#but cross out the ‘is’ and replace it with ‘was’

[verstappenverse]

What We Never Said

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max Verstappen, your best friend, has always been a constant in your life. But when jealousy surfaces over a recent date, it stirs emotions he hadn’t quite confronted. Is there more between you two than just friendship?

1.9k words / Masterlist

Max had always been good at keeping his cool. On the track where everything is measured in tenths of a second and a moment’s hesitation can cost everything, keeping a level head was what set him apart from the others. But lately away from the track something had been gnawing at him, disrupting his usually unshakeable focus.

It wasn’t new this feeling it had been there for a long time, simmering quietly beneath the surface. Max knew that. He was painfully aware of it in every shared glance, every late-night conversation, and in the way your laugh could instantly pull him out of his darkest moods. For years you’d both kept things easy, uncomplicated, two best friends never crossing the invisible line that tethered you close but never too close.

At least that’s how it was supposed to be.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago when he overheard a casual comment at a party that Max realised how fragile that balance really was.

“I didn’t know you’d gone on a date,” your friend had said her voice light and teasing.

Max wasn’t eavesdropping intentionally he had been halfway through a conversation with another driver when the words hit him like a punch to the gut. He barely registered what was being said to him after that. His attention had been locked on you, watching the subtle shift in your posture as you casually replied.

“Yeah,” you said, like it was nothing. “We went for dinner and drinks, it was really nice...he was nice.”

Max’s hand had tightened around his drink. Nice. The word grated against Max’s nerves. The conversation around him faded into white noise as his mind fixated on what you hadn’t said, on what you’d kept from him. A date? You’d gone on a date? Since when did you go on dates without mentioning it to him? It felt like the ground beneath him had shifted, like something fundamental had changed, though he couldn’t quite explain why.

For the rest of the evening Max stayed quiet his usual easy-going demeanour replaced by something darker, something more brooding. You didn’t seem to notice or if you did, you didn’t bring it up. But every time he looked at you all he could think about was someone else sitting across from you, someone else making you laugh, someone else getting to know the parts of you that Max had always believed were his to cherish.

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

He thought about it more than he should have over the following days, a slow burn of frustration and confusion twisting in his chest. It wasn’t that he had a claim over you but there had always been something unspoken between the two of you, and hearing about you with someone else, someone who wasn’t him, made it feel like everything was slipping through his fingers.

Max found himself at your door days later, heart racing in a way that had nothing to do with the adrenaline of racing. He wasn’t sure what he was going to say only that the unresolved tension between you needed addressing.

The door opened and there you were, smiling like always, the kind that usually made his stomach flip, but today it only made him more tense. “Hey you,” you greeted stepping aside to let him in.

He walked in without hesitation, but his usual ease was nowhere to be found. He hadn’t been able to shake the image of you with someone else. Max had tried to push it down, to convince himself that it was none of his business. You were your own person, free to do whatever – or whomever – you wanted. But the truth was, it did bother him. A lot more than he cared to admit.

He dropped onto your couch more tense than he’d been in weeks. You sat down next to him, your brow furrowing as you picked up on his mood. Max was many things, but unreadable was not one of them. He wore his emotions on his sleeve and right now you could sense the storm brewing behind his usually calm exterior. His jaw was clenched, and you could see the tension radiating off of him in waves.

“What’s up with you?” you asked, tone light but probing. “You seem… off.”

He wanted to shrug it off, say it was nothing, but the words wouldn’t come. He couldn’t pretend anymore, not with you.

Instead he turned toward you, his blue eyes sharp “Why didn’t you tell me you went on a date?”

Your expression shifted subtly, surprise, then confusion trying to place his tone, “I didn’t think it was a big deal.”

A beat of silence passed, Max could hear the faint hum of the city outside your apartment window, but inside, the air felt thick weighted with something unsaid.

“I overheard you the other night,” he continued, his voice rougher than he intended.

You blinked, processing his words. “You overheard?”

Max nodded, watching you closely waiting for some kind of explanation that would ease the knot in his chest. But you just sat there, not defensive, not guilty, just calm.

You hadn’t kept it from him on purpose. In fact you didn’t even think it was that big of a deal. The date had been fine, nice, but nothing extraordinary, certainly not enough to warrant telling Max about it right away.

“It wasn’t anything serious,” you said after a long pause. “Just dinner. I didn’t think it was worth mentioning.”

Max exhaled sharply running a hand through his hair. “And if it had been serious?”

Now you were even more confused. Your eyes met his then, a flicker of something passed between you. “Why does it matter?”

That was the question, wasn’t it? Why did it matter? He wasn’t your boyfriend. Hell, he wasn’t even sure what he was anymore, except confused. Maybe a little scared. The kind of fear that sinks deep, the kind that makes you realise you’ve been taking something for granted.

“Because it does,” he muttered quietly, his voice tight.

You leaned back slightly, studying him. There was something different about the way you looked at him now, more attuned to whatever was hanging between you. You’d always known that Max was protective of you, but this? This was something else entirely.

“You’ve never cared before,” you said, your voice quieter now, like you were piecing together a puzzle neither of you had fully acknowledged.

Max hesitated then sighed. “Maybe I should’ve.”

The words were out before he could stop them, and they hung in the air, heavier than anything he’d ever admitted to you before.

You didn’t respond right away. The silence stretched, uncomfortable in a way that it never had been between the two of you. And then, after what felt like an eternity you leaned forward resting your elbows on your knees hands clasped in front of you.

“Is that what this is all about? Me going on a date and not telling you?” You paused, your eyes searching his face,“Or is it something else?”

He didn’t answer, couldn’t answer. Because of course it was something else. It had always been something else. He just hadn’t let himself admit it not until now, not until the idea of you with someone else had thrown everything into sharp, painful focus, and maybe that wasn't fair but he didn't know how he could go back now.

Max stood, pacing the length of your living room his mind racing. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered, though it was a lie. He did know. He just wasn’t sure how to say it, cross the line you’d both been skirting around, to take years of friendship and lay it bare without ruining everything.

“Max,” you said softly, your voice pulling him out of his thoughts. “Look at me.” You needed to hear him say it. You needed to know if what you felt for him was mutual or if you were reading too much into this.

He stopped pacing but didn’t turn around right away. His fists clenched at his sides, and for the first time in a long time, Max felt completely out of control. It wasn’t like driving where every move was calculated, where he could read the car, the track, the competition with precision. This was messier, rawer, and there was no strategy for it.

Finally, he turned to face you his blue eyes meeting yours. There was no running from it anymore, no pretending that what he felt for you was anything less than what it really was.

“I didn’t like it,” he said quietly, the admission catching in his throat. “Hearing you talk about him… I hated it.”

You didn’t look away but your eyes softened, your expression still guarded.

“Why?” you asked, though your tone told him you already knew the answer.

Max let out a shaky breath. “Because… I’ve always wanted it to be me.”

The confession hung in the air, and for the first time with you Max felt truly exposed, vulnerable. The invisible line between you two, the one he’d always danced around, was gone.

All the emotions you’d been burying for so long, all the feelings you’d tried to convince yourself weren’t there, came rushing to the surface.

You walked toward him slowly, and for a moment, Max wasn’t sure what you were going to say, but when you reached him you didn’t say anything. Instead you just looked at him, really looked at him, like you were seeing him in a way you hadn’t before.

“I’ve always wanted it to be you, too,” you whispered, the words so soft he almost missed them.

“I didn’t want to ruin things between us,” Max continued, “I didn’t want to lose you. But hearing about you with someone else… it made me realise that maybe I’ve already lost you and I didn’t even know it.”

You took a step closer to him your heart pounding in your chest. “You haven’t lost me."

His heart clenched, and before he could stop himself, he reached out, gently cupping your face with his hand. Your skin was warm beneath his palm and for the first time in days the tension in his chest eased slightly.

You didn’t pull away, you stepped closer eyes never leaving his. It was as if all the years of unspoken tension between you had finally come to a head, and neither of you could ignore it anymore.

He leaned in, slowly, cautiously, giving you every chance to pull away. But you didn’t. And when his lips finally met yours it was like everything he hadn’t been able to say, everything he’d been holding back for years, poured into that kiss.

It wasn’t hurried or desperate. It was slow, deliberate, a moment stretched out between two people who had spent too long pretending they didn’t want this. Max’s arms wrapped around you as the kiss deepened, but still, there was a softness to it a tenderness that spoke of the years of friendship, of trust.

When the kiss broke, you both stood there inches apart breathing in the moment. Max's hand lingered on your cheek his thumb brushing lightly against your skin.

“You know,” you whispered, smiling against his lips teasing, “this is probably something you should’ve told me ages ago.”

Max let out a soft laugh, his forehead resting against yours. “Yeah, well” he said, his voice low and teasing back, “I guess this means I can stop pretending I’m okay with you dating other people now," you laughed softly as he smirked "but I wasn’t too worried, everything’s about timing isn’t it?”

“Yeah,” you murmured, your lips brushing his. “I guess you got it right.”

"Finally," he whispered with a grin, before pulling you into another kiss.

[pseudowho]

"Hey! Nanamin, Mrs.Nanamin?"

You and Kento looked up at Yuuji from your places on the sofa; you, with your cross-stitch and your tongue between your teeth, and Kento looking over his newspaper and reading glasses. Yuuji dried his hands, having washed the final dish.

He grinned, ruffling stray bubbles into the back of his hair, and tapped away on his phone. Kento's phone buzzed, and he picked it up, looking at the screen.

"It's my birthday next week--"

"--dont worry, Yuuji, we know--"

"--and I'm just gonna have a little party in the Jujutsu High forest. Gojo says it's okay, thought you two could come along. I've qjust sent you the deets."

As Yuuji walked off to his room, you looked up at Kento, who read the invitation in increasing confusion, a dismayed little hum rumbling out of his throat.

"What? What is it?" You asked around the needle pinched between your teeth, leaning closer to peer at Kento's phone.

"The party..." Kento hummed.

"...the party...?"

"Apparently it's going to be 'dank'."

"Oh...sounds unsanitary."

Kento hummed again. "Quite. Though perhaps if we bring our best 'rizz', Yuuji thinks the party will be 'bussin'. Even better, if our outfits 'slay', he'll be 'highkey' excited."

You frowned, then scoffed, calling down the hallway.

"Hey, Yuuji? This invitation..."

"Yeah?" He shouted back, "What about it?"

"Have you had a stroke?"

Yuuji laughed, unabashed, and walked out in his pyjamas, grinning. "Nah, for real for real, it'll be great. No cap."

You and Kento looked at Yuuji like he'd grown an extra head. Yuuji laughed again, and got a glass of water before bidding them goodnight, scoffing as he went into his room;

"Millennials."

You and Kento sat in stunned silence in the lamplight. Kento looked at your cross-stitch and fluffy socks. He felt his reading glasses on his head, his newspaper forgotten in his lap, and you seemed to be thinking the same, before asking him in quiet horror:

"Kento...are--are we old?"

Another dismayed hum, from beside you.

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The 20th of March arrived; a balmy spring evening. The sun was setting as you and Kento approached the forest at Jujutsu High, seeing the flicker of flames in a great firepit, hearing music and laughter, and clinking glass.

Panda tossed bottles of drink across the floating crowd; Maki and Megumi caught theirs seamlessly, and Nobara fumbled hers to the tune of laughter, her eye patch replacing her depth perception.

The birthday boy bustled around, accepting claps on the back, gifts and well-wishes, his hair turned coral in the dying sun. He looked up as you and Kento approached, looking happier still.

Yuuji softened at Kento's smile, accepting a gift with the promise of 'more at home'. Kento patted Yuuji on the shoulder, looking him up and down.

"Looking good, Yuuji. On fleek."

Yuuji faltered, unsure. "Oh, on...?"

Kento turned to you, only marginally irritated when Gojo joined your group. As the conversation grew between you, Kento and Gojo, Yuuji looked more and more sidelined, eventually fumbling for his phone, his trusty translator.

"Went to talk to the higher-ups today--

"Ugh! Adulting."

"-- legit. Looked over their new hashtag 'Student Protection Policies', and they were so fucking basic--"

You and Kento scoffed as Gojo continued, and Yuuji listened on, flicking through the glossary of his mind.

"--so yeah anyway, cheeky humblebrag, but when they told me I couldn't argue, I told them that they'd die of old age before they got a good policy out. Solid clapback, I feel."

You and Kento scoffed, sipping your drinks, answering; "Savage"-- "Woke up ready to throw shade, huh."

The party went on, and Yuuji found himself overhearing more and more of Kento's conversations. Yuuji had a growing list of words on his phone, and increasingly looked at Kento as if he'd been replaced by another man.

Yuuji looked down at his phone, scrolling through the list; he had no answers. He still had no idea what time 'Leet o'clock' was, he'd been called 'dude' at least seven times, and he had lost a game that he hadn't even known he was participating in.

Kento turned back to Yuuji, smiling again at his disgruntled expression, thanking him; "Party's lit, Yuuji. Having fun?"

As Yuuji opened his mouth to argue, you approached, grinning at Yuuji and looping your arm through Kento's; "You alright kiddo? Looking a bit shook."

"I-- what? I don't--"

Kento leaned in to you, talking lowly in your ear; "Just been schooling this boy on the appropriate vernacular. I like to think I'm winning."

You laughed, delighted. "Weird flex but okay."

You melded back into the party ("Oh my god! Megumi's puppers! C'mere boy, who's a good doggo..."), and Yuuji fizzled at Kento, pugnacious.

"You're fucking with me, aren't you?"

Kento looked at Yuuji with absolute innocence. Yuuji puffed his cheeks out, putting his phone away and stabbing a finger at Kento.

"I'll get you back for this. Just 'cos you two are old."

Kento scoffed again, the barest smirk on his lips. "We're not old. You're just a baby."

"Yeah, yeah, Nanamin. Tell me that again when you stop taking two ibuprofen in the morning 'just in case'."

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A cheeky Millennials and Gen Z love letter, written absolutely tongue-in-cheek

[jumbojazzcats93]

Perfect, Perfect, Perfect - Ghost

Summary - DOD contracted civilian is perfectly confident and brooks no nonsense at work, but when she hooks up with Simon not knowing it's Ghost, he gets whiplash seeing her other side.

Tags/Warnings - noncanon, 18+ MDNI, divider by @/cafekitsune @glossysoap @violet-phantoms @lordlydragon @quietlyignoringyou @ivymarquis @grizzersmamma @gremlingottoosilly @ghastlybirdie

"Sir, I'm not the one drawing up the CONOPs, and even if I was, arguing with me would not change any of the things outlined in them."

Ghost could hear her from his office across the hall; prickly and stern. A platoon leader from another section had come in about 5 minutes ago, guns blazing and irritation tainting the peaceful vibe of your space, demanding to speak with whoever put out "-That bullshit order to the distro." Ghost heard you try to be amicable at first, only to then get steamrolled by the captain in your office. He considered shutting his door. It was irritating listening to the prick complain, but the satisfaction of hearing you knock down someone so pompous was far greater.

Then came the angry and exasperating rhetoric of, "Well, what do you suggest I do about this than? Hm?"

"Well Sir, to be quite frank I don't really care, but I had assumed that at such a senior rank and with all the experience you boast of, that you could figure it out on your own." You aimed a rehearsed smile at him and folded your hands on your desk. Ghost leaned back in his chair, watching through the open doors and tapping his pen on his desk. Clicking his jaw shut, the captain silently glared at you for a moment before you gestured towards the open door with an elegant wave of your hand. A signal of 'you can go now' that caused an amused huff of air to escape Ghost's nose. Taking in a slow, deep breath, the captain turned and stomped from the room. Ghost just tracked him with his eyes as he turned down the hall and fled.

The deep sigh that emanated from your office had his eyes trailing back to your doorway. Whispered ranting and mockings of the bastard had Ghost fighting down a grin. You appeared in the doorway suddenly, looking at him with an incredulous look on your face and threw your hands in the air. He just shook his head in response. He didn't think either of you had ever actually said more than a few greetings to one another; you just shared silent exchanges like this one. Rolling your eyes, your hands flopped to your sides as you scoffed and stomped back to your desk.

So much attitude in that little head of yours.

Tinted lipgloss stuck to Simon's cock. Make-up tainted tear tracks stained your face from the way he was throat fucking you. He was gonna cum in the next 15 seconds if he didn't stop, so he squeezed the base of his cock and pulled you back by your hair with a breathy grunt. The way you looked up at him panting with a mix of drool and precum dripping down your chin made his cock throb dangerously. Your wet doe eyes and soft hands were not what he was expecting when he lied his way into your bed. At work you were known as a bitch. A hard ass, DOD contracted civillian brought in by Laswell to plan and track special forces missions and everything to do with them.

The image of the you from work crossed with the vision of you in front of him. On your knees with your head resting against his thigh as you looked up at him. You were the perfect image of a sweet and obedient little lover-girl tonight. He smoothed a hand over your hair, trailing it down your cheek until his thumb was pressing against your bottom lip. Humming dreamily, your tongue laved at his thumb before he pressed it into your mouth. Your furrowed eyebrows were just so cute. He'd never be able to look at you the same after this.

"You want somethin' from me, lovie?", he teased, pulling his thumb away and replacing it with his cock. You nodded with a small, whiney, "Yes, please." "Open up, than greedy girl."

You stuck your tongue out, letting him smack his cock on it a few times before kissing and licking the tip. With one hand holding the back of your head, Simon carefully eased his cock into your mouth. You held fluttering eye contact as he slowly began thrusting faster; beginning to throat fuck you once more. His mean little coworker... seeing you so different out of your usual setting and the fact that he had been practically edging himself made quick work of him. A minute was all it took before he was pulling his cock from your mouth and jerking himself off as he came all over your face. He let you continue licking at his cock as he leaned against the wall, recovering.

Simon didn't even realize his eyes had closed, but at the sound of your pathetic little whimper they shot open. Hand between your legs, cheek resting against his thigh, you looked up at him with a sad little pout on your lips. "You're a good girl ain'tcha?" His hand caressed your hair while you nodded. "Don't worry, dove. I won't dare leave ya without a reward."

He guided you to the couch and had you on your back in an instant. With your legs pushed to your chest, your wet cunt was fully on display. He wrapped his arms around your thighs and dragged you toward the edge, closer to his face. His thumb lightly rubbed your clit making your whole body twitch. A low chuckle rumbled in his chest, "Poor girl is so sensitive..." He gives your clit a wet kiss before laving his tongue along your cunt, eating you out. Your moans and squeaks had his cock stiffening again. He teased his two middle fingers into your cunt and watched your expression; carefully prodding until he saw your eyes heavily flutter and your skin flush a deeper shade. Simon pressed into that spot until your moans pitched higher and your thighs squeezed his head.

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, yesyesyesyesyesyes-" One hand pressed into your lower stomach while his other hand continued to fuck into you. He pulled his mouth from your cunt, leaving a string of spit and slick behind. You squealed, body flexing and squirming before your head fell back, squirting on his hand. He dove back in, letting you use his tongue to ride out the rest of your ogasm until you were whimpering and whining.

Simon grabbed you, readjusting you into a more comfortable position. Your fingers slid into his hair, lips brushing and eyes meeting. That soft, dopey look had him pressing in to kiss you; hand fisting into your hair, pulling your head back as he kissed down your neck. He used his other hand to wrap your leg around his waist. Feeling you cum on his fingers had his cock painfully hard again. Now it beaded precum as it rubbed against your slick cunt. Simon grabbed his cock and positioned it, slowly pressing into you and shushing you as you whined.

"Oh yeah...", he sighed. Your cunt was just as soft as you were right now. Your hand reached for his forearm and squeezed as he bottomed out. He ran his hand up your body, his gaze trailing it's path. The way your tits jiggled with his first few thrusts altered his path until he was groping and massaging your breast with one hand and gripping your hip with the other. You pushed your chest into his eager hand; your cunt clenching. The way your hips meet his every thrust... a secondary wave of arousal washed over him.

How could he ever look you in the eye after this? He'd never get another ounce of work done again with you around.

Pulling out, Simon flipped you onto your stomach and pulled you up onto your knees. For the first time, he noticed the tattoo on your back. What a little minx. His hand slid up your spine and he leaned forward to place a wet kiss against the inked skin. Suddenly his hand was gripping the back of your neck and shoving your upper body into the cushion. Whining with your face half in the pillows and pushing back into his hips, your ass rubbed up against his leaking cock. Simon chuckled deep in throat and squeezed the back of your neck. "You wanna take it so bad don't you?" Unable to nod, you whimper, "Yes, please." His free hand landed a sudden smack against your ass causing a gasp to tear from your throat. Hand smoothing over the stinging skin, he cooed at you.

Pulling his hips away just slightly, Simon slowly guides his cock into your wet cunt. He let's a low sigh out at the feeling of being back inside your pussy. This angle feels so much better, bordering painful, but you can't really tell the difference at this point. He bears down on you so close, you feel his hot breath. His hips are firmly and intentionally grinding against your ass. His dick causing shivers to run through your body. The recoil of your ass when he begins thrusting again is mesmerizing. He grabs a handful of your ass and spreads you open, slowing his thrusts down enough to watch his cock sink into your wet cunt over and over. Moving to grip your waist with both hands, Simon speeds back up; practically using you like a doll.

The way you tighten up on him is dangerous. "Shit-" He breaths panicked. Cum spurts from his cock before he can even pull out. "Shit!" He growls, quickly stuffing his cock back in your cunt to roughly fuck himself through his orgasm. His hands shake as he finally pulls out. You feel his cum spilling out of your cunt as you go to push yourself up, but his hands grab your hips and roughly pull you backwards. Simon lays back as he drags you up his chest, placing your cunt right over his face. Any words you had formulated turn to a moan when his mouth latches onto your clit. His arms snake around your thighs and hold you against his mouth. His hot mouth that feels so good. You were already so close when he came that you know it won't be long before your orgasm burns through you. His tight grip loosens when he feels you trying to grind against his face. If he wasn't 2 ogasms out, the way you moan and grip on his thighs would make his dick hard again.

One arm uncoils from your thigh to land a rough smack to your ass. He feels your pussy clench at the act and lands another light smack before he kneads the area with a rough hand. Simon can tell from the way you tighten your thighs that you're close to cumming. He decides to lock you down with one arm wrapped around your waist. His other hand trails back, wetting his fingers in the mix of fluids before slipping 2 fingers inside of your pussy. Your head is thrown back with a pleased gasp as he finger fucks you. Curling them into your g-spot relentlessly until you're squirting; cum dripping down his chin and neck onto the bed. He keeps fingering you until you're reaching back, begging him to stop with dewy eyes and weak hands.

He's grinning as he lifts your pussy away from his mouth.

"Lieutenant Riley, you're not even paying attention." You sternly accuse.

Simon takes a deep, slow breathe in as he repositions himself higher in his seat, blinking a few times to clear the haze of his daydream. He clears his throat, glances at you and nods for you to continue. All you do is purse your lips; sparing him a scalding look as you continue where you left off in the PowerPoint.

"So, first round of weapons draw is going to be 0600. Buses will show at 0700 to take the troops to the range. Second round will be 1100, so buses will show at 1200. That gives all the firers about 5 hours to hit a qual out on the range. They can come back as soon as they qual, but I do NOT want to work passed 6pm tomorrow." You turn to look at him again and your lips purse.

He must look disinterested. Not only had he already been told the timelines for the range, but the entire time you'd been talking, he had been thinking of your escapade from this previous weekend. Every time he looked at you since you came in Monday morning, he could only see the pliant little thing you'd been Saturday night when he fucked you and Sunday morning before he left. Right now though, he could see you about to throw a fit over his lack of attention toward your presentation.

"Don't worry, dove." He stood up and pushed his chair in. "I wouldn't dare to cause mess of all your hard work and planning." Simon circled the table and loomed over you. The look in your eyes shows your recognizition of the combination of the pet name and his voice.

"Well, I-"

"It's OK, lovie." He smoothed his hand over your hair and to the side of your neck until his thumb brushed your cheek. In an instant, you looked just the same as you did this weekend. Furrowed brows relaxing at the realization and a doe eyed look replacing the severe one you'd been giving him. You looked almost like a deer caught in the headlights; completely unsure of what to do.

How cute.

"So you want me to open up the Arms Room, right?"

All you could muster up was a tiny nod.

"I'll be there at 0500 to do an inspection and ready everything. I'll allow troops to start drawing their weapons 10 minutes early, too. Okay?" As he spoke his thumb traced your bottom lip. So entranced by his actions and your realization, you could only muster a breathless, "Okay." In response.

The way you looked up at him had his body moving to lean down for a kiss, but his self control stopped him before he could even get an inch. Instead, Simon just pressed his thumb down against your bottom lip and left you go. Running his tongue along his teeth, he averted his gaze from you and walked back over to his office.

[eupheme]

Your best friend Wade who always jokingly flirts with you the way he flirts with everyone - and you hate it because you have a real genuine crush on him and the flirting doesn’t mean anything… does it? It has to take a mutual friend to be like “oh my god he’s in love with you and doesn’t know how to tell you, so that’s why he’s always joking about boners” (please and thank u ilu 😌)

omg avo this kicked my ass, the amount of pining for Wade as he (jokingly, you think) flirts with you would be off the charts 🥲💖 I wrote a little drabble with how that might go, I love you and your ideas - thanks so much for sending this to me!!!

— cause every time we touch (i get this feeling)

best friend!wade wilson x mutant!reader

<1k | flirting, dirty jokes, heaps of pining

Blow job. Leg Spreader. Slippery Nipple. Liquid Viagra. Sex on the Pool Table. Pink Silk Panties.

Each time Wade comes into Sister Margaret’s - which is four or five times a week - he asks for dirtier and more obscure drinks.

"Wishful thinking", he tells you, each time.

Even with the roll of your eyes, you have to admit that it keeps you on your toes. That you look forward to seeing your best friend so often - tamping down the jolt in your belly, night after night.

Reminding yourself that yes, he got you this job, but he's not here to see you.

That this always was his spot.

It had been an easy sell. Used to working overnight shifts - security, back then. After the disaster with Weasel, they had been desperate for a replacement. Wade had come to you immediately, dropping to his knees as you opened the door.

Winning you over with a "you could literally get paid to hang out with me. How is this not a win-win-win? How is this not your dream job?"

And here, you didn't have to hide what or who you were. Reading feelings and intent were a bonus, when a handshake could tell you everything you needed to know. Their feelings spilled as easily as they were written, when you were negotiating contracts.

It also helped in-house. A human lie detector. Able to break up fights, settle arguments. A party trick, when things got slow. The regulars trying to get things past you - tales based in truth spun tall, seeing when you'd catch them.

Wade never plays, but you think that's because you know him so well.

And what seems like a sell, quickly evolves into more. Warping, as days pass. Spending more time with a crush sounds tempting, on paper.

The reality is something else.

Yes, there is a seat saved for him at the bar. Literally saved - his name scrawled across the vinyl, and you still haven't been able to scrub it out. Stopping by at all hours to chit chat.

Teasing you - how he's "so glad he doesn't have to stalk you at your old job anymore". An over-the-top sigh about being relieved that you're safe now - in your new job, surrounded by mercs.

Begging for the best job. Puppy-dog eyes. Fake coupons for favors that would make a sinner blush. Crossing his heart that you could have anything, and he means anything you wanted, if he could only get "that thing involving the murder clowns".

It's enough to make you hope.

Later, at home - in the early hours as you're pulled under. Replaying his comments. The filthy jokes and the shameless flirting - wondering if that's all they were.

Wondering if he'd be waiting for you tomorrow, perched on his stool.

But there's the downfall.

You see him - but you also see him with everyone else.

The charming smiles. Head thrown back in a laugh as he works the room. A friend to all, and as you watch him - perched on the knee of a goddess of mercenary as he yaps away, you can't help the swift current of jealousy.

Of foolishness.

It's enough that you're almost regretting agreeing.

Your mood is sullen, as you wipe down glasses. Trying to ignore the ache when you see him flirt. That realization that the something special you thought he had with you, might just be a part of his personality.

And when Dopinder shuffles from the back with more ice for the chiller behind the bar, it only takes one look at you before he's sighing.

"Not again. Please, I am begging you. I cannot take more of your yearning.”

Your lips quirk. Hadn't realized you'd become that obvious. He'd become your go-to, in the long hours you spend together behind the bar. Pinkie-promising not to say a word - but you always thought you'd had a decent handle on your expressions.

"We don't have to talk about it." Your hands raise, placating, "Just let me yearn in peace. I'll get over it."

"You know that almost half of what DP makes a month is funneled back in here, right?" He gives you a long look, "Before you, I saw him once a week. I had to beg him to come get his paycheck."

Doubt still lingers.

"Doesn't mean anything," You shrug - eyes dropping, as you help him restock.

"You do not think Mr. Pool worships the ground you walk on?"

The intensity of his question has you side-eying him, "I mean... I don't think he sees me that way. He acts the same with me as he does with everyone."

“Sure.” He huffs, leaning against the bartop, just as Wade plunks down in the seat in front of you.

“God, I haven’t been over here in like-,” Wade checks a fake watch, “Fifteen minutes? Feels like longer. Felt like a fucking hour.”

Pivoting back and forth on the stool as he adds, “Is it possible for people to get separation anxiety? Or is that just dogs? Is this how Dogpool feels when I’m gone?”

You just manage to catch the last bit, as Dopinder slips away.

“Exactly the same.”

Tonight, Wade is the first person that sits down in front of you for the game.

A frown, as you peel off your gloves - your barrier, to the outside world.

His own already bare - sliding back-and-forth over his suit-clad thighs. You'd mistake it for nerves, if you weren't so sure Wade had never been nervous in his life.

"What's your story, Wilson?" You ask, "Hope you brought something good."

"Oh, it's a whopper. A real fucking doozy. Apparently, you're not gonna believe it. " His laugh is a little too loud, and your eyes narrow, "But let's give it a whirl, okay?"

There's a flicker, behind the bar. A sideways look towards the bar, where Dopinder's hands cover his face. You don't need to touch him to read the guilt written across his features - the way he almost flinches, under your glare.

You're going to fucking kill him.

The sound of your name brings you back.

“Ready to play?”

Wade's hands rest face-up on the table - an offering. For once in his life he almost looks serious, and it’s enough to bring you back.

A breath - before you align your own. Letting them drop down, skin mapping against skin for the first time.

It floods through you.

The lick of heat that almost feels like a caress. A deep yearn that causes your own heart to twinge, layering with the feeling of need. Desire. Want.

It's familiar. It mirrors something deep inside, something that’s become as much a part of you as flesh and bone.

Oh.

A laugh slips from you, breaking the beat of silence. Relief tinged with disbelief - your smile stretching wide.

“Yeah?” You breathe, softening.

“Yeah.” He laughs, “Thought I was being obvious. But you are pound-cake dense, apparently.”

Hands flipping over, to entwine between yours. Letting that feeling inside him linger, settling warm and comforting over your bare skin.

“But I like that about you.” Another huff of a laugh, “Like all of you, really. Always have.”

It makes your heart ache. In a way that finally feels full, feels right - instead of the near-agony you’ve been bearing for weeks.

Only you could be such an idiot.

thanks for reading! 💖

[fartcloudfartcloud]

Simon Riley x Maid!Reader

based on this text post

Summary: Simon has a house cleaner come clean once a month. What happens when she goes on vacation, and you're her replacement?

warnings: sfw but theres tension 😋, will make an nsfw part two if you guys want it :), Simon being big and scary and offputting per usual, lots of internal dialogue

a/n: loved this concept, and since I actually worked a door to door cleaning job I thought this fit so well and needed to write it. hope u enjoy :)

You took a deep breath.

These were the steps you were to take in this job. You had no reason to feel unsafe or in danger of any sort. Yet, the thought of walking up and knocking on this door had your heart in your stomach.

Simon Riley Is what the work order had listed as the clients name. Ex Military. Large German Shepard named Riley. Liked his wooden floors cleaned with vinegar instead of the regular cleaning solution. Nothing too out of the ordinary.

Except for the entry instructions. The small box on the piece of paper that would normally hold a few finely printed words, things such as "Homeowner will be not be home, key is under welcome mat"

or "Homeowner will be home and located in office on second floor, door will be unlocked"

had big, bold font to start. Your manager had to go in and manually change that detail, and knowing her, that must mean this is serious.

The box reads-

"DO NOT ATTEMPT TO OPEN DOOR. HOMEOWNER IS EX MILITARY AND EXTREMELY STRICT. RING FRONT DOORBELL ONCE AND WAIT."

Yeah. Very normal and not at all gut-wrenching.

You keep taking deep breaths as you go through your routine. Read the work order thoroughly once more, try not to shit yourself, go and grab your equipment, and follow the instructions.

Easy. Just follow the routine.

Your equipment is as big and clunky as usual. With a vacuum on your back, a bucket full of microfiber towels, a backpack full of chemicals, and knee pads on both knees, you knew for sure you were a sight for sore eyes.

You're not quiet as you walk either, each step making every plastic piece of your puzzle clunk and scrape in a cacophony of reminders of why you were here. You thunk and bang your way up the front porch, eyes everywhere but the front door, still taking deep breaths as you try to just focus on your surroundings, taking note of the nice front garden and walkway as you pass.

You finally settle on the front porch, your arms dropping the bucket and preparing yourself for the big push to start this job.

One ring, you remind yourself. Then wait. Deep breath.

You look up to find the door bell, hand pulling up in a search for the button when you see him.

He must have heard you, you decide as he stands behind the screen door with his arms crossed.

Simon Riley is massive, standing what feels like a clean foot taller than you, big muscled arms bulging from his tight t-shirt. They're as big as your head, his thighs probably twice so. His face was pulled down in a heated gaze, though the bottom half of his face was covered by a black mask. He was scary as he stood there, his aura menacing and doing nothing to sooth your nerves.

Yeah, ex Military makes sense, Jesus christ.

"Ya pissed of my dog, allat noise." You jump, the deep british voice startling you as he begins chastising you. His face frowns down it you, his eyes angry. You're speachless, "Well? Talk."

You stammer as you realize you were just sitting and staring in awe, mind suddenly back on track and then derailing again as you have no idea what to say.

The routine, Jesus christ the routine what's the next step. You scramble for your binder, pulling it open to his work order page and looking up at him as you muster up the courage to speak.

"Um, are you, uh, Simon Riley, sir?" You ask, stuttering and staggering between every word.

He reaches foreword and opens the screen door, getting a good look at you first before he can respond.

"Hm. You the cleaning lady?" He questions, the hand not holding the door open now stuffed in the pocket of his pants.

"Mhm, yeah, im- uh. I'm from Housekeeping Heros, you have an appointment for, um-" you start rustling through more pages of the binder, desperate to find the information, needing to prove to yourself more then him you were in the right place.

"I know i 've an appointment," He holds out his hand and halts your movements. You relax, all the horrible conclusions you were drawing coming to an end. Though, as per usual, they were quickly replaced with new ones, his voice still short and snippy with you.

Deep breaths, girl, we can do this.

He points to your small pile of equipment. "Ya need 'elp?"

You shake your head no, suprised he'd offered. Though he just responds with a head shake, motioning to give it here with his hands. And you do, you don't even second guess it, handing him your bucket and backpack without a second word, something in you submitting to him without a care in the world.

He turns around and walks everything into the kitchen where he gently rests it on the table, softer then you were expecting. You follow him in, feeling like a stray with your legs tucked between your legs as you fet settled. He looks at you expectantly.

Not sure what he's looking for, you start explaining the cleaning process, using your binder as a reference and pointing to each section. He stands behind you, arms crossed again and chin tucked down as he nods along with your words.

He points to the vacuum on your back, "Not round Riley, ya 'ear me?" He scolds. You take note of the large German Shepard snorring lightly on the couch.

"And none o' this shite," He kicks at your knee pads, pointing to a mop he had in the corner. Thank God, cleaning on your knees always sucked, and why your bullshit company made you do it anyways was a marvel.

"Oh, thank you!" You chirped up. He seemed to scowl further when your voice pitched up, so you slink back in on yourself. Understood, point taken, sir.

You still were not feeling great, the pit in your stomach unrelenting as you organize your stuff.

He looms close by. You figured he would, not doubting the "extremely strict" next to "ex military" on your work order at all.

You start with the first step of your process, filling the bucket up in the sink and soaking your towels in the cleaning solution.

"Where's yer boss?" He grumbles from behind you, making you jump.

"Um, Nancy?" Bucket now full, you throw the towels into the warm water with a dash of solution.

"Eh, whatever her name is," He grumbles. How polite.

"Haha, um." You giggle akwardly, "she's with family right now, I think," you stutter, trying to speak loud enough that he could hear you clearly.

He just hmphs in response. As your towels soak in the water, you reach for your extendable feather duster and start wiping the top corners of the room.

"Whats yer name?" He grumbles. It shocks you when he says it. He couldn't seem to care less about the other workers name, but he was interested in yours?

You told him, quiet, "sir," peeping out after. He just hmms again, leaning in the doorway with his arms crossed as he watched you work.

It was nerve-wracking, having him over your shoulder. He hadn't said anything yet, but it felt like you could feel the complaints waiting to come. You just kept up the deep breathing, taking the clothes out of the water and dispersing them on the countertops throughout the house.

He had a very large home, no mcmansion that took up half the street, but a pretty place tucked in a nice down town area. Honestly, if the home and neighborhood wasn't so gorgeous, you probably would've turned around and told your supervisor to give the damn house to someone else.

But thankfully, or not, Simon seemed to harbor a certain comfort for his homes presentation. The indoors of his home reflected it as well, the house put together like it was being staged, every inch perfectly in place.

Maybe that's why it's not so surprising when the first complaint does manage to leave his lips in the form of a hiss as you go to open a cabinet door.

"Oi, what do you think yer doing?" He hisses, rushing over to grab your wrist and pull it from the knob. You gasp as he's suddenly in your space and touching you, flinching as he does.

"Um, I just gotta m-make sure the insides don't need to be wiped down, sir," your muscles shake as you speak— him actually coming over and grabbing had you a little shook up.

He waved his hand infront of your face, dismissing whatever you have to say, "None of that. Don't need'a open nothing that ain't yours." you just nod, taking your first breath once he's finally out of your space.

That would've been a very good thing to include in the work order, Nancy.

Well, at least that's a few less things to worry about cleaning, though you may have failed your task of not shitting your pants, because good lord. He's right back to his perch on the wall, observing you carefully now.

You get into your routine, floating room to room and doing each task per the work order. You slowly scrub the slight musky smoke smell that lingers throughout, instead replacing it with the smell of cinnamon and detergent.

He likes watching you work, but he knows he doesn't show it, not a flutter or twitch anywhere to be seen. He growls small, careful, watch it, leave it, keeping you on edge through every movement.

You do move much faster than your college though, much more gracefully. He notices your wandering eyes, lingering on the photos on the wall and the dates on his calender. He let's you get away with it, for now. Figured he'd picked on you enough, should probably just let you finish your work.

That is, until you approach the end of your routine. You'd been scrubbing and whipping and Simon snipping and snyding for almost an hour now, you'd made excellent time and you hope Simon knows that.

It's all you can think about, actually. Him and the way he has you doting on him, some broken part of you combined with the fear his giant stature instills has you easily folding to do whatever he says and respond to his every grunt. It has your mind a little clouded, even more so as you swing through every step of your routine with practiced care.

It was finally time for the last step of the routine, and you shivered out a breath as you unwrapped the vacuum. Simon had sank a little further away, now sitting at the kitchen table with his eyes glued to a newspaper, anxiety settling slightly without his prying eyes.

You get the cord untangled and laid out across the carpet, searching the perimeter of the room for an outlet. You couldn't see any in the open, and not wanting to risk pissing off Simon for moving furniture, you start to round the corner in your search.

Suddenly, you're against the wall, a giant hand against your sternum as the breath is knocked out of your lungs. His face is in yours, eyebrows furrowed and breath hot on your face as he spoke.

"Tha fuck ya think your doin'?" youre confused and breathless, small under him as he leers above.

"I dont- im-" "Been nothing but nice to ya since you clambered yer way up my damn porch, and I gave you one fuckin' rule." His voiced is raised at you now, chastising you in that brazen, gravely tone. "One! and what do you go and try to do?"

You're just confused, what had you done to elicit this response from him? You thought he was complacent and quiet at the table, what of his million little rules could you have broken?

That's when you see it. Her, you should say. Rylie, the big German Shepard he'd warned you to by no means vacuum around, was bundled up on the couch, inches from where you stand.

Fuck. how had you forgotten.

"Sir, i- I didn't realize, I didn't know she was there sir i-" You desperately try to make an excuse for yourself, but he's just shaking his head at you.

"Do ya think flutterin yer eyelashes a little is gonna make everything better?" He mocks you, his big blue eyes locked on you. You shake your head no, half of it to answer him, the other half just you shivering where you stand.

"No sir- I'm sorry sir I didnt- I forgot you told me and-"

He's clicking his tongue at you, a tsk tsk to put you to shame. To your suprise, each click when straight to your core, and suddenly the heat in the room is rising. Your body is flushed and your sure your face matches, if the way his eyes crinkle when he looks up at you says anything.

His hand doesn't leave your sternum, as he speaks, Inches from your face, "too good at this to be forgetting," he shakes his head, the praise a little shocking, and the soft, "too pretty," that follows it hammers the fact.

You breath is caught in your chest again as he leans into your ear, eyes wide and mouth clamped as he murmurs a deep.

"So how do you think I should go bout making sure you remember?"

[waaayoutofline]

Like Seeing A Ghost.

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Prompt: Married life and family core.

Summary: Your teenage daughter changed styles, and you cant help but be remained of a certain someone.

Warnings: None. Just love and fluff.

WORD COUNT: 1490

AN: I wrote this under the wonderful influence of sleep depravation. I just corrected it grammatically. It’s the first time I have written a family related prompt, so sorry but it’ll probably be a bit cringey :´). YDN stands for: Your daughters name btw—

It was a quiet day in the Maximoff household, a rare sense of calm settling over the space. Humming softly, you switched off the vacuum and put it away, satisfied with the tidiness of the room. The peaceful silence was soon interrupted by the doorbell, drawing your attention with mild curiosity. “I’ve got it!” you called, making your way to the door. You didn’t need to check the peephole, you already knew who it was. “Darling, finally! Your mother is almost finished with—oh dear gods.”

You froze as your 16-year-old daughter stepped inside. Taking in her appearance, your eyes widened in surprise. She shifted uncomfortably under your gaze, clearly bracing herself for the reaction that didn’t come as quickly as she expected.

Gone were her typical morning clothes, replaced by a more alternative look. She wore an oversized black t-shirt featuring an old rock band, her arms covered in fishnet sleeves, fingers adorned with silver rings and chains. Her makeup, though still a work-in-progress, was heavy with black eyeliner and smudged dark red eyeshadow. A silver cross dangled from her freshly pierced ear. She completed the outfit with a mid-length skirt and red Converse sneakers. If it weren’t for her eyes—the same color as yours—you might not have recognized her at first. But even then, the look wasn’t unfamiliar. She resembled someone else you knew all too well.

“It’s… it’s—” you began, voice faltering. Your daughter braced herself even more, her posture defiant, though you could see flickers of uncertainty in her expression. That defiant stance finally broke your composure.

“It’s like seeing a ghost! Oh, my beautiful girl,” you exclaimed, bursting into delighted laughter. “It’s like going back in time. Wanda, darling, come here, please!” you called out, grinning at the uncanny resemblance.

Your heart swelled with nostalgia and amusement. You never thought you’d see such a familiar look on your own child, yet here she was, carrying a piece of the past into the present.

“What is it, love? Is it Y/D/N? I made her favorite,” Wanda called, wiping her hands with a kitchen towel before stopping abruptly. “Oh wow. This is… definitely a surprise.”

Your daughter, tired of the mixed reactions from both of you, crossed her arms defensively. “Before you say anything—no, I didn’t get any piercings or tattoos. But this is how I want to dress from now on. And if you have any issues with it, then…”

Your eyes softened at the sight of her defiance fading into vulnerability. You glanced at Wanda, who nodded. “Darling, you don’t owe us any explanations,” she said gently.

“I… don’t?” Y/D/N repeated, tentatively. You took a step forward, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“Of course not. You know your mom and I want you to discover who you are. All we care about is that you don’t hurt yourself in the process. Why would you think we’d be upset?”

Your daughter’s shoulders relaxed as the tension eased. “A… friend of mine dresses like this, and her parents didn’t take it well. They told her if she didn’t dress ‘normal,’ they’d send her to some creepy summer camp.”

Wanda frowned. “Well, they’re idiots.” Your daughter smiled at that. “They are! Like your mom said, we’ll never judge you for who you are. All we want is for you to be safe and happy.”

With that, she smiled and pulled you both into a hug. “Thanks for being such cool parents.” You exchanged a glance with Wanda and hugged her back.

“I mean… if we weren’t, we’d be total hypocrites.” Your daughter tilted her head in curiosity, prompting a laugh from you as you moved toward the living room.

Wanda scoffed. “Oh, don’t you dare, Y/N,” she warned playfully, following close behind, already anticipating your next move. Before she could stop you, you pulled out the family photo album. Your daughter plopped down next to you on the couch, while Wanda took her place on the armrest, wearing a mock pout.

Flipping through the pages, you found what you were looking for. “Why haven’t I seen this before?” Y/D/N asked, eyes wide with interest.

“These are from years before you were born,” you explained softly, turning the album’s pages with care. “Most were taken when your mother and I first met. We kept them hidden… because she was a little shy about them.”

Wanda playfully nudged your arm, her smile a little bashful. “Do you really have to show them? I’d like for our daughter to still respect me, you know.”

You grinned, glancing at your daughter. “Of course, I do! I mean, just look at her. You two are practically twins—it’s adorable.”

Wanda rolled her eyes, though her blush deepened. “You’re having too much fun with this.”

As you flipped another page, your daughter gasped, eyes widening in disbelief. Wanda’s face turned a deep shade of red as she quickly covered her face with her hands, her embarrassment palpable. You, however, couldn’t stop the grin spreading across your face. “Mom, why didn’t you tell me you were so cool?” Y/D/N exclaimed, her excitement bubbling over as she snatched the album from you, flipping through the pictures like a child on Christmas morning.

“What do you mean “were”?” Wanda huffed in mock offense. “I’m still cool!”

A brief silence followed, punctuated only by Wanda’s playful exasperation. You reached out, squeezing her hand, the warmth of her skin grounding both of you. The resemblance between mother and daughter was striking, as if time had folded in on itself. “That picture,” you said, pointing to a particular one, “was taken around the time I first met your mom. She was this emo, tough, and incredibly intimidating girl—” You started dramatically, glancing at Wanda, who shot you a half-hearted glare.

“Okay, okay, no need to humiliate me further,” Wanda cut in, trying to maintain some shred of dignity.

“Humiliate?” You softened your voice, your eyes meeting hers. “That was the version of you I fell in love with.” You turned another page, your tone warm and nostalgic. “I mean, the whole ‘bad girl’ thing really worked for me.”

“Mom, gross!” Y/D/N laughed, wrinkling her nose in mock disgust.

You nudged her playfully. “Oh, hush. What I’m trying to say is… I fell in love with that Wanda, and every version after her.”

With each page you turned, years passed in the photographs. Different styles, changing haircuts, moments of growth captured in still images. But one thing remained constant—your love.

“…and the next,” you continued quietly. “Because that’s what love is. It’s not about how someone dresses or looks. It’s about loving them for who they are, through every version, and with how they express themselves to the world.”

You closed the album gently and reached for your daughter’s hands, holding them tenderly. “That’s why no matter how you choose to present yourself, it will never change how we feel about you. You are our daughter, and we will always love you—no matter what.” Y/D/N smiled, her eyes bright with relief and understanding. Wanda, still blushing from your words, looked at both of you with so much love that it was almost overwhelming. A sudden thought crossed her mind, her lips curving into a small, playful smile.

“You know,” Wanda began, her voice light, “if you’re interested, I still have some of those clothes.”

Your daughter’s eyes lit up. “No way.”

“Oh yes, way. Why don’t you start by heading up to the attic? I’ll join you in a sec.”

In an instant, your daughter gave Wanda a quick, excited hug before practically running towards the stairs. You and Wanda exchanged a glance, bursting into quiet laughter. As you stood up, Wanda caught you by the waist, pulling you close, her eyes filled with nothing but love. For a moment, the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. She leaned in and kissed you, slow and tender.

“Mama! Do you still have that red jacket?” your daughter called from upstairs, breaking the moment. Wanda sighed, chuckling under her breath as she pulled away.

“I do!” Wanda called back, her voice filled with affection. “In fact, that jacket I stole from Auntie Nat!”

Another excited shriek echoed down the stairs, and you both shared a fond look.

“I better go before she tears down the attic,” Wanda said with a small smile, taking a step back.

You nodded, watching her as she began to leave, but she paused at the doorway and turned back, her eyes twinkling mischievously.

“Hey,” she whispered, “I am cool, right?”

A full, hearty laugh escaped you, the sound filling the room with warmth. “Yeah, Wanda. You’re the coolest.”

Wanda grinned, the playful tension melting away as she disappeared up the stairs, leaving you with a heart full of love and a smile that lingered long after she was gone.

[monimccoythings]

The Beast Within

Sooo I was trying to write a feral!Logan but this oneshot crossed my mind and I just went along with it. I'll write the feral!logan I want to write when I finish the Wolverine's 1988 run. I think I remember mentioning back in my Retired!Logan headcanons that shall danger come for his family he would be ready and waiting. I wanted to dwell on that.

Summary: You awake only to find yourself and your daughters tied up by some unknown men that wnat to roleplay their wildest and scariest fantasies. Your only hope to survive lies on your husband; a man that gang would soon know they shouldn't have messed with.

Word count: 3087

tags: slight feral!logan, a bit of horror, gn!reader, happy ending, Logan loves his family and will kill for them. A bit ooc Wolverine.

tw: blood, death, attempted rape, non-con elements, kidnapping, swear words.

It had all happened so quickly. One moment you were entering your home with your daughters in tow, and the next, you were being knocked out by some masked men.

When you opened your eyes, you found yourself unable to move, having been tied to a chair, the cords against your wrists and ankles cutting into your blood flow. Yet you didn't fear for your life.

Desperately you looked around for Laura and your youngest child. Silently praying those assholes hadn't reached them. You nearly bursted into tears when you saw Laura tied to the couch, still knocked out like a light, but fine nevertheless; but that relief was short lived when you saw one of the men holding your youngest in his arms.

"Well, look who's finally up! I'm so glad you could join us."

You mentally counted them, There were about five burly men. All masked, to conceal their identities. A shiver ran down your spine when you saw they were all armed.

"Why are you doing this? What do you want?" Your mind went overdrive with the amount of possibilities. Where they from an anti mutant group? Have you been found out?? Logan had made sure your tracks were covered so nobody would know who and what he and the children were. Where they robbers, then?

"Hmm why would people do what they do?" The supposed leader of the group dramatically pondered. "Us humans always worry about norms, etiquette, social behavior, we repress ourselves..." you let the man rant about how our real animal natures were suppressed by society, you didn't care too much for that, too busy finding different ways to free yourself and save your kids.

"So, to answer your question. We do this for fun. Because we can. Because we aren't afraid to show who we really are." You felt the blood in your veins freeze when you felt the disgusting hand come near your crotch. These people were insane. If they were just robbers, you could just let them take whatever they wanted and wait until they left. Material things could be replaced, but his words implied something much much worse for you.

"Please, just take what you want and leave!" You knew you had to do something, anything just to keep those men away from your babies, just buy enough time for Logan to-

Logan! Yes, he would sense something was wrong, and come for you all! You just-

The man licked a long streak from your collarbone to your cheek, his hungry depraved eyes mirroring those of his accomplices.

"Oh, we are going to take it indeed." He licked his lips in anticipation, his fingers lazily undoing the buttons of your shirt. You felt the cold air in your exposed skin.

"Listen. My husband will come soon. You need to leave now that you can-"

He forcefully grabbed your chin, forcing you to look into his empty cold eyes. You didn't find any source of empathy or humanity there. His free hand started to unbutton your jeans.

"Then, he can watch."

The lights went out after that, startling the man and his crew. Some let out a few curses.

"Shut the fuck up! It's just the fucking lights!" The man bellowed towards the rest of the group. He signaled with his head towards the most dimwitted looking member. "Beta! Go check the fuse box!"

The man obediently complied with his orders. The fact that you could barely see, didn't do well for your nerves. They could strike any moment.

Minutes passed and the dude nicknamed 'Beta' hadn't returned. Which was weird, because the fusebox was in a small broom closet at the other end of the cabin, and the cabin wasn't really Charles Xavier's Mansion. You could tell that the man giving the orders was already starting to lose his patience.

"Dumb fuck, can't do shit by himself..." He mumbled. "Gamma! Go tell that stupid bitch to hurry the fuck up!" He turned towards you a terrifying smile on his face "I just can't wait to see the look in your eyes when we break you and the kids."

That was enough for you to lunge towards him, parental instincts activating like crazy. Unfortunately there was little you could do with your limited mobility. He grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled painfully, you felt tears burning at the corner of your eyes but you refused to give him the pleasure of watching you cry.

"Listen here you little slut. Only I get to bite, only I get to kick, and when I'm done with you l, you'll be-"

"Alpha, he ain't here!" 'Gamma''s voice could be heard from the hall. That only fueled 'Alpha's' impatience.

"I ask him a simple task and he fucking gets lost! Look better or none of you are having a piece of this whore!!"

His eyes turned back to yours. A hungry, wicked look crossed them. His mouth went towards your neck, as much as you tried to resist you couldn't pull away from his strong hold in your hair. You let out a scream when he bit you, praying that he hadn't bitten hard enough to draw blood, but that only seemed to encourage him, just as his tongues was lapping at the bruising bitemark you heard someone scream from the end of the hall.

"OH FUCKING SHIT!!"

*bang*

*bang*

And then nothing. That seemed to alert the group, the leader, Alpha, immediately pulling away and releasing you from his vice grip.

"The fuck was that!?" He commanded "Beta! Gamma! Answer now!"

No answer.

With your heart in your throat you quickly took deep breaths, trying to recover a sense of calmness and normalcy that you knew was long lost. But you had to. Your kids were still unconscious you needed to protect them.

"Sigma. Get out and secure the perimeter."

'Sigma' didn't look very convinced but as long as he released your little baby girl everything would be fine. You could practically feel the hesitation in him as he lowered your daughter onto the nearest armchair and quietly exited the living room, gun in hand.

"Whatever the fuck is trying to screw with us, is going to learn this 'pack' doesn't go down easily."

Minutes passed of eery silence, each minute felt like agonizing hours. You thought it would never end until you heard a blood curling scream followed by the sound of glass breaking and something splattering against the walls.

That's when you heard it. An animalistic snarl. It was faint, but it was definitely there and filled your heart with hope like no other. This time you were surely going to cry from joy.

He had arrived.

You were saved.

Tears fell freely down your cheeks, you couldn't help the broad smile that formed in your features.

"Oh God he's here. He's here..." You repeated over and over like a mantra, as if you couldn't quite believe it.

"The fuck is this bitch talking about??" He backhanded you so roughly that you thought you saw stars, the sharp pain in your cheek was nothing compared to the huge relief you were feeling.

'Alpha' turned towards the last remaining member of his 'pack'. "What are you waiting for, dumbass?? Lock the fucking doors!"

The other guy didn't move for a few seconds, obviously scared at this dramatic turn of events. The tension between him and the leader was so thick you could cut it with a knife. You were sure he was wondering why he should risk his life for a plan that was going awry with each passing second. Maybe he was also considering shooting down 'Alpha' and be done with it.

Before he has time to live up that fantasy, he found himself looking straight at the end of 'Alpha's' Magnum. This was no longer a fun game for them. It had stopped being a game when 'Beta' hadn't returned.

"Lock. The fucking. Doors." 'Alpha's' voice was unusually quiet and full of promises of a world of pain if he disobeyed his orders. There was no other choice but to follow his lead, as always.

With trembling hands, the poor guy put the safety lock as best as he could. Once done, he breathed a sigh of relief, believing him safe.

Until a massive arm, broke through the glass of the door and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him a couple of inches off the ground. The man kicked and struggled, trying in vain to reach for his gun. When the hand released him, he hurriedly went for it before he was grabbed again but was stopped by three metal claws piercing through his skull, killing him instantly. The man fell to the ground like a ragdoll.

"Shit." 'Alpha' whispered, feeling for the first time that night true fear. "Shitshitshitshitshit!" His panic grew as he saw the killer of his 'packmate' kick the doors open as if it was nothing.

You couldn't see him, but you knew he was pissed like he had never been before.

*BANG*

*BANG*

*BANG*

'Alpha' fired bullet after bullet towards him. A single shot would have taken down a grown man. But this wasn't a normal man. Oh no, they had just gone after the family of one of the most dangerous men to ever live.

Logan slowly stepped into the moonlight and your breath caught in your throat. From his beard, to his clothes, blood was dripping, but not from the gunshotwounds, those were already healed. His sharp teeth, bared in a feral snarl were stained with blood, having used them to tear through flesh and bone. The icing on the cake were his eyes, those eyes that looked at you with so much tenderness and lust, that crinkled with happiness when they saw his little ones run towards him; they were just empty, void of any rational thought.

You shuddered at his primal display.

The man known just as 'Alpha' took a step back. For all his talk about how he didn't repress from his animal urges and how he was an alpha male, he found himself small and insignificant in the presence of a real animal. Every adamantium coated bone in Logan's body exuded dominance, power, strength; it was overwhelming. 'Alpha' knew if he didn't play his cards well he would end up like the rest of his 'pack' or worse.

Cold sweat formed on your forehead when the gun pointed towards you.

"One more step, and I'll shoot." His voice was deadly quiet, but you could hear the fear hidden behind all that bravado.

Logan stopped, a low growl building up in his throat. His eyes quickly darted towards yours and returned towards his enemy. You knew you had little time, as long as the 'Alpha' kept his eyes locked on Logan's; he wouldn't dare shoot you unless he wanted to have the slowest and most painful death there was, he just needed to think for a better plan of action, which gave you a wonderful opportunity to ponder about how you were going to get out safely, you had to act fast enough to give Logan some margin.

As quiet as you could muster, you started balancing yourself from side to side. Each second that passed increased your chances of ending up with a hole in your chest. A couple of swings more and-

"AAAAAAAAARRRGGGGHHH"

'Alpha' roared in pain when Laura out of nowhere, sunk her teeth and bone claws on his leg. Unfortunately, as a reflex, he accidentally pressed the trigger.

You would never be sure about how you got so lucky that night, as you fell sideways with the chair, the bullet barely grazed your shoulder. You had evaded death miraculously and there was a new hole in the wall.

Logan didn't waste his opportunity. Before 'Alpha' had the chance to kick Laura off his leg, he freed his claws and with a swift motion slashed his yugular vein with two clean cuts.

The blood splattered on his chest and face like a fountain. Alpha's body went limp and fell lifeless to the side. You let out a sigh in relief, as tears ran again freely down your cheeks.

The nightmare was over.

But not for Logan.

For a couple of seconds, he just stood there, breathing heavily, and coated in blood. Laura stood at his feet, looking at him apprehensively, as if sensing there was something wrong.

"Logan." You called for him reassuringly, but he didn't even look at you. You doubted he had heard you. His fists were clenching and unclenching, his knuckles were turning white. The veins in his arms bulged against the swollen muscles. His breaths came out in short puffs of air. Whatever he was feeling right now, you needed to pull him out of it.

His head turned sharply when he heard your youngest stirring. He looked at his bloodied hands and finally looked at you with a mixture of panic and dread. He didn't know what to do.

"Laura. Laura, sweetheart, untie me." She snapped out from her stupor and quickly tore through the cords, freeing you at last. You massaged your wrists, hoping to return your bloodflow back to normal. As much as you'd have loved to rest there was no time to lose.

You understood Logan's fear. It was already painful enough for him to have Laura watching him when he was like that, he didn't want the other one to go through the same trauma.

You quickly rushed towads him and he flinched back, still in shock. "It is okay, Logan. We're safe. You saved us. I'm going to take the girls to her room okay? He barely nodded, his eyes unfocused. You would deal with him later, now the kids were a top priority.

You would heal together, later.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

He had scrubbed the floors clean until he thought he was going to pass out from the chemicals. He had hidden the bodies or whatever remained of them in a place where he knew nobody would ever look for them. Not that they'd be missed, he supposed.

It scared him how good he was at this. He should have gotten used to it by now, after all, he was the best at what he did, and what he did wasn't very nice.

It had been to good to be true. A sweet dream before waking up and facing reality. He had gotten sloppy and his family had paid the price. He didn't even know what those had wanted, nor did he care. One single look through the window and all sense of rationality had left his brain leaving only the animal that deep down he knew he was.

What would you think of him now? Did you regret marrying him? Knowing what he did was one thing, but actually witnessing it was another. What had transpired tonight would surely define your relationship for the rest of your lives

And Laura? He had worked so hard to erase the violence and trauma of her earlier years, to give her a normal childhood with a family. And he had just pulled her back.

He buried his face in his hands, grabbing chunks of his hair. He was a monster, an animal, a mindless-

He jumped and turned around with a snarl on his face and his claws ready when he felt a hand on his shoulder. Logan's tense muscles visibly relaxed when he saw it was just you, but he was still restless.

"Logan, it's okay. It's just me" You knew exactly was was crossing his mind. After years of knowing each other, you knew that the legendary Wolverine, the man that would take his secrets to his grave, could be easily read like an open book if you got close enough.

"Honey, this is not your fault. You came and saved us. We're here because of you." You couldn't bear the thought of him punishing himself over something that wasn't even his fault to begin with.

"I should have been there with you. I should have arrived sooner, then you wouldn't have to go through-" His gruff voice sounded so broken, so terrified, there was nothing you wanted more than to cradle him in your arms. "I'm a monster." He quietly whispered.

"You are not a monster. You. Are. Not. Not a monster, neither an animal." You cupped his face in your hands, looking into his eyes sternly.

"I-I lost control. I saw you there tied up and I lost it. Laura saw it, and our little-"

"Shhhh... They are alright. They are okay in their bedroom. Laura knew you were protecting us, she has always known." You ran your fingers through his wild hair, marvelling at how his tufts stayed up no matter the situation.

You gently guide him back into the house. You don't look at the toppled chair, or the hole in the wall, or the mountain of cleaning products. Neither of you wanted to think about that. When you reached the bedroom, you undressed each other, taking your time, memorizing every string of clothing. Your discarded attires formed a dirty and bloody pile in the corner.

Tenderly, like treating a very vulnerable creature, you cleaned his face, chest and hands with a towel. You could feel the raw power stored in that massive torso and hands, you knew what he could do with those. But you also knew how careful and soft he was around you and the girls.

You put on your comfiest pijamas and got ready for bed, leaving the mess of that night for the next day. Before he climbed in with you, Logan stopped and takes a step back.

"What's wrong?" You asked.

"Wait here." He hurriedly exited your bedroom, leaving you alone, baffled at his behavior. The last thing you wanted was to be left alone after that night.

Your initial confusion gave way to tenderness when you saw him return holding a daugther on each of his thick arms. Laura blinked groggily at you, annoyed at having been woken up from her slumber. You quickly craddled her in your arms, kissing her forehead.

Holding your youngest baby girl to his chest he got in bed, his free arm pulling you and Laura closer, trapping you in an embrace. He kissed your head, his soft breaths along with those of your daughters were enough to lull you to sleep.

You were safe.

Nobody was going to get you.

He would make sure of that.

[amirasainz]

Can you please do reader is Charles and Alexandra ex but they are obsessed with her and can’t believe she dumped them, they trying to get her back but she’s moved on. Maybe only if your comfortable do Charles and Alex dark?

Alright, so this is my first time writing something dark. I hope I did a good job. Pease keep in ind that this is just a story for entertainement and nothing about this is real.

Enjoy reading and send me some requests!!!

-XoXo

In the grip of obsession

The room was spinning, a dull throb pulsing at the back of Y/N’s head. Her eyelids were heavy, her limbs weak and uncooperative. Darkness surrounded her, but as her senses slowly returned, she realized she wasn’t in the club anymore. She wasn’t anywhere familiar.

The cold, sterile scent of the room mingled with the faint smell of expensive cologne. Panic crept in as she tried to move, her body betraying her as her muscles refused to respond. Her wrists felt raw, tightly bound behind her back. She could feel soft silk pressed against her skin, but the comfort of the fabric was overshadowed by the hard chair beneath her.

Slowly, Y/N forced her eyes open, squinting against the dim light filtering in from a nearby window. Shadows danced across the room, but through the haze of confusion, one thing became terrifyingly clear—she was not alone.

"Finally awake, mon amour?" a voice broke the silence, soft but with an undercurrent of dangerous obsession.

Charles.

Her heart dropped into her stomach as her eyes darted around the room, finally landing on him. He stood by the window, his silhouette illuminated by the streetlights outside, his piercing eyes locked onto her. His usual boyish charm was gone, replaced by something darker, more unhinged.

"You shouldn’t have gone out," came another voice from the corner of the room, this one softer but no less menacing. Alexandra stepped into the light, her arms crossed as she studied Y/N like a predator watching its prey. "You knew better than that."

Y/N's mouth was dry, her throat burning as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a ragged whisper, "W-what... What is this?"

Charles walked toward her, crouching in front of her chair. His face, usually so handsome and full of life, was twisted with something she could only describe as obsession. He reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. She flinched, but he didn’t seem to notice—or maybe he didn’t care.

"This," he whispered, "is where you belong."

Her heart pounded in her chest as the realization set in. This wasn’t a nightmare she could wake up from. This was real.

"Why are you doing this?" Y/N's voice was shaky, fear creeping into every word. She tugged at the ropes binding her hands, but they didn’t give.

"You broke up with us," Alexandra said coldly, stepping closer, her eyes narrowing. "You thought you could just walk away? After everything we’ve been through? After all the hate you put up with for us?"

"That wasn’t your choice to make," Charles added, his voice low and dangerous. "You belong to us, Y/N. You always did."

She shook her head, her vision still blurry, but the horror of the situation cut through the fog in her mind. "You’re insane... both of you."

Charles chuckled, his eyes darkening. "Maybe. But we don’t care anymore. We tried to let you go, we really did. But you’re everywhere, Y/N. Every time I close my eyes, I see you. Every race, every podium, every fucking interview, it’s you. I can’t breathe without thinking about you."

"Neither can I," Alexandra said, her voice calmer but no less disturbing. "You broke us, Y/N. And now we’re just fixing what you broke."

"You can’t do this," Y/N gasped, her voice cracking with desperation. "Let me go, Charles. Alex, please..."

But they just stared at her, unmoved by her pleas.

"You went out clubbing, Y/N," Alexandra said, almost scolding. "Dressed like that, with those friends of yours. You’ve moved on, haven’t you?"

Y/N didn’t answer, too scared of what they’d do if she told the truth.

"You’re ours," Charles growled, his patience wearing thin. He grabbed her chin roughly, forcing her to look at him. His eyes blazed with possessiveness. "You always were, and you always will be. We were too nice before, letting you walk away like that. But not anymore."

Tears stung Y/N's eyes as she struggled against the restraints. Her wrists burned, her head pounded, and the overwhelming feeling of dread consumed her.

"I don’t love you anymore," she whispered, her voice trembling.

For a moment, the room fell silent. Charles' grip tightened painfully on her jaw, his knuckles white with tension. Alexandra's eyes flashed dangerously.

"You don’t mean that," Charles said, though his voice wavered. He was trying to convince himself as much as her. "You’re just upset. You’ll remember soon enough how good we were together. We made you happy, Y/N."

"You made me miserable," she spat, her voice gaining strength despite the terror gripping her. "I couldn’t even go online without people tearing me apart for being with you. And you did nothing. You let them do it. You cared more about your careers than about me."

Alexandra's face twisted with fury. "That’s not true! We loved you—we love you. Those people were jealous, that's all. They hated that you had what they wanted."

Y/N shook her head, refusing to be gaslighted by them. "No, you loved the idea of me. But I was never enough for you."

Charles stood abruptly, pacing the room like a caged animal. His hands raked through his hair, frustration evident in every movement. "You don’t understand. You were everything to us! We just... we just didn’t know how to handle it then. But we do now."

Y/N’s pulse quickened as she saw the crazed determination in his eyes. They weren’t going to let her go. Not ever.

"You can’t keep me here," she said, trying to reason with them. "Someone will notice I’m missing. The team... my friends..."

Alexandra smiled, but it didn’t reach her eyes. "We’ve taken care of that. Everyone thinks you left the club with some random guy. They'll believe whatever story we give them."

Y/N’s stomach churned. She hadn’t realized how carefully they had planned this.

"You won’t get away with this," she whispered, though even she wasn’t sure she believed it.

"Oh, but we already have," Charles said, stepping closer again, his hand cupping her cheek with a false tenderness. "You’ll see, Y/N. In time, you’ll remember how good we are together. We’ll make you love us again."

Her breath hitched as she saw the manic intensity in his eyes. There was no reasoning with them. They had crossed a line, one from which they could never return.

"You can fight it," Alexandra said softly, brushing her fingers down Y/N’s arm, "but you won’t win. We’re not going to hurt you, Y/N. We just... we just need you back." Alex gave forcefully gave her a kiss on the lips, while Charles sucked the skin of her neck between his teeth, leaving a hickey behind. And just like that, they left.

Y/N closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She was trapped, bound in more ways than one, and no one was coming to save her.

[anna-the-undertaker]

Redemption

Part 2 of Failure

I wrote this while half asleep... i make no promises that this will be of good quality.

tags: @obeymelucigirlie @anfasith

The House of Lamentation was unnervingly quiet in the days following MC’s departure. Even Mammon’s usual complaints had faded, replaced by a tense silence as the brothers struggled to come to terms with what had happened. MC had left, gone without a word, leaving them to face the weight of their own failure.

Lucifer, as always, was the first to break the silence. "We need to go to Diavolo," he said sharply, standing before the others. His voice, though calm, carried the edge of frustration.

Mammon groaned, already exasperated. "Diavolo already told us no, Lucifer. What’s the point of goin' back to him?"

Lucifer’s gaze hardened. "The point is that the exchange program is in jeopardy. If we don’t resolve this, it reflects poorly on Diavolo and everything he’s trying to accomplish. That’s unacceptable."

Satan crossed his arms, eyeing Lucifer with a raised brow. "Of course you’d make it about Diavolo," he scoffed. "As if it’s not our failure that caused this in the first place."

Asmo leaned back, flipping his hair out of his face. "He’s right, though. We did mess up. But leave it to Lucifer to focus on saving Diavolo’s reputation instead of admitting we all screwed up."

Levi huffed from his corner, his eyes still glued to the floor. "Yeah, because it’s not like we’re the ones who pushed MC away or anything," he said sarcastically. "Why admit that when you can just blame it on the need to save face for the program?"

Lucifer’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t argue. His loyalty to Diavolo was unwavering, and while the others were right about their collective failure, the bigger picture was what mattered most to him. "This isn’t just about us," he said, his voice tight. "It’s about maintaining the integrity of the exchange program and Diavolo’s goals. We have to fix this."

"Sure," Mammon snorted. "’Cause that’s what matters, right? Not the fact that we treated MC like shit."

Beel, quiet as ever, finally spoke, his deep voice cutting through the tension. "We didn’t think MC would just leave like that. But if they didn’t wait, it’s because we gave them no reason to."

Lucifer glanced at Beel, his expression softening just slightly. "I know we failed them. But if we don’t resolve this, Diavolo’s entire vision is at risk. We owe it to him—and to MC—to make things right."

Satan let out a sharp breath, shaking his head. "Fine, let’s go to Diavolo. But don't pretend this is just about protecting Diavolo’s reputation. You need to acknowledge that we failed MC. We can’t keep avoiding that."

Lucifer didn’t respond, but the tension in his stance remained. He knew they were right—on some level, he had to admit their failure was personal. But he couldn’t let the exchange program fall apart because of their mistakes. They had to make things right, for both MC and Diavolo.

When they arrived at the castle, the atmosphere was tense. Diavolo stood before them, his expression stern, a stark contrast to his usual warmth.

“What is it you want?” Diavolo asked, his tone steady but his eyes narrowing slightly. “I thought I made myself clear the last time we spoke.”

Lucifer stepped forward, his gaze unwavering. “We want to go to the human world and bring MC back.”

Diavolo’s expression hardened. “No.”

The rejection was swift, but none of the brothers moved. Lucifer squared his shoulders. “You gave us one task, and we failed it. But we can’t just leave things as they are. MC didn’t deserve the way we treated them. We can fix this, but only if you give us the chance.”

Diavolo’s eyes flickered, but his voice remained firm. “And why should I believe you won’t fail again?”

Mammon, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, spoke up. “Because we ain’t the same idiots we were when they first came here. We get it now. We messed up big time, and MC’s the one who paid the price. But we can make things right.”

Levi fidgeted nervously before chiming in. “We… we didn’t realize how much we hurt them. But we’re not asking for an easy way out. We just want to explain. To show them that things can be different.”

Asmo, for once not focused on himself, added, “They deserve to know that they matter. That we care. We didn’t show it before, but we will now.”

Satan’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of frustration in his tone. “We understand that we have to respect their decision. But we can’t just leave it like this without at least trying.”

Beel’s deep voice was the last to cut through the tension. “We owe them more than an apology. We owe them a choice.”

Diavolo remained silent, his gaze sweeping over each of the brothers. There was no arrogance in their voices, no bravado. They were genuinely remorseful, determined to make amends. But the weight of their failure still lingered heavily between them.

“You realize,” Diavolo began slowly, his voice thoughtful, “that this isn’t just about saying sorry. If I allow this, you will have only one chance.”

Lucifer nodded firmly. “We understand.”

Diavolo watched them closely, his gaze sharp. “Whatever happens, you will live with the consequences. If MC agrees to return, you will respect every boundary, every condition they set. No arguments. No excuses. And if MC says no, you will never reach out to them again. You will let them live their life, free of interference from the Devildom. Can you accept that?”

Another pause, then the brothers spoke almost in unison. “Yes.”

Diavolo sighed, his expression softening, though there was still a hint of wariness in his eyes. “Very well. I’ll grant you permission to go to the human world and speak with them. But remember this—this is your last chance. Whatever MC decides, you must honor it. Do I make myself clear?”

Lucifer nodded.

Diavolo looked at each of them again, his gaze lingering on Lucifer for a moment longer before he nodded. “Then go."

With Diavolo’s permission granted, the brothers turned to leave. They had one chance. One last opportunity to make things right with MC. Whatever happened next, they knew they would have to face it head-on.

And this time, they wouldn’t fail.

The journey to the human world felt strange, foreign even to those accustomed to traveling between realms.

They stood together in awkward silence, the unfamiliarity of the human realm unsettling for even the most composed of them. Lucifer led the group, his expression as unreadable as ever, but the tension in his shoulders was clear. This wasn’t about comfort—this was about obligation. He had made it clear to Diavolo, and to his brothers, that they were here to fix their failure.

The air felt heavier as they approached MC’s neighborhood. The houses were neat and quiet, each one blending into the next, a far cry from the towering grandeur of the Devildom. There was no magic here, no signs of the supernatural, only the mundanity of the human world. It was a stark reminder of how far MC had truly come to be with them—and how easily they had pushed them away.

“Doesn’t feel like they’d be expectin’ us,” Mammon muttered under his breath, his eyes flicking nervously from one house to the next.

“They’re not,” Satan replied curtly, his hands shoved into his pockets. “But they’ll have to hear us out.”

Levi was silent, his anxiety apparent in the way his eyes darted to every unfamiliar detail. He wasn’t sure how they were supposed to approach this. What if MC just slammed the door in their faces?

Beel’s gaze was fixed on the house as they approached it, his expression uncharacteristically serious. “We need to make this right,” he said quietly, though it was more to himself than anyone else.

Lucifer didn’t respond, but his pace didn’t falter. His mind was focused, sharp. This wasn’t about personal feelings—this was about salvaging the exchange program, Diavolo’s vision. But the closer they got to MC’s home, the more the weight of their earlier failure pressed on him.

They reached MC’s house, a modest home nestled in the middle of the street. It was so normal, so human. It was hard to believe that the person they had failed lived here, in a place so different from the Devildom. The brothers exchanged uncertain glances, but Lucifer’s expression remained as stoic as ever.

Lucifer stepped up to the door and knocked, the sound loud in the quiet of the neighborhood. There was a pause, and for a moment, it seemed like the door wouldn’t open at all.

But then it did.

MC stood in the doorway, eyes wide with surprise. They blinked, clearly shocked to see the brothers standing on their doorstep. For a moment, they said nothing, their expression caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief.

“Lucifer?” MC finally spoke, their voice cautious. They glanced past him at the rest of the brothers, their confusion deepening. “What are you all doing here?”

They didn’t step back, didn’t invite the brothers in. Instead, they remained frozen, their body language tense, as if they didn’t know whether to retreat or demand an explanation.

Lucifer cleared his throat, his voice calm and measured, though there was a slight edge to it. “We’ve come to speak with you.”

MC frowned, clearly taken aback. “Why?” Their tone wasn’t angry, but there was a guardedness in it, a wariness that hadn’t been there before.

“We need to make things right,” Lucifer said, his words deliberate. “We owe you an apology."

MC crossed their arms, their brow furrowing. “You came all the way to the human world just to apologize?”

Lucifer met their gaze evenly. “Yes.”

MC blinked again, clearly not expecting that answer. They stayed in the doorway, not moving, their confusion evident. “I don’t understand. Why now? You didn’t care before.”

The question hung in the air, and the brothers exchanged glances, each one feeling the weight of MC’s words. They were right. They hadn’t cared—or at least, they hadn’t shown it. Now, they were faced with the consequences of that neglect.

Satan spoke first, his voice steady. “We didn’t realize how badly we handled things until it was too late.”

Levi shifted awkwardly, his fingers fidgeting. “We… we thought you’d be okay. That we didn’t need to do anything different.”

Mammon scratched the back of his neck, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. “We screwed up, alright? We know that now.”

MC’s gaze flicked between the brothers, clearly still confused. “But why does it matter to you now? You never gave me a reason to think it did.”

Asmo stepped forward, his usual charm subdued. “It’s not just about us. You deserved better than how we treated you.”

Beel nodded slightly, his deep voice quiet. “We need to fix this. If you’ll let us.”

Lucifer, his voice as calm, added, “We’re here to offer you the choice. You don’t have to decide now. But we’d like to explain… if you’re willing to listen.”

MC stood in silence for a moment, their eyes scanning the group. They still looked uncertain, confused. They had left the Devildom for a reason, and now the same people who had driven them away were standing on their doorstep, asking for a chance.

Lucifer didn’t press further, his gaze steady but not demanding. “We’ll only take as much time as you allow. The decision is yours.”

MC remained rooted in place, unsure whether to let them in or turn them away.

MC sighed heavily, the weight of the situation evident in their expression. They stepped aside, opening the door wider. "One chance. That’s all you’re getting," they said, voice low but firm. "But I’m not promising anything."

The brothers exchanged glances, a mix of tension and uncertainty passing between them. One by one, they followed MC inside, stepping into the human world in a way that felt far too personal, far too grounded. This wasn’t the vast halls of the Devildom or the intimidating presence of Diavolo’s castle. This was MC’s home—ordinary, familiar, and completely foreign to them.

As they entered, they couldn’t help but look around, taking in the details of MC’s space. The house was warm and lived-in, with a simplicity that contrasted sharply with the dark elegance of the Devildom. Personal items were scattered about—photographs on shelves, books stacked on a coffee table, the faint smell of something homemade lingering in the air. It was a place of comfort, a stark reminder of everything MC had left behind when they were dragged to the Devildom.

Their gazes softened for a moment as they looked around, taking in the humanity of it all. It was a world they didn’t understand, a world that MC had been forced to leave behind. And now they were standing in the middle of it, unwelcome guests in a place that clearly wasn’t theirs.

"Follow me," MC said, leading them through the house to the living room.

The brothers shuffled in awkwardly, unsure of where to stand or what to say. The living room was modest, with a worn couch and a few comfortable chairs. MC gestured toward the seating. "Sit wherever," they said, making their way to a large, well-worn armchair in the corner of the room—their favorite spot.

The brothers hesitated for a moment before taking seats. Mammon flopped onto the couch, trying to mask his unease. Levi nervously perched on the edge of a chair, his fingers fidgeting with his sleeves. Asmo crossed his legs delicately, still glancing around the room. Beel, as large as he was, tried to make himself smaller in one of the armchairs, while Satan leaned back against the wall, arms crossed.

Lucifer, ever the leader, remained standing, though his posture was more measured now. After a brief silence, he nodded to the others. “We owe you an explanation.”

Mammon was the first to speak. He scratched the back of his neck. "Look, I didn’t mean anythin’ by the stuff I said back in the Devildom. You’re not useless. I just… I didn’t think about how it sounded." He glanced at MC, guilt flickering across his face. "I’m sorry for all the times I treated ya like a burden. That wasn’t fair."

Levi shifted in his seat, his voice barely above a whisper. "I didn’t mean to shut you out. I just… I didn’t know how to deal with it, you being a human and all. It felt… weird. But it wasn’t because I hated you or anything. I just didn’t know what to do."

Satan, his arms still crossed, spoke next, his voice calm but measured. "I was too focused on my own pursuits to notice how you were feeling. I treated you like an afterthought because I assumed you’d adapt. That was my mistake."

Asmo leaned forward slightly, his usual charm dimmed. "I thought I was helping, you know? Giving you tips, telling you how to look your best. But I guess I never really thought about what you needed, not just what I thought you should be."

Beel, quiet as always, spoke softly. "I didn’t think about how my indifference affected you. I didn’t realize you felt so out of place because of it. I’m sorry I made you feel like you didn’t matter... and that I didn't step in even though I saw they way my brothers treated you."

Finally, Lucifer stepped forward, his gaze steady as he addressed MC directly. "We failed you. I failed you. We were tasked with making you feel welcome in the Devildom, and we did the opposite. But I’m asking you now to return to the Devildom and take part in the exchange program again. This time, things will be different. You have my word that your boundaries will be respected, and your needs will be considered. The choice is yours."

MC stared at them, their expression unreadable for a moment. Then, slowly, the tension that had been simmering beneath the surface began to rise. Their hands clenched the arms of the chair, and their breathing became heavier.

"You think this is that simple?" MC’s voice was tight, their body rigid with restrained emotion. “You think you can just come here, apologize, and ask me to go back like nothing happened?”

The brothers exchanged uneasy glances, sensing the shift in MC’s tone.

“You don’t get it, do you?" MC’s voice grew louder, their frustration bubbling to the surface. "I was trying so hard. I was trying to adapt to everything, to be understanding, to keep up with whatever the hell was happening. But none of you cared. None of you bothered to see how hard it was for me.”

Their eyes welled up with tears, but their anger didn’t waver. "I stepped up, even though I had no idea what the fuck was going on! I was thrown into a world I didn’t understand, and you treated me like I was beneath you because I’m human."

Levi shifted uncomfortably, his guilt written across his face.

"You all ignored the fact that I’m human. Do you even realize what that means?" MC’s voice cracked with anger and hurt. "The human world is nothing like the Devildom. We don’t have magic. We don’t have super strength. Everything you guys take for granted? We don’t have that. All the dangers I was exposed to, all the things I saw? I only knew about that stuff from works of fiction!"

The brother's expressions tightened, but they remained silent, letting MC speak.

"I didn’t ask for any of it!" MC continued, their voice rising. "And all I expected—all I wanted—was some support. But even that was too much for you."

Tears streamed down their face as they yelled, their emotions finally spilling over. "You treated me like I was nothing. Like I didn’t matter. And you didn’t even realize it!"

MC’s breath came in shaky gasps as they continued, their voice rising again. "You never thought about what it was like for me, did you? To be ripped out of my world, thrown into yours without a choice. You have no idea what that felt like. The fear, the confusion…"

Their eyes flickered to Lucifer, their tone sharp. "Lucifer, you were supposed to guide me, to make sure I was okay. But all you did was push me harder. You kept demanding more, expecting me to be perfect, like I was supposed to just know how everything worked. You never stopped to think that maybe I couldn’t keep up because I had no idea what I was doing!"

Lucifer’s jaw tightened, but he said nothing, allowing MC’s words to cut through the air.

"I kept trying!" MC shouted, their voice cracking again. "I tried to understand all of you! I tried to accept you as you were because I thought… I thought maybe, just maybe, we could make this work. But none of you did that for me. None of you even bothered to try to understand or get to know me."

They took a shaky breath, their fists clenched at their sides. "You all treated me like I was less than you. Like I was just some... pest. Do you even realize how much that hurt?"

Their eyes flitted to Mammon, and their voice softened, though the pain was still raw. "We made a pact... I thought we could be friends, but instead, every day you called me a burden, Mammon, every day you called me useless, and I believed it."

Mammon shifted uncomfortably, his gaze lowering to the floor.

"And Levi…" MC’s voice cracked with hurt. "You made me feel like I was some kind of alien. I tried to get closer, to understand your hobbies, your games, your anime, but you didn’t want me there. You didn’t want me at all."

Levi swallowed hard, his fingers twitching nervously, but he remained silent.

"Satan…" MC shook their head, their voice trembling. "You acted like I was nothing more than an inconvenience. I tried to learn from you, to be better, but you couldn’t even be bothered to acknowledge me."

Satan’s face remained impassive, but there was a flicker of something behind his eyes—regret, perhaps, or guilt.

"Asmo…" MC’s gaze hardened. "You treated me like I was a toy. You never cared about what I was feeling, only how I looked."

Asmo bit his lip, his usual charm nowhere to be found.

"And Beel…" MC’s voice softened again, though the hurt was clear. "You never cared whether I was there or not. You never even saw me, not really."

Beel’s brow furrowed, his expression conflicted, but he stayed silent.

MC’s voice shook as they continued, the flood of emotions finally breaking through. "Do any of you have any idea what it was like for me? Did any of you stop to think, even for a second, what I was going through? I was terrified, overwhelmed, and completely lost, and none of you cared. You just went on with your lives like it didn’t matter."

Their chest heaved as they struggled to rein in their emotions, tears streaming down their face. "I didn’t ask to be dragged into the Devildom! You all brought me there! I was tossed into an ocean of unknowns and left to drown!"

The room fell into a heavy silence, the weight of MC’s words settling over the brothers like a lead blanket. Each of them sat in their guilt, forced to confront the truth they had ignored for far too long.

They took a deep breath, wiping the tears from their face. "I get it. You’re all different. Your personalities, your sins—they make you who you are. But it still hurt. And you never even noticed."

The room was thick with tension, the weight of MC’s words still hanging in the air. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the occasional shifting of one of the brothers. They could feel the storm of emotions brewing within MC, but none of them knew how to approach it.

It was Mammon, uncharacteristically quiet for most of the conversation, who finally broke the silence. His voice was softer than usual, hesitant. "Why didn’t ya wait? Why didn’t ya give us a chance to—"

"I did wait!" MC screamed, their voice cracking with the raw force of emotion. Their words sliced through the air, and the brothers stiffened, caught off guard by the intensity of the outburst. "I waited for days. I stayed at the castle, going back and forth in my head, wondering if I should stay in the Devildom or leave."

They took a shaky breath, the flood of emotions overwhelming them. "I was hoping—no, praying—that one of you would notice. That one of you would realize I was gone and do something. I thought maybe… maybe you’d text me, or call, or show up and ask where I was. But none of you did! Not a single one of you noticed I wasn’t there!"

Lucifer’s eyes darkened with a mix of guilt and frustration, but he didn’t speak. Neither did the others.

"I kept thinking that maybe I was just overwhelmed," MC continued, their voice trembling. "That maybe I needed time to clear my head, and someone—anyone—would realize I was gone. But you didn’t. None of you cared enough to ask where I was."

Their hands were clenched into fists at their sides, their anger spilling over. "Do you even know how long I waited before leaving? How long I sat in that castle, hoping that you’d notice?"

The brothers remained silent, each of them wrestling with their own guilt. MC’s eyes flickered between them, their breath coming in short bursts.

"How long did it take for you to realize I was gone?" MC asked, their voice cutting through the silence like a knife. Their gaze was sharp, demanding an answer. But none of the brothers spoke. Not a single one of them could bring themselves to say it.

The silence stretched on, heavy and suffocating. The truth was clear in their hesitation—it had taken far too long for them to realize MC had left.

MC let out a bitter laugh, the sound hollow. "That’s what I thought."

Lucifer stood still, his usual composed demeanor fraying at the edges. He couldn’t meet MC’s eyes. The weight of their words, the sharp truth of how deeply they had been hurt, cut through him in a way he hadn’t expected.

“I failed you,” he finally said, his voice low but clear. There was no defensiveness, no attempt to explain away his actions. Just a cold admission of the truth. "My priority has always been the exchange program, ensuring it succeeded for Diavolo’s sake. I didn’t stop to think about the toll it was taking on you."

He took a breath, trying to maintain his composure, but the guilt was palpable. "I pushed you because I assumed you could adapt quickly. I expected you to adjust without fully understanding the strain I was placing on you. That was wrong. I should have noticed your absence, but I was too focused on everything else. On controlling the situation."

His fists clenched at his sides. The fact that he, the one who prided himself on being aware of every detail, had completely overlooked MC’s struggles stung his pride deeply. Yet, even now, he struggled to express anything beyond responsibility for the failure.

"I should have reached out. I should have ensured you were taken care of. That’s on me." His voice hardened, more with self-directed frustration than anything else. "But I can’t change the past. All I can do is offer my word that, if you return, things will be different. You’ll have the support you deserved from the start. I’ll make sure of it."

There was no grand apology, no emotional outpouring. This was Lucifer, after all. But in his own way, he was laying down the burden of perfection, admitting his faults, and offering what he could—a promise to do better.

Mammon shifted uncomfortably, the guilt weighing heavily on him as MC’s words echoed in his mind. He was used to deflecting, cracking jokes, or brushing things off, but this was different. The raw hurt in MC’s voice had stripped away his usual defenses, leaving him feeling exposed.

He finally spoke, his voice quieter than usual. "Look, I didn’t think—no, I know I didn’t think. I was stupid, alright? I didn’t mean half the stuff I said to ya, callin’ ya a burden and all that. I thought we were just messin’ around, y’know? But I see now that it wasn’t like that for you."

His hand rubbed the back of his neck, a nervous habit he couldn’t shake. "I didn’t notice you were gone ‘cause I wasn’t payin’ attention. I was too caught up in my own crap, thinkin’ you’d just be fine on your own. But ya weren’t, and I didn’t realize it until it was too late."

Mammon’s eyes flicked toward MC, the usual spark of confidence gone, replaced by a rare moment of sincerity. "I shoulda been there for ya. You’re my responsibility—I’m your first, after all and I was startin' to enjoy havin' ya around. And instead of bein’ there when ya needed me, I pushed ya away."

His voice softened, regret heavy in his words. "If I had just checked in, sent a stupid text, somethin'—maybe ya wouldn’t have left. But I didn’t, and that’s on me."

He took a deep breath, his usual bravado completely absent. "I’m sorry. I dunno how else to say it. I messed up big time, and I wanna fix it, if you’ll let me."

Mammon looked down at the floor, unable to meet MC’s eyes any longer, his usual cockiness replaced with genuine remorse.

Levi sat rigidly in his chair, his fingers twitching as he tried to form the right words. Anxiety clung to him, making it hard to even look up at MC. His usual self-deprecating thoughts were swirling in his mind, amplified by the heavy silence that followed Mammon’s apology.

"I... I didn’t know you felt that way," Levi stammered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I thought… I thought you didn’t really care about me. Like, why would you? I’m just some otaku, stuck in my room, not worth bothering with."

He tugged at his sleeves, fidgeting, the weight of guilt pressing down hard. "I—I kept calling you a normie, pushing you away, ‘cause… I didn’t know how to deal with you being around. I thought you’d never get me. Like, how could you understand me? So, I kept my distance. I didn’t want to let you in."

Levi finally glanced up at MC, his eyes filled with regret. "But that wasn’t fair. You… you tried. You were trying to get close, to understand me, and I didn’t let you. I didn’t see how much you were struggling. I was too wrapped up in my own insecurities to even notice you were gone. I should’ve noticed. I should’ve said something, but I just—"

He stopped, biting his lip, his gaze dropping back to the floor. "I screwed up. And the worst part is, I made you feel like you didn’t belong, like you didn’t matter. But you do. I… I’m sorry."

The silence that followed was deafening to Levi. He didn’t know if his words meant anything, but it was all he could offer now. The regret, the shame—it all churned in his gut, knowing he had failed to be a friend when MC needed one the most.

Satan stood with his arms crossed, his expression unreadable. He had listened intently as each of his brothers spoke, but now that it was his turn, the weight of his own actions—or lack thereof—pressed on him. Unlike the others, Satan wasn’t one for emotional outbursts or long-winded apologies, but he knew MC deserved more than just silence.

“I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he began, his tone measured, controlled. "I’ve always been more focused on my own interests. Books, knowledge, the pursuit of understanding… I’ve lived with the assumption that I didn’t need to involve myself in others’ lives unless it directly concerned me."

He met MC’s eyes for the first time, his usual calm replaced with a tinge of regret. "I treated you like you didn’t exist. I didn’t see you struggling because, frankly, I didn’t care enough to look."

Satan paused, his voice tightening with frustration. "I should have known better. I’m not a fool. I’m aware of how difficult it must have been for you, adjusting to the Devildom, dealing with us. But I ignored it. I let my own indifference and arrogance blind me to what was happening right in front of me."

He took a slow breath, his jaw clenched slightly. "I didn’t notice when you left because, in my mind, you were just another part of the background. But I realize now how wrong that was. I should have paid attention. I should have acknowledged your presence, your struggles, from the very start."

Satan’s voice softened, though it remained steady. "You deserved better than how I treated you. I can’t change the way I acted, but I can promise that, if you give us another chance, things will be different. I’ll be better."

There was no dramatic flair in his words, no false humility. It was simply the truth as he saw it—a cold admission of how deeply he had failed to live up to his own standards.

Asmo shifted in his seat, his usual charm and carefree attitude nowhere to be found. The guilt was evident in his eyes, but beneath it, there was a hint of confusion. He wasn’t used to feeling like this—uncertain, unsure of how to fix what had been broken.

"Darling," Asmo began softly, his voice lacking its usual flirtatious lilt, "I… I didn’t realize how much I was hurting you."

He folded his hands in his lap, fidgeting slightly, a stark contrast to his usual self-assured posture. "I thought… well, I thought I was helping. You know? I mean, I love helping people express themselves. I thought if I gave you advice, helped you look your best, it would make things easier for you in the Devildom."

He paused, biting his lip as he tried to find the right words. "But I get it now. I wasn’t thinking about what you wanted. I was just focused on what I thought you needed. I treated you like you were just some kind of project—something to dress up, to show off."

Asmo’s eyes softened, and he leaned forward slightly, his voice quieter now. "I didn’t care about what you were going through. I didn’t stop to think about how you felt, how overwhelmed you must’ve been."

He looked down at his hands, his fingers twirling a ring absently. "I should’ve noticed. I should’ve been there for you—not as someone trying to change you, but as someone who cared about you. The real you. And I’m sorry I didn’t see that sooner."

For once, Asmo seemed lost for words. His usual self-confidence had been stripped away, leaving behind something more vulnerable. "I just… I want you to know that I do care. I always did, in my own way. I just went about it the wrong way."

Beel sat quietly, his large hands resting on his knees as he processed everything MC had said. His usual calm, almost stoic demeanor had given way to a sense of heaviness that weighed on him in a way that even food couldn’t distract him from. He looked down, his brow furrowed, trying to find the right words to explain what he was feeling.

"I didn’t notice you were gone," Beel said, his voice deep and quiet. "And I should have. I’m sorry."

He shifted in his seat, his gaze still focused on the floor. "I’ve always been focused on my hunger, on making sure I didn’t lose control. And because of that, I didn’t pay attention to how you were feeling. I didn’t think about how hard things were for you."

Beel’s eyes flicked up to meet MC’s, the sincerity in his voice clear. "I didn’t mean to make you feel invisible. I just… I didn’t know how to be there for you. I figured as long as I wasn’t hurting you, it didn’t matter if I wasn’t around. But I was wrong."

He took a breath, his hands clenching slightly in frustration with himself. "I should have noticed you were struggling. I should have made sure you were okay. But I didn't."

There was a pause as Beel collected his thoughts, trying to put into words the regret he felt. "I’m sorry for the times I made you feel like you didn’t belong. I didn’t see how much it hurt you, but I see it now. And if you give us a chance, I’ll make sure you don’t feel that way again."

Beel’s expression was somber, his usual calmness replaced with a quiet guilt that weighed heavily on him. He wasn’t one for grand speeches, but in this moment, his words carried the weight of his sincerity.

MC’s hands trembled slightly as they wiped their eyes, their voice still raw from the intensity of their outburst. The confessions and apologies from each brother had hit them hard, but there was still a part of them that remained guarded. They looked at the brothers, one by one, searching their faces for something—anything—to prove that their words were more than just an attempt to ease their own guilt.

"Do you really mean it?" MC asked, their voice quieter now but still carrying a sharp edge of vulnerability. "All of you? Are you really sorry, or are you just saying this because you feel guilty?"

The brothers exchanged glances, the weight of the question pressing down on them. It wasn’t just an apology MC needed—it was proof that they could trust the brothers again.

Lucifer spoke first, his voice steady and firm. "I meant every word. We’ve failed you, and I won’t deny that. But I wouldn’t ask you to return if I didn’t believe we could make things right this time."

Mammon nodded quickly, his hands fidgeting nervously. "Yeah, we ain’t just sayin’ it to make ourselves feel better. I messed up, but I ain’t gonna let that happen again. I promise, MC."

Levi swallowed hard, still battling his anxiety. "I… I mean it too. I don’t want to push you away anymore. I’ll try harder to let you in."

Satan uncrossed his arms, his expression more thoughtful. "I don’t make promises lightly. But if I say I’ll do better, I will. You have my word."

Asmo leaned forward, his voice softer than usual. "I really do care, darling. I may not have shown it the right way before, but I’ll do better. I promise."

Beel, as straightforward as ever, added quietly, "I’m sorry for everything. I’ll try to be more aware of you, of what you need. You deserve that."

MC looked down for a moment, their mind racing. They had every right to walk away, to tell the brothers it was too late, that the damage was done. But something deep inside them—something that had longed for connection, for understanding—pushed them to speak again.

"I’ll come back," MC said slowly, their voice still shaky, "but only if things change. I’m not asking all of you to suddenly like me or be my best friend, but I need you to try. To at least get to know me on some level. I want to feel like I belong, and that won’t happen unless you put in some effort."

The brothers were silent, listening closely as MC continued. "I need you to be more understanding, more supportive. I’ve been doing this on my own, and I can’t come back if it’s going to be like that again. I need to know that you’ll try—that you’ll actually make an effort this time."

The weight of MC’s decision hung in the air, but for the first time since the conversation began, a sense of relief settled over the room. The brothers exchanged glances, the unspoken understanding that this was their second chance—the one they couldn’t afford to waste.

Lucifer stepped forward slightly, his voice steady but softer than before. "We’ll return to the Devildom together. You have my word, things will be different."

Mammon flashed a small grin, though there was still a hint of nervousness in his expression. "Yeah, this time, we’ve got your back, promise. Ya won’t regret comin’ back with us."

Levi nodded quickly, still fidgeting. "I’ll... I’ll try to be better. We’ll make sure you don’t feel alone this time."

Satan gave a brief nod, his voice as firm as ever. "We’ll make the Devildom feel like a place you belong. It won’t be like before."

Asmo, flashing his usual charming smile, added, "This time, darling, we’ll show you that you're welcome. I’ll make sure of it."

Beel simply nodded, his deep voice reassuring. "We’ll look out for you, like we should have from the start."

MC felt the heaviness in their chest lift slightly. There was still a lot of work to be done—trust to rebuild, feelings to unpack—but maybe this time, it could work. They gave a small nod, their voice steady but cautious. "Alright. Let’s go back. Together."

The brothers seemed to relax, the tension in the room dissolving just a little. Lucifer gestured toward the door, his usual authoritative air returning. "Then let’s not waste any more time."

With that, they left MC’s house, stepping back into the human world’s fading light. The transition back to the Devildom felt different this time, the air buzzing with a mix of uncertainty and determination.

As they stood together in front of the portal, the brothers and MC exchanged one last glance. It wasn’t just a return to the Devildom—it was the beginning of a new chapter. One built on mutual effort, understanding, and, most importantly, the chance to do things right.

Together, they stepped through the portal, leaving the human world behind. The familiar sights of the Devildom greeted them on the other side, but this time, the tension that once filled the space between them had begun to fade.

This time, they returned as something more—something closer to what MC and the brother's had always needed.

[wannabehockeygf]

Good Graces | Conor Garland

"With your favorite athlete, Shoot his shot every night, Want you every second, Don't need other guys."

request: "I was thinking of a fluffy fic between him and a fem!team medic who he is good friends with because of how often he ends up getting hurt, putting himself in the middle of scrums and everything. I know that's kind of just a general premise, but I wanted to leave it up to you where you want to take it from there :)" summary: two times conor wanted to kiss you, and one time you kissed him.

word count: 5.3k

pairing: conor garland x fem!reader

warnings: blood & injury

notes:

hiiii welcome & thanks for requesting. hope I fulfilled your wishes!

i don't know much about garland but I love making players divas so I inserted that here lmao :3

keep requesting new & different players guys!! i love doing it.

You signed your contract for your job with one goal in mind–don’t fall for a hockey player.

Pretty easy, right? Especially since, as a team medic, you largely dealt with them all sweaty, bloody, and generally in a state of chaos. Not attractive at all. Definitely not. Yet here you are, hovering over him again.

Conor Garland, number 8 on the ice and, in your opinion, number one in "most likely to get into a fight over nothing." You fold your arms as he limps into the med room, wearing a ridiculous grin despite the cut above his eyebrow. “That bad, huh?” he teases, his voice holding that familiar playful edge. He’s pretending to wince as he climbs onto the exam table, like it’s a whole ordeal for him.

You roll your eyes, but you’re already reaching for the gauze, your hands moving on autopilot. “You know, if you stopped fighting for five seconds, you might actually get through a game without needing stitches.”

He chuckles softly, but the sound is laced with something else. It’s subtle, but it’s there—a little too relaxed, too content, considering he just came off the ice. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You look up at him, raising an eyebrow, but the sight of him smiling, like he’s enjoying himself a little too much for someone who’s supposed to be injured, throws you off. He’s been doing this a lot lately, showing up with bruises and cuts that could’ve been avoided. You’d never say it out loud, but part of you suspects he’s getting into these scrums on purpose.

His eyes flicker to yours, just for a moment, before he quickly looks away, feigning a deep interest in the ceiling. “What?” you ask, crossing your arms again.

“Nothing,” he says, far too quickly.

Right. Sure.

You press the gauze to his eyebrow a little harder than necessary, and he winces, though you can’t tell if it’s real pain or exaggerated for your benefit. You narrow your eyes. “Stop squirming.”

He gives a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am.”

Despite yourself, a smile tugs at your lips. There’s always this easy back-and-forth with him, like the two of you have fallen into some unspoken routine. You patch him up, and he finds new ways to annoy you, all with that same boyish grin on his face.

You finish dabbing at the cut, the soft pressure of the gauze soaking up the blood that’s already drying around the edges. As you work, the steady rhythm of your movements almost feels too comfortable, like this is the hundredth time you’ve patched him up—because, well, it probably is.

"Conor," you murmur, half to yourself, half in warning, as you reach for the antiseptic. His skin smells of sweat and ice, a mix that’s become weirdly familiar, like the scent of the rink itself but so uniquely him.

He tilts his head a little, trying to catch your eye, but you focus on the task at hand, avoiding the gaze you know is waiting for you. Your fingers brush against his temple, and for a split second, you swear you feel him tense up under your touch. But it’s gone as quickly as it came, replaced by his usual casual grin.

“You gotta stop doing this,” you sigh, and it comes out softer than you intend. The antiseptic stings as you swipe it across the cut, and he flinches again, though not as much as he should.

“Doing what?” he asks, his voice low, almost playful. He’s watching you again, those brown eyes darkened by the fluorescent lights of the med room.

“This.” You gesture vaguely at his face, at the various bruises and cuts that seem to accumulate each time he steps onto the ice. “Getting into pointless fights. You think I don’t notice? You’re not even supposed to be a fighter, Conor. Half the time, you’re chirping at guys twice your size. Why?”

The silence between you stretches just long enough to make you uneasy. You feel the weight of his stare, the slight twitch of his mouth like he’s holding back from saying something.

He shrugs, but there’s a flicker of something else behind the movement, something unspoken. “Part of the game, right?” he offers, too nonchalant, like he’s testing the waters.

You don’t buy it, not for a second. But what are you supposed to say? Call him out directly? Admit you’ve noticed the way he lingers around the med room a little longer than necessary, how his smile stretches wider every time he manages to make you roll your eyes? It feels too much, too real, to acknowledge the way your heart stutters just a little when you hear his name over the PA system.

You sigh again, grabbing the butterfly stitches and nudging his chin up with more force than necessary. His skin is warm, too warm for someone who just came off the ice, and you have to focus hard not to notice the way his jaw clenches under your fingers.

“You’re gonna end up with a permanent scar if you keep this up,” you say, and there’s a softness in your voice now, one you can’t quite hide. The words come out before you can stop them. “I don’t want to see you hurt.”

For a moment, he doesn’t respond, and the quiet stretches on again, filled only by the sound of your breath and the subtle scratch of fabric as he shifts on the exam table. Then, his voice cuts through the stillness, quiet but sure.

“I don’t mind it,” he says, and it takes you a second to register what he’s talking about.

You blink, pulling back slightly to look at him. He’s still smiling, but there’s something different in his expression now, something that catches you off guard. “What?”

“The scars,” he says, shrugging again, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “I don’t mind them. Means I get to see you.”

Your heart does a ridiculous little flip at his words, and you curse it for betraying you so easily. You try to play it off with an eye roll, but you can feel the heat rising to your cheeks. “You could just... I don’t know, say hi like a normal person instead of getting into fights?”

He chuckles, but the sound is softer now, almost fond. “Where’s the fun in that?”

You press the final stitch into place, leaning back to assess your work. His face is still bruised, still battered, but somehow, he looks completely unbothered by it all. And the worst part? You can’t help but think he looks good like this, even with the mess of bruises and dried blood.

As you’re cleaning up, you feel his eyes on you again, watching with that same stupid grin, like this is all just some kind of game to him. But there’s something else in the way he’s sitting, the way he’s still lingering on the table long after you’ve finished patching him up.

“Are you just going to sit there?” you ask, pretending to be annoyed, though you know the act isn’t fooling anyone.

“Maybe.” He leans back, propping himself up on his elbows, looking far too comfortable for someone who was limping in here five minutes ago. “Depends. You gonna kick me out?”

You roll your eyes, but your chest tightens at the implication, your heart doing that traitorous little skip again. You turn around, crossing your arms, meeting his eyes this time. He’s sitting there, propped up on his elbows, looking at you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters. And maybe that’s what’s been throwing you off lately—the way he looks at you. Like these moments mean something more to him than just routine check-ups and bandages.

“Conor,” you say, and this time, your voice has more weight to it, though you can’t bring yourself to say what you’re really thinking. Instead, you gesture toward the door, trying to salvage the situation with a teasing edge. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?”

“Not really,” he shrugs, still not moving. “Besides, where else would I go? The ice isn’t as fun as this.”

You bite the inside of your cheek to keep from smiling, though it’s a losing battle. He’s always had this way of disarming you with a few words, like he knows exactly how to find that crack in your armor.

“Well, you can’t stay here,” you say, but there’s no real bite to your words, and you both know it.

He swings his legs off the table, wincing slightly—more from habit than pain, you suspect—and stands up, but he doesn’t head for the door. Instead, he lingers, too close now, and you find yourself staring at the small cut above his eyebrow, the one you just stitched up. Your fingers itch to brush it gently, to make sure you did it right, but you keep your hands firmly crossed in front of you.

“I think I’m fine now,” he says, his voice quieter than before. “Thanks, doc.”

The nickname always makes you smile, even when you don’t want it to. “You’re welcome,” you reply, but there’s a softness to your tone that wasn’t there a moment ago.

He takes a step closer, and the room suddenly feels smaller, the air thicker. For a second, neither of you says anything. His eyes search yours, like he’s trying to read something in your expression, something you’re not even sure you understand yourself. But whatever he’s looking for, he doesn’t find it—at least, not yet.

“I’ll try not to get into too much trouble next game,” he says with a smirk, though there’s a warmth behind it, something genuine. “But, you know, no promises.”

You shake your head, fighting the smile tugging at your lips. “Of course not.”

He starts toward the door but pauses just before stepping out, his hand resting lightly on the frame. He turns back to you, his eyes softening in a way that makes your chest ache a little.

“Hey,” he says, and there’s no teasing in his voice this time, just something real. “Thanks for always looking out for me.”

You nod, swallowing the lump that suddenly forms in your throat. “Just… try to keep yourself in one piece, okay?”

He grins again, that easy, boyish grin that somehow makes you forget for a second that he’s a professional athlete, bruised and battered from a game most people would never survive. “I’ll do my best,” he promises, but there’s something in his tone that makes you think he’ll be back sooner rather than later.

Another game, another set of bruises.

You’re halfway through patching up another player when you feel it—his presence, the familiar, teasing energy he brings with him. Conor walks into the med room, limping just a little too dramatically to be real. He’s cradling his arm like it’s hanging by a thread, his expression an exaggerated picture of pain.

“Doc, I think this might be the one that does me in,” he says, his voice a mockery of seriousness. The guy you’re helping, one of the newer players, snorts in response, shaking his head as he slides off the table.

You shoot Conor a glance over your shoulder. “I’ll be with you in a minute, Garland.”

The younger player leaves, chuckling under his breath, and suddenly it’s just you and Conor again. You can feel the shift in the air, like it always does when it’s just the two of you. The playful banter, the teasing looks, that undercurrent of something unspoken hanging between you like a thin thread.

You turn around, and there he is, still putting on that ridiculous act. He’s cradling his arm as if it’s broken, but the glint in his eye gives him away. “Oh, I’m sure you’re in agony,” you deadpan, rolling your eyes but unable to hide the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth.

Conor leans against the table with a dramatic sigh, giving you a pained look, as if he’s the one who should be annoyed by all this. “It’s bad, doc. Might need surgery.”

“Surgery, huh?” you quip, folding your arms as you walk over to him. Your eyes roam over his jersey, scanning for any real signs of injury, but all you see is his usual scruffy, disheveled mid-game self. “I can’t really check if you’ve got something serious going on with all that gear.”

He raises an eyebrow, still in character. “Oh, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, keeping your tone casual, but there’s a hint of something else in your voice now. You tap his arm gently, feigning impatience. “Take off your jersey if you’re so hurt.”

For a split second, the playful energy between you shifts. His teasing smirk falters, his eyes flicker with something you can’t quite place, and suddenly, Conor’s posture straightens. The banter evaporates, leaving only the echo of your words hanging in the air. His hands hover near the hem of his jersey, clearly caught off guard by your request.

He stares at you like you’ve just asked him to do something much more intimate than you intended, and it takes a moment before he recovers his composure. “Uh… right. Yeah. Okay.”

You watch as he hesitates, tugging at the fabric, trying to hide the way his fingers fumble with it. And for once, he’s flustered—really flustered. It’s not the usual Conor Garland confidence or playful bravado. His face is flushed, the pink creeping up from his neck to his cheeks, and you can’t help but find the sight... oddly endearing.

You shouldn’t be enjoying this, but you are.

He finally manages to pull the jersey over his head, tossing it aside without meeting your eyes, and you catch the briefest glimpse of the toned muscles under his shoulder and chest pads, the faint sheen of sweat from the game still clinging to his skin. You swallow hard, trying not to let your mind wander too far as you force yourself to stay professional.

You step closer, eyes focused on the faint bruise blooming across his ribs, though it’s clear he’s milking the situation. “This?” you ask, pressing your fingers gently against his side. “You came in here for this?”

You stare at the bruise, your fingers resting lightly against his skin. It’s small, nothing serious—a faint discoloration, more from the impact than anything worth worrying about. But you both know this isn’t about the bruise. It never is with Conor.

You don’t pull away, and neither does he. There’s a moment of quiet, the banter fading into the background, leaving just the two of you in this strange, charged silence. You can feel the warmth of his body under your fingertips, the slight rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. The tension in the room shifts, thickening like a storm cloud.

“You really thought this was worth all that drama?” you murmur, your voice soft now, not teasing, just… there. You trace the edge of the bruise absently, the pads of your fingers barely brushing against his skin.

Conor swallows, and you catch the movement of his throat, the way his eyes flicker down to where your hand rests on him before darting back to your face. His voice is quieter when he responds, less of that exaggerated confidence he usually carries with him. “Well, I figured… might as well get some attention while I’m at it, right?”

You don’t miss the way he says attention, how it lingers between the two of you, a little too close to the truth. Your heart skips, your pulse quickening in a way you hope he doesn’t notice.

But he’s staring at you now, the teasing smile faded, his brown eyes more serious than you’ve ever seen them. The air feels thick, almost suffocating, but in a way that’s not entirely unpleasant. Like something is about to happen, something you’ve both been tiptoeing around for too long.

Your hand is still on his side, your fingers barely moving, and you can feel the heat radiating from his body, the way he’s watching you like he’s waiting for something. Maybe you are too. The room feels impossibly small, the space between you shrinking with each breath.

“I… probably shouldn’t have made you take off your jersey,” you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them, a weak attempt to break the tension, to say something, anything, that might diffuse whatever’s building between you. But even as you say it, you don’t pull away.

He doesn’t either.

“Nah,” he replies softly, his voice lower now, the usual playfulness gone. “It’s fine.”

You’re not sure if he means the jersey or the way your fingers are still pressed against his ribs, or maybe both. Either way, the tension doesn’t break. It only tightens, drawing you both closer without either of you moving an inch.

You can feel your pulse in your throat, your breathing shallow, and for a split second, you let your gaze drop to his lips. It’s a brief, unconscious movement, but it’s enough. He notices.

Conor shifts, barely perceptibly, but you feel it—the subtle lean, the way his eyes flicker to your mouth. Your heart pounds, the room spinning around the two of you like everything else has fallen away. You’re not even sure how you ended up here, this close, this vulnerable, but the pull is undeniable.

Your hand slides down slightly, resting at his waist now, and his breath hitches. You feel the tension in his muscles, the way his body seems to react to your touch, and for a second, you think maybe this is it. Maybe this is the moment you’ve both been avoiding for so long, the moment where everything changes.

His lips part, and your breath catches. You’re so close now, close enough to feel the heat of him, to see the soft curve of his mouth, to—

The door creaks open behind you, and the spell shatters.

You both freeze, the tension shattering as one of the assistant coaches pokes his head in. "Hey, Garland, you still in here?" The coach looks between the two of you, oblivious to what he just interrupted.

Conor jerks back so quickly it’s like he’s been caught doing something illegal, while your hand falls from him. His face flushes, but not from the game—this time, it’s from almost being caught in a moment he’s not ready to explain.

"Uh, yeah," he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "Just, uh... icing my bruise."

You bite back a laugh, feeling the heat rise to your own cheeks. The moment is gone, but the weight of it lingers in the air.

"Well, hurry it up. Coach wants to talk to you before you head out," the assistant says, already halfway out the door.

You both stand there for a second after the door shuts, the silence deafening. Conor looks at you, the tension still simmering under the surface, but neither of you speaks. It’s like the almost-kiss is still hanging between you, unfinished and waiting.

Finally, Conor clears his throat. "Guess I should... go."

"Yeah," you say, forcing a smile. "Guess so."

He hesitates, lingering in the doorway for a second longer than necessary, his eyes catching yours one last time. And then he’s gone, leaving you alone with the weight of what almost happened.

You’ve been replaying what happened in your head, the way his eyes lingered, the warmth of his skin under your touch, the weight of unspoken words hanging between you. It’s like a loop that you can’t quite break free from.

But now, that moment feels distant, swept away by the frenetic energy of another game night. Only this time, it’s different.

The door slams open.

You jump, turning on instinct, and what you see makes your heart plummet. Conor’s standing there, but he’s not limping theatrically this time. Blood runs down the side of his face, stark against his pale skin, dripping onto his jersey, which is streaked with snow and sweat. His eyes are wild, his chest heaving, and for the first time, there’s no playful glint, no teasing smirk. Just anger.

"Garland," you breathe, stepping toward him, already reaching for the gauze, but he doesn’t even seem to hear you. He’s pacing the length of the room like a caged animal, his jaw clenched so tightly you can see the muscles working beneath his skin.

"Stupid," he mutters under his breath, swiping a hand over his face, smearing the blood. "Stupid, stupid hit."

"Conor," you say softly, trying to get him to focus on you, to stop moving. He doesn’t. His eyes are unfocused, his movements erratic, as though he’s still stuck in the heat of the game, reliving whatever hit sent him flying into the boards.

You step closer, cautiously. "Hey, come on. You need to sit down. Let me look at that cut."

He finally stops pacing, but when his eyes meet yours, they’re blazing. "I don’t care about the damn cut," he snaps, though the anger in his voice isn’t directed at you. It’s frustration, bubbling just beneath the surface.

You swallow, trying to maintain your calm. "I know you don’t, but I do."

He blinks, his brows furrowing, like your words hit something in him, pulling him out of his angry haze. But then he shakes his head, as if he’s trying to brush it off. "They’re out to get me," he mutters, more to himself than to you, but you hear it.

Your chest tightens. You’ve seen him frustrated before, of course. Hockey’s a brutal game; it comes with the territory. But this… this feels different. Conor Garland is many things—annoying, playful, sometimes overly dramatic—but angry? Not like this. Not pacing the room with his hands curled into fists like he’s ready to punch the wall. You have to do something—anything—to bring him back to himself before he loses it completely.

"Conor, sit down," you say again, firmer this time. "Please."

Something in your voice must reach him because he stops, his shoulders slumping as if all the fight has gone out of him in an instant. He sits on the edge of the exam table, and you move quickly, grabbing the gauze and antiseptic. His eyes follow you, but they’re distant, like he’s not fully present.

You stand between his legs, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, and gently tilt his head back to get a better look at the cut. It’s deep, angrier than you expected, but not the worst you’ve seen. Still, the blood has matted his hair, trailing down his temple, and his breathing is shallow, labored.

"This might sting," you murmur, pressing the gauze to his forehead, dabbing at the blood. You try to stay focused, but you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves, his body coiled tight like he’s barely holding himself together. His hands grip the edge of the table, knuckles white.

"That guy…" he starts, voice low and bitter. "He didn’t have to hit me like that. It wasn’t even about the puck."

"I know," you say quietly, your fingers moving methodically as you clean the wound. "It’s not fair."

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You focus on your work, but every so often, your gaze flickers to his face, to the way his jaw is still clenched, to the way his chest still rises and falls with that uneven breath. You can feel the anger radiating off him, but there’s something else too—something vulnerable, hidden beneath all that frustration.

"Why are you letting this get to you?" you ask softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Conor doesn’t answer right away. His gaze is fixed on some distant point over your shoulder, like he’s trying to hold it together, trying not to snap. But then his shoulders sag, and he drops his head into his hands. "I don’t know," he admits, voice muffled. "I don’t know why it’s bothering me so much."

You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling your heart ache for him. You’ve never seen him this rattled, this shaken. It’s unsettling, seeing him like this, and you don’t know what to do other than be here, right here, in this moment with him.

Gently, you reach out, resting a hand on his shoulder. His skin is warm, muscles tense beneath your fingers, but the contact seems to ground him. He lifts his head slowly, meeting your eyes for the first time since he walked in.

"It’s just… one hit," he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper now. "But I can’t shake it."

"It’s not just the hit, is it?" you ask, watching him carefully.

He exhales sharply, shaking his head. "No. It’s not."

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You finish bandaging his cut, your hands moving slowly, deliberately, trying to draw out the process because you’re not ready for this moment to end. You don’t want him to walk away like this, all pent-up frustration and unresolved tension.

He’s quiet now, his chest no longer heaving with anger, but his eyes—his eyes are still filled with something heavy, something you can’t quite place. He’s staring at you, and you can feel his gaze, warm and intent, as though he’s trying to find the right words but can’t. You’re not sure if you’re ready to hear them anyway. Your pulse thrums in your ears, loud and persistent, and for the first time, you realize how close you’re standing.

You clear your throat, suddenly aware of how his legs are framing your hips, how his knees brush your thighs every time either of you moves. His hands rest loosely on his lap now, no longer clenched into fists, but the tension hasn’t entirely dissipated. It’s just shifted into something else, something quieter but no less intense. You can feel it humming in the air between you.

"Conor," you begin, your voice coming out softer than you intended, barely more than a whisper. "You’re… it’s going to be okay." You know how inadequate the words sound, but you don’t know what else to say. You just want to fill the silence, to soothe whatever storm is still brewing inside him.

His eyes flicker, and his jaw works as though he’s chewing on something he can’t quite get out. "I’m not—" He stops himself, eyes dropping to the floor, and you watch as his shoulders slump again. "I don’t usually… I’m not like this."

You don’t respond immediately, just watch him, the way he avoids looking at you, the way his hands flex on his lap like he’s resisting the urge to reach for something. It’s strange seeing him so out of sorts, the guy who’s always cracking jokes, always looking for a way to make you laugh, now sitting here, raw and vulnerable in a way that makes your chest ache.

You take a breath and move closer, letting your fingers brush against his shoulder again. "You don’t have to explain anything to me. Everyone has bad days." Your voice is soft, reassuring, but your heart is pounding harder now, louder, as if it’s trying to force its way through your ribcage.

Conor looks up then, his eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that sends a shiver down your spine. His gaze isn’t wild anymore, but there’s something else in it, something that makes your breath catch. His lips part, and for a second, you’re sure he’s going to say something, something that will change everything.

But he hesitates, his throat working like the words are caught there, and suddenly you’re all too aware of the closeness, of the heat between you, of how your bodies are aligned. You don’t move, don’t dare to, because if you do, you might shatter whatever fragile balance you’ve found.

"I don’t know how to say this," he finally mutters, his voice rough and low, almost pained. His eyes flick down to your lips, just for a second, and your breath stutters.

Your heart is racing now, louder than before, and you can feel the room tilting, your pulse in your throat as the tension pulls taut. He’s so close, his face inches from yours, the scent of sweat and blood mingling in the air between you, and you realize with a jolt that this is it. This is the moment where everything shifts, where the teasing, the faked injuries, the lingering touches, all of it finally snaps into focus.

Conor shifts again, his knee pressing slightly against your thigh, and his voice drops even lower. "I’ve been trying to tell you, but I—" He stops, his eyes dark and searching, like he’s looking for something in your face. "You’re more than just… I mean, I’m always…"

You don’t let him finish. Because before you know it, you’re moving, and you’re pressing your lips to his.

The kiss is soft at first, tentative, as if you’re both unsure. His lips are warm, and you can taste the faint tang of his blood on them, but you don’t care. For a moment, everything stills—no tension, no frustration, just him, here, with you. His hands, which had still been clenched on his lap, slide up to your waist, pulling you closer as he deepens the kiss. The anger, the frustration that had been radiating off him moments before, melts away, replaced by something softer, something unspoken but understood.

When you finally pull back, your breath comes in short, uneven bursts. You meet his eyes, half-expecting him to pull away, to say something to ruin the moment, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans his forehead against yours, his fingers still gripping your waist, holding you there like he’s afraid you’ll slip away.

“That’s one way to shut me up,” he mutters, his voice low, teasing, but there’s a softness there too, a warmth you haven’t heard from him before.

You can’t help but laugh softly, your heart still racing. “It worked, didn’t it?”

He doesn’t answer right away, just looks at you, his eyes darker now, softer. “You have no idea,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing lightly against your hip, sending a shiver down your spine. His gaze flickers down to your lips, and for a moment, it feels like the world has narrowed to just the two of you, like nothing else exists outside this room.

For the first time all night, he smiles—really smiles—and it’s like the tension finally breaks. His grip on your waist tightens, pulling you even closer, and for the first time in a long time, everything feels right. The frustration, the anger, the game—it all fades away, leaving just the two of you, wrapped in a moment that feels fragile but perfect, like you’ve found something you didn’t even know you were looking for.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you whisper, and his eyes soften, the vulnerability still there, but less jagged now, smoothed by your words. “But you need to go out there and win that fuckin’ game.”

“Okay,” He says, but leans in again, pressing another soft kiss to your lips, this one slower, gentler, as though he’s savoring it. When he pulls back, his thumb brushes your cheek, and his smile lingers, the tension from earlier now a distant memory. “But, we’re doing a lot more of this–” he gestures between the two of you, “Later.”

[biasbuck]

BiAsBuck’s ficrec Fridays

Less that a week to go!! Happy fraturday, and a very happy birthday to Mr Guzman. Here's another round of the fic I've been reading this week, you can find previous rec lists here.

21 September 2024

ice cream before dinner by cloudydaisies is a pitch perfect Eddie POV fic as he babysits Mara and Jee-Yun following 7x10, winning them over with icecream tuesdays, love and support. I saw so many people loving on this and then caught my eye even more with some gorgeous cover art by @walkingonawire and yes, everyone was right, it absolutely melted my heart. Just a beat for beat joy of a fic, Eddie's internal journey and the sweet bond of trust and love built between the trio, as he awaits Chris' return, and allows himself to open his heart up to Buck along the way. Beautifully written and delightful!

all you're giving me is friction by @henswilsons ahhhh such a wonderful 5+1 buddie fic in which Eddie joins the 118 and Hen is a little worried that Buck's flirting with him will cross a line...seeing as he's wearing a wedding ring. This is such a fun fic with the elephant in the room...because you know what she doesn't know you know, right? And waiting for the reveal and watching it dawn on them is so brilliantly funny in execution.

wherever you roam (you'll always want me) by @buddieism canon divergent following 7x05 in which Eddie would rather 'go to his grave repressed and miserable than ever take away from Buck’s happiness.' But in unpacking what would make Eddie himself happy, he comes to realise with some help and a look at what brought him to this point in his life that that might not be up to him. Aching and painfully cathartic and ultimately full of hope.

the cat's meow by @exhuastedpigeon GIVE. EDDIE. A CAT. (Do it for me!) When Eddie finds a box of abandoned kittens at the side of the road, he takes them to the shelter...but falls ass over teakettle for little calico Pinto (like the beans). Reluctant to let on to the existence of his new furry little friend, he keeps her close to his chest. When Buck finds out, he's unable to resist falling under the spell of her charms...or her owners. Sweet, romantic fluff...with such great character voice....and whiskers!! So freakin' cute.

glass on the pavement under my shoe by @doitbuckley a Buck POV fic under Gerrards command, taking a risk that puts his life on the line to save Eddie. But all these years later, he's not sure he's so readily okay with having to say goodbye for real, even in the line of duty. Some lyrically written introspection and growth from Buck here in the way he understands and embraces life vs death situations.

Hot Ghost Problems by @ebjameston in which Eddie is a natural born witch in a world where magic isn't a secret though he keeps it close to his chest. But on joining the 118 he meets Buck...only Evan Buckley is the firefighter who died that Eddie was here to replace. Tethered together by magic, Buck refuses to move on, and in staying around he saves Eddie along the way. With some excellent Diaz sister cameos, a brilliantly intriguing mystery, and a whole heap of magic, they race against time to save the day and might just get to keep their happily ever after. I had such a great time reading this one from 2023!

the tortured poets department by @colonoscopys more magic! 'The first time Buck touched him, Eddie blew an ambulance up.' Magic sparks under his skin, and falling in love with Buck feels a lot like when it overwhelms him with feeling. Eddie thinks he's doing a good job keeping it secret, but somethings are obvious to those who know what signs to look out for. This one felt like a little bit of magic shared, sweet, sexy and full of all sorts of sparks!

Okay let's leave it there for this week. Next week we'll have a new episode to play with! Can you believe it? I'll be on a little work trip and then a vacation so looking forward to joining you all in the sandbox soon. So excited to be back with the firefam again.

[amartianonmars]

They're all very supportive <3

Description under the cut

[Image ID: a four panel comic drawn mostly in greyscale. The first panel is of John Twinkletits with his robotic arms holding a notepad and pen. He says "So, we've made significant progress over the last 10 hours today. Now, I don't want to pressure you, but do you think you can at least accept yourself for who you are?"

The second panel is of William Murderface glancing at Twinkletits, leaning on the arm rest of a couch with his left arm and actively stabbing the cushion with his right hand. He is covered in several banana stickers from the waist up, including one in his hair and on his face. He tells Twinkletits, "Dunno, schtill think there'sch no reason for me to.."

The third panel zooms out of the last scene to reveal that Pickles the Drummer was sitting besides Murderface on the couch, which now displays several stab marks. Pickles is glaring at Murderface, arms crossed over his chest and head cocked forward with a scowl directed at Murderface. " For (guitar sfx) sake Murderface!" he says, " If you come out you can say the 'f' word, okay?" Murderface visibly contemplates what Pickles had just said, stabbing his knife fully into the couch as Pickle mutters 'Jesus Christ' under his breath.

The fourth panel is of Murderface waving around 2 pistols excitedly, his eyes closed and mouth open in a state of glee, with another banana sticker now appearing in his hair. He's wearing a shirt with a pride flag on it with the words 'Dick over chicks' spelled across the chest, the 'I' in the word 'dick' being replaced with a penis. He screams out excitedly "Hey FAGGOTSch, guess whosch GAY?!" Pickles stands behind him in support, waving a small rainbow flag with a 'woo'. They're standing in front of a background of rainbow stars.

The last panel is of Nathan Explosion, Toki Wartooth, and Skwisgaard Skwidelf all gathered in the hot top. Nathan is holding a beer, looking off to the side in disinterest and mutters, "Don't. Care." Toki, who's standing of the left of him with his back turned towards him, looking at Pickles and Murderface, exclaims "Oh! Gratulerer! Congrakulations!" Skwisgaard, plays his guitar with disinterest, mostly submerged under the water as he states plainly, 'Wes alreadys knews". In the background, Murderface is scene shooting the guns, while Pickles starts drinking a bottle of beer rapidly. End ID]

[sweet-villain]

Stumble Confessions ~ Steve Harrington

Summary : You confess to Steve how you feel and it doesn't go well.

The air crackled with the smell of burnt popcorn as the flickering light from the TV danced across the room. Laughter erupted from Steve, his head thrown back, as you gathered the courage to speak.

“Steve, I need to tell you something.”

He turned, puzzled.

“Is this about the movie? Because I thought we agreed it was terrible.”

“No, it’s about us.” Your voice trembled, the words stacking up behind a wall of doubt.

“Us?”

“Yeah. I like you.” A sigh escaped as the confession slipped free, a fragile thing in the chaos of his laughter.

“You’re joking.” Steve wiped tears from the corners of his eyes, still chuckling. “You’re serious?”

“Do you think I’d joke about this?” His laughter stung, tiny nails scraping against your heart.

“C’mon,” he said, trying to catch his breath. “You’re like, my best friend. This is…” His words faded into a breathy chuckle, the comedy of it thrumming between you.

You glanced away, the room suddenly drowning in silence. The TV buzzed on, oblivious to the shift.

“Forget it,” you said, barely above a whisper.

As he turned back to the screen, the weight of unsaid things hung heavy in the air, cracking like static.

Steve mumbled something, still fixated on the flickering horror movie, but gave nothing more than a casual shrug. 

“Seriously?” You tightened your fists, your pulse pounding. “You can

“You can't just laugh it off, Steve. You’re not even trying to take me seriously.”

“Okay, okay.” He turned slightly, the humor fading from his eyes. “I just didn’t expect… Well, it kind of blindsided me. "

"Look, you’re like a sister to me,” he said, fidgeting with the popcorn bowl. “This isn’t exactly what I envisioned when I invited you over for movie night.”

“A sister?” The bitterness coated your words like oil, "Oh forgot, you're still hung on Nancy" His expression shifted, a flash of defensiveness replacing the amusement. “It’s not like that.” 

“Then what is it, Steve? You think we fit into pre-worn boxes? Can’t a friendship be something more?”

" You're being childish," Steve mutters. His shoulders squared, the flicker of irritation igniting in his eyes. 

“Childish?” You felt the heat rising to your face. “Having feelings isn’t childish. You just don’t get it, do you?”

" You have a silly crush on me, it will go away" His words clipped through the air, sharp and dismissive. You clenched your jaw, fighting the sting of rising anger mingled with hurt.

"That’s all you see? Just a crush?” The words spilled out, unable to hold back any longer.

“Let’s be real, you and I? We live in different worlds.” He waved his hands, gesturing around the cluttered room. “You’re endless daydreams while I’m just…me. And I’m still figuring it out. You think we could just click like that? It’s complicated.”

“Complicated?” You laughed, but it sounded hollow. “You think love needs a roadmap?”

" Love? Now your in over your head silly girl" Steve rolled his eyes, a defensive mask slipping over his features. “I’m just saying… what we have is solid. Why mess with it?”

“Because what we have isn’t enough for me.” You crossed your arms, feeling the walls close.

" It's always about you, huh?" Steve’s eyes narrowed. “You think I don’t care? You think I enjoy hurting you like this?”

“You’re not hurting me. You just don’t see.” You met his gaze, a fire flickering in the depth of your own.

The conversation stops there and you leave for the night.

The streetlights flickered as you stepped outside, the chill of the night air biting through your jacket. The laughter behind you felt like a ghost, haunting the space where your hope had just dissolved. Shadows danced along the pavement, twisting with your thoughts

You paused at the curb, the chill wrapping around you like a shroud. The moon hung high, casting silver beams onto the empty street. You caught your breath, each inhale heavy with the sharpness of rejection. 

The quiet thrum of the night enveloped you. You pulled your jacket tighter, fighting back the chill both outside and within. 

The night deepened as you paced along the deserted street, each footfall punctuating the silence. A distant echo of Steve’s laughter lingered in the back of your mind, a cruel reminder of what could never be. 

The wind whispered tales

You leaned against the lamppost, the harsh light flickering intermittently. A low rumble of an approaching car disturbed the stillness. The vehicle glided by, its headlights slicing through the darkness, offering a brief glimpse of a world untouched by your turmoil. You stared at its retreating tail lights, warmth fading as it disappeared into the distance.

From the shadows, voices drifted towards you—kids laughing, carefree in their twilight play. It felt like a distant echo. They chased each other down the street, their joy stark against the cold air enveloping you.

You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets, a cold reminder of Steve’s laughter wrapping around your heart like a vice. How could he not see? 

As the echoes of laughter faded, you turned toward home, the pavement underfoot feeling rough and unyielding. Each step drove the reality of your situation deeper into your chest. 

A haunting melody floated through the night air, the sound unfamiliar yet compelling. You paused, straining to pinpoint its origin. It rang in crystalline fragments, echoing off the walls of nearby houses and blending into the wind’s whispers. 

Blood pours down your nose and in confusion you wipe it away. You stared at the crimson smear on your fingers, disbelief mixing with a sudden rush of adrenaline. 

The door creaked as you pushed it open, the familiar scent of stained wood and fading lavender filling the entryway. You stepped inside, the warmth cocooning you, yet the chill of rejection still lingered at the edges. 

"Are you alright?" Grandma’s voice broke through the haze of your thoughts, her figure framed in the soft glow of the hallway. She hovered there, worry etched across her brow.

You nodded, not trusting your voice. The blood turned your fingertipsa dark maroon, a stark contrast to the pale wood of the entryway. 

“Your nose looks bad.” Grandma stepped closer, her concern mounting. 

“Just a little bump,” you said, forcing a smile, but it faltered,as your mind flickered back to the laughter that echoed in the air, sharp as shards of glass. Grandma's hand brushed against your cheek, the warmth of her palm a stark contrast to the chill settling deep in your bones.

“You know, I remembers those days when you used to tell me everything.” Grandma's voice softened, nostalgia dancing in her eyes. “You can talk to me, dear.”

The warmth of her concern mixed with the cold ache in your chest. You wanted to spill everything, but the words caught in your throat, entangled in a web of hurt and confusion. 

“I just… I told Steve how I feel,” you finally managed, your gaze dropping to the floor, avoiding the tender scrutiny of her eyes.

"Did he make fun of you?” Grandma’s voice clipped through the air, sharp with protective instinct.

You swallowed hard, the taste of humiliation bitter on your tongue. “He laughed. Said it was ridiculous. Just a silly crush.”

“Kids can be cruel, especially when they don’t understand,” Grandma said, her voice steadier than you felt.

“Cruel?” You shook your head, your hands curling into fists. “He’s not a kid. He’s just… Steve. And he doesn’t get it. Maybe he never will.”

“People are often blind to what’s right in front of them.” Grandma brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, her gaze softened by years of wisdom. “But that doesn’t diminish your feelings. It takes courage to be honest about what you want.”

“I just wish…” The words hung suspended, heavy with unresolved longing. “I wish he could see me.”

Grandma studied you for a moment, her eyes reflecting a depth of understanding that cut through the pain.

“What do you need him to see?” she asked, her tone gentle but probing.

“He needs to see me as something more. Not just his best friend,” you said, frustration leaking into your voice. “I’m not just a backup plan or someone to laugh at.” 

" Get some rest, dear" your grandma kissed your head. The warmth of your grandmother’s kiss lingered, but the comfort faded with every heartbeat. You turned away, the urge to fight bubbling beneath the surface. 

Heading up the stairs, you walked into your room feeling it cold as you glance at the picture of your mother. " I miss you mom" The photograph stared back, capturing her smile in a moment of sun-drenched joy. You traced your fingertip over its glossy surface, the warmth of memory clashing with the chill in your heart. The room felt suffocating, the walls closing in as shadows crept along the edges of your vision. You tossed your jacket onto the bed, frustration igniting a spark in your chest.

You paced back and forth, the wooden floor creaking under your steps. Memories flooded your mind—the laughter you shared, the late-night conversations where secrets spilled like candy wrappers scattered on the floor, the moments when it felt like you were the only two souls in the universe. Yet tonight, it felt tainted by the echo of rejection, the sour taste of his laughter still curling in your ears. 

" You won't be good enough for him" the voice spoke to you. But you don't know who it is as you turned around in your room in fright. The air thickened, heavy with silence, as if the very walls held their breath. You glanced over your shoulder, your pulse quickening. Shadows twisted, melding into each other, forming shapes that felt simultaneously familiar and threatening.

A knot formed inyour stomach, twisting tighter with each fleeting shadow. 

You pressed your back against the door, bracing for something—anything—to leap from the darkness. Your breath quickened as the soft echoes of the night filtered through the window.

Then, likea sudden gust of wind, the shadows receded into drapes of darkness, leaving only stillness in their wake. You dared to breathe, the air thick with the scent of old wood and mothballs, tinged with something unsettling.

Darkness settled over the days like a heavy blanket, smothering thoughts, and breath. Nights blurred together, each one winding tighter around you, a relentless grip that threatened to suffocate all logic. Your mind raced between thoughts of Steve and the eerie whispers that danced around the edges of sleep. Each time you closed your eyes, shadows creeped closer, wrapping themselves around you like tendrils of smoke. You lay wide awake, the memory of Steve’s laughter echoing relentlessly while the air felt thick with something unspoken.

The thin slip of paper landed softly on your desk, its edges curling slightly as it slid into place. You looked at Nancy, her brow furrowed, the concern in her eyes cutting through the fog of confusion.

You unfolded the note, the paper crinkling quietly in your hands.

*Hey, are you okay? I saw your nose…*

It felt like a lifeline thrown into a sea of chaos. You glanced around the classroom, the mundane chatter fading into a muffled backdrop as you focused on Nancy’s note. *I’m fine,* you scribbled back, each stroke of the pen wishing the weight in your heart away. But even as you scrawled the words, you felt he truth press against your ribs, heavy and unyielding. 

Your name was called in a whisper distance. “Hey, you okay?” Nancy leaned closer, her voice a concerned whisper. “You’ve been out of it.” 

You forced a smile, though it felt more like a mask slipping awkwardly in place. 

“I’m fine.” 

Nancy leaned in, her eyes narrowing with determination. “This isn’t like you. The nosebleeds, the days off… Something's off, isn’t it? You can talk to me.”

You shook your head, feeling the pressure build in your chest. 

“It’s just… everything’s fine. Really.” A forced laugh escaped your lips, brittle and unnatural.

“Don’t do that.” Nancy’s gaze drilled into you, unwavering. “You can’t brush this off. I can sense there’s more. You’re not fine, and I know it.” 

“Fine, you want the truth?” You leaned closer, the classroom buzzing around you fading into the background. “I’m just… a little stressed. That’s all of it.” 

Nancy crossed her arms, unwavering. “Stressed? What, over school? That doesn’t explain your nose. You look like you haven’t slept in days.”

Nancy decides to ask you, " Have you been hearing clock chimes?" The question hung in the air like a whispered secret. You stared at her, blinking against the flood of memories and strange sounds that invaded your nights.

“Clock chimes?” Confusion twisted in your gut. “What do you mean?”

In your head, like your seeing things too?" The world around you faded, leaving only Nancy's voice echoing against the backdrop of your swirling thoughts. You leaned closer, aware of the weight of the moment pressing down. 

“I think…I think I’ve heard them,” you admitted, the admission.

Nancy face paled as she understood what was happening. " We have to tell the others, your in danger." The words hit you like a punch to the gut, the gravity of the situation pooling in your stomach. “Danger? What do you mean by that?” 

“We know what’s been happening in Hawkins,” Nancy said, her voice dropping to a near whisper, urgency threading through her words. “The disappearances, the strange occurrences. They’ve all been linked to Vecna. If he’s after you…” 

Your heart raced, the weight of those words pressing down like a leaden blanket.

Vecna is… well, he’s not just a myth anymore,” Nancy murmured, glancing over her shoulder, as if the name itself might summon shadows. “He’s connected to the disappearances. The kids… They’re victims."

"Am I a victim?" Nancy’s eyes widened, the gravity of your question hanging in the space between you. “I don’t know, but if you’re hearing things... If things are happening to you… It could be a sign.”

" I keep hearing my name called and clock chimes. I heard talking in my head too" Nancy’s gaze sharpened, piecing together the fragments of your fragmented account. “This isn’t good. We need to figure out what's happening and quickly."

“Figure out what?” Panic clawed at your throat. “What do we do?”

We have to tell the others" she closed her books and stood up. " come on, let's go. We don't have much time." With a single glance back at the classroom, you followed Nancy’s lead, your heart pounding against your ribcage. The hustle of students faded as you hurried out into the sun-drenched hallway, where the fluorescent lights flickered above, mir

roring the chaos within you. Each step felt heavier as you navigated through the sea of students, their laughter and chatter blurring into noise that masked your racing thoughts.

“Stay close,” Nancy urged, her tone urgent as she cut through the crowd of students. The halls seemed to stretch endlessly, lockers slamming and feet pounding against the linoleum floor. The buzz of youthful chaos faded into white noise, but your heart drummed relentlessly in your chest.

“Where are we going?” you asked. " Steve's house, everyone will meet us there" Nancy navigated the throng of students, her determination cutting a path through the chaos. You ducked under the fluorescent light fixtures, their flickering reflections dancing in your periphery. The tightening in your chest pushed you forward, though doubt clung.

The lights began to flicker causing you to stop in your tracks, fearing the worst. “Nancy!” Panic strummed through your voice, slicing through the din. “What’s happening?” 

She turned to face you, her brow knotted. “Just keep moving. Don’t stop.” 

They both get into the car as Nancy drives off fearing the worst is to come, looking at you seeing how lost you are in all of this. The car’s engine roared to life, a rumbling counterpoint to the chaos building in your chest. Nancy’s hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white against the black leather. As she turned the corner, you stole glances at the passing buildings, their familiar shapes blurring into streaks of color. The world outside felt unmoored, each street a stranger as the gravity of your situation sank deeper.

“Do you really think Vecna is after me?” Fear curled in the pit of your stomach, biting and relentless.

“I don’t know for sure, but we can't take any chances,” Nancy said, her voice steady despite the tension in the air. The car accelerated, tires screeching against the asphalt as Nancy navigated the streets with a focus that bordered on frantic, her eyes darting between the road and the rearview mirror, as if expecting something sinister to loom just out of sight.

“I can feel it, Nancy.” The words slipped out before you could stop them, a raw confession tearing from your chest.

The car comes to a stop at Steve's house as she races with you hot on her tail inside where she throws the door open, " Vecna is after Y/N" she steps aside as your eyes land on Steve, Mike, Eddie, Lucas, Max, Steve and the others. The air in the room hung heavy, the ticking of a clock marking your racing heartbeat as you entered. Conversations faded into silence, eyes turning toward you and Nancy, the weight of the moment suffocating. Eddie leaned against the wall, arms crossed as he surveyed the scene, his usually playful demeanor replaced with a sharp attention that cut through the tension.

“What’s going on?” Lucas leaned forward, eyes glinting with concern. 

“We think Vecna might be targeting Y/N,” Nancy leaned back slightly, her voice steady despite the storm brewing around you. “It’s serious. She’s been hearing things, and—”

“Things?” Eddie interrupted, dark eyebrows knit together inquisitively. “What kind of things?”

“I’ve been hearing chimes,” you said, the words spilling out as if they'd been locked away for too long. “And voices. Sometimes my name. It’s like—” You hesitated, the shadows of uncertainty creeping back in, but you forced yourself to continue. “It’s like someone’s calling me. And it happens in the quiet moments, especially at night.”

Steve crossed his arms, a guarded expression settling on his face.

He exchanged a glance with Nancy, tension popping in the air. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” His voice rang flat, eyes locked onto yours, but the weight of his words felt charged, electric.

"Because… I thought it was just stress. I didn’t want to freak anyone out,” you admitted, the confession tasting bitter against your tongue. Every face in the room stared back, a sea of concern and disbelief washing over you.

“Plus it's my parent's death anniversary tomorrow.." The room fell into a heavy silence, each word landing like a stone. Steve’s expression shifted, the lines of amusement from earlier giving way to an unsettling concern. 

“Shit.” Mike’s voice cut through the quiet.

" Language!" Nancy shouts. “Sorry,” Mike muttered, his eyes darting between you and the others as the mood thickened.

“Maybe we should've figured this out earlier,” Lucas said, shifting nervously. “What if it’s already started?”

“It has started,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, the truth settling heavily in the room. “I feel it. Every day gets worse.” 

Eddie pushed off the wall, stepping closer, his presence a small comfort against the weight of fear that constricted your chest. “We need to figure out how to stop it,” he said, determination glinting in his eyes. “No way are we letting Vecna get to you.”

“Exactly.” Nancy nodded, her gaze unwavering.

The lights were flickering earlier in school today" you tell them. “Flickering?” Steve’s brows furrowed, tension tightening the lines around his eyes. “Like, just like that night?”

“Exactly,” you replied, the weight of his earlier laughter hanging heavy in the air. “It’s almost as if he's coming." 

Steve ran a hand through his hair, the familiar gesture grounded in confusion and worry. “Look, we can’t wait around for something bad to happen. We need to take control of this.”

You were out of trance as you heard your name being called louder, this time closer and more evil. It was him. Vecna. The shadows thickened, wrapping around you like a shroud, your heart hammering against your ribcage. 

“Y/N!” The call slithered through the air, dripping with malice. 

Guys!" Dustin shouted. " Her eyes!" Your heart lurched, an icy grip tightening around your throat. You blinked, instinctively rubbing your eyes, but that only deepened the horror. A dark haze encroached on your vision, twisting the air around you into something suffocating and oppressive. 

“Y/N!” The voice grew louder, more insistent, invading your mind like an unwelcome guest. The shadows writhed, and with them, dread surged, pulling you deeper and deeper into an abyss. 

Steve began to panic seeing you eyes and you weren't replying back to him as he shook you over and over. “Y/N! Talk to me!” Steve’s grip tightened, shaking you as if trying to rattle sense back into you. His voice cut through the haze, but the darkness coiled tighter, a vice around your thoughts.

Eddie took your one side and yelled in your ear to help. “Y/N! Snap out of it!” Eddie’s voice broke through the haze, frantic and sharp. His hands gripped your shoulders, shaking you slightly, as if trying to jar your consciousness back from the darkness.

" You can't do this, not now. Not ever!" Steve shouted.The room blurred, a whirlpool of colors and shapes narrowing into a single point of darkness. You tried to grasp onto the voices, the echoes wrapping around you like tendrils, pulling you deeper into the abyss.

“Y/N!” 

You snapped back out it but crowed in fear as you saw him in your head. He was close. Your heart raced as the figure loomed in the shadows of your mind, ethereal yet tangible—a grotesque silhouette with hollow eyes boring into you, a void staring back, endlessly deep. You felt cold sweat trickle down your spine, panic pooling.

" I'm going to die.." you mumbled, snapping out of it. "You’re not going to die!" Steve’s voice sliced through the ambient noise, desperation creeping into the edges of his tone. He pulled you closer, his eyes fierce with resolve.

“I swear, I can see him! He’s coming! Vecna is trying to take me!” Your voice trembled, a raw edge of panic seeping through the cracks of your composure.

“Not on my watch!” Steve’s grip tightened. The urgency in his voice cut through the chaos as the gathered friends.

“Y/N, we’re not going to let that happen,” Eddie said, his tone steady but laced with urgency. “We’re a team, remember?” 

" Friends till the end" Eddie bumps your head with his playfully. You cracked a weak smile, the warmth of his jest breaking through the fog, if only for a moment. 

Steve’s intensity didn’t waver. “Alright, we need a plan. Has anyone found something related to Vecna’s pattern?”

All eyes turned to Mike, who fumbled with his notes, the pages crinkling in his anxious grip. “I have some stuff on the disappearances. It’s like he’s targeting people with… unresolved grief or trauma. It’s a-" he stops.

" He wants you to relive how your parents died. That's your truama. You were in the car? " You recoiled, disbelief rushing through you like ice water. “No. No, that can’t be right.” A wave of nausea crashed over you, each heartbeat echoing memories you wished to bury. 

“Y/N…” Steve began, his voice steady yet filled with an urgency that sent shivers down your spine. “It’s not just about them. It’s about you. Vecna is powerful; he feeds on your fears. We can’t let him exploit that.”

" I was only six years old when my parents died. It was horrible. I was found with my leg broken in my mother's hands.. it was in the papers.." you tell them. The silence that enveloped the room pressed down like a heavy blanket, each word echoing in the charged air. You could feel the pity in their stares, the concern etched on their faces, and it only deepened the ache in your chest.

He's going to use my mother isn't he?" The question hung heavily in the air, its weight palpable. Silence filled the room, thick and suffocating, as if the shadows themselves were listening, poised to ensnare you in memory. 

“Y/N…” Nancy stepped forward, eyes wide with compassion. “We can’t let him get into your head. We need you to fight this.”

“Fight what?” The bitterness in your voice surprised you, but the edges of fear curled at your spine. “How am I supposed to, Fight what? How am I supposed to fight something that’s already in my head?”

Nancy stepped closer, her expression fierce, determination shining through her gaze. “You aren’t alone. We’ll help you face him. We’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe.”

“We’ll find something to counter him,” Lucas said, a hint of bravado tinging his voice. “We’ve faced down monsters before. We’ll do it again.”

“Together,” Max chimed in, her voice steady, a fierce light sparking in her eyes. You looked around the room, at the faces of your friends—each one a pillar of strength against the rising tide of dread.

“Together,” you repeated, though the tremor in your

oice betrayed the fear clawing at your insides.

“Alright, let’s get to work.” Steve’s gaze settled on a large whiteboard propped against the wall.

He strode over, markers in hand, determination emanating from him likea blazing fire. He scribbled down notes, brainstorming ideas, while your breaths came in short bursts, the weight of the moment pressing down on your shoulders. 

“Okay, we’ll need to review everything we know about Vecna,” Steve declared his voice steady as he turned back to the group. “We have to figure out his weaknesses and what he feeds on. If he’s targeting unresolved grief and trauma, we can’t let him use that against you.”

You stepped forward, heart thundering in your chest, desperate to contribute despite the hollow feeling that gnawed at your insides. 

“I can think of moments…experiences,” you started, your voice shaky. “Things that might give him power. Memories that I can't run from.” 

The room shuddered with silence, a heavy weight settling upon everyone. Each face turned toward yours, expressions ranging from concern to resolve, a mixture reflecting back all you feared and all you hoped.

“Tell us,” Nancy urged, her voice a steady anchor amidst the storm of emotions that threatened to overwhelm you.

You took a deep breath, grounding yourself in the unyielding presence of your friends. With each word, the memories clawed their way to the surface like long-buried secrets clawing through the soil. 

“I remember that night. The sound of glass shattering, the way the car felt like it was spinning, the feel of my leg snapping like a twig,” you murmured, voice faltering as the memory cascaded through you. Each fragment felt sharp, cutting into the present with ruthless clarity.

“The smell of burning rubber, the sinking realization that my parents were…” You choked on the words, fighting back the surge of

that had pierced the confines of your memory for so long. “...were gone.”

The room fell quiet, the weight of your confession hanging in the air like a heavy fog.

" Oh god, he's going to really kill me.." The words fell from your lips in a whispered tremor, the truth unfurling like an ancient script long buried in your mind. Panic washed over you, a tidal wave crashing against the fortress of your resolve. Steve’s gaze sharpened, slicing through the tension, his determination coiling tighter around you.

“Y/N, focus,” he commanded, voice steady and unyielding. “We’re going to figure this out. You’re not alone in this.”

You heard his chuckle, " Guys... he's in my head.." The laughter rippled through the room, but it felt empty, reverberating off the walls as if all humor had been sucked from the air. A chill crept up your spine, reminding you of the darkness lurking just beyond the door.

Your memories are powerful,” Eddie said softly, his voice breaking the suffocating silence that held you captive. “But they don't have to dictate what happens next. You can control this.”

“He's talking..." you tell them. “Who’s talking?” Steve’s voice rose, tension tightening the air between you.

“Vecna,” you murmured, both terrified and mesmerized by the sensation that enveloped you. “He’s whispering. He wants to take me.

“Take you? Where?” Steve shot back, urgency lacing his words. Panic thrummed in the air, stretching thin as you wrestled with the grip of their concern.

“To… to that dark place. I can feel him pulling me.”

Panic surged through the room, each heartbeat reverberating against the walls like the thrum of impending dread.

"Listen to me," Steve's voice cut through the chaos, grounding you, though his urgency matched the frantic rhythm of your pulse.

“Y/N, listen to me.” Steve stepped closer, the intensity in his eyes igniting a flicker of determination within you. “You need to fight back. He thrives on fear. Remember that.”

Shadows twisted in the corners of your vision, and the oppressive darkness loomed larger, pulsating like a heartbeat against the chill in the air. You felt Steve's gaze bore into you, a tie to the reality that anchored you amid the encroaching madness. Panic rose in your chest, but Steve’s presence felt like a shield, holding back the waves of shadow that threatened to overwhelm you. 

“Y/N, listen,” he urged, his voice low and steady. “We’re going to come up with a plan.

but you need to stay with us. We can’t afford to lose you to him.”

“I—I’m trying,” you gasped, the weight of the memories threatening to pull you under. Each recollection felt like a hand gripping your throat.

" What if we sleep here, in the same room watching over Y/N and taking turns?" Dustin suggests.

"Sleep here?” Max frowned, crossing her arms. “You think that’ll keep Vecna away?”

“We have to do something,” Dustin insisted. “If he gets into her head while we’re not around… we can’t let that happen.”

The room fell silent again, every face reflecting the urgency of the situation. You could practically feel the undercurrent of dread winding through the air, tightening like a noose around your throat. 

“That might be the best idea we have right now.” Steve nodded, his eyes flicking between you and the group, weighing the impact of his next words. 

“Okay, let’s do it. All of us stay here tonight.” He turned to you, urgency lacing his tone. “We will make sure nothing gets to you.”

Your heart sank at the gravity of the promise resonating in his voice. Doubt nibbled at your resolve. This wasn’t just another movie night; it felt like walking a tightrope over an abyss.

he clock above the mantel ticked ominously, each second a reminder that time was slipping away. Tomorrow marked the day when shadows took everything from you, and it felt like Vecna anticipated your grief like a predator lying in wait.

“Alright"

The kitchen felt like a different world. Dim light filtered through the curtains, casting long shadows across the tile floor. You scuffed your sneakers against the linoleum, the sound punctuating the heavy silence that settled around you.

“Y/N,” Steve called softly, his voice breaking the stillness like a whisper in an empty room. 

You turned to face him, the weight of everything pooling at the corners of your eyes. The anger and confusion still roiled inside, battling with the empowerment of his unwavering presence. 

“Steve,” you started, but the words caught in your throat, tangled with fear. The emotions churned, a storm brewing just beneath the surface.

“Hey.” He stepped closer, concern pooling in his gaze. “ I know tonight is going to be tough,” he said, his voice low and steady. “But you’re not alone. We have your back, okay? All of us. The memories, the darkness—they don’t have to win.”

You opened your mouth, but the lump in your throat hardened. The floodgates threatened to burst, memories crowding your mind’s eye, invading the sanctuary of your heart. 

“I’m scared,” you breathed, the admission breaking against the tension in the air like a fragile glass.

Steve stepped closer, the warmth of his presence anchoring you. “I get that. It’s okay to be scared. Hell, I’m terrified too, but you have to trust us. Together, we can keep Vecna away from you.” 

The weight of his words wrapped around you, squeezing tight as the truth settled in your chest. You searched his eyes, looking for the assurance you so desperately craved. The flickering kitchen light cast shadows that danced ominously on the walls, echoing the turmoil within. You felt the warmth of his presence, yet beneath it swirled a tempest of insecurity and fear, pulling at the seams of your resolve.

The moon bathed the room in a pale glow, illuminating the familiar chaos of Steve’s living room—crumpled popcorn bags, scattered board games, and remnants of holiday decorations. A circle of sleeping bags hugged the edges, each one a fortress of comfort and safety crafted by your friends. Yet the shadows beyond the window pressed against the glass, encroaching like a tide that threatened to pull you under.

“Hey.” Steve’s voice broke the quiet, gentle but firm. He stood just inside the doorway, framed by the soft glow of the kitchen light behind him. 

“You okay?” He ventured closer, his brows knitted with concern. The shadows danced in the corners of the room, reflections of your unspoken fears.

“I… glanced at the moon, its cold light filtering through the window like a silver blade. “I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “What if he comes for me tonight? What if I can’t fight him ?” The tremor in your voice resonated through the stillness, a raw thread of fear tugging at the edges of your composure.

Steve stepped closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a familiar blanket. “You’re not alone in this,” he said, drawing nearer until he occupied the space beside you on the couch. The shadows stretched, swallowing the edges of the room, but your heart steadied a fraction, anchored by his proximity.

“I just…” You stopped, your voice faltering as the weight of your thoughts crashed down like a tidal wave. “I don’t want to lose anyone else. I can’t go through that again.” 

Steve’s gaze softened, mirroring the swell of sympathy in your chest. “You won’t. I promise we’re going to make it through this. We’ll find a way to defeat him.” 

His confidence wrapped around you, a fragile shield against the darkness clawing at your thoughts. The swell of emotions cracked the surface, threatening to spill over. You turned to face him, searching his eyes for the reassurance you so desperately craved.

“Promise?” The word came out as a whisper, laced with vulnerability. 

“Promise.” He met your gaze with unwavering intensity, the warmth in his eyes igniting something within you—a flicker of hope pushing against the shadows that threatened to suffocate you. 

Just then, a resonating chime echoed through the tranquil hum of the night, slicing through the fragile air like glass shattering. It lingered in the corners of the room, twisting the familiar into something malevolent and dark, a music box tune gone awry. The sound slithered through the air, curling around your senses like smoke as dread tightened its grip on your throat.

“Did you hear that?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as the chill of apprehension crept in. 

No" Steve says.“Are you sure?” You leaned closer, straining to listen. The silence that followed felt like a heavy blanket, pressing down, making the air thick and suffocating. 

“ Take a deep breathe" Steve's voice broke through the thickening silence, firm yet soothing. Your heart raced, panic clawing at your throat, but you focused on his words, drawing in a shaky breath.

“Breathe with me,” he instructed, his tone steady.

As he inhaled deeply, filling his lungs with air, the rhythm grounding in the tension-laden room. You mimicked him, the air rushing in and out, pushing away the chilling echoes that threatened to consume you. 

As Steve holds you, he falls asleep and silence fills the room. The clock is after midnight. The silence wrapped around you like a shroud, thick with unspoken fears and lingering echoes, but it felt different now. The shadows still danced ominously in the corners, but they seemed more distant, as if tethered by the warmth radiatingfrom where Steve sat beside you. The slow rise and fall of his breathing became a steady anchor against the chaos swirling in your heart and mind. 

You dared to close your eyes, but the weight of the shadows loomed just beneath your eyelids whispering promises of despair. The darkness pulsed, curling around you like a predator poised to strike.

Then, it was like a nightmare coming alive. You weren't in Steve house but on the gravel seeing flashing light of the car turned over on the road. There is pleading for help coming from a woman who's crawling. Your heart speeds up hearing the familiar voice of your mother.The gravel crunched beneath your feet as you stepped into the nightmarish scene, the acrid scent of smoke clawing at your throat. The world around you warped with familiarity, every detail sharp and vivid—the twisted metal, the shattered glass intensifying the colors surrounding you. Voices echoed, twisted cries slicing through the fog of memory, warping time and space. The world cast in shades of gray suddenly flickered, revealing a gory tapestry of your past.

“Help! Someone, please!” 

A familiar cry twisted through the air, piercing through the haze of confusion. Your heart dropped into your stomach as recognition cut through the nightmare. The sight before you felt almost too surreal, each detail as sharp and unforgiving as the glass shards scattered across the gravel. The memory flooded back—every agonizing second replaying in vivid clarity. You stood frozen, your feet anchored to the ground, awash in the horror of it all.

“Mom?”

As you approached, the flickering lights from the crumpled car illuminated her face—a ghost of your childhood, a visage you had memories etched into the deepest corners of your mind. But this was different; the memory twisted and distorted, trapped in the grip of Vecna's dark influence.

“Mom!” Panic surged through you as you reached the broken silhouette struggling against the wreckage.

"Help me" she pleads seeign you.You faltered, a surge of terror pulsing through you. “Mom, I’m here!” Each word felt shrill, shattering the quiet night as your heart raced. 

But the figure only stared, eyes wide with desperation, the horror of recognition etching itself deeper into your bones. The scene warped around you, shadows weaving through the air like ominous wisps, thickening as they curled against the world you once knew.

You took another hesitant step forward. “Mom!” The word slipped from your lips like a prayer, a plea that echoed through the night. With each step, the ground shifted beneath you, the gravel crunching like brittle bones underfoot, amplifying the chaos around you.

“Help me!” Her voice pierced the darkness, reverberating in your chest like a drumroll of dread. The shadows thickened, swirling around the crumpled wreckage, and you felt the very air constricting, heavy with sorrow and anguish. 

“Mom!” You stumbled forward, desperation clawing at your throat, each step echoing the panic crescendoing in your heart. The shadows wrapped tighter around you like coils of smoke, whispering doubts that gnawed at your sanity.

The twisted wreck of the car creaked in protest, each sound a reminder of the horror that echoed within the confines of memory. You reached out, fingertips brushing against the cool, jagged metal of the vehicle, trying to ground yourself as reality warped around you.

Dustin rubbed his eyes, squinting against the dim light of the room. He shuffled toward the kitchen, but noticed you standing still, your eyes wide and unblinking. 

“Y/N?” he called softly, but you didn’t answer him, the echoes of your mother’s cries drowning out the present. The shadowy figures danced at the edge of your vision, each whisper tightening their grip around your heart. 

“Y/N?” Dustin’s voice trembled, concern lacing through every syllable. He stepped closer, his feet shuffling across the floor as he tried to pierce through the haze enveloping you. 

You stood frozen, heart racing as the familiar figure of your mother began to fade in and out, both a balm and a blade to your heart. 

“Y/N?” Dustin's voice grew urgent, but the world around you twisted and distorted, each pulse of your fear echoing. Eddie’s footsteps thundered across the floor as he darted into the living room, urgency radiating from him like heat. “Y/N! What’s wrong?” His voice broke through the haze, a lifeline thrown amidst the rising tide ofchaos engulfing your senses. The shadows continued to writhe, clawing at the edges of your mind while your mother's cries echoed in your head, a chilling symphony of despair that drowned out.

" Her eyes! Vecna is trying to get her!" Max says in panic. Startled, Steve’s eyes shot open, his breath catching as he took in the scene unfolding before him. 

“Y/N!” He surged to his feet, the urgency in his voice cutting through the chilling fog that wrapped around you.

The figure transformed, twisting grotesquely, every memory tethered to your mother merging into something dark and sinister. The face morphed, features sliding like liquid shadows. What once wore the visage of your childhood hero now stretched into an eerily.

" Vecna?" you called his name out. The name tasted bitter on your tongue, a summons both desperate and defiant. 

“Yes, Y/N. Welcome ,” the figure crooned, its voice rippling with mock affection. The semblance of your mother twisted, her features bending and warping into something grotesquely familiar. “Help me,” it whispered, a twisted echo that sent chills racing down your spine.

“No!” Panic surged through you, raw and unrelenting. You felt the shadows wrapping tighter around your limbs, " your not my mother! She died!" The figure's laughter reverberated through the air, a cruel mockery that echoed in the darkness. "Did she?" The word dripped with malice, a twisted taunt that slithered past the barricades of your mind. " What do you want from me?!" “Feed on your despair,” Vecna hissed, the words curling around you like poisonous vines. “Let your grief awaken the darkness within.” The shadows shifted, swirling around you, blurring the lines between memory and nightmare.

“Get away from me!” You screamed, the raw force of your terror splintering the darkness, pushing back against the echoes of your mother’s voice. “You’re not real!” 

His hand wrapped around your throat pulling you up. A gasp escaped your lips as Vecna’s grip tightened, the pressure squeezing the breath from your chest. The room spun, reality warping around you like a malignant shadow. His face loomed closer, the once-familiar features twisting into a grotes que mask of malice and pain. Every heartbeat felt like a drum echoing the horror circling around you. The chilling emptiness behind his gaze reflected all your fears, the darkness pooling like poison in your veins.

You carry the weight of your pain with you, and I shall feast on it," Vecna whispered, the malignancy lacing his words echoing in your ears. It was an intimate threat, one that drew on the depths of your worst moments and twisted them into a weapon against your very soul. The shadows danced around you, a suffocating cocoon tightening around your chest, making each breath feel like a futile struggle.

“Y/N! Stay with us! Fight him!” Steve’s voice pierced through the chaos, a beacon of clarity amidst the suffocating darkness. 

Eddie and Dustin rummaged through the cluttered mess—old vinyl records, crumpled posters, and forgotten cassette tapes littering the floor like remnants of battles fought in better times.

“Where is it?” Dustin's voice grew frantic as he flipped through the mess, desperation creeping into his tone. “It has to be here! The one album that could break his hold!”

“Keep looking!” Eddie shouted, his fingers dancing across the clutter as he scrambled to find something—anything—that could tether you back.

" Harrington has bad taste in music" Eddie mumbles.

" Did you find it?" Robin asks joining them on the floor. “Not yet!” Dustin’s voice carried urgency, anxiety weaving through his words like a fraying thread. “It has to be here. We’re running out of time!”

" you're taking too much time, bozos" Eric says as she pushes Dustin away and looks herself. “Get back!” Dustin protested, but Eric shrugged off his frustration, her focus fixed on the task at hand. 

“I’ll find it! Just move!” The urgency in her voice sent a jolt through the cluttered room. As she dove headfirst into the heap, tossing aside albums and posters with wild abandon, her determination electrified the air. 

“Come on, come on!” Dustin grunted, shoving a stack of records aside, his fingers skimming over the familiar labels.

“Wait!” Eddie’s eyes widened, realization hitting him like a lightning bolt. “I think I left one in the van!” The words tumbled from his lips, an eruption of hope breaking through the haze of despair. 

"Go! We need it now!” Dustin barked, urgency threading through his tone.

“Right—stay here! I’ll be back!” Eddie bolted out the front door before anyone could protest, the sound of his footsteps fading down the walkway. 

Inside, Vecna talked about how pathetic your life is and mocking how Steve was a waste of time. “It’s amusing, really,” Vecna’s voice coiled through your mind, laced with a sinister glee that sent a shiver down your spine. “Here you are, surrounded by friends, yet so utterly alone. They cannot save you from the darkness that cradles your heart.”

“Shut up!” You felt the bile rising as you summoned every ounce of willpower, squaring your shoulders against the suffocating grip of dread. “You're not real—you’re nothing but a twisted figment of my past!”

“Ah, but your past is a mirror I wield,” Vecna hissed, his voice dripping with mockery as he leaned closer, his malevolent gaze boring into yours. “Every pain you’ve buried with mockery as he leaned closer, his malevolent gaze boring into yours. “Every pain you’ve buried is the key to your downfall. Feed me your memories, and I’ll show you how insignificant you truly are.” 

Steve's voice cut through the oppressive darkness, a luminous thread woven through shadows thick with despair. "Y/N!" he shouted, desperation lacing each syllable, piercing the veil of your panic. The contrast was stark—his voice a beacon, a lifeline anchored in the storm of dread that threatened to pull you under.

“Y/N! I love you!" The words erupted from his mouth with an urgency that stemmed from fear, shooting straight to the core of your despair. "I love you! I always have! I was too stupid to see it before, but I know now! You're not alone in this, I swear!"

The laughter echoed in your mind, a cruel symphony that warped Steve’s desperate confession into mockery. The shadows thickened around you, drowning out the light of his proclamation, shaping it into something dark and cruel. 

“Hear that?” Vecna sneered, his breath cold against your ear. “Even his love won’t save you. It only deepens your despair. All that remains is eventual loss—his love, your hope, and your very life.”

You could feel the darkness tightening its grip, the suffocating shadows wrapping around you like a vice. Each word Vecna uttered echoed through your mind, puncturing the feeble shield of hope that had begun to light the edges of your despair. The shadows skittered closer, chilling tendrils coaxing doubt into your heart like poison spreading through your veins. 

" Where is that album, Munson???! " Max shouts. Eddies comes in putting the cassette and putting headphones over your head while he steps back nibbling on his nails. The moment the headphones nestled around your ears, the world around you shifted. The pulsating shadows flickered for a brief second, the whisper of music lacing through your mind like sunlight breaking through clouds. Eddie's fingers trembled as he described the sound, coaxing a defiance from the depths of your being. “Just listen, Y/N! Breathe with it. Let the music wash over you!”

As the melody swept through the headphones, it felt like a lifeline thrown into turbulent waters, each note reaching deep into the recesses of your heart. The music surged through you like the first breath of fresh air after a long dive underwater, illuminating the shadows that loomed in the corners of your mind.

"Fight back!” Eddie shouts and starts to sing your favorite song joined by Dustin as he knows he words as everyone shouts the lyrics in hope to save you. The familiar chords thrummed through the headphones, a pulse that resonated in your core, cutting through the darkness strangling you. The voices of your friends rose, the lyrics woven with urgency and raw emotion. They flooded the space, the harmonies intertwining like threads of light piercing through the heavy gloom. Each note carried the weight of their support, reverberating against the warping shadows that threatened to consume you whole.

“Feel it, Y/N!” Dustin shouted, his voice a fierce." Feel it, Y/N!” Dustin shouted, determination etching every syllable with unwavering strength. “You’re not alone! We’re right here!”

The portal opens as you see your friends singing their hearts out. Vecna growls as he sees it and turns to you, just as you kick him hard as his grip loosens. You fall to the ground in fear as he stands up. The shadows surged and stretched, flickering with an unholy light as you scrambled backward, heart racing. Your hands dug into the gravel, frantic against the rough surface as you pushed yourself away from Vecna, the weight of dread still pressing down like a heavy stone. Each frantic beat of your heart echoed through the night, matching the relentless tempo of the music flooding your ears. 

You throw whatever you could at him, sliding in between his legs making your escape. 

"Please Y/N" your friends beg. Shadows lunged, tendrils reaching out like claws grasping for your ankles, but the pulsating rhythm of the music propelled you forward. 

“Keep running!” Steve’s voice broke through.

Each step felt harder, the shadows curling around your legs like creeping vines, but the power of your friends’ voices surged around you, wrapping you in warmth and determination.

as you charged forward, a wave of desperation fueling your every movement. Panic clawed at your insides, but the melody resonated through you, sparking the fire of resistance in your chest. 

“Y/N, keep going!” Dustin shouted.

From somewhere within the maelstrom, his voice a beacon in the dark. The rhythm of the music pulsed around you, each note forging an invisible path through the encroaching shadows. 

You pushed harder, your legs pumping as the darkness.

" Come back to me" Steve pleads. wove tighter around the edges of your vision, an oppressive fog that threatened to snuff out your spirit. The music surged within you, the familiar melody pushing back against the encroaching shadows as you fought for clarity, for freedom. 

Your body slowly goes down as your back to your friends, arm engulf you tight. An overwhelming flood of warmth wrapped around you, a cocoon of safety from the chaos that roiled just beyond the edges of consciousness. Your friends' voices resonated in the air, their harmonies intertwining to drown out the whispers of darkness that clung stubbornly to your thoughts. The weight of Vecna’s presence loomed, but the warmth of your friends reached out, pulling you back toward the light.

" Did I really hear Harrington confess his love too?" Eddie asks all of sudden. Laughter erupted, shattering the oppressive weight of fear for a moment, and you found strength within the absurdity of it all.

Was it true?" you asked Steve looking up at him. Steve’s eyes widened, a mixture of surprise and vulnerability etched across his face. The shadows that had engulfed you flickered, their grip momentarily loosened by the absurdity of your questions amidst the chaos.

“Yes,” he breathed, voice thick with emotion. “It’s true. I love you, Y/N. I always have.” 

You blinked, disbelief blending with a torrent of emotions. The shadows around you pulsed, the darkness wavering for a brief moment as if caught in the storm of your shared confessions.

" So it took me to get captured for you to tell me how you feel. Alright understood" The words hung in the air, laced with a mixture of irony and incredulity, but as your eyes locked with Steve's, everything felt charged with urgency.

" Well! Are you going to kiss her?" Robin asked,her voice breaking through the tension like a call to arms. Laughter rippled through the room, a buoy of levity amid the darkness that pressed in on all sides.

“Shut up, Robin!” Steve snapped, his cheeks flushing, eyes wide with embarrassment but glinting with amusement.

“Seriously? You’re on the verge of losing her to Vecna, and *that’s* what you focus on?” Eddie interjected, laughter lighting his features, injecting energy into the somber atmosphere. The absurdity hung between you like a thread, pulling the heaviness of the moment upward.

" Do I smell bad that your not going to kiss me?" you asked. A wry smile tugged at your lips, defiance mingling with the lingering dread swirling in the shadows. Steve blinked, his gaze locking onto yours as a flush of embarrassment raced across his cheeks.

"What?” he stammered, his cheeks flushing deeper, the vulnerability in his eyes opening a small chasm of warmth against the encroaching darkness. 

“Do you really think I’m just going to let Vecna win?” you shot back "I really want that kiss, I needed to win". you winked at him.Steve’s eyes widened as the tension shifted, color flooding his cheeks. The corners of his mouth twitched like they might form a smile, fighting against the shadows that still loomed. 

“Are you serious right now?” he asked, half-playful, half-breathless. But the light in your eyes sparked something within him—a determination melded with hope that pushed back against the tide of darkness. 

“I’ve never been more serious in my life,” you insisted, a flicker f defiance igniting in your chest. The shadows continued to dance at the edges of your vision, but the power of laughter filled the room, wrapping around you like a protective shield.

" If you won't kiss her, then I will " Eddie chimed in. The laughter erupted, breaking the oppressive weight of fear that filled the air. 

“Eddie, you’re not helping!” Steve shot him an incredulous look, but beneath it lay deep embarrassment mingled with something softer—understanding, perhaps.

" So Harrington, your going to leave me hanging or do I have to do it myself?" you asked. The atmosphere in the room shifted, thickening with tension as laughter blended into something electric. Steve's eyes widened, disbelief painting his features, grappling with the absurdity of the situation even amidst the swirling chaos that threatened to engulf you. 

“Wait, are you serious?” Steve stammered, stepping closer, his gaze locked onto yours with a mixture of urgency and disbelief. 

" You talk too much, Steve" Laughter rippled through the room, an unexpected balm against the weight of fear. Steve’s eyes brightened despite the chaos, and that flicker of hope ignited something deep within you.

“Alright, alright.” He raised his hands in amock surrender, but determination sparked in his eyes. “Just hold on for a sec, okay? I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever.” He stepped closer, each heartbeat resonating with the gravity of his words. The shadows clung to the edges of your vision, but they felt less suffocating in this moment, swallowed by the brightness in his gaze.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice steady yet thick with uncertainty, “if we make it out of this…” His determination wavered, but the sincerity in his eyes shone through, illuminating the shadows that threatened to suffocate you. " I want you to know I’ve admired you for so long. You’re… you’re everything incredible.”

Eddie grew tired of this from Steve as he pushed him into you and Steve lips were inches from yours.The world around you seemed to suspend, time stretching taut as the distance closed between you. Steve’s eyes flickered with uncertainty, a silent question hanging in the air, heavy with hope and trepidation.

The world around you seemed to suspend, time stretching taut as the distance closed between you. 

With his lips merely inches from yours, everything faded into insignificance—the shadows, the darkness of Vecna’s taunts, even the pulsating fear that had gripped your heart just moments before. The world shrank to a single point where nothing mattered but the whispered promise contained in that fleeting moment. 

“Y/N,” Steve breathed softly, his voice barely above the thrum of the music, each syllable laced with vulnerability and an urgency that felt electric. The shadows receded slightly, as if honoring the connection between you. 

You stepped closer, feeling the warmth radiating from him, a lifeline amidst the chaos swirling around you.

"Oh get on with it, already " Erica threw her hands up in the air. As the laughter bubbled through the room like a lifeline, an unexpected surge of courage washed over you. You locked eyes with Steve, a fierce determination igniting within you. 

As you leaned toward him, your heart raced, a pulse of adrenaline mixing with the tender resolve that anchored you. Steve’s arms immediately encircled you, grounding you in the moment, even as the chaos threatened to consume it. 

"finally,” you breathed into the space between you, the weight of laughter and shadows falling away. 

His lips brushed against yours, tentative at first, but then the urgency of the moment ignited a fire between you. The kiss deepened, hearts racing in tandem as the world around you faded into a distant murmur.

" Finally he had some balls to do it" Erica says. The kiss consumed you, an electric jolt of warmth igniting the shadows that surrounded you. Each heartbeat echoed like a drum in your chest, threading through the chaos in a whirlwind of emotion.

As the kiss deepened, time warped and twisted, dissolving the barriers of the moment.

This was far from over. Vecna will be back but he can wait, as this moment was everything between the two of you.

Vecna had another thing coming.

[billiebooxxxx]

Date Night Bites

pt 1 (tell me if you want the rest)

Billie Switch

Y/N switch

Y/N POV

I walk in the door expecting to hear Billie’s silly voice excitedly welcoming me home like she usually does. I walk into the kitchen, noticing how clean everything was. A soft  scent wandered through the air as I continue exploring our house, trying to find my girlfriend. I figure she might just be taking a nap so I make my way to our bedroom. As I open the door my eyes become glassed over and my cheeks get hot. Still no billie in sight, but to my surprise a bouquet of roses lay on the bed with a new black lingerie set displayed out. On it was a note that said "wear me" and a card with a heart on the outside. I open the note quickly, excited about this romantic gesture bills had left for me.

the note read:

I ran out for a quick errand. Be ready for a hot date with yours truly ;) I'll be home at 6:30 to pick you up and head to a nice dinner. I love you <3

I love how romantic Billie is with me. We've both grown so much in the 2 years we've been dating. I feel so immensely lucky.

TIME JUMP

Billie POV

It's 6:30 on the dot when I pulled into our driveway. I'm anxious and eager to get in the house and see Y/N, and knowing what's she got on underneath her clothes makes my heart skip a beat (maybe the heartbeat in between my thighs stole it)

before I can open the door I see Y/N exit the house, giving one last head scratch to mr shark and then locking it behind her. As she turns I feel my cheeks flush and my pussy throb. Her perfect curvy body is on display in a tight black dress, sheer black gucci tights and black heels. I don't think I'll ever get over how gorgeous she is. I don't know how I pulled her ass but I did (round of applause for me please).

I pull her in for a kiss as I smell her intoxicating skin and another intense throb travels down me. I spin her around and head back inside the house as she looks at me confused.

"I thought you said be ready to leave at 6:30?" she questions me, as she looks down and suddenly clocks the all black plastic bag in my hand

"I've got one last thing I need you to wear before we go mama" I whisper in her ear as we get inside the door.

I pull out our new toy as she looks down, her eyes wide with new found desire.

"Turn around for me and spread your legs baby" I say as I help her spin around and push her against the door. Her ass is now facing me and her legs begin to spread. I pull up her dress and pull down her tights, careful not to rip them. Placing the beads in my mouth to wet them, I run my finger in and out of her pussy lips, causing her to let out a quiet moan. I stand up, the silver metal beads in my hand, and place my mouth right in between her ear and her neck. I bite her once, delicately, knowing she wants it harder, knowing she'll be thinking about all the bites i'll leave tonight and as I whisper in her ear I slowly pump the beads into her now wet pussy.

"every time you move tonight I want you picturing how good it's going to feel when these beads get replaced by my fingers. Can you do that for me love?"

"fuhhckkk.... yes baby yes I can do that" she says with a breathy moan.

I pull up her tights and get her dress rearranged and with one light slap on the ass I push us both back out the door.

Y/N POV

As I sit down in the passenger side of Billie's porsche I can't help but whimper quietly as I feel the beads moving against my tight walls. Fuck I love how horny billie is. She comes up with all the best ideas and keeps me on my toes at all times. I squeeze my legs tightly as my now incredibly horny mind searches for more pleasure. Billie grabs my thigh and looks at me with a smirk

"enjoying that, huh sexy" she says as she looks down at my center, my legs crossed tightly as I wiggle slowly. As we hit a red light billie leans over and kisses me softly, her tongue tangling with mine briefly before pulling away to keep driving. I'm throbbing now and can't help myself but tease bills in the seat next to me. I adjust so that i'm sitting on my knees and lean over to her side of the car. I wrap my hands around her neck and bite her ear. As I breath out I let out a soft moan in her ear, "I hope you know that every time I look at you at this dinner, the only thing I'll be thinking about is my head in between your thighs listening to you moan my name" with that I move my hands to grab her pussy, quick to pull away as I feel her buck her hips in desperation. I sit back down happy with the state I've now put her in. Her cheeks are bright red and she's gripping the wheel tightly now. Two can play this game, I think to myself.

As we pull into the parking lot I see that she's taking me to my favorite restaurant. A nice little vegan italian restaurant in a secluded part of LA. This restaurant is frequented by celebrities and it allows us to eat peacefully knowing that there won't be too many people disrupting our meal. (as much as we don't mind her fans at all)

TIME JUMP

billie POV

We just finished our dinner and Y/N took the last sips of her white wine.  suddenly I feel her leg sliding up my pants from across the table. I know those beads are driving her crazy, and knowing Y/N, the wine is only making her hornier.

I look up at her and see that she's already staring at me, I meet her eyes and bite my lip slowly, making sure to keep my eyes on her, I see her jump between looking at my eyes, down to my lips, down to my boobs (which are spilling out of the tight black corset I have on under my black blazer), then back at my lips before she begins to lick hers. I see her wiggling and writhing in her chair as her head falls back gently. My pussy immediately aches for her touch at the sight of her pleasure. 'Fuck she's so sexy' I think to myself as I scan over her body. I need her naked. I need my hands on her skin. I need her taste in my mouth.

I signal down the waitress for our bill and quickly wrap things up with the check before getting up. Before she could stand, I place my body behind her chair and bend down. I move her long straight hair from her neck and kiss it gently. Before moving her chair I whisper in her ear, "I need you to be my good girl tonight, can you do that for me?"

"Yes baby yes, you're in charge tonight" she moans out quietly.

I let her stand, noticing the pleasure she feels as the beads shift and slide against her walls, and look up at her. Her pupils are so big that her eyes almost look black. I think I've done my job here.

Y/N POV

as soon as we get in the car I let out a loud moan. I've been holding it in for too long and I feel drunk with pleasure and desire (and wine). I squeeze my thighs together just as I did on the way here, now desperate for more. My eyes are closed and my head is tilted back against the seat of the car as I move back and forth trying to get these beads to move more for me. Suddenly I feel Billie's hand grab my thigh and pull my legs apart. She grabs my waist to stop my movement and looks me dead in the eyes.

"so impatient aren't you? Be a good girl and wait for me love. No more self pleasure, that's my job, you got it?" I can hear the dominance take over her voice and i'm instantly more wet than I've been all night. my black lace thong is soaked and the feeling of my slick juices against my shaved pussy feels so good. I try moving again but stop myself, knowing that dominant Billie doesn't fuck around.

[moonsandmobilityaids]

All Night Long

Pairings: Poly!marauders x disabled!reader Summary: The boys spend the night with you in your room. Warnings: N/A Series Masterlist

The fire in your room flickers, casting dancing shadows on the walls and filling the space with a comforting warmth. The last vestiges of daylight recede, leaving only the soft glow of the flames to illuminate the room. You're seated on your bed, legs pulled up under a thick blanket, heart beating a little faster than usual. There's something different about tonight, a subtle shift that sends a shiver down your spine despite the heat.

James, Sirius, and Remus are here, their presence filling your room with an energy that's both familiar and electric. You've all spent the night together before you were in a relationship, , but tonight feels different. It's intimate, charged with anticipation and a promise that hangs in the air, unspoken but impossible to ignore.

James is the first to move, his messy hair falling into his eyes as he leans forward. His hand comes up to gently push a stray lock of hair from your face, his touch feather-light against your skin. His lips press softly against your forehead, a gesture so simple yet so profound it makes your heart flutter.

He sits beside you on the bed, his strong arm wrapping around your shoulders, drawing you closer. The scent of him—warm spices and parchment paper—fills your senses, grounding you in this moment.

"I think it's time we made this official, don't you?" James' voice is low, teasing, but there's a sincerity behind his words that sends a thrill through you.

You turn to face him, your heart pounding with anticipation. Before you can respond, the bed shifts slightly as Sirius settles on your other side. His usual grin is replaced by a tender smile that somehow makes him look even more handsome. He reaches out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear before leaning in to press a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Can't let Prongs have all the fun." Sirius's whisper tickles your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Mind if we join?"

For a moment, Remus lingers by the fireplace, watching with a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. His presence is quieter, thoughtful — a calming counterpoint to James and Sirius's playful energy. Finally, he crosses the room and perches on the edge of the bed, taking your hand between his.

"I think it's only right that we all stay," Remus murmurs, his thumb tracing circles over the back of your hand. "If that's alright with you?"

Your heart feels as though it might burst from the sheer joy threatening to consume you, and you nod, a genuine smile tugging at your lips. It's a sight so beautiful it coaxes mirrored grins from each of them. "Yes," you breathe out, almost whispering. "I want you here."

Sirius moves quickly, helping you lower yourself onto the bed. His arm remains around your waist, a steady presence grounding you in this impossible moment. James follows without hesitation, his body curling protectively around yours until you're nestled between him and Sirius.

Remus positions himself behind you, his long legs mirroring the curve of your own. Your back presses against his chest, each rise and fall syncing with your shallow breaths, a tangible reminder of the life persisting within despite everything. The warmth from their bodies seeps through your clothes, chasing away the chill that had started to creep into your bones.

James leans in, his lips brushing gently against your temple, lingering there for the briefest of moments. He is careful with you, as though you are a work of art to be admired and cherished, his hand resting lightly on your side as if trying to memorise the feel of you beneath him. You turn your head slightly, catching his lips with yours in a slow, sweet kiss that speaks volumes of the love you share.

When you part, Sirius is already leaning in, the corners of his mouth twitching into a playful grin even as his eyes hold a softness that belies his usual bravado. "Don't forget about me, doll," he teases before claiming your lips with his own. His kiss is different from James's—deeper, hungrier—but it carries the same tenderness that makes your heart flutter. His hand finds your waist, pulling you closer still, as if he could somehow merge the two of you into one.

Time seems to stand still as you're caught between Sirius's passion and James's warmth, but then you feel a new presence—Remus. His thumb brushes lightly against your cheek, and when he leans in to kiss you, it's with an almost reverent gentleness. His lips move slowly over yours, hesitant yet resolute, a silent promise woven into the very fabric of this moment. When you pull back, your foreheads rest together, and he smiles at you—a tender, knowing smile that sends warmth spreading through you like sunlight.

“We’re all here,” Remus whispers, his voice low and full of affection. “All night.”

With James on one side and Sirius on the other, their bodies a solid barrier against the world, you begin to understand the power of their silent promise. And behind you, Remus's warmth seeps into your back, further anchoring you in this moment of unexpected security. Their breaths mingle with yours, steady and slow, lulling you towards a peaceful oblivion that has eluded you for far too long.

There's movement—a subtle shift—and then Sirius's face tucks into the curve of your neck, his hair brushing against your skin in a delicate caress.

"You smell good," he murmurs against your throat, the low rumble of his voice more soothing than any lullaby. "Could stay like this forever."

James chuckles low in your ear, his hand tracing lazy patterns on your hip. "That's the plan, Pads."

You feel the rumble of Sirius's laughter against your throat—a sound so intimately familiar, it sends a warmth through your chest that has nothing to do with the fire crackling nearby. You shift slightly, just enough to run your fingers over the stubbled line of Sirius's jaw before pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead. He hums in response, arms tightening around your waist.

Remus shifts slightly, his hand finding a place at your waist just beside Sirius’s. Their touches are different, one rugged and warm, the other smooth and cool, yet both carry the same weight of affection that makes your heart flutter in a way you can’t quite explain. James is the first to break the silence, his lips gently brushing the top of your head as he whispers, “We’re here, love. We’re not going anywhere.”

You tilt your head back, looking up into those hazel eyes that hold so much emotion. He leans down, capturing your lips with his in a tender kiss that steals your breath away. His hand finds its way into your hair, fingers tangling in the tresses as he pulls you closer, holding you as if you might disappear if he lets go.

And in that moment, you know he won't. None of them will.

Time becomes a sweet blur as the night deepens. The kisses grow softer, the caresses slower, each touch an exploration, a question, and an answer all at once. The initial rush of adrenaline mellows into a current that hums with the intimacy of shared secrets, the connection between you and the Marauders deepening with every breath.

You lose count of how many times James's lips find yours in the darkness, or how often Sirius's fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, the sensation making your heart flutter. Remus's touch is equally gentle, his own heartbeat steady against your back, grounding you. Occasionally, his lips press to your shoulder, your neck, leaving warmth in their wake.

There's no urgency, no insistence for anything more than this closeness. It's just the four of you, bodies entwined, sharing warmth and soft kisses in the quiet night. It feels like a dream, one you're afraid might shatter if you dare to blink.

As sleep begins to claim you, James presses a final, lingering kiss to your forehead, his breath stirring the loose strands of your hair. Sirius's hand remains on your waist, his fingers tracing lazy circles that lull you further into tranquility. And Remus—always Remus—is there, his arm secure around you, his breath a warm whisper against your shoulder.

"Goodnight, love," James murmurs, his voice the last thing you register before surrendering to sleep.

The night stretches on, silent save for the occasional rustle of sheets or the soft exhale of breath. You drift off, cradled by the boys who've stolen your heart, knowing that tonight marks the beginning of countless nights to come—nights filled with whispered words, shared laughter, and the kind of love you never dared to imagine.

[anniebeemine]

hi!!!!! I’ve loved all your Spencer Reid fics, I have been eating them up like a starved lion. That being said I have a request if that’s alright!!

Little self indulgent, but maybe Spencer with a reader who’s just been feeling like just so crazy like emotionally. Just having a lot of overthinking and having a lot of crying fits?? Hopefully that makes sense, but some nice comfort would be peak, thank you sm!!! 🩵🩵🩵

I'm so glad that you've been enjoying my work <3 I'd love to write a little something for you

The house was quiet, but inside your mind, everything felt overwhelming. You sat on the edge of the bed, your thoughts swirling in a chaotic mess, spiraling into one of those emotional storms that you just couldn’t seem to escape lately. Tears slipped down your cheeks, and as much as you tried to hold it together, the lump in your throat made breathing feel like a battle.

You didn’t hear Spencer come in, but suddenly there he was—standing in the doorway, his brows knitted together in concern as he watched you, clearly sensing something was wrong. His soft, familiar voice broke through your haze.

“Hey…” He crossed the room quietly, careful not to startle you. “What’s going on?”

You shook your head, struggling to form a coherent sentence. It felt impossible to explain why you felt like this—why everything was so heavy. "I don't know," you finally managed to whisper, your voice cracking. "I just feel...crazy. Everything feels too much. And I keep overthinking everything, and I can’t stop crying. It doesn’t even make sense."

Without another word, Spencer sat beside you, his hand resting gently on your back. He didn’t try to fix it. He didn’t tell you to stop crying or try to solve your problems. He just sat there, his presence grounding you, letting you know that you didn’t have to go through this alone.

After a few moments of quiet, he spoke, his voice steady and reassuring. “You’re not crazy. You’re going through a lot, and sometimes it’s hard to make sense of it all. But whatever you’re feeling, it’s okay. You don’t have to have all the answers, and you don’t have to go through this by yourself.”

His words were like a balm to the raw edges of your emotions. You leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder as another wave of tears came, but this time they felt a little less overwhelming. Spencer wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you let it out, his steady heartbeat calming the storm inside of you.

“You’re not alone,” he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head. “I’m right here.”

You stayed like that for what felt like forever, his arms a safe haven from the weight of your own mind. Slowly, the sobs quieted, replaced by the steady rhythm of your breathing syncing with his.

When you finally pulled back, Spencer cupped your face in his hands, wiping away the stray tears with his thumb. “You’re doing your best, and that’s enough. I’m proud of you for hanging on, even when it feels impossible.”

A soft smile tugged at your lips despite everything. “Thank you… for just being here.”

“Always,” he said, his voice filled with the kind of love and sincerity that made you feel a little bit lighter. “Whenever it feels like too much, remember you don’t have to carry it by yourself. I’m always here for you.”

And for the first time in a while, you believed him.

You leaned back into his embrace, burying your face in his shoulder as his arms wrapped around you again. The warmth of his body and the steady rise and fall of his breath were comforting, anchoring you in the moment. As you relaxed into him, the words you’d been holding inside tumbled out in a quiet, shaky mumble.

Spencer’s hand gently rubbed soothing circles on your back, his voice calm and reassuring in your ear. You nodded against him, his words sinking in as the tension in your body slowly eased. Speaking the thoughts that had been rattling around in your head out loud, even if they didn’t make perfect sense, helped loosen their grip on you. And Spencer, as always, listened without judgment, giving you the space to feel everything without pressure. His words felt like a lifeline, pulling you out of the swirling thoughts just enough for you to breathe a little easier. You stayed in his arms, the two of you wrapped in a quiet understanding, and for the first time in what felt like forever, the weight in your chest started to lift.