#emotions and conflict are never black and white)

[zaynessbeloved]

Suppressing desires

Synopsis: You never expected your quiet friendship with Zayne—the cold, brilliant cardiac surgeon—to spiral into something that burned beneath your skin. Between long shifts, cold coffee, and fleeting moments, you tried to ignore the pull between you two. But life was hard, and desire was harder to suppress. Filming yourself became your secret escape. You never thought he’d find your videos. You never thought he’d watch. And when the truth breaks free, so does everything between you.

Content warnings: Friends to lovers, slow burn, camgirl x viewer dynamic, explicit sexual content, masturbation (camgirl content), mild voyeurism (consensual context), sexual tension, emotional angst, miscommunication, guilt, soft dominance, possessiveness, power dynamic, soft dom Zayne, oral sex, begging, overstimulation, rough sex, aftercare, cute shower scene, mutual pining, unspoken feelings, confessions during intimacy, possessive!Zayne, light choking (consensual), hand on belly kink, manhandling, praise kink, deep emotional release, cuddling, vulnerability, comfort after conflict.

Pairings: Zayne x reader

Word count: 5.1k

part 1 - part 2 - part 3

He hadn’t meant to watch it that night. But that excuse had lost its weight the moment he came to the sound of your moans.

Zayne sat alone in his apartment most nights now, the silence more suffocating than usual. The kind of quiet that wasn’t restful, but sharp-edged and constant—like the hum of a surgical light long after the patient was gone. He buried himself in work, deeper than ever before, clinging to it like a tourniquet. Double rounds. On-call weekends. Extra consults he didn’t need to take but did anyway, anything to keep his hands busy and his mind obedient.

He hadn’t opened the site again. Couldn’t.

That night—that one night—had started as nothing but release. Exhaustion. A disembodied need he tried to chase into numbness. He hadn’t even remembered paying for the video until he saw the receipt in his inbox days later—proof, in black and white, of the line he crossed. He deleted it without opening it. Deleted the browser history. Deleted the app.

But nothing could delete the memory.

You haunted him now. Not in the way of ghosts or grief, but in movement in the dim light. The way your hips moved beneath the lens. The shudder in your thighs. The wet sound of your fingers sliding through your slick folds, and the way your chest rose in uneven, stuttering breaths when you neared the edge.

He remembered too much. He saw your face in the middle of the night when he blinked. Heard your quiet, broken gasp when the silence in his apartment stretched too long. And worse—far worse—was what came next.

The arousal. Undeniable. Thick and low and crawling down his spine until his hand was fisting the sheets or pressing into his lap, his body reacting with shameful need before his thoughts could even catch up. He didn’t even have to touch himself anymore. You lived beneath his skin now. Every memory blurred with the shape of you, the sound of you, the unbearable want of you.

And so he pulled away. He hadn’t decided to. There was no conscious effort. No dramatic vow to create distance. It just happened. He found himself hesitating when he passed the café. Scrolling past your messages instead of answering right away. Saying less. Giving nothing. And when he saw you that one last time—flour-dusted apron, tired smile, slipping him a macaron like always—he wanted to throw up from how normal it all was.

You didn’t know. Of course you didn’t, how could you? You greeted him like nothing had changed, made a small joke, asked about his week. And he couldn’t look you in the eye. Not the way he used to. Not when he had seen your mouth open in a moan, your body shaking as you came, so beautiful and undone that it nearly brought him to his knees.

He had always been good at restraint. That was his entire life—control, discipline, precision. He prided himself on never crossing lines. Never indulging what didn’t belong to him.

But now… now he was tainted by the weight of what he’d taken. He couldn’t unsee you like that. Couldn’t pretend he hadn’t touched himself to the sound of your pleasure. Couldn’t be the same Zayne you smiled at, so easily, so trustingly—not while his body betrayed him every time your name so much as drifted through his thoughts.

So he distanced himself. Because it was the only thing he could do.

He told himself it would pass. That if he stayed away long enough, if he buried himself deep enough in work, the memory would fade. He told himself you deserved better than the man who’d watched you like that. Who couldn’t face you without the blood rushing straight to his cock and the shame blooming hot across his skin.

But it didn’t fade. And every day that passed only made the guilt grow louder—clawing against his ribs, not just because of what he’d seen, but because of what it meant. Because maybe…just maybe…he hadn’t watched you by accident at all.

There were moments—late ones, usually—when Zayne let the truth crawl up the walls of his apartment and press into the hollow of his chest.

He missed you.

Not in the casual way people said it, not like a “we should catch up” text sent out of politeness. It was deeper than that. Messier. Something more like grief. Something that sat under his skin like a bruise that never faded.

The past year had crept up on him in quiet ways. What started as coincidence—the coffee shop, the check-ins, the light teasing you managed to pull from him on tired days—became routine. And Zayne didn’t build routines with people. He didn’t let anyone close enough. But you… you’d bypassed all of that without even trying.

He should’ve known better. He should’ve set boundaries from the start. That would’ve been the smart thing. The safe thing.

But you smiled at him like you saw something behind his stillness, behind the sterilized walls and grey suits and unreadable gaze. You joked when others backed off. You understood the pauses in his messages, the weight in his silences, the sharp way he sometimes said too little instead of too much. You made space for him—for the real him—without ever demanding it.

And somehow, without realizing it, Zayne started looking forward to the little things. The text notifications with your name. The way you added just enough syrup to his coffee to piss him off. The sound of your voice through the noise of a busy café, instantly grounding him in ways he couldn’t explain.

He let himself care. And then he watched you…at the edges of pleasure. And now, everything was fractured. Because the truth—the awful, quiet truth—was that he hadn’t just seen you as a friend. Not for a long time.

Zayne knew what you deserved. He’d known it from the beginning. Someone light. Someone who brought joy like oxygen. Who laughed without restraint and danced in the kitchen and would tell you to fuck off and skip work just to lie in bed all day. Someone better. Someone normal.

Not him.

Not someone who lived under the weight of other people’s hearts, who only came home to silence and cold floors and microwave leftovers. Not someone whose affection came wrapped in sarcasm and eye contact that lingered too long because he couldn’t say what he wanted. Not someone who loved in restraint and apology and ghosted conversations when the shame got too loud.

You gave him so much without even knowing it—your attention, your time, your trust. And he? He tainted it. Took you into the dark and watched you like he had the right. Got off to it. And then ran.

What kind of man did that? Not the kind you deserved. But the most unforgivable thing—the part that made him press his palms into his eyes at night until stars danced behind his lids—was that he didn’t just want your body. He wanted you.

The quiet you. The exhausted, eye-rolling, stubborn you. The version of you who laughed too hard when the whipped cream machine broke and stood with hands on your hips like the world owed you something. The one who leaned on the counter and called him predictable for ordering plain coffee, who slipped him macarons like it was an inside joke, who looked at him like he wasn’t just the surgeon—like he was Zayne.

He wanted a life with you. A real one. One where he came home and found you curled on his couch with a mug too big for your hands. One where he woke up tangled in your limbs and brushed hair out of your eyes before kissing your temple. One where you sat on the kitchen counter complaining about your classes while he made time to cooked for you and made sure you ate something that didn’t come from a vending machine.

He wanted mornings that stretched slow and warm. Shared showers. Matching mugs. Sundays where neither of you said much because you didn’t have to.

And maybe, in a different world, he could’ve let himself believe in that. But this wasn’t that world. This was the world where he’d crossed a line he couldn’t uncross. Where every time he thought about seeing you again, his body remembered too much—the flush in your cheeks, the arch of your back, the tremble in your thighs—and his shame swallowed every kind thing he could’ve said to you.

So he stayed away. Said less. Gave less. Pretended less was fine. And still, when he closed his eyes, it was your voice he heard. Still, when his fingers curled around the edge of the mattress at night, it was you he imagined curling into his chest in the morning.

And the worst part? He knew you saw it. The shift. The silence. The difference. And it was only a matter of time before you asked him why. And Zayne wasn’t sure what would break first—his resolve, or the lie he kept trying to live with.

————

It had been nearly two months.

At first, you didn’t even have the energy to notice it fully. Life was relentless—coursework stacked higher than your sanity could manage, shifts at the café bleeding into study marathons that left your back sore and your eyes burning. You were in survival mode, held together with caffeine, stress, and pure spite. The days blurred. Sleep was a luxury. Eating became mechanical.

And Zayne? Zayne simply… faded.

Or maybe he withdrew. Quietly. Strategically.

At first, you told yourself it was fine. He was busy—always had been. Surgeon hours, demanding cases, sleepless nights. It made sense. And besides, your own world was chaos. You didn’t have time to cling to every unanswered message or missing smile. You were barely holding yourself together.

But after weeks of the same dry, clipped replies—if he replied at all—the truth began to weigh heavier than the excuses.

He hadn’t come by the café. Not once. And that wasn’t nothing. You noticed it in the way your eyes drifted to the door every time the bell chimed. How your heart still leapt—just a little—before your brain caught up with the letdown. You didn’t say anything. Not to your coworkers. Not even to yourself, at first. Because it felt like jinxing something fragile.

You texted him. Light things, soft things. Dumb jokes, photos of your busted espresso machine with “RIP” typed underneath. Even a photo of the last pistachio macaron, captioned you missed your chance, old man.

Most of it got no reply. The few responses you did get were sterile. Efficient.

Busy. Sorry.

In surgery.

Later.

You called twice. Once, it went to voicemail after five rings. The second time, he picked up—breath tight, voice clipped, as if you’d interrupted something you weren’t supposed to.

“Zayne?” you had said, soft, hopeful.

“I can’t talk,” he replied, low and sharp, background noise too chaotic to place. “Emergency bypass. I’ll call you later.”

He didn’t.

And still, you waited. Waited because you’d come to know Zayne—not just the sharp lines of his face, or the way his mouth tugged when he smirked. You knew how long it took for him to open up. How care from him came in gestures, in precision. In remembering how you took your coffee, in placing his palm over yours when words failed him.

This wasn’t him forgetting you. This was avoidance. You could feel it. The way people do when they’ve been dropped without the courtesy of a fall.

You didn’t know what exactly changed. You went over scenarios, again and again, dragging your own memory through every small interaction. Had you said something wrong? Texted too much? Not enough? You even wondered—on nights when the loneliness ached a little too deep—if maybe he’d gotten tired of you. Realized you weren’t worth the softness he offered.

But deep down, past all the spiraling, the dread, the overthinking—you knew this wasn’t boredom. Or indifference. This was deliberate. And it hurt. More than you let yourself admit.

So one night, after a particularly shitty shift where a customer made you cry in the back room and your professor smugly handed back your project with a disappointing grade and too much red ink, you walked home in the rain. Alone. No umbrella. Soaked to the bone. Shivering.

And that night—that exact night—something inside you snapped. Because you were done. Done pretending not to notice. Done excusing the silence. Done wondering what the hell you did wrong when he wouldn’t even give you the decency of honesty.

You stood in your tiny apartment, hair dripping onto the floor, and stared at your phone like it held answers. It didn’t. Just unread messages, unanswered questions, and a contact name that used to make your heart skip.

And now only made it sink.

You wrapped yourself in a blanket. Sat on your bed. Let your frustration burn low beneath your ribs, steady and unresolved. Because if Zayne wasn’t going to speak? Then maybe you would.

You tried for another two weeks. Texts. Calls. Even one stupid meme that made you think of him—something dry and sarcastic and exactly the kind of humor he used to pretend not to laugh at. You sent it without thinking, half hoping it would shake something loose.

It didn’t.

Everything stayed the same: unanswered, unread, unreturned. And slowly, your frustration melted into something worse. Something heavier.

Hurt.

It settled in the pit of your stomach and made itself a home—not sharp like a blade, but dull, persistent. A quiet erosion of all the trust you’d built, day by day, moment by moment, in soft smiles and slower conversations that had once felt like safety.

You didn’t understand. You’d always thought highly of him—more than he probably realized. It wasn’t just about his career, though that alone could’ve been intimidating. Zayne was… steady. Quiet. Thoughtful in a way that never needed to be spoken aloud. He noticed things. He remembered them. He showed up in the background without fanfare, and somehow that meant more than all the dramatic, hollow promises anyone else ever gave you.

And somewhere along the way, it started to matter. A lot.

Too much.

You liked the way his glasses slipped down his nose when he was tired. The way his dry remarks always carried a thread of warmth buried beneath them—like he wasn’t as cold as he wanted the world to believe. The way he looked at you, sometimes, when you caught him off guard. Not wide-eyed or stunned—just present. Like he really saw you. All of you.

And maybe, deep down, you were starting to fall for him. But you never dared to say it. Because your life was chaos. Cracked at the seams. Uni was a warzone, work was survival, and half the time you were scraping by with four hours of sleep and a granola bar as dinner. Zayne was a surgeon. Respected. Calm. A man with a path so clear, it felt blasphemous to imagine him sidestepping it for someone like you—messy, disorganized, exhausted.

You were barely keeping yourself afloat. And now… the one thing that felt like an anchor—your friendship with him—had started to sink too. Slowly. Quietly. Without warning.

That’s what hurt the most. Not knowing why.

You replayed every conversation, every joke, every soft moment. Searched for the crack, for the mistake, for the shift in his gaze that might’ve told you when things changed. But there was nothing. Just absence. Just silence. Like a door closing without a sound.

It was a Thursday night when it all hit you at once. University had drained every last bit of patience from you—another group project where you carried the weight, another professor who condescended with a smile, another assignment deadline that loomed like a guillotine. And then came work, where the line stretched to the door and your manager blamed you for the broken milk frother. A man snapped at you for getting his order wrong when he hadn’t even spoken clearly. A teenage girl rolled her eyes when you handed her the wrong size cup.

By the end of the shift, you could barely keep your hands from shaking. You clocked out late. Walked past your apartment. And just kept going. No headphones. No destination. Just footsteps and cold air and the ache in your chest that refused to quiet down. The streets were quiet—late enough that the bars were winding down, too early for sunrise joggers. You shoved your hands deep into your coat pockets and stared at the sidewalk like it could offer you something you’d lost.

You weren’t sure what you were looking for. You just knew that if you stopped walking, you’d cry. And not the soft kind. Not the cinematic, beautiful kind. No—it would be ugly. Angry. Frustrated and furious that someone like Zayne—someone who used to make you feel like maybe you weren’t entirely alone in the world—could just vanish. Without reason. Without a word. The thought made your throat close. You turned a corner. Slowed. Pressed your fingers against your eyes as the burn started to rise.  

You missed him. You missed Zayne. And the longer the silence stretched, the louder one truth kept echoing in your chest. Something between you had broken. And you still had no idea why.

————

It started as a drizzle—the kind of rain that didn’t feel real until it soaked through the collar of your coat. You barely noticed it at first, too deep in your own spiral to care. But then a cold drop smacked hard against your cheek, and you blinked.

Then another. Then dozens. And before long, the sky opened up above you.

You stopped walking as the downpour hit in full. Cold. Sharp. Merciless. You tilted your head up, let it slap against your skin like it had a point to make. And for some reason, the only reaction you could manage was a laugh. A single, bitter, humorless huff of a sound that cracked at the end.

Of course. Of fucking course it had to rain. So cliché.

You stood there, soaked and shaking and done with everything—this day, this week, this version of your life. You let out a breath so heavy it felt like it carried your entire soul, and then… you walked. Not toward home. Not toward shelter. Just… forward.

Cars passed, tires hissing through puddles. People bustled past with umbrellas, barely sparing you a glance. You might’ve looked deranged—soaking wet, clothes clinging to your body, hair dripping into your eyes, walking like you had nowhere left to be.

And then one car slowed.

You didn’t notice it right away. Not until the brake lights flared beside you and the low purr of the engine crawled into your awareness. The passenger window rolled down, letting in a wave of warm air and the sound of your name spoken low and sharp—like disbelief wrapped in concern.

"—What the hell are you doing out here?"

You stopped. The rain blurred everything, but not his voice.

Zayne.

You turned slowly, eyes wide, breath caught in your throat. For a second, you genuinely believed you were hallucinating. Your mind, fractured and soaked through, playing tricks on you. But then you saw him—hand on the steering wheel, brow furrowed in stunned alarm, hair damp at the edges like he’d just come from work. His tie was loosened, the top two buttons of his shirt undone.

He looked… shaken. But not as much as you.

You said nothing. You just stared. And he had none of it.

“Get in the car,” he said—low, urgent, seeing straight through your silence, your soaking sleeves, your cracking expression.

Still, you didn’t move. His eyes narrowed, voice dipping softer. “You’re freezing.”

That did it. You swallowed hard against everything rising up in your throat and opened the door, sliding into the passenger seat without a word, dripping rain onto his pristine upholstery. You stared ahead. He didn’t comment. Didn’t even flinch. He just started driving. But the silence was suffocating.

Your breath caught in your chest, your fingers curled around the damp hem of your coat. You glanced at him from the corner of your eye—the way he gripped the wheel a little too tightly, the way his eyes refused to meet yours for more than a flicker. He looked calm. Composed. Like this wasn’t the first time in two months you’d seen each other. Like he hadn’t disappeared. Like he hadn’t left you wondering what you’d done wrong.

You hated how casual his voice sounded when he finally broke the silence. “I didn’t expect to see you out here. This late, and in the pouring rain, no less.”

You turned your head slowly, disbelief etched across your face. “That’s what you’re opening with?”

He glanced at you, brief, unreadable. “You’re wet and shaking. What would you prefer?”

You laughed. Sharp. Bitter. Loud enough to make him blink. “You’re unbelievable.”

He didn’t reply.

The tension wound tighter. You could see his jaw clench, the flicker of something behind his eyes that he didn’t want you to see. He kept driving, like it was just another day. Just another shift. Just another one of your normal, quiet encounters—like he hadn’t been ghosting you for weeks. Like he didn’t get to act like nothing happened.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, you unbuckled your seatbelt with trembling fingers.

“Thanks for the ride,” you said flatly. Then you got out and slammed the car door so hard the whole vehicle shook.

You didn’t even feel satisfied doing it. You just had to do something—anything—to keep the tears from breaking loose in front of him. You were halfway up the building steps, feet squelching with every step, when you heard the car door open again. Then slam shut.

“Wait.”

You didn’t stop. You didn’t want to see him being composed again, not when your chest was tight and your teeth were clenched and everything inside you was fucking unraveling.

But he didn’t listen. Zayne sprinted after you—into the pouring rain, shoes slapping the pavement, soaking within seconds—and you heard his footsteps echo behind you before he caught up.

“Wait—damn it—just wait!”

You turned around, rain cascading over your face, heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst right through your ribs.

He stood a few feet away. Dripping. Soaked. Chest heaving slightly from the run. His hair was plastered to his forehead, eyes wild and hurting. And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t look composed at all.

You turned on him. Not loud. Not theatrical. You didn’t scream or shove at his chest, though your body burned with the want of it. The rain poured down harder now, so cold it felt like punishment. The streets were slick with silver, your hair clinging to your cheeks, your fingertips numb. And still, you didn’t yell.

You seethed.

“Two months, Zayne.” your voice shook with fury you could barely hold in. “Two months of silence. Of short replies and canceled calls and empty space where you used to be.”

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. You didn’t let him interrupt. You couldn’t. Because if you stopped now, your voice would crack—and you refused to give him that.

“I was going through hell,” you continued, quieter this time, but no less sharp. “Uni is a nightmare. Work’s draining the life out of me. I’m barely surviving most days. And do you know what the one constant in my life used to be? You.”

His expression changed then, just slightly. Like something inside him finally registered the depth of it. The weight of what he’d done—or hadn’t done.

“And then you just…” you laughed again, bitter and breathless. “You just disappeared. Like I didn’t matter. Like I wasn’t supposed to notice.”

Rain dripped off your jaw. Your coat hung heavy on your shoulders, soaked through to the skin, but you didn’t move.

“I texted. I called. I made excuses for you. Told myself you were busy. That you were tired. That maybe I’d done something wrong. Do you know what it feels like to doubt yourself every fucking day because someone you trusted suddenly decided to vanish without explanation?”

Zayne’s jaw tightened, his glasses streaked with water, his suit soaked beyond saving — and still he didn’t speak. Didn’t deny it. Didn’t offer a single fucking word. And it made something inside you snap.

“Say something,” you whispered, furious. “Anything, Zayne.”

He looked at you—eyes full of guilt and something deeper, something cracked wide open—but still, nothing came.

That silence? It undid you, made you so angry. You turned away, your throat burning. “Fuck this.”

You made for the apartment entrance with shaking legs, your boots squeaking against the wet tile as you yanked open the building door. The instinct was to slam it. To shut it in his face, in his silence, in his guilt. But you didn’t. You left it open.

Because despite everything, he was soaked through. Because you still cared. Because some pathetic, stubborn part of you still held out a hand toward the connection you’d once shared—the one he seemed determined to ruin.

You walked up the stairs without turning around. But you heard his footsteps. Wet and soft behind you. And when you unlocked your apartment and stepped inside, trembling and breathless, you couldn’t stop yourself from spinning on your heel—eyes red with unshed rage.

"You could’ve told me. Anything. Anything, Zayne. You could’ve said you were overwhelmed. Or that you didn’t want to talk. Or that I annoyed you. But no. You said nothing. You just vanished. Like a fucking coward.”

That one cut deeper than you meant. You saw it in the flicker of pain that crossed his face. But you didn’t take it back. Couldn’t. You huffed sharply, tossing your keys onto the table with a loud clatter, too hard, too much, and kicked your wet shoes off like they were enemies.

“Get in or go,” you muttered, voice hoarse. “But close the door either way.”

You turned from him again, hands trembling, heart racing, and this time you didn’t look back. You couldn’t. Because if you did, you’d break. And right now, you were holding the last of yourself together with fraying thread and spite alone.

The door clicked shut behind him. You didn’t turn around, but you heard it—that small, weighted sound. A huff escaped your chest before you could stop it, a mix between disbelief and bitter relief. He stayed. Of course he did. Despite everything, despite the silence and the distance and the way he’d hurt you—some small, aching thread of hope still clung to your ribs, whispering that maybe he wouldn’t walk away this time.

You hated that hope.

“Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath as you strode into your room, shoulders squared in frustration, limbs stiff from cold and fury. “Absolutely fucking unbelievable.”

The anger gave you something to do. Something to cling to. Your hands moved on instinct, yanking open drawers with too much force, shoving aside old clothes, socks, forgotten sweaters. You found a pair of sweatpants—soft cotton, probably from your uncle’s old stash—and an oversized t-shirt that might've once been your ex’s but had long since lost meaning. They were clean. Dry. Comfortable.

Not nearly enough to fit Zayne’s tall, broad frame properly. Good. Let it be uncomfortable. Let him drown in it.

And still… you dug out a towel. Because you knew him. You knew how he got when he was sick—quiet, fussy, prone to pretending he was fine while sniffling into his sleeve and stubbornly refusing to take anything stronger than lukewarm tea. You hated how that memory softened something in your chest even now.

You marched back into the hallway and tossed the bundle of clothes and towel at him—not hard, but not gently either. You didn’t say a word. Just turned and stomped toward the bathroom, your own change of clothes clutched to your chest.

Zayne caught the clothes with a grunt, silent, soaked and still at the threshold like he wasn’t sure he deserved to go any further.

And then you shut the door. The shower came on in a sharp hiss of water, and you stood under it without even checking the temperature, letting it scald your skin, hoping the burn would melt something—the knot in your throat, the tremble in your hands, the goddamn ache in your chest that still wanted to reach for him despite everything.

You didn’t cry. But your jaw ached from how tightly you clenched it, your nails biting into your palms as the steam curled around you. Because if you didn’t get control of yourself now, you’d explode. And you didn’t want to say the things you were thinking.

Didn’t want to scream about how dare he come back acting like nothing happened. About how sick it made you to still care, to still think about whether he’d be warm enough, dry enough, comfortable enough—when he’d left you alone with silence and doubt and confusion for two goddamn months.

Meanwhile, outside the bathroom door, Zayne stood in the quiet, the clothes limp in his hands, his own wet frame slowly steaming in the warmer air of your apartment. He didn’t move right away because he couldn’t. Your voice still rang in his ears—low, trembling, furious. Not just angry. Wounded. Like he’d taken something sacred and shattered it with his silence.

He hadn’t known. Not truly. Not until tonight. He thought he’d pulled away cleanly. Quietly. That maybe you would notice but wouldn’t feel it like this. He had told himself he was protecting something. Sparing you from the mess of his own failure. That it was better this way, to leave without saying too much, before whatever quiet affection lingered between you could twist into something irreversible.

But he’d been wrong. So deeply, undeniably wrong. And now the proof of it clung to your skin, raw in your voice, etched into the way you threw clothes at him like they were both a comfort and a punishment. He didn’t blame you. Not for a single second. Because this was his fault. All of it.

And the worst part? He still didn’t know how to fix it.

He changed into the clothes—awkward, uncomfortable, the fabric tight across his chest and barely reaching past his wrists. He ran the towel through his hair in silence, chest aching with every minute that passed, replaying your words over and over until they carved themselves into him like a wound. Because he couldn’t shake the image of your face in the rain.

He had done that. And nothing—no silence, no apology, no excuse—would make it disappear.

© zaynessbeloved 2025

.ᐟ✧ THIS IS MY ONLY ACCOUNT. I WILL ONLY POST HERE AND ON MY AO3.

.ᐟ✧ translations or reposts of my work on tumblr, ao3, or other sites ARE NOT permitted. please do not ask. do not reuse my blogpost headers, dividers, or layouts. these are original designs of my own. thank you!

taglist: @syluslittlecrows, @asiaticapple, @beaconsxd, @floofycookie, @deepspacedarling

[a-bad-case-of-the-stephs]

Do we ever see Steph in a mentor type roll in the comics? I’m trying to write something for her and I’m not sure how she would act if she had to be a mentor to someone younger. I can’t tell if she’d be good at it or not. Maybe she would in a non traditional way?

Not really, unfortunately.. Funny you ask, as there was an idea for a comic w Steph mentoring a group of young heroes floated a while back that never ended up getting made. However, Steph is pretty consistently portrayed as good with kids! The closest thing to what you’re looking for I can think of is probably Steph’s interactions with Damian in Batgirl 2009! While not quite a mentorship exactly, it might be a good basis for how you might want to write her interacting with a kid she saw as is need of her guidance. Checking it out might be a good idea!!

On my opinion on the type of mentor Steph would be, that’s a great question, I think a lot of it would be a natural product of her own experiences w mentorship.

Steph has had some truly shitty mentor experiences in her past (looking at you Bruce Wayne cough cough), and I think that would make her very cognizant of certain things. For instance, I think she would want to be very open with a mentee, as one of the biggest things used against Steph during both her stints working with Bruce was how much information was kept from her and how far she was held away. We can see some evidence for that openness with how Steph interacts with Wendy Harris (Proxy) during Batgirl 2009, Steph basically tells her everyone’s secret id and backstory with no compunctions. So I think Steph would absolutely be very open with a mentee and would try not to keep secrets from them. On the other hand, one of Steph’s flaws is she is kind of a secretive person, she’s introspective and she likes to figure stuff out by herself, so I can see this being an internal conflict for her, where she is very willing to tell a mentee important secret info, but still holds more emotional stuff close to chest.

Another thing abt how I think she’d act as a mentor, Steph is extremely dedicated and determined, and tends to see things in a black and white sort of ‘giving up is weakness’ kind of way? I think she’d have to balance her 1) incredibly determination and focus causing her to want to push her mentee to be the best they can and 2) Steph’s (again) terrible experiences being mentored by Bruce making her not want to push too hard / berate / not provide enough verbal encouragement to her mentee. It’d be a balance, but she’d probably end up being super encouraging and verbally affirming to a mentee while holding them to a pretty high standard.

Just generally, when it comes to Steph interacting with kids, she has had a pretty regular habit of projecting her own experiences and traumas onto them. Not a bad thing per se, just she seems to tend to see her younger self in abused kids particularly and it engenders her to be protective of them.

If you want to take that to explore a flaw Steph might have as a mentor, you could write her projecting her own past difficulties or past feelings onto her mentee in a way that isn’t helpful or accurate.

All in all, I think Steph could be a great mentor! She gets along well with children and is stubborn when it comes to making friends and forming bonds, and has experienced pretty much the worst case scenario mentorship wise (dropped by BOP, dropped by Batman. Twice. Being insulted/used as a tool/held at arms length etc etc) which has pretty much given her a valuable perspective on exactly what NOT to do! However, those very same experiences might also hinder Steph’s abilities as a mentor. She might fixate on screwing up with them like she was screwed over, or project herself onto them. No matter what, I think she’d try very very hard to be present as a mentor and would want to be there for her mentee no matter what. Hope this was helpful, thank you for the ask, and good luck with your writing!!

[franeridan]

thinking again about how in trigun 98 they had nick kill someone with the face of a child posing as an orphan for vash, and how in tristamp they had him kill a child in the body of a monster who had no choice in what had been done to him, and how instead in trimax nick for vash kills a man who'd approached vash for a death match, who'd demanded to either kill or be killed, a man nick had given vash a fair chance to fight and win against and who nick would have left alone hadn't said man attacked vash when his back was turned after the duel was over and done with, a man who'd been one step from possibly seriously harming vash hadn't nick stepped in. and about how after in all three versions vash yells at nick for it, but only in trimax nick tells vash that he's lucky he's there to play the devil for him so that he can stay a saint, and only in trimax in the arc right after vash ends up thanking nick for killing for him and protecting his home when vash couldn't because of his own morals, and only in trimax in the end when nick isn't there to play the bad guy for vash he ends up being right, and vash ends up having to dirty his hands himself to protect what he loves - while both in 98 and for now tristamp vash stays a saint until the end, and that fight they have ends in itself, and the only lesson it leaves you as a viewer is that nick is jaded enough to kill a child

[icarrymany]

i have horrible second hand embarrassment issues that make it hard to do literally anything but other than that my autisms empathy is LOW

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Hello! I've read your soap and price fics and you are amazing!!!

I had an idea for a fic for Ghost. The reader would be Soaps slightly older sister who isnt like Johnny at all. Im thinking she either picks up soap from base after an op or from the bar. I'll leave alot of this up to you but i just wanna see Soaps Sister meeting Ghost!!

Brother's Coworker

PAIRING: Simon 'Ghost' Riley x Soap's Sister!Reader

SYNOPSIS: In the dim illumination of the streetlights, Ghost lays eyes on a woman leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp.

WORDCOUNT: 4.2k

WARNINGS: Little bit of angst, but mostly fluff and pre-relationship pining, loads of sibling banter, conflicting emotions, etc.

A/N: Finally able to use my sibling experiences for a fic lmfao, enjoy!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

The woman was leaning against the body of a vintage Hillman Imp, the custom color a deep forest green along the sides and a cream white coating the upper third. Ghost stared at her as the rest of the men filed out of the bar one after the other—Johnny and Gaz being especially loud. He blinks slowly, hands inside his blackened pockets.

Across the way, your ears perk slowly at the sound of rapturous shouts, but you only continue to look down the sidewalk at the long illuminations of street lamps and the glints of broken bottles on the ground. Over your chest, your hands shift in their hold on your biceps, your thin jacket crinkling. Light dances in your irises.

“Oi, is that who I think it is?!” Familiar Scottish drawl brings a smirk to your face, and you turn slowly to huff, snapping out of your silent thoughts. 

“Who else would it be, ya bloody git,” your voice carries, but it lacks the sheer volume of your brother’s; the great boom that reminds you of the bombs he’d used to make out of your mother’s hair spray bottles. 

Never a dull day in your childhood home, really.

“‘Bout gave me a heart attack, not answerin’ my calls like that!” Johnny laughs loudly, obviously drunk, and stumbles over merrily. You’re taken into a chest-breaking hug in mere moments, leaving you squirming with a deep grunt. “Should have your head, MacTavish.” You manage to squeak out, “Put me the fuck down, you horror. And what in the hell have you done to your hair?!”

“Oh, my dear sister.” Your brother lets you go as the three other men slink over, amused with the scene but some momentarily confused by the sudden introduction. Gaz laughs, and the Captain huffs a chuckle before fixing the position of his beanie on his head. 

Ghost, as always, chooses to watch like a looming shadow above the rest. 

Johnny puts a hand to his chest, the other remaining on your shoulder, “You wound me. Such cruelty stuck in your black soul; I say now, mother was always right—”

You smack the side of his head and Johnny grunts. 

“Ow!” He yells, glaring at you. “What the fuck?!” 

“Open your mouth again and I’ll wring you out, you arse. You know I will.” Grumbling, the Scot rubs the side of his head as you raise a brow at him. The stare-off lasts for a decent bit, and before the rest of the group knows what’s going on, the two of you are embracing each other once more; laughing loudly. 

Ghost’s eyebrows pull in slowly.

“Ah, it’s good to be back!” Johnny chuckles, holding you close as you pat his back.

“Of course, I’d find my kid brother at a damn pub on his first day home.” Taking a step away from the hulk of a boy, you brush down your shirt and jacket with a scoff. Looking up, you come to face the remaining men with an exasperated look. “He’s full of shite half the time, y’know, now. Can’t imagine what he puts you all through.”

“Bloody hell, Soap, you were holding out on us,” Gaz chuckles loudly, sticking out a hand for you to shake while he glances at the mohawked Scot who looks giddy despite being insulted by who’s very obviously his older sister. “Never knew you had siblings, Mate.” You take the man’s hand as he smiles brightly at you. 

“Kyle.” He says, and you beam back, “But Gaz’ll do just fine.”

“A pleasure,” your voice carries to John who you raise a brow at teasingly. “Well, look who the Reaper’s yet to drag down…Good to see you again, Captain.”

Price shakes his head, a smirk peeling his lips as Gaz steps back. 

“Still on that land of yours, then, Love?” The brunette asks gruffly, leaning back on his heels for a moment while you sag your side into Johnny’s arm. Your brother scoffs and loops his limb over the bridge of your shoulders as you nod. 

“You know it. Proper quiet when the neighbors aren’t up to a ruckus racin’ down the streets. Christ, those kids are devils—worse than Johnny and I when we were young.”

“Now that’s hard to believe, eh?” The man beside you laughs through his slurred words and you roll your eyes. 

Chuckling in return, you blink, spying on the intent black figure behind everyone else. Piercing brown eyes dig past flesh like a scalpel while you tilt your head to the side, interest alighting behind your skull. He doesn’t move or even greet you, just looks over you and then turns his attention to the street like a roaming bear would; hell, he certainly could be a bear with how big he was. Bigger than Johnny, even. 

This stranger wears a large brown leather jacket, the hood of his underclothes pulled up to cover most of the pale skin that would otherwise be visible. The long swish of light lashes captures you as you study the way he blinks slowly across the road. On his chin and on the top of his forehead, the fabric of a skeletal-painted balaclava shrouds him. Cargo pants and large black combat boots sit on his feet. 

He stands like a statue. 

“Who’s this then?” You call easily, and those eyes travel back to you even as the head doesn’t. It’s strange the way you seem to brush aside the blatant intimidation he exudes simply by standing.

“Ah,” John grunts, chuckling, before stepping to the side. “Simon, introduce yourself.” 

A low voice lowly wafts after a moment to silence, Manchester accent spearing you in the ears with its rough make-up, “Ghost.” 

You blink over at the Captain, but he just shakes his head and you move on. Johnny chuckles and whispers to you, “Don’t mind ‘em, Lt’s a bit rough around the edges.”

Plastering on a polite smile, your chin moves in a nod, “Pleasure to meet you, Ghost. Good to know the other two who look after Johnny out there.” The man beside you feels his face burn, free hand going to itch at his neck.

Ghost grunts and shrugs off the veiled praise, large muscles stiff.

“You’re actin’ like I’m not the one savin’ their skins half the time,” Gaz interjects on the Scot’s point.

“Is that what you call it?” You share an amused glance at John. 

Though, your eyes always sway back to Ghost, or Simon, depending on who you ask. He listens to the chatter, obviously, but he seems much more content to only stay with his hands inside of his pockets and study the street for...what exactly? The beast wasn’t shy, no, just…silent. If you didn’t know better you’d call him aggressively casual with the way his shoulders sit.

Stance relaxed but the underlying threat was palpable on the wind. Like a wolf rubbing his cheeks on the ancient trees of his territory. ‘Don’t do anything stupid,’ - it seems his very DNA states that.

Brown eyes suddenly lock with your own as if snapping into place and before you can release a squeak of alarm, you swiftly dart your gaze away back to the arguing Sergeants; face burning.

Christ, how long had you been staring at him?

“Alright, you two, ease off it!” Trying to distract yourself, you wave a hand. “You’re both too drunk to be gettin’ into street fights at this hour. Johnny, into the car ya fool.” 

Your brother slashes you with a grin.

“Fuckin’ finally, a decent bed!” It was tradition to give Johnny the spare room when he was back home—proper meals. 

“You’re callin’ mother, y’know.” You unlock your car and motion to the passenger seat with a frown. “I dinnae care if you’re trapped for hours—give the woman a rest of all her worrying.” 

“You heard the woman, Sergeant,” John forces the gravel out of his throat, rubbing at his beard. Something hits your chest as your brother opens his door as you stand in the cold. You glance at each man in turn; eyebrows pulling in with thought.

“Ah, what the hell,” your voice huffs out. Ghost watches you closely, blinking as he lifts a hand to itch at his neck from under his hood. The leather jacket crumples with tiny shifts of worn-out material. 

“Don’t suppose you boys need any good beds to rest your heads on for the night?” Wiggling your keys, you pat the top of your Hillman as you slide to the driver's side. Johnny slinks inside his own and chuckles as he closes the barrier with a careful thunk. 

“Hospitality finally leakin’ in?”

“Next time I hit ya,” you send him a bland look, “I’ll aim for the neck.” Fake flinching towards him, the man squeaks and snaps quickly back into the car door as you snicker lively. 

“Beast!” Johnny exclaims. You roll your eyes and shimmy down the window behind him, calling out as the rest share glances.

“Get in if you’re comin’ over! If not all the food I made yesterday’ll go to waste!” That seemed to get Gaz into the back, with only Price and Simon left behind. 

Brown meets blue and John’s beard pulls back with a smirk. He clears his throat, “Well, I’m not one to spit in her face.” The Captain walks over and grunts as he bends down. 

Ghost sighs under his breath and follows, impartial as to where this night is going. He wouldn’t sleep tonight, no doubt. The hard and unforgiving beds on base were the only things he could rest on now save the ground. And food? He could go without food for days.

Though, being Johnny’s sister bought you some favor, trust wasn’t something that Simon gave around freely. But the car you drove was nice, and the company of his Task Force was easy to basque in until they shipped out again. 

Simon sits down on the refurbished seat and softly closes the door behind him. Dead-eyed, he stares at Johnny’s headrest as you glance at him from the rearview mirror—seeing his shoulder dig into the glass of the window. 

You shove down a joke and hum. “Good, then, it’ll free my fridge at the very least.” 

“Thank you, Ma’am,” Gaz offers as you start up the engine, “it’s awfully nice of you to do this for us.”

“Ah,” Simon hears you dismiss as he turns to stare out of the window; so often feeling his gaze drawn back to you as a leaf attached to a tree might act. “Don’t worry your head about it. I like the company.” 

“Aye, just how she is,” Johnny says earnestly. “Was always the one to let me over with my pals when the football games were over—’cept we were usually covered in mud.”

“I’m still finding grass in my rugs, Johnny Boy,” you mumble, focusing on the road as a slight squeaking emanates from the front of the car. Simon picks up on it easily, not preoccupied with speaking. He glances at you but mentions nothing beyond a shuffling of his thighs. 

Outside the land slides past in shades of verdant green and gray as the town falls away. 

He was confused, rightly. You’d seen his standoffish nature but had chosen to extend hospitality as the old Greeks did just off a growl of his name. But maybe it was just because he was your brother’s coworker. 

Simon grunts to himself and rubs at his wrist. Throughout the ride, the two of you would glance at each other and try to forget that you had; when the long driveway of a large secluded home expands out above the car, Gaz whistles lowly.

“Bloody hell, Ma’am,” he states and John chuckles. You easily smile and roll your eyes. 

“Trust me, it was more work than it was worth.” Ghost’s attention is slightly peaked.

“You worked on it?” His tone implies he doesn’t care, but his eyes gore into the mirror to lock with your own. Blinking in surprise, even the others seem to be taken aback by the man's lack of venom in his speech. 

Ghost wasn’t afraid to speak his mind when he needed to, but he didn’t do mindless chatter. Your eyes cycle between the driveway and the masked Brit before you clear your throat. Johnny glances at you with a raised brow, slight confusion in his brows. 

“Mostly—left the nasty bits to people more knowledgeable than I am, but I did most of the grunt work, eh?” Simon hums as the car pulls to a stop inside the garage, eyes not leaving the back of your head. 

Your neck bristles at the sensation of unrelenting contact, but the burning that joins it is telltale. Licking your lips you twist the keys out and quickly shuffle out of the door to dispel the electricity in the air. 

“Alright,” you say, “out. All of ya…Johnny, you’ll be helping me with the bedding.” 

A groan is cut by an unimpressed glare. “...Yes, Ma’am.”

You huff and smirk. 

“Trainin’ him well I see,” teasing John as they all file out of the car, he shakes his head at the two of you as Simon scoffs. Gaz openly laughs as Soap’s offended look grows. 

You all enter the house as you direct them to the kitchen after they’ve taken off their boots and hung their jackets. “It’s all in the fridge, heat what you want, and don’t bother fightin’ Johnny if he takes too much. Tell me and I’ll make him sleep in the back near the chickens.” Your voice tells them as you pat your brother on the shoulder. 

Johnny grumbles and kisses the top of your head. “You’re horrible to me,” He jokes but his eyes shimmer with affection. As you leave to get a head start on the rooms, you smile and call out to him.

“That’s my job!” 

Backing out into the hallway, you leave with a deep well of happiness in you. You don’t even realize that the party had only contained three men instead of four until you’re in the linen closet and a shadow suddenly blacks out the light from the bulbs. Jumping slightly, your head swivels as you carry very many sheets and pillowcases in your grip. 

“Oh,” you mumble through cotton, smile growing as the flip in your stomach does, “Ghost! Done eating already?” 

The man is still and silent as he glances from your face to the sheets. Without a word, he halves the load and steals them as your jaw loosens in shock.

“Johnny’s outside callin’ your mum.” Ghost turns and walks out, but waits for you in the hallway to be directed. 

You push down the tightness to your throat and see the man’s feet shift on the hardwood. He looks funny, such a big man carrying bed sheets. His actions make your heart speed up. Brown eyes blink at you like a cat. 

“Well,” you chuckle, “always was one to get out of housework.” Trying a smidge more, you shift past him and turn off the light. “His barracks room dirty?”

“Pigsty.” Simon blandly states, walking slightly behind you. Your pace slows so you can stay beside him. He side-eyes you but says nothing. 

Leaning in slightly, you quip as Ghost tenses, “Can’t say I’m surprised. The man’s used to me bailin’ him out.” Chuckling, you go into the first bedroom and put everything on the bed. 

Simon grabs the pillows and starts to dress them quickly and efficiently. 

“But thank you,” you say, and the Brit pauses to look up at you, something swirling in his murky gaze. Earnestly, you tilt your head with a smile. “Ya can go back and eat more if you want. No need to help—you’re a guest.”

“Not hungry,” is all he answers, and gets back to work. You watch for a moment, perplexed, but not at all about to deny the assistance. A genuine grin twitches your lips. 

“Johnny writes about you, y’know,” your fingers pull at the fabric and you chuckle as Ghost’s incredulous look turns to you—face hidden but confusion is obviously seen. “Says he looks up to you quite a bit; something about Mexico.” 

Your face dips slightly, and Simon’s body stills. Along the pillow, his grip carefully tightens. He can’t find it in himself to walk out of the door and stand outside even if he knows he should. 

“I really can’t imagine what it’s like,” you mutter, shaking your head. Gazing at him, you study his wound muscles and secret flesh like a tapestry—wondering if he hides himself because of the safe anonymity or a sense of numb fear. 

He wouldn’t admit to either, you know. But something about Simon had captured your attention and now you had a face, or just a body really, to put to the written name like a puzzle piece. 

You take a long breath, “But you’ll never know how grateful I am.” 

By the way his chest stops moving and his body goes frozen, you think you hit something inside of him; the minute widening of his eyelids like pedals opening in the light. Simon peers at your expression, his eyes sliding from one point to another. 

Like he can’t really pinpoint what you want. 

Ironic really, because you didn’t want anything. 

“Don’t thank me,” is what he settles on, moving back to the pillow as if your words hadn’t stabbed him. “Johnny knows what he’s doing.”

Your small snort enters the air above the sliding sheets. “There’s no argument there.” A sigh echoes as you finish up, putting your hands on your hips. Across the bed, you two stare as Simon tosses down the pillows. The remainder of the sheets sit on the end of the bed. 

The man’s eyes narrow on you, and he clenches his jaw under his balaclava. 

“The only thing that I do know is that every time my brother comes back he smiles less than he did before.” You side-eye him seriously as you move. “I can only guess what all of it does to the others who don’t have anyone else to go back to.”

Simon’s breath halts in his chest before he finds the means to take down a slow inhale. Brown eyes glare intently, jaw tight, but it’s not the fire that gets to you…it’s the lack thereof.

Ghost doesn’t like this feeling, and your candidness was something he hadn’t expected.

“So,” you drawl, “I’m thanking you for giving him someone to joke around with—a distraction,” a teasing smirk, “no matter how blunt.” 

“I just told you—”

“Well, I don’t bloody care, do I?” Huffing, you smirk and tip your head back before snatching the rest of the sheets. “C’mon, we have three more rooms.” 

Simon watches you leave and tries to fight the rampage in his chest; the merciless slam of his heart to his ribcage. What had you done to him? A hand comes up and rubs into the bridge of his nose, fingers heavy and tight. 

What in the hell was going on? 

Growling under his breath, Ghost stalks out of the room only to see your back disappear into the next. In the hallway, he takes a long inhale and closes his eyes to steady himself. 

“Fuckin’ hell,” the man grunts. The tension in his shoulders was plainly visible. 

For the remainder of the room, Ghost would send you tight glances as he worked but didn’t utter another peep. You had taken his voice, or what little left of it there was. 

In many ways, you were like your loudmouth brother—your snark and your stubbornness. But you were different too. 

He feels his eyes trail down your form slowly from time to time. Capable; hardy. Simon blinked away and grunted under his breath aggressively. 

When everyone was done with their food and Johnny had come back in from his call to his mother, with a soft smile on his face, you knew it was time for bed. 

“Alright,” you strut into the kitchen with Ghost on your heels—his large arms crossed over his chest as he caught Soap's intense stare. The Lieutenant's brow raises, but Johnny only frowns in conspiracy before he looks over to you and itches at his chin. “Beds are made. You can all thank Simon for that, seein’ as Johnny used our mother as an excuse yet again.”

“And she was very pleased to hear from me!” Your brother points to you.

“She’s our mother,” you deadpan, “It’s her job to be, ya arse-face.” 

The boys all follow you down the halls as you point to the rooms. Gaz shakes your hand again and gives you a tiny hug in thanks while John pats your shoulder and calls a soft, “Goodnight, Sweetheart.” 

Both close their doors and you hear the large sighs through the wood. You have to wonder when they’d had a good bed to sleep on and a good meal. Last was your brother and Ghost, the latter of which kisses your head and hugs you tightly. 

“It’s good to see you, truly. Been missing you, little Hen. Thanks for lettin’ me over all the time when I’m home.” You melt and grip his shirt. 

“You’ll always have a place here, you know that. One call away…Now go to sleep. You smell like a pub.” He lightly chuckles against you. With a bond this tight, the two of you never had to say that you loved each other—it was just known.

Johnny squeezes you one last time before pulling away and slinking into his room, giving an unrecognizable glance to Ghost on his way in before the barrier slips into place with a quiet thunk of wood. The two of you look at and stare for a moment. 

“Lucky you,” your voice is quiet but easy to hear, “you get the room with a view of the field.” 

“Color me surprised,” he mutters, not looking enthusiastic. Against the tone, the look makes your mouth jerk in a laugh, and you cover your lips after a moment. 

Simon’s eyes unconsciously soften. 

You wave a hand, chest light, “Let’s go then, you brute.”

“Brute?” Simon grumbles, “Gettin’ familiar?” 

“Please,” you shake your head and walk to the last door in this section of the house. “You all became familiar the second we met.” 

The man rolls his eyes but has his smirk hidden as you open the door for him. He tilts his head in thanks and strolls inside.

You hum, crossing your arms ahead of you and leaning on the doorframe as he looks around, “Don’t think too much over it… The baseline is, you’ll always have a bed here if you need it.” 

Ghost slips out, “What are you? Bloody boarding house?” The swelling in his chest made his words harsher than intended, but you just smile cheekily at him as eyes lock.

“Hell’s bells, if you want ta’ get me a business card just go ahead and print ‘em off already. I’ve no problem with it.” He stares and you laugh, shrugging. “Makes me feel good.”

Splaying your hands, you back out. 

“I know you probably won’t sleep,” Simon pauses, feeling caught but not showing it. “Libraries down the hall—if you smoke, use the back door. Kitchen is free game.”  

“Why?” He asks and you blink, confused.

“Well, why not?” Simon glares.

“You shouldn’t trust people like that.” A loud laugh echoes and makes the man annoyed with you.

“Simon,” you say, and he finds himself hanging on every word that falls from your lips in the moonlight. “Not everyone is out to get you. If you’re friends of Johnny’s, then you’re friends of mine. That boy can sniff a cheat faster than a hound can find a hare.” Perhaps it was the way his shoulders went back at that, or how his brows loosened, but you finish off with a soft explanation. “You’re safe under this roof.”

You wondered, not for that last time that night, if he’d ever been told that. From how his balaclava moved with a sharp jerk of his jaw, you assumed never. It made your lungs hurt. 

With a few more seconds of quiet gazing you nod and move back. 

“Goodnight, Simon.” You leave him staring at the door as you close it—eyes boring into the grain so harshly they might catch fire. 

Ghost doesn’t know how long he stays like that, but his ears twitch at the echo of running water and soundless footsteps. He should leave, he tells himself; this is dangerous, a voice hisses. It’s not safe here, how could it be? There were no guards—no weapons. If someone were to sneak in there wouldn’t be an alarm. 

A secluded home. Nothing around. 

Then why had your words seeped into him?

“You’re safe under this roof.” Simon closes his eyes harshly.

—

In the morning once everyone’s gone back to the base, you admit you don’t know if you’ll see Simon again; you probably won’t. But you find that you can live with that. The memory of his loosening tension is all you need to feel special in your own right. Those brown eyes that, if but for a moment, had bled so effortlessly feelings of something other than blood and death. 

As you sigh a dreamy chuckle to yourself, you get ready for the day before heading to your Hillman. The silent drive to work joins with the strange mix of weight and levitation to your chest. But halfway into town, it hits you. 

Silent.

There is an obvious lack of squeaking from under the hood of your car as you slide along the countryside. 

The smile doesn’t leave your face for weeks.

TAGS:

@luuvbuzz, @emerald-valkyrie, @anna-banana27, @blueoorchid, @cryingnotcrying, @writeforfandoms, @homicidal-slvt, @jade-jax, @frazie99, @elmoees, @littlemisstrouble, @alpineswinter, @phoenixhalliwell, @idocarealot, @lavalleon, @facelessmemories, @h-leigh, @20forty9, @glitter-anon-asks, @emily-who-killed-a-man, @neelehksttr, @aeneanc, @escapefromrealitysm, @i-d-1-0-t, @pparcxysm, @hawkscanendme, @caramlizedtomatos, @konigsleftkidney, @sanfransolomitatm, @maelstrom007, @jemandderkeinenusernamenfindet, @pheobees, @glitterypirateduck, @uselsshuman, @fan-of-encouragement, @halfmoth-halfman, @ghostlythunderbird, @I-inkage, @pukbadger, @kopatych11, @0nceinabluem00n, @cocrorapop, @knightofsexyness, @abnormalgeil, @smallseastone, @jacegons, @330bpm-whiplash, @simon-rileys-housewife, @4-atsu, @tiredmetalenthusiast

[theoccultmoon]

Candle Colors: A Beginner's Guide୨ৎ 

Candles are a fundamental tool in witchcraft, offering a powerful way to focus energy and intention. Every color carries its own unique vibrations, making it a versatile and customizable element for your magical practices. Let’s explore the meanings behind some common candle colors and how you can incorporate them into your rituals. 

Color Meanings in Candle Magic

🕯️ White: 

Represents: Purity, peace, clarity, and new beginnings. 

Use for: Cleansing, protection, and healing rituals. White candles are also great substitutes for any color if you're short on supplies. 

🕯️ Black: 

Represents: Banishing negativity, protection, and endings. 

Use for: Releasing bad habits, warding off unwanted energy, and grounding during transformative periods. 

🕯️ Red: 

Represents: Passion, strength, and vitality. 

Use for: Love spells, courage, and boosting energy. Perfect for rituals focused on physical desires or personal empowerment. 

🕯️ Green: 

Represents: Abundance, growth, and connection to nature. 

Use for: Prosperity magic, garden blessings, and healing related to the heart. 

🕯️ Blue: 

Represents: Tranquility, communication, and emotional healing. 

Use for: Enhancing intuition, calming conflicts, and strengthening spiritual connection. 

🕯️ Yellow: 

Represents: Joy, creativity, and mental clarity. 

Use for: Studying, attracting inspiration, and boosting self-confidence. 

🕯️ Purple: 

Represents: Spirituality, psychic abilities, and transformation. 

Use for: Enhancing meditation, connecting with higher powers, and deepening magical knowledge. 

🕯️ Pink: 

Represents: Love, friendship, and harmony. 

Use for: Self-care rituals, strengthening bonds, and emotional healing. 

🕯️ Orange: 

Represents: Energy, enthusiasm, and success. 

Use for: Career growth, creative breakthroughs, and manifesting opportunities. 

🕯️ Brown: 

Represents: Stability, grounding, and connection to the earth. 

Use for: Home blessings, financial security, and balancing scattered energy. 

How to Use Candle Colors in Practice ✮⋆˙

☽ Set Your Intention: 

Decide on your goal for the ritual or spell. Align it with the corresponding candle color. 

☽ Cleansing and Charging: 

Before lighting, cleanse your candle by passing it through the smoke of sage or incense. Hold it in your hands and visualize your intention, “charging” it with your energy. 

☽ Dress the Candle: 

Anoint the candle with oil (like olive or lavender oil) while focusing on your intent. This enhances the connection between your energy and the candle's purpose. 

☽ Light the Flame: 

When you’re ready, light the candle and let it burn completely, if possible. Never leave it unattended,always remember to be safe when working with fire!  

Budget-Friendly Candle Tips.☘︎ ݁˖

♡ Use What You Have: Even a white tea light can be infused with powerful intent. 

♡ DIY Candle Colors: Wrap colored thread or paper around plain candles to mimic the desired color energy. 

♡ Reuse Wax: Collect remnants of old candles to create new ones for future rituals. 

Share Your Candle Magic! ୨ৎ

Do you have a favorite candle color or a personal ritual you'd like to share? Comment below, I’d love to see your practice! 

✨blessings! 

[novaursa]

What about a Jace x sister

Where he fell in love with her and in the same time he is not ok with it. He might be the only Targaryen related who thinks that’s not okay to loved their related. But no matter how he can stopped loving her, she might have a look more “Targaryen” with white hair with some black in it (narcissia Malfoy style?)

He always do some weird shit to be closed to her without drow to much attention, And when they finally get really closed their mother call all the bastard to become dragon rider. And Ulf find them in the Pit and try to get something from them in exchange of his silence.

Jace wake up and choose violence 🫣 and just say no and fuxk her in front of him and say that if he say anything he make sure his dragon will eat him

Sins of the Blood

- Summary: Jacaerys always loved his sister, more than he should. It was wrong, he knew it, but the dragon in him claimed you as his long ago.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Jacaerys Velaryon

- Note: For more of my works, visit my blog. The list is pinned to the top. Requests are closed!

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Word count: 4 000+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff

- A/N: I've bonded the reader with Grey Ghost for the plot.

The sea breeze dances through the open halls of Dragonstone, carrying with it the scent of salt and the distant roar of the waves. You stand with Baela and Rhaena on the sun-warmed terrace overlooking the cliffs, the three of you bathed in the golden light of the setting sun. Your laughter rings out, clear and melodic, mingling with the cries of the gulls that circle above.

Jacaerys Velaryon watches from a distance, his heart heavy with conflicting emotions. He knows he should not be here, should not be watching you so closely, but he cannot help himself. You, his sister, the only daughter of Rhaenyra, have been a constant presence in his life, a source of both comfort and confusion. His eyes trace the silver streaks in your hair, a reminder of your Targaryen blood, mingling with the deep brown inherited from your true father, though only you, he, and his mother know the truth.

He remembers when you were children, how you would chase each other through the halls of the Red Keep, your laughter infectious, your bond inseparable. He had always been protective of you, even when you didn’t need it. You were fierce, a dragon through and through, and yet, as you stand now with Baela and Rhaena, there is a softness to you, a grace that makes his breath catch in his throat.

"Do you remember the first time we flew together?" Baela’s voice pulls him from his thoughts. She grins at you, her violet eyes bright with the memory.

"Of course," you reply, a smile tugging at your lips. "I thought Jace would never let me ride my own dragon, he was so worried."

Jace feels a pang at your words, both pride and regret mingling in his chest. He had always been overly cautious with you, more so than with Luke or Joffrey. Perhaps he had always known, even then, that his feelings for you were not entirely brotherly.

Rhaena giggles, leaning in closer to you. "He’s always been that way, hasn’t he? Always the protector, always looking after you."

You shrug, though the warmth in your eyes betrays your affection. "He cares. That’s just how he is."

Jace clenches his fists at his sides, torn between the pride that swells in him at your words and the guilt that gnaws at him for the thoughts he cannot seem to banish. He knows it is wrong—this desire that burns in him like dragonfire—but it is also undeniably a part of him, a flame that refuses to be extinguished.

Take what is yours. The words echo in his mind, a voice that is both his own and something darker, something ancient. The blood of the dragon runs hot in his veins, urging him to act, to claim what he believes is his by right. You are his sister, yes, but you are also so much more. You are the embodiment of everything he has ever wanted, ever desired.

You turn then, as if sensing his gaze, and your eyes meet his. For a moment, the world seems to stop. The laughter of Baela and Rhaena fades into the background, the sound of the waves dulls, and all he can hear is the pounding of his own heart.

"Jace," you call out, your voice breaking the spell. "Come join us!"

There is no hesitation in your invitation, no hint that you are aware of the storm raging inside him. You are just his sister, inviting him to share in the simple joy of the evening, oblivious to the battle he fights within.

He forces a smile, masking the turmoil beneath, and steps forward. "I was just enjoying the view," he says, his voice betraying nothing.

Rhaena giggles again, nudging Baela. "See, I told you he’s always watching over her."

Baela laughs, a sound like the tinkling of bells. "It’s because he’s a good brother."

The words cut deeper than they should, a cruel reminder of the line he cannot cross. He wants to be a good brother, he truly does. But the blood of the dragon does not care for such boundaries. The blood of the dragon demands more.

As he approaches, you smile up at him, that same smile that has always had the power to calm him, to soothe the fire within. But today, it only stokes the flames higher.

"Are you alright?" you ask softly, your eyes searching his face for something he cannot give.

He nods, the lie slipping easily from his lips. "Of course. Just… thinking."

You raise an eyebrow, a knowing look passing over your face. "You think too much, Jace. You always have."

He laughs, though it is a strained sound. "Someone has to, with you lot always running headlong into trouble."

Baela snorts. "As if you don’t love it."

He shrugs, unable to deny it. "Perhaps."

You laugh then, a sound so pure and unburdened that it twists something deep in his chest. How can you be so carefree, so unaware of the darkness that haunts him?

The conversation drifts to other things—plans for the next dragonride, the latest antics of your younger brothers—but Jace finds it hard to focus. His eyes keep returning to you, to the way the setting sun catches in your hair, to the way your eyes sparkle when you laugh. Every moment is a battle, every word a reminder of what he can never have.

Take what is yours. The voice whispers again, insistent, relentless.

He pushes it down, burying it beneath layers of duty, of honor, of love for his family. But it is there, always there, a part of him that he can never truly silence.

As the sun dips below the horizon, casting the world in shades of orange and gold, you turn to him once more, your expression soft, almost tender.

"Thank you, Jace," you say quietly.

He frowns, unsure of what you mean. "For what?"

You smile, and it is a smile that breaks him, because it is so full of warmth, of trust, of love. "For always being there. For always watching over me."

He swallows hard, forcing down the lump in his throat. "Always," he promises, and it is both a vow and a curse.

You reach out, your hand brushing against his arm, and the simple touch sends a shock through him, setting his nerves alight. For a moment, he forgets himself, forgets everything but you.

But then Baela speaks up, her voice pulling him back to reality. "We should head inside. It’s getting late."

You nod, but your eyes linger on his for a moment longer, as if searching for something, something you cannot name.

Jace watches as you turn away, following Baela and Rhaena back into the castle, your laughter fading into the evening air. He stays behind, his heart a tumult of emotion, his mind a battlefield.

He knows what he feels is wrong. He knows that he should push these thoughts away, should bury them deep where they can never see the light of day. But he also knows that the blood of the dragon is not so easily denied.

As the stars begin to twinkle in the darkening sky, Jace makes a silent vow to himself. He will protect you, he will care for you, as a brother should. But he will also fight this desire, this hunger that threatens to consume him. He will not let it destroy him, or you.

But deep down, he knows that it will be difficult.

And as he watches the last light of day fade into night, he wonders if it ever truly will be.

Months have passed since that evening on the terrace, and yet the fire within Jacaerys Velaryon has not dimmed. If anything, it has only grown stronger, a persistent heat that simmers beneath the surface, threatening to consume him at every turn. He has thrown himself into his duties, into training and studies, hoping that the rigor will burn away these unwanted desires. But nothing works. No matter how hard he tries, he cannot escape the pull you have on him.

Today, he finds himself wandering through the halls of Dragonstone, his mind restless, his heart unsettled. The castle is quiet, the stillness only amplifying his thoughts. His feet carry him to the library, a place he knows you often retreat to when you seek solace or simply a moment of peace. He tells himself it is a coincidence, that he has come here to study, to distract himself with books and knowledge. But deep down, he knows the truth.

As he enters the library, the scent of aged parchment and ink greets him, a familiar comfort. He pauses in the doorway, his eyes scanning the room until they find you, seated near the window, the light of the midday sun casting a soft glow around you. You are engrossed in a book, your silver-streaked hair falling over your face, your expression serene. The sight of you, so peaceful and unguarded, sends a wave of warmth through him, and before he can stop himself, he is walking towards you.

You look up as he approaches, a smile tugging at your lips. "Jace," you greet him, your voice soft and welcoming. "What brings you here?"

He hesitates, his mind racing for an excuse. "I thought I might find you here," he admits, the words tumbling out before he can catch them. "I wanted to see if you needed any help with your studies."

You raise an eyebrow, a playful glint in your eyes. "Since when do you offer to help with my studies?"

He shrugs, trying to appear nonchalant. "I just thought... we haven't spent much time together lately. I miss it."

Your expression softens at his words, and you close the book in your hands, setting it aside. "I’ve missed it too," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper.

He can feel the tension between you, a charged energy that crackles in the air. The pull is stronger now, a magnetic force that draws him closer, and before he knows it, he is sitting beside you, his body instinctively leaning towards yours.

"What are you reading?" he asks, his voice rougher than he intended.

You glance at the book, then back at him, a small smile playing on your lips. "A history of Old Valyria. I’ve always been fascinated by our ancestors, by the dragons and the blood magic they wielded."

"Of course," he murmurs, though he hardly registers the words. He is too focused on the way your hand rests so close to his, the way your eyes seem to shimmer in the light. "Our blood is strong, isn’t it? The blood of the dragon."

You nod, your gaze holding his. "It is. It’s what makes us who we are."

The words resonate deep within him, a reminder of the truth he has tried so hard to ignore. The blood of the dragon is what binds you together, but it is also what drives him to the brink of madness. The fire that burns in his veins is not just a curse, but a part of him, a part of you. And he is no longer sure if he can continue to fight it.

"I wanted to ask you something," you say suddenly, breaking the silence that has settled between you.

He blinks, trying to focus. "What is it?"

You hesitate for a moment, as if gathering your thoughts. "I was wondering if you could help me with my dragon training. Grey Ghost is so much more... spirited than he used to be, and I thought maybe you could help me understand him better."

Jace swallows hard, the thought of spending more time with you, alone and away from prying eyes, sending a thrill through him. But it is also dangerous, more dangerous than anything he has faced before. Still, he finds himself nodding. "Of course. I’d be glad to help."

You smile, a smile that warms him from the inside out, and he knows he is lost. He cannot deny you, cannot deny himself any longer. The pull is too strong, the fire too fierce. And as you rise to your feet, gesturing for him to follow, he feels that pull tighten, like a chain around his heart, binding him to you.

The two of you walk side by side through the corridors of Dragonstone, the silence between you comfortable, yet charged with an unspoken tension. Your presence is a balm to him, calming and yet igniting something deep within, something he can no longer ignore. Every brush of your arm against his, every glance in his direction, fans the flames higher, until he feels as though he might burst from the sheer force of it.

When you reach the courtyard where the dragons are kept, you turn to him, your eyes bright with excitement. "Let’s start with the basics," you say, your voice full of eagerness. "You’ve always been better at this than I am."

Jace shakes his head, forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. "It’s not about being better," he says, trying to keep his voice steady. "It’s about understanding them, forming a bond with them."

You nod, your attention fully on him now, and he feels a surge of pride at the trust you place in him. "I know," you say softly. "And I trust you to help me."

The words strike him like a blow, the weight of your trust almost too much to bear. He wants to be worthy of it, to be the brother you believe him to be. But he also wants more, so much more, and it terrifies him.

As you step closer to him, your arm brushing against his, he feels that pull again, stronger than ever. He knows he should move away, put some distance between you, but he cannot bring himself to do it. Instead, he finds himself leaning in, his body drawn to yours like a moth to flame.

"You know," you say, your voice barely above a whisper, "I’ve always felt safest when I’m with you."

The confession catches him off guard, and he looks down at you, his heart pounding in his chest. "Why?"

You smile up at him, a gentle, almost shy smile. "Because you’ve always been there for me, Jace. No matter what."

His breath catches in his throat, the intensity of the moment almost too much to bear. The pull between you is undeniable now, a force of nature that neither of you can resist. And as you stand there, so close that he can feel the warmth of your breath on his skin, he knows that he is about to cross a line that he can never return from.

But before he can act, before he can make the decision that will change everything, you reach out and take his hand in yours, your fingers curling around his. The simple touch sends a jolt of electricity through him, and he is lost, completely and utterly lost.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken.

He looks down at you, his heart in his throat, and he knows that this is it. This is the moment he has been dreading, the moment he has been craving. The pull between you is too strong, the fire too fierce, and he knows that there is no going back.

But then, as if sensing the turmoil within him, you give his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes full of warmth and understanding. "Thank you," you say, your voice soft and sincere. "For always being there."

And just like that, the moment passes. The tension between you eases, and you step back, releasing his hand. The pull is still there, still strong, but it is no longer overwhelming. For now, it is enough to simply be with you, to feel your presence beside him, to know that you trust him.

As you turn your attention back to the dragons, Jace takes a deep breath, steadying himself. The battle within him is far from over, but for now, he has won a small victory. He has resisted the pull, resisted the fire. But he knows it is only a matter of time before the dragon within him demands more.

And when that time comes, he is not sure if he will be able to resist.

The winds howl around the jagged peaks of Dragonmont, the volcanic heart of Dragonstone. The sky above is dark, thick clouds swirling in ominous patterns, but here, beneath the shelter of the mountain, you and Jacaerys find solace in the company of your dragons. Vermax and Grey Ghost, their massive forms partially obscured by the mist that clings to the rocky terrain, rest quietly nearby, their watchful eyes ever alert.

The air between you and Jace is charged, as it has been for days now. Since the arrival of the Dragonseeds and the beginning of the Red Sowing, there has been an unspoken tension, a shared anxiety that neither of you has fully voiced. Today, it seems, that silence is about to be broken.

Jace paces before you, his brow furrowed, his steps uneven. "I can’t help but worry," he finally says, his voice low, almost a growl. "Mother’s decision to let these Dragonseeds try to claim the dragons… it could destroy everything. The only thing that sets us apart, that makes us legitimate in the eyes of the realm, is our bond with the dragons. What happens if anyone can do it? What happens if they succeed?"

You watch him, feeling the weight of his concern settle over you like a heavy cloak. You understand his fear; it echoes within you as well. "They are Targaryen bastards, Jace," you say softly, trying to find the right words. "The blood of the dragon runs in their veins, even if the world doesn’t see them as we are seen. But you are right to be cautious. We cannot control what might happen if they succeed. But we can control how we respond."

He stops pacing, turning to face you fully. His dark eyes are intense, filled with worry and something deeper, something you’ve seen growing there in recent days. "What if it shatters everything? What if the realm no longer sees us as the rightful heirs? If they can claim dragons, what does that mean for us?"

You rise from your seat on a smooth outcropping of rock, moving closer to him, your steps slow and deliberate. You can feel the warmth of the dragons nearby, the heat from the mountain beneath your feet, but most of all, you feel the heat radiating from Jace, a fire that matches your own.

"We are more than our dragons," you say, your voice steady. "We are the blood of the dragon, yes, but we are also our mother’s children, the heirs of House Targaryen. That will not change, no matter what happens with the Dragonseeds."

Jace’s gaze softens as he looks at you, the storm in his eyes momentarily easing. "You always know what to say," he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. "But I’m still afraid. Afraid of what this means for us, for our family."

You reach out, your hand finding his, and the contact sends a spark through you both. "Then we face it together," you say firmly, your fingers tightening around his. "Whatever comes, we face it together, as we always have."

For a moment, there is only silence between you, the kind of silence that speaks louder than words. The dragons are quiet too, their presence a comforting weight in the background. Jace’s thumb brushes over your knuckles, and the simple touch sends a shiver down your spine, the connection between you deepening with each passing second.

Without thinking, you step closer, and suddenly the space between you is gone. You can feel his breath on your skin, warm and unsteady, and the intensity in his eyes is almost too much to bear. The pull between you is stronger than ever, an undeniable force that you can no longer resist.

"Jace," you whisper, your voice trembling with something unspoken, something that has been building for so long.

He doesn’t reply, at least not with words. Instead, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a kiss that is both hesitant and eager, as if he is afraid you might pull away. But you don’t. Instead, you kiss him back, your hands moving to cup his face, pulling him closer.

The kiss deepens, all the pent-up emotions of the past weeks, months, perhaps even years, pouring out in that single moment. It is as if the fire that has always burned between you has finally found release, and there is no stopping it now.Jace’s hands find their way to your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the desperation in his touch, the need that mirrors your own. "I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips, his voice rough with desire.

"So have I," you admit, the words coming out in a breathless rush. "Jace, I—"

He silences you with another kiss, more urgent this time, and you can feel his hands moving to the fastenings of your attire. There is a moment of hesitation, a final chance to turn back, but neither of you takes it. Instead, you help him, your fingers trembling as they work to undo his clothing as well.

The air is cool against your skin as your garments fall away, but you hardly notice. All you can focus on is Jace, on the way his hands move over your body, on the way he looks at you as if you are the only thing that matters in the world. And perhaps, in this moment, you are.

He guides you down onto the warm rock, his movements careful, almost reverent. The heat from the mountain seeps into your skin, mixing with the heat of his touch, and you feel yourself trembling, not from fear, but from anticipation.When he finally joins with you, the pain is brief, a sharp sting that quickly fades, leaving only the overwhelming sensation of being completely and utterly connected to him. Jace pauses, his eyes searching yours, as if waiting for your permission to continue.

You nod, your voice caught in your throat, but the look in your eyes says everything. "Please," you whisper, and that is all it takes.

He begins to move, slow at first, almost tentative, but as the moments pass, the hesitation fades, replaced by a growing urgency, a passion that neither of you can control. You cling to him, your fingers digging into his shoulders, urging him on, meeting his every movement with your own.

The world around you fades, the sounds of the dragons, the wind, the distant roar of the sea, all becoming nothing more than a distant echo. There is only Jace, only the fire that burns between you, the flames that consume you both, driving you higher and higher until you feel as though you might burst from the sheer intensity of it.

Just as you reach the peak of your union, lost in the sensation of him, you hear a sound, the soft crunch of footsteps on the volcanic rock. Your eyes snap open, and you see him—Ulf the White, one of the Dragonseeds, standing a short distance away, his expression one of surprise and amusement.

Jace’s movements slow as he becomes aware of the intruder, but he doesn’t stop, his body still pressed intimately against yours. His eyes narrow, and you can feel the tension in him, the protective instinct that flares up at the sight of another man watching you in such a vulnerable moment.

Ulf’s smirk widens as he recognizes both of you, his voice carrying an easy confidence as he speaks. "Well, well, what do we have here? Prince Jacaerys and his fair sister, indulging in some… private time, I see."

Jace doesn’t respond immediately, his gaze locked on Ulf, his body shielding yours from view. When he finally speaks, his voice is low, dangerous. "You will leave now, Ulf. And you will speak of this to no one."

Ulf’s amusement doesn’t fade. "And if I don’t? I imagine this little secret could be worth quite a bit."

Jace’s expression hardens, the dragon within him rising to the surface. "I have another proposition for you. Leave now and never speak of this, or tell someone… and Vermax will feast on your bones."

The threat hangs in the air, thick with the promise of violence. Ulf’s smile falters, the realization of Jace’s seriousness sinking in. He glances at the dragons, both Vermax and Grey Ghost now fully alert, their eyes locked on him, and he takes an involuntary step back.

"Fine," Ulf mutters, the bravado gone from his voice. "Your secret’s safe with me, Prince Jacaerys. I was never here." With that, he turns and hurries away, casting one last nervous glance at the dragons before disappearing into the mist.

Jace watches him go, his body still tense, but as the danger passes, his attention shifts back to you, his focus returning to the moment you had both been lost in. The fire that had momentarily cooled begins to burn again, his hands finding yours, his gaze intense.

"I will marry you," he says, his voice rough with emotion. "In the traditions of our ancestors, in the ways of Old Valyria. You are mine, and I am yours, for now and forever."

The words send a shiver through you, the weight of them, the promise in them, filling you with a sense of certainty, of belonging. You nod, your voice trembling as you respond. "Yes, Jace. Yes."

And as he moves within you once more, the world around you falls away, leaving only the two of you, bound together by the fire of your blood.

[nautls11]

ok but hear me out: riptide x slay the princess (big ol yap sesh and closeups below)

Chip: The Spectre

109, obviously, but also the spectre’s yearning for what once was, wanting back her “freedom” of the life she had before. The parallels between the spectre’s longing and Chip’s longing for his life with the Black Rose Pirates work so well together. Another factor is how Chip needed to learn that he was not alone anymore. He had a crew, friends, captains, siblings. Through his ups and downs, he learned respect, trust, honor, and responsibility; he learned to love again with a fiery passion he had not felt since he sailed alongside Arlin.

“I offer you absolution, and you take my hand in yours.

You felt the pain you caused another, and you were willing to sacrifice everything you thought was you to set me free.

Without sin, there is no redemption.”

“This one is vaporous. She is a dream of a life she could never have, but that longing has given her so much capacity for Kindness. She will make for a yearning heart.

Do not mourn her — she will finally be able to hold What she never knew.”

Jay: The Cage

I was heavily debating between Jay and Gill for this one, but the Cage’s final confrontation is what sold Jay for me. Her constant fear of abandoning her blood family because she has already lost so much (her sister, and soon her mother), that abandoning the last shred of family she has left would be losing everything. It is her inaction which drives much of her conflict, balancing the line between Ferin and pirate, because no matter which side she turns to, she is always afraid, because she always has something to lose. There are times where she feels like she can only watch from afar and see what will happen (especially in the case of lizzie’s war), but she must understand that inaction is most often a deficit. She has proven herself time and time again to others, she just needs to prove it to herself.

“Fear is a chain around the neck and a needle in the eye.

It was fear that made our prison, and it was fear that told the lie that

our spirits were not free to choose.

But together we left it all behind, and found a world free of burdens.

We found the beauty in accepting our dance.

This construct is a machine of fear. It has no place in our divine hearts.

Shatter it. Leave with me.”

“This one is a body that convinced herself she was only a set of eyes. She will make for a watchful heart.

Do not mourn her. She is now what she wished that she could be.”

Gill: The Drowned Grey

Unlike the others, I couldn’t really find a princess that fit gill as well as the others did, so I decided to do a more specific moment of gill’s story for his princess: his oath of vengeance and dunjon arc.

The Drowned Grey is a story of hurt, loss, and rebirth. Gill loses everything; his friends, his closest companion, and is taken away from the life he once knew to be trapped in an endless white void, to be judged by the apparitions of those who had always judged him before. He is raw, violent emotion, rage being the only way he knows to understand his pain, and thus inflicts it onto others. His actions endangered those who wanted to help him be because all he could process was his loss. And that loss he screamed at the elder’s with his entire soul, only to be swept away in the dark depths of Niklaus’ control. But after the anger, was his rebirth. He was never meant to remain in an endless void for eternity, and Born anew in the eye of a leviathan’s storm, the violence and grief was left behind him in the cold icy storm. He had his catharsis, leaving those demons behind him in the darkest depths.

“I kill you. You kill me. Back and forth we go, faster and faster and faster. I kill you. You kill me.

Hollow eyes watch from the dark corners of a forgotten place flooded by emotions left unspoken. The tide rises.

I kill you and me.

An ending is a passion that can only be expressed with a moment in time. It is a seed for a new beginning. To linger on an ending is to rob it of its life.

And without me, all that's left to do is linger.”

“This one is guarded sorrow. She saw herself as alone but in the end had courage to share with another. She will make for a deep heart.

Do not mourn her - she has finally been heard.”

anyways uhh thanks for coming to my tedtalk, i lowkey wanna do this for other campaigns, currently thinking about prime defenders and the suckening so ye 👍👍

[glamourscat]

DELPHINIUM | FEM! KAISER X READER X FEM! NESS PT 3

2939 words | more of an emotional, raw, side to their connection | smut at the end | PT 1 | PT2 | PT4

Kaiser didn't like presents. She justified it by saying, “I am rich already. I can buy whatever pleases me. I do not need cheap shit.” But what she really meant was that, after growing up with a mother who abandoned her as soon as she was able to, stuck with an abusive father, she had no place, no need and no desire for gifts. A gift was, simply put, a reminder of everything she had wanted and everything she had been denied.

And so, she kept on walking in the Munich's snowy streets. Christmas lights filling the night with colorful sparkles, an ironic contrast to her black and white current state of mind. Her head was down, lost in a spiral of too many thoughts. Ness. And you. She had spent months trying to push you both away. Some would call it toxic; she called it survival instinct.

She picked fights on purpose, as if conflict was the only way she could keep control over her mind and heart. And yet, she hated it. Hated the way confusion and anger tinted your face. Hated the way hurt flickered in Ness’s eyes. Seven months now, a relentless push and pull, a lioness toying with her preys.

The sex was mind-blowing. Intense. Unlike anything she had ever experienced, with men or women alike. She couldn’t get enough. She needed more of you, like she needed air. More kisses, more of Ness between her legs. She needed it all, and for how greedy that might seem to some, she couldn't stop. And that’s what terrified her most. The realization that she couldn’t live without this anymore. That football was no longer the sole center of her world. That, for once, two people had slipped past her walls, stubborn enough to make her drop her guard. To let her laugh in ways she had never been allowed to before. To dream. To hope. And it fucking terrified her.

The door to her apartment opened too easily. For a moment, she stood at the entrance, keys in hand, confusion flickering through her mind. Had she forgotten to lock it? No, she hadn’t.

Her footsteps turned quiet, calculated. Fight or flight kicking in. Keys gripped in one hand, an umbrella in the other raised like a weapon. She heard hushed whispers from the living room, her brain barely processed it before she moved. Kicking the door open, swinging the umbrella wildly.

“Get the fuck out!” she screamed, only to be met with other screams.

“What the actual fuck—” you shouted, voice cracking, ducking just in time to avoid getting hit square in the forehead, one arm instinctively thrown out to catch Ness, who had nearly collapsed behind you.

What the hell?

“What the fuck are you two doing in my place? Are you out of your goddamn minds?” Kaiser snapped, still breathless, heart pounding in her chest as her icy sharp blue eyes darted between you and Ness.

“We—” Ness panted, clutching at her chest. “We… Well, we came to see you.”

“How did you get in?” Kaiser's tone was sharp, accusatory.

“I picked the lock,” you answered nonchalantly, as if breaking and entering on Christmas Eve was a casual bonding activity.

Kaiser stared. Wide-eyed. Dumbfounded. Were you actually this fucking stupid?

There was a beat of silence before she burst into laughter, a full, uncontrollable laugh that echoed through the room. But it wasn’t long before the laughter cracked, mixing into quiet sobs.

“Kaiser?” Ness whispered, uncertain, stepping forward hesitantly. “I’m sorry—we shouldn’t have—”

“I’m not sorry,” you interrupted, earning a sharp side-eye from Ness, the unspoken ‘what the hell, girl?’ loud in her eyes.

“You ignored us,” you continued, voice steady. “No calls. No messages. Since we broke off for the holidays, you’ve pretended we don’t exist. That’s not just fucked up, it’s disrespectful.”

“Maybe I didn’t want to—”

“Cut the self victimizing crap,” you snapped, stepping closer. “Enough. You think we don’t know? That we don’t understand? We know you had a shitty upbringing. We know things haven’t been normal for you. But guess what? We’re still here. We want you, Kaiser. We want you in this. So stop. Stop fucking running away from us.”

“You don’t understand!” Kaiser screamed, her voice raw, cracking under the weight of emotion. “You don’t fucking understand!”

Her breathing was heavy, hands curled into fists at her sides. Her chest ached from the force of everything she was trying to hold back.

“I don’t deserve this,” she muttered, voice hoarse. “I don’t deserve nice things. I don’t deserve to be put up with. My nasty attitude, my fucking walls, my inability to—to just… I don’t deserve it.”

Silence.

Then, Ness moved first. Gentle, careful steps as if she was approaching a wounded animal. Stepping forward until she was close enough to reach for Kaiser’s right hand, gently taking it in hers.

“You don’t get to decide that,” Ness whispered, her voice soft but firm. “Not for us.”

Kaiser’s lips quivered. Her entire body trembled.

You closed the distance, taking her left hand into yours.

“You can be an absolute fucking nightmare,” you murmured, though, your voice was soft, a bit teasing. “But you’re our nightmare. For how cringy that might sound. We want you. Your sarcastic comebacks. Your shitty attitude. Your temper. And the soft kisses when you know we are feeling down. The gentle caresses. The hugs. The shared whispers in the night. We want it all.”

And with your words, just like that, the dam broke.

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .   ⁺     ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 

You do not know how long it lasted. You just know that by the end of it, all three of you ended up curled together on Kaiser’s bed. After more tears, more kisses, more words (some harsh, some reassuring) one thing was certain: you wanted this. Which was funny, really, because just months ago you would have dreaded the idea of even walking past Kaiser. But now? Now, you could barely be away from her for more than a few days. From her. From Ness. from this intoxicating mess. 

You were the first to wake, and so, you took the moment to look around. The room was so Kaiser. Clean walls, refined, chic, just like her. A few shelves displayed her trophies and awards. But what caught your attention, enough to carefully sneak out from Kaiser’s grip, was the bulletboard against the wall.

It was covered with pictures. Of her. Of the team. But mostly, of the three of you. Moments frozen in time, outings, after matches, in bed, though none of you had ever called those moments what they really were. A relationship in all but name. There were candid shots, intimate ones and even polaroids from one particularly reckless, spicy night. Maybe it was the fact your brain hadn’t fully woken up 100% yet, but for once, Kaiser’s intentions felt clear. She could push, she could run, but she was holding onto this just as much as you and Ness were. And if last night hadn’t solidified it, now it surely did. 

“You let your eyes wander too much.”

The quietness of a morning voice made you jump. Warm hands wrapped around your waist from behind, pulling you into a familiar, toned body.

“Damn you…” you scoffed, though amused, hand resting over your chest, a small smile playing on your lips.

“Hmm, yeah, damn me. Way to greet the birthday girl,” Kaiser teased, voice still thick with sleep. She leaned in, her lips brushing over your neck before she bit down lightly.

A soft whine left you as you tilted your head, giving her more room. “Right, can’t forget it’s the princess’s birthday today.”

“Queen,” she corrected smugly, her blue eyes opening to stare at you with an intensity even now you are not fully used to. “Get it right, peasant.”

“Right, right. My mistake, your majesty. How ever shall I be forgiven?” you mused, matching the playful undertone of the moment.

“I’m sure you’ll think of something,” Kaiser murmured, hands slipping under your shirt, cold fingers ghosting on your skin. But before either of you could push it further, someone clearing her throat interrupted the moment.

Both of you turned towards the bed.

Ness lay there, tangled in blankets, eyes barely open, but her face was already burning. “It’s barely 9am. Must you two flirt this early?” she groaned, voice laced with sleep and embarrassment. And arousement. 

Kaiser chuckled, blue eyes sarcastic as ever. “What? Are you jealous?”

Ness shifted under the covers, her red face betraying her. “I—I am not—”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you moved to sit on the edge of the bed. “Aw, Ness, we can’t help it if our queen is demanding attention so early in the morning.”

Ness shot you a weak glare but ultimately sighed, rubbing at her eyes. “I’m going to need breakfast before I deal with you two.”

“I agree,” you said, stretching slightly. “Birthday girl, what’s your royal stance ?”

Kaiser smirked. “Breakfast in bed sounds nice.”

“But…” Kaiser continued, dragging out her words, her voice dipping lower as she reached for you and Ness too this time. Hands moving to caress both of your thighs. “I wouldn’t mind working up… a different kind of appetite first.”

Kaiser only laughed at Ness's flustered state, pressing a kiss to her shoulder before finally stepping back from the two of you. “Come on then, peasants. Make yourselves useful. I’ll be expecting something worthy of a queen.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ .   ⁺     ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 

Well, she did say she was in a mood for a different kind of appetite after all. 

So, when Ness found herself sucking on Kaiser’s breasts and you, with your face in between her legs, you had nothing more to say. You both worked meticulously. Ness with her tongue circling and sucking Kaiser’s pink nipple, making the blonde moan loudly. But when your tongue meets her clit, gently sucking, teasing. Slipping up and down, just enough to go past her fold and tease her entrance she grew even louder.

Her head was thrown back on the pillow as she raised her hips desperately in search and need of more. Her pale hand going in your hair, pushing your head deeper in her pussy as she grinded her face against it. Lord, it was filthy. And you loved it. The way she was letting go and yet, still holds on that control that only she knows how to. The way she looked so hot, with her legs spread, pale skin against the satin blue sheets. Your fingers teased her hole slightly, circling the edge around it as your mouth worked on her clit. 

“Fuck.. yes, more– more. Don't stop” Kaiser whines, moving to kiss Ness in a frenzy. In need to let out that pent up energy in her bones. But despite her pleading, her request, you stopped. Earning an almost offended glare by her.

“What the h–” 

“We have a surprise for you. Close your eyes” you say gently squeezing her thigh. Surprisingly, she did not protest, and did as you asked. 

And suddenly the roles were reversed once again. Your back finds its place on the mattress, Kaiser straddling your lap and Ness behind her. She opened her eyes and looked at the scene. Both of you. With your strap on. At the same time. 

“Happy birthday to me indeed” she says looking to the ceiling smugly, letting out a chuckle.

“Spread your legs for us” you whisper softly, holding onto her hips. And with her permission, the tip of the two pink strap on slowly started to sink in simultaneously in Kaiser’s pussy. 

A loud moan left the girl’s lips as she was being filled so well it was almost overwhelming, no matter how many times they tried. It will always be so beautifully fulfilling. Your hips set the pace, steady, gentle. As you take care to drag the toy deep enough to make her feel everything, alternating with Ness back and forth.

Kaiser was a mess. A fucking mess. She couldn’t think, could barely even breathe, with the way her body trembled between you and Ness. The fullness was unbearable in the best way, the stretch of both your strap ons inside her making her toes curl against the soft bed sheets. Every time one of you moved, the other stayed deep, dragging against every sensitive spot inside her like you were taking turns pulling her apart piece by piece.

“Oh—fuck,” Kaiser gasped, her nails digging into your shoulders as she rocked forward, only to have Ness tug her back against her chest, keeping her locked in place. She could feel Ness’s breath on the back of her neck, hot and teasing.

“You’re so fucking wet,” Ness murmured, dragging her hands down Kaiser’s stomach, feeling every tense muscle. “Look at you, spreading your legs like a good girl.”

Kaiser let out a half-moan, half scoff, wanting to deny it, but the words sent a shiver down her spine. “Shut up,” she muttered, though it lacked any bite. 

You chuckled, rolling your hips up again, slow, deliberate. “Still so stubborn.” Her lips were parted, her pupils blown wide, a flush creeping down her chest. “Don’t you think it’s a little late to act like you don’t love this?”

She did love it. God, she fucking needed it. But admitting that was dangerous, wasn’t it?

Ness didn’t give her time to think nor to answer though. With a smirk, she shifted her hips, thrusting forward in sync with you, deeper, harder, faster. And the sound that left Kaiser’s lips was downright obscene.

Ness giggled behind her, placing soft kisses along her jaw and her neck, while squeezing her tits at the same time. “You sound so pretty when you moan. Damn it, I want to breed you so bad right now.”

Kaiser bit her lip, a desperate attempt to hide the pathetic sound that was about to escape, but you weren’t having that. You grabbed her hips, steadying her above you before slamming up, a little harder, a little faster than before, and she broke.

Her back arched, her thighs tightening around your waist as a strangled moan left from deep within her. Ness followed your lead, matching your thrusts once more. The wet sounds of Kaiser’s pussy, the rhythm of both your hips moving in sync, the way her body trembled between you. 

She was so ravishingly beautiful.

“You wanna come?” You whispered, dragging your thumb across her clit, pressing down just enough to make her twitch. To make her go even more crazy. 

Kaiser nodded frantically, any last bit of defiance slipping away. “Y-Yeah—fuck, yeah, please—”

“Look at you,” Ness teased, her voice dripping with amusement as she kept her hold on Kaiser by squeezing her breasts more, keeping her from squirming away. “Begging so sweetly. Where’s that usual attitude, huh?”

Kaiser glared at her over her shoulder, but it was weak, especially when you angled your hips just right.

“You two– are truly– just.. Fuck, screw you two,” she groaned, though her words lacked any bite

You grinned, leaning up to kiss her, swallowing her next moan as you both fucked her through it. “Sure, later. But for now, let us screw you, pretty.”

You and your fucking mouth– 

She came so hard she saw stars, her thighs shaking, her nails drawing lines down your back.You two fucked her through the aftershocks, dragging out every last ounce of pleasure until she went completely limp in your arms. Until she was pretty sure her satin sheets were as good as ruined. 

For a while, no one said anything. There was nothing to say. Just the quiet hum of nature outside the window, the weight of Kaiser’s body pressed between you and Ness and the smell of sex lingering in the air. It just felt… right.

It was Ness who finally spoke, her voice soft. “You’re not kicking us out tomorrow morning, are you?”

Kaiser blinked, staring at the ceiling.

She wanted to say yes. It was her instinct. To push you two once again away, to never let anything get too serious. But she didn’t want to leave. Not really. Not after last night. Not after what had just happened. 

You moved beside her, watching her carefully. Your voice is quiet.  “Kaiser?”

“I—” She exhaled sharply, rolling onto her side, hiding her face into your neck. While her hand reached for Ness’s hand in between the sheets. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

“That’s okay,” you murmured, running your fingers through her blue ends.

Ness kissed her back, wrapping an arm around her waist. “You don’t have to figure it out alone. We don’t know what we're doing either.”

Kaiser sighed. For a moment, the fear crept back in. But then you kissed the top of her head. Ness squeezed her hip. And she knew.

She wasn’t going anywhere.

She didn’t say it. None of you did. But it was there, in the way you pulled the blanket over her, in the way Ness traced light patterns on her back, in the way months ago she put those pictures up and told herself ‘it’s just for decor’ but they have been up for months.For the first time in a very long time, Kaiser let herself believe it. That this was real and that it was meant to stay,

epilogue soon :3

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[lcvemiyuki]

“crossed lines” | tsukishima, hq

𝄞⨾𓍢ִ໋🎧ྀི - "the walls" by chase atlantic

𓂃𓂃𓂃𓊝 ࿐𓂃𓂃𓂃

content: he thought he knew the answers to everything and made sure to map out his every action. yet, none could rationalize the way you made his insides churn with a burn of conflicting emotions

warnings: suggestive (no smut!), enemies-to-lovers (they dislike each other), college student!tsukishima, swearing, fem!reader, lots of tension, pov switching

character(s): tsukishima

word count: 1518

a/n: heavily inspired by that riff part in 'the walls' by chase atlantic (had to listen to it a million times to perfectly describe it as in my head lolol)...this is my 1st time writing something so intense AHHH, i hope you like it!

𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟

“Tsukki, wait!” Yamaguchi’s voice echoed into the rain-soaked street, the downpour muffling his words to a mere whisper against the relentless pattering of raindrops on the cobblestone pavement. 

“She’s such an idiot,” Tsukishima muttered under his breath, his annoyance palpable in the tightness of his voice as he followed your retreating figure, a lone silhouette against the cold, relentless rain. Yamaguchi had just relayed the latest news about your on-again, off-again boyfriend. The twitch in Tsukishima’s right eye, a clear sign of his irritation, was hidden by his black-rimmed glasses, but the tension in his body language was unmistakable.

He couldn’t believe you were storming out from the dorms into the darkness yet again. 

An invisible force pulled him in your direction, but instead of a gentle tug, it was more like a high-speed collision. The more Yamaguchi detailed the fiasco with your so-called “Mr. Perfect,” the tighter Tsukishima’s fists clenched until his knuckles turned a ghostly white. When he finally released his grip, deep red nail marks were etched into his pale skin. He didn’t hear his friend’s confused questions; all he could hear was the ringing in his ears and the pounding of his own heart in his chest, like a desperate drum seeking his attention as he followed after you.

When he finally caught up to you, he reached out, his hand hovering just above your shoulder before he firmly turned you around to face him. 

Your eyes were red and puffy from crying, a testament to the pain you were feeling, and your hand instantly rejected his touch, aggressively shrugging off his hold. 

“Are you seriously thinking about taking him back?” His voice cut through the thundering rain, raised just enough to be heard over the downpour. You scoffed in disbelief, tightening your grip on the baby pink umbrella, trying to recompose yourself.

“And what’s it to you, huh?” you snapped, your voice wavering with emotion as you lifted your chin defiantly. 

If this day could get any worse, it had to involve seeing his annoyingly, fault-finding face. He always acted with judgment and you knew he looked down on your every mistake. And what made it worse was that his opinion always spoke some cut-throat truth you couldn't swallow.

Now here he was, sticking his nose into your business and voicing his input.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” His eyes narrowed, his voice dripping with disdain. “It’s pitiful.”

His t-shirt clung to his body, soaked through, but the heat of the moment kept the shivers at bay. You were infuriating, and he knew the feeling was mutual.

So why did he feel compelled to chase after you?

He should be sneering at your stupidity. Yet, here you were, crowding his thoughts, his vision, everything.

His insults only fueled your anger, the words cutting deeper than you wanted to admit. Yet, beneath the rage, a sliver of fear crept in—fear that he might be right. It was the unspoken truth that gnawed at you, the one everyone else probably thought but never dared to voice. But Tsukishima, with his sharp tongue and piercing gaze, had no such reservations.

If Tsukishima excelled at one thing, it was his uncanny ability to read you like an open book. He knew you too well, his eyes always catching the smallest, most insignificant details that he would mercilessly call out. Every comment was a well-aimed dart, hitting precisely where you were most vulnerable. It was infuriating how effortlessly he could unravel you, laying bare your insecurities with a few well-chosen words.

You clenched your fists, feeling the sting of his remarks, the heat of your anger battling the cold edge of your fingertips. His words echoed in your mind, a relentless reminder of the truths you tried to bury. Despite the fury blazing in your chest, you couldn't shake the nagging thought that he saw you more clearly than anyone else ever could. And that realization, more than his biting words, left a pit in your stomach.

The truth made you want to scream out into the looming darkness.

“Pitiful?” you questioned as your feet stepped down the curb, “if I’m so pathetic, then leave me be. Go project your judgment onto someone else other than rubbing it in my fucking face” you spat out harshly.

You didn’t want to deal with him tonight, not when you felt the weight of his words slowly sinking into your pores. You turned around to flee, but Tsukishima’s voice stopped you in your tracks.

“Wait.”

You paused but didn’t turn back. His voice, though steady, carried an intensity that made your heart race—a quiet before the storm that left you both anxious and drawn in.

“Why do you care so much?” you mustered, your voice cracking slightly as you tried to stand your ground. When there was no response to be heard, you hesitantly turned around once more.

And the sight was maddening.

His blonde locks, usually slightly short, now stretched longer down his forehead, the rain streaming down his face. Although his whole body was soaked from head to toe, his expression remained unchanged. He looked on toward you, eyes darkened and burning holes in your body. His head tilted slightly as if he was trying to piece together what you were thinking—or maybe, reanalyzing his own.

“Tsukishima, why do you care?” you demanded once more.

Maybe it was the curiosity that urged you to repeat yourself; maybe it was the way you’ve never seen the six-foot-two man in front of you look so—disheveled.

He opened his mouth to respond, but no words came out. Instead, he took a step closer, almost unconsciously, as if he didn’t even know what he was doing. Those golden-brown eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place. Your heart raced as your breath escaped in a long, slow huff through your nose. Your glazed eyes locked onto his, watching tiny droplets slide down his glasses and cling to his long lashes. The heat between you was palpable; the rain felt like gasoline, fueling the raging fire.

“Why do I care?” he whispered, his voice barely audible as his gaze fixated on your lips. It was as if he was echoing your words, distracted by the movement of your mouth as his eyebrows furrowed.

‘Because I burn with emotions that you sear into my whole being’

“Because you’re aggravating,” he seethed through gritted teeth, his frustration evident in the sharp edge of his voice. Yet, despite his irritation, his gaze remained fixated on your lips. 

You felt the intensity of his gaze, a magnetic pull that seemed to draw every fiber of your being towards him. 

But just as quickly as the moment had built, Tsukishima pulled back, his expression hardening once more. His jaw clenched tensely, taking a step back while his gaze shifted, trying to focus on something else. The uncertainty still lingered in the narrow space between you. 

“Just forget it,” he spoke under his breath. Turning on his heel, he walked away, leaving you standing there, frozen and stranded for answers. 

You watched him retreat, the distance between you growing with each step. Your heart pounded in your chest, a tumult of emotions circulating inside you. You thought he was leaving for good as the breath you exhaled was shaky.

But then, he stopped—standing there for several aching seconds. 

His gaze shifted among the surrounding objects as if building a barrier to contain his internal uncertainty. He swallowed the growing lump in his throat, the weight of his conflicting emotions settling heavily in his stomach. Each thought rushed through his mind like a relentless torrent, creating a storm of confusion and frustration.

He couldn't pinpoint exactly why he felt this way, why he cared so much. 

The analytical part of his mind tried to dissect every possible reason, but the emotions swirling inside him defied logical explanation. 

He shouldn't have followed you out here.

He wanted to escape the turmoil, to drown out the noise in his mind.

 “—Fuck it,” he muttered. 

And something inside him snapped. 

He turned back and closed the distance between you in a few long strides; his cold hands cupping your face.

Before you could muster a word, his lips came crashing onto yours.

The kiss was fierce, filled with all the pent-up frustration and anger. His lips moved against yours with a desperate urgency, as if trying to convey all the things he couldn’t put into words. You responded in kind, caught up in the whirlwind of emotions. Your hands instinctively found their way to his soaked shirt. You gripped the fabric tightly as if trying to anchor yourself in the storm that was Tsukishima.

At that moment, the precarious line of his loathing finally broke. 

The intense curiosity that had simmered beneath his animosity surged to the forefront. He was engrossed by a burning desire to understand the root of it all. 

Why did you consume him entirely? 

The need for answers outweighed his self-imposed boundaries, and he crossed the line he had sworn never to.

𓇼𓆉𓆝 𓆟 𓆞 𓆝 𓆟 𓆉𓇼

want more?

⤷ masterlist.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Always A Bad Girl

Jey Uso x Black OC

Once a bad girl, always a bad girl.

Summary: When a group of girls shows up to fight his nieces and their friend, Joshua is stunned to find that his niece’s friend’s mom, Divinity, is the woman he’s been unable to forget after a one-night stand. The chemistry between them is undeniable, and Joshua quickly realizes he wants more with her. But as their connection deepens, he’s about to learn that Divinity’s wild side may be more than he bargained for.

Masterlist

Joshua had imagined his day at the park would be nothing more than an ordinary, peaceful outing. It was a simple idea: he, his twin brother Jonathan, their cousin Joe, and a handful of other relatives would spend some time outdoors with the kids, bonding over nature, food, and simple pleasures.

It was meant to be a break from the constant grip of screens and digital distractions, a chance for the younger generation to experience the world beyond their phones. He wanted to show them that there was more to life than the constant notifications, the endless scrolling, and the constant pull of the virtual world.

The morning had started as expected. The park was calm, the weather perfect, sunlight spilling through the trees in warm golden rays, the smell of fresh grass and earth filling the air. The kids, a mix of rowdy and restless, had initially complained about how boring being outside was.

But after the first hour, they had started to settle in. Joshua’s nieces Joelle and Jayla began exploring the park, and Jenova, their friend who always had a spark of energy to her, quickly became the leader of the little group. The peace Joshua had been craving was beginning to settle over him.

That peace was short-lived, however.

What began as a few loud words between Joelle, Jayla, Jenova, and a group of girls quickly escalated. Joshua looked up from his seat, sensing the shift in the air. The playful banter had turned into something sharper, more charged. His eyes followed their gaze to a group of girls that had appeared at the edge of the park, their presence slowly becoming more menacing.

At first, it wasn’t clear what was happening, but as the girls exchanged angry words with Joelle, Jayla, and Jenova, it became apparent that things weren’t as innocent as they had seemed.

This wasn’t the first time these girls had clashed with his nieces and their friends. The previous day at school, an argument had erupted—one that was now spilling into the park. When the girls saw Joelle, Jayla, and Jenova, they took it as an open invitation to settle things with fists, rather than words. The tension in the air was thick. A fight was brewing, and all of them could feel it.

“Let me call my momma!” Jenova shouted, her voice tinged with defiance and frustration, as one of the other girls' mothers marched over to her, clearly angry.

Joshua’s stomach sank. He had known Jenova for years—ever since she was just a little girl—but he had never met her parents. He knew her grandmother well, though, and that had always been enough. Her grandmother was strong, a no-nonsense woman, but Jenova’s parents? He had never heard much about them. Now, standing at the edge of the conflict, Joshua was forced to confront the reality of what was happening in front of him. This wasn’t just a kid’s fight. It was a mess of adult emotions too, and that was about to become all too clear.

Before anyone could stop it, the situation spiraled further out of control.

A car engine roared to life in the distance, and Joshua’s gaze snapped toward it. The unmistakable sound of a high-performance engine grew louder, and soon, a white Lamborghini Aventador LP 740 Roadster appeared, its sleek, aggressive design cutting through the park's serene atmosphere. The car’s wing doors opened with a dramatic swoosh, and a woman stepped out—curvy, striking, and undeniably confident.

Joshua’s heart stopped.

There, standing in front of him, was Divinity. She was Jenova’s mother.

And as the shock of recognition hit him, the puzzle pieces of his life suddenly fell into place in the most unsettling way.

He had known Divinity from that one night in Miami—an unexpected encounter that had never left his mind. A one-night stand that had seared itself into his memory. They’d met, they’d been together, and then she had disappeared as quickly as she’d arrived. Joshua had spent months trying to forget about the fiery woman who had ignited something in him that he hadn’t been able to shake.

Now, here she was, standing just a few feet away from him, a confrontation brewing as she locked eyes with the woman who had been yelling at her daughter. Joshua’s body stiffened. He had known nothing about Jenova’s mother, and certainly nothing about the fact that Divinity was the one raising Jenova. But there was no denying it now. Divinity was here, and she was livid.

Jonathan’s wife, along with a few other women, recognized Divinity almost immediately. They knew her well from the reality television shows she had been on, where her infamous temper and ability to fight had made her a fan favorite. They knew better than anyone what was coming next. The air crackled with tension. Something was about to happen that Joshua never could have anticipated in a thousand years.

Jenova dashed toward her mother, her anger fading slightly as she pointed toward the woman who had been in her face. Without a second thought, Divinity strode toward the woman with an icy determination in her step. She spoke, her voice sharp and commanding: “Anybody wanna fight?”

Before anyone could react, Divinity reached the woman and, without warning, grabbed her by the hair. In a single, fluid motion, she pulled the woman toward her and struck her hard. Chaos erupted as the others rushed to separate them, but Divinity wasn’t done. She wasn’t backing down. Again, she lunged toward the woman, this time leaving her with four painful knots on her head. The scene was pure mayhem, a spectacle that drew the attention of everyone nearby.

Joshua’s heart pounded in his chest. He couldn’t just stand there. He had to act. He rushed over and grabbed Divinity, pulling her back.

“Chill, Divinity,” he said, his voice low but urgent, trying to steady the situation before it escalated even further. Her body was tense, her anger barely contained, but his words seemed to have an effect. For a moment, she stopped struggling.

The situation was tense, but through a combination of force and quick thinking, they managed to get everyone out of the park before the police arrived. The children were shaken, and the adults were exhausted from trying to manage the chaos, but somehow, they all made it out without anyone getting arrested. The tension hung in the air like smoke, and Joshua could feel the weight of everything that had just happened.

Jenova, still visibly upset, walked over to her mother. There was a quiet conversation between them, too soft for Joshua to hear. He could see the affection and worry in Divinity’s eyes. Despite everything, she was still a mother, and she cared deeply for her daughter. And that, in a strange way, was the moment that Joshua understood Divinity a little more. Behind the bravado and the tough exterior, there was something softer, something human.

As the group made their way to the parking lot, Trinity leaned over to Joshua, her eyes narrowed in curiosity. “You know that woman, don’t you?” she asked.

Joshua nodded slowly. “Yeah. Divinity... I didn’t know she was Jenova’s mother.”

Trinity raised an eyebrow. “Small world, huh?”

Joshua couldn’t help but laugh softly. “Too small,” he replied, though his mind was still spinning.

Later that night, as Joshua sat at home, the events of the day replayed in his mind. The way Divinity had shown up out of nowhere, the anger in her eyes, the intensity of her presence. He couldn’t stop thinking about her. But now, the idea that she was Jenova’s mother and that she had been living so close to him, in a way was dizzying. There was a connection here that he hadn’t expected.

The next morning, Jonathan showed up at Joshua’s house. He had questions. Lots of them.

“Trin thinks something went down between you and Divinity,” Jonathan said, sitting down heavily on the couch. His eyes were wide with curiosity.

Joshua’s mouth went dry. “She’s right. Divinity... she’s the girl from Miami. From that night.”

Jonathan’s eyes widened further. “No way. You’re telling me that this whole time, you’ve been thinking about her, and now you find out she’s under your nose all along?”

Joshua nodded slowly. “Yup. I didn’t know she was Jenova’s mom, or that she was even connected to Joelle and Jayla. If I had known, I would’ve been all over her.”

Jonathan smirked. “I’m not surprised. You’ve been thinking about her nonstop, haven’t you?”

Joshua didn’t deny it. He shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s crazy, right?”

“What’s the plan, man? Are you just gonna keep thinking about her, or are you gonna actually make a move?”

Joshua didn’t know. The truth was, he hadn’t even processed what was happening yet. All he knew was that Divinity was out there, and he couldn’t stop thinking about her.

Meanwhile, across town, Divinity was talking to her older sister, Serenity. The conversation, of course, turned to Joshua.

“You mean to tell me your daughter’s friends with the nieces of the man you’ve been thinking about since Miami? The one who had you begging for his babies when he was deep in your guts?” Serenity teased.

Divinity rolled her eyes. “I regret telling you that, but yes.”

Serenity grinned. “Girl, what are you going to do about it?”

Divinity’s gaze darkened. “I want him. I want him bad.”

Serenity raised an eyebrow. “So, Jenova’s getting a little sister, huh?”

Divinity smirked.

“Maybe two or three, if everything goes my way.”

Serenity chuckled, shaking her head. “Girl, you better make sure he’s top tier, or you’re gonna regret it.”

Divinity smiled, pulling up Joshua’s Instagram profile. “Oh, trust me, he is.”

As she scrolled through his photos, her smile widened. “I love a man who knows he’s fine.”

Serenity laughed. “Just don’t like any old posts now.”

But of course, Divinity did exactly that. She shrieked, flustered. Serenity giggled, and Divinity quickly unliked the post.

“So, what’s the play?” Serenity asked.

Divinity’s eyes gleamed with determination. “I’m going to show up at the next family gathering. Get to know the people my daughter spends so much time with. And show Joshua I want him.”

Serenity raised an eyebrow. “A little late for that, don’t you think?”

Divinity shrugged. “It’s never too late.”

Serenity sighed. “Just don’t let Jenova feel like you’re ignoring her or using her to get close to Joshua. You don’t want her to end up like how we were with Mom.”

Divinity’s expression softened. “I’ll make it up to her. I’ll do better.”

And as the conversation came to an end, Divinity knew she had her plan in motion. It was time to make her move.

The following week seemed to stretch endlessly for Joshua. Every morning he woke up, the events of that day at the park replayed in his mind like a movie he couldn’t stop watching. His thoughts kept drifting back to Divinity. The way she had stepped out of that white Lamborghini—cool, confident, and undeniably magnetic. The sheer intensity of her presence had caught him off guard. He had barely been able to process what was happening before she was in the middle of the chaos, throwing punches and drawing everyone’s attention.

What was even more surreal was realizing who she was the woman he couldn’t forget from that one night in Miami. The one night that had haunted him in the best and worst ways. He hadn’t been able to forget her, no matter how hard he tried, and now, here she was standing in front of him, angry, fierce, and entirely different than the woman he remembered. Yet there was a pull, something deeper that made him rethink everything. Was he just imagining things, or was there some unspoken connection between them that had been lying dormant for all these months?

The following Saturday, Jonathan called.

“You ready for this family gathering today?” Jonathan’s voice crackled through the phone. There was something oddly knowing in his tone as if he already knew the answer.

“Yeah, I’m ready,” Joshua replied, but his words lacked conviction. He wasn’t sure if he was more anxious to see Divinity again, or if he was simply bracing for the awkwardness of what lay ahead.

“Uh-huh,” Jonathan said. “Just don’t make things weird with Trin, okay? She’s been talking about you and Divinity, and I swear, if you start acting strange, I’ll lose it.”

Joshua chuckled softly. “I’ll behave, I promise. But you’re right. This is gonna be... interesting.”

When they arrived at the gathering, the tension in the air was immediate. It wasn’t just about catching up with family or reminiscing over old memories. The kids were running around, their laughter loud and carefree, but the adults had a different energy. The women exchanged knowing looks, and even the men seemed to have a heightened awareness, glancing over at Joshua and Jonathan every few moments.

Then, she appeared.

Divinity walked into the backyard like she owned the place, her curvy frame moving with a confidence that made it hard to look away. She was wearing a fitted black dress that hugged her body in all the right places, her hair styled perfectly, and her makeup flawless. She was the kind of woman that commanded attention without even trying.

Joshua’s heart skipped a beat. He felt the pull again, the way he had felt that night in Miami. Only this time, it was stronger, more undeniable. He tried to calm his nerves, but it was hard when Divinity walked right up to him, her presence almost overwhelming.

“Well, well,” she said, her voice smooth but tinged with something playful. “Small world, huh?”

Joshua’s mouth went dry. “Yeah, too small,” he said, trying to sound casual, but his voice betrayed him.

Divinity smirked. “I didn’t expect this, but here we are.” Her eyes scanned him for a moment as if she was taking him in all over again, the way she had the first time.

The conversation felt strange at first—awkward almost, like two people who had once shared something private, only to have it thrust back into the public eye. They spoke in small bursts, light and easy, but there was an undeniable tension. Neither one of them could pretend they hadn’t been thinking about the other since that night in Miami. But neither was willing to address it, at least not directly.

As the afternoon wore on, the conversation shifted. The sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the group. The food was laid out on the picnic tables, and everyone had gathered around, catching up, and reminiscing about old family stories. It felt almost like any other gathering until Divinity sidled up next to Joshua, leaning in just enough to make his pulse quicken.

“I heard you’ve been thinking about me,” she said, her voice low, barely a whisper between them.

Joshua swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. He hadn’t been expecting her to be so direct. But then again, with Divinity, he should have known better.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” Joshua admitted, trying to keep his voice steady, though his body betrayed him.

“Well, we always seem to find each other, don’t we?” Divinity’s lips curled into a small smile, her eyes glinting with something he couldn’t quite place. It was playful, but there was an undercurrent to it—something he couldn’t ignore.

Before he could respond, Jonathan appeared beside them, his eyes flicking between the two of them with a raised eyebrow.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Jonathan teased his tone light but knowing. “Don’t make things awkward for the rest of us.”

Divinity chuckled, her laughter smooth and easy. “Relax, Jonathan,” she said, turning to face him. “I’m just getting to know the family better.”

Joshua glanced at Jonathan, who gave him a knowing look before nodding in acknowledgment.

As the day wore on, Joshua and Divinity seemed to drift further into their little world, talking and laughing, exchanging glances that no one else seemed to notice. There was a subtle tension between them, a silent understanding that neither of them had put into words. They didn’t need to. They knew what was happening. It was the kind of connection that didn’t need any explanations.

However, as the evening wore on, Joshua couldn’t shake the feeling that Divinity had an agenda. She was too deliberate in her actions, too confident in the way she carried herself. She wasn’t just here to get to know the people who her daughter was with all the time. She had a purpose, and Joshua wasn’t sure what that purpose was. But he knew one thing for certain: she was determined to get what she wanted.

Later that night, after most of the family had left, including Divinity and Jenova, Joshua and Jonathan lingered outside, sitting by the fire pit with a few of the other relatives. The conversation had turned to old stories, and for a while, everything felt comfortable again. But then Jonathan turned to him, his expression serious.

“So, what’s the deal with you and Divinity?” Jonathan asked bluntly. “Are you gonna make a move or just keep pretending like nothing happened?”

Joshua chuckled nervously. He didn’t want to admit how much he had been thinking about her, but there was no denying it. The connection was undeniable.

“I don’t know, man,” Joshua said, running a hand through his hair. “It’s complicated. It’s not just about what happened in Miami anymore. There’s more to it.”

Jonathan raised an eyebrow. “More to it? You mean you want to pursue her?”

Joshua’s silence answered the question for him. He didn’t know what he was feeling, but something about Divinity had sparked a fire in him that he couldn’t ignore. The woman was a force, and no matter how hard he tried to stay detached, he couldn’t deny that she made him feel things he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Meanwhile, Divinity was at her own house, lounging on the couch and scrolling through her phone. She had been waiting for a sign, a message from Joshua, something to indicate that he was just as interested as she was. She had made her intentions clear, but there was something about him that intrigued her. He wasn’t like the others.

She heard her phone buzz with a notification. When she glanced at it, her lips curved into a smile.

Uceyjucey started following you on Instagram.

Joshua had finally found her. Divinity felt a surge of excitement. It wasn’t just about the following, it was about the message it sent. He had been thinking about her, just as she had been thinking about him. This was the beginning of something, she could feel it.

“About time,” she muttered to herself, opening Joshua’s profile and scrolling through his photos. A smirk tugged at the corners of her lips as she saw the images of him, his confident stance, his strong features, and that undeniable charm.

She hit the follow button. Let the games begin.

When Joshua arrived home, he couldn’t help but grin when he saw Divinity’s name flash on his phone screen. It seemed she was on the same timing as him.

“Let’s do this,” he muttered to himself.

As he scrolled through her photos, he knew things were only going to get more complicated from here. But part of him didn’t mind. The tension between them had been building, and now, it was about to explode into something neither of them could predict.

Next: Chapter Two

[solitude4chiron]

Hobie Headcannons cs some of y’all be treating this man like he’s some white goth nga that’s never had black experiences 😭😭 these are js off the top of my head so don’t tweak out… JUH VIBE

He’s most likely Jamaican/British or African/British because he’s from the UK

He has had multiple people try to force him into playing basketball at least once because he’s 6’5

“Man, so you telling me you ain’t never tried going D1?”

“Never even played.”

“NIGGA WHAT?”

Has gotten his hand popped multiple times from touching his hair while getting it done

“How many do you have left?”

“Boy move that damn hand.”

Gives horrible advice then says “but I don’t kno, thats just me”

“She cheated on me bru. Like cheated. Called me ON FACETIME while they was hunchin.”

“Me personally I would find the guy and start a gas leak in their house while his family is sleeping. But ion kno, that’s just me tho.”

Played soccer as a kid with a makeshift paper soccer ball

Was one of those kids who were forced to finish their plate before leaving the dinner table so he would sit at the table till the next day playing with his food

Illegally listens to and downloads most of the music he likes

“Wanna do a Spotify blend?”

“Y’all use that shi?”

“who df are you bro…”

Will side eye you till you burst out laughing if you both see something crazy in public 

Sung chi-chi man religiously as a child before he knew what the song meant (iykyk)

Takes pictures of white people with braids or locs

Hobie: Attachment: 1

disgusting creatures…

Hangs trash bags on his doorknobs around the house

Had entire debates as a child with older people at the cookout on why he should be able to eat ribs instead of hotdogs

“These steaks for the adults, go grab a lil hotdog and a juice.”

“But why? Can’t we both eat and enjoy the same things without you having to dehumanize me and view me only as a child without preferences for food?”

“Boy go get that fuckin hotdog and caprisun get out my face.”

Had his hairline pushed back astronomically far when he was little (Nigerian boy canon event)

On the other hand he probably never had his hair cut as a kid and started free-forming when he was young (I’m conflicted between both)

Constantly had a smart mouth as a kid (he still does), like CONSTANTLY. Once he got his lips snatched and balled into a fist

Would steal, get caught and say is “it cause I’m black?”

“Yo, were you stealing back there?”

“Why bruv? Cause I’m black?”

“Nevermind.”

Touches hot ass food with his bare hands. Like he will flip pancakes with his hands.

Can literally sleep anywhere.. like anywhere. People in his band have pictures of him hunched over on sinks, sleeping on bathroom floors, in bathtubs with the curtains wrapped around him, on the bus. Anywhere you can think of.

He doesn’t spend much money on birthday gifts or gifts in general. He likes to make things by hand even if he has to spend a few weeks

After his shows he loves to meet people in the crowd, even if they freak out. He isn’t really for the idolizing so he doesn’t know how to express his emotions too much on that.

“OH MY GOD HOBIE!?!”

“i aint think i was that special but thanks luv”

• His jacket makes HELLA noise and he doesn’t realize it. Just like if he had beads in his hair.

“imma get bro good this time..”

“Hobie don’t even try to scare me, i hear that big ass jacket thumpin down the hallway.”

• The first time he kissed a girl with lip piercings like his, they got caught on each other. They sat there for almost half and hour trying to untangle each other without hurting each other.

• He’s definitely been called a few different celebrities before, none really looked like him.

“Are you playboi carti?!”

“Bruv.”

over.

“Your that rockstar dude lancey right?”

“bru…”

and over.

“you Opium?”

“I’m starting to feel this is lowkey sterotypical…”

and over again.

• When he’s in the pit at concerts he looks out for the younger people towards the front to make sure they don’t get thrashed around too hard.

“you good young’n?”

“I CANT FEEL MY FACE”

“that’s cool too”

• He only really steals from big corporations, not small family owned places. Just out of respect. Even when they say he can take things for free he still pays, maybe a few dollars over budget.

• He loves collecting trinkets and little things he finds on the streets or backstage. He has multiple spoons, buttons and scrap fabrics laying around

• When he first learned about capitalism he realized it everywhere, like EVERYWHERE. That boy was pissed.

• He loves girls who can beat him tf up, like whoop his ass. Or girls who will cuss him tf out. Sometimes you both will be arguing and he’ll just sit back and let you go off on him.

anyways yawl that’s it lmk if I should drop some more this was fun asl to make 😛

[hyacinthandmoss]

A Glimpse of Us

Summary: You've been married to Bruce Wayne for the past three years, an arrangement initially orchestrated as a strategic alliance. With time, genuine affection and love blossomed between you. Burdened by his internal conflicts, Bruce vehemently denied his feelings and distanced himself from you, cloaking his emotions in an impenetrable facade. Then, an unexpected and mysterious visitor from the future compels him to confront the undeniable truth of his feelings for you.

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Plus Size Female Reader

Expect a blend of fluff and angst. Reader is of fairy & human lineage.

Word Count: 5,356

A/N: So, here I go again. I don't know. I just have a thing for happy families and fairies, I guess. But hey, I wrote this two years ago and felt like sharing it. Also… I didn’t bother to edit it much. But nonetheless, ENJOY! X

The Batcave hummed with a low, almost silent energy. The air was thick with the scent of ozone and the distant whirring of the Batcomputer. Bruce Wayne, clad in the familiar black armor, stared at the unmistakable crimson beacon on the screen. Beside the beacon was your photo and your current location. You were working tirelessly at your clinic in Gotham. Bruce knew you were safe, not that you needed any protection. He had observed you multiple times on the battlefield amidst the chaos and danger and was genuinely impressed by your skill and composure under pressure. 

Bruce vividly recalled the first time he encountered you during a covert mission with the Justice League Dark, where he was introduced to your existence in the most unexpected circumstances. As was his vigilant and cautious nature, he initially harbored suspicions about you, questioning your motives and abilities. However, you remained indifferent to his opinions, exuding an air of confidence that left a lasting impression. You made it unequivocally clear that his concerns were his own and owed him no explanations, standing your ground with unwavering resolve. 

Bruce couldn't help but smile as he reminisced about the past, recalling the intensity of that initial encounter and the unexpected turn of events. Little did he know that a simple partnership would eventually lead to marriage, which seemed unimaginable amid initial skepticism and guarded interactions.

Three years. It had been three years since your arranged marriage, a union born from the need to bridge the gap between two worlds. He, the human that was best suitable for you, and you, the fairy-human queen of a realm beyond the veil. The initial resentment had long simmered down to a dull ache, replaced by a love that felt like a betrayal, a betrayal of his vows, his mission, his very being. Instead of being truthful and honest, he told you that he never saw this arrangement becoming more than mere duty. And so, he cowardly pushed you away, encouraged you to date others, to find happiness outside your arranged marriage. But the truth was, he couldn't bear the thought of you with anyone else and a sense of great, hurtful regret pierced his heart when he saw you on a date with Kyle Rayner. And despite that, Bruce felt that the way you smiled, your laugh, the sparkle in your eyes, it all belonged to him, even if he refused to admit it.

He had hoped his avoidance would make the feelings fade, but instead, each passing day amplified them. He craved your touch, the soft brush of your fingers against his skin, the warmth of your embrace. It was torture, this yearning he couldn't acknowledge.

The red dot on the screen, now pulsating with a rhythmic urgency, pulled his gaze back from the memories. It was time.

'Alfred, I'm going out.'

'Very well, Master Bruce. Mind the streets, and be careful.' Alfred said.

Bruce, mid-way through donning his utility belt, froze when a blinding white light erupted from the cavern's entrance, momentarily eclipsing everything. As his vision adjusted, Bruce saw a towering silhouette, broad-shouldered and cloaked in darkness, silhouetted against the fading light.

'Who are you?' Bruce roared, his voice echoing in the cavern. But the figure remained silent, a stoic enigma, and then vanished as quickly as it had appeared.

Bruce, adrenaline coursing through him, cautiously approached the direction of the blinding light. His gaze fell upon a simple, woven basket resting on the cold concrete floor. Inside, nestled in a bed of soft fabric, lay a tiny infant, their face still and peaceful.

He surveyed the scene with a cold, distant gaze, his eyes tracing the sleeping face of the baby. A tremor ran through him, a shiver of something he couldn't quite place. 

A note folded neatly, sat beside the basket. Bruce picked it up, his heart pounding in his chest. His eyes scanned the familiar script, a calligraphy he recognized but couldn't quite place. It read simply, 'Keep her safe. I will be back for her.'

Alfred's attention shifted to the basket, his normally stoic features contorting with bewilderment. He knelt beside it, his eyes wide at the sight of the baby.

'Master Bruce,' Alfred rasped, his voice barely a whisper, “She…  she has the Wayne emblem.'

Bruce's own gaze fell on the tiny silver emblem pinned to the infant’s swaddling clothes. The emblem, a symbol of his family’s legacy, now marked this tiny stranger.

He glanced at Alfred, who stood beside him, his usually impassive face etched with concern. 

“Alfred, is everything alright?" Bruce asked, needing the reassurance of a familiar voice in the wake of the impossible. “Is she… is she okay?”

"Certainly, Master Bruce," Alfred replied, his voice steady. "Except for the extraordinary circumstance that just transpired. I must confess, I have never seen anything like it."

With trembling hands, he studied the note once more. The handwriting was unmistakable—the flowing penmanship, the distinctive slant…

“Alfred,” Bruce uttered. “I- I think I wrote this note.” 

Alfred looked away from the sleeping oblivious baby and turned his gaze to Bruce.

“This doesn't make sense. I've always been against time travel. I have cautioned Barry Allen against his impulsive use of the Speed Force for reckless time travel,” Bruce said firmly. 

Time travel was a game of dominoes, one misplaced move, one alteration, and the entire future could crumble. 

Alfred smiled. "Indeed, sir. But allow me to propose an alternate perspective. Your future self may not have been reckless. He may have simply been acting as a father protecting his child. All rules and protocols are rendered moot when the safety of a loved one is at stake."

Bruce carefully took a small pinch of blood from the baby's heel. 

"Batcomputer, DNA analysis. Cross-reference with all known subjects in the Wayne database. And, I need a full medical report." 

"Initiating cross-reference procedure. Estimated time of completion: two hours."

He turned to Alfred who had the baby cradled in his arms. “Alfred, take the child to Y/N. She can check her to ensure she’s healthy. And bring her up to speed. Inform her about… everything.” 

The air hung heavy with unspoken questions, anxieties simmering beneath the surface. Alfred, his face etched with concern, nodded, carefully cradling the sleeping baby. 

“What will you do, sir, in the meantime?” he asked, his voice laced with an undercurrent of worry.

Bruce’s eyes, dark and bottomless, met Alfred’s. “I will wait for the results. We need to know, Alfred. We need to understand.”

Alfred raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps it's unnecessary, sir. The baby bears an uncanny resemblance to both you and Dr. Y/L/N."

Bruce’s jaw tightened, a flicker of incredulity crossing his face. “I know, Alfred. That’s precisely what defies logic. I need to know if this is… possible. If what I’m seeing… is real.”

“I understand,” Alfred said firmly. He respected Bruce's request. As the butler carried the infant away, Bruce retreated to the colossal screen. 

The Batcave was silent save for Bruce’s loud thoughts. 

Bruce found himself unable to continue his vigilante activities as Batman. His need for facts gnawed at him incessantly. After an interminable wait, the Batcomputer whirred to life, casting an eerie glow across the cavern. Bruce observed, his heart racing as the data streamed across the illuminated screen.

Bruce stumbled back, his hand instinctively reaching for the support of the lab counter.

The Batcomputer’s monotone voice echoed through the lab. 

DNA results for the six-month-old alien subject: maternal match - Y/N L/N; paternal match - Bruce Thomas Wayne. The alien subject possesses magical abilities, some are dormant at birth. Recommend further study and careful observation.

—

As the clock struck 10:00 pm, you couldn't help but feel a sense of relief after a long and tiring day at your clinic. The thought of finally returning to the warmth and comfort of your cottage was a comforting prospect. As you gathered your belongings, the exhaustion started to lift, and you looked forward to reveling in a book at home. However, just as you were about to leave, the tranquility was shattered by the unexpected sound of the doorbell echoing through the empty clinic.

Alfred stood at the entrance and held a swaddled baby. When you first laid eyes on the baby, the world around you fell away. Alfred let himself exhale a whoosh of relief and he stared into your eyes that sparkled with ancient wisdom and held a kind of magic that transcended the mundane. You were one of a kind—your dual lineage woven into your very spirit, allowing you to navigate both the realms of humanity and the mystique of the fairies with grace.

Before Alfred could open his mouth to explain, you spoke. 

“She’s… mine and Bruce’s daughter.” Your voice trembled with disbelief and joy. Yet, beneath that disbelief lay a current of understanding. You were no stranger to the extraordinary; you had always dwelled in its embrace. 

You delicately lifted the infant from Alfred's embrace. The baby, with her tiny nose and delicate fingers, wrapped around your thumb and stirred. As you held the baby, a strange sensation washed over you. A rush of warmth, a sense of familiarity. It was as if a forgotten memory had been awakened.  The baby gazed up at you with eyes that sparkled like stars, and as she held your gaze, she conveyed images of futures untold—a lush hyacinth garden where a radiant you twirled in laughter beside a strong, confident Bruce who gently held his baby girl. His gaze was on you, tenderness and love in his eyes you had never witnessed. He was filled with a love for you that transcended time, a love that had bloomed in the years that had passed. 

“Our beautiful Mercy,” Bruce uttered and leaned in to press a gentle kiss on your lips.

The vision faded leaving you breathless. You looked back at the baby and noticed her delicate features that carried the echoes of Bruce and as if you even needed the reassurance, just helped to solidify the truth.  You wondered if you had become the woman Bruce had always wanted. The mother his future daughter needed? Or were you just a vessel, a safe haven for a child who belonged to another time?

Somewhere, in the shadows of the present, the man who shared her bloodline, the man she had grown to love, wrestled with his own demons, a man forever bound to you by the invisible threads of time. 

"She's got your eyes," Alfred remarked, as the baby wriggled in your arms.

Your heart ached with a love you weren’t sure you deserved and smiled faintly. "I see a little Bruce there, too..." you sighed. 

“I hope he finds the courage to speak his heart. He can be quite adept at handling challenges—both in the city and in his personal life,” Alfred said, probably to cheer you up.

—

You had decided to keep your distance from Bruce, who had vanished into the shadows after the revelation a week ago. Alfred, his loyal servant, offered no explanation, only a knowing glance that confirmed your suspicions. He was avoiding you. You couldn't blame him. Not really. Your marriage was a forced union for leverage and had been built on mutual indifference. Love had never been a part of the equation, even if you had allowed it to bloom in the fertile ground of his warmth and the shared care for his sons. But now, this child, this tiny miracle, had changed everything.

While a tinge of sadness lingered in your heart, you resolved to make the most of the time you had with your baby girl. 

Your modest cottage was livelier than ever. Your heart swelled with a love so intense, it threatened to consume you. Here you were with all your children who were a source of comfort and amusement. Then, there was Alfred, a reassuring presence in the chaos, who busied himself with changing diapers and preparing bottles while you rested. And each brother had taken on a different role in caring for Mercy. Dick had a knack for entertaining her, his playful antics making her giggle in delight. Jason, with his rough edges softened by tenderness, had taken to changing diapers with a grim determination that made everyone laugh. Damian, it seemed, was a little perplexed by the whole situation but had assumed the role of protector with a seriousness only he could muster.

You found yourself standing by the doorframe, unable to resist eavesdropping on the boys' conversation in the nursery. Though you wanted to join in, you decided to stay silent and just listen.

Dick plopped himself onto the floor, tossing a brightly colored rattle in the air with a flourish. “Just think about it,” he began, his voice energetic and animated. “With mom’s powers, Bruce’s detective knacks, and my martial arts skills, she’ll be unstoppable. I’ll take her training seriously, starting with the basics. I’ll teach her the best moves, and–”

“Who the hell made you primary trainer, Dick? I’ve died before and came back to life. A badass. If anyone can hone her skills, it’s me.” Jason chimed in, tongue-in-cheek, leaning against the wall, crossing his arms with a smirk.

Dick raised an eyebrow. “And yet that experience has made you reckless. You’re good, Jason, but lack discipline.”

“Discipline?” Jason scoffed. “I get the job done fast and efficiently-”

Damian scoffed, perched on the edge of your bed as he cradled his baby sister. 

He looked down at Mercy. “Unlike Grayson and Todd,” he declared with an air of authority, “I will continue to keep Gotham safe so you don’t have to burden yourself with protecting it. You’ll have the liberty to do normal things like run a bakery or help me manage Wayne Enterprises.” He paused, his expression softening as he looked at the baby in their midst. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t teach you how to defend yourself, baby sister.”

"And I swear,” Damian continued. “I will not let you walk the same path we did, well unless you want to. No night terrors, no endless chases through the dark. None of that. You’ll have your choice, and I’ll be damned if I let anything happen to you. And know this—you are never alone. No one gets left behind in this family.” As if sensing his gaze, his baby sister shifted slightly, her tiny hand brushing against his shirt. She might not understand his words yet, but in that fleeting moment, Damian felt an unbreakable bond form between them. He would be her protector, her brother, and the one who would teach her how to protect herself.

The unexpected declaration hung in the air, filling the nursery with an aura of warmth that caught everyone off guard. The corner of Dick’s mouth twitched upward, half-proud, half-amused. Jason raised an eyebrow, his typical bravado faltering for a moment. They hadn’t expected the youngest Wayne to express himself with such affection. 

You leaned against the doorframe, your arms wrapped lovingly around yourself, your heart swelling with affection as you listened to your sons. They had taken to their roles as older brothers with unexpected zeal, and you found it beautiful and precious to witness.

“I think Mercy might just end up becoming a mix of all of you three,” you said lovingly.

Mercy let out a series of delighted squeals, her arms flailing as she instinctively reached for you, the sound of her laughter filling the cottage like music. 

—

The Wayne Manor had been eerily silent for the past week, creating a palpable sense of wrongness. Bruce longed for the familiar sounds of his sons' bickering, Alfred's witty remarks, and, most of all, your presence. Your daily presence at the Manor had become a comforting routine. To the outside world, you and Bruce presented a facade of a content, married couple. Little did they know that a single room in the Manor held an enchantment, serving as a secret passage to your hidden cottage where every morning you’d come out of and every night, you’d enter. But for the past week, you didn’t. 

Bruce found himself standing in front of your door. It wasn't a coincidence or a fleeting moment of courage; it was a deliberate choice that he had been wrestling with since the arrival of your daughter from the future. The weight of his unspoken emotions had become too heavy to bear, and he knew he couldn't continue to run away. As he hesitantly raised his hand to knock, he felt the weight of every missed opportunity and every unspoken word. It took every ounce of courage he possessed to face you and finally admit that he had been a fool and a coward for evading his true feelings for so long. 

As if sensing Bruce’s presence, Alfred opened the door. 

“About time,” Alfred said bluntly, crossing his arms with an amused glint in his eye. “You let this go on long enough, Master Wayne.”

Bruce sighed. “I know. I just… needed time to think.”

“Think? Or avoid?” Alfred raised an eyebrow. “It’s been almost 8 days since you’ve seen your wife. 8 days of avoidance that likely brewed more uncertainty, I’m sure.”

“I don’t know what to say, Alfred,” Bruce replied, frustration evident in his tone. “I was just afraid,” he admitted. “What if she doesn’t feel the same? What if I ruin everything?”

Alfred sighed, adjusting his cufflinks and preparing to deliver his trademark wisdom. “Bruce, she’s your wife—not a foe to be defeated. It’s time to drop the pretense of the Bat and be a man. You’ve fought countless battles; this one requires only honesty.”

"I know," Bruce said, determination lacing his voice. "That’s why I’m here, Alfred."

Alfred offered a rare, genuine smile. "That’s the spirit, sir. I’ll be here, waiting to hear all about it—hopefully, with good news." Alfred's piercing gaze surveyed Bruce's disheveled appearance clad in his armor but bereft of his mask. He crossed his arms, a subtle display of his disapproval. “But first, for heaven’s sake, shower! You can’t confront the woman you’re in love with while smelling like sweat and leather.”

Bruce paused, a small, reluctant smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You always know how to make me laugh, Alfred. But… you’re right.” Bruce wore the suit like a second skin that he forgot he was still donning it. He let out a soft breath, the weight of his internal conflict lifting slightly.

“Go on, then,” Alfred prompted. “Wash away the grime of your nightly escapades.”

“Alright. Alright, Alfred.  I’m on it,” Bruce replied, finally conceding.

—

As Bruce returned and entered the cozy cottage, the scent of aged books and mahogany enveloped him. He followed Alfred down a hallway, lined with family portraits of your sisters, human parents, Bruce, and your sons. He came to a halt before a nursery, the moonlight spilling through the window and illuminating a cradle. You laid curled beside it. Bruce thought you looked ethereal, your face etched with exhaustion, yet your eyes, when they opened, were filled with a warmth that melted the ice around his heart.

“My precious little one,” your voice was soft and melodious as you spoke, your words imbued with the same warmth and kindness that had captivated Bruce's heart. “your tiny face is the mirror image of your daddy's. And just like him, I know you will grow up to be courageous, compassionate, and filled with the same unwavering determination to do what is right.”Your voice filled with an emotion he could only describe as pure, unadulterated joy. 

Bruce couldn't speak and relished that intimate moment, the way you held your daughter, his future, in your arms.

Bruce took a step forward, the creak of the floorboard drawing your attention. You looked up, startled, but then a soft smile spread across your face. 

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice laced with relief and a touch of awe. “You came.”

A smile slowly spread across his face. “Can I come in?” he asked, his voice rough with emotion. 

“Please,” you retorted.

Bruce walked into the room, his heart heavy but strangely lighter at the same time. He saw the tiny face nestled against you, the tiny fingers wrapped around your finger, and felt a surge of love that he had never experienced before. 

“She’s beautiful,” he said, his voice rough. "So much like you."

You bit your lip, trying to contain the swell of emotions you were feeling. 

Alfred, who had been watching the exchange with a stoic expression, cleared his throat. “May I suggest a more private location?” Alfred’s tone was both firm and kind. 

You turned to look at Bruce.

“We can talk in my study,” you said, brushing the lingering thoughts of the intimacy shared in that moment aside. “If that’s okay with you, Bruce.” 

“Of course,” Bruce responded.

Alfred raised an eyebrow, ever the observer, before nodding with a hint of a smirk that suggested he knew more than he let on. "Very well,” he said as he grabbed the baby from your arms. 

Bruce followed you to your study room. You closed the door behind you, the click echoing in the quiet room, and a sense of intimacy settled between you two. "Please sit," you said, your voice soft but firm.

The room was bathed in the warm glow of a lamp, the rest of the study dark save for the faint moonlight filtering through the window. The scent of mahogany and aged parchment pervaded the air, mingling with the faint aroma of exotic herbs. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves adorned the walls, their spines whispering tales untold. Artifacts and curiosities from all over the world were carefully arranged on delicate display cases, hinting at a hidden passion for exploration. You were a naturopathic doctor, a fact he knew, but he rarely saw this side of you. 

"I apologize for the mess here." Your eyes met his briefly before you turned back to the bottles, your fingers tracing the delicate script on the labels. "This is my workspace, my haven. Sometimes, I just need to be surrounded by knowledge, by the potential for discovery…” you set down the obsidian bottle on the table and turned to meet Bruce’s gaze. “but anyway, we’re here to talk about much important things.” You paused. "I was starting to think you weren't coming,” you admitted.

"I’m sorry," Bruce finally choked out, his voice rough. "I… I didn’t know what to do." He could sense the tension in the room, the weight of unsaid words lingering in the air like a storm about to break.

“Bruce,” You began, your voice soft, “don’t apologize. I know this is a lot to take in. But I need you to understand that this future doesn’t have to happen... and it probably won’t.”

You paused, your gaze fixed upon your husband, who remained seated, his piercing blue eyes inscrutable. "I mean, our marriage is not a decree of destiny," you insisted, your voice trembling with a mix of frustration and longing. "This future is not written in stone."

Bruce watched you with a heavy heart. Your words cut him deeply. Had he pushed you away so vehemently that you didn’t envision a future with him? You continued your unstoppable torrent of words, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

“I'm not blind to your feelings, Bruce. I am an obligation, nothing more,” you uttered.

Bruce's gaze met yours, a brief moment of vulnerability in his impenetrable facade. A wave of guilt crashed over him. He’d been a cold, distant husband, his heart a locked vault, refusing to admit the truth of his feelings to you.

“That is not true, Y/N. Don’t ever say that.” Bruce uttered, his voice gaining strength. 

“Then speak your mind, Bruce," you pleaded. "Because for the past 3 years, your silence has betrayed your statement."

The tension in the room became palpable. Bruce stood up from the worn leather chair, his eyes narrowed with determination as he took a deliberate step towards you. In response, you took a step back involuntarily, feeling the weight of the room's tension pressing in on you.

"Y/N," he continued, his voice barely above a whisper, "you make me feel things I've never allowed myself to feel. It's terrifying and exhilarating all at once. I never thought I'd want to be vulnerable with someone, but here I am, wanting to share everything with you."

you shifted slightly, your gaze piercing into his. Your eyes showed an understanding and a quiet recognition of his struggles. 

"and it feels so right," he added, now more earnest. "Being with you feels like home, which frightens me more than anything else. I've built up so many defenses to protect myself, but you—you're breaking through them, and I can't help but want to let you in."

Bruce took another step closer to you. "Yes, I admit, our marriage was merely a formal strategic alliance. Before you, I never saw myself sharing a future with anyone because until three years ago, I didn't know I had one."

For a moment, Bruce feared you might look away and leave him exposed.

Bruce continued with unwavering determination as he made another step forward, his eyes reflecting a mix of wonder and excitement. "But a week ago, I caught a glimpse of my future. And damn it, it's incredible."

"Bruce," you whispered, your voice barely audible, and found yourself locked in a trance by the intensity of his gaze. Without realizing it, he had closed the distance between you, and when you attempted to retreat, you felt your legs pressed against your desk. Feeling the hard surface behind you, you instinctively leaned into it, seeking its support as your pulse quickened with anticipation and uncertainty.

"Y/N, I'm not usually one for superstition, but I strongly feel we were meant to be together. It's as if our paths were always meant to converge, with you destined to be mine and I, yours."

"Bruce..." you repeated, soft and quiet. He was so close to you now that you could feel the heat radiating from his body.

But Bruce said enough. He lowered his head, his lips pressing against your soft lips. He poured every ounce of his unspoken emotions into that kiss - the longing, the regret, the desperate hope that he wasn't too late. You froze for a moment, your mind reeling. This wasn't the Bruce you knew, the man who treated you with polite indifference, who saw you as a pawn in a game of power. This was a man who craved you, who yearned for your touch, who bared his soul in a single, impassioned kiss.

Bruce’s hands traveled from your waist to the small of your back, holding you securely as if you were the only thing that mattered. You kissed him back intensely, welcoming his tongue with yours. You could feel the thrill of adrenaline coursing through you, mixing with the warmth of his body against yours. 

Breaking the kiss, you gazed into his deep eyes, searching for reassurance that this was real. Bruce smiled, his expression playful yet serious, and he placed a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

Bruce knelt before you. “I love you,” Bruce whispered hoarsely, his words a confession long overdue. “You transformed my world, Y/N, and I want to spend my life showing you how much you mean to me. Will you marry me again? Only this time it’ll be honest and intimate. Just us.” 

Bruce pulled from his pocket, a vintage gemstone you knew had belonged to his mother. 

your eyes widen in shock and delight, Your breath catching in your throat. Then, you looked into Bruce’s sincere eyes, feeling the weight of his words.

“Yes!” You exclaimed, tears of happiness sparkling in your eyes. 

Bruce slid the ring onto your finger and planted a gentle kiss on your hand.

This was a new beginning, a chance to build something real, something true, something that was yours and Bruce’s alone.

—

Together, you approached the nursery, where Alfred had the baby in his arms. He smiled at both of you, knowing that you both had surrendered to love. “Baby Mercy eagerly waited for you, Master Bruce.”

He carefully placed the baby in Bruce's arms, mindful of her fragility. As Bruce cradled her, he felt the gentle warmth of her tiny body against his skin. Looking down at her, he noticed her unblinking gaze, so full of wonder and innocence, as if she were already trying to understand the world around her. Despite the weight of his responsibilities, a rare and tender smile adorned Bruce's face, softening the hardened lines that defined it. "Welcome home, Mercy," he murmured, feeling a rush of love and protectiveness wash over him as he held his daughter close.

Your smile grew, your eyes sparkling with joy as you watched Bruce gaze at your daughter with a softness he had never shown before. Mercy giggled, a sound that seemed to echo through the room like a gentle melody. It was as if the universe itself rejoiced at this reunion.

“I think she wants to show you something,” you smiled. 

The first vision-like memory flickered to life, blooming before Bruce. He could see himself as a distant figure, surveying the scene from the doorway, his expression a blend of wonder and amusement. He stood in a warm kitchen filled with the aroma of freshly baked cookies. Mercy, no older than five, wore a tiny apron adorned with colorful motifs. An older version of his son, Damian Wayne, was busy rolling out dough. Flour dusted the air like fairy dust as Damian orchestrated their little culinary adventure with serious intent.

“Watch, Daddy!” Mercy exclaimed, her voice a melodic chime. The two of them were collaborating on baking a batch of cookies. Damian, with all his precision, carefully measured the ingredients while his sister, in a flurry of excitement, added spoonfuls of sprinkles and chocolate chips into the mix.

“Too many!” Damian chided, suppressing a smile despite his best efforts. The kitchen was filled with laughter and the delightful chaos of sibling bonding.

The scene shifted with a swirl of color, pulling Bruce into another cherished moment from the future—a day at Wayne Enterprises. The sleek, modern building glimmered under the sun, its towering structure a symbol of the legacy Bruce had built. Inside, his daughter, now slightly older, wandered through the gleaming halls, hand in hand with her father.

“Daddy, can we go to the rooftop garden?” she asked her voice a melody of excitement. Bruce nodded, his heart swelling with pride as he watched her interact with the bustling world of business around them.

The rooftop was a breathtaking oasis, filled with vibrant flowers and greenery that you had carefully nurtured. 

Bruce and Mercy sat together on a sun-drenched bench, a picnic spread before them. 

“Did you know that if you talk to the flowers, they can grow even more?” Mercy said, leaning closer to the petals, her delicate breath almost a whisper. A soft breeze stirred the leaves.

“Are you going to be a botanist and save the world?” Bruce teased, gently ruffling her hair.

“I’ll be a hero like you, Daddy. Only with cakes and magic,” she replied earnestly, her eyes shimmering with determination. 

“That’s incredible, sweetheart. You have a gift,” Bruce said, his heart swelling with pride.

The visions filled your heart with warmth, giving you the undeniable certainty that this baby was the embodiment of yours and Bruce’s future, born from a love so deep, so profound, that not even time could erase it.

[daydreamingoveracupofcoffee]

The reaction of the Pro-Heroes to their soulmate is a villainess:

All Might (Toshinori Yagi):

All Might, the Symbol of Peace, would be stunned to learn his soulmate is a villainess. His entire life revolves around upholding justice and inspiring hope, so this revelation would shake his worldview. However, his optimism and belief in redemption would drive him to see this as a challenge to overcome rather than a tragedy.

He'd feel a pang of disbelief and guilt, questioning how someone destined for him could be on the opposite side of his ideals. He'd wonder if he failed in some way as a hero to prevent her fall into villainy.

The soulmate bond would create a deep empathy, making him feel her pain or motivations, which would conflict with his duty to stop her. He'd grapple with the urge to save her versus his responsibility to protect society.

All Might would approach her cautiously, trying to understand her reasons for becoming a villainess. He'd attempt to reach her heart with his trademark compassion, believing she could change. If she's unrepentant, he'd fight her with resolve but hold back, unable to fully harm his soulmate.

"Even if you're lost in darkness, I’ll be the light to guide you back!"

He'd dedicate himself to redeeming her, even if it takes years, refusing to give up on his soulmate. If redemption isn't possible, he'd carry the burden of their bond quietly, never fully letting go of hope.

Aizawa Shota (Eraser Head):

Aizawa, with his logical and no-nonsense demeanor, would initially suppress any emotional reaction to discovering his soulmate is a villainess. He'd view the situation through a lens of duty and rationality, but the soulmate bond would stir a rare sense of personal conflict beneath his calm exterior.

"Of course my soulmate would be this complicated..."

He'd accept the bond as a fact but not let it cloud his judgment. He'd immediately start analyzing her actions, motives, and weaknesses as a villainess.

Aizawa's protective nature would make him feel a reluctant pull toward her, especially if he senses she's a product of circumstance rather than pure malice. However, his distrust of villains and loyalty to his students would make him wary of letting the bond influence him. He'd hate how it makes him question his usual black-and-white perspective.

Aizawa would confront her directly, using his Quirk to neutralize her if needed, but he'd try to talk first. He'd ask pointed questions to understand why she chose villainy, looking for any sign of remorse or potential for change. His approach would be blunt.

"You’re my soulmate, but that doesn’t mean I’ll let you hurt anyone."

If she’s manipulative, he’d stay guarded, refusing to fall for emotional ploys. Aizawa would keep tabs on her, torn between his duty to stop her and the faint hope she could be saved. He’d never admit it, but he’d feel a quiet ache for what could have been. If she showed signs of redemption, he’d cautiously support her, but he’d never fully lower his guard.

Present Mic (Hizashi Yamada):

Present Mic’s loud, expressive personality would lead to an intense, heartfelt reaction. He’s a hero with a big heart, so the revelation that his soulmate is a villainess would hit him hard, mixing betrayal with an instinctive need to connect with her.

"No way! My soulmate’s a villain?! That’s not the vibe I was expecting!"

He’d alternate between pacing, ranting, and trying to process the news with his usual flair.

Hizashi’s optimism and belief in the power of connection would make him feel the soulmate bond intensely. He’d be torn between his loyalty to heroism and his desire to understand her. If she’s charismatic or tragic, he’d be especially vulnerable to feeling sympathy, which could cloud his judgment.

Present Mic would seek her out, unable to stay away, and try to talk her down with his energetic charisma. He’d use humor and heartfelt pleas to reach her.

"C’mon, babe, you’re breaking my heart here! Let’s turn this track around!"

If she’s hostile, he’d use his Voice Quirk to subdue her but avoid lethal force, visibly pained by fighting his soulmate.

Hizashi would throw himself into trying to save her, believing their bond means she’s not beyond hope. He’d write songs or dedicate radio segments to her subtly, hoping to reach her heart. If she remains a villainess, he’d struggle with heartbreak but keep her in his thoughts, always wondering if he could have done more.

Hawks (Keigo Takami):

Hawks, the laid-back yet cunning No. 2 hero, would initially hide his shock behind a carefree facade. His life under the Hero Public Safety Commission’s control has made him distrustful of fate, so learning his soulmate is a villainess would feel like a cruel twist. He’d wrestle with the bond while maintaining his mission-driven mindset. He’d flash a wry smile.

“Figures my soulmate would be a wildcard.”

Internally, he’d be rattled, questioning whether the bond is real or another manipulation. He’d immediately start gathering intel on her, treating her like a high-stakes mission.

Hawks’ desire for freedom clashes with the soulmate bond’s pull, making him feel trapped. He’d empathize with her if her villainy stems from rebellion or a broken system, but his loyalty to the Commission and hero society would keep him guarded. He’d hate how the bond makes him second-guess his usual detachment.

Hawks would approach her with his trademark charm, trying to talk her down or gauge her intentions.

“So, soulmate, you gonna make this easy or do we have to dance?”

If she’s dangerous, he’d use his Fierce Wings to outmaneuver her, but he’d avoid lethal force, conflicted by the bond. If she’s manipulative, he’d play along to learn more, staying one step ahead.

Hawks would keep her at arm’s length, torn between his duty and the bond’s pull. He’d secretly hope she could break free from villainy, seeing parallels to his own constrained life. If redemption seems impossible, he’d bury his feelings, but the bond would linger as a quiet regret, a reminder of the freedom he can’t have.

Endeavor (Enji Todoroki):

Endeavor, the intense and redemption-seeking No. 1 hero, would react with a mix of fury and self-blame upon learning his soulmate is a villainess. His obsession with being a perfect hero makes this revelation a personal failure, and his past mistakes would amplify his determination to resolve the conflict, either by redeeming her or defeating her. He’d clench his fists, flames flaring briefly.

“This can’t be right.”

He’d see the bond as a challenge to his legacy, blaming himself for being “cursed” with a villainous soulmate. He’d demand answers from fate, feeling it mocks his efforts to atone.

Endeavor’s growing self-awareness would make him question if his own flaws pushed her toward villainy, especially if her motives mirror his past ruthlessness. The soulmate bond would stir unfamiliar vulnerability, clashing with his need for control. He’d struggle to balance his duty to stop her with the instinct to protect her.

Endeavor would confront her head-on, using his Hellflame Quirk to intimidate but not destroy. He’d demand she explain herself.

“You’re my soulmate, but I won’t let you drag me down with you.”

If she’s defiant, he’d fight with relentless force, but the bond would make him hesitate at a critical moment. If she shows a hint of remorse, he’d push her toward redemption, seeing it as a way to prove his own change.

Endeavor would see her as a test of his redemption arc. He’d work tirelessly to bring her to the hero side, believing it’s his responsibility. If she remains a villainess, he’d carry the guilt heavily, viewing their bond as another failure he couldn’t fix, but he’d never stop trying to reach her.

Fat Gum (Taishiro Toyomitsu):

Fat Gum, the warm and compassion ate hero, would be devastated to learn his soulmate is a villainess, but his big heart and belief in people’s potential would drive him to see the good in her. His protective instincts would make him determined to save her, even at personal cost.

“Aw, no… my soulmate’s out there causin’ trouble?”

He’d feel a mix of sadness and determination, immediately wondering what led her down the villain path. He’d take it personally, as if he should’ve been there to prevent it.

The soulmate bond would hit Fat Gum hard, making him feel her pain or anger vividly. He’d struggle with the contrast between his cheerful heroism and her villainy, but he’d refuse to believe she’s “bad” at her core. His empathy would make it hard to see her as an enemy, even when she’s causing harm.

Fat Gum would seek her out with open arms, trying to talk her down with his warm, disarming personality.

“C’mon, partner, you don’t gotta do this—let’s grab some takoyaki and talk it out!”

If forced to fight, he’d use his Fat Absorption Quirk to tank her attacks, protecting others while pleading with her to stop. He’d never give up on reaching her heart, even if she rejects him.

Fat Gum would dedicate himself to helping her find a better path, offering support and kindness no matter how long it takes. If she remains a villainess, he’d be heartbroken but keep her in his thoughts, always ready to welcome her back. He’d likely check in on her covertly, leaving small gestures (like food) to show he still cares.

Mirko (Rumi Usagiyama):

Mirko, the fiercely independent and battle-loving No. 5 hero, would react with a mix of irritation and determination upon learning her soulmate is a villainess. Her lone-wolf mentality and disdain for weakness would make her see the bond as a challenge to her strength, but her passion would fuel a desire to face it directly. She’d scoff, kicking something nearby, and snap:

“A villainess? You’ve gotta be kidding me!”

She’d view the bond as an insult to her pride, refusing to let fate dictate her life. She’d immediately want to track her soulmate down to “settle things.”

Mirko’s tough exterior hides a deep sense of loyalty, so the soulmate bond would stir conflicting feelings. She’d be annoyed at feeling drawn to someone who opposes her values, but if the villainess has a fiery or rebellious streak, Mirko might secretly respect her. She’d struggle with the urge to fight versus the bond’s pull to understand her.

Mirko would hunt her soulmate down, ready for a fight, using her Rabbit Quirk’s speed and strength to dominate the encounter.

“So you’re my soulmate? Show me what you’ve got!”

If the villainess matches her energy, Mirko would be grudgingly impressed, leading to a heated exchange of blows and words. If she senses redeemable qualities, she’d challenge her to change: “You’re tougher than that—ditch this villain crap and prove it.” If the villainess is unrepentant, Mirko would subdue her without hesitation but feel a pang of frustration at the bond.

Mirko would keep challenging her soulmate, seeing their bond as a test of wills. She’d push for redemption through tough love, believing only the strong can change. If the villainess remains evil, Mirko would cut emotional ties as much as possible, but the bond would linger as a nagging irritation, spurring her to fight harder in her memory.

Gang Orca (Kugo Sakamata):

Gang Orca, the stern yet compassion ate hero, would approach the revelation with a calm, professional demeanor, hiding his personal disappointment. His sense of duty and belief in rehabilitation would make him see the villainess as someone who might still be saved, though he’d remain cautious.

“A villainess… this complicates things.”

He’d take the news in stride, analyzing it like a mission briefing. He’d feel a quiet sadness that his soulmate is on the wrong path but focus on what he can do about it.

Gang Orca’s tough exterior belies a kind heart, so the soulmate bond would make him feel her pain or motivations deeply. He’d struggle with his duty to uphold justice versus his instinct to protect his soulmate, especially if her villainy stems from hardship. His experience mentoring troubled youths would make him hope she’s not beyond saving.

Gang Orca would approach her methodically, using his Orca Quirk’s strength and sonar to track and confront her. He’d try to reason first.

“You’re my soulmate, but that doesn’t excuse your actions. Why are you doing this?”

If she’s hostile, he’d fight with controlled force, aiming to capture rather than harm. If she shows remorse, he’d offer a chance to reform, drawing on his rehabilitation expertise.

Gang Orca would work to guide her toward redemption, offering structure and support like he does for his trainees. If she refuses to change, he’d accept it with quiet resignation, focusing on his duties but never fully severing the bond’s emotional weight. He’d keep an eye on her from afar, hoping for a future shift.

Best Jeanist (Tsunagu Hakamada):

Best Jeanist, the refined and strategic No. 3 hero, would react with measured control, viewing the revelation as a complex problem to solve. His belief in order and self-improvement would make him see the villainess as a flawed thread in the fabric of fate, one he might be able to mend. He’d adjust his collar and say calmly:

“A villainess as my soulmate? Fascinating… and problematic.”

He’d process the news with a cool head, immediately considering how it impacts his image and duties. He’d see the bond as a test of his ability to create order from chaos.

Best Jeanist’s polished demeanor hides a deep sense of responsibility, so the bond would make him question if he could have prevented her villainy. He’d feel the pull to understand her, especially if her actions stem from a rejection of societal norms he upholds. He’d struggle to reconcile his need for control with the bond’s emotional chaos. Best Jeanist would confront her with precision, using his Fiber Master Quirk to restrain her without causing harm.

“As my soulmate, you’re part of my responsibility. Let’s weave a better path together.”

He’d analyze her motives during their encounter, looking for leverage to persuade her. If she’s defiant, he’d subdue her efficiently but feel a rare twinge of regret. If she shows potential for change, he’d offer guidance, framing redemption as a way to “refine” herself.

Best Jeanist would approach her like a long-term project, believing he can help her fit into a better role in society. He’d use his influence to provide opportunities for reform, but if she remains a villainess, he’d distance himself emotionally, treating the bond as a flaw he couldn’t fix. He’d carry the loss with quiet dignity, focusing on his work to cope.

[s1ut-4-rafe]

ONE LAST DANCE | Drew Starkey

MASTERLIST (One Shot)

Pairing - Drew Starkey x Childhood Best Friend! Reader

Summary - At your wedding, you unexpectedly reconnects with your past love, Drew. He confesses his regret over choosing his career over you, revealing he never stopped loving you. Torn between your life with your husband, Liam, and your lingering feelings for Drew, you are left grappling with the unresolved emotions from your past as the dance ends.

Word Count - 2005

Content - Angst, childhood best friends, married fem! reader, nostalgia, romantic tension, emotional conflict.

The night was perfect. Everything you’d hoped it would be.

The reception was drenched in a golden glow, twinkling string lights casting a soft haze over the dance floor. White linens draped over round tables, their surfaces adorned with elegant floral arrangements and flickering candlelight. The scent of roses and champagne lingered in the warm air, laughter weaving between the clinking of glasses and the hum of quiet conversations.

And then there was him.

Drew stood near the edge of the crowd, just far enough to blend in, but never far enough that you couldn’t feel his presence.

It had been years.

Years since you last saw him, since you last heard his voice outside of memories that refused to fade. But the moment your eyes met across the room, it was like no time had passed at all.

Your heart skipped, the familiar ache creeping in. You could still see him in your mind's eye as the man who had once meant everything to you. The one who had been your safe place, your best friend, your first love. But now, after everything, after the years apart, his presence was both comforting and agonizing.

Back then, you thought it was forever. You had pictured a life with Drew, together, no matter where it took you. You had even dreamed of marrying him one day. But that dream had shattered when Drew made the decision to choose his career over you.

You had watched him grow distant, his eyes lighting up at every new opportunity that came his way, his passion for acting consuming him in ways you hadn’t expected. He had always been driven, always focused, but somewhere along the way, you had been left behind. Slowly but surely, Drew had chosen his career, the one thing he believed he had to make work above all else.

He had told you that he loved you, but the promises of a future together became promises made to the world, to the stage, to the movies he’d always dreamed of. You had watched him leave for an audition, only to come back to pack his bags and move to Charleston, South Carolina to film Outer Banks.

And with that, everything changed. You tried to wait, tried to hold on, but eventually, you realized he wasn’t coming back. You couldn’t be the person who held him back, not when he was chasing his dreams so relentlessly. So, you had to let him go.

Now, you’re married to someone else, someone who is steady and present. Someone who didn’t have dreams that pulled him away, someone who showed up when you needed him. You met Liam after Drew left, after the silence between you both had grown too loud to ignore. He was there when you needed stability, when you needed someone to fill the space Drew had once occupied. 

You got engaged quickly, maybe too quickly, but it felt right at the time. And when you stood at the altar, you believed you had chosen the right path. You thought you had moved on. And for a while, that had been enough. Until you saw Drew again.

As Drew’s gaze locked with yours from across the room, you felt every moment, every unspoken word, fall back into place. You had moved on, built a life, and yet, in the space between your heartbeats, you couldn’t escape the pull of what could have been.

He was wearing a tailored black suit that hugged his frame just right. He looked sharp and sophisticated, effortlessly commanding attention. Beneath it, a crisp white shirt peeked out, flawless as ever. And then there was the tie red. Bold. The same color he wore to your senior prom. 

Like a knife to the gut, the memory hit you all at once. 

The late-night drives. The stolen glances. The way he used to look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

The way he was looking at you now. 

And yet, despite it all, he wasn’t the one waiting at the altar for you today.

Your fingers curled around the delicate lace of your wedding gown, your breath tightening in your chest. 

You should look away.

You should turn around.

You shouldn’t walk toward him.

But you did.

The second he noticed your movement, Drew’s lips parted slightly, his throat bobbing like he wasn’t sure whether to speak or just take you in.

And God, did he take you in.

The long lace sleeves of your dress, the way it hugged your frame before cascading to the ground in soft, intricate patterns. The delicate veil trailing behind you, whispering against the floor with every step. The way your hair was styled, the way he once said he loved it best.

"You came," you murmured, stopping just inches away.

Drew exhaled a quiet laugh, running a hand through his hair. "Yeah. Of course I did."

Silence settled between you, thick and suffocating.

"You look…" His voice faltered, his blue eyes flickering across your face, down to your dress, then back again. "Jesus."

A lump formed in your throat. "Drew—"

"You’re really married." His voice cracked slightly, and it was barely a whisper, almost like he didn’t mean to say it out loud.

Your chest ached. "I am."

A sharp inhale. A slow nod.

"Right," he muttered, like he was forcing himself to accept it. Like he was trying to convince himself this was real.

The music shifted.

A slow, familiar melody filled the air.

Your song.

You saw it the moment realization dawned on him, the moment his entire body went rigid, as if the universe was playing some cruel, twisted joke on both of you.

"One last dance?" he asked, voice barely above the music.

You should’ve said no. But instead, you whispered, "Yes."

And that was all it took.

His fingers brushed against yours, hesitant at first, before intertwining fully. His other hand settled on your waist, warmth seeping through the delicate lace of your dress.

The second he pulled you closer, everything else faded.

The song flows between you, the delicate melody wrapping around you both like a fragile thread.

You glance up at him, and the weight of everything you’ve both been through presses down on you. His eyes meet yours, and in them, there’s a depth of longing, regret, and love that’s almost too much to bear. For a long moment, neither of you speaks, as though words could shatter the fragile connection that’s been reignited.

And then, Drew’s voice breaks through the silence, a whisper that feels too raw for the moment, too heavy for the space between you. “I had no idea what I was doing, leaving you like that. I thought it was what I had to do, but I didn’t know what I was losing. I didn’t know I was losing you until I couldn’t get you back.”

Your breath catches in your chest, the ache in your heart rising with every word he speaks. It’s like he’s clawing at the walls of your heart, each admission drawing you closer to something you’ve tried so hard to forget. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out, and before you can stop yourself, you’re pulling away from him, your hands rising instinctively to stop him from saying any more.

“No, Drew, don’t—” you begin, but he doesn’t let you pull away.

He doesn’t let you stop him. His grip tightens around your hand, his gaze fierce, and he shakes his head, eyes brimming with the words he’s been holding back for far too long.

“Let me finish,” he says, his voice low and urgent, almost pleading. His chest rises and falls with every breath, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s holding back tears too.

 “I regret it. I thought I was doing what was right for me, but it was always work, always the next job, the next audition, the next role. And in all that chaos, I lost sight of what really mattered.”

You feel the words hit you like a wave, crashing over you, pulling you under. You’ve always known the pain that came from his decision, but hearing him say it—hearing him admit that it was never easy for him, that he never truly let you go, it breaks something inside of you.

His voice cracks, a rawness that cuts through the air between you. “I couldn’t move on, not really. I tried, but every time I stood in front of a camera, every time I went on set, it felt like I was running away from the one thing that would’ve made everything worth it.”

Your breath catches, your chest tightening with the weight of everything he’s saying. The love you once shared, the future you’d dreamed of, all of it comes rushing back. The life you built with Liam feels distant in this moment, like a dream that somehow lost its magic, because here in Drew’s arms, you remember what it felt like to be that version of yourself, the one who believed in the future you two were going to have.

You bite your lip, trying to hold back the flood of emotions that threaten to spill over. You can’t, you shouldn’t, let yourself fall back into this. You’ve moved on. You’ve built something with Liam. But Drew’s words, the pain in his voice, the way his hands tremble as they hold you, make it impossible to ignore the truth of what’s still lingering between you both.

“I built a life, Drew. A life with Liam. And it… It wasn’t always easy, but it’s real. It’s stable. It’s been what I needed,” you whisper, your voice breaking.

You can hear the words spilling out before you can stop them, and yet, as you say them, they feel like a lie. 

He exhales, his chest pressing against yours, and for a moment, you’re both frozen, standing in the ache of what could have been. His voice is hoarse when he speaks again, thick with emotion. “I couldn’t stop thinking about you. Even when I had everything, fame, success, it was never enough without you.”

The tears are too close now. You can feel them welling up behind your eyes, threatening to spill. You can’t stop them, but you can’t speak either. All you can do is stand there, swaying with him, lost in the memories of what you were, what you almost were.

But before you can let it all sink in, before you can make sense of what this all means, he leans in closer, his breath warm on your ear. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry for everything. For making you feel like I didn’t care, when I did… when I still do.”

Your heart skips, a flutter of hope rising before you squash it down, trying to remember what you've built, the future you've chosen.

But Drew isn’t finished. His grip tightens, pulling you closer, and his voice is steady now, a whisper but one filled with so much certainty. “I love you. I never stopped. I never will.”

The words hang in the air, heavy with meaning, with the truth you’d buried for so long. The pain of your past, the love you thought was lost, it all feels like it’s resurfacing in one sweeping rush, and it’s too much. Too much for you to process right now.

You take a shaky breath, tears threatening to fall, and you speak in a broken whisper. “I don’t know what to do with this, Drew. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.”

His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t even realize had fallen. His voice cracks with raw emotion as he whispers, “I know it’s too late, but I just wanted you to know.”

And in that moment, the song reaches its final notes, the music fading into silence, leaving only the ache between you both and the harsh realization that timing, once again, has stolen everything.

[moonlitcelestial]

Chapter 2

Beyond the Lens - Logbook Videographer!Reader x Poly OT8 Ateez

W/C 2,752

🎥 Series Masterlist 🎥

☽ Masterlist ☾ 

Inspiration Pictures

Pinterest Board Masterlist

Previous Chapter (Chapter 1)

Disclaimer: This story is purely a work of fiction. It is not meant to assume or mock anything about Ateez, Atiny, or anything relating to what I do not know about being a videographer. I will be attempting to keep it as gender neutral as possible but it will lean toward she/her pronouns. 

The logo in the center is mine. Please do not reuse or copy.

I strongly recommend looking at the inspiration pictures. 

Warnings: slow burn, cussing, conflict, possible angst, fluff, and obliviousness. 

This list will be updated as the story goes on. 

Thanks for reading <3 Moonie

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

After you fitfully slept on the proposition and spoke to your mother about taking care of the furballs when you would be gone you had officially decided that you would like to take the offer. You sincerely hoped the rest of the team decided the same. You also decided it was time to take the giants into the office. You had previously discussed the idea and the team agreed it would be fun. The giants were almost like dogs and were fairly well behaved even when getting out of the house. They were also great stress relievers. You knew that everyone would appreciate them being there. The giants have a way of knowing when emotions are high and they are the most comforting presence in those times. 

“Alright children, it's time for you to finally go to the office. Let's get you saddled up and get on the road.” You grabbed all three harnesses and jingled them, they knew when they heard that sound that they were going on an adventure. Toothless was the first one to appear as he was never too far behind you. He rubbed on your legs and you strapped the black winged harness around his chest and legs. You knew Forrest would get a kick out of it, especially since he got it for him. It was the perfect black to blend in with his fur. He peaked up at you with his big green eyes and you gave him scritches behind his ears. 

“Good job bud. Let's get you to the car,” you walked into your garage and opened the car door for him. He leapt into the car and settled immediately in the back seat. 

The next to appear was Beans. Her black and gold fur was shining in the sunlight as she walked. She looked at you with her split colored face while she chirped. She was the mouthiest of the three. You smiled and grabbed her white, black, and gold harness. “Hi pretty girl, let's get you ready so we can go see Auntie Aurora.” Her and Aurora had bonded immediately, if she wasn't with you she was with Aurora when all of you hung out. She was all strapped in and ready to go. You led her to the car and she got right in, making her way to the passenger seat. 

You walked back into the house and saw Mocha sitting patiently by her white and gold harness. She was the diva princess, and she certainly looked the part with her all white fur and her different colored eyes. You always joked that they were her two personalities. She was either in your face demanding attention or playing hard to get. “Hi Princess, let's get your jewels on and head out.” you strapped the harness on and led her to the car, she leaped in and settled down close to Toothless. They were always partners in crime. Once you were satisfied they were comfortable you closed the door and got into the driver's seat. Your copilot chirped at you again. You started your Cadillac Lyriq that you affectionately named Aria. You reached over and petted Beans, making sure to scratch her chin for a second. You headed to the office which was about a thirty minute drive. Generally you made it there a couple minutes before the others so they would hopefully be surprised by the giants.

Once you got to the office you grabbed their leashes and had them follow you into the building. They all were very curious, and the people passing cooed at them. Once you made it in you unlatched their leashes and let them wander around for a minute while you got things started for the morning. You smiled at the three pictures you had hanging in the lobby of them, your unofficial company mascots. You had brought them to a park and took professional shots of them with the help of Aurora forever ago. You had been looking for pictures to put up around the office to represent your talent and these were the three you chose. You called them to the hallway door and propped it open for them. They ventured in to explore, once all three of them were in you closed it. You headed up the stairs and propped the door open at the top landing so they could meander around. You headed to your office and put the door stopper in it. There was a no closed door policy that they had instilled in you, you only had the doors closed if they weren't allowed in the room when you were not in that room. 

Once you sat down your bag you booted up your computer and started on some of the emails you had from the night before. Not too long after you heard Beans chirp, “Come here baby, I'm up the stairs.” you heard the padding of a few sets of feet and Aurora appeared with the three in tow. Ah that's why she was being mouthy. You hadn't even heard Aurora come in the door. 

“Hi N/N it's good to see the giants," she said while she knelt down to pet all three of them. She walked off to her office and you heard her prop it open. The other two teammates followed the same routine once they got in. Toothless was curled up on your couch back to back with Mocha when Forrest appeared. He took one look at the floofs on the couch and squealed at the small wings you could barely see on Toothless’ big frame. You left his harnesses on for this exact reason. 

“I knew you would love seeing him in it.” you remarked not looking up from your computer. Forrest marched over to pet Toothless and then picked him up and held him up like Simba to inspect the wings and harness. Mocha chirped at the lack of affection. Forrest gently set down Toothless and started scratching Mocha’s head. 

“Is everyone here?” You inquired looking up from your computer. 

“Yes, Willow came in a second before I did.” Forrest responded while petting both cats. 

You stretched and got up, “alright, lets go to the round table and have a team meeting.” That was what your group had affectionately called the large table that was on the landing. Even if it was not round, it was more oblong than anything. You stopped to unclip the harness from Toothless on your way out the door, you had already taken off the other two’s harnesses. Forrest smiled at them and started to the round table. You walked over to the other offices beckoning them to come for a team meeting.  You noticed Beans curled up on the corner of Aurora’s desk. Of course, her second favorite person was around so her first didn't matter. 

“Alright, we have had time to discuss with our families and sleep on it, has our verdict changed? Do we need to discuss anything before we take the next step? You questioned pushing up your glasses as you sat down. 

“My answer is still the same. Meadow is cool with everything and said that we should buy her souvenirs any time we go anywhere. This is the time of the year that she travels a lot as well so we wouldn’t have seen each other any way” Aurora piped up after taking a sip of her coffee. 

“Same here, Asher is absolutely in love with the fact that we will be getting to travel. He said to take lots of pictures,” Forrest agreed. 

“My answer is the same. I discussed it with Rowan and he is going to discuss the whole thing with his managers to see if they will permit him to work while traveling. He does remote work so I don't see why it would be an issue but he would rather be safe than sorry.”

“That's smart, I am glad he is possibly going to come along.” You said smiling at her. “Also, I would like for all of you to be in the room while I call them so that way you can hear the details as I do. I am unsure about what the exact details will be but I am sure we will get more answers soon.”

“Let's do this!” Aurora said with a fighting gesture that only you would understand. You laughed at her and got up to head to your office. They all followed you and filed in. Forrest picked up Toothless and Willow picked up Mocha while they sat. Aurora plopped onto the giant beanbag chair you had in the corner. Before too long you heard the padding of soft feet. Beans appeared and got comfortable next to Aurora. 

You redialed the number you took down for KQ, your fingers slightly shook as you dialed. It rang a couple of times before someone answered. 

“KQ Entertainment, how can I help you?” a man questioned

“Hello I am looking for Ji-Yu, my name is Y/n with Beyond the Lens Studios.” 

“Okay perfect, I will get you transferred back momentarily.”

“Thank you.”

The hold music was some of the background music from some of Ateez’s songs. It was endearing how they adored their artists. Definitely something some other companies could learn from. 

“This is Ji-Yu, how can I help you?”

“Good morning Ji-Yu, this is Y/N with Beyond the Lens Studios, I have you on speaker with the rest of my team to give you our decision.” 

“Okay, perfect, Let me grab our CEO and then we can discuss your decision.” You were put on another brief hold. The music had changed into something completely different, something you only could assume was Xikers or Eden. You looked over to your team, each of them loving on one of the giants. 

“Hello Y/n?” Ji-Yu’s voice fitted through the speaker. 

“Yes I am here.” you said, snapping your head back to the phone. 

“Okay, you are on speaker with me, the CEO, and Hongjoong.” She noted. 

“Thank you for letting me know.” Holy shit you thought to yourself. “On behalf of our team here at Beyond the Lens Studios I would like to formally accept the offer you have extended to us. 

“That is great news, we have already drafted up the contract in preparation.” Ji-Yu said “Would it be alright if we come over to your studio this afternoon to discuss details before you sign?” Your eyes widened. 

“We would also like to get a feel for your studio and formally introduce ourselves to you as you will be spending a lot of time with us.” Hongjoong piped in, “we only have this afternoon available as a group for the foreseeable future.”

You looked at your team, your eyes almost popping out of your head, they looked back at you with the same amount of shock. You had expected it to take a little bit of time to sort out their things before meeting with you, especially the boys. 

“Let me check if our calendar is clear.” You turned to your computer and looked at the group calendar and noticed that it was empty for this afternoon.  

“This afternoon works perfectly. What time would you like to meet?” 

“We could do it at 1:30, that way everyone has the opportunity to eat beforehand and we don't have any grumps in our ranks.” Hongjoong said. 

“That also works for our team,” Ji-Yu said. 

“Perfect! I will get you on our calendar and we look forward to meeting you this afternoon, thank you for this opportunity.” you said cheerily.

“We look forward to meeting with all of you as well.” Hongjoong said. The call ended and you leaned back in your seat. You pushed your hands up under your glasses and sighed. You hadn't realized you were holding your breath. Bringing your hands away from your face you looked at everyone.

“Holy fuck,” Aurora blurts, “I was not expecting that to happen so quickly.” 

“I don't think any of us were.” Forrest said. You looked over to him and Toothless jumped from his lap to your desk approaching you. He always knew when your nerves were high. You reached out your hand to him and he bunted it. You smiled at him and started petting him fully. He was your boy, he followed you around everywhere and was very demanding when it came to cuddles. If there was a sling that would fit a cat of his size you are sure he would absolutely love it. 

“It is a good thing we all have a spare set of clothes here to change into to look professional.” Willow chimed in.

You looked down at yourself, the black sweats and large black hoodie were definitely not appropriate for a business meeting. The other sported similar looks only with more color. 

“Let's head down and get started. We need all the time we can get to make the office look presentable, and to get our faces ready.” You got up and headed toward your door, it was right around 10 am, so you only had just about 3 hours to get your shit together and look presentable. 

“Are we ordering food or is someone going to make something?” Forrest ever the foodie asked from behind you. 

“Just order in and put it on the company card. This will be a company lunch anyway cause we definitely don't have the time to cook or go home. We need to go and clean up the studio and vacuum the floors of the dressing rooms. After we clean we still need to make ourselves look presentable.” 

“Kay kay, I'll go order for everyone, and I will pick it up in about an hour. In the meantime, there are still a few things out in the studio from the shoot that was here earlier this week.” Forrest said walking to his office. You looked over the balcony rails and saw a few lights scattered around and a couple of tripods. 

“I've got that, will the two of you split up and check the dressing rooms and please make sure the conference room looks good and that the snacks are all stocked in there as well. You said to the two women following you out of the room.

“Roger that,” Aurora said with a mock salute, “I'll go check the dressing rooms.”

Willow walked out of the office last and said “I'll get the conference room then, I'm the only one around here we can trust around the snacks anyway.” Aurora gasped in mock offence and you giggled at the snipe. You walked toward the upstairs door and made sure to close it after the three of you so the furry hooligans wouldn't get downstairs while you cleaned. 

After cleaning up for about an hour and eating which was about 30 minutes you started to get ready for the meeting. You walked to your office and grabbed the outfit you had hanging in its garment bag on your coat rack. Days like today were exactly why you recommended all of you have outfits at the ready. You unzipped the garment bag and pulled out the hangar. You made sure that the full outfit was there. The belt wrapped around the top, the black cropped jacket, black high waisted slacks, and the black sleeveless blouse were all hanging from it. You grabbed your pointed toe black shoes that were sitting at the base of the coat rack and made your way out. The best way you could describe your professional style to anyone was corporate goth or dark academia. You always dressed in black and very rarely had any color on. Your tattoos were barely going to be on display with the choice of outfit. You walked downstairs to the dressing room where Willow and Aurora were seated doing their hair. You smiled at them and hung your outfit on one of the hangers attached to the wall setting the shoes down as well. You made your way to the vanities and started your process. After a little bit you straightened your hair, and finally you got dressed. The other two had left a little while ago. You had just put the jacket on when you heard a small knock on the door and Willow peaked her head in. 

“They're here, " she said through the crack of the door.

You checked yourself in the mirror one last time. 

Here we go

☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★☆★

Next Chapter (Chapter 3)

Taglist

@breadedloafs @a-short-ass-disappointment