#but i think about him every now and again and i have to push it out of my mind

[minorlyatfault]

jason todd didn't like feeling weak. not physically, not emotionally, not in any way. he was red hood, the second robin, the guy who crawled his way out of the grave, the guy who made criminals run the second they saw him. he wasn't fragile.

at least, that's what he told himself.

but you knew better.

you saw the way his hands shook sometimes, how he clenched his jaw so tight it looked like it hurt. how he acted like he was fine, always fine, even when he was bleeding right in front of you.

like tonight.

he got hit▰bullet to the side, not deep enough to be life threatening, but deep enough that he couldn't just ignore it. he tried to, though.

"i don’t need help," he muttered, struggling to take off his jacket without wincing.

"jason, you’re literally bleeding on my floor."

"i’ve had worse."

"that’s not the point." you crossed your arms. "sit down. let me fix it."

he sighed like you were asking him to do something absurd, but he sat. that alone told you everything.

you came back, first aid kit in hand & went to work on the wound while he sat there, way too tense.

“you don't have to do this," he muttered.

"i know."

his jaw tightened, but he didn't move away. you stitched him up carefully, your fingers brushing against his skin, & he hardly moved.

"you're not a burden, you know," you said after a minute.

he scoffed. "never said i was."

"you don't have to. i see it every time you push me away." you paused, looking up at him. "you don't have to be strong all the time, jason."

his eyes flickered. something in him hesitated, but he didn't let it break through.

"i hate this," he muttered.

"hate what?"

"feeling like this." he motioned at himself, at the bandages, at you sitting next to him. "weak."

you frowned. "jason, you're not weak."

"doesn't feel like it."

your chest felt tight. you reached for his hand, & he let you, just like he always did. but this time, it's different. that it's not just jason who you're holding, but the red hood as well.

"being strong doesn't mean doing everything alone," you said quietly. "sometimes it means letting people help."

he swallowed, his fingers twitching around yours. you’d held hands before, curled up on the couch, laced fingers absentmindedly.

but this was different. this was him holding on like he needed to.

& then, barely above a whisper, he said, "i don’t wanna do this alone."

you squeezed his hand. "you don’t have to."

he let out a shaky breath, nodded, & for the first time, he didn't just let you help▰he let himself believe he needed it. he let himself accept the fact that he indeed, needs it.

you finally got him into bed, though he agrued about not being tired. but the second his head hit the pillow, you could tell▰he was exhausted.

yet, he didn't sleep.

he just laid there, staring at the ceiling, breathing too controlled, too careful.

"you're thinking too much," you whispered, running your fingers through his hair.

he huffed. "i don't think that's possible."

you smiled. "wanna bet?"

he rolled onto his side, looking at you, with an unreadable expression. "what if i wake up in a panic again?"

"then i'll be here."

his brows furrowed. "you shouldn't have to deal with that."

"jason." you stroked your thumb over his cheek, soft(is what you thought when your hand came in contact with his soft cheek, & is what jason thought when his cheek came in contact with your soft hand.)

"loving you doesn't mean only staying for the easy parts. i want to be here. always."

he breathed slowly, like he was struggling to let himself believe you. maybe it would take time. but right now, he was here, letting you hold him, & that was enough.

he brought you closer still, his hand lying flat upon your waist, fingers just tight enough on the shirt to cling. "you're too good for me," he murmured against your skin.

"& you're an idiot," you whisper back.

a soft laugh rolled from him & lay warm across your collarbone. he drew a breath at last, uncoiling finally, his fingers tracing slow patterns on your back.

"thanks," he mutters after a while.

"for what?"

"for this. for staying."

you pressed a kiss to his forehead, holding him a little tighter. "like i said: always."

& this time, he let himself believe it.

© minorlyatfault, 2025

[luvyeni]

LOVESICK BOY 𝕼. ( 이동혁 )

𝓲𝓲 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒𓈒 ( 이동혁 x fem!reader )  ─── ❛ genre ⸝⸝ smut. content warning. unprotected sex , oral ( f )word count. 3.5k 「 req? ⦂ yes/no 」 library  !

synopsis … haechan is completely lovesick … but you won’t give him the time a day , until chenle comes in and shows you what you’ve been missing

𝕼 ㅤ𓈒ㅤ𓈒 yeni’s note .ᐟ this is the one that i think was supposed to be a yandere but the person didn’t specify

you really couldn’t see the appeal; all he did was sleep around with other girls, party and never show up to class — so why couldn’t you stop staring at him?

“my god he’s so annoying.” chenle turned around to see who you were staring at. “and how is she even falling for that?” you watched donghyuck flirt with the 3rd girl this morning , the girls eyes shimmered with hope and joy. if only she knew she’d be severely disappointed in the end. “this is your third complaint about him today.” jeno smirked. “we’ll need to get a jar , every complaint about hyuck you’ll have to put a dollar in the jar.”

“hey maybe we will be able to afford a new game for the frat after all , give it a week.” jaemin teased , you scoffed. “with the way she talks about him , maybe will have a little left over.” the table laughed , while you just rolled your eyes. “haha very funny , im leaving.” you stood up ready to walk away when someone blocked your path. “lee donghyuck.” you sighed , the boy smiled in front of you. “hey my wife to be.” he smirked. “where you going i just got here.” he said.

“really because we all saw you flirting with that girl over there.” you didn’t even mean to sound jealous , but it came off like that. “you jealous?” he said , you stepped to the right , but he followed blocking you once again. “come on you know you’re the one that i want.” and he was serious about that , but to you it meant nothing. “yeah , how many people did you say that to today?” you pushed him out the way , walking away to your next class.

he waited until you were out of sight and earshot before he sat in the seat slumped. “and what’s got you upset today?” marked smirked , the guys groaning knowing the rant he was about to go on. “you got him started.” he sighed dramatically. “i just don’t get it , why won’t she take me seriously.” his friends shook their heads. “how many times do i have to confess for her to get it.” he said. “for starters don’t flirt with other girls in front of her.” renjun said. “but i wasn’t flirting , i only asked where she got her necklace from.” he said. “i wanted to buy it for yn , she said a month ago her favorite necklace broke and i wanted to get her a new one , that looked like one she would like.” he said.

“yeah but that girl looked like she wanted to pull your pants down and suck your dick in front of everyone and with how friendly you were, it looked like you’d let her.” chenle said. “this is driving me insane.” he tugged at his hair. he couldn’t get you out of his head, you consumed him entirely even though you barely gave him the time of day. he even enjoyed when you would insult him because at least you were talking to him. “you guys don’t understand.” he sighed. “you’ve explained it , many many many times.” jisung looked up from his phone. “we understand.”

“where did obsession even come from , she’s never given you any reason for you to like her like that.” jaemin said. “i don’t know , it’s just that every single thing she does makes me crazy, even now i feel sick that she isn’t here , i miss her and she doesn’t even know it.” his friends watch him pour his heart out. “i think i love her.”

“whoa calm down.” mark said. “at least get her to like you before you start talking fucking wedding bells , children and shit.” the table chuckled , but he was serious. “how can i get her to like me?” he said. “aren’t you supposed to be good at this?” chenle said. “aren’t you like known for getting girls out of their panties , this should be a walk in the park for you.” haechan knew his reputation ; and he won’t deny his freshman year he really was like that — but then he met you , and everything changed , he no longer wanted to be a player , he wanted you and only you… turns out his past did come with consequences , you hated him; you wanted nothing to do with him despite him telling you that he changed , you refused to believe him.

“that’s the thing , i don’t want to get her out her panties.” they all looked at him. “well not just that , i want to be her , go on dates , take her to the movies , hell sit in the park and have a picnic.” he said. “yeah but you also want to fuck her in these exact places and she’s aware of that.” jeno said. “it’s your approach bro.” mark said. “yn doesn’t want to know what you’d do to her if you were alone in her bedroom.” he said. “she’s probably heard that 1000 times already.” he doubled over with a groan , he couldn’t fathom another guy talking to you. “instead of approaching her like a jerk , ask her on a real date first; or at least say hello when you see her and not and this is a quote from you ‘hello mother of all 6 of my future kids.’

he thought about all the advice that he was giving; as he waited outside of your class. “don’t say anything stupid.” he said to himself , walking back and forth. “nothing stupid.” he said. “oh that must be hard for you.” he spun around upon hearing your voice. “you’re constantly saying stupid stuff.” he smiled , your upper lip curled up in annoyance. “hi yn.” he said. “what do you want lee donghyuck?” you walked , he followed behind you. “well to ask you a question.” he said. “no.” you said , he pouted , making you feel bad. “fine what is it , i have a class.” you said. “i can walk you.” he said walking next to you. “is that what you wanted? that’s not a question.”

“that’s not the question yn , please listen to me for a second.” he pleased. “what is is donghyuck?” you said. “let me take you out,” he said. “what?” you stopped. “let me take you out.” he repeated. “on a date , a real date.” he said. “and why would i do that?” you said. “because im trying to show you that im not a heartless bastard with no home training.” you stifled a laugh. “did you laugh?” he said. “no.” you deadpanned. “yes you did , come on it was funny , you can laugh.” he said. “haechan — oh my god , you called me haechan.” you stared at him. “i have class donghyuck.” you stopped outside the classroom. “then say yes; we’ll go see a movie.” he explained. “we can even go get ice cream , brownie your favorite.”

“how did you know that?” you asked. “just say yes , before you’re late.” he said. you thought about it for a second , no sexual jokes , no condescending smirk on his face , although sexy made you want to slap him — he was serious. “are you fucking with me?” you said. “yn i wouldn’t have walked you all the way to class if i wasn’t serious , my class is on the other side of campus.” he said. “im waiting and you know what i think i can miss a day of class , this class seems fun.” he tried to walk past you , but you stopped him. , hand on his chest. “no don’t do that.” you said. “i will go; so go back to your class , lord knows you shouldn’t miss a day.” he smiled , his hand coming to your wrist. “really?” he said. “i will meet you at the movie theatre , now go.”

he waited for you to go into the class; before bursting out in a fit of excitement; you said yes , he couldn’t believe you said yes.

“i can’t believe i said yes.” you slammed your vanity. “why did i say yes?” you complained to your friend on the phone. “because maybe you really like him and you let his reputation from freshman year determine your entire perception of him.” chenle said. “still , we both saw him flirting with those girls.” you said. “i won’t be another one of sexual conquests.” chenle spoke up. “be realistic who didn’t do dumb shit during freshman year? you ran topless down a busy street drunk and has haechan judged you for that?” he said. “no in fact he was the one who chased you down the street, shirt in hand , his shirt because yours was floating in our pool.” you cringed, remembering jeno and haechan dragging you back to the dorms as you screamed. “i genuinely believe that was the first time he actually realized he fell deep for you and not because you were naked and in his arms.”

“to be honest haechan hasn’t been with anyone since freshman year , im pretty sure he fucked himself into not wanting anything , but not only that , but because he quite literally doesn’t want anyone else but you.” chenle said. “and those girls , we know he’s friendly even the teachers think he’s flirting with them.” he said. “but he was touching her.” you said. “because she had a necklace that he wanted to buy you , he remembered you broke yours and he wanted to get you a new one.” he let it spill out; should he have? no , but with the new look on your face he knew haechan would thank him in the end. “i only mention that once , months ago.”

“and he remembered; just how he remembers everything you say , down to the name of your dead hamster you had when you were three.” chenle said. “i genuinely don’t think you understand how much he likes you.” he said. “and i think you’re letting your soulmate slip right from your hands.”

as you stood staring at the movie posters; everything was swirling around in your head as you tried to make sense of it… did haechan really feel this deeply for you? you’ve treated him so horribly for all these years for some stupid things he did when he was fresh out of highschool; and now chenle sprung this on you… you felt like shit. you hadn’t even realized that haechan was late. “yn!”

you were gonna kill him; you’ll never give him the time of day again, you’re gonna think he’s fucking with you. “calm down man , how were you supposed to know your car was gonna break down.” mark sat in the drivers seat. “call her , im sure she’ll understand.” he said. “she probably already went home , and blocked me.” he said. “well we’re here , so get out and hope she’s still there.” he hopped out of the car , running into the movie theaters. “please still be here.”

he saw you and let out a sigh of relief; your back was turned but he could tell it was you. he could pick you out of a lineup with his eyes closed; just by your scent alone. “yn!” he ran over to you. “im so sorry i didn’t hmph.” was he dreaming? this was a sick joke his mind was play; he was dreaming , you actually weren’t here and this was a dream he was having. he had to be — because there was no way you were hugging him right now. “um not that i don’t like this … but what is this?”

you were silent; no you sniffled. why are you sniffling? are you sick? “yn , this is weird, what’s wrong?” he pulled away; you were too ashamed to look him in the eyes. “please look at me , im sorry for being late.” he said. “why are you crying?” he said, worried even more now. “what happened did someone do something?” you shook your head. “then tell me please im dying.” he said, which made you laugh through your tears. “im so stupid.” you said. “please i’ve met stupid girls and you definitely aren’t one of them.” he said. “oh no that came out wrong i promise i haven't met any girls , it’s just me saying that i think you’re very smart.” he panicked. “please just tell me why you’re crying.” he said.

“because i’ve been so mean to you an-and all you’ve tried to do is be nice to me and i judged you for things you did years; even though you’ve never judged me even when i ran down the street topless— hey!” his hand came up to your mouth. “not everyone needs to hear that.” he said. “where is all this coming from?” he said. “im just sorry for everything.” you said. “every single thing i’ve done wrong.” his first instinct was to grab your face. “nothing could make me hate you okay?” he said. “i haven’t done much to prove how much i really like you; only how much i wanted to sleep with you — wait not that i want to sleep with you, why am i so bad at this all of a sudden.” he said. “let’s just go see the movie okay, we can get ice cream after and talk alright?” you nodded , he took his hands off your cheeks , taking one of your hands into his. “come on wipe those tears off your pretty face.”

haechan could barely watch the movie with the way your hand was gripping his. you wouldn’t let him go , and he wouldn’t have it any other way — if this was a dream he was scheduling an appointment for a therapist when he woke up because he would never mentally recover from this if it was fake. “why do you keep staring at my home like that?” you whispered with a smile. “because im trying to see if im dreaming or not,” he said. “you’re holding my hand.” he said. “you’re actually holding my hand.” he smiled. “you’re on a date with me, and you’re holding my hand.” he could’ve burst into excitement if he wasn’t in a quiet movie theater. “you’re not dreaming.” you kissed his knuckles and he almost passed out. “see.”

“maybe i still don’t believe it.” you giggled , before you reached over kissing his cheek, leaving the boy shocked. “do you believe it now?” he nodded. “good because i don’t think there was anything else I could’ve done here in public that would’ve made you believe me.” you said. “well maybe if there was less people.” did you really say that? what did you mean by that? now he was thinking about other stuff. would you have touched him? in public?

the movie soon ended and you still hadn’t let him go even as you made your way to the ice cream shop to get your ice cream. “sorry we’re out of brownie ice cream.” the worker said. “really?” you frowned. “maybe you can get chocolate?” he said. “it’s not the same.” you said. “well we can stop to get some food since you didn’t eat anything at the movies.” he said , he really didn’t want this date to end. “or..” you started. “we can go to my apartment and i can make ramen.” your house? you were letting him in your house? “what do you say?” why would he fucking say no? “okay.”

the walk back to your apartment wasn’t that long , nether was the elevator to your apartment; but he soon found himself in your space, surrounded by your scent and all things you — this was his heaven. “haechan.” he heard you call him , which made him turn to you. he couldn’t even react before your lips were on his. your kiss was something he dreamt about often , your soft pillowy lips on his; your fingers working their way through his neck hairs. “wa-wait yn.” he pulled away before he got carried away. “as much as i love this , i definitely don’t want to do this just cause you feel bad.” he said. “no-no i want this.” you said. “i want this so much.” you said , and that was all the confirmation he needed. “then let me do it.”

he picked you up; taking you to your room , kicking the door open. “wan’ you go sit on my face.” he said. “fuck i need you to sit on my face.” he groaned , laying back. “i don’t want to hurt you.” he didn’t care; dying with his face stuffed between your legs seemed like his dream way to go. “no , no you won’t please.” he begged , pulling your skirt down , along with your panties , your wet was right there , he could smell your scent as you dripped for him. “please sit , please im gonna die if you don’t.” he grabbed your thighs desperately. “sit please.” you finally gave in , lowering yourself down , you could feel his tongue. “oh-oh hyuck.” you moaned , yelping as he impatiently pulled you down. “fuck!”

he wasted no time licking your folds , holding you by your waist like you’d run away if he didn’t , your hips involuntarily moved against his tongue , your hands coming to hair pulling at it. “fuck keep going.” you moaned. “just like that , im gonna cum!” he sucked on your clit , sending you over the edge. “oh my god!” you gasped your legs began to shake. “im cumming!”

the boy below opened his mouth , allowing your juices to flow straight into his mouth; drinking everything you had to give him; his cock begging to be freed and touched — tasting you wasn’t enough, he needed to be inside you. “hyuck i can’t - too much!” he finally let up on your poor cunt , but that doesn’t mean he was done. “i need you.” he moaned, kissing your thighs. “you have me.” you said , he flipped you over. “I need to fuck you , pl-please.” he pressed himself against your bare lower half. “pl-please hyuck.” you reached down , pulling at his pants , undoing the buttons. “please fuck me.”

he stood up quickly; not wanting to be away from you much longer , pulling his pants down , along with his underwear. “i-i don’t have a condom.” he said , you didn’t care right now. “are you clean?” he nodded , his aching cock standing in desperate need of attention. “then please touch me , please.”

he climbed back in between your legs. “fuck.” he cursed the moment his hip touched your soaking cunt. he knew he wasn’t gonna last long , but he knew he didn’t want to let you down. “It-it’s okay.” you touched his cock , slowly guiding it inside you. “oh fuck you’re so tight.” he had to compose himself. “fu-fuck i don’t think I’m gonna last.” he fully stilled himself inside you. “can i move?” you moaned. “please move hyuck.”

he grabbed your waist; moving. “oh-oh fuck you’re so big.” he groaned. “faster hyuck.” you whined. “please go faster.” he hissed as he picked up the pace , feeling you clench around him repeatedly. “fuck if you keep doing that , im gonna cum.” he said , his movements still remaining strong and fluid as his tip kissed your cervix over and over. “fuck im cumming.” he groaned ,his cock twitching inside you before he shot his load inside of you. “oh fuck im sorry.” he pulled out , finishing on your sensitive cunt. “sh-shit it’s okay.”

he definitely wasn’t about to leave you hanging; pushing his sensitive cock right back inside you. “fuck hyuck!” you screamed , your neighbors surely won’t be happy with you in the morning. “wanna make you cum.” he said , his hands planted on both sides of your head. “fuck hyuck keep going.” you moaned. “right there , im gonna cum.” he kept up his pace , soon your eyes rolled to the back of your head as you came. “oh fuck!” he felt himself cumming a second time , this time he didn’t pull out.

“i didn’t pull out.” he said breathlessly. “th-that’s okay.” you said. “we-we need to clean up.” you sat up , but he wasn’t done , now that he finally got a taste of you , he wanted it again , and again and again. “not yet.” he kissed your stomach. “i wanna do it.” your eyes followed his dark ones as he kissed and bit at your thighs. “wanna clean your pretty pussy myself.”

it was truly gonna be a long night for your neighbors.

“there he is at it again.” jaemin looked past you , making you turn around. “he can’t read a single room can it.” you watch the girls face turn beat red as the boy in front of him start a conversation. “she can’t either , can she not tell he’s not interested.” chenle spoke up. “excuse me.” you got up , the table was confused. “class?” jeno smirked , you shook your head. “no.” you walked away , straight over to the boy. “oh hi , you see these earrings?” you nodded at the clueless boy in front of you. “our 5 months is coming up , wouldn’t you like these?” the girl finally got the hint walking away. “wait what brand are they?” you dragged him back to the table. “I’ll find you a better pair.”

“and he still can’t see why she hated him?” jisung said. “I don’t need anymore jewelry ; we’ve been together 5 months and you’ve given me way more jewelry than i’ll ever need.” you said. “you’re right , i’ll just get you flowers.” you smiled , giving him a cheek kiss. “if that’s what you want hyuck.” he still stared at you with the same love sick look.

he was clueless and couldn’t read the room at all ; but he was yours… and you wouldn’t change him for the world.

©️LUVYENI

[darnell-la]

May we have some Logan, maybe Old Man Logan x fem!reader with: breeding kink, non-con or dub-con, forced orgasms, and cumflation? Logan fucks her so hard, for so so long that she starts looking pregnant from how much cum he's pumped into her but he never pulls out so it stays in her?

note: ngl, this Logan has a slight baby-trapping kink when it comes to finding a mutant so young and pretty that wanted him in the first half.

DO NOT READ THIS IF CNC MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE!

———

Logan had been fucking into a girl he picked up from the bar, for hours. When they talked, she could’ve sworn he was a gentleman and would give her the best sex she’d imagined. Only one of those was true.

Logan had been pounding this weak woman for hours. He’s been at it for so long, that when one hole went sore, he switched to the next. He’s been all around the world four times, never giving her a break.

Every now and then, y/n would moan, and make noise, letting Logan know she was still functioning. That never stopped him, though. It only made him want to go further.

“P-Please,” y/n let out for the thousandth time after Logan spilled in her. “Please what? You want more?” Logan asked, knowing she wouldn’t be able to speak a full sentence.

“C-Can’t,” y/n’s weak voice forced anything she could out. “But, you can — I know you can, Bub — I can’t just stop when you’ve given me so much- just feel yourself, princess,” Logan said as his hand brushed against y/n’s heat as his cock kept pushing in and out of her upper hole.

“L-Logan,” y/n whined, only making Logan groan low at his name rolling off of y/n’s tongue. “You know I can’t let you go after this, right, Bub? You’re gonna come on the road with me,”

Because y/n couldn’t speak anymore, she whined, not knowing what to do or think about Logan wanting to take her with him.

She doesn’t have a family, and she’s also a mutant. It wasn’t hard for Logan to figure that out. Maybe that’s why he was so obsessed with her. He’d never run across a mutant this young who’d want to even look at him.

“I’ve got room at my place, baby, don’t worry — We’ll even continue there,” Logan said as he felt his cock twitch once again. Before he released, he flipped y/n over and slammed into her cunt, making sure every inch of him felt the inside of her.

“Fuck,” y/n cried low, feeling Logan fill her up again, and each time, it seems like it was more. “Fuck, Bub — Just look at you,” Logan said as he placed his hands on Y/n’s stomach, softly rubbing across to see her shift.

“I bet you could hold so much more, baby. Can’t you?” Logan asked, instantly making y/n shake her head. She swore if he kept going, her body would shut down. Sadly, her orgasm spoke for her as she gushed around Logan’s cock.

“That’s it — I knew you love me just as much as I love you,”

[moonlitstoriess]

I have a request if it's possible. Could you write a fanfic or a oneshot about Azriel and the reader being a ballerina and also a shadow singer

When Shadows Waltz- Azriel x fem!reader (oneshot)

Summary: Y/N, a ballerina and Shadowsinger, has spent her life balancing grace and darkness. But when whispers of doubt and cruel words make her question her place, she hides her insecurities from Azriel, not wanting to burden him. Yet, he sees everything—and he won’t let her fall. With patience, love, and a bit of humor, he helps her realize that her shadows don’t ruin her dance—they make it unforgettable.

See masterlist

Warnings: angst, fluff in the end, protective az🤭, mentions of insecurities, some bullying

A/N: Thank you for the request! I didn’t know if you wanted angst or fluff so I incorporated both, hope you enjoy it🥰

The mirrors in the studio reflected everything. Every movement, every misstep. Every flaw.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, her pointe shoes silent against the polished floor. The dim glow of the chandeliers cast long shadows, and hers twisted unnaturally, curling and flickering like smoke. No matter how hard she tried to suppress them, they never truly left her alone.

She exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders back. Focus.

With practiced precision, she lifted onto pointe, extending her arms in a graceful arc. The motion should have felt effortless, but something was off. Her balance wavered, the weight of unseen eyes pressing against her skin. Not good enough. Not perfect.

Her foot barely faltered, but the mistake rang loud in her mind.

She could still hear the whispers from earlier that day.

“A Shadowsinger dancing ballet? It looks unnatural.”

“She doesn’t belong in a world of elegance.”

“No wonder they only talk about her being Azriel’s mate—what else is she known for?”

Her fingers curled into the fabric of her practice dress. She hated how easily those words found cracks in her armor, how they settled like poison in the back of her mind.

They didn’t matter. They shouldn’t matter.

But they did.

A quiet knock at the door startled her, and before she could gather herself, the very person she didn’t want to see her like this stepped inside.

Azriel.

His shadows slithered in behind him, merging with hers so seamlessly it was impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. His piercing hazel eyes took her in—her stiff posture, the tension in her hands, the exhaustion she hadn’t even realized was etched into her face.

She tried to smile. “Hey.”

Azriel didn’t return it. He simply tilted his head, studying her with that sharp, all-seeing gaze. Then, softly—so softly it made her chest ache—he asked,

“What’s wrong?”

Y/N forced a small smile, hoping it would be enough to make him drop the subject. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Azriel didn’t move. Didn’t blink. His stare remained steady, unreadable—but she knew better.

He always saw through her.

A slow tilt of his head. “Try again.”

She sighed, crossing her arms. “How can you even tell something’s wrong? You just got here.”

His lips quirked slightly, but the look he gave her was pure come on now. “You’ve been my mate for nearly a year, love. You really think I don’t notice?”

The warmth in his voice curled around her like a soft ribbon, and despite herself, her heart gave a little flutter. Cauldron save me.

It was so stupid—the way he could unravel her with just a few words, how easily his presence melted through her walls. Even now, with his scarred hands tucked into his pockets and his wings resting at his back, he radiated quiet strength. Calm. Steady. Hers.

And yet—

She still couldn’t bring herself to tell him.

So she smiled a little wider, making sure it reached her eyes this time. “I’m fine, really.”

Azriel didn’t believe her. She could tell by the way his shadows curled around his boots, restless. But she wasn’t giving him the chance to push further.

Before he could open his mouth again, she smoothly changed the subject. “I have my audition tomorrow.”

That worked. His head straightened slightly, some of the tension in his shoulders easing. “For the seasonal performance?”

She nodded, feeling something close to excitement creep past her unease. “It’s a huge opportunity, Az. If I get the role, I’ll be one of the principal dancers for the entire winter season. The main performance is the biggest of the year—leaders from all over the place will come to watch. I need to represent our court in the best way possible.” She hesitated, then admitted, “Your family will be there.”

Azriel’s expression softened. “And you want to impress them.”

“I need to impress them.”

His brows pulled together slightly, but before he could argue, she rushed on. “Feyre is an artist, Nesta trained with Cassian and is basically a Valkyrie now—everyone in your family has accomplished something incredible. I want to prove I belong.”

Azriel stepped closer, lifting a hand to cup her jaw. His touch was featherlight, reverent. “You already impress them, Y/N.”

Her breath caught as he leaned in, brushing the softest kiss against her lips. “You’re more than enough.”

The words should have settled in her chest like a soothing balm. But instead, the weight of her insecurities pressed heavier.

She managed a small smile, even as she whispered, “I still want to get the role.”

Azriel exhaled, his thumb brushing over her cheek. “You will.” His voice was quiet, certain. “Trust me, you will.”

And for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe him.

Y/N let herself sink into the warmth of Azriel’s touch for just a moment before pulling away, forcing herself to focus. “I just need everything to go right,” she murmured, mostly to herself.

Azriel tilted his head slightly. “It will.”

She huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “You sound so sure.”

His lips curved, but his eyes held nothing but certainty. “Because I am.”

Cauldron, how was it so easy for him? To have that unwavering belief in her, even when she wasn’t sure she believed in herself?

Azriel reached for her hand, intertwining their fingers, his grip firm yet gentle. “Come,” he said, leading her toward the small bench by the wall. “Sit with me for a bit.”

She sighed but followed, letting him tug her down beside him. He didn’t say anything at first, just ran his thumb in slow circles over her knuckles. The silence was comfortable, but she knew he was waiting—for her to speak, to confess what was really on her mind.

And she wanted to. She really did.

But the words refused to form, stuck somewhere between pride and fear. If she said them out loud, if she told him about the whispers, the doubt clawing at her chest, then it would make it real.

So instead, she leaned her head against his shoulder and whispered, “I just hope I don’t mess it up.”

Azriel’s wings shifted slightly, his shadows curling around them both like a protective cocoon. “You won’t.”

She sighed, not bothering to argue. He’d just contradict her again with that quiet, unshakable confidence.

After a moment, he spoke again, his voice softer this time. “Do you want me to come watch?”

The question made her heart lurch. “You—you’d come to the audition?”

He turned his head, pressing a kiss to the top of her hair. “Of course.”

Something in her chest squeezed painfully, caught between joy and hesitation. “You don’t have to.”

Azriel huffed a quiet laugh. “I want to.” Then, as if sensing her uncertainty, he added, “But only if you want me there.”

She did. She really did. But—

Y/N swallowed. “I think I’ll be too nervous if you watch.”

Azriel didn’t seem offended. If anything, amusement flickered across his face. “You dance in front of hundreds of fae, but I make you nervous?”

She groaned, shoving his arm. “Don’t say it like that.”

He chuckled, pulling her closer. “Fine. I won’t watch. But I’ll be waiting outside.”

Y/N lifted her head, meeting his gaze. “Really?”

Azriel nodded. “Really.” Then, smirking, he added, “Unless you change your mind and want me front and center.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at her lips. “I think I’ll survive without that pressure, thanks.”

Azriel just hummed, clearly unconvinced. But he didn’t push. Instead, he leaned in, brushing his lips over her cheek, his voice a murmur against her skin. “You’re going to be incredible.”

Y/N closed her eyes, soaking in the warmth of him, the quiet reassurance in his touch.

She wanted to believe him.

But deep down, that familiar doubt still lingered, whispering that maybe, just maybe—

She wasn’t enough.

The sun had barely risen, but Y/N had been awake for hours.

The studio floor had long since warmed beneath her relentless movements. Every turn, every extension, every landing had been drilled into perfection—had to be perfect. She refused to stop.

Azriel had been the one to come and go, appearing like clockwork with food in hand, a quiet reminder in his eyes. “Eat,” he’d say. “Sit for a moment.”

She’d obey, just for a second. Just long enough to take a sip of water, a bite of fruit. But her feet would pull her back onto the floor before she even realized it. Again and again.

At first, Azriel had tried. Tried to coax her into resting, tried to make her breathe. He’d leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching as she pushed herself past exhaustion. A few times, he’d even taken her hand, pulled her to him, murmured against her ear, “Enough for now.”

She never listened.

Eventually, he had sighed, shaking his head as he stepped in front of her. She barely had a moment to react before his lips found hers—a slow, lingering kiss, warm and full of something dangerous. Something that made her knees weaken more than all the training ever could.

When he pulled back, his eyes were softer, but his voice was firm. “Food is packed for you to take in.” He brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “I have some things to take care of, but I’ll be there when you come out of the audition.”

Y/N blinked up at him, caught between nerves and something unbearably sweet. “Promise?”

Azriel exhaled, pressing another kiss to her forehead. “You think anything could keep me away?”

Her heart stuttered, warmth spreading in her chest.

Then, with one last glance—one that said please, don’t run yourself into the ground—he left.

Silence settled over the room, broken only by her own breath.

Two hours later, she was sitting on the floor, hair damp and body strained as she stared into her reflection.

An hour later, the auditions would begin.

That realization sent a fresh wave of nerves crashing over her. With a deep inhale, she shook it off, forcing herself to move.

She needed to clean up, get dressed. She needed to leave.

She grabbed the food Azriel had packed, tucked it under her arm, and stepped out the door.

It was time.

Velaris was bathed in afternoon light, the streets alive with warmth and chatter. But Y/N barely noticed any of it.

Her steps were steady, precise, each movement measured like a dancer counting beats in her head. But inside? Her heart pounded, a nervous rhythm she couldn’t quite shake.

She had walked these streets a thousand times before, had spent her life weaving through Velaris’ twisting paths, but today, everything felt off.

Maybe it was the way her shadows curled around her ankles, clinging like wisps of smoke. Normally, they stayed quiet, hidden. But today? Today, they coiled and flickered in the late afternoon light, shifting uneasily as if they could sense her nerves.

She forced herself to breathe, to smooth her expression into something neutral. Calm. Steady. No one else could hear the thoughts racing through her head.

But they could see her.

She felt the stares before she even registered them. Passing merchants, nobles, fae of all kinds—glancing, double-taking, murmuring behind their hands. Some were subtle about it, a flick of the eyes before looking away. Others… not so much.

She supposed she must’ve made quite the sight.

A ballerina dressed in soft pastels—pink tights, a flowy white wrap skirt, a delicate shrug over her leotard—strolling through the streets, framed by shadows as dark as night.

It was almost comical.

She had heard the whispers before, of course. Had caught snippets of conversation when people thought she wasn’t listening.

A Shadowsinger, really? In ballet?

Shouldn’t she be in Illyrian camps instead?

Those shadows make her look unnatural.

She doesn’t belong on that stage.

She clenched her jaw and kept walking.

Azriel would have torn them apart if he’d been here to hear it. He’d spent months convincing her that none of it mattered, that she belonged just as much as any other dancer.

She wanted to believe him. But with every lingering stare, with every quiet murmur as she passed, doubt curled around her ribs like a vice.

By the time she reached the towering glass doors of the audition hall, her chest was tight, her palms clammy despite the cool breeze.

She exhaled sharply, shook out her hands.

It’s fine. You’re fine.

She pushed open the doors and stepped inside.

The waiting room was already full.

Dancers lined the benches, stretching, warming up, adjusting their satin slippers. The air buzzed with quiet tension—whispers of last-minute corrections, murmured prayers, soft hums of concentration.

The floor-to-ceiling windows bathed everything in golden light, making the polished wooden floors gleam. At the far end of the room, a set of doors led to the main audition space, where the judges were already seated, watching the first few candidates perform.

Y/N barely had time to take it all in before she felt it—the stares.

It was subtle at first, the way conversation dipped when she walked past, the way dancers exchanged looks, eyes flicking from her delicate pastel ensemble to the dark tendrils of shadow trailing at her feet.

She swallowed, lifting her chin.

Just get to the changing rooms.

She weaved through the crowd, passing the line of dancers already dressed in pristine costumes. A few were adjusting their hair into perfect buns, fixing smudged makeup, stretching out their limbs. Others were simply watching her.

She could feel their judgment.

It’s funny, isn’t it? she thought bitterly.

A girl like her—draped in pinks and creams, with ribbons laced up her ankles—moving with the grace of a trained ballerina, while shadows slithered at her feet like something out of a nightmare.

Like she was some contradiction that shouldn’t exist.

She tried to act indifferent. She forced herself to walk like she wasn’t being scrutinized, like the weight of their judgment wasn’t pressing into her spine. But inside, her stomach twisted.

She barely let out a breath when she finally reached the changing rooms, slipping inside.

Alone at last.

She pressed her hands against the counter, staring at her reflection in the large mirror.

Her face was composed, expression calm. But her hands—her fingers trembled against the polished marble.

Her shadows curled tighter around her, as if sensing her unease.

She closed her eyes, inhaling deeply.

Just a few more minutes.

Then it would be time.

Y/N sat with her hands folded neatly in her lap, her posture straight despite the way her stomach twisted in knots.

Dancers came and went, each vanishing through the grand doors at the end of the waiting room before reappearing minutes later—some with relieved smiles, others fighting back tears.

Her turn was coming. Soon.

She tried to focus on steadying her breathing, on keeping her shadows from shifting too visibly around her. They were curling tight at her ankles, slithering up her arms like they, too, could sense her nerves.

And then—

“Are you lost?”

The voice was sweet. Mocking.

Y/N turned, already knowing what she’d find.

A group of three female dancers, all in the same pristine white audition attire, stood together near the mirrored wall. Their leader—a tall, elegant blonde—tilted her head, expression full of exaggerated pity.

Y/N forced a calm smile. “No.”

A few of the other dancers nearby had already started whispering.

The blonde raised a brow, looking her over slowly—lingering on her darkened shadows. “You? Ballet?” She let out a high, amused laugh. “I think you might have the wrong building, sweetheart.”

The other two girls behind her giggled.

Y/N kept her shoulders relaxed, her face carefully neutral. “I’m here for the same reason as you.”

The blonde blinked, as if that was the funniest thing she’d heard all day. Then she let out another sharp laugh. “Oh, darling. No, no—you can’t be.”

Y/N clenched her jaw.

“Oh, don’t look so serious.” The girl smirked. “It’s just… well.” She gestured to Y/N’s shadows, which had curled tight at her feet like wary animals. “You don’t exactly fit, do you?”

A sick feeling churned in Y/N’s gut.

The girl leaned in slightly, voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Did you hit your head? Or do you just have some kind of delusional sickness?”

More laughter. More murmurs from the surrounding dancers.

Y/N’s throat felt tight. Don’t react. Don’t let them see it.

She tried to respond, tried to form a retort—but her mind was suddenly blank.

Her shadows flickered uneasily. The blonde just smiled wider. “Oh, sweetheart,” she said softly, like she was so concerned. “It’s not your fault, really. You just weren’t made for this world.”

Y/N felt her hands clench in her lap, her thoughts growing darker, heavier.

And then—

“Y/N.”

Her head snapped up.

A staff member stood by the grand doors, scanning the room with a clipboard in hand. “You’re up next.”

Her heart stopped.

For a moment, she was frozen in place.

Then—slowly, unsurely—she stood.

She could feel their eyes on her as she walked toward the doors. Could hear the hushed snickers, the barely concealed whispers.

Just as she passed, another girl murmured under her breath, just loud enough for her to hear—

“Maybe she’ll trip and vanish in those shadows.”

Her stomach clenched.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

She stepped through the doors.

The audition stage was massive.

Golden chandeliers hung high above, their light casting a soft glow over the polished wooden floors. The room stretched wide, with sweeping archways and tall, pristine windows that overlooked Velaris.

And at the very front—seated behind a long, curved table—sat the panel of judges.

Five in total.

Their expressions were unreadable as they observed her, hands folded, quills poised.

Y/N swallowed hard.

The reality of it all hit her at once.

This was it.

Her entire career—her dream—was hinging on the next few minutes.

She forced herself to stand tall, to ignore the way her nerves coiled deep in her stomach.

“Whenever you’re ready,” one of the judges said, voice clipped and professional.

She nodded.

The music began.

For the first few moments, everything was fine.

Her muscles knew the movements. She had drilled them into her body a thousand times over. Her limbs extended with precision, her turns were smooth, her leaps controlled.

But then—

The whispers came back.

Not real, but in her head—echoing, clawing.

You don’t belong here.

Those ugly shadows—

Maybe she’ll trip and vanish—

You just weren’t made for this world.

Her rhythm faltered.

Her mind spiraled.

No, no—focus, keep going—

But the doubts were crushing her, strangling her.

And then—

Her foot landed wrong.

A sharp twist of her ankle.

A gasp.

And she was falling.

Hard.

The music cut out instantly.

For a moment, there was nothing but silence.

Y/N stayed where she was—knees against the polished floor, hands shaking, breath ragged.

She didn’t dare look up.

Didn’t dare face the judges.

But then—

“That will be all.”

The cold, detached voice sliced through the air like a knife.

Her head snapped up, eyes wide. “No—please—”

One of the judges, an older fae male, raised a hand. “There’s no need,” he said, his voice edged with boredom. “We’ve seen what we need to see.”

Her chest tightened. “I—please, I’ve been training for five years—”

Another judge, a stern-looking female, scoffed. “And?”

Y/N’s throat burned.

The older fae leaned forward slightly. “Just because you are the Spymaster’s mate,” he said coolly, “and the High Lord’s sister-in-law, does not mean you own this place.”

The words hit her like a slap.

“No, I—” She swallowed, scrambling to find the right words, to fix this—“I don’t think that, I just—”

“You are not fit for this stage,” another judge interrupted, eyes cold. “You have neither the discipline nor the grace required to perform at this level.”

Her heart shattered.

“We will not be moving you forward.” The older judge’s voice was final.

She couldn’t breathe.

Couldn’t move.

“Thank you for your time,” the female judge added, already looking away. “You may go.”

She had no choice.

Numbly, she stood.

She turned.

And she walked.

The moment she stepped back into the waiting room, the whispers started again.

A few of the dancers gave her long, smug looks.

She kept her head down.

She ignored the snickers, the cruel, whispered comments.

Her hands trembled as she grabbed her bag.

Then she turned and all but ran to the changing rooms.

The second the door shut behind her, she let out a shaky breath.

Her mind was spinning. Her heart ached.

What have I done?

Her fingers curled into fists.

She had ruined everything.

She had humiliated herself in front of the most prestigious judges in the city. She had proven every cruel whisper, every doubting stare right.

Her own hatred curled deep inside her, sharp and suffocating.

And then, a single thought struck her.

Azriel.

He was waiting outside.

Waiting for her with that quiet, steady patience. Waiting for her to walk out with a hopeful smile. And she—she had nothing to give him but failure.

Y/N took a deep, shuddering breath.

Then another.

She had exactly five seconds to fix her face before she walked out of this building.

One. She straightened her spine.

Two. She swallowed down the lump in her throat.

Three. She pulled her shoulders back, forcing her body to relax despite the tremors running through her veins.

Four. She curled her lips into the most dazzling, effortless smile she could manage.

Five. She stepped outside.

The cool evening air brushed against her skin, a sharp contrast to the suffocating weight pressing down on her chest.

And there he was.

Azriel stood by the entrance, his wings tucked neatly behind him, his scarred hands loose at his sides—but his entire body radiated the quiet, lethal stillness of a male always waiting, always watching.

The moment his eyes landed on her, something in them shifted.

His shadows stirred.

She knew he felt it. Knew he sensed something was wrong.

She forced herself to smile wider. “Hey, you.”

Azriel’s gaze flickered over her, his expression betraying nothing—except his shadows, which curled tight around his shoulders like wary sentries.

Then, his voice, low and steady: “Why did you close your side of the bond?”

Her breath hitched.

Shit.

She hadn’t expected him to catch onto that so fast.

She let out a soft laugh, waving a hand dismissively. “Oh, that? I just didn’t want to worry you with my constant overthinking.”

His eyes narrowed the slightest bit.

She pressed on, slipping seamlessly into her usual teasing tone. “You know how my mind gets—I was obsessing over little things before the audition, and I figured you didn’t need to deal with that.”

Azriel didn’t respond right away.

Instead, he watched her.

Watched her too closely.

For a second, she thought he might call her out on it—might push past the weak excuse and demand to know the truth.

But then, with a quiet exhale, he reached for her bag. “Nonsense,” he murmured, effortlessly taking it from her grasp.

She let him, knowing better than to argue.

Then, before she could react, his arms were around her—one hand pressing against her back, the other coming up to cradle the back of her head as he tucked her into him.

Y/N nearly broke.

The warmth of him, the quiet strength in the way he held her—it nearly shattered her.

But she couldn’t let it.

She wouldn’t let it.

So instead, she melted into him, resting her cheek against his chest and breathing in the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Azriel pressed a kiss to the top of her head, his lips lingering for just a second longer than usual. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

She blinked. “Do what?”

His grip on her tightened. “Close your side of the bond like that.”

Y/N swallowed hard.

“I was ready to break in just to make sure you were safe,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “Don’t do that to me again, love.”

She squeezed her eyes shut. He can’t know. He can’t know.

When she finally spoke, her voice was light. Playful. “Az, you’re being dramatic.”

His arms didn’t loosen.

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his gaze, mustering up a soft smile. “I’m fine. See? Perfectly fine.”

Azriel studied her.

For a long moment, he said nothing.

Then, after what felt like an eternity, he exhaled through his nose and finally, finally released her—though his hand lingered on the small of her back as they started walking.

They moved in comfortable silence for a bit, the cool night air wrapping around them.

And then—

“So,” Azriel said, his tone light, casual. “How did it go?”

Y/N froze.

Only for a fraction of a second.

But he noticed.

Of course he noticed.

Her heart hammered against her ribs, but she forced her body to remain loose, her expression to remain bright.

Then she laughed, shaking her head as if amused. “Oh, it went great.”

Azriel glanced at her. “Yeah?”

She nodded eagerly. “Yeah. I can’t wait to see the results. They said the decisions will be out in two weeks, so…” She trailed off, shrugging. “Now it’s just a waiting game.”

Azriel was still watching her.

She felt his eyes on her, felt the way his shadows curled subtly closer.

She knew what he was doing—trying to read her body, her breathing, her heartbeat.

So she made sure they all remained steady.

She had years of training in deception. She could fake confidence, fake nonchalance—hell, she could fake a damn performance if needed.

And right now, she needed Azriel to believe her.

Because if he didn’t—if he so much as suspected—

Az hummed. “So they didn’t give any immediate feedback?”

She shook her head. “Nope. Just the usual ‘thank you for your time, we’ll be in touch.’”

His brows furrowed slightly. “That’s standard?”

“Very,” she assured him.

Another hum. “And you feel good about it?”

She beamed. “I do.”

Azriel didn’t speak for a long moment.

Y/N’s stomach clenched.

Please let this work. Please believe me.

Finally—

“Well,” he said, his voice softer now. “Then I guess we wait.”

She let out a small breath of relief, nodding.

Azriel gave her a sidelong glance. “But just so you know…”

She raised a brow. “Hmm?”

His free hand reached for hers, fingers threading together effortlessly.

“I don’t need to hear the results to already be proud of you.”

Her throat tightened.

Her nails dug into her palm.

She forced herself to smile. “You’re sweet.”

Azriel only squeezed her hand. “You’re mine.”

For a split second, the weight in her chest almost lifted.

But then she remembered—

The failure.

The fall.

The cold, dismissive words of the judges.

You are not fit for this stage.

And just like that, the crushing guilt came surging back.

So Y/N just held onto his hand a little tighter.

And she kept smiling.

Azriel insisted on making dinner, saying she should relax after the audition.

And so here he was, moving around the kitchen like it was his second home, the rhythmic chopping of vegetables mingling with the sizzle of something cooking in the pan. Y/N sat at the table, silently watching him, trying her best to keep her expression neutral. She didn’t want him to see through the mask she was wearing, didn’t want him to know how much she was falling apart on the inside.

“You’re being quiet,” Azriel said, not looking up from his work.

Y/N smiled tightly. “Just tired.”

He paused, his gaze flickering to her from over his shoulder. She caught the way his brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t say anything—just went back to what he was doing, humming softly as he worked.

Azriel was always calm, always steady, and she found it both soothing and maddening. He could sense things—things she wasn’t always ready to confront—and she hated how well he knew her. But tonight, she wouldn’t let him see. She couldn’t.

She reached for her glass of water, her hand trembling just slightly. She was sure he’d notice. But he didn’t. He was focused on the dinner, and for a moment, she let herself relax into the normalcy of the moment, the small relief of not having to pretend she was somewhere else, someone else.

When he finally brought dinner to the table, Y/N forced herself to smile and thank him. She even complimented him on the food, but she could feel him watching her, his eyes scanning her every move, trying to figure out what was wrong.

Azriel didn’t ask any questions yet, but Y/N could sense the storm brewing behind his calm façade. He always knew when she wasn’t okay.

They ate in silence for a few moments, the clink of silverware the only sound between them. Her mind was elsewhere, far from the meal in front of her, as the words from her audition echoed through her thoughts.

“You’ve been quiet all evening,” Azriel said again, this time his voice much softer.

Y/N blinked and met his gaze. He was studying her, his brow slightly furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. He was worried—she could feel it, even if he didn’t say the words out loud.

“I’m just thinking,” she replied, trying to keep the tremor out of her voice.

“About the audition?” he asked, his voice casual but with an undercurrent of concern.

Y/N hesitated. Should she lie? Pretend that everything was fine? Or should she admit it—admit how awful it had gone?

But before she could answer, he reached across the table, his hand covering hers. His thumb brushed along her skin, warm and reassuring.

“You don’t have to pretend with me,” he said quietly.

She sucked in a breath, her heart pounding in her chest. The warmth of his hand almost made her break, almost made her say it all, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.

“I’m fine, Azriel,” she said, her voice soft but firm. “Really.”

He didn’t believe her, she could see it in his eyes, but he didn’t push. Not yet.

He nodded slowly, his eyes not leaving hers. “If you say so.”

But there was an edge in his tone—one that made her heart sink a little further.

Dinner passed quietly after that. They talked about trivial things, Azriel asking her about her plans for the next few days, but it all felt distant to her. As if the words were just background noise, and her mind was somewhere else, drowning in everything she was trying to bury.

Finally, when the meal was over, Azriel cleared the table, his movements sharp, precise. Y/N stayed seated, her fingers picking at the edge of her napkin, twisting it nervously.

“You know,” he said, his back still to her as he loaded dishes into the sink, “you don’t have to keep things from me.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. She looked down at her hands, trying to keep her face composed.

“I’m not keeping anything from you,” she said, her voice a little too high.

Azriel paused, his back still turned, but his posture was stiff now. “You’re lying.”

Y/N bit her lip, her heart thudding in her chest. She couldn’t do this. She couldn’t break. Not in front of him. Not when he had already given her everything—his trust, his heart. She couldn’t disappoint him.

“Azriel,” she started, her voice trembling just slightly. “Please, just… don’t worry about me. I’m fine. I swear.”

He turned to face her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes… they were full of that quiet, relentless concern that always seemed to follow her.

“You don’t have to be strong all the time, Y/N.” His voice was almost a whisper, like he was afraid to push her too far. “Not with me.”

For a heartbeat, they just stared at each other, the space between them charged with unsaid words.

Finally, Y/N forced a smile—one that she hoped was convincing enough to fool him. “I know,” she said softly. “But right now, I just need a little time, okay?”

Azriel didn’t respond at first. He studied her for a long moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should press her further. But then, with a soft sigh, he nodded.

“I’m here when you’re ready to talk,” he said quietly.

Y/N smiled again, though this time it felt more like a mask than anything real.

“I know.”

But inside, the walls she’d spent so long building were crumbling, piece by piece, and no matter how hard she tried to hold them up, she knew it wouldn’t be much longer before they all came down.

She just hoped Azriel wouldn’t be the one to see it happen.

Not yet.

Not while she was still pretending.

The next evening, when Azriel came home, he was expecting nothing more than the usual quiet, the calm of his home and his bondmate waiting for him. What he hadn’t expected was to find Y/N sitting on the couch, her posture rigid, her eyes staring blankly at the wall.

His heart immediately sank at the sight. Something was off—he could feel it in his chest, that strange, unsettling tightness that always came when Y/N was hurting. He stepped into the room and closed the door behind him softly, not wanting to startle her.

“Y/N?” His voice was tentative, but there was an underlying current of concern.

She didn’t respond right away, and the silence stretched between them like a fragile thread. He walked closer, his eyes scanning her face. She looked… exhausted, drained, as if the weight of the world was pressing down on her. He crouched beside her, tilting his head to catch her eyes.

“Love, are you okay?” he asked softly.

Y/N blinked and finally turned her gaze to him. There was something in her eyes—something that made him take an instinctive step back.

“I’m fine,” she said, the words too quick, too rehearsed.

Azriel studied her for a moment longer before sitting down next to her, his tone shifting, more serious. “You don’t have to lie to me, Y/N. What’s going on?”

She didn’t meet his eyes again, her gaze dropping to her hands, folded neatly in her lap. The stillness in her was unnatural, and the shadows around them seemed to pulse with tension. Azriel’s brows furrowed as he let out a quiet sigh, his instincts kicking in.

He didn’t press her at first—he’d learned by now to give her space—but the questions came slowly, each one a little heavier than the last. “How was your day?”

“Fine.” Her voice cracked slightly, but she recovered quickly.

“Did you think about the results?”

“Not really, as I said the audition went well” she answered too quickly, her voice tight.

Azriel paused, his eyes narrowing slightly. She was hiding something, and the silence between them was thick with the knowledge that he wouldn’t be satisfied until he got the truth. “Really?”

She nodded, but her breath hitched ever so slightly, the only sign that something was wrong.

Azriel’s gaze softened, but his suspicion grew, and it was in that moment, when the quiet stretched on just a little too long, that the final thread snapped. He couldn’t hold back anymore. He had to know. He had to confront whatever this was.

He leaned in slightly, his voice hardening with a cold edge. “That’s why you tripped and fell during your audition yesterday?”

Y/N froze, her eyes widening, her body stiffening. The breath in her lungs caught. She hadn’t expected him to know that. Hadn’t expected him to have seen through the lies she’d told herself, the façade she’d built to protect herself.

“How do you know that?” Her voice was small, trembling with the weight of the question.

Azriel’s gaze darkened, his anger simmering just below the surface. He didn’t let her answer before he spoke again. “I knew something was up the moment you stepped out of those doors. I couldn’t just sit around pondering what was wrong with you. My shadows did their job well and brought me all I needed to know.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open in disbelief. “From the… the start?”

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his fists tightening in barely contained rage. “Yes. From the moment those bastards bullied you.” His words were venomous, and Y/N could see the raw anger in his eyes. “I know exactly what they said. The venom they spilled at you…” His voice trailed off, trembling with rage.

Y/N stood up abruptly, her hands shaking. “You had no right!” she exclaimed, her voice rising in anger and desperation.

Azriel stood, his body tense with rage, his eyes dark as shadows swirled around him. “No right?” He took a step forward, his voice rising with every word, a dangerous edge creeping in. “NO RIGHT?! Those bastards were bullying you, Y/N, and you didn’t say a thing?! You didn’t tell me what they said, didn’t let me help you—didn’t let me protect you?”

Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her shoulders shaking. Her voice cracked, the raw emotion spilling out in a flood of hurt and frustration. “I couldn’t, Azriel! I couldn’t—don’t you get it? I couldn’t bring myself to tell you! I’ve been… I’ve been hiding this from you because I didn’t want to burden you. I didn’t want to be weak. I didn’t want to show you how broken I am. How useless I am…”

She stumbled backward, shaking her head in a frantic movement, her chest tight as she gasped for breath. “I’m just… I’m just not good enough! I’m not strong enough! I fail, every time. I failed at the audition, Azriel! I’m never going to be good enough for this world, for you! Don't you see the stares? Hear the whispers? No one thinks I'm worthy enough, no one..."

Her words came in a rush, all the broken pieces of herself spilling out in one chaotic moment. “The shadows—the way they looked at me, the way they whispered behind my back. They were right, Azriel. They were right about me. I’m nothing, I’m just…” She choked on her words, her knees buckling as she collapsed onto the couch again, her face buried in her hands.

Azriel’s heart clenched painfully in his chest as he stepped forward, his anger now replaced with an aching sadness. His voice was gentle but firm as he knelt beside her, reaching out to take her trembling hands in his. “Don’t you ever say that about yourself. You hear me? Don’t you ever say that again.”

Y/N shook her head violently, her tears pouring freely now. “I’ve failed so many times, Azriel. Every time I try, I trip, I fall, I let everyone down. The shadows—they don’t even care about me. They—”

Azriel grabbed her shoulders, forcing her to look at him, his eyes filled with a depth of emotion she hadn’t seen before. His voice was a low, raw growl. “They were wrong. Every damn thing they said was wrong. You are good enough. You are strong enough. And I’ll be damned if I let you talk about yourself like this again.”

Y/N gasped, her heart pounding in her chest. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, but all that came out was a broken sob.

Azriel’s jaw clenched, his gaze searching hers, desperation in his eyes. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you trust me?”

She pulled away from him, her hands shaking as she wiped at her tears. “Because I couldn’t bear the thought of you seeing me like this. Of you seeing how weak I am. I thought I could handle it, that I could be enough on my own, but I’m not. I’m not…”

Azriel’s gaze softened, and he cupped her face in his hands, his thumb brushing over the tear tracks on her cheeks. His voice was soft but unwavering. “You are enough, Y/N. Don’t ever believe otherwise. You are stronger than anyone I know, and I’m so damn proud of you. Don’t you dare let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Her sobs subsided, but the rawness of her insecurities still lingered between them, like an invisible barrier. Azriel leaned forward, his voice low but firm. “Names.”

Y/N shook her head, her breath coming in ragged gasps. “Please, Azriel. Don’t do this.”

“I already know who they are,” he replied, his voice calm but insistent. “But I need to hear you say it. Confirm it. Please.”

She hesitated, then, with great reluctance, she whispered the names of some of those she knew of who had bullied her previously, each one a dagger to her heart.

Azriel nodded, his face unreadable as he absorbed the information. When she finished, he reached for her, pulling her into his arms once more. She let herself sink into him, her heart breaking, her trust growing just a little bit stronger with each passing moment.

“I won’t let them get away with this,” he whispered fiercely into her hair, his voice promising more than words could say. “But I need you to promise me something.”

“What?” she whispered back, barely able to speak through the tears.

He pulled back, cupping her face, his expression firm. “Swear to me that you won’t hide anything from me again. No more lies, no more keeping things from me. Keep the bond open, always. Promise me, Y/N.”

Her eyes met his, a flicker of hesitation passing through her, but in the end, she nodded. “I promise.”

Azriel’s face softened, but the resolve in his eyes remained. “And don’t you ever doubt yourself again,” he whispered, pressing his forehead against hers. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. Don’t you ever forget that.”

As the two of them stood there, lost in their embrace, something shifted between them. The pain, the secrets, the walls—they weren’t gone, but they were no longer insurmountable. And for the first time in a long time, Y/N allowed herself to believe that maybe, just maybe, she was enough.

The days that followed the confrontation were quieter, more contemplative, but no less intense. Y/N struggled with her shadows, each day finding new cracks in her confidence, but each day, Azriel stood by her, watching in the background, patiently waiting for her to let him in.

It started with the small moments, those subtle acts of care that made her feel seen without being smothered. She had always been strong, had always prided herself on standing on her own, but now, after everything, the thought of dancing again seemed like an insurmountable mountain. The audition failure had knocked her harder than she’d let on. And the cruel words, the judgment she’d faced, were still echoing in her mind. She wasn’t sure if she could go back to the barre, could go back to the thing that had once been her escape.

But Azriel wouldn’t let her hide from it.

“You don’t have to do this all at once,” he’d say quietly, stepping into the room when he sensed she was lost in the shadows of her mind, the world outside muted in her silence. “Take it slow. But don’t quit. Don’t let them win.”

Y/N would look at him with that guarded expression, not wanting to admit how much she wanted to run. Not wanting to show him how weak she felt.

But he was patient. He’d never push too hard, never rush her into something she wasn’t ready for. Instead, he’d talk to her about anything else—about the weather, about his training, about the little things that made her smile—until, gradually, the conversation would shift, and the quiet moments would fill the space between them.

Then one day, when she was too tired to pretend she wasn’t aching, he sat across from her as she wrapped her shoes.

“You still want to do this,” Azriel said quietly, watching her with a gaze that spoke volumes. “Don’t hide from it.”

Y/N didn’t look up. “I don’t know if I can,” she whispered.

Azriel stood, moving closer without a word. He didn’t touch her, didn’t crowd her space, but his presence was soothing, a gentle reminder that she wasn’t alone in this. His shadows, ever loyal to him, surrounded her, their warmth seeping into her own. “You can,” he replied simply, his voice carrying that deep, unwavering certainty that made her chest tighten.

His words weren’t demanding, weren’t pressuring. It was more of an invitation.

Slowly, Y/N laced her shoes, her hands trembling just slightly, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t. Not with him standing there, not with the strength in his eyes watching her like she was the only thing that mattered.

“Let me help you,” Azriel said, his tone low, intimate. “Let me help you heal, one step at a time.”

She didn’t answer immediately, but she didn’t need to. His quiet persistence was enough, and it settled into her bones, wrapping around her like a familiar cloak.

And so, the days passed. Each one a little easier than the last. Azriel’s presence was constant—he didn’t force her, didn’t push her, but his quiet admiration, his praise when she succeeded, built her back up in ways words alone couldn’t. Every small improvement, every hesitant movement, was a victory in his eyes.

Whenever she danced, whenever she felt the weight of doubt try to settle in, she’d sense his presence in the room. He was always there, hidden in the shadows, watching, waiting. His shadows moved with hers, always in sync, always intertwined in a dance of their own, a silent exchange of trust and understanding.

His admiration for her wasn’t in loud declarations or grand gestures. It was in the little things. In the way his shadows would curl around her when she hesitated, steadying her when she almost fell. In the way his eyes softened every time she let herself lose control, the way he made sure she always felt seen, even when she thought no one was watching.

One evening, after another failed attempt at perfecting a pirouette, Y/N huffed in frustration, stepping back from the barre. Her muscles ached, her body exhausted from the constant battle to get back to where she once was.

Azriel didn’t speak right away. Instead, he walked up to her, his gaze unwavering. He was always watching, always noticing.

“You know,” he began, his voice low, teasing just slightly, “your shadows were in perfect sync with mine tonight.” He smirked, his eyes glinting with a playful edge. “It’s almost like they know what you’re capable of, even if you don’t.”

Y/N looked up at him, her breath caught in her chest. She opened her mouth to respond, but nothing came out.

“I’ve been watching you,” he continued, his voice softer now, more earnest. “You have something no one else does, Y/N. Your strength—your heart—it’s what makes you beautiful, and it’s what makes you powerful. And every time you step back into that studio, you show me a little more of who you are.”

His words were simple, but they struck her in ways she couldn’t explain. She felt her heart pound in her chest, the raw emotion of his praise and support slowly melting away the remnants of the fear and doubt that had clouded her for so long.

Y/N took a deep breath and nodded, her gaze meeting his, no longer afraid to hold it. “I’ll try again,” she said softly.

Azriel’s smile was small but full of pride. He stepped back, his shadows still lingering around her. “I know you will. And when you do, I’ll be here.”

Every step she took, every movement she made, she could feel his presence at her side, not as a crutch but as the support she didn’t know she needed. And for the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone in the dance.

The healing was slow, but it was real. Each moment, each word, each look from Azriel was a step toward rebuilding the confidence she had lost. She wasn’t just getting back to where she was—she was becoming something more. Something stronger. Something she didn’t think was possible. And with Azriel by her side, she knew that, no matter what came next, she wasn’t going to give up. Not anymore.

Azriel paced through the streets of Velaris, each step heavy with anger. His thoughts churned, his mind unwilling to leave the image of Y/N from earlier that morning. She had smiled, but it hadn't reached her eyes. She was trying to hide it again, pretending like everything was fine when it was anything but.

His shadows swirled around him, agitated by his own tension. They could feel his fury, his frustration, and his desperate need to protect her, even if she didn't fully understand it herself.

She had tried to hide it from him. She thought he didn't know about the insults— the cruel words those judges had spat at her.

She thought he couldn't see it in her eyes, in the way she held herself, the way she moved now as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders.

And it made him seethe with rage.

The anger that had been simmering inside him ever since she had confided in him about what happened during the audition was reaching a boiling point. He had promised her. He had sworn not to act. But how the hell was he supposed to keep that promise when the world-these people-had done this to her?

He clenched his fists, feeling the ache in his bones, the frustration gnawing at him. The female he cared about, the one he loved, the one he wanted to see succeed, was broken in ways that no one could understand. No one except him.

And all he wanted to do was rip apart the world that had done this to her.

He felt the weight of his own limitations pressing down on him. He was a warrior, a spymaster-he was trained to eliminate threats, to take down anyone who stood in his way. But this... this was different. This wasn't some battle he could fight on a battlefield. It was a war waged on the heart, and it made him feel helpless, more than he had ever felt before.

He was so fucking angry. Angry at them for humiliating her. Angry at himself for not noticing sooner. Angry that she thought she could bear this burden alone, hiding it from him.

But that was going to change. He couldn't keep his promise. Not when he knew what they had done. Not when he knew the damage they'd caused. He could feel it in every fiber of his being-this deep, primal need to protect her from everything that wanted to break her down. He was done standing by.

Done pretending that he didn't see the cracks in her.

Done watching her hide from the truth.

He was going to make them pay. Every last one of them.

The judges' gathering was held in the home of one of the higher-ranking members, a large, lavish place that screamed of power and authority. As soon as Azriel winnowed himself in, the room fell silent. His presence was enough to make everyone freeze. He could feel their eyes on him, the shock radiating from their faces. They weren't expecting him, weren't prepared for someone like him to walk in.

They had no idea what they were dealing with.

eyes cutting through the air like a blade. He didn't say a word, his silence hanging heavy in the room, suffocating. He could feel his shadows coiling tighter around him, his anger leaking into the atmosphere like a dangerous storm.

"Spymaster," one of them said, his voice barely a whisper, fear seeping through.

Azriel didn't respond. He took a step forward, the air growing colder with every inch he moved. "You know why I'm here," he said, his voice low, dangerous, a growl rumbling in his chest.

The head judge, a man whose face Azriel recognized all too well from the reports, shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "I don't-"

"You don't?" Azriel interrupted, his voice laced with venom. "You don't remember insulting her? Belittling her? Telling her she wasn't good enough?”

The room went silent, the judges exchanging nervous glances. None of them dared to speak. They all knew exactly who he was talking about. They all knew exactly who he meant.

"Y/N," Azriel spat the name like it was poison, but the force of it sent a shiver down their spines. "You remember her, don't you?"

They swallowed hard, eyes darting around as if trying to find an escape. But there was no escape. Not from him.

"You made her feel like she wasn't worthy.

Like she wasn't good enough to be there," Azriel continued, his voice rising with each word. "You made her doubt herself. And I swear to the gods, if I hear any more of that bullshit from you, you won't live to regret it. If you ever so much as think about doing that to her again, I will make sure you regret it with every breath you take."

The judges were visibly shaken now, the threat clear in Azriel’s voice, but still, they tried to deny it. “We— We were just doing our job,” one of them stammered.

Azriel’s cold smile made the hairs on the back of their necks stand on end. “Your job? Your job was to make her feel small? Your job was to crush her spirit? Tell me, what part of that is ‘just doing your job’?”

One of the judges tried to stand up, but Azriel was faster. In a heartbeat, he grabbed him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. “You’re going to listen to me very carefully, and you’re going to do exactly what I say,” Azriel growled, his voice dripping with menace. “You’re going to redo the audition. Only for her. You’re going to send a letter, and you’re going to call her back here. And when she walks through that door, you’re going to praise her performance. You’re going to tell her she has what it takes. You’re going to give her the chance she deserves.”

The man was gasping for breath, his eyes wide with panic as he choked on his words. “Y-yes… yes, we’ll do it,” he croaked, but Azriel wasn’t done yet.

“You better,” Azriel hissed, tightening his grip just enough to send the message. “And if you don’t… I will come for every one of you. I’ll start with your families. Your children. Your wives. I’ll make sure every single person in this room knows exactly what it means to cross me.”

The man whimpered, his hands clawing at Azriel’s wrist in a futile attempt to break free. “We… we’ll do it. Just let me go…”

Azriel’s eyes darkened, his expression chilling. He released the man, letting him crumple to the floor, gasping for air. He turned to the others. “Do you all understand?”

They nodded, fear and desperation written across their faces.

Azriel’s gaze swept over them one last time, making sure they understood just how close they had come to losing everything. “If any of you try to play this off as something else, if you try to twist the truth, I will come back. And next time, I won’t be as merciful.”

He turned, leaving them in the silence of his threat. As he stepped out of the house, his shadows coiled around him, a dark presence that was both comforting and deadly.

He had kept his promise to Y/N. For now. But Azriel knew there was no stopping the fury that had been unleashed. He would protect her. He would always protect her. And anyone who tried to hurt her would regret it—deeply.

Feyre’s studio—her space in Velaris—was warm, filled with the scent of fresh paint and the faintest trace of lavender from the candles she had lit. Sunlight streamed through the wide windows, casting a golden glow over the half-finished paintings scattered across the room. It was peaceful. A quiet retreat from the weight of the world.

Y/N ran her fingers over the rim of a cup of tea, listening as Feyre hummed while mixing colors on her palette. They had been talking about nothing in particular—just idle chatter about a new piece Feyre was working on, how the city had been lately, and Y/N’s attempts to distract herself from the gnawing disappointment still lingering in her chest.

She had been getting better. She had been trying to move on from the humiliation of that audition. Feyre, as always, had been patient and kind, giving her space to talk but never pressing when she didn’t want to.

Y/N was about to respond to something Feyre said when the door swung open, and a familiar, commanding presence filled the room.

Azriel.

Her heart skipped, a warmth blooming in her chest the second their eyes met.

“High Lady,” he greeted Feyre smoothly, giving a respectful nod.

And, Cauldron boil her, Y/N knew she was hopelessly in love with this male the moment his expression shifted. The moment that cold, unreadable mask softened as his gaze found hers.

She went all mushy, as Feyre had put it before, whenever he did that. She hated how accurate it was.

“Az,” she breathed, already moving toward him before she could think twice about it.

He caught her the second she was within reach, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her into his chest. Y/N melted into him, pressing her face into his shoulder, inhaling the familiar scent of night-chilled wind and cedar.

Home.

She felt his lips press a kiss to the top of her head before he pulled back slightly, his hazel eyes warm with something unreadable. “I missed you.”

A smile curled on her lips. “Where were you all day?”

Azriel hummed, running a hand down her back as he gave a nonchalant answer. “Handling some things.”

“Secret spymaster things?” she teased, tilting her head up at him.

His lips twitched, but he didn’t confirm or deny it. Instead, he leaned down, brushing his nose against hers before pressing a soft kiss to her lips. “You didn’t need to miss me. I’m always here.”

Y/N sighed, wrapping her arms around his neck, enjoying the quiet moment of just them. “Sap.”

He chuckled, pressing another lingering kiss against her temple. “Only for you.”

Feyre, being the saint that she was, took that as her cue to excuse herself. “I’ll just—give you two a moment,” she muttered, already heading toward the back of the room.

Y/N barely acknowledged her leaving. She was too busy soaking in the rare gentleness of the male before her.

But then—

A hesitant voice called out from the hallway. “Uh…Az?”

Feyre had just returned, but she wasn’t looking at them. She was looking past them, toward the entrance of the studio, her brows raised in confusion. “Did you bring… all those females into my hallway?”

Y/N blinked, pulling away slightly from Azriel’s hold.

Feyre continued, looking increasingly concerned. “I mean, I don’t want to sound judgy, but they’re bound in your shadows. And there are like… fifteen of them.”

Y/N froze.

She turned fully, stepping out of Azriel’s embrace to look at him properly. “What?”

Azriel sighed. Not in regret. Not in guilt. But in the sort of way that said, I knew this was coming.

And then, he turned to her with a small, knowing smile. “Yes.”

Y/N’s stomach dropped.

Azriel took her hands, his thumbs running over her knuckles. “And they will all apologize.” His voice lowered, his lips brushing against her forehead. “They will beg on their knees for your forgiveness.”

Feyre choked. “Forgiveness? What—what the hell is going on?”

Azriel, ever so casually, replied, “Nothing you need to worry about.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in her chest. “Az,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, shaking her head. “No. Please.”

His hands cupped her face, his thumbs tilting her chin up as he leaned in, pressing another soft, deliberate kiss against her lips. It wasn’t hurried. It wasn’t desperate. It was firm. Resolute.

When he pulled back, his hazel eyes burned with unwavering determination. “No,” he murmured against her lips. “You need this.”

Y/N’s breath caught.

Azriel turned to Feyre, his voice returning to its usual icy calm. “Stay here.”

Then, without another word, he led Y/N to the hallway.

And there they were.

Fifteen females, all bound by thick, writhing shadows, their wrists locked together, their ankles bound. Some of them were trembling, silent tears streaking their faces. Others looked frozen in fear, their lips parted, as if they wanted to speak but couldn’t.

Y/N could barely breathe.

Azriel didn’t hesitate. His shadows curled tighter around the females as he spoke, his voice dark, merciless.

“Now,” he said, loudly enough for everyone to hear. “Get in line.”

The shadows obeyed, shifting, forcing them into a single row.

Azriel stepped forward, his wings partially flaring as a cruel smirk played at his lips.

“One by one,” he drawled, “each of you will take turns begging for my mate’s forgiveness.”

Y/N stared at him, shock rippling through her entire body.

And she had no idea what to say.

The air was suffocating.

Y/N stood frozen as the first female, the moment Azriel’s shadows slithered away from her wrists, collapsed to her knees in front of her.

The thud of her body hitting the marble floor echoed through the hallway.

“I—I’m sorry,” the female gasped, tears streaming down her face, her voice breaking with desperation. “Please—please, I take it back. I take it all back.”

Y/N’s breath caught. Her fingers twitched at her sides, her gut instinct screaming at her to take a step back, to shake her head, to tell her that it was fine—

Azriel’s hand came to rest on her forearm, a quiet, grounding touch.

She turned to him, her wide eyes meeting his. His expression was unreadable, his jaw set, his wings tucked behind him like a warrior standing guard. A silent message passed between them.

Do not give in. Do not let them escape the weight of what they did.

And maybe—maybe he was right.

Maybe these people, these females who had mocked her, who had shamed her, who had torn apart something she had poured her entire soul into—maybe they should feel this. Maybe they should know what it was like to have the world force you onto your knees, to feel helpless, to feel humiliated.

So she swallowed hard, ignored the burn in her throat, and slowly, slowly, she gave the smallest nod.

And then the next female fell.

Then the next.

And the next.

One by one, they dropped before her, sobbing, stammering out apologies that all blurred together.

We didn’t mean it. We were just talking. Please, please, I swear, we didn’t think— Forgive me, I was wrong, I was wrong!

Y/N watched, her fingers trembling, as they all crumbled. As they begged.

The last one, the one who had humiliated her the worst, remained standing.

Azriel’s shadows didn’t let her go.

Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders shaking as she forced herself to meet Y/N’s gaze. Unlike the others, she wasn’t crying.

But she was afraid.

And Azriel?

He smirked.

His voice was low, a whisper of lethal amusement. “Oh? Nothing to say?”

The female’s jaw clenched. She was shaking, her hands curled into fists at her sides. Y/N could see the war raging behind her eyes—her pride battling with the absolute terror of what he would do to her if she didn’t submit.

Azriel stepped forward. His movements were slow, calculated, the air around them darkening as his shadows curled along the floor like ink spreading through water.

“I remember you,” he murmured, tilting his head as if studying prey caught in a snare. “You had so much to say that day. So many things to mock, so many insults to throw.”

His smirk sharpened.

“Say them now.”

The female visibly swallowed. “I—”

She didn’t get to finish.

Azriel was suddenly inches from her, his hand gripping her chin with a deceptively gentle hold. His wings flared slightly, his breath a ghost of a whisper against her skin.

“No?” he purred, mock surprise lacing his tone. “Why not? Where is that sharp tongue of yours now?”

The female’s body trembled, her knees visibly weakening, but she remained standing.

Azriel’s fingers pressed in just a fraction tighter, forcing her to look at him. “Do you know what happens to people who insult what belongs to me?”

Y/N shivered at the quiet, lethal promise in his voice.

The female finally cracked. A soft whimper escaped her lips.

And then—Azriel’s shadows dropped her.

She hit the floor with a painful gasp, and before Y/N could react, she was crawling forward, her hands gripping the fabric of Y/N’s dress as she bowed before her.

“I—I was wrong,” the female choked out. “I was so wrong. Please. Please, forgive me.”

Y/N could only stare.

Azriel stood behind her, looming like a shadowed god. His voice was pure ice as he spoke.

“Beg louder.”

The female’s body trembled violently as she clutched Y/N’s dress, her fingers digging into the fabric like it was the only thing keeping her upright.

“Please,” she choked out, her voice raw. “I—I was wrong, I—”

Azriel’s cold, deadly voice cut through the air like a blade.

"Louder."

The female flinched, her breath hitching. Y/N’s heart pounded as she stared down at the woman who had torn her apart just days ago, who had laughed at her, who had made her feel like she was nothing.

Now, that same woman was crawling at her feet.

Y/N’s hands trembled at her sides. This—this was too much. This wasn’t her. She didn’t need this.

But hadn’t she dreamed of this moment?

Hadn’t she imagined looking into their faces, imagined hearing them admit what they had done? That they had crushedher? Hadn’t she wanted this?

A twisted part of her, buried deep inside, relished it.

Not for the power.

Not for revenge.

But because for once—for once—she wasn’t the one who had to bend.

She wasn’t the one forced to apologize for simply existing.

Azriel moved beside her, his warmth grounding her in the storm of emotions raging inside her. His wings cast a shadow over them both as he crouched, his voice nothing but a whisper laced with deadly amusement.

"I told you to beg louder."

The female sobbed. “Please! I was wrong! I—” Her voice cracked as she practically collapsed lower, pressing her forehead to the floor at Y/N’s feet. “I was cruel. I am the worthless one, not you! I take it back! I take all my words back! I—I didn’t mean it. I swear. I swear, I didn’t mean it—”

Y/N inhaled sharply.

Didn’t mean it?

No. That was a lie.

They meant it.

They had enjoyed it.

They had looked her in the eye and mocked the thing she loved most, had seen her hurt and laughed.

And now?

Now they were just scared.

They weren’t sorry for what they did.

They were sorry that Azriel had made them face it.

The realization hit her like a crashing wave, stealing the breath from her lungs.

She turned to him, her fingers instinctively reaching for his.

He was already watching her.

His hazel eyes softened—not with pity, but with understanding.

And that was when she realized—

This wasn’t just about making them beg. This was about giving her the choice. The power had always been in their hands.

Now, it was in hers.

Her gaze flickered back down to the female, still crying at her feet.

A beat of silence passed.

Then, Y/N took a slow step back, pulling herself from the woman’s grasp.

The female’s sobs quieted.

Y/N straightened her spine, letting the tension bleed from her limbs. Then, with a voice steady and calm—her voice, not Azriel’s, not anyone else’s—she spoke.

"Get up."

The female’s breath hitched.

Y/N arched a brow. "I said, get up."

Slowly, hesitantly, the woman obeyed, wiping at her tear-streaked face as she stood.

Y/N met her gaze, unwavering. “You’re not sorry for what you did.” Her voice was quiet but firm. “You’re sorry for what happened because of it.”

The woman opened her mouth—probably to protest, probably to claim she was sorry—but one look from Azriel had her shutting it immediately.

Y/N exhaled.

“I don’t need your apologies,” she continued. “They don’t change what you did. They don’t change how you made me feel.”

Her nails curled into her palms.

“I don’t forgive you.”

A flicker of something crossed the woman’s face—humiliation, maybe. But Y/N didn’t care.

“You can leave now,” Y/N said simply.

She saw Azriel’s shadows twitch—as if they didn’t want to let them go—but at her command, they loosened.

One by one, the females scrambled out of the hallway, their heads bowed, their faces still streaked with tears.

Y/N didn’t watch them go.

Instead, she turned to Azriel.

He was already looking at her.

And gods—gods, that look.

Like she had just become something entirely new before his eyes. Like she was something fierce, something untouchable.

His hand lifted, brushing a stray strand of hair from her face, his knuckles grazing her cheek. “I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Y/N swallowed.

She didn’t answer.

She just closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around him, burying her face in his chest.

His arms came around her instantly, holding her close, his chin resting atop her head.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke.

Then, softly—

“Az?”

He hummed in response.

She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Don’t ever do that again.”

A slow smirk curled his lips. “Not even a little?”

She glared.

He chuckled, but his fingers gently tilted her chin up. “Alright,” he murmured. “No more shadows dragging terrified females through the streets.”

A pause.

“Unless they deserve it.”

Y/N groaned, hiding her face in his chest again. Azriel just laughed, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head.

The morning sun streamed through the kitchen window, casting golden light over the small breakfast she was preparing. The scent of fresh bread and honey filled the air as Y/N moved around, her mind still heavy from yesterday’s events.

Even after all that happened, even after them begging for her forgiveness, a part of her still felt like it was over. That she had lost her dream.

She let out a quiet sigh as she plated the food, determined not to dwell on it. Az would be awake soon, and she wanted to surprise him with breakfast in bed—

A sudden whoosh of magic broke through the quiet morning.

She gasped, stumbling back as a parchment appeared before her, floating midair before it landed softly on the counter.

Her brows furrowed in confusion. With hesitant fingers, she reached for it, breaking the wax seal and unfolding the letter.

Her breath caught the second she read the words.

Miss Y/N,

After reviewing our previous judgment, we have come to realize that we misjudged your performance. We deeply regret our oversight and would like to offer you another opportunity to showcase your talents. If you are still interested, we invite you to perform again today in the afternoon at the Grand Theatre. We sincerely hope you will accept.

Her heart stopped.

Her hands trembled as she reread it again. And again.

She clutched the letter to her chest.

This—this can’t be real.

She had lost her chance. They had crushed it, torn it from her hands.

And now… they were offering it back?

She was so caught up in the storm of emotions that she didn’t hear the footsteps behind her, didn’t notice the warmth approaching until two strong arms wrapped around her waist, pulling her against a broad, familiar chest.

Azriel buried his face into the crook of her neck, pressing a lazy, sleepy kiss there as he murmured, “What is it?”

She felt the smile on his lips.

The knowing smile.

And something clicked in her mind.

She stiffened slightly, turning in his arms as she held the letter up between them. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

Azriel blinked at her. His expression was a perfect mask of confusion, of innocent curiosity. “What are you talking about?”

His voice was so smooth, so convincing—too convincing.

He tilted his head slightly, his brows furrowing in the perfect Azriel-has-no-clue-what’s-going-on way.

And gods help her—she believed it.

Y/N’s breath came out in a shaky exhale, her body relaxing as she turned back to the letter. “Oh my gods,” she whispered, her lips parting in disbelief. “They really want me to perform again. They really—”

Her voice broke off. A choked laugh escaped her as her hands clutched the parchment tighter.

She had a second chance.

She had a second chance.

A delighted laugh bubbled up her throat as she turned back to Azriel, practically launching herself into his arms.

Az chuckled as he caught her with ease, spinning her slightly before settling her against him, his wings curling around them both.

“I knew it,” she beamed, her voice breathless. “I knew they’d see their mistake. Oh my gods, Az, I get to try again—I get to prove myself.”

Azriel cupped her face, brushing his thumbs over her cheeks as he gazed at her, devoured her with pride shining in his hazel eyes.

“I told you,” he murmured, pressing his lips to her forehead. “I told you that you deserved this.”

Her heart swelled at his words, at the warmth of his touch, at the way he looked at her—like she was everything.

She pulled back slightly, grinning up at him. “What would I do without you?”

His lips curled. “You’d be just fine,” he said, nudging her nose with his. “But lucky for you, you don’t have to find out.”

She laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and pulling him down into a kiss. He met her eagerly, his hands gripping her waist as he deepened it, as he poured every ounce of pride and love into her.

When they finally pulled apart, he whispered, “You’re going to blow them away.”

Her smile was radiant. “You really think so?”

Azriel’s gaze darkened with something fierce, something possessive. “I know so.”

Y/N laughed again, burying her face in his chest as excitement and nerves thrummed in her veins.

She had another chance.

And this time, she wouldn’t waste it.

Y/N had been preparing for hours.

The moment the letter came, she had thrown herself into practice. Every movement, every turn, every step—she perfected them over and over again, determined to be flawless today. Azriel had been with her every second, his unwavering support wrapping around her like a second skin.

He had sat on the floor of their room, watching as she practiced in front of the mirror. His eyes followed every movement, sharp and analyzing, but also filled with something softer, something adoring. Whenever she faltered, his deep voice was there, murmuring reassurances, guiding her back into focus.

And when the nerves crept in, when she doubted herself for even a second, he pulled her into his arms, pressing soft kisses to her forehead, her cheeks, her lips—reminding her exactly why she was meant for this.

Now, standing outside the grand doors of the theatre, she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

The streets were quieter today, the usual rush of dancers missing from the entrance. It felt eerie, so different from the weeks before when the halls had been filled with hopefuls, all vying for the lead role.

Now, it was just her.

Azriel stood beside her, his hand gripping hers tightly, as if he could sense the battle raging within her.

"You’re ready," he murmured, his voice steady, unwavering.

She turned to him, searching his hazel eyes, seeking the same reassurance he had given her all morning. And she found it—found that unshakable belief in her, the absolute certainty that she could do this.

Her fingers tightened around his. “Stay here?”

He huffed a soft laugh, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You have to force me to leave your side, love.”

Warmth bloomed in her chest. She exhaled, stepping closer, pressing her forehead against his. His hands found her waist, his touch grounding.

“I’m nervous,” she admitted.

“I know.” He tilted her chin up, pressing a lingering kiss to her lips. “But you are going to be breathtaking.”

She let out a shaky laugh, letting herself melt into him for just a moment longer before she whispered, “I love you.”

Azriel smiled, and it was the kind of smile that turned her bones to honey. “I love you more.”

With one final breath, she slipped from his arms and stepped inside.

The theatre was silent.

It was so empty, so wrong compared to the chaotic energy of before. Her footsteps echoed against the polished wooden floors as she ascended the stairs, pushing open the doors to the main audition room.

The five judges were already seated, waiting for her.

The moment she entered, their expressions changed.

Not cold, not disinterested like before. But polite. Respectful.

It was… weird.

She took a seat, smoothing her hands over her skirts, and studied them carefully.

The older woman who had scoffed at her before now gave her a small, almost nervous smile. Another judge—one of the males—could barely hold her gaze.

Her eyes flickered to the last judge, and she nearly snorted.

A large, deep bruise curled around the side of his neck, just barely peeking out from the collar of his jacket.

What in the world did he do to deserve that?

She shook the thought away. Focus.

“Miss Y/N,” the eldest judge said, clearing his throat. “We want to thank you for coming today. We deeply regret our misjudgment the last time and hope you will give us the honor of seeing you perform again.”

She tilted her head. Weirdly nice.

She didn’t let herself dwell on it, merely nodded and made her way to the center of the room.

The music started.

She closed her eyes, inhaled.

And then—

She moved.

The first few steps were careful, precise. But with each turn, each shift, she let herself go, let herself become the movement, let herself lose everything but the rhythm thrumming in her veins.

The room faded away.

There was no theatre, no judges, no pressure—just her and the music.

Her shadows twined around her, blending into her movements, wrapping around her like an extension of herself. They curled at her fingertips, twirled with her in perfect synchronization.

Her fears melted away.

Every insult, every rejection, every ounce of doubt—gone.

She was light, she was free.

And as she reached the final note, she landed in a perfect, graceful finish—chest heaving, heart pounding.

The silence that followed was deafening.

She opened her eyes, chest rising and falling.

The judges were staring.

Wide-eyed. Mouths slightly open.

Then—

“You… gods above,” one of the females breathed.

The eldest judge straightened in his chair. “That was phenomenal.”

Another nodded. “Extraordinary.”

“The way you move,” a female judge added, “it’s like the dance was made for you.”

She blinked at them, overwhelmed.

They kept talking—throwing praise after praise, compliments she had never expected to hear from them.

She could barely process it.

She had done it.

She had done it.

Azriel was waiting outside.

The moment she stepped through the doors, his shadows curled around her, his sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe.

His jaw tightened. “Did they say anything—”

She didn’t let him finish.

She launched herself at him.

He barely had time to react before she was in his arms, gripping his shoulders tightly as happy tears streamed down her face.

Az caught her with ease, holding her like she was the most precious thing in the world.

“I got it,” she choked out.

He froze. Pulled back slightly. “What?”

A watery laugh bubbled past her lips. “I got it, Az.” She beamed up at him, breathless. “They said—there’s no need to wait. They’ve already reviewed everyone, and none came close to me. They said I was meant for this role, that I will represent Velaris and its art beautifully.”

Azriel’s chest rose sharply. His grip on her tightened.

Then—

“That’s my girl,” he murmured, voice thick with emotion.

And before she could say anything else, he kissed her.

Not soft, not hesitant—fierce, hungry, filled with pride and love and something utterly consuming.

She melted into him, smiling against his lips as his hands cradled her face, as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

When they finally pulled apart, his forehead rested against hers.

“I knew you would do it,” he whispered. “I knew it.”

She exhaled a shaky breath. “Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For always believing in me.”

Azriel let out a soft chuckle, pressing another kiss to her forehead before whispering, “Forever.”

With fingers intertwined, hearts still racing, they turned toward home—toward the future she had fought for.

[writeriguess]

Hello! I hope you had a great day/night🥰

I was wondering If you could make a smutty fem reader x katsuki bakugo

the reader and bakugo have been together for some time and every time they had sex nothing really happened, the did it, did aftercare and went to bed (most of the times) but this time the reader was at bakugo's house visiting him but for some reason bakugo gets riled up and wants to do it with the reader, his parents weren't in the house anyway so he didn't need to stress about someone interrupting so in the end they end up having sex.

But katsukis mom and dad comes early and he doesn't notice, while the reader and katsuki are doing their thing Mitsuki hears strange noises come from bakugos bedroom. She ends up curious and walks towards his room to find out what was happening but then is meet with you and katsuki.

Katsuki gets really embarrassed but mitsuki isn't mad, instead she shouts "Are you finally making my grandkids"

You don't need to write a fanfic about this! You have full right to delete! But this is just an idea that has been roaming in my head for days and I just really want someone to write a fic abt this😅

Anyways! I won't be sad or mad if you delete this, write it if only you're comfortable❤️

(Also sorry for shifting between bakugo and katsuki I didn't know which of them to use😅)

Heat of the Moment

The thing about Bakugo was that he had control. Most of the time.

Sure, he had a temper, and yeah, he was easy to rile up in a fight, but when it came to you? He always kept himself in check. He never let himself get too lost in it, never let his instincts take over, because he didn’t want to overwhelm you.

That was… until tonight.

You weren’t even trying to be subtle. Maybe it was the fact that his parents were gone, maybe it was just because you wanted to push his buttons, but every little thing you did was setting him off.

The way you sat so close to him on the couch, your thigh pressed against his. The way your fingers lazily traced the muscles in his forearm while you pretended to be watching the movie on the screen. The way you leaned in, lips just barely ghosting over his ear as you whispered, “You’re so tense, Katsuki… want me to help you relax?”

And fuck, he tried. He really fucking tried to ignore it. To just smirk and brush it off like you weren’t making his dick throb with every slow, deliberate movement.

But when you climbed onto his lap, straddling him without a second thought, and rolled your hips down against the growing bulge in his sweats?

That was it. That was the fucking breaking point.

His hands were on you in an instant, rough and possessive as he grabbed your waist and slammed you back down against his hard length. “You think you’re fuckin’ cute, don’t you?” His voice was low, dangerous, but the way his cock twitched against you gave away just how much you were affecting him.

You bit your lip, looking down at him with those teasing eyes that had been driving him insane all night. “Maybe,” you mused, rolling your hips again, slow and deliberate. “Are you gonna do something about it?”

A guttural growl rumbled in his chest before he flipped you onto your back, pressing you into the couch with his weight. His knee shoved between your thighs, spreading you open for him as he loomed over you, crimson eyes dark and full of hunger.

“Oh, I’m gonna do a lot more than something, baby,” he muttered, voice thick with lust. One hand shot under your shirt, fingers finding your breast and squeezing, rolling your nipple between his rough fingertips as his other hand slid down to your shorts. “Gonna fuckin’ ruin you.”

You gasped as he shoved your shorts down, not bothering with finesse. His fingers slid between your thighs, pressing against your already slick folds. “Fuck,” he groaned, a smirk tugging at his lips. “All this from a little teasing? You’re such a fuckin’ slut for me, aren’t you?”

You whimpered, hips arching into his touch, and he chuckled darkly. “Nah, don’t even try to play shy now. You wanted this.”

And then he was lining up, shoving his sweats down just enough to free his cock. Thick, hard, already leaking precum. He didn’t even tease—he just grabbed your hips, lined up, and thrust inside in one deep stroke.

The stretch was sudden, almost too much, but fuck, the way he groaned against your neck made it impossible to care. “So fuckin’ tight,” he growled, giving you barely a second to adjust before pulling out and slamming back in, hard and fast.

You cried out, legs wrapping around his waist as he set a relentless pace, hips snapping against yours with loud, wet slaps. Every thrust had your head spinning, had your body arching up into him as he fucked you deep into the couch.

“Isn’t this what you wanted, huh?” he panted, lips brushing against your ear. “Wanted me to snap? Wanted me to fuck you like I couldn’t wait another second?”

You moaned, nails digging into his back, and he grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head as he drove into you even harder. “You’re takin’ me so fuckin’ good,” he muttered, lips trailing down your neck, sucking a mark into your skin. “So fuckin’ perfect—made for me.”

His name fell from your lips over and over, breathless and desperate, and he drank in every sound, every little whimper. “Yeah, that’s it,” he groaned, pounding into you with reckless abandon. “Cum for me, baby. Let me feel you.”

You didn’t even need to be told. The coil in your stomach snapped, pleasure hitting you like a shockwave as your walls clamped down around him. Your whole body shook, a high-pitched moan spilling from your lips as you came hard around his cock.

Bakugo snarled, hips stuttering as he chased his own release, burying himself as deep as he could before spilling inside you with a guttural groan. His grip on your wrists tightened as he rode it out, panting against your neck before finally collapsing on top of you.

For a moment, the only sound in the room was the ragged breathing of both of you trying to come back down from the high. Then, finally, Bakugo chuckled, low and satisfied.

“Next time you wanna tease me,” he murmured, voice still husky from exertion, “just tell me you wanna get fucked stupid, princess.”

You giggled breathlessly, running your fingers through his damp hair. “Noted.”

Though, judging by the way his cock twitched inside you again, it seemed like one round wasn’t going to be enough tonight.

A while later, you were on it again.

Katsuki had barely given you a break before he was all over you, flipping you onto your stomach and muttering about how you were gonna “pay for riling him up like that.” Not that you were complaining.

The only problem? He was so lost in you that he didn’t hear the front door open.

Didn’t hear the sound of keys dropping into the bowl.

Didn’t hear the unmistakable click of his mother’s heels as she walked down the hallway.

You, on the other hand, froze the second you heard a voice call out:

“We’re home! Bakugo, did you clean the—”

And then, before either of you could react, before Katsuki could even think to move—

The bedroom door swung open.

Mitsuki Bakugo stood there, eyes wide, taking in the absolute disaster of a scene before her. Her son, bare-ass naked, hovering over you. Your face buried in the pillow, Katsuki’s hands gripping your hips. The sheer horror on your face as you registered what was happening.

For a moment, there was silence.

Then—

“HOLY FUCK, MOM—!”

Katsuki launched himself off of you, scrambling for the sheets in sheer panic. You barely managed to yank a blanket over yourself before Mitsuki’s voice rang through the house:

“ARE YOU FINALLY MAKING MY GRANDKIDS?!”

You wanted to die. Right there. On the spot. Instant cardiac arrest. Take me now.

Katsuki’s face was redder than his damn explosions. “WHAT THE HELL, OLD HAG? GET OUT!!”

But Mitsuki wasn’t done. No, she was grinning. Grinning. Hands on her hips like this was the best news of her life.

“Damn, about time!” she continued, ignoring the way Katsuki was practically combusting. “I was starting to think you were incapable—”

“SHUT UP!!” Katsuki grabbed the nearest object—a pillow—and launched it at her with enough force to send it flying down the hallway.

Mitsuki just cackled, dodging effortlessly. “Make sure you’re using protection, brat—unless you’re actually trying to give me grandkids—”

“OUT!!”

With one last laugh, she finally strolled out, still muttering about how she was “too young to be a grandma, but still, wouldn’t mind a little mini-Katsuki running around.”

The moment the door slammed shut, Katsuki flopped onto his back, covering his face with both hands.

Neither of you spoke.

Neither of you could speak.

Until finally, after what felt like an eternity, you whispered:

“…So, uh. Round three?”

Katsuki groaned. “I hate you.”

But the way he rolled back over you said otherwise.

[comflexxed]

the words settled into his chest, as steady and sure as the feeling that had been there since the moment he first realized what this love meant. hans had given him something he never thought he’d have — a love that wasn’t fragile, that wasn’t fleeting, that didn’t demand anything from him other than to be. and here they were, on the morning of their wedding, with nothing standing between them but warmth and the weight of everything they had built together.

june let out a soft breath, one that was deep and unspoken, something that only made sense in this space between them. he let himself memorize this moment. the way hans’s voice curled around the words, the way his fingers fit so easily between his own, the way he spoke of happiness like it was something he never truly had before this. that was what made june tighten his grip, made him shift just enough to press his lips to hans’s knuckles.

“i think you just want an excuse to hear my voice,” june murmured, his tone easy, teasing, but still laced with something softer beneath it. he didn’t let go of hans’s hand, didn’t move from where their foreheads rested together, like leaving this space would make the moment feel less real. “you’ll get enough of it when i say my vows. and every day after that, because you’re stuck with me now.”

the thought made him smile, a smile that pushed away every shadow that had ever lingered in his heart. “i used to think marriage was just a thing people did,” he admitted after a moment, his voice quieter now, like the words weren’t meant for anyone else but hans. “something that made sense on paper. but i never understood why people talked about soulmates and forever and all that nonsense until you.” his thumb brushed absentmindedly over the curve of hans’s wrist, tracing over the familiarity of his skin. “i get it now,” he murmured, almost to himself.

because hans was his other half. the piece of him he never realized was missing.

june let out another slow breath, finally pulling back just enough to meet hans’s gaze fully, to take in the happiness there, the certainty, the love.

his lips quirked into something softer, more playful. “come on, then. let’s get up before you start worrying about the flowers again. i don’t want you fussing over petals when you should be fussing over me.” but even as he teased, he didn’t rush to move. didn’t rush to let go. because for just a little longer, he wanted to stay like this, wrapped up in the love they had built, in the morning they had woken up to together, in the life that would begin the moment they stood before the world.

sensing the quiet stirring that signaled june was awake brought a smile to hans’ lips, his husband finally come to be with him on the day of their wedding. “hi,” he said with awe in his voice, as if he was seeing june for the first time and he had fallen in love with him all over again in that brief meeting. 

but the truth was that hans felt his soul had fallen in love with june even faster—even before they really started to have the kinds of conversations that brought them closer together. the quiet gestures, the feeling of safety he felt in june’s presence, they only grew stronger as time progressed, as he got to know him better. perhaps that was how love felt like for soulmates, he thought to himself as he watched june’s fingers trace the engraving on their rings just as he did moments ago. 

he laughed airily as june propped himself up and repeated the most important event of the day. they were getting married. he was pliant as june pulled him close, his body only wanting the very same closeness, june's thumb caressing hans’ cheek like a force of habit. 

“i do still want to check that the suits fit and the flowers are all there,” he added in a lighthearted tone, recognizing the worries that threatened to spill if he let them. “but i know everything will be perfect even if we have none of those. it’s you and me—that’s all we need,” he whispered in the shared space between them, june’s breath warm on his cheeks as their foreheads were pressed together. "i suppose i need to check if your voice works enough to say your vows too..." he teased.

hans had always thought his wedding would be a formal event that was so devoid of character he would hate it. he did not even care to think about how he wanted his wedding to look like, knowing there would be decisions out of his control, including the person he would marry. it was so against what he wanted deep down, to share a special moment with someone he loved, to look at everyone smiling at them offering support, and he had given up on that kind of dream—until june. 

with his hand finding june’s, entwining their fingers together and watching them fit perfectly, hans couldn’t help but sigh deeply. “i’ve never been so happy. i’ve never been so sure of anything else. you are the other half of my soul.”

having this, having june and the wedding they both wanted, it was so much better than everything he could ever dream of. and it was his reality. “i love you too, my june. you’re everything i want.” as they stayed in bed just a little longer, letting the world slowly wake up while they take their time, hans could only see their future ahead and how more mornings like this would wake him up and remind him over and over that he was loved. 

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

࿐ ᧔♡᧓ . MYDEI’S DIGITAL LOVE ?!!?!

꒰୨୧꒱ Paring : famous streamer Mydei x big-fan chubby fem!reader

꒰୨୧꒱ Warnings : nsfw/smut, vaginal, internet sex, fingering (yourself), hand-job (he does it to himself), recording/video taping, orgasm control/denial & holding orgasm, dirty talk & degradation, praise kink, exhibitionism (light), mutual masturbation, voice kink, overstimulation, commanding behaviour, size-kink?, Mydei is teasing, reader is shy. (＃＞＜)

꒰୨୧꒱ Summary : You’ve been Mydei’s biggest fan for months, but you never expected him to notice you—until tonight. Out of nowhere, he finally responds to your message you sent him for 3 years, “Let’s talk to camera. ;)” and before you know it, you're face-to-face on a video call with your favorite streamer. His teasing starts instantly, rough voice making you squirm as he pushes you further, watching your every move. What starts as a simple chat turns into something far more sinful—you’re not just another fan tonight, you’re his. (Morden au)

꒰୨୧꒱ Extra : special post since it’s my birthday :3 feb 10th! Also Special post for : @jadestone2 , oh and also you guys are having cybers*x on discord. 😪 This is short btw.

Your heart nearly stops when the notification pops up ;

Mydei69: Let’s talk in camera ;)

Your breath catches in your throat. No way. No way. It’s been four months since you sent that message—three months of watching his streams, liking his posts, replaying clips where his rough, teasing voice made your stomach twist in knots. You never expected him to respond.

Your fingers tremble as you scramble to accept the call, your screen flashing before his face appears—smug, gorgeous, and effortlessly cocky. His eyes flick over you, and the slow smirk that spreads across his lips makes you want to shrink into yourself.

“Damn,” he drawls, voice low and rough. “Didn’t think my biggest fan would be so shy.” Your stomach flips at the way he says it—slow, taunting, like he’s savoring your reaction. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. Mydei chuckles, leaning back in his chair, the dim glow of his setup casting sharp shadows over his sharp features.

"Cat got your tongue?" he muses, tilting his head. "Or are you just that nervous to be on cam with me?" You shake your head quickly, heat creeping up your neck. "N-No, I just… I wasn’t expecting you to—"

"Finally respond?" He cuts you off with an amused scoff. "Yeah, I know. Took my time, didn’t I?" His eyes flicker across your screen, studying you. "But you were patient. And now you’ve got me all to yourself." The weight of those words settles in your stomach, heavy and thrilling. It’s just you and him. No chaotic chat, no thousands of watching eyes—just his gaze locked onto you like you’re the only thing that matters.

"Let’s make it worth the wait, yeah?" His voice drops lower, and he leans in, elbows resting on his desk. "Show me how much of a fan you really are."

Your breath hitches. The way he’s looking at you—like he already knows how this is going to go, like he’s expecting you to fall right into his hands—makes your body feel hot all over. "I—I don’t know what you mean," you stammer, even though you do.

Mydei chuckles, shaking his head. "C’mon, don’t play dumb," he says, voice dripping with amusement. "You’ve been watching me for how long? Sending me messages, calling yourself my biggest fan…" He pauses, eyes dark with something unreadable. "So prove it."

You swallow hard, your hands gripping the hem of your shirt. The tension between you is thick, crackling through the screen like a live wire. "What… what do you want me to do?" you ask, voice barely above a whisper. Mydei’s grin widens, predatory. "Good girl," he murmurs, leaning back in his chair, looking like he’s about to enjoy every second of this. "Let’s start simple. Take that off for me."

Your pulse pounds in your ears. You hesitate for only a moment—long enough for Mydei to chuckle again, this time lower, rougher. "Shy thing like you needs a little push, huh?" he muses, eyes locked onto you. "Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of you."

Your hands tremble as you grip the hem of your shirt, hesitating just a moment too long. Mydei notices, of course—he notices everything.

"Need me to count down for you?" he teases, cocking his head. "Or do you just like making me wait?" Your breath shudders as you finally pull your shirt over your head, exposing the soft lace of your bra. It’s cute—delicate, pastel-colored, something you picked out on a whim without ever imagining someone like him would see it.

Mydei exhales sharply, his smirk deepening. "Damn," he mutters, his gaze raking over you through the screen. "Didn’t take you for the cute type." He leans in slightly, his voice dipping into something darker. "But I like it. Suits you."

Your face burns at the compliment, at the way he’s staring like he wants to see more. "Go on," he urges, voice smooth and coaxing. "Show me just how much of a good girl you can be." You shift under his gaze, fingers twitching at your sides. The way he's looking at you so intense, so hungry-makes your whole body feel warm, like you're burning up from the inside out.

"You shy now?" Mydei taunts, his voice a perfect mix of amusement and something darker. "Thought you were my biggest fan." You bite your lip, heat pooling in your stomach at the way he's teasing you. He knows exactly what he's doing, and worse-you know it's working. Slowly, you reach behind your back, fumbling with the clasp of your bra. Your full tits revealing, as your cheeks began to redden. The moment it loosens, you hear Mydei inhale softly, his eyes glued to your every movement.

"Fuck," he mutters, his voice rougher now. "Knew you'd be cute under all that." He leans in, resting his chin on his hand as he watches you, completely enthralled. "Bet you've been dreaming about this, huh? Showing off for me. Letting me see you like this." You swallow hard, nodding hesitantly. He grins. "Good girl. Now, let's see how well you listen."

You can’t breathe. Or maybe you’re breathing too hard—your chest rising and falling under his gaze, heat flooding every inch of your skin. The way he’s looking at you, like you’re something worth watching, sends a shiver down your spine.

"That’s it," Mydei murmurs, his voice smoother now, almost like he’s soothing you. But there’s an edge to it, too—something sharp, something dangerous. "Knew you’d be good for me." Your thighs press together at his words, and of course, he notices. His smirk stretches wider, eyes dark with amusement.

"Cute and needy?" He chuckles, shaking his head. "You really are my biggest fan, huh?" You nod without thinking, your face burning. "Good," he says, his voice dropping lower. "Then keep going. I wanna see just how much you can take for me."

Mydei's eyes flick downward, to the camera and you realize—too late—that he's caught you. His smirk sharpens. "Rubbing those thighs together like that," he muses, voice laced with amusement. "You that needy already?" Your breath stutters. You try to stop, but it's impossible-the heat pooling between your legs is too much, the way he's watching you is too much.

He chuckles, low and knowing, "C'mon, baby," he purrs. "Go ahead. Put those pretty fingers to work for me," Your stomach tightens at the command. "Let me see how much of a mess you can make," he adds, his voice thick with anticipation. "Bet you're already soaked for me, huh?"

Your breath comes out shaky, your whole body burning under his gaze. He's not even here, but the way he speaks-like he already owns you, like he knows what you're feeling-has you completely at his mercy.

Slowly, hesitantly, your hand drifts down, slipping beneath the waistband of your panties. The moment your fingers brush against yourself, you gasp—you're already embarrassingly wet, just like he said. Mydei groans softly, eyes glued to the screen. "Knew it," he mutters, voice thick with approval. "So fucking predictable." Your cheeks burn, but the humiliation only makes the ache between your legs worse. "Don't be shy now," he coaxes. "Let me see how pretty you look when you touch yourself for me."

Your breath shudders as your fingers move, the warmth of your own touch making you squirm. Mydei watches through the screen, his sharp eyes locked onto you, his expression shifting into something darker—something possessive. Your other had gripped on your right tit squeezing it gently as you teased your clit. Imagining it was Mydei’s fingers and hands, teasing you.

"That's it, he murmurs, voice lower now, almost approving. "Nice and slow. I want to see everything." He smirked, he pulled down his own pants, as he groaned softly looking at his length that was already leaking with cum. You bite your lip, overwhelmed by the way he's watching you, and stroking himself with his cock. The heat in his gaze making you feel exposed in the best way possible. You've imagined moments like this before, but nothing compares to the real thing—nothing compares to him actually being here, whispering to you, praising you.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he muses, tilting his head. "Bet it feels even better knowing I'm watching." You nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat. Mydei chuckles, leaning in just slightly, his smirk deepening. While watching you through the camera. His hand gripping on his dick, as he let out a grunted moan. "G-Good girl," he murmurs. "Keep going. Let me hear you."

You moaned softly, dipping on of your fingers in your tight passage. Velvety walls wrapping around your fingers. As Mydei moaned out loud, "Fuck yeah…just like that." He groaned, as his thumb teased the tip of his cock. Imagining that the head of his cock kissing your cervix.

"G—Gonna cum…" you announced, Mydei’s lidded eyes snapped wide open as he sneered. "Fuck no, baby. I don’t think so. Hold it for me and show me you’re a real fan of mine."

Your whole body tenses at his words, a desperate whimper slipping past your lips. Holding back feels impossible—you’re already trembling, already so close—but the look on Mydei’s face tells you he expects you to obey. "Don’t give me that," he huffs, his hand moving in slow, deliberate strokes. He’s watching you with half-lidded eyes, his jaw tight, his breaths heavier than before. "Real fans know how to listen." You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside you, but it only makes it worse. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to hold back the pleasure building inside you, but it only makes it worse. Mydei notices immediately, his smirk sharp and teasing.

"Struggling, baby?" he taunts, his pace on himself picking up slightly. "That desperate to let go?" You nod frantically, your thighs trembling. He groans lowly, tilting his head back for a brief second before locking eyes with you again. "Fuck—you look so cute when you're holding back for me." His voice is rough now, edged with hunger. "Think you can last a little longer? Be a good girl and wait for me?"

Your entire body is shaking, every muscle tensed as you fight against the overwhelming pleasure surging through you. Mydei's voice is all you can focus on-rough, teasing, controlling. "I-I don't know if I can," you whimper, your voice coming out weak, breathless. His eyes darken, hand still working himself at an unhurried pace. "You can," he corrects, his tone firm but laced with amusement. "You will. Don't tell me my biggest fan is about to let me down."

You shake your head frantically, desperate to prove him wrong. "N—No, I-I wanna be good for you" vou stammer, your voice barely above a whine. That earns you a low, satisfied groan. "That's my girl," he praises, his strokes becoming just a little faster, his breathing heavier. "Hold it a little longer for me, baby. Just a little more."

Your whole body is on fire, every nerve stretched to its limit as you fight to hold back, just like he told you. Mydei watches you intently, his hand moving faster, his chest rising and falling with each ragged breath. "Fuck, look at you," he groans, his voice rougher now, strained with pleasure. "Shaking so bad for me... you really wanna cum, don't you?" You nod frantically, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Please," you beg, voice barely a whisper.

Mydei's breath shudders, his strokes turning almost desperate. "Shit—alright, baby," he rasps. "Cum for me. Now." The second he gives you permission, the pleasure crashes over you, white—hot and overwhelming. Your body trembles as you cry out, giving in completely, your mind hazy with nothing but bliss.

Mydei isn't far behind. His jaw clenches, his brows furrow, and with a deep, guttural groan, he spills over his hand, his body shuddering through his release. For a moment, the only sound between you is your uneven breathing. Mydei leans back, running a hand through his hair, his smirk returning as he watches you try to catch your breath. "Damn," he mutters, his voice still rough. "Best fan interaction I've ever had."

Your body is still trembling, aftershocks of pleasure coursing through you as you try to catch your breath. Mydei watches you with a lazy smirk, his chest still rising and falling from his own release. But then—his eyes darken again, that cocky glint returning as he tilts his head. "We're not done yet, baby," he murmurs, voice low and teasing. Your breath hitches, eyes widening slightly. "W-What?" He chuckles, sitting up straighter, his fingers still lazily stroking himself, already regaining his composure. "What kind of streamer would I be if I left my biggest fan unsatisfied?" His voice drops, rough and full of intent. "Now be good and spread those legs for me again."

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, your body still tingling from the intensity of your release. But Mydei isn't done—not even close. His dark eyes rake over you, his smirk softening just a little, but the hunger is still there. "You look so pretty like this," he murmurs, voice lower now, almost... tender. "Flushed, breathless, all for me." Your heart stutters at the way he says it—less like a tease, more like he means it.

"You really are my biggest fan, huh?" he muses, stroking himself lazily, watching the way your thighs twitch. "But I think." He trails off for a second, his expression shifting into something unreadable. "I think I might be your biggest fan now." The words send a different kind of heat through you, something deeper, something that lingers. Mydei chuckles when he sees the way you react, but there's no mocking edge to it this time—just warmth.

"Didn't think this would happen." he admits, his hand slowing, his gaze softening even as he stays locked onto you. "But fuck, baby... I don't think I can let you go now." Your breath shudders. "Mydei..." His smirk turns into something almost affectionate. "Yeah, baby," he murmurs, his eyes full of something deeper than lust, something real. "You're mine now. And I'm yours."

© 2024-2025 blueberrisdove-sideblog all rights reserved. pretty please, do not steal my dividers, translate and plagiarize any of my works, or either repost my works in any other platform without asking, thank you!

[bonnie-the-butcher]

Rip Tide | Chapter VI

[ MDNI ] [ word count: 8.928 ] [ Masterlist ] 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Canonverse/Canon-Divergent; Dark! Content; NSFW (p in v, unprotected, implied m!masturbation); Strong Language; Cheating; Drug Use; Mentions of overdose; Some shades of Munchausen syndrome from dear old Rafe; Manipulation; Toxic, obsessive behaviour; Stalking; Violence; DUBCON/NONCON; My writing is really pretentious and English is not my first language, so please feel free to call me out in whichever grammar mistakes you might find find.

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | You and JJ have always been in each other's orbit. He's your brother’s best friend, the guy you've known your entire life. He was kind, protective, familiar. You never meant for the two of you to start hooking up. And you never meant for it to last so long. But when this boy you thought you'd come to know like the back of your hand turns out to be no better than the men he'd warned you about, you find yourself in the sights of the guy he hates most, regardless of wether you want that or not.

OMG Bonnie what is that? A JJ chapter? Yeah, maybe I went insane. Likes, asks, reblogs, and comments are always greatly appreciated! Thank you in advance for reading <3

JJ takes a slow step forward, his shoulders rolling back, his fingers still coiled tight around the handlebars of his bike. There’s a heat rolling off of him, a barely contained energy that makes your stomach twist.

His gaze drifts over to you. The rage burning through his eyes as he climbs down, drifting through Rafe’ arms, how they wrap around you, how close he’s holding you to him. – What’s going on, huh? – His voice is taught, barely restrained. You think of the hiss a rattlesnake makes before pouncing, the barely restrained violence simmering under each sound. – What are you doing here?

– I could ask you the same thing, Maybank. – Rafe hums. You call his name, trying to reel him back before it gets dangerous, but he seems entertained more than anything. – We’re a little far from the salvation army. Not much for you to do around here.

– Rafe!

The kook holds your hand to his chest when you push him, smiling down at you like it’s the funniest thing in the world. – I’m just having a little fun with him, that’s all.

– Get off of her, Rafe.

He’s looking at you with a focus that’s never a good sign, but don’t miss the way his eyes flick to where Rafe’s hand still lingers at your waist. The moment stretches, thick with the weight of his anger, but you can’t bring yourself to move first.

Rafe doesn’t bother hiding his grin. If anything, it grows, slow and deliberate, like this is the most fun he’s had all night. – Why? You scared she won’t come back when she realizes there’s more to life than being leeched off of by her brother’s friends?

– Rafe, this isn’t funny.

– JJ must think it is, it’s the only thing he does well. – Rafe drawls, tilting his head as he finally steps back from you—but not without dragging his fingers along your side, a pointed reminder. – Right, JJ?

JJ’s lips press into a thin line. His fingers flex around the handlebars, his nostrils flaring as he exhales hard through his nose. His gaze cuts to you now, sharp and demanding. – What the hell are you doing with this asshole?

His voice grates you. Every word echoing in your head like nails on a chalkboard.

– This is none of your business, JJ.

He doesn’t even pretend to hear you. – Kie told me what happened at work. We were all worried about you.

You open your mouth, but Rafe hums before you can speak, stepping in again, loose and easy, barely putting in effort but still commanding all the space between you. – Worried? Were you worried that you’re finally gonna have to get a job and deal with your own shit?!

– You don’t know what you’re talking about, okay?! Shut the fuck up!

– Or what? Are you gonna freeload off of me too?

JJ moves before you can stop him. His bike crashes to the pavement as he lunges, fists already clenched, fury twisting his face. Rafe barely shifts, like he’s been expecting this all along, like he’s been waiting for the moment he can finally push JJ over the edge.

– THIS SHIT ISN’T ABOUT YOU RAFE!

You step in fast, hands catching JJ’s arm before he can swing, your pulse hammering. – JJ, don’t. Fuck off. Don’t fucking do this right now.

– He’s the one who needs to fuck off! We’re talking right now, it’s none of his fucking business! – His breath is ragged, his muscles stiff under your grip. But Rafe just grins, smug and taunting, eyes alight with something dark. – Tell him to go away.

– You can’t tell me that yourself? Is that how much of a bitch you are, JJ?

JJ lunges, nearly pushing you into the asphalt by mistake. Rafe’s the one that catches you, his hand steadying you as you hold JJ back. – LET GO OF ME!

– JJ step the fuck back, I’m not even kidding you.

– He started it!

Rafe whistles lowly, laughing just under his breath as his arm wraps around you again. – Your brother really knows how to pick them, doesn’t he?

– Not helping, Rafe.

– I’m just trying to enjoy myself while you talk him down from his tantrum. I’m great.

– Stop fucking talking to her like that!

– Or what? You gonna hit me? – He muses, tilting his head, like the thought actually amuses him. – Go ahead, man. Take your shot. I bet it’ll feel real good.

JJ’s jaw tightens, his arm twitching under your hold. You can feel the war inside him, the barely restrained urge to throw that punch, to finally give Rafe the fight he’s clearly asking for.

But you don’t let go.

And JJ doesn’t swing.

For a second, the only sound is the thick silence between you.

Then Rafe sighs, exaggerated and disappointed. – Shame, – He mutters, stepping back, shaking his head like JJ’s let him down. – I was really hoping you’d play along, JJ. It’s been what? A week since you last got arrested? Has it ever been so long? I bet they’re missing you down at the station.

He flashes a grin at you, sharp and knowing, before brushing past, hands moving over your back like he owns you. – Y’know what, baby? We should really get going. I’m getting kinda bored.

– You’re out of your fucking mind if you think she’s going anywhere with you.

– JJ. – You warn, but he doesn’t seem to hear you.

– She came here with me, buddy. Maybe you wanna look around you. – He glances at you, blue eyes gleaming as he takes you by the arm. – C’mon. It’s getting late, right? Your brother’s probably struggling to figure out the oven right now.

– You don’t know what the fuck your talking about. – JJ growls.

– You’re gonna go home with this pogue? –The question comes out in a hum, almost condescendingly. His laughter thrills up your spine like a shiver of fear. – You’re gonna let him strongarm you like this?

You swallow, breathing in deep.

Rafe’s grip on your arm tightens, fingers warm against your skin, but you don’t move. His smirk twitches—just barely—before he tilts his head, watching you with curiosity, even if the smile he’s giving you doesn’t seem too pleased.

JJ notices too. He exhales sharply, barely holding himself together. – You’re not leaving with him.

His voice is low, coarse. And he’s clinging, moving his arms within your hold like a whiny kid. But it’s not a plea. It’s a demand.

Rafe hums under his breath, low and pleased, like this is all going exactly how he wanted. – She’s not staying for you, JJ. – He flicks his gaze over, like he’s looking at something stuck to the bottom of his shoe. – You have John B’s useless ass to thank for her not leaving with me right now.

JJ clenches his jaw so tight you swear you hear his molars crack. – Shut the fuck up, Rafe.

Rafe grins, slow and knowing. – I will if she makes me. Right, baby? Maybe you can give me a goodnight kiss before I go.

JJ takes a step forward, but you press a hand to his chest, stopping him. He seethes, nostrils flaring, but you shake your head. – Just go, Rafe. Please. – Your voice isn’t sharp—it’s tired, annoyed.

And that’s exactly why Rafe thrives on it.

He tsks, squeezing your waist in his hold on you before pulling his keys from his pocket. – That’s okay. We’ll have plenty of time for that tomorrow, right? – He leans in, voice dipping lower. – You can make it up to me.

You sigh, rubbing your temple. – Rafe—

– You’re cute when you get all flustered. – He laughs, tapping your chin with his knuckle. – I’ll call you later.

JJ lunges, and it takes everything in you to shove him back.

Rafe just whistles, all relaxed amusement, stepping back with an easy grin. – Damn, Maybank, you’re really gonna let her hold you back like that?

JJ is shaking in anger, chest heaving.

Rafe doesn’t wait for an answer. He shoots you a wink and a lazy salute before finally turning away, tossing over his shoulder, – Don’t miss me too much, baby.

JJ exhales sharply, shaking off your hold. His head drops for a second, his hands clenching at his sides before he looks at you, eyes blazing. – What the hell was that?

You swallow hard, the weight in your chest pressing down heavy. – JJ—

But he shakes his head. – Nah. No way. You don’t get to brush this off. – His voice is rough, disbelief coating every syllable. – Tell me you’re not— He stops himself, exhaling sharply again before taking a step back, shaking his head like he’s trying to make sense of it. – Tell me you’re not seriously falling for this shit.

You don’t know what to say.

Because maybe you don’t have an answer he wants to hear.

– Oh my God. – You don’t know what exactly in his face shifts, but you feel the air around you thicken. – You are, aren’t you?!

– Spare me the outrage, JJ. I’m not in the mood for your lectures.

– The guy is a fucking psychopath! There’s no fucking way you do’t see that! He’s insane!

You roll your eyes, a sigh falling from your lips before you can think of it. – You say that like you’re some sort of model of normalcy.

– I can’t fucking believe you!

– I don’t fucking need you to believe me, JJ. Clearly you fucking don’t. It doesn’t matter what I say, you already have your pitchfork ready! So what exactly am I supposed to be getting out of this?! Huh? Tell me. – A beat of silence lingers between you, as you turn your back on him. It’s long past 6 PM. The sky is pitch-black. – Can we just go? I don’t wanna do this.

You can see the gears turn in his head when you speak. His eyes soften, jaw unclentching. – I’m trying to look out for you. – You scoff. – Look, I know you’re stressed and all, but you don’t need to be taking it out on me, okay?! Chill out.

– Thanks, Mother Teresa. I feel much calmer now.

– Can we just put down the boxing gloves, right now?!

– I don’t know JJ, can we? I can’t put my guard down with you for a moment. Because that’s what you do. You tell me I should calm down, and when I do, you come up with some insane shit to piss me off all over again!

JJ watches you, chest still rising and falling like he’s trying to catch a breath that won’t come. Then his expression shifts—like something clicks into place, like he’s realizing something he doesn’t like.

His lips curl, his tongue running over the inside of his cheek. – Are you serious? – His voice is quieter now, almost disbelieving. – This is where we’re at?

You shake your head, swallowing back the lump in your throat. – I don’t want to do this right now, JJ.

– Oh, that’s rich. You don’t wanna do this right now? – He lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. – You wanna pick a better time? Should I make an appointment? Because it’s like you never have time for me these days! You’ll speak your mind, talk all the game you fucking want, but when it’s time to talk about my feelings, suddenly you’re too tired to deal!

Your stomach twists.

JJ scoffs. – You know, I keep trying. I keep trying to get through to you, and you just— He stops, shakes his head again, shoving a hand through his hair like that’ll help get rid of some of the frustration bleeding off of him.

– Trying to what, JJ? What is it that you’re trying to get through to me so much? That I can’t even talk to people while you go around fucking whatever girl you want? – The words come out before you can stop them.

– That’s funny, I don’t remember leaving with your mortal enemy!

– And I don’t remember kissing your best friend after leaving your bed, JJ. But here we are!

JJ goes still.

For a second, neither of you speak.

Then he exhales sharply through his nose, shaking his head like you’ve just confirmed something he was trying not to believe. – There you go again, – He mutters, half in laughter, half in scorn. – You’re insane. Like. You’re actually sick in the fucking head. You and Rafe are perfect for each other. Maybe that’s why you’re here right? I was too normal, so you got bored. And that’s why you’re here in the Country Club, fucking that psychopath!

You stare at him, heart still pounding, but there’s something else gnawing at the edges of your mind now—something off. Something you didn’t notice in the heat of it all.

The country club.

You’re not at your job.

You’re not at home.

You’re not even on your side of the island.

Your stomach twists again.

– JJ, – you start, voice quieter now.

But he doesn’t hear it, or he doesn’t care. He scoffs again, throwing his hands in the air as he turns away, pacing. – I should’ve known. I should’ve listened to John B. He always said you were fucking twisted! But leave it to me! It’s my fault or thinking you could act like a person for once!

Your pulse stutters.

You don’t even register his words.

You don’t remember telling him where you were.

Your job isn't anywhere near the Country Club. You didn’t text him. You didn’t call him.

So how did he find you?

Your skin prickles as you stare at him, the words barely coming out. – JJ... how did you know I was here?

– What?! – He laughs, like you’ve just said something stupid, but you’re not gonna let him do this. Keeping your face neutral, even while your blood runs cold, you repeat:

– How did you know where I was? – He looks at you for a moment, frozen in place. You don’t even see him breathe. But the thoughts run wild behind his eyes, his mouth hanging open, unable to keep up with the speed at which his mind is running. – Answer me. How did you know I was here, JJ?

– I— He swallows, looking between each of your eyes frantically. – I was gonna pick you up at work,

– At a quarter to seven PM? You know I get the bus. It leaves at 5:20. You know that.

– Why are you making a big deal out of this?! I was driving to the wreck and I saw you here—

– No you weren’t. The wreck is East. To get here, you need to be going West.

He’s quiet again.

– Are you following me? How did you even— Realization dawns on you. JJ and John had your phone all day after you left. The notification you saw when you finally got it back, was from your maps app, which you’ve never opened in your life. You pull your phone out of your pocket. The location is on, but you don’t remember activating it. You open your messages. The latest contact is JJ. But you haven’t texted him in days. The chat is empty. – You sent my phone location to yourself, didn’t you? You and John are fucki— Your voice dies within your throat. The hair at the back of your neck standing. – John doesn’t have my password, though.

– You’re acting insane.

– How the fuck did you figure out my password, JJ? It’s a thousand characters long. I expect that shit from Pope, but— You stop again, opening your settings. A second fingerprint is set there, next to yours. – What the fuck is wrong with you?

– Don’t turn this around right now!

– That’s rich, JJ! And I’m the one who’s insane?! You’re a fucking stalker!

JJ scoffs, but it’s different now—less angry, more… wounded. Like you just slapped him in the face instead of uncovering something deeply fucked up. He shakes his head, stepping back like he needs distance from you.

– Are you serious right now? – His voice is quieter, rougher. – After everything?

You stare at him, blood still thrumming in your ears. – After everything? JJ, you just—

– No, you don’t get it. You don’t fucking get it. – He lets out a breathless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. – I knew something was off. I knew you were pulling away. I knew you were sneaking around, lying to me—

– I’m pulling away because you’re messing around with Kie!

– I’m not! Baby, I— He’s slapping himself, pulling out his hair. – I was trying to make you jealous, okay?! I just want you to pay attention to me! But you’re either glued to your phone talking to Barry, or you’re around John B, doing everything for him, everything I want you to do for me!

– What the fuck are you talking about?! He’s my fucking brother, JJ!

– BUT HE DOESN’T DESERVE IT! – He screams, the vitriol burning against his lips like acid. – He was always horrible to you, and I was there! I was there! I wanted you!

– What are you talking about?! You’ve hated me since we were kids!

– NO! I— I wanted you to look at me. I just wanted you to—Please. Just look at me, okay? I don’t want you sneaking around with Barry or with Rafe, or whatever! I want you here! With me!

– Sneaking around—JJ, you broke into my fucking phone—

– Because you wouldn’t fucking talk to me! – His voice cracks on the last word, and it throws you for a second—because the anger is still there, but there’s something else now, something desperate. His hands are in his hair, gripping like he’s holding himself together. – Do you even hear yourself? Do you even care? Or are you just gonna act like I’m some fucking psycho and not the guy who’s been there for you? The guy who—who has wanted you since I was kid?!

Your breath catches.

JJ exhales sharply, jaw clenching like he hates himself for saying it, for letting it slip out in the middle of this.

– You were there for me. – He continues. – When your brother couldn’t be. When my dad started— When he drank. You remember that, don’t you? You took care of me. You always took care of me. John B couldn’t get that! Even if he tried, y’know, who knows, maybe he did! But he was always this golden boy! Your dad, he— He treated him like he could do no wrong— He’d never get it. But you did! You always got me!

You’re quiet. Because you remember.

You remember taking a beating for JJ the day John sent you there to give him his surfboard. You remember laying there on the floor, his dad pulling you by the hair, because you stood there while JJ ran. You remember the face he made when his dad threw you out.

How he fell apart in your arms.

How you remained there, holding him, as he bled through your clothes.

And it tears you apart.

Because the way he spoke to you before, is exactly the way his father used to speak to him.

– But yeah. Sure. I’m the stalker. I’m the crazy one. – He laughs bitterly, shaking his head. – You’re so fucking worried about me following you, but you don’t care that you’re running straight to him! – His eyes flash with something sharp, something dark. – You think he gives a shit about you? You think Rafe fucking Cameron isn’t watching your every move, waiting for you to fuck up so he can sink his claws in? Like Barry did? – He steps forward, voice lowering like he’s telling you some ugly secret.

Your heart jumps in your chest at the mention. JJ knows this is a low blow. – You don’t know anything about Barry and me.

– I know he hurt you. – He’s almost pleading. – He hurt you because you were with him, when you should’ve been with me.

– JJ—

– I did this to protect you. Let me protect you. Like you protected me.

There it is. The flip.

You feel like you might faint.

JJ exhales shakily, his fingers flexing like he doesn’t know what to do with his hands anymore. The anger is fizzling out, but what’s left is somehow worse—smaller. He looks at you, really looks at you, and suddenly it’s like all the fight drains out of him.

– I can’t keep doing this. – His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper. He shakes his head, eyes flickering away like he’s embarrassed, like you’ve just torn him down completely. – I don’t—I don’t know how else to prove it to you. How else to make you see that I just wanted to keep you safe.

His shoulders drop. He looks exhausted.

– But you don’t believe me. You won’t ever fucking believe me, will you? – He laughs, but it’s hollow, broken. – It doesn’t matter what I do. Doesn’t matter that I would literally die for you—Jesus Christ, I would, and you don’t even fucking see it. I’d do anything for you, and you’re just standing there, looking at me like I’m a fucking monster.

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out.

– I mean—fuck, what am I supposed to do? Huh? – His voice cracks. His eyes are glassy now, but he swipes a hand over his face before anything can fall. – You want me to apologize? I will. You want me to beg? Fine. – He laughs breathlessly, shoulders shaking as he sinks down onto the curb like his body just gave up. – I’ll fucking beg.

Your stomach twists.

– Just— he exhales, hands clinging to your hips. – Can we go home? – His voice is so quiet now, so defeated. – Please. I don’t wanna fight anymore. I don’t wanna—fuck, I don’t even care. Just let me take you home. That’s all I want.

He looks up at you, and for the first time tonight, he looks fragile. Worn down. Like he’s carrying something too heavy for him, and the only thing keeping him from collapsing is you.

And God help you, part of you wants to believe him.

– JJ. – Your voice is sharp, but your hands are shaking. – This isn’t about that—this isn’t about you wanting to take me home. This is about what you did—

– I know! – he cuts in, his breath coming too fast, too uneven. His hands fist in his hair, like he’s trying to hold himself together by sheer force. – I know, okay? I fucked up, I fucking know— He stumbles over his own words, gasping, like the weight of it is physically pressing down on him. – But I can’t—

His voice breaks.

– I can’t lose you over this. Over Rafe fucking Cameron and his bullshit.

The air between you shifts. Something inside him just collapses.

– Please. – His chest is heaving, his eyes wet, his whole body trembling like he’s about to snap. – I don’t—I don’t know how to make you stay. I don’t know how to fix this. – His voice cracks again, and this time, his knees buckle.

You barely have time to react before he’s falling into you, grabbing fistfuls of your clothes, his breath hitching against your belly. His whole body is shaking.

– I’m sorry. – His words spill out in a frantic, broken rush. – I’m so fucking sorry. Please—please don’t go. Just—just let me take you home, baby, please—

His arms tighten around you, like if he holds on hard enough, he can force you to stay. And God, you shouldn’t. You should push him away, make him listen, make him answer for this.

But he’s crying.

JJ Maybank—loud, reckless, impossible JJ—is sobbing into you like a little kid, like he’s breaking apart right in front of you.

You inhale shakily, your hands hovering before you finally give in, falling before him on the ground, wrapping your arms around him, pressing your cheek against his hair.

– It’s okay, – you whisper, even though it isn’t. Even though nothing is.

But it’s all he wants to hear.

JJ exhales sharply, his whole body collapsing into yours with something like relief. – Don’t leave me.

– I won’t.

And maybe you mean it.

Maybe that’s the scariest part.

You let him fall apart against you, his body wracked with silent tremors as he clings to you like a lifeline. His breath is uneven, ragged, hot against your skin, and his fingers fist into your top, desperate, like letting go isn’t an option. He presses closer, his whole body sinking into yours, like he’s trying to disappear inside you, like that’s the only place he might be safe.

And you let him. You hold him as his shoulders shake, as he fights to keep from outright sobbing, as the weight of whatever broke him presses down so hard you swear you can feel it, too. He’s unraveling in your arms, piece by piece, like he’s been holding himself together for so long that the second you touched him, he lost the strength to keep pretending.

So you kiss the top of his head, soft but steady, and something in him shifts.

JJ exhales, a long, shuddering breath against your skin, like you’ve reached inside him and pulled all that tension from his chest. His body, wound so tightly, begins to loosen—his grip on you eases, but only enough for his hands to smooth over your back instead of clutching desperately. He leans into you now not just from pain, but from something quieter, something softer.

You feel it in the way his breathing slows, in the way the tremors start to fade as your fingers trace slow circles over his back. His arms tighten around you again, but it’s different this time—not frantic, not desperate. Just… needing you. Needing to be here, against you, in your warmth, in this small, quiet moment where he can finally let go.

His face stays buried in the crook of your neck, and when he speaks, his voice is hoarse but steady.

– I’m sorry, – He murmurs, again and again, lips moving against your skin.

You shake your head slightly, your fingers still stroking his back. – It’s okay.

And maybe for him, it actually is. Maybe just for a moment, with your hands in his hair and his body wrapped around yours, he feels something like peace. He doesn’t let go—not yet. He holds on, reveling in the comfort you offer, pressing into you like he never wants to leave. Like you’re the first real breath of air he’s had in a long time.

You stay like that, until the silence grows too heavy and you sigh. – We should go.

JJ doesn’t argue. He pulls back slowly, blinking, his eyes still red-rimmed but calmer, softer. His fingers linger at your waist before he finally steps up, exhaling like he’s reluctant to leave the space you created for him.

The drive is quiet, with him pulling your arms tighter around him everytime he gets the chance. You don’t protest. For a moment it's almost comforting, sitting on the back of his bike, without a word being spoken between you. But the feeling sits there, in your chest, that shiver you got when you realized he’s been following you.

It's not just caution.

It's not strangeness.

It's fear. A real, tangible fear of what he did, of what he can still do. Of what he might have continued doing had you not realized it. —It curls up around your throat, that fear. Pressing against your windpipe. You almost struggle to breathe.— You remain there, arms fastened around him as he slows down, pulling the brakes just before your house, even when he finally stops.

JJ leans back into you, breathing deep, clutching your hand to his chest, his body completely relaxed against yours. You’re still wondering. Mind still running.

How long had he followed you for?

Had he been trailing you? Close behind, just out of reach, or had he stared at your location, waiting, watching you without seeing you?

You don’t know which is worse.

– John B’s with Sarah tonight. – JJ mumbles, his head thrown back against your shoulder, the ends of his hair tickling your face. – I saw him sneak out. He’s probably gonna sleep there. – You hum, not really sure of what to say. – Pope and Kie are gone too. – His thumb brushes over the back of your hand slowly, his voice growing deeper, lower. – It’s just the two of us now.

You don’t say anything.

You don’t know what to say.

JJ looks back as you throw your leg over the other side of the bike, and climb down. He still clings to your hand like he’s got you on a leash: you have to remain there as he pulls the key from the ignition, as he sets his things in the top-box, as he leans back against the seat, pulling you in for a kiss.

You meet his mouth briefly, close-lipped, his fingers interlocking with yours as he pulls you in for another, and another, and one more. – I missed this. – He whispers, eyes barely open, already leaning in again.

– It’s been two days. – You remind him, but JJ only laughs.

– Two too many.

You don’t resist when he pulls you closer. His hands find your hips, sliding beneath the waistband of your jeans, calloused fingers pressing into the small of your back like he’s trying to mold you against him. He kisses you again—deeper, messier, his breath warm and tinged with something desperate.

JJ doesn’t just want this. He needs it.

That's what you like about him. He takes like he can’t get enough. He begs, and he grasps and he clings and he needs you like he needs air to breathe.

His hands are restless, traveling up your ribs, down your waist, over your thighs, like he’s trying to make up for lost time, like touching you might steady him, might ground him. But it doesn’t. The more he touches you, the more insatiable he gets. He’s humming against your lips, sighing into your touch, a little frantic, a little unsteady.

You pull him inside, but JJ can’t seem to break the kiss. He takes your hands to the hem of his shirt, tugging impatiently, his lips dragging from your mouth to your jaw to your neck, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your skin between whispered pleas.

– Touch me, – he breathes, his voice cracking like the weight of everything is still right there, lingering beneath the surface.

Your fingers slip into his hair, threading through the strands, and JJ shudders. He melts against you, knees almost buckling as he exhales a sharp, shaky breath.

– Fuck, – he mumbles, almost laughing, giddy and drunk on your touch. He’s clinging to you now, pressing his body into yours, murmuring against your lips, deeper, please, until you give in, kissing him the way he wants. The way he needs.

He moans softly, hands gripping your waist, pushing your top up just to feel your skin against his palms. He’s lost in this, lost in you, smiling against your mouth in that dazed, breathless way, like nothing else exists beyond the way your body fits against his.

Like everything is fine.

Even it isn’t, not really.

You lead him to your room, kicking the door behind you as he falls back on the bed, tearing his shirt off of him as if it were burning. He doesn’t even give you the time to think before he’s pulling you on top of him.

You try to guide him through the motions, letting his hands explore, letting him pull you closer, letting him bury his face in your neck, all while your mind is somewhere else. Detached. Floating.

Because underneath it all—beneath the heat of his mouth and the weight of his body and the way he pleads for you like you’re the only thing keeping him from falling apart—there’s that feeling.

That cold, creeping thing at the back of your mind.

That fear.

It wraps around your throat, pressing tight, squeezing, reminding you of what he did. Of how long he must have followed you, watching, waiting, just out of reach.

Of how much worse it could’ve been if you hadn’t noticed.

JJ doesn’t see it. He doesn’t feel it. He only sees you, only feels your hands, your lips, the comfort he’s so desperate to take from you.

– I missed this, – he murmurs again, voice slurring slightly, hands still moving, still searching. – Fuck, baby I missed this so much.

You swallow hard, exhaling slowly, before finally answering.

– I know.

And you let him keep touching you, let him revel in this, let him have this, because maybe if he does, he’ll calm down. Maybe if he does, you’ll feel safe again.

JJ exhales against your skin, his body completely unwound, pliant beneath your hands. – Take it off. – He groans, hands shaking against his breeches. – Take it off of me, baby. Please. I just want you to be on me. I need it. Please.

You don’t need to be told twice.

He watches, almost breathless while you strip him bare, moaning at every touch, hips bucking every time you brush against him.

That doesn’t last long though.

It isn’t enough that just your hands are on him. So he drags you onto his dick, still clothed, and he grinds himself into you, eyes rolling back.

There’s something raw about the way he touches you—like he’s savoring every inch, like he’ll be going through withdrawal unless he doesn’t hold on tight enough. His fingers dig into your sides as he pulls your hips into his, his laugh breathy, almost delirious.

– God, I fucking love this, – he mutters against your shoulder, his hands slipping beneath your top, his thumbs brushing lazy circles over your skin.

This.

Not you—this.

The warmth. The closeness. The way you let him touch you, take what he needs. – You love this too, right baby? Your hips— He moans, head thrown back when you roll your hips against his cock, the fabric of your jeans giving just the friction he needs to work himself up. – You're so fucking good at this.

You squeeze your eyes shut as he kisses up your throat, his lips tracing familiar paths, his breath hot and unsteady. He hums when you card your fingers through his hair again, pressing into your touch like he’s melting from the inside out.

He's getting wilder, humping you with this reckless abandon he never seems to shake off. But you can see him unraveling. Just the friction isn't scratching the itch.

He needs more.

– Take it off, baby. Please. Please. – he sighs, voice catching, eyes blown out. – Fuck, give it to me. Just ride me.

You hesitate. Your fingers still against the nape of his neck. The sounds he makes, strangled, anguished. Like he’s going mad.

You actually hear him whine when you lift your hips, and his hand flies down to palm himself while he watches you pull the jeans down.

He tilts his head up, catching your mouth again, dragging you deeper into him. His hands slide down, gripping the backs of your thighs, pulling you closer until he's practically in you.

But you don’t let him sink in just yet.

It's more fun when you drag it out.

When you move against him, teasing him, watching him twitch and moan and plead with nothing but the wetness, the softness, the warmth.

There’s a slow, creeping sickness curling in your stomach.

Because you’re leading this. Because you know what he needs, and you’re not quite giving it to him. Because you’re letting him press closer, letting him unravel, letting him forget—for just a little while—that anything is wrong at all.

And a part of you wants to forget too.

It feels good.

It doesn’t matter what he did, what he would do, because he needs you. He can’t get enough of you. He won't leave.

– Please. Please. – He repeats it like a mantra, writhing beneath you, clutching you so fucking tight. His hips go rogue, bucking wildly. – Please let me fuck you. I need to fuck you. Please. Fuck, I can't take this anymore!

The laughter that falls from your lips almost seems to stoke the flames.

He groans out loud when tip pushes into you, and for a second, his entire body just collapses against yours, heavy, needy.

Then his hands slip under your bra again, tugging at the fabric, his breath hot and desperate against your skin.

– Let me see you, – he murmurs, voice thick, rough. – G-Go ahead, baby. I need you to move. Please.

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze. His pupils are blown wide, his lips kiss-swollen, his expression open in a way that makes you ache.

JJ wants you. That much is obvious.

But more than that—he wants to disappear into you.

To sink into your warmth, your touch, your body, and let it drown out whatever’s eating him alive from the inside.

Your stomach twists.

His fingers have long stopped tracing slow patterns against your ribs, now he's bruising you, nails digging in, shaking, waiting. Pleading.

You could give him what he wants. It would be easy. So, so easy.

But for the first time since this started, you wonder if you should. – And who said you deserve that, JJ?

– Huh?

– Because with the way you talked to me before, I don’t think you do. – You move, just slightly, and he folds, back arching. – I think you’re gonna have to convince me.

– Please. Baby, please.

– You think I'm pathetic. – You tsk, your hips rolling so slow his eyes flutter when they roll back. – I'm not the one who’s begging, though.

– Please! – He's screaming now, and you’re moving faster. The bed creaking beneath you. – I need it! Faster, baby. Faster!

He's splayed out, a puppet with the strings cut loose, yet he's anything but relaxed. You can feel him tensing, hands fisting the sheets so tight his knuckles have gone white.

He screams.

Almost yelping when you start going at the pace you know he likes. And it still isn't enough. He still grabs your hips, pulling you closer, and closer, again and again, banging against that soft spot within you like it's the only thing that can relieve him from this torture.

And you let him.

You ride him like a bronco, as if he’s trying to fuck you off instead of closer. As if he isn't begging for it. Screaming for it. – MORE, BABY, PLEASE!

You want more too.

At some point you lost yourself in trying to punish him, and it started to feel good. You're biting him, teeth dragging against the skin at the crook of his neck, the spot that always makes him shudder, that always makes him writhe.

Your nails have mapped half his body over.

He's red. —His face, his eyes, his lips, his scratches.— He’s gasping. Shaking. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back. You can’t even make sense of what he's saying anymore.

The only thing that leaves his mouth are these incoherent pleas, these oohs and aahs that make you laugh, humming to yourself as you ride into your orgasm, feeling him fall apart.

– F-uck, fuck! Don’t stop! Feels so fucking good baby, so fucking good! – He pushes it in faster, but it's still not enough. He needs more, he was going mad! Grabs you by the waist, tosses you on the bed, rutting like a wild dog, head thrown back, eyes rolling upwards. – Fuck! Fuck! Feel s-feel so fucking good!

All that was heard was your laughter, the pleased little gasps that escape your mouth as he fills you up over and over and over again, animalistic and heaving, laughing as well, but out of his mind, completely overwhelmed by the pleasure, by the building release. He crashes against you, once, twice, getting careless. But by then he couldn’t hold it in. More! More! is all you heard from him.

And then you felt it.

His body shudders all over again, still rutting like his life would end. – God. God! I need to cum— fuck! I need— I need— Keep going! Don’t fucking stop baby, don— FUCK! FUCK!

You felt him coat your walls, white, hot, and endless. By then, you were shaking as well, the waves of your own climax washing over you as you arch against him.

He collapses over you, trembling and crying as he smiles, moaning your name in that shaky, adoring voice, eyes clinging to you in utter joy as he pumped lazily, through your climax and his, he still needed more of you. – It won-won’t stop. Fuck, there’s so m-much of it. – Laughter. Yours, his.

Your mind is blank.

He's heavy, heaving, still inside you.

JJ's breathing is ragged, each exhale a shaky whisper as he remains, still there, still trembling with the aftershocks. His hands wander aimlessly across the sheets, his body warm and heavy, as though he's been consumed entirely. His eyes are half-lidded, unfocused, and a soft whimper escapes him as he reaches for your hand.

– Baby... can you...? – His voice is slurred, broken, as if he’s still caught between the pleasure and the exhaustion of it all. His hand gently tugs at your wrist, his fingers brushing against your skin. – Just... touch me. Please... softly.

There was that, too.

He was always sweeter when he was done.

You give a soft, reassuring smile, your fingers gently grazing his messy hair, pushing the strands out of his face, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead, lingering for a moment before you speak in the same soft, soothing tone. – I’m here, JJ. I got you.

He hums in response, his eyes fluttering closed, a content sigh escaping his lips as you run your fingers through his hair, the action slow and comforting. – I’m... Fuck— Laughter buzzes against your skin as he presses his lips on you again. – I'm never getting used to this... I’m not used to this, – he mumbles between shaky breaths, his hand coming to rest on your arm, the weight of his touch grounding him. – Feels... too good. I need you to... keep me close. Just... just a little longer.

You hate the way your heart skips.

But you love the way he says it.

The way his voice brushes against your skin when he pleads, so softly, so sweetly. Like he could never do you harm.

You shift slightly, pulling him into your chest, the warmth of his body a constant reassurance. His hand rests over your heart, the frantic pace of his pulse now slowing, but his face is still pinched with that lingering tension, a mix of exhaustion and need for reassurance. He lets out a soft groan as you press your lips to his temple, whispering, – I’m right here. You’re okay.

His breath evens out, and as the minutes pass, you keep stroking his hair and kissing his head, each kiss lighter than the last, until his body relaxes fully, his grip on you loosens. – Love you.

You feel yourself tense up.

It’s not the first time he says it.

But it might be the first time you know he doesn’t mean it.

Still you smile down at him anyway, pressing another gentle kiss to his forehead before whispering back, – Sure you do, baby. Go to sleep, okay?

He doesn’t need much encouragement.

JJ's never been easy to tire out, but when he does, it's immediate. His ear is pressed to your chest, to your heart, and you wonder what kind of dreams he’ll be having with that soundtrack, but it doesn't take long for his breath to even out.

The house is quiet.

Completely so.

And though you're glad John wasn't there to hear it, laying there, without his snoring to lull you into even halfway into reality only means that it crashes against you like a bucket of cold water a soon as JJ is out.

The day dawns on you, as it has done several times, but still the loathing blooms in your chest and spreads through your body faster than your mind can process.

You're broke.

You're jobless.

The girl you thought was your best friend is a snake.

The boy that's sleeping on you is a stalker.

Your best prospect right now is famously the most spoiled and volatile person on the island. That, because your best friend, the person that could actually get you out of this, has faded away after abandoning you, and you have no idea if he’ll even come back.

What's funny is that this is the thought that hurts you most —Not that you're unemployed, that your now previous boss could ruin you forever, that your relationship with only family member is as unstable as your financial situation, or that the people you thought you could trust don’t care about you— that Barry is gone.

Something he has been plenty of times before.

You lie there in the stillness, the weight of JJ's body pressing against yours. The sheets feel too warm, too much, a world you can’t find a way into. JJ’s steady breathing is a lullaby of sorts, pulling you toward the edge of exhaustion, but it’s not enough to quiet the thoughts tumbling relentlessly in your head.

Barry's absence gnaws at you —You know he’s not gone forever, not really. Or at least you hope so. He’s done this before, pulled away just long enough for you to convince yourself it doesn’t matter. And yet, it hurts like it does. Like it’s different this time.

You turn your head to glance at him—JJ, still sleeping soundly, unaware. His face is soft, the usual edge to his features dulled by exhaustion, but even now, with him so vulnerable in your arms, you feel the invisible distance between you grow. He’s a comfort, but only in the way a warm blanket can make you feel safe when the storm is too loud. And it is too loud. So loud you can barely breathe through it.

Your fingers trace patterns along his skin, but it’s absent, mechanical—the world outside the room, the boy in your arms, the life that’s slipping from your fingers, and the ghost that won’t stop haunting you, and you don't even know why.

Barry.

You know, deep down, that it’s not about him being gone. It’s about the fact that, despite what JJ has just tried to convince you of, Barry actually is the one person that was there for you.

When your father went away, he celebrated with you. When he was declared missing, he comforted you, even if you said you didn't care. Even if you didn't even know you needed it.

And maybe that's the problem: He saw you better than you saw yourself. He knows you. Really knows you.

But does he now?

So much has changed in two days.

You can’t even tell yourself it was real anymore because everything you thought you knew about him, about you, is shifting—becoming something else you can’t identify.

There’s no way to put a name to it, though, is there? That dull ache you’ve learned to live with. Not quite loneliness, but not contentment, either. Just an empty space where hope used to live, and you're so used to it now that you don’t know what it would feel like to fill it.

You let your gaze fall to JJ again, watching the way his back rises and falls with the easy rhythm of sleep. Maybe this is it—this is what you have now. A boy who doesn’t even know what he’s asking for when he whispers his need into the quiet night. And you, too tired to push him away, too lost to turn to anything else. You can almost convince yourself it’s enough, and for a second, you do.

But then, Barry’s face flickers in your mind again, like a ghost.

You wonder, just for a moment, if you would’ve been able to say anything if he were here. If you would’ve told him how much you needed him to help you, how much you needed him to be here, not just physically, but with you in the way that only he ever did.

But he’s not here.

And you’re not sure when he will be again.

The buzz of your phone slices through the silence. You freeze. What's the likelihood that he would call you right then, when you needed him most?

You slide from under JJ, and he grumbles, hands reaching for you even deep into sleep, but you don’t see it. All you see is the unknown number flashing on your screen amidst the darkness, and your heart races as you bring the phone to your ear. – Bee? – The word falls from your lips almost fearfully. You don’t want to know where he's been, what he's doing, or how much of what he had to take to call you like this, in the middle of the night. But you’re impatient to hear his voice, you just want to know if he's okay. – Bee, is that you?

The line scratches softly, the familiar sound of skin whispering against the microphone echoing in-between the two phones. Your pulse thrums against your ear. – Not bee. – You finally hear. – Are, actually.

– “Are”? Barry, what are you talking about? What did you take?

– It’s not Barry, baby. – The edge of his words resounded even through the distance. Pleased, but not quite satisfied. – It’s Rafe.

You let go of a breath you didn’t even realize you were holding.

– Oh, “R”. Okay I got it.

He chuckles, a long, breathy noise. His breathing is heavy. – Did you put the cry-baby to sleep or is he still up whining?

JJ turns in his sleep. His arm, still lying, lax, over your lap shifts, and he pulls himself closer, brow brushing against your thigh. – JJ is… gone.

– Good. Thought I was gonna have to call CPS or some shit. – He scoffs, turning, in bed, you gather, since you hear the squeak of furniture.

– How considerate.

– Well, baby, I'm nothing if not considerate. – He hums. – What are you doing awake?

Regretting your life decisions, pondering the benefits of suicide. – Thinking of you. – It was meant to be a joke, but it didn’t sound like one as it slipped from your lips.

There's half a second of silence from him before you hear that laugh again, like you shocked him.

Rafe Cameron was shocked.

That's definitely a headline.

You can almost hear the smirk on his face. – I was thinking about you too, baby. What are you wearing?

You scoff, almost rolling your eyes. – Rafe.

He laughs again, even breathier. – Sorry. Was that too soon? – His bed creaks again. – You don’t seem like the kind of girl who needs a lot of foreplay.

– Hilarious.

– I was really hoping you'd give me a taste of what you’re wearing tomorrow, though.

You look down almost unconsciously. The only thing covering your skin is sweat. – Definitely not what I'm wearing right now. Unless you're hiring for a job other than personal chef.

Rafe’s quiet again. He moves around. You can hear him breathing. – Maybe I am. What kind of job are you thinking?

– Well, aren’t you the little hiring agency? Should've met you before. There’s some things on my resume I'm definitely not proud of. – He laughs with you now, though there's something strange in his tone. – Did you talk to your governess, or that other guy you said you didn't know the name of?

– Did. We'll be waiting for you.

– Well, you call and I come. – He laughs at the double-entendre, another noise escaping his lips. – What time should I be there?

– How's 10 AM sound?

– Perfect, Rafe. Thank you. Again, really. I can’t thank you enough.

– You're welcome, baby. You really are. – He groans, the bed creaking. JJ moves around again, his head on your lap, hands around your knees, and he mumbles something unintelligible. – What was that?

– Sorry, uhm. Just… thinking out loud.

You swallow, but Rafe doesn’t miss a beat. – And what are you thinking about?

– About… What I'm gonna wear. – Improvising was never really your forte.

Rafe hums, a long stretch of the M, then something smaller, a sound you can't quite catch. – That skirt. – He sighs. – The blue pleated one.

You pause.

– What?

– It's pretty. – Is all he says, then a groan, or a purr. The phone falls on his pillow, you can hear it scratch against his skin as he moves. But the way he says it, as if he’s seen it a thousand times in the two days you've known each other, as if he can picture you wearing it right in front of him. – Fuck, baby. You’re so pretty.

The compliment grates at your ears.

How does he know your clothes?

You think of the skirt. Your blue pleated skirt. It's been ages since you've worn it. It's way too short. You’ve outgrown it a while ago. – What else, baby?

– Hm?

– What else are you wearing for me?

His bed creaks again, over and over, and he doesn’t say anything for a minute, he just sighs.

– I, uhm. I don’t know. – What even is this conversation?

– Far as I'm concerned you don't need to wear anything. You can come— He laughs, low and unsteady, a strangled “yeah” cutting through the word. – Come as you are.

You feel a trickle of repulse run down your back. You don’t wanna talk to him anymore. You don’t want to talk at all.

– Talk to me, baby. – He groans, again.

– I, uhm. – You kick the nightstand, the noise echoing loudly around your room. – Shit, uhm. Sorry, that's my brother. I'll see you tomorrow.

You kill the line before he can say anything else.

@chatgtfo @bitterdotcom @sassyvillaintrophy @xmayankax @bluethperson @coralblue35 @munsoncultedits @the-bitch-who-binges @im-julessssss

[rachetmath]

Nora's Plan B

Hey Nora.

Nora: Sup Em, whicha want?

Emerald: Say if Ren doesn’t work out would you date Jaune?

Nora: Yes.

Emerald: What?

Ruby: What?

Weiss: What?

Nora: What? Is that a big deal?

Emerald: Explain.

Nora: I mean I call Jaune a fearless leader for a reason.

Weiss: But Cardin-

Nora: Let’s break it down. Jaune let Cardin get away with what he did was because of his transcripts however that’s also because Jaune was used to situations like because no one has ever helped him with that. Think about it, how many friends Jaune had before Beacon?

Ruby: Hm.

Nora: Plus the moment Cardin threatened Pyrrha his attitude took a whole 180. Shoot after the Ursa he was ready to fight Cardin again.

Ruby and Weiss: Yeah, she’s not wrong.

Nora: Next, Cinder would have to watch Jaune’s progression in order to set up a good team for us to fight. Didn’t she?

Emerald: Yeah.

Nora: And Jaune stood up for Pyrrha when everybody was laying pressure on her. That’s something.

RWE: True.

Ruby: But Nora sometimes Jaune-

Nora: Hold on, yeah, Jaune has his hissy fits but then again, don’t we all grieve differently. Plus Ruby, Qrow waited until we were attacked by Salem’s forces to explain everything. Instead, he could have just told us from the start. He was doing unnecessary things. So yeah Jaune has every right to be mad. I say Qrow should have counted his blessings that Jaune was willing to help him at all if you weren’t around. Or Jaune kills him by his own hands.

Ruby: Oh.

Weiss: But then he- Oscar-

Nora: With Oscar, Jaune admitted he overreacted with him. But, again, understandble. We grieve at our own pace. And I mean seriously Ozpin hadyears to stop Salem and he hasn’t done it. Ozpin might as well be just as bad as Salem.  Also if you have not noticed back in Argus the moment he pushed Oscar to the wall none of us were ready. Remember how  Yang looked?

RW: 

Nora: That was fear. I will say that takes points away for being attractive but it also shows he has a breaking point. Which for most people needs to be avoided cause someone could end up dead. But again Jaune proves he has control of his emotions by letting Oscar go.

Yang: Yeah she’s not wrong. 

Ruby: Yang how-

Yang: Stay on topic. Look I’m cool with Ren and you know I- I understood why he was upset but the moment he realized his tone with Jaune-

Yang: He knew. He knew he f**** up but then Jaune’s response- Oh my god.

Yang: He maintained his composure. His behavior proves he learned from Argus with Oscar. He still was willing to talk with him.

Yang: If that’s not maturity then I don’t know what is. Just saying. 

Ruby: But Jaune in the Ever After was-

Yang: Okay let’s compare. Ren was upset about Atlas and Mantle. Instead of being upset about it and following orders, what else has he done to fix anything? Nothing. And when he finally expressed himself it was after Oscar got kidnapped. And we were stranded in the middle of miles in snow with no food or transportation. Meanwhile, leaving those thousands of people to die.

Me: But didn’t you start it?

Yang: Doesn’t matter.

Me: Yes it-

Yang: Shut up. And in the Ever After Ruby…. …. We were there for a day and we made Little homeless. Robbed the knights. Almost died playing a game of chess with a spoiled brat. Fought our inner demons. And destroyed a city market with people in it to save ourselves from Neo. In one day mind you we did all of that.

Ruby: Holy-

Yang: Now with Jaune he wasn’t dismissing our problem but we were contemplating at the wrong time. 

Yang: Mainly because a storm came.

Yang: He then brought us to his home.

Yang: And let's recall he was waiting for us. Something he didn’t have to do. At all.  And what did we do? Judge the man for taking care of a bunch of children who want to die.

Yang: Then we brought Neo to him.

Yang: And Ruby -

Ruby: No further comments.

Yang: And Ratchet.

Me: *sigh* Okay. Fine. If you have seen my list of Jaune ships or seen any of my post on Ren and Nora., my outlook on them is not good. But after thinking about the reason I hate Nora, I steadily realized, ‘man, what I am saying, she’s better than Sakura.” She doesn’t physically or mentally abuse Jaune like Sakura does to Naruto. And unlike the other besides Pyrrha she’s consistent with Jaune. So I'll admit I was petty with her in volume seven and eight. I can see Nora’s Arc happening.

Nora: Thank you. Anyways Emerald I would date Jaune as my plan B. Especially if Ren and I don’t recover from Atlas.

Emerald: Well damn. Too bad you got competition.

Nora: *laugh*

RWE: *shocked*

Nora: Let them come. But remember, team JNPR. And team JNRO. And team RNJR.

Weiss: What is that- oh my god.

Nora: That’s right. I’m number two. I’m the second. I’m always beside Jaune. Not Pyrrha. Not Ren. Me. He’s the leader. But the queen of the motherf***ing castle. Bye ladies. *leaves*

Yang: Damn.

Weiss: Oh no, I better act fast.

Ruby: I need Ren to clean up his mess quickly.

Emerald: She most definitely

[aspenmissing]

Can we get some period comfort/care from the Arcane characters? Maybe their s/o is the kinda person that just keeps on keeping on even if they HURT… time for a lil’ hurt/comfort intervention from the gang. Thank you! 😊

ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 5947 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴇʀɪᴏᴅ ᴘᴀɪɴꜱ, ᴘᴀɪɴꜰᴜʟ ᴄʀᴀᴍᴘꜱ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴏʜ ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ʟᴏᴠᴇ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

You woke up with a deep, dull ache twisting in your lower abdomen, the familiar sensation of your body betraying you once again. You sighed, already knowing what kind of day this was going to be. The pain radiated through your back, sharp and unrelenting, but you weren’t about to let it stop you.

So, you did what you always did—you ignored it.

You forced yourself out of bed, quietly slipping away from Jayce’s warmth. He was still fast asleep, his arm loosely draped over your waist, his chest rising and falling steadily. For a moment, you considered staying, just for a little longer, but you shook off the thought. If you let yourself give in now, you wouldn’t get anything done.

Moving was hell. Every step sent sharp pulses of pain up your spine, and the nausea that accompanied it made you grit your teeth. You barely managed to get dressed before heading to the kitchen, determined to make some tea before leaving for the Academy.

You had just put the kettle on when you felt a pair of strong arms wrap around your waist, pulling you back against a warm, bare chest.

“You’re up early,” Jayce murmured, his voice thick with sleep. He pressed a slow kiss to the side of your head, his lips lingering. “Didn’t even wake me up. That’s cruel.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning into him slightly. “Didn’t think you’d appreciate being woken up before sunrise.”

Jayce hummed, his grip tightening as he buried his face in your neck. “I always appreciate you.”

Despite the warmth of his embrace, you tensed when another cramp rolled through your body. You bit your lip to keep from making a sound, but Jayce didn’t miss the way you stiffened.

His brows furrowed, and he pulled back enough to look at you. “Y/N?” His hands found your hips, steadying you. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you lied. “Just a little sore.”

Jayce didn’t buy it. His eyes searched yours, taking in the exhaustion lining your face, the way you were holding yourself, the way you had barely touched your tea. Then, understanding dawned on him.

“Is it—?”

You exhaled sharply. “It’s fine, Jayce.”

He scoffed. “That’s not what your body is saying.” Before you could argue, he turned you around to face him fully. “How bad?”

“Not bad enough to skip work,” you said automatically.

Jayce shot you a look. “That’s not an answer.”

You sighed. “It’s... uncomfortable. But I can handle it.”

Jayce stared at you for a long moment, his lips pressing into a thin line. Then, without warning, he bent down and swept you off your feet, cradling you against his chest.

“Jayce!” you gasped, arms flying around his neck. “Put me down!”

“Nope.” He carried you with ease, moving straight back toward the bedroom. “You are not going to the Academy today.”

You huffed. “I have work to do—”

“It can wait.” Jayce nudged the door open with his foot, walking over to the bed before gently setting you down. He pulled the covers over you, tucking you in before sitting on the edge of the bed. “You always do this. You push through it, act like it’s nothing, and then you crash. Not today.”

You crossed your arms. “I’m fine.”

Jayce raised an eyebrow. “Would a heating pad and some tea make you more fine?”

You hesitated.

He smirked, already standing up. “That’s what I thought.”

You watched as he left the room, hearing him rummage through the cabinets and drawers. A few minutes later, he returned with a heating pad and a fresh cup of tea. He placed the heating pad gently against your abdomen before handing you the tea, then slid into bed beside you.

You raised an eyebrow. “Aren’t you going to the Academy?”

He shrugged, wrapping an arm around you and pulling you against his chest. “I think my girlfriend needs me more than work does.”

You exhaled slowly, relaxing against him despite yourself. His body was warm, his presence grounding. You hadn’t realized just how much you needed this until now.

Jayce pressed a kiss to your forehead, his fingers tracing soothing circles on your back. “Just rest, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

VIKTOR

The familiar ache curled deep in Y/N’s abdomen, sharp and relentless. It radiated through her lower back and thighs, an unyielding force she had long since learned to endure. She clenched her jaw as she adjusted the lens on her microscope, determined to ignore it. Work at the Academy didn’t stop just because her body decided to wage war against her.

She exhaled slowly, trying to focus on the samples before her, but the pain flared again, making her fingers tighten around the microscope’s knobs. Her stomach churned, and a thin layer of sweat clung to the back of her neck. But she refused to stop. She couldn’t stop.

"Miláčku." (Darling)

Viktor’s voice broke through her concentration, the familiar, gentle lilt carrying an unmistakable thread of concern.

She glanced up briefly, offering him a tight-lipped smile that she hoped would be reassuring, but she knew he wasn’t fooled. He was never fooled.

Viktor sighed, his golden eyes flicking over her with quiet scrutiny. He had been watching her all morning—how she tensed when she thought no one was looking, how her hands trembled ever so slightly when she reached for her pen, how she bit the inside of her cheek as another wave of pain hit. She was stubborn, as always. Too stubborn.

Slowly, he stood, his cane tapping softly against the floor as he crossed the lab toward her. She heard the familiar rhythm—step, tap, step, tap—until he was close enough to rest a hand on the edge of her workstation. He leaned against it with an easy familiarity, but his gaze was sharp, searching.

"You are in pain," he stated simply.

"I'm fine," Y/N dismissed, though the slight waver in her voice betrayed her.

Viktor hummed, unconvinced. "I have seen you work through headaches, exhaustion, and even a minor injury, but this?" He gestured vaguely toward her. "This is different. You are clearly miserable."

She exhaled sharply through her nose, gripping the edge of the table as another cramp twisted through her, worse than the last. It felt like her body was wringing itself out from the inside, and for a moment, the world blurred at the edges.

Viktor frowned. His grip tightened on his cane, frustration flickering across his face—not at her, but at the fact that she was pushing herself through something she shouldn’t have to endure alone.

"Come," he said softly, reaching for her free hand. His fingers curled around hers, warm and steady. "You need to rest."

"I need to finish this first—"

"No, you do not," Viktor cut her off, voice gentle but firm. "The research will be here tomorrow. You, however, will feel worse if you continue like this."

She hesitated. She hated stopping. Hated feeling weak. Hated the idea of something as trivial as her own body dictating what she could and couldn’t do. But when Viktor squeezed her hand and gave her that look—the one filled with unwavering devotion, the one that made her feel seen and cared for—she finally caved.

"Fine," she mumbled, allowing him to help her up.

"Good," Viktor murmured, a small, satisfied smile playing at his lips.

He guided her toward the worn leather couch in the corner of the lab, moving carefully to accommodate his own limp. He walked with measured steps, his cane tapping softly against the stone floor, never letting go of her hand.

When she sat down, Viktor disappeared for a moment before returning with a warm cup of tea, the steam curling in the cool air. He pressed it into her hands, his fingers lingering just a little longer than necessary, as if to reassure himself that she was here, that she was okay.

Y/N sighed, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. The scent of chamomile and honey wafted up, soothing in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Viktor settled beside her, careful and deliberate in his movements, resting his cane against the armrest before wrapping an arm around her shoulders. She didn’t resist when he pulled her against his side, the slow rise and fall of his breath steadying her own.

"You are too stubborn for your own good," he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her temple.

She huffed, but there was no real fight left in her. Instead, she let herself melt into him, feeling the steady warmth of his body against hers.

"You love me anyway," she muttered, her voice muffled against the fabric of his vest.

"That, I do," Viktor chuckled, his fingers tracing soothing circles on her arm. "But I would love you even more if you took care of yourself."

She let out a small hum, closing her eyes. Maybe just for a moment. Maybe just until the pain dulled.

JAYVIK

It was one of those days where everything felt harder than usual. Y/N had been pushing through the pain for hours, the familiar dull ache turning into sharp, persistent cramps that made her want to curl up and hide from the world. But that wasn’t her style. She gritted her teeth, trying to focus on the task at hand, but her mind kept wandering back to the discomfort. She knew she wasn’t fooling anyone, though.

Viktor and Jayce had been noticing for a while now. Viktor, ever the observant one, had been keeping a quiet eye on her, watching her fight through each wave of pain. Jayce, with his usual energy and protective nature, had started to notice her movements becoming more sluggish, her posture stiffening, her face pinched with discomfort. Neither of them said anything at first, but as time passed, they both knew something needed to be done.

The tipping point came when Y/N tried to stand after a long meeting at the Academy. She had been sitting through lectures, her mind clouded with the increasing discomfort in her abdomen. She had hoped the pain would subside, but it only seemed to grow worse. The moment she stood, the sharp cramp hit her hard, and for a moment, her vision blurred. She swayed slightly on her feet, barely managing to steady herself before Viktor’s steady hand was at her elbow, guiding her back down into her seat.

“Y/N,” Viktor said gently, his voice laced with concern. “You need to rest.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N tried to dismiss, but the words came out a little weaker than she intended. She wasn’t fine, not by a long shot. Her head spun, her body trembling from the intense pain.

“No, you’re not,” Jayce said, his tone firm but caring. He stepped closer, his gaze softening as he observed her. His big hands hovered over her stomach, a silent understanding passing between them. “You’ve been pushing yourself too hard again.”

Y/N opened her mouth to protest, to insist that she could push through just like she always did, but before she could speak, Jayce was already kneeling beside her. His warm hands gently pressed against her lower abdomen, rubbing slow, soothing circles over the cramping muscles. The warmth of his touch instantly calmed her, if only just for a moment. She felt herself soften into him, the deep ache lessening with each movement of his hands.

“You don’t have to keep going like this,” Jayce murmured, his voice low and full of affection. “Let us help.”

Viktor, never one to be left out of such tender moments, moved to the other side of her. His cane tapped the floor gently as he settled beside her. With a soft sigh, he rested a hand on her shoulder, his fingers light yet firm against her skin. “You’re important to us, lásko,” he said, his voice quiet but steady, filled with the kind of care that only Viktor could express so effortlessly. “And we want you to take care of yourself—not just for us, but for you as well.” (Love)

Y/N felt the tension in her chest loosen at his words. She wanted to fight it, to push through the pain and pretend like she could handle it alone, but as their voices wrapped around her like a gentle cocoon, she allowed herself to relax. For the first time in a long time, she let herself stop. The weight of the day, the pain, the constant push to do more and be more—it all seemed so much lighter with them there. She closed her eyes, letting the exhaustion wash over her, finally allowing herself to just… be.

Jayce’s hands never stopped their gentle motion on her stomach, each caress sending a wave of relief through her body. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had taken such tender care of her like this. Viktor leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her temple, his lips warm and comforting against her skin. Their closeness, their presence, wrapped around her like a blanket, making her feel safe in a way she hadn’t felt in what seemed like forever.

“You don’t have to do everything alone,” Viktor murmured, his voice soft and reassuring. His fingers moved through her hair, gently tucking a strand behind her ear. “Let us help you. Let us take care of you”

Y/N smiled weakly, resting her head against Viktor’s chest. The familiar sound of his heartbeat was a soothing lullaby against her ear. She felt the tension in her body slip away as she leaned into them both. “I’m lucky to have you both,” she whispered, her voice thick with gratitude. She had never felt so cared for, so truly seen.

Jayce kissed the top of her head, his hands still working their soothing magic on her stomach. His voice was warm and filled with affection when he spoke again. “We’re lucky to have you, too.” His words wrapped around her like a promise, a vow of unwavering support.

And there, in the quiet comfort of their embrace, Y/N felt the world outside fade into nothingness. The pain was still there, but it no longer felt like an insurmountable force. With Viktor and Jayce by her side, she knew she didn’t have to face anything alone.

VANDER

It was another cold, gloomy morning in Zaun, the kind that seemed to press down on everything. The dim, gray light filtered through the cracks of the old wooden walls, barely enough to see by. The sounds of the city’s lifeblood—clanking metal, creaking pipes, and distant machinery—echoed throughout their small, humble home. Y/N lay curled in bed, her body tangled in blankets, but she barely felt their warmth. The sharp, familiar ache in her abdomen throbbed with a fierce intensity, a relentless reminder of her body’s monthly battle. It pulsed through her like an undercurrent, making it hard to breathe without feeling it shift and twist inside her.

She had been awake for hours, trapped in the haze of pain, but she stubbornly refused to admit how bad it had become. There were things to do today—people to help, problems to solve, and a million things that still demanded her attention. She wasn’t going to let a little pain hold her back. She never did.

With a soft groan, she attempted to sit up. But the moment she moved, the dizziness hit her. Her vision blurred, the edges of everything softening as the pain intensified. She winced, clutching her stomach as if that would somehow make it stop. Her body felt heavy, like it was made of stone, and the simple act of sitting upright felt like a monumental task.

“I can’t…” she whispered to herself, but before she could even get her bearings, she tried to stand. Her legs, weak from exhaustion and the painful cramps, buckled beneath her, sending her crashing back down onto the mattress.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the hallway interrupted her self-inflicted struggle. The door creaked open, and there stood Vander, his tall frame filling the doorway. His face, roughened by years of struggle, softened as his eyes quickly scanned the room and landed on her.

"Y/N?" His voice, gravelly and low, was filled with concern. “What are you doing?”

Her stubborn streak kicked in, and she quickly wiped away the pained expression on her face, trying to act as if everything were normal. “I’m fine,” she muttered, forcing herself to sit up once more, even though her body screamed in protest. “I’ve got things to do.”

Vander’s gaze never left her, and he crossed the room in two long strides. He was close enough now that she could feel the warmth radiating off of him, a welcome contrast to the chill of the room. He didn’t even ask; his massive hand gently settled on her shoulder, grounding her in place.

“You don’t look fine,” he said, his voice low but firm. His eyes searched hers, refusing to let her hide from him.

Y/N opened her mouth to argue, to insist she was okay, but before she could, Vander was already scooping her into his arms, his strong hands lifting her effortlessly. Her breath caught as he cradled her against his chest, and for a moment, all she could do was close her eyes and allow herself to be held.

“You’re not going anywhere like this,” he murmured, his voice a soothing rumble beneath her ear. She couldn’t fight him—not when the weight of her stubbornness started to lift with the warmth of his embrace.

She huffed, irritated at how easily he could overpower her when she was in this state, but the pain in her body made it impossible to argue. With a soft sigh, she let herself relax against him, her body trembling—not from fear, but from the overwhelming relief of simply being held.

Vander’s giant hand moved, resting gently on her stomach. He began rubbing slow, deliberate circles, the warmth of his touch seeping through her clothes and into her very skin. She let out a breath, the pain dulling slightly under his careful touch. His presence, his strength, was a balm to her aching body, and the rhythmic motion of his hand calmed her in a way nothing else could.

“Vander…” she whispered, the words barely escaping her lips. She didn’t want to admit how badly she needed this, how much the pain had worn her down. “I’m not…”

“Shh,” he interrupted softly, his hand continuing its motion. “You’re pushing yourself too hard. I know you’re strong, but sometimes… sometimes, you need to let someone take care of you.”

Her heart squeezed at his words. He wasn’t just concerned about the pain—he was worried about her. The ache in her stomach wasn’t going away, but the warmth of his embrace, the steadiness of his touch, began to soothe the sharpest edges of it. She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself lean into him, allowing herself to be taken care of in a way she hadn’t allowed anyone to do for a long time.

“I’m used to doing everything myself,” she whispered, the quiet vulnerability in her voice a rare thing. She had always been the one to keep going, no matter what. But this… this was different. “I don’t want to be a burden.”

Vander’s response was soft, but it carried the weight of years of love and understanding. “You’re never a burden to me, Y/N. I want to take care of you. Let me do this for once.”

She could feel the sincerity in his words, and something in her heart softened. There was no room for pride, no room for stubbornness in this moment. Just the two of them, wrapped in the quiet of their little home, as the world of Zaun continued to hum and groan outside.

His hand continued its soothing motion, and for the first time that morning, Y/N felt herself relax. The tightness in her chest loosened, and the pain in her stomach, while still present, seemed more manageable under his careful care. She breathed in deeply, and the ache in her body became a distant hum instead of an overwhelming force.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Vander said softly, his lips brushing against her forehead as he held her closer. “I’ve got you. Always.”

The tenderness in his voice, the security of his embrace, allowed her to finally surrender to the exhaustion. She let herself drift, her body finally giving in to the comfort he provided, the pain fading into something bearable.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N allowed herself to close her eyes, trusting Vander completely. She wasn’t alone. And for now, that was enough.

SILCO

The dimly lit office was quiet, save for the occasional rustling of papers as Y/N sorted through the endless stacks on Silco's desk. The hum of the dim lights above was the only other sound, though it hardly did anything to distract from the gnawing pain in her abdomen. She had been at this for hours, working on paperwork for Silco, as usual. Every once in a while, she would shift in her seat, trying to ease the pain that only seemed to worsen as time went on. But she couldn’t stop—not when there was still work to do. Not when Silco depended on her.

The throbbing in her lower belly was becoming unbearable, the cramps tightening like a vice, and she couldn’t even remember the last time she had felt truly comfortable. But she had learned long ago to push through, to endure. She had always been this way—stubborn, determined. She wasn’t going to let something like pain get in the way of her responsibilities.

Her hand trembled slightly as she reached for the next set of documents, but she quickly steadied it, forcing herself to focus. She tried not to make a noise, to keep her breathing even, but the pain was starting to show on her face. She caught a glimpse of Silco out of the corner of her eye, watching her intently from his seat. His eyes were sharp, calculating, but for a brief moment, they softened, the tiniest flicker of concern passing through his gaze. He didn’t say anything yet, but she could feel his eyes on her as she continued to sort through the papers.

It wasn’t long before Silco stood, his tall frame casting a long shadow across the room. His presence was commanding, unwavering, and he moved toward her with purpose. Y/N could feel his gaze on her, and she quickly straightened up, trying to hide her discomfort. But it was no use.

"Y/N," he said, his voice calm, but there was an edge to it, something that made her heart skip a beat. It was more than just a question—it was an order.

She looked up at him, a weak smile on her lips, though it barely reached her eyes. "I’m fine, just a little…" Her voice trailed off, but Silco didn’t need any more explanation.

"No," he said, his tone brokering no argument. "You’re not fine." He was already crossing the room toward her, his eyes locked on hers with a gaze that left no room for defiance. "Give me your hand."

Before she could protest, his fingers were wrapped around her wrist, strong and steady, pulling her from the chair with little effort. His grip was firm, unyielding, and Y/N found herself rising to her feet, her body moving almost involuntarily. She opened her mouth to argue, but Silco silenced her with a look, his expression dark and unreadable.

"But I still need to finish these," Y/N tried to explain, though she was already feeling light-headed from the pain.

"Enough," he commanded, his voice cold but not unkind. "Rest."

Y/N’s heart skipped in her chest at his tone, but she didn’t have the strength to resist. Silco gently but firmly guided her to the couch in his office, his hand never leaving her wrist. She collapsed onto the plush cushions with a sigh, feeling the weight of the pain in her stomach and the exhaustion she had been ignoring for so long. The relief of lying down was immediate, though the cramping still made it hard to relax.

Silco stood over her for a moment, his gaze unwavering as he assessed the situation. His sharp eyes softened just slightly, but there was still that edge to his expression, something that made it clear he wasn’t going to allow her to suffer.

"Stay here," he ordered, his voice leaving no room for argument. "Don’t move."

Y/N managed a weak smile, trying to brush it off. "I’ll be fine. Really."

But Silco was already turning to leave the room, his mind clearly elsewhere as he walked toward the door. Y/N watched him go, a strange pang of guilt gnawing at her. She wasn’t used to being taken care of in such a way, and a part of her resisted it, even though another part of her desperately needed it.

=

A few minutes later, Silco returned. In his hand, he carried a warm cloth, and there was something about the way he moved—almost protective—that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes softened, just slightly, as he knelt beside her. Without a word, he carefully placed the heated cloth over her stomach, the warmth seeping into her skin and easing some of the tension there. Y/N closed her eyes at the sensation, her breath slowing as the pain began to dull, the heat from the cloth soothing her aching muscles.

Silco watched her for a moment, ensuring she was comfortable before speaking again, his voice softer than before but still with an undercurrent of command. "Rest," he repeated, tucking a thick blanket around her shoulders. His movements were gentle, but there was a firmness to them, as though he was making sure she understood that he wasn’t going to let her go through this alone.

Y/N opened her eyes, meeting his gaze, and for a brief moment, she saw something different in him—something she hadn’t noticed before. There was care, yes, but also a certain protectiveness, a tenderness that he rarely showed.

"I’m sorry," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "I didn’t mean to worry you."

Silco’s eyes softened for a fraction of a second, and he exhaled slowly, the sharp edge to his presence softening just enough to show that he was concerned, that he cared. "You don’t need to apologize for this," he said quietly. "Not for this, Y/N." His eyes darkened slightly, a glint of something more protective in them. "I don’t want you pushing yourself when you’re clearly in pain."

Y/N hesitated, letting his words settle in her mind. She wasn’t used to being cared for like this. She had always been the one to take care of others, to push through, to keep going no matter the cost. But here she was, vulnerable, and for once, she let herself lean into the care he was offering.

For the first time that night, she didn’t argue, didn’t insist that she was fine. She just closed her eyes, sinking into the comfort of the warmth surrounding her, the blanket tucking her in like a safe cocoon.

Silco moved toward his desk, but his gaze never left her. He watched her for a moment, ensuring she was still resting, before returning to his work. Yet, even in his focus, his eyes would drift back to her, checking on her every so often, as if he couldn’t quite bear the thought of her being uncomfortable or in pain.

"You’re mine to care for, Y/N," he said after a while, his voice low, almost a whisper, but it carried weight, like a promise. "Don’t forget that."

His words sank deep into her chest, a warmth blooming there as she allowed herself to believe it. She wasn’t used to this—this attention, this care. But somehow, it felt right, felt like something she had been needing without realizing it.

And for once, she let herself believe that she was worthy of it.

The pain didn’t vanish entirely, but the comfort of his presence, his care, made it bearable. And in that moment, she knew that Silco wasn’t just her lover. He was her protector too.

As the minutes passed, Y/N allowed herself to drift off into a peaceful, restful sleep, safe in the knowledge that Silco was watching over her—ensuring she was cared for, no matter what.

CLAGGOR (AU)

It was another long day in their shared workshop, the kind where the hours blurred into one another as they worked tirelessly. Surrounded by mechanical parts, intricate blueprints, and the glowing soft light of the workbench lamps, Claggor and Y/N had been dedicated to their latest project. The hybrid flower—an innovative creation Y/N had been perfecting—was finally starting to show promise. It was meant to have a healing property unlike anything they had seen before, one that could possibly help in the toughest of battles.

Claggor, ever meticulous, was hunched over his work, adjusting the tiny petals they had successfully crossbred to be more resilient. His brow furrowed in concentration as he made careful tweaks to the delicate work of nature and science intertwined. Meanwhile, Y/N sat beside him, her hands moving more slowly than usual, though she tried to keep pace.

The pain had started earlier that morning, sharp cramps that gnawed at her body in waves, but Y/N had pushed it aside, determined to finish their task. She wasn’t the type to admit when she was struggling—not when there was so much left to do, not when they were so close.

Yet Claggor, as always, knew her too well. His eyes darted up from the flower hybrid when he noticed her wince slightly, a quiet flicker of discomfort crossing her face. Then, her hand subtly pressed against her stomach, as though she could will the pain away. It wasn’t the first time he had seen her like this, but this time, there was something in the way she held herself—a tightness, a reluctance to show weakness—that tugged at his heart.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice low and concerned. He didn’t lift his gaze from the project, but his tone told her he wasn’t buying her act. “You good?”

Y/N gave him a strained smile, pushing herself a little straighter, her voice pretending lightness. “Yeah, just… focused. A little tired, that’s all.”

Claggor was quiet for a beat, his fingers tapping restlessly against the workbench. He could tell it was more than tiredness. He knew that look too well, the one she wore when she was trying to keep it all together even though the weight of her body was starting to betray her. With a quiet sigh, he set the hybrid down, gently lowering the delicate petals back into their protective case, before standing up and walking toward her.

“I know that look,” he murmured, his tone a mixture of concern and something softer. He reached for her hand, his touch gentle but insistent, guiding her to sit down on a nearby chair. “Y/N… You’re not fooling me. You’re hurting.”

Her hand trembled slightly as she tried to pull back. “Claggor, I’m fine,” she insisted, though the slight hitch in her voice betrayed her. “We’re almost there. Just need a few more adjustments.”

“No,” Claggor said firmly, his voice holding a quiet strength that made it impossible to argue. “You’re not fine.” He stepped closer, his fingers brushing against her cheek in a soft but tender motion. “You’re in pain. I can see it.”

She shook her head, still not wanting to admit it, still trying to push through. “I don’t want to slow you down, Claggor. You’ve been working so hard on this, and we’re so close to finishing.”

Claggor sighed, a mix of frustration and something deeper—care and love for her. He could tell she was putting on a brave face, trying to act like everything was fine, but he had seen this too many times. She was always the one who fought through the pain, always the one who kept going, even when her body screamed for rest.

He wasn’t going to let her push herself too far today.

With a quiet determination, he moved behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders as he gently urged her to sit back down. “Y/N, listen to me. It’s not about the project right now. It’s about you. You’re not going to get anything done if you’re not feeling well.”

She hesitated, her eyes flicking to their half-finished work, but the pain was getting harder to ignore. Her body swayed as she stood, trying to push through, but it was too much. The sharpness of her cramps made her stagger, and Claggor was quick to step forward, his strong arms catching her before she could fall.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice low, filled with quiet reassurance. “I’ve got you. Let me take care of you.”

He carefully led her to the couch, easing her down into the cushions. His eyes were filled with nothing but concern, and it made her heart ache. Claggor always knew when to take charge, when to step in, and when she needed to give herself a break.

“I don’t like resting,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she tried to fight the fatigue creeping over her. “I feel like I’m letting everything slip away if I stop.”

Claggor knelt beside her, brushing a lock of hair from her forehead. His touch was warm, soothing, and gentle, as though he were handling something precious. “You’re not letting anything slip, love. You’re just taking care of yourself so you can be strong later. You deserve to rest. Please, don’t push yourself any longer.”

She looked up at him, her eyes softening as the vulnerability he always saw in her began to emerge. She nodded reluctantly, the exhaustion finally catching up to her. “I’m sorry,” she whispered.

“No apologies, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm but full of affection. “You don’t need to apologize for taking care of yourself.”

Without another word, Claggor moved behind her, his arms coming around her to hold her close. He shifted until they were both lying down together on the couch, his body curling protectively around hers. He placed a warm hand gently on her stomach, his touch grounding, steadying.

“I’m here,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck. “Let me hold you.”

Y/N melted against him, the pain in her body slowly fading as his presence and warmth enveloped her. She could feel his steady heartbeat against her back, the gentle rise and fall of his chest as he wrapped his arms around her. The pressure on her stomach from his hand was soothing, almost therapeutic.

She let out a soft sigh, feeling the tension leave her body as she relaxed into his embrace. It was the first time all day that she allowed herself to fully give in—to the pain, to the exhaustion, and to the comfort Claggor offered.

His arms tightened around her, pulling her even closer, his hand never leaving her stomach, a steady reassurance that he was there. "You’re not alone in this, Y/N," he murmured. "I’ve got you. I’ll always be here for you."

And in that moment, as she lay with Claggor wrapped around her, she knew that for once, it was okay to rest. She didn’t have to keep pushing forward. Not with him by her side.

[moonyswolfie]

Study Session

A/N: So I just finished a torturously long exam session and this fic is a result of all the stress and mental breakdowns I've accumulated like Pokemons during this time. I actually wrote this piece between two of my biggest and most difficult exams, hence the N.E.W.T.s coming in to play. I hope you enjoy and if you relate, I'm so sorry! Remember that you are strong and no amount of academic stress can bring you down!

Pairing: Remus Lupin x Potter!reader

Masterlist

The table you were sat at in the Library was so crowded with textbooks and parchments that you could not see the wood any longer. Notes and cheat sheets, explanatory scrolls of parchments, quills and bottles of ink covered the entire surface. Hell, Lily even brought a dictionary. Merlin knew what use would a muggle dictionary have when it came to magical terms, but you learned a long time ago to never question her genius.

It was N.E.W.T.s season and to say that all 5 of you were stressed would be an understatement. James thought that once you passed your O.W.L.s, the N.E.W.T.s would not be as scary as everyone made them out to be. It was an exam session, a very long and tiresome and perhaps crucial exam session, but it wasn't Voldemort, right?

Wrong. The stress was growing by the hour and despite having two more weeks at your disposal to revise and memorise all you needed to, it didn't feel like enough.

But then again, was it ever enough? 

You've been preparing for the N.E.W.T.s since the beginning of the school year, forcing yourself to attend every class and take a ginormous amount of notes that you knew would probably end up useless or lost somewhere at the bottom of your book bag. Still, you couldn't bring yourself to pause. Failure was not an option.

So far you tackled Charms, Transfiguration and Defence Against the Dark Arts, all of them easy and rather entertaining subjects, if you were to say so yourself. Right now however, you were stuck on the same Potions chapter for the past four hours and were just about ready to scream, cry, Avada Kedavra yourself or better yet, all of the above.

"Hey, Sirius?" 

He hums and looks up, noticing your twitching eye and the exasperation rolling off you in waves. 

"Y/N, are you okay?" 

The concern was palpable and it caught the attention of your boyfriend in an instant, yet Remus knew better than to pester you with questions right now. He was adamant about rest and health being your first priority, but considering his own overcrowded study schedule, he would be a hypocrite to point it out at the moment. He did, however, push a goblet of water in your direction, which you eagerly accepted and gulped down in seconds. You weren't exactly allowed food or beverages in the Library, but what Pince didn't know would not hurt her.

You thanked Remus and handed the goblet back, before turning to Sirius and taking a deep breath to regain your composure. 

"I have been rereading this chapter for the majority of our time here and I still don't understand the origins or the side effects of Amortentia when used for a longer period of time. No one really bothered to detail on them in any of our textbooks and I am not sure anyone ever subjected themselves to testing it out and then writing a memoir about it. However, Slughorn oh so graciously announced us that it might be included in the advanced exam topics. Do you happen to have anything on this? I know he mentioned some in class, but I didn't catch all of them."

"I think I do..."

He shuffles some parchments and knocks down some books, thus earning himself a stern look from Madame Pince, but ultimately finds the notes and hands them over.

"There you go, love."

You smile and thank him, humming while you scan the information. For such a chaotic human being, he had the neatest handwriting you've ever seen.

It doesn't take long for you to find the part about side effects, however there was nothing you didn't already write down yourself. Thankfully though, Sirius was the type of person to absently write down everything he heard so you found other helpful pieces of information. This was why you asked him for the notes in the first place, instead of Remus or James. Remus, much like yourself, only wrote the parts he was less certain of, whereas James didn't write anything at all. And Lily, Merlin bless her, she was a growing disaster when it came to writing information down. There was, contrary to her claims, no method to her madness.

You rolled up the parchment once you were done writing, yet kept it close, just in case you needed it again later. Sirius was studying for Transfiguration, so he wouldn't miss the notes anytime soon. Lily turned to you, ready to ask a question regarding a Charms lesson she was too sick to attend, but stopped and frowned, browsing the page spread out on the table in front of you.

"Y/N, why are your notes bilingual?" 

You turned and followed her gaze to the margins, specifically to the terminology you borrowed from Sirius...

You unscrolled his notes again and placed them next to yours, looking from one to the other with a bemused smile. Next to the name of the potion, you drew a little arrow and wrote amour et obsession, which would have been inconspicuous, had you not added une potion délicate and l'amour impossible devient possible.

There were a few more next to the ingredients list and some corrections made regarding the mode of preparation. As you scanned the two sets of notes, you noticed that his were entirely in French, while you half translated, half copied your added bits.

You didn't know what was funnier, that you mindlessly wrote the information in Frenchglish, or that you didn't notice it was in another language to begin with. 

English was your mother tongue, yet like every other pureblooded offspring, you were forced to attend a variety of language lessons to determine which ones you would be more skilled in. Romantic languages proved to be your forte, so you stuck with French, Italian and Latin. It wasn't easy in the beginning, seeing as they are all mere variations of the latter, therefore making them ridiculously easy to mix up and combine in the oddest of sentences, but you persevered and were now fluent in all four. 

Regardless, slip ups like the one you were tiredly staring at now were not unheard of. You were certain it was a testament to how tired you truly were. Perhaps Remus was right, you should rest more.

But then again, this was not a simple exam session. It was the one that would determine your entire future. You could sleep when you're dead.

"You write your notes in French?"

Sirius' head shot up immediatey, confusion written all over his face.

"Yes?"

By now everyone's attention was on your exchange, which deepened his frown. James looked like he missed everything until that very moment, Remus was watching his best friend with a raised brow and Lily was silently shaking her head, smiling. She didn't know how she ended up with the lot of you, but she knew she loved you dearly.

"French is my first language" Sirius added, as if that was all the explanation you needed.

Sadly, it did nothing to clear up the confusion. When neither of you said anything, he added "doesn't everyone take notes in their first language?"

Despite Remus being the only other person in your group who wasn't a native English speaker, therefore making him the best candidate to answer his friend, you all shook your heads, your faces betraying different levels of amusement and fondness. It was a rather endearing situation.

"I don't take notes in Welsh, if that's what you're asking. I don't think I can even translate half the things correctly. Besides, the spells are in Latin, so imagine how that would look on a piece of parchment."

You chuckled at the mental image of magical notes looking more like pages taken from that muggle author's book, Tolkien. Lily followed and you both received a glare and a pointed "shhh" from Madame Pince. Honestly, it was a wonder she wasn't kicking you out at this point.

"Wait a second" James turned towards his best friend "ALL of your notes are in French?"

Sirius nods. Poor baby looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

"But don't you..." you frown, unsure how to formulate your question "I see you writing constantly. If the Professor speaks, you write. How..." you groan, burying your face in your hands and shaking your head "my brain hurts. You look as if you write down everything that is said in class, so I assumed that you do?”

You peek an eye up only to be met with Sirius chuckling silently.

“I do write mostly everything that is said in class, but first I summarize it and I guess it’s easier to summarize it in French. I find it easier if I reformulate the information because it shows I understood the concept, but to avoid learning something mechanically and forgetting it when I flip the page, I use my own words. The only issue is that sometimes I forget the word I need in English or there isn’t even a word in English for said thing to begin with. Thus French. And no one really asked me for my notes before you so I didn’t see any reason to put any effort in translating them. And you didn’t seem to have a problem with it anyway.” he adds with an amused smirk, remembering Lily’s previous comment about your notes

You mask your chuckle with a cough and glance at your notes again.

“That is actually a great idea, Pads, I might have to start doing it myself.”

“NO!”

The lot of you was startled by James’ whisper-shout. You gave him a bewildered look, raising an eyebrow in question.

“Are you alright, big brother?”

“Don’t you dare. I know you and your disturbingly brilliant mind. If you start implementing this method, you’re going to write your notes in Latin” he squints, an accusatory look in his eyes “and where am I going to get my last minute notes from then?”

That was it, you couldn’t hold it in any longer if you tried. You burst out laughing, prompting an exaggerated “SHHH” to be directed your way.

“This is your last warning, if you cannot keep quiet, I suggest you move your little study session to your Common Room.”

Madame Pince was stern, yet you couldn’t fault her this time. You were loud and you certainly disturbed a few of your peers seated at nearby tables.

“Sorry” you whisper with a sheepish look.

You returned your attention to the table just in time to catch Lily placing a sweet kiss on James’ cheek, mumbling “don’t worry, my love, I won’t leave you noteless” which seemed to lift his spirits immediately. As grossed out as you were by their affection sometimes (what are sisters for after all?), you couldn’t help but smile at the scene. You were really happy he found his better half, even if it happened to be one of your best friends.

But after all, you did return the favour, did you not?

Remus’ hand found yours under the table and he squeezed it affectionately. You squeezed right back and smiled up at him, mouthing “I love you” and delighting in the beautiful smile that took over his face for the rest of the day.

[on-the-clear-blue]

I am thinking about Damian growing up now adays and it's just hilarious to me.

Like yes, he speaks like a Victorian child but also needs to say skibidi. That boy needs to be infested with brainrot and curse Jon out every time he thinks "That's not Sigma" unironically.

Also just the idea of Damian, on TikTok, very entrenched in the anime community, his accounts keep getting banned since he honest look over 13 and he is starting beef with everyone for their bad anime hot takes.

He would have fun doing cosplays, since training with the LoA taught him how to do his own makeup and disguises, his cosplays look so good

But also...

Damian, dressed up like Izuku and Jon next to him dressed as Bakugo, in the middle of a cringe anime pose: Now you come in and push me again the wall, and we lip sync

Jon, only got to be Bakugo since he can make his eyes turn red naturally, follows Damians directions: So, push you to the wall, I get closer, we do the first few lines of the song?

And before Damian can confirm, Dick bursts into the room, a smile on his face and a bag full of treats for Damian and Jon to share, he starts to speak but the words dies in his throat, eyes jumping from the camera propped up on some books, Damian pushed against the wall, and Jon leaning close against him.

Before Damian can even react, Jon is tossed across the room, and Damian is being hoisted out of his own bedroom window while Dick screams about him being too young.

[hazelira]

at least, once

The night air is cold against my skin as I step outside, the weight of my luggage dragging behind me. The streetlights flicker faintly, casting long, lonely shadows across the pavement. Our house looms behind me, silent and still, like a graveyard of memories I no longer belong to.

My breath shudders as I exhale, watching it dissipate into the night like all the words we never said. I don’t look back. If I do, I know I’ll break.

Ni-ki is still inside. Maybe asleep. Maybe awake. Maybe standing behind the door, listening, waiting for me to change my mind. But we both know that won’t happen.

It hurts. God, it hurts.

But love doesn’t always mean staying. Sometimes, love is knowing when to walk away before the pieces left behind become unrecognizable.

I clutch the handle of my suitcase, my fingers trembling. I should have seen this coming—the way the late-night conversations turned into silence, the way his touch became hesitant, the way his eyes searched for something in me that wasn’t there anymore. Or maybe it was, and he just stopped trying to find it.

A tear slips down my cheek, and I let it.

"Maybe you won’t love me again," I whisper into the void, my voice cracking under my heartache. "But at least I got loved by you once, and that was the best feeling ever."

And with that, I take my first step away.

The suitcase wheels rattled against the pavement, a quiet echo against the stillness of the night. Each step away from him, from our love, felt like ripping apart a piece of myself. But I had no choice.

Ni-ki told me it was an accident. That the girl kissed him, that he pulled away. But all I could think about was—what if it wasn’t? What if, for just a moment, he forgot that I was his? I forgot that I was the love of his life, supposedly.

What if, years from now, we got married, had kids, built the future we used to dream of—and he saw her again? What if he still thought about her? What if, behind my back, he met her in secret and whispered apologies against her lips the way he should have whispered them to me?

The thoughts wouldn’t stop. They clawed at my chest, suffocating me. I didn’t want to live a life full of what ifs. I didn’t want to wake up every morning wondering if I was enough. Suppose I would always be enough.

So I left.

And now, the sun was rising over a Ni-ki-less future.

His POV:

The bed was cold when I woke up.

I reached out instinctively, searching for her warmth and familiar weight beside me. But all I found was space.

My heart dropped.

“Babe?” My voice was hoarse, sleep-rough, but there was no answer.

The air felt wrong. The silence screamed louder than anything.

I stumbled out of bed, my chest tightening as I rushed through our house. The bathroom? Empty. The kitchen? Empty. The front door—unlocked.

That’s when I saw it.

The missing suitcase. The empty closet.

She was gone.

A shaky breath left me as my knees hit the floor. My mind raced, replaying every last word, every last look. The way she trembled when I told her. The way her eyes darkened with thoughts she didn’t say aloud.

I thought she’d stay. I thought she would yell, cry, tell me she hated me, but still choose me anyway.

But she didn’t.

I pressed a hand over my mouth, my body trembling.

She left.

Forever.

Your POV:

The morning light creeps through the cheap motel curtains, bathing the dull room in soft gold. But no warmth reaches me. The sheets are stiff, the air stale. Everything about this place screams temporary—just like us.

I pull my knees to my chest, staring at my phone on the nightstand—no missed calls. No texts.

Ni-ki hasn’t called.

I don’t know if I should be relieved or shattered.

Maybe he’s still asleep. Perhaps he woke up, saw I was gone, and decided I wasn’t worth chasing. Maybe this is proof that I was right to leave.

But why does it hurt so much?

I squeeze my eyes shut, trying to push away the image of him waking up, running through the house, calling my name—only to be silent.

Would he cry? Would he sit on the floor, his head in his hands, wondering where I went wrong?

Or would he… move on?

I bite my lip to keep the sob from breaking free.

I want to believe he’s hurting like I am, that this is tearing him apart, too. But I also want to believe that leaving was the right choice.

I can’t have both.

I press my forehead against my knees, swallowing the ache in my throat.

Maybe in another life, I would have stayed.

Maybe in another life, he wouldn’t have let me go.

His POV:

The house is too quiet.

Too empty.

It doesn’t feel like home anymore, not without her.

I sit on the floor, staring at the space where her suitcase used to be. My fingers dig into my hair as I replay last night repeatedly. The way her face fell when I told her. The way her lips trembled like she was holding back a scream.

She didn’t yell, throw things, or demand to know why.

She just… left.

I should have stopped her. Should have grabbed her wrist, pulled her into my arms, begged her to stay.

But I didn’t.

Because deep down, I knew—she wasn’t just leaving because of the kiss.

She was leaving because of what it meant.

She thinks I’ll do it again. That someday, years from now, she’ll be sitting at home with our kids while I’m out somewhere, lips pressed against another girl’s.

And the worst part? I can’t blame her for thinking that.

I never got the chance to tell her—tell her that it was never a choice, never a moment where I forgot she was mine.

Because forgetting her? Impossible.

She is in everything. The way the pillows still smell like her shampoo. The tea mugs on the counter that she always forgot to clean. The way the sun hits the window just right at this hour, the same way it used to catch in her hair when she sat in this very spot.

She’s everywhere. And now, she’s nowhere.

I reach for my phone, my hands shaking. I stare at her contact, my thumb hovering over the call button.

What if she doesn’t answer?

What if she does?

What if she’s waiting for me to fight for her?

I take a deep breath and press the call.

It rings once. Twice.

Then—

"The number you are trying to reach is unavailable."

The automated voice cuts through my chest like a blade.

She blocked me.

And just like that, I know—

She’s really gone.

His POV:

I keep staring at my phone, my mind racing with thoughts I can’t escape.

What if I never told her?

What if I had just swallowed the guilt, buried it deep inside, and let it rot within me instead of breaking her heart with the truth?

Would she still be here? Would she be curled up on the couch, waiting for me to wake up so we could eat breakfast together? Would I still hear her laugh echo through the house, still feel her fingers tangle in mine, still see the love in her eyes when she looked at me?

I told myself that honesty was the right thing to do. That I owed it to her. But now, I wonder—did I just ruin everything for nothing?

It wasn’t my fault.

I didn’t know the girl. I didn’t even see it coming. One second, I was standing there, and the next—her lips were on mine. Everything happened so fast. I pulled away immediately. I didn’t kiss back. I didn’t even hesitate before pushing her off me.

But none of that mattered, did it?

Because in her mind, the damage was already done.

She didn’t just leave because of the kiss. She left because she couldn’t live with the possibility of me hurting her again. Because she thought that someday, I would forget she was the love of my life.

But she was wrong.

I could never forget.

I press my palms against my face, squeezing my eyes shut.

If I had just kept my mouth shut, if I had just held her a little tighter that night and never let her feel like she had to run—

Would she still be mine?

Or would the truth have found its way out eventually, tearing us apart in an even worse way?

I don’t know.

And maybe I never will.

Your POV:

I don’t know how long I’ve been sitting in my car, hands gripping the steering wheel, staring at nothing.

The bags are still in the backseat, untouched. I was so sure when I packed them—so sure that leaving was the right thing to do. That I had to go before I convinced myself to stay in something that would only hurt me later.

But now, I don’t know anymore.

Ni-ki told me the truth. I didn’t even give him a chance to explain everything, to tell me what happened in full. I just let my mind take over, drowning in worst-case scenarios until I felt like I was suffocating.

And now, sitting here alone, I keep asking myself the same question.

Why do I always run?

Every time someone hurts me, even if it’s unintentional, even if they don’t deserve to be abandoned—why do I leave before they get the chance to fix it?

Ni-ki isn’t perfect. He made a mistake. But I know him. I know his heart. I know the way he looks at me, like I’m the only thing that matters.

I still love him.

I love him so much it terrifies me.

I glance at my keychain, my fingers brushing against the silver house key.

I still have it.

He didn’t change the locks. He didn’t throw my things outside. Maybe…maybe he’s waiting.

Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the key and step out of the car. The cold air stings my face, but I barely notice as I make my way back to the house.

I stand in front of the door, hesitating.

What if he’s asleep?

What if he doesn’t want me back?

What if I’m too late?

I shake the thoughts away and slide the key into the lock.

The moment the door opens, my breath catches.

There he is.

Ni-ki is sitting on the floor in the dimly lit living room, his back against the couch, his phone hanging limply in his hands. He looks exhausted—eyes red-rimmed, hair a mess, his hoodie wrinkled like he hasn’t moved in hours.

The second he sees me, he freezes.

We stare at each other, time stretching between us, hearts hanging in the balance.

And then—

“...You came back.” His voice is hoarse, barely above a whisper.

I nod, my throat tight. “I never really wanted to leave.”

He swallows hard, like he’s trying to hold himself together. “Then why did you?”

I step inside, letting the door click shut behind me. “Because I was scared.”

Silence. A thick, fragile silence.

Then he stands, his movements slow, careful, like he’s afraid I’ll disappear if he moves too fast.

“I need you to know something,” he says, voice rough with emotion. “That night… I didn’t kiss her. I didn’t even see it coming. The moment it happened, I pushed her away. And the only thing I could think about was you. How much I love you. How much I—” His voice catches, and he swipes a hand down his face. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

I swallow the lump in my throat, my vision blurring. “I know.”

Ni-ki takes a shaky breath. “Do you?”

I nod, stepping closer. “I let my thoughts ruin everything before you even had the chance to explain. I ran because I thought it would be easier than staying and facing it. But I—” My voice wavers, and I look down, hands trembling. “I don’t want to keep running from the people I love.”

A pause. Then, a whisper. “You still love me?”

I look up, and for the first time since I left, I smile. It’s small, hesitant, but it’s real. “Yeah. I do.”

Before I can say anything else, Ni-ki closes the space between us, wrapping me in his arms so tightly it knocks the air out of my lungs. I bury my face in his chest, breathing him in, feeling his warmth, his heartbeat racing against mine.

He’s shaking.

“I thought I lost you,” he murmurs into my hair. “I thought I lost you forever.”

I close my eyes, holding onto him just as tightly. “You didn’t.”

And in that moment, I know—

We’re not perfect. We’ll make mistakes. We’ll hurt each other sometimes.

But love isn’t about running when things get hard.

It’s about finding your way back.

requested by: anonymous

my perm taglist<3 <- request here

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[icallhimjoey]

I miss poppy and mark still and I miss that version of joe (and always bookstore joe) but that joe please he was such an idiot😭 I miss him and this is all your fault (said with so much love bye going to reread everything (again))

ok so it took me a good second, but, here you go bby <3 to the girls unfamiliar with poppy and mark: maybe have a look here Wordcount: 2.3K

---

Won’t Say It Until You Will

Sometimes you still don’t quite understand how you’ve gone literal years thinking Joe couldn’t fucking stand you.

You’d gotten so used to his stand-offish demeanor. To the arrogant smirks you’d catch just before he’d bite them back, just in time for Poppy or Mark to notice. To his overall unapproachability, and the heavy judgment that would drip off of him.

For years you thought you didn’t like Joe, simply because you were convinced Joe didn’t like you.

Didn’t like you as a person.

As Mark’s friend.

As someone that, through Mark falling for Poppy, was going to be in his life now.

You think you’re still adjusting to the sudden change. And the change was definitely sudden. Learning that, actually, Joe was trying to keep as much distance as he possibly could for the exact opposite of what you thought had been quite the shock. You might be adjusting for a while longer, still.

Which makes sense.

It is all quite the adjustment.

Joe used to be so weird around you, and you were always left to figure out why all by yourself.

The big difference now, though, is that every time Joe sees that you doubt yourself in whatever interaction you have with him, he’s quick to set the record straight.

He’s not allowed to say I love you yet.

You have to say it first for it to feel normal. Granted, barely anything about how this started feels normal to begin with. But this is something you hold onto. You tell him to shut up all the time, because you have come to know this look Joe will throw you.

This soft, adoring sort of dreamy stare Joe has a hard time containing. It’s truly quite something to be looked at like you’re the single best thing in current existence to someone. Like you’ve got shimmery diamonds and liquid gold where your heart should be.

It’s a shame it makes you frown the way it does.

“Shut up.” You’ll warn before he’s even gotten the chance to say anything.

And Joe used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

That has since changed to a very dopey, a very smiley, “Okay.” that makes your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will, no matter how many times the words will pop into his head and will beg to be released into your ears via his mouth. It’s nothing short of agony, because there’s moments where you’ll look at him like you used to. Before. When he kept his distance and would say the wrong thing, crack an unfunny joke that accidentally hurt your feelings, and – God, if he could just say those words and put your mind at ease the way the so desperately wants to...

He’s found different ways.

Has had to find different ways.

If you can’t hear the words, that’s fine. He’ll make you feel them just the same.

When you get into bed, one night, over at Joe’s place, you suddenly pause, halfway in.

“What?” Joe asks, already sort of smiling at your expression as he slides his legs under the covers on his side of the bed.

“Remember when...” you start, and immediately Joe’s aware that this can go one of two ways. You could either end up a giggling heap underneath the covers, or he’s going to end up kissing you silly to reassure every doubt from your mind.

You glance at one of his wardrobe doors and squint your eyes a little.

Joe’s scared it’s going to be the latter of the two options.

“I’ve actually never seen you wear that shirt again– have you...” you don’t finish whatever you were about to ask, and instead walk around the bed to check something. To see for yourself.

“What shirt?” Joe asks, sat up in bed, both hands in his lap over the covers, tongue pushing into his cheek as he watches you open the wardrobe.

You’re met with a meticulously well-organised row of shirts, jackets– Joe’s even got all of his trousers and jeans folded over hangers. All pressed and ironed, ready to make Joe look far smarter than he’ll feel.

You used to fall for it all the time, but you’ve since learned to see through most of it.

“How often do you get rid of clothes?” you ask, hands filtering through.

“All the time,” Joe says a little sheepishly, and jokingly adds, “You know I really only like... three things.”

Joe watches you filter through hangers at lightning speed, metal wire gliding over the rod and clanging together in your search.

You’re looking for something specific. Unsure of what made the thought pop into your head, you’d just remembered a specific shirt Joe wore once and wanted to see if he still had it. If there was maybe a reason why you hadn’t seen him wear it ever since that one night.

And, morning.

“Hmm... it’s not here.”

“What shirt are you even talking about?”

 You throw Joe a look over your shoulder, eyes squinted, and for a moment you look like you’re contemplating something. Like you’re milling something over.

Then, suddenly, Joe gets it. He knows exactly what you’re looking for, and is immediately embarrassed.

“Oh. Yea, no. Do you mean the white– my white button down? I, um… that shirt, it’s… you’re right, it’s not– it’s not there.”

Joe stutters through a bad excuse, and for an actor, he’s a fucking terrible liar. You shove aside some of his jackets, and then…

“Come back to bed, please.”

There it is.

The white button down shirt you were looking for.

You grab the hanger and pull it out, ready to happily show Joe you found it, but as you move the fabric into the light, you notice it.

See it.

“Found i– oh, my God…”

This is the shirt Joe wore to Mark and Poppy’s wedding shower. The one he said he’d get dry cleaned after he wiped your face with the sleeve, after he dabbed both your make-up covered cheeks. The one of which he’d pulled the cuff into his palm to get the fabric real close under your eyes to get rid of the wet mascara that had traveled there through tears.

You’d shown him the brown and black marks right after he’d done it, and he’d said he was going to get it dry-cleaned.

“Joe, what the…”

You’re holding a dirty shirt.

Had this stains not come out?

Clearly not.

You’re both looking at a dirty shirt. At old make-up stains that… well, this shirt is ruined. Your eyes quickly glance at the tag in the collar, and you wince.

That is too expensive of a brand for a shirt to be ruined like this.

This is the reason why you hadn’t seen Joe wear it again.

You’d ruined his shirt.

God, and you had even told him that next day, that next morning, that a regular cycle in a machine wash was going to get the stains out fine.

Obviously, it hadn’t.

Because you’re staring at caked blotches of bronzer and dark streaks of mascara and– ... you can feel how you shrink in on yourself, stood there, in his bedroom, with a stupidly expensive badly stained shirt he’d been hiding from you because he hadn’t been able to get it clean and–

Upon the sight of your face dropping, Joe gets out of bed, careful not to make any sudden movements.

“Um.. I’ll have that.”

Two slow hands come into vision and carefully take the hanger from your grip.

“Thanks.”

The shirt, in all its dirty glory, gets gently put back in its place, hidden behind Joe’s jackets, before Joe closes the wardrobe doors entirely.

“Sorry,” is all you can think to say, voice small, a little wobbly. “I’m sorry, I thought… I ruined your shirt. That should’ve come out in the wash. Sorry. I will– I’ll replace it. I’ll–”

“No you won’t.”

You drop both your shoulders just as Joe grabs hold of both of them. His grip is strong enough to bring you into the room a bit more.

“And don’t look at me like that. I didn’t… that’s… I’ve never washed it.”

What?

“You didn’t ruin the shirt. It’s just unwashed.”

Joe softly chuckles at your face and you get lead back to bed as you try to puzzle together what you’ve just been told. What that even means.

There had been plenty of whispered conversations, late at night chats in the dark, where Joe would reassure you that he had never hated you. The outward dislike had always been an awful way to hide how he really felt, and Joe was going to be kicking himself until the end of time for how that had always make you feel.

Joe is never going to be able to make it right, he thinks.

But he can fucking try.

“That’s…”

“Disgusting? Yes. Absolutely.”

He’ll die trying.

“Why haven’t you…”

You’re scared to finish the question because you fear you already know the answer.

“Didn’t want to. So don’t worry about it.”

You get tucked in as your worries easily get dismissed, but it’s difficult to make your confused frown disappear.

Joe sighs when you keep looking at him like that, sits down on the edge of the bed next to you and goes, “You’ll make fun of me. But... that’s the… that’s what I wore when you slept in my bed for the first time. It’s not ruined. Washing it would ruin it, actually.”

Everything about that is confusing and will take a minute or two for you to process. Now, here, in the moment, it just makes you grimace with horror, and that in and of itself makes Joe laugh. Makes his eyes twinkle as he bites into his lip, head titled back and to the side a little.

He can’t really help it.

“To be fair... you were never meant to find that. Can you not tell Poppy?”

“Okay. I won’t tell Poppy.” You easily agree.

“But you’ll tell Mark?”

“But I’ll tell Mark.”

Joe drops his head forward in a silent laugh. Of course you will tell Mark.

And, that’s fine. Because it’s a memory he’ll cherish forever, even if you were violently drunk that night, and your hair still smelt of vomit even though Mark’s mum had really done her best to rinse most of it out. You had found Joe’s bed on your own, and had pulled him in to nap with you and– ...he doesn’t think that it was the exact moment where things changed a little, but it was a moment momentous enough to want to keep a souvenir.

It’s why he never washed the dirty button down shirt that proved to him he hadn’t dreamt it up.

He’ll never tell you how he also still has the empty yoghurt carton he had found in his kitchen after you’d left the next morning.

And he’ll also ignore the weird fall out you had after when he lied to Poppy about it. That’s not part of the memory.

Only the good stuff.

Like how he’d barely slept at all.

How he’d gotten to stare at you all night long.

How he’d finally, after hours of collecting courage, had softly let one of his fingertips stroke along the skin of your arm.

How that made you hum contently in your sleep.

If he thinks about it for too long, he could easily make himself cry. Looking at you now, all relaxed into the pillows of his bed, he could make himself cry.

When Joe looks at you a little too long without saying anything, dopey grin and all, your frown only deepens.

“Shut up.”

Joe knows it was bound to be said, but it still tickles him and he lets a throaty laugh escape him before he turns faux-serious.

“Ah. It’s made a return.” Joe scans your features and talks like he’s in a film, speaking to a villain. “That face. Are you even aware of how powerful it is? Makes me feel how much my soul wants to escape my body.”

That gets a little grin out of you, and it’s cute enough for Joe to want to tell the whole entire world how much he loves you. He wonders if you know how much it pains him. How often he can feel the scratch of the words in his throat, the violent urge to just let them free ever present.

But he won’t.

You’d just told him to shut up, so he will shut up, and instead will let those three words seep out in other ways. Through his hands that wander up to your neck. Through his fingers that swipe under your jaw, tipping your head back a little so he can easily kiss you.

You happily accept his kisses, because even though you’re still adjusting to all these little changes in your truth, it all ultimately means that Joe really, really likes you.

Really, really, really likes you.

And of course you know it’s more than that to Joe.

And that he really wants to tell you already.

But he’s not allowed.

Not yet.

Which is fine. He can just kiss you. And he will. Like he’s doing right now.

Joe still can’t quite believe he’s kissing you in his bed, and he can’t believe there was ever a time where he wasn’t.

When he pulls back, still sat on the side instead of under the covers with you, he hovers over you a little. Gives you a quiet moment, just in case you want to tell him.

And you will.

With time.

But not now.

“Shut up.” you repeat, giggling now at how lovesick he looks, and Joe can’t help grin in the way that he does.

He used to reply with, “I didn’t say anything.”

Instead he says, “Okay.” and goes for another kiss when he sees your nose scrunch.

Joe knows the rule.

Won’t say it until you will.

---

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Add yourself

[chrissturnsfav]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 fuckgirl!reader finally gets her way

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬, part one

you feel his hand on your thigh like it’s burning straight through your skin, searing hot and fucking impossible to ignore. but he’s not moving it—just holding steady, like he’s testing you, seeing how far you’ll let him go before you start pushing buttons again.

but the thing is, you never stop pushing. that’s your whole game. always has been.

you blink up at him, your lashes heavy with mischief, heart hammering in your chest but face calm as ever.

"finally," you murmur, biting your lip, your voice low and teasing. "thought i'd have to get fucking naked just to get your attention." you say, dragging your fingers lightly along the inside of his forearm—the one still resting dangerously on your thigh. "since you're so into that whole mysterious, quiet guy act. it’s kinda cute, honestly. like, really fucking pathetic, but cute."

he exhales sharply, his grip tightening on your thigh. "careful," he warns, voice lower now, rougher.

you smirk, leaning in and brushing your nose along his jaw just to watch him flinch. "careful’s boring. i don't do boring."

"figured that out already," he mutters, but there’s a little edge creeping into his voice, like maybe he’s finally about to snap.

"good," you whisper, breath ghosting over his skin. "then do something about it."

for a second, everything hangs in the air between you. and then he moves.

his lips crash into yours, rough and desperate, like weeks of restraint just shattered all at once. fuck, it’s so much better than you remembered. raw and wild and completely fucking perfect.

you gasp against his mouth, fingers tangling in his hair as you shift in your seat, climbing halfway over the console because there’s no way you’re staying put now. not when he's finally giving in. he tastes like smoke and heat and bad decisions, and you’re completely here for it. all of it. every messy, breathless second.

matt groans against your mouth, and the sound shoots straight through you, making your pulse race. his hand tightens on your thigh, rough now, fingers digging into your skin like he’s trying to keep himself grounded but losing that battle fast. it’s messy, heated, every bit as reckless as you knew it would be once he finally broke.

"you should do something about the issue in my pants," he fires smoothly against your lips, that smug little smirk tugging at his own again, his eyes flickering to his cock completely straining through the fabric of his worn out jeans.

yes! you think, biting back a grin. it took weeks of relentless teasing, shameless flirting, and dragging him right to the edge for him to stop hiding behind that untouchable vibe—but now here he is, cracking wide open, and you’re fucking living for it.

"oh?" you purr with a slow, deliberate smirk. "so you finally admit you’ve got a problem."

his tongue darts across his bottom lip, slow and deliberate, that smug glint still flickering in his eyes. "yeah," he drawls, voice rough and steady, "but you already knew that, didn’t you?"

"mhmm." you hum seductively, fingers brushing lazily along the hem of your skirt as you reach over to place a hand on his upper thigh, "guess i could help...if you ask nicely."

he huffs a laugh through his nose as he feels his dick twitch in his pants, shaking his head like you’re infuriating him. "nicely, huh?"

you grin wickedly, the thrill of control coursing through you. your hand drifts higher, fingertips brushing the seam of his jeans, deliberate but teasing—just enough to make his breath hitch. "not gonna beg, hm?" you taunt softly, voice dripping with mock pity. "that’s cute."

his eyes darken, and for a second, everything between you hangs in a delicate, dangerous balance. the air in the car is thick, buzzing with heat and tension.

after a tense moment, he swallows hard, and then suddenly his hand is on yours, guiding it to where his cock is painfully straining against his jeans. "stop fucking teasing," he growls, all that restraint snapping at once.

your breath catches, a spark low in your belly. "there you goooo," you coo, giggling cheekily.

less than literally two minutes later, his jeans and boxers are resting mid thigh, your body leant over with your mouth stuffed full of his cock, straining and leaking in your mouth, sucking his dick with fiery skill.

matt's eyes are rolling back, his mouth open as he breathes heavily, quiet grunts and moans slipping from his lips. his hand is tangled in your hair, making a makeshift ponytail as you suck him sloppily.

a pool of spit glimmers at his base, your lips wrapped around his cock so prettily as you hollow your cheeks, drool dribbling down your chin, big eyes looking up at him all innocent.

"such a fuckin' messy girl," he groans, watching your head bob up and down with a smirk plastered on his lips, chuckling at the moan he elicits from you. "drooling all over my dick like that."

you giggle cockily around him, licking a long stripe up from his base to his tip before taking it into your mouth, suckling as you sweetly bat your pretty long lashes up at him, your hand jerking his cock with expert skill.

matt hisses in pleasure, biting his bottom lip as his thighs twitch, huffing out a chuckle, "take it all, fuck are you doing?"

you snicker, swirling your tongue around his tip, watery eyes looking up at him, "say pleeeaase," you sing teasingly.

he scoffs, rolling his eyes as he grips your hair harder, "suck my dick before i start fucking your mouth."

you hum, your hand slowing it's movements on his saliva coated dick. "yeah?" you taunt, tone dripping with mock sweetness. "do it."

that's all it takes for matt, his self control snapping in half. with no hesitation, he starts thrusting his hips up into your mouth, letting out a shaky groan, the moans you let out vibrating against his cock adding to the pure ecstasy.

you gag on his dick, his tip brushing against your uvula as he fucks your mouth, eyes rolling back as they water, your hand moving speedily around whatever can't fit.

"fuck, fuck, i'm gonna cum," he grunts, his eyes rolling back as he continues to thrust into your mouth, tugging on your hair as heat rushes to his balls, a deliciously tight knot forming in his belly. "lemme cum on your face...holy shit...please..." he almost whimpers.

you laugh around him victoriously, finally you think. you knew he had a little submissiveness in him. all you needed to do was get him close to the edge, and he finally snapped.

you pull your mouth off his cock, sticking your tongue out with a triumphant grin as you tap his tip against your tongue, hand still jerking him speedily, his length dripping with spit.

matt looks down at you through lidded eyes, his vision growing splotchy as moans and grunts fall from his lips, his hips twitching. "h-holy...fuck...shit, shit—"

thick ropes of hot cum sprawl out onto your face—your cheeks, your nose, your lips, your tongue. it feels like all the pent up sexual tension inside him has finally been released. literally.

you ride out his high with your hand, giggling as he cums all over your pretty face, looking up at him through your lashes.

he's breathing heavily, his eyes rolled back as he finally comes back to his senses, and when he sees your pretty face dripping in his white seed, he almost moans.

"fuck..." he whispers shakily, gathering his cum onto his trembling thumb on your bottom lip, pushing the sticky release into your mouth.

you close your eyes, sucking the salty liquid off his thumb as you snicker around his thumb. "took you long enough."

thank you for reading!! <3

tags 🏷️: @sturnobsessedwh0re , @idrk2292 , @mattsbrat , @ribbonlovergirl , @matthewsroses , @mattsdemi , @emely9274 , @frankoceanfanpage , @ifwdominicfike , @marrykisskilled , @strnilolover , @cayleeuhithinknott , @forgottxen , @sophand4n4 , @sturnsrecord , @purpledragon222 , @faiyaz555 , @jocelyncsblog , @freakiolos , @slut4chris888 , @chriss-slutt , @ilovedanielcaesar , @annsx03 , @snoopychris , @chrissweetheart , @slutformatt17 , @mattsturnii , @dominicfikeenthusiast , @mattsbratt333 , @ivysturnss , @tessasturns , @coquettechris , @courta13 , @sturniolo101 , @malsmind

@chrissturnsfav ™

[little-diable]

Think I'm in love with you - Dean Winchester (smut)

Requested by lovely @foxyjwls007 for my birthday bash. The lyrics are from Chris Stapleton's song "Think I'm in love with you". Please like and reblog if you enjoyed reading this, your comments keep us writers motivated! Enjoy my loves. xxx

Summary: Pwp, the reader confesses her love for Dean in the middle of a fight

Warnings: 18+, smut, oral (m), idiots in love

Pairing: Dean Winchester x fem!reader (800 words)

“You don’t get it, do you? You don’t fucking get it!” Her voice filled the motel room, angry eyes set on Dean’s frowning features. He kept quiet, pondering over her words while caught up in a storm of emotions he had tried to run from ever since he had met (y/n) all those months ago. For a second, his eyes flickered towards the door, something she easily picked up on. “Don’t you dare run again, Dean. Not this time.”

“(Y/n),” he mumbled her name like a silent plea, begging her to stop rambling. But the damage was done, there was no way out of the grave she had dug for them, unable to forget the words she had tried to hold back for too long now. “What do you want from me?”

“What I want? Jesus, Dean. Everything, I want it all. And I am so sick and tired of you ignoring it. Don’t you see it? I wanna make your dreams come true, I think I'm in love with you, you fucking idiot.” It took Dean exactly three seconds to move, to cross the short distance between them. His lips were soft against hers, even though the kiss was anything but soft or sweet - no, it was fuelled by the desire both had tried to tame for the past months. 

Without breaking the kiss, Dean pushed her down on the old bed they had been sharing for two nights now. He pressed himself close, weight shifted onto his forearm while his tongue met hers over and over again. She didn’t give him a warning before shuffling around, set on straddling his waist. 

“Say something, please, Dean.” He cupped her warm cheeks, staring up at her with a gaze filled with adoration. Her trembling fingers clung to his shirt, tugging on the fabric but not moving it off his body just yet, desperately wanting to hear his raspy voice. 

“I love you too, sweetheart. Always have.” It was all she needed, a confession that made her heart skip a beat or two. Dean’s shirt was ripped from his frame, with (y/n)’s following moments later. His big hands felt all too unfamiliar on her skin, but she couldn’t worry about it now, all she could focus on was freeing his cock and getting her mouth on him just like she had dreamt of doing for years. 

Dean raised his hips for her, allowing (y/n) to pull his trousers and underwear down his strong legs before straddling his thighs. Just the sight alone drew heat down to her core, watching Dean lay below her, spread out and naked - all for her. A dream come true, something she had never dared to speak of until this very day.

Her lips kissed their way down his stomach, trying to ignore the numerous freckles she swore to eventually count, all until she reached his hardening cock. Their eyes met as she spat down on him, letting her saliva drip down his length to lube up her movements. For a second, (y/n) thought about teasing him and taking her sweet time, but the impatient jerks of his hips forced her to move faster.

“Christ, sweetheart, if you keep up this pace this will be over very soon.” She could only chuckle at his words, too mesmerized by the feeling of his skin pressed against her, by the short breaths leaving him over and over again, and the unmistaken love swimming in his pupils. (Y/n) brought her mouth down to his cock, licking at his tip to get a taste of him for the first time, before slowly taking more of him. 

The second she gagged around him, Dean let his head fall back against the pillow. The deep groan he let go of could have made her cum right at that moment, instantly spiralling from the way he exposed his every emotion to her, something she interpreted as a clear sign of trust. (Y/n) was fully mesmerized by Dean, staring at him with glassy eyes as she bobbed her head, set on making him cum with her mouth. 

“(Y/n),” he panted her name, eyes rolling back into his head to get swallowed by a blanket of darkness. He jerked against her tongue, about to cum down her throat with another raspy moan, something she found herself aching for. (Y/n) gagged around him again, letting her tears roll down her cheeks all while Dean was overpowered by his orgasm. 

He came down her throat, choking on his moan while she didn’t dare move away. She greedily swallowed every drop, parting with a pout as Dean pulled her away from his cock to kiss her. 

“Fuck, I love you, sweetheart.”