#be metal for your mental health

[bookishblogging]

If you need motivation to keep going:

Don’t kill yourself. Eventually, you will literally die no matter what. Why do it now when you could just fuck around and see what’s next until nature says it’s your time? Like yeah your situation sucks but like what if it gets better tomorrow? Or what if you die tomorrow via natural causes. Like it’s either gonna get better or you will naturally die and I think waiting for it to get better is a much smarter option bc option two is inevitable. If we were to do a cost/benefit analysis, waiting it out is much more effective usage of your time. You will get to the destination, our time will run out eventually, there is absolutely no rush to get there. I love you and you deserve to live out the rest of your days chasing whatever makes you happy! Is it not incredibly meta to say you didn’t kill yourself because you’re gonna die anyways?? Like hello stay alive and say fuck you to the institution or whatever. Literally be meta for your mental health.

[sendmyresignation]

one of the things about where are your boys tonight i really appreciated and, to me, seemed like the most significant thrust of the book (but never garnered much attention, imo), was the focus on the business side of things and particularly the way the many bands never saw long term success or stability or the way a lot of very young people were taken advantage of even after making their labels and handlers metric butt-tones of money and this really culminated with the discussion about paramores record deal and the inherently coercive nature of making a 14 year old sign a record deal (not even really mentioning that record deal was 20 fucking years lmao) and yet i still see people argue she was an industry plant or whatever. sorry ig one of my fatal flaws is i give child stars the benefit of the doubt considering the fundamental exploitation necessary for that position to exist or whatever

[my-mom-hates-me]

Just a small reminder to y'all.

Being kind to others is important, but don’t do it at your expense.

[peavhyshy]

⋆˚ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ - BACK TO YOU

ᯓᡣ𐭩 paring ─ ୨୧ ─ jj maybank ⋆ ex!pogue!reader

ᯓᡣ𐭩 summary ─ ୨୧ ─ in which you return to the island after moving away and have to confront unresolved feelings and changes in the friend group.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 warnings ─ ୨୧ ─ explicit language, angst, hurt/comfort, smut, fluff, drama, mention of past self-harm, mention of past suicide attempt, mention of depression/mental health issues, alcohol abuse, unresolved emotional/romantic tension, trauma, mention of parental abuse/neglect, emotional cheating, jj is dating kiara, pretend luke didn’t leave, tw: surf competition, reconciliation, emotional vulnerability, unprotected vaginal sex, fingering, oral sex, dirty talk, praise, teasing, power play, and overstimulation (please dni if your sensitive to any of these topics your mental health should come first)

ᯓᡣ𐭩 wc ─ ୨୧ ─ 19,166

⋆˚✿˖° a/n ─ ୨୧ ─ this is long and very emotional/dramatic which is half of the reason it's been sitting in drafts forever. this was only written because I just love the song and wanted something based on it.

⋆.˚✮back to you✮˚.⋆

(༝༚༝༚ selena gomez)

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──. Outer Banks Masterlist ─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── Navigation ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

JJ stands awkwardly by the cooler, his fingers drumming against the metal surface as he watches you grab another case of beer. The setting sun casts long shadows across John B's backyard, painting everything in hues of orange and pink. The salty breeze carries the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore, mixing with the muffled laughter and music inside the house. He can't help but steal glances at you, memories of your past flooding his mind like an unwanted tide.

"So uh..." JJ clears his throat, adjusting his shark tooth necklace nervously. "How was... wherever the fuck you went?" He tries to maintain his usual carefree demeanor, but an edge to his voice betrays his discomfort. His blue eyes dart between you and the ground, unable to maintain steady eye contact. The weight of your unspoken history hangs heavy between you, thicker than the humid Carolina evening.

You stand awkwardly, your fingers nervously playing with the label of your beer bottle. You avoid JJ's gaze, focusing instead on the peeling paint of John B's deck railing. The tension between you two is suffocating, making the humid evening air feel even heavier. "Maine," you finally answer, your voice barely above a whisper. "We went to Maine."

JJ's jaw tightens at the mention of Maine, his fingers flexing around his beer bottle as he processes just how far away you’ve been. "Maine? Fuck, that's like... way up there with all those lobsters and shit," he says, trying to maintain his usual lighthearted tone but failing miserably. 

"You look..." He starts, then stops himself, shoving his free hand into the pocket of his board shorts. "I mean, it's good you're back and shit. The group missed you." He deliberately leaves out the fact that he missed you too, that your absence left a void that even Kiara couldn't quite fill. The tension between you is palpable, like the electricity in the air before a storm - something the Outer Banks knows all too well. He takes a long pull from his beer, using it as an excuse to break the uncomfortable silence that's settled between you.

You take a long sip from your bottle, using the moment to gather your thoughts. The sight of JJ - still as handsome as ever with his messy blonde hair and those blue eyes - makes your heartache in a way you thought you’d gotten over. The sound of Kiara's laughter from inside feels like a knife twisting in your gut. "I see you and Kie finally..." you trail off, unable to finish the sentence. Your skin glows in the porch light.

"Yeah, me and Kie..." he trails off, taking another long pull from his beer to avoid finishing the sentence. The truth is, things with Kiara are good - great even - but standing here with you brings back all the complicated feelings he'd tried to bury in the sand. 

"The group seems... good," you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "Different, but good." You risk a glance at JJ, immediately regretting it when you catch his eyes. Those same eyes that used to look at you with such intensity, now belong to someone else. You shift your weight, your sundress rustling softly in the evening breeze. 

A loud crash from inside the house makes you both jump causing you to spill a bit of beer on your dress, followed by John B's distinctive "Everything's fine!" JJ lets out a forced laugh, but it doesn't reach his eyes. He's hyper-aware of every movement you make, every shift in your posture, every breath you take. The familiar scent of your perfume mixed with the salt air brings back memories he's tried so hard to suppress - stolen kisses behind the Wreck, late-night surfing sessions, promises made and broken. He adjusts his stance, trying to maintain a careful distance between you, even as every fiber of his being wants to close it.

"Shit," you mutter, dabbing at the spot with your free hand. You can feel JJ's presence just a few feet away, and it takes everything in you not to close that distance. "I should've called or something," you say suddenly, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Before I left, I mean. I just... I couldn't." Your voice cracks slightly on the last word, betraying the emotions you're trying so hard to keep in check.

The raw honesty in your voice, when you mention not calling, makes his throat tight. "Yeah, well..." JJ runs a hand through his hair again, his shark tooth necklace catching the light as he moves. "Probably wouldn't have answered anyway. Was pretty fucked up back then." He lets out a laugh, but there's pain behind it. "Still am, just better at hiding it now." The admission hangs between you like smoke, heavy and suffocating. He can hear Sarah and John B singing off-key inside, the sound a stark contrast to the tension-filled bubble you're standing in.

He watches as you dab at the beer stain on your dress, fighting the urge to help you like he would have before. "Fuck, hold up," he mutters, pulling off his worn t-shirt and offering it to you without thinking. The porch light illuminates the scattered bruises across his torso - some new, some old ones you’d recognize.

You stand there, your heart racing as you stare at JJ's shirtless form. You reach out hesitant to take his shirt, your fingers brushing briefly in a way that sends electricity through your entire body. "Thanks," you manage to say, your voice barely above a whisper. 

"You look good though," he finally says, the words escaping before he can stop them. His eyes meet yours for a moment before quickly looking away. "I mean, like, healthy and shit. That's... that's good." He shifts uncomfortably, very aware that he's still shirtless and that the space between you feels both too large and not large enough. The familiar scent of your perfume is making his head spin, or maybe it's the beer, or maybe it's just you - it's always been you. "Did it help?" he asks quietly, genuinely wanting to know. "Going away? Did it... fix things?" The question carries more weight than he intends, loaded with all the things he never got to say before you left.

The sound of Kiara's laughter drifts out again, and you flinches visibly. You take another long drink from your beer, needing the liquid courage. "It helped," you finally answer his question, unconsciously running your fingers over the faded scars on your wrists. "The doctors, the therapy, the distance... It helped. But it didn't fix everything." You look up at him then, really look at him, taking in how the years have changed him. He's still JJ - still beautiful but there's something harder in his eyes now, something that wasn't there before.

You clutch his shirt in your hands, the familiar scent of him - salt air, coconut surf wax, and something distinctly JJ - making you dizzy with memories. "I..." you start, then swallow hard. "I wanted to call. Every single day, I picked up my phone and stared at your number until the screen went black."

"I missed you," You confess quietly, immediately regretting the words as soon as they leave your mouth. "I mean, I missed everyone," you quickly add, but you both know it's not the same thing. You can feel the weight of everything unsaid between you, three years' worth of words you never got to say. "You look happy," you say, trying to smile even though it feels like your heart is breaking all over again. "With Kie, I mean. You guys... you make sense together." The lie tastes bitter on your tongue, but you force it out anyway. Because what else can you say? That seeing them together feels like drowning? That every time you close your eyes, you still see him? That Maine might have helped you heal your mind, but it did nothing to heal your heart? 

A burst of laughter from inside makes him jump, reminding him where you are and who's waiting for him. "Happy?" he scoffs, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "Yeah, sure. I'm fucking peachy." His sarcasm is sharp enough to cut, a defense mechanism he's perfected over the years. He takes another long drink from his beer, finishing it in one go before setting it down with more force than necessary. "And don't do that shit about me and Kie making sense. You don't get to..." he stops himself again, running a hand over his face.

"Fuck, Y/N/N," JJ breathes out, using your old nickname without thinking. His fingers twitch at his sides, wanting to reach for you but knowing he can't. The sight of you touching your wrist scars makes his stomach turn - he remembers the day he found you, remembers the blood, remembers feeling more terrified than he'd ever been in his life.

"You can't just come back here and say shit like that," he says, his voice rough with emotion. He runs both hands through his hair in frustration, pacing a small circle on the deck. "You left, Y/N. You fucking left and I..." he trails off, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat. The memory of those first few weeks, after you disappeared, hits him like a physical blow - the drinking, the fights, the reckless behavior that even John B couldn't talk him down from.

"I didn't want to leave, JJ," You say, taking a step closer to him despite yourself. The electricity between you is almost tangible now. "You think I wanted to be shipped off to fucking Maine? To be locked up in some facility where they watched my every move? Where they made me talk about every fucking thing that was wrong with me?" Your voice rises slightly before you catch yourself, glancing nervously at the house. "I was drowning here, JJ. I was drowning and I couldn't..." 

"You know what? Fuck this," JJ says suddenly, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger and something else - something that looks dangerously close to the way he used to look at you. "You want to know what happened after you left? I fucking lost it, Y/N. I was so fucked up I couldn't even..." he cuts himself off, aware he's saying too much. The space between you feels charged with electricity, like the air before a storm. 

"But hey, at least the doctors fixed you up real nice, right?" The words are meant to sting, but there's a tremor in his voice that betrays him. He's still that same boy who used to sneak into your room at night, who used to hold you when the darkness got too heavy, who promised he'd always be there - until you made it impossible to keep that promise." His eyes intense as they lock onto yours. "I used to check your social media every fucking day. Every. Day. Just to make sure you were still..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. 

Your hands tremble as you clutch his shirt tighter, his familiar scent making your head spin. "Lost it?" You repeat, your voice cracking. "You think you were the only one who lost it?" The words come out sharper than intended, years of buried pain rising to the surface. Your skin flushes with anger and hurt, your eyes glistening with unshed tears. The bitterness in his voice when he mentions the doctors makes you flinch. "Fixed me up real nice?" You repeat, a hollow laugh escaping your lips. "Is that what you think? That I'm all better now? That I just went away and came back brand new?" You move closer still, close enough to see the flecks of darker blue in his eyes, close enough to smell the beer on his breath. "I still have nightmares. I still get days where I can barely get out of bed. The only difference is now I have better coping mechanisms than..." 

His confession about checking your social media makes your heart stutter in your chest. "I deactivated everything," you admit quietly, your voice thick with emotion. "Because every time I logged on, all I wanted to do was message you. Tell you I was sorry. Tell you I..." you stop yourself, very aware of how close you're standing now, of the fact that he's still shirtless, of Kiara just inside the house. "It doesn't matter now, does it?" You say, taking a step back, trying to create some distance between you even though every cell in your body screams to move closer. "You moved on. You're happy. That's... that's good." The lie tastes like poison on your tongue, but you force it out anyway, because what right do you have to come back here and disrupt his life? What right do you have to still want him this much?

JJ's body tenses as Pope's voice cuts through the charged atmosphere. "What’s taking so long with those beers? John B's about to start drinking mouthwash if we don't..." Pope trails off as he steps onto the deck, his eyes darting between JJ's shirtless form and you holding the said shirt. "Oh shit, my bad, I didn't..." he starts, but JJ cuts him off with a sharp laugh that sounds more like a bark.

"Nothing to be sorry for, Pope," JJ says, his voice carrying an edge that makes Pope raise his eyebrows. JJ snatches up the case of beer from the cooler, his movements jerky and aggressive. "Just catching up with our prodigal pogue here. Sharing war stories about her fancy fucking therapy in Maine." The words come out dripping with sarcasm, but there's a tremor in his hands as he grips the beer case. The porch light catches the tension in his jaw, the way his muscles are coiled tight like he's ready to either fight or flee.

"JJ," Pope says warningly, recognizing the signs of his friend spiraling. He's seen this before - usually right before JJ does something spectacularly stupid. "Maybe we should all just-" But JJ's already moving, shouldering past both of them towards the house. He pauses at the door, his back to you, his knuckles white around the beer case. "You know what the fucked up part is?" he says, not turning around. "I actually thought..." he stops, letting out a bitter laugh. "Doesn't matter what I thought. Welcome home, Y/N. Hope Maine was worth it."

Pope watches JJ disappear inside before turning to you with an apologetic look. "He was really messed up when you left," he says quietly, always the mediator. "Like, more than usual messed up. Started getting into fights with Topper almost daily, drinking more than his dad. Kiara was the only one who could calm him down sometimes." He runs a hand over his face, looking tired. "Look, I know it's not my place, but... maybe give him some time? He's better now, but seeing you again..." Pope glances at the door where you can hear JJ's forced laughter mixing with the others. "It's like reopening an old wound, you know?"

You stare at the door JJ just disappeared through, your heart feeling like it's being ripped apart all over again. His shirt is still clutched in your trembling hands, and you bring it unconsciously closer to your chest. You can feel tears threatening to spill over. "Time?" You repeat Pope's words with a hollow laugh. "Yeah, because three years wasn't enough time, right?" Your voice cracks on the last word, and you have to take a deep breath to steady yourself.

"In Maine, they made us write letters. Letters to everyone we hurt, everyone who hurt us. I wrote so many letters to JJ that they had to give me extra paper." You let out a shaky breath, running your fingers over the soft fabric of JJ's shirt. "Never sent a single one. How do you put three years of 'I'm sorry' and 'I miss you' and 'I still...' into words that don't sound completely fucking pathetic?"

The sound of breaking glass comes from inside, followed by Kiara's concerned "JJ?" Pope closes his eyes and sighs. "And there it is. I better..." he gestures towards the house. "You coming?" The question hangs in the air, heavy with the weight of everything that's just transpired.

The sound of Kiara's concerned voice calling for JJ makes your stomach twist painfully. "You should go check on him," you say to Pope, finally looking up. Your eyes are swimming with unshed tears, but you refuse to let them fall. "I'll... I'll be in in a minute. Just need to..." You gesture vaguely at yourself, trying to pull together the pieces of your composure that JJ's words had shattered. "And Pope?" You call as he turns to leave. "I know everyone probably hates me for leaving. Hell, I hate myself for it. But I didn't have a choice. It was either leave or..." 

You can hear more commotion from inside - JJ's voice raised, something else breaking, Kiara trying to calm him down. The sound makes your chest ache in a way that feels physical. "Fuck," you whisper to yourself, looking down at JJ's shirt still in your hands. You bring it to your face, inhaling his scent one last time before forcing yourself to fold it neatly. You’ll have to give it back eventually, but right now, you need a moment to remember how to breathe without feeling like you’re drowning all over again. The irony isn't lost on you - you left the Outer Banks to stop feeling like you were drowning, only to come back and find yourself deeper underwater than ever before.

The tension in living room is thick enough to cut with a knife as you enter. JJ is sprawled on the couch next to Kiara, his arm draped possessively around her shoulders while nursing what appears to be his fifth beer. There's broken glass by the kitchen counter that Sarah's carefully sweeping up, shooting concerned glances at everyone.

"So this competition tomorrow," John B says too loudly, clearly trying to diffuse the tension. "Heard Topper's entering too." He's sitting cross-legged on the floor, picking at the label of his beer bottle. "Gonna be some sick waves though, bro. Weather report's saying six-footers at least."

JJ snorts, his blue eyes deliberately avoiding your direction. "Yeah, well, Topper can suck my-" Kiara elbows him in the ribs, cutting him off. "What? I'm just saying the trust fund baby probably can't even tell the difference between the nose and tail of his board." His words are slightly slurred, with anger and alcohol making his voice thicker.

"Actually," Sarah pipes up from the kitchen, dumping the broken glass in the trash, "I heard he's been practicing a lot." She settles onto the arm of John B's chair, her blonde hair catching the dim light. "Something about wanting to prove himself or whatever."

Pope shifts slightly as you sit next to him, creating a protective barrier between you and JJ. "You still surf, Y/N?" he asks, trying to include you in the conversation. "Remember that time you totally schooled JJ on that left break by the pier?"

"Fuck off, Pope," JJ snaps, his grip tightening on his beer bottle. "That was one time, and I was hungover as shit." Kiara places a calming hand on his thigh, but he shrugs it off, standing up abruptly. "I need another beer."

"Maybe you should slow down," Kiara suggests gently, reaching for his hand. "The competition's early tomorrow and-"

"I said I need another fucking beer," JJ cuts her off, his voice sharp. He stalks toward the kitchen, purposely taking the long way around to avoid passing near you. "And for the record," he adds, pausing in the doorway, "that left break? I let her win. Figured she needed the ego boost since she was so fucking fragile back then." The words are meant to wound, and from the way you tense beside him, Pope can tell they hit their mark.

John B stands up, running a hand through his hair. "JJ, bro, come on-"

"What?" JJ whirls around, his eyes blazing. "We all just gonna pretend like everything's normal? Like she didn't just fuck off for three years and come waltzing back expecting everything to be the same?" He lets out a bitter laugh. "Nah, I'm good. You guys can play happy fucking family without me."

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's outburst. Sarah is the first to speak, her voice gentle but firm. "JJ, that's enough." She moves from her perch on John B's chair, positioning herself between JJ and the rest of the group.

Your hands are shaking as you stand up, your voice quiet but steady. "You want to do this now? Fine." You take a step forward, ignoring Pope's attempt to grab your arm. "You think you're the only one who was hurt? You think you're the only one who was fucked up?" Your voice rises slightly, years of pent-up emotion breaking through. "I didn't just 'fuck off' to Maine for fun, JJ. I went because the alternative was being lowered into the ground in a fucking coffin!"

Kiara stands up too, torn between her boyfriend and her old friend. "Y/N, maybe we should-"

"No, Kie," you cut her off, your eyes locked on JJ. "He wants to talk about being fragile? About letting me win? At least I'm trying to get better. What are you doing, JJ? Getting drunk and picking fights? Real fucking healthy."

John B moves to intervene, but Pope holds him back, shaking his head. This has been brewing since the moment you walked through the door.

"You know what the difference is between us?" You continue, your voice cracking. "I admit I'm broken. I went and got help because I was tired of hurting everyone around me. But you?" You let out a hollow laugh. "You're still that same scared little boy, hiding behind your anger and your booze because god forbid anyone see that you're hurting too. You’re acting just like your daddy.” 

The moment the words leave your mouth, the room erupts into chaos. JJ's beer bottle shatters in his hand as he lunges forward. "Don't you fucking DARE!" as John B and Pope rush to grab him. His muscles strain against their hold. "You don't get to say that shit! You don't get to fucking compare me to him!"

"JJ, stop!" Kiara shouts, but he's beyond hearing. His blue eyes are wild, unfocused, filled with a pain so deep it makes everyone in the room flinch. "You want to talk about being broken?" JJ spits, still fighting against John B and Pope's restraining arms. "At least I didn't run away! At least I stayed and faced my shit instead of leaving everyone wondering if you were even fucking alive!" His voice cracks on the last word, raw emotion bleeding through the anger. "Do you know how many times I drove by your house? How many nights I sat outside your window hoping you'd just... fuck!" 

 "Where the fuck was all this concern for mental health when I was showing up at your window covered in bruises? When I was sleeping on the beach because I was too scared to go home?" Blood continues to drip from his hand, creating a small puddle on the floor.

"You know what's really fucking funny?" JJ continues, his voice cracking. "The day you left? I was gonna tell you everything. About my dad, about how fucked up I was, about how you were the only person who made me feel like maybe I wasn't completely worthless." His words are like bullets, each one aimed to hit where it hurts most.

"Bro, calm down," John B grunts, struggling to maintain his grip. "This isn't helping-"

"Helping?" JJ lets out a laugh that sounds more like a sob. "Nothing helps! Nothing fucking helps because she LEFT!" He finally breaks free, stumbling forward but not advancing towards you. Instead, he stands there, chest heaving, looking more vulnerable than any of them has ever seen him. "You left," he repeats, quieter now, his voice thick with unshed tears. "You left and I couldn't... I couldn't fucking breathe. And now you're back and I still can't breathe and I..." He runs his hands through his hair violently, turning away from everyone.

Pope steps forward cautiously. "JJ, maybe we should-"

"Don't," JJ cuts him off, his voice dangerous again. "Just... don't." He grabs his keys from the counter, ignoring Kiara's protests. "I need to get the fuck out of here before I..." He doesn't finish the sentence, just storms out, the screen door slamming behind him. The sound of his motorcycle roaring to life fills the night air moments later.

The room falls into a heavy silence after JJ's dramatic exit. You stand frozen, your whole body trembling as tears finally spill down your cheeks. Sarah is the first to move, wrapping her arms around you as you begin to sob.

"I didn't mean..." you choke out between sobs. "I didn't mean to say that about his dad. I just... I was so angry and..." You collapse onto the couch, Sarah still holding you while Kiara paces anxiously by the door.

"Someone needs to go after him," Kiara says, grabbing her jacket. "He's drunk and upset, he shouldn't be on that bike." She looks torn between staying with you and chasing after her boyfriend.

John B runs a hand through his hair, exchanging worried looks with Pope. "I'll go," he says, grabbing his keys. "Pope, you stay here with them. Sarah, can you...?" He gestures at you, who's still crying into Sarah's shoulder.

"I got her," Sarah assures him. "Just... bring him back in one piece, okay?"

Pope starts cleaning up the broken glass, his movements careful and methodical. "You know," he says quietly, "JJ never told anyone this, but he used to sleep in your treehouse after you left. We'd find him up there some mornings, usually after really bad nights with his dad."

"He kept your bracelet too," Kiara adds softly, still hovering by the door. "The one you made him at that bonfire. Wears it under his watch sometimes." She pauses, conflict clear on her face. "I should go with John B-"

"No," you say, wiping your eyes. "Stay. Please. I... I need to tell you all something. About why I really left." You take a shaky breath, looking around at your friends - the family you left behind. "It wasn't just the self-harm or the suicide attempt. There was... there was more. And JJ... he deserves to know the truth. You all do."

Sarah squeezes your hand encouragingly while Pope settles on the floor in front of you. The sound of the Twinkie starting up outside fills the momentary silence.

"Take your time," Sarah says gently. "We're listening." 

John B finds JJ at their usual spot - the abandoned dock near the marsh where they used to fish as kids. JJ's sitting at the edge, legs dangling over the water, a fresh beer in his hand that he definitely grabbed from his emergency stash hidden in the old boat nearby. His motorcycle is parked haphazardly in the grass, still ticking as it cools down.

"Figured I'd find you here," John B says, settling down next to his best friend. The moonlight reflects off the water, casting everything in a silvery glow. "That was quite a show back there, bro."

JJ takes a long pull from his beer, his knuckles still bloody from the broken bottle. "Fuck off, John B," he mutters, but there's no real heat behind it. His hands are shaking slightly as he brings the bottle back to his lips. "I don't need another fucking lecture about controlling my temper or whatever shit you're about to say."

"Actually," John B says, pulling out two fresh beers from his pocket and handing one to JJ, "I was gonna say she had no right bringing up your dad." He cracks open his beer, the sound echoing across the quiet marsh. "That was fucked up."

JJ lets out a hollow laugh, running his uninjured hand through his messy hair. "You know what's fucked up? She's right." His voice cracks slightly. "I am turning into him. Getting drunk, breaking shit, can't control my fucking temper..." He throws his empty bottle into the water with force, watching it disappear beneath the dark surface.

"Nah, man," John B shakes his head firmly. "You're nothing like Luke. You know how I know?" He waits until JJ looks at him. "Because you care. Like, actually give a shit about people. Luke never did." He pauses, choosing his next words carefully. "And you loved her. Still do, probably."

"Doesn't fucking matter now, does it?" JJ's voice is rough with emotion. "I'm with Kie. And Y/N... she's..." he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. The crickets chirp in the silence that follows, the marsh grass swaying in the gentle breeze.

"You know," John B says after a while, "Kie knows. Has known for a while, I think. About how you feel about Y/N." He takes another sip of his beer. "Maybe that's why she's been so... I don't know, different lately?"

JJ's head snaps up, his blue eyes wide in the moonlight. "What the fuck are you talking about?"

"Come on, bro," John B sighs. "You've been wearing that bracelet under your watch since the day Y/N left. You sleep in her old treehouse when shit gets bad. And the way you looked at her tonight... that wasn't just anger, man."

JJ stares out at the dark water, his jaw working as he processes John B's words. "It's not..." he starts, then stops, taking a long drink. "Fuck, man." The moonlight catches the silver threads in his shark tooth necklace as he shifts uncomfortably. "You can't just say shit like that about me and Kie."

"Why not?" John B presses, watching his best friend carefully. "Because it's true? Because you've been trying so hard to convince yourself that what you have with Kie is enough?" He dodges the empty beer can JJ throws at his head with practiced ease. "I love Kie, man. We all do. But she deserves better than being someone's second choice."

"You think I don't know that?" JJ explodes, jumping to his feet. He paces the dock, his shoes making the old wood creak. "You think I don't fucking hate myself for it? For not being able to..." he trails off, running both hands through his hair in frustration. "Y/N left, John B. She fucking left without a word and Kie... Kie was there. She picked up the pieces. She..."

"She's not Y/N," John B finishes quietly. The words hang in the humid night air, heavy with truth. "And that's not fair to any of you."

JJ stops pacing, bracing himself against one of the dock posts. His knuckles are white where they grip the wood, blood from his earlier injury leaving dark smears. "You should've seen her that night," he says so quietly John B almost misses it. "The night before she left. She came to my window like she always did when shit got bad. But something was different. She wouldn't look at me, wouldn't let me touch her. Just kept saying she was sorry." His voice cracks. "I should've known. Should've fucking done something."

"JJ..." John B starts, but JJ cuts him off.

"And now she's back," he continues, his voice rough. "She's back and she's wearing that fucking perfume that makes my head spin, and she's got these new scars I don't know the stories too, and she's looking at me like... like..." He slams his fist into the post, adding fresh splinters to his already injured hand. "Like I'm still that stupid kid who couldn't save her. How I didn't see how bad it was getting. How I was so caught up in my shit with my dad that I missed all the signs." He runs his hands through his hair roughly. "And you know what the worst part is? Even after everything, even with Kie... I still..." He can't finish the sentence, but he doesn't need to.

The marsh is quiet except for the gentle lapping of water against the dock and the distant sound of a boat horn. John B watches as his best friend falls apart, knowing there's nothing he can say to make this better. "Maybe," he finally suggests, "you should talk to Kie. Like, really talk to her. And then..." he hesitates. "Maybe you should talk to Y/N too. About everything."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh. "Yeah? And say what? 'Sorry, I just had a fucking meltdown in front of everyone because seeing you still makes me feel like I'm drowning'? 'Sorry, I'm such a fuck up I couldn't even move on properly'?" He slides down to sit on the dock again, his energy seemingly drained. "Nah, man. Some things are better left buried."

The two make their way to the van it rumbles down the dark road, headlights cutting through the night as John B glances worriedly at JJ in the passenger seat. JJ is slumped against the window, his breath fogging up the glass, the streetlights casting intermittent shadows across his face. His bloody knuckles rest in his lap, the makeshift bandage John B made from his t-shirt already soaking through.

"Your dad's been better lately, right?" John B asks cautiously, turning onto JJ's street. "Like, with the new job and everything?" He knows these periods of calm with Luke are temporary, like the eye of a hurricane - peaceful until it's not.

JJ lets out a laugh, his eyes still fixed on the passing shadows outside. "Yeah, for now. Give it a week, maybe two if we're lucky." His voice is tired, drained of its usual energy. "He's actually buying groceries instead of beer. Fucking miracle, right?" The sarcasm in his voice is thick enough to cut.

As they pull up to JJ's house, they can see Luke's truck in the driveway, the porch light on - a rare sight. Through the window, they can see him moving around in the kitchen, looking almost normal, almost like a real father. "You sure you don't want to crash at my place?" John B offers, killing the engine. "Sarah won't mind, and you know Pope's probably got Y/N calmed down by now..."

"Don't," JJ warns, his voice sharp. "Just... don't say her name right now, okay?" He runs his uninjured hand through his hair, a nervous habit that's become more frequent since your return. "I can't... I can't think about that shit right now. About what she said, about Kie, about..." he trails off, shaking his head.

The front door opens, and Luke steps onto the porch. "JJ? That you, son?" His voice carries across the yard, lacking its usual angry slur. "Got some leftovers if you're hungry. Made that fish you like." The attempt at normalcy is almost more unsettling than his usual violence.

"Fuck," JJ mutters, unbuckling his seatbelt. "Look at him, playing father of the year." He grabs his backpack from the backseat, wincing as the movement jars his injured hand. "Thanks for the ride, bro. And for..." he gestures vaguely, encompassing everything that happened at the dock.

"JJ," John B calls as his friend opens the door. "Just... be careful, okay? And if shit goes south..." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. They both know JJ's always got a place at the Chateau.

"Yeah, yeah," JJ forces a grin that doesn't reach his eyes. "Save the emotional shit for Sarah, man." He slams the van door, shouldering his backpack as he heads toward the house. Each step feels heavy like he's walking through water. The weight of everything - your return, his relationship with Kiara, his dad's temporary stability - sits on his shoulders like a physical burden.

Luke's waiting at the door, and for once, his eyes are clear. "Rough night?" he asks, noticing JJ's bandaged hand. There's genuine concern in his voice, the kind that makes JJ's chest ache because he knows it won't last.

He follows his father into the house, the familiar scent of fried fish and something else - hope, maybe? - filling the air. The kitchen is cleaner than he's seen it in years, dishes are actually washed and put away, no empty bottles littering the counters. It's like walking into a funhouse mirror version of his life, everything familiar but slightly wrong.

"Sit," Luke gestures to the table, already moving to reheat the food. "Got paid today. Foreman says I'm doing good work." There's pride in his voice, the kind JJ used to dream of hearing when he was younger. "Even got you something." He pulls out a small package from one of the kitchen drawers, sliding it across the table.

JJ stares at the package like it might bite him, his injured hand throbbing in rhythm with his heartbeat. "Dad, you didn't have to..." he starts, but Luke waves him off.

"Open it," Luke insists, putting a plate of steaming fish and rice in front of JJ. "Saw it at the store, thought of you." His voice is gruff with emotion he doesn't know how to express.

With trembling fingers, JJ unwraps the package. Inside is a new surf wax and a professional-grade fishing lure - the expensive kind they used to admire together in the shop window when JJ was little. "This is..." he swallows hard, something thick and painful lodging in his throat.

"For the competition tomorrow," Luke explains, sitting down across from him with his own plate. "Figured you could use some good gear." He pauses, studying JJ's face. "Your hand gonna be okay to surf?"

JJ flexes his fingers experimentally, wincing. "Yeah, it's fine. Just some scratches." He doesn't mention how he got them, and Luke doesn't ask. Some things are better left unsaid, even in this temporary peace.

They eat in relative silence, the only sounds are the scrape of forks against plates and the distant hum of crickets outside. JJ can't help but wait for the other shoe to drop, for his father to notice the alcohol on his breath, or ask why he came home so late. But Luke just keeps eating, occasionally glancing at JJ with something that looks almost like concern.

"Y/N’s back," Luke says suddenly, making JJ choke on his rice. "Saw her at the store today. She's grown up nice." He says it casually, like he doesn't know the weight those words carry like he doesn't remember the nights JJ came home drunk and broken after you left.

JJ's grip on his fork tightens, his knuckles white. "Dad..." he warns, but Luke continues.

"You know, I never told you this," Luke sets down his fork, his voice unusually serious. "But that girl... she used to come by sometimes when you were out. Would bring groceries, say she was just dropping off extras her mom bought." He lets out a dry laugh. "We both knew she was lying. She was checking on you, making sure I hadn't..." he trails off, shame coloring his voice.

The revelation hits JJ like a physical blow. He pushes back from the table, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "I can't... I can't do this right now," he manages to say, his voice rough. "Thanks for dinner. And the..." he gestures at the gifts, unable to finish.

Luke nods, understanding in his eyes that hurts worse than any punch he's ever thrown. "Get some rest, son. Big day tomorrow." He watches as JJ practically flees to his room, the sound of his door closing echoing through the unusually quiet house.

In his room, JJ collapses onto his bed. The surf wax and lure sit on his nightstand, mocking him with their newness, their promise of a father he's always wanted but never quite had. He pulls out his phone, seeing missed calls from Kiara and texts from the group chat. But it's his wallpaper that catches his eye - still that old photo of him and you at the beach, your smile bright and real, his arm around your shoulders. He'd never changed it, not even after starting things with Kiara.

"Fuck," he whispers into the darkness, throwing his arm over his eyes. Tomorrow's competition suddenly seems like the least of his problems.

JJ is hunched over his surfboard on the front porch, a half-eaten piece of toast dangling from his mouth as he meticulously applies the new wax his father gave him. The morning sun casts long shadows across the worn wood of the porch, the air already thick with humidity. His injured hand throbs as he works, the makeshift bandage John B wrapped it in last night now stained and fraying.

The knock makes him jump, nearly dropping the wax block. "It's open!" he calls out, not looking up from his work. He knows it's Kiara before she even speaks - recognizes the pattern of her footsteps, the jingle of the shell anklet she always wears.

"Hey," Kiara's voice is soft and cautious. She's wearing her competition bikini under a loose tank top, her curly hair pulled back in a messy bun. "You weren't answering your phone." She settles down next to him on the porch steps, close but not touching - a careful distance that speaks volumes.

JJ continues working on his board, his movements perhaps more aggressive than necessary. "Yeah, well, been kind of busy." He gestures at the board with his injured hand, causing Kiara to suck in a sharp breath at the sight of his knuckles.

"Jesus, JJ," she reaches for his hand but he pulls away, standing up abruptly. "We need to talk about last night-"

"No," JJ cuts her off, running his good hand through his already messy hair. "We really don't. I fucked up, lost my temper, same old shit. Can we just..." he trails off, finally looking at her. The concern in her eyes makes his stomach twist with guilt.

Kiara stands too, crossing her arms. "Y/N told us everything last night," she says quietly. "After you left. About why she really went away." She watches as JJ's entire body tenses, his jaw clenching. "JJ, it wasn't just about the self-harm and the attempt. She was-"

"Stop," JJ's voice is sharp, dangerous. He turns away from her, gripping the porch railing so hard his knuckles turn white. "I don't want to know. I can't... I can't hear that shit right now. Not before the competition."

"You can't keep running from this," Kiara says, her voice stronger now. "And you can't keep pretending that what we have is..." she stops, taking a deep breath. "I see the way you look at her, JJ. I've always seen it. Even when you're angry at her, even when you're with me, you look at her like... like she's the sun and you're drowning in her light."

JJ lets out a bitter laugh, turning back to face her. "That's some poetic shit, Kie." But there's no humor in his voice, just pain and exhaustion. "What do you want me to say? That I'm sorry? That I'm a fucking mess who can't get his shit together? That I-"

"I want you to be honest," Kiara interrupts. "With me, with yourself, with her." She steps closer, reaching up to touch his face gently. "We both knew this wasn't forever, JJ. We were just... holding each other together until something better came along."

"You deserve better than that," JJ says quietly, leaning into her touch despite himself. "Better than me using you as a bandaid for my fucked up heart."

Kiara smiles sadly. "Yeah, I do. And so do you." She drops her hand, stepping back. "The competition starts soon. Y/N’s entering too, by the way. JJ? She still wears that shell necklace you made her. Never took it off, even in Maine."

The information hits JJ like a physical blow, making him grip the railing tighter. The surf wax sits abandoned on his board, the morning sun turning it soft and sticky. JJ sighs heavily, sliding down to sit on the porch steps. The morning sun continues to rise, casting long shadows across the yard where weeds push through cracked concrete - a perfect metaphor for their relationship, beautiful things growing in broken places.

"You're not mad?" JJ asks finally, his voice rough. He picks at the fraying bandage on his hand, avoiding her eyes. "About... everything?"

Kiara lets out a soft laugh sitting back down next to him bumping his shoulder with hers. "I mean, I probably should be. But honestly?" She tilts her face toward the sun, closing her eyes. "I think I've known since the beginning. We were both just... trying to fill empty spaces."

JJ runs his good hand through his hair, a nervous habit he can't shake. "You're too good for this shit, Kie. Too good for me and my fucked up baggage." He glances at her sideways. "I never meant to hurt you."

"I know," Kiara says simply. "And hey, at least we had some good times, right?" She grins at him, that familiar sparkle in her eyes. "Like that time we got caught skinny dipping at the country club pool?"

"Fuck," JJ laughs despite himself, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. "Your dad's face when he found us... thought he was gonna have a stroke." The memory feels lighter now, less weighted with guilt.

They sit in comfortable silence for a moment. Finally, Kiara speaks again, her voice gentle but firm. "You need to talk to her, JJ. Like, really talk to her. No yelling, no running away."

JJ's jaw tightens. "Kie..."

"No, listen," she cuts him off. "What she told us last night... it changes things. And you deserve to know." She stands up, brushing off her shorts. "But first, you need to kick Topper's ass in this competition. Show him that pogues rule the waves, right?"

JJ looks up at her, gratitude and affection washing over him. "How are you so fucking cool about all this?"

Kiara shrugs, a small smile playing on her lips. "Because I love you both, you idiot. Just... not in the way we've been pretending." She starts walking backward toward her car. "See you at the beach. And JJ?" She pauses. "Whatever Y/N told us last night? It's not my story to tell. But when she does tell you... just remember she never stopped loving you either."

JJ watches her drive away, his heart feeling both lighter and heavier at the same time. He turns back to his surfboard, running his fingers over the fresh wax. The competition starts soon, and somewhere on that beach, you’ll be there. The thought makes his stomach flip in a way that has nothing to do with pre-competition nerves.

The beach is alive with pre-competition energy, the morning sun casting long shadows across the sand as spectators and competitors mill about. The group has claimed your usual spot, a patch of sand near the judges' stand where you're spread out with blankets and coolers. The air smells of salt spray and sunscreen, mixed with the distant scent of food vendors setting up their stalls.

JJ sits cross-legged next to Pope, obsessively checking the fins on his board while stealing glances at you. His injured hand is wrapped in fresh bandages - Pope's handiwork from earlier that morning. "You think the swell's gonna hold?" he asks Pope, his voice tighter than usual. "Weather report said it might pick up around noon."

"Dude, stop stressing," Pope replies, not looking up from his phone where he's tracking the wind patterns. "You could surf these waves in your sleep." He pauses, glancing at his friend. "Though maybe focus more on the waves and less on staring at Y/N every five seconds?"

A few feet away, Kiara and you sit huddled over your board, your heads close together as you work on the design. "Pass me the blue paint?" Kiara asks, her voice carefully casual. "I think it'll pop against the white."

"Here," You hand over the paint pen, your finger steady as you work on your own section of the board. "Thanks for helping me with this, Kie. I know it's... weird."

Sarah's voice carries over from where she's practically sitting in John B's lap, her laugh bright in the morning air. "John B, I swear to God, if you get any more sunscreen in my hair..." She squirms as he deliberately rubs more lotion on her neck.

"What? I'm being helpful!" John B protests, grinning. "Can't have my girl turning into a lobster." He catches JJ's eye and makes an exaggerated kissing face, earning himself a handful of sand thrown his way.

"Get a room, you two," Pope groans, but there's affection in his voice. "Some of us are trying to focus here."

"Yeah, focus on what?" JJ snaps, more harshly than intended. "The competition doesn't start for another hour." His eyes drift back to you, watching as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear - a gesture so familiar it makes his chest ache.

"Speaking of the competition," Sarah pipes up, clearly trying to diffuse the tension, "heard Topper's been practicing his aerial moves. Might actually give you a run for your money this time, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, his trademark cockiness returning. "Trust fund baby probably had to pay someone to teach him which end of the board goes in front." But his bravado falters when he catches you hiding a smile at his comment.

"The waves are looking good though," you offer quietly, your first direct contribution to the group conversation. "Nice clean sets coming in." Your voice carries over the beach noise, making JJ's hands still on his board.

The group falls into a loaded silence, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ and you carefully avoid looking at each other, or how Kiara's shoulders relax slightly when JJ doesn't snap back with a sarcastic comment.

"Alright, enough of this weird energy," Pope announces, standing up and brushing sand off his shorts. "Who wants to help me get drinks from the vendor? We've got..." he checks his watch, "forty-five minutes to get JJ properly hydrated before he has to show these kooks how it's done."

"Let me help," Sarah jumps up, linking her arm through Pope's. "John B, Y/N, you coming?" There's a pointed look in her eyes that everyone pretends not to notice.

"I'm good," You reply, still focused on your board design. "Need to finish this before the competition starts." Your fingers trace the intricate pattern you and Kiara have created - waves and stars intertwining across the white surface.

"Me too," John B replies, stretching out on their blanket. "Someone's gotta make sure these two don't kill each other." He gestures vaguely between JJ and you, earning himself a glare from both of you.

Kiara looks up from the surfboard, her hands covered in paint. "Get me one of those açai bowls if they have them?" she calls after Pope and Sarah. "And maybe some water for everyone? It's getting hot out here."

As Pope and Sarah head toward the vendors, the remaining group falls into an awkward silence. JJ continues fidgeting with his board, though there's nothing left to adjust. The morning sun beats down on you, the humidity making everything feel sticky and tense. The beach is getting more crowded now, the excitement building as more competitors arrive with their boards.

"Your hand looks better," You say suddenly, your voice soft but carrying clearly over the beach noise. You're still focused on your board, not looking up, but your fingers have stilled on the paint pen.

JJ flexes his injured hand unconsciously. "Yeah, well, Pope's got practice wrapping shit up. Comes with being friends with a walking disaster." He tries for his usual sarcastic tone but it falls flat.

"Remember that time you tried to do a backflip off the pier?" John B interjects, clearly trying to ease the tension. "Pope had to use an entire first aid kit on your stupid ass."

"That was one time," JJ protests, a genuine smile finally cracking through his facade. "And I totally would've landed it if that jellyfish hadn't been in the way."

"There was no jellyfish," Kiara laughs, rolling her eyes. "You just chickened out halfway through."

"I did not!" JJ's voice rises indignantly. "Tell them, Y/N/N, you were there-" He cuts himself off abruptly, realizing he'd used your old nickname without thinking.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the distant sound of waves and other competitors warming up. Your hand has started trembling slightly, though you try to hide it by gripping the paint pen tighter.

"There definitely wasn't a jellyfish," you finally say, your voice barely above a whisper. "But there was that group of tourist girls watching, and you were trying to show off..."

"Classic JJ," John B jumps in, trying to keep the conversation flowing. "Always trying to impress the ladies with his 'sick moves.'" He makes air quotes with his fingers.

The moment breaks when someone calls out "Maybank!" from down the beach. It's one of the competition organizers, clipboard in hand. "You're up in heat three, twenty minutes!"

"Shit," JJ mutters, standing up and grabbing his board. "I should probably warm up or whatever." He pauses, looking down at your board. "The design's good," he says quietly, before quickly adding, "Both of you. It's... yeah." He turns and jogs toward the water, his board under his arm.

"Well, that was almost a normal conversation," John B observes, earning himself an elbow in the ribs from Kiara. "What? I'm just saying..."

"I should warm up too," You say suddenly, standing and picking up your board. The morning sun catches the shell necklace around your neck - the one JJ made you years ago - making it gleam.

"Want company?" Kiara offers, but you shake your head.

"I need to..." you gesture vaguely toward the opposite end of the beach from where JJ went. "You know."

They watch as you walk away, your hair blowing in the ocean breeze. John B wraps an arm around Kiara's shoulders. "They'll figure it out," he says confidently. "They always do."

"Yeah," Kiara agrees, leaning into him. "But how many hearts are gonna get broken in the process?"

The question hangs in the air as they watch you two paddle out into the waves from opposite ends of the beach, like magnets simultaneously attracting and repelling each other. The waves crash against the shore as the competition gets underway, the beach packed with spectators cheering from the sand. The morning sun glints off the water, creating perfect conditions for the surfers waiting in the lineup. JJ sits on his board, straddling it as he watches the sets roll in, his injured hand gripping the rails slightly tighter than necessary. He's in heat three, along with you and Kiara, a cruel twist of fate that has his stomach in knots.

From the beach, John B's voice carries over the crowd. "Let's go, JJ! Show these kooks how it's done!" Sarah and Pope join in with their cheers, their enthusiasm infectious enough to draw smiles from other spectators.

JJ catches sight of you about twenty yards to his left, the shell necklace he made you glints in the sun. You're focused on the horizon, reading the waves with an intensity he remembers well from your late-night surfing sessions years ago. Kiara floats between you two, creating a triangle formation in the water, her presence both a buffer and a reminder of everything that's changed.

"First wave of heat three!" the announcer's voice booms over the speakers. "Riders, get ready!"

A set approaches and JJ feels the familiar surge of adrenaline. He watches as you turn your board, positioning yourself for the wave. Your form is different now - more refined, more confident. You catch the wave with practiced ease, your movement fluid as you drop in. The crowd cheers as you execute a perfect bottom turn, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight.

"Fuck," JJ mutters under his breath, both impressed and frustrated. He spots his own wave approaching, bigger than yours, and paddles hard. As he pops up, everything else fades away - the crowd, the competition, the complicated mess of emotions. It's just him and the wave, the way it's always been. He drives hard off the bottom, launching into an aerial that has the crowd screaming. His injured hand protests as he grabs his rail, but he sticks the landing, finishing with a powerful snap off the lip.

Kiara catches the next wave, her style more aggressive than yours but equally skilled. She shoots JJ a quick smile as she paddles back out, no trace of their earlier conversation in her expression. You're all competitors now, regardless of your personal drama.

The heat continues, each rider pushing themselves harder with each wave. JJ finds himself watching you more than he should, noticing how you’ve incorporated new techniques into your surfing. There's a grace to your movements that wasn't there before, a confidence that makes his chest tight with something between pride and regret.

From the beach, Pope's voice cuts through the crowd noise: "Time check! Two minutes left in the heat!"

JJ sits up straighter on his board, scanning for one last good wave. He needs something big to secure his spot in the finals. A set approaches, and he can see both you and Kiara eyeing it too. It's the kind of wave you used to fight over during your dawn patrol sessions - clean, powerful, perfect for showing off.

The tension in the water is palpable as you all turn toward shore, ready to battle for position. JJ glances at you, catching your eye for the first time since you paddled out. For a moment, it's like nothing has changed - you're just two kids from the Cut, living for the next wave. Then the moment breaks as the announcer's voice booms: "Final wave of heat three approaching! Who's gonna take it?"

The tension crackles through the air as all three surfers eye the approaching wave. JJ's muscles tense as he prepares to paddle, but suddenly you make your move first, cutting across his line with precise timing. You catch the wave perfectly, popping up with fluid grace that makes the crowd gasp.

"Holy shit!" John B's voice carries over the noise as you drop into the face of the wave. Your form is flawless, body low and controlled as you set up for your first maneuver. 

JJ can't help but watch, even as he and Kiara paddle back to position. You carve up the face of the wave, your movements more aggressive than before, spraying water in an arc that catches the sunlight. You transition into a series of snaps that have the judges leaning forward in their seats, before setting up for your finale.

"No fucking way," JJ mutters, recognizing the setup. It's a move you used to practice together, late at night when the beach was empty - a risky aerial that you’d perfected during those endless summer sessions. You launch off the lip, grabbing your rail and rotating in a way that seems to defy gravity. The landing is clean, and precise, sending another spray of water toward the sky as the crowd erupts.

"That's my girl!" Sarah screams from the beach, jumping up and down while clutching John B's arm. Pope's got his phone out, recording everything while shouting his own encouragement.

As you paddle back out, JJ catches your eye again. There's something different in your expression now - a mix of pride, challenge, and something else he can't quite read. Kiara paddles up beside him, a knowing look on her face.

"Damn," Kiara whistles low. "She's been practicing."

"Time!" The announcer's voice booms across the water. "Heat three is complete! Riders, return to shore for scoring."

The paddle back is quiet, each lost in your own thoughts as the judges figure out scores. JJ can feel the energy on the beach, knowing without looking that your last wave changed everything. As you hit the shallows, John B and Pope rush out to help with your boards.

"That was fucking insane!" John B exclaims, grabbing your board. "When did you learn to fly?"

You push your wet hair back, that shell necklace still somehow perfectly in place. "Maine has waves too," you say quietly, but your eyes flick to JJ as you say it. "Different, but good for practicing."

"Attention competitors," the announcer's voice cuts through their conversation. "Scores for heat three are ready..."

The group falls silent, tension building as you wait for the results. JJ finds himself holding his breath, his injured hand throbbing. The morning sun is high now, turning the ocean into a field of diamonds, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he remembers teaching you that aerial on a night just like this, under a full moon with no one else around.

The announcer's voice crackles over the speakers: "In third place, with a score of 8.7 - Kiara Carrera!"

Kiara grins, accepting high-fives from the group. "Not bad for a warmup," she says, squeezing water from her hair. Her eyes dart between JJ and you, anticipating what comes next.

"In second place, with a score of 9.2..." The pause feels endless, "JJ Maybank!"

JJ's jaw tightens, his fingers flexing around his board. He knows what's coming, and can feel it in the electric tension running through their little group. Pope claps him on the shoulder, but he barely feels it.

"And taking first place in heat three, with a score of 9.8 - Y/N L/N! That final aerial was something else, folks!"

The beach erupts in cheers, but JJ's focused on your face - the way your eyes widen in surprise, the slight tremor in your hands as Sarah pulls you into a crushing hug. You look exactly like you did years ago when you landed your first aerial under his guidance.

"Holy shit, Y/N!" John B whoops, lifting you off your feet in celebration. "That was fucking incredible!"

"All riders advancing to the finals, please check the board for heat assignments," the announcer continues. "Thirty-minute break before the next round."

JJ watches as they swarm you with congratulations, his emotions a tangled mess he can't sort through. Pride, jealousy, regret, and something deeper, something that feels like the undertow that used to drag you both out during night sessions.

"You taught her that aerial," Kiara says quietly beside him, her voice carrying a knowing tone. "I remember watching you two practice it for weeks."

Before JJ can respond, you break away from the group, approaching them with hesitant steps. You're holding something in your hand - his old surf wax, the one he'd always let you borrow during your sessions.

"Found this in my bag this morning," you say, your voice barely audible over the beach noise. "Thought you might want it back." Your finger brushes his as you hand it over, sending a jolt through his system that has nothing to do with the competition.

"Keep it," he finds himself saying, his voice rougher than intended. "Looks like you're putting it to better use anyway." He tries to make it sound casual, but there's too much history in those words, too many memories of dawn patrols and midnight sessions and promises made under starlit skies.

The moment stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words, until Pope's voice breaks through: "Guys! They're posting the final heat assignments!"

The group moves toward the bulletin board, but JJ hangs back, watching you walk away. The shell necklace catches the light again, and he remembers making it for you on this very beach, his fingers working the knots while you talked about constellations and dreams and futures that seemed possible then.

"You okay?" Kiara asks, lingering beside him.

"Yeah," JJ lies, running a hand through his salt-stiffened hair. "Just... fuck." He doesn't need to finish the sentence. Kiara understands - she always has.

The finals loom ahead, but all JJ can think about is that aerial, and how your form was exactly the same as when he first taught it to you, right down to the way you point your toes during the rotation. Some things, it seems, don't change - even when everything else does.

The beach is winding down as the sun begins its descent, painting the sky in brilliant oranges and pinks. The competition crowd has thinned, leaving behind only the most dedicated spectators and the Pogues, who are sprawled out on their blankets celebrating their friends' success. JJ, you, and Kiara stand together on the podium, your medals glinting in the late afternoon light.

"Third place, Kiara Carrera!" The announcer's voice booms one final time. Kiara grins, holding up her bronze medal as Sarah and John B whoop and holler from the crowd.

"Second place, Y/N L/N!" You step forward, accepting your silver medal with a small smile. The shell necklace around your neck catches the light, drawing JJ's attention momentarily.

"And your first-place winner, JJ Maybank!" The crowd erupts as JJ accepts his gold medal, his signature cocky grin in place despite the storm of emotions brewing beneath the surface. His final wave had been spectacular - a combination of raw power and technical skill that even the most critical judges couldn't deny.

As you step down from the podium, Pope approaches with a cooler. "Time to celebrate properly!" he announces, pulling out beers for everyone. The group gravitates toward your usual spot on the beach, away from the dispersing crowd.

"To the most talented pogues in the OBX!" John B raises his beer, his other arm wrapped around Sarah's waist. "And to Kiara for not killing JJ when he snake dropped her wave in the finals!"

"Hey!" JJ protests, but he's laughing. "All's fair in love and surfing, right?" The words hang in the air for a moment, loaded with meaning as his eyes unconsciously drift to you.

"That last aerial though," Pope interjects, sensing the tension. "Thought you were gonna break your neck, JJ."

"Please," JJ scoffs, taking a long drink from his beer. "That was nothing compared to the shit we used to pull during night sessions." He freezes slightly, realizing what he's said, and who he's referencing.

You shift beside him, your silver medal catching the dying light. "Remember that time we tried to surf during a lightning storm?" You say quietly, surprising everyone. "John B had to come to rescue us in the Twinkie."

"Jesus," Sarah laughs, but her eyes are watchful. "You two were always doing crazy shit like that."

The group falls into a comfortable rhythm of storytelling and laughter, the competition tension slowly easing. JJ finds himself hyper-aware of your presence, the way you laugh at John B's terrible jokes, and how you unconsciously play with that shell necklace when you're thinking.

"You've improved," he says suddenly when the others are distracted by Pope's dramatic reenactment of a wipeout. "Your form, I mean. It's... different. Better."

You look at him, really look at him, for what feels like the first time since you’ve been back. "Had a good teacher," you reply softly, your fingers still toying with the necklace. "Some things you don't forget, even when you're trying to."

The weight of unspoken words hangs between you, heavy as storm clouds. Kiara watches you two from across the circle, a knowing look in her eyes as she catches JJ's gaze.

The Wreck is bustling with the usual dinner crowd, but Kiara's parents have reserved the back section for their celebration. The smell of fried shrimp and hush puppies fills the air as you pile around your favorite table, medals still hanging around the winners' necks. The sunset streams through the windows, casting everything in a warm golden glow.

JJ slouches in his chair, one arm draped over the back as he nurses his beer. His eyes keep drifting to you, who's sitting between Sarah and Pope, your hair still damp from the ocean. The shell necklace catches the light every time you move, a constant reminder of everything that's changed and everything that hasn't.

"Yo, check it out," John B nudges JJ, nodding toward the entrance where Topper and Rafe are making their way over. The entire table tenses slightly, years of rivalry making everyone wary.

"Hey," Topper says, stopping at their table. He looks different - less aggressive than usual, almost humble. "Just wanted to say... that was some sick surfing today. All of you." His eyes linger on you for a moment longer than necessary, making JJ's jaw clench.

Rafe, surprisingly sober, nods in agreement. "That move in the finals, Maybank? Pretty fucking impressive." He shifts uncomfortably, clearly not used to complimenting pogues. "And Y/N... didn't know you had moves like that."

"Thanks," you reply quietly, your fingers automatically going to the shell necklace. The gesture doesn't go unnoticed by anyone at the table, especially JJ.

"Yeah, well," JJ starts, his voice carrying an edge, but Kiara kicks him under the table. He swallows whatever sarcastic comment he is about to make. "Thanks, man. You weren't half bad either, Topper."

"Listen," Topper says, running a hand through his hair. "We're having a bonfire in Figure Eight tonight. Victory party kind of thing. You guys should come." The invitation hangs in the air, surprising everyone.

Sarah raises an eyebrow at her brother. "Rafe? You're okay with this?"

Rafe shrugs, looking almost uncomfortable. "New leaf and all that shit, right? Besides," he grins, some of his old cockiness returning, "can't let you pogues have all the fun."

The group exchanges looks, years of kook-pogue rivalry making them hesitant. It's Pope who finally speaks up. "Yeah, alright. Could be fun."

"Cool," Topper nods, already backing away. "Starts at nine. Bring whatever." He and Rafe head back to their table, leaving you in stunned silence.

"Did that just happen? Did we just have a civil conversation with Topper and Rafe?" Kiara says surprised.

"End times," Pope declares solemnly, making everyone laugh. "The apocalypse is definitely coming."

"Well, that was weird," John B says, voicing what everyone's thinking. "Think it's a trap?"

"Nah," Sarah shakes her head. "Topper's been different lately. And Rafe... well, rehab changed him. A little, anyway."

JJ snorts, taking another drink. "Still don't trust them." His eyes find you again. "You gonna go?"

The question feels heavier than it should, loaded with implications. You meet his gaze, something unreadable in your expression. "Maybe," you say softly. "Might be nice to see how the other half lives, right?"

The tension at the table shifts, everyone pretending not to notice the way JJ's grip tightens on his beer bottle, or how your fingers haven't left that shell necklace since Topper walked away.

"Well," Kiara stands up, ever the peacemaker, "if we're doing this, we should probably get more food first. Can't show up to a kook party on empty stomachs." She heads toward the kitchen, leaving the others to navigate the complicated dynamics at the table.

The bonfire casts dancing shadows across the beach as JJ stands near the water's edge, the sound of waves mixing with distant laughter and music from the kook party. He's already several beers in, trying to drown out the memories that keep surfacing every time he catches sight of you. The others have conspicuously disappeared - John B and Sarah wandering off toward the dunes, Pope getting caught up in some debate about marine biology with a group of college kids, and Kiara conveniently remembering she needed to help set up the speakers.

You approach quietly, your presence announced only by the soft crunch of sand under your feet. You’ve changed since dinner, wearing a loose white beach dress that catches the firelight, that damn shell necklace still around your neck. Without warning, you reach out and take his beer, replacing it with a bottle of water.

"The fuck, Y/N/N?" JJ protests, the nickname slipping out before he can stop it. His voice is rougher than usual, whether, from the alcohol or emotion, it's hard to tell.

"You've had enough," you say softly, but firmly. "And we both know you get mean when you drink too much." There's no judgment in your voice, just stated fact - you know him too well, even after all this time.

JJ runs a hand through his hair, agitation clear in every movement. "Yeah? And what makes you think you still get to make that call?" The words come out harsh, but he takes a drink from the water bottle anyway.

You settle into the sand, patting the spot next to you. After a moment's hesitation, JJ sits too, maintaining careful distance between you two. The fire casts an orange glow across your skin.

"Remember the last bonfire we were at together?" You ask suddenly, your voice barely audible over the waves. "Before... everything?"

JJ tenses beside you, his fingers digging into the sand. "Don't," he warns, but there's less bite in his voice now. "We're not doing this, Y/N."

"Aren't we?" You turn to look at him fully, the firelight reflecting in your eyes. "Because I think we've been doing this dance since I got back. Everyone sees it, JJ. Even Kiara-"

"Leave Kie out of this," he snaps, but you both know it's a weak protest. His hand unconsciously moves toward yours in the sand before he catches himself. The shell necklace gleams as you shift, drawing his attention. "You kept it," he says suddenly, nodding toward the necklace. "Even in Maine."

"Never took it off," you admit quietly. "Even when they..it was the only piece of home I had left. The only piece of you."

JJ's breath catches at your words, his fingers curling into fists in the sand. The firelight dances across your faces as the party continues behind you, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The sound of waves seems to grow louder, matching the thundering of his heart.

"You can't just..." he starts, his voice cracking.

"You can't just say shit like that, Y/N. Not after... not after everything."

You shift slightly closer, the hem of your white dress brushing against his leg. "Then what can I say, JJ? Because we need to talk about it. About that night. About why I really left." 

"Yeah?" JJ's voice turns sharp, defensive. "What's there to talk about? You made your choice. You left. End of fucking story." But his eyes betray him, constantly drawn to your face, to the necklace, to the way the firelight catches in your hair.

"It wasn't a choice," you say quietly, your voice trembling slightly. "My parents found the letters, JJ. The ones I wrote to you about... about everything. About your dad, about what we were planning..." You take a shaky breath. "About how much I loved you."

JJ's whole body goes rigid at your words. The water bottle crumples in his grip, forgotten. "Stop," he says, but it sounds more like a plea than a command. "Just... fuck, Y/N."

"You want to know why I really left?" You continue, your voice stronger now. "Because that night, after I left your house, after your dad..." you swallow hard. "After I saw what he did to you, I went home and wrote everything down. Every bruise I'd helped you hide, every night you climbed through my window bleeding, every time you flinched when someone moved too fast. I was going to turn him in, JJ. I couldn't watch him hurt you anymore."

The confession hangs in the air between you, heavy as storm clouds. JJ's breathing has become ragged, his jaw clenched so tight it must hurt. Behind you, someone cranks up the music, but it feels distant, muffled like you're underwater.

"My parents found the letters before I could do anything," you continue, your voice barely above a whisper. "They read everything - about us, about your dad, about how we were planning to run away after graduation. They didn't give me a choice, JJ. It was either Maine or..." 

JJ stares at the water, his whole body vibrating with tension as he processes your words. The firelight catches the tears threatening to spill from his eyes, but he blinks them away furiously. His injured hand flexes in the sand, leaving small indentations that quickly fill with darkness.

"You were gonna..." he starts, his voice hoarse. "You were trying to protect me?" A bitter laugh escapes him. "Fuck, Y/N. I thought... all this time I thought you just couldn't handle my shit anymore. Thought you got tired of dealing with the fucked up pogue kid."

You shift closer, close enough that your shoulders brush. The contact sends electricity through both of you. "I could never get tired of you, JJ," you whisper, your voice catching. "Even in Maine, even when they had me so medicated I could barely remember my own name... I never stopped..."

"Don't," he cuts you off roughly, but he doesn't move away. "You can't just come back here and tell me all this shit. You can't just..." he runs his hand through his hair again, agitation clear in every movement. "Fuck, do you know what it did to me? Finding your room empty that morning? Your mom wouldn't tell me anything, just kept saying you were 'getting help' like you were some kind of..." he can't finish the sentence.

"I tried to call," you admit quietly. "That first month, I called your number every day until they took my phone. Left so many voicemails I filled up your inbox." You touch the shell necklace again, a habit he's starting to recognize as nervous comfort. "Did you... did you ever listen to them?"

"Every fucking one. Over and over until the system deleted them." He finally turns to look at you fully, his eyes intense in the firelight. "I still have that old phone. Can't bring myself to throw it away because it's got your last message saved."

The confession hangs between you, heavy with meaning. Behind you, the party continues, but you might as well be alone on the beach. The waves crash steadily, a rhythm you both know by heart from countless night sessions together.

"I kept every letter," You say softly. "The ones they wouldn't let me send. There's a whole box of them under my bed. Three years' worth of things I needed to tell you." Your hand moves unconsciously toward his in the sand, stopping just short of touching.

JJ stares at the ocean for a long moment, processing everything. The firelight dances across his features as he finally turns back to you, his expression raw and vulnerable in a way you haven’t seen since that last night three years ago.

"Every time something good happened, or something shit happened, or just... anything happened, my first thought was always 'I gotta tell Y/N.' Then I'd remember you weren't there anymore." He lets out a shaky breath. "Took me almost a year to stop turning to tell you stuff."

Your hand finally bridges the gap between them, your fingers brushing against his in the sand. Neither of you pulls away. "I did the same thing," you admit. "In group therapy, they'd ask who we missed most from home. I'd always say my parents, but..." You touch the shell necklace with your free hand. "It was always you, JJ. Every single time."

JJ's thumb unconsciously strokes across your knuckles, a gesture so familiar it makes your heartache. "I can't..." He starts, his voice catching. "I can't go through losing you again, Y/N. I barely survived it the first time." The admission costs him, you can see it in the way his jaw clenches, the way his fingers tighten slightly against yours.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper, the words carrying on the ocean breeze. "Not this time. Not ever again." You turn your hand in the sand, properly lacing your fingers together. "I'm done running, JJ. From you, from us, from everything."

The silence that follows is heavy with possibility. Behind you, someone calls your names - probably Pope or Sarah looking for you - but neither moves. "We can't just pick up where we left off," JJ finally says, but he doesn't let go of your hand. "Too much has happened. We're different people now."

You nod, understanding in your eyes. "I know. But maybe..." you squeeze his hand gently. "Maybe we can start something new. Something better."

JJ looks at your intertwined hands, then back at your face - at the girl who's haunted his dreams for three years, who's sitting here now in the firelight wearing his necklace and holding his hand like you never left. "Yeah," he says softly, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through. "Maybe we can."

The party continues behind you, but you stay there on the beach, hands linked, watching the waves and starting the long process of healing what was broken. It's not perfect, and it's not fixed, but it's a beginning. And sometimes, that's enough.

The moonlight streams through your bedroom window as you and JJ slip inside, your footsteps quiet on the hardwood floors. Your room looks different than JJ remembers - new paint, new decorations, but somehow still unmistakably you. The fairy lights strung across the ceiling cast a soft glow over everything, creating shadows that dance across the walls.

JJ hovers near the door, hands shoved in his pockets as he watches you drop to your knees beside the bed. The fabric of your dress ghosting around your legs as you reach under the bed frame. His shell necklace catches the light as you move, making his chest tight with memories.

"It's here somewhere," You mutter, pushing aside boxes and old notebooks. "I kept everything organized when I moved back, but..." you trail off, stretching further under the bed. 

JJ forces himself to look away, focusing instead on the photos newly tacked to your wall. Most are recent - your time in Maine, new friends, new places. But there, in the corner, partially hidden behind others, he spots one that makes his breath catch. It's you two, three years ago, on the beach after a night session. His arm is around your shoulders, both of you grinning at the camera, saltwater still dripping from your hair.

"Found it!" Your voice pulls him back to the present. You emerge from under the bed with a large shoebox, worn at the edges and covered in doodles. Your hands shake slightly as you set it on the bed, looking up at JJ with uncertainty in your eyes.

"That's... all of them?" JJ asks, his voice rougher than intended. He takes a step closer, drawn by the box like a magnet. Three years of words you couldn't say, couldn't send, all contained in one shoebox.

You nod, sitting cross-legged on the bed beside the box. "Every letter I wrote. Every time I missed you, every time something reminded me of you, every time I..." you trail off, fingers tracing the edge of the box. "Every time I needed you to know I still loved you."

The admission hangs in the air between you, heavy with possibility. JJ moves closer, perching on the edge of the bed, careful to maintain some distance. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your face as you open the box, revealing stacks of envelopes, some crisp and new, others worn from being handled repeatedly.

"You don't have to read them now," you say quickly, noticing how JJ's hands have started to shake. "I just... I needed you to know they existed. That I never stopped trying to reach you, even when I couldn't actually send them."

The tension breaks as he lets out a snort of laughter, picking up one of the envelopes. "Your handwriting still looks like shit, Y/N," he teases, falling easily back into your old dynamic. "Seriously, did they not teach penmanship in Maine?"

You gasp in mock offense, snatching the letter from his hands. "Excuse you, this is art." You fought back a smile though, relief evident in your features at his attempt to lighten the mood. "Not all of us can have perfect surfer boy handwriting."

"Perfect?" JJ grins, reaching for another letter. "Have you seen my grocery lists? Even Pope can't read them." He settles more comfortably on the bed, his earlier hesitation melting away. "Oh shit, this one's got little hearts drawn all over it. Fucking sap."

"Shut up," You laugh, shoving his shoulder playfully. "I was heavily medicated and missing your stupid face." You pull out another letter, this one covered in doodles of waves and surfboards. "Oh god, my therapy art phase. We don't talk about this one."

JJ snatches it before you can hide it, his eyes scanning the page with growing amusement. "Holy fuck, is that supposed to be me?" He points to a stick figure with spiky hair riding a wave. "My hair does not look like that!"

"It absolutely does when you first wake up," you argue, reaching for the letter. JJ holds it above his head, laughing as you try to grab it. "JJ Maybank, give that back!"

"Make me," he challenges, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. It feels like old times - him in your room, playfully arguing about nothing important, the weight of your earlier conversation temporarily lifted.

You lunge for the letter, causing you both to tumble backward onto your bed, letters scattering around you. JJ's still holding the drawing above his head, grinning as you try to reach it. "You're such an ass," you complain, but you're laughing too.

"Yeah, but you missed this ass," he quips, then freezes slightly, worried he's pushed too far. But You just roll your eyes, finally managing to snatch the letter back.

"Unfortunately," you sigh dramatically, settling beside him among the scattered letters. "Though I'm starting to question my judgment."

JJ clutches his chest in mock hurt. "Wow, three years and you're already tired of me? That's cold, Y/N. Ice cold." He picks up another letter, this one dated from about a year ago. "Oh look, more hearts. And are those little JJs surfing?"

"I'm going to murder you," you threaten, but there's no heat in it. You're watching him with soft eyes, taking in how the fairy lights cast shadows across his face, how his smile reaches his eyes for the first time since you’ve been back.

"Nah, you love me too much," he says automatically, then stills as he realizes what he's said. The playful atmosphere wavers for a moment, the weight of your history threatening to crash back in.

But you just smile, reaching out to fix his messy hair. "Yeah," you say softly. "I do."

The admission is simple, honest, lacking the heavy emotion of your beach conversation. JJ looks at you, really looks at you, surrounded by three years worth of letters you wrote to him, wearing his necklace, smiling at him like nothing's changed and everything's changed all at once.

"Well, shit," he says finally, a grin tugging at his lips. "That's convenient. 'Cause I might still love you too."

The moment stretches between you, charged with three years of unspoken feelings until JJ finally closes the distance. His lips meet yours softly at first, hesitant, like he's afraid you might disappear if he pushes too hard. His hand comes up to cup your face, thumb brushing across your cheekbone as letters crinkle beneath you.

You respond immediately, your fingers threading through his hair as you pull him closer. The kiss deepens, three years of longing and regret and love pouring into it. JJ tastes like ocean and bonfire smoke, exactly how you remember.

"Fuck," JJ breathes against your lips, pulling back slightly. His blue eyes are dark with emotion as he looks at you, his thumb still tracing patterns on your skin. "I've missed this. Missed you." His voice is rough, and vulnerable in a way he rarely allows himself to be.

You smile, tugging gently at his hair. "Yeah?" You tease, though your voice trembles slightly. "Even with my shit handwriting?"

JJ laughs, the sound rumbling through his chest where it's pressed against yours. "Especially with your shit handwriting," he murmurs, before capturing your lips again. This kiss is different - deeper, more urgent. His hand slides from your face to your neck, fingers brushing against the shell necklace.

You shift on the bed, letters scattering to the floor forgotten as you pull JJ closer. His weight settles over you naturally, like you never spent time apart. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them, creating shadows that dance across your skin.

"Is this okay?" JJ asks between kisses, his forehead resting against yours. Despite his usual confidence, there's uncertainty in his voice. "We don't have to..."

You cut him off with another kiss, your hands sliding under his t-shirt to trace the familiar planes of his back. "JJ," you whisper against his lips. "Shut up."

He grins against your mouth, some of his usual cockiness returning. "Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier playful banter. But there's heat in his voice now, promise in the way his fingers trail down your sides tracing the curve of your waist through the thin fabric of your white dress. His touch is familiar and electric, leaving trails of heat in its wake. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over them as he captures your lips again, deeper this time, more urgent.

"Fuck, Y/N," he breathes against your mouth, his voice rough with want. His fingers find the hem of your dress, playing with the fabric as he kisses down your neck. "Tell me if you want me to stop."

"Don't you dare," you whisper, tugging at his hair the way you know he likes, The action draws a low groan from him, his hips pressing instinctively against yours. JJ pulls back slightly, his blue eyes dark with desire as he looks down at you. The shell necklace gleams against your skin, making his chest tight with emotion. He leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your collarbone, following the path of the necklace.

"You're wearing too many clothes," he murmurs against your skin, his hands sliding higher under your dress. His touch is reverent, relearning every curve and dip of your body. When his fingers brush against the lace of your underwear, you both inhale sharply.

You tug at his shirt impatiently. "So are you," you breathe, helping him pull it over his head your hands immediately explore his chest. "God, I've missed touching you."

JJ's response is to kiss you again, hard and deep, as his hands work to dress up your body. "Lift up," he instructs softly, and you arch your back so he can pull the fabric over your head. The sight of you in just your underwear, his necklace resting between your breasts, makes him pause.

"What?" You ask, suddenly self-conscious under his intense gaze. But JJ just shakes his head, leaning down to press kisses across your chest.

"Just..." he murmurs between kisses, "trying to memorize everything." His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts through your bra. "In case this is a dream."

You reach up to touch JJ's face tenderly, your thumb tracing his bottom lip. "Not a dream," you whisper, pulling him down for another deep kiss. Your legs wrap around his waist, drawing him closer as his hands explore your body with increasing urgency.

JJ's fingers trace the edge of your bra, his touch teasing yet reverent. "Can I...?" he asks against your lips, and you nod, arching your back so he can reach the clasp. His hands are slightly shaky as he unhooks it like he still can't quite believe this is real.

"Fuck," he breathes as the garment falls away, revealing your breasts. The shell necklace rests between them, catching the fairy lights. JJ leans down, pressing open-mouthed kisses across your chest. His tongue traces patterns on your skin, remembering exactly how to make you gasp.

Your hands tangle in his hair as he takes a nipple into his mouth, your back arching off the bed. "JJ," you moan softly, mindful of the quiet house. His free hand palms your other breast, thumb circling the sensitive peak until you're squirming beneath him.

"Missed these sounds," JJ murmurs against your skin, switching his attention to your other breast. "Missed making you fall apart." His hand slides down your stomach, fingers playing with the waistband of your underwear. "Can still remember every spot that makes you shake."

To prove his point, he kisses down your ribs to that sensitive spot just below your left breast - the one that always makes you gasp. Sure enough, your breath hitches, your fingers tightening in his hair. "Still so responsive," he grins against your skin, nipping gently.

"Shut up," you breathe, but there's no heat in it. Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in the way you know drives him crazy. JJ groans, his hips pressing against yours instinctively.

"Make me," he challenges, echoing your earlier banter as he kisses lower, across your stomach. His fingers hook into your underwear, but he pauses, looking up at you with dark eyes. "Tell me you want this, Y/N/N. Tell me you want me."

You prop yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with eyes full of love and desire. The fairy lights cast shadows across his face, highlighting the intensity of his gaze. "I want you, JJ," you whisper. "Always have, always will."

When you reach the waistband of his shorts, he groans softly against your neck. "Can I?" You ask, fingers playing with the button of his shorts. JJ nods against your skin, his breath hot on your neck as you work the button free. The sound of his zipper seems loud in the quiet room.

JJ helps you slide his shorts down his legs, his breath catching as your fingers trace the waistband of his boxers. The fairy lights cast a soft glow over his skin, highlighting the muscles that flex under your touch. "Fuck, Y/N," he breathes as your hand palms him through the thin fabric. His hips buck involuntarily, seeking more friction. "You're gonna kill me."

You smirk up at him, enjoying the way his breath hitches as you hook your fingers in his boxers. "That's the plan," you tease, slowly pulling the fabric down. JJ kicks them off impatiently, leaving him completely bare above you.

His hands slide up your thighs, fingers playing with the edge of your underwear. "These need to go," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your hip bone. "Want to taste you again."

You lift your hips, letting him slide the lace down your legs. The shell necklace gleams against your skin as you move, drawing JJ's attention. He leans down, pressing kisses along the chain until he reaches the shell pendant resting between your breasts.

"Still can't believe you kept it," he whispers against your skin, his hands exploring your now-bare body with increasing urgency. "Kept wearing it all this time."

"Never took it off," you breathe, arching into his touch as his fingers trace patterns on your inner thighs. "It was like keeping a piece of you with me."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. His hand slides higher, fingers teasing where you want him most. "Tell me what you need," he murmurs against your mouth. "Want to make you feel good."

Your response is cut off by a gasp as his fingers find where you need him. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, "You," you manage to say. "Just you, JJ. Always you."

JJ's fingers trace slow, teasing circles against your sensitive flesh, watching with dark eyes as you arch beneath his touch. His other hand explores your body with reverent familiarity, relearning every curve and dip that he's missed for three long years. The fairy lights cast shifting shadows across your bare skin as you move together on your bed. "Fuck, you're so wet already," JJ breathes against your neck, his voice rough with desire. His fingers slide lower, teasing your entrance as his thumb continues its maddening circles. "Always so responsive for me, Y/N."

JJ can't resist leaning down to trace the chain of the necklace with his tongue, following its path down to where it rests against your sternum. "Please," you gasp as he slides one finger inside you, your legs spreading wider to accommodate him. "JJ, I need..."

"Tell me," he murmurs against your skin, adding a second finger and curling them just right. "Want to hear you say it, baby. Tell me what you need." Your response is cut off by a moan as his thumb presses harder, his fingers finding that spot inside you that makes you see stars. JJ watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features. His cock throbs insistently against your thigh, but he ignores it, focused entirely on making you fall apart.

"You," you finally manage, your voice breathy and desperate. "Need you inside me, JJ. Please."

JJ groans at your words, his control wavering. But he forces himself to maintain his slow pace, wanting to draw this out, to make it last. His fingers continue their steady rhythm as he kisses down your body, paying special attention to each sensitive spot he remembers.

"Not yet," he whispers against your hip bone, nipping gently at the skin there. "Want to taste you first. Been dreaming about this for three years, Y/N. Gonna take my time."

JJ settles between your thighs, his hot breath teasing your sensitive flesh as he presses open-mouthed kisses along your inner thighs. His fingers maintain their steady rhythm inside you, curling just right. "Missed how you taste," he murmurs against your thigh, nipping gently at the sensitive skin. "Missed making you fall apart like this." His free hand slides up your body to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he finally presses his tongue against your clit.

Your back arches off the bed, one hand tangling in his salt-stiffened hair while the other grips your sheets. The shell necklace catches the light as you move, a constant reminder of your shared history. "JJ," you gasp, trying to keep your voice down despite the pleasure coursing through you.

JJ hums against you, the vibration making your thighs tremble. His tongue traces patterns around your clit as his fingers continue their steady thrusting, finding that perfect spot inside you that makes you see stars. He watches your face intently, memorizing every expression of pleasure that crosses your features.

"That's it, baby," he murmurs, pulling back slightly to blow cool air against your heated flesh. "Want to see you come apart for me. Been too fucking long." His words are punctuated by another curl of his fingers, another swipe of his tongue.

Your hips buck against his face as he sucks your clit into his mouth, your breathing becoming more ragged. JJ's free hand slides down to hold your hips steady, his grip firm but gentle. "Close," you manage to gasp, your fingers tightening in his hair. "JJ, I'm so close..."

JJ doubles his efforts, his tongue moving faster as his fingers maintain their perfect rhythm. He can feel your walls beginning to flutter around his fingers and can taste how close you are. "Come for me, Y/N, Want to feel you fall apart on my tongue."

The combination of his words, his fingers, and his tongue finally pushes you over the edge. Tour back arches sharply, your thighs trembling as waves of pleasure crash over you. JJ works you through it, his movements becoming gentler as you come down from your high.

When he finally pulls back, his lips are glistening and his eyes are dark with desire. He presses soft kisses up your body as you catch your breath, paying special attention to the shell necklace that rests between your breasts. His cock presses insistently against your thigh, but he makes no move to rush things.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Fucking beautiful, Y/N. Missed watching you come undone like that."

Your hands slide down his back, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "Need you," you whisper, pulling him up for a deep kiss. You taste yourself on his tongue, making you moan softly. "Please, JJ. Need you inside me."

JJ positions himself between your thighs, his cock pressing teasingly against your entrance. The fairy lights cast shadows across your sweat-slicked bodies as he captures your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Need you to be sure," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire and emotion. "Tell me this is what you want, Y/N." His cock slides against your wetness, making you both gasp at the sensation. 

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "I'm sure, JJ," you breathe, your hands sliding up his back to tangle in his hair. "Been sure since the day I left. Want you, need you, love you."

JJ groans at your words, capturing your lips again as he slowly pushes inside you. You both freeze at the sensation, overwhelmed by the feeling of being connected again after so long. "Fuck," he breathes against your neck, his arms trembling as he holds himself still. "You feel fucking perfect, baby."

Your nails dig into his shoulders as you adjust to his size, your breath coming in short gasps. The fairy lights dance across your skin as you start to move together, finding your rhythm like you’ve never spent a day apart. JJ's movements are slow, and deliberate, wanting to savor every moment.

"Missed this," he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses along your neck. "Missed you, missed us." His words are punctuated by slow, deep thrusts that make you gasp and arch beneath him. One hand slides down to grip your hip, angling you just right.

The shell necklace moves with each thrust, catching the light and drawing JJ's attention. He leans down to trace it with his tongue, following its path between your breasts. The action makes you moan softly, your walls clenching around him.

"JJ," you gasp as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "Please, need more." Your hands slide down his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him groan and thrust harder.

He continues his slow, deliberate pace, savoring every gasp and moan that escapes your lips. His hands explore your body with increasing urgency, one sliding down to grip your thigh as he adjusts the angle of his thrusts. "Fuck," he groans against your neck, nipping gently at your pulse point. "Feel so good around me, so fucking perfect." His words are punctuated by deep, measured thrusts that make your walls clench around him. The shell necklace gleams between your breasts, moving with each roll of his hips.

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. "Please, JJ," you gasp, your legs tightening around his waist. "Need more, need you harder." Your voice is breathy, and desperate, making his control waver.

But JJ maintains his torturously slow pace, wanting to draw out every moment. His free hand slides between them to circle your clit, making your back arch sharply off the bed. "Not yet, baby," he murmurs, capturing your lips in a deep kiss. "Want to feel every inch of you, want to make this last."

JJ's thumb continues its maddening circles on your clit as he thrusts deeper, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "JJ," You moan, your walls fluttering around him as you get closer to the edge. "I'm close, so close..." 

His thrusts become slightly harder, and deeper, but still maintain that measured pace that's driving you both crazy. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to work you higher. The combination of sensations has you gasping his name, your body trembling beneath him.

JJ grins against your lips, his hands sliding down to grip your hips. "Want to try something?" he asks, his voice rough with desire. Without waiting for an answer, he suddenly rolls you over, keeping himself buried deep inside you as you end up straddling his lap.

"Fuck," You gasp at the new angle, your hands braced against his chest as you adjust. The shell necklace swings between you, catching the fairy lights as you move. JJ's hands slide up your thighs, gripping your hips as he guides you into a slow rhythm.

"That's it, baby," he groans, watching as you start to move above him. Your breasts bounce slightly with each movement, making his mouth water. "Ride my cock just like that." His hands explore your body freely from this new position, one sliding up to palm your breast while the other keeps a steady grip on your hip.

You set a torturously slow pace, rolling your hips in a way that has JJ cursing under his breath. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. "Missed watching you like this," JJ breathes, his hands roaming your body possessively. He sits up slightly, capturing a nipple in his mouth as you continue to ride him. 

His hands guide your movements, helping you maintain that slow, deep pace that's driving you both crazy.

"JJ," You moan as he hits that perfect spot inside you. Your nails drag down his chest, leaving light scratches that make him buck up into you harder. 

JJ's control starts to slip as he watches you move above him, your head thrown back in pleasure. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, his hands tightening on your hips. "You look so fucking good riding my cock like this."

He watches in awe as you continue to ride him, your movements becoming more confident with each roll of your hips. His hands slide up your sides, thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts as you move above him. "Fuck, just like that," he groans, bucking up to meet your movements. His hands grip your hips tighter, guiding you into a rhythm that has you both gasping. 

You brace your hands on his chest, using the leverage to grind down harder. Your walls clench around him with each movement, drawing curses from his lips. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as he hits that perfect spot inside you. "So deep like this..."

JJ works faster on your clit as he continues to thrust up into you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You gasp, and your movements become more desperate. He suddenly pulls out of you, making you whimper at the loss. His chest heaves with heavy breaths as he tries to regain some control, his cock throbbing painfully between you. 

"Need to slow down," he groans against your lips, his hands sliding up your sides. "Don't want this to end yet." His fingers trace patterns on your skin as you straddle his thighs. Your hands slide down his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin in a way that makes him shiver. "JJ," you whimper, trying to move closer. Your pussy is dripping wet, clenching around nothing as you seek friction.

"Fuck, you're so wet for me," his fingers slid between your legs to tease your entrance. He watches as you gasp and arches into his touch, your walls fluttering around his fingers. "Could stay here all night, just watching you fall apart."

You rock against his hand, seeking more friction. JJ's free hand slides up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple as he continues to tease you with shallow thrusts of his fingers. "Please," you moan, your hands gripping his shoulders for support. "Need you back inside me, JJ. Been too long without you."

You shift in JJ's lap, deliberately grinding against his thigh. The friction makes you gasp, your wetness coating his skin as you rock your hips. His hands gripping your hips to guide your movements. "Fuck, Y/N," he groans, feeling your pussy slide against his thigh. "You're so fucking wet." His fingers dig into your flesh, leaving marks that will be visible tomorrow. 

Your hands brace against his chest for leverage as you grind harder, chasing the friction you need. The shell necklace swings between you with each movement, occasionally brushing against his heated skin. "JJ," you moan, your head falling back as pleasure builds.

JJ's free hand slides between them, thumb finding your clit as you continue to grind against him. "Please, more, need you inside me again." Your words are punctuated by the roll of your hips, your pussy sliding against his thigh with increasing urgency.

His thumb works faster on your clit as you ride his thigh, drawing you closer to release. "Come like this first," he commands roughly. You continue grinding against JJ's thigh, your movements becoming more desperate as pleasure builds. Your wetness coats his skin, making each slide of your pussy against him smoother, more intense. JJ's hands grip your hips tighter, guiding your movements as he watches you chase your release. 

"Want to feel you soak my thigh before I fuck you properly." JJ’s words, combined with the pressure on your clit and the friction against his thigh, finally push you over the edge. Your body trembles as waves of pleasure crash over you, your pussy pulsing against JJ's thigh as you come. Your wetness coats his skin, making everything slick and hot between you. 

"Fuck, that's it," His cock throbs painfully between you, demanding attention. "So fucking beautiful when you come." His thumb continues to circle your clit, drawing out your pleasure until your gasping and squirming.

Without warning, JJ flips them over, pinning you beneath him on the bed. His cock slides through your wetness, teasing your sensitive flesh. "Need to be inside you again," he groans, capturing your lips in a deep, passionate kiss. "Been too fucking long without this."

You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. "Please, JJ," you whimper, still sensitive from your orgasm. Your walls clench around nothing, seeking the fullness of his cock. "Need you inside me."

JJ lines himself up with your entrance, watching your face as he slowly pushes back inside. You both groan at the sensation, your walls stretching to accommodate him again.  "Fuck, still so tight," JJ breathes, setting a slow, deep pace. His hands explore your body possessively as he thrusts into you, memorizing every curve and dip. "Feel so good."

Your hands slide up his back, nails leaving light scratches that make him shudder. Your pussy pulses around him with each thrust, drawing low groans from deep in his chest. JJ maintains his deep, steady rhythm as he thrusts into you, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force. "I’m close," you gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders for support. "So close, JJ. Please don't stop."

His hand slides between them to circle your clit as he maintains his punishing pace. "Come for me again," he commands. His thrusts become more erratic as he feels his release approaching, his grip on your hips tightening with bruising force. The fairy lights cast dancing shadows across their sweat-slicked bodies as they move together with increasing urgency. Without warning, he suddenly pulls out, his cock throbbing painfully between you.

"Fuck," he groans, his hand wrapping around his length as he strokes himself. "Where do you want it, baby?" His eyes are dark with desire as he watches you beneath him, your chest heaving with heavy breaths.

Your hands slide up his chest, nails dragging lightly across his skin. "On me," you gasp, still trembling from your release. 

JJ's control finally snaps at your words. With a low groan, he comes hard, painting thick stripes across your stomach and breasts. The shell necklace gleams in the fairy lights, covered in drops of his release.

You collapse together on the bed, breathing heavily as you come down from your high. JJ reaches for his discarded t-shirt, gently cleaning his release from your skin. "Stay," you whisper, curling into his side. Your fingers trace patterns on his chest as your breathing slowly returns to normal. "Please stay this time."

JJ pulls you closer, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. "Not going anywhere," he murmurs against your skin. "Never again." The fairy lights continue to cast their soft glow over the room as you drift off to sleep, tangled together like they never spent a day apart.

His phone buzzes on the nightstand, the screen illuminating the dim room with a soft blue glow. He groans softly, careful not to wake you who's curled against his chest, your breathing deep and even. 

The group chat notification shows several messages from John B and Pope:

John B: yo where tf did you and y/n disappear to??? 👀

Pope: they definitely left together bro

John B: fucking FINALLY

Pope: 20 bucks says they're at her place

John B: nah man, bet they're at the chateau

JJ can't help but grin at his friends' messages, his free hand absently playing with your hair as you sleep.

His phone buzzes again:

John B: JJ we know you're reading these messages asshole

Pope: let him live, he's probably busy 😏

John B: BUSY WITH WHAT POPE??? 🤔😂

JJ rolls his eyes, typing out a quick response with one hand:

"fuck off both of you”

The response is immediate:

John B: HE LIVES!!!

Pope: told you they were together

John B: you better not fuck this up again maybank

JJ's jaw tenses at John B's last message, his arm tightening slightly around your sleeping form. The fairy lights cast soft shadows across your peaceful face as he looks down at you, remembering everything you’ve been through to get here. The shell necklace rests between you, a constant reminder of your shared past and the promise of your future but for now, in this room with its fairy lights and scattered memories, nothing exists beyond the two of you.

[adieutristana]

love languages; arcane women x fem! reader

heeeyyy guys... my birthday is in exactly 6 days (the 16th) just thought you should know

summary: headcanons of how arcane characters express all five love languages.

characters included: jinx, vi, mel, sevika, maddie, lest.

tags/warnings: fluff, slight hurt/comfort, mentions of poor mental health, smoking mention, maaaaybe the slightest bit suggestive?, just a lot of fluff

men and minors dni.

jinx;

✧.* words of affirmation; jinx is not good with words, she never has been. trying to rationalize her feelings with words seems next to impossible for the girl, but she’ll still try. at first, it starts with little compliments in passing. “you’re so beautiful, toots…” she’ll whisper, or, “you make things a lot less boring around here.” but over time, it’ll grow into jinx assuring you how much she loves you. that you make her happy, because she sees how happy it makes you to hear that.

“i love you a lot, sugar, don’t forget that!” she’d say, a goofy grin on her face. “y’know how to make a girl happy, that’s for sure.”

✧.* quality time; quality time is probably one of jinx’s strongest love languages, next to gift giving. she wants to include you in absolutely everything she does. whether that be dragging you along to run errands (for bomb supplies or stolen goods) with her, watching her tinker, tagging walls in the undercity together, or simply enjoying each others’ presence while eating, jinx loves it. she loves every second she gets with you, it helps keep her grounded. the voices grow quieter, her demeanor visibly shifts, and you can see little hints of powder coming out.

✧.* physical touch; jinx is extremely touch-starved at the beginning of your relationship. not only that, but she’s a bit fearful of touch. you do have to ease her into being okay with the idea of being touched with light squeezes on the shoulder, hugs that seem too short, and soft kisses to her hands. but over time, jinx grows to love physical touch. kissing your shoulders, neck, forehead, temples, anywhere. falling asleep on top of you. placing you in her lap no matter how tall you are. jinx grows to love the proximity.

✧.* acts of service; jinx likes to try and do favors for you, but she kind of… messes them up? unintentionally, of course. but if you ask her to run errands for her, you’ll have to be very specific about you want because she might accidentally pick up the wrong thing, and also specify that you’d like her to pay for it. she also may want to cook for you, but jinx should not be trusted in a kitchen. overall, jinx does enjoy trying to do little acts of service for you! but in her own way.

✧.* gift giving; gift giving is probably jinx’s strongest love language. she hand makes all of her bombs and gadgets, so naturally, she’d hand make gifts for her girlfriend! she’ll make you crude stick-figure drawings of the two of you with little hearts around them, smoke bombs in your favorite colors, and charm necklaces out of scrap metal. putting her time and energy into making things for you is jinx’s ultimate showcase of her love. she prides herself on her creations!

“look! i made this!” jinx would beam, dropping a piece of jewelry into your lap. a charm bracelet filled with little trinkets she crafted and a matching necklace. “isn’t it neat?! do you like it?”

vi;

✧.* words of affirmation; although vi isn’t always the best with words, she does truly value words of affirmation. to her, actions speak louder than words, but words can do a hell of a job, too. she’ll tell you again and again just how much she loves you. complimenting you, using one of her millions of pet names for you, letting you know how crazy she is for you.

“i can’t go a second without thinking about you, cupcake. you know that? don’t ever think that you’re not important to me, because truth be told, i’m crazy about you. i always will be.”

✧.* quality time; vi loves any moment she gets with you. whether that be time spent laughing over cheesy jokes in the last drop, playfully sparring with you, or naps curled into each other, vi can’t get enough. she’d show up at your door unannounced, asking if she can come in because she misses you despite seeing you the day prior (and the day before that.) she does enjoy her alone time as well, so she won’t be attached to you at the hip necessarily, but vi does enjoy her time with you. she’s at her happiest when she’s with her girlfriend.

✧.* physical touch; vi is a sucker for physical touch. it’s probably her strongest love language. vi always has to be touching you somehow- it’s both her love for you and her protective nature. an arm around you, hand resting firmly on your waist. snaking her arms around you from behind with a hum. kisses peppered all over your face as she drinks in the sound of your giggles. putting her hand atop yours when sat together. pressing you flush against her chest during late night cuddles. sleeping with her face in the crook of your neck and using her calloused fingers to draw little shapes into your bare back or arms. it’s all just so addictive to vi.

“hm…” vi would hum, using the pad of her thumbs to trace little stars and hearts into the skin of your lower back. laying her head on your shoulder, pink locks tickling your neck. “you’re so soft. so warm.”

✧.* acts of service; vi does everything she can to make your life easier. she’d slip your shoes on for you and buy all of your groceries and carry you out of bed every morning just to save the hassle if you’d allow her, but she settles for making you meals and doing little favors for you. i think vi can actually cook fairly well- she did have to look after powder for so many years. she’ll make you breakfast at least twice a week, she’ll put away your laundry after a particularly long day, and run errands for you. she’ll always return with a cheesy grin on her face. vi enjoys it, she both feels useful and gets to see her girl happy. it’s a win-win.

✧.* gift giving; i honestly can’t see vi caring much for gift giving. but if she does, she’d give you things she knows can be practical in daily life. household supplies, food ingredients, and replacements for broken appliances. it’s not that she doesn’t see the point in gift-giving, it’s just that vi doesn’t want to be wasteful- mostly due to her upbringing. she doesn’t see the use for having more than she needs, so she’d probably apply that same logic to giving gifts.

mel;

✧.* words of affirmation; mel is so good when it comes to communication, and by extension, words of affirmation. the councilwoman is always telling you how important you are to her, how beautiful you are, how happy you make her. the fact that she can’t imagine a life without you. you are her sun, her sky, her galaxy. mel knows exactly how to use her words to make you feel loved.

“i waited all day to see you, dearest…” mel would whisper, her soft hand tracing your cheek and coming up to cup it. running the pad of her thumb across your cheek so gently. “the council can be so dull. i couldn’t take my mind off of you, truth be told. you just motivate me to keep going- you’ll always be waiting for me.”

✧.* quality time; mel doesn’t necessarily have much time to spare. being caught up with the council, her own family affairs, and being something of a socialite, mel is frequently busy. but that makes the time she does get alone with you so much more valuable. she’ll have you by her side while doing last-minute paperwork, drag out mornings so she can get just a few more minutes with you, clinging to any little moment she gets. mel also enjoys including you where she can, so she’ll take you to galas and meetings that’ll allow guests.

✧.* physical touch; mel cannot get enough of physical touch. she has the restraint of a warrior, otherwise she would be touching you somehow 24/7. she loves to loop your arm around hers, elbows linked, she loves to nuzzle into the crook of your neck or interlace your fingers. she loves kissing- probably her favorite form of physical touch. there’s very little mel loves more than your lips on hers, her lips on your temples, her lips trailing up your arm to meet your shoulder, then up your neck and to your lips. leaving a trail of glittering lipstick the whole way. she craves the proximity, the warmth, the companionship. she also loves sharing a bed with you. she doesn’t mind being the big or little spoon, as long as she gets to be close to you somehow. clinging to you or vice versa while sleeping makes mel melt.

✧.* acts of service; mel tries to help you with things around the house and run errands for you, but she’s usually the one who needs favors. that’s not to say that she won’t fold your laundry if you ask her to or help you wash your hair, but she’s usually caught up with what she has to do and what she needs help with. when it comes to acts of service, mel is usually on the receiving end.

✧.* gift giving; gods help you, mel will spoil you rotten with gifts. it’s not only because she’s incredibly wealthy and luxury goods won’t put a dent in her account, but just because she loves seeing your expression when she presents you with something she knows you’ve been looking at. she gives the best gifts and goes above and beyond. if you mentioned needing a hair dryer, she’ll get you one- as well as a bunch of different diffusers, different types of brushes or combs, and hair treatments. if you’re walking down a street and stare at something in a shop window for a little too long, mel takes a mental note. the next time you see each other, she has the item you were looking at in her hands. jewelry, knick-knacks, sweets, and new clothing are her favorite things to gift you.

“mel, you really didn’t have to.” you’d whisper, holding a pair of brand-new golden hoop earrings, in the shape of stars. “nonsense. you had your eyes on them, so you naturally had to have them.”

sevika;

✧.* words of affirmation; sevika is not good with words. she’s not good at being vulnerable. so words of affirmation are definitely something that she struggles with. she’ll comfort you, she’ll reassure you, and she’ll be a shoulder for you to cry on, but talking about her own feelings is just… difficult for sevika. regardless, she’ll try.

“look. i don’t do this… i don’t know how to.” sevika would whisper, looking… somewhere. not at you, it’s clear that she’s nervous. “i love you. i love you a lot.”

✧.* quality time; sevika loves her quality time with you. yes, she’s a busy woman, but she’ll still do her best to involve you in everything she can. running errands for silco, filling out piles of paperwork, late night games at the casino, etc. even if it’s something as simple as a smoke break outside, sevika wants you to be by her side (unless you have problems with that, then she doesn’t mind). she’ll do the same for you, of course. she wants to be involved however she can be, so even if you’re doing something as mundane as picking up a prescription, sevika wants to be there with you!

✧.* physical touch; sevika was very touch-starved before she met you. no time nor desire for relationships, the only companionship she had coming from zaun’s brothel. so now, she’ll rest your head on her shoulder, sit you on her lap, squeeze your shoulder in reassurance, have a hand on your thigh… sevika craves that contact. now that she has it, she has you, she can’t get enough of touching you one way or the other.

“hey, babe? i’ve got a shit ton of paperwork to fill out.” sevika would call out to you. it’s clear that she’s annoyed, so why is she calling on you? “come sit in my lap. make it more bearable.”

✧.* acts of service; sevika’s strongest love language. her name means ‘servant of god,’ after all. fiercely loyal to silco for years, and now fiercely loyal to you. she will do absolutely anything she can to make things easier, to make you happy. she’ll clean for you, zip up your clothes, braid your hair when you don’t feel like it, clasp necklaces, run grocery trips when you’re too tired to do it yourself, the whole nine yards. sevika likes to feel needed, so the second you mention needing to do something, she’s on it. you could say you had food that needed taking out of the oven, and she’d bolt to get it for you- despite the fact that you didn’t technically ask her to do anything.

✧.* gift-giving; i think that like vi, sevika wouldn’t be crazy about gift-giving and would prefer practical gifts. however, when she does give you gifts, they’re usually custom. handmade by herself or a professional in zaun. this way, sevika feels like it’s more personal, more intimate, unique to you. she at one point gifted you a custom leather bracelet with intricate engravings, and has also given you carefully crafted tote bags when she notices your own are getting worn down.

maddie;

✧.* words of affirmation; i feel like maddie would be pretty good at words of affirmation! she’s open about her feelings and her love for you. she likes to be a comforting presence for you, so words of affirmation come naturally to her. sometimes she goes a little overboard and can be a bit too forthcoming with her feelings, but it all comes from a place of love.

“i love you a lot, you know that?” maddie would ask, her lips pursing. “sometimes too much, i think. i’d keep you here to keep you out of harm’s way forever if i could.”

✧.* quality time; maddie just doesn’t have much time to spare, unfortunately. being an enforcer is time-consuming as is, but being a junior officer means hours of training, volunteering, and education. maddie can’t give you much of her time, but when she can, she makes it worth it! she’ll take you all around piltover and tell you what kinds of things she’s done in what spots, let you do (what you can with) her hair, and use her brand-new, shiny camera to take lots of photos with you. making those memories and saving them in photo form is important to maddie, seeing as she doesn’t get many opportunities to do this kind of thing. i think she’d be the type to keep a photo of you in her wallet for when she goes on dangerous missions.

✧.* physical touch; maddie loves physical touch! she’s very playful and lively, very spontaneous. she likes to keep you on your toes. giggling while snuggling you, tickling your sides, wrapping her arms around you from behind to purposely startle you. she’ll tease you, pepper kisses all over your face… maddie just finds you adorable and can’t help herself when it comes to physical affection.

“behind you! oh, sorry, did i scare you?” maddie would ask with a giggle. “aw, you’re just so cute. i can’t not hug you.”

✧.* acts of service; as an enforcer, the majority of maddie’s life is service already. she enjoys being able to help you! however, she needs to be asked to do things, as she doesn’t want to take the initiative and accidentally mess things up. as long as you actually verbalize what you need- little favors and help, maddie will gladly be of service to you. she just doesn’t want to overstep and doesn’t want to accidentally do something that does she opposite of helping you.

✧.* gift giving; maddie enjoys giving you gifts, but they’re all bought and rather small because of her time constraints. they are thoughtful, though, and with each gift comes a very sweet card! written in neat penmanship, both sides of the card covered in her adoration for you. maddie would likely give you things like jewelry, candles, sweets, blankets, and weather-appropriate clothing.

lest;

✧.* words of affirmation; lest is great when it comes to words of affirmation. half of her job is speaking to clients and putting their nerves to rest. so doing the same to her girlfriend comes naturally to lest. her voice is always so soothing, her tone soft and sweet. it’s a talent of lest’s, always knowing exactly what to say at exactly what moment.

“don’t forget that i love you,” she’d purr, her lips close to your ear and soft eyes slipping shut. “i miss you each day i’m away from you, only hope to be with you sooner each passing second. i treasure moments like this, where you’re right here.”

✧.* quality time; lest unfortunately doesn’t have much time to spare, but her schedule is more flexible than someone like mel’s or maddie’s. if she really wants the time off, she can take it, and sometimes she does just that. you’d be surprised to see lest home so soon, but she’d just assure you that everything at work was taken care of, her clients and coworkers would be just fine. you were more important. much of what lest enjoys doing with you is in silence and relaxing together. she enjoys being able to curl up next to you with a book, or doing her nightly self-maintenance by your side.

“stay here with me, hm? i’m almost finished reading this… you help me focus.”

✧.* physical touch; lest loves and values physical touch with you. she prefers to be gentle and soft with you as she can take her time, truly savor and enjoy her time with you. but she’ll tell you exactly what she wants. whether she wants you to hold her, whether she wants to cradle your face and kiss you, hold your hands in hers, she’s very upfront and clear. lest adores the proximity, and she very often (literally) is purring while she’s curled up with her head in your lap. it’s endearing.

✧.* acts of service; lest’s entire job is made up of acts of service. so this does translate into your relationship. she loves taking care of you more than anything. let her detangle your hair after washing it, let her give you a warm bath, let her lay you on your lap and whisper sweet nothings to you as you’re pulled into sleep. let her adorn you with her own jewelry and paint your nails. lest enjoys being able to help you relax and unwind, especially after particularly taxing days. knowing that she can have that effect on you makes lest feel both needed, and significant.

✧.* gift giving; lest is very good at giving gifts. she knows some of the finest craftsmen in piltover, and she’s always able to give you something completely unique to you. most of the time it’s some kind of incense, fragrance, or jewelry, as is fitting for lest. scarves made by the same people who crafted hers, and earrings by some of the most experienced metal smiths. but she also is the type of person to buy everything you touch at the store simply because she saw that you were interested in it. that is if you let her, of course.

[the-silliest]

Prescription medication doesn't count as an addiction and I can't be bothered explaining it's like so complicated and we've like run out of time anyway

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

[pentanguine]

I’m listening to Circa Survive (On Letting Go, specifically), and I think this is the first time I’ve been able to listen to their music since 2016 without it getting a little emotionally weird.

Like, I can feel the shadow of the emotions I used to feel listening to these songs, but mostly I’m just focused on the music! I want to listen to more Circa Survive! You have no power over me!

[righoul]

【Ｍｉｄｎｉｇｈｔ　Ｗｈｉｓｐｅｒｓ】

pairing: logan howlett x f!reader

summary: it's your best friend's birthday, and she wants to go out to the club. you're not much of a party girl, but you do it anyways because you love her like a sister. it's a good thing you went, especially if it's a certain someone who can't keep his eyes off of you 😉

this kinda takes place in x-men origins: wolverine. that movie will always have a special place in my heart idc. also, I had a dream about this last night

warning: SMUT! 18+ MDNI. age gap, oral sex (f! receiving), cursing, unprotected PiV (don't be silly, wrap that willy), drinking, dirty talk, logan being kinda vocal, wingman!wade wilson, size difference, mention of anxiety (because mental health matters), praise kink, nicknames used: baby, darling, sweetheart, princess

words: 4.0k

Your best friend practically drags you through the mall as she makes a beeline to the dress store. What's the occasion, you may ask? It's her birthday today and she wants to go to a party at a club. You dread it, but if she is happy, you'll let down your antisocial wall. She's been begging on her hands and knees for you to come out and live your life. You hate crowded places, and you would much rather be in the comfort of your own home, in your sweatpants and tank top with a cozy cardigan and your hair in a messy bun while reading another Johanna Lindsey book. Is it cliché? Yes. Is it almost predictable? Fuck yes, but you love it anyways. You may call yourself a hopeless romantic, but your friend is right. You need to get laid ASAP. 

While you were mindlessly going through all the various dresses on the clothes rack, your friend pulled you away as she already made some selections for you. "Come on, try these on!" she exclaims. Some of them are not bad, but others are just damn right ugly or not your style. As you are about to enter the changing room, you hear the one voice that could only mean one thing. Your best friend’s boyfriend. “Oh, sweetie pie!” Wade announces in a singsong tune. Oh, great. You don’t necessarily hate Wade, he treats your best friend well and she’s taken well care of, sure, but this day was supposed to be just the two of you. 

“Hi, baby!” she squeals as Wade comes up to her and gives her a big old kiss in the mouth. Hey, God, it’s me again, you thought as you looked up at the ceiling. You close your eyes for just a few seconds to gather yourself and you look at the handsome pair. “Hey, Wade, it’s good to see you again.” You struggle to put the words together, but nonetheless, you put on a fake smile just to keep your friend happy. “It’s good to see you too,” he pulls you into a tight bear hug, cutting off your blood flow. “Oh, sorry, I’m just so excited to be here. I can’t miss out on this special day with my special girl.” He’s like a lovesick puppy. There was just something about Wade that made you be suspicious about him from the very beginning. He’s always gone, he doesn’t tell you or your bestie where he is or what he does. There was something off about him. Almost as if he’s living a double life. “Oh, honey!” your friend squeals again, giving him another open mouth kiss. Gross. 

“Well, while you guys catch up, I’m going to go ahead and try these on.” You mumble as you hold up a pile of dresses in your arms. Off to the dressing room, you go. 

The first dress you try on was a shiny, metallic gold halter top dress that stops at the mid thighs. On the front, it gives a deep V-neckline, making it hard to cover your breasts. It has slits on both sides, stopping at the waist and it is backless, curving at the bottom and stopping at the top of your ass. Sure, it was cute, if you were planning on being a stripper. You try on the next dress. Now, this one was cute, and you thought about saying yes to it just to get this over with. But you thought about it for a second longer and realized you’re going to be dying in it. It was black mesh sequin dress that barely covers your ass, and it had flare sleeves that are see-through. Last thing you want is to have sweaty armpits, causing the dress to have pit stains for the rest of the night. No, thanks. Next one. Too girly. Another one. Makes you look pale. The one after that. Cute, but not ideal for clubbing. Another one. This looks more like a prom dress than anything. You’re about to give up until you notice the last dress. You try it on, and lo and behold, this dress was the one. It is a dark green sequin mini dress that stops at mid-thigh with a sweetheart neckline with an adjustable skinny strap. Perfect.

You change back into your normal clothes, not even bothering to show it off to your best friend. Besides, she’s too busy with her boyfriend, practically eating each other’s faces. You made your way to the cash register, and you made your purchase. You thank them and make your way back to your friend and Wade, hopefully she got the hint that it was time to go. “Oh, you got a dress?” your friend asks. “Which one did you end up picking?” “You’ll see.” You reply mischievously with a little wink. She’s surprised about your remark, but she quickly brushes it off. Little did you know, while you were trying on all the dresses she picked out, her and Wade were conjuring up a plan. Wade was telling his girlfriend about his friend that he can set up with you. Well, he’s not exactly a friend, per se, but a fellow acquaintance of his. They work together, sure, but he’s kind of a grump. Now there’s just one problem. Wade hasn’t even talked to him about hooking up with you. Now that is going to be the tricky part. 

“You think you can bring your friend along?” your friend asked. “Oh yeah, he’ll come.” Wade responded. Your friend was constantly looking over in your direction while you were in the changing room, hoping to not get caught by you. “What if this plan fails?” “Baby, it’ll work.” Wade puts his hands on her shoulders, soothing her. “I’ll make sure to see to it. Besides, he’s not a bad guy. Sure, he’s a little rough around the edges, but it’ll be good for him. For both of them.” Your friend lets out a deep sigh. “Okay. I trust you. But if this plan doesn’t work, you owe me big time.” She jammed her pointer finger at his chest harshly and Wade laughed, but he knew deep down inside, she scares him and that’s what he loves about her. She keeps him grounded, and he always makes sure to fulfill his promises.

*Later that night*

You put on your brand new dress that you bought and you put on a pair of black high heels to go along with it. Meanwhile, your friend put on a baby pink dress with puffy sleeves and white heels that wrap around the calves. She put on some subtle makeup while you put on a smoky appearance. Her hair was done in loose curls in a half low ponytail with a white bow and your hair was done straight as a pencil. When you walked out of your bedroom, your friend was surprised to say the least. She claimed that you look like a totally different person, but you brushed it off. You didn’t think she was being serious and you assumed she was just being nice because you both knew this isn’t like at all. But, she was right. You did look amazing.

You and your friend got there at the club, scanning to find Wade. You thought it was kind of weird that he didn’t pick you guys up at your place, but you dropped it pretty quick. You guys grabbed your drinks from the bar and went out to the dance floor. You were honestly having a good time. You felt so free. So liberating. Normally, you would feel anxious in large crowds like tonight, but with the help of some liquid courage, that all subsided. Wade finally came down to the dance floor and greeted your best friend with a kiss on the cheek.

“Happy birthday, baby!” Wade shouted over the loud bass of the music.

“Thank you!” your friend shouted back.

“Thanks for stopping by!”

“Yeah, of course, Y/N! I wouldn’t miss it for the world!”

As you were about to throw back on your drink, your cup was empty.

“Hey! I’m about to get myself a round two! Did you want anything?” you asked your friend.

“I’m still working on mine! But, thank you!”

“I’ll be back!”

You sauntered your way back to the bar again and asked for the bartender.

“Rum and Coke, please.” you ordered your drink to the tall man behind the bar.

“You got it, miss.” he winked at you.

You felt flatter for the gesture, but you knew deep down you wouldn’t pursue it. Ever since you guys walked into this place, you had men staring at you nonstop. You felt like an innocent fawn in a den full of lions, greedily licking their lips and wanting to get a piece of meat out of you. All the barstools were taken up by men, and now that there was a pretty woman in their proximity, they all of a sudden didn’t know how to think with their heads, but with their dicks. All eyes were on you tonight. The anxiety was about to creep up to your throat to the point it felt hard to breathe. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. You should’ve stayed at home.

“That would be $5.50, miss.” the bartender smiles.

You were about to reach for your bag when you felt a large hand on your lower back. You looked over who it was, but looking over at the man to your right knocked the wind out of you. He was ruggedly handsome. He has dark brown hair that was done messily with mutton chops to go along with his fluffy hair. He wore dark blue jeans with a belt to hold it up to his hips, a pair of boots, a white wife beater, flannel, and a dark brown leather jacket to complete his bad boy exterior. 

“I got it, darlin’,” the stranger looked at you, smugly. “don’t worry ‘bout it.”

You were just stunned, you didn’t know what to say. This man was so dangerously handsome, you’ll do anything to keep this man’s attention on you. But, remember what your friend taught you. Never chase after a man. If he wants you that badly, walk him like a dog. And you intend to do that.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” the man bent over to your right ear and said with his cockiness, “use your words.”

Shit, shit, shit. So much for taking the reign.

“Oh, um.. thank you.” you replied sweetly.

“Attagirl.” 

Oh, so he wants to play that game. Well jokes on him, you can play along too. You have read so many scenarios where this plays out, it’s time to use that playbook. There was a spot that was available and the handsome fellow sat down, but still maintaining that contact with you.

“What’s your name, darlin’?”

“Y/N. What’s yours?”

“The name’s Logan.”

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise.”

You didn’t know if it was the drink or you feeling bold, but you made your way to Logan and sat on his lap. His eyes widen and his jaw a little slacked, but quickly bounces back to his usual smug face before you could appreciate your small little victory. Your legs were across his laps and you kept your legs crossed on top of the other, giving Logan an aweing view of your scrumptious thighs. He had one hand placed on the small of your back, dangerously close to your ass and the other hand was resting outside your knee, rubbing small circles with his thumbs,

You guys have been talking and flirting for about 30 minutes, and everything was going so smoothly for tonight. There was a small part of you that didn’t want this night to end, but there was that sinking feeling that you felt that this was going to be a one time experience and you’ll never see him again. Your hand was resting at the nape of his neck, giving him light scratches. Logan let out some low purrs. He loves the way that you’re giving him all this attention from a pretty thing like yourself. But he had this gnawing feeling that he shouldn’t do this to you. You were so young and naive, you never really got to experience life to the fullest. He promised a friend that he was going to hook up with a girl that he knew, get acquainted and maybe get something more out of it. Possibly a relationship. But Logan knows that never comes easily with him. Everyone that he ever loved dies in the end. You were just so sweet and innocent. He couldn’t put you through that. 

“Say, wanna get out of here?” Logan asked.

At first, you were hesitant. Wasn’t this what you wanted? I mean, yes. Look at him. This man is built like a god. You didn’t want to ditch your friend on her birthday to go sleep with some guy. But then again, you’ve been gone for a while and she didn’t seem to notice you. So, fuck it. 

“Yeah, sure.” you replied.

You got off his lap and Logan got off his seat, and he walked you out of the busting night club. You both decided to go to your apartment where you were most comfortable. Logan didn’t seem to mind. It was probably for the best since your apartment is probably nicer than his and he wanted to make sure that you were comfortable. A gentleman, I know. You fished for your keys in your purse and let yourselves in. 

“Please, make yourself at home.” you exclaimed. “Can I get you something?”

“You got any beer?” Logan asked.

“I got Budweiser. Is that okay?”

Logan would’ve died on the spot. It’s almost as if you were made for him. Like he drew a mental picture of you and manifested it. 

“Now we’re talking.”

You giggled at his response and went to the fridge to grab two bottles. If Logan almost died from you knowing his favorite beer, he would’ve melted from your lovely laugh. You truly were made from him.

You both settled on the couch and facing each other, you both went back to talking from the last conversation at the bar. Logan, resting his arm behind the couch while nesting a bottle while you were curled up, tucking your feet behind you and resting a hand on your chin, honing in everything and digesting every word that comes out of his mouth. 

“So, what was a pretty thing like yourself at a bar?” Logan asked.

“Oh, the funny thing is it’s my friend���s birthday and we were out celebrating.” I chuckled softly. “I guess she’s still there with her boyfriend so I don’t feel too guilty.”

Logan chuckled roughly. “Ah man, I’m sorry to drag you away.”

I waved my hand at him nonchalantly. “It’s not a big deal, really.”

After chatting again for about 15 minutes, you noticed that Logan is sitting closer and closer to you. For a moment, you forgot how to breathe because of how handsome he is. His lips were so close to yours, you could almost taste him. You caught him stealing a few glances down your chest, mentally undressing you, but you don’t seem to mind.

“Fuck, you look so beautiful tonight.” Logan whispered huskily.

You automatically placed your hand on his chest, chests basically touching.

“You’re not so bad yourself, handsome.” I whispered seductively. “Mind taking me out of this dress?”

Logan’s heart stopped for a moment when you asked him so bluntly. Of course, he wasn’t going to pass this opportunity. So he reached behind you and unzipped your dress. He gently laid you back on the couch as you moved to take off his flannel shirt. He slowly pulled your straps down one by one, as he was taking his sweet time with you, trying to memorize every little thing about your body. Logan finally slipped your dress off of you and the only thing standing in his way is your black lace thong.

“Fuck.” Logan shuddered a groan.

You tried to cover yourself, but Logan took one of his hands and pinned both your wrists above your head.

“Don’t get all shy now with me.” Logan growled. “I wanna see it all.

I whimpered at his rough exterior and wrapped your legs around his waist. He purred in approval.

“Logan…” You moaned. “Let me touch you.”

Logan chuckled darkly as you begged and whined while you’re getting super soaked in your panties, it was leaving wet spots in his pants. He pressed his hard on your heated, needy pussy. You whimpered at the contact, arching your back, hoping to feel him.

“Ahh, pretty baby wants to touch me?” Logan teased.

You nodded your head and he laughed. He leaned down and started sucking your neck, leaving hickeys and love bites at its wake. You begin to moan, and he chuckles darkly as he’s leaving kisses down between your breasts. Logan sat up straight to remove his shirt and undo his belt. He slipped his pants and boxers down, and went down to come face to face to your pussy. He left a little kiss on your clothed pussy and you whimpered while arching your back so far, it almost didn’t look natural. He chuckled how reactive you are to him and he’s enjoying every bit of it. He went to pick you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He placed his hands on your ass, and leaned in for a kiss. You kissed him back happily as you took his face with your hands and you both moaned, fighting for dominance.

“Where’s your room, sweetheart?” Logan asked.

“First door on the right.” You moaned in his mouth.

He then leads you both to your room, still kissing you. As you both entered, he placed you on the bed as he crawled down on you. He forgot you still had your underwear on, so he ripped it off of your body. You gasped, not from ruining it but at how he ripped it off with ease.

“Sorry, princess. It was getting in the way.” Logan muttered and then he quickly went down to eat you out. You arched your back as you gripped the bed sheets. He placed his hand down on your lower stomach to hold you down. “Don’t move.” He growled as he looked up at you.

You fought your hardest to remain still. Logan went back to eat your pussy like a starved man, and you moved your fist to your mouth, biting back some moans. “Nah uh, I wanna hear you. I want this whole apartment to hear how good I’m makin’ ya feel.” Logan said roughly. You nodded your head as he went back to devouring his desert. You moaned loudly, it almost sounded pornographic and he chuckled darkly. “That’s it, darlin’. Attagirl.” He praised you. “Logan, I’m so..” You said sultry. “Go ahead. Come for me.” At demand, you did and you were starting to see white after this euphoric sensation and you were starting to come down from your high.

“On your hands and knees.” Logan demanded. You did as you were told and he purred at how easy you were to please. He’ll keep this in mind. He climbed behind you as he gripped your ass close to his hardened dick. He slowly smoothed your backside with one hand and he bent down to your ear, his cold dog tags touching your bare back, making you shiver. “Let me know if it gets too rough for ya.” Logan whispered sweetly. All you could do was nod your head. “I need words, sweetheart.” “Yes. Yes, I’ll let you know if it gets too much.” Logan smirked. “Attagirl.”

Logan then eased the tip of his cock into your heated entrance, and began to gasp heavily. “Oh, fuck.” You moaned and Logan chuckled. “Easy, princess, just breathe.” He slowly went inch by inch, feeling his length and his girth. It then becomes easy for you, going from painful to pleasure. Going from losing your breath to moaning into a hot mess. Logan began to pull back and slammed it back in. You jumped forward at the brutal force and you moaned in…pleasure? Pain? Honestly, who cares? It feels too good to stop. He kept pounding into you, starting to hit your cervix over and over again.

“Fuuuucck.” Logan growled as he looked up into the ceiling for a hot minute. He went to look back down as the relentless pounding is matching the rhythm to your ass bouncing back to his cock, making wet slapping noises. “You’re gonna be the death of me, princess.” You giggled at his comment as you turned your head at an angle to get a good look at him. Logan bent down again to kiss you on the lips, moaning into each other’s mouths.

Logan then flipped you on your back and his pounding into you again as you wrapped his legs around his waist. He went to intertwined his fingers into yours and he looked into your eyes. “Don’t close your eyes. I wanna see you come undone.” Logan warned. You nodded your head and said, “I won’t.” Logan nodded his head in approval. “Baby, I’m so close.” You moaned. “I know, I know. I’m right behind you.” You then reached your second climax of the night and you were spent. Logan’s hips started to stutter as he made a few good thrusts into you. “Where at?” Logan asked. “Inside. Safe.” You gasped between breaths, finding it hard to find the words. Logan nodded as he made one last thrust before he went still, painting your insides white.

Logan collapsed beside you and he pulled you into a lover’s embrace as you passed out. He kissed the top of your head as he whispered before you were completely out, “You did so good for me, baby. My perfect girl.”

The next morning, you stirred awake as you stretched your arms above your head. You looked out to your window and then you looked over to your right side of the bed, noticing that it was empty. Your heart sank to your chest. You were disappointed, but not surprised. Wishful thinking, you thought. You got out of bed and put on a fresh pair of panties and a short, silky bathrobe. You made your way to the kitchen and then you noticed a tan bare back with dark fluffy hair. He’s wearing his jeans low on his hips with no belt on. He’s cooking eggs and bacon on the stovetop. Logan turned around, took notice of your morning attire and he’s breath was taken away.

“Good morning, princess.” Logan said in his deep morning voice.

“Good morning.” You sighed happily. You went over to him and he grabbed you by the waist, making you gasp out loud. He leaned in for a kiss and you happily kissed him back.

“Oh, good!” Wade announced himself in the kitchen. “I see you met Y/N. The one that I mentioned to you before.”

Surprisingly, Logan didn’t growl at him. He stopped kissing you as you looked at Wade with a slack jaw like a fish in a hook. He went back to look down at you, and smiled, “Yeah. Yeah, I guess you can say we got to know each other very well.” Logan winked at you after your “acquaintance” last night. You playfully slapped at his bare chest and he laughed.

“Next time if you guys are going to fuck, can you at least keep it down?” Wade whined. “It’s like coming across the Animal Channel.”

I picked up a towel and threw it at him. “Fuck off, will you, Wade?” Logan laughed as Wade scurried away. Logan wrapped his arms around my waist, palming my ass. “Hmmm. And here I thought I was gonna regret meeting you. But, Wade never described you. I guess I got lucky.” I leaned up to kiss him on the lips and he happily kissed me back. “To be honest, I didn’t know about any of this. I’m glad that I stumbled upon you.” Logan smirked at me. “Come on, before breakfast gets cold.”

[porceline]

Optimus could never touch you.

No. He would never.

He's seen his fellow Autobots touch your kind plenty of times, holding them up high for a new perspective, settling them on their shoulders just to keep them near. Yes, he's seen it. And he isn't against it. He knows perfectly well how much humans need physical touch, and how much it contributes to their physical and mental health.

He's seen you hug the children many times, such a thing he's come to realize is a symbol of many things. A greeting, a goodbye, an act of adoration, affection, or even Love.

There was only one time he has made physical contact with a human. In a dire situation, he had to move Agent Fowler as to insure his safety. That moment was much too quick for him to linger on the feeling of such a tiny living being in his hands.

At times, he finds himself jealous of the others. Their lack of fear, yet their lingering anxiety that any wrong movement could easily turn your body into.. mush.

It's no secret that he's a steady hand, nearly comparable to Ratchets, but obviously much larger. Though, despite his overwhelmingly cautious steps around your platform, he still doesn't trust himself to touch any of you.

You're too delicate, too fragile. Your bodies are so different, yet so similar. But his fear overwhelms him.

Yes, he knows you're safe in his cabin. Surrounded by over two-tons of alien-grade metal that can withstand the blast of several shots of molten energon, but not the touch of a human. More specifically, you.

It's not just his strength that hes afraid of, no. It goes deeper than that.

His hands have taken many lives, stained with the energon of his own species. He has done many things that he is not proud of.

And he's so, so afraid, that if he were to hold you, even for just a moment, you would be so sickened that you wouldn't even spare him a glance the next time you saw him. You wouldn't bless him with that charming, sparkling smile of yours that you greet everyone with.

No, no matter how much you plead with him, how much you beg to be close to him because you just love him so much..

He will never touch you.

He can never, touch you.

[tracklessreason]

No shade to innocent B-127 headcanons, but I prefer my Bee painfully optimistic in a way that seems naive, if only because no one has asked what his time in Sublevel 50 was like to realize he gives the benefit of the doubt for his own safety/mental health.

Bee spent most of his life on a sublevel most bots don't know exist. Sentinel wouldn't hide another 10 levels unless some shady shit was going on down there.

Like, say, disposing of anyone who found out the heinous reality of your leadership? It's a furnace after all. What better way to hide a body than to send it down to the level people don't know exists, to be melted into an unrecognizable mess of molten metal?

Dead mechs have rolled down that conveyor belt into the flames. Bee chooses to believe they passed of natural causes. Living alone like that, your friends put together from scraps...there's no room to let the natural conclusions weigh on you. You wouldn't last long that way. Bee knows that better than anyone. There used to be another worker down there with him.

Living bots have rolled down that conveyor belt into the flames.

[last-words-ofashootingstar]

Allure

Part One:Sunshine

❥MATZ x fem reader

Kim Hongjoong and Park Seonghwa. The most known and feared alphas of the new generation. It took two dozen elder alphas to subdue them and stick them in the world's most secluded prison- hidden away in the mountains. The prison that sweet little omega (Y/n)'s works at.

Knuckle Velvet (Part Two)

Smoke (Part Three)

➯a/n: i've always wanted to write a story i would like to see as a movie or show, and i very much enjoy supernatural and dark romance, so i made this ! it does get very dark so please read the warnings and take care of yourself first and foremost. i am very proud of this, i hope you enjoy 💕

✃ "Because you're... alluring."

✫彡wordcount: 9.3k

♫"Hey, you should leave that young thing alone, ain't no sunshine when she's gone, only darkness everyday." - Flower Face (original by Bill Withers) ♫ Allure Sountrack

(>ᴗ•)♡´･ᴗ･`♡genre: smut, YANDERE, a/b/o au

ಠ_ಠWARNING/content: DEAD DOVE I MURDERED THAT BIH

chapter specific: literally what have i done, not beta read(ironically), criminal MATZ, alpha MATZ/omega reader, forget everything you know about werewolves, so much world building, extremely yandere behavior, talk of attempted child murder, class division of werewolves, panic attacks, vulgar language, mind control, lots of scent stuff, unhealthy relationships, ptsd, flashbacks and nightmares, physical violence, manipulation of others dreams, supporting character death, forced soul bonding, forced marking, reader implied to have mental health issues, murder, gore, violence- all that good stuff. THIS IS NOT A NON CON FIC ALL EVENTUAL SMUT WILL BE CONSENSUAL.

⁂perm taglist: @stvrfir3 @tunaasan @marievllr-abg

⁂fic taglist: @potatomountain @spooo00oky

MATURE UNDER CUT MDNI

˚➶ ｡˚ PART ONE ˚➶ ｡˚

You hate weekdays. That much is true for a lot of people. You like to think your reasoning is especially valid.

Every Monday through Friday like clockwork, 6:30AM you walk into the prison. That on its own wasn't so bad. You lived only ten minutes away; the gothic building looked over your village in tandem with the mountains. You could see it when the weather was clear, even from your bedroom on the edge of town. You were no longer afraid of it like when you were a child.

You are, however, afraid of the newest prisoners.

New arrivals didn't usually rock you. This is the only prison in the country fit to hold lycans, after all. They all got transferred here eventually. From beta's who were just stealing to eat, to alphas who used their powers on humans, to those who believed in the old ways and fed on humans.

You had to interact with them all face to face.

You weren't excited for that particular aspect of your job this week.

You made your way through the double doors and greeted the security guard, your friend Hyolyn, as you went through the metal detector. It went off on account of the scent blocker that was embedded in your neck. She chuckled and switched it off so it stopped its incessant beeping.

"Don't laugh at me!" You threw a smile her way as you got your small purse from the plastic bucket she slid towards you. She doesn't bother to check your bag. She knows you well enough to know you wouldn't bring in any "fuck shit", as she would say. "You alpha's don't have to worry about accidentally spewing scent everywhere."

"Thank goodness for that, this place would stink to high heaven." Her unintentional reference to the new arrivals makes the air turn stiff. She could tell you were on edge immediately. "They aren't all that scary," she lays a comforting hand to your shoulder as you fiddle with the long strap on your crossbody bag.

"I heard one of them killed Alpha Greene... you think that's true? That guy was huge, I saw him at The Thing last year, I almost peed myself cause he looked at me-" You stop your own rambling, taking a deep breath and letting it out as a shaking sigh. "I don't want to go in there. Honestly, why can't we install a laundry chute or something, fuck."

"I'll follow you up, I c-"

"No, no, it's visiting day. You need to be down here. You know Chungha? Her daughter is visiting today. Don't want you to miss her." You offer a sad, tight lipped smile, but that doesn't trick her instincts to protect her weaker pack member. She knows you too well to be tricked.

"You just scream and I'll be there. Either of those cocky fucks lift a pinky in your direction and I'll gut them. They don't deserve to see a trial anyway."

A small exhale in the form of a chuckle lightens her protective instincts, she can tell you feel more at ease with her promise to be right there at the slightest hint of trouble.

"See you, Hyolyn."

"Later, babes."

You wave your fingers with a smile as the elevator doors slides shut. As soon as they clunk together, you let it fall and crouch with your head in your hands, taking in deep and slow breaths as you try and force all of the rumors you've heard about the two newest inmates away from your head.

The older alpha of the duo was the first born in this generation. They're always powerful. But he was born to two bloodthirsty rouges. Born in sin and blood lust.

The younger alpha was born just some months after, to an arranged marriage that was purposefully formed to make powerful children. They surely regret that now. Some say the man has the strongest, sharpest claws since the first lycan in Talbot Castle.

When the elevator dings, you're already upright and have that strong facade on that you put on when you're clocked in.

˚➶ ｡˚

You start with the familiar. "Hey, Chungha," you tap on the silver bars of her cell, "hand 'em over." She smiles as she stands, stripping the sheets from her cot and holding them through the bars for you. "Thank you," you draw on with a tug on your lips that matches hers.

"Yunnie in town?"

"Mhm," you hum as you fold the blanket before dropping it in the large basket on wheels, "she came over for stew, I made sure to feed her good and well, don't worry."

You know it was probably problematic, but you couldn't help it. Chungha came here three years ago on a charge for battery, and over those three years you became sort of friends with her.

The battered in her case was her grandfather. When her five year old daughter, Jiyun, started to show signs of being an omega- he left her in the snow to wither away. She managed to survive until her mother came home, and said mother was furious.

She was lucky she didn't charged with attempted manslaughter.

"She said she'll be here first thing."

"Thank you," she had a heavy pull on her voice. You don't have the emotional connection to other wolves like an alpha or beta did. But it was clear to anyone she was being sincere. "You're a good woman."

"Don't mention it, Yunnie is good company. Oh," you start to wheel the basket away when you remember something. You reach into the purse that you had set on the handles. "She made this at art class, asked me to give it to you so it didn't have to wait in processing."

It was a small, cruelly made ceramic bowl in the vague shape of a heart. It was clearly made by an eight year old, but made with love.

"I owe you."

"Just keep working on that parol work." You said lightly and blew a kiss as you moved to the next cell.

    The rest of your work nearly cleared your mind as you went from cell to cell, floor to floor. Omega's were on the second floor. Beta's on the third. Alphas on the fourth. High security on the fifth.

     It's on the fourth level that you begin to feel those nerves that you had just worked away. The scent was becoming stronger. They didn't put them on blockers? Maybe they didn't think it would be worth it. Everyone knew that they were the worst of the worst, they didn't even try to hide it. They would undoubtedly be put to death. Why waste two perfectly good, expensive, blockers?

     The basket of used sheets is nearly full, accumulating into a weight that makes you put your back into it as you push it into the elevator.

    Your index finger reaches out, and before you can stop yourself you've pressed the button to the fifth floor.

       You blank out until the door opens again. Your teeth are eternally grateful for the gum between them so they don't grind themselves into dust. The mint flavor does little to calm your nerves.

     The only thing that makes you come back to your own head is Changbin. He's a big, buff beta with a gun full of silver bullets on his work belt. He won't let them hurt you. His smile washes away a lot of the nerves.

    But the growl that rumbles against the walls makes them return ten, one hundred, one thousand fold. You don't dare say a word. A deer in headlights until Changbin places his hand on the small of your back. "Go on, don't give them the satisfaction of scaring you. They aren't going nowhere no time soon. Take a look."

     He motions you deeper into the hall, florescent lights buzzing above you, matching the jittering feeling in the deepest pit of your stomach. It smells too strong. Too much. You're about to fall to your knees from the weight and you haven't even come face to face with the near feral criminals.

    Changbin opens the doors at the end of the hall.

     They've definitely gone all out to keep them in place. Two large cages placed next to each other in the middle of the enormous room. Made of pure silver and wrapped in wolfsbane. The unpleasant smell of the plant makes your nose twitch. A ring of blood ash surrounds it. Only omegas can pass through blood ash, and now you start to realize why they sent you.

    You want to curse the warden, but the second you open your mouth, a loud cackle sounds out from one of the cages.

     Changbin's hand twitches at the gun attached to his side.

    "Oh wow," the smaller alpha chuckles, eyes closed, head tilted back, as he sniffs the air. "I didn't expect that." More manic giggles slip past his lips.

    You haven't even looked up to see them and you want to cave in on yourself.

    "What are you rambling about, huh?" The guard next to you shouts, making you flinch instinctively.

     "That sweet... sweet, smell," he moans. You can hear him shuffling. "From a peppy little spit fuck omega."

   You gasp abashedly, and now two laughs ring out. You want to wonder how they can smell you. Your insurance provides the best scent blocker in the country. But you're too scared to breathe, let alone think.

      "Shut up," Changbin groans, he can feel you tense next to him, "don't piss me off, Kim."

    "Awe," a new, rumbling voice makes you cower the second it reaches your ears, "this your mate? Hm, no... you wouldn't bring your mate here. You're not an idiot. Then, say... omega." You don't make a move to look when he addresses you, you stay looking at Changbins grip on his gun, silently.

     "Omega, come!" Your feet move for you, and that manic laugh almost makes you wet yourself as you realize that your wolf is making you move toward them without your consent. You stop just outside of the blood ash, where you know you're safe.

     "Changb-"

     "No. I'm the one you're speaking to."

   Changbin seems to be weighing his options, eyeing the men as they eye you.

    "Why are you here? You a shrink?"

    You shake your head.

   "You a lawyer?"

    Again.

   "She works here, dumbass, look at her scrubs," the younger speaks, and you nod subconsciously, to which he giggles, "what can we do for a pretty little thing like you?"

    When you refuse to speak, the guard does it for you. "She's here for your sheets today. Get used to her."

     You hated that this was your job, but it was easy and accessible, and available for omegas. Werewolves are clean freaks. Every day you had a different cleaning task, but you didn't complain. Not until right now- you wanted to rip out the throat of whoever's idea it was to not shoot these criminals on sight.

     "Ah," he hums, and you can feel his eyes raking your body. You can feel both of their eyes. "Not too bad of a sight to get used to. Huh, Hwa?"

     "Mh, that's right... can't wait to get my hands on her."

Your head snaps back to Changbin.

"Awn, she thinks he's gonna help her!" The high pitched giggles bounce around in your head. "Oh, little omega~"

The saccharine coo finally pulls your eyes to the men in the cages.

If you thought you knew what fear was before this moment, you were wrong.

The two strongest criminals in the country, staring you down like a piece of meat. It doesn't matter that they are the ones in cages of silver and wolfsbane. You are the one who feels cornered.

You can immediately feel out their dynamics. The taller one is the older one, quiet and still in his cage as he sits in the center. Shaggy, shining hair framing his face and neck like an elegant piece of lace over a brides face. He has a sleeve of tattoos on one forearm, a thick tattoo on his neck. Eyes glowing a deep, blood red, as he tries to read your entire story with only a look in your direction.

The giggling one is less intimidating, only by a hair. Chemically lightened locks pushed back messily, letting his entrancing features shine in the light from the narrow windows high on the walls. He has tattoos as well, but they seem few and far between. His eyes are human for a moment before they meet yours. Instantaneously, they flick black.

The knot drops from your throat and you let out a small, pathetic, squeak.

Changbin breaks your staring contest with the alpha, shouting orders at them. "Take the sheets off your cot and set them outside of your cage. Do not attempt to touch her, I will shoot you."

    Neither criminal makes a move to follow his orders, both simply staring at you.

A low growl is emitted when the older alpha finally snaps up, tearing the sheet off the sorry excuse for a bed in one fell swoop. The younger follows his lead, shoving their sheets through the bars that are wrapped in the poisonous flower.

You look to the guard, and he nods, "go." With his finger twitching at the gun ready to pull it, you jump over the dark red ashes and into the wolves den, snatching the sheets up as quick as possible and dashing away, out the door before they even get a chance to lock in your scent up close.

The giggles follow you all the way to the elevator and ring in your head even as the thick metal thunks shut.

As you take a deep breath, you notice the sheets are gripped to your chest, your claws drawn subconsciously in your panic and ripping them up. "Shit!" You let out a curse and shove them into the bottom of the basket so you don't have to smell it as closely on the long ride to the basement.

˚➶ ｡˚

The lingering wafts of your fresh scent are long gone, nothing to distract the alpha's from their caged boredom and bubbling rage over being caught. "I'll have that runts heart in my hands by the end of the month." Hongjoong groaned, to no one in particular- he knew Seonghwa was too deep in thought from their recent revelations. "Fucking back stabbers. They're more pathetic than a bitch in heat trying to get off with a dildo."

The thought hit his mind as soon as the words left his lips.

The thought of you, legs spread with your hand dipped low, trying to satisfy your primal urges and-

"Stop that." Seonghwa growls, kicking the bars of their shared 'wall'.

"Settle down!"

"Oh, like you weren't thinking it!" Hongjoong rolls his eyes, a scowl on his face as he crosses his arms. "Your ruts coming and you don't want your-"

"I said stop," he nearly roars, grabbing Hongjoong's state issued orange top and ripping it with his claws as he pulls him forward.

"I know you want her because I want her too." He whispers, smirking at the telltale signs of desire and bloodlust in his mates eyes. Red swirling around the brown of his human eyes. "Imagine how good she'll smell when we take out that stupid blocker. We'll be drowning in her scent." He moans, grabbing his wrist, "I get the honors, my claws are sharper, anyways," he draws them quickly, digging them into his skin as if to prove a point.

"I can use my teeth, mark h-"

"Oh, will you two stop? Love of God..." The guard in the large room slaps his book down on the rickety table. "What is there possibly for you to be fighting about? You're about to be executed, you know that right? No jury in the world will let you walk, especially the human half."

Their frustrations turn to the man, letting each other go. "Ah, you think so?" The older croons, dragging his index over his bleeding wrist and bringing it to his lips, sucking it clean before he continues. "We won't be around these parts long enough to meet the jury."

"What do you mean by that?"

Hongjoong covers his mouth when a laugh slips past. Seonghwa simply smirks as he sits cross legged, eyes locked with the guard as he licks his wound.

"What do you mean by that?!"

The blonde man breaks out in a fit of laughter. The brunette simply flashes his bloody canines in a twisted smile.

˚➶ ｡˚

You spent the whole time doing your daily tasks trying to hype yourself up to go back up to the fifth floor.

You usually went top down, four to one. Nobody has ever been on five before.

You go bottom up today, starting at Chungha with a full basket of freshly washed sheets. She prattles on about her visit with Jiyun, and how she's so thankful for you.

You choose that as your focus point for the rest of the work day, even as you press the button to the fifth floor.

You think back to the first time you spoke to Chungha, she was a crying mess, unable to sense that you were an omega like herself. She cried and cried and cried as you held her hand through the bars of temporary holding. She cried for her daughter, for cursing her with the shame of being the weakest link of any pack. When she looked up and saw your eyes, barely glowing, she cried more.

She apologized profusely, but you reassured her that her words were true, and you hadn't been offended. You told her that, in fact, she was the first to ever share your feelings of what being an omega really meant. It meant loneliness beside anyone but other omegas. Fake relationships born with people who only stuck around because of their primal instincts to either prey on you or protect you. It meant facing the fact that you were outcasts from both of the world's dominant societies. Outcasted from humans for being a werewolf. Outcasted from werewolves for being weak. So weak, in fact, that blood ash didn't even think of you as a wolf.

That night, you drove four hours to the next village over and looked after her daughter until her aunt had room. You remember the first thing the girl said to you. She didn't speak that whole day, surely in shock from the past few days events. But when you tucked her into the motel bed, she spoke as soft as a ghost, "sing me a song?"

You hum it to yourself now, the soft sound reverberating through the metal around you until the door opened.

You wheel the basket with you this time, like it will protect you as you approach the open doors, already feeling the unwavering gaze of the criminals.

"Hey, dolly~" Hongjoong, you had learned when you took a peek into their files, purred your way.

You didn't give him the satisfaction of responding verbally, but he saw the goosebumps on your arm as you reached into the basket, stretching on your tip toes to get the last two sheets.

"You never shut up do you, Kim?" The guard sighed with an exhausted tone, making you smile as you slowly made your way to the ring of red dust.

The throaty rumble from Seonghwa, the older, taller wolf, makes that smile drop to the depths of Hell.

The new guard seems to notice your anxiety, eyeing you up- in a much less predatory manner than the caged men. "Go on, 'mega. I'm watching them."

A bang on the metal bars makes you glue your foot right back where it came from. It's the blonde one, "you shut the fuck up!"

"No, you shut the fuck up! I'm the one with the silver bullets!"

All of the yelling is making you tremble, Hongjoong and the guard going back and forth. "She isn't your omega!"

"She ain't yours!"

Seonghwa watches with a sinister smile as you back away from the ash and the guard, calling to you quietly, "hey."

The soft tone of his voice makes you raise your eyes, but not your head. His eyes don't hold that threatening and dominating red from before. They're a soft brown color that reminds you of a beautiful dark oak in the morning sunshine. "What's your name?"

"(Y/n)..." your tongue moves without your consent, fresh blankets held to your work scrubs.

You desperately want the guard to notice this trance you're in, and grab you out of it. You want to do it yourself, but you can't do anything but admire the beauty of the criminal who has you hypnotized.

"You're a pretty omega, y'know? What color is your wolf?"

"Black..." It's a slur off your lips, barely registering in his sharply tuned ears over the yelling that continues to fill the room.

"Mine too. What's her name? His is Akma."

"Solis."

"Very pretty. Is she fast?"

"Yes."

"Does she want an alpha? A mate?"

"Yes."

The guard finally notices your raised gaze, affixed to the infamous, unlawful, man. He puts his gun back in the holster quickly before gripping your shoulder and forcing you to turn around. "You idiot, didn't anyone ever tell you not to look a first born in the eyes?"

"Sorry. I'm sorry." No one had ever told you that, actually.

Both of the criminals share a smirk as the man from your pack attempts to calm you. It wasn't hard for them to figure out you were an alpha-less village. They could smell every single wolf in five miles, and not a single stench from a wolf even nearly as strong as them.

There was, however, you. A honeyed smell that filled their guts with the primal need to rip out the eyes of anyone who dared look at you.

The guard couldn't be more wrong. You are their omega. You just don't know yet.

"Go and give these fucks their sheets, then get the hell out of here." The man shoved you, making you jump clumsily over the ash so you didn't break the seal.

He yells at them to back up, and they do so without a fight.

You shove them both in at the same time before running back out quickly, grabbing the empty basket and dragging it with you, the sound of the wheels scraping with the force of your panic echoing in the near empty room.

"You guys get off on scaring defenseless girls?" The guard scoffs, not expecting an answer as he drags the chair out of the room and slams the doors behind him.

Seonghwa lets his facade fall the second the door shuts, falling to his knees and grappling at the sheet like he's a starving man with the last piece of food on Earth. Hongjoong watches for a moment in confusion until the scent catches up with his weaker nose. Then he's quickly falling in the same position.

"It worked, the guard was so easy to distract," Hongjoong chuckles, face buried into the sheet that smells vaguely like you from your time spent holding it. "What did you learn?"

"(Y/n), a black wolf named Solis," he pauses, eyes rolled back as he takes a deep breath. They're red when they re-open. "No mate. It's really her."

"You think we should have told her?" Hongjoong inquires, looking through the bars.

He's never seen Seonghwa on his knees for anyone but him or the moon.

"No," he shakes his head, turning to lock eyes with him. "She'll figure it out when I mark her."

"When I mark her."

He rolls his eyes at his defiant nature, knowing full well he won't disobey his orders no matter how badly he wants to do something.

In a dog eat dog world, the strongest was the most powerful. Unlike their human neighbors, werewolves don't decide political or social standing by money or family name. They decide based on who comes out on top in a battle of the body and of the wits.

It had been determined years ago, when they were just young rebellious pups, that Seonghwa was the alpha. A fight in the woods under the moon had set it in stone between the two.

He could have ripped Hongjoongs throat out right then and there, but now, 13 years later in the present; they're bonded for life.

Sometimes he still sees Hongjoong as that 12 year old boy under his teeth, still snapping and growling even as he bled out with tears in his dark eyes, fighting to survive purely out of spite.

"You can mark her first," Seonghwa speaks quickly, turning his back as he puts the sweet smelling sheet on his cot.

He smiles at the man, a quiet thanks spoken through their bonded souls.

˚➶ ｡˚

Tuesday, they don't see you until much later in the day, but they bask in the sight of you opening the door with a broom and tray in hand, smiling at Changbin. You'll be here for a while, it's a big room.

"Hey, Binnie," you whisper to the beta, and Seonghwa has to bite his tongue.

Binnie? Ugh.

Hongjoong isn't so polite, "hey, Dolly! We don't get a hello?" You barely peek at him, eyes flicked from him right back to the floor in a millisecond. He knows you noticed his pout when he hears the smallest 'hello' tremble by your lips.

You start in the corner, headphones attached to your walkman with your favorite song on repeat to try and soothe yourself. Bill Withers calming voice blocks out every word of the teasing alphas, but you can still feel them mocking you and picking at you.

You don't dare sweep anywhere near the blood ash on the floor. One less precaution in place was one more thing to worry about.

"Bye, Binnie."

He does growl that time, eyes narrowed on your back until the door shuts.

˚➶ ｡˚

Wednesday, you have a frown on your face. "Three days in a row?" The guard Hongjoong got in a yelling match with, Merle, greets you as you come into the cavernous room, "bad schedule huh?"

"No kidding," you sigh, feet slightly hesitant to pass the dust border, "I'm here to fix your shirt. It's state property." You don't look at them, but they know who you're referring to.

They act like they don't, though. Just to hear more of your voice. To make you wriggle under their attention. "Sorry? What do you mean?"

You look and point to Hongjoong, his collar ripped from Seonghwas grasp. "State property."

"Ah, of course." He grins like a jackal, pulling it over his head and sticking his hand out of the bars just in the slightest. "On one condition."

You pout, eyes on the shirt which is just far enough away that you'd have to step closer. And it's the cutest fucking thing they've ever seen.

You look back up at him, silently asking. "Sit and talk with us. The guards here are no fun!" His laugh makes you jump back further, he sounds like a mad pirate.

You look over to Merle, who just shrugs, "just get it over with so these guys will shut up. They're only talkative around you, they need an audience for their antics."

"We won't bite," Seonghwa chuckles with his teeth exposed, making you shiver.

"Fine, give it here." You take a single step forward, palm out infront of the blonde.

When you grab it and go to race away like always, his claws wrapping all the way around your wrist stops you, sharp edges threatening to slice your skin down to the bone. You scream your head off, silenced when Seonghwa coos softly, "sit with us, and talk."

"Let me go..." you plead, eyes frantically flicking to Merle, whose gun is drawn to Hongjoongs head from the border of the ash, waiting for him to take one more wrong move so he can rid the world of one of its greatest criminals.

"Sit, omega." You do so, slowly lowering to the floor with your wrist and life still in Hongjoongs hand. "You have your sewing kit with you, I can hear the buttons hitting the needle. So sit, stay, and talk while you fix it."

Once again, they're the ones caged in. But you're the one who's stuck.

     One look to Merle tells you he probably wouldn't help you even if he could get to you. He lowers his gun as your tailbone hits the concrete floor.

     Your thin work scrubs do little to fight the cold of the old flooring, one reason of many that you shake as you reach into your purse and get the small tin box.

     Hongjoong releases your wrist and sits mirrored to you, hands perched on the bars in the gaps of the purple vine flower wrapped on them. Seonghwa comes to the corner of his side of the split cage and breathes in deeply through his nose, eyes locked in on your every movement. "So you're essentially the errand lady? Maid?"

      "Yes..." You murmur under your breath as your fingers work to thread the needle, slowly backing away until you're out of reach, but still stuck in the blood ash with no one to rescue should the men infront of you decide to rip their cages open. You only stop backing away when you hear a warning growl.

     You don't care to see which it came from, you just want to do this as quickly as possible and get far, far, away. They could have chose anyone to focus their annoying efforts on. Changbin, Merle, the warden. But no, just your luck.

      "You live in the village, right? Were you born here?" Seonghwa continues to do the talking as you carefully fix the shirt.

      "Yes. And no."

     A small hum from the one in front of you is a sign they want you to continue. "I was born to an overpopulated pack. They kicked me out when I turned eighteen. Our old alpha took me in." The hitch in your voice is a clear sign that it's a sore topic. And Hongjoong continues to poke the wound.

      "How did they find you?"

       "Woods."

       "Woods?"

     You can't help the small growl of frustration, lip curling as you look up. "Woods."

     The reaction is one you wouldn't have expected from a normal person, but then- they aren't normal.

     They laugh, cooing over your gesture of anger. Compared to them, you seem like a teacup puppy. "My, my," the brunette chuckles breathily, "is that Solis coming to play?"

     "At least she can," you snap, sent to the back of your own head as your wolf tries to defend you, "she isn't a caged mutt."

    Hongjoong breaks out into a manic fit of laughter, while his paramour is the opposite: his eyes flick red before your own, sharp teeth on display in a show of dominance over your smaller ones that are subconsciously bared at him. "Watch it, omega." He spits his words with venom, "I won't be so nice when I get out of here."

     You rip the extra thread with your claw, kicking the shirt across the floor so it sits at the bottom bar of Hongjoongs cage. His chest still wracks with laughter, watching as you sit up in a low squat so you're still level with the alpha.

      It's clear that you aren't currently you. Your wolf has control of your mouth and body, crouched in a position akin to that of a dog ready to pounce as you hiss your words, "I'm going to laugh in your face as you hang."

     "Aw, is that how dear old alpha died?"

     "Cut it out!" Merle screams disinterested, eyes glued to his flimsy magazine.

      "I heard he got gutted~" Hongjoong giggles, watching the color flicking in your eyes.

     "I'll gut you!" Your threat only makes him laugh more.

      "(Y/n)!" The voice of Hylyon breaks your wolf away from you immediately, falling to your bottom and crawling to the sound unwittingly. "You fucking idiot, Merle!" 

     She reaches over the blood ash and pulls you over the ring, letting you collapse into her as she drags you away, still throwing profanities at the incompetent guard. Hongjoong is laughing loudly. Seonghwa yelling at you to come back. The elevator cuts of his roar, the last thing you see through your blurry vision is his fist making a dent in the silver cage.

You fall onto the floor of the metal box. Thoughts flood your head too quickly for you to swim though them, making you drown and try to escape by releasing the pain with tears. You don't even notice when your friend turns her key in the elevator to make it stop in its tracks, you only see her when she sits right infront of you.

"Babes, calm down, I've got you," she reaches out slowly and places a hand on your leg, slowly rubbing her thumb over your knee.

"I can't go back up there... they're too strong, they make me feel like I'm suffocating," you splutter through gasps, "I'm too weak!"

"Hey, hey, you're spiraling!" She opens her arms and pulls you into her, letting you sob into her uniform. "In and out, girl," she holds the back of your neck securely, almost instantaneously making you calm. "I got you... I got you..."

You sit there for a good while, crying into her shoulder as you sort through your wracked brains.

Your alpha was gutted. Right in front of you. Because of you.

Unbeknownst to you, their tuned ears are still listening in, the elevator stuck within their ear shot as you begin mumbling your favorite song to yourself through tears.

˚➶ ｡˚

The sound of claws slicing through the skin on your back rings in your ears. Though, you can't feel it. Your eyes are locked in on your own claws, dug into the hardwood floor of your humble home to keep yourself from being dragged.

     You've been here a million times before.

     Blood pooling off of your body and onto the frigid surface below you. Teeth sharp and bared to the moon though the open window, begging that she might let you survive. Eyes aglow with your instincts as your wolf tries with every fiber of her being to turn, but she knows it's no use.

     The distorted voice above you drips with mocking venom, a chuckle as its owner realizes you can't even fight back like other wolves might: by letting your wolf fully transform.

     The wind blows through your curtains, washes your body in the artic breeze. The snowflakes on your windowsill are so delicate, all of their features fade into a blurry mush as they make contact. They melt, dripping down your wall.

     This time it's different.

      You're turned over, gaping wounds slammed into the floor as always, but when you look up to your aggressor it's different.

      His eyes aren't the yellow of a rouge, but the red of an alpha. His hair isn't that unruly blonde curl that you pulled at frantically, that you can still feel on your finger tips when your hands are unoccupied. It's long, shining, soft looking dark locks.

       You fall through the floor into another time, another place.

     Face first into the snow: your hands, shaking with adrenaline, do little to catch you.

       You don't remember this.

       This isn't right.

       This isn't your nightmare.

       You find yourself in a clearing in a forrest, the densely packed trees creating a bubble of nature around you. "(Y/n)?"

      You whip around, coming face to face with an unfamiliar man. Almost face to face. If he weren't floating a few feet in the air.

     His legs are crossed under him, hands facing palms up on his knees.

      "Don't worry. You're only dreaming." He speaks calmly as he floats around you in a circle, like a shark examining its potential prey.

     You follow him with your feral gaze, that familiar feeling of an adrenaline crash quickly approaching.

You know you're only dreaming. You've had that last dream more times than you can count in the past three years. It always plays the same. But not this time. You're only slightly thankful that you don't have to witness your alphas death again, but the gratefulness is overshadowed by confusion.

"Are you an angel?" You whisper, watching the man's soft and rounded features as he comes to a stop in the air in front of you and gracefully lowers to his feet.

"I can be, if that's what you want me to be. I'm only here to watch your dreams, fight off the nightmares."

"Why?" You feel distant from your body, watching powerlessly as your hand takes his, letting him lead you out of the clearing and into the darkness of the woods.

It disappears around you, warping into a spring day on a familiar path.

"A favor for a friend."

With the snow gone, you're in your spot, your old towel on the dewy grass with a book laid atop of it and the soil beneath your feet as you approach.

"Enjoy."

The hand vanishes from your own, leaving you alone on the side of the path. You look for him. But he's just an eidolon, watching you from the sky where you can't see him.

You warily take a seat and pick up the book.

˚➶ ｡˚

They don't see you again through the week. And when the next Monday comes by, their sheets are removed while they're in the showers.

Hongjoong sighs from his place on the floor, for the tenth time in the past half hour.

"Hong-"

"I miss our omega!" He whines, cutting him off.

Seonghwa stands from his cot, slowly lowering to the floor next to their shared bars. He lays flat on his back, mirroring Hongjoong as he tilts his head to look at him. "Soon." Is the only word he utters.

He reaches through the silver bars, ignoring the sting as the fresh wolfsbane brushes his wrist, and takes his hand.

The both of them look up at the ceiling through the bars of their enclosure.

Your scent is long gone from the room, and their noses can barely pick up on it through the rest of the village and prison.

"I want out of here," Hongjoong whispers, so lowly that the guard can't hear him from outside of the door, "when are they coming? Your bond with them is stronger, I can barely feel them..."

"Soon." He repeats, "very soon, Joong."

˚➶ ｡˚

Tuesday you manage to talk your coworker into sweeping the top floor, and you rejoice in the freedom of not being under the alpha's gazes. You've worked out a good schedule to completely avoid seeing them, and it's made your job feel like it's back to normal.

You can still smell their power wafting through the AC, but it's bearable. You distract yourself in your free time by making excuses to be on the second floor with Chungha and the other omegas.

Today, that excuse is 'omegas need physical outlets too', and the warden let you bring up buckets and brushes so you could all scrub the base boards.

"Oh, I've got one!" The omega to your left speaks, lifting his brush in the air in a eureka moment, "Texas Chainsaw Massacre or... Halloween?"

Chungha scoffs with a smile as she scrubs away to your right, "are we including sequels? There's like a billion!"

"No, stand alone original," Beomhan goes back to scrubbing as he continues, "both of them are classics but which one is a better classic?"

"Halloween is the classic slasher, Texas Chainsaw is like psychological horror," you chime in as you dip your brush into the bucket, sitting on your calves as you take a breather. "I think it's not fair to compare them... but Texas Chainsaw, definitely."

They laugh along with you, and Chungha shakes her head, "Halloween has more rewatchablity. You don't want to see Sally go through that more than once, but Laurie Strode fights harder and it's more like, yeah I'll watch her kick ass again."

"Cinematography in both is so beaut-"

The lights above you flicker before they shut down completely. People start muttering their concerns, quite a few of them looking your way. "Don't worry!" You hop up and get your keys from your pocket as you make your way to the locked stairwell. "I'll go and see what's going on, keep scrub-"

A loud siren echoes in the brick walls, shocking you all to cover your ears.

Everyone looks to you for answers, and you don't have any as your brain starts throwing theory after theory at you.

"It's okay, go back to your cells! Shut them behind you!"

They listened, however grumpy about it. The cell doors locked automatically when they were closed.

"Hey, what's going on?" Chungha asked over the clanging of the cell doors. The two of you, along with Beomhan, were the only ones left after a moment.

"Go back to your cell, Beomhan, hurry."

"No, what's happening?"

     The sirens cut off and leave you in a pregnant pause for a moment as you simply try to calm yourself.

A deafening scream ricochets through the air vent next to you, scaring you into their arms as you all stare at it.

Usually, the air flow covered the echoes throughout the floors. But with no power, you could hear everything- albeit muffled.

Yells and shouts. Gunshots. Growls. Unidentifiable chaos. And above all, your ears tuned in on a rumbling, calm voice through it all.

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone... It's not warm when she's away..."

Your eyes widen as theres a bang at the stairwell door. "Go, go!" You grab each of their wrists, dragging them into Chungha's cell. You slam it behind you and let down the sheet she has over it, backing away and staring at it as you hear the door hit the wall behind it with the force it's slammed open.

"(Y/n), what the hells happening?!"

     You slap your hand over his mouth and bring a finger to your lips. The other omegas on the floor are all making a ruckus, and you can only hope that it will confuse that unfortunately familiar voice so he can't find you.

˚➶ ｡˚

The beta in the large room ignores Hongjoong as he continuously asks after 'the pretty omega'.

He just sweeps and sweeps, finally understanding why you hate coming up here. He has his back turned to the cage, and consequently, to the windows.

High on the tall walls, the narrow glass is opened from the outside. Seonghwa smirks, and gestures his head to it. Hongjoongs gaze follows, and he has to slap a hand over his mouth so he doesn't laugh.

A skinny figure is sliding its way in through the window sideways.

He drops to the floor as silent as a mouse, landing on his knees and grinning wildly up at his alphas.

Hongjoong throws his head back in preemptive relief, while Seonghwa is watching with a similarly wide smile as the man walks straight through the blood ash, breaking the circle with the tip of his shoe.

The worker still has his back turned as the lock on Seonghwas cage is picked with a long claw. He doesn't even know what's happening as the next thing he knows, he's thrown across the floor.

      Blood ash knocks up around him, coughs wracking his body as he looks up to his assailant.

      Park Seonghwa, newly freed from his cage, looks down at the worker with his eyes glowing red.

     "Now usually..." He begins, crouching to be face to face with him, "I'd go through this whole place just for the fuck of it and cause some beautiful chaos. But I'm looking for someone."

     "(Y/n)?" He stutters out, backing away only to knock into Hongjoongs legs. Stuck between the two criminals, he chooses his own head over yours. "The second floor! Sh-she's on the second floor!"

     "Let's go get our omega, Joong."

      Nonchalantly, Hongjoong draws his claws and slices the neck of the worker. He hops over the gurgling body and follows his mate with an ecstatic giggle.

      He wraps his arm around the skinny man's shoulder, "Wooyoung! Our savior~" He ruffles his hair and laughs as he groans.

     "You guys know I've got your back. Seonghwa told me about your new omega, you seem excited," he mimics the alphas smile as the eldest of the trio opens the doors.

     The guard on duty, who happens to be Merle, looks back with wide eyes.

"Yes, oh yes!" His eyes roll to the back of his head, touching the stitches you made on his shirt. "Oh, you'll love her, she's a feisty omega just like you."

He makes a run for the fire alarm at the end of the hall, but Seonghwa is faster. The beta is tackled to the floor.

"I'm glad you both will have a buffer, tired of you always at each other's throats during ruts," Wooyoung laughs, looking down at the guard as they pass.

Seonghwa had simply torn out his throat with his bare hand and made his way to the elevator, holding it open with an impatient glare.

The door closes behind them and the only sound is Seonghwa's heavy breathing.

"You're real eager, huh?" The omega breaks the silence, "San should be coming in any second to block the main door. No one will get past him. The rest are in the village, just as we planned."

"Good, she'll need somewhere to rest before we take off....Fucking idiots, thinking they can cage us." He groans, eyes flicking to the number above the doors as it dings.

       3? "Fuck."

     The door opens and the woman on the other side takes a moment, nearly walking in before she notices the crimson liquid dripping from Segonhwa's hand.

      She makes it halfway through the hall before Hongjoong pounces on her, fighting her effortlessly as if she's a rag doll. The guards run to try and save her, but it's too late for the unfortunate woman, and they just signed their own death certificate as well.

       Seonghwa and Wooyoung make quick work of them, but their plan is already foiled as the lights flicker to a halt and leave them bathed in dim light of the setting sun in the few windows.

      The alphas fall to their knees as their sensitive ears are bombarded with a loud, incessant siren.

      "Wooyoung!" Hongjoong screams over it, "go turn that shit off!"

      He nods, taking the keys off a mauled guard and dashing to the stair well, leaving it unlocked behind him.

     Hongjoong crawls to Seonghwa, collapsing into his chest with his teeth clenched and palms over his ears. His ears were always more sensitive.

     His partner places his hands over his, thumb running over his own. He looks down with his eyes glowing red, meeting pure black.

He leans and kisses him deeply, all teeth and bloodlust, trying to merge their souls until the sirens cuts off.

Their foreheads rest together, ignoring the chaos of the beta's around them yelling to be released.

"Are you ready?" Seonghwa whispers, gathering another set of keys from the fallen workers. He throws it to one of the locked in prisoners, a smirk on his face. So much for not creating chaos.

"Let's go," Hongjoong holds the door to the staircase open and lets him go first with a dramatic bow.

It takes one scream to start the havoc. The entire prison is filled with the sickly sweet sounds of caged animals with a taste of freedom. Gunfire and howls bring a smile to Seonghwa's lips as he sings out,

"Ain't no sunshine when she's gone... it's not warm when she's away..."

He hums the song with a wide grin as Hongjoong kicks the door. It takes only one more kick before it slams open and bangs against the cement wall.

The omegas in their cells are all yelling at them, at one another, in general.

Hongjoong kicks one of the many buckets on the floor over and groans, "here I was thinking she'd make it easy. I guess we'll have to go cell to cell!" A small spike of a heartbeat in his ears makes him smirk, following the sound that he memorized the first time he'd heard it.

Seonghwa follows him, immediately zeroing in on the same cell. He comes to stand infront of it, his breath making the blanket behind the bars sway slightly.

You see both pairs of orange slip on shoes and you feel your heart stop in your chest.

You cower further into the corner with Beomhan as Chungha stands in front of you. The sheet is grabbed from the outside and ripped away, making you all shriek.

"Were you playing hide and seek?" Hongjoong giggles, throwing the blanket to the side with his eyes never leaving you, a scowl growing on his features as he notices the way you're curling into another wolf. "You should know better than to hide from your alphas. Come on out."

You shake your head, gaze lowered as you hold onto the back of Chungha's uniform.

"(Y/n)," the saturnine man speaks, "come here."

"No, leave us alone! Leave me alone," your voice cracks despite how strong you want to appear.

"If I have to drag you out of here I will be very angry. Just come on, do us all a solid."

"No-"

"Open the fucking door!"

"No!"

The cells were built to hold lycans, which means lycans shouldn't be able to get in... right?

"Fucking-" Seonghwa hits the bars, leaving a dent and making the three of you jump.

Hongjoong leans on his tiptoes and whispers into his ear, and whatever he says makes his eyes begin glowing a murderous red.

He slowly wraps his clawed fingers around the bars, and the way Hongjoong backs up makes your stomach churn in anxiety of what's about to come.

And it was warranted anxiety.

With a loud growl and a single tug, he rips the silver bars from their cemented place in the wall, causing a large crack to form.

"Holy shit!" Beomhan screams, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Chungha is ripped from the small room and tossed all the way across the room, back colliding with the wall and leaving her unconscious.

You yelp as Beomhan meets a similar fate, torn from your grasp and out into the rec room like he's a mere bag of trash. You see Hongjoong approaching him with his long black claws out and proud, but your vision is blocked by the large alpha infront of you.

     Your hips back into Chungha's small desk, and your hands clamber around, landing on something small and solid.

     You swing it at his head and he ducks, grabbing your wrist and dragging you out of the small cell. You manage to swing again, making contact with his head. The small ceramic bowl shatters into pieces and leaves him only temporarily stunned, glaring down at you.

      "Fucking stop," he growls quietly, shoving you to the floor.

       He lets you shuffle away, only because Hongjoong is right behind you.

     The blonde chuckles, pulling you back up by your collar and crashing you face first into one of the round steel tables bolted into the floor. "Ow!" You yell out as your head makes contact, fighting against him with all your might, but it's fruitless.

     He kicks your feet apart and stands between them, leaning his chest over your back. You can feel his nose against your neck, over the healed skin above your scent blocker. You snap your eyes shut and do the only thing you can thing of.

     You can't fight. Begging to these men would be useless. You can't disappear into the floor like you wish you could.

     "Please, Selene," you pray to the moon, tears slipping past your shut eyes as you feel the claws of the mad man on your neck.

       You cry out as the other worldly sharp nails slice into your neck, slowly and almost surgically. His other hand is cupped on the back of your head, keeping your head pushed into the cold metal. "Shhhh," he gushes above you, "it's okay."

      Seonghwa sits at one of the bolted stools and rests his head to mimic yours, cheek on the table. "We'd've been more gentle if you listened, omega."

       Between the tips of his claws, Hongjoong holds your small alloy scent blocker. Almost instantaneously, your natural scent floods their senses.

     Their deep rumbles of pleasure make you snap your eyes back shut, missing the way Hongjoong stomps on the device.

     "Fuck," the wolf behind you curses, body pressed close to yours like he wants to fuse together, he places his hands in yours and tells you, "you might want to squeeze."

    "Wh- ah!" Your scream echoes over all of the other chaos as his teeth sink into your left shoulder, and you do just that. Your clawed hands squeeze around his, sharp nails knocking together as you hold on like his hands are the only thing keeping you from slipping to the underworld.

       It feels like a million pins and needles washing over you, leaving you paralyzed in place as he purrs into the wound, making your bones vibrate.

     A warm, comforting hand on your cheek makes you force your eyes open. Seonghwa smiles sweetly, like he isn't witnessing one of the biggest crimes in the lycan community.

      Forcing someone to be your mate for the rest of your mortal lives.

     "Breathe, omega," his words make you realize you're holding your breath, and you let it out as a sob. "That's it," he hums, rubbing his hand down your head with all the gentleness he's capable of.

        Hongjoong pulls away with a moan, resting his head between your shoulder blades as he catches his breath.

     Your wolf is already calling for her mate, howling in the back of your mind as you cry.

       "Don't worry, we'll take good care of you." Seonghwas words have little time to register in your adrenaline filled head as he turns your head the other way and climbs up on the table.

     It hits you when he moves your ruffled shirt away from your right shoulder. "No! No!" You find yourself with two million pins and needles in your body now, squeezing Hongjoongs hands all over again as Seonghwa sinks his teeth into you at an excruciatingly slow pace.

They're bigger, or maybe they only feel that way because your body is on fire. You sob freely, feet stomping pathetically to cope with the pain.

What little comfort you find in Hongjoong squeezing your hands back is washed away by the simple fact that it's him. That blood from his claws drips onto your skin.

It feels like a century later that the older alpha finally pulls away, a bellow of pleasure as he runs his thumb over the wound: making you jump.

"Your turn, omega."

The weight of their bodies is gone, but you can't bring yourself to move. Out of fear, maybe. Pain, perhaps.

"You know what happens to wolves who don't finish the bond." Hongjoong purrs teasingly, knowing full well that you will have to mark them back least you want to suffer at the hands of the moon herself.

A life with them was better than being turned inside out and left to the elements. Just barely.

You lift yourself on shaking arms and nearly fall as you turn. You would have if not for Hongjoong catching you. He lifts you back to the table much gentler, letting your legs dangle as you sit on the table top.

"Why... why me?"

"... Have you heard of Harry Talbot?"

"Harry Talbots a myth... what's he got to do with your fuck shit?"

"Harry Talbot was the first wolf that could smell his mate. He could tell just by her smell, they were meant to be." Hongjoong slots his way between your legs, smiling down at you with his bloody teeth, "her smell called to him. It wasn't just good. It wasn't a normal scent. It was...alluring."

You were growing dizzy, head spinning.

"Strong alphas can sniff out their true mate. And, baby, we're the strongest that there is."

You have to force yourself to swallow. Have to remember to breathe.

"Why? Because you're... alluring."

That's the last thing you can register before your world turns dark.

˚➶ ｡˚ PART ONE END ˚➶ ｡˚

[ozzgin]

Is it just me or can I imagine a yandere with a darling who’s immune system and possibly everything about them just screams weak and pathetic, BUT their darling is actually very strong mentally and has and will create the most fucked up, batshit crazy inventions from what used to be harmless to something that can help them escape and possibly destroy everything in its path.

But at the end of the day, they become sleepy koalas who hug whoever is near them and fall asleep :)

This could be a request or rant, whatever you can think of! I just wanted to see how different yandere writers would interpret this small imagination of mine <3

But as always, stay safe and take care! everyone needs a break some time to time~

Sorry, but the moment I read the Darling's description, I instantly thought of Dr. Finkelstein from Nightmare Before Christmas. You know, Sally's inventor. 😭 So let me quickly write this down while I'm in my Shelley vibes, because I like the idea a lot. With a little twist, if you don't mind. :)

Yandere! Monster x Inventor! Reader

A frail inventor, and their affectionate rag doll that has been carefully stitched together for the purpose of a caregiver. An artificial existence, trapped within the confines of your lonely tower. Or so you might think.

Content: gender neutral reader, monster romance, obsessive behavior

"I ought to be thy Adam, but I am rather the fallen angel..." [Frankenstein]

You dangle an old, rusty bell for a good minute before leaning back in your chair. The barely audible chimes are quickly swallowed by the loud, mechanical groans of the gears and engines occupying most of this room. No matter, his ears are good. You picked them yourself. And surely enough, within moments, the door to your laboratory opens and someone cautiously walks in.

A tall, slender man. Or rather, something meant to resemble a man. The skin is a clumsy patchwork of blues and grays - you're no talented seamster, sadly - gathering together the body parts in what feels like a parodic attempt at mimicking God and his image. You gaze at the creature approaching you with a tray of tea and sweets. Scarcely your best work, if you must adhere to honesty. Regardless of the quality of your labor at the time of creation, you are proud of the result. How could you not be? You know this man better than you know yourself. Every organ, every artificial nerve cord, every blemish and stitch of his body was placed according to your intentions. A masterfully detailed project that took you years to complete; not an easy feat considering the lamentable state of your health.

"Here's your deadly nightshade tea." The man places a small, porcelain cup on the desk. "Do let me know when I should take you to bed, (Y/N)." You wave your hand dismissively and stretch out your limbs. "Not yet. I am almost finished", you respond, returning to the mound of metal scraps and pipes before you. "Can I ask what you're making?" The pale creature lowers himself to your level, a curious smile plastered on his face. "It's a mechanical heart", you reveal boastfully. "Like the one I have?" You run your hand through the creature's hair affectionately. "Almost. I'm testing out a different way to build the valves, for a more efficient pumping cycle." You continue to explain the intricacies of your novel mechanism, occasionally sipping on your tea. "Who knows, you might have a sibling in the near future."

The man's smile drops in an instant, and his sunken eyes widen at your statement. "What? Am I- am I not enough?" You glance at the creature as he becomes increasingly frantic. "Don't speak nonsense. If it comes out alright, I'll upgrade your own parts as well. I'm a disciple of scientific virtue, of continuous improvement." Nonsense? Vile treachery! You might've chiseled the brain that throbs within the walls of his skull, but his mind is his alone, and you seem to lack a fundamental understanding of his feelings and thoughts. His ardent confessions of love are met with mockingly pitiful grins, in the way a parent soothes a needy child. Even now, your eyes reflect nothing more than sympathy towards his protest. A childish tantrum is what you're most likely thinking. You've no time for emotional bagatelles. He can read you like an open book.

You simply won't understand. There is no place for a stranger in the life he's crafted with his very own hands: you, and him, and the evening tea with a side of butterscotch biscuits, and the bedtime talks, and the stripped branches of the decaying tree that rap at the windows on stormy nights. You might be the Inventor, but he is not just a mere, humble servant, a rag doll to be tossed around or toyed with. As you will soon discover, after all.

You awaken in the midst of night with your temples burning from a much too familiar headache. Although it's not just the pain that has disturbed your slumber. You can hear rattles and thuds coming from the upstairs laboratory. An intruder? Oh, your creations! The sound of glass breaking and metal scraping sends you into spiraling despair. You fumble to reach the nightstand, patting the surface in search for the bell and keys. You shake the handle in a panic, unable to find anything else in the darkness.

The chaotic rustle abruptly stops, followed by descending footsteps. You hold your breath as the chamber door opens, but it's none other than your creature. "Another flare-up? Shall I bring you some medicine?" the man asks with monotonous courtesy. "What have you been doing? What's all that noise?" you demand, agitated, but upon lifting yourself off the mattress you discover your legs are numb and uncooperative. The man hurries to your bed with a worried frown, and you hear the familiar clatter of the keychain coming from one of his pockets. "Have you taken my keys? Cease this foolishness at once!" Indifferent to your reproach, he places a firm hold on your shoulders and forces you back down, tucking you in effortlessly.

"You must forgive my impertinence." he says in a pleading tone. "I do not wish to impede the works of your genius. As your partner, however, it is my duty to prevent you from making mistakes." You furrow your eyebrows at his words. "What mistakes? My invention was flawless!", you argue fervently. "Indeed it was, but not its purpose. What need have you for another being?" It is the creature's turn for a passionate speech. He stands up with a confidence you don't recognize and continues: "You should know by now that I am fit to perform any role. That of your servant, your caregiver, your lover, or anything else you may desire. You can resume your tinkering starting tomorrow, but such blasphemies to our bond as the one today will not be tolerated." He straightens his vest and reaches for the door handle. "I will prepare some tea to help you rest."

Inconceivable. Your own creation, built with your own hands...Has something escaped your attention? His dialogue is deranged, tainted by madness. "Have I done something wrong?" you mumble to yourself, deep in contemplation. "Nonsense." the creature turns to face you briefly. "It was you who created me after all. Everything is perfectly splendid."

[embbarnes]

Rinse Cycle.

summary: Bucky pulls his arm from the dishwasher and you love how warm it is.

warnings: Smut | 18+ MDNI | TB*!Bucky | Fingering | Dirty talk | Swearing | Groping | Nipple play | Teasing | Orgasm denial (you do finish in the end hehe)

a/n: Thunderbolts* trailer has me feral af. I have so many ideas I want to write, but this is a start. I didn't mean for this to get so long but maybe that's just Bucky pulling more passion out of me. I need him. We don't know how he's going to act in the movie so I just sort of winged it from what the trailer provided. Unedited. ;; wc: 5.8k

It was chore day. You hated chore day.

The monotony of it all felt suffocating, an endless cycle of tedious tasks that seemed to pile up endlessly. Dishes stacked in the sink, laundry overflowing from the hamper, bathroom in dire need of scrubbing, kitchen counters cluttered with remnants of meals past, and trash threatening to spill over - it all felt like an insurmountable mountain of responsibilities.

The weight of these mundane tasks pressed down on you, a constant reminder of the adulting you'd been avoiding. But there was no escaping it any longer; you had procrastinated to the very limit of what was tolerable.

You tried not to be too hard on yourself about the state of things. Both you and Bucky struggled with mental health and that often made seemingly simple tasks, like washing dishes or tidying up, feel overwhelmingly difficult. You both understood this struggle and did your best to help one another out. You developed a system and worked together, splitting household chores as a team when possible. But you both had your days where you couldn’t contribute as much, so it was up to the other to carry it.

With a heavy sigh, you began the dreaded process by gathering the scattered laundry. Your movements were deliberately quiet as you crept into the bedroom where Bucky was currently taking a heavy nap. His face, usually etched with worry lines, appeared peaceful for once. You couldn't help but pause for a moment, taking him in, his features and how beautiful he was to you. It was a stark contrast to the terrorized nights you'd both endured, filled with his restless tossing and turning.

Thankfully, the relentless nightmares he suffered from had become less frequent since you'd started sharing the bed. It had been a slow process, watching him migrate from the cold, hard floor, to the slightly more comfortable couch, and finally to the warmth and safety of your shared bed.

You often slept with him before his migration, napping on the floor during the night or on the couch while he remained on the floor. You both laid together on the couch, but you also slept separately. Now, you were just glad he had finally moved into bed with you.

He was curled up in bed, his form a picture of peaceful slumber. His messy hair framed his face, giving him an endearing, boyish look. His mouth was slightly open, soft breaths escaping in a gentle rhythm, and his metal arm was absent from his body. It wasn't an uncommon thing, as he occasionally removed it when he slept, he said sometimes it feels better without the weight of it straining his back muscles when he laid down. Bucky really only did this when he felt truly safe and secure in his surroundings, aka, only around you and in your shared home. The missing prosthetic wasn't on the bedside table where he usually placed it, so he must be cleaning it.

You gathered the scattered laundry from around the room so you could leave him to his nap, creating a neat pile in your arms. Making your way to the laundry area, you passed the kitchen and saw the rinse cycle on the dishwasher, figuring his arm was in there. You threw the dirty clothes into the washing machine when you reached it, setting it to run. There was a load of dry clothes waiting to be dealt with, so you folded these items and set them aside for later. Your next task took you to the bathroom, where you began the process of cleaning and tidying. You finished scrubbing just in time to come out and see Bucky standing at the dishwasher.

Bucky looked absolutely precious when he woke up, despite his usual brooding when you fawned over him so sweetly, his tousled hair framing his face in a messy halo, and his eyes still heavy with sleep. His expression was one of endearing drowsiness that only comes from a deep slumber. When his gaze finally focused on you, a flicker of realization crossed his features. In an adorable attempt to appear more presentable, he quickly turned to the sink, fumbling slightly with the faucet before running his hand under the cool stream of water.

"Hey doll..." he mumbled, his voice still rough with sleep. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to sleep for longer than an hour." His hand continued to run through his disheveled hair, attempting to tame the unruly strands. The water caused his dark locks to stick up at odd angles, somehow making him look even more endearing. "Guess I needed it more than I thought..." he added sheepishly, a small, apologetic smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"You've been pushing yourself so hard lately, Bucky. Your body was probably crying out for a break," you replied softly, your voice filled with understanding and affection. You made your way around the sleek granite counter, each step bringing you closer to him. A warm smile spread across your face, your eyes twinkling with amusement at his disheveled state and hurried attempt to tame his hair. He decided to grow it out a while ago, he liked having you play with it, and his shorter hair didn’t feel as satisfying when your fingers carded through it.

"So..." you began, your tone taking on a playful lilt. "I see you put it in the dishwasher again, huh?" A soft chuckle escaped your lips as you gestured towards the kitchen appliance, your eyes dancing with mirth. It was a recurring joke between the two of you, one day he forgot to tell you about his arm and you were shocked to find it in there.

He opened the dishwasher and pulled out the bottom rack, his eyes immediately drawn to the peculiar sight of a metallic arm nestled beside two off-white ceramic plates. The sight of the advanced prosthetic among mundane kitchenware was both amusing and slightly absurd to you. "Do not tell me you ran a whole cycle and there were only two plates in there..." You groaned softly, a mixture of exasperation and disbelief coloring your voice. Your reaction elicited a low, rumbling chuckle from him, the sound warm and slightly mischievous.

"Maybe." Bucky's response was accompanied by a playful smirk that tugged at the corners of his mouth. He reached into the dishwasher and carefully retrieved his steaming vibranium arm, the advanced metal still radiating intense heat from the cleaning cycle. The heather black surface of the arm was a striking contrast against his skin, with intricate gold accents peeking through the articulated plates, creating a mesmerizing interplay of light and shadow.

As he deftly maneuvered the prosthetic towards his shoulder, the air seemed to hum with anticipation. The arm's sensors flickered to life, bathing the immediate area in a soft, ethereal violet glow. Bucky aligned the arm with his shoulder socket, and in one fluid motion, it locked into place with a satisfying click. The plates of the arm began to shift and recalibrate, the movement reminded you of a living organism adapting to its environment. You remembered once you had made the comparison to a caterpillar squiggling across a leaf.

He threw his arm in a quick, fluid motion, the circular movement causing a sudden surge of heat to radiate through your core. The soft grunt that escaped his lips as his arm swung through the air didn't go unnoticed by you. You found yourself moving closer to him without any sort of cause, your body responding instinctively to the simple action.

The arm still retained the warmth from the cycle it ran through, you could feel the radiating heat even from a short distance away. Vibranium was notorious for holding and distributing kinetic energy, this also applied to heat and cold. Unable to resist, your fingertips delicately grazed over the smooth, metallic surface. A shiver ran down your spine as you felt the temperature of the arm in comparison to your cooler skin.

Bucky's piercing gaze followed your every movement, his eyes immediately drawn to the telltale flush that had begun to spread across your cheeks. A knowing smirk played at the corners of his mouth as he observed your reaction.

"Ah...what's wrong, sweetheart..." he murmured, his voice low and husky, carrying that unmistakable teasing tone that you had come to recognize all too well. It was a tone that never failed to set your heart racing, a prelude to the passionate encounters that often followed. The air between you crackled with unspoken tension, you shuffled in place and felt your legs squeeze together for some kind of friction.

"Nothing..." you huffed out, your voice much quieter than anticipated, barely above a whisper. "Your arm is just... so warm. It feels nice…"

"Does it?" he inquired, his tone a mixture of curiosity and amusement, the gentle lilt in his voice made your heart flutter ever so slightly.

Your mind began to wander, racing with vivid thoughts of how his arm would feel against your body. You imagined his strong hand tenderly caressing your back, his fingers tracing delicate patterns as they ran down your spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake. The mental image continued, his touch ghosting over the curve of your ass, his hands gently massaging your thighs, kneading away any tension and replacing it with a tingling sensation that spread throughout your body.

Or simply Bucky holding you close, his warmth enveloping you completely when you felt a little chilly, providing not just the physical comfort you craved from him but also a sense of safety and belonging, something you had always struggled with before you met.

He had done all of that countless times before, yet for some reason, with the arm radiating a warmth significantly more intense than its usual room temperature coolness, a deep, tingly sensation began to stir deep within your core. You found yourself swallowing hard, your gaze slowly lifting to meet his.

You guided his hand towards your neck, Bucky's eyebrow raised ever so slightly at your action. But, he wasn’t stupid. He unfurled his palm, allowing his fingertips to caress your skin with a delicate touch. The feather-light contact sent shivers down your spine, once he felt your body give him that little shiver, he encircled your throat with his fingers, maintaining a loose yet unmistakably present grip. His voice was low and husky, leaning down a bit until his lips grazed the shell of your ear. "What do you want, babydoll?"

"I...want...to feel your hand." You rasped in response, your voice thick with desire. A wave of heat coursed through your body, pooling between your legs as his voice sent shivers down your spine. Your body responded to him instantly, every nerve ending tingling with anticipation. Unable to resist the magnetic pull, you shuffled closer to him, your hands splaying across his broad chest. The fabric of his shirt did little to mask the warmth radiating from his skin, and you found yourself growing more desperate with each passing second, craving the feeling of him close to you.

Bucky chuckled, the low rumble in his chest vibrating against your palms. His scruff tickled your cheekbone as he leaned in, laying a hasty but tender kiss to your temple. The brief contact left your skin burning, yearning for more, like a drug being given and suddenly taken away. His metal hand moved down your body with agonizing slowness, the fucker did it on purpose to tease you more. He gently teased the sensitive skin just above your shorts, his fingers dancing along the waistband before sliding beneath your top.

While your skin was feverish, the touch of the very hot vibranium felt electrifying against you. Normally, the touches from his hand would tickle, raising goosebumps in their wake from the cold metal. But now it felt incredibly comforting and arousing all at once. The warmth spreading through your body was addictive, a delicious heat that you couldn't get enough of. He continued caressing you with a gentle and possessive touch, you arched into his hand in response, silently begging for more.

You couldn't suppress the soft whimper that escaped your lips as his hand continued its tantalizing journey across your abdomen. His fingers danced along your skin, deliberately brushing against your sensitive sides, making you quiver. His trail was agonizingly slow, but his touch ascended, finally reaching the delicate area just beneath your breasts. Your breath was caught in your throat, and he stopped moving his hand completely, having it instead rest still on your skin and the area turning a bit red from the heat.

"You want more?" His voice, low and husky, cut through the tension-filled air. His icy blue eyes locked onto yours, piercing through to your very core. There was amusement dancing in those glacial depths as he observed your flushed face and quickened breathing. He was clearly enjoying the effect he had on you, reveling in the way your body responded to his touch. Bucky was always super cheeky when it came to making you like this, he took great pride in turning your legs into Jell-O.

You weren’t able to form coherent words, your mind clouded thickly with desire. His mere presence was intoxicating, and the light caresses he had bestowed upon you were enough to reduce you to that quivering mess he was so eager to see. You were putty in his hands, desperate for more of his touch and he had barely begun.

Already, you were teetering on the edge of losing all self-control.

"Bucky, please, I can't handle this teasing anymore," you whimpered softly, your voice barely above a whisper. Your breath had become increasingly rapid and shallow as waves of adrenaline coursed through your body, setting every nerve ending alight with anticipation. The mere thought of his hand, that powerful, yet gentle hand, exploring your most sensitive and intimate areas made you feel increasingly wet.

Bucky's fingers found the hem of your top and he paused for a moment, his eyes locked with yours, silently asking for permission. At your almost imperceptible nod, he began to lift the fabric, revealing inch by tantalizing inch of your skin. The cool air of the room kissed your newly exposed flesh, adding to the sensory overload you were already experiencing. He pulled the garment completely over your head and carelessly tossed it aside, where it landed in a forgotten heap on the floor.

Now bare from the waist up, you felt a moment of vulnerability as Bucky's intense gaze roved over your exposed chest. His stormy blue eyes darkened with desire, drinking in every curve and contour of your body as if committing it to memory. The weight of his stare ignited a fire deep within you that threatened to consume you entirely.

Bucky's hands slowly and deliberately roam upwards, his fingertips tracing delicate patterns on your skin before finally reaching your breasts. He gently cups them in his large hands, beginning to massage and caress them with a tender yet passionate touch. Bucky's ministrations quickly begin to urge you on, your legs flexing together to create some kind of pressure between your legs.

The vibranium hand was still hot, it distributes those waves of heat through your body in a much gentler fashion than how you’ve seen in other circumstances. You’ve seen his arm break through concrete, crush otherwise impossible to damage objects, choke the life out of aliens. And here he was, treating your body like precious, tender treasure with the same limb.

You can feel your skin tingling …the dichotomy between his two hands - one warm flesh, one hot metal - adds an extra layer of sensory stimulation. A feather or an ice cube couldn't compare to how he made you feel.

The pure captivation in Bucky's eyes made the butterflies in your belly swarm even more, how he eyes your breasts makes you want to pull him in and push them against his face. His movements become more focused when he senses your desires, kneading and massaging with a rhythm reminiscent of a contented feline. The gentle yet insistent pressure of his fingers elicits a soft, involuntary moan from your lips.

Unable to resist the opportunity for a bit of playful teasing, you murmur breathlessly, "Mmm... you learned from Alpine?" The reference to his beloved white ragdoll brings a flicker of amusement to Bucky's intense gaze. He responds with a dramatic eye roll, clearly torn between exasperation at the interruption and appreciation for your attempt at humor.

"Shut up..." he growls softly, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine. The playful admonishment is accompanied by a gentle squeeze of his hands, your eyes widened as you let out a gentle mewl.

He lets his lips ghost over yours, but he doesn't kiss you fully, no.

Bucky Barnes is the master of teasing.

He maintains his playful demeanor, reveling in the way you squirm and moan for him. That signature cocky smirk of his spreads across his lips as he watches you shuffle and attempt to press closer, seeking more contact. "Ah, ah... patience, doll. Stay still for me," he commands, his voice low and husky with desire.

"Bucky..." You drawl out his name, elongating the syllables into a desperate whine. Your body trembles with need, silently begging for more of his touch. You're acutely aware of his penchant for teasing, knowing all too well that he's unlikely to give in to your pleas so easily.

If anything, your desperation only seems to fuel his determination. Knowing Bucky as you do, he'll draw this out, savoring every moment of your mounting desire until your legs buckle beneath you.

His fingers begin to tease your sensitive buds, eliciting those exquisite sounds he so deeply adores from you. Those needy, desperate noises that eloquently convey how incredibly good he makes you feel, encouraging him to continue his ministrations. His skilled fingers pinch lightly, gently tugging and rolling, sending waves of pleasure through your body.

Your right breast is noticeably warmer and more flushed from the recent contact with the hot metal, though it didn't cause any discomfort or burning. The sight of your reddened, sensitive skin makes him groan softly under his breath, his desire for you growing rapidly.

"Ugh...look at you. You're drivin’ me crazy," Bucky whispered, his voice husky with desire. He nudged his knee between your legs, effectively pinning you in place. Your back pressed firmly against the cool counter, leaving you delightfully trapped between the unyielding surface and Bucky's warm, solid body.

"Please, don't tease me anymore..." You begged softly, your voice trembling with a mixture of anticipation and desperation. You didn't truly expect him to relent, but a small part of you hoped that he might show mercy. Your plea, however, only served to amuse him, eliciting a low, throaty chuckle that sent shivers down your spine.

His thumbs continued their torturous dance, rubbing slow, deliberate circles over the very peaks of your sensitive buds. Each touch sent jolts of pleasure coursing through your body, making you gasp and squirm. Your back arched involuntarily, pressing your chest further into his skilled hands, silently begging for more despite your earlier words.

You were already teetering on the edge, your composure crumbling with each passing second. You always liked to think you were more hardy against him but…damnit could he get you to break. It was almost embarrassing how quickly he had reduced you to this quivering mess, and he had barely begun. His touch had been confined to your breasts alone, yet you felt as though your entire body was on fire.

"I've got you...m'gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart..." His voice was low with a promise that made your heart race even faster. With a fluid motion, he grasped your hips and turned you around, pressing your back firmly against his broad chest. The heat of his body seeped through you, adding to the inferno building within you. His hands, those wonderful, torturous hands, began a slow, teasing journey down your body, leaving trails of tingling sensation in their wake.

Slowly, he pushed your underwear down, as the fabric inched its way to your mid-thighs, he paused, his eyes drinking in the sight before him. Sticky strands of your excitement formed delicate bridges between your core and the fabric. The underwear continued its descent, finally coming to rest just above your knees, leaving you exposed and trembling.

"God, look at you," he breathed, his voice a low rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Just from me handlin' you a little, you got this wet for me?" Bucky whispered directly into your ear, his hot breath fanned across your skin, his scruff tickled your sensitive flesh as he spoke. The slight abrasion only served to heighten the ever-growing need you felt in your core.

He tilted his head closer to you, lips barely grazed your temple as he placed teasing kisses there. Suddenly, his knee moved, gently but firmly knocking against your legs. The silent command was clear, and you found yourself widening your stance, your body responding to his unspoken desires.

The tension that had been building within you reached a crescendo. Unable to contain yourself any longer, you let out a whine - a needy, desperate sound. Your voice so thick with desire, managed to break through those desperate noises, "Bucky..." you pleaded, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. "Please," you repeated, your body trembling with the effort of restraining yourself. "I can't take it anymore..."

The scorching metal continued its relentless journey across your skin, leaving a trail of tingling sensations in its wake. Your body quivered involuntarily as it inched closer to your most sensitive area. The heat radiating from your cunt rivaled that of his arm, but nothing could have prepared you for the jolt that surged through you the moment his fingers made contact with your intimate folds. The sensation was so intense that you barely managed to stifle a scream.

"Bucky!" His name escaped your lips in a breathless gasp as his skilled fingers found their target with unerring precision. They danced teasingly over your bundle of nerves, easily locating the center of your pleasure and lavishing it with gentle, circular motions. Each swirl of his fingertips sent waves of loud ecstasy coursing through your body. Your sensitive bud throbbed and pulsed under his expert touch, responding eagerly to every caress. The flood of need that washed over you was so potent that you could feel it trickling down your inner thighs.

Bucky’s fingers ventured lower, drawn to the source of your wetness and he probed your entrance. He held you still as he swiftly slid two fingers deep inside you. The sudden intrusion into your velvety depths caused your eyes to roll back in your head, overwhelmed by the sensation of his still very hot fingers inside you. You let your head fall heavily onto his shoulder, a loud, unrestrained moan escaped your lips as his fingers began a gentle yet insistent rhythm, pumping in and out of you with a practiced ease.

"That's it, sweetheart..." Bucky let out a deep, guttural grunt of pleasure as he listened to your soft whimpers and moans. His voice was thick with his own desire as he continued, "How's that feel, hm? My fingers exploring every inch of this needy little hole of yours. You were practically dripping before I even laid a hand on you, weren't you?" His skilled fingers deftly navigated your cunt, searching for that one spot that would drive you wild.

Suddenly, his fingers found that elusive sweet, spongy spot deep inside you and curled up against it. The sensation sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. You couldn't help but let out a desperate, keening mewl as your hips instinctively bucked into his hand, seeking more of that friction. But your eager movements only resulted in Bucky withdrawing his fingers slightly, denying you the intense stimulation you craved.

"No, no, doll... stay still for me," he rasped into your ear, his hot breath ghosting over your sensitive skin and sending shivers down your spine. "I know you can do that. Be good…" His voice was a horny mix of command and encouragement, leaving no room for argument.

His fingers resumed their steady movements after seconds of stillness, but now they purposefully avoided that sweet spot that had you seeing stars just moments ago. The deliberate teasing had you trembling with need, but you weren’t shocked by it. Bucky loved watching you like this, he wasn’t satisfied unless you were shaking and begging through your pretty tears. He had you caught between the desire to obey and the overwhelming urge to chase your pleasure.

The Wakandan metal radiated an intense, penetrating heat that seemed to seep into your very core, like having smoldering coals nestled within your body. It didn't burn, of course - the sensation was far more nuanced than that. Besides, if his steaming arm burned you, he wouldn’t ever put it on your skin.

It instead felt like an overwhelming surge of warmth, akin to the comforting embrace of a steaming bowl of soup on a cold winter's day. The heat consumed you, leaving you feeling inexplicably full and satiated. You tried, your fervent attempts to remain still were failing, the mounting pleasure proved increasingly difficult to resist. He was acutely aware of your struggle, reveling in the power he held over you.

Your body cruelly betrayed you as your hips instinctively jerked upward, responding to the touch of his fingers as they grazed your most sensitive spot deep inside your cavern. Bucky, surprisingly, permitted this small transgression…but he was far from ready to grant you the release you so desperately craved.

He continued to curl his fingers relentlessly, expertly manipulating your body until he could feel the telltale tightening of your inner walls around him. Your voice, thick with need and barely above a whisper, managed to form the words, "I-I'm close, Bucky I...-"

Just as your body tensed, poised on the very edge of ecstasy, Bucky abruptly withdrew his fingers, denying you the climax you had been building towards. The sudden loss of stimulation made you release a pained, desperate cry from your lips, a sound that reverberated with raw frustration and unfulfilled desire. You attempted to crane your neck, seeking to make eye contact with him, silently pleading for mercy.

He was so unfair.

"Not until I say, baby...you know that," he whispered against your ear, his fingers thoroughly coated in your essence. You caught sight of the glistening strands of your unmistakable arousal dripping from his hand. The sight made you blush deeply, a mix of shame and excitement coursing through you as you whined softly, your body instinctively squirming against his other arm that held you firmly in place.

"Please...I need to..." you started, your voice trembling with need, a shiver running through your body as you felt the sudden loss of his warm, skilled fingers against your sensitive flesh. The absence of his touch left you aching, yearning for more, trying to get closer to that hand just inches away from you.

Bucky let his hand return to your folds, deliberately spreading your arousal across the delicate skin. The slow, purposeful movement of his fingers sent more addicting pleasure through your body. He began to tease your precious clit once more, his expert touch reigniting the fire within you.

His fingers warmed the pink flesh to a deep, blushing red, each caress bringing you closer to the edge of ecstasy while still keeping you teetering on the brink of release. He did just enough for you to feel those shocks, but not enough to push you over.

You couldn't contain yourself, your passionate cries echoing through the room with such intensity that you were convinced your neighbors would surely lodge a complaint later. You didn’t really care, and neither did he. Your hips moved of their own accord, grinding desperately against his hand as he expertly pleasured you.

His organic hand slowly traced its way down to your entrance, teasing and tantalizing with feather-light touches, then plunged deep inside you, curling over and over against your g-spot. His metal fingers continued their relentless assault on the sensitive bundle of nerves nestled between your slick folds, your clit at the mercy of his ministrations.

His voice was so deliciously deep and husky with arousal, it cut through the haze of your pleasure as he spoke to you. "You gonna finish for me, doll?" he growled, his own hips now moving in tandem with yours, the friction adding another layer to your mounting pleasure as you felt his hard cock grinding against your ass. "Hm? You gonna make a mess on my hands?"

The raw need in his tone, combined with the skillful ministrations of his hands, pushed you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel your climax rapidly approaching, a tidal wave threatening to crash over you at any moment.

You felt an overwhelming surge of sensation wash over you, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it all. Your mouth fell open, ready to cry out in ecstasy, but at first, only a soft, breathy whine escaped your lips. Every muscle in your body tensed, your inner walls clenching tightly around his skilled fingers.

His hand continued its relentless assault, moving in circles around your sensitive bud, alternating between gentle pinches and teasing tugs. Your vocalizations grew louder and more desperate when he pinched your clit, his gentle tugging made the blood rush straight to it, the sensitivity increasing.

The climax washed over you, your passionate cries for him echoing through the empty kitchen. His name tumbled from your lips in a frantic mantra, your voice raw with need. Tears of intense pleasure pricked at the corners of your eyes and your legs gave way beneath you, unable to support your weight any longer. But he was there, strong and steady, holding you up as you shattered in his arms.

"That's it, baby," he murmured encouragingly, his voice a low, seductive rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Let go for me. Don't hold back. I want to see you make a mess, make a fuckin’ mess for me..." His words were a siren song, coaxing, commanding you deeper into the throes of ecstasy.

Bucky's touches never ceased, fingers working tirelessly to prolong your pleasure, pushing you higher and higher until you thought you might lose your mind. What felt like mere seconds stretched into an eternity of blissful agony, your body alight with sensation, trembling and arching against him as wave after wave of pleasure coursed through you.

Your vision blurred as tears pricked your eyes, cascading down your cheeks while you completely soaked his fingers. The intensity of the sensation overwhelmed you, causing your body to tremble uncontrollably. As waves of pleasure coursed through you, your mind went blank, consumed by the sheer ecstasy of the moment.

As your cries died down, your orgasm began to subside, having run its course through you. Your once rigid body slowly relaxed, muscles unwinding one by one, mirroring the gentling of his touches. He held you securely by your hips, his strong arm providing much-needed support to prevent you from collapsing. Even with the counter in front of you, you weren’t sure if you could even stand right now.

The aftermath left you in a state of blissful delirium. It felt utterly incredible, as if you were floating on cloud nine, your senses still reeling from the intense experience. You remained dazed, barely able to process the lingering sensations coursing through your body. Bucky slowly withdrew his fingers, the movement eliciting a soft gasp from your lips.

His touch became so tender and affectionate, traced a path along your skin as he placed gentle, reverent kisses on the back of your shoulder and the nape of your neck. The warmth of his breath caused goosebumps to rise all over your body as he murmured words of praise against your skin. "So good for me...so perfect, babydoll. You did so good for me," he whispered, his voice held soft adoration and satisfaction.

"I... I can't... feel my legs," you managed to say, your voice coming out in a raspy whisper as you struggled to catch your breath. Your chest heaved with each labored inhale, the exertion of your intense orgasm still evident in your flushed cheeks and trembling limbs.

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating against your neck where his lips were pressed, sending a shiver down your spine despite your exhaustion. His gentle hands supported your weight, helping you regain your balance until you were able to stand somewhat steadily on your own, though your legs still felt like jelly beneath you.

"My bad, doll," he replied with a cheeky grin, that familiar smug smile spreading across his face as his eyes roamed over your disheveled form. There was a glint of satisfaction in his gaze as he took in the sight of you, clearly pleased with the effect he had on you. His eyes lingered on the places where his metal hand had touched, tracing the patterns of blotches and handprints that now adorned your skin in various shades of red from the heat of the vibranium.

"S'pretty, you know that?" he whispered, his voice low and husky. His eyes raking over your body with an intensity that made you feel both exposed and cherished. His gaze held vibrant, burning embers of lust that were still very much alive, but also a deep well of affection and love that made your heart skip a beat.

Bucky leaned close to you, his eyes softening as he gazed into yours. He caressed your cheek with his organic hand and gave you a tender, lingering kiss. His lips were soft and warm against yours, and you felt your heart flutter in your chest. Your hands were still slightly trembling from your overwhelming release, but they found their way to his cheeks. Your thumbs traced delicate circles on his cheekbones, savoring the feel of his skin and scruff beneath your fingertips.

The kiss deepened, and you felt yourself melting into his embrace. The world faded away until there was nothing but the two of you, you cherished the moments like this, when it was just you both enjoying a sweet moment together. No worries, no stress, no fear. When Bucky finally pulled away, that familiar cheeky grin spread across his face, lighting up his eyes with mischief and affection.

Your eyes narrowed in response, growing suspicious thinking about the many possibilities he could be up to. "I gotta wash my arm again," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the plates of vibranium still coated thickly with your orgasm.

Your cheeks flushed and you groaned softly, rolling your eyes. "Put the pan on the stove this time," you replied, your voice equally soft but tinged with playful exasperation. "I am not hand washing that thing."

Thanks for reading - em🌿

Dividers by @/strangergraphics

[tqlepatiia]

words we can’t take back | b. barnes

masterlist | pt.2

summary: after a mission gone wrong, bucky lashes out, leaving y/n hurt by his harsh words. now drowning in guilt, bucky must find a way to apologize before it’s too late, but y/n isn’t ready to forgive so easily. can he fix what’s been broken?

pairing: bucky barnes x reader

warnings: angst, emotional distress, heartbreak, toxic relationship dynamics, arguments, mention of mental health struggles, potential triggers related to emotional abuse, strong language, and feelings of inadequacy.

word count: 5.9k

The mission had been a disaster from the start. Tension crackled in the air, the kind that always seemed to precede trouble. Bucky Barnes felt it in his bones, a tightness that grew with every wrong turn. It had been a simple extraction, but when they walked into a trap, chaos erupted. The sounds of gunfire ricocheted around him, the explosions reverberating through his chest like a war drum, drowning out his thoughts. But when he glanced at you—his partner, his anchor—something twisted in his gut.

In the aftermath, the wreckage of what had gone wrong stretched before him. Bodies lay scattered, their lifeless forms stark against the smoky haze, and the acrid scent of burning metal stung his nostrils. You stood there, bruises marring your skin, and your eyes, once sharp and defiant, now dulled by exhaustion. Bucky had seen too much, been through too much, and the anger inside him simmered, ready to boil over. How could this have gone so wrong?

“What the hell were you thinking?” he snapped, his voice a harsh whip in the stillness. His jaw was clenched, and his glare could’ve burned holes into you. “You almost got yourself fucking killed, you know that?”

Your breath caught, heart sinking at the venom in his tone. “I was doing my job, Bucky. I thought you had my back.”

“Had your back?” He stepped closer, fists clenching at his sides, every muscle taut with pent-up fury. The adrenaline from the fight morphed into something more destructive. “You’re a goddamn liability! You keep throwing yourself into danger like you can’t be hurt. What the hell is wrong with you?”

The words hit you like a punch, each one a jagged edge cutting deeper than the last. You could feel the weight of his anger pressing down on you, suffocating. “I didn’t ask for a babysitter,” you shot back, bitterness lacing your voice. “Maybe I’m the one who should be questioning if you’re fit to be my partner!”

Bucky’s expression hardened, eyes narrowing like a predator’s. This isn’t just about the mission, he thought, grappling with the frustration of watching you walk into danger. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have to worry about saving your ass all the damn time. If I wanted to deal with this shit, I’d find someone who actually knew how to handle themselves. I’m sick of dragging you through every godforsaken fight!”

Every accusation felt like a dagger, twisting in the wound he had just opened. You could see the pain and anger simmering in his eyes, but it was all directed at you. “You think I wanted this? I’m not the one who fucked up in the field! I thought we were a team!”

His laugh was bitter, devoid of humor, echoing against the wreckage around you. “Team? That’s a joke. You don’t get to call it a team when I’m the one stuck cleaning up your shit. I’m done with it. You’re not my equal; you’re just a goddamn burden.”

The air grew thick with tension, and you fought back tears, the tremor in your hands betraying you. “Maybe I should just leave, then,” you said, voice trembling but defiant. “If I’m such a problem, why don’t you find someone who doesn’t drag you down?”

The silence that followed was deafening. You turned away, trying to keep your composure, but you could feel his gaze burning into your back—a mix of anger and something softer, more vulnerable, that he refused to acknowledge. His heart pounded as the realization hit him: I pushed her away when she needed me the most. What the hell was I thinking?

As you walked away, the weight of his words hung heavily in the air between you, suffocating. Each step felt like a fracture in your heart, the distance growing more unbearable with every inch. Bucky stood there, feeling the echoes of his harshness fill the void where your connection once thrived. The realization settled in, and he knew this wasn’t over. How the hell do I fix this?

But as the dust settled around him, all he could feel was emptiness, a tidal wave of regret crashing over him, leaving him alone in the aftermath of his own making.

Days blurred together into an indistinguishable mess. The tension between you and Bucky hung thick in the air, suffocating, wrapping around him like a vice grip. He paced the empty halls of the compound, the rhythmic echo of his boots against the cold metal floors mirrored the chaos in his mind. Each step felt heavier than the last, a relentless reminder of the moment that played on a loop in his head—the hurt in your eyes when his careless words had cut deep.

Memories flooded back: your laughter in the training room, the way you encouraged him during his darkest moments. He had crossed a line he never intended to, letting his anger spew out like poison, each word a dagger aimed straight at your heart. Guilt clawed at him, a beast gnawing at his insides, turning his stomach into knots. Every time he caught a glimpse of you, it felt like a punch to the gut, the weight of regret settling like a stone in his chest.

The silence of the compound was palpable, broken only by the distant hum of machinery. He’d find you in the training room, pouring every ounce of your energy into your workout, the fierce determination radiating off you like a fire. Your tear-streaked face haunted him, a ghost he couldn’t shake. You weren’t just a teammate; you were everything to him. The thought of losing you felt like ice water dousing his heart, leaving him gasping for air, desperate to rewind time.

“Hey, Buck,” Sam said one day, leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, the faint scent of sweat and metal mingling in the air. “You good, or are you just gonna sulk like an old man all day?”

“Yeah, sure,” Bucky shot back, the lie tasting bitter on his tongue, his eyes averted. He could feel Sam’s scrutinizing gaze piercing through his façade.

“Seriously, man, you think I can't see through that? There’s a damn storm brewing in that head of yours,” Sam pressed, his tone a mix of concern and teasing familiarity. “You gotta talk to her. You can’t keep doing this to yourself. It’s like watching a damn dog chase its own tail—ain’t gonna end well, and I’m not about to sit here and watch you make a mess of it.”

Bucky nodded, but the weight of his guilt felt like chains wrapped tight around his heart, squeezing the air from his lungs. What the hell could he even say? The fear of facing you loomed larger than any mission he’d ever tackled—a monster lurking in the shadows, making him feel weak and exposed. He clenched his fists, jaw tightening, as he fought against the rising tide of anxiety.

Closing his eyes, he leaned against the wall, fighting the urge to scream. He remembered how you had stood by him, even when the nightmares clawed at him in the night. You deserved better than his careless words, better than the pain he had caused. The metallic scent of sweat mixed with the lingering aroma of stale coffee filled the air, reminding him of the countless nights spent together, talking and laughing. Those memories felt like a beacon, drawing him closer to the confrontation he dreaded yet craved.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, pushing off the wall, each step toward you heavy with uncertainty. His heart raced as he imagined your reaction—would you forgive him? The thought of laying his broken heart bare to you, the one person who meant everything, filled him with dread and hope.

As he approached, the distance between you felt like a chasm. He was ready to confront the mess he’d made, but the fear of your disappointment loomed over him like a dark cloud. Sam watched him go, shaking his head with a faint smile, knowing his friend was finally stepping up to make things right.

It was time to face the music, to turn back the clock on the mistakes he had made. The symbol of his guilt—the small, worn-out dog tag you had given him before a particularly tough mission—burned in his pocket, a constant reminder of the bond he desperately wanted to restore.

In that moment, he knew he had to find the courage to bridge the gap between them, to reclaim what was lost before it slipped through his fingers forever.

After what felt like a damn eternity, Bucky finally gathered the guts to knock on your door. Each knock echoed in the silence, a stark reminder of the distance that had grown between you two. He stood there, heart pounding, fists clenched, feeling the weight of guilt that had settled in his chest like lead. Memories flooded his mind—your laughter during training sessions, quiet moments together in the compound, and the way your smile had once lit up even the darkest days. It all felt so far away now, a reminder of how easily he could lose it.

“Go away,” you called, your voice muffled but laced with hurt.

“Y/N,” he pleaded, desperation creeping into his tone. “I need to talk. Just… let me in, alright?” He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, his mind racing with all the things he wanted to say but couldn’t quite grasp.

Silence hung in the air like a noose, heavy and suffocating. Each second stretched into an eternity, amplifying the tension until, finally, the door creaked open just enough for him to catch a glimpse of your face—red and puffy from tears, eyes shadowed with pain. It felt like a punch to the gut.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you said coldly, arms crossed defensively, trying to shield yourself from the storm he had caused.

“I know. I messed up,” he replied, his voice thick with regret. He ran a hand through his hair, struggling to find the right words. “And I can’t—” He faltered, swallowing hard against the lump in his throat. “I can’t take back what I said. I was scared, and I lashed out. You mean too damn much to me for that. Just… let me explain.”

You stepped back, letting him in but hesitating, your anger and hurt crackling in the air like static electricity. Bucky could feel the tension radiating off you, could see how you trembled with barely contained rage. The faint hum of the compound’s machinery buzzed in the background, underscoring the silence between you.

“Bucky, you can’t just waltz in here and throw around apologies like they’re candy. It’s not that fucking simple,” you said, your voice shaking as emotions boiled over. “Do you even get what your words did to me? They cut deeper than you can imagine.”

The memories of your last argument flashed in his mind—how he had yelled, how his words had sliced through the fragile trust you had built. He could still hear your voice trembling, see the hurt in your eyes. It haunted him.

“I know it’s not,” he said, voice rising as frustration bubbled to the surface. “But you have to understand—I never meant to hurt you. I was scared as hell of losing you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I took it out on you. I thought I could keep you safe, but I fucking failed, and I can’t live with that.” He avoided your gaze, staring at the floor, ashamed of the turmoil he had caused.

You turned your gaze away, fury igniting. “You think being scared gives you the right to hurt me? Those words stick with you. They don’t just disappear because you suddenly want to make things right. You shattered something in me, Bucky, and you expect me to just let it go?” The air was thick with the weight of your words, each one a dagger aimed at his heart.

“I know,” he said, his voice cracking under the weight of his regret. “I’m not gonna pretend this doesn’t matter. I want to make things right. You’re not just some partner in this crazy shit; you’re everything to me. I’m so damn sorry, Y/N.”

A heavy silence fell between you, thick with unprocessed emotions. Tears glistened in your eyes, anger mixed with pain as you struggled to hold back the flood. Bucky could see your fingers trembling, as if you were fighting against the urge to reach out for him, to seek comfort from the very person who had hurt you.

“You’re sorry? That’s it? Do you think that’s enough? You can’t just toss around ‘I’m sorry’ and act like everything’s fine! Do you have any idea what it feels like to have the person you love turn on you like that?”

Bucky opened his mouth to respond, but the truth of your feelings hit him like a freight train. It shattered him, the realization crashing down harder than any blow he’d ever taken. “I didn’t mean to fuckin’ hurt you like that. I—”

“Didn’t mean to?” you snapped, frustration boiling over. “But you did! You meant every single word when you said I wasn’t enough! It’s like a poison, Bucky! Every time I look in the mirror, I see your words haunting me!”

“Y/N…” he pleaded, stepping closer, but you backed away, shaking your head fiercely. The space between you felt like an insurmountable chasm, filled with hurt and distrust.

“No! You don’t get to touch me. Not after what you said. I don’t want your pity. I want my trust back! I want to feel safe with you again, but how the hell can I when you’ve torn me apart like this?” The pain in your voice twisted like a knife in his gut.

“I’ll do whatever it takes,” he begged, desperation bleeding through his words. “I can give you space. I’ll listen—just don’t shut me out. I can’t lose you.” He reached out, almost instinctively, but stopped short, respecting your boundary. The small bracelet you used to wear, the one he had given you, lay forgotten on the table—its absence felt like a symbol of the trust now shattered between you.

“Maybe… maybe I need time,” you finally said, voice soft but resolute, tears spilling down your cheeks. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure out how to treat me with the love and respect I deserve. I can’t be your punching bag.”

“Take all the time you need,” he replied, his heart sinking deeper. “I’ll be right here, waiting for you. Just… I hope you can find it in you to forgive me.” His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken fears of a future without you.

You nodded slowly, the weight of the moment hanging heavily between you. Bucky turned to leave, each step dragging him down like a lead weight. The distant sounds of the compound faded as he walked away, leaving him alone with his thoughts. He wanted to scream, to punch the walls, to erase the hurt, but he knew he had to be patient. You needed time, and he would wait, even if it felt like forever.

As he walked away, the door closing behind him, Bucky felt a hollow ache settle in his chest—a deep emptiness that screamed for your forgiveness, for your presence. But he also knew he deserved the pain, the anguish he had caused. The only thing that mattered now was making things right, even if it took an eternity.

Days turned into weeks, and Bucky kept his distance, lurking on the edges of your life like a goddamn ghost. He was always there, a shadow in the background, never truly present, waiting for the moment you’d find it in yourself to forgive him. It was a tormenting cycle for him, hanging around the periphery of your world, the weight of his own mistakes bearing down like an anchor. He often caught himself recalling the laughter you once shared, memories of late-night talks and quiet moments that now felt like a distant dream. Those memories twisted in his gut as he watched you from afar, stealing glances during training, his gaze lingering near the kitchen where you used to share coffee and laughter, searching for a connection that felt like it was slipping through his fingers. But every time he made a move, the pain in your eyes sent him retreating, a constant reminder of the hurt he’d caused and the love that now felt so fragile.

One evening, the hum of the common room enveloped you, filled with the clatter of dishes and faint laughter from the team, but all you could focus on was the ache in your heart. You were scrolling through your phone, desperately trying to distract yourself when Bucky appeared in the doorway, hesitant and guarded. Your heart clenched at the sight of him—a mix of longing and sorrow flooding you, drowning out the world around you.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and rough, as if he was still wrestling with the demons of his past.

“Hey,” you replied, your voice flat, a careful mask of strength concealing the turmoil inside. You wanted to scream, to let him know how much his presence hurt, but part of you still craved the warmth he brought.

“Can we talk?” His words hung in the air like a fragile lifeline, one you weren’t sure you could grab onto.

You nodded, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you. “Make it quick,” you shot back, your tone sharper than intended, trying to keep the emotions at bay.

He stepped closer, eyes searching yours with a desperation that twisted your gut. “I need to say it again—for everything. I know it doesn’t mean much after the shit I pulled, but I swear I’m trying to fix this. I’m really working on myself.” As he spoke, he clenched his fists, fingers digging into his palms, a physical manifestation of the guilt that gnawed at him. “I just… I can’t keep running from this. I need you to know that.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling the pressure of his words weighing down on you. “I’m trying to work through it, Bucky. But I can’t pretend everything’s fine just because you say you’re sorry.”

“I don’t expect you to,” he said, frustration cracking his calm facade. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, unable to meet your gaze. “But you need to understand how damn much you mean to me. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I won’t let that happen.”

Your heart ached at his confession, but anger flared within you. “You hurt me, Bucky. You can’t just wipe that away with a few nice words.”

“I know, I know! I’m fucking sorry, alright?” He ran a hand through his hair, pacing like a caged animal, the sound of his footsteps echoing off the walls. “I didn’t mean it. I was scared, and I lashed out. But you’ve gotta see how much I regret it, damn it!”

“Scared?” you spat, bitterness thick in your voice. “You don’t get to use your fear as an excuse for the pain you caused me!”

“Then what the hell do you want from me?” His voice rose, desperation lacing every word. “You’re acting like I’m a goddamn ghost! I’m right here, trying to fix this!”

“Because I need to protect myself!” you yelled back, tears spilling down your cheeks. “Every time I try to forgive you, you mess it up again! I can’t trust you when you keep hurting me!”

The silence that followed felt like a chasm between you, both of you breathing heavily, emotions spiraling out of control. Bucky’s shoulders sagged, the weight of your words crushing him. He thought of the little trinket you gave him once, a small metal star—a reminder of a bond that felt irreparably broken.

“I fucking hate this,” he admitted, his voice cracking, tears shimmering in his eyes. “I hate that I hurt you. I hate that no matter how hard I try, I can’t fix this. You mean everything to me, and it feels like I’m losing you more and more every damn day.” His gaze flickered to the floor, and for a moment, he was just a man haunted by his past, the soldier who had lost so much.

Your heart shattered at the sight of him, raw vulnerability spilling out. “You don’t get to say that after everything. You’ve made me feel worthless, like my feelings don’t matter. I can’t keep letting you walk all over me and expect everything to be okay.”

“I don’t want to fucking hurt you!” he cried, frustration and anguish battling within him. “I never asked for this! I just… sometimes I don’t know how to be better, okay?” He clenched his jaw, fighting against the tears that threatened to spill.

“Then you need to figure it out!” you screamed, your voice trembling with pain. “I can’t keep waiting for you to get it right while I’m left feeling broken!”

As your words hung in the air, the truth of your reality crashed over you both. The love you once shared felt suffocated by the shadows of anger and disappointment. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, hearts beating in sync but desperately out of tune.

Bucky stood there, shattered, eyes glistening with unshed tears, as you turned away, the battle within you raging. The silence stretched between you, heavy with unprocessed emotions, and for the first time, the thought of walking away felt more appealing than the pain of staying. But just as you took a step, a sliver of hope flickered in your chest—a feeling that perhaps this confrontation could lead to a path forward.

“Y/N…” he started, voice thick with heartbreak, but his words got lost in the chasm of hurt between you, leaving only a haunting silence in their wake. Yet somewhere deep within, the possibility of healing lingered, waiting for the courage to break through.

Weeks dragged on in the compound, each day feeling like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. The faint hum of machinery surrounded you, a constant reminder of the tension in the air. Despite Bucky’s promises to change, shadows of his past returned, casting a gloom that enveloped you both. Memories of laughter and shared moments felt like distant echoes now, buried under the weight of unspoken words and unresolved conflicts. You tiptoed around him, hyper-aware that every little thing could set off alarms in your mind.

The moment of impact came like a bullet, unexpected and cruel. During a mission briefing, Bucky’s voice cut through the air like glass shattering.

“Why the hell can’t you just focus?” he snapped, eyes ablaze with fury that had nothing to do with you, yet somehow landed squarely on your chest. The air felt heavy, thick with the scent of sweat and metal, making it hard to breathe. “You’re not some damn rookie! You should know better than this by now!”

“Bucky, I—”

“Just shut the hell up!” he roared, the words echoing off the walls, raw and menacing. His fists clenched at his sides, knuckles whitening as he struggled to contain the storm inside. “You’re making this way harder than it needs to be!”

Each word felt like a blow, carving deeper into your heart. This wasn’t a new dance; it was an exhausting routine, and the suffocating weight of your shared history felt more unbearable than ever. You remembered the moments when he had opened up, how he had let you in, but they felt like faint memories now. “Maybe you should take a good, hard look in the mirror,” you shot back, your voice shaky with a mix of hurt and anger. “I’m not the one with the issue here.”

He glared at you, frustration boiling over, muscles tense, jaw clenched tight. You could see the flicker of his inner turmoil, the fear of losing you clawing at his composure. “You keep pulling this shit! It’s like you can’t see past your own damn feelings! Just focus on the mission for once!”

Your chest tightened, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. “I’m not your damn punching bag, Bucky,” you said, voice breaking under the weight of raw emotion. “You can’t keep exploding at me and expect me to take it like it’s nothing. I’m sick of this!”

“Maybe if you actually gave a damn about the mission instead of whining about your feelings, we wouldn’t be in this mess!” His words cut deeper than you thought possible, and you recoiled as if slapped. You remembered the way he used to care, how he used to fight for every person he loved, and it stung even more to see him like this.

“I care, Bucky!” you cried, tears spilling over as you fought to hold it together. “But it’s hard to keep my head in the game when I’m constantly worried about when you’ll blow up at me next! You say you’re trying, but nothing changes! It feels like I don’t even matter to you anymore!”

For a moment, his expression shifted, a flicker of regret flashing across his face, but the damage was done. “You think this is easy for me?” he shouted, voice raw and desperate, filled with unfiltered anguish. “I’m trying to be better, but you keep dragging me back into this shit!” You could see the pain behind his bravado, the memories of his past haunting him, and it broke your heart.

“Don’t act like I’m the fucking problem!” you yelled, heart racing as reality crashed down around you. “I’m not the one who can’t confront his demons! You push me away and then blame me for not being there when you do!”

Pain flickered in Bucky’s eyes, the cracks in his stoic facade deepening. “You’re right,” he admitted, voice shaking, the weight of his confession crushing him. “I don’t know how to deal with this… how to deal with you. I’m scared shitless of losing you, and honestly, I don’t know if I can fix it.” The vulnerability in his voice was a fragile thread, hanging in the air, and you felt a flicker of hope amidst the chaos.

“Then maybe you need to sort your shit out,” you replied, heart breaking as you watched his despair unfold. “I can’t keep waiting for you to figure it out while I’m left feeling shattered.” You recalled the shared moments, the promises made, and the weight of them felt unbearable now.

Silence fell, thick with the unsaid and unresolved. You were both drowning in a sea of sorrow, love suffocating under the weight of his rage and your hurt. Bucky’s shoulders sagged as he stepped back, the chasm between you widening, feeling more insurmountable than ever.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face, anguish spilling over. “It’s killing me.” The vulnerability hung heavy between you, and for a fleeting moment, you saw a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

His breath hitched, and he looked like he might reach for you, but the distance remained unbridgeable, a stark reminder of everything that felt lost. Yet, beneath it all, a small part of you held onto the hope that one day, you could navigate the darkness together.

The clash felt inevitable, like a storm building for days, ready to break over the fragile space between you and Bucky. The tension in the air was suffocating, each breath heavy with unspoken anger and hurt. You stood in the middle of the training room, fists clenched, trying to hold yourself together. Across from you, Bucky stood rigid, muscles taut, his hands balled into fists. The weights he had been using moments earlier now lay forgotten on the floor, a sharp reminder of the growing chasm between you.

The silence was unbearable. Then, without warning, Bucky's voice cut through the room like a blade. “Can you just—stop fucking around? You think this is a game?” His voice cracked, but his anger was palpable, radiating from him in waves as he hurled the weights down with a force that rattled through the room, the echo reverberating like a punch to the gut.

You flinched at the sound, the weight of his words hitting you just as hard. “Maybe if you’d stop yelling for one second, you’d see I’m trying!” Your voice shook, barely holding steady under the pressure. You were trembling, the knot of frustration and hurt in your chest threatening to unravel completely.

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “Damn it, you’re not trying hard enough!” he snapped, his fists tightening at his sides, knuckles white. His voice—usually so steady—was strained now, as though he was fighting to keep control. The anger in his tone felt like a punch, but you could see the tremble in his hands, the way his jaw clenched so tight you thought it might crack.

The sting of his words twisted in your chest. You could feel the pressure building in your throat, choking you with the weight of unspoken feelings. “I’m trying, Bucky. But it’s never enough for you, is it?” you said, the words tasting bitter in your mouth, laced with all the exhaustion you’d tried to suppress.

His face contorted in anger, but for a brief second, you saw something deeper flicker in his eyes—something haunted. You recognized that look. It was the same one he wore when he woke up from nightmares, drenched in sweat, guilt seeping from every pore. But it vanished just as quickly as it appeared, swallowed by his fury. “Get your shit together,” he snapped, voice low and intense. “I’m not your babysitter. You really think I can hold your hand through every goddamn thing?” His voice wavered, but he squared his shoulders, hiding the vulnerability underneath. “You want to survive? Toughen the hell up or get out of my way.”

“Then maybe you should just go!” The words burst out before you could stop them, raw and jagged, cutting through the tension. You hated how sharp your voice sounded, like a part of you was shattering with every syllable.

For a split second, his expression faltered—just long enough for you to see the crack in his defenses, the fear creeping in behind the anger. But the moment passed, and his face hardened once more, the distance between you widening.

“Enough is enough, Bucky.” Your voice trembled as you blinked back the tears threatening to spill over. “I can’t keep doing this. I’m tired of forgiving you just so you can hurt me again.” Each word felt like a physical wound, reopening scars you thought had healed.

Bucky’s hands dropped to his sides, but his fists remained clenched. “You’re being dramatic,” he muttered, turning his gaze away as though refusing to face the weight of your words. “I'm pushing you because you damn well need to be better. I can't afford to lose you.”

There it was. The fear he refused to name. He was terrified of losing you, but he couldn’t say it. Not out loud. So instead, he buried it under anger, under demands that pushed you further away.

“You twist everything, Bucky,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve tried to be there for you, to understand you—but I can’t keep pretending that this is okay. I can’t be the person you take everything out on.”

His jaw tightened, but his hands trembled at his sides. “You don’t get it,” he said, voice quieter now, almost broken. “I’m trying to protect you. I just… I don’t know how to do this without pushing people away. I’m not good at this shit.”

“And what do you think you’re doing right now?” you asked, your heart aching. “You’re pushing me away, and I’m too tired to hold on.”

The silence that followed was deafening, thick with the weight of unsaid things. Bucky’s breathing was heavy, his chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. The echo of the weights hitting the ground earlier still rang in your ears, a haunting reminder of how quickly things had spiraled.

You took a deep breath, feeling the chill of the room settle into your bones, as if the air itself was colder now, heavier. “I feel invisible, Bucky,” you whispered, your voice cracking with the weight of your confession. “Like I’m just a shadow, someone to absorb your anger when things get too hard. I can’t live like this anymore.”

Bucky’s eyes widened for a moment, and his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but couldn’t. His lips parted, but no words came. His shoulders slumped slightly, a tiny surrender in the face of your pain.

He opened his mouth, his voice hoarse and desperate now. “Y/N, don’t do this,” His voice cracked, but his body was still tense, like he was holding something back—something he couldn’t quite bring himself to admit. “You don’t need to make this harder than it already is.”

“I don’t want to walk away, Bucky. But I have to, for my own sanity,” you said, stepping back as if putting physical distance between you would somehow make it easier.

He reached out, his hand hovering in the air between you, unsure. “Damn it,” he rasped. “I’m trying, okay? I need you to believe me.”

“It’s too late for that,” you whispered, your heart breaking at the sight of him so vulnerable, so raw. His hand dropped, and the space between you felt like a canyon now, too wide to cross.

Bucky’s breath hitched, his gaze dropping to the floor as though he couldn’t bear to look at you anymore. He clenched his fists again, nails biting into his palms. The weight of his guilt was suffocating, and you could see it in the way his shoulders sagged, the way his eyes dimmed with the realization that he had pushed you too far.

The room felt too quiet, the air thick with the aftermath of your words. You could feel the memory of every touch, every smile, every moment of laughter between you two slipping away like sand through your fingers. There was a photo—one he had kept tucked away in his jacket—of the two of you on a day when everything had felt perfect. He had carried it with him, a reminder of what he was trying to protect. But now, it felt like just another symbol of something irreparable.

“I loved you,” you whispered, stepping back one final time, tears blurring your vision as you turned toward the door. “But I deserve better.”

“Y/N!” His voice broke, desperate, as he took a step toward you, hand outstretched. His body was trembling now, fear etched into every line of his face. “Don’t fucking walk away from me! I can change. I swear, I can be better for you!”

You hesitated, your back to him, feeling the weight of his plea. For a moment, you almost turned back. Almost. But the words he had said still hung heavy in the air between you. And you knew—deep down—that you couldn’t survive this cycle anymore.

As you walked away, the echo of his voice followed you, the pain lacing each syllable a reminder of what could have been. But you didn’t stop. The silence after you left was deafening, and it swallowed Bucky whole, leaving him alone with his regrets, the weight of his own mistakes pressing down on him like a physical force.

He watched the door close behind you, his heart sinking with the realization that he had lost you. And for the first time, he didn’t know how to fix it.

[adieutristana]

Well, reader and Jinx matching rings (maybe even wedding rings), and when Caitlin shoots Jinx's finger, she destroys this ring. Jinx’s honest reaction?

of course! thank you for the request <3

i decided to make them promise rings since she lost her middle finger. i hope that’s alright!

summary; jinx’s promise ring being destroyed, and fem!reader comforting her after the fact.

characters included; jinx

tags/warnings; fluff, hurt/comfort, mentions of war/combat, mentions of poor mental health, medical talk ig? (patching up), s2 spoilers

men dni.

you’re sat in jinx’s hideout watching her tinker away with… something. a new type of explosive she’s experimenting with, she says. something that only requires one hexcrystal instead of two or three, since she can’t keep using so many. she’s unceremoniously hunched over the workbench, goggles over her eyes as she messes with the piece of scrap metal in her hand.

“having fun?”

you ask, sitting back in the chair she got you.

“mm… this is more difficult than i thought it would be. who knew this could be so challenging? but i like a challenge.”

she smirks to herself, not taking her eyes off of her project.

“well, you’ve never let ‘difficult’ stop you. you’re a right genius.”

“oh, stop. you’re biased!”

she teases, but she’s got the lightest rouge dusting her cheeks. got her. your gaze continues to follow your girlfriend, the way she moves so freely and carelessly. getting her face impossibly close to power tools, using her nails to clean up dirt, teeth capturing her bottom lip when she’s particularly stumped.

“alright! that’s enough for right now.”

she proclaims, standing up and placing her hands on her hips.

“already?” it couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes since you asked her how she was doing.

“yeah! besides, i’ve got something for ‘ya.”

jinx springs up from her seat and skitters over to yours, quickly turning it around. you hear cheerful humming from behind you as she shuffles through piles of belongings, clearly looking for something.

"a-ha!"

she spins you back around, both hands on your seat and quickly rises. she's got something clasped in her left hand, but won't reveal it, not yet.

"what's that?"

"you have to be patient, toots! i've got a speech prepared, don't distract me!"

a speech? jinx never gave speeches. was she breaking up with you? so many thoughts began swirling through your mind as your palms began to sweat, gripping the chair- and then jinx revealed what she was hiding. a wooden box. a... ring box?

"isn't it a little soon to be getting engaged, jinx?"

you chuckle dryly, looking up at your girlfriend. she playfully rolls her eyes, and shakes her head, blue bang swaying.

"yes it is, that's why we're not getting engaged."

she clears her throat.

"not yet."

she turns her attention back to the box, and she opens it. inside lays a thick silver ring, with a circular blue gem in the middle. it looked eerily similar to a hexcrystal- but carved into a gemstone. 'JINX' is shakily engraved on the inside, something she undoubtedly did herself.

"this is a promise ring. i've been working on it for a while, and well... it's kind of stupid." she looks off to the side, sheepishly. "but this is me promising myself to you. to show you that i'm serious about this, ya know?"

you look over the ring for a moment, taking it in for all that it is. it's obviously unprofessional, the metal is a bit dull, and the shape isn't precise. but god dammit if it isn't the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. you glance back to your girlfriend, noticing her observing you- likely for any signs of disapproval. poor girl. as much as jinx had improved since meeting you, she still had the habit of expecting the worst. you didn't think that part would ever go away.

"jinx, it's beautiful. i- you made this?"

you ask, your eyes flickering back to the ring she's holding out. noticing how her grip is becoming a bit less stable.

"with my own two hands."

you chuckle, giving her a little grin.

"well? come on, put it on."

jinx doesn't need to be told twice. she gently takes hold of your left hand, removing the ring from the box and slowly slipping it onto your finger.

"there! it's on your middle finger, so your ring finger is open for the real thing."

not an ‘i do,’ but an ‘i will.’

you hold your hand up to the light, admiring how the ring catches it, before leaning forward to press a flurry of kisses to jinx's face.

"ah- hey! stop, you goof!"

she laughs, arms coming to wrap around you as a fit of giggles erupts from her.

"nope! i get to do this!"

it's not a week later when you arrive to jinx's hideout with a promise ring of your own to give her. a thick gold band to contrast the silver jinx had given you, with a rose quartz to accompany your own hexcrystal. pink and blue… she had a theme going, didn't she?

it wasn't handmade, but held the same sentimental value. you weren't as handy as jinx, and you'd learned to accept that a while ago. you had strengths in other areas, one of them being finding perfect gifts. it didn't take you long to find a jeweler in piltover who had exactly what you needed.

"oh, my god- you didn't have to do this."

she gasps, rosy eyes blown wide. both hands are on her cheeks as jinx gently approaches the open box in your hand.

"you promised yourself to me, didn't you? this is my promise to you."

jinx lets you put the ring onto her own left middle finger, her eyes never leaving your face. watching you so intently, she can feel her heart fluttering in her chest. what did she do to deserve you exactly? she could never quite figure it out, but that doesn't matter right now. you glance back up at her, a little smile tugging at the corner of your lips.

"i… you're too good to me, toots. really."

"i am not. i love you, remember?"

"mm… i love you too. i still think you're too good to me, though."

you let out a low chuckle.

"c'mere."

you bring the girl into your arms, tilting her chin with your index finger to gently bring her closer to you. pressing your lips to hers in a slow, gentle kiss.

oh- and of course, your name is engraved on the inside of the ring.

✧.*

you're posted at your girlfriend's hideout, going over notes in preparation for an exam. it's nerve wracking, sure, but the odd tranquility of jinx's desk is useful in its own way.

jinx swings open the door to the hideout, and as soon as she steps onto the panel of the wind turbine supporting her hideout, you can tell she's in hysterics.

the girl is wailing. she's pacing back and forth, her breath coming in short, ragged gasps. but most importantly, her hand is gushing blood. you immediately drop your notes, papers scattering across the desk to rush over to your girlfriend.

"jinx? jinx?! what the hell happened, oh my god..."

you kneel down in front of jinx, taking her hand to examine it. her middle left finger is completely gone, blood rushing out from the wound. it seems to be a clean cut, at least, you won't have to deal with any extra bits to clean up.

"the ring, the ring, it's gone-"

she sobs, a hiccup following and her free hand clenching into a fist at her side. you gasp, looking up at jinx, then back down at her finger.

"jinx, seriously? you just lost your finger and you're worried about a damn ring?!"

you breathe out, exasperation and worry weighing heavy on your voice.

"the ring is important! it's- it's our promise!"

she cries, hanging her head low. jinx is so ashamed, it hurts your heart to see. you let go of her hand and frantically sweep along her workbench for anything. you knew you had a first aid kit somewhere, you'd gotten it after seeing jinx patch herself up in a way that would make any doctor shiver. but god damn it, where was it?

there.

you quickly swipe the kit and a bottle of peroxide from her workbench, rushing back over to jinx. you take one of her wrists and quickly guide her over to her beaten-up couch.

"sit."

"but-"

"sit."

jinx huffs and sits down on the couch, you sitting down beside her. you open the kit and bottle, pouring peroxide onto a cotton square and taking her hand into your lap.

"this is going to sting. a lot."

jinx winces at just the thought, but nods slowly. keeping her eyes on what you're doing-

"agh- fuck!"

she yelps, tossing her head back as you press the square to the wound, holding it there to both disinfect and stop the bleeding.

"i'm sorry, baby, it'll be over soon. i just need to stop the bleeding."

you coo, trying to do anything in your power to calm her down. yet it's obvious the injury itself isn't what she's upset about.

"that- that fucker vi is with shot it off, she shot the ring off..."

jinx seethes through gritted teeth, trying to keep her composure as you hold the peroxide to her wound. ah.. that makes sense. caitlyn was never fond of jinx, especially after the stunt she pulled with the council room. part of you was simply grateful that she didn't just take jinx out, as much as you knew she was probably trying to.

jinx was always putting herself in so much danger, both for the sake of necessity and the fact her ego was just so damn inflated. she said it herself- she just can't seem to die. but she got impossibly close way more than you would've liked her to.

you take out a roll of gauze and begin to wrap it around her hand, the wound being in the center of it all. it's far from professional, but this will have to do until you can get her proper medical attention. which you were trying to avoid talking about, since jinx was the last person to ever admit she needed help.

"jinx, i'm just happy that you're alive. i don't care about the ring right now. what if she had shot you somewhere more... vital?"

"then i would've gotten to keep the ring."

god damn it. she could not be serious right now. you finish wrapping her hand, bleeding having come to a halt and wound disinfected. you'd grab some painkillers in a moment. you quickly take both of her cheeks in your hands, forcing her to look you directly in the eye. the cold metal of your own ring against soft skin.

"jinx. again, i'm happy that you're here, and you're alive, and losing your finger was the worst thing that happened. i will get you a new ring, first thing tomorrow. okay?"

she sighs, her lips coming into a slight pout. at the very least, she's not crying anymore.

"but..."

you press your index finger to her lips, shushing her.

"no. just because you don't have the ring anymore doesn't mean the promise went out the window, okay?" you whisper, brushing your lips against her forehead. "i still love you, and still have promised myself to you. that won't change.

jinx closes her eyes, and leans into your kiss. she seems to have finally resigned, and is snaking her arms around your waist.

"i just- i love you so much..."

"i know, baby. i love you too, which is why i'll get you a new ring. a better one, even."

your hand still cupping her face, you lean in to press a chaste kiss to her lips.

"just stay here, with me. you've had a hell of a day."