#but she found a good life with her memories erased

[swan2swan]

*forcibly breaking the Avatar comics into tiny, usable pieces and taking what I can to reconfigure them into something resembling a setup for this comic because it seems like it will be fun*

[bellaveux]

be my mistake | n. romanoff x reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: three years have passed since the divorce, since natasha hurt you and over time, you found yourself reflecting on the struggles you both went through, both as a couple and apart from each other. revisiting memories with your family draw you and natasha closer than you’ve been in years.

content warnings: lots of angst, hurt/comfort??, cheating, insecure!reader, mentions of alcohol/drinking, implied smut, wanda being a good friend (pls let me know if i’m missing anything else i can’t tell)

word count: 19.8k

It had been three long years since everything fell apart between you and Natasha. Three years since the day you packed your bags, gathered your daughters, and walked away from the life you’d built together. The split wasn’t clean. It wasn’t one of those polite, quiet divorces that people talk about when they’ve simply grown apart. No, yours was loud, raw, and full of hurt. You could still remember the echo of your arguments, the way her voice would crack when she begged for forgiveness, and the silence that always followed afterward—heavy, suffocating. That silence weighed more than the words ever did.

Natasha had tried. She really had. For a while, after the it happened, she did everything to make amends, to erase what she had done. But it wasn’t something you could erase. It wasn’t something you could forgive right then, no matter how hard she tried to make things right. You’d given her so many chances to explain, so many opportunities to show you that the Natasha you fell in love with was still there. 

But each time, all you could see was the betrayal, the moment she chose someone else over you.

For her, it was a mistake—something that happened once and never again. But for you, it was a scar, a wound that never healed. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let her back in. You didn’t know if you ever could again. And she knew it, even though she didn’t want to accept it. There were moments, though, when Natasha still looked at you with that same longing, the same desperation she had the night you left her. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, back to when you were her partner, her wife, her everything. 

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

No matter how much she tried to show you that she had changed, the past still lingered between you, like a shadow that refused to leave. Even now, after all this time, there was still a part of her that couldn’t accept that things would never be the same. You saw it in her eyes every time she picked up the girls, every time she lingered a little too long at the door, as if hoping you might invite her in, ask her to stay. But you never did. You couldn’t allow it, not after everything. It had been hard. Painful, even. Co-parenting with someone who had broken your heart, who had shattered the life you thought you’d have together, was an agony all its own. But you had to do it, for your girls, Nina and Lily. They needed you both, and you would never let your pain come between them and their mothers. Even if it meant seeing Natasha more often than you wanted. Even if it meant reopening old wounds every time her name appeared on your phone, or when your girls came home with stories about the time they’d spent with her.

And the first year after the divorce was hell for Natasha. She tried everything in her power to get you back—flowers, letters, showing up at the house at odd hours, always begging for another chance. She couldn’t accept that it was over. Every time she saw you, even in the briefest of moments, she could see the pain in your eyes, the devastation her betrayal had caused. It tore her apart. She had broken something precious, something she didn’t know how to fix, and yet she kept trying. She was relentless, desperate to rewind the clock, to undo what couldn’t be undone.

But the more she tried, the more tired you looked. The weight of it all was etched into your face, exhaustion hanging over you like a dark cloud. Your bright eyes, full of life and love, had dimmed. The smile that had once been hers was gone, replaced by a coldness that froze her out. And with every desperate plea, every attempt to reach you, she realized she was only making it worse. You weren’t healing. You couldn’t, not with her constantly in your space, constantly pulling at the wounds she’d caused.

By the second year, Natasha finally saw it. You needed space, needed time to mend, and she wasn’t helping at all. So, she stopped. Stopped the flowers, the late-night phone calls, the messages begging for you to forgive her, telling you she loved you. She stopped trying to push her way back into your life because it was only making things harder for you. 

She watched from a distance instead, in silence. 

But despite the distance she put between you both, she couldn’t stop loving you. She could never. It was something she couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard she tried. Even when she forced herself to stay away, her heart still ached for you in a way that nothing else could heal. You were everywhere—in the way her daughters smiled, in the moments when she was alone with her thoughts. She’d think of you when she’d go to the grocery store, remembering all the food you liked and didn’t like. She’d think of you at night when she’s in bed, always moving closer to your side of the bed, imagining you were still there with her. And even though she knew she had to let you go for your own sake, a part of her would always be tethered to you. It didn’t matter how much time passed. She could never stop loving you, no matter how much it hurt.

It’s been three years now. Three long, heavy years since the divorce. But in the wake of it, as the dust settled and the hurt slowly gave way to something manageable, a routine. One that neither of you ever explicitly discussed, maybe just briefly, but one that simply came to be, like a truce.

And Natasha hadn’t been with anyone since then. She hadn’t even entertained the idea. There were no late-night flings, no fleeting attempts to fill the void. Because how could she? How could anyone compare to the life she had built with you, even though it had crumbled? It had been such a stupid mistake on her part when it happened, and she promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen again, even if you didn’t want her anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to be with anyone else, and deep down, she knew it was because part of her was still yours.

Nina and Lily, your two little girls, were the threads that still tied you and Natasha together. Nina, with her wild curls and mischievous grin, only four but already full of curiosity and energy, was in preschool. Lily, more thoughtful, quieter but with an infectious laugh, had just started first grade. They were young, their lives filled with playdates, scribbled drawings, and the occasional scraped knee. They didn’t fully understand why Mommy and Mama lived in different houses now, why they didn’t all sit together at the table for dinner anymore. But they adjusted in their own way.

Natasha would pick them up from school most afternoons when she can. You’d drop them off in the mornings, coffee in hand, always on the way to work. You were working now. You didn’t really work that much when you were pregnant with the girls and Natasha always insisted on taking care of you. On weekends when Natasha didn’t have a mission or some urgent task pulling her away, she’d have them over at her place. They’d spend Saturday nights watching movies or baking cookies, or playing games until they were all too tired to continue. And then Sunday morning, she would make them pancakes, the same way you used to. It was a rhythm that worked, one that kept things steady for Nina and Lily, even when things between you and Natasha remained unresolved.

Every time Natasha saw them, it tugged at her heart. The way Lily looked at her with those wide, innocent eyes, so full of trust. The way Nina giggled when Natasha spun her around, her tiny hands reaching up to her mother like nothing had ever changed. They were growing so fast, right in front of her, and yet Natasha couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through her fingers. Three years had gone by in the blink of an eye, and even though things were better—smoother—between the two of you now, that gnawing regret never fully left her.

But for the girls, she stayed strong. She showed up, she stuck to the routine. It was the least she could do, even if, when the weekends were over and she dropped them back at your place, she found herself lingering just a second too long, watching as you took their small hands and guided them back inside. Wondering if, somehow, it could have all been different.

The sun hung low in the sky as Natasha drove through familiar streets, the scent of fast food wafting through the car, mingling with the laughter of her daughters in the backseat. The afternoon light cast a golden glow on the girls’ faces, illuminating Nina’s bright eyes and Lily’s gentle smile as they excitedly talked about their day.

But as the laughter filled the car, Nina’s innocent question pierced through the cheerful atmosphere, shattering the fragile bubble they had created. 

“Mama, why don’t you sleep at home with us anymore?”

The question hung in the air and Natasha’s heart dropped, the warmth evaporating in an instant. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing a smile that felt painfully strained. Silence enveloped them, thick with heavy emotions and memories she wished she could shield her daughters from. She glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Nina’s expectant gaze, a small frown tugging at her lips as she awaited an answer.

“Um, well…” Natasha began, her voice faltering. “You know, Mama has… a lot of work to do. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to sleep at my own place.”

Even as she spoke, the lie twisted in her stomach, sharp and uncomfortable. She could see the flicker of disappointment in Nina’s eyes, a reflection of the confusion and sadness that still lingered between the lines of their new normal.

Lily, sensing the shift in the mood, chimed in, “We can share a bed, Mama!”

Natasha smiled softly, fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you, baby, but… this is how things are for now.”

Her heart clenched at Lily’s innocent declaration, each word a dagger piercing deeper into her already heavy heart. The car felt suddenly suffocating, filled with the echoes of memories and unresolved feelings. The gentle hum of the car faded into the background, and all she could hear was the soft thrum of her daughters’ voices and the relentless reminder of the pain they were all carrying.

“My bed is big enough!” Lily insisted again, her eyes wide with hope. “And I think Mommy misses you, too. Sometimes, I see her crying at night.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. The image of you, alone in the dark, tears glistening on your cheeks, tore through her defenses, a reminder of the consequences of her choices. Guilt washed over her, crashing down with a force that made it hard to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” Natasha said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to maintain her composure, “It’s okay for Mommy to be sad sometimes, you know? We all feel sad sometimes.”

“But I don’t want her to be sad,” Lily replied, her voice small and earnest. “We could go to Auntie Wanda’s cabin and have ice cream parties and movie nights like before!”

The wistfulness in Lily’s tone echoed Natasha’s own desires, the aching wish to turn back the clock and reclaim the happiness they had once shared. But Natasha knew that life was never that simple. 

“I know, baby,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “And I want that too. We just… have to be patient.”

Lily frowned, her small brows knitting together in confusion. “Do you still love mommy?”

The question hung in the air. Her heart raced, and she glanced at her daughters in the rearview mirror, the truth of her feelings spilling over like an unguarded secret. 

“Of course I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t hesitate.

Nina chimed in, her conviction unwavering. “Maybe if we all hug and give her lots of kisses, she won’t be sad anymore!”

She wanted to laugh at the sheer innocence of their logic, but it only deepened the ache in her chest. “I don’t think it’s that simple, baby.”

Lily tilted her head, her expression earnest and unwavering. “But, we’re a family, and families love each other.”

Natasha only smiled.

As they continued down the road, the fading sunlight cast warm shadows in the car, but the weight of their words settled heavily in Natasha’s chest. Lily fell silent soon after, her small face pensive as she stared out the window, the world outside a blur of colors. Natasha’s heart ached for her, wishing desperately that she could turn back time, wishing that the nights spent apart didn’t feel like an insurmountable distance.

As she pulled up to your house, the familiar flutter of anxiety danced in her stomach. She could hear the muffled giggles of her girls in the backseat, their excitement palpable as they chattered more about their day. But as she stepped out of the car and approached the front door, her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

When you opened the door, Natasha felt the air shift around her. There you stood, framed in the soft glow of the entryway light, and her breath caught in her throat. You were breathtaking, wearing an elegant black dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric glimmered subtly as you moved, catching the light with each breath. Your hair was fixed neatly by your shoulders, and your makeup was flawlessly applied. 

For a moment, Natasha was transported back to the nights when the two of you would dress up for special occasions, the thrill of anticipation sparking between you. But now, that thrill was laced with an ache that felt as sharp as it was familiar.

“Hi, mommy!” Lily squealed, bursting with energy as she darted past you into the house, closely followed by Nina, who gave you a quick hug before joining her sister.

“Hey, girls,” you greeted them softly, your voice warm but tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken. You stepped back to allow them inside, your gaze flickering to Natasha, who stood momentarily rooted to the spot, taking in the sight of you.

Without breaking eye contact, you rushed over to the mirror that hung just inside the entryway, your movements quick and graceful as you fumbled with your earrings. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, realizing how beautifully you carried yourself, even through the chaos of their past. She walked inside hesitantly, closing the front door behind her, swallowing the lump in her throat as she slowly walked further in. 

“Wow, Mommy! You look so pretty!” Nina beamed.

“Thank you, honey,” you replied with a soft smile, your voice brightening as you turned your attention to the girls. 

Natasha lingered by the wall, unsure of what to do with her hands as the girls raced off into the living room, their laughter filling the house with warmth. She listened when you asked the girls quick questions about their day at school, but all she could focus on was you. She stood there, still as a statue, her fingers brushing nervously over the seam of her jacket, as her eyes found you again.

You moved gracefully through the hallway, your dress shimmering faintly with each step. She felt a pang in her chest, something akin to longing but deeper, more raw. She hadn’t seen you like this in so long—dressed up, glowing, completely at ease in your skin. Her breath hitched slightly, catching on the memories that rose unbidden in her mind, of nights when she’d watch you just like this, mesmerized by the smallest of movements. You never failed to amaze her every time.

But now, it feels different. There was a distance between you that wasn’t just physical, and Natasha could feel it more sharply than ever. Yet, despite the distance, she found herself rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and out of place, like a visitor in what was once her home.

You hadn’t said much since opening the door, offering a quiet greeting before slipping back into the rhythm of your routine. But it didn’t matter. Natasha’s thoughts were too loud to be drowned out by small talk anyway. All she could think about was how beautiful you looked, how effortless you made everything seem. The curve of your neck as you bent slightly to adjust your earring, the way your lips pressed together in concentration—it all made her feel like a stranger witnessing something intimate, something she no longer had the right to witness. For a moment, her fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin under her palm. But she held herself back, knowing that her place in your life now was nothing like it used to be. Instead, she remained where she was, standing awkwardly by the wall, her heart heavy with unspoken words and feelings she didn’t know how to express anymore.

You must have felt her staring, because you glanced up at her briefly from where you stood by the mirror. The moment your eyes met, Natasha felt a surge of emotion that almost knocked the wind out of her—regret, longing, admiration—all tangled together. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t find the words to say anything. What could she say, anyway? Nothing would change the fact that she was the reason things were the way they were.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you were. How beautiful you’d always been. How you’d managed to slip right out of her fingers. 

Natasha’s hands twitched at her sides, the yearning almost unbearable as she watched you. The way your dress hugged your frame, the soft curve of your neck as you finished adjusting your earrings—it stirred something deep inside her, a longing so fierce it nearly took her breath away. She wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you and wrap you in her arms. She wanted to hold you like she used to, when everything was easier, when you were hers and there was no wall of hurt between you.

But now, it feels impossible. Every time she considered moving closer, something stopped her—the guilt, the regret, the knowledge that she no longer had the right to that kind of intimacy with you. Not after everything. Not after the way things had ended, fractured by her own mistakes.

Still, the desire was overwhelming, almost painful. She couldn’t help it—her eyes followed the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone as you fixed a stray hair, and her heart ached with the thought of reaching out, of pulling you against her, of whispering that she was sorry, that she had never stopped loving you. God, she wanted to hold you so badly. Just for a moment. Just to feel that connection again, to remind herself that once, not too long ago, you had been hers. 

But instead, then she saw you struggling with the clasp of your necklace. 

Her hesitation was palpable as she took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. Her heart pounded in her chest, every movement deliberate and slow, like she was afraid that even the air between you was fragile. She saw you fumble with the clasp of your necklace, your fingers shaking ever so slightly in your rush. Her own hands twitched, the need to help overwhelming her, but she hesitated for a beat longer. She wasn’t sure she had the right to step into your space, to touch you again, even for something as simple as this.

But when you let out a frustrated huff, she took a breath and moved closer, her presence soft but undeniable as she stood just behind you. Gently, her fingers brushed against your skin, so light you might not have even felt it at first. Carefully, she took the delicate chain from your hands and closed the clasp at the back of your neck.

Her touch lingered just a second too long. She couldn’t help it. The warmth of your skin under her fingers, the proximity, the way your scent filled her senses—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. The faint scent of your perfume washed over her, and it hit her all at once. You smelled exactly the way she remembered, like something warm and comforting, but with an edge that made her dizzy. It was intoxicating. She glanced up for just a moment, catching your reflection in the mirror, but her eyes dropped quickly, too scared to meet yours. She didn’t trust herself to look into your eyes and not say everything she was feeling. It felt like a betrayal of her own heart to be this close to you, yet still so far away. Her hands fell back to her sides, clenched into soft fists, fighting the urge to keep touching you. She stepped back, quietly swallowing the ache that seemed to settle in her chest. 

“You look beautiful,” Natasha breathes, almost afraid to say the words, but it came out before she could even think about it. 

“Thank you,” you said quickly, your voice barely more than a whisper, the quiet words hanging in the air.

She froze for a split second, the simple phrase sending an unexpected ripple through her. It was such a small thing—a polite acknowledgement, nothing more—but to her, it felt loaded with everything that had been left unsaid for years. Then, she forced a small smile, though you couldn’t see it, her eyes still fixed downward as she stepped back from you. 

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice just as soft, though it felt like a lie. She wasn’t welcome. Not anymore.

She watched as you turned back to the mirror, adjusting your hair slightly and smoothing the fabric of your dress. You looked beautiful—breathtaking, really—but all she could focus on was the sadness in your quiet thank you. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but no words came. Instead, Natasha let the silence speak for her, the tension between you heavy and unresolved, much like everything that had been left behind. 

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Natasha asked, trying to keep her voice light, though it came out more strained than she intended. 

The words had been on the tip of her tongue the moment she saw you in that dress, but she hated herself for asking, for making it sound so casual when the question felt like it was burning her from the inside.

You released a small huff, something resembling a smile flickering at the corners of your mouth, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see the way her jaw clenched in the mirror.

“It’s just a work thing,” you muttered, turning slightly in the mirror as if to busy yourself with something else, but Natasha could tell it was an attempt to deflect the conversation. You had always done that—shrugged things off when they felt too heavy, too personal.

But Natasha wasn’t stupid. She knew it wasn’t just a work thing. She could feel it in her gut, the way you said it so softly, so dismissively. And yet, she didn’t push. Couldn’t. Instead, she let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it. 

“Well, you look really nice,” she added, her voice a bit more gentle now, her eyes softening as they roamed over you once more. She hated how small her words felt, like she was grasping for something, anything, to make sense of the distance between you. 

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, almost absentmindedly, still adjusting the clasp of your earrings. Natasha stood there, helpless, her hands twitching at her sides as she watched you prepare to leave for an evening that didn’t involve her anymore. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—this ache of wanting you, this regret that sat like a stone in her chest. 

You glanced at her, your eyes flickering with indecision before they darted to the clock on the wall. 

“Shit, I forgot to text the babysitter,” you muttered, already pulling out your phone. You were halfway through typing the message when Natasha’s voice cut through the quiet tension of the room.

“I can watch them,” she offered quickly, almost too quickly, like she had been waiting for the opportunity. There was a soft urgency in her tone, something that made your fingers pause over the screen.

You hesitated, looking at her fully now, your gaze searching her face. She stood there, trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flickered between you and the door, as if bracing herself for your response. It wasn’t the first time she had offered, but something about tonight—about her standing there, in your home, so close yet feeling so far away—made you hesitate.

“Natasha, it’s so last minute, and you’re probably busy—“

“I’m not busy.”

There was silence. 

“Are you sure?” you said, your voice trailing off. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her with the kids, in fact, you trusted her with the girls more than anyone.

“Of course. I promise, I’ll make sure they’re asleep by the time you get back,” Natasha said softly, taking a small step closer, as if to bridge the gap between you.

You lingered for a moment longer, the phone still in your hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Natasha stood there, waiting, her gaze steady but gentle, almost like she was afraid to breathe too loudly in case you changed your mind. There was a hesitation in the air, thick with all the memories and tension that seemed to live between the two of you now.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “Okay,” you murmured, the word coming out soft but resigned. “But only if you’re sure.”

Natasha nodded immediately, as if there had never been a question. “I’m sure.”

You watched her for a moment, still not quite as sure as she was, but there was something about the way she looked at you that made you relent. Maybe it was the familiarity of her presence, or the way she always seemed so certain when it came to the girls. You wanted to believe it would be fine, that it wouldn’t hurt to let her help, just this once.

“Alright,” you said again, this time a little firmer. You tucked your phone away, glancing toward the living room where the girls’ voices echoed softly in the distance. “I might be back late, though.”

“I can handle it,” Natasha reassured you with a small smile, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Relief, maybe. “You go have fun.”

You nodded, still hesitant but knowing that you had little choice now. With one last glance at her, you grabbed your purse from the table and walked toward the door, feeling Natasha’s eyes on you the whole way. Just before you left, you stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her one more time.

“Okay,” you said quietly. Natasha didn’t respond right away, just gave you a small nod, her eyes soft, watching you like she was still trying to figure out if this was real.

Your phone buzzed with a sudden chime, the noise breaking through the quiet air between you and Natasha. You flinched just slightly, caught off guard, but Natasha’s eyes never left you. That unwavering stare, intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—regret, longing, maybe both—lingered as you glanced down at your phone.

“Oh, that’s… my coworker. She’s here to pick me up…” you said softly, reading the message on the screen. 

You didn’t look up immediately, feeling the weight of Natasha’s gaze settle over you like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. There was another beat of silence, her expression barely changing, though something flickered in her eyes at the word “she.” It was so subtle, you almost missed it. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just nodded once, stiffly, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the tension in the air shift.

You turned toward the door again, suddenly aware of how small the space between the two of you felt. The air was heavy, like it held all the words neither of you had said over the years. You hesitated, hand on the knob, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Natasha’s voice, soft but strained, reached you before you could turn the handle. “Be safe tonight.”

You froze, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. They were simple, but coming from her, you knew they meant so much more.

As you stepped out of the house and closed the door behind you, the cool evening air hit your skin, and for a moment, you paused on the front steps. You could hear the muffled sounds of the girls laughing inside, and the thought of leaving them for some work party made your heart twist. 

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to go. The idea of mingling, making small talk, pretending everything was fine—it felt exhausting before it even started. But your coworkers had been persistent, insisting you needed to get out more, that it would be good for you. They meant well, of course. They saw the toll the divorce had taken on you, how the weight of it had settled into your bones, leaving you quieter, more withdrawn. And though you tried to hide it, the loneliness was written all over your face. They probably thought this was what you needed—a night of distraction, a chance to be someone other than the person who had been left shattered after everything fell apart. But standing there, under the dim glow of the porch light, you felt a tug in your chest, a sense of dread thinking about the night ahead.

Natasha lingered in your thoughts as always, the way she had silently helped you with your necklace, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but you missed her soft touches, her gentle smile, the way she would look at you like you held her world in your hands. The more you thought about it, you realized that it never really went away. And that look in her eyes, the one she always tried to hide but never quite could—it haunted you now as you made your way toward the car waiting at the curb.

With a sigh, you slipped into the passenger seat, greeting your friend with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As the car pulled away, you found yourself staring out the window, thinking not about the party or the people waiting for you there, but about the house you had just left—the home you used to share with Natasha, the life you once had before everything fell apart. Maybe tonight would be a distraction, or maybe it would just be another reminder of everything you’d lost. Either way, it felt like one more step away from her, and that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You were grateful for your friends—those who always wanted to help you after what happened.

Wanda was the one who helped you through most of it. 

In the beginning, when everything felt like it was crumbling beneath you, Wanda had been there. She’d been the first to know what had happened with Natasha—the first to see the hurt blooming in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, even when you tried so hard to sound strong. When she’d found out, Wanda was so angry, her fury simmering just beneath her skin. Word traveled quickly at the compound; someone must’ve overheard. But you’d heard, too, about how she’d cornered Natasha, her voice cold and sharp, her words unforgiving.

“Why did you do it?” Wanda had demanded of Natasha, her tone somewhere between outrage and heartbreak, and the confrontation left Natasha speechless, stripped of the practiced poise that she carried like armor. You never wanted to know all of what was said, but the rumors filled in the gaps; Wanda’s words were scathing, a fierce defense of the person Natasha had hurt most. She was protective, fiercely loyal, and in that moment, you felt the strength of a bond you hadn’t fully appreciated until you needed it most.

And it wasn’t just the initial shock, either—Wanda stayed. She kept you afloat on the days when the hurt felt too deep, kept you from slipping further into the void of your own heartbreak. She had this way of knowing when the silence was too heavy, when you needed to be pulled from the edge of your own emotions. She never let you wallow, and yet she didn’t rush you to move on either; she’d bring you back, her voice gentle, but firm, reminding you that you were stronger than this pain, that you’d heal, that you still had so much left to give to the world.

When the decision for a divorce finally weighed heavy on you, Wanda was the first person you told. The words had come out choked, but clear, and though she didn’t say much at first, her hand had reached for yours, holding it tightly as you tried to steady yourself. She kept asking if you were sure, her eyes steady, searching yours for any trace of doubt or hesitation. She knew you loved Natasha. And she knew Natasha was madly in love with you. But she wanted you to be certain, not out of judgment, but out of a desire to protect you, to make sure you weren’t making a decision you’d regret. She knew the depths of your love for Natasha and how much this was costing you; she wanted you to find peace in your choice, even if that peace felt miles away.

She had always been quietly supportive, even when things between you and Natasha fell apart. She never pried, never asked too many questions, but she had a way of knowing when you needed someone. You knew it was hard being your friend and Natasha’s friend.

But a few weeks ago, when she helped you pick out the dress you were wearing tonight, you could tell she was trying to lift your spirits, offering a distraction with her usual good-natured humor. She had pulled you into a few boutiques, tossing dresses over the fitting room door while she waited for your approval. When you finally stepped out in the sleek black dress you were wearing now, Wanda gave you that look—her eyes bright with approval, a grin spreading across her face.

“You’re going to knock them dead,” she had said with a playful wink, her tone light, but there was something else in her voice too, something softer.

You hadn’t said much in response then, brushing off the compliment with a smile. You hadn’t really felt like going to the party, but Wanda was insistent that it would be good for you, to dress up, to get out. 

And despite your silence on the matter, you knew she supported you and Natasha—always had. She never quite explained why, but you could sense it. Maybe she believed in second chances, or maybe she saw something in the two of you that you couldn’t see anymore. Even though she hadn’t talked about it much, you could feel her quiet faith in your relationship, like she was holding onto a hope you’d long since let go of. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that someone still believed in you and Natasha, even when you weren’t sure if you believed in it yourself anymore.

And from time to time, Wanda had a gentle way of bringing up her old cabin in the countryside, each suggestion delivered so casually that you might’ve let it slip past if it hadn’t been for the significance lingering just underneath her words. 

She didn’t live there anymore, now that her and Vision moved to New Jersey a lot recently with the twins. But every Thanksgiving, with her permission, the cabin had been your haven—a place where the world’s noise faded, replaced by the simple sounds of fire crackling, the murmur of conversations that stretched late into the night, and the delighted laughter of the girls as they played under the trees. It was as if the cabin held its own magic, a place suspended in time, where warmth radiated from more than just the fireplace, and you could almost believe in the simplicity of those happy moments lasting forever.

The girls loved it there especially—they loved the air, the trees, the comfort of a cozy cabin, playing music on Wanda’s old record player, or drinking hot chocolate Natasha loved to make for them. One winter, you spent the weekend there with them and Lily had just learned how to build a snowman with Natasha. Nina was still a little too young, but she found joy in trying to run around, catching the falling snowflakes with her tongue. You got nothing but good memories from going there.

The first time Wanda mentioned going back, it felt impossible to picture without Natasha. Even imagining it brought a sense of loss so heavy it threatened to shatter the memory entirely. The cabin without her was like watching the film reel of your life with half the scenes missing—disjointed, fractured, unable to find the comfort it once held. When you’d tried to explain, Wanda had only nodded, a knowing look softening her face as if she understood the unspoken things that weighed down your words. But over the months, she kept mentioning it, in small ways, like a quiet refrain.

“Then bring Natasha,” she’d said last, her voice so gentle it almost blended with the room. Her gaze, steady and unwavering, had landed on you with a quiet faith that made you feel exposed.

You’d wanted to respond, to give voice to the reasons why it felt impossible, to explain the ache that lingered too deeply to ignore. But the words had caught in your throat, your thoughts tangled in memories that had once been warm but now held the sting of something fractured. So you’d only managed a soft smile, allowing the silence to stretch between you as you turned the conversation away, knowing Wanda would understand.

And yet, her words stayed with you, lingering long after, wrapped in a fragile hope that you hadn’t dared to touch. Wanda believed in something you weren’t sure you could reach for, a belief that the cabin could be a bridge, a place where memories could be revisited, reconnected—maybe even healed. 

The idea stayed with you, filling your mind, daring you to wonder if, perhaps, she was right.

It was late by the time you finally unlocked the front door, the echo of the party still buzzing faintly in your head, softened by a light haze from the few drinks you’d had. The house was dark and still as you slipped inside.

As you moved further in, adjusting your eyes to the dim light, you saw them. 

Natasha was stretched out on the couch, her body softened in the shadows, and there, tangled in her arms, lay your two little girls. Nina and Lily were nestled close, their small bodies curled and sprawled across her, their hands loosely gripping her shirt, their faces pressed into her chest as if she were their entire world. Natasha’s head was tilted back, her breathing deep and steady, the sort of calm that only came when everything around her was right, if only for that fleeting moment.

You paused there in the doorway, just watching them, a  warmth settling in your chest, bittersweet and familiar. This was the woman you’d once called home. And maybe she’d made mistakes—mistakes that fractured everything between you, mistakes that left bruises you weren’t sure would ever fade. But seeing her now, surrounded by the soft rise and fall of the girls’ breathing, you were reminded that she’d never once faltered as their mother.

For a long moment, you just stood there, absorbing the scene, the beauty of it, the softness that was so rare in Natasha, brought out only by the girls resting so peacefully against her. A part of you ached, the part that remembered when that was your world, too—the intimacy, the trust, the feeling that this was where you belonged. But now, standing alone in front of her, you knew it was different.

“Natasha…”

The name leaves your lips in a choked whisper, so quiet you barely hear it yourself. It’s both a word and a breath, carrying years of ache, of longing, of memories buried beneath the hurt. She stirs softly at the sound, her eyes blinking open, unfocused in the dimness, but immediately careful, instinctively cradling Nina and Lily closer to her, her instincts as a mother overriding everything else. She lifts her head, and in the low light, her eyes meet yours—surprised, still a bit hazy with sleep, yet touched by something tender, something deeply aware.

A faint smile tugs at your lips, almost without your permission. You nod toward the girls, your voice so soft it hardly disturbs the quiet of the room. 

“We should get them to bed,” you murmur, the words gentle, careful, as though you’re trying not to disrupt a delicate peace.

Natasha gives a barely perceptible nod, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though she’s searching for something. Then, she looks down at the girls, her features softening into something achingly vulnerable. She shifts, moving slowly so as not to disturb Lily, her hands moving with the practiced care of someone who’s done this a hundred times over but who never takes it for granted.

You step forward, slipping your arms beneath Nina, feeling the gentle weight of her small body settle against you as you carefully lift her, your heart swelling with that instinctive protectiveness you’d felt since the day she was born. Natasha mirrors you, tenderly sliding her arms under Lily, her movements so gentle it’s as though she’s afraid to wake her from whatever dream she’s lost in. Together, you make your way down the hallway, your footsteps muffled on floor.

Natasha trails a few steps behind you, her gaze lingering on the small bundle in your arms. There’s something undeniably tender in the way she holds Lily close, quiet in every step as if even her footfalls could shatter the peace that’s settled over the house. She watches as you cradle Nina with the same delicate care, and she can’t help but feel a pang of something—nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe it’s something deeper, something achingly familiar and distant at the same time.

You reach the doorway to their shared bedroom, and you both instinctively pause, a silent agreement hanging between you as you ease open the door just enough to slip inside. The room is softly lit by a nightlight in the corner casting a warm, gentle glow. You move first, bending to lay Nina down into her bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she settles into her pillow, the smallest smile flickering across her sleeping face.

Natasha steps forward, carrying Lily with the same care, lowering her slowly, as if she was releasing something precious. She smooths the blankets over Lily’s small form, her hand lingering on her daughter’s shoulder for a brief moment, her thumb brushing in a gentle, protective arc.

You both stand back, side by side, your eyes on the two little figures in the bed, their steady breaths filling the silence between you. 

You turn first, giving the room one last look before stepping into the hallway, leaving the door just a crack open. Natasha lingers, her gaze falling on the spot where you had stood only moments before. She doesn’t follow immediately, instead letting herself absorb of the room, the weight of it pressing on her chest.

Then, Natasha’s feet shuffle lightly on the carpet, her shoulders tight, her movements more careful than usual. She takes a breath, then steps into the hallway, spotting you just ahead, walking back down the dimly lit corridor, your shoulders softly sloped in a way she recognizes well. Her pulse stutters, a swell of unvoiced words caught in her throat as she trails behind, her eyes fixed on your silhouette.

You pause, turning slowly, the faintest glint of something heavy in your eyes. Natasha freezes, almost holding her breath as you look up at her, gaze wavering, like you’re fighting with words you’re not sure you should say. She knows this look well enough to brace herself, the feeling of dread curling in her stomach. Her shoulders stiffen, instinctively preparing for the worst as the silence stretches, each second laced with something unspeakable.

“I… wanted to talk to you about something,” you say gently, almost catching her by surprise. 

Natasha’s shoulders drop a fraction, her breath catching at your words. She hadn’t expected that, not tonight. Her gaze flickers, uncertain but hopeful, as she steps closer, nodding her head eagerly. 

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. She’s trying to appear calm, but there’s a tension in her eyes, a cautious vulnerability that betrays her. She searches your face for any hint, any sign of what you’re about to say. 

“Lily’s birthday is coming up,” you say softly, your gaze finally lifting to meet Natasha’s, even if just for a moment.

Natasha nods slowly, trying to read between the lines, unsure of what you’re really thinking. She remembers every birthday, every milestone, how you used to plan together, side by side, laughing over cake designs and decorations.

“Lily keeps asking…” you start, your voice so quiet Natasha has to strain to hear. She watches you, noting the way you hesitate, choosing your words with care. “If we could go back to Wanda’s cabin. You know the girls like it there…”

The suggestion hangs heavy between you. Her mind floods with memories of those trips—Wanda’s warm cabin, the girls’ laughter, the four of you bundled in sweaters, sharing cozy meals and evening walks in the crisp, autumn air. Those times felt like forever in the best way possible, like nothing could disturb the harmony you’d built together.

“Yeah… yeah, they love it,” Natasha murmurs, her voice catching. Her eyes are distant, clouded with thoughts she isn’t sure she’s allowed to express. The idea of returning feels almost like opening a door she thought you’d closed for good. Still, the prospect brings a bittersweet hope, like maybe a piece of the life she lost could be revived, if only for several days. 

You shift uncomfortably, glancing away as though admitting this feels too vulnerable, as if voicing it aloud might betray too much of what you’re holding back.

Your words come out soft, almost as if they’d slipped through a crack in your resolve. “It’d be weird to go without you… For them, I mean.” 

The admission lingers, tentative, like an echo that neither of you expected. Natasha stands there, motionless, her gaze locked on you, and you can feel the weight of her eyes on you. She doesn’t respond, perhaps because she doesn’t know how to, or maybe because there’s nothing she could say that would sound right after everything that happened.

You keep your eyes on the floor—this reluctant honesty shared after years of trying to keep a cautious distance. There’s a tenderness in the air, one that feels unfamiliar now, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since the divorce. Natasha doesn’t move, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll reach for you, break the wall of silence. But she just stays there, rooted, like she’s afraid that any movement might shatter the understanding you’ve found yourselves in.

“Maybe, we could… all go,” Natasha offers finally, her voice hushed. “If that’s what you want.”

You glance up, catching her eyes for the first time in what feels like ages. There’s a weight there, a heaviness she carries, lingering regret woven into her eyes. You break the gaze quickly, focusing on a spot on the wall behind her, holding onto the barrier you’ve had to build to keep yourself steady. 

“It’s what Lily wants.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, nodding slowly, her fingers fidgeting by her sides. The truth is plain between you: this isn’t really about what either of you want. It’s about the tiny person who’s still dreaming down the hall, in her own perfect, unbroken world where her family feels whole. And somehow, even after everything, you both want to keep it that way for her. The idea of doing this trip together feels as precarious as it does bittersweet. But the image of Lily’s face when she sees you all together, the way she lights up at the mention of Wanda’s cabin, that’s enough to ease the ache.

Natasha leaves late that night, a soft click of the door echoing in the house after she’s gone. You’re left in the quiet, the weight of the decision settling slowly over you. You’d both agreed—two nights, maybe three—just enough time for the girls to enjoy their favorite place, to breathe in the crisp air and marvel at the autumn leaves.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, the thought of those days stirring up a mix of emotions you’ve worked so hard to bury. There’s excitement for the girls, the way their faces will light up at seeing Wanda’s cabin again. You can almost picture Nina and Lily scrambling around the place, giggling and squealing, thrilled at the rare chance to have both their parents there together, even if things have changed.

As you glance down the hall where they’re still sleeping, you wonder what it will feel like to play at something close to normal, if only for a few days. For Lily, for Nina—you would try to make it work.

A few weeks later, Natasha arrives in her old grey Lada Niva. You could hear the familiar rumble of the engine before you even see the car pull up. You’d almost forgotten the way it sounds—the low, steady hum that used to fill the spaces between you two, back when things were simpler. The car, a relic from another time, was a piece of Natasha that never changed, a constant that the girls had grown to love just as much as she did. It had been years since you’d last ridden in it, since those family road trips that now felt like distant memories you barely dared to touch.

Nina and Lily don’t hold back, rushing to the door as Natasha parks, their excited squeals echoing as they shout, “Mama!” and clamber down the front steps. 

You watch as she steps out, smiling with that familiar, easy warmth that once felt like home. She crouches to their level, her arms opening as they run to her, and you can’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart as she lifts them both in a swift, effortless motion, twirling them around like old times. Her laughter, soft and genuine, floats over to you as you linger in the doorway, a faint, bittersweet ache stirring within you.

She looks up from the girls, her gaze meeting yours, and you catch the flicker of something in her eyes—maybe nostalgia, maybe uncertainty, or maybe something else entirely. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the unease, then grab the bags by the door. You brace yourself for the weight of them, but as you take a step forward, Natasha’s shadow moves alongside you, close enough that you feel her presence before you hear her voice.

“Hey, let me,” she murmurs, her voice soft and warm. 

Before you can protest, her hands reach for the bags, fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. It’s a touch so light that it leaves a ghostly warmth lingering on your skin, but it’s enough to catch you off guard, your breath hitching as she gently eases the bags out of your hands.

You watch as she walks over to the car, her movements steady and familiar, the ease with which she lifts the weight somehow comforting and unsettling all at once. Her shoulders are relaxed, yet there’s a focus in the way she sets the bags in the trunk. She turns back to you, a faint smile pulling at her lips, and for a fleeting second, the past seems to slip into the present.

You tear your gaze away to walk over and open the passenger door and slide in, the scent of old leather and faint traces of Natasha’s cologne unmistakable. It’s strange, slipping back into this space, sitting beside her again like this, feeling the past brushing close but staying just out of reach.

The drive was quiet for the most part, other than the sound of the girls’ favorite songs playing on the car radio. Natasha’s hands grip the steering wheel with ease, and her driving is as steady as it always was. Outside the window, the trees blur by, softened by late autumn light, and you lose yourself in the landscape. 

Every now and then, Natasha’s gaze strays from the road to linger on you. She catches herself, tries to refocus, but her eyes drift back almost instinctively, drawn to the way you sit, wrapped in your own thoughts. Her hand hovers just slightly above her thigh, muscles tensing with the urge to reach out and place it on yours, an instinct that feels so ingrained it’s almost muscle memory. But she pulls back, fingers flexing as they return to the wheel. She remembers all the times she’d reach over without thinking, her palm resting against your thigh. 

And as she glances at you once more, her chest tightens, that feeling of missing you growing stronger each and every day. 

“There’s more trees now,” Natasha mutters, driving along the dirt path, getting closer towards the destination. 

The cabin sits quietly in the woods, nestled under a canopy of tall pines. It’s quiet and private—the next house probably miles away. The air is cool and crisp, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, and when you text Wanda to let her know you’ve arrived, her reply is short, almost comforting in a way, telling you to enjoy yourselves with a tiny smiley face at the end. She doesn’t need to say much; she knows what this place means. She knows it has its own kind of healing, as subtle as the wind rustling through the trees.

When you get out of the car, you unload your things, the girls’ things, and settle in to the cabin.

The girls are thrilled to be here. They take to the cabin with the kind of joy only children can muster, filling the space with giggles that spill out through open windows. They chase each other around the clearing, calling for Natasha to play along, and she does, jumping into their games with an ease that’s somehow both comforting and bittersweet. She’s gentle with them, her patience surprising in moments when the girls demand more and more of her. She spins them in her arms, laughs with them, gets them to try new tricks—whatever they ask, she does. She’s always been a good mother. You’ve never doubted that.

You find yourself watching from the porch, hands wrapped around a mug that’s gone cold, rooted in place by the weight of memories. Sometimes you slip inside, needing the familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring, needing to focus on something simple, something that grounds you. The scents of rosemary and garlic fill the kitchen, and it’s strange, but this simple act of cooking feels like a kind of armor. It’s something you can control, even if you feel like everything else is slipping from your grasp.

Natasha catches your eye sometimes, her glance lingering in a way that almost feels hesitant, as if she’s waiting for you to join them. But you stay back, listening to the sounds of their laughter from a distance. You’ve built walls around yourself, fragile as they are, and the thought of letting them down, even for a moment, feels terrifying. You want to be a part of this, to let yourself fall into the warmth of your family again, but something holds you back. So you stay where you are, like an outsider in your own life. 

The first night the girls are already settled into their beds, sleeping peacefully and Natasha is in the living room, moving quietly, tugging a thin sheet over the lumpy couch cushions and fluffing a pillow that barely holds its shape. Her movements are careful, almost too careful. From the shadowed hallway, you watch her in silence. You know how stiff her back gets, how this couch does her no favors, and how, come morning, the sun will stream straight through the window to warm her face uncomfortably awake. You sigh, a little louder than you mean to, and Natasha glances up but doesn’t see you there, just lingering in the shadows, uncertain.

Finally, you take a breath and step into the dim light of the living room, your voice quiet as you say, “The bed is big enough for both of us, you know. You could sleep there. If you want.” You try to keep your tone casual, as if you haven’t thought this over a hundred times, and shrug lightly. “But you don’t have to. It’s just… an option.”

She stands still, her hand pausing over the pillow, eyes glancing to the floor. Of course she wanted to. But she looks at you, hesitant, as if searching for any hint that this offer is anything more than what you said it was. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, something softened by a yearning she’s trying too hard to hide from you.

Without waiting for her response, you turn and walk away, not looking back, not wanting to see the indecision flickering across her face. 

For a moment, the silence stretches and fills the empty room behind you. You hear the softest rustle as she stands there, still unsure, before her footsteps follow yours into the bedroom, cautious and quiet. The bed creaks as she settles on her side, keeping a respectful distance, her breaths slow and steady. She doesn’t say a word, but you feel her presence, steady and comforting, like a familiar warmth close enough to touch yet lingering just out of reach.

Natasha lies stiffly on the edge of the bed, her back turned but senses tuned to every breath you take beside her. The proximity—it feels like an exquisite kind of torture, and she’s aware that it’s probably worse than any discomfort the couch could have offered. But somehow, she welcomes it, aches for it, even as she tells herself to keep her distance, to keep her composure.

She can feel the warmth radiating from you, close enough that the tiniest shift would bring her shoulder against yours, but she keeps herself still, staring into the dark, wide awake. Her mind refuses to settle; memories tumble through her thoughts, fragments of laughter, the easy warmth you used to share. She finds herself painfully aware of the rise and fall of your breathing, the gentle way your face looks when you’re asleep, and she almost can’t contain herself.

She knows she won’t sleep tonight. How could she, lying here in the same bed, close enough to touch you, yet worlds apart?

But eventually, as the night wears on, she does. 

It’s your breathing that does it, she realizes, grounding her, washing over her like a lullaby. The sound is soft but constant, and she closes her eyes, letting it surround her, allowing herself, just this once, to be comforted by it. Her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to rest beside yours on the sheets, but she holds backinstead.

And, in time, Natasha drifts off, lulled by the gentle rhythm of you beside her, more at ease than she’s been in years.

The next night, you help Lily and Nina bake a cake. 

The kitchen is a mess. Flour dusts the countertops, the floor, even speckles across your cheeks and Lily’s small hands. Nina stands on her tiptoes on a kitchen stool, eyeing the mixing bowl with such intense concentration that you can’t help but smile. It’s chaotic and loud, with squeals of laughter whenever a dollop of batter splatters onto someone’s arm. Lily is at the helm, her little hands wielding a wooden spoon as if it’s a magic wand.

“Mommy, I want the sprinkles!” she exclaims, reaching for a bright container of them before you even have a chance to measure them out. 

But you don’t stop her; it’s her night, and this mess is hers to make. Every year she insists on making her own birthday cake, decorating it however she pleases, and every year it’s as beautifully haphazard as she is. You watch her, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm, her innocence.

Natasha watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She takes in the scene quietly, hoping that it’d never go away—the joy, the laughter, the way Nina’s eyes light up as she carefully mixes ingredients, the concentration on Lily’s face as she decorates her cake, and then, you… God, you looked so beautiful. The mother of her children. The person she once called her wife. When you glance over, you catch Natasha’s gaze, and there’s a tenderness there as she smiles lightly at you, knowing exactly where her place is. So, she doesn’t move. She watches. 

Eventually, the cake is baked, golden and imperfect, with sprinkles scattered unevenly over thick layers of frosting. It’s more of an abstract work of art than anything, but Lily beams with pride, her little hands sticky with icing as she admires her creation.

When it’s finally time to sing, she stands on a chair, practically glowing as everyone joins in, voices soft and full of love. Everybody sings. The light of the candle flickers across the girls’ faces as Natasha’s voice blends in with yours, and for a moment, everything feels… whole. You catch her eye again, and she looks at you with something unreadable—hope, maybe.

But you look away and her smile falls.

Then, Wanda visits on the last day.

Her visit catches you off guard, appearing just as you’re gathering up the last odds and ends in the cabin. She breezes in with that familiar smile, warmth radiating from her as if she’d been here all along, making herself at home in the easy way she always does. It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw her, yet here she is, greeting the girls with the kind of affection that only Wanda has, her laugh bright and contagious as she swoops them up one by one. You can’t help but smile as they cling to her, their giggles filling the cabin as they chatter on about every little detail of the weekend, as if they hadn’t seen her in ages.

Then, somewhere between the hugs and the laughter, Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a glimmer of something mischievous sparking in them. 

Before you know it, she’s suggested ice cream, casually slipping the offer into the air, barely giving you a moment to consider before Nina and Lily’s eyes light up with excitement, their voices blending into one constant, pleading hum of “Please, Mommy, please!” 

You hesitate, glancing around at the half-packed bags and open suitcases scattered on the floor. There’s still so much to do, and the sky outside has that heavy look to it, the kind that promises to come down hard if given the chance. You shoot Wanda a skeptical look, but she just waves it off, her voice light and certain. 

“Oh, I’ll just take them real quick,” she says, already holding out her hands as Nina grabs one, Lily the other.

You glance once more at the ominous clouds hanging low in the sky. They should wait, you think, but you’ve already seen the way their faces light up at the mention of ice cream, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, not when they’re this happy. 

So you sigh, pulling each of them close for a quick hug, whispering your usual cautions, “Be careful, okay? And Wanda, please… it looks like it’s about to rain.”

With a final nod, you watch as they pile out the door, their voices fading into the thick silence left in their wake. And suddenly, it’s just you and Natasha, an entire cabin somehow feeling smaller without the girls. She clears her throat softly, moving to help with a stray pile of blankets, and you follow. 

The silence between you stretches on and you find yourself too aware of every sound she makes, the soft rustling of fabric, the soft padding of her steps across the creaky wooden floor. You don’t dare look at her, not directly, focusing instead on the small tasks in front of you: folding the blankets with slow, methodical care, stacking up dishes in silence, packing up the girls’ scattered toys one by one. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see Natasha’s glances, her fingers moving with a touch too gentle, as if each item in her hands were something precious, something irreplaceable.

When she reaches over, her hand brushing yours as she passes a blanket, you freeze for the briefest second, your heart pounding in a way you wish you could ignore. It’s strange, this small gesture—nothing more than a graze of skin, but it feels heavy. 

After a moment, Natasha clears her throat, shifting her gaze to the window where the sky darkens further.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you, but her voice is close, familiar in a way that aches, that reminds you of nights spent together, whispering in the dark. 

And you want to say something, to fill the silence with something else, but the words won’t come out. 

Instead, you both go back to packing in silence, And as you reach for another item, you catch her eyes on you again, lingering a second longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable passing through them before she looks away.

When the last bag is zipped and the blankets are folded neatly on the couch, the sky finally breaks open with a relentless downpour. Raindrops hammer against the cabin roof. You glance out the window, watching as the world outside the cabin turns hazy and blurred, colors melting together in streaks. It’s coming down harder than you expected, the kind of rain that turns roads to rivers, and any hope of a quick drive to meet Wanda and the girls seems to vanish.

Natasha stands beside you, her gaze following yours out the window. There’s something calming in the way she stands there, shoulders relaxed, as if she were rooted to the spot, waiting without a rush. She doesn’t offer any suggestion about the rain or attempt to fill the silence, and somehow, that makes it harder to ignore her presence. 

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, low and resonant, like a warning. You watch as Natasha crosses her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve as if in thought, and you can tell she’s trying to gauge the storm, trying to calculate how long you’ll be stuck here together.

Natasha looks over at you, an almost apologetic look flickering across her face. “I’ll go check on the car real quick,” she murmurs, her voice low enough to blend with the rain. “I know we probably shouldn’t go anywhere right now, but it’s old, and it never does well sitting in rain like this.”

You only nod, saying nothing, watching her pull on a jacket and tug the hood over her head before slipping out the front door. The rain swallows her figure instantly, and you see her trudge through the mud, her boots sinking slightly with every step. 

Through the window, you can just barely make out the shape of Natasha as she reaches the car, her hand brushing over its rain-streaked surface with a soft touch, like she’s apologizing to it for what she’s about to ask of it. The headlights flicker as she tries to turn it over, but the engine groans before settling into silence again. Another turn of the key yields the same result, the rumble followed by a spluttering cough as the car refuses to cooperate, sinking ever deeper into the mud.

You watch as Natasha leans back in the driver’s seat, her shoulders slumping in quiet resignation. She presses her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, as if gathering herself, then takes a deep breath and steps out. She gives the car a gentle, almost defeated pat on the hood, the look of someone who knows they’ve tried all they can. When she glances back toward the cabin, her gaze lifts to find you through the window.

She walks back, her steps slow, head slightly bowed against the storm. When she reaches the porch, Natasha shakes out her hood, droplets splashing across the wooden boards, and stands for a moment, hesitating as if she doesn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news. But there’s a strange, almost gentle softness in her gaze as she finally meets your eyes.

“It’s stuck,” she says quietly, tugging the hood down. “The mud’s got it pretty good, and… I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight.” 

You nod, trying to ignore the small part of you that almost feels relief at her words. You watch the rainwater drip down from her jacket, forming a small puddle at her feet, and the cabin’s warmth surrounds you both, soft and heavy. Natasha only watches you as you pull your phone out to text Wanda. You fumble with your phone, tapping the screen to try and coax a single bar of signal to life. Nothing. The little icon taunts you with its emptiness, a dead end in the storm. 

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that it almost feels like an afterthought, something you wish would disappear into the sounds of the rain.

Natasha’s voice, gentle and steady, breaks through. “I’m sure the girls are fine with Wanda…”

You look at her. Her gaze is fixed on you, softened by a faint worry lingering at the corners of her eyes. There’s a sincerity you see in her irises. You look away, down to your phone as though it might somehow find a way to work.

The silence settles in again, heavier this time. Natasha shifts on her feet, uncertain, as if waiting for something from you—a response, an assurance, anything to break the tension she can feel thickening in the air. But instead, you simply pocket your phone, shoulders tense as you press your lips together in thought, a part of you unwilling to trust that everything is okay. You don’t respond, your mind too wrapped up in worry, feeling that gnawing pit in your stomach that refuses to ease, the sense that something is just… out of reach, outside of your control.

The rain comes down in sheets, a constant drumming against the windows and the roof, filling the air with a steady hum. But inside, the silence between you and Natasha is deafening, thicker than the rain, pressing down on you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Each passing second feels heavier, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel under the weight of it. It’s suffocating, somehow.

You glance down, trying to keep your breathing steady, but there’s something clawing at you from the inside, a mix of panic and… something else. The feeling of being here alone with her, the person you loved so much and lost so painfully, is almost too much to bear. You press your lips together, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your hands start to tremble just a little. It’s as if everything’s closing in on you, the walls, the quiet, the memories. You sense Natasha watching you, catching the small signs you’re trying to hide. Her gaze is warm, careful, as if she’s afraid that one wrong move could make everything fall apart. She shifts, almost reaching out, her hand hesitating in the space between you, as if she’s weighing whether she has the right to offer any comfort.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence, and you almost regret it instantly. It’s like you’ve let down a barrier, and Natasha’s expression softens, her eyes filled with something that’s so familiar it hurts. The ache inside you grows stronger, and you find yourself wanting to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You can feel the weight of all that’s unsaid between you—the hurt, the love, the quiet grief of two people who once had everything and lost it.

For a second, you catch her eye, and you’re pulled right back to those moments when it was just the two of you, when you didn’t need words to understand each other. You have to look away, not ready to face the full force of it.

You take a shaky step backward, feeling your chest tighten as you distance yourself from Natasha, as though putting even a few inches between you could somehow ease the ache clawing inside you. 

“I… I can’t be here,” you murmur, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice, raw and low.

You glance toward the rain-soaked windows, almost desperate for escape, the downpour outside strangely inviting, anything to cut through the weight of this moment. You’re one step from turning toward the door when you feel Natasha’s fingers close gently around your wrist, her hold soft but unyielding.

“I won’t let you go out in this rain,” she says, her voice steady, a quiet determination threading through her tone. She’s close now, closer than she’s been in so long, and the warmth of her hand against your skin, even through the fabric of your sleeve, sends a shiver down your spine.

You look down at her hand, your eyes tracing the lines of her fingers where they touch you, and for a moment, you feel yourself waver, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. It’s almost as if her touch could melt away everything you’re carrying, all the years, the heartbreak, the carefully rebuilt walls. But you don’t move, and she doesn’t let go.

“Please,” she whispers, her thumb brushing gently along your wrist. It’s the barest touch, but it’s enough to keep you grounded, to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to face this alone.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Natasha’s hand falls away from your wrist, fingers slipping into emptiness as if she’s retreating into herself. Her gaze drops, the slightest flinch crossing her face, a flash of something broken that she quickly tries to bury.

“I can go make you some tea,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, gentler than you’ve heard in a long time. It’s a soft offering that she knows has always brought you comfort.

But you turn away, steeling yourself. “I don’t need it,” you reply, sharper than you mean to, the words laced with bitterness you can’t hide.

Natasha hesitates, her hand hovering in the air like she wants to reach for you, to do something, anything, to take the pain from your eyes. “It’ll help—” she begins softly.

“I don’t need anything from you,” you cut her off, voice splintering, more forceful this time, a fierce edge to the words that lands heavy in the space between you.

Natasha stares, caught off guard, and her expression shifts, something fragile crossing her face that she can’t quite hide. She opens her mouth, but no words come, her voice lodged somewhere too deep to reach. She doesn’t fight back, doesn’t press you. Instead, she just watches, taking in every tremor, every piece of you she’s shattered.

And that’s when you feel it—everything inside you begins to unravel, as if a dam has broken. Your voice drops to a whisper, your gaze falling to the floor, and your hands start to shake as you choke out, “I don’t… I don’t need you.” 

The words come softer, barely audible, and you realize it’s as much for yourself as it is for her.

But then your voice cracks, your resolve slipping, and the truth of it cuts into you like glass. The tears come, quiet at first, slipping down your cheeks as you try to hold it together, but the pain is too much. You can’t stop the sobs that rise, each one sharper than the last, as the weight of it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Natasha’s heart twists painfully as she watches you, each quiet sob striking her deeper than any wound she’s ever endured. She hates seeing you like this, hates that she’s the reason for it. Every tear, every tremor, is a reminder of the ways she’s failed you. There’s a pain that fills her, clawing at her chest as she stands there, watching you break in front of her, knowing there’s nothing she can do to piece you back together.

Her hands itch to reach out, to pull you close, to soothe you the way she used to. But the distance between you feels unbridgeable. She can only stand there, fists clenching at her sides as she tries to steady herself, feeling utterly powerless. Regret presses down on her, heavy and unrelenting, mingling with a love she never stopped feeling and a longing that never seems to fade.

Every part of her wants to close the gap, to say something that might ease the pain she’s caused, but all she can manage is a quiet, broken whisper. 

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs.

It’s the same apology she’s given a hundred times, one that feels worn out, hoping it will somehow be enough to mend what’s been broken. But even as the words leave her lips, she knows they don’t carry the weight they used to.

Your hands reach up to push her weakly. It only takes three pushes until Natasha feels the cool wall of the cabin press against her back as your hands meet her chest, each shove more desperate than the last. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t move to stop you, just lets you push her—lets you release everything that’s been simmering inside. The look in her eyes is pained but unwavering, as if she knows she deserves every bit of anger, every ounce of resentment, that you hurl at her.

When your voice breaks on those words, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” it feels like something inside her is splintering. 

She’s faced countless enemies, stared down dangers most people couldn’t imagine, but nothing has ever gutted her like hearing you say those words. Her chest aches in a way she can’t describe; it’s a hollow, consuming pain that only comes from hurting someone you love.

“I hate you,” you say again.

Natasha swallows, her own eyes shining with unshed tears as she reaches out instinctively, hesitantly, as if she might still be able to comfort you, though she knows it’s selfish. Her fingers brush your arms, just barely, but she stops, feeling unworthy to touch you, even if every fiber of her being wants to hold you.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice low, raw. “I know. I hate myself too.” Her words come out fractured, like she’s fighting to keep them steady.

You press against Natasha with the last bit of strength you have left, hands shoving her even as your body begins to crumble under the weight of all you’ve been holding back. Your knees weaken, unsteady as a wave of exhaustion overtakes you, and you feel yourself start to slip. And Natasha, still pressed against the wall, doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for you, arms encircling you in one swift, instinctive movement, pulling you close against her as though she’s been waiting for this—for any chance to hold you again. 

You struggle at first, fists pressing weakly against her chest as you try to push her away, to break free from the comfort that only stings in its familiarity. But Natasha’s grip is firm, and steady, that doesn’t falter as you fight against her. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t loosen her hold; she just holds you close, pressing you to her, heart hammering beneath your cheek.

Eventually, the exhaustion wins. All of your fight slips away. A ragged sob escapes your lips, and then another, and before you know it, you’re crying fully, the sound muffled against the warmth of Natasha’s neck. She lets her cheek rest against the top of your head, her hand moving to stroke your back in small, soothing circles, each touch tender and careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking what little is left of you.

“I’m here,” she whispers into your hair, her voice barely a breath, soft and unwavering. “I’m right here.” 

She repeats it, holding you even closer, feeling each of your sobs shake through her. For the first time in a long time, Natasha feels you, feels you surrender in her arms, and it breaks her as much as it mends her.

Eventually, your sobs subside, fading into shallow, uneven breaths. You can feel Natasha’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, and the room settles into a stillness as heavy as the rain outside. Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your head, pulling back just enough to see her face. And in that close space between you, you realize she’s been crying too. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light, eyes raw and vulnerable in a way that you’ve almost forgotten.

You take her in, every detail of her face, so familiar yet somehow achingly new. Her lips part, a trembling breath barely filling the space between you, and there’s something almost fragile in her gaze, like she’s as uncertain of this as you are. 

Neither of you speaks.

And before you can second-guess it, before you can pull yourself back, your lips meet hers. The touch is gentle, neither of you moving too quickly, afraid to shatter whatever understanding has settled between you. Natasha’s hand moves slowly, coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek so that nearly undoes you.

The kiss deepens, the two of you leaning into each other, guiding each other towards the couch just behind you. You straddle her, settling yourself on her lap, feeling the heat radiating from her body, and it’s intoxicating. Your hands tangle in her hair, drawing her closer, as your lips press against each other. You feel her tongue in your mouth, moaning against your lips and for the first time in years, she remembers the taste of you. She wanted more. More. More. More—

And Natasha snaps back to reality. 

“I can’t do this,” she gasps, pulling away, her breath uneven, a pained look etched across her face.

You freeze, disbelief washing over you like a cold tide. “What?” you whisper, the weight of her words crashing into you. 

It’s as if the ground has fallen out beneath your feet. The warmth you felt disappeared, replaced by an uncomfortable chill that seeps into your bones. You feel it all over again. You feel unwanted. And you wanted to get away from her, as fast as you could. 

But Natasha’s grip tightens around your hips, anchoring you in place. “No, no, please,” she pleads. “Please don’t go.”

Her voice breaks and stops your movements. Instead of pushing away, you find yourself drawn back into her orbit. Natasha pulls you closer, resting her forehead against your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her tears soak into the fabric of your shirt. You sit there in silence, letting Natasha cry against you. 

You remember the warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she saw you, how her touch used to feel like home. You sigh, feeling the ache in your chest as Natasha clings to you. It feels strange, foreign even, to see her like this, to feel her emotions pouring out when she’s usually so guarded, so composed. You gently run your fingers through her red hair, each stroke an attempt to calm her down just as it always did. It’s rare to see Natasha like this, and the sight of her tears pulls at something deep within you, something that refuses to let go of the memories you once shared.

Her breath is warm against your neck as she whispers, “It’s not that I don’t want you…” Her voice trembles, soft and almost hesitant. “I always want you… but I want you to be sure. I want you to want me too… not now… not when we’re still fighting like this.”

The words settle heavily between you. Her confession is raw and earnest, a glimpse into the heart she so rarely lets anyone see. The warmth of her touch and the depth of her gaze make you feel as though you’re standing on the edge of something vast and uncertain. You could so easily fall back into her arms but the walls that the two of you have built—brick by painful brick—are still there.

“I know,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, trying to find the right words to bridge the space between you. 

You want to tell her that you’re here, that part of you has always been here, waiting. But you’re afraid too, afraid of what wanting her again could mean, afraid of the heartbreak that might be waiting if things were to fall apart once more. You pause, resting your cheek against her head, feeling the soft tickle of her hair against your skin. 

“I know,” you say again, softer this time, as if to convince yourself as much as her.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut, and she lets out a long, unsteady sigh as she pulls you closer, absorbing the feeling of your warmth, the familiar weight of you against her. It’s been years since she’s held you like this, years since she’s felt your skin. Every inch of her aches with the realization of how much she’s missed this—missed you.

She lets her fingers trace gentle circles on your back, each touch cautious, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away the second she lets go. Memories flood her mind of the times when the two of you were unbreakable, your worlds wrapped around each other. All of it feels so close, so painfully real, like she could reach out and grasp it, yet impossibly far away. She’s overwhelmed, but she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to let go.

She listens to the rain, feels you underneath her fingertips, the scent of your skin filling her nose. She dreamed of holding you like this everyday for the past three years. And now that she had it, she wanted it forever. 

“Where did we go wrong?” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear. 

The question catches Natasha off-guard, lingers in the air between you, and she can barely bring herself to breathe, almost afraid that any movement might shatter this moment. She holds you a little tighter, as if she could somehow shield you from the pain in your voice.

She feels the weight of all the memories, the years you’ve shared, pressing down on her. She nuzzles closer, her face tucked into the curve of your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin against hers, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. She’s surprised you haven’t pulled away yet, as if the tenderness still feels too familiar, too natural.

“It’s my fault,” Natasha whispers, barely louder than the rain outside, her voice breaking around the edges. Her heart races, and she doesn’t dare to look at you, afraid of the hurt she knows she’ll see in your eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze drifting somewhere past her, lost in thought. “You don’t think… I gave you a reason to… to find someone else?”

She’s stunned into silence, the realization settling over her that maybe, somehow, you’ve been carrying this blame, wondering if you were part of the reason she’d broken the life you built together. She blinks, swallowing hard as she tries to find the words, a flicker of panic rising in her chest.

“No,” she says firmly, her voice steady yet soft, almost pleading. She shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand gently brushing your cheek. “No, it was never because of you.”

But you’re still looking at her, and your voice trembles, barely holding back the pain. 

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she says.

Your eyes harden and you pull back slightly to look at her face, “The truth. You owe me that.”

She didn’t want to say it. Her heart twists, and she hesitates, closing her eyes as she forces herself to say the words she’s been too afraid to admit—even to herself.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” Her voice wavers, her fingers tightening their hold on you as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you all over again.

The silence between you is thick and heavy, your breaths filling the quiet space as you absorb her words. She feels the guilt clawing at her, as if she’s baring every part of herself, hoping that you can see the truth buried within her confession. She never wanted to hurt you. She never wanted to push you away. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of what mattered most, and she’d convinced herself it was too late, that the love you’d once shared had slipped through her fingers.

The word slips out, barely audible, cracked and raw. “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Natasha feels it wrap around her heart. She forces herself to look at you, even though the sight of that single tear tracing its way down your cheek makes her want to look away. She knows this answer; she’s carried it silently, wordlessly, and now it seems so inevitable that you’d finally ask her.

She tries to swallow, her voice almost too thick to form the words. “You… you stopped touching me.”

It’s such a small statement, so simple, yet it feels too big, too complicated, as if it holds every untold truth between you. 

She falters, looking down at her hands, gathering herself before she tries to explain. 

“I don’t mean… just sex,” she says softly, her head shaking almost in shame, as if she doesn’t trust you to believe her. “It was all the little things. We used to be close, you know? I liked touching you, even if it was just brushing my hand against yours… feeling you next to me in bed. I liked—” 

She pauses, her voice catching as she tries to summon the tenderness that’s still tucked away somewhere in the past. 

“I liked holding you at night. I liked standing close to you when you cook. I liked that you liked holding my hands no matter how rough they were. And I loved how you’d kiss me before I left the house, or the way you’d kiss me again as soon as I came back…”

She trails off, the words fading into the silence. The silence presses down between you. It’s all so achingly clear at this moment. You sit there, absorbing her words, the hurt spreading through you in waves as she continues. 

“And then… somewhere along the line, we just stopped,” she breathes into your neck. “We barely talked anymore. And when I tried to initiate anything… you’d pull away from me.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. But the way she says it hits you with a kind of clarity that feels like a wound reopening. She’s talking about something ordinary, something so small and routine that you can hardly believe it could be the reason for so much hurt. Yet now, hearing her say it, you realize how much those tiny moments meant. The gentle touches, the kisses, the reassurances you’d once given each other like breathing… how you pulled away from her… it was all fading even before you saw it happening.

She sits there, barely daring to breathe, looking at you with eyes that hold more regret than she’s ever known how to express. There’s a subtle twitch in her fingers, as if she wants to pull you even closer, to bridge that space between you that now feels so painfully wide.

The words spill out hesitantly, each one trembling with the weight of something you’ve kept hidden, maybe even from yourself. “I think… things changed for us after Nina was born.” 

The realization feels sharp, pressing against you. You’re not blaming Nina—she’s so innocent, so undeserving of even a hint of this pain—but it’s like tracing back a long path through a dark wood, seeing the moments where you veered off course, where insecurities took root without you realizing it.

Natasha’s gaze is soft as she looks at you, her thumb grazing over your waist in small, comforting circles, coaxing you to keep talking. 

“Why?” she asks gently, like she’s holding space for you.

You hesitate, feeling the words catch in your throat, but you force yourself to continue. “I don’t know… I… I’m the one who pulled away first.”

Natasha’s fingers pause on your waist, her focus fully on you, willing you to keep going. Her voice is a low murmur, soft but insistent, “Why did you pull away?”

The question cracks something open inside you, and you feel your lips start to quiver, your chest tightening with the ache of it all. You’re on the edge of sobbing again, but you push forward, knowing you can’t stop now. “Because I changed after Nina was born.”

Natasha’s brows knit together as she searches your face. “What do you mean?”

You take a shaky breath, looking down for a moment, as if saying it out loud will finally make it real, and will confirm what you’ve been so afraid to confront. 

“My… my body changed.” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and almost embarrassed, but it’s there, raw and painfully honest.

A light bulb flickers on in Natasha’s mind as she processes your words. 

“Did you think I had an issue with your body after Nina was born?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with both offense and confusion. She wants to understand, to dig deeper into your emotions. “Did you think I wouldn’t want you if your body changed?”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks like the rain outside, each drop echoing the chaos inside. 

“No, I…” You struggle for the right words, each syllable weighed down with shame. “I don’t know. It was so stupid… Y-You’re always in shape, Natasha. Everyone you know and work with… they’re all perfect and strong and beautiful. And you’d come home and I’d be struggling to lose the weight I gained when I was pregnant. I’d have baby food in my hair. The times I didn’t get to shower early enough because taking care of the girls could get so hectic sometimes… and you would come home to that… and I thought…” 

Your voice trails off, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your chest. Natasha’s expression shifts as she absorbs your words, her brows furrowing in a way that reveals how deeply your pain affects her. She shakes her head, protesting against the image you’ve painted of yourself. 

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, (Y/n). Always,” she says softly, wiping away your tears with her thumbs, her touch gentle yet firm, as if she could erase the hurt with the warmth of her hands. “I don’t look at you and think anything else other than how breathtaking you are. You carried and gave birth to both of our beautiful girls. That alone means everything to me. You didn’t have to pull away from me.”

“I… I pulled away… because I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore…” you confess, each word punctuated by the quiet sobs that escape you, an avalanche of emotions finally breaking free.

“I always want you,” Natasha sighs, a tear slipping down her cheek, mirroring your own pain. She murmurs, her voice thick with regret. “I wish I knew… I should’ve asked. I should’ve…” 

Her words tumbled out in a rush. You see the depth of her sorrow, the realization that she could have made a difference if only she had reached out, if only she had known. As you cry silently, Natasha takes your hands in hers, cradling them like fragile treasures. 

“I should’ve told you,” you say, watching as she soothed her fingers gently over your hands. 

“No,” she interjects, her tone firm but gentle. “I should’ve known. I should’ve clued in on what was going on a long time ago.”

Natasha looks at you softly, memories flood her mind—images of that one night, a night she’d tried to forget but couldn’t escape. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at her as she replayed the moments leading up to her decision to leave. She remembers the heavy weight of despair that had settled in her chest, suffocating and relentless, making it impossible to breathe. She had convinced herself that if she went out, if she got drunk enough, maybe the pain of feeling unwanted would fade away.

But it only deepened.

In her haze, she had followed a woman into bed, desperately trying to imagine the warmth of your body in place of hers, the softness of your laughter, your gentle voice reassuring her that everything was okay, that you loved her. Natasha had thought that perhaps, just for a moment, she could replace the feeling of loneliness with something that resembled closeness. But the alcohol only made her feel more lost, more empty. And when the fog of the night began to lift, reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

Then, the devastation that followed was unbearable, the realization that she was lying next to someone who wasn’t you was a betrayal of its own. She had stumbled back to her car, tears streaming down her face as she cried against the steering wheel, the home you shared just miles away, reminding her of everything she had thrown away in that one moment of weakness.

“I wish I didn’t leave that night. I should’ve stayed with you,” Natasha murmurs, the regret thick in her voice.

She looks down, fingers fidgeting restlessly against your waist. The memory of that night, the night she let her pain turn her into someone she didn’t recognize, stings like an open wound.

In her mind, it replays over and over with cruel clarity: the empty bed she left behind, the bitter taste of jealousy and self-doubt that drove her out the door, and the alcohol she turned to, hoping it would numb the ache. But it only made things worse. 

She remembers how her vision blurred, and in the hazy, dimly lit room, she’d let herself believe she was somewhere else—back home, with you, as if she could trick herself into feeling loved. She imagined your skin. She imagined your lips. She imagined your hands. She imagined your voice. She imagined it all to be you. She wanted it so badly to be you. That the woman she was with became an illusion that she’d desperately wanted to be real.

But it wasn’t. It was a lie she told herself, a lie that shattered the instant she sobered up. And when she told you the truth, when she saw the pain in your eyes, she knew the weight of what she’d done.

Her voice breaks as she continues, “I thought… that if I could just close my eyes and pretend, I’d feel close to you again.” 

She risks a glance up, searching your face for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything to soften the truth of what she’s saying.

“All I could think about was you,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to where your hands rest between you. “Even when I was trying so hard to forget. It was only you. It’s always only been you.”

There’s a silence, a moment where her words settle, and she braces herself, unsure if her honesty will bring you closer or push you further away.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” Natasha’s voice is barely above a whisper as she leans forward, resting her forehead against your shoulder, her hands slipping down to your hips, holding you gently but firmly against her lap. “I hate myself for hurting you as much as I did. And if I could go back and undo everything, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

There’s a tremor in her voice, a rawness in her apology that cuts through the walls you’d built, walls that once felt impenetrable, necessary. Now, they softened, melting under her words, her touches.

You sit there, not moving, not quite sure where to go with the ache that’s lodged itself in your chest. Natasha’s breath is warm against your neck, steady yet trembling with the emotion she can no longer contain. Her arms wrap tighter, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go. She presses her lips to your shoulder, a hesitant kiss, soft and laden with the weight of every unsaid apology, every moment she should’ve been there instead of elsewhere.

You feel your own heart twisting, caught between confusion and forgiveness, between the impulse to push her away and the urge to hold her closer, to let yourself be vulnerable just one more time. Natasha’s fingers flex against your hips, grounding herself in the reality of you here, with her, despite everything.

“I think… we were both lost, Natasha,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers threading gently through her red hair. Her hair is soft between your fingers, and somehow that simple act—the feel of her—grounds you both in the present.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, resting into your touch, as though she was seeking forgiveness in every gentle movement of your hand. Her eyes are closed, and you watch as her face softens, a flicker of relief and remorse still etched deep in her features.

“I was just… struggling… trying to hold everything together and forgetting… forgetting we were supposed to hold each other up.” Your voice cracks, but you push on, feeling Natasha’s grip on your waist tighten. “And you were hurting too. I didn’t even see it.”

Her eyes open then, green and full of something you can’t quite name. “I wish I had been stronger for the both of us… for you,” she murmurs, her hand lifting to brush a stray tear from your cheek. Her touch is warm, delicate, as if she’s afraid to break you any more than she already has.

You shake your head, your hand still buried in her hair. Your thumb strokes softly against her scalp, and her hand comes to cover yours, pressing it gently against her. Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and in that gaze, a flicker of hope ignites, mingled with uncertainty. 

“What do you want us to do?” she asks softly and you hesitate, the words catching in your throat. 

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you admit, and the honesty feels fragile. The confession hangs in the air, but it’s not a rejection. It’s an acknowledgment of the hurt that has settled deep in both of you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it,” Natasha replies, nodding her head in agreement, her voice thick with regret. 

“But I… maybe we could try. It won’t be easy,” you say, a spark of resolve rising within you. “But I want us to try. Not just for you and me… but for the girls too.” 

The thought of Lily and Nina grounds you, their innocent laughter echoing in your mind, reminding you of the love between you and Natasha not only affects the two of you, but the lives of your beautiful little girls as well. And they motivate you to be better, to be stronger in a lot of ways, no matter how scary something could be. 

Natasha blinks, taken aback by your words. She searches your eyes, searching for some sign of betrayal, some hint that this is just another cruel twist of fate, but all she finds is sincerity—a desperate wish for something more. To move forward. A possibility.

You take a shaky breath. The anger and bitterness that had clouded your heart for so long begin to dissipate, and you realize that the facade you had built to protect yourself was crumbling. You had pretended to hate her kb because it felt easier than confronting the truth—that all you wanted was her love, her touch, her presence beside you.

“You said you hate me,” Natasha murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as her gaze drifts to your lips. 

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “I always told myself that I did. I thought I did.” 

A silence stretches between you, thick with unsaid feelings and the echoes of past grievances. Natasha watches you intently, her emerald eyes searching for understanding, desperate to catch every part of your emotions.

“And even though I felt like I wanted to,” you continue, your voice trembling as the truth rises to the surface, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Natasha.” 

Her breath catches in her throat. She tilts her head slightly, allowing a small smile to break through the sorrow etched on her features. 

“You love me,” she repeats, her voice barely more than a murmur, eyes searching yours.

You take a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her gaze, the way it’s unraveling parts of you that you thought you’d locked away. 

“Don’t act surprised,” you reply, sighing softly, almost chastising her for even doubting it. But there’s a hint of resignation in your voice, as if loving her has become an undeniable part of you, something you’ve both fought against and clung to.

Natasha’s expression shifts, and you see something like both relief and remorse in her eyes. She reaches up, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, lingering there as if grounding herself in this moment, in the truth of it. 

“I didn’t know if you still did… if you still could.” Her voice is low, raw, carrying the weight of all her insecurities, the missteps and miscommunications that led you both here.

You hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of what you feel, all the love and pain tangled together, and you shake your head slightly. 

“Loving you was never the problem, Natasha. I just… I didn’t know if I could keep doing it when I was… so angry with you.” 

The admission aches as it leaves your lips, but it’s the truth. For all the love you feel, there’s been just as much pain, and it’s taken its toll on both of you.

Natasha nods, her thumb brushing against your cheek as if she’s memorizing every detail of it.

“Are you sure you still want to try with me?” she asks quietly. She’s looking at you with those green eyes that have seen so much, eyes that hold both love and a flicker of fear, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

You take a moment, feeling the gravity of her question settle in your chest. You nod slowly, your heart pounding against the silence that envelops you. 

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for us to be together soon…” The words feel thick on your tongue, but they’re the truth. You can’t rush this—too much has happened for that. “But, I still want to try.”

Natasha’s expression shifts slightly, the blink of pain that crosses her face making your heart ache in response. She nods, processing your words with the understanding that comes from a deep love. 

“I just need time,” you add, hoping to offer her some reassurance amidst the uncertainty. “Maybe, we can take it slow?”

A small smile breaks through the tension, and in that moment, it feels like the world around you lights up just a bit. It’s not much, but it’s everything Natasha needs right now. 

“However slow you want to go,” she replies, her voice softer and her hands gentle against your waist. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

The sincerity in her voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tightness in your chest. You can see the depth of her commitment in her eyes, a willingness to do whatever it takes to bridge the distance that formed between the two of you.

You lean into her slightly and whisper, “Thank you.”

Natasha looks at you, her gaze filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart flutter. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, not just as the woman she loves but as the most beautiful woman she has ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes soften, the way her lips curl into a smile—it’s overwhelming. There’s a longing there, an undeniable desire that urges her to close the distance, to lean in and kiss you. She wanted to kiss you so badly. 

But she holds herself back, restraint crossing her features as she fights against it. Instead, she smiles gently, looking up at you. It’s a smile that says she’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. The warmth of her touch spreads. You feel a surge of gratitude. Her fingers press softly into your sides, holding you there without demanding anything more than what you’re ready to give.

Her gaze softens as she watches you, studying your face like it’s something she’s memorizing all over again, tracing every detail with her eyes. A small, almost hesitant smile plays at her lips, just the faintest upward curve, afraid to let the moment slip away. 

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You watch as Natasha turns her head towards the window, her eyes shifting away from you. 

“Where did the rain go?” she murmurs, almost to herself, her voice low.

You follow her gaze to the window, watching as raindrops cling to the glass in silent, scattered trails.

“The sun’s out,” you murmur, shifting off Natasha’s lap. Her hands linger for a second longer than they should, fingers brushing against you as you slip away and rise to your feet.

Natasha watches you cross the room, her gaze following each step, each small movement. You move towards the window, your hand brushing against the glass as you peer outside. The world looks untouched, as if the storm never even happened, with the sun spilling over the trees and grass, drying the last remnants of raindrops clinging to the leaves. In the distance, you catch sight of Wanda’s car pulling into the drive, her headlights cutting through the last threads of mist hanging low over the ground.

“It’s like it didn’t even rain,” you say softly, almost to yourself, the words carrying an odd, quiet wonder.

Natasha moves closely behind you. She’s close enough that you feel her there but she doesn’t reach out. 

The car door clicks open, and you watch as your daughters jump out, their laughter filling the morning air as they spot you and Natasha in the window. They wave eagerly, little hands in the air, faces bright with excitement. You walk over to the front door and push the screen door open, stepping out onto the porch and watching Wanda step out of the car with a knowing look. Her expression is unreadable, that sly, familiar grin playing at her lips as she lingers by the driver’s side, watching the scene with a certain satisfaction. 

Natasha’s smile widens as she looks at the girls, softening into something that feels almost like relief, her eyes lighting up as Nina comes running, arms wide, straight toward her.

“How’d you guys survive the rain?” you call out, a trace of teasing in your voice as the girls run up to you and Natasha, their laughter still bubbling over.

Nina giggles, wrapping herself around Natasha’s leg, as though she’s missed her all these hours.

“It didn’t rain, Mommy!” she laughs, her head tilting back, eyes sparkling with innocence.

The words take a moment to sink in. It didn’t rain. You exchange a look with Natasha, and suddenly it all starts to fall into place. Wanda’s magic. The quiet, unexpected downpour. The way the time seemed to disappear for hours, leaving you and Natasha stranded in the cabin with nothing but your hurt and your words to fill the silence. You feel the realization settle in, glancing between Natasha and Wanda. 

You step closer, crossing your arms with a faint smirk and meeting Wanda’s eyes directly. 

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow. 

Wanda only shrugs, her mouth quirking in that mischievous, all-too-familiar smile. “Seemed like you two could use a little time to talk.”

She says it lightly, like a friend with good intentions, and yet there’s something so deliberate in her tone that you know she planned this from the start.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head as you turn away, slipping back through the doorway to collect the bags still waiting by the cabin’s door. You can feel Natasha’s gaze on you as you move inside, her eyes following you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she looks away. But there’s a softness in her eyes now, a sort of peace that hadn’t been there before, like the air between you both is just a little lighter after the night you shared.

Behind you, Natasha stands on the porch, her hands resting loosely by her sides. She watches as the girls eagerly chatter, running toward her before she crouches down with a smile. 

“Hey, girls,” she says gently, smoothing back a stray curl from Lily’s forehead. “Why don’t you go help Mommy with your things?”

Nina and Lily grin, nodding excitedly before they dart inside, their footsteps echoing across the cabin floor as they rush to your side, each one eagerly grabbing a piece of luggage and heading toward the car. 

Wanda steps up to Natasha’s side, her heels crunching softly on the gravel as she gives a knowing smile. She glances at Natasha, eyes curious, then leans in close enough that her voice falls to a gentle whisper. “So… how did it go?”

Natasha takes a slow, steady breath, her eyes lingering on the doorway where you disappeared moments ago. 

“We talked…” she says softly, the words holding a weight Wanda understands without needing more.

“That’s something,” she murmurs, glancing back toward the cabin as though she can see the space between you both healing, bit by bit. 

Natasha looks down, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but the weight of those words lingers in the air between them. 

“She said she wants to try,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as a heavy, relieved sigh slips past her lips. Her shoulders relax, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a spark of hope flickering inside her—a chance to start over, a chance to make things right.

Wanda watches her closely, her expression warm and understanding as she nods. She knows the journey won’t be easy, that there are pieces to pick up and trust to rebuild, but seeing Natasha standing here, her face softened with hope, Wanda knows it’s a start.

Natasha opens her eyes slowly, her gaze distant as if she’s looking past the porch, past the quiet woods stretching around them. Her mind is with you, picturing the way you held let her hold you, the way you’d let her in, even if only a little. It had been so long since she felt that closeness, and the thought alone fills her with a warmth she hadn’t dared let herself feel.

“She wants to try…” Natasha repeats softly, as though saying it aloud might make it more real, solid, something she can hold onto. A soft smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and she looks over at Wanda, her green eyes shining.

Wanda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze. 

“It’s a start,” she says gently, her voice steady but tinged with that familiar note of caution. She meets her gaze, her eyes filled with both support and a warning Natasha knows is true. “You know it won’t be easy.”

Natasha nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She knows. Every cell in her body knows. Her mistakes, the distance she let grow between you, the ache that took root in the spaces where love and trust used to be—but knowing it won’t be easy hasn’t made her want it any less.

She stares out toward the driveway, where you’re helping the girls settle in, the sunlight glinting in your hair as you laugh at something Nina says. It’s a sound she’s missed so deeply, it aches, and yet here it is, real and alive, a reminder of what’s still here, what’s still possible.

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, her gaze locked on you, as if watching you can give her strength. “I know it’ll take time, and… there’s a lot to make up for. But, I want it more than anything.”

“That’s all that matters, Natasha,” Wanda says. “But if you break her heart again, I don’t think I’ll be willing to help with that next time around.”

She smiles and nods in response, the determination in her eyes stronger now. She glances back toward the car just as you emerge, the girls trotting behind you, chattering happily as they throw their bags in, their laughter floating across the grass.

Natasha’s heart swells as she watches you, watches her family together, a sense of purpose settling over her as she realizes just how much she wants to make this right. She knows it won’t be easy, knows that there will be days filled with doubt and pain, but for now, for this moment, she has a sliver of hope. 

And for Natasha, that’s more than enough.

note: would you forgive her ?

navigation | n.r masterlist

[anamina0]

Echoes

Part I , Part II , Part III , Part IV , Part V , Part VI, Part VII

Summary: Fleeing the wreckage of your heartbreak, you land in the chaos of Zaun, pouring drinks at a dingy bar. You're still facing unresolved feelings and emotions towards Ellie, but they’re easier to bury when Vi storms into your life—a whirlwind of sharp words and reckless energy. You start off bad, really bad but it's enough for you to think of something else for a bit.

warnings/themes : angst, heartbreak, lots of trauma, kind of enemies to lovers, unresolved feelings, a bit of violence, eventual smut, au

word count : 3.8k

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

Back at it again, falling just where you started , completely alone , full of sorrow and regrets. Moving away to a completely unknown place was the best escape plan - literally. You knew nothing about this city, save for a few stories your best friend had told you. Yet, even the thought of staying in the same place as her couldn’t outweigh your choice - you'd rather wander off Zaun's shadowed streets, losing yourself for a lifetime than remain bound to the familiar.

City was close to what you have imagined. The fractures that happened few years ago helped to a great extent , after decades of suffering, the city had finally exhaled, though it had not lost its soul. Cleansed of its grime, its fumes, and its shadowed figures, the streets and the people remained exactly as your friend had described them—a perfect echo of her tales.

Finding a job wasn't hard , from now on you'd serve drinks in one of the city’s dim, suspiciously isolated bars—barely more than a shadow in the corner of a forgotten street. Pay wasn't good but it was enough for an apartment and food, nothing else mattered to you. You were trying your best to take as many shifts as you could, working whole night helped you not think about her , during daytime you would typically crash out , exhausted from your job. And yet, she always found a way to reappear.

At the bar, you distracted yourself by watching customers. Most of them came for a drink and a chance to ease their burdens, but for you, the real game was observing them—piecing together their stories from a glance, a gesture, a half-heard conversation. Sometimes , thought of her would reappear . Something would remind you of her scent, her voice, slipping into your mind without warning. But you had mastered the art of distraction, shifting your focus before the memories could take root.

It was in your dreams where she would visit most frequently, escape from her was almost impossible, as though she determined to remind you of what you wanted to forget: that no change of address, no new life, could erase her. She was etched into you, inescapably, a part of you as much as your own breath. But you had to move on , that's what you were best at, carrying pain and suffering throughout your life, god knows you've been doing that since the day you were born.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Can we talk?” she asked, her tone calm but firm, as she stepped closer to you.

You swallowed hard, your chest tightening. “Ellie,” you whispered, bracing yourself for the inevitable fallout. “I shouldn’t have said what I said.” The words spilled out in a shaky breath.

Her green eyes searched yours, unreadable but sharp. “Why is that?” she asked, her voice softer now, almost careful.

“You already know why,” you said, your gaze flickering over her face—her furrowed brow, the tightness in her jaw. Anxiety clawed at your chest, every emotion colliding at once: fear, anger, love, and a desire that burned despite everything. Losing her wasn’t an option, not like this.

“That’s the problem,” she said, stepping even closer, her boots scraping softly against the floor. “I don’t know why. You told me how you felt and then ran off, didn’t even wait for my answer.” Her voice broke slightly, frustration seeping through, though she was clearly trying to hold it together—for your sake. “That’s not fair.”

“I couldn’t take it anym—” you began, but your trembling words cut short as Ellie moved.

Her forehead rested against yours, her breath warm and steady against your skin. “I need you,” she whispered, her voice low and rough, sending a shiver down your spine. “More than you could ever need me.”

“Nothing’s going to change that,” she said, her voice unwavering now, as if it was the most certain truth in the world.

* * * * * * * * *

Once again, your own screams tore you from sleep, Ellie had found her way into your dreams.

“Fuck,” you muttered under your breath, the echo of her voice lingered in your ears. You glanced at the clock hanging crookedly on the wall and exhaled in relief—it was almost time for another shift.

You moved through your routine on autopilot: a quick shower, clothes and out the door. The walk to the bar felt like a blur, your thoughts still tangled with fragments of the dream you couldn’t shake.

“Hey there,” you greeted Revek, arguably only person who could be considered as your friend in Zaun , as you stepped behind the counter.

He glanced at you with that signature smirk of his, tossing his apron onto the counter. “Well, well, look who decided to show up. Twenty minutes late, no less.” Leaning against the bar, he crossed his arms and tilted his head. “Alright, what is it this time? Lost your keys? Got cornered by some hooligans? Or let me guess—lost track of time again?” His smirk widened as he tapped the counter, signaling for his usual drink.

“Cut me some slack, you asshole,” you shot back, rolling your eyes. “It’s not like they’re paying me enough to show up on time.” You reached for the shaker, pouring his drink without missing a beat. “I just… had a bad dream, alright?”

The smirk faded slightly as he took the cup from your hand, his gaze softening. “Not again,” he said, his tone shifting to something more serious. He took a long sip before adding, “You know, if you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” you said quickly, brushing him off with a weak smile. “Seriously, it’s no big deal. Now scooch—you’re scaring off my customers.”

Revek gave you a knowing look, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he pushed himself off the barstool, raising the cup in a mock toast. “Fine, fine. Just don’t forget—I’ve got a hell of a good ear for this kind of thing.”

You watched him walk away, trying to shove down the unease crawling up your spine. Fixing your hair in the reflection of a glass, you turned to face the empty bar. The night was long, but at least behind the counter, you could pretend your mind wasn’t a battlefield.

The day had been dragging. The bar was dead slow, with only a few regulars stopping by for a drink and a bit of small talk. You made an effort to keep busy—wiping down the already spotless counter, rearranging bottles, polishing glasses—anything to make the hours pass. Not until she walked in. The air shifted instantly, the tension almost suffocating as the door swung shut behind her. You froze, your hand mid-reach for a glass, and looked up. You’d seen countless faces walk through those doors. From the desperate to the careless, from the downtrodden to the troublemakers, the bar had welcomed them all. Nobody ever stood out—nobody cared about anyone else here. That’s what you liked about this place. People came in, had their drinks, exchanged a few words, maybe played a game or two, and left as if they’d never existed to one another. But her? She shattered that silence like glass. You didn’t know who she was, but everyone else seemed to. Heads turned, conversations halted, and even the usual clamor of the old jukebox seemed to dull in her presence. She strode toward the bar, brushing off the stares that trailed her like shadows. It was obvious she didn’t give a single fuck about anyone in the room. Whatever power she held over the crowd, she didn’t seem interested in wielding it—at least, not tonight. Stopping at the counter, she gave the drinks menu the briefest glance before tapping the laminated surface with her finger.

"Can I have this?” she muttered, her voice low and uninterested, pointing to a drink. Then, without looking at you, she added, “Make it a double.”

“Sure thing,” you replied, watching her as you reached for the bottle. She didn’t meet your gaze, didn’t acknowledge you at all, but that only gave you the chance to study her features: pink hair cut into a sharp mullet, light blue eyes that didn’t seem to care about much, and freckles scattered across her nose like they’d been painted there.

“Here you go,” you said, sliding the drink toward her. She grabbed it without a word, her attention flickering to the room around her. Even now, she seemed utterly uninterested in you—or anyone else, for that matter. She didn’t sip the drink so much as down it, her throat working as the liquid disappeared almost too quickly. You found yourself leaning slightly forward, unable to look away. There was something about her, something impossible to read. You liked puzzles, and she was the hardest one you’d come across in a long time.

Who was she? Some kind of criminal? Or maybe she was the exact opposite? Why was she here? Trying to get drunk, or waiting for someone? Before you could settle on an answer, she tapped the counter sharply, her empty glass sitting in front of her. The message was clear. Another. You poured the drink without hesitation, the silence between you stretching long and tense. As you set the glass down, she didn’t so much as glance your way.

“You’re welcome,” you said, your voice dripping with sarcasm, hoping to at least provoke some kind of reaction.

It worked—but not the way you’d hoped. She turned her head, finally looking at you, and you almost wished she hadn’t. Her glare was sharp, cutting, and filled with barely-contained anger.

“Just do your job,” she said coldly, her voice low and cutting. “I didn’t come here for chitchat.”

She turned back to her drink, dismissing you entirely, but the tension she left behind lingered in the air, coiling around you like smoke. Whatever game you thought you were playing, she wasn’t interested.

“What an asshole,” you thought bitterly, dragging your gaze away from her and down to the bar. The question lingered in your mind—should you say something? Not because you couldn’t stand up for yourself, but because, you weren’t sure if she was even worth it.

She tossed back another drink, her sharp eyes cutting across the room as she motioned lazily for someone to come over.

“Again,” she muttered, her gaze flicking back to you. For a fleeting second, it softened—just barely. But the moment was gone as fast as it came, replaced by her usual aloofness when a tall man approached her with an appearance that screamed trouble. You busied yourself making another drink, ears pricked to catch their conversation.

“Didn’t think I’d see you here, Vi,” the man greeted her, his tone carrying an edge of wary excitement.

She chuckled dryly, grabbing her fresh glass without even looking at him.

“What are you playing over there?” she asked, dismissive, like she hadn’t even heard him.

He hesitated, glancing at his buddies like he was searching for backup. It was obvious he didn’t want her involved, but too afraid to say no.

“Just some boring cards,” he replied with a strained grin. “You’re, uh, welcome to join.”

“I’ll be right there.” Her words were ice-cold as she turned back to you. “Another one.”

You stared at her silently, letting your expression say everything your words didn’t. She noticed. Of course, she noticed.

But instead of acknowledging it, she took the drink you handed her and headed over to the table of men, sliding into a seat among the kind who spent their nights gambling away the last shreds of their dignity. Vi. That was her name. At least you had that much now. But she was still a puzzle—a unsolvable one. You watched her, lost in your thoughts, until Revek appeared from the back of the bar, his sharp eyes scanning the room before settling on her.

“Haven’t seen her in a while,” he muttered, settling onto a stool.

“Who even is she?” you asked, the question slipping out before you could stop yourself.

Revek leaned in slightly, lowering his voice. “Remember I told you abour shit that went down three years ago? Piltover, Zaun, all that Hextech chaos?”

You nodded.

“She was part of it. A big part.”

You squinted, piecing it together. “That explains why everyone knows her down here.” You frowned, the anger bubbling back up. “She’s an asshole.”

Revek chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, you could say that. After everything went to hell, she holed up in some dump around here. Doesn’t talk to anyone. Just drifts between bars, sometimes… worse places, drowning herself in cheap booze.”

“Was she always like this?” you pressed, desperate to understand.

“That’s a long story,” Revek began, but his words were cut off by the sharp sound of glass shattering across the room.

Your head snapped toward the noise. Of course, it was her, standing over some poor bastard, yelling and swearing. Revek shot you a look and stood, ready to step in, but you stopped him with a firm hand.

“I’ll handle it,” you said, your tone leaving no room for argument.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitation in his voice.

You nodded, already moving toward the chaos. By the time you got there, she was on top of the guy, fists flying with a fury that could have leveled buildings. The crowd around them was frozen, too shocked—or maybe too entertained—to intervene.

“Hey!” you shouted, but she didn’t even flinch.

“Stop it! Now!” you tried again.

Still nothing. She was too far gone, lost in her rage. Without thinking, you moved in to pull her off—but before you could, pain exploded across your face, and you found yourself on the ground, disoriented.

The room went silent.

When your vision cleared, you realized, she had hit you.

Vi stood over you, her expression flickering with something almost like regret. “Shit,” she muttered, reaching a hand toward you. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Get the fuck out,” you snapped, cutting her off as you staggered to your feet.

She hesitated, her gaze locking with yours. You made sure she saw every ounce of your anger, your disgust.

“Now,” you commanded, stepping closer.

For once, she didn’t fight back. She just turned and walked.

Days passed, and thankfully, she didn’t come back. Still, every time you stood behind the bar, her face crept into your mind—her cockiny, her sharp eyes, her unbearable attitude. It filled you with rage. You already had too much on your plate; the last thing you needed was to waste energy hating some pink-haired asshole. But despite yourself, you couldn’t stop thinking about her. It wasn’t all bad, you supposed. At least thoughts of her kept you from thinking about Ellie. But replacing heartbreak with anger wasn’t exactly a healthy trade.

It was another calm day, the kind you’d come to appreciate in the wake of the chaos she’d brought. If anything, her outburst had earned you some respect. The regulars gave you a nod, a look, as if standing up to her had proven something. But the peace didn’t last. The bar doors swung open, and the room fell into an all-too-familiar hush. You didn’t even need to look to know who it was. The tension in the air told you everything.

Vi.

Revek appeared at your side almost immediately, his eyes darting toward her. “This gonna be trouble?” he asked, his voice low.

“I’m fine,” you replied, keeping your gaze locked on her as she strode toward you. There was something deliberate in her steps, something… different.

Her eyes met yours from across the room, and you stood your ground.

“I think I made myself clear last time,” you said coolly, though your voice carried that simmering edge of anger you couldn’t quite hide. “You’re not welcome here.”

“I know,” she replied, stopping in front of the bar. Her tone was calm, almost subdued. “I’ll leave. But first, I wanted to say I’m sorry.”

You narrowed your eyes, studying her. There was no cocky smirk, no sarcastic retort. Just… awkwardness.

“I was drunk,” she continued, her voice low. “That guy said something—something that pissed me off. I lost control.” She hesitated, her eyes searching yours. “It’s not an excuse, but… I didn’t mean to hit you. I would never—”

“But you did,” you cut her off sharply, though you could already feel the fight draining out of you. She was being honest. You hated that you could tell, but you could.

“I know.” Her voice softened even more. “I didn’t see you. And I’m sorry. I really am.”

You exhaled, your shoulders dropping slightly as you leaned against the counter. You weren’t ready to forgive her—not entirely. But you were exhausted from carrying so much anger.

“Fine,” you said at last, pouring her the drink she’d ordered last time. Sliding it across the bar, you added, “I appreciate your honesty. I don’t appreciate assholes, though. And you? You were an asshole.”

A flicker of surprise crossed her face as she accepted the drink. For a moment, she looked like she wanted to say something else. But instead, she downed it in one quick motion, set the glass back on the counter, and walked out without another word.

She started coming back. At first, you thought it was a fluke—a one-time thing. But no. A few days later, she was there again. And again.

Sometimes she was alone, sometimes with a new girl on her arm, but the pattern stayed the same. She’d order a few drinks, stay for a while, and leave without so much as a word in your direction. She’d read your message loud and clear. But what you couldn’t figure out was why. Zaun was filled with bars—plenty of them even filthier than this one. So why keep coming back to this one? Was it defiance? Did she just not care about the fact that you didn’t want her here? Then there were the moments that left you even more confused. The way her gaze would linger,as she was hanging out with some random girl, her eyes flicking over to you when she thought you weren’t looking. It wasn’t often, but it was enough to notice. Enough to keep her lodged firmly in your thoughts.

Vi was a mystery. An infuriating, captivating mystery. And for some reason, you couldn’t stop yourself from wanting to figure her out. Maybe it was the distraction she provided, pulling you away from the ache of Ellie. Or maybe it was something else. Something about the way she carried herself, the way she owned a room even when she was silent. Whatever it was, she had you hooked—and you hated her for it.

Today was no different. She strolled in like she owned the place, another girl trailing behind her—a new one this time. She made a beeline for the bar and ordered a round of drinks before sliding into a table suspiciously close to where you were working. Maybe you were imagining things, but it felt deliberate. There were plenty of empty tables scattered throughout the room, especially ones better suited for whatever this was supposed to be. An intimate date? That hardly seemed like Vi’s style. The girl with her seemed sweet. Blonde hair with blue highlights that caught the dim lights of the bar, bright eyes, a soft smile. She leaned toward Vi as they talked, her body language screaming interest. But Vi? She sat back, arms draped casually over the chair, her expression distant, detached. It was like she craved the closeness but couldn’t bring herself to let anyone in.

It was… familiar. Too familiar.

You turned back to the counter, your hands working on autopilot as you wiped down the surface. Yet, no matter how much you tried to ignore her, your gaze kept drifting in her direction. And every time it did, you caught her watching you.

You didn’t like it.

Pouring yourself a drink, you told yourself it was just to take the edge off. One drink turned into two, and before long, the alcohol made everything sharper, more noticeable. You were too aware of her—every glance, every quiet laugh, every time her eyes flicked toward you. When it happened again, you decided enough was enough. You locked eyes with her, letting your gaze trail over her features, daring her to look away. She didn’t. At first, she looked confused, but that quickly morphed into something smug—a slow, cocky smirk creeping across her face. She leaned over, whispering something in the blonde’s ear. The girl nodded, and just like that, Vi stood and headed straight for you.

“Hey there,” she said, her voice calm but carrying that familiar edge of arrogance. Her eyes bore into yours, steady, confident.

“Well, look at you,” you quipped, leaning casually against the bar. “Turns out you can talk.”

She smirked. “Can you blame me? You called me an asshole and made it pretty clear you didn’t want me to talk to you.”

“Both of those things are true,” you replied with a dismissive shrug, though the faint trace of a grin played on your lips. You blamed the alcohol.

“So let me get this straight,” she teased. “You don’t want to talk to me, but you want me to talk to you? Maybe even acknowledge you?”

“Oh, I’ve noticed you acknowledging me,” you shot back, your tone dry. “Not with words, though.” Your hand idly wiped at the counter with a cloth, pretending nonchalance.

Vi chuckled, brushing off your jab. “Fair enough. Since you’re so insistent, let me drop the ‘asshole behavior’ for a minute.” She leaned in slightly. “I don’t even know your name.”

You rolled your eyes, leaning forward to meet her halfway. “It’s Y/N,” you said, your voice firm. A beat of silence lingered between you, tension thick enough to cut with a knife. Then, with a small smirk of your own, you added, “Now get back to your date. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You didn’t wait to see her reaction. The sudden surge of emotions made your chest tighten, and you dropped the cloth and glass onto the counter, heading for the backroom.

Intimacy—it wasn’t something you wanted. Not now. Not with her. Even the smallest brush of warmth from someone else felt like an open wound. You were comfortable in the cold, with the pain. Examining Vi had been easy, safe. She was uncertainty and sharp edges, not softness. You closed the door behind you, leaning back against it and exhaling deeply. Maybe one of these days you’d figure out what Vi was really doing to you. But not tonight. Not yet.

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

Note from author: It's my first time writing something ever please please please let me know if you liked that! I think that this fic will have 6/8 parts , so there's a lot unfold here. I kinda changed finale of Arcane, because Vi and Caitlyn don't end up together. Also, I have included Ellie as reader's ex girlfriend, so she will have more appearances in future. It would mean world to me if you shared my work (if you liked it of course) and please don't hesitate to message me, ask me questions about it or let me know what are your thoughts! Thank you!

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[oldsoul007]

taste

nicholas chavez x ex!reader

a/n: no disrespect to either of them or relationship all of this is just fiction!

Nicholas and y/n had a special connection when they dated. Their time together was filled with laughter, shared secrets, and memorable moments. However, as life moved on, they drifted apart, and Nicholas eventually found himself in a new relationship with a girl named Victoria.

Victoria is wonderful—kind, smart, and everything Nicholas could ask for in a girlfriend. Yet, despite his happiness with her, y/n is always in the back of his mind. He often finds himself reminiscing about the times he spent with y/n, the unique bond they shared, and the way she understood him like no one else.

Even though Nicholas tries to focus on his present with Victoria, there are moments when a song, a place, or a random memory brings y/n back to the forefront of his thoughts. He wonders how she's doing, if she thinks about him too, and whether their paths will cross again. This lingering presence of y/n in his mind makes him question if he ever truly moved on, or if a part of him will always belong to her.

Nicholas and Victoria were out for a casual stroll one Saturday afternoon when they unexpectedly ran into y/n. The encounter took Nicholas by surprise, and he felt his heart skip a beat. Y/n looked as beautiful and confident as ever, and seeing her brought a rush of memories flooding back.

"Hey, y/n. It's been a while. How have you been?" Nicholas asked, trying to keep his composure.

"I've been good. Just busy with work and everything. How about you?" Y/n replied with a warm smile.

"I've been alright. This is Victoria, by the way. Victoria, this is y/n," Nicholas introduced them, his voice slightly shaky.

"Nice to meet you, y/n!" Victoria said cheerfully.

"Nice to meet you too, Victoria. So, what have you been up to, Nicholas?" Y/n asked, her eyes lingering on him.

"Oh, you know, just the usual. Work's been keeping me busy. It's really good to see you, though," Nicholas responded, feeling a mix of emotions.

"Yeah, it's good to see you too. You look well," y/n said, her smile softening.

"Thanks. You too," Nicholas managed to say, his mind racing.

Victoria, sensing the tension, chimed in, "We should catch up sometime, all of us. It would be fun."

"Sure, that sounds nice," y/n agreed. "Well, I should get going. It was great running into you both."

"Yeah, take care, y/n," Nicholas said, watching her walk away.

As y/n disappeared into the crowd, Nicholas couldn't help but feel a pang of longing. He realized that his feelings for her were still very much alive, leaving him deep in thought about what to do next.

Victoria and Nicholas had been having a wonderful evening at home when the topic of y/n came up. It started innocently enough, with Nicholas mentioning their recent encounter.

"You know, it was really nice seeing y/n the other day," Nicholas said, trying to keep his tone casual.

Victoria's expression changed slightly. "Yeah, it was. But, Nicholas, I've noticed you talk about her a lot lately."

Nicholas looked puzzled. "What do you mean? She's just an old friend."

"Is she really just an old friend?" Victoria asked, her voice growing more tense. "Because it feels like there's more to it."

Nicholas sighed. "Victoria, you're overthinking this. Y/n and I have history, but that's all in the past. You're the one I'm with now."

Victoria shook her head. "I don't know, Nicholas. It just feels like there's something unresolved between you two. And it bothers me."

Nicholas's frustration began to show. "What do you want me to do, Victoria? I can't erase my past. Y/n is a part of it, but she doesn't have to be a threat to us."

"I just need to know that you're fully committed to us," Victoria said, her eyes pleading.

"I am committed to us," Nicholas said firmly. "But I can't change the fact that y/n was a big part of my life. You have to trust me."

Victoria looked away, tears welling up in her eyes. "It's hard to trust when I see how you look at her."

Nicholas softened, stepping closer to her. "Victoria, I love you. I'll do whatever it takes to make you feel secure. But you have to believe me when I say that y/n is just a friend now."

Victoria nodded slowly, wiping her tears. "Okay, Nicholas. I believe you. But let's not talk about y/n anymore. Let's focus on us."

"Agreed," Nicholas said, pulling her into a hug. "Let's focus on us."

As they held each other, Nicholas hoped that this would be the end of the tension between them. He knew he had to prove his commitment to Victoria and make sure she felt secure in their relationship.

Nicholas and Victoria were at the local bar when they unexpectedly bumped into y/n again. It was a moment of surprise for all three, but Victoria's reaction was different. As she watched Nicholas and y/n exchange warm smiles and familiar glances, something clicked in her mind. She realized that the connection between Nicholas and y/n was deeper than she had ever imagined. It was in that instant that Victoria understood the true nature of their bond, and a mix of emotions washed over her, leaving her both intrigued and contemplative about what this meant for their future.

Nicholas and Victoria were sitting in their living room when the tension that had been building up finally reached a boiling point. The topic of y/n had come up once again, and it was clear that Victoria was not happy about it.

"Nicholas, I can't believe you're still hung up on her," Victoria said, frustration evident in her voice. "Every time we run into y/n, you act like she's the only person in the room."

Nicholas sighed, rubbing his temples. "Victoria, it's not like that. Y/n and I have a history, yes, but it doesn't mean I'm still in love with her. We're just friends now."

"Friends? Really?" Victoria shot back. "Because it sure doesn't seem that way. You get this look in your eyes whenever she's around, like you're remembering something more than just a friendship."

"That's not fair," Nicholas replied, his voice rising. "I can't control how I feel. But I'm with you now, and that's what matters."

"But is it really?" Victoria asked, her eyes filling with tears. "Because it feels like I'm always competing with her ghost. I need to know that you're fully here with me, not just physically but emotionally too."

Nicholas took a deep breath, trying to calm himself. "Victoria, I care about you a lot. I don't want you to feel like you're second to anyone. I'm sorry if I've made you feel that way."

Victoria looked at him, her expression softening slightly. "I just need to know that I can trust you, Nicholas. That you're not going to run back to her the moment things get tough between us."

"I promise you, Victoria," Nicholas said, taking her hand. "I'm committed to us. I'll do whatever it takes to prove that to you."

As they sat there, holding each other's hands, they both realized that this was a turning point in their relationship. They had to work through these issues if they wanted to move forward together.

Nicholas had been feeling increasingly guilty about his relationship with Victoria. He knew deep down that he couldn't continue pretending everything was fine. One evening, he finally mustered the courage to talk to her.

"Victoria, we need to talk," Nicholas began, his voice heavy with emotion. "I can't keep doing this. It's not fair to you or to me. I still have feelings for y/n, and it's not right to lead you on."

Victoria looked at him, her eyes filled with a mix of hurt and understanding. "I knew this was coming, Nicholas. I just hoped things would change."

"I'm so sorry," Nicholas said, his heart breaking at the sight of her tears. "You deserve someone who can give you their whole heart, and I can't do that right now."

After the difficult conversation, Nicholas felt a weight lift off his shoulders, but he was also filled with a sense of loss. He decided to reach out to y/n, needing someone to talk to.

"Y/n, I ended things with Victoria," he confessed over the phone. "I couldn't keep pretending. But now, I feel so lost."

Y/n’s voice was gentle but firm. "Nicholas, I still love you, but we can't be together. Not right now. You need to figure things out for yourself first."

Nicholas sighed, feeling the sting of her words. "I understand, y/n. I just needed to hear your voice."

They both knew that this was a time for healing and self-discovery. Even though they couldn't be together, their connection remained a source of comfort and strength for Nicholas.

[bamfkeeper]

Reunion.

RQ: 'I was hoping for some hurt/comfort 🙏🏽. I was never really satisfied with Kurt and Amanda's reunion after he came back to life(aside from the fact that that ship gives me a major ick for ibv reasons). It was so anticlimactic! You would think a woman who knew him all his life would she'd a few tears. I was wondering what your take on a reunion scene with Kurt would be? Like the reader was a member of the X-Men and saw Bastion kill Kurt. Because of her grief she leaves the team unable to cope from the loss. And then after years of being without him he just shows up at her apartment just like he did with Amanda.' - @gildedjerk

Pairing: Kurt Wagner x GN!reader

Warnings: Major character death | Descriptions of injuries | Mourning & grief | Happy ending ofc

A/N: Wooo I had a lot of fun with this one. Angst and comfort, yum. Anyway I did try to give a realistic response to him coming back from the dead. I was stuck between two reactions but I think this one is good. I hope you enjoy! Unedited hehe WC: 3.0k

It had only been a week. A week since your heart became slow, dull, and empty.

The mansion took a hit. The team broken into pieces.

It was unusually quiet around the manor. Normally, the sound of padding footsteps and excited laughter and voices filled the halls, but now...it was silent. You weren't' the only one that lost something, but by all hell, you deserved to grieve.

You hadn't left the bedroom you shared for days, your body curled tightly on the bed, clutching his suit against your chest as if it were a lifeline. Tears flowed endlessly, soaking the pillow beneath your head. The salty streams seemed inexhaustible, leaving your eyes red and swollen, leaving you with a constant headache you ignored. You were likely severely dehydrated from the constant outpouring of grief, but in your state of mourning, those concerns held no importance to you. All you desired was to be left alone with your sorrow, to process the loss in solitude.

His suit bore a large, jagged hole, Kurt's dried blood stained the fabric, a sight that simultaneously pained you and kept you connected to him. You couldn't bring yourself to wash it, fearing that doing so would erase the last tangible traces of his presence. The suit still carried his distinct scent, a bittersweet comfort that you clung to desperately. No amount of spraying with cologne could ever bring back his natural musk that he had, and you would rather die than get rid of it.

Embedded within the flexible fabric were tufts of his fur, some parts adhering more stubbornly than others. As you ran your fingers over these patches, you recalled with a mixture of fondness and anguish his playful complaints about how the suit would cause him to shed. Those light-hearted moments now seemed like echoes from a distant, happier time, making the overwhelming ache of his absence feel much worse.

The team struggled to regroup, attempting to rally support and formulate a plan of action in the aftermath of the blatant slaughter they endured. However, you found yourself emotionally paralyzed, unable to contribute to their efforts. The weight of loss and despair settled heavily upon your shoulders, making even the simplest tasks seem insurmountable. In a daze, you rose from your seat, your movements mechanical and detached from conscious thought. You were on autopilot, nothing else mattered, you couldn’t even think.

You began to pack your belongings, carelessly tossing clothes into a small bag without regard for order or neatness. Your fingers then ghosted over the familiar fabric of his suit, the last tangible remnant of Kurt's presence in your life. With reverence, you gently lifted the garment, cradling it against your chest as if it were a fragile, living thing. This suit, once a symbol of his strength and selfless heroism, now served as a poignant reminder of all you had lost. As you held it close, memories of Kurt flooded your mind, intensifying the ache of his absence and solidifying your decision to depart.

You had no tears left. Not right now.

You took your bag and you left.

The nightmares were relentless, haunting your sleep with disturbing frequency. Night after night, your subconscious mind replayed the horrific scene of Kurt's demise, each detail etched with painful clarity like you were reliving that exact moment over and over again. The vivid imagery of Bastion's merciless act - the brutal impalement - refused to fade. You could still see, with sickening precision, the crimson spray erupting from Kurt's azure lips, staining his chest in a macabre pattern, the life essence dripping down his skin and mocking you. The memory of his lithe form, once so full of life and grace, suddenly tensing and then crumpling lifelessly to the ground as Bastion withdrew his weapon, was seared into your mind.

The physical sensations were equally intense. You distinctly recalled the disorienting waves of heat and cold that washed over you, and the violent tremors that wracked your body as adrenaline surged through your system in rage fueled torrents. The emotional trauma was blatant, manifesting in physical symptoms that left you feeling drained and vulnerable, pathetically and frantically scrambling to get to his side in the middle of the battlefield.

The image of your final moments with Kurt were the worst of it all, your eternal Hell that never ceased. Holding his rapidly cooling body in your arms, you watched helplessly as the light in his beautiful, golden eyes gradually dimmed. Even in his last breaths, Kurt's selflessness shone through, as he valiantly attempted to offer you solace and comfort, despite his own dire circumstances.

Your grief and suffering was a wound that never healed. Each night proved that it would only reopen from the desperate scab it tried to become.

As the years passed, your close friends from the mansion persistently attempted to maintain contact with you, but you deliberately distanced yourself from them. The desire to communicate with them had completely faded, and you found yourself wanting to sever all ties with the X-Men.

Your sole focus became an attempt to carve out an existence devoid of the tumultuous chaos that had been an inherent part of life within that unconventional, misfit family. You couldn’t stand any more pain, the loss you took had been severe, thinking about any of your old friends losing their lives was too much to bear.

You retreated into a life of solitude, taking on a mundane and unremarkable job that offered little stimulation or fulfillment. It wasn't so much living as it was merely existing - a bare-bones survival that felt hollow but required.

Yet, in your current state of mind, this was all you felt capable of managing. The weight of your grief remained a constant companion, refusing to lift even as time marched relentlessly forward. The passage of years did little to alleviate the profound sense of loss that had taken root in your heart, leaving you trapped in a perpetual state of mourning that colored every aspect of your isolated existence.

You tried therapy, for a while.

It didn’t help much.

You were constantly bombarded with well-intentioned but ultimately unhelpful advice. People would tell you to move on, as if it were a simple switch you could flip.

They'd say he was in a better place now, as though that somehow lessened your pain.

They'd remind you that years had passed, implying that your grief should have an expiration date.

But none of these platitudes actually provided any comfort or solace. In fact, being told to move on was perhaps the most infuriating of all. It felt dismissive, insensitive, and completely disconnected from the depth of your loss.

The suggestion to move on ignited a spark of anger within you. How could anyone possibly understand the magnitude of what you'd been through? You couldn't even share the full story with them, the pervasive discrimination and prejudice against mutants still ran deep in society, and you weren't ready to expose that part of yourself.

But regardless of the details you had to keep hidden, the fact remained that you had lost the person who brought light and love into your world. It was as if the sun had been extinguished, leaving you in perpetual darkness. The audacity of someone demanding that you simply move on from such a profound loss was both hurtful and enraging. How dare they trivialize your grief and dictate the timeline of your healing? Your pain was yours to process, and no one had the right to tell you when or how to do it.

You came back from a rather dreary work day, annoyed and angry with the world. It felt so unfair. You wondered if Kurt would be disappointed in the sheer amount of hatred that you allowed to consume you. Did it matter?

As you closed your door, you trudged through your barren apartment, your footsteps echoing in the emptiness. You hadn’t bothered to decorate, it was just you, and when you were home all you did was sleep. No reason to waste money on furniture.

Suddenly, a familiar scent wafted through the air - brimstone. That sharp, smoky odor that had haunted your senses for years now made its presence known once again. The acrid smell tickled your nostrils, bringing with it a flood of memories you'd rather forget. At first, you dismissed it as another phantom smell, a lingering remnant of Kurt that your mind conjured up in moments of solitude. After all, these olfactory ghosts had been your constant companions over the years, taunting and mocking you with their ephemeral nature.

You continued your way through the apartment, your mind wrestling with the reality of the scent. The logical part of your brain insisted it was just another trick of your senses, a cruel joke played by your subconscious. Yet, a small voice in the back of your mind whispered that something was different this time. The smell seemed more tangible, more real than the fleeting wisps of memory you were accustomed to. Still, you pushed the thought aside, convincing yourself it was nothing out of the ordinary.

You were just tired. It had been a long day.

As you rounded the frame of the door, preparing to step into the next room, an inexplicable chill ran down your spine. In that instant, you felt everything around you freeze up. The air grew thick and heavy, as if time itself had come to a standstill. Your muscles tensed, your breath caught in your throat as you looked at the familiar figure laying on your couch.

Kurt smiled at you, his familiar figure rising from his seat. His arms extended in a welcoming gesture, a warmth radiating from his presence that you hadn't felt in what seemed like an eternity. "Liebling...I've missed you so much," he murmured, his voice carrying the same tender inflection you remembered.

Every detail about him was overwhelmingly authentic - from the timbre of his voice to the subtle cologne mixed with that harsh brimstone that always clung to his clothes. Your senses were inundated with evidence of his reality; he wasn't just there, he was undeniably real.

A maelstrom of emotions surged through you, leaving you utterly bewildered.

What the Hell is happening?

The thought ricocheted through your mind, unable to find purchase in the face of this impossibility.

You found yourself frozen, incapable of formulating a coherent response. The shock of the moment had completely blindsided you, leaving you reeling as if you'd been struck. It was as though you were face to face with an apparition, a specter from your past that had inexplicably materialized before your eyes.

But this was no ethereal vision - this was tangible, corporeal.

The absurdity of the situation wasn't lost on you; if this was indeed some sort of phantasm, it certainly had a sick sense of humor.

Your lips parted as you let out a soft, trembling sound, his name barely a whisper escaping through the opening. Your eyes, wide with disbelief, were glued on him, taking in every detail of his familiar yet seemingly impossible presence. His demeanor faltered slightly as he noticed your lack of enthusiasm at his sudden appearance, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features.

"Ah, liebe...I...understand this might be quite shocking to you..." He mumbled out shyly, his voice a mixture of hope and apprehension as he slowly walked towards you, each step careful and measured. "But, I am back. I am truly here, alive and breathing. Can you see that?"

You remained rooted to the spot, unable to bring yourself to move a single muscle. The overwhelming tsunami of emotions that crashed over you felt like it was too much for your body and mind to handle. A wave of nausea washed over you, making you feel as though you were teetering on the edge of consciousness, your stomach churning violently. The sheer impossibility of the situation threatened to overwhelm you completely.

You couldn't fathom how he could be here, standing in your apartment, flesh and blood, after years of believing he was dead. The grief you had painstakingly lived with, the torturous reminders that mocked you every day - it all came crashing down around you in an instant, leaving you reeling in a maelstrom.

Kurt opened his mouth to speak, sensing the overwhelming shock that had gripped you. He anticipated a joyous reaction, but instead, a heart-wrenching, soul-shattering sob escaped your lips, echoing through the air and piercing the silence between you.

Taken aback, Kurt's body tensed, his eyes widening with a mixture of concern and confusion. This unexpected outburst was far from the jubilant reunion he had envisioned in his mind. The stark contrast between his hopeful expectations and the raw, emotional reality before him left him momentarily stunned.

You had always been strong and level-headed with your emotions, but seeing you like this made him realize his absence and sudden appearance again had clearly done some psychological damage. "L-liebling," he stammered, his voice barely above a whisper, thick with uncertainty and worry.

Hesitantly, Kurt extended his hands towards you, offering comfort and desperate support. However, the fear of exacerbating your distress held him back from actually making contact. His fingers hovered in the air between you, trembling slightly as he grappled with the desire to console you and the apprehension of potentially making matters worse.

Kurt bridged the gap between you with a single, desperate motion, not wanting to watch you sob any longer. His arms enveloped you, strong yet gentle, pulling you against his chest. You felt the solid warmth of his body, a sensation you had been deprived of for what felt like an eternity.

As he held you close, Kurt became your anchor to reality, proof that this wasn't just another cruel dream. His familiar scent washed over you, a mix of brimstone and something uniquely him, further cementing his presence. "I'm here, liebe... I'm here," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Es tut mir Leid... I never intended to be absent for so long, but... the circumstances of my return are a mystery even to me. Perhaps this is a divine gift, a second chance from Gott…a miracle. Ja?"

His words were soft, barely above a whisper, yet they resonated deeply within you. "I cannot imagine the anguish you've endured in my absence," he continued, his accent more pronounced in his emotional state. As he spoke, his hand moved in soothing circles on your back, a gesture so achingly familiar it threatened to unravel you completely.

In the safety of his embrace, years of bottled-up emotions finally found their release. The dam broke, and you allowed yourself to experience the full depth of your agony, your body shaking with the force of your long-suppressed grief. Kurt held you through it all, a steady presence as you wept the tumultuous sea of your emotions, whispering words of comfort and love in a mixture of English and German.

You don't know how long you cried for.

You felt your body gradually succumbing to exhaustion, your strength ebbing away with each passing moment. What seemed like mere minutes to your grief-stricken mind had, in reality, stretched into over an hour of uncontrollable sobbing. Throughout this emotional display, Kurt remained steadfast, his arms encircling you in an unwavering embrace, not daring to let you go. He bore witness to your anguish, listening intently to every heart-wrenching wail that escaped your lips, each cry a testament to the depth of your sorrow and mourning. He felt so horrible, seeing just how much you loved him and how the grief had overtaken your being.

Kurt did everything in his power to provide solace. He held you close, gently squeezing you with his arms, whispering soft reassurances, each gesture carefully crafted to soothe you.

"I'm here now," he murmured, his voice a balm to your frayed nerves. "I'm not leaving. I promise..." His indigo lips grazed your sensitive temple while he whispered gentle nothings against your skin. The contact was feather-light, yet profoundly comforting. He peppered your clammy skin with tender kisses, unable to hold back on his affections.

The sudden nature of Kurt's reappearance left you reeling. After enduring the agonizing belief that he was gone forever, his unexpected return stirred up a complex cocktail of emotions - happiness, relief, anger. A part of you yearned for the joyous reunion he seemed to expect, but another part bristled at the simplicity of such an notion.

How could he materialize out of thin air, after all the grief and pain you had endured, and anticipate an uncomplicated, happy welcome? You supposed that is his specialty…appearing suddenly in a rapid purple cloud with that happy smile exposing his fangs.

Kurt wanted that happy reunion. He wanted you jumping in his arms and that loving, passionate kiss he dreamt of and missed since his departure from this plane of existence.

But you couldn't give him that. Not now.

For now, you needed his comforting presence more than anything else. Recognizing your emotional state, he gently lowered himself onto the couch, cradling you in his arms. His embrace was firm yet tender, providing a sanctuary where you could finally release everything that had been weighing heavily on your heart. As he held you close, you continued to sob and cry into his chest, each tear carrying with it a fragment of the pain and stress you had been harboring for so long.

Time seemed to stand still as you remained in his protective embrace, your sobs gradually subsiding as exhaustion began to overtake you. He made no move to interrupt this cathartic process, understanding that sometimes silence speaks louder than words. His steady heartbeat and warm presence served as a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a state of tranquility you hadn't experienced in years.

The conversation you needed to have could wait.

For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself drifting into a deep, peaceful slumber - a luxury that had eluded you for far too long. His presence alone had snuffed out the vicious plague that infected your mind, the nightmares that were forced upon you over and over of his gruesome death were destroyed.

For the first time in years, you actually slept.

Thanks for reading.

*BAMF*

Dividers by @/adornedwithlight & @/strangergraphics

Cover image from Nightcrawler #1 (2014)

[lexawritex]

need you now

idol!huhyunjin x producer!reader

synopsis: you're a producer whose songs dominate the charts. to keep the hits coming, you turn to a couple cans of beer for inspiration. but the alcohol takes control, pushing you into calling your ex.

genre: light angst; heated make out session at the end :/

warnings: alcohol; swearing; top yunjin cus why not

i'm all alone and i need you now

being a producer was a choice your parents didn't agree on but with you being the most sought after producer now—their doubts were erased and now they're showering you with praises and support. you found it hilarious how they ridiculed you for pursuing a non-engineering job like your siblings did and now they're treating you like a prodigy. thinking about it made you feel bitter, to make it worse, the alcohol started to kick in.

you were in your apartment, wide awake at one in the morning due to a sudden urge to write a song. around you were cans of beer scattered on the floor, with the hope that it can help you think of creative ideas but honestly, it's all what you have in your fridge.

finishing a can, you tossed it on a pile of empty beer cans as you shifted your attention to your laptop screen. deleting one line after another—unsatisfied with the words. beside it was also your notebook where you usually write songs but you were still stuck. the urge was strong yet no matter you do, the output didn't feel good enough.

frustrated, you grabbed a pillow from the couch and hurled it across the living room, knocking a box out of place. with a groan, you stood up, set the box right, and started picking up its contents. but when you saw what it was, you froze.

it was pictures of the past. a good memory now leaving bitter feelings whenever you remember it. you shouldn't but you did. you looked at the pictures that consisted of either places or a certain woman. the woman that were once the inspiration of your songs and the one that fueled your passion for music.

"huh yunjin..."

you mumbled as you stared at a photo of her, holding an umbrella and looking back at you. you remembered how you'd always carry a camera whenever you two went on dates, wanting to capture every moment to look back on. now, you traced the dusty photograph with your fingers, the smile on her face a painful reminder of a beautiful past.

you went on a couple of pictures and stopped on the last picture that was at the very bottom of the box. the photograph taken just a week before the beautiful story ended. her smile was so wide that it shocked your whole world when she came to you and ended your relationship. you asked yourself, 'what went wrong?' yet the answer was clear.

you both lived in the same world, yet her life was much harder than yours. you didn’t have thousands of people watching your every move, criticizing each mistake. you didn’t feel the pressure to be perfect, to look like a doll every day. you didn’t have a management controlling every aspect of your life. those were the things you didn’t have—things yunjin did. but despite it all, your relationship blossomed and sailed… until it didn’t.

reminiscing about it caused tears to well up in your eyes. a chuckle escapes your mouth followed with a sigh as you sniff.

"well that was a good two years of sunshines and rainbows..." you said, staring at the pictures scattered on the floor.

you stood up, almost loosing you balance and wobbled your way to the fridge—the alcohol taking over your whole system. grabbing another beer, you slumped on your sofa and took a chug of the drink. you looked at the fogged up window, rain hitting it creating soft thuds. you've always like the comfort of the rain but now you hate it. because it reminded you that no one will give you warmth in the cold weather like she used to. you shook your head as your thoughts drifted drifted her again.

"i'm so fucking lonely..." you said followed by a deep sigh.

you reached for your phone, hoping to have a friend that's still awake at this hour to accompany you in the lonely night. you scrolled through your seemingly endless list of contacts but stopped abruptly when your eyes caught a number you haven't contacted for a while.

your fingers hovered above the number as you hesitated on calling it or not. it must've been the alcohol because now you're looking at a ringing screen, her photo smiling at you while your phone rings—waiting for the other end to pick up.

your eyes widened and you panicked—causing your phone to slip from your grip.

"shit!" you cursed and hurriedly picked up your phone to cancel the call but it was already answered.

you gasped and slapped a hand to your mouth.

"y/n?"

oh how much you missed that voice calling your name. if not for the shock, you would've teared up hearing her voice. you hurriedly pressed the end button and tossed your phone on the coffee table.

"good god..." you said and downed a whole can of beer.

well it was a bad idea because now you're really drunk and lonely and the rain wasn't making it any better. you accidentally called your ex, heard her voice and now you miss her.

☆

yunjin looked at her phone with confusion as she sat in her bed. she had just gotten out of a warm shower after practicing for their upcoming comeback. setting the phone down, she stared at the wall as she let her thoughts run. from their upcoming comeback and how it would do, her thoughts drifted to you. a sad sigh escaping her mouth as her eyes landed on a jacket she hung. the one she wore when she broke things off.

she regretted it, yes, but she had no choice. your relationship was starting to fail when she got busy for their last comeback. fights were becoming frequent when she'd snap at the smallest things due to lack of rest and the pressure of their comeback. that time their group was also under heavy criticism due to a simple mistake that added fuel to the fire. her management urged her to end her relationship to protect their group incase someone leaks your relationship. yunjin didn't want to hurt you and ruin your career so she did the regrettable.

hanging her head down, she let her tears fall and let the feelings pour out as the rain drowned out the sound. sometimes, she'd wish she was stronger and fought for your relationship, for you.

her cries were cut off when her phone rang, flinching in surprise, she looked at who was calling her at this time. seeing that it was your number again, she immediately grabbed her phone. her finger hesitating to press the answer button yet did it anyway and she immediately heard your soft sniffles and your shaky breath.

"can you come over? i need you right now." you softly whispered through the phone.

your soft voice that used to whisper sweet nothings to her, your soft voice that would sing to her heart whenever you'd serenade her and the voice that she misses so much. it was enough to put her on her feet and storm out of her room.

looking at her phone, you had ended the call. she sighed and speed-walked to the front door when her leader called her.

"yunjin? where are you headed to this late?" chaewon asked, crossing her arms.

yunjin pursed her lip, deciding to lie or not before answering.

"y/n...she called and said she needed me.." the leader uncrossed her arm, brow raised in confusion.

"and you'd risk getting caught by dispatch over a call?" chaewon stared at her red-haired member who held a pleading expression. she sighed and waved yunjin off, walking towards her room.

"just don't get caught and use the manager's car. i'll talk to him for you." a smile broke in yunjin's lips as she eagerly nodded and jogged to grab the car key from the drawer.

"will do!" yunjin whisper yelled and put on a disguise. a good old hat and mask, tying her hair neatly under her hat—hiding her recognisable red hair.

☆

you were lying on the cold floor, eyes staring at the ceiling—which had remnants of the past. a masking tape you placed to hold the balloons when you surprised yunjin on her birthday. you forgot to take that off and now seeing it made all the memories flood your mind.

your eyes shifted to your phone that was held loosely by your left hand. you grimaced at how you let yourself go and drunk called your ex. a groan escapes your mouth as you writhe on the ground in embarrassment.

a ring on your doorbell knocked you off your actions— making you confused and scared. it's already two in the morning and you weren't expecting any visitors—unless you were thinking of how you called your ex to come over but it's impossible. there's no way she'd come over.

a ring resounded again and it made you stand up, wobbling to it. getting a grip on the doorknob, you twisted it and opened the brown door. all sense of security leaving your alcohol-drowned brain.

a masked person stood before you, eyes locking with yours. you swear you've seen those dark brown eyes before but you just can't remember where and when. the person took off their mask and you let out the most audible gasp. it seemed to make you slightly sober because you immediately pulled the person in and closed the door.

"yunjin? what are you doing here? you might get seen!" you said and immediately let go of your grip on her wrist. you didn't really expect her to come over.

finding the situation quite awkward, you stepped a good steps back. yunjin looked at you and chuckled softly.

"were you drinking?" she asked.

"no." her eyes shifted to the mess behind you then back to yours before raising a brow.

"yes." you sighed and she shook her head.

walking past you, she went to the kitchen and grabbed a plastic bag. her familiarity with your place making you remember the days where she'd spend the night over and cook you delicious meals that you miss.

your eyes followed her as she went to the living room and picked up the empty beer cans on the ground. feeling guilty over her cleaning your mess, you walked into the living room and took the plastic from her—making her look at you.

"i'll clean it myself." you said but she took it from you.

"no, i'll take care of this. you go take a shower and then sleep." you looked at her as she continued cleaning your mess while you stood there watching her.

there she goes again, making you feel things with her actions. a trait of hers that you fell so hard for. but now, it only made your heart wrench in pain.

hearing your silence, yunjin stopped and looked up at you. eyes widening at the tears streaming down your face. dropping the plastic, yunjin got up and went to you, holding your face as she wiped the tears from your eyes with her thumb.

you chuckled bitterly.

"why are you doing this? we're not together anymore. exes don't wipe their ex's tears." you bitterly said, making yunjin stop and let go of you.

"right..." she nodded and stepped back.

"exes also don't call their ex saying to come over because you need them." yunjin retorted making you lock eyes with her.

"can you blame me? you came into my life, rocked my world and left me with these memories i wanted to forget so bad." yunjin's eyes widened at your words as you stood there breathing heavily.

"i wanted to beg to you to come back... i felt so alone that no matter what i do—i just can't fill the hole you left in my heart." tears welled in yunjin's eyes.

"i..oh god..i'm sorry..." yunjin cried as she closed the gap between you and held your face, wiping tears with her thumb.

"please...just for tonight...let me love you again..." you plead, eyes looking back at hers for a response.

the red haired girl nodded and without wasting time, you closed the distance between you—lips crashing against each other. you tasted the tears that you've both shed as you shared a passionate kiss filled with longing for each other.

your arms snaked around her neck as hers circled smoothly to your waist, pulling you even closer. as your lungs burned at the lack of oxygen, yunjin pulled away—foreheads against each other as you both pant heavily.

"i might get drunk with all the beer you've drunk." yunjin commented making you chuckle.

"oh yeah?" you said and leaned for a kiss, smiling against her lips that you missed so much.

lost in the heat of the kiss, you failed to realize that you were now against the wall, her hand trapping you in her tall build whilst the other held your waist. a once passionate kiss turned into something more when yunjin pulled away to breathe and you saw the hungry look in her eyes.

"fuck this." you said and pulled her to the sofa, pushing her against the soft cushion—straddling her immediately.

as if automatic, her hands landed on your hips and pulled you closer to her. looking up at you with an intense, hungry gaze like a predator ready to pounce on her prey—you. pushing your face to hers, your lips danced together emitting sloppy sounds with your soft sighs and moans.

yunjin bit your lip, eliciting a moan from you—music to her ears. taking this chance to invade your mouth with her tongue who danced with yours leaving you breathless. her lips parted from your mouth and trailed kisses from your jaw to your neck.

she softly bit your neck, earning a moan from you. her lips went to your sensitive spot which she knows by heart and began abusing your skin, biting it softly then kissing it. controlled by her lust and hunger, she failed to realize that she'd been sucking on it. once she's done, she released your skin with a pop as she pulled away—looking at the red marks on your neck that are starting to darken a bit.

proud at her 'art', her attention went to your hungry gaze and now swollen lips that are begging for her care. she decided to tease you for a bit, ghosting her lips just a mere centimeter away from yours—watching as you squirm and push your head against hers. you hungrily kissed her, your tongue invading hers but was quickly dominated by her.

the heat becoming too much, you pulled away as you quickly removed your shirt—yunjin helped you so. lips crashing immediately as you threw it somewhere in your room. her lips parted from yours again and ventured beneath your neck, lightly nipping on your skin. her mouth just above your mounds making you whimper when she teasingly licked on the skin.

your eyes met hers, and you just knew where this kiss would lead—a path of no return, one you’d likely regret in the morning. but the thought barely lingered, drowned out by the intoxicating pull of her lips. drunk in her kisses, you leaned in again, letting her warmth consume you.

the world outside blurred as the glass windows fogged up, a hazy testament to the clash of warmth and cold. under the drizzling rain, her lips met yours in a heated frenzy—a desperate attempt to fill the fractures in your hearts. it was a kiss that erased everything but the two of you, a kiss that begged to mend what was broken, if only for a fleeting moment... or maybe, just maybe, forever.

.

.

.

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

halo im back after being gone for almost a week. i made this about three days ago but lost the inspiration to finish it until now so here ya go.

[azrielbrainrot]

I Laugh Like Me Again... She Laughs Like You - Part 7

Pairing: Azriel x F!Reader

Description: The time to restore your memories has finally come.

Warnings: Violence, Death (well not really)

Word Count: 4600

Notes: This is the moment of truth, our girl finally gets some answers. Hope you enjoy!

Part 6 ○ Part 8

It hasn't even been a full day since you killed Norris in that dark cell, but you've never felt better. The moment his heart stopped beating, you started breathing easier. It felt like the weight of the world fell off your shoulders, and knowing you will never have to kill or hurt someone at his orders brought you an amount of relief you never thought you would be able to feel. The days of stretching yourself thin to do his and the guild's bidding at the cost of your conscience were finally gone, you truly couldn't believe it.

You weren't so naive to think the guild would allow you to walk away so easily after not only deserting and sharing classified information about the organization, but also killing one of their best members. They would surely send out assassins to find and kill you, to silence you lest you tell the courts of Prythian too much about them - this is precisely how the guild has managed to survive in the shadows for so long after all, by disposing of any possible threat to the organization. But, with the backing of the Night Court and Azriel's endless support, you didn't feel so threatened, especially after witnessing their power and resilience while helping you with this whole situation. Rhysand has also already gotten more than enough information from Norris' mind to give you enough of an edge. Most of all, you weren't alone for the first time in your life.

The only thing that was still missing were your memories, the main part of the plan and the exact reason you were currently sitting in this foreign room while the High Lord prepared himself to enter your mind and destroy the spell keeping them locked out of your reach. You've been told this was the room you and Azriel had shared in the townhouse before you passed. An interesting choice made by the High Lady for such a somber spell to occur in, though you understand the sentiment behind her decision. With some luck, this place could act as a jumpstart to the process if needed. It would also be good for you in case regaining your memories somehow erases the recent ones.

If it were up to you, this would have happened right after Norris was killed, it could have been in that same damp and bloody cell for all you cared, but Azriel and the others insisted on waiting, letting you and Rhysand rest your bodies and minds before attempting such a delicate procedure.

Azriel also had to go and find the witch's tool Norris used, although that had taken him less than an hour since Rhysand had stolen that information directly from Norris' mind, and he had been back before you even had the chance to finish bathing. Apparently your theory that the tool had to be close to him was correct, and so your handler had hidden it not far from where your meeting had occurred. After he died, the glamour placed on it fell apart, and Azriel's shadows easily found it in the exact place Rhysand had told him it would be in.

The tool was nothing more than a simple amulet. It was easy to overlook the small ruby hanging from a delicate golden chain if it weren't for the strange, dark aura that clung to it, even Azriel's shadows seemed to recoil from it. It was hard to believe such a small object could cause so much destruction and hurt so many people.

Using the tool shouldn't prove to be too complicated for Rhysand either since he has seen Norris' memories of using it - you asked him to share these with you, but he refused, not wanting you to see that cruel male ruin your life and the state your body was in when Norris found you lying in a pool of your own blood in the forest, somehow still alive despite the wound and how long it had been, you decided to wait for your memories to come back before asking him again, the old you had to know how to convince him better - and, after dismissing the wards around your memories with its help, the rest should fall under standard daemati capabilities, which he already excelled at. Even keeping the amulet inactive and safe would be easy enough. Amren seemed to already have made preparations to keep it safe in the court, and a wicked glint in her eyes at the prospect of having such a tool in their arsenal - you really were glad they were on your side now.

The only standing problem and the reason the atmosphere in the room was so tense, was the lack of knowledge on the spell itself, and, more importantly, how dispelling it would affect you. The wards were placed in your mind a century ago, and had been active without pause for that long. Even Norris didn't seem to know the spell's full power or what ramifications could linger after it's gone from what Rhysand was able to learn in his mind. It's safe to assume that there's a big chance of your mind not being able to assimilate back, or even survive it.

You could almost feel Azriel's anxiety and fear as if they were your own, and, even if he would never ask that of you, you knew he didn't want you to go through with this. It was painfully obvious on his face - the spymaster was a lot easier to read then you would have guessed before meeting him. Azriel would rather have you like this than not at all, and you can't blame him for that as you don't know what it feels like to lose someone you love, let alone being on the verge of it happening for the second time, but that's precisely why you need to do this.

From what he has told you, you lived a full life before Norris had found you, and it doesn't feel right trying to fit back into place when you can't recall any of it, when you don't feel the same as you once did, when you don't know if you're still the same person. It would be impossible to even attempt to live a normal life with the constant reminder that a full century of your life, almost everything that you knew about yourself, had been a lie.

His hazel eyes meet yours as you shift on the mattress, impatiently waiting for Rhysand to finish his preparations. In truth, you don't think he has looked away from you for a second ever since you walked into this room, walked back into his life even.

You give him a small smile, hopefully quelling some of his nerves. He tries to return it, but you don't need your memories or the decades of knowing him to see right through it. It didn't reach his eyes, the concern so visible there it made a lump form in your throat, and his shadows were clinging to him almost desperately, trying to soothe their singer as best as they could, to no avail. You wished you knew how to comfort him, and how to let him comfort you properly in turn - yet another reason to go through with this.

“Are you ready?” Rhysand's voice makes you jump slightly and break eye contact with your husband, not even realizing you'd gotten lost in the warm hazel of his eyes once again.

“Yes,” you nod, straightening your back and placing your palms firmly on the mattress, risking one last look at Azriel before focusing on the High Lord.

“We can start then.”

You'd be lying if you said you weren't a bit nervous, scared even - your life was on the line after all, but this was your only chance of getting rid of that aching empty well inside of you, and if Azriel was convinced Rhysand was capable of doing so, then you believed him.

The High Lord was also worried though, if it wasn't obvious by the way his mate kept touching his arm and squeezing his hand, the lack of his usual obnoxious confidence would have given it away. If he failed he would not only lose his friend again, but also break his brother's heart beyond repair. You even think he'd end up blaming himself, though it didn't seem to fit in with the image you initially had of him. It's not an exaggeration to say your life is in his hands.

Feyre helps him wrap the amulet around his wrist as if it were a bracelet, squeezing his hand one more time before joining Azriel a few steps away, a conflicted look falling over her face as she watches her friend, not knowing how to comfort him. Even Amren, who stood by the door with crossed arms, looked concerned. If you weren't already more than curious enough to risk your life to regain your memories, the fact that such a creature would look worried about you would definitely make you want to remember everything just to find out exactly how that came to happen.

Rhysand walks to you then, stopping right in front of your legs dangling off the bed, close enough that your feet almost touch his shins, and lets out a soft but weary breath, looking into your eyes as if searching for any sign of doubt. When he seems to be content with what he finds in them, he reaches over and holds your head between his hands softly.

“It might help me keep grounded in your mind. Every little trick is worth a try,” he explains when he sees your confused expression, the smile he throws at you not quite reaching his purple eyes either, before closing his eyes, his magic coming to life around you.

In the next moment, you feel black talons scraping at your mental walls, prompting you to close your eyes as well and fight against every one of your instincts to allow the High Lord passage into your mind. You try to keep your thoughts as blank as possible so Rhysand can find what he's looking for more easily, like he said, every trick is worth a try.

You don't exactly know what you were expecting, but definitely not for it to happen so fast. Just as you felt a knock at what you now could distinguish as the wards keeping your memories from surfacing, they came tumbling down, an acute pain at the base of your skull making you fist the sheets under your hands, biting your lip to stop yourself from making any noise or moving too much. You didn't want to break Rhysand's concentration, or worry Azriel and the others more than necessary, you could handle it.

The pain goes as suddenly as it started, and you could feel Rhysand's presence everywhere as he searched through your mind. It was a foreign feeling, to know someone could read into your every thought. Even if he dove into a different corner of your mind, one you hadn’t agreed to, there was no way for you to stop him now, no way for you to stop him from seeing all the awful things you've done at the guild's orders, no way to stop him from showing them to Azriel if he so wished. In the midst of your spiraling thoughts, a soft caress reaches you through your mind, a reassurance - you almost forgot he could hear your fears as well.

A few moments later, you feel him come to a sudden stop, the lull barely giving you a chance to breathe before memories start rushing into your brain at an alarming speed, so much so that your head physically hurts, a lot worse than before. It's like you can feel the memories forming into your brain and pushing away the ones constructed by the spell. Some of them you were vaguely aware of as they seemed to haunt you when you slept, like dreams overwriting reality but, with every second that passes and every moment shown to you, you realize they had never been dreams to begin with.

Your mind struggles to hold onto everything, your past memories eating away at what you had believed was your life mere minutes ago. You faintly feel Rhysand's, now achingly familiar, presence leave your mind, his hands lingering a second longer, thumb caressing your cheek comfortingly before following, letting you have some privacy to assimilate the onslaught of information on your own, and then the world goes dark, senses completely overwhelmed, barely registering the feeling of your body falling back into the mattress and scarred hands holding onto you, as your mind struggles to catch up to everything.

Your feelings seem to reach you before the memories even have a chance to sink into your mind, or for you to go through them and remember everything properly. The strongest ones are easily your love for Azriel, flowing over you in suffocating waves, and the subsequent anger at yourself that follows, for abandoning him and then hurting him so much. It's like some little voice inside you that had been screaming at you, and trying to claw its way out from under your skin, trying to stop you from hurting him, was finally able to be heard.

As you rake through the memories, remembering all the happy moments you and Azriel have spent together, - every little date, every kiss, every night and morning spent together, - and even the saddest ones, - the fights spent yelling at each other in the rain and the make up sex right up against your front door - the guilt only gets heavier in your chest, tying itself around your heart and almost making you unable to breathe.

You stabbed your husband, the love of your life, the male you had vowed to protect and love to the end of your days. Even if you had been controlled by whatever dark magic was in your brain, you can still feel the weight of Truth Teller in your hand, could feel the faint resistance of his skin against the decisive force of your movement, could feel his blood on your hands, could feel so much blood on your hands. Gods, what have you become?

It almost feels like there's two people inside you for a few moments, trying to make sense of each other as the world collapses and re-forms itself around them. As one part of you lives through memories in the night court, the other balks at all you've done at the guild, mourns an innocence you will never be able to get back. You don't know where you begin and the assassin ends, where Azriel's wife even fits in the equation.

Trying to stay on track, and desperately hold onto something in the incessant waves of memories, real and fake, and the feelings attached to them, you try to calm yourself enough to try to remember what happened the night you died. You knew your throat had been cut with a faebane laced weapon, the scar would always be etched into your skin, but you never knew how it happened. For some reason, you never even thought of asking anyone in the guild about it, like you didn't consider it pertinent information - no doubt, a consequence of the spell Norris used on you. If you started asking questions you might have found out something you weren't supposed to.

That particular night is still somewhat hazy in your mind, likely a consequence of the trauma you experienced. There are broken memories of you talking about the mission with Azriel and the rest of the Inner Circle. You recall not feeling the least bit nervous about it as they were simple bandits that somehow had gotten lucky and managed to evade Azriel's shadows for a little while before getting caught. You remember getting a few leads on them, and splitting up to try and find something. The feeling of Azriel's lips on yours as he quickly kissed you goodbye before disappearing into his shadows is still vivid in your mind.

After that things start getting muddled. You found the bandits at some point, and, even if there were more of them than what you expected, they didn't seem particularly strong so you were holding up your own in the fight that broke out as soon as they saw you. The next thing you knew though, someone had struck you from behind, hitting the back of your head hard enough that it brought you to your knees, the same person grabbing your hair and slicing your throat the next moment, not giving you a chance to avoid it. There's a break in your memories then.

All you can remember at first is your body feeling heavy, not being able to get your limbs to obey your commands as you struggled to flip yourself over so you weren't laying face down on the mud, the cold rain falling on your skin uninterrupted. Trying to take a breath into your lungs only to find it almost impossible and extremely painful. You remember the coppery taste in your mouth distinctly, not being able to swallow or make any sound through your destroyed throat. The thought that the knife had to have been laced with something was swimming around your mind, a simple cut like that wouldn't have been hard for your fae healing to handle.

You were vaguely aware of the voices around you but couldn't make any sense of what they were saying, your heartbeat was too loud in your ears and panic was starting to set in. The only thing you were sure of at that moment was that you were going to die on that muddy floor at the hands of petty thieves, this possibility not allowing you to even try to make out what they were saying, not caring about them anymore.

Azriel always told you that you needed to work on your openings so things like this didn't happen, so you didn't get caught off guard. He was right, he usually was, not that you would have ever admitted it to his face. The thought of your husband brings tears to your unfocused eyes. You wished you could have had more time with him. He has brought you an amount of love and happiness you didn't even think possible, and all you'll give him in return is pain. You promised him you would stay by his side to the end of your days, assured him you would never leave him multiple times when his nightmares became too much to bear and old insecurities made themselves known.

You made one last prayer to the Mother. Begging for your life wasn't worth it anymore, but you still asked that Azriel could survive this, that he would forget about you and move on. You had always wanted to give him the best, had vowed to make him as happy as possible but were failing miserably like this. The news of your death would break him, you didn't even want to imagine how he would feel when he found out. Fuck, you hoped he wouldn't be the one to find your body at least.

What a cruel fate. Making him go through so much hardship and pain in his life and still take one of the few blessings he had found for himself. You've only been married for a little over a decade, such an insignificant amount of time compared to the years he had behind him, and hopefully still ahead of him. You'd never forgive the Mother for making him suffer so much.

As your thoughts quiet, you notice the lack of voices around you. Apparently the killers had just left you there, bleeding out on the cold ground, not even bothering to finish the job properly. They didn't have to, you didn't need to be a healer to know your injuries would kill you in not even another minute. Your senses were getting duller with every painful beat of your heart, you couldn't even hear the sounds of the birds coming from the forest behind you anymore, couldn't focus on your thoughts, could barely see the light of the moon and the stars shining in the dark sky. It feels fitting for you to die at night, it was as close to Azriel as you could get now, watching the same moon shining under him, the same one you had fallen in love under.

As you gaze upon the brilliant light of the moon, wishing you would have had the chance to say goodbye, a tightness settles in your chest, somehow making it pump faster, lessening the ache ever so slightly. The feeling is unlike any other, you mistakenly think it to be your body dying off before a breath is once again allowed into your lungs, easier than before. You blink a few times then, trying to search your surroundings for anyone with the limited control you had over your body, only to come up short. If anyone was healing you, there would be no reason for them to keep hiding. You've also had to be healed after an injury plenty of times, enough to know what it feels like and how effective it can be. This felt different somehow, and it didn't seem to be fully healing you as you could still feel your wound bleeding, your throat still as painful as it had been.

Azriel's familiar scent reaches you and mixes with your own. Your chest grows tight once more, body temperature somehow rising despite the cold rain and lack of blood, before an overwhelming feeling washes over you, traveling to every inch of your being as things suddenly click into place.

This was a mating bond.

Your sobs return at the realization, even more inconsolable than before, fingers digging into the bloody mud under you at the unfairness of it all. You could feel Azriel as if he was under your skin for a moment, smell him like he was standing over you, when in reality he was nowhere to be found, when you wouldn't be able to see him ever again.

Mating bonds are extremely rare and precious, most fae yearn for one chance of a love as powerful as a bond like this can bring. So why would the Mother waste it on you? Why not bind Azriel to someone who can stand by his side? Why not show it to you sooner, so you could have at least enjoyed it for a while? You've never heard of a bond forming as one person is about to die, when the other isn't even close - usually all it takes is a simple glance, the right exchange or words, rarely happening years after knowing someone.

What was the purpose of this? Why must life be so cruel? You almost want to hope it was a mistake, but the visceral reaction your body has at the thought, even in this state, doesn't allow you to. Azriel was yours, even if only for this laughable amount of time. You had a mate, one you would be able to tell your parents about when death came for you and took you to them.

Those were the thoughts swirling around your mind as you let out what would have been your last breath. Crying every tear left in your body, looking up at the moon and praying for the Mother to take the bond away, or not allow Azriel to feel it because, as much as it hurt you, you knew it would kill him to not only lose you but also lose a mate.

You had found it strange when Rhysand had told you Norris had found you alone in the forest, your body already cold, only a drop of blood still allowing you to cling onto life, but this explains it. The bond had somehow kept you alive long enough for Norris to find you, and take you to a healer at the guild like Rhysand saw. You had been long unconscious when he did, and so you didn't have any memory of any of it. You were also pretty sure the thieves might have been working for him, which explains how they had evaded Azriel's shadows for so long.

The answers regarding your death, the ones you had been aching to learn, now paled in comparison to what you had just unknowingly stumbled upon. You had a mate. You almost couldn't believe it, but the bond made itself known now that it was free from the wards' confines, shining bright deep inside you, linking you to someone through a strong but neglected bridge, still holding on after a century, and you know just where that bridge leads, shadows lurking over the other side.

You come to slowly, your mind aware of your consciousness before your body can follow. It's like you've never been this deeply asleep, the feeling of deja vu hitting you immediately. Perhaps that's why it takes you longer to realize you weren't lying down on a bed, not directly at least. There was a body under you, holding you close to him, enough so that you could hear his heartbeat as your head rested on his chest. You know it's Azriel right away, his touch and scent so unmistakable to you now, you don't know how it had been possible to ever forget it.

And the bond. You can feel it now, can feel something connecting the two of you, etched so deep into your soul that it almost feels impossible that you've been blind to it for so many years. Maybe because you've left it abandoned all this time, but you can literally feel it purr in satisfaction now, making it hard to focus on anything else.

You don't know how long you had been out for, the sun had set in the sky and everyone seemed to have left you two alone, the faint, lingering smell of Rhys' expensive cologne mixed with one scent you've only discovered recently, the only thing left behind. Gods, you can't believe both Cassian and Rhys had mates too.

Azriel had moved to lean against the headboard, sitting you across his lap, holding you close to him and resting your head against his chest as he rubbed slow circles up and down your arm soothingly. You didn't have to see him to know he had called his shadows over the both of you, keeping you safe in his arms as he waited for you to wake up, just like he always did.

Taking a deep breath, you open your eyes, not being able to restrain yourself from looking at your mate for another second. He must have been distracted or falling asleep himself because he tenses softly when you stir and rise up from his chest, hand moving up to hold your cheek adoringly the moment your eyes meet his wide, hazel ones.

You can see the questions swirling in his gaze, can almost taste the anxiety, but relief conquers every other emotion. As much as he wanted to know you were back, he was glad you had at least survived. Keeping him in suspense would be cruel of you, especially after making him wait a hundred years, you don't think you could bear another second either.

“Hello, Az,” you whisper softly, emotion tightening your throat. He lets out a sigh of relief, one that came from the depths of his soul and brings tears to his eyes. He leans his forehead against yours, stealing your breath away as a tear rolls down your cheek unattended.

“Welcome back, my love.”

[muwapsturniolo]

𝑮𝒐𝒐𝒅 𝑳𝒖𝒄𝒌 𝑩𝒂𝒃𝒆 💫 Nick sturniolo (m! reader)

"i-i made a mistake, please, please just..."

✘ angst, i can't lie i had trouble writing this so I'm sorry that it isn't that good😭 i promise i will do nick justice next time, angst isn't my strongest genre.

It's dark in the bedroom, the only light being the moonbeams cascading down and illuminating a figure sitting on the edge of the bed.

He couldn't sleep, his mind toying with him and replaying his happiest moments that he took for granted and ruined - He felt guilty.

A soft shuffling is heard, his whole body tensing and his throat constricting. He slowly turns his head, his eyes landing on his sleeping wife.

She was a beautiful girl, she had a good heart and tended to forgive people too easily....and yet he found himself hating her

He knew it was wrong, the girl never did anything to harm him or make his life a living hell - He did that all on his own.

He was the reason he hates his life, not the woman he calls his wife.

He clenches his fists and faces forward, his eyes beginning to burn from the salty tears forming. He closes his eyes and lets out a shaky breath, his hands coming to his face as he rests his elbows on his knees.

"God, what is wrong with me..." He questions himself softly, the tears now running down his face.

He knew if anyone saw him they would think he was pathetic.

What kind of man sits on the edge of his bed in the middle of the night, head in hands as he cries next to his wife, all because he wishes he was with a boy?

A silent sob escapes his mouth as he recalls all the memories with him.

The day they met, the first time they hung out, the first time they got drunk, their first kiss, the endless nights of fooling around - He missed it, he craved it.

He couldn't believe he gave that all up to be nothing more than a husband in a picture-perfect American family.

He could hear Nick's voice as he replayed that day in his head.

"You can go and kiss 100 fucking girls Y/n, you can drink all you want and try to forget the feelings you have for me, but that doesn't erase the fact that you're gay!"

"I'm not gay Nick! I don't have feelings for you! This was a mistake o-A mistake? A mistake is spilling your coffee on your shirt when you're in a rush, not telling me you only want me to call you baby as your dick is shoved down my throat!"

The two males stare at each other, their breathing harsh as they try to come to terms with the end of their beginning.

Y/n sighs and allows his body to relax, "Nick...I'm sorry, ok? I-I...I'm sorry."

"Yeah well when you wake up regretting this choice, just know I told you so."

I told you so...

He was right.

He regrets everything.

His gold band glimmers softly in the moonlight, a reminder that he’s bound to a marriage that he doesn't even want.

He couldn't take it anymore

Without a second thought, he rips the band off, setting it on the nightstand and jumping up. He’s quick to change out of his pajamas, stumbling out of the house as he makes his way to the car.

His heart thumps loudly in his ears, his breathing erratic as he swings out of the driveway, heading towards his destination.

It wasn't long before he arrived at the infamous bar "Pink Cadillac." It was mainly known for being an LGBT+ bar, a place where people of different genders and sexualities could be with their own, and feel safe.

He hadn't stepped foot in this bar since that night, attempting to erase all the memories and a part of himself.

he sits in the car with sweaty palms, staring up at the neon sign as he debates going in.

he knew it was too late to back out, he already left her and his ring at home - He didn't have a choice anymore.

He climbs out of the car and slowly makes his way inside, the interior of the bar starting to look and feel familiar. He finds himself smiling as he sees pictures plastered on the wall from 7 years ago, recognizing the faces of his old acquaintances. He stops when he comes across a picture of him and Nick, the two of them smiling as they were crowned the kings of the "Pink Cadillac Prom".

He remembers that night as if it was yesterday, but he doesn't have enough time to dive into his memories due to someone approaching him.

"Look at what the cat dragged in! Long time no see Y/n"

He turns around and smiles softly seeing the familiar face of Damon. he was dressed up, makeup covering his face and his neon green wig laid to perfection.

"Damon...hey," Damon gives him a quick up and down before crossing his arms. "Didn't think I would see your face here ever again after that night..."

The smile on Y/n's face falters, his eyes now cast downward as he feels an ache in his chest. Damon sighs and drops his arms, pulling Y/n towards the bar.

"Whiskey coke?"

Y/n chuckles dryly, nodding his head as he sits at the bar. Damon whips up the drink before sliding it over to the male, Y/n taking a long sip before sighing. The two sit and talk, catching up on the years of missed events and laughing with each other over old memories.

It wasn't long before Damon finally questioned him, "What are you doing here Y/n?"

"I...I need to see Nick..."

Damon sighs and places his hands on the bar, "Y/n I don't think that's a good idea.... It was 7 years ago, you need to forget it, you're married!" Y/n shakes his head, refusing to give up.

"I-I'm not married anymore."

A lie.

A big fat lie.

He was still married to her, but he planned to get a divorce after tonight.

"I-Is Nick here?"

Damon stares at him for a moment before nodding, "he is, but Y/n I don't think you sh-Where is he?" Y/n cuts him off, eager to see his long-lost lover. He notices the tense look on Damon's face and finds himself begging.

"Damon, please... I messed up, I-I need to apologize and tell him I'm sorry.”

“He’s on the patio…”

Y/n has never moved so fast in his life, maneuvering through the bodies of dancing couples and heading straight towards the patio exit.

He makes it outside, his eyes darting around before they land on him,

Nick.

It was like a scene out of a movie, the fluorescent lights shining on Nick's face as he laughed loudly with his friends, unaware of the person walking up to him and prepared to spill their heart out.

"so I told hi-Nick?"

The shorter boy whips around at the familiar voice, his brows furrowed in confusion.

"Y/n? What are you doing here?"

he goes to answer but stops seeing Nick's friends looking at him, "Can we talk...In privet?"

Nick scoffs and sets his drink down, "No, I don't want to talk to yo-Nick please...?" Nick stares at him for a moment before sighing and standing up from the table. He walks off, motioning for Y/n to follow.

The two boys stand off to the side of the patio, hidden from the curious eyes and in their own world.

"Speak, what did you want to talk about?"

Nick's dismissive tone was expected, Y/n had hurt him. However, Y/n couldn't help but be hurt himself.

"I... I miss you."

Nick chuckles and shakes his head, " Nick please! Just hear me out! I'm sorry ok? I fucked up, I fucked up big time, I know that. I-I hurt you and I'm so so sorry."

Nick can see how distraught the man is, the bags under his eyes evident and the tone of his voice proving such, but Nick doesn't feel bad at all.

He felt smug.

He knew Y/n would come crawling back, claiming he was sorry and crying because he knew he was lying to everyone and himself when he claimed he was straight and getting married to a girl.

"I hate to say it, but I told you so," Nick states, his arms crossed right across his chest. Y/n couldn't even be mad at the words thrown in his face, he knew Nick was right.

"I-I know. You were right, you are right. I-I was struggling Nick, I-I'm-" He struggles to find the right words to express his feelings and thoughts.

"I'm sorry...What we had wasn't a mistake. I did - No I do, have feelings for you. I was just scared Nick, it was one thing to be gay in private with our friends here, but it was another for me to be gay in public, and I'm sorry. I'm so fucking sorry for being a coward and lying to you and myself-" Y/n moves closer toward Nick, slowly trapping him between his chest and the pink-painted bricks of the club.

"-B-but I can handle it now, I-I want to try again...I want to try us again." Nick begins to look uncomfortable, the words and closeness of Y/n being too much. Nick gently pushes him away, his mouth dry as he tries to speak.

"Y/n...."

The taller male could already feel the tears forming in his eyes, he knew by the way Nick pushed him back and said his name that he was being turned down. He shakes his head, pleading softly with Nick as he holds his arms tightly.

"Nick please"

"Y/n let go..."

"Please just give me a chance!"

"Let go!"

"I-I made a mistake, I just-"

"I'M ENGAGED !"

Silence stands between the two, Nick looking away awkwardly as Y/n feels the bile rise in his throat. He's lying, he has to be lying. There's no way he was engaged...Right?

"W-what?"

Nick holds up his hand, "I'm engaged Y/n.... "

he looks at the shiny diamond ring, the ring reminding him of the one currently on his nightstand.

"D-don't say that...D-don't marry him, please!"

Now Nick was angry.

How dare Y/n show up and expect him to forgive him right away and live happily ever after. How dare he demand that he not go through with the marriage.

"That's rich coming from you! You're a fucking hypocrite Y/n, you left me to get married to a girl! A girl! Now you're telling me not to get married to the person who helped put me back together after you broke me?! Fuck you!"

"I'm not married to he- I don't fucking care Y/n!" Nick shouts. He sighs and removes his glasses, rubbing over his face in annoyance.

"Look... I'm happy now Y/n, I actually love myself now to not keep up with your bullshit. You coming here was a mistake....Go home."

Y/n swallows harshly as Nick's words hit him harshly.

He was right once again, this was a mistake.

"I-I...should go...Sorry for bothering you...'' He whispers softly, slowly backing up before turning around and starting to walk away. Nick's voice calling out for him makes him stop, hope filling in his chest.

"I'm glad you finally stopped lying to yourself...I hope you find the love you deserve...Good luck, babe."

Y/n smiles faintly despite feeling like shit. With a heavy heart, he leaves the bar, his whole body feeling numb as he drives back home.

He silently walks through the door and throws his keys back in the bowl, dragging his feet against the carpet as he enters the bedroom.

She's still sleeping.

He strips himself of his clothes and slides the gold band back on his finger. As he climbs into the bed, she awakens, her eyes fluttering open softly.

"Babe? Where did you go?" She questions.

"Needed some water...Sorry for waking you." He lies effortlessly. She hums and curls into his body, missing the grimace on his face due to the darkness of the bedroom.

"I love you," she mutters as she begins to go back to sleep.

"Yeah...Love you too...."

Another lie.

[aphroditelovesu]

Kitten Pajamas

❝commission: a slightly angsty oneshot that incorporates the kitten pajamas somehow. I'm imagining a situation where Alexander sees them out and starts asking her (again) where she's from. Basically, something that shows she's managed to avoid telling him. — requested by 💻 anon.

❝ 📜 — lady l: I got a little emotional while writing this, don't ask me why, since I don't even know the answer, but I liked how it turned out. I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 🤎

❝tw: slight angst.

❝📜pairing: slight yandere!alexander the great x female!reader.

❝word count: 1,180.

You stared at the kitten pajamas with a soft smile curving your lips, your fingers sliding over the soft fabric, almost as if they were tracing every detail, every line of the embroidery that made up the kittens' faces. With each touch, it was as if the memories of home, tucked deep in your mind so that you wouldn't go completely crazy, began to infiltrate your mind, bringing with them a mixture of longing and comfort.

The truth is that you had completely forgotten about the existence of those pajamas. They were stored, well protected at the bottom of a trunk, inside your tent, along with other things that you, in your busy routine full of responsibilities, rarely allowed yourself to revisit. It was as if that small piece of clothing, with its slightly worn fabric, was the only physical reminder of a life that seemed increasingly distant, something almost untouchable.

You had no specific reason to go through the trunks that day. You were just bored, trying to shake off the monotony that surrounded you, when a sudden burst of energy made you decide that maybe it would be a good idea to explore those forgotten corners. Who knows what you might find?

It was like that, amidst the dust and the smell of things stored away for a long time, that you found the pajamas. Cleaning had never been your favorite activity, but at that moment, as you held that small piece of clothing, you felt an unexpected joy. It was as if, for a moment, you had returned home, and the kitten pajamas were the thread that connected the future to the present.

A feeling of melancholy took hold of you, like a slow and inevitable wave, as your eyes traveled over every detail of the pajamas. Your fingers, once delicate, now gripped the fabric with more force than necessary, as if they wanted to extract more than just memories from that worn-out piece.

Home.

Such a simple word, yet so powerful at the same time. It echoed within you, awakening an emptiness that, although familiar, seemed to deepen with each passing day. Longing was something you had learned to carry, but at that moment, you felt its weight more than ever. The pain of being away, of feeling increasingly disconnected from everything you knew and loved, tightened your chest with an almost suffocating intensity.

You realized that, over time, you had begun to think less and less about home. When you first arrived here, the memories of your family and friends had been vivid, constant. But now, almost without realizing it, those memories were becoming hazy, distant, as if time was slowly erasing their faces, their voices, their smells. This was even more painful. The idea that you might be forgetting, that those people who had once meant so much to you were turning into shadows, filled you with a deep, painful sadness.

It was as if, in trying to adapt to this new place, you were leaving behind parts of yourself, parts you didn’t want to lose. And now, holding your pajamas, you realized that those parts were fading away, becoming nothing more than memories. The idea that your home, your real home, was becoming a distant memory was an unbearable thought.

You didn't even notice when the tears you were holding back started to run down your face, but you did notice when you heard a voice that haunted you as much as it comforted you echo in the silence of the tent.

"Why are you crying?" Alexander's voice rang out, filled with a concern he rarely showed. He approached you with barely audible steps, his calloused hands gently touching your shoulders, trying to offer some comfort, even without knowing the exact cause of your sadness.

Instinctively, you wiped the tears with the palm of your hand, trying to disguise the pain that still throbbed in your chest. Shaking your head in a gesture of denial, you looked up to meet his eyes, while still holding your pajamas tightly, as if they could anchor you to reality.

"Just some memories." You murmured, your voice low and heavy with emotion. Your eyes reflected a quiet sadness. Alexander, noticing the fragility of the moment, did something unusual for him: he didn’t insist, didn’t press you to explain further. Instead, he remained by your side, his gaze now fixed on the pajamas in your hands.

"This fabric..." He began, his voice hesitant as he tried to piece together a vague memory. Your eyes narrowed in concentration. "I’ve seen it before, haven’t I?"

Your hands began to sweat, as a slight panic settled over your body. You needed a good excuse, and fast. The last thing you wanted was for him to start questioning you incessantly, like he always did, with that relentless way that seemed to see through any disguise.

"Now I remember, you were wearing this when I first met you." Alexander spoke, his voice slightly accusatory but curious.

"Yes, I was wearing this." You mumbled, sighing.

Alexander took the pajamas in his hands, examining the fabric and the designs curiously. ''I've never seen anything like this before. Where is this from, exactly?''

"From the same place I came from, Alexander." You replied, trying to keep your voice steady. "It's pretty far away, you know? This fabric is common where I'm from. Everyone has something like this, it's very... Common and normal." You could feel your own hesitation showing in your words, and you mentally cursed yourself for sounding so anxious. You couldn't let him see how uncomfortable you were.

Alexander continued to stare at the pajamas for a few more seconds, as if he was trying to absorb every detail, searching for some hidden meaning. You knew you needed to change the subject of the conversation before he started questioning you more deeply.

"It's a simple piece, but it has sentimental value." You added, trying to sound casual. "That's all. Maybe we can put it back in the trunk and you can tell me about some of the new spoils of war?" You gave him a half-hearted smile, trying to direct his attention elsewhere.

Alexander looked up at you, and for a moment, he seemed to consider your words. He wasn’t one to leave questions unanswered, but perhaps he realized that this wasn’t the time to press. With one last glance at the pajamas, he finally handed them back to you, shrugging.

As he stepped aside to make room for you to put them away, you let out a sigh of relief. For now, you had managed to divert his attention, but you knew he wouldn’t forget so easily. Alexander was persistent, and that meant that sooner or later, you would have to deal with these issues again. But for now, the comforting silence of the tent reigned once more, and you put the pajamas away at the bottom of the trunk, trying to let the painful memories lie dormant for a little while longer.

[catyo90]

I already lost you once...

Warning: Logan x F!Reader (Smut) Minors DNI)

In your universe, your Logan was taken from you, not his life, but his memories. He was made to forget who you were by Stryker, one bullet was all it look for him to forget everything about you. And you were tortured every night and day by it. The moment you tried to fix it, to get the life you had with him back for good. The TVA erased you. Took your home, friends, family and lover away with no way of getting out.

That was years ago. You wondered through the void all alone, sometimes running into variants. In that time you never stopped trying to get back to him, that was until you found out your Logan was long since dead, when you met Laura, she was from the same universe as you. She told you everything and offered you to join her and a small band of others to survive in this cruel world.

What choice did you have, little did you know that one day. You would get your chance to see him again.

-

You woke up grabbing your long black cloak with a matched pair of dark green tube top and army pants, you looked at yourself in the broken mirror, the cold dogs tags you held onto for a moment before leaving. You walked out over hearing Gambit speaking to someone about drinking his whiskey. You sighed as you stood in the doorway, you froze in place as you saw a Deadpool variant looking over to you with curiosity.

"Whoa, and who is this fem fetal who looks like a early 2000s spice girl, which one are you? Oh oh let me guess, Foxy Spice, no wait that doesn't work, oh.." His voice faded as you looked past him, after so long you almost couldn't believe it.

"Logan...?"

His eyes widened a bit as he turned around, and he looked like he had seen a ghost, hell in his world you were, along with everyone else. Everyone was silent, even Deadpool was for once was quiet as he had both hands on his face realizing the look you both shared as you walked up to Logan.

"Y/n..."

You looked into his eyes and saw in them nothing but pain and anguish. The sight of you being alive and well was almost too much for him. And the sound of your name coming off his lips made you shiver. it had been so long since you heard your name said like that.

'I'm a little surprised you know me..." He stepped a little closer as you spoke seeing the same dog tags he wore in his early years. He never would give those away lightly. He knew what you meant to him in your universe. You looked over your shoulder at the others and whispered to Logan.

"We will speak later..." you looked up at him as he nodded in agreement. But before you stepped away you felt him grab your wrist for a moment, you saw his fingers wrap around to touch your pulse. He just needed to know you were actually here and alive and not a damn illusion or hallucination. He let your wrist go as you walked over to Gambit and spoke with him for a moment. Wade snuck in and whispered to Logan.

"If you were waiting for the opportune time to finally get some action in the last 200 years of your life...that was it."

"Will you shut the hell up?!"

"Never. For I am Marvel Jesus and my words are holy."

Logan rolled his eyes as he took another bottle of whiskey as he listened to the made up plan Wade made half assed. As he leaned against the wall chugging down the bottle his eyes couldn't help but wonder to you, and neither could you. Both your glances would met causing you to blush and him to smirk to himself knowing all too well the effect he was having on you.

-

After the plan was formed and the sun was beginning to set, Blade and gambit decided to have a few drinks together as Elektra was sharpening her twin blades as she watched Laura practicing on the dummies with her own blades. You on the other hand were looking around for Logan, you closed your eyes using your seismic sense, you could see the vibrations in everyone movements and could differ who was who from the the difference is each one, not even Wade was able to surprise you as he popped out form behind leaning a arm against the doorway.

"You looking for a certain beast."

"More like I already found him. Wade. Can I ask you a question about him?"

"Yes, he likes the rough play."

"How do you...never mind..."

'Oh come now child, all confessions to the Marvel Jesus shall be heard."

"Why is he with you?"

Wade was silent as he looked around like he could get stabbed any moment. He moved you into the hall and spoke carefully.

"In his world he's the fucking worst, like everyone died, but now he's here trying to fix it with me cause I made an educated wish. He knows how to save people. And we need him."

"An educated wish?"

"yeah yeah I know. but listen... he spoke of you, and how the last thing he saw that made him loss all hope was seeing you dead in his arms. In my world he was the definition of a hero, and now...we are gonna fucking fix everything."

You sighed. You sensed this Logan was different, but to know you had died in his world. You looked up at Wade and smiled.

"In my world, he died long ago, but Laura told me everything that happened, how he lost so much, the pain of losing all those he loved. Rose, Kayla, Jean, Atsuko, But no matter what, he kept fighting. Every time he uses those claws he feels physical pain, but every night he is haunted by nightmares. I'm sure this Logan faced many pains like mine. But his eyes were the same. The same eyes I fell in love with."

"Jeez, you sound like a poet now, well why don't you go find him and give him a ballad he will never forget."

"I think he got enough fun time with you in that car, from what Laura says, there was clearly some fun times going on there."

"I never kiss and tell honey." Wade said as heard a whistle seeing Gambit motioning him over for a drink. You smirked as Blade groaned as Wade walked up to them saying how he was gonna show them a good time. Whatever inuendo he meant by that.

You looked outside and saw at the campfire near the car, both Logan and Laura were speaking to each other, you smiled at the sight as you walked over and saw Laura look at you and smiled as she placed a hand on Logan's shoulder. He looked at her and nodded to her as he looked back at the fire in front of him. You flipped your cloak over the log and sat beside him as he offered you the bottle of whiskey for a sip but you declined.

"Not a hard liquor kind of girl."

He smirked as he remembered, it had been so long since he had spoken to you, to see you again after so long. It was almost unnerving for him, but he still was for once is his miserable long life, glad to see you again.

"You wanted to talk earlier. I'm gonna assume you have questions?" He said as he threw the empty bottle toward the fire.

"I only wanted to ask how you knew me in your world, but Wade seems to have painted a uneasy but clear picture for me."

Logan gave a sharp eyed glance at Wade as he groaned in annoyance. He looked at you and glanced down at the dog tags you wore around your neck.

"I gave those to you, I mean I personally didn't but your version...fuck you know what I talking about right?"

"it's alright Logan, from what I can tell you and me were both together in both universes, but fate decided, we didn't belong."

"Fate has nothing to do with it."

"You don't believe in it?"

"No I don't, my version of you died and your version of me died. We got the short end of the stick but look at both of us now. No one gets the chance to see their loved ones again...this is all because of that asshole." He smirked pointing over his shoulder to Wade.

"Better not let him hear you, he'll never stop talking about it then."

You both chuckled at the horrifying thought, it had been a long time since you laughed, hell since you felt any joy at all. After all this time you were finally given the chance to see him again, to hear his voice. You looked at him and brought a hand up to his.

"Can I hold your hand?"

He said nothing as he held out his hand as you took off the gloves he was wearing and held your hand in his. The everlasting scars on his hands from his claws slightly showed, even with a healing factor as great as his you come see them. His hand warm to the touch and slightly rough, no doubt from all the fighting and hard labor he did in the past. You closed your eyes as your seismic sense could feel the metal underneath, it was there you could see all the wounds he took, his adamantium skeleton though healed to others, you saw micro fractures everywhere. Every break and every cut he suffered. Clear as day.

You had your hand roam up his muscular arm causing you to blush a little as you saw a familiar break in his bone. It matched exactly to how your Logan got it.

"This was from Sabertooth. Your brother. He came after you one night and had me by the throat trying to hold leverage over you. You fought him and in-between all the cuts and gashes, he managed to break your arm....and that when I used my powers on him. And in so doing...I hurt you as well.

You remembered how your seismic sense caused the metal bones in his body to vibrate and caused pain for him as each bone hit the other. You were still trying to control your powers at this point, but you remembered feeling awful after Sabertooth fled.

Logan looked at you and saw the matching scar along your neck. The same one his version had.

"I remember that night...but if I recall, or at least with my version of you. The night had a lot of exercise and no sleep."

You looked at him and laughed to yourself. He wasn't wrong

"Yeah it was...sorry this is just so...surreal." you said letting go of his hand but he still left the gloves off. You smirked at him as you took off your cloak, the heat from the fire was making you warm. Or at least you thought in that moment. You looked over at the others and saw they were retiring for the night. Wade of course gave you a wink as he blew a kiss to Logan as he helped a very drunk Gambit into the base. Both sights causing you to laugh to yourself. Logan looked at you with small smile.

You smirked as you looked at him once more this time give him a curious look.

"So...I have to ask. Am I...anything like your version. I'm sure we had some differences but I am curious."

He said nothing as he looked at you bring a hand to move a loose stand away from your face as he spoke.

"No matter what universe...your perfect."

You blushed hard as watched him move his hand away for a moment. He fingers flexed with want, he knew it had been...well forever since he felt any affection. But this ...this was different.

"I suppose we should get some rest, after all, it will be a long fight." You said standing up for a moment before looking at him.

But Logan didn't move, something you sensed in him was causing him to stay put as he looked at the fire and then turned to you. You saw him look away from you for a moment, you sat back down and leaned your head closer to him.

"Are you alri-" your words were cut off when you felt his hand grab a hold of your chin and his lips met yours. A thousand sparks seem to go on at once, your eyes closed as you wrapped your arms around his neck instinctively. It had been so long...so long since you had been kissed by him. You felt his other hand grip the back of your head becoming lost in your hair. You felt a small twinge of pain on yours lips as you knew they would be sore if it continued. He stopped himself catching his breath as he opened his eyes to look at you with a small bit of regret in his eyes.

"Logan..."

"I can't. It feels wrong. Like we are cheating...on each other."

You looked away for a moment. He wasn't entirely wrong. But you when you looked up at him you knew that what you were feeling was only for him. You sighed as you brought both hands to either side of his face making his breathing heighten as well as his want that you could in-between both of you.

"Logan, I love you. No matter what universe, no matter what version of us. I know across the entire multiverse. I only love you. No other." You gave a kind smile as you kissed his cheeks and then brought the kids to his lips as you brought your arms around his neck.

The defense in his body shattered in that instance. His arms wrapped around you tightly as he kissed you back harder and rougher. Even a small growl escaped his throat. Every kiss he gave felt divine as he paused for a moment looking around. You were about to inquire but before you could he grabbed you hand and led you away from fire, leading you into the woods. He stopped when he couldn't hear or smell the others and turned to look at you.

"Did we have to go so far?"

"I'm not letting that walking pain in the ass interrupt us." He said as he pulled you against his body. But still giving you a chance to turn him down.

You smirked as you grabbed a hold of his x men uniform with both hands, pulling him in close to you and kissed him. For a few moments, Logan didn't react. He felt himself quickly start to feel faint. This wasn't what he had expected you to do, but it certainly wasn't unwelcome.

His thoughts wondered to how long he had wanted this. It felt like eons since he felt this way for anyone. After everything that happened to him, he barely dared to hope. But now, with the feeling of your soft lips on his... they were so soft. His mind couldn't help too imagine how that luscious mouth of yours would feel elsewhere. He would give anything to know. Every moment your lips met his, you sensed his whole body tensing up. You expected him to quickly push you away and perhaps admonish the both of you for going too far. You then felt him move. You broke the kiss and started to let go of his suit, when to your surprise, you felt him wrap his arms around you and pull you in tightly, bringing your mouth back up to his for more.

He kissed you deeply, his lips quickly parted yours, giving you one passionate kiss after another. Despite the roughness of his skin, the ever so slight growth of facial hair brushing against your own, his lips were surprisingly soft even given his outer appearance and gruff personality.

Though the two of you should have been quiet, you soon found yourselves moaning softly into each other's mouths. Feeling a bit faint, you wrapped your arms around his neck for support as you felt you were starting to lose strength in your legs. He in turn held you closer to him, though it wasn't enough for him. The woods started to become filled with the sounds of deep breaths and lips parting and meeting again.

Before you knew it, you felt a nearby tree hit your back. With his mouth still on yours, he pushed himself up against you. He reached down, took your left leg and placed it around his waist. Causing you to moan in loud volume but you couldn't care.

With your arms still around his neck, he soon had you pinned to the tree looking down at you with lust filled eyes. The both of you should have been listening for any rogue variants or maybe any other unknown dangers but the only sounds that filled your ears were the erotic sounds that the two of you were making together

With you hanging onto him for dear life, his hands were free to do as he saw fit. One was busy holding your leg up, the other was braced against the tree.. His thoughts wandered to the string cords on your clothes. They wandered further, imagining what garments might be underneath.

He brought his hand down against your back kissing you even harder and rougher

You wouldn't have noticed if you had not suddenly felt the sweet sensation of his leather gloved hand starting to caress your tender neck.

"Fuck..." He said. You whimpered lightly as you felt him glide his fingers along your skin. All the times you had imagined him caressing you came to the forefront, making you forget everything else.

While keeping one arm around his neck, you took his hand in yours. He started to wonderif it was too much. That concern soon vanished the moment he felt you place his hand on your breast.

“Keep going.”

Logan let his hand wander up and down. Your own free hand wandered over his chest, over the hero suit and even the thin clothes that he wore underneath. Reaching further down to his waist, your fingers found his belt, which you attempted to do with one hand, but no luck.

Still your want to please him grew as you brought your hand back down to his waist. You couldn't get the belt loose, but you definitely could manage to get your hand inside his trousers. He moaned louder than ever before as he felt your hand venture down his navel and towards his very hard cock. The closer you got, the more his breath shortened. He was beyond eager to feel you take him in your hand.

The moment he felt you grasp him, he broke the kiss, gasping deeply as he felt your soft hand move up and down the length of him. It had been so long since someone had pleasured him like this, he almost came undone right there and then.

He buried his face in your neck, kissing you up, down and across, becoming more and more aroused hearing you moan just for him. His breathed deepened as he felt you continue to work his length in such a pleasurable way.

Logan was doing his best to center his thoughts, but with you pinned between him and the tree, it was all but impossible. He grabbed your waist and pulled you closer. As you looked up at him you realized how his gaze was focused on your face. He eyes filled with what looked to be lust and sorrow. He kissed you deeply, slipping his tongue into your mouth as his thumb stroked your cheek. He pulled away after a moment and looked at you with eyes full of adoration. “I missed you, Y/N.” he whispered before pulling you into another kiss.

You knew what he meant, you both had missed this feeling after so long. It was the one good thing you both felt in many years. In this moment being different versions didn't matter.

You reached your hands to his belt and undid it quickly looking him deep in the eyes. as you wrapped your palm around his now hard member. You squeezed and jerked on him while kissing him with tongue.

Logan growled into the kiss as you started to jerk him off. Every few seconds he would purr before returning to kiss your lips. He missed you so much that just a bit of your touch made him rock hard.

You gently pushed him down onto the ground, trying to be careful to not hurt him. The soft grass giving you both some comfort and the cool air making both of you feel a rush of excitement. You tugged his pants down and pumped his shaft few times before taking him in your mouth.

Logan gasped and looked down on you. “Fuck, Y/N.” He moaned quietly before moving his hand into your hair to gain some of the control over your movement. He bucked his hips to push himself deeper into your throat, he was desperate for any feeling.

You pulled him out of your mouth to lick the vein along the side. You sucked the tip before sucking it back into you mouth and bobbing head quickly back and forth making a popping noise as you catch your breath. Your free hand gripped at his other hand causing you to intertwine each other hands as you deep-throated him.

“Fuck.” He gasped and rolled his head back into the lush grass. You felt him grab your hair and your head down closer, pushing his cock as deep as possible. He emptied himself into your throat and sighed loudly. “I forgot how much I missed the feel of your mouth around me.” He teased you.

“Logan” you said as you slipped out of your pants and panties and straddled his bearded face. “If you’ll be a good boy, you’ll get the grand prize,” you informed.

Logan growled lowly as he removed the rest of his suit. You smiled as he wrapped his arms around your hips, pulling you down to place gently kisses on your clit and lips. First, he played with you by sucking your lips gently before pushing just the tip of his tongue past your lips. Soon he started to eat you at like a hungry beast.

“Oh...fuck. Logan ahhhh.,” your head rolled back as the pleasure was already unbearable. You'd wanted this after so long. You craved him and his touch, he was spinning your head round. You bucked your hips quickly trying to get more friction while you reached your hand back to jerk over his yet hard again member.

Just when you thought the pleasure was at its peak you suddenly felt him pressing his face to your heat, pushing his tongue deeper into you. One of his hand moved from your hip to your entrance. You saw as he looked up at you before he started pushing two fingers into you. Now he was eating you out while fingering you.

“Fuck oh my god,” you grunted feeling your eyes rolling into the back of your head as you continued to try your best jerking harder at his cock. Soon, you got felt a wave of euphoria as you came on his face. He adjusted so he could lean upward as he brought you down to kiss his lips, you tasted your wetness on them. He wrapped his arms around you causing you to straddle his lap as he guided his cock right to your entrance, he looked at you once more before the pleasurable pain you felt causing you both to moan as his cock entered, he growled.

"Fucking hell, you pussy is sucking me in so hard."

He smiled and gladly kissed you as he started to buck his hips into you while gripping hard onto one of your breasts. You knew in the morning there would be marks, he started kissing and biting your neck as his fingers played with your hardened nipple as he slammed into even harder.

Your entrance convulsed when his cock twitched against it. It was needy for anything, gaping and closing on repeat. He chuckled as he felt it.

“Just like that Logan...fuck...ah...make me cum...around your sweet cock,” you moaned into his ear as your nails dug into his shoulders causing red marks to appear making him growl in both pain and pleasure as he moved his lips away before biting at your lips and kissing you even harder than before. You bucked your hips for him as well, his cock was spreading your inner walls more and more with every thrust.

Logan purred as his hand traveled to your clit to rub gently circles there. His thrusts became deeper and faster. You cried out when you engulfed all of him and his face snuggled into the crook of your neck to bring you comfort. An embarrassing, dragged out whine slipped past your lips as you took more of his thick girth.

"God, yes, yes, yes!,” You suddenly felt your back hit the ground as his well toned muscled body towered over you as you threw your head back in an outburst of pleasure that overwhelmed your body. Cold shivers ran down your spine. He took both your leg and placed them above his hips, his hand traveled to your clit to continue his fun while he fucked into you even harder and rougher than before.

You watched the way your hole eagerly swallowed his cock from below. It was fast and passionate as he finally fucked you onto his cock, groaning lowly into your ear.

It was easy for him to lift you due to his strength, he would undeniably be able to snap you in half if he really wanted to. A few more pumps, then he muttered.

"Sorry if you wanted to keep it this way." He followed you as he pulled you up onto all fours, his muscled arm wrapped tightly around your waist. Using his forearm for support, a tortuous pull out occurred once again before he snapped your hips together.

You choked out a moan as you pulled your hips back in response. He inhaled sharply and continued rocking his hips with yours. His girth blissfully stretched you out, his cock rubbing against that one spot. His torso emitted heat and as much as it left you in a blissful daze, his reckless hips provided a merciless pounding, the studs gliding against your walls only added more pressure and need to arch your back.

"Y/n...fuck your so tight."

Despite the heat, the overwhelming pleasure, the man behind you, it all just wasn't enough. You wanted to rake your fingers through his thick hair and tug, watch his beautifully flushed face and blazed eyes, run your hands all over his chiseled body.

So, you whimpered and grabbed the arm securing you. "I wanna see you—" A harsh thrust had you biting back a moan and interrupting a thought-out yet simple phrase, that took so much time to piece together when all you had was Logan's name and dick carved into your mind.

A grunt was let out into your ear, a moment later, his hips melded with yours and his thrusting halted. He loosened his grip on you and you rolled over to face him, your hands latching onto his hair in an instant as you brought him closer. A humiliating cry fucked out of your throat. You threw your hands to his back as a reflex.

The veins along his chest and neck stand out, head lifting slightly off the ground as his fingers grip tighter at your chest, his cheeks flush red and his lips part again as he growls deep, guttural sounds. Then, you feel his dick inside you pulse, his strong hips lock into yours as he spasms and spills, his cum hot and thick as you continue to move. He throws his head back again then, jaw dropped as he moans, his eyes squeezed shut and body trembling in time with the spurts of his seed within you. 

Oh, my sweet—" You almost purr, trailing your hands along his forearms, still rocking your hips slightly as you come into his space, lips trailing along the curve of his jaw. He leaned his head down to you placing his forehead against yours taking deep breathes

"You're gorgeous." 

You blush profusely as he chuckles, his hands sliding down to your ass, you press kisses against the underside of his chin until he finally tilts his head down and allows your mouth to cover his. You kiss him languidly, dipping your tongue between his lips, breathing each other's air, feeling his fingers squeeze at your pillowy flesh as he eventually lifts his legs and uses the bit of leverage to thrust his still hard cock slowly in and out. Your whole body shutters beneath him, feeling his cum begin to overflow, sliding wet down the backs of your thighs, and you shiver. 

"You haven't come." He mumbles against your lips.

You smooth your hands up over his cheeks, forehead and all the way up to his hair, lifting from your lover's lips to smile slyly up at him.

"Would you hate me if I asked you to keep going?" 

Logan groans, his hands shifting down to your hips. his length shifting inside you and you gasp as you're pressed harder into the grass, your legs winding around his hips.

"After 200 years...you may be the death of me." 

"Death by fucking too much? There are worse ways to go." You hum happily as the he takes your hands in his and stretches your arms above your head to pin them down against the ground, his weight crushing you, forcing his cock deeper inside. You whimper and your eyes roll, toes curling at how entirely full you feel.

"A—ah, fuck—?"

His grip tightens around your hands and he pulls his hips back until he's almost the entire way out before he slams his sensitive cock back into your pussy. You feel his cum pushing out of you, pushing deeper inside you, each movement causing his entire body to shudder and tremble as he fights through his overstimulation to please you. You reward him with unabashed sounds of satisfaction, your heels digging into the backs of his thighs to urge him on, your hips bucking up to meet his thrusts. Knowing all too well the want to not get caught left your minds from the start.

Logan lowers himself, his entire body encompassing yours with its size as he rocks his hips into you, his dick twitching within your clenching walls, loud, almost pained sounds of unbelievable pleasure muffled against your neck as he feels you unravel around him. You reach your peak, it hits you hard, you turn your face into the crook of his neck as mouth opens in a soundless scream of euphoria. 

You don't know when it happens, but all at once somewhere in the middle of your moaning, Logan makes a wounded noise and you're flooded once again with seed, delirious and writhing beneath him as you take it. You hear the sound of his claws unsheathed as his hips trust more and more until he's empty and your completely full.

He finally releases your hands and slumps on top of you, careful not to completely crush you underneath him, but curling into you and holding tight. You throw your arms around him, breathing erratic as you pulse through your climax, threading your fingers through his hair and clutching him to your body as you feel his smile against your collarbone. 

No words are said as the scent of sex and sweat permeates around the two of you. Both of you holding each other for some time, enjoying the post orgasmic bliss. Lips meet meld into lazy kisses, noses pressed against each other. Both of you share breath as you kiss, too exhausted to pull apart.

HIs muscular arms envelope your body, cradling you protectively. Together relishing in the feeling of the rise and fall of the the others chest, both familiar and new.

You feel your eyes flutter closed, easing into Logan's warm embrace.

-

The next time your eyes open, the sun almost over the horizon. You look around to see Logan is no where in sight. You wondering where he could have gotten to, you sat up looking over toward the sound of the others at the base.

The sound of the others reaches the small woods, conversation just barely too far off to be made out. You see Logan walking into the clearing with a large bucket of warm water and a wash rag with him.

"Logan...are you-"

Before you can speak he takes one of your hands and begins to press the warm damp fabric against your skin. His motion is slow and purposeful. You couldn't help but sigh. Your Logan was always surpassing your expectations of a lover. Here he was, it may not be your Logan caring for you, but in a way you couldn’t have dreamt of asking this from him.

He looks at you seeing a hint of tenderness in your eyes. Soon your guided to twist to face away from him, his strong arms pressing the warm cloth against your sore muscles and long healed scars.

You moaned sighs at the sensation, he takes care to clean every surface of your body. His eyes are focused, consumed wholly in this act of love. You watch him. Adoration and love builds up in your chest at the ways his eyebrows crease and his eyes focus.

You turn your body back to face him, both of you shareing a longing look. He sees into your very person, and you into his. His eyes drift between your legs, and worry enters his mind.

“I - lost myself in the moment. I shouldn't have done that.”

You placed an affectionate hand over your lower belly with a subtle smile.

“Don't worry Logan, I'm not upset. It felt good in the moment." He moves in closer as you lie back down against the grass, spreading her legs for him. You feel the warm rag against you, the touch isn’t sexual, But rather filled with the same love and care it had pressed into her skin just a moment before.

"I don’t regret it at all.” You say as you pull him to lay beside you.

"Do you?" You asked as you felt your heart beat quicken. With a sigh and a smile he combs out your hair with his fingers, moving the loose strands of hair away from your face.

"Never."

You relaxed as you felt him melting in your arms, content beyond all measure, whispering words of love and devotion in your ear.

"We should probably head back soon, otherwise Wade may find us."

"If he does he can fuck off." Logan said pulling you in closer as you chuckled to yourself. You smiled up at him as you brought your head against his chest, a few more hours would be alright, at least for now.

[loolilyumm]

I am screaming. Sobbing. Girlboss and fail-wife is my favorite dynamic. The way you draw is so pretty and your colors are so good plus people who draw 3 with sanitization scars are literally so cool I mean look at acht, there’s canonical examples of it. But literally going aaaa rn because I love your ocs.

We got Reese and Margot, how about 4 and 8?

OMG AHH IM SO SOSOSO HAPPY YOU LIKE THEM..AND THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE ASKS I LOVE ANSWERING THEM!! 🫶🫶🫶

I want to yap about my agents in separate posts so this one will be all about 8!

THIS IS OLIVE! She became agent 8 in the deepsea metro and has been a super active agent in the NSS ever since! They are like family to her - she lived with Pearl and Marina for almost 3 years before moving in with Reese! (Captain/Agent 3)

She was 14 during splatoon 1, and 16 during the events of octo expansion. Now in splat 3 she is 19!

She mains the dark tetra dualies but can use any weapon. She's super fast and agile so she likes weapons that work well with her speed.

She was an elite solider in the octoling army - she had just become one before she was ambushed by Cuttlefish and agent 3 (Reese) and they all fell into the metro.

None of them ended up falling in the same area of the metro, and Olive ended up being found by Tartar’s sanitized octolings and taken to the sanitation chambers to have her memory erased.

Side tangent - I have a specific idea in mind about how octolings are sanitized. If you want to watch this video, it explains it really well - https://youtu.be/zu4czvg5ClI?si=wFz1lABgkv7hz8Wk

But TLDR, there are 2 stages of sanitization. Stage one includes being wiped of all memories. The subject then has to go through a series of tests and trials before Tartar decides what to do with them based on how well they did. Then they get either blended or brainwashed into oblivion! 😆😆 woohoo yay! J think based on the side order diaries it kind of confirmed that 8 went through that first process…it just never said how so I made that part up. Lol

ANYWAY..!!! At the same time Olive is taken, Reese wakes up and begins searching for captain Cuttlefish. He doesn’t find him, but you know what he does find??!!?!?

WHOAAA WOWWW HE FINDS OLIVE

He’s like holy cow..! That’s the girl that was just attacking me…😦 and he’s like ahhh! I gotta help her!

But by the time the two of them make it out, he realizes that it’s too late. Her memory was completely wiped. The sanitization doesn’t leave any physical effects on her except for her eyes - they turned turquoise. The same color as the sanitized ink.

The two of them needed to find a way to find cuttlefish and get out of this creepy place, so they kept moving. Pretty soon they made their way into a train station and found cuttlefish waiting for them there!! And there was also a weird telephone that told Olive she was the newest test subject - and that passing all these trials was the key to getting her memories back and getting to the “promised land.”

Reese just went along with it because he assumed that was what octolings called the surface. He wanted to be a test subject too so he could help Olive, but the phone rejected him. No inklings allowed!

She was forced to go through hundreds of rigorous tests. She wanted more than anything to get back her memories and reach paradise. As she regained more memories, she realizes how different her old life was from the kindness these inklings were showing her now (and the two people on the radio called Pearl and Marina!). It just propels her toward finishing the tests, pushing herself to her limit, doing it not just for herself but for all of them.

She forms a really deep bond with these inklings. Cuttlefish is like a grandfather to her. Reese makes her heart flutter in ways she doesn’t even understand.

As the tests go on, she regains muscle memories from her days as an elite solider. She’s good at fighting. Really good. But these tests are really hard. 8 knows she can do it, but they’re really, really hard. And all these bad memories aren’t helping.

Through blood, sweat, and tears, Olive finally collects the 4 thangs and they can finally go to the surface! She is so proud of herself and feels on top of the world. Cuttlefish and Olive take the thangs to the telephone and wait for Reese, who’s out exploring the metro (one of the things he does to take up time and secure their safety). But the telephone is telling them they gotta go NOW and they can’t wait for Reese!

Cuttlefish and Olive say nope, nope, not happening. So they are forced into the blender and AHH!! OH NO VERY BAD!! EVERYONE FLIPS OUT AND…!!!

Reese appears and THROWS HIMSELF at the blender. Surprisingly, it works. The three of them leave the telephone and super jump through the hole Reese made in the ceiling. They’re going to get to the surface themselves.

Somewhere around the 4th phase, they are ambushed by a group of sanitized octolings. Olive gets separated from Reese and Cuttlefish. She is forced to keep moving and hope that they have made it to the elevator before her.

They have, but not in the way she thought! When she sees Reese’s partial sanitation, she doesn’t want to hurt him and holds back, resulting in herself getting injured very badly. She realizes this isn’t the friend she knows, and manages to defeat three and rescue him from brainwashing.

Soon after that she also saves the whole world and defeats Tartar. PERRIOODDD!! #slaythehousedown #girlboss

Reese and Olive got into a relationship soon after the events of octo expansion. They help each other through all the trauma of what happened down there and are the bestest friends and love each other so so much! Yay!!

And Olive got a new family that she loves so so much. YAYYY!!

AS OF SPLATOON 3…EBERYONE IS DOING AMAZING!! YAY!! Agent 4 is Olive’s new bestie. Margot (New agent 3) is like the little sister she never had. She and Reese have moved in together. She still does regular missions for the NSS and treats it as a full time job. She’s so proud of Reese for becoming captain. She couldn’t think of anyone more deserving.

I still haven’t decided what really goes down during the events of side order - I didn’t love that it was all a simulation, so idk how I’d write around that. I’ll figure it out! But for now, Let’s just say it’s not very fun for Olive.

BUTTTTT after the events of side order, she regains all of her lost memories (she left a few behind in Kamabo) and rediscovers herself.

HOLY CANNOLI I wrote a lot. I think about Olive so much and I hope you guys love her as much as I do.

If you guys have any questions about them whatsoever, please PLEASE feel free to send over an ask! I love answering them!!

IF YOU MADE IT THIS FAR…I love u. Mwah!

[himasgod]

Lyney x Reader

Where he reunites with you, his best friend and childhood crush, after being held captive for years

In the events of Lyney's Story Quest, while Charlotte is interviewing the magician twins, she say that a girl with your name was found tied up in a basement, and is now in the hospital. Lyney immediately knows that it was you, having been missing for so many years without reason. However, you are not the same as when you were a child and your smile has been erased forever. How would he act?

(I've finished this request from @sailorstar9! I don't know if it turned out as good as I wanted, but I hope you still liked it!)

Charlotte was conducting her interview with the twins.

The journalist, as always, was enthusiastic and full of energy, writing down every detail the siblings shared. However, everything changed when Charlotte mentioned something that made Lyney go completely still.

“After Jemma’s confession, the Gardes investigated her house. It was there that they found Caesar’s daughter…” Charlotte paused, adjusting her monocle, before adding, “Chained in the basement.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Lyney felt as if the world was crumbling around him. Your name echoed in his mind like an endless echo. It had been years since he heard from you, years in which he had learned to accept your absence, convincing himself that perhaps you had decided to start a new life away from everything. He never imagined that you had been so close, suffering in silence.

“What… what did you say?” Lyney asked, his voice weak.

Charlotte looked up from her notes, surprised by the intensity in the magician’s eyes.

“Caesar’s daughter. She was imprisoned for years in terrible conditions. Now she’s in the hospital, being treated for malnutrition and muscle atrophy.”

Lynette placed a hand on Lyney’s arm, a silent gesture to anchor him in the present. He, however, could barely process what he had just heard. The smile that once lit up your eyes, the same one that had inspired so many of his magic tricks, now seemed like a distant memory.

That night, Lyney didn’t sleep. Memories together flooded his mind: the shared laughter, the adventures at Fontaine, the little tricks he’d practice to impress you. He remembered how your laughter rang like bells when something went wrong, and how you always told him it didn’t matter, that he was still the best magician in the world.

But now, those memories seemed tinged with sadness.

“Lynette,” he said finally, his voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "I have to see her."

Lynette looked at him from across the stage. There was no need to argue. She understood perfectly what her brother felt and knew that nothing would stop him.

“Then go,” she replied calmly. “But be prepared, Lyney. She may not be how you remember her.”

The hospital had a cold, sterile air, but Lyney hardly cared. He walked through the halls with his heart in his throat, each step bringing him closer to you. When he finally reached your room, he stopped in front of the door. For the first time in a long time, the magician who always faced the audience with a confident smile felt afraid.

He took a breath and turned the doorknob.

The sight that greeted him made his heart break. You were sitting on the bed, staring out the window with a lost look. Your figure was thinner than he remembered, and your cheeks, once full of life, were sunken. Though your hair still fell softly over your shoulders, it had lost the shine it used to have.

He whispered, his voice shaky.

Hearing your name, you slowly turned your head towards him. Your eyes, though recognizable, seemed empty, as if the weight of the years had extinguished the spark that once characterized them.

“Lyney?” you asked, your tone incredulous and barely audible.

He nodded, taking a step towards you. He effor to stop the tears from filling his eyes at seeing you like that.

“It’s me,” he said with a small smile, though his heart was shattered. “I’m here.”

It took you a moment to process his presence. So many years had passed, and the circumstances you found yourself in had eroded your ability to feel joy or surprise.

“I didn’t think I’d see you again…” you finally said, lowering your gaze.

Lyney came over and knelt beside your bed, taking your hand in his. Feeling your skin, so cold and fragile, made him clench his teeth to hold back the tears.

“You have no idea how much I searched for you, how much I thought about you,” he whispered, with a mix of pain and tenderness in his voice. "One day you stopped coming to the place where we used to see each other and… and I could never find you again"

"But, now that I’m here, I don’t plan on leaving you alone ever again.”

Your eyes filled with tears, but you didn’t know how to respond.

You had spent so much time in the darkness that the light Lyney brought with you seemed almost unreal.

“Lyney… I’m not the same as before,” you murmured. “The person you knew… doesn’t exist anymore.”

He shook his head, with an intensity that surprised you.

“That’s not true. You may have changed, but you’re still you. And no matter how long it takes, I’m going to do everything in my power to bring that smile back to you.”

For the first time in years, you felt a glimmer of hope. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to start.

Lynette also visited you and updated you on everything that had happened in those years of your absence, while you shared a cup of tea.

You even felt a little scared when you received a letter from a certain "Arlecchino" wishing you a speedy recovery.

Lyney stayed with you all the nights, telling you stories, showing you little magic tricks with the cards he always carried with him.

Every time he made you smile, even if it was a small gesture, he felt like he was taking a step closer to the goal he had promised himself to achieve:

give you back the happiness you deserved.

Here is my masterlist, in case you are interested in any more of my work or want to send me a request, they're opened and would help me so much! <3

[duskdog]

I've never been a huge fan of the retcon of Stephanie Brown's death.

Don't get me wrong -- she never should have been killed the way she was, and I'm overjoyed that she's alive. But... the retcon itself is just so, so boring and stupid and uninspired. "Whoops, she faked her death! LOL!"

On the bright side: It not only brought Steph back, but it gave her the chance to earn respect and redemption in a way that would have been impossible had she stayed dead (obviously). It gave her the chance to become something more than "that dumb kid who started a gang war".

Also on the bright side: It salvaged Leslie Thompkins, whose character had been absolutely butchered -- even worse than Steph -- by War Games. Her motivation for letting a child fucking die on her table was absolute bullshit that made no sense for Leslie whatsoever, and spoke of a profound lack of understanding of her as a character and her relationship with Bruce in particular. The retcon washes her hands of Steph's blood at least, even if "faking a teenager's death" isn't the greatest thing for a resume.

On the not-so-bright side: It further demonized Steph by instead making her "that dumb kid who not only started a gang war, but also selfishly put her friends and mother through absolute hell by making them think she was dead".

Also on the not-so-bright side: It erased her very real trauma in the eyes of both fandom and the characters themselves. Oh, she didn't die and stay dead? Guess that means she didn't actually suffer. Guess that means being tortured to the point of death didn't mean anything. Guess that means power drills and broken glass and being hung in a stress position for hours/days doesn't hurt or leave scars or anything. Guess that means being suddenly stolen away from her entire life, with no one that she loves or even knows (we have no reason to believe she was close to Leslie when War Games happened, contrary to popular belief), wasn't incredibly difficult. Guess that means that recovering from massive physical and psychological trauma in a foreign country you've never been to and don't speak the language of, fully dependent on somebody she barely knows, and without the love and emotional support of her mother was probably find, right? Guess that means she didn't learn anything from her mistakes, huh? Because you have to actually die and be dead and stay dead for a while in order to be sympathetic, I guess.

Also on the not-so-bright side: It absolved Bruce (and the writers) of the callousness of his treatment of Steph, and of not memorializing her in the Batcave or giving any other indication that he ever considered her a real Robin to anyone other than Steph herself, whom he believed was dying and wouldn't be around to tell it anyways. (You may consider this a "bright side" thing. I don't, because a large part of my issue with Batman as a character is that he's always Right even when he's Wrong, and the narrative often ends up supporting his blatant assholery. I dislike his bad behavior being vindicated by virtue of secret knowledge or deus ex machina.)

More importantly, however, I've always questioned exactly how much agency Steph had in the whole "faking her death" thing.

Originally, Bruce found that Steph had been "stable" and shouldn't have died, unless Leslie allowed her to. Being "stable" at one point in time absolutely doesn't mean you're not in any danger whatsoever. It's good, but it's no guarantee -- especially if she was in bad enough shape that simple lack of intervention on Leslie's behalf would have been enough to kill her (and within a relatively short amount of time, too).

So we know she was badly injured. Enough so that Batman thought she was dying, and wasn't surprised by that fact initially. (He's not exactly someone who doesn't have experience with estimating someone's condition in the field, too, remember.) Steph herself even seemed to believe that she was dying.

Additionally, Steph can't exactly demand that Leslie -- whom she barely knows, remember -- fold up her practice and run away to Africa to get her away from Gotham. Or plan everything that would be necessary to fake her death, right down to a substitute corpse and autopsy. Those were things that took some real intent and planning on Leslie's part, as well as some Big Ass Decisions for the good doctor.

So it seems almost certain that the idea itself was Leslie's. She made these decisions very quickly, but she had to have been the one to make them. Was Steph privy to this? Well, was she even conscious? And if she was conscious, was she heavily drugged, for pain if nothing else? Seems she would have been. Even if not drugged, was she mentally and emotionally capable of making such a decision, considering she had just suffered actual literal torture?

It seems very unlikely to me that Steph had any, or much, input into this decision whatsoever.

And once they were in Africa, how long and difficult was her recovery? Was she given access to ways to contact anyone? Or change her mind? I'm not suggesting that Leslie was holding her hostage; I'm questioning whether Steph was even physically capable of advocating for herself for a while, let alone mentally. Her only connection to her former life is the doctor who whisked her away here -- and that connection is also the person who's in charge of her care. If you're exhausted, in lots of pain, probably heavily medicated, in emotional distress, and have limited mobility, you're probably a lot more likely to take your doc's suggestion that you "just relax and don't worry about that right now".

Additionally, what kind of mental/emotional state was Steph even in? She knew she fucked up. She knew people had suffered and died because of what she did. You can call Steph a lot of things, but "uncaring" and "unempathetic" are not among them. It's easy to say she was selfishly hiding from the consequences of her actions, and maybe that's true to an extent, but consider what we know about Steph's self-esteem up to this point. I don't think it's a stretch to say that she probably thought that Gotham was better off without her. She probably thought that nobody wanted to see her. She may have even though they were glad she was "dead". (Even her mother, whom she loves dearly. I believe her relationship with her mom is actually quite complicated, thanks to Crystal's neglect during her substance abuse days, their differing feelings on Arthur surrounding his death, and Steph's occasional parentification. Steph believed she had to protect her mother, but probably didn't feel like she was very good at it, so is it really surprising that an emotionally-compromised, injured Stephanie Brown might think that her mother might actually be better off with her "dead"?)

And what about when she reached the point where she was both physically and mentally capable of facing what she had done, and the fact that she was letting her loved ones believe she was dead, and that it might be hurtful of her to do that?

Well, at that point, the damage was already done, wasn't it? Telling them after 3 months, 6 months, 9 months, or however long the bulk of her recovery took wouldn't matter that much, would it? The lie had already been told. They had already buried her. They had already grieved. Maybe, by that point, it even felt like it would be more cruel to suddenly tell the truth. And by that point, she had begun to heal, begun to gain perspective, begun to re-evaluate somethings about herself. She probably really did need the time away to get her shit together. She probably did, for a little while, think it might be best if she never set foot in Gotham again.

I'm not saying that makes it all okay. Her mother, in particular, deserved better than all that. Cass was devastated and clearly struggled with Steph's death, perhaps even moreso than Tim. It was a shitty thing to put people through.

But I'm suggesting that 1. it's not fair to place so much of the blame on Stephanie herself, because it's not logical to suggest that she's the one who planned any of this, and 2. it's at least somewhat understandable.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Princess

John Winchester x daughter!reader

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: a few one shots of you growing up with John as your father.

Warnings: mentions of blood, honestly it’s 80% fluff

John was used to fear. He woke up every morning with it, stronger each day it seemed, fear that the fate that had befallen his wife would come to his children. He was used to fear of the dark, and of what was truly hiding in it. He was certainly used to fearing for his life.

But this was a different kind of fear. When the woman that he had gone out with for a while about a year ago knocked on his door, and handed him the smallest baby he’d ever seen, all wrapped up in a pink blanket, John knew a new fear. When that same woman turned on her heel, got in her car, and drove away, that fear turned into panic.

“Hey!” He called out. “You can’t just-“

But the car was gone, and all his shouting had done was startle you awake. The bundle in his hands shifted, and you began to cry.

“Hey, shh,” he rocked you gently from side to side, his attention fully on you. “Don’t cry, princess. It’s going to be ok.”

…

“Hey princess,” John’s voice was thick with exhaustion as he slumped into the motel room. “Why aren’t you asleep?” He spotted his teenage sons splayed out on the two beds, dead asleep.

“I was,” six-year-old you yawned, tugging on John’s leg. He lifted you into his arms, and you continued. “But I waked up, and I wanted to wait for you.”

“Alright,” John collapsed onto the small couch, cradling your head in one hand as he attempted to lean back comfortably on his makeshift bed. “Well, it’s late, so try to get back to sleep alright?”

“Ok,” you yawned again, tucking your head under his chin while he covered the both of you in his jacket.

You were fast asleep within minutes, and your steady breathing and strong heartbeat comforted John as he closed his eyes, trying to erase the vivid memories of the terror he’d seen that night.

“Good night princess,” John gently kissed the top of your head, before finally falling into a deep sleep.

…

John had a tendency to react to fear with sternness. If one of his kids messed up on a hunt, it was just time to train that much harder. If a new monster was found, they stayed up all night, all week if they had to, finding out everything about it. Danger meant that he needed to prepare his kids, and to do that, sometimes he needed to shut off “dad” and turn on “drill sergeant”.

But not tonight. Tonight was…

Different.

“Me and Sammy are gonna stop at the bar for a bit, you going back to the motel?” Dean was eyeing you as he spoke to John.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take her home,” John mumbled.

“Give me a call if you need anything,” John could tell that Dean was stalling, wanting to remain with you but also sensing that John wanted time alone with you.

“I will,” John assured him. “She’s gonna be alright.”

John arrived at the motel with you a few awkwardly silent minutes later. He led you inside, a hand at the small of your back, and he could feel you trembling. Without a word, you stepped into the bathroom and turned on the sink water. John watched as you scrubbed at your hands, and you spend a few minutes in a futile attempt to clean the blood off of them.

Your scrubbing became more desperate, and John jumped up in alarm when you began to sob, scratching frantically at your arms and hands.

“Hey hey, stop that!” John took your hands in his.

“It-it won’t come off,” you sobbed, staring down at your blood-stained arms.

John stared down at you, opening his mouth to speak before closing it again. You looked so small, hunched in on yourself, and so fragile as you cried and rubbed at your arms.

He couldn’t believe he’d thought you were ready for your first hunt. He couldn’t believe he’d taken you out into the world of monsters and demons and expected you to kill them. If Dean had performed that badly on a hunt, John would’ve had him back in basic training in an instant—after severely chewing him out. If Sam had cowered from the werewolf the way you had, John would’ve made him stay up the whole night training, and doubled his shooting practice for the rest of the month.

But right here, right now, looking down at the crying girl in front of him…

He couldn’t. He couldn’t find it in him to scold you, or place a gun in your small hands, or demand that you pick up your machete and practice with it. He couldn’t find it in him to force you to defend yourself, because he never wanted you to have to.

He wanted to defend you. He wanted to protect you from every evil in the world, he didn’t want you to have to protect yourself.

“Commere princess,” John pulled you tightly into his arms, cradling your head like he’d done when you were a baby. “It’s ok. You’re ok.”

“I’m sorry,” you weren’t completely sobbing anymore, but the tears were still flowing, and he felt you take a shaky breath. “I know I screwed it all up.”

“Hey, hey,” John pulled back slightly, brushing your hair from your face and trying not to cringe when he noticed the dried blood plastering it in place. “You shouldn’t have been out there, you weren’t ready.” It was true that you had done abhorrently on the hunt, and John wasn’t going to lie and say otherwise; he hadn’t gone that soft. But he also wasn’t going to blame you, because he blamed himself for this.

“I just, I-I couldn’t remember what to do, and-and I got so scared-“ your breathing was becoming more labored once again, and John took hold of the back of your head, pushing you against him in an attempt to calm you down.

“Shh, princess you’re ok now. You’re safe now, nothing’s gonna happen. I don’t blame you, ok? I don’t. and I’m going to keep you safe, I promise.”

John knew that he was going to have to tighten up on your training if you were going to survive in this crazy world. But for tonight, he was going to turn off his “drill sergeant” and turn on “dad”, because when he saw his little princess almost get killed by a werewolf, he lost all ability to do anything but hold you tight, and shelter you from every danger that he hadn’t been able to shelter the rest of his family from.

…

“Dad?”

A heavy sigh escaped John’s lips as he set his beer bottle down with a clump.

“You should be in bed.”

“Did he really leave? For good?” One look into John’s despair-filled eyes was all the answer you needed.

“Princess, go to bed.”

You stepped up to where John was sitting, and wrapped your arms around his shoulders.

“Dad, I’m sorry.”

“I told you to go to bed,” John ordered, but his voice was soft and noncommittal, and you didn’t miss the way his arms came up to wrap around you in return.

Neither of you knew how long you stayed that way, unwilling to let go. But eventually, Dean came out and found you, and he managed to coerce you into letting go of your father and coming to bed, John following just behind.

The three of you slept fitfully that night, but despite that, there was a tiny comfort in knowing that there was some family that would never leave.

…

You hadn’t spoken a word in days. Dean knew why, but he was powerless to bring you out of your own head. He didn’t blame you for how you reacted; you out of all of them had seemed the closest to John, in your own way. No one could calm or comfort you like he could, and vice versa.

But John wasn’t around to comfort you anymore.

“You know,” Dean began softly as he sat down next to you on the motel bed. “Dad was the one who named you.” A smile played on Dean’s face as he reminisced. “When your mom dropped you off with him, she didn’t give him a name or anything. For nearly two weeks, dad carried you around with no idea what to call you. He mostly stuck with a nickname, until one day he stepped away from your cart in the store, and you started crying. Then this little old lady comes up and holds you, calms you down, and when dad tries to take you back she gets all suspicious. She didn’t think you were really dad’s, and so she says ‘well if she really is yours, what’s her name?’ And dad just panics, and he sees this name tag on a passing clerk and he just blurts out the name on it. He yells, ‘Y/N!’ And you just played along, looking right up at him with your big eyes and giggling and reaching for him. So the lady gives you back, and Y/N just kinda stuck.”

The room was silent for a long moment, Dean looking down at you while you mulled over his story.

“What was the nickname?” Your whisper surprised Dean.

“What?”

“You said he called me by a nickname for two weeks. What was the nickname?”

At this, a grin spread across Dean’s face.

“He always called you his princess.”

[dahliamalfoy97]

INITIATION - Muzan x y/n reader

Muzan x y/n reader smut one shot

Synopsis: Y/N has woken up and has no memory of who she is. Muzan is there to remind her.

Warning: SMUT 18+!!, MDNI, rough sex, oral, monster kink, size kink, masochism, degradation kink, praise kink. Slapping, choking, tentacles, Kidnapping, detailed murder, blood, slight dub con, kidnapping, a little manipulative, penetration, anal sex, double penetration, gagging, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, creampie. Just so much filthy things because Muzan is a sick motherfucker so this one shot is probably just as twisted so proceed with caution!

word count: 4k+

Your eyes flutter open, and the first thing you feel is utter confusion. For you have no memory of where you were or who you were. Your mind was completely blank and you no memory of anything. The next thing you notice is, you're lying down on what seems to be a table.

The first thing that you see, is a pair of scarlet red eyes boring in your eyes. They were so bright and unnerving at the same time. As the source of these eyes came into focus, you could see he was a man, with inky, curly, black hair, which was tied back into a pony tail and had pale skin. He wore a black dress button down shirt with a white tie. He was striking.

"Oh good," the man speaks content tone, as he notices that you're finally awake. "You're finally awake."

"W-who who are you? And where am I?" You ask, in a voice so soft, you weren't sure if he heard you cause you could barely hear yourself.

"My name is Muzan and you are in my home," he replies cryptically. "This is the Infinity Castle."

His name and the place sounded familiar but nothing came to mind as to why.

"And why am I here?"

He just smiles, and there's something about it that makes your skin tingle. You weren't sure if it was out of fear or something else.

"You are here because I found you on the brink of death, you were on the street and you needed a home."

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion , "But how come I don't remember anything? I don't even know my name."

"That's because I turned you into a demon, and sometimes the process can erase all traces of your past life. Call it a new slate if you will," he reaches for what looks like a vial of red liquid from a shelf and shakes it. "Here drink this, this will cure the sudden hunger you're feeling."

As if on cue, your stomach grumbles, "w- what, did you say demon? Demons exist?" You ask in wonder. "So is that blood in that vial?"

That grin turns prideful, "we exist and we are the most powerful beings to walk this planet. And yes this is blood, because this is what helps you stay strong and the more you consume the more powerful you'll become. But only human blood works. Animal blood cannot keep you healthy."

An unsettling feeling settles in your stomach, "so I have to kill in order to survive?"

"Only if you choose to go through this transformation, if you don't I'll have to kill you as I won't have any use for you otherwise."

this man was much more sinister and cunning than he appeared. You're sure a normal human would have been afraid or dying to get out of this situation. But you were intrigued. Despite the fact that he was probably a terrible man and a murderer- you were fascinated by him. Perhaps it was the fact that he saved you from whatever life you had lived before.

"So why did you choose me to turn into a demon?"

"Because I saw something in you that seemed valuable to have," he replies. "Would you like to know of your past? I can show you."

"Sure."

"Drink this," he holds me a vial of clear liquid.

You take it, study it before gulping it down in one go.

At first nothing happens, but suddenly your eyes drift shut and images begin flying through your mind.

Images of your parents and them dying, you being taken in by a man. A man that had looked kind by the smile he wore and the warmth of his hands.  But that smile had been a mask for the monster he really was. And those hands ended up being the source of all your nightmares as he did things to you that you didn't dare think about. Finally, the vision ended with your hands covered in blood, as he lay in a pool of blood, lifeless. You dropped the knife and ran.

You had vowed to had never trust a man with a smile or warm hands again.

"She's a murderer!" An onlooker had shouted.

"a monster!" Another had yelled.

But you had ignored them, walking by all of them in silence.

Eventually night had come and the streets had died down, all the people had gone to their homes and you were left alone on the streets in the dark of night. After what you had done. Nobody would take you in. Nobody wanted a murderer.

You held the knife that you had killed your captor to your neck. All this pain would end if you ended it here. But wait. Why did you have to stop living? Why give up your life ? They're the ones who deserved to die. They all ruined your life.

The first house you had reached was a family you knew well. They were the ones responsible for your torment. It made you sick how they could live happily and comfortably after condemning you to a life of hell.

You didn't waste a second as you slit their throats in the dead of night. And the second time in your life, you felt powerful. For you finally had control of your own life.

You didn't stop at the one house. You went to 12 more. Murdering those who had mocked and tortured you.  The ones that had stood while your captor had abused and violated you and did nothing to stop him. They all just stood by and watched and then had the audacity to point fingers at you. To call you the monster.

At the 13th one, you found someone had already beaten you to it. You saw him devouring the arm of the man. Part of you was disgusted. But part of you was relieved. The being turned to you after finishing his meal.

"Thought I'd help you out," the man said. This was him. This was Muzan.

"Are you one of those demons? The ones I've heard about?"

"I'm not just any one of those demons. I am the Demon King and I've come to recruit you into my Army. Make you become one of us."

"And why would I trust you?" You ask.

"You don't have to trust me or anyone, just help me rid of the world of people like them," he nods to the ground, his eyes burn with hatred.

"What do I have to do?"

He holds out a hand, "come with me".

You study it warily, "just as long as you let me do whatever I want. I want full control of my life and who I'll get to kill and-"

"There's certain humans I'll task you to kill, but as long as you follow my orders and remain useful, freedom is yours."

You look into his eyes and see a shared look of hate and anger, that's all you needed before taking his hand."

You come back from the vision, who you are and what you how you had gotten here- was suddenly clear. You grab the vial of blood from his hands. He smirks in amusement as you drink it without hesitation.

"Good girl."

That phrase alone has you locking eyes with his and something in you awakens in those scarlet orbs.

"What else do I need to do to be one of you."

Something akin to relief flashes in those cold scarlet eyes, a smirk graces those devilish lips.

He turns a finger down your collarbone that's exposed from the flimsy gown you wore. A shiver ignites from his touch. For a demon's usually cold touch. His was scorching and setting you ablaze.

"First, pledge your life and your soul to me?" His hand comes back up to your face, brushing along your lower lip, causing you to suck in a breath.

"What do I need to do?" You swallow thickly. You said you'd never trust a man again. But this here was no man, he was a devil. A sensible person would run away. But you - you felt the desire to follow him anywhere. Perhaps it was the fact that he saved you. Or that he a really good manipulation tactics and that he just wanted to use you. But you found yourself wanting to be used.

"Let me show you," is all he says.

In a blur, your clothes are ripped off of your body. Leaving every bit of you exposed. Something in the devil's eyes made your nipples harden and yours thighs clenched. Maybe it was the fact that he was completely dressed and you were completely naked. Or he was the Demon King and you were completely and utterly defenseless about what he was about to do.

He leans over you and begins running a hand down your chest, brushing along your tits in a teasing manner down to the apex of your thighs. Every where his hand touched, a trail of electricity was left it in it's wake. Heightening all of your senses.

"Gotta make sure you're in pristine condition, and that you're exactly what I need," with his veiny large hands he forces your legs apart. His thumb grazing your clit, lightly. Which was already throbbing and aching with need. "That fucker that violated you, how did you kill him?"

You inhale a strained breath, before exhaling, the slightest of his touch was enough to have you needy for more. "I cut off his dick and shoved it up his ass, before slitting his throat."

His gaze never leaves your as his thumb begins to rub your sensitive bud with his thumb, "and did you enjoy it?"

You smirk, "I did."

He hummed, "good. I'm going to erase every memory of his touch from your skin and replace it with mine. From here on out, you will belong to me. Understood?"

You nod your head eagerly, "Yes, Master."

His teasing touch on your clit speeds up, "your pussy is already mine. Look at how quick it responds to me and I've barely done a thing to it."

"Please do whatever you'd like, Master. I want to exceed your expectations."

Without needing any further permission, he sinks in a finger, you let out a moan and he lets out a growl. You had never been touched like this. So the touch was foreign odd at first, but when he began to prod his finger between your tight walls, the more adjusted you became.

"Fuck, Dollface, you are tight as fuck," he closes his eyes as if to revel in the feeling of you around his finger, and when he opens eyes again, the red in his irises has been blown away by his black pupils, stealing your breath away. You cry out when he adds a second finger, scissoring open even wider. Not long after, he's got your pussy wrapped around his three fingers. They slam into with a wicked force. Your juices are soaking his fingers in seconds, but he doesn't stop his attack. His grin becomes feral. "You just came from that alone ? Fuck, you are a real gem."

You arch and quiver as he continues to jab his long fingers in and out of you. Any logical thoughts are forgotten as his mouth finally adds to the fray. Sucking your clit and biting it with his teeth, you shamelessly grind yourself on his tongue as he ravishes you thoroughly.

"F-f-fuck," you whimper, "Muzan, don't stop." Tears escaped your eyes, and you pressed grabbed his head and pushed in closer into you, wanting him as deep as he could go. You moaned at how soft and silky his hair felt in your hands. It was so soft compared to this beast of a man. You were so overcome with overwhelming pleasure, it was hard for you to think straight. The only thing that you know for sure, was that you wanted more.

"How could I when you taste so goddamn sweet, so much better than any of the humans I've devoured, baby, you are my own five course meal. So fucking delicious."

His words are so filthy, the way he continues you to wreck you with his mouth has your stomach turning in knots. And white hot pleasure takes over. You watch in amazement as your arousal sprays his face, yet he gleams in pure delight.

He detaches his mouth from your pussy and stands up, grabs you from your neck and pulls you in for a hot and hungry kiss. His lips are demanding and possessive of yours- there's no question for who's in control. He dominates you in seconds and you submit without hesitation. It was almost scary with how you vowed to never trust a man or let one ever control you again, yet you were throwing all that away for the Demon King himself. But you didn't care anymore. You wanted to submit to him in any and every way. Call you insane or call you weak, but you knew the minute you saw him that first night, you were already gone.

You yank him closer to you, tearing his shirt off, your newly awakened demon powers must include sharp claws, because you rake your nails down his back causing him to moan. And it makes you feral as he moans because of you. You grow more feral with that knowledge.

"You are perfect for me, Angel," he praises against your lips. His mouth leaves yours and begins leaving kisses along your neck, alternating between kisses and bites, which would leave a purplish hue when he was done. You grind yourself on him even harder. You reach down and rub his clothed cock.

"Please Muzan," you beg, "I need you."

He drops you onto the ground, "so needy for me, but I need to finish examining you first. And if you pass this test, I'll reward you. Now kneel like the perfect whore you are and open your mouth."

You instantly do what he says, you kneel on the hard floor and open your mouth. He finishes stripping out of his clothes. Your mouth waters in awe. For he was breathtaking. So beautifully chiseled in every way. There was no flaw. He was pure muscle and sinewy. His cock stood proud and tall against his abdomen. It was massive, girthy and long, with a slight curve. He was demon but he was built as a god. No- he was a god.

He closes the distance between you, stroking his cock in his hand. He rubs the crown along your lips, before pressing his head past your lips. His precum coating your tongue.

"Suck," he commands and you do, you suck on his tip slowly, unsure of what to do. You begin to swirl your tongue around his head and the underside. You tentatively lick a stripe down his shaft. Soon, he loses patience and thrusts the whole length into your mouth in one go. If you had still been a human, your mouth would have been torn to shreds but your demon mouth gave you better strength to handle the harsh action. Your throat was forced open wide as he slammed into your mouth. Spit and precum drooling out of your mouth. You try your best to hollow your cheeks you can take him in better. But he gives you barely anytime to adjust and uses your mouth as he pleases. He grabs your hair and pulls out of the way, making it easier for you to take him. He forces you down on his cock, causing you to choke slightly.

"What a perfect cocksleeve for my cock," he laughs darkly, "so fucking perfect," his laughs turns to grunts as his thrusts get more harsher. You sob around his cock in pleasure. His hips begins to stutter, his cock begins pulsing in your mouth. It becomes heavier and you feel something hot and salty shooting down your throat.

Before you can take a breath, he's picking you up and throwing you onto the table. Your back hits the table harshly and you yelp. He yanks you towards him, spreading your legs apart. He runs the length along my aching, in slow, tortuous strokes. Making you whine.

"You did so well, you've passed all of my expectations so far. Now I need to you beg for me."

"Please, Muzan."

He growls, "please what?"

"I- y-your-"

He slaps your clit and you scream, "use your fucking words!"

"Please, Master," you beg. "Fuck me. Please."

He chuckles, "now there's a good little slut."

Finally, he's aligning his tip with your entrance. He slowly pushes the tip in. You can't keep your eyes away from the sight of him entering you. You feel every vein and every crevice as he pushes past your slick walls. The stretch burned and you struggled to accommodate his size. You instinctively clamp around him.

"If you fucking do that, I'm going to cum before I can even start. So relax," he demands, softly rubbing your tummy with his hands.

You take a deep breath and feel yourself relax. Soon he's all the way in and you moan at how full you are of him, at how much he stretched you out by just settling inside you.

He pulls out before slamming right back in. He grips your hips tightly as he begins ramming into you at full speed. The sudden action, causing you grip onto his shoulders for purchase. Creaking sounds and slaps of skin, fill the room as you get fucked by the Demon King. Every inch of his cock plunging into you deeper and deeper with each thrust, and it's not long before he finds the spot that once he hits it you turn into mush. Completely in a state of bliss as he abuses the spot over and over.

"More more more," you chant.

"Look at you so compliant and submissive for my cock," his growls. His red eyes flashing bright with contempt. "I knew when I saw you, you'd be a perfect fit for me and my cock. That's the main reason I recruited you. Was to have your pussy as my personal fuck toy."

You're so out of it. Every thrust and every inch of his cock scraping your walls is paradise. You didn't want him to stop. Suddenly the table breaks, but he catches you at inhuman speed before you can fall. You wrap your legs around his middle, as thrusts up into you, this new position made it hard to tell where he ended and where you begin. His chest was against yours, he took your one of your tits in your mouth and began sucking on it, causing you to arch your back. You grip his hair and drag your nails down his back. He seemed to be able to reach new places from this angle and you could feel the wave building up inside you and you shuddered as you clamped down around his throbbing cock. The coil in your stomach as it snaps and you can feel yourself coming undone.

“Fuck,” you sob in pure bliss from your high.

“You make such a pretty mess around my cock,” he cooes, he grips his hands around your neck. Not relenting from his consistent assault. He squeezes and instantly cum again from just the way he seemed to cut off air making you senses even more overwhelmed. “Like the pretty little slut you are, designed to take my cock like champ. Like that’s your only purpose in life is to satisfy my needs.”

Not long after you feel him growing within you, his thrusts become a little more erratic, but they still powerful to make you shake. He lets out a roar as hot white ropes of cum shoot into you. Your cunt flutters around him, hungry for every drop.

“Yess, my perfect little cum dump,” he slowly pulls out groaning at the sight of the white liquid oozing out of you. He gathers it in his fingers and pushes it all back into you, a hoarse cry escaping your lips. Because you were so sensitive. “But I’m not done with you yet.“ He picks you up and carries you to another table. He manhandles you so you’re flipped onto your stomach and your legs are hanging over the edge. He grabs some restraints and takes your wrists and binds then behind your back. Something covers you eyes taking away your eyesight. He was rendering you completely useless for whatever he had planned next and you could do nothing but take it. All of your senses were being limited and heightened at the same.

You could feel his hands grabbing your waist, pulling your ass to rub against his cock which was still rock hard. Your pussy lips are being pulled and pinched by his fingers. you feel sharp sting on your sensitive clit causing you to jolt at the sudden force.

“Such a pretty little pussy,”is all he says before slapping it again, then without warning,his cock is spears into you again. He feels even bigger than before, as your pussy struggles to take him. You have nothing to grip onto just your front being pressed into the table and his hands on your hips to anchor you as he plows into full force once again. Suddenly you feel something on your leg, it feels wet and hard. It creeped along your thigh. Another thing like it wraps around your other leg, stretching you out even further. Something prods against your other entrance, your ring of muscle is being prodded by it. Something like a tongue flicks against it but that’s impossible because Muzan is still fûcking you with his cock. It pushes past your ring of muscle, a new burning stretch takes over and your tight hole is being stretched by whatever this thing was. It didn’t matter what was teasing to your little hole you were spasming around his cock. You shake and fall apart at the overstimulation.

And it seemed Muzan was getting off of it because he was laughing and praising you.“ now you really look like a fuck doll, a perfect little toy for me to fuck. You should see yourself,” Suddenly your blindfold is being ripped off, while still being pounding into. Your head is being forced by something wrapping around it. It’s the same wet thing that is wrapped around your leg and attacking and fucking your asshole at the same time. Everything was too much. You had no sense of time or anything. You couldn’t tell if what too were seeing was real. But tentacles seemed to wrap around your throat and leg. Another one is pounding into your hole, while being split by Muzan’s cock which looked bigger. His hair was now a snowy white and fell into waves to his shoulders. His chest was the same but ribbons of red laced around his arms, mouths with sharp teeth dotted his skin in strange places and tentacles sprouted from his back.

“This is my true demon form, are you scared little one?”

But before you can speak, tentacles are being shoved into your mouth. Rendering you speechless, as you gagged around them. Saliva drooled down from your mouth and your eyes watered everything was too much. You were in a mix of pain and pleasure. Your body was not yours anymore. It was his. His plaything, his experiment. You should have been begging for him to stop. Begging for him to let you breath and trying to escape this beast. But you could only feel yourself getting more nd more turned on.

“What was that?” He taunts, “I can’t hear you.”

You babble or try to around his appendage, it leaves your throat for a moment, “no,” your voice is barely a sound, “I am not scared of you, I want more,” you wheeze out.

His eyes widen in shock for a moment, before darkening and sick, twisted grin takes over his features, “you should be. You should be trembling under my feet. I don’t think you understand the power I have over your now. For this body no longer belongs to you. It belongs to me and I’ll use it whenever please. Every vein, every moan, every curve and hole of your body, is MINE. Your only use to me is that of a perfect little fuckdoll for me to bend and break however I please. To use whenever and however please. You only exist to only please me. Understand?”

“Yes!” You scream, you’re a sobbing, trembling mess. “Please use me whenever and however you want.”

Your mind is broken, your body is spasming out of control. You are completely lost but yet your are mended by this devil.

“I’m yours, Master.”

“That’s right whore,” he seethes, “YOU. ARE. FUCKING. MINE!”

You cry in pure ecstasy, everything after that becomes a blur. All that you can understand is that his cock and appendage are pounding into both of your holes. You’re being split apart. Every inch of you is on fire. His claws rip into your skin at your hips, blood sprays out. But you keep taking it. You reveled in the pain. It made you feel alive. And if you were human, you’d be long dead but as a demon you could take any of it and you loved it. You loved how brutal and twisted this was. His tentacles wrap around your throat once more. Fingers forcing their way down your throat. You gag and choke from being denied of air and all sanity. He pulls his fingers out and smears saliva on your face.

He roars in delight, “what a filthy little bitch. You’re still so willing to take everything I give you. I love it. You are so fucking perfect for me.”

Suddenly one of his mouths latch onto both nipples your clit at the same time as if every inch of your soul ls being sucked out of you. You lose all feeling in your body. It writhes and falls apart over and over. You lose count of on how many times you cum in those minutes or how many positions he changes to wreck you in. You just take it. Your mindset slipping further and further away from any sanity or clarity. You were only aware of him and inch of you he broke and mended over and over again.

Finally, what seems like eternity, he’s shooting into you again, until you’re completely filled and covered in his cum. “You look so perfect covered and filled with my cum.”

He pulls out. All appendages and mouths detach from you and you’re falling into a heap but he holds on you. Not caring if you’re completely drenched in cum. You’re completely fucked and incoherent but his soft kisses bring you back slowly.

“So did I pass your initiation and requirements?” You ask sleepily. He chuckles.

“You met every single one of them and more. You’re nothing but perfect for me and I want you more than just my recruit. I want you as a my queen and you are perfect for that role. It’s why I was watching you for all these years waiting for the perfect time to claim you.”

“How long have you been watching me?”

He grins, “that night, when you murdered that monster, the both of you were supposed to be my victims. But you surprised me with how brutal you were. How cold and relentless you became and from then on, I knew I needed to have you.”

You’re at a loss for words, his scarlet eyes bore into yours with something like adoration and love. But that’s impossible because he’s a demon you’re sure he can’t really feel any of that.

“Well thank you for saving me,” you say, reaching up to pull his face down to yours. You claim his lips in a needy kiss. He hums in content. “I would love to be your Queen. I am yours, forever.”

“Yes, mine.”