn’t want the others to know. There was just this thing inside you telling you to keep this between the two of you.

“But why…? You’re special, It likes you, talks to you, they should know-“

“Lottie, please…”

Lottie’s smile returned after a bit, and she gave you a little nod.

“Just us then”

She waited for a sign of approval, which you gave, before resting her forehead against yours with a content smile. You could feel her scar against your skin, a little bump, and even when she pulled away, it felt like it was still there, like a sign of the connection between you.

After that, Lottie was always by your side. The morning meetings were the only exception; you had made it clear you didn’t want to participate.

The rest of the time though, she was happily glued to you. It felt right to be with her, like it was where you belonged.

She’d walk with you deep in the forest, away from the cabin and the others. She’d make you sit in the snow, holding your hands, sometimes holding you against her, arms around your waist. She’d help you understand how the wilderness was communicating with you, her soft voice guiding you.

She seemed so happy to have you like that with her, to know that the wilderness liked you as much as she did.

You didn’t seem to make much progress, but it didn’t really matter. It wanted you to be close, that you understood.

You spent the rest of the winter like that, in the forest during the day, sleeping together at night.

Then when spring came, after the cabin burnt, you slept in the same hut. During the day, you’d go to a small clearing you’d found, drinking some tea Lottie made you.

She had lost her connection to the wilderness and was trying to get you to have visions, maybe hoping she would have them too. You’d lay on the ground, head in her lap while she’d stroke your hair.

Even after losing her gift, her presence helped you communicating with It. Without her, the whispers were just indistinct sounds. When she was with you though, they became more clear, like she could filter the sounds.

One day, while you were in that position, you placed a hand on the back of her neck, pulling her down to you until her face was only a few centimeters away from yours. She didn’t say anything, just giving you a curious look.

“It’s okay” you started quietly, pulling her a little closer “It wants us to”

And so you kissed for the first time, there in the middle of the woods. The wind blew around you, a few leaves fell on you two. It was pleased.

So you did it again. And again. And again. It became a kind of ritual, a way to feel closer to each other, and to It.

Maybe you’d lost your mind, kissing her after she just axe murdered someone, his blood all over her face, its taste on your tongue.

To the others, you were definitely too far gone, but they didn’t get it. How could they? They never had her soft lips pressed against theirs, her tongue tasting them (in more ways than one), her fingers on their skin.

They could never understand what you two had. It was more than anything they could imagine, a connection deeper than just physical or emotional. It felt like floating, being transported in a whole other world.

Maybe your connection to the wilderness had something to do with it, maybe not. Either way you didn’t care, as long as you could be forever hers.

[alltimecharlo]

brat mack being all possessive over will in some club fic?? (Its giving miss possessive by tate mcrae...)

ooo of course!! 🤭🩵 fic under the cut!!!

The music in the club is too loud and the lights are too much, but Will wanted to come out and Mack is incapable of saying no to him.

He’s still not sure how that happened.

One minute he was rolling his eyes at Eky chirping Will for spending another Friday night with Mack instead of doing anything remotely social. The next, Will was leaning over the back of the couch, arms braced on either side of Mack’s shoulders, grinning down at him like a dare.

"Let’s go out," he’d said.

Mack should’ve said no. Should’ve told him that they had practice tomorrow and that Will needed rest. That Mack himself would rather gouge out an eye than spend three hours in a sweaty club filled with overpriced drinks and Sharks fans trying to get photos in the dark.

But then Will tilted his head and said, "Come on, dude. Don’t make me go alone."

And that was it. Game over.

Now they’re three vodka sodas deep, and Will is glowing under the strobing lights, sweaty curls stuck to his forehead and that wide, dazzling smile aimed at everyone and no one as he dances in the middle of the floor.

Mack is not smiling.

He’s got one hand around his drink, the other clenched on the back of the booth, eyes locked on the guy who just got a little too close to Will. Hands too familiar. A grin too cocky.

Will laughs at something the guy says and tilts his head back, exposing his throat.

Mack is out of his seat before he thinks about it. Elbowing through the crowd with a single-mindedness that probably makes him look insane. He doesn’t care.

Will turns just as Mack reaches him, eyes wide and pleased. "Hey! You came to dance!"

Mack hooks a hand around Will’s waist and yanks him back, away from the guy whose hands were still halfway to Will’s hips. "No," Mack says shortly. "I came to get you."

The guy raises an eyebrow. "You his boyfriend or something?"

"Something," Mack says, with enough heat to fry the words.

Will blinks up at him. "Mack—"

"Let’s go," Mack says. Not a request.

He feels Will go still for a second, then lean in just slightly. Like he’s testing the edges of this mood. Then he tilts his chin up, all challenge. "Or what? You gonna drag me out like a caveman?"

Mack leans in, his mouth brushing the shell of Will’s ear. "If you don’t start walking, I’ll carry you."

Will shivers. Mack feels it.

"You wouldn’t."

Mack tugs him in tighter. "Try me."

Will laughs, breathless and delighted. "Jesus, you’re a menace."

"You love it," Mack mutters, already guiding him through the crowd.

Will doesn’t argue.

They make it to the quieter lounge area near the back, where the lights are lower and the crowd thinner. Mack doesn’t stop until they’re in a shadowy corner, back pressed against the wall and Will pinned in front of him.

"You were enjoying yourself," Will says, just a touch smug. "Could’ve let me keep dancing."

Mack growls, low in his throat. "That guy had his hands on you."

"It’s a club, Mack. That’s what happens in clubs."

"Not to you."

Will arches an eyebrow. "Possessive much?"

"Yeah," Mack says, and there’s no hesitation in it. "You’re mine."

Will’s breath stutters. "That right?"

Mack cups the back of his neck, firm but gentle, and brings their foreheads together. "Yeah. That’s right."

Will tilts his mouth up, and Mack kisses him. It’s not soft. It’s not chaste. It’s claiming. It's a little bit messy, a lot hot, and it leaves Will clutching Mack’s shoulders like he might fall over if he doesn’t hold on.

"God," Will mutters when they break apart, flushed and dazed, "you get like this and you think I’m gonna say no to you."

Mack brushes his thumb over Will’s jaw. "You should. I’m the worst."

"You’re so hot when you’re mad," Will says dreamily. "You’re such a brat."

Mack beams. "Yeah, but I’m your brat."

Will kisses him again because what the hell else is he supposed to do with that?

Somewhere across the club, Eky sees them and groans loud enough to be heard over the bass.

"Oh my god," he says to Toff, "they're gonna make out in every corner of this city, aren't they?"

Toff just lifts his beer. "Better than all that pining, man. Let him have this."

Let him have Will, Mack thinks later, dragging Will back to the booth with one hand on the small of his back and a smug little smile playing at the corners of his mouth. Yeah.

He’ll take all of it.

♡

[cyberteez]

pretty series pt.2 - a warm mouth

pairing ⋆ p.seonghwa x afab!reader

genre ⋆ smut, angst

wc ⋆ 1.9k

summary ⋆ when money is tight and rent is short, you and your partner turn to posting adult content online.

warnings ⋆ reader has anxiety, fellatio, brief thigh riding, reader is called a cock sleeve, top!seonghwa, bottom!reader, lmk if i forgot anything

networks ⋆ @illusionnet @cromernet @pirateeznet

series masterlist

When you wake the next morning, you've maybe ten views on your video. Sadness pools in your gut, but Seonghwa gives you reassuring pats on the back, reminding you these things take time and that you both won't become an overnight sensation.

It's a weird feeling; going to work and pretending that you didn't post you and Seonghwa fucking for anyone to see. You smile and greet your peers, work diligently, then come home as if it were any other day. A weird sense of glee fills you, knowing that none of them know what you're up to. Yet another feeling, that of shame, consumes you. Why did you have to sell your body to make ends meet? It follows you for a week.

After taking your shoes off and hanging your jacket up, you make your way to the kitchen island, resting your hip against the counter and aimlessly scrolling on your phone. You wait for your partner, avoiding the website and sticking to instagram and other social media to catch up with your friends.

Seonghwa arrived home shortly thereafter, wrapping you in a hug that soothes your nerves. With a kiss pressed to the crown of your head, he leaves you to freshen up and start on dinner. You mull around in your thoughts while he does so, the anxieties creeping back in. You almost don't want to check the view count, but it's been a week and you haven't brought it up to your partner at all. When he returns you ask, "have you looked at the views lately?"

He shakes his head. "Wasn't sure if you wanted to look together."

A small sigh filled with relief leaves you. He doesn't know either. Good. You can both be disappointed at the same time.

Dinner passes by quickly and you fill the air with chatter about your days and what projects you've each worked on. Friday is coming to a close with the pair of you on the couch, a random tv show playing in the background while you both sit on your phones, avoiding the elephant in the room.

"Should we check?" He fills the otherwise quiet apartment.

"I'm scared," you admit, putting your phone down to wrap your arms around yourself. His hand smoothes over your back, pulling you into his side.

"Well, we need to check eventually. We're going to put out another video, no?"

You nod quietly, letting him open the website on his phone. He's silent for a few beats before shoving the phone in your face.

"A couple hundred views! That's great!" His enthusiasm bleeds into you, a flighty feeling overcoming your senses.

Your mouth hangs out in shock before murmuring, "that's more than I ever expected."

"Let's read the comments."

You groan, "let's not."

"There's only a few. Oh, like this one: 'cute pussy'" Your face burns.

"Oh god, Seonghwa, stop it. I don't wanna hear that!"

"It's true, though," he sends a wink your way while you bury your face in your hands. "How about this: 'need to see more of those tits."

"Seonghwa!" You cry, swatting at his arm while he giggles incessantly.

"We are definitely making more content," he muses, humming as he scrolls through the site.

"Oh yea, do I have a say?" You fire half-heartedly.

"Oh my gods, of course, pretty. Do you not want to?"

His head whips towards you, hands flying up as he realizes what he said. It's your turn to break into a fit of giggles, leaning towards him to press a kiss to his lips.

"Of course we can, silly. I'm just teasing." You smile, "do you like seeing others comment those types of things?"

"No…" he begins, "I like knowing you're all mine and they can't have any of you, though."

You shake your head, patting his thigh before standing.

"Well okay, silly, I'm going to bed. Maybe we can record something tomorrow."

"How 'bout now? Maybe we could practice?"

"Seonghwa, if you touch me I'm biting you."

"Will you, please?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Saturdays are one of your favorite days. You don't have to go to work that day, and you don't have to go to work the next day. A whole day of nothing. You couldn't ask for anything better… except maybe your lover's cock shoved down your throat while we works from home. You sat so obediently between his legs, mouth closed around his half hard length while he typed away at his keyboard.

"Come on, pretty, you can take me a little deeper, can't you? I'm not even fully hard," Seonghwa encourages, pulling your jaw closer to his pelvis.

Breath pushes from your nose across his waist, goosebumps raising from the cold.

"This could be content, no? We don't always have to have sex," he says after a while. It just slips out, he didn't truly mean it, but when you suck in more of his length and bat your eyelashes at him so lovingly he scrambles to grab the camera and mask on his desk.

His half hard length begins to stiffen, filling more of you mouth and making it difficult to keep inside. You sputter a bit on his length, backing up a bit, but still suckling on the amount left inside. Gentle motions around your face secure the mask in place, your hair covering the strap that holds it to you. He then pets your hair, clicking the camera on and adjusting the angle to capture your blushing face.

"Been so good for me today, haven't you, pretty?" He muses, "keeping me warm while I work. Do you enjoy being on your knees for me?"

A whimper escapes your throat in response, sucking in more of his length but staying still, waiting for him to guide you.

"Were you planning to stay like this all day? My cock heavy in your mouth while you do nothing else? You're just like a pet, aren't you? So obedient…"

The hand that cards through your hair pulls at the back of your neck, forcing you to take in more of his length. You gag around it, eyes becoming glassy with unshed tears. Your tongue laps at the underside of his length, providing stimulation but otherwise not moving.

"You're just a cock-sleeve, aren't you?"

You've never heard him call you that before, but you can't say you're upset. You moan around his member, vibrations causing a groan to leave your lover. Seonghwa guides you through the blow job, one hand pushing and pulling at the pace he wants while he whispers dirty words into the camera that captures your face. You do nothing else but satisfy him, hands secured neatly around your legs.

"Such a good princess. You aren't even touching yourself," he praises, "what happened to my brat?"

You blink slowly at him in response. Whines erupt from your throat as he speeds up your motions, hips bucking into your mouth. You respond in tandem, allowing him to abuse your throat as he chases his climax. Small whimpers travel from his mouth straight to your cunt as it clenches around nothing. His seed pours down the back of your throat and you gulp it down eagerly, not letting any spill past your lips. When the aftershocks leave him, Seonghwa pulls open your mouth, showing the camera you swallowed it all, pressing neatly on your tongue and sliding all the way to your lips.

"Good girl."

When the camera turns off, he pulls you into his lap. You grind against his softening length, eyes pleading for some relief.

"I can't fuck you properly like this, pretty." Adjusting your potion so you sit on his thigh, he leans in, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you invite him inside your mouth. If he tastes himself, he makes no indication or noise of disgust, instead sucking on your tongue and lapping at the inside of your mouth. His hands grip your ass cheeks, dragging your cunt across his thigh to provide some relief.

"Agh, Seonghwa, fuck," you whimper into his neck, fingers clawing into his shoulders as your clit rubs against the meat of his thighs. He tenses the muscles, allowing you to set the pace as you grind against him. Pleas fall from your lips as you draw near your climax, already so worked up from before.

When you do fall apart, your lover holds you closely to him, peppering kisses along your throat, shushing the cries that spill from your lips. He wastes no time in laying you in your shared bed, pulling the covers over your sleepy figure. You watch as he retreats to the desk, opening the video you just captured. You don't remember falling asleep, but when you wake later, the room is dark. The bed is empty and cold on his side. You notice you're wearing different pajamas than the ones you fell asleep in. These ones are softer and much warmer, covering your legs and arms completely.

Noise comes from the dimly lit tv as you creep from the bedroom to the living room. He sits with his chin resting against his hand, head falling forward every couple of seconds. You stifle a giggle as you come up behind him, hands smoothing over his shoulders. He wakes with a start, turning around to see you waiting for him.

"Hi, pretty. Why'd you get out of bed?" He asks, voice gravelly and slow.

"Why aren't you in bed?" You counter.

"Touché." The tv clicks off as he stands, grabbing your hand and leading you back to the bed. "Let's just go to sleep, huh, baby?"

You both crawl under the covers, letting him pull you into his side. His breathing deepens a minute later and you sigh. How he falls asleep so easily beats you. You could never. The last thing you think of is how you hope this video does better than the last, then sleep overtakes you.

The next morning, you waste no time in pulling out your phone and checking the views on the video. There's less than a hundred, but your previous video has gained more traction. It rests just below one thousand and a giddy feeling pulls you from the bed with ease.

"Seonghwa!" You call out. "Babe, we're just under a thousand views on our first video."

His gaze follows your figure as you make your way around the counter, embracing him and burying your face in his chest.

One of his hands rests between your shoulder blades, pulling you in tighter as he takes a sip from his mug.

"See, there's nothing to worry about. We're doing a great job. You're doing a great job," he emphasizes. Butterflies erupt in your tummy, tilting your head back to peer into his eyes.

"No, you're doing a great job." You smile and he reciprocates, rubbing small circles where he holds you.

"Should we do anything today?"

"Can we just relax again?"

"You always want to 'just' relax," he replies, setting the mug against the counter. "Let's go on a date."

"With what money?"

A pregnant pause fills the room.

"We don't need to spend money to consider it a date. What if we just took a walk around the park?"

You nod, a sigh leaving your lips. "I guess you're right. Shall we go get ready?"

"Yeah."

© cyberteez 2025

[strwbrryeyes]

Hello! Saw your one year event and happy one yr in advance for it!! Would like to try out for a HC with a short f reader defending ushijima as some pple behind his back were sh*t talking abt him , n maybe if ushijima (n maybe if he is wif his frens idk whichever!!!) happens to hear it ( •̯́ ᵕ •̯̀) i hope i did it right and thank u!!

༊·˚ He's just quiet

cw: none i think

⟡ a/n: this wasnt really head canon styled but i hope you like it regardless :3 again sorry for the wait </3 i also didnt know how to add in the reader being short whoops

It started off as background noise as you waited for your boyfriend, just conversation from a few people gathered near a table in the uni dining hall. You hadn't meant to listen in, but when someone said Ushijima's name, your attention locked in automatically.

“He’s so… stoic all the time,” one of them said, causing you to raise a brow.

“Does he even talk when they’re alone?” another asked, laughing like it was a joke everyone should be in on.

You stood there for a second, not out of shock, but because you were deciding if it was even worth it. They weren’t being intentionally cruel, but it was the kind of thoughtless, careless chatter that irritated you more than the outright rudeness of it all since they knew nothing about him, you, or your relationship at all. 

So you stepped in. “Actually, he’s not that stoic. He’s just quiet person who likes to keep his peace by only keeping to himself and those around him. There’s a difference.”

They turned toward you, a little caught off guard, not expecting you to be there.

“He listens more than he speaks. He pays attention to things most people miss. And yeah, he’s not the loudest person in the room, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t feel things deeply or at all,” you said, your voice steady but slowly becoming more defensive.

You weren't trying to start a fight, but you weren’t going to let them talk about him like that either. “You don’t have to be overly expressive to be a good partner. He’s one of the most caring people ever even if he shows it in a lowkey manner”

There was an awkward pause as no one really knew how to follow that, and you didn’t expect them to. You didn't want to. You turned to leave and nearly bumped into Ushijima himself. He had approached quietly, his expression unreadable at first, but when his eyes met yours, there was something warm and certain in them.

He looked past you toward the group, his tone even. “Don’t speak on something you know nothing about, especially when it comes to my relationship.”

He didn’t wait for a response. Just gently placed his hand on your back and took you away from the group and conversation. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, and he didn’t say anything for a while, just held your hand the rest of the way out.

–

Later that night, curled up on the couch with your legs draped over his, you felt the quiet comfort of being near him being more calming than usual. You were about to bring up the earlier situation, but he spoke first.

“I heard you,” he started “all of it,”

You blinked, surprised by how soft his voice sounded.

“Thank you,” he said, not looking away from where his thumb was tracing circles on your leg. “You didn’t have to say anything. But you did.”

You smiled. “I wasn’t going to let them talk about you like you weren’t worth understanding.”

His lips curved just slightly, and he gave a small nod. “You always see me and that’s all I need.”

He was right, you did. That’s why you never needed him to be louder or different. His silence was never empty and cold. It was full of intention, care, and all the things people missed when they didn’t bother to look close enough.

[animeficsworld]

His Hoodie, Your Heart

Yamato Endo x Reader

Summary: Rain started just after lunch.

⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

Not a drizzle, real rain. Soaking, cold, insistent. 

The kind that clung to your skin and made the world smell like wet concrete and earth.

You didn’t bring an umbrella.

Of course.

You stood at the school gates, staring up at the sky like maybe it would take pity on you. But the clouds just answered with another cold gust of wind.

“Oi.”

The voice came from behind you.

You turned, heart skipping.

Yamato stood a few steps away, watching you with his hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie. 

His hair was slightly damp, with little drops clinging to his bangs. He wasn’t holding an umbrella either.

But when he stepped forward, he started pulling the hoodie over his head.

You blinked. “Wait, Yamato, what are you-?”

He tugged it off and held it out to you. “Wear it.”

“But you’ll get wet-”

“I said wear it.”

You hesitated for a moment, staring at the hoodie in his hand. 

It was warm from his body, soft at the edges, and it smelled like soap and rain and something faintly sweet underneath. 

You slid it over your head, sleeves far too long.

He looked away like he was trying not to smile. “Looks better on you.”

Your heart fluttered.

The two of you started walking. There was no umbrella. No rush. Just soft rain and soft silence.

You walked close, shoulder to shoulder.

He kept glancing down at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

And when a car passed by, spraying water across the sidewalk, he instinctively pulled you in front of him, shielding you with his body.

You looked up at him, blinking through raindrops.

“You always this protective?” you teased, voice barely above the rain.

He glanced down at you, and then, without a word, leaned in.

It wasn’t a rushed kiss. 

It wasn’t a goodbye, or a desperate gesture like the night before.

It was gentle.

Warm.

It made your breath catch.

His lips lingered against yours, soft and careful. Like he didn’t want to scare you. 

Like he was learning what it meant to love.

When he pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours. Rain dripped from his hair onto your cheeks.

“I’ve always been like this,” he whispered. “You just never saw me before.”

You touched the side of his face, fingers brushing his cheek. “I see you now.”

And under the rainy grey sky, standing in his hoodie with your heart pounding, you knew something had changed.

You weren’t just the quiet girl anymore.

You were his.

And he was yours.

⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺

[hopeyoufindalovelikethis]

Where All Roads Led

This piece was inspired by a simple idea—what if the quietest man carries the heaviest past, yet still chooses gentleness over bitterness? I imagined Sylus, not only as a symbol of strength, but as someone who survived everything alone—until love found him. Again. I’m endlessly grateful to every faithful reader who holds these soft moments close. Your presence makes each word worth writing 🤍

Synopsis | One quiet afternoon, she asked Sylus about his past—and he finally told her. From a lonely childhood in N109 Zone to becoming its ruler, his story unfolded in shadows and silence. She cried for what he endured, but he smiled, because every step had led him here—to her arms.

The late afternoon sun poured into the apartment in quiet amber sheets, casting long golden shadows across the floor. You sat on Sylus’s lap, nestled sideways against his chest with your cheek resting just beneath his collarbone. His arms were wrapped around your waist with practiced tenderness, one hand resting against the curve of your hip while the other slowly combed through your hair. The silence between you was soft and lovely.

You hadn’t planned to ask anything difficult that day. But as he absentmindedly began braiding a loose strand of your hair, your curiosity returned—gentle, but persistent. You tilted your head slightly and looked up at him, asking once again about the past he rarely spoke of. At first, he didn’t answer. He kept braiding in silence for a moment longer, fingers slow and sure, before gently tying off the end with a twist of your own hair. Then, with a small breath and a softness in his velvet voice that you had come to recognize as rare, he began to speak.

He said he didn’t remember where he was born. That his first memory was of the iron gate of an orphanage in the N109 Zone, looming too high for his small hands to reach. The adults were unkind, not because they were cruel by nature, but because the world there hardened people before they learned how to love. The other children were louder than him, more forceful, more desperate to be seen, while he remained quiet, withdrawn, clinging instead to the books discarded in the corners and the mechanical scraps he found behind the generator sheds.

He always loved to tinker. There was something about broken things—rusted hinges, stripped wires, shattered screens—that called to him more than people ever had. Machines didn’t lie. They either worked or they didn’t, and he found comfort in that kind of certainty. Human language, in contrast, felt like a maze he never quite understood. So he learned to survive in silence, building small things in the shadows. A motor that whirred when the others slept. A camera lens fashioned from old projector glass. Once, a small mechanical bug that crawled across the floor until one of the older boys crushed it underfoot.

His only companion was a crow. A real one, wild and wary at first, until it began visiting the window every day at dawn. Sylus named it Mephisto, after a figure in a myth he had read once—a being of knowledge and solitude. Mephisto brought him twigs, pieces of wire, bottle caps. Sometimes they shared food. Often, they simply sat together, quiet and alert. But one winter, the crow did not return. Sylus waited for days, then weeks, until he accepted it. Mephisto was gone. So he built a new version. A mechanical crow with synthetic feathers and eyes that glowed red in the dark. He gave it the same name, and from that day on, he never walked alone again.

As his voice deepened, he told you about the day he ran from the orphanage. There was no dramatic escape. No fire. No violence. Just a decision—a quiet one. He was done being spoken to as though he were less. He packed what little he had, and with Mephisto perched on his shoulder, he slipped out of the back gate under the dead light of early morning. He lived alone after that, surviving on scraps, building small devices in exchange for food or shelter from anyone willing to trade. Most weren’t. But he grew stronger.

And then his Evol began to manifest. It didn’t explode like some did. It hummed. Low at first. Then louder. It lived in his veins, in his bones. A force he could not name but slowly began to understand. He trained. Not with help, but through instinct. Through failure. Through pain. He pushed his body to the edge, broke it, rebuilt it, taught himself discipline so ruthless that even the mercenaries in N109 Zone came to fear the name he eventually carved for himself. He never sought power. He just refused to lose. Again and again, until no one could deny that he ruled the N109 Zone. Not by decree. But by presence.

Then his hand paused where it lay against your back.

You didn’t realize you had started crying until the warmth of your tears slid along your cheek and touched his skin. You turned slowly to face him, and Sylus, still holding you in the same careful way, looked at you with the smallest smile—calm, quiet, with a softness so deep it almost hurt. There was no bitterness in his voice when he spoke again. No hatred for the years that shaped him. Just a steady gratitude.

“Every moment,” he said quietly, “led me here. To you.”

And that was when your hands moved—one lifting to his neck, the other wrapping around his back as you buried your face in the crook of his shoulder. You hugged him as if your arms could take away every lonely day he had lived before this one, every night he fell asleep with no voice to whisper that he mattered.

Your voice cracked as you whispered into his skin, “You’re not alone anymore. I’m here. Always.”

Sylus didn’t say anything right away. He didn’t need to. His arms tightened around you just slightly, his nose brushing the top of your head, and in that held breath between words, you felt something wordless pass between you.

It wasn’t just a promise. It was a vow made in silence.

And in that moment, held in his arms as the golden sky outside deepened into dusk, you felt something shift again—not between you, but around you. As if the world had finally accepted that his past, no matter how brutal, had led him not into darkness—but into your arms.