#he just took over for a few days and I need to let it out

[reidrum]

i need you to fill the void

a/n: it's my birthday so pls don't say damn when you see that this is angst

summary: in which spencer seeks another vice post tobias

cw: smut 18+ minors dni, not smut centered though, angst, mentions of addictions, poor coping habits for both spencer and reader, toxic!spencer, situationship, excessive em dash usage

wc: 2.1k

The frigid bite of the night greets you as you walk outside to your car. The cold is sobering, almost warning you as you trek into a journey the sky has seen many times. 

It had been three months since Spencer’s kidnapping, two months since you found out he was going to Narcotics Anonymous before the roundtables, and one month since you realized you were the only person who could help him.

Knowing he was struggling through his addiction on his own—though, you knew the team was fully aware and simply chose to not do anything about it—made you feel like shit. It wasn’t even your fault, you were back at the main cabin with Emily going over the case when you figured out the unsub was Tobias Hankel. Somehow you felt worse than JJ who was actually there with him, because you should’ve figured it out sooner. You saw the behavioral signs pointing to him. It was so obvious, wasn’t it? Maybe it was your fault.

At least, that’s what you continue to tell yourself night after night as you make the five minute drive to his apartment always nearing the witching hour. Spencer wouldn’t feel this hopeless if you had just been smarter, faster. But you weren’t, and now he was suffering. You didn’t know how to help him, how to make him feel better—if he was even capable of healing. So you offered him what you could, which was everything.

And he took what he needed—which was everything.

You raise your hand and softly knock on the door. Three times, never more, never less. Footsteps pad closer to the door on the other side before slowly opening revealing Spencer in his blue plaid pajamas and one of his many punny science t-shirts. Tonight’s was Never trust an atom, they make up everything!

The routine is easy to fall into, you take your shoes off while he removes your coat. You walk to the couch and he goes to the kitchen, preparing tea just the way you like it. When he returns, you’re already curled up in your usual spot on the couch and he slips in beside you like it was made for him. Like you didn’t spend so much time tearing it down and building it up hoping he’d find at least one of the versions to be familiar. 

“Had a good day?” he murmurs into your shoulder before claiming the spot with a kiss. Familiar.

You nod, “You?”

“It was bad after the roundtable this morning,” his lips traverse your collarbone, “better now, though.”

The warmth blooms in your chest at his little admission. Familiar. You know the warmth isn’t viable, but for the few moments of life in which it exists you will bask and let it consume you.

His hands have traveled around your waist tugging you closer to him with a confidence he’s slowly worked up to over the course of your encounters. It still surprises you when he initiates anything, the Spencer you had met on your first day at the BAU—joining only a week after him—could barely say two words to you let alone look you in the eyes.

The Spencer in front of you now lets his fingers play with the hem of your shirt with a slight hesitancy. They shake, but you know it’s not from the nerves. You don’t mention it.

“Couch or bedroom?” you coax gently.

“Bedroom.” He releases his hold on you and stands from the couch, holding a hand out for you. You take it and follow him down the hallway, the warmth inside you slowly fading as you get closer.

You’re barely through the bedroom door when Spencer tugs you back into his arms and kisses you voraciously, his hand cupping your face while the other presses you impossibly closer to him as he can. This is the part where the flip switches—when you both stop playing house and Spencer remembers what he needs you for.

His anxious hands turn greedy as they tug your shirt off and work on your pants, you pepper kisses along his jaw and turn your bodies to push him onto the bed. He stares up at you in anticipation as you unhook your bra and he hurriedly takes his pajamas off. It’s muscle memory from this point on, he scoots back to lean against the headboard as you crawl up and straddle him. 

You know what he needs to feel placated enough so the urges won’t overtake and drown him. He looks up at you like you’re the salvation he’s been waiting for, the vice that helps him walk away from his sin.

There is no salvation without sacrifice—but Spencer didn’t need to know that, he isn’t the one who will be sacrificed.

He positions your hips over his own and you slowly guide yourself down onto him, blissed out sighs leaving both of you as you take in all of him. You wait for a minute to adjust and then slowly lift your hips up and back down, a soft whimper falling from his lips.

Spencer doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to how it feels to have you wrapped around him. It’s intoxicating, dangerous, compulsive. He wonders how people can resist temptation when the gratification feels like this.

Your hips stutter and falter from their pattern, the muscle fatigue getting to you fast. “Sorry, just need a second.” you pant.

“S’okay, you want to switch?” He gently flips you over so you’re laid back on the bed before giving you the chance to answer. He doesn’t usually get on top, but recently Spencer has tasted the forbidden fruit that hangs low from your branches and found that it feels better than anything he’s ever taken with a needle.

The addiction has a power that compels him to use according to its agenda, and he really can’t remember the last time he’s felt in control of his own body. The addiction tells him when to use, and he listens.

But whenever he’s with you, he doesn’t have to fight any compulsion—you’re already offering it up for him to take.

He guides himself back inside you slowly, leaning down once he bottoms out to kiss your cheek tenderly. “Okay?” You nod and he pulls back, pushing your leg up to delve deeper. Spencer’s making sure he’s taking all that he can—he doesn’t know how long he’ll last before the urges come back for him.

His hips set a comfortable pace, fueled by the whines that tumble from your lips. He can’t get enough of you, he’d put the drugs down forever if he could feel like for the rest of his life. You both chase your highs and come undone at the same time, the praises falling out of him like they belong to you. Spencer pulls out and lays beside you while both of your breathing evens out. He doesn’t leave right away–he is a gentleman, after all–so he’ll get up after a few minutes and grab a wet cloth to gently clean you up, slip into the blankets again and hold you close yet so far away.

You’ll make yet another effort to reach out and connect with him in a way much more intimate than you think either of you deserve.

“I like what we have right now, it’s just not what I’m looking for.”

“I’m not in a good place, it wouldn’t be good for either of us.”

And the worst one, “I care about you too much to do that to you.”

It continues like this for months. A call in the dead of the night and you come running at the ring of the bell. Under the guise of being a good friend and completely disregarding any other harbored feelings you hold, failed attempts at building something more. You know you have to do this. You were not fast enough before, and so you must give everything you have now. 

Spencer grows comfortable in the next months, complacent and sure that whenever the urges come for him you’ll drop everything. Every encounter after chips away at you, but it makes him stronger so it must be worth it. 

Some nights are harder than others, the withdrawal eating away at him faster than you can feed it. You’ve rarely seen him be mean before, always too timid to speak out of line. But the symptoms have reduced him to primal desire and suddenly he’s demanding and pervasive.

“You’re late.”

“You said you’d be here an hour ago, what was more important than this?”

“I needed you, where were you?”

“Should’ve gotten here sooner, don’t know what I would have done if you didn’t.”

It’s nice to be relied on, it gives you a sense of purpose. He’ll be mean for a bit while he lets the addiction withdrawal displace him momentarily, but regains his bearings the second you walk through his front door. Over time, the shaking is starting to subside, the irritability slowly fading. The warmth in your chest returns thinking about the little moments between the sheets when he hushes your mistaken cries for pleasure with gratitude for your service. “Thank you, baby.” and “You’re so good to me.” falsely secure you as you continue to give what’s left of you.

You suppose you can’t exactly be upset or even surprised that he saw you as nothing more than a warm body in his bed. If you were the entity keeping Spencer tethered to this realm then you’ve strengthened him enough to stand on his own two feet. 

That should be a good thing.

When you’re in the bullpen the week after it shouldn’t surprise you when Derek claps his shoulder with a resounding “My man” as he turns his blushed face to the floor. Before the blush can rise on your face at the prospect of someone discovering your rendezvous, Derek continues with, “It’s about time you asked her out.”

Spencer never asked you out.

“You finally asked out Austin?” JJ chirps. Austin, bartender, Waco case.

But you built him up yourself, you should be proud of your handiwork.

“She just moved up here and needed someone to show her around. That’s all it is.” Spencer flushes, a clear sign that it is in fact not all it is.

Emily remarks how he looks happier than he has in weeks, Penelope squeals in excitement, Hotch and Rossi even look down from the landing in subtle interest.

The warmth inside returns again with an edge this time, a burning sensation that reveals you held it too close to your heart. Familiar. It takes everything in you to school your face and hold your tears in as you faintly whisper, “I’m happy for you, Spence.”

Because you are happy–this is what you wanted for him, to feel normal again. If he achieved it without you then who are you to blame him for? You served your purpose, and now you can rest.

Right?

–

Spencer doesn’t call you for three weeks.

You try not to think about it when he comes in late the next day with his tie askew and hair in a tousled mess. It doesn’t bother you when he finally accepts the O’Keefe’s invite and shows up with her. You have to consciously unclench your heart when his laugh sounds loud and genuine throughout the jet–but that’s nothing you haven’t done before for him.

When your phone rings again in the witching hour for the first time in weeks, it catches you off guard. You roll over grabbing the phone and answering it without even looking at the caller. 

“Hello?”

Silence, then shallow and labored breathing. You look down at your phone, sitting up fully when you read the ID, “Spence? What’s wrong?”

He gulps, “I…I almost…”

Your heart drops, “Are you okay?”

“Y–Yeah, think so. I didn’t..But..” he stutters, “Fuck, do you think you could–” he trails.

The tears spring to your eyes before you can help it, barely shutting them in time before they break down your face. Familiar.

“Be there in five.” you say evenly before hanging up.

The frigid bite of the night greets you in a mocking taunt as it watches you trek to your car. Three knocks. He greets you with red rimmed eyes at the door, clad in a Schrodinger's cat walks into a bar…t-shirt. The routine is easy to fall into–shoes and coat off, cup of tea before putting the TV on. You hope he accepts this version of you this time.

Inhale. Exhale. “Bedroom?”

[zinflo]

YOU PLAY TOO MUCH ⚅ 🀟

FEATURING ᯓ★ Seishiro Nagi x f!reader

SYNOPSIS ᯓ★ As usual, Nagi's attention is on his game rather than you and it's meant to be bonding time. But the mention of going 'a couple rounds' with you in bed catches you off guard...

CONTENT ᯓ★ 18+ (minors DNI) College AU! Boyfriend! Nagi, Reo Mikage feature (not part of the main plot), dry humping, unprotected sex, praising, spit kink/mention of spit? Masturbation, creampie, choking, nipple play, petnames (angel + good girl), spanking, cowgirl position, doggy position/backshots

Wc ᯓ★ 2.9k

‘Typical’.

You thought to yourself as you sat on the edge of the bed and watched your boyfriend, Nagi, play his usual games on his phone. With the raindrops from outside crashing down on the windows and the wind howling through the trees, it clarified why you and Nagi were inside his dorm room rather than going out for the evening together, following a day of separate classes.

But the weather wasn't what annoyed you. What really annoyed you was that every time you were with Nagi, he always seemed to be focused on his phone and playing games all the damn time—and today is no exception.

His facial expression was now focused and serious, lying flat on the bed as he tapped away on his phone, playing one of his games as usual. You finally had enough and wanted to give him a piece of your mind.

"Nagi! What was the point of coming to your dorm if you're just going to be playing your damn-."

Your nagging words that were shot at him were abruptly interrupted as he pulled you closer. You were once sitting on the edge of the bed, now straddling his lap, with your legs on either side of him.

"Hold on, I'm going to play one more round. Then... I'll play a couple rounds with you, in bed." He responded with a deadpan expression on his face before resuming back to his game.

You were too stunned to speak, a pink shade dusting over your cheeks as your face became warm.

For a quick second, Nagi's eyes averted from the screen of his game to you. He took note of your instant blushing after his remark and chuckled softly, one hand of his now gently gripping your hip while his other continued taking control of his game.

"You know when I'm playin' games, you don't need to whine so much, I can still pay attention to you." He said nonchalantly before returning his gaze to the game in his hand, his other that was placed on your hip also returned to the game.

You might've been slightly flustered by his words and actions towards you but that still wasn't enough. You needed more and his attention was what you needed.

And that's when you began to slowly but steadily grind on his manhood that was protected by the fabric of his grey oversized joggers. You noticed now that he was becoming distracted as he kept stealing glances at you as he was playing his game.

"When you sit on my lap like this, don't you know how much I want to just take you right now-" He paused in his sentence as he felt your soft hands lay flat on his lean muscular chest and continued to grind on him.

You could feel his bulge rising like a mountain that was extremely hard now, making you moan softly as you could now feel his hardened bulge hitting your core each time you moved your hips. You were going at such an agonisingly slow pace that your panties that were hidden under your skirt were becoming moist.

He let out a low moan, now finally coming to the realisation that he couldn't keep focusing on his game when you were doing this to him. Nagi placed his phone on his side and wrapped his arms around you, his hands resting on your hips as he lay there on the bed.

"If you keep on doin' that, I won't be able to continue the game." 

"Well, maybe I want you to stop playing your game~." You replied in a breathy whisper, leaning closer to him until your face was a few centimetres from his.

"... You've got my attention."

You resumed back to moving your hips against his lap but this time you went at a quicker pace, showing him just how badly you needed him. Meanwhile, Nagi tugged on the fabric of his hoodie until it was discarded into the unknown, revealing his lean muscular build that you admired so much.

The sight of his now growing and hardened bulge was almost making you salivate. Without hesitation, you slightly slipped down his grey joggers along with his boxers and his tall manhood came to life.

You were about to adjust yourself so you could lean down to give him a blowjob but that was when he stopped you by raising his hand to grab your chin so your gaze was on him.

"Just spit on my hand. I love your blow jobs but fuck, that's a hassle right now. I can't wait any longer—I need you now."

His words trailed off his lips in a husky and possessive tone that sent shivers down your spine. You obeyed and when he let go of your chin and lifted his hand open, a string of saliva fell from your lips and plopped down on the palm of his hand.

He smirked at your actions and began to wrap his calloused hand around his shaft, pumping up and down at a fast pace as he was getting more turned on by the second.

"Such a good girl for me, huh~?" Nagi grunted out in a husky tone as his eyes were clouded with lust and desire. The sight of him pleasuring himself with his grey half-lidded eyes fixed on you made you even more aroused.

In a swift motion, you slipped off your black panties and t-shirt, throwing them to the other side of the bedroom as your skirt and bra remained on. Nagi's dick was now coated with your slick saliva by the time he was done pumping himself. And without warning, he tightly gripped onto your hips and lifted you before penetrating your wet pussy down on his large dick.

"F-Fuck, N-Nagi~!" You moaned out loud, a mixture of shock and pleasure overwhelming your body since he caught you off guard. As you went further down, your pussy tightly surrounded his throbbing shaft.

"Mmm, my bad, angel~." He groaned out huskily as he began to move his hips upwards, his dick pounding up into you from below. "I just couldn't help myself~."

A shiver trickled down your spine, loving the nickname he gave you which caused your cheeks to become warm. But as he pushed his length into your cunt further and began to fasten his pace with his thrusts, you were nothing but a moaning and panting mess.

Loud moans and gasps escaped your lips as he pounded into your sensitive cunt nonstop, taking you to the edge of ecstasy. You began to match his pace by bouncing on his dick, a wave of pleasure hitting you each time you went up and down his cock.

His movements became more urgent and intense, digging his nails into your hips tightly to steady his harsh thrusting. However, with one of his hands, he reached behind your bra strap and unclasped it, tugging it off your shoulders and down your arms to reveal your plush breasts.

"So tight as always, fuck~," Nagi growled out through gritted teeth, a slight smirk plastered on his face as he watched how much of a mess you were becoming.

Your chest was rising and falling nonstop, your crimson-shaded cheeks heating up and the way your coloured orbs disappeared to the back of your head was a sight that made him want to fuck you for hours on end.

He raised his hand from your hip to your bare back, pulling you down towards him as he caught your lips in a hungry yet passionate kiss. His tongue traced over your delicate lips, hinting to slide inside your mouth and your lips became agape.

Nagi smirked against your lips when he felt you obliged and instantly slipped his tongue inside the moist cavern. Soft gasps fell out of your lips as his tongue wrestled with yours, your bouncing became ragged since you were so lost in the heated kiss.

He toys with your perky chest, occasionally fiddling with your firm buds that cause you to gasp out loudly. You were very thankful that Nagi's roommate and best friend, Reo, wasn't home since you could be as loud as you wanted. As loud as Nagi wants.

His thrusting and your bouncing came to a decline as he fixated on your firm buds and how sensitive you got when he toyed with them. Both hands were in unison as they were glued to your plush chests, his index finger and his thumb closing in on your nipples before kneading harshly between them.

"N-Nagi!" You whimpered, shivers running down your spine as your body trembled uncontrollably. "Stop being a tease-".

Your weak protests were cut short when you felt his left hand let go of your breast and raise his hand to connect a sharp spank on your ass, causing you to yelp out.

"I can't help but play with your tits, angel. Just touchin' them makes me wanna fuck you senseless... I know you love it when I nibble on them, huh?"

His moist tongue lapped over his narrow lips before tilting his head forward to your free chest, leaving nothing but soft damp pecks around until he reached your bud. He gently circled it with his tongue, all the while his other hand that was placed on your ass cheek was now gripping ever so harshly as it was hidden perfectly under your black skirt.

You'd be lying if you said that you didn't love it when he sucked your tits because you certainly did. He was skilful when it came to his mouth, always sending you the same waves of pleasure throughout your body with heated kisses, kissing you all over your body and even eating you out. You were addicted just as much as he was.

You could feel his dick twitching inside of you, making you groan softly as you missed the feeling of the harsh thrusts hitting your throbbing pussy. Nagi's ears perked up when a soft groan escaped your lips, his teeth sinking into your nipple and making a 'pop' sound once he pulled away.

"Hm? You're bein’ needy again, angel. You want more, huh?" All you could do was bite your lip and simply nod, grinding your hips into his as your walls took his size well as always.

He resisted the urge to buck his hips up into you and instead smirked slightly at your response. His hand reached up to your neck, his fingers enclosing around it until he firmly gripped it and held it in place. His fingers squeezed tighter around your neck but he made sure to never get to a point where he was cutting off your airflow.

"Get on all fours and stay there all pretty for me while I take care of you." His words fell from his lips so gently yet, they still somehow made your whole body tremble nonstop and your pussy throb excessively around his veiny shaft.

He took note of the way your body reacted to his words and took it upon himself to make the move himself. His hand was released from your neck and his strong arms moved, lifting you off his dick until he flipped you onto your stomach like you weighed nothing. Whines escaped your lips but Nagi was already behind you, those silver eyes of his travelling from your bareback to your black pleated skirt that barely concealed your plump ass.

"Arch for me." He didn't need to tell you twice. Your body moved on its own, pushing your hips back and arching your back—presenting yourself to him. You didn't need to bop your head to the side to know that Nagi was practically ogling at your new position for him to fuck you senseless in.

"Fuck," his firm yet gentle hand traced your spine, sending waves of pleasure through your body until he arrived at the hem of your skirt. "I'm too fuckin' hard for this... shit."

His hand swooped down to grip his twitching cock, positioning himself behind your arched figure as his tip was pressed against your clit before it was pressed at the lining of your folds. Heavy breathing and whimpers were all you could respond to, shutting your eyes tight and gripping the bed sheets for dear life.

"Shhh shhh. Like I said before, just stay there being all pretty while I take care of you... and continue to make up for the attention I didn't give you earlier, hm?"

He wasn't even giving your poor, flustered and heated mind time to process his words, feeling his tip squeezing in between the folds of your pussy until his whole shaft was slowly burying itself inside.

"Mmm-Hmph, N-Nagi!" You hissed out through gritted teeth, your nails gripping tighter onto the sheets than before as the arch of your ass was raised higher, which benefited Nagi more with the fucking he was about to put you in with the angle you were at.

His large hands travelled to your hips the moment his dick found its destination in your throbbing pussy. One hand on your hip and the other on the hem of your skirt for support caused his hips to pull back, the tip remaining inside before he rolled his hips forward, grounding himself in one smooth thrust.

The fullness makes you cry out and arch your back further, your soft ass now bouncing on his pelvis causing Nagi to hiss through gritted teeth and only encouraging him to pound his cock deeper in you.

"Just like that angel," his veiny shaft glides in and out your moist and sensitive folds, the grip on the hem of your skirt caused Nagi's nails to almost leave dents on the fabric as he kept pulling it back so your ass cheeks could meet his groin area every single time. "Keep on just doin' that over and over."

Thwap, thwap, thwap.

Those slick noises from the pounding you in doggy style, along with your sweet cries and the creaking on the dorm mattress —were music to Nagi's ears as his head fell backwards. He tilts his head back to its original place and watches you swallow his cock over and over, his tip twitching with that urge to finally cum.

"Fucks sake, Nagi!" You cry, feeling his dick grow bigger in you as his release was soon coming. "I-I really- fuck! Gonna cum!"

"God, same here angel. Be good for me and just let it out."

And you do, clamping against his cock as your orgasm hits you, white and sticky fluids trickling out of your sensitive hole and down Nagi's cock. He's twitching inside of you and another soft moan escapes from you.

"S-Shit, pull out Nagi-" Too late.

He curses to himself as he forcefully shuts his eyes, white spots splattering beneath his eyelids and cum bullying you up. You whimper softly as he pumps you up with his load, fisting the bedsheets beneath you as your body shakes.

That idiot. Your damn boyfriend had one job and completely fucked up with not pulling out in time.

He finally slips his now soft dick out of you, causing the both of you to groan in harmony as he fell on top of you, his bare chest pressed against your back.

"N-Nagi! You didn't even pull out in-"

"Oh quit your yappin'." His face was inches away from yours and he took the opportunity to tilt your head to the side and catch your lips in a slow, lazy yet affectionate kiss. You wanted to object and push him away but it was too late — he had you wrapped around his finger.

His lips slowly pressed onto yours a couple of times, chests heaving as the both of you are still trying to catch your breaths. God, it's so hard to be annoyed at him when he's such a good kisser.

"I'll head out tomorrow and buy the mornin' after pill for you," he murmured against your lips before leaving another soft peck. "So you don't need to stress about having to birth mini versions of me anytime soon because that would be a damn hassle."

You couldn't help but snort at his comment, playfully rolling your eyes before nodding to his reassurance. You guys were still college students and certainly didn't need to be young parents any time soon. Your body moved to rest your back against the soft mattress as you gazed up at your breathless boyfriend who had his silver eyes glued onto yours like a predator.

"Y'know..." he started, his big hand tracing from your bare chest to your inner thigh, his fingers hooking around the plush of it before squeezing firmly. "It's a good thing that Reo is away and it's just us two. All alone and we can go round for round."

"So loud and so wrong Nagi, loud especially from both you and your little girlfriend."

Eyes shot wide like the moon from both you and Nagi when you heard the familiar voice of Nagi's purple haired best friend, Reo who was smirking widely and snickering from the other side of the door. Your face flushed furiously, causing you to hide your embarrassed state in the crook of Nagi's neck while he wrapped his strong arms around you. He glared at the door that concealed Reo's figure and was already plotting how to get back at him.

[ijustmissyouraccenths]

Like Us

Where Y/N and Harry thought they had lost each other, fate gives them a second chance.

Word Count: 7,222

Content Warning: Cursing, alcohol, mentions of Zayn leaving.

Y/N had been with Harry through it all. Through the late-night calls filled with exhaustion, the frantic texts that barely scratched the surface of what he was feeling, the moments of silence where he didn’t have the words to explain what was breaking inside him. She had been there before Zayn left, and she was still there now, following him on tour like a quiet anchor in the chaos.

The energy backstage wasn’t the same anymore. Ever since Zayn had left, there was a palpable shift—like a table missing a leg, still standing but wobbling with every move. The crowds were still loud, the shows still electric, but behind the scenes, it was different. Unease lingered in the air like a storm waiting to break.

On his days off, they escaped together. Away from the arenas, the cameras, the questions. They did the kind of touristy things that made Harry feel like himself again—exploring tiny coffee shops tucked into side streets, wandering through museums with their hands intertwined, laughing at the ridiculous souvenirs in gift shops. She took pictures of him when he wasn’t looking, the city lights reflecting in his green eyes, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lighter.

But even in those moments, she could see it. The exhaustion. The restlessness. The way his mind was always somewhere else, thinking about something he wasn’t saying.

It was late, the city glowing beneath them as they sat on the small balcony of their hotel room. Paris had been a dream—long walks along the Seine, stolen kisses in quiet cafés, pretending for just a little while that the world outside didn’t exist. But now, reality was creeping back in, threading itself between them like an unwelcome guest.

Y/N glanced at Harry beside her, his gaze distant as he traced patterns on the rim of his wine glass. He had been quiet all day, his usual spark dulled by something he wasn’t saying. She knew him well enough to wait, to let him come to her when he was ready.

Eventually, he sighed, leaning back against his chair. “The band’s ending soon.”

The words weren’t surprising, but hearing them aloud still made her chest tighten. “You don’t know that.”

Harry let out a humorless laugh, shaking his head. “I do. Even if we don’t say it outright, even if we call it a hiatus, we all know what it really means.” He looked over at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “It’s not gonna be the same after this.”

Y/N studied him, searching for something—reassurance, maybe, or hope—but all she found was exhaustion. “Is that what you want?”

He exhaled, running a hand through his curls. “I don’t know. I just know I need… something to change. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. It’s all I’ve ever known.” He turned his gaze to the city below, watching the headlights blur together in streaks of gold and red. “And if it ends… I don’t know who I am outside of it.”

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his, grounding him the way she always had. “You’re still you, Harry. Band or no band.”

He squeezed her hand, but the look in his eyes told her something she wasn’t ready to hear.

“I think,” he said slowly, carefully, like he was testing the words as he spoke them, “there’s gonna be a break.”

The air between them shifted, heavy with unspoken things. Y/N felt the weight of it settling in her bones, but she didn’t let go. Not yet.

And Harry was right.

A few months later, the band officially announced their hiatus. At first, it was meant to be temporary. Just a few months to rest, to breathe, to figure things out. But as time passed, the months stretched longer than expected.

One night the rain tapped lightly against the windows of Y/N’s apartment, the soft hum of an old record playing in the background. Harry sat on the couch, one leg bent beneath him, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the ring on his index finger. He had been quiet all night, lost in thought, his gaze distant even when she spoke.

Y/N curled up beside him, resting her head against his shoulder. “You’re thinking,” she murmured, her voice soft.

He let out a small breath of laughter, tilting his head toward hers. “Always am.”

She pulled back slightly to look at him, her fingers brushing over his arm. “What is it?”

Harry hesitated, chewing on his bottom lip like he was trying to find the right words. Finally, he exhaled. “I think I wanna do something on my own for a bit.”

Y/N’s brows lifted, but she didn’t look surprised—just curious. “Music?”

He nodded slowly. “Yeah. I mean, I love the band, always will, but… I wanna see what I can do by myself, y’know? Find out what my sound is. And—” He hesitated again, his fingers still fidgeting with his ring. “I think I wanna try acting, too. I’ve always wanted to, and now feels like the right time.”

Y/N watched him for a moment, taking in the way he spoke—cautious, hopeful, nervous. She reached for his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I think that’s amazing, Harry.”

He glanced at her, his lips parting slightly. “You do?”

She smiled. “Of course I do. You’ve always talked about wanting to try acting, and your own music? That’s exciting.”

He nodded, exhaling like he’d been holding it in. The rain kept falling, the record kept spinning, and for now, they sat there together, wrapped in the quiet of what came next.

Harry was quiet for a long moment, his fingers lightly tracing circles on the back of Y/N’s hand. The rain outside filled the silence between them, steady and rhythmic, but inside, everything felt still—like the moment before something irreversible happened.

He finally looked up at her, his green eyes filled with something heavy. “I’m gonna be busy a lot,” he said, his voice quieter than before. “With the music, with acting… with figuring out who I am outside of all this.”

Y/N’s chest tightened, a sinking feeling creeping in. “I know,” she said softly, watching him carefully.

Harry swallowed, his grip on her hand tightening for just a second before loosening. “I love you,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And because I love you… because I respect you… I don’t think I can be in a relationship right now. Not while I’m trying to figure myself out.”

The words felt like a slow, unraveling thread, pulling apart everything they had built. Y/N held onto his gaze, searching for something—maybe a way to change his mind, maybe a way to understand. But deep down, she already knew.

She nodded once, her throat tight. 

Everything shifted.

Y/N felt her breath hitch, her fingers trembling slightly in his grasp. “Harry…” she started, but she didn’t know how to finish.

His face twisted in pain, like he hated every word coming out of his own mouth. “This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to say,” he admitted, shaking his head. “I don’t want to do this, love. God, I don’t. But I need to.”

Her vision blurred as tears welled in her eyes. “Why?” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “Why do you think we can’t figure it out together?”

Harry inhaled sharply, his hand cupping hers, like he was trying to memorize the feel of her skin. “Because I don’t know who I am right now. And I can’t drag you into that mess. I can’t ask you to sit around waiting while I run off chasing things I don’t even fully understand yet.” He let out a shaky breath. “You deserve someone who is sure, someone who can be there for you in every way. And I—I don’t know if I can be that person right now.”

Tears slipped down Y/N’s cheeks, and she quickly wiped them away, hating how fragile she felt. “But you love me.” It wasn’t a question; it was a desperate grasp for something solid, something real.

Harry’s eyes softened, filling with sorrow and something deeper—something that hurt just as much as it loved. “With everything in me,” he said. “I love you so much that it physically hurts to say this.” He let out a broken laugh, running a hand through his curls before gripping the back of his neck. “I hate this, Y/N. I hate myself for saying it. But if we’re meant to be, we’ll find our way back.”

Her chin trembled as she tried to process it all. “And what if we don’t?”

Harry’s breath hitched. He blinked rapidly, like he was trying to keep his own tears from falling. “Then I’ll spend the rest of my life wondering what if.”

Y/N clenched her jaw, willing herself to stay strong, but her heart was shattering. “I don’t know how to be without you.”

He let out a soft, broken sound, his forehead falling to rest against hers. “You don’t have to figure it out all at once,” he whispered. “Just promise me something.”

She swallowed hard. “What?”

“When the time comes—if we ever get another chance—promise me you’ll let me fight for you.”

A sob escaped her lips, and she closed her eyes, feeling his warmth, memorizing the way he smelled, the way he held her like she was something precious. She didn’t know how to promise him that. She didn’t know if she could.

But in that moment, with her heart breaking in his hands, she whispered the only word she could.

“Okay.”

And just like that, it was over.

They laid together for a long time, neither speaking, neither moving—just breathing in the same space, clinging to the last moments before everything changed. Y/N listened to the steady rhythm of Harry’s heartbeat beneath her cheek, memorizing the way it sounded, the way it felt against her skin.

His hand ran absentmindedly up and down her arm, slow and soothing, like he was trying to calm them both, like he wanted to keep this moment suspended in time. But time didn’t stop. It never did.

Eventually, he stirred, pressing a lingering kiss to the top of her head before shifting beneath her. She knew what was coming before he even said it, but hearing the words still made her stomach twist.

“I should go home,” he whispered, his voice rough with emotion.

Y/N didn’t move, didn’t lift her head from his chest. If she did, it would make this real. And she wasn’t ready.

Harry exhaled shakily and brought his fingers beneath her chin, gently tilting her face up so she had no choice but to look at him. His green eyes were glossy, his expression torn, his lips parted like he wanted to say more but couldn’t find the words. Instead, he leaned in, pressing the softest, most devastating kiss to her lips—slow, full of love, full of sorrow, full of everything they still were but couldn’t be anymore.

When he pulled away, he lingered for just a second, his forehead against hers, his breath warm on her skin. Then, without another word, he stood.

She didn’t watch him leave. She couldn’t.

That night, she laid in bed, staring at the ceiling, the ghost of his touch still lingering on her skin. She waited for sleep, but it never came—not that night, not the next, not for a long, long time.

And even when exhaustion finally won, she woke up empty. Every single time.

Five Years Later

The late afternoon sun streamed through Y/N’s apartment windows as she flipped through the stack of mail she had just pulled from the box. Bills, a few random flyers, and then—her fingers paused as she caught sight of an envelope with elegant gold script.

Her heart lifted immediately.

Tearing it open, she pulled out a beautifully embossed wedding invitation, the words practically sparkling off the page: Mallory & Ethan—Join us as we celebrate our love!

A grin spread across Y/N’s face. She barely took a moment to admire the details before grabbing her phone and dialing.

It rang twice before a familiar voice answered. “If this isn’t Y/N calling to say she got my invitation, I will be thoroughly disappointed.”

Y/N laughed. “Guess you won’t be disappointed, then.”

Mal squealed on the other end. “You got it!”

“Of course I did. And obviously, I’ll be there. Like I’d miss my best friend’s wedding.”

“Ugh, I’m so excited! It’s getting so real now. I was just finalizing the seating chart and—wait.” Mal gasped dramatically. “Are you bringing a date? Tell me you’re finally letting some poor soul take you out.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, smiling as she walked into her kitchen and leaned against the counter. “No, Mal. I’m not into dating right now.”

Mal groaned. “It has been years, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“And you’re telling me no one has caught your interest? Not a single, ridiculously attractive, emotionally stable man?”

Y/N chuckled, shaking her head. “Nope. No one’s been worth the effort.”

Mal sighed in defeat. “Fine, fine. You can be my honorary date instead.”

Y/N grinned. “Gladly.”

The girls dissolved into laughter, the excitement buzzing between them. It was going to be a beautiful day, a celebration of love.

The following months passed in a blur of wedding excitement—not hers, but Mal’s. Still, as Y/N shopped for a dress, something about it felt personal in a way she hadn’t expected.

She stood in front of the fitting room mirror, smoothing her hands over the fabric of yet another gown. It wasn’t even white, just a simple, elegant dress for a bridesmaid. But every time she looked at herself, every time she turned to see how it moved, her mind wandered to a place she tried so hard to ignore.

What would Harry think if he saw me in this?

And then the thoughts spiraled.

What would I look like standing next to him at a wedding? What if it were our wedding?

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to shake the thoughts away, but they always came back.

Harry had always been the one. Even when he wasn’t.

They used to talk about it—getting married. Not in a serious, let’s-plan-this-right-now way, but in the way that two people who love each other deeply do when they think forever is inevitable.

She could still picture it—late nights in bed, her head resting on his bare chest, fingers tracing lazy patterns over his tattooed skin.

“What would your dream wedding be like?” he had asked once, his voice thick with sleep.

Y/N had smiled, shifting so she could look up at him. “Small,” she had said. “Somewhere beautiful. Maybe Italy or the English countryside. I want twinkly lights everywhere, candles, good food, and dancing until our feet hurt.”

Harry had hummed, running a hand through her hair. “Sounds perfect.”

She had smirked. “What about you? Or do you just plan on showing up in a suit and letting me do all the work?”

He chuckled, his dimples deepening as he turned onto his side, facing her. “I wanna write my vows the night before. Just me, a glass of whiskey, and all my thoughts about you spilling out onto paper.”

Y/N had rolled her eyes. “You’d procrastinate on our wedding vows?”

Harry grinned, brushing his lips over hers. “You’d love ‘em anyway.”

And he was right. She would have.

She would have loved anything, as long as it was with him.

But now, standing in a dressing room, staring at herself in a dress that wasn’t even a wedding gown, it hit her. 

Still, every dress she tried on, she imagined what it would look like if Harry was standing beside her. If she was choosing a dress for him, for them.

And God, she hated that even after all these years, part of her still wanted that life with him.

The airport was bustling with the usual chaos—rolling suitcases, hurried announcements over the intercom, the hum of travelers moving toward their destinations. Y/N clutched her boarding pass, shifting her carry-on higher on her shoulder as she navigated through the crowd.

She had traveled alone before, but this time felt different. There was an unshakable feeling in her chest, something stirring beneath the surface. Maybe it was just wedding nerves, maybe it was seeing Mal walk down the aisle, maybe it was the inevitable string of questions about when she would settle down.

Or maybe it was something else entirely.

The flight was smooth, and she spent most of it staring out the window, watching the clouds shift below her. Her mind wandered, drifting through old memories, old conversations, old pieces of herself that she thought she had let go of. But that was the thing about love—about Harry. It never really left.

After landing, she gathered her luggage and stepped out into the crisp air. The venue for Mal’s wedding was a dreamy countryside estate, nestled just far enough away from the city to feel like a secluded fairytale.

The car ride from the airport was quiet, scenic views rolling past the window as she watched the world blur by. When the car finally pulled up to the venue, her breath caught.

The estate was stunning—classic architecture with ivy climbing up the stone, fairy lights already twinkling along the pathways. It was exactly the kind of place she and Harry used to talk about for their own wedding.

She sighed, pushing the thought away as she stepped out of the car.

Before she could grab her bags, an excited squeal filled the air.

“You’re here!”

Y/N turned just in time to see Mal rushing toward her in a sundress and bare feet, arms outstretched.

She barely had time to drop her bag before Mal threw herself into her arms, squeezing her tight. Y/N laughed, hugging her back. “I told you I was coming.”

“I know, but now you’re actually here!” Mal pulled back, her eyes sparkling. “Come on, I need to show you everything! The venue, the flowers, my dress—I have so much to tell you.”

Y/N grinned, letting Mal drag her toward the estate, momentarily allowing herself to get lost in the excitement.

For now, she focused on the wedding, on Mal’s happiness.

What she didn’t know was that somewhere inside this very venue, Harry Styles had also just arrived.

Y/N followed Mal through the estate, taking in the stunning surroundings—the sprawling gardens, the delicate string lights woven through the trees, the elegant reception area where tables were already being set up with crisp linens and gold accents. It was breathtaking, the kind of wedding Mal had always dreamed of.

“I know it’s a little over the top,” Mal said, grinning as she led Y/N toward the main hall. “But Ethan wanted something classic and romantic, and honestly, who was I to argue? I’m marrying the love of my life—I’d say I’m winning here.”

Y/N laughed. “It’s perfect, Mal. Seriously. It’s like something out of a movie.”

Mal gave her an approving nod before looping her arm through Y/N’s. “Speaking of perfect—are you sure you don’t want me to set you up with someone at the wedding? Ethan has some very attractive friends.”

Y/N groaned. “Mal—”

“Okay, okay! Just saying. No pressure.” Mal smirked. “But I do expect you to have at least one fun, flirty dance with someone. It’s a wedding, Y/N. You deserve a little romance.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help but smile. “I’ll think about it.”

They stepped inside the main hall, where final touches were still being put together—florists arranging centerpieces, staff preparing tables. It was a flurry of beautiful chaos.

And then, just as Y/N turned to say something to Mal, she heard his voice.

“Mal?”

The world around her froze.

That voice. That voice.

Slowly, she turned her head, her breath catching in her throat as her eyes landed on him.

Harry.

He stood just a few feet away, looking exactly like she remembered and somehow entirely different all at once. His hair was shorter than it had been back then, but still slightly tousled, his sharp jawline even more defined. He was dressed casually in a white button-down, sleeves rolled up, tattoos peeking through. But it was his eyes—those familiar, heartbreakingly green eyes—that sent a shock through her system.

For a moment, neither of them moved. Neither of them breathed.

Mal, oblivious to the sudden tension, grinned and rushed toward him. “There you are! I was wondering when you’d get here.”

Harry tore his gaze away from Y/N, hugging Mal briefly. “Yeah, just got in. Thought I’d check in before the rehearsal.”

Mal beamed, then gestured between them. “You remember Y/N, right?”

Harry’s gaze flickered back to her, something unreadable flashing across his face. His lips parted, and for the first time in five years, he spoke her name.

“Y/N.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t casual. It was heavy with everything unsaid.

Y/N forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat, to keep herself steady.

“Harry.”

The air between them was thick, the past pressing in on them like a ghost.

Mal, still completely unaware, clapped her hands together. “Oh, this is perfect! You two already know each other! Harry is one of Ethan’s best mates, and I was just about to tell Y/N she should have a dance with someone at the wedding.”

Y/N nearly choked.

Harry’s lips twitched, the ghost of a smirk playing there, but his eyes stayed locked on hers.

Mal grinned between them. “Okay, I have a million things to do, but you two should catch up! I’ll find you later, Y/N.”

Before Y/N could protest, Mal was gone, leaving her standing there with him.

Silence stretched between them.

Finally, Harry cleared his throat, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

Y/N let out a soft, breathy laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. Same.”

And just like that, the past wasn’t so far away anymore.

The silence between them stretched for a moment, thick with years of unsaid words and lingering memories. Y/N could feel her pulse in her ears, her heart slamming against her ribcage as she tried to figure out what the hell she was supposed to say to the man who had once been her whole world.

Then, Harry’s lips parted, and his voice was softer than she expected. “You look beautiful.”

The words sent a shiver down her spine. It wasn’t just polite small talk, it was genuine. His gaze lingered on her like he was memorizing every detail, like he was seeing her for the first time all over again.

Y/N swallowed, shifting her weight slightly. “Thanks,” she said, her voice coming out quieter than she intended. She forced herself to shake off the nerves, tilting her head as she took him in. “You cut your hair.”

Harry let out a small chuckle, running a hand through the shorter strands. “Yeah. Needed a change, I guess.”

She nodded, her eyes flickering over him, the tattoos on his arms more defined, his shoulders broader, his presence somehow even more commanding than it had been back then. But beyond all that, there was something else—something settled in his expression, in the way he carried himself. He had changed.

“Looks good,” she admitted.

A small smirk tugged at his lips. “Yeah? Thought you liked it long.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, a familiar warmth creeping up her spine. “I did. But you pull this off, too.”

Harry laughed, a sound that sent a flicker of something dangerous through her chest. “High praise, then.”

She exhaled, crossing her arms over her chest as she studied him. “You’ve been busy,” she said, her voice even. “The albums, the movies… you’ve done everything you said you would.”

Harry’s expression softened, his hands still tucked into his pockets. “Yeah,” he murmured. “I guess I have.”

Y/N nodded, a small, bittersweet smile pulling at her lips. “I’m happy for you, Harry. Really.”

He held her gaze, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. “Thanks, love.” The old term of endearment slipped out effortlessly, like it had never left his vocabulary, like five years hadn’t passed.

Y/N’s breath caught for just a second, but she didn’t let it show. Instead, she offered a small smile and looked away, focusing on the wedding preparations happening around them.

“So,” Harry said after a moment, rocking back on his heels. “What about you?”

Y/N turned back to him, raising a brow. “What about me?”

His gaze was steady. “How’ve you been?”

There was something in the way he asked—something deeper, something careful.

She hesitated, then shrugged. “Good. Life’s been… steady. Work, friends, the usual.”

Harry’s lips pressed together like he wanted to ask more, but before he could, a voice called his name from across the room.

Ethan, the groom.

Harry glanced over his shoulder, giving a small nod in acknowledgment before turning back to her. “I should probably—”

Y/N nodded quickly, stepping back. “Yeah, of course.”

He hesitated, then gave her a small, lingering smile. “It’s really good to see you, Y/N.”

She swallowed, her heart doing something stupid in her chest. “You too, Harry.”

And just like that, he was gone, walking toward Ethan, blending into the crowd like he hadn’t just turned her world upside down all over again.

Y/N wanted to scream.

Scream in anger for the way he had just waltzed back into her life like five years hadn’t passed, like he hadn’t left her lying awake at night, wondering if she would ever stop missing him.

Scream in joy because—God help her—she had missed him. Seeing him again had ignited something in her chest. 

But instead, she took a shaky breath, pulled out her phone, and opened her messages.

Y/N: Naomi. Emergency.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Naomi: Omg what happened?? Did someone spill wine on Mal’s dress? Did you trip in heels?

Y/N: Harry. Is. Here.

A long pause. Then:

Naomi: I’m sorry. WHAT.

Y/N: HE IS HERE. AS IN, PHYSICALLY PRESENT. IN THE SAME ROOM AS ME.

Naomi: WHAT THE HELL. HOW. WHY. ARE YOU BREATHING.

Y/N: BARELY.

She could practically hear Naomi screaming through the phone screen.

Naomi: Start from the beginning. How did it happen??

Y/N exhaled sharply, moving to a quieter corner of the venue as she leaned against a column, her fingers flying across the keyboard.

Y/N: I was with Mal, she was showing me around, and then I heard his voice. I turned around and there he was. Just standing there like he wasn’t about to send me into cardiac arrest.

Naomi: Holy. Shit.

Y/N: He told me I looked beautiful.

Naomi: YOU’RE KIDDING ME.

Y/N: I WISH I WAS.

Naomi: What else did he say??

Y/N hesitated, biting her lip before typing:

Y/N: We talked a little. He asked about me. I told him I was happy for him. It was… weird. Like no time had passed, but also like a lifetime had.

Naomi: Oh my god. Are you okay? Like, genuinely?

Y/N let out a breath, staring at the screen for a long moment before responding.

Y/N: I don’t know.

Naomi didn’t respond right away, and for once, Y/N was grateful. Because she really didn’t know.

Naomi finally responded after a long pause.

Naomi: Do you need me to fly out there? Because I will.

Y/N smiled slightly, shaking her head even though Naomi couldn’t see her.

Y/N: No, you’re off the hook. I’ll survive.

Naomi: Will you?

That was the real question, wasn’t it? Would she survive this? Would she survive seeing Harry, being near him, pretending that it didn’t shake her to her core?

Before she could respond, Mal’s voice rang through the hall.

“There you are!” Mal rushed up to Y/N, her eyes bright. “I need you to come to the rehearsal dinner in like, twenty minutes. Bridesmaid duties. You’re sitting at the head table, by the way.”

Y/N blinked, still slightly disoriented from everything that had just happened. “Wait—what?”

Mal rolled her eyes. “You’re basically my sister, of course you’re sitting with me. Ethan’s groomsmen will be there too, obviously.” She paused, her expression turning smug. “Including Harry.”

Y/N felt her stomach drop. “Mal.”

Mal grinned innocently. “What? You two used to know each other. Might as well catch up.”

Y/N groaned, rubbing a hand over her face. She quickly looked at her phone. 

Naomi: Why do I feel like something is about to go down?

Y/N sighed, typing back.

Y/N: Because it probably is.

She locked her phone and exhaled deeply.her.

Y/N stopped in her tracks, gripping Mal’s arm before she could walk off. “Mal.”

Mal turned, eyebrows raised. “What?”

Y/N took a deep breath, her heart pounding. “Harry… he’s the ex.”

Mal blinked, not catching on immediately. “What do you mean ‘the ex’?”

Y/N stared at her, her throat tightening. “The ex, Mal. The one I never got over.”

Mal’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Wait. Harry is that Harry?”

Y/N just nodded, feeling her stomach twist.

Mal’s eyes widened in horror. “Y/N! Why didn’t you tell me?! I just—oh my God—I just forced you into sitting at a table with him! I basically told you to flirt with your ex-boyfriend!”

Y/N let out a weak laugh, rubbing her temples. “Yeah. You did.”

Mal looked genuinely panicked, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “Okay, do you want me to change the seating? I can put you somewhere else. I can banish him to the other side of the room if you want.”

Y/N hesitated, her heart a mess of emotions. Every logical part of her was screaming yes, but deep down, there was something else. A tiny part of her—one she wanted to ignore—knew she wasn’t ready to run from this.

She swallowed hard. “No… don’t change anything.”

Mal searched her face. “Are you sure?”

Y/N exhaled slowly. “No. If I’ve spent the last five years surviving without him, I can survive one dinner.”

Mal groaned, shaking her head. “I cannot believe I was the one to unknowingly throw you into this situation.”

Y/N gave her a small smile. “It’s not your fault. I never really talk about him.”

Mal frowned. “That should’ve been my first clue.”

They stood there for a moment before Mal squeezed her hands. “Okay. If at any point you need an out, just say the word, and I’ll stage an emergency.”

Y/N smiled despite the nerves in her chest. “Thanks, Mal.”

Mal smirked. “And for what it’s worth… the way he looked at you earlier? Yeah. That man is not over you either.”

Y/N’s breath caught, but before she could respond, Mal looped her arm through hers and started leading her toward the dining hall.

“Alright, let’s get this over with.”

Y/N walked into the rehearsal dinner with Mal, her stomach twisting into knots. The dining hall was breathtaking—soft candlelight flickered across the elegantly decorated tables, and laughter filled the room as guests mingled. It should have felt warm, exciting, celebratory. Instead, it felt like she was walking straight into the eye of a storm.

Her eyes scanned the head table, and sure enough, there he was.

Harry sat near Ethan, laughing at something one of the other groomsmen said. He looked relaxed, at ease, but the second his gaze flickered up and landed on her, something shifted. His smile faltered—just for a second—before he quickly masked it. But Y/N caught it.

And it made her chest tighten.

“Breathe,” Mal whispered in her ear.

Y/N inhaled deeply, forcing a polite smile as Mal pulled her toward her seat.

“Alright, everyone, take your seats!” Ethan’s voice rang out, and people began settling in.

Y/N’s heart pounded as she approached her spot at the table. As fate would have it, she was seated directly across from Harry.

Of course she was.

Mal slid into her chair beside her, oblivious to the internal battle raging inside Y/N’s head. Or maybe she wasn’t—because when Y/N hesitated for half a second too long, Mal gave her a subtle nudge.

Y/N had no choice but to sit.

As soon as she did, the table conversation picked up, and for a few moments, she thought maybe she could get through this dinner unscathed. But then—

“You look nice.”

The deep, familiar voice sent a shiver down her spine.

She looked up, and there he was. Harry. Looking right at her.

For a second, she forgot how to breathe.

She cleared her throat, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “Thanks,” she murmured. “You do too.”

He gave a small smile, but there was something behind his eyes—something hesitant, something unsure.

Ethan, oblivious to the tension, clapped a hand on Harry’s shoulder. “Mate, did you know Y/N used to date a musician?”

Y/N nearly choked on her drink.

Harry’s brows lifted slightly, amusement flickering across his face. “Oh?”

Ethan grinned. “Yeah! I don’t think she ever got over him, asshole broke up with her to go fuck around.”

Mal visibly cringed. “Ethan—”

Y/N wanted the ground to swallow her whole.

Harry’s gaze was steady, his lips twitching like he was fighting back a smirk. He looked at her, his voice smooth as ever.

“Yeah?” he mused. “Wonder what happened to him.”

Y/N shot him a glare across the table, her face burning, while Mal reached for Ethan’s hand and squeezed it in warning.

Ethan frowned, confused for a second before realization dawned on his face. His eyes darted between Harry and Y/N, his mouth dropping open. “Wait—no way.”

Y/N groaned, covering her face. Mal let out a nervous laugh, while Harry just sat back, looking far too amused.

Ethan whistled low. “Wow. Okay. This just got interesting.”

Y/N peeked up at Harry, who was still watching her with that unreadable look in his eyes.

Ethan finally shut up after a pointed glare from Mal, and conversation around the table shifted away from Y/N’s romantic history—or rather, her history with Harry Styles. But the damage had already been done.

Y/N felt the weight of Harry’s gaze every so often, his eyes flickering toward her between conversations, his expression unreadable. She did everything in her power to ignore it, to focus on the food, on Mal’s wedding plans, on anything but the fact that Harry was sitting across from her, looking like a damn dream, completely unbothered by the chaos he had just walked into.

Eventually, the dinner plates were cleared, and drinks were passed around. Mal and Ethan stood to give a short thank-you speech, and while everyone was clapping and toasting, Y/N took the opportunity to slip outside for some air.

She stepped onto the balcony, the cool evening breeze brushing against her skin. She exhaled slowly, gripping the railing, trying to steady herself.

The air was crisp outside, a welcome contrast to the warmth and noise of the rehearsal dinner. Y/N gripped the railing, inhaling deeply, trying to calm the storm brewing in her chest.

She heard the door creak open behind her, followed by the familiar sound of footsteps.

“Running away already?”

She closed her eyes briefly before turning her head. Harry stood there, hands in his pockets, watching her with that same unreadable expression.

“Not running,” she murmured. “Just… breathing.”

He hummed in response, stepping closer until he was beside her, leaning against the railing. Their shoulders barely touched, but the proximity sent a ripple through her.

Silence settled between them, the weight of five years pressing down on both of them.

Harry exhaled, his fingers tapping lightly against the wood. “I tried.”

Y/N frowned slightly, turning to look at him. “Tried what?”

His jaw tightened for a brief moment before he met her gaze. His voice was steady, quiet. “To find something that felt like this.”

Her breath caught.

“Like us.”

The words settled between them, thick and heavy, cutting through the cool night air like a blade.

Y/N swallowed, her fingers tightening around the railing. She should say something—anything—but her mind was blank, her heart betraying her with how hard it was pounding in her chest.

Instead, she forced herself to look away, staring out at the dark horizon. “Did you?”

A beat of silence. Then, just as softly—

“No.”

The quiet stretched between them, filled with everything they weren’t saying.

Y/N closed her eyes briefly, exhaling through her nose. “Harry…”

He let out a quiet, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “I know.”

But he didn’t move.

And neither did she.

The weight of his words sat between them, thick and unmoving. Y/N stared out at the night sky, her grip on the railing tightening.

She had waited.

For months. For years.

She had waited for the moment when he would come back, when the universe would prove him right—that if they were meant to be, they’d find their way back to each other.

But he never came.

And so, she had forced herself to move on, to let go of the idea of him and the promises they had made.

Except now, here he was. Standing beside her, his presence as overwhelming as ever.

She turned to him then, her voice quieter, but firm. “You told me if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back.”

Harry inhaled sharply, his gaze locking onto hers. “I remember.”

Her throat tightened. “I waited, Harry.”

A shadow crossed his face, pain flickering in his eyes. “I know.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She shook her head slightly. “I told myself I wouldn’t. That I couldn’t. But I did anyway.” She swallowed, the emotions she had buried for so long threatening to surface. “And the thing is… I didn’t have to let you fight for me.” She met his gaze, steady and unflinching. “Because you were always the one.”

Harry’s breath hitched, his hands curling into fists at his sides like he was physically restraining himself from reaching for her.

She didn’t look away.

“I was yours, Harry,” she whispered. “Always.”

Harry let out a sharp exhale, his chest rising and falling unevenly. He looked like he wanted to say something—needed to—but the words wouldn’t come.

Instead, he did what he had always done.

He looked at her like she was his entire world.

The space between them was thick with tension, a storm neither of them could outrun. Y/N’s heart pounded, her breath coming in uneven waves as she tried to steady herself.

Harry looked wrecked, his hands twitching at his sides like he was holding himself back, like the only thing keeping him from reaching for her was the fear that she’d pull away.

“I thought about coming back a million times,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But every time I convinced myself it was too late. That you’d moved on, that I’d lost my chance.”

Y/N exhaled sharply, shaking her head. “I waited for you, Harry.” Her voice cracked, but she didn’t care. “You said if we were meant to be, we’d find our way back. And I believed you.” She swallowed hard. 

His jaw tensed, pain flashing in his eyes. “I was scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you deserved better than someone who left you.” His voice was barely above a whisper, like he hated himself for even saying it. “Scared that if I came back, I’d ruin you all over again.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, her emotions bubbling too close to the surface. “And what about me?” she whispered. “Did you ever think about what it did to me when you didn’t come back?”

Harry flinched like she had physically struck him. He took a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair before looking at her again, his green eyes burning into hers. “I never stopped thinking about you, Y/N. Not for a single day.”

She sucked in a breath, her hands trembling at her sides. “Why now, Harry?”

His gaze didn’t waver. “Because I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t stand in the same room as you and act like I don’t still love you.”

Y/N’s heart slammed against her ribs. “You—”

“I love you.” His voice was steady, sure. “I never stopped.”

A strangled breath escaped her lips. Every wall she had built over the years, every defense she had tried to put up—it all crumbled in an instant.

Because she loved him, too.

She always had.

And maybe she always would.

Before she could stop herself, before she could think about the consequences, she surged forward, her hands gripping his face as she crashed her lips against his.

Harry let out a soft, surprised sound before sinking into her, his hands flying to her waist, pulling her closer, like he had been starving for her.

The kiss was desperate, aching, filled with everything they had lost, everything they had missed, everything that still burned between them.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless and shaken, Harry rested his forehead against hers, his hands still firm on her waist.

“Tell me it’s not too late,” he whispered, his voice barely holding together.

Y/N’s hands trembled as she cupped his face, her thumb brushing against his cheek.

“It was never too late,” she whispered back.

Harry let out a shaky breath, his forehead still resting against hers. His grip on her waist tightened, like he was afraid she’d disappear if he let go.

Y/N felt the warmth of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell in sync with hers, and for the first time in years, she felt like she could breathe.

She pulled back just enough to look at him, her fingers still cradling his face. His green eyes were glassy, searching hers for something—reassurance, hope, maybe even forgiveness.

“I can’t do this again if you’re not sure, Harry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I barely survived losing you once.”

Harry shook his head instantly, his hands cupping the small of her back, holding her like he never wanted to let go. “I’m sure,” he said, his voice firm. “I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. “You say that now.”

“I say that because I know what it’s like without you.” He swallowed hard, brushing his thumb over her cheek. “I’ve spent five years trying to figure out who I am, trying to find something that felt even remotely close to what we had. And I couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched, and she let her hands drop from his face to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palms.

“So what now?” she murmured.

Harry gave her a small, almost nervous smile. “Now I prove to you that I mean it.”

Y/N felt something crack open inside her, something she had kept locked away since the day he left.

Before she could second-guess herself, before doubt could creep in, she nodded. “Okay.”

Harry’s face softened, and he let out a breath of relief. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

A slow, almost disbelieving grin spread across his face before he leaned in again, pressing the gentlest, most reverent kiss against her lips—like he was sealing a promise.

Y/N melted into him, her fingers curling into his shirt, anchoring herself to him, to this.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t easy.

But it was them.

[w2soneshots]

neeeeed a george make up sex fic 🤤

Make up, make out -George clarkey

words: 2.0k+

warnings: smut (with plot), unprotected sex, cream pie, multiple positions, lots of dirty talk, angst with a happy ending, Chris is adorable as per, George is a self aware king.

summary: you and your boyfriend, George, get into an argument. You spend the day apart and when he returns home, it turns out all that was needed to resolve it was a quick conversation and some good old make up sex.

notes: hello angels! I made this to celebrate hitting one thousand followers, from the bottom of my heart, thank you for being here🥹💞. I’m crushing hard on George atm so I needed to get this out of my system🙂‍↕️. I hope you enjoy!!❤️‍🔥✨🫶🏼

Not often did you and George argue. When you did it was for something stupid and was quickly resolved with an apology from whoever was in the wrong. This morning was different.

Let's go back to the beginning... you and George met in a bar. He spit his drink all over your dress, went extremely red out of embarrassment, apologised profusely and then offered you his jumper. You fell for him right then and there.

At around seven this morning you were woken up to the sound of the shower turning on. It made its usual loud gurgling sound as the water made its way through the pipes. You groaned into your pillow and tried to fall back asleep.

To no avail, you grabbed your phone and began absentmindedly scrolling through instagram. George opened the ensuite door a few minutes later, wearing just a white towel wrapped around his hips. "Oh, hey babe. Why're you awake?" He asked with confusion as he dried his hair with a smaller towel.

You signed. "Shower woke me up," you muttered back sleepily. He sat on the side of the bed. "Shit, sorry." You pushed yourself up so that you were leaning against the headboard. "Why're you awake?" You asked, head cocked to the side.

"The sidemen are filming a video and needed a guest last minute, since the other guy dropped out," he explained. You furrowed your brows."George?" "Hm?" "Did you forget about our date?" You asked, arms now crossed over your chest.

His eyes widened, it'd completely slipped his mind. "Uhh-" "Oh come on!" You threw the duvet back and stood. "I'm sorry love, I forgot- I- I'll make it up to you," he scrambled, standing to match you.

You lowered your voice after taking a deep breath. "You said that last week," you replied, defeated. "I-" he began but you were quick to cut him off. "Have fun at your shoot, I'll cancel our reservation."

He reached out to you but you threw your hands up and took a step back. "No, no. It's fine!" You snapped before turning and going to the living room to 'sleep' on the couch.

George signed before cursing quietly under his breath. He contemplated cancelling but ultimately decided against it. He then continued to get ready and was gone within half an hour.

Silent tears trickled down your face as you heard the front door close. You were angry. He'd blew you off to film a few too many times and you were tired of it. You wanted him to take opportunities and aspire for more, but when it meant spending your day alone because he had to cancel, you obviously weren't happy about it.

"y/n?" Chris' voice sounded through the living room. You sniffed and quickly wiped your face. "Mhm?" Was all that you could manage without your voice cracking. He walked closer and sat at the end of the couch, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

"Why're you sleeping on the couch?" He asked, confused, "did George steal all the covers again?" I breathed out an amused laugh. "He left, for a shoot," you responded, sitting up properly. "Oh, right."

We sat there in a slightly awkward silence for a moment before he got up. "Uhm... do you need anything? A blanket?" He asked sweetly. Bless him. You smiled softly up at him. "I'm okay. Thank you. I'm gonna go back to bed now anyway," you replied before standing up. "Ah, okay. Sleep well."

You parted ways and went back to your respective rooms. Living with Chris and Arthur is something you didn't think you'd like as much as you do. You moved in a few months ago and, thankfully, fit right in.

You decided, instead of spending the day moping around the apartment, that you'd ask Shannon if she wanted to go get some lunch and do some shopping (the best therapy). She was quick to text you back with an enthusiastic yes.

As you sat on the rooftop terrace of a pub, the sun shining down on you while you sipped away at your drinks, she let you rant on about how frustrating your morning had been. Since her and Chris had broken up you'd stayed in good contact and actually gotten quite close.

"I get it. It's not selfish to want a little attention from your boyfriend, that's just relationships. Talk to him. Tell him how you feel. Sometimes men need it to be spelled out, for them to understand," she advised you with a calm smile.

"God. You give the best advice," you replied with a sigh. She chuckled and before you could continue, your food came. "Let's talk about something else. I'll deal with everything later."

You had a nice day and Shannon managed to distract you enough for you to enjoy yourself. You said your goodbyes and she gave you a firm hug before whispering, "talk to him. He loves you. You'll be fine." Which reassured you immensely, though you were still slightly dreading the upcoming conversation.

When you got back to the apartment Arthur and Chris were on their way out. They explained quickly that they were meeting some of the other boys for drinks and wouldn't be back until late. You bid them goodbye and then went into your room to get unready since you just wanted to feel comfortable.

The creek of the front door opening an hour later made your breath hitch in your throat. George's footsteps rung through the apartment as he slowly approached your bedroom.

You stood in the bathroom, finishing off your skincare routine after you'd just removed your makeup. "Hey," he began cautiously, leaning against the doorway.

You continued to look in the mirror, keeping your eyes on your face. "Where's the others?" He asked, voice still soft and quiet. He was acting as if you were a deer that would bolt at any minute. "Out for drinks. Surprised you didn't join them," you replied plainly, as you picked up your lip balm and began applying some to your lips.

He sighed, he knew you had every right to be annoyed. "I'm sorry," he mumbled, head hung low. You turned your body to look at him. "What was that?" You asked, sounding a little meaner than you meant to. His eyes met yours and he stepped closer.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. I love you so much and I haven't been showing that recently, but I do. I love you more than anything. You're the best thing that's ever happen to me and- and I don't want to lose you. I promise I'll try harder. Just please, please forgive me?" His voice was slightly horse and his eyes were full of despair.

It took you a second to process what he'd just said. It was exactly what you needed to hear and -as usual- he'd somehow known what you were thinking.

"God," you breathed, in disbelief, "as if you could get any better. I just wanted to be with you- spend time with you. Of course I forgive you. I love you, you big idiot." He laughed quietly, nodded and wrapped his arms tightly around your torso. You both let out a breath of relief when your bodies met.

As you stood there, your worries long gone, all of the things that had just come out of his mouth caught up to you and you realised that you were... turned on?

"George?" You whispered, voice husky. "Hm?" He hummed back. You moved back, not so much that your body's parted, but just enough so you could meet his eyes.

You stared into each other's souls for a moment before, at the exact same time, you leaned forward and connected your lips.

All of the built up emotions from the day made for a deep and desperate kiss that ignited a fire in your stomach. You were all over each other; his warm hands running from your hips, to your waist, to your lower back, while yours raked messily through his fluffy hair.

"The apartment's empty," you managed to mumble through kisses, "we can be as loud as we want." His arms tightened around your waist. "You have no idea the things you do to me darling," he whispered as he broke the kiss to pepper them around your jaw.

You leaned your head back with a breathy moan, giving him more access as your hand gripped onto his hair. "I," kiss. "love," kiss, "you," kiss. Oh my fucking god.

You wrapped your arms around his neck just as his hands gripped the back of your thighs. Like you weighed absolutely nothing, he lifted you off the ground and carried you into the bedroom.

He set you down on your bed carefully, your legs bent ether side of his hips. "Fuck me George. Please," you practically whimpered while reaching down and attempting to take his belt off.

"I've got you baby, I got ya'." He leant back to remove his shirt and undo the belt that you'd been struggling with moments earlier. You went to take off your top but he beat you to it.

It didn't take long until your clothes lay in a pile on the floor and you were both left in only your underwear. He leaned back down and connected your lips once again.

Slowly, he ground his clothed dick onto you and your mouth dropped open with a whine. "George..." at this point you were desperate, and he was teasing you. He let out a low chuckle before finally removing the remaining clothes separating you.

"Ready baby?" He asked softly. You were quick to nod. "Born ready," you replied breathlessly, voice showing how extremely sure you were.

He used one hand to put it in while the other reached for yours to intertwine your fingers, which is something he's done since the first time you had sex in your old apartment. You squeezed his hand tightly when he reached the hilt. "Oh mmm-"

"I'll never get over this feeling," he whispered into your ear, voice strained. "Move," you moaned in response. Didn't have to tell him twice.

The room filled with the lewd sounds of your bodies slapping together, your moans and George's soft grunts during each thrust. "Oh my god, George! Harder George, harder!" You screamed as his cock hit all the right places.

He loves the sounds you make, though there's usually a bit of teasing after the fact which you don't particularly enjoy but in the moment you genuinely couldn't care less.

His thrusts became sloppier and you knew that meant he was close, though you weren't quite ready for it to be over so... you wrapped your arms around his waist and flipped the both of you over.

He was surprised for a moment then looked up at you with raw attraction in his eyes. You'd, obviously, been on top before but had never done that and it was probably one of the sexiest things he'd ever witnessed.

You started using your legs to bounce up and down, hands finding his chest for support. His hands were quick to assist you by guiding your hips into his.

He watched you; head thrown back, tits bouncing and slightly frowning in pure bliss. All he could think was, "what the fuck did I do to deserve this angel."

He could tell you were close so he moved one of his big hands from your hip and pressed his thumb to your clit. Your legs moved quicker, you saw white and... snap.

George came just seconds after you. He grunted as your body fell forwards, landing on his chest as you caught your breath. He ran a hand through your hair and whispered, "we need to argue more often." Though, really, he never wanted to fall out with you again, but if you did... it'd always end with some unbelievable make up sex.

[aspenmissing]

Hi! Love your arcane posts and headcannons! Could you write a comfort fic with arcane characters with a reader who doesn’t like to celebrate their birthday. I have negative feelings regarding mine and had a bad depressive episode on my last birthday. The reader’s reason can be up to you.

ᴜɴᴡᴀɴᴛᴇᴅ ʀᴇᴍɪɴᴅᴇʀꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ᴄᴏᴍꜰᴏʀᴛ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ? || 7228 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴘᴀʀᴇɴᴛᴀʟ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ʟᴏɴᴇʟɪɴᴇꜱꜱ, ᴀʙꜱᴇɴᴛ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅꜱ/ꜰᴀᴍɪʟʏ

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴀʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴀʀᴄᴀɴᴇ ᴘᴏꜱᴛꜱ!! ɪ'ᴍ ɢʟᴀᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴇᴍ! ᴀɴᴅ ɪ'ᴍ ꜱᴏʀʀʏ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴇᴇʟ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴛʜᴇʀᴇ ɪꜱ ɴᴏ ꜱʜᴀᴍᴇ ɪɴ ꜰᴇᴇʟɪɴɢ ᴛʜᴀᴛ ᴡᴀʏ! <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx

JAYCE

Jayce had always been the kind of person who loved celebrating. Achievements, milestones, even the little things—he believed life was meant to be enjoyed to the fullest. So when he found out Y/N’s birthday was coming up, he took it upon himself to make it special.

They hadn’t been together for long—just under a year—but in that time, Jayce had come to care about her in a way that made her feel like home. They shared an apartment in Piltover, and while it wasn’t the grandest place in the city, it was theirs. The walls were filled with little moments that spoke of their growing connection: a pair of mismatched mugs in the kitchen, a collection of books they both loved to read, and the way their shoes always seemed to end up scattered in the same corner. It was a place where both of them could just be—no need for pretence.

And now, Jayce wanted to show Y/N just how much he appreciated her. It had become clear over the last few months that she didn’t often let people get too close, that she was careful with how much of herself she shared. Jayce didn’t know much about her past—she kept that to herself—but he could see the occasional flash of sadness in her eyes, as if something, or someone, had left a mark on her.

So, when he realized her birthday was coming up, he decided to make the day about her. He went all out—decorating their living room with soft golden lights, scattering delicate rose petals across the table, and, most importantly, cooking a homemade meal. Jayce wasn’t just decent in the kitchen—he was skilled. He had grown up learning from his mother, and over the years, cooking had become second nature to him. He spent the entire afternoon preparing a carefully crafted meal: roasted herb chicken, buttered vegetables, and a rich, velvety sauce to tie it all together. The aroma filled the apartment, warm and inviting.

A beautifully wrapped gift sat waiting on the coffee table, next to a cake he’d carefully ordered from the best bakery in town. He couldn’t wait to see the smile on her face when she walked in.

Everything was set. The only thing missing was Y/N.

=

When she finally walked through the door that evening, looking exhausted from a long day at work, Jayce’s excitement was palpable. “Surprise!” he beamed, stepping aside to reveal the cozy, intimate celebration he had prepared.

But instead of the joyful reaction he expected—maybe a laugh, a hug, something—her face fell. Her body seemed to freeze, her shoulders tensing up like she’d just been hit with a wave of cold. It was subtle, but Jayce knew her well enough by now to notice the shift.

“Y/N?” he asked, his smile faltering as concern replaced his earlier excitement. “What’s wrong?”

She swallowed hard, not meeting his eyes. “You did all this… for me?” Her voice was quiet, distant.

Jayce felt a pang of confusion. “Of course! It’s your birthday. I wanted to make it special. Don’t you like it?”

She looked around, her gaze skimming over the soft glow of the lights, the perfectly arranged table, the thoughtful little touches he’d put together. It was clear she wasn’t upset about the effort. But there was something behind her eyes—a reluctance, a hesitation.

“I—” She let out a long sigh and crossed her arms in front of her, as though she was trying to shield herself from everything around her. “Jayce, I don’t really celebrate my birthday.”

The words hit him harder than he expected. His brow furrowed, and he took a small step toward her. “You… don’t?”

“No,” she whispered, shaking her head. “I never really have.”

His confusion deepened. “But… why?”

She paused for a moment, her expression shifting as she searched for the right words, then finally spoke in a voice barely above a whisper, “Because it just reminds me of everything I lost.”

Jayce’s heart sank at the weight of her words. The smile he had been wearing slipped away as he took in her expression—one that was tinged with grief and something else, something much older than their relationship. The excitement of the evening suddenly seemed small, almost irrelevant.

Her birthday had never been a day of celebration for her. It was a reminder of the people she no longer had in her life, the family that had fallen apart, the friends who had moved on, the empty spaces in her past that no amount of time could ever fill. It wasn’t a day to celebrate; it was a day to mourn what was gone, what had never been.

Jayce exhaled softly, stepping closer but keeping a respectful distance. He could feel the tension in her shoulders, the way she was closing herself off. “Y/N, I… I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.” His voice was soft, sincere.

Her eyes met his at last, and there was something fragile in her gaze. She shook her head slightly. “I know you meant well, Jayce. And… this is beautiful. Really. But I just—” She faltered, her voice wavering. “I don’t know how to enjoy it. I don’t know how to make myself believe I’m supposed to.”

The vulnerability in her words made his chest tighten. Jayce wasn’t one to give up easily, but this time, instead of pushing her to celebrate, he did something he hadn’t expected himself to do. He reached out slowly, brushing his fingers against one of the candles on the table. He blew it out gently, the small flame flickering for a moment before dying completely.

“There,” he said quietly, offering a small, understanding smile. “We don’t have to celebrate if you don’t want to. We can just… be here. Together. Just us. No expectations.”

Y/N blinked at him, the surprise evident in her expression. She hadn’t expected that. Maybe she thought he would insist, maybe even pressure her to smile, to make a wish, to “enjoy her day.” But Jayce had never been about forcing things—he just wanted her to feel safe. And, for the first time, he wasn’t trying to fix anything. He was just trying to give her space.

Slowly, Y/N’s posture relaxed, and a soft, tentative smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You don’t have to take everything down, though,” she murmured. “The place looks nice. And it does smell really good.”

Jayce chuckled, relieved by the small shift in her tone. “Well, I’ll have you know that I slaved away in the kitchen for hours to make sure it was perfect.” He grinned, playfully nudging her. “So, how about this? No birthday expectations. Just dinner, just us.”

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then finally, she gave him a real, small smile. “I think I can do that.”

Jayce grinned and pulled out her chair for her. “Perfect. Let’s eat.”

They sat together at the table, the warm glow of the lights making the space feel intimate and safe. As they ate, Y/N found herself relaxing more and more, letting Jayce’s presence soothe the lingering ache inside her. And maybe—just maybe—this wasn’t so bad. Maybe it wasn’t about celebrating a birthday.

Maybe it was just about being with him.

And that was enough.

VIKTOR

The morning light streamed through the windows of Viktor’s lab, casting long, delicate beams through the dust-speckled air. Shadows stretched over the cluttered workbenches, where blueprints, half-assembled inventions, and the lingering scent of metal and parchment created a world entirely their own. The rhythmic clink of metal against the wooden floor broke the stillness, a quiet but familiar sound that heralded his arrival before he had even spoken.

Viktor paused in the doorway, leaning on his cane, his sharp, knowing eyes settling on Y/N. She was hunched over her work, utterly absorbed, as she always was. The soft glow of a lamp cast golden light over her features, highlighting the slight furrow in her brow, the way her fingers delicately adjusted the components of whatever intricate project had captured her attention today.

A familiar fondness tugged at his chest.

It was February 25th.

He knew what that meant.

Most people would have arrived with an eager grin, a cake in hand, candles at the ready, eager to celebrate another year of life. But Viktor wasn’t most people. And Y/N… Y/N didn’t celebrate her birthday.

He had learned this in passing, the way one might stumble upon an old, forgotten book wedged between the shelves. A casual conversation, a date mentioned in some offhand way. When he had pressed, even gently, she had tensed—just for a moment—before brushing it off.

"I don’t like it. Just another day."

That should have been enough of an answer, but Viktor was a scientist, and scientists were not satisfied with vague explanations. He had watched, observed, until eventually, the truth had slipped through the cracks.

Her birthdays had never been warm, never filled with the kind of joy that people spoke of when they reminisced about childhood celebrations. They had been reminders of loneliness, of expectations never met. A day where she had once allowed herself to hope—only to be left with nothing but silence, an empty room, and the realization that no one was coming. No one had remembered. No one had cared.

So, she had stopped expecting anything. Stopped wanting it.

And so, Viktor did not say happy birthday.

He did not drape streamers across the lab or offer her some grand, well-intentioned gift. He did not try to convince her that this year could be different, that this day could be redeemed. That wasn’t what she wanted.

=

Instead, he walked over to her desk, cane tapping softly against the floor, and set down a cup of tea—freshly brewed, still steaming, made just how she liked it.

She blinked up at him, her expression shifting from focus to something softer, something warm. A ghost of a smile tugged at her lips before she reached for the tea, fingers brushing his for just a second.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” His voice was teasing, but there was an unmistakable intimacy beneath it, a quiet concern wrapped in familiarity.

Y/N exhaled a short laugh, shaking her head. “Did you?”

Viktor chuckled, settling into the chair across from her with the slow, careful movements that his leg required. He sighed as he leaned back slightly, cane resting against the side of the desk. “A scientist never sleeps, můj drahý. You know this.” (My Dear)

She rolled her eyes but took the tea anyway, holding the cup close, letting the warmth seep into her fingertips. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was thoughtful—him.

And that meant something.

=

The world outside was moving, rushing, celebrating and forgetting, just as it always did. But here, in the quiet sanctuary of the lab, time moved differently.

Eventually, Viktor broke the silence. “I made some adjustments to the schematics for your stabilizer design,” he murmured, sliding a few papers her way with his free hand. His thumb traced slow, absent-minded circles against the back of her hand. “Thought we might test them later.”

Y/N reached for them, scanning over his precise, detailed notes. Her fingers brushed his once more as she took them, gaze softening.

He always did this—always found ways to show he cared without making it feel like pity, without making it feel forced.

For the first time that day, a genuine smile tugged at her lips.

She knew what he was doing.

No grand gestures, no forced celebrations—just quiet companionship. Just another day, but one where he made sure she wasn’t alone.

And for that, she was grateful.

Viktor, who had always been so consumed by his work, who had spent so much of his life surrounded by brilliance but little warmth, had learned to understand her in ways no one else had. He had learned when to push and when to simply be there.

He lifted her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. It was soft, barely there, but it sent warmth curling through her chest.

"Would it be terribly forward of me," he murmured, "if I said I was quite glad you exist?"

Y/N inhaled slowly, watching him, her heart catching in her throat. She could say a thousand things. Make a joke, tease him, brush it off like she always had before.

But not with him.

Not today.

Instead, she leaned forward, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to his lips. Viktor sighed into it, fingers tightening around hers, his other hand reaching up to cradle her face as if she were something fragile.

When they parted, her forehead rested against his, her breath mingling with his own.

"You could say it," she murmured, "or you could just keep kissing me."

Viktor chuckled, shaking his head fondly. "Ah, můj drahý, you truly do have the best ideas."

And for the rest of the day, no one spoke of birthdays. No candles, no gifts, no reminders of the past. Just quiet love, warm hands, stolen kisses, and a man who had never needed a reason to cherish her.

And for Y/N, that meant more than any celebration ever could.

JAYVIK

You never liked celebrating your birthday.

It wasn’t because you feared aging or found parties annoying—no, it was because the day itself held nothing but bittersweet memories. The kind that lingered in the back of your mind, creeping in like an unshakable shadow no matter how hard you tried to ignore them.

It was the day your mother died.

She passed on the very day she had brought you into the world, a cruel twist of fate that turned every birthday into a mourning period rather than a celebration. You were too young to remember the first few years, but as you grew older, you learned to recognize the sadness in your father’s eyes, the way he would sit at the table in silence while neighbors offered pitying smiles.

The house was always too quiet on that day. Too empty.

Even as a child, you never wanted cakes or candles, never wanted people to sing or toast in your name. Other children at school had balloons and parties, but every time someone asked you, “What are you doing for your birthday?” you would shrug and change the subject.

As an adult, that habit remained.

Working in the bustling halls of Piltover’s Academy meant you had plenty of colleagues, many of whom thrived on gossip and social events. The first year you were there, someone had tried to throw you a small get-together, completely unaware of your distaste for the occasion. You had left early, stomach tight, heart heavy. The forced joy made you feel even more isolated.

Jayce and Viktor were the only ones who truly understood.

Which was why, when the morning of your birthday arrived, they were already on high alert.

=

Jayce, ever the charismatic golden boy of the Academy, was the first line of defence. He intercepted professors, engineers, and assistants with a charming smile and a firm “Don’t even think about it.”

He knew how these people worked—how they’d see an excuse to celebrate and turn it into a grand affair, no matter how personal it was. But this wasn’t about them. This was about you.

When the first person casually brought up your birthday, Jayce cut them off mid-sentence.

“She doesn’t celebrate,” he stated plainly, rolling up his sleeves. “Respect that.”

Most people backed off quickly. Jayce’s reputation made him difficult to argue with, especially when his normally easygoing demeanor shifted into something more serious.

Viktor, meanwhile, played his own part. He loitered near your usual workspace, leaning on his cane, golden eyes sharp as he redirected any well-meaning colleagues before they could get too close.

“She does not want this,” he reminded them, his voice carrying the kind of finality that made people think twice.

If Jayce was the first line of defence, Viktor was the last.

And yet, people were persistent.

By midday, Sky tried sneaking in a small wrapped box, her expression hesitant yet hopeful.

Jayce sighed, arms crossed over his broad chest. “Sky,” he said, his tone somewhere between patient and exasperated. “We talked about this.”

“I know, I know! But it’s just something small—”

Viktor exhaled through his nose, unimpressed. “You know she will not accept it.”

Sky hesitated, looking between the two of them. “But… doesn’t she deserve something nice?”

That was the thing. You did deserve something nice. But not a forced celebration. Not something that made the weight on your heart feel heavier.

And so, with careful words, Jayce and Viktor turned every well-meaning colleague away, ensuring that by the time you arrived in the lab that afternoon, there wasn’t a single hint of birthday cheer in sight. No decorations, no cake, no whispered happy birthday from a passing researcher. Just another ordinary day.

Just how you wanted it.

=

The only difference came when the three of you finally made it home that evening.

The exhaustion from the day lingered in your bones, sinking deep into the spaces between muscle and marrow. You weren’t sure if it was from the weight of the date itself or from the constant effort it took to suppress it. Keeping up the mask. Pretending not to notice the hushed whispers from colleagues who meant well. The tension of dodging sympathetic glances. It all piled onto you, a quiet but relentless pressure.

The moment the door shut behind you, the tension cracked just a little.

Jayce didn’t hesitate. Strong arms wrapped around you from behind, his warmth pressing into your back, solid and steady. His chin found its way to the crook of your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin as he exhaled slowly, deliberately, as if trying to breathe some of his ease into you.

Viktor, already making his way to the couch, watched with quiet understanding. His amber eyes, sharp with intelligence yet endlessly soft when it came to you, traced over your face, noting the tired slump of your shoulders. He didn’t speak right away—he never did when words weren’t needed.

Instead, he set his cane aside and shifted to one end of the couch, making room. One hand reached toward you, fingers curling slightly in silent invitation.

You let Jayce guide you forward, your movements slow and heavy, as if wading through thick fog. The moment you sank onto the couch beside Viktor, his hand found yours, fingers cool but firm. He ran his thumb in slow, deliberate circles over your knuckles—soothing, grounding. Jayce followed close behind, settling in on your other side, draping an arm around both you and Viktor with ease.

The room was dim, illuminated only by the golden glow of the city filtering through the windows. Outside, Piltover was still alive with its usual hum—distant chatter, the occasional clang of machinery, the faint whistle of a steam-powered transport. But here, in this small sanctuary of an apartment, it was quiet.

No one said happy birthday.

No one tried to make it a special day.

Instead, Viktor leaned his head against yours, his voice barely above a whisper. “Long day?”

You let out a slow, steady breath. It wasn’t quite a sigh, more like an unspoken admission. “Yeah.”

Jayce tightened his grip around your waist, his palm pressing against your ribs in a steadying warmth. He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple before murmuring, “Do you want to talk about it?”

You swallowed, shaking your head. Your throat felt tight, the kind of tightness that came from holding too much in for too long. “Just… stay like this.”

And they did. The three of you sat there, tangled together in the quiet.

Viktor’s fingers never stopped their slow, soothing circles against your skin, while Jayce’s thumb brushed absentmindedly along your side, a silent promise that he was there. No words needed. No grand gestures. Just warmth. Comfort. The kind of love that wasn’t flashy or loud but strong in the way it simply existed—constant, unwavering.

The weight in your chest didn’t vanish entirely, but it loosened, just a little. The kind of looseness that let you breathe a little easier. That reminded you that, even on a day you’d rather forget, you weren’t alone.

VANDER

The air in The Last Drop buzzed with quiet anticipation. Vander had made it abundantly clear to the kids that Y/N didn’t like celebrating her birthday. He respected that, understood that some wounds weren’t meant to be reopened, even by well-intentioned hands.

For Y/N, birthdays weren’t something to celebrate. Not anymore. The memories attached to them were too heavy—ghosts of the past lurking in every candle’s flicker. She had once celebrated, long ago, before she lost everything. Before she learned that birthdays only marked another year of surviving, not truly living.

So when Vander had told the kids to leave it alone, he had truly believed they would listen.

But when had they ever?

=

So here they were, barely containing their excitement, whispering and snickering in hurried voices as they scrambled to put the finishing touches on their secret little plan.

Powder had drawn a picture of all of them together—crayon strokes slightly smudged from how many times she had reworked Vander’s beard and added extra details to Y/N’s smile. She clutched the paper close to her chest like it was the most important thing in the world, her fingers twitching as if eager to hand it over already.

Milo had stolen a few extra rations of sweets, stuffing them in his pockets with a cocky smirk, convinced that the slightly stale biscuits and hardened chocolate were a necessary sacrifice for the occasion. He had even swiped a handful of sugar cubes from behind the bar, arguing that they’d make the cake taste better—though no one was entirely sure how.

Claggor, ever resourceful, had somehow acquired a half-melted candle that leaned dangerously to one side when stuck into the lopsided mess of a cake they had put together. "It’s still good!" he insisted, rotating it to try and find an angle where it didn’t look like it was about to fall over entirely.

Vi, of course, had taken charge.

She stood in the middle of it all, hands on her hips, directing them with the confidence of someone who had no plan B if this whole thing went sideways. "Alright, Powder, you stand by the lights. Claggor, make sure Milo doesn’t eat half the cake before Y/N even sees it. And for the love of everything, act natural. We don’t want Vander sniffing this out before she even gets here."

Milo scoffed. "You act like the old man’s got some kinda sixth sense."

Vi shot him a look. "He does."

And sure enough, Vander was already suspicious.

From behind the bar, his sharp gaze flickered toward them every so often, narrowing slightly when he caught them huddled too close together, whispering like little criminals. He let out a low sigh, rubbing a hand down his face. He didn’t know what they were planning—yet—but he could tell it was trouble.

And knowing them?

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

=

Y/N walked through the door, rolling her shoulders from a long day of work, already looking forward to a quiet evening with Vander. The familiar scent of ale and warm spices from The Last Drop wrapped around her like a well-worn cloak—comforting, familiar.

She had been looking forward to him.

A drink in hand, his gruff voice teasing her about taking on too much, and later, the weight of his arms draped over her shoulders as they sat together in silence. That was all she needed.

But the moment she stepped inside—

“SURPRISE!”

The word hit her like a sudden wave, the air crackling with the energy of young excitement. The dim lights of the bar flickered to life, revealing a scene she had not been expecting.

Powder practically bounced on her heels, blue eyes wide with joy. Vi stood at the centre, arms crossed in smug satisfaction, chin lifted as if to say, I told you we’d pull it off. Claggor grinned, clearly proud of whatever part he had played, and Milo—well, he looked impatient, like he was waiting for her to collapse into gratitude at their grand effort.

Y/N froze.

The room had been hastily decorated, mismatched scraps of fabric strung together in an attempt at banners. A small cake—lopsided and definitely not store-bought—sat on the table. And in the centre of it all, carefully propped up, was Powder’s drawing.

A picture of all of them. Together.

Her stomach twisted.

From beside her, Vander’s reaction was immediate. His broad shoulders tensed, his brows pulled into a deep frown, and his large hands planted firmly on his hips as he took in the sight before him.

The decorations. The makeshift cake. The eager, hopeful expressions of the kids who had clearly gone behind his back.

His voice was low, sharp, unmistakably displeased.

“Oi.” His gruff tone cut through the moment like a blade. “What the hell is this?”

The kids flinched—just barely. Even Vi, the most defiant of them all, hesitated under the weight of his stare. But she recovered quickly, lifting her chin again.

“A party. For Y/N.”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge.

Vander exhaled slowly, nostrils flaring as he ran a hand through his graying hair. His gaze flickered toward Y/N, searching, already prepared to shut this whole thing down at the first sign of distress.

And Y/N—

She should have been angry.

She wanted to be angry.

They had no idea what birthdays meant to her. How every year, the weight of those she lost pressed down on her like an iron chain. How she had once celebrated before everything fell apart, before the world had taught her that growing older wasn’t a gift—it was survival.

But the kids—

They were beaming.

They weren’t doing this to hurt her. They weren’t trying to dredge up old wounds or make her feel obligated. They had done this because, in their eyes, she was someone worth celebrating.

And damn it all—how could she be mad at that?

Y/N swallowed hard, forcing down the tightness in her throat. She glanced at Powder first, the girl nearly vibrating with anticipation. Then Vi, still trying to act like she didn’t care about Y/N’s reaction, even though she clearly did. Claggor, hopeful. Milo, already looking like he wanted to roll his eyes if she didn’t react fast enough.

They had done this for her.

So, she did the only thing she could.

She forced a smile—small, but genuine enough.

“You little brats,” she muttered, shaking her head as she stepped forward.

Powder gasped, practically bouncing in place. “Do you like it? We worked really hard!”

Vi nudged her, grinning. “Told you we should celebrate. You’re part of this family, Y/N. You don’t get to just ignore your birthday when you’ve got us around.”

A chuckle slipped past her lips.

This wasn’t about a date on a calendar. It was about them. About the people in front of her, the ones who—despite everything—wanted her to know she mattered. But even as warmth settled in her chest, something in her remained guarded.

She turned her gaze back toward Vander.

He was still watching her, his frown lingering, the tension in his stance refusing to ease. He didn’t like this. Not one bit. His protective nature warred against the situation, his first instinct to keep her from something that might hurt.

But she wasn’t breaking.

Not tonight.

She brushed her fingers against his arm, a silent reassurance.

His jaw tightened, his lips pressing into a firm line. His shoulders remained stiff for a moment longer before he finally exhaled, long and slow, the fight draining from him.

He sighed again, running a large hand down his face before his voice dropped, low and meant only for her.

“You don’t have to do this, love.”

Y/N met his gaze, her expression softer now, a quiet acceptance in her eyes.

“Just this once.” Her voice was steady, but there was a finality to it. A warning that this was an exception, not a change.

Vander studied her for a long moment, weighing her words. Then, after a beat, the smallest, most reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“You’re stronger than me.”

She huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “Damn right.”

And for the first time in years— Just this once—

She let them celebrate her.

SILCO

The Undercity was a cruel place to be born, filled with smoke-choked streets, back-alley dealings, and the ever-present reminder that survival was never guaranteed. Crueler still was being reminded of it every year, as if the simple passage of time was something to be celebrated rather than endured.

Y/N never saw the point in marking the day she entered this world—not when all it had ever done was take, take, take.

She had learned young that birthdays were little more than a cruel joke, an arbitrary measurement of time that only served to remind her that each passing year did not bring change, did not bring hope, did not bring anything but more of the same struggle. In Zaun, surviving another year was less of an achievement and more of an inevitability, a slow march toward an end that came for everyone eventually. And yet, people insisted on celebrating as if it meant something.

She could still remember the last time she had indulged in the notion.

She had been a child then, still foolish enough to believe that love and effort could outweigh the weight of the world pressing down on them. Her parents had done their best with what little they had, scraping together a meager but heartfelt attempt at a celebration—scavenged sweets wrapped in old paper, a candle stuck into a piece of stale bread, and a broken music box that had once belonged to someone else, given to her as though it was something new. She had loved it anyway. She had cherished it, wound it up every night just to hear its fragile, warbled tune, a melody that trembled on the edge of silence like a secret too delicate to hold.

But that was the last time she had both of them.

=

By the time the next year rolled around, they were gone, swallowed up by the Undercity’s insatiable hunger, lost to violence or sickness or some other inevitable fate. She never learned exactly how they had died. Perhaps it had been Piltover’s enforcers, another brutal culling of those who dared to scrape too close to the surface. Perhaps it had been the Chem Barons, ruthless in their control, never hesitating to snuff out lives that no longer served a purpose. Or perhaps it had been the city itself, bleeding them dry in the way it always did, with slow, grinding inevitability, until there was nothing left.

Either way, they were gone. And the day that had once been hers became something else entirely.

A reminder.

A grave marker.

Since then, Y/N had avoided birthdays altogether. No counting down the days, no laughter, no candles, no meaningless words of well-wishing from people who had no idea what they were actually celebrating. Just another day lost to the endless churn of time, another twenty-four hours of survival in a city that did not care whether she lived or died.

She never spoke of it to anyone.

But Silco was not just anyone.

He knew.

He always knew.

And so when the day arrived, he did not acknowledge it, did not force a smile or offer some insincere platitude, did not drape the moment in pretence. He treated it the way she wanted it to be treated—like any other day. A kindness, though neither of them would ever call it that.

But Silco was not a man to do nothing.

=

The air inside The Last Drop was thick with the familiar scent of smoke, sweat, and spilled liquor, the murmur of voices blending seamlessly into the pulse of low, vibrating bass that thrummed through the floorboards. Even this late at night, the bar was still alive, though the energy had settled into something slower, something heavier—the way all things did when exhaustion began to set in, when the night grew long and patience ran thin.

By the time Y/N climbed the stairs to Silco’s office, the weight of the day had already settled deep into her bones. She had spent the past few hours dealing with the kind of people who made survival in Zaun all the more exhausting—smugglers trying to squeeze extra coin from their dealings, desperate men willing to sell out their own for another taste of shimmer, debtors who thought they could outrun the inevitable. It was nothing she wasn’t used to, nothing she hadn’t done before, but today, it felt heavier. Today, it felt like the air was pressing against her ribs just a little too tightly, like the exhaustion ran deeper than just her body.

Pushing the door open, she expected to find Silco exactly as he always was—seated at his desk, a cigar burning lazily between his fingers, his mind already several moves ahead in whatever endless game he was playing.

Instead, she found something different.

The usual stacks of paperwork, half-finished letters, and bloodstained reports had been pushed aside, leaving his desk almost uncharacteristically clear. And waiting at the center, as though it had been placed there deliberately, were two glasses of her favorite drink, the liquid catching the dim candlelight as it reflected off the glass.

The invitation was silent but unmistakable.

She hesitated for only a moment before stepping inside and shutting the door behind her.

"You look tired," Silco murmured, his voice smooth as ever, measured and precise, though his mismatched eyes studied her with the same quiet intensity they always did, searching for something unspoken, something unsaid.

"Long day," she replied, moving toward the chair he had left open for her, dropping into it with a sigh that she didn’t bother to suppress.

"Mm. As they often are."

The silence that settled between them was not uncomfortable, nor was it unfamiliar. It was something steady, something known. A thing that had long since lost the need for words.

For a while, they sat like that, drinking in the silence the same way they drank the liquor in their glasses—slowly, without urgency, without expectation.

Then, after a long moment, Silco reached for something and pushed it across the desk toward her.

Y/N frowned slightly, her fingers pausing over the rim of her glass before reaching out.

A silver pocket watch.

She had expected something sleek, something expensive, something that bore the telltale touch of his wealth and power. But this—this was old, worn but well-kept, the casing smooth from years of use, the chain aged but still strong. A relic, not an ornament. When she flipped it open, she found an inscription carved into the inside, the letters delicate, almost too fine to read in the dim light.

Time owes you nothing—take what you will.

Her breath caught.

"It belonged to someone who never waited for time to give her anything," Silco said, his voice softer now, as though speaking too loudly might break whatever unspoken thing had settled between them. "I suspect you share that sentiment."

Her fingers traced the inscription, lingering on the words, feeling their weight settle into something deep, something heavy.

She swallowed.

This was not just a gift. This was a message, a statement, an acknowledgment of something neither of them had ever put into words.

"You didn’t have to," she said finally, her voice quieter than before.

"I know," Silco replied simply, taking another slow sip of his drink.

The clock inside the watch still ticked, faint but steady. A reminder that time did not stop, did not slow, did not wait for anyone.

A reminder that it belonged to her now.

Y/N exhaled, closing the pocket watch with a soft click and tucking it away.

For once, she didn’t mind that today wasn’t just any other day.

At least, not with him.

JINX

Zaun never really slept.

It never had, never would.

Its streets pulsed with a restless, feverish energy that never truly died down, not even in the dead of night. Machines whirred and clanked somewhere in the distance, metal on metal grinding in an endless, mechanical heartbeat. The occasional burst of shouting—sometimes laughter, sometimes anger—echoed through the narrow alleys, bouncing off corroded walls. A loud crash rang out, a telltale sign that someone had knocked over a crate they probably weren’t supposed to be touching.

And then there was the air—thick, heavy, pressing against her skin like an invisible weight. It carried the scent of smoke, scorched metal, and something sharper, the acrid tang of chemicals that settled deep in the lungs and never quite left. It clung to everything, just like the grime that covered Zaun’s bones, woven into its very foundation.

Sometimes, Zaun was deafening. The kind of loud that made your head throb and your ears ring, a never-ending buzz of industry and life.

But some nights felt quieter than others.

The kind of quiet that wasn’t really quiet at all—the kind that made every little sound stand out, the faintest creak of metal groaning under shifting weight, the rhythmic drip of water leaking from old pipes, the soft hum of distant neon signs flickering like tired eyes struggling to stay awake.

The kind of quiet that made your thoughts louder.

The kind that pressed against your ribs, curling in the hollow spaces between your bones, filling your chest with something heavy and unwelcome.

The kind that left you with nothing but yourself.

Y/N sat on the edge of a rusted metal platform, legs dangling over the side, watching the city below with an expression caught somewhere between longing and detachment.

The glow of chem-lamps burned low in the distance, their eerie green light casting long, shifting shadows across the streets, stretching them until they seemed to dance and twist. Zaun’s underbelly was always moving, shifting, breathing. Alive.

Most nights, she liked the view.

Most nights, it reminded her that there was still life here, that the world hadn’t stopped turning, that time hadn’t frozen the way it sometimes felt like it had.

But tonight, she wasn’t looking to be distracted.

Tonight, she was thinking.

She let out a slow breath, curling her fingers into the worn fabric of her sleeves, gripping them so tightly that her knuckles turned white.

Because tonight was different.

It was her birthday.

Not that it mattered. Not that it had mattered in a long time.

Once, a lifetime ago, birthdays had meant something. They had been warm, familiar, filled with soft voices and flickering candlelight, with cakes that always came out a little lopsided but never tasted any less sweet, with laughter that filled the air like music.

Once, birthdays had been something to look forward to.

Something to cherish.

But that was before.

Before she lost people. Before she realized that marking another year alive only reminded her of the ones who never got to. Before she learned that time didn’t care who it took and who it left behind.

Before she stopped wanting to count.

So she didn’t.

She stopped celebrating. Stopped acknowledging it. Stopped pretending that it was anything more than another number she didn’t need to keep track of.

Jinx knew that.

She had told her—sat her down once, forced the words out, made her listen. And, in a rare moment of stillness, Jinx had actually been quiet.

For a whole three minutes.

Which had to be some kind of record.

And, for the most part, Jinx had respected it.

But Jinx was… well, Jinx.

=

The unmistakable sound of rapid, uneven footsteps against hollow pipes reached her before the voice did.

“HEEEEEEY, FIRECRACKER!”

Y/N barely had time to groan before something crashed into her back, nearly sending her lurching forward off the platform. A pair of wiry arms locked around her shoulders in a half-hug, half-tackle, squeezing her so tight she almost lost her breath. The familiar scent of gunpowder, metal, and motor oil filled her nose, accompanied by the weight of a body practically draped over her like a human-sized ragdoll.

Jinx clung to her like a koala, her legs swinging freely in the air, her chin resting on Y/N’s head as if she belonged there.

“Whatcha doin’ up here all alone, huh?” Jinx chirped, voice muffled slightly by Y/N’s hair. “Broodin’? Starin’ dramatically into the abyss? Pfft—that’s my thing.”

Y/N sighed, shaking her head but making no effort to push her off. “Just thinking.”

Jinx hummed. “Uh-oh. Dangerous game, thinkin’.”

She swung herself around, flopping down beside Y/N with a clang of metal against metal, her boots tapping an impatient rhythm against the platform. She was practically vibrating with energy, fingers twitching at her sides, electric-blue eyes darting between Y/N and something hidden behind her back.

Y/N shot her a sideways glance. Something was up. Jinx was many things—reckless, unpredictable, explosively chaotic—but she wasn’t subtle. The silence stretched.

Y/N narrowed her eyes. “…What did you do?”

Jinx gasped, pressing a hand to her chest like she was offended.

“Pshh, what? Me? Do? Something?” She scoffed, throwing her hands up in an exaggerated motion. “Pffft—ha! As if!”

Y/N raised an eyebrow.

Jinx grinned, wide and impish, the kind of grin that said ‘I absolutely did something, but I want you to guess first.’

“Jinx.”

The grin wavered slightly.

“Okay, okay! So, uh—funny story!”

Y/N exhaled, already regretting this conversation.

“I may or may not have kinda-sorta-totally forgotten that you don’t like birthdays.” Jinx gave a sheepish laugh, rubbing the back of her neck. “Buuuut—before ya get all grumpy-pants on me, I didn’t do much! Like, really, barely anything!”

Y/N stared, unimpressed.

“No giant banners! No confetti bombs! No fireworks! I reeeaaally dialed it down!”

As if on cue, a small explosion rattled somewhere in the distance. Jinx winced.

“Okay, but that one wasn’t for you. Probably.”

Y/N groaned, dragging a hand down her face. Jinx perked up, grinning. Too wide. Too forced.

“Well! Lucky for you, this isn’t a birthday celebration!”

Y/N blinked. “What?”

Jinx beamed and pulled something from behind her back—a small, slightly crumpled, suspiciously warm package wrapped in mismatched scraps of fabric.

“This, my dear friend,” Jinx declared, waving it in front of Y/N’s face, “is an ‘I-Know-You-Don’t-Like-Birthdays-But-I-Still-Wanted-To-Do-Something-Nice-For-You’ gift!”

Y/N hesitated.

Inside was a small metal pendant, crudely shaped into a star. Uneven. Jagged. One point longer than the others, the edges rough where they had been cut by hand. It wasn’t perfect.

But it was hers. And for the first time in years, she didn’t hate the day quite as much. Not because it was her birthday.

But because she had someone like Jinx.

[wbbpls]

My Girl

Hi! I’m totally new to this, so I’m sorry if this is all over the place. lmk if you guys like it!

—————————————————————————-

After a tough win, the team gathered in Paige’s room since she is hosting the party. Paige is talking to Ice and KK in the kitchen when Azzi walked in. Azzi is her best friend, who might also be the love of her life. Not that Azzi needs to know that. Of course she’s stunning, even in a crop top and jean shorts. The past few months they’ve been crossing the appropriate lines for friendship with lingering touches and flirty banter.

Across the room, some guy was standing way too close to Azzi. Her Azzi. Paige knows Azzi isn’t hers, but it kills her to think of Azzi with anyone else. That guy keeps leaningt in closer and closer to Azzi. Paige tried to look anywhere else, but her eyes had a mind of their own, and Azzi felt those piercing blue eyes burning into her. When Azzi looked over at Paige, she saw something in her eyes she’d never seen before.

When he put his arm on her waist, Azzi stepped backward uncomfortably. Something took over Paige’s body, and suddenly, she was next to Azzi. Her long arms slid around Azzi’s waist, pulling her in and away from that guy. “Hey Az, sorry I took so long. Here’s your drink.”

Azzi leaned into Paige’s soft yet possessive touch. “That’s okay, I was just talking to, uh, Jake, right?”

Barely acknowledging Paige, he responds, “Yeah, so how about that dance?” Is this Jake guy serious? Paige literally has her arm wrapped around Azzi and she wasn’t even sure of his name. Azzi’s whole body stiffened as she leaned further into Paige. “I’m just gonna hang out with my team, but thanks.” He didn’t seem to care. “Aw c’mon Azzi, I’ll show you a good time.”

“She’s good.”

“I didn’t realize I needed to talk to security first. If you didn’t notice, I was talking to Azzi.”

Paige stepped in front of Azzi, making sure he couldn’t touch her. “If you didn’t notice, Azzi said no. So back the fuck off my girl and get out of my apartment.” It just slipped out, but god, Paige wishes she could call Azzi her girl every day.

“Her girl? You for real, Azzi?”

“Yeah, she’s my girlfriend, so maybe give it up and leave us alone.” Speechless, Jake left quickly to avoid further embarrassment.

“Your girl, huh?” Azzi says as her hands rub up Paige’s biceps.

Paige wrapped her arms entirely around Azzi’s waist as if she’d done it every day of her life. Thankfully, the lights are low, hopefully blocking her blush. “Well, hopefully not his girl.”

“Yeah, definitely not looking to be his girl.”

“You lookin to be someone’s girl?” Paige’s eyes drifted down to Azzi’s lips, moving her hand to rest on her lower back. Azzi bites her lip, “Hm, no longer looking, just waiting for her to get it together.” Paige suddenly couldn’t breathe. Does that mean what she thinks it means? They always avoid these conversations, but the liquid courage is pushing boundaries. Paige can’t say that she’s in love with her. She can’t ruin their friendship and everything they’ve built, but she can’t stop touching Azzi either. “Uh, do you want to go dance?”

“Yeah, P, let’s go dance.” Azzi drops her hands down to Paige’s, and Paige starts to think maybe Azzi doesn’t want to stop touching either. The music feels like an excuse to be way closer than friends should, but it all happens so naturally. When Azzi starts to move her hips into Paige slowly, her breath hitches, and she grabs Azzi even tighter. Paige knows there’s no way they can use being best friends as an excuse anymore. She knows their teammates will tease her about this tomorrow, but it doesn’t matter because she has Azzi in her arms. As the beat speeds up, so do their hips as they grind into each other. A soft whimper leaves Azzi's mouth and Paige can’t help herself, “Fuck Az you’re so hot”

They are now face to face, their lips just an inch apart, and Azzi’s hands are in blonde strands. With a mischievous smirk, Azzi says “Yeah? You think so?”

“You have no idea.”

“Then show me.” Paige has never moved so fast in her life. She drags Azzi through the crowd and to her room. Slamming the door shut, Paige shoves Azzi against the wall with one hand on her waist and the other leaning above her head. “Say it again.”

Looking up at Paige with hooded eyes, Azzi practically whispers to Paige, “Show me.”

Paige leans in, their lips brushing, but not fully touching. “You sure, Az?” There’s no going back after this and Paige is praying they never have to.

“Paige, please. I want to be yours.” Something broke inside Paige, and she kissed her like her life depended on it. She’s dreamed of kissing her a million times over, but this kiss is better than she could have ever imagined. Azzi slightly opened her lips, inviting Paige’s tongue. Their kiss progressively got more passionate. Paige began to kiss down Azzi’s cheek to her neck, sucking and biting just to get Azzi to whimper.

“You wanna be mine, huh?” Paige chuckles and says possesivley as she leaves marks down her neck. Letting out a moan at the words, Azzi grips at the hair on the back of Paige’s neck, “Yes, fuck, P, you feel so good.” Paige slips one of her legs between Azzi’s and moves her hand just under Azzi’s breast. “Tell me what you want.”

Pulling Paige’s head back up to her face, Azzi breathes heavily, “I want to be yours, Paige.” Staring into her eyes, Paige finally says it. “You’re mine, Azzi.” Paige pulls at the back of Azzi’s legs, hinting for her to jump into Paige’s arms. Paige picks Azzi up and shoves her hard against the wall, kissing her even harder. Azzi leans her head back, “Mmh, I want you so bad.” Paige takes this as an opportunity to suck at her neck and grind into her hard. The moan that they both release is borderline embarrassing. Their lips reconnect, and Paige walks them over to her bed. “Fuck Az, you look so good,” she says as she straddles Azzi.

They both start pulling off each other’s clothes and grinding into each other. Paige’s hands are hovering dangerously above Azzi’s jean shorts. “Can I?” Azzi nods her head and pushes Paige’s hand down further. Paige fumbles with the button to her jeans as she kisses down her chest. She slips a finger down to rub at her clit. “Fuck, baby please.”

Paige isn’t sure if it’s the term of endearment or the begging, but she knows she’ll do anything Azzi wants. “Tell me who you belong to.” Paige slips two fingers deep into Azzi.

Azzi is a whimpering mess, with her eyes shut, gripping onto the sheets. Paige loves that she can’t speak, but she needs to hear Azzi say it. “Tell me, mama. Who do you belong to?”

“Yours, I’m yours, Paige, fuck!” Azzi yells out as Paige thrusts deeper into her.

“You’re so fuckin sexy, ma. You’re all mine.” Paige can feel Azzi getting tighter. “Your pussy that wet for me, baby?”

Azzi’s eyes are rolling into the back of her head as she grips onto Paige’s shoulder like her life depends on it. “I’m so close, don’t stop.”

Paige laughs at the idea, like she’d ever stop. “C’mon Az, when have I ever done you like that.“

“Paige I love you but shut up and fuck me” Azzi says breathlessly. Did she mean that or was it just in the moment of a fucked out haze? Paige slowed for a moment but knew she couldn’t stop now. She started to rub Azzi’s clit until her legs were shaking. Azzi came screaming her name as Paige continued to finger her guiding her off her high. Out of breathe, Azzi pushed Paige’s fingers away and pulled her up. Paige is trying to act normal about all of this, but Azzi just said she loved her.

Azzi must have noticed Paige’s hesitation, “What’s wrong, P?”

“You love me?” Even to Paige’s ears she could hear the insecurity. Azzi’s face softened as she rubbed across Paige’s jaw. “Of course I love you. I always have. I just have been too scared to push things and risk losing you.”

Paige starts laughing leaving Azzi confused. “Uh, what’s so funny about that?”

“Baby, I’m so fuckin in love with you and we are so dumb.” Azzi smiles, showing those beautiful dimples. “I guess we deserve each other, hm? Maybe now I can return the favor and show you how much I love you.”

Paige can’t believe this is real. Azzi is her girl.

[omgfangirlland]

The Shadows That Nurture 19

It's the 27th not the 28th but close enough :)))

Masterlist || First || previous<< Chapter 19 >>next

While Nolan needed about a week to get better, Mark was fine, he was just whiny to be babied. Not like you argued. You both babied each other while the man was healing, needing it. Now, while Mark visited him every day, you only did it twice, unable to look at him for long without your blood pressure increasing and unable to stand how softly he held your baby brother, cuddling him into his side, how gently he spoke to Andressa. It was a side he never gave much to you or Mark and Debbie.

Those sentiments were of no use to you. So, you buried them and the little flashes of memories that reminded you of Bruce always being soft with the others but only giving you this cold, distant look, if even that, and began distracting yourself by using your architecture classes and starting to rebuild with the other Thraxans.

It kept the thoughts of how easy it was for men to up and have whole other families, families they took greater care of away, it kept the insecurities of you truly not being enough for anyone away- you knew those weren’t true- you did! Mark and Debbie truly loved you. Eve and Amber were great friends who didn’t shy away from showing physical affection. They loved you and you loved them all so much… But the doubt somehow was stronger.

What if they were faking? You always heard Dick and Tim complain that the kids at their school were snakes who were after Bruce’s money. But they didn’t know you still had access to his money. It couldn’t be your powers. What could they give if it couldn’t even sway Nolan enough to not attack Mark? Were you just someone not worth loving?

Thoughts over thoughts filtered through your brain. Sentiments and thoughts and memories- all bottled up, put away, hidden in favor of working. It helped keep you preoccupied, helped keep your mind off Bru- Nolan, it did. Until you couldn’t help but subconsciously add him and Andressa to one of the many murals the Thraxans insisted on.

“I think it’s crooked.” Mark said from behind you, your head snapped from him back to the mosaic mural, arms crossing over your chest as you tilted your head to the right. “Huh. It is a little crooked.” You grab a spatula and shrug. “Well, time to redo it all-” At your words, Mark immediately panicked, words spewing out of his mouth to tell you that it’s fine, a little human error, only stopping when you started laughing.

“Chill.” You hum as you use the spatula to straighten the few pieces that were askew. “I was joking. They have this slow-drying solution that only hardens immediately when water is sprayed. Nifty thing.” You turn to look at Mark, dead in his eyes. “I think it’s their vomit, to be honest.”

“Eww-“ Mark cringed, whining at the thought. “Thanks for the image.” He mutters, half-heartily glaring at you as you snicker. “Shut up.” He gently slapped your arm. “Shut up? You shut up, free baller.” You slap his arm back. “Hey- I have boxer under-“ He pouted as you mocked him, repeating his words in a goofy voice and exaggerating his movements. “Alright, you’re asking for it.”

“Alright, you’re- Hey!” Your teasing was stopped as you dodged some of the goop you had used for your mosaic pieces. Before you could say anything more, he blew a raspberry at you and flew away, yelling that you couldn’t catch him. You just huffed, smirking as you opened a portal.

Appearing in front of the laughing Mark made him let a scream as he almost crashed into you. You just moved slightly out of the way before tapping his foot. “Tag, you’re it!” Mark groaned as you flew away, the sonic boom messing his hair. “That’s not fair! You used magic!” he yells before going after you, laughing at the schemes you pulled to avoid his touch.

Nolan and Andressa just watch the two have their fun, the chubby baby on her hip cooing with gleeful wonder at the laughing young adults flying through the air. “You need to talk to her.” Andressa told him, eyes meeting his. “It doesn’t matter what you want, Nolan.” She interrupted him. “She’s hurt, Mark too. But she always gets this sad, scared look when she sees you interact with us compared to him.”

“I don’t know what you did or didn’t do. I don’t know what she went through. You’re quite secretive.” She only smiled at the guilty look he gave her. “As a whole species, we forget, forgive, and move on because of our short lives- we blink as babies and open our eyes as elders. You have eternity in comparison. Do you want her to stew with whatever she’s feeling for that long?”

“No.” Nolan sighs. “It’s just- I haven’t made the right choices-“ Andressa puts a gentle hand on his arm. “Then tell her. Not me. I wasn’t the one you wronged.” And yet, the man couldn’t help but feel like he did. Her, Debbie, his kids- the ones that actually made him feel alive, like he wasn’t just another soldier who could be replaced. He just nods. She was right, after all.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“And this is why I strongly believe you should let me go on this school trip without supervision.”  Damian finished his presentation by pressing a button on the remote to present the final slide of his PowerPoint presentation. Jon was standing near him, holding the last physical card that simply stated that Lois would also be there while smiling brightly. “Chum-“ Bruce sighs, rubbing at his tired eyes. “I don’t think-“

“Father. For years, you have made me try to fit in with the other kids, with a range of people that I initially deemed beneath me. I’m sixteen now, almost seventeen. It’s normal for others my age to crave independence. Granted, I won’t be entirely alone, not only will there be the teachers, but the Kents have also taken on the job of supervisors. Do you not trust them, or do you not trust me?”

Damian knew it was a low blow, but he was strategic in everything right down to when he asked Bruce. The man had a headache, was too tired, and pulled in all directions, from the Viltrumite problem to the Sorceress killing Joker to the rogues still not letting up. Batman was too tired to notice anything askew, couldn’t even think of the possibility.

Bruce sighed deeply, shoulders slouching as he gave a defeated nod. He did trust him. He also trusted the Kents, and he had always insisted for Damian to take in any moments of normality he could. “Alright, give me a pen.” Damian smiled at the triumph, doing as he was told. He also handed over the papers, deliberately ignoring how Jon’s smile wobbled and how his worried eyes seemed to scream at him.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Nolan had been practicing for a few hours on what to say, only when Mark caught him red-handed in the middle of his speech. He wanted to talk to both of them, but talking first to Mark was better. His boy had mellowed out- somewhat. He was still angry, still hurt, but he knew you’d be the one who was having the real war. And while Mark left him to deal with his daughter on his own, he pitied him enough to give him some advice.

“She’s hurt, she’ll ask questions, she’ll say hurtful things because she is hurt by the thing I said. Be quick, be honest, and don’t dance around, she’ll take that as dishonesty, as a lie.” Nolan muttered to himself as he flew about, trying to find you. “Be careful of what you say or be ready to get punched-“ His breath caught in his throat as he finally noticed your figure high in the sky. He forgot everything he had rehearsed.

Your eyes scan around. You weren’t sure if you were trying to memorize the landscape or if you were just paranoid and looking out in case the Viltrumites were trying to test your patience. You were looking for a fight, to be honest- anything to not pay attention to the emotions boiling under your skin.

The voice of Nolan softly whispering your name made your body tense, spine straightening. This wasn’t the kind of fight you wanted. You slowly turned around to face the man, remaining quiet as the man stuttered through whatever he was trying to say. Your eye twitched. “Jesus- just spit it out.”

Nolan takes in a breath as he senses your temper rising. “We need to talk.” At his simple statement, you just huff. “What’s there to talk about? You found yourself new pets to keep you entertained. Good job.” The older man just sighs, slowly floating closer under your suspicious eye. “What I said while fighting Mark-“ you quickly corrected him and he didn’t miss a beat in repeating your words. “-while beating up your brother- was out of fear, out of doubt and fear.“

“You called mom a pet!” you yelled at him, unable to hold it in anymore. “You did that- nobody made you! What were you afraid of anyway?! The Viltrumites? You weren’t alone, Nolan. The Guardians were your friends, all you had to do was come clean- they would have helped, hell, The Justice Leagues would have helped-“

As you grew angrier, Nolan tried to remain calm. “The League ignored every tip I sent in.”  The scoff that you gave was quick. “Yeah? And I’m supposed to believe you?” Your hands were shaking, you wanted to believe him- you did- but you just couldn’t. “It’s the truth.” He kept his voice soft and even, trying his hardest not to trigger a fight. “I kept trying to contact them for weeks, I sent in anonymous tips, tried to talk to them in person, I tried everything- killing the guardians was a desperate act-“ He raised a hand when you tried to interrupt. “Let me finish. Killing them and turning you and Mark to the Viltrumites' side was the only thing I could think of that would have kept you two and Debbie safe-“

“You still could have told Cecil- You still had us!” Your yelling makes Nolan flinch- a small movement you didn’t quite notice. “You didn’t think Mark and I loved you enough to give you the chance to do better? You are our dad, we would have fought for you! What? Did you think we are like you? Fucking cowards who run away when they doesn’t get what they want?”

“Well, news flash, Nolan- not everyone does what you do- some of us like to fight for the people we love- oh, but you didn’t love us- you thought of us as pets!” Your words, hissed and loud, cut deeper than anything ever could. “I did love you, I still love you-“ Your fist meeting his jaw cut his sentence short. “Shut up, you lying bastard!” You hissed before lunging at him again.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Mark and Andressa watched with different levels of worry. “This is fine.” He mumbled, nibbling on his nails. “She is beating him up.” Andressa looked at the young man. “She’s pulling her punches. The first time around, she almost crushed his skull.” Andressa’s eyes just widened as she turned back to watch her lover get his ass handed to him. “And she’s not using her elemental powers, so that’s good-“ Andressa's jaw dropped at the information.

“As long as nothing starts glowing neon green, they’re fine.” Mark shrugs, barely believing himself. “I’ll… go check on your brother.” Andressa sighs, slowly turning away as Marks starts floating off the ground. “Mhm, I’ll go closer- just in case.”

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“-and to think you want me to believe anything that comes out of your mouth!” You growl, punching and kicking, only getting madder when Nolan just takes it. “I know, I’m sorry. I love you.” Nolan kept repeating himself after every insult, every jab, every truth you threw at him. “Stop saying that!” Your voice cracked as tears finally fell down your face, and you lunged at him once more, this time crashing him into a deserted place quite a distance from the city.

“You don’t love us! You left us all alone!” Your already weak punches grew weaker, barely making him grunt in pain, tears blurring your vision. “You don’t love me- you left me just like-“ You couldn’t finish, not your sentence or the punch you threw. Your body was shaking with sobs as you simply crumbled, covering your face with your hands to hide your crying face.

“You changed for them- why didn’t you for us?” You whimper through your sobs. “Were we not enough? Was I not good enough? I could have been- I could have changed-“ Nolan quickly wrapped his arms around you, muffling your sobs and words by burying your face in his chest.

His hold was tight, suffocating, but even as you weakly struggled to get out, he wouldn’t let go. “You are perfect. You, your brother, your mother- you are all amazing and did nothing wrong. I was the one in the wrong.” He whispers as one hand keeps you close while the other tries to soothe you. It only made you cry harder.

“I wasn’t afraid of the Viltrumites. I was afraid of you three rejecting me once you found out the truth.” Nolan’s eyes met Mark’s once he quietly landed just a few steps away. “I should have trusted that all of you love me just as much as I love you.” You grunted when Mark almost fell on top of you, one of Nolan’s arms wrapping around his eldest as he squeezed him to his chest just as tight. Nolan could wash the snot off later, this was more important. “My kids… My babies.” He hummed as he kissed both of your heads.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

“I’m sorry for beating you up… again.” You mumble as you snuggle closer to the sleepy baby who woke up because he was hungry. Nolan only laughed, ruffling your hair as he pressed a cold pack to his jaw. “I deserved it. Besides, it’s nice knowing some of my training stuck.” You give a half-hearted hum of acknowledgment while letting your head fall against his shoulder when he takes a seat next to you on the grand couch. After all that crying, you were just numb and tired… Your anger will still be present, you were sure, but now you just wanted a nap.

Mark pouted as you moved closer to Nolan, choosing to lay his head on your shoulder instead of letting go. “How come you get the cool armor, and I get the toga?” Mark whined, poking at his baby brother’s chubby cheek, making the little guy babble. “I’m more badass, you fool.” You stick your tongue at him, Mark gasping dramatically and placing his hand over his heart. “How dare… You wound me.”

Your eyes move to Andressa as she’s ready to feed her baby, your eyes squinting at her, making her slightly nervous. “Your antennas make a heart shape when you’re around dad- that’s cute. I’m sorry if that’s rude to point out.” The poor lady immediately relaxed at your words, relief washing over her knowing you weren’t angry with her as well. “Oh! That’s okay- Thank you. I didn’t notice.” Her antennas move around before settling back into the slight heart shape.

Mark gasped softly as he saw how the baby was fed, your eyebrows raising as you watched her feed him like a bird feeds its baby. Well… Like ants feed each other. You hoped that would not continue as he ages.

Your eyes drifted back to Nolan. It still hurt… But maybe you could forgive him… Maybe. “Is it really true? The Justice League ignored you when you tried to warn them?” Mark frowned at the questions with confusion all over his face, looking at Nolan as the older man got more comfortable on the couch. It’ll be a long night.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

Batman shivered as he knocked out another goon, his whole body shaking for a second while Robin frowned at the man. “What was that?” Bruce stays still for a few more seconds before looking at his youngest. “I don’t know… It just felt like something bad is happening.” Robin just gave him a look, waiting for him to elaborate. The boy scoffs as the man just moves on. Batman grimaced. It felt like he was being warned that he was losing something. Or someone. His eyes moved around as the jumble of whispers tried to get his attention. He moved on, grappling to a nearby rooftop.

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[gay-dorito-dust]

Could I request some platonic batboys comforting their bestie after the bestie has to break up with someone? Going through it rn </3

I got you! Fuck your ex partner if they were a dick to you, fuck them for breaking your heart and you will come out of this with a healed heart and a sense of self because you deserve everything and everything! I also added Bruce as a bonus.

Dick would have you come over to his house, saying that Hayley was ready to also help you heal pass this relationship, all the while putting the dog into your lap and encouraging you to cuddle the blue staffy because Hayley was there to provide extra comfort beside him.

Dick had been through relationships himself and would offer the most advice to you in your time of need the best out of all the boys, he understands how your feeling in the moment, as if your life was coming to an end but he would remind you that’s not the case and that you were just not use to being independent.

‘You might feel like you’re dying right now, but you won’t feel that for long.’ He says as he rests a hand on your shoulder. ‘you’ve just grown a custom to being with someone that being without them feels as though you can’t function but I’m here to tell you that you can. You were independent before and you’ll be independent again. So I wouldn’t fret about things that’ll soon become irrelevant.’ He adds as he presses you against his side, kissing your forehead like he always did when he needed to calm your racing mind.

‘Okay?’ He asks as he looks you in the eye, smiling. ‘We’ll take care of you won’t we Hayley?’ He then looks at his dog who had long fallen asleep on your lap, letting out a little snort as you both laughed at the cuteness of Hayley and the hilarity of the moment. Dick would make sure that you were getting out and would have you come on walks with him and Hayley, or just getting coffee together, anything he can do in order to help you realise that just because your relationship didn’t work out it didn’t mean that you have to give up being happy all tighter.

You can be happy on your own as you can be happy in a relationship, you’ve just gotta find the right people to be happy independent alongside with.

Jason would also solicit similar advice as Dick, seeing as he’s been in a few relationships himself, telling you that you might feel as though you’ve lost apart of yourself but in reality it was you hiding that part of yourself in fear of your true self being rejected.

‘Such isn’t what a relationship should be, you should see each other for your best and worst, not just one or the other and you should feel comfortable being yourself with them too.’ He says to you as he throws his arm over your shoulder as you both overlooked Gotham together becuase you couldn’t enjoy the stars with all the light pollution. ‘You’ll get back up on your feet sooner or later but for now eat your food before it goes cold.’ He then scolds as he gestures to the food he had made for you before dragging you to the rooftops for fresh air.

He wants the bash the idiots head in, but he knew you needed a shoulder to cry on right now and that’s what Jason will do, for you were in a vulnerable headspace and were prone to doing stupid stuff; and Jason felt it was his duty to make sure you took care of yourself properly and would do things that you didn’t or couldn’t do if the breakup hit your mental health hard.

Jason would make sure that you and your ex’s paths never cross as he acts as a blockade between you both, having much against the ex for being a uncaring bastard for hurting you while making sure your day went by undisturbed by anything or anyone. He’s looking out for you and most of your time is spent either in a bookstore or in his apartment, where you two would watch shitty reality television, before making predictions on who’ll get kicked out tomorrow nights episode.

Damian

‘Shall I end them for breaking your heart?’ He says as he puts a hand on your shoulder, obviously not use to being the one to comfort another, but with the help of Dick he hoped he was being at least somewhat comforting for you in your time of need.

You raise a hand to pat his hand on your shoulder, weakly chuckling at the seriousness of his tone, for while he might say it out of a need to bring you some assurance that he will be by your side. Damian wasn’t one to half ass his words and was most likely not joking about taking out your ex boyfriend for breaking your heart. ‘Thanks but no thanks dami.’

‘You’re better off without them. They were weak and couldn’t keep up with you, they were intimidated by your presence and how you easily prove yourself as a powerful individual who can look out for themselves and was scared of your power.’ Damian replies as he sits down next to you, setting aside his sword as he has Titus draped across your lap and Ace lounge next to your side, knowing how much you loved the dogs as much as he did.

And you know he’s not lying becuase Damian saw no point in lying to you, it’s ridiculous and serves no purpose whatsoever other then to guard another persons feelings, nope Damian says it as it is and needles to say he didn’t like your ex and now they’ve proved that feeling he had right by breaking your heart. While you said that he couldn’t kill him, Damian would oh most definitely stand outside their window menacingly without really trying.

However until he gets the opportunity to scare the shit out of your ex, he’s by your side with you throughout your healing journey as you realise that Damian wasn’t joking about you and your power. Your heart might break but it’s still beating and to Damian you alleys proven you were stronger then your ex ten times over. Hell you might even spar if you’ve got some anger to let out…Damian will use this as an excuse just to say;

‘Imagine their face and attack with everything you’ve got until there’s nothing left.’

Damian is an advocate for expressing how you fell in whatever form you can available to you, whether it’s through art, writing, music or otherwise just let it all out because how can you feel better when your repressing your emotions; thus hindering your own healing.

Tim has ice cream, your beloved fluffy blankets, your favourite show and or movie queued up on his computer with take out on the way the moment you had told him the news of your break up.

He doesn’t waste time and tells you to put on your most comfortable clothes because you were staying over the night to recover from a rather lacklustre relationship, away from someone who didn’t deserve you in the slightest, though this is very dependant on what relationship you had with your ex partner but the message remained the same with Tim: movie night with a side of gossip session where you shit talk about your ex partner and their glaring red flags now you were out of that mess.

Seriously by the end of the night you are no longer crying tears of sadness but tears of laughter every time Tim had something to say about your ex partner, easily roasting them into oblivion while your grasping at your stomach as it ached pleasantly, before joining in on the roasting yourself by giving him some insider information that his hacking skills could never give him.

Bruce ‘I’m rich’ Wayne who takes you out on shopping sprees to heal your heart by attempting to make a dent in his wallet.

After all what wouldn’t heal the heart faster than spending ridiculous amounts of money on comfort foods, items and clothing of various kinds.

Seriously this man will tell you to get the biggest, most expensive jellycat plushy the shop had, only to tell you to get like two more of similar sizes before gifting you his card and telling you to go nuts on what you want. That or he’d buy you it himself when he sees how hesitant you are with sending his money, quickly to pick up the things you side eye for too long or wince at the price tag of and buying it in bulk for you without hesitation.

He’s treating you to a expensive dinner afterwards with expensive drinks being brought to your table bottle by bottle along with good food, not that Bruce cared in the slightest as the night was far from over for the both of you, far from it as by the end of the night you would’ve completely forgotten about your ex when your rich friend spoils you rotten.

No friend of Bruce’s will cry over a broke loser, this man will remind you of your worth but in a less threading way like a certain son would, even if the encouragement was there in spirit.

[mattscoquette]

reader going through perv!matt’s journal

“i’ll be back in a sec, i just need to run downstairs and help chris with something really quick.”

that’s what matt told you over ten minutes ago, and he’s still gone. you were over at the triplets place hanging out with nick, when matt insisted he show you both his new pc set up. it only took nick five minutes to be over it, but you felt bad when you saw matt’s defeatist expression after nick went back to his room. you decided to stay, but soon after matt abandoned you to go do something with chris.

you could’ve gone back upstairs with nick, but you let your curiosity get the best of you, and somehow you were going through matt’s bedside drawers, seeing what he had in there.

you knew matt had a thing for you, he made it very, very clear. although those feelings weren’t really reciprocated, it was fun to tease him. like, really fun.

before you could stop yourself, the leather binding of matt’s journal was in your hands, itching to be opened and read. you thumbed through the pages, reading matt’s chicken scratch handwriting while he wrote about whatever. you didn’t want to be too invasive, but his journal piqued your interest a lot. you wondered if he ever wrote about you, or if he only kept those thoughts in his head.

your eyes skimmed up and down the pages, nothing really standing out to you until you saw your name.

today y/n came over to see nick. she had on this rly short skirt, i think they were going out to a bar or something later. i don’t really care. i overhear her talking to nick about the guys she gets with. i could be so much better than them. i would make her feel so good, where she’d be begging me for more. god her moans are probably so fucking pretty.

your cheeks got hot as they blushed a deep red, fingers flipping to the next entry.

it’s been a few days since i saw y/n, i miss her so much. i’ve probably touched myself to her more times than i can count in the last day or two. i don’t know what it is with her, but she just gets me so worked up. she doesn’t even have to do anything and i’ll literally get hard from her. a couple weeks ago we were at her place and i heard her in the shower. it turned me on so much i couldn’t handle it. i want her so bad.

there’s gotta be something seriously deranged about me. every time that y/n sleeps over here, i always sneak up to nicks room and take a pair of her panties. she has to have noticed by now. i can’t help it though. i use them to get myself off. sometimes she has really pretty lace ones, other ones are really really skimpy. i don’t care though. i wonder what they’d look like on her. she’d probably think im a fucking creep if she ever really found out. i wonder what she’d do.

at this point, your stomach was doing somersaults, and your thighs were pressed together, trying to relieve the ache that had grown in your cunt. maybe it was weird what he was doing, but the level of obsession was turning you on. bad.

you were quick to find a pen somewhere in the bedside drawer, popping the cap off and scribbling underneath the entry in your loopy handwriting.

you naughty boy. you didn’t learn that stealing was wrong? i would probably punish you and not let you cum. i would tease you, get you all wound up and make you hold it. id use my pretty pink panties around your cock to get you off and let you cum in them after edging you for so long. maybe i’ll use my hands too, or my mouth if you’re really good for me.

you grinned to yourself as you shut the journal, drawing your bottom lip in between your teeth before returning the notebook to its rightful place, exactly how you found it.

you knew that matt wouldn’t do anything about it, either. he would see the note, and probably get off to it a million times, but never actually reach out to you. until then, he’d just have to learn how to keep pleasuring himself alone.

© mattscoquette | taglist

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬. ⋆˚꩜｡ inspired by this fic from my girl @st7rnioioss ♡︎♡︎ perv!matt is soooo back i miss that freak

[ceoofglytchell]

So this is love

Summary: From the moment you took your first breath, you were meant for each other. You are his twin, the missing part of his soul, and Aegon swore to himself that he would do anything in his might to make you happy.

Pairing: Aegon II Targaryen x Twin Sister!Reader

Word count: 4355 words

Warnings: Incest, Reader has Targaryen features, tooth rotting Fluff, brief description of a birth, forced underage marriage, idiots in love, suggestive themes, brief mention of smut, talks of possible infertility, no mention of Y/N

Notes: I am late as usual, sorry. Likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated 💛

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Alicent Hightower never expected to give birth to twins in her first pregnancy, but the gods seemed to have had a plan.

The midday sun shone high in the sky above King's Landing and warm rays of sunlight streamed through the windows as the young queen let out one last painful cry and suddenly an even more shrill, high-pitched scream cut through the air. The cry of a newborn echoed through the chamber and Alicent fell back onto the pillows, exhausted, relief spreading through her.

A maester held the screaming, bloody bundle in his arms, a gentle, almost fatherly smile spreading across his old features. Her husband was not in the room to assist her with the birth. Neither was Rhaenyra.

"It's a boy, Your Grace," the older man in the white robe and the many chains around his neck told the young wife, causing tears of joy to run down her cheeks. The birth had been quick, thank the gods, and she would not have to go through that ordeal again.

The king now had a male heir to the throne.

But suddenly another stabbing pain ran through her abdomen. At first Alicent thought it was the afterbirth, but that was not the case. Her hand found the curve of her rounded belly again and, with wide eyes in shock, she realized that the little boy was not the only one that had been growing inside her for nine months.

"There... there's another one," gasped the young Hightower, whimpering in pain.

The maester immediately handed the boy over to one of the midwives who were in the far corner of the chamber. He hurried back to his queen and looked between her thighs. She was right. There was indeed a second child.

Twins.

"The gods have blessed you, my queen. They are twins," said the maester as he helped her get into the right position again.

Alicent just hoped that the second time would be over just as quickly. A few minutes of pain and then joy. She did not want to lie bleeding and torn on the sheets like Viserys' first wife.

A cloud obscured the sun in the sky and Alicent burst into tears for the second time that day and screamed with all her might as she tried with all her might to bring her Lord Husband a second miracle. She did not know where he was, or if he even knew that she was giving birth to his children, but she hoped that he would be happy in the end. She had done her duty. If he was merciful, he would be happy with two children.

Minutes passed and suddenly the time had come. A second shrill scream echoed through the chambers and mixed with the cries of the little boy who was busy screaming his little lungs out.

The young queen held her breath as the maester took the second bundle in his arms to check that it was healthy. A minute passed and he looked down at her with another smile, although this one was a little more polite than the previous one.

"A girl," he finally stated, wrapped the newborn in soft cloths and handed the little one over to the queen.

At the same time, the midwife approached from the other side and placed the boy in her other arm. Full of love and with tears of joy in her eyes, Alicent Hightower looked down at her twins.

They were beautiful. Two little angels with silver hair and purple eyes. They would need names.

Suddenly the door opened and King Viserys, first of his name, hurried in with an excited glint in his tired eyes. But instead of immediately going to his wife's side to ask about her or to look at the newborns, he turned to the maester, who was a good friend of his.

She didn't hear his question, but she heard the older man's answer: "A boy and a girl, my king. Twins."

Viserys whispered something else and the maester quickly replied: "The boy, your grace."

She could guess what he asked. Who was out first?

Her husband let out a sigh of relief and only then did he approach the birthing bed and look at the two sleeping babies that his wife was holding in her arms.

"They are beautiful, my wife. You did very well," Viserys finally said, brushing a wet strand of hair from the queen's face.

"They will need names, husband," she replied wearily, looking up at him with uncertain brown eyes.

"We will call the boy Aegon. A strong name. He will honor the Conqueror's name."

Alicent looked down at the baby she held in her right arm. Aegon. A weight came with that name and it seemed as if the little life which only saw the light of day for a first time a few minutes ago, has already faded away to some extent.

"And the girl..." Viserys hesitated for a moment before finally saying your name. It was a beautiful name and suited you. It didn't have the same weight as Aegon's, but it was still meaningful.

The young queen smiled gently and pressed a kiss to your forehead and that of your twin.

That day the whole court had a reason to celebrate. Finally there was a male heir to the Iron Throne.

"Aegon, give it back, it's mine!" you shouted loudly as you ran after your twin through the dark corridors of the Red Keep.

Servants quickly moved aside and knights of the Kingsguard just sighed as the young Prince Aegon ran past them, closely followed by his younger twin sister, as if the stranger himself was on their heels.

You had only recently had your fourteenth name day, but you still chased each other and played with each other like you were little children who had only recently discovered the joy of play and fun.

Aegon held a pink silk hairband in his hand that your little sister Helaena had given you for your name day. It wasn't much or anything special, but because it came from her it was all the more special. Aemond had given you a small wooden dragon figurine that sat on your nightstand and would hopefully never fall into Aegon's clumsy hands.

"Go get it!" he called over his shoulder, laughing, whereupon you uttered a little curse that you certainly shouldn't know at your age.

Aegon ran sharply around a corner and slammed into something hard. He fell back to the floor and lay there for a few seconds, staring up at the ceiling and still holding the hairband in his fist.

Without looking where exactly you were running to, you ran around the corner as well. You suddenly saw a large figure in front of you, but before you could stop, you tripped over something lying on the floor and fell down just like that, breathing heavily and looking at the ceiling.

"Have you gone mad?!" shouted Ser Criston Cole and immediately knelt down next to you. Apparently you had overlooked the knight.

Aegon giggled and looked at the older man with an amused expression in his bright violet eyes, whom he sometimes saw more as his own father than the king. "Sorry."

The prince was about to stand up again when you suddenly jumped onto his stomach and tried as best you could to pull your hairband out of his hand: "Give it to me, Aegon!"

"Say it nicely!" he replied and only gripped the hairband tighter while you pulled on the ends.

"Fuck you!" you replied, whereupon Ser Criston could no longer look away, grabbed you by the hips and carried you away from your twin.

"Let me go, please! He stole my hairband," you explained, struggling against the knight's grip like a wildling behind the wall.

"Did he now?" he said with a sigh and looked down at Aegon, who slowly sat up again. His silver hair was disheveled and fell in wild strands over his face. Yours looked no different.

"Perhaps," the boy replied with a shrug.

"You should give it back to her, my prince. She's your sister," Cole said and slowly let go of you, but he kept a hand on your shoulder to be safe. He didn't want to risk another attack.

He bit his tongue, suppressing an unkind comment that would have called him either a fool or an idiot. But he wouldn't have meant it that way. You were his twin. You were one and the same soul that the gods put into two bodies.

"Fine," Aegon finally said and threw you the hairband, which you immediately accepted with a sigh of relief.

Ser Criston let go of your shoulder again, as he was very sure that the danger was now averted and that the twins would not jump at each other's throats. Especially not because he was already aware of what lay ahead. The queen had planned it together with her father and the king.

"Daughter!" a worried voice suddenly called from the side.

A green dress and fox-red hair appeared in your field of vision and you immediately felt two hands resting on your shoulders and brown eyes searching your gaze. The queen was obviously concerned about the state of your blue dress and silver hair.

Alicent ran her worried gaze over her firstborn daughter's face, looking for any scratches or bruises, but thank the gods you seemed to be fine. Only when she had made sure of this did she look at her son, who was standing not far away from her and staring at the floor.

She did not check him for wounds or minor injuries.

"Ser Criston? What happened here?" the queen asked her sworn protector with a tired sigh.

"The princess chased the prince through the corridors, Your Grace. It was a game between children," the Dornish man explained to her calmly so that there would be no confusion. As much as he valued the queen, he knew that she could get moody at times. Especially when it came to the king's firstborn son.

"Then why is her dress dirty?" Alicent asked, trying to brush some of the dirt off her daughter's skirt with the palm of her hand.

"The prince stumbled while escaping and the princess then stumbled over him," Cole continued. He was honest, but knowingly left out the argument and the fact that the boy stole his sister's gift to annoy her. He didn't want to give her any reason to worry or reconsider her decision.

Alicent sighed and shook her head at Aegon, who actually couldn't do anything about this little accident. Except, of course, that he stole your hairband.

"Well, I wanted to talk to you both anyway."

You looked curiously at your mother and raised a silvery eyebrow, while your twin just tilted his head.

"Of course, mother," you answered politely. "What is it?"

The Green Queen shook her head and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. The subject was too private to discuss with you here in the middle of the hallway. It was a difficult subject, but it was necessary for both of you to know about it.

"Come with me, you two. Ser Criston, you too," Queen Alicent ordered, turning and walking towards her chambers, which were not far from this corridor. She gently pulled you along by your shoulder, while Criston made sure that Aegon followed as well and would not run away again.

Once in the queen's chambers, Ser Criston closed the heavy wooden doors so that the queen could be alone with her firstborns. He already knew what was coming and it would probably get loud in not too long.

For a moment, the room was plunged into a loud, uncomfortable silence, with the chiming of birds and the distant ringing of bells the only sounds.

"Your father and I have made a decision," Alicent began with a serious expression, folding her hands in front of her stomach. "You will soon be adults and we are already receiving letters about potential marriage alliances."

Aegon's shoulders visibly tensed and you could feel your eyes widening.

A marriage? Now? It was still too early...

"In order to ensure that House Targaryen remains strong in future generations, we have decided to marry you both to each other."

For the young prince, it feels as if all the wind had just been knocked out of his lungs and as if a whole herd of wild horses had trampled over him. He did not want to marry. You were his twin sister and he loved you, even if you could be annoying at times, but was that love enough to want to be your Lord Husband?

Just like your brother, you were at odds with yourself and were lost in the deepest recesses of your thoughts, torn. He was your twin brother and your souls were already one. You always knew, even when he was feeling bad, you knew exactly when he needed you and now you would be bound to each other forever.

As husband and wife.

You found your voice first: "And when will it be, mother? When will we get married?"

A soft sigh escaped your mother and she scratched the back of her hand with her short, bitten nails as if she was nervous or under immense pressure. It almost seemed as if she didn't want this any more than they did.

"In a fortnight."

Time passed faster than you could have ever imagined. One day your mother had stroked your long silver hair soothingly while she told you about her own wedding and suddenly you were standing in front of the mirror while your maids stood behind you, lacing up the bodice of your ivory wedding dress.

The dress was beautiful. The fabric was white and there were small gold decorations on the chest, hips and sleeves. Your hair was tied in a braid and around your neck you wore a gold chain with a green gem in the middle - a gift from your mother.

You looked pretty. You just hoped that your twin would see it the same way.

Aegon couldn't believe his eyes when you entered the sept and your father, King Viserys, gently led you by the hand to the altar.

Although he still didn't want this marriage, he couldn't ignore the warmth that spread in his chest when he saw you and a lump formed in his throat.

You were beautiful.

"I am hers and she is mine." "I am his and he is mine."

With those words it was official. And when he finally pressed a quick kiss on your lips he knew that he could perhaps learn to see you as more than just his little twin sister.

But it would take time.

And that you took.

Six years have passed since your wedding day and a lot had changed in that time.

You were now grown up and far more mature than you had been just a few years ago. A lot had happened. Your little brother Aemond lost an eye, Rhaenyra and her sons moved to Dragonstone and your father was now seriously ill.

The issue of succession has been getting bigger and bigger lately and all kinds of voices are getting louder. There are some who are vociferously advocating for your half-sister and others who wish your husband would one day sit on the Iron Throne.

But you also knew something that no one else knew. Aegon was not interested in power or the crown. Family was the most important thing to him in the world and that included you.

In fact, you were the thing he loved most in the world.

Aegon's head rested on your lap, his eyes closed and his face peaceful as you gently ran your fingers through his short wavy hair. You hummed a soft melody and he was lost in your angelic voice. It was a kind of ritual between you. Every time the world outside your marital chambers became too much for you, you came back here and you calmed him down and he calmed you down in return.

"I heard them whispering again today," Aegon murmured against the velvet fabric of your dress. "They still wonder when the line will be secured."

A small sigh escaped you and you stopped humming as he reminded you of life outside again. Of your duty. The one you had failed at so far.

"Soon, my darling. I promise you. We just have to try a few more times and then everything will be fine," you tried to calm yourself and your brother-husband. But in vain.

It has been six years since your wedding and so far you have remained childless. It wasn't as if you weren't trying, because you were. Often enough, in fact. At first, sex and pleasure had been something that was foreign to you and made you feel uncomfortable, but now it had become something you enjoyed doing. Aegon had always loved it, and in the last few years he had shown and taught you so many things that you couldn't even remember them all.

"Mother is getting nervous," he whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to the fabric of your dress while his hands ran soothingly up and down your lower back.

You couldn't help but roll your eyes. Of course she was getting nervous, but not for your sake. Not because she was worried about the functionality of your body or that of your twin, but because she was interested in the continuation of the royal line. Her blood on the throne. It was never about you, but about her ambitions and her will, shaped by her father the Hand.

"Yes, sure. If it were up to her, we would already have ten heirs,” you replied grimly, shaking your head. You wanted children, but not because you had to and it was your duty as Aegon's wife, but because you loved him and it would enrich your life.

It was similar with Aegon. Duty crushed him and in this great patch of darkness of the Red Keep, you were his only ray of light. A ray of sunshine on a rainy day, a gentle breeze in unbearable heat. Many years ago, he had wanted neither you nor this marriage, but you had taught him that this alliance could be more than a political tactic.

Because of you, he knew that he was more than the heir to the Iron Throne. He was more than that. His life had a meaning and that meaning was you. His twin, the other part of his soul, his light, his queen.

You saved him. More than once, and not only from the anger and rage of his mother and grandfather, but also from himself.

"She should be satisfied with one for now," said Aegon with a laugh.

You looked down at him with a smile on your lips and tapped him on the nose, whereupon he wrinkled his face and pulled a playful grimace, which in turn made you laugh.

"I love you, brother," you whispered softly, playing with one of his wild strands of hair that never let itself be tamed.

"And I love you, little sister," he replied with a grin.

"We're twins," you said, raising your eyebrows.

"But I'm still older."

"Only by a few minutes."

"Still."

"You're an idiot."

"And you're a twat."

He was behaving differently than usual. For several hours now, he had been following you through the corridors of the Red Keep like a kicked puppy that wants to apologize to its master for a misstep. It was strange. Especially because you didn't know what he could have done wrong.

Had he drunk too much again? Vomited on an old tapestry? Knocked over a vase? Ruined an heirloom? Questions upon questions, and you couldn't find an answer to any of them.

For the last half hour you had been sitting with Helaena in her chambers and she had told you something about the centipede she had in her collection while you tried not to show your disgust. She loved these little creatures and because she was your little sister you loved her too, but you couldn't understand that for the life of you.

You said goodbye with a smile and opened the door, but the moment it opened just a crack you could see a silhouette quickly disappearing around a corner.

What had your beloved brother done now?

"Aegon?" you called after him, but there was no answer at first.

You shook your head, your long silver hair falling in waves over your shoulders, and decided to follow him.

The corridor was empty. Apart from a few tapestries showing the conquest of Westeros by your ancestors and a few torches on the wet, cold walls, there was nothing interesting to see. Surprised, but still curious, you walked slowly down the corridor when suddenly a hand grabbed your wrist and pulled you into a small, dark alcove. Before you could scream, the person had already pressed a hand over your mouth.

Your instincts took over and you tried to defend yourself, but then-

A laugh. A laugh that was very familiar to you.

Aegon has rarely seen you as frightened as you were at that moment, and it amused him deeply. A broad grin lit up his features and a sparkle in his violet eyes revealed that he found everything about it very amusing.

Slowly he let go again and you couldn't help but hit him in the chest with full force, whereupon he coughed instead of laughing.

"What has gotten into you?! Do you want me to die?" you asked him angrily, but your Lord Husband just giggled and wrapped his arm around your waist while leaning his forehead against yours.

"Quite the opposite, my heart," he murmured before pressing a kiss to your lips and then another and then another.

You leaned away, whereupon he whined and pulled you even closer to him.

"What's wrong with you?" you asked him confused and shook your head. He was acting strangely.

"I want to give you a child. I want it so much," Aegon whispered and leaned forward to let his lips brush the side of your neck.

A shiver ran down your spine and you instinctively pressed yourself closer to him. Oh, you wanted to too. You wanted to be a mother and give him an heir. Or two or three. As many as he wanted.

"And what makes you think it will work this time?" you asked him instead as he gently sucked a mark onto your skin.

"There's this book-"

Your laughter interrupted him and he looked up at you with wide eyes: "What?"

"Forgive me, brother. I forgot that you also have the gift of reading," you replied with an amused giggle, whereupon he rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and pushed you against the wall with a sudden jerk.

"Don't be a brat. Don't you remember what happened the last time you were like this?" he asked you, bowing his nose in your silver hair and inhaling your sweet scent. Gods, he had to find the person who made your oils and make him a Lord, because you smelled divine.

"Of course I remember. But I feel sorry for Aemond when he accidentally came into our chambers," you said, leaning your head against the cold, stone wall behind you.

"Why? Sooner or later he had to learn that these positions were possible," he whispered and started to nibble on your earlobe, which made you whimper softly.

His one hand wandered down your body and he kneaded your backside, while sometimes he bit your earlobe and sometimes he peppered your neck with more kisses.

"Go on. What about that book, darling?" you asked him, your voice quiet and shaky.

"Apparently there is a position that promotes female fertility," he answered you with a grin.

"And you want to try it?"

"Yes."

"Now?"

"Now."

Exactly one month later, you came running out of Maester Orwyle's chambers with a wide grin on your lips. He had just told you the good news. You were pregnant. After six years of marriage, you were finally expecting Aegon's child. You could hardly believe it.

With quick steps you hurried to your marital chambers, where Aegon was leaning against the window and looking out into the courtyard. When he heard footsteps, he looked around and smiled when he saw you. His beloved wife.

Without saying a word to him, you jumped into his arms and clung to him tightly, a wide grin on your lips.

"Hey, my sweet, what's wrong?" he asked you, wrapping his arms around you.

Instead of giving him a direct answer, you held him even tighter. "You're going to have to be much more careful with me in the next few months, dear brother."

His eyes widened and he reached for your face to look into your eyes, which were identical to his own. Although he always found yours far more beautiful. Like sparkling jewels.

"You're pregnant," he whispered reverently, looking down at your stomach, which was still flat.

"It seems so," you murmured with a soft smile on your rosy lips. Finally. After so many years.

Without waiting another second, he pressed his mouth against yours and kissed you as if his life depended on it. He poured all his love and passion for you into that kiss as he slowly moved toward the windowsill.

He would have to be more careful with you now, but that didn't mean he couldn't love you, as any good husband should.

And, as fate would have it, a few minutes later Aemond came into your chambers to seek his big sister's advice, only to see you sitting on the windowsill in front of the open window, your hair disheveled and your cheeks flushed, and Aegon kneeling between your legs, his face between your thighs.

And for the second time, you gave him a view he would never forget.

Not again.

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Taglist: @bey0nd-1he-stars @sassypain @hisfavegirl

[borkunlimited]

Take Your Time, Miss Deer (Sylus x Reader) - Ch. 6

In a tailor shop tucked in the calmer side of the N109 zone is a little room where all clothes of many different designs come together under the delicate hands of an unassuming deer living in the den of all sorts of beasts and sitting on them is the dragon who wears your clothes.

Your many interactions with Skye, Mr. Sylus’ messenger or-

-Sylus is waiting for you to finally figure out he is playing his own messenger.

A Deer Hybrid! Reader x Dragon Hybrid! Sylus Fic

Tags: Sylus x Reader, Hybrid AU, Suggestive Themes, Fluff, Angst, Predator/Prey, Sexual Harassment

Trigger Warning: Sexual Harassment

Chapter Summary: A horn, a tail, and canines so sharp. He will wear the title of monster gladly if it means not one cut will bloom in your skin.

Author's Note: Just a dragon and a deer having a little adventure. I had so much fun building the world in this AU! As always, I want to thank everyone for their kind support~ A few more chapters (+ an epilogue, of course!)

Enjoy!

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6

6: My Dearest, Sincere

Daisy perched on the railing of the steps of your shop, wearing a little straw hat tied around its neck in a perfect red bow, his optics adjusting on each hybrid passing by your shop who did a double take at you before quickly walking away or returning your wave with a weak one.

You didn’t pay attention to their reactions much, your excitement superseding everything because you have been looking forward to this day ever since.

A red circle marked today’s date in your calendar, the numbers printed on the museum ticket that arrived inside a black envelope handed over to you by Skye, a gift from Mr. Sylus who thought you needed a break after hearing what happened, a little adventure outside the N109 zone accompanied with a small reminder.

The red gemstone in the brooch Mr. Sylus gifted to you shines brightly on your chest, wearing it as he instructed every time you go outside. You put on your best clothes today and in your head, a matching hat similar to Daisy’s.

There is a quiet hope that he will also come along today but you know he doesn’t have any reason to do so and you already surrendered to the fact that he will always stay elusive, distant but watchful.

Perhaps Skye is right, his boss is indeed a very private man but even so, he conveyed his fondness to you in his own unique way.

Is he lonely?

Does he also have bad days as well?

Is he taking care of himself?

Your thoughts were cut short when Daisy let out a caw and you smiled when you watched it perch on the shoulder of the person who will bring you to the museum today.

“Good morning, Skye,” you greeted him, your boots clicking on the little stairway of your shop that also served as your home, skipping every other step while you made your way towards him.

His sweetheart, always so adorable.

Sylus took a few strides from his car to meet you at the bottom, taking a closer look at you. Your attire is quite different from your usual work clothes, your hair tied in a neat french braid and he smiled in approval when he saw you wearing the brooch.

Just a quick measure especially now there are too many people for his liking whose eyes lingered for too long on his precious deer.

“There’s my girl,” he greeted you back and he lifted you up effortlessly, spinning you around.

A small, surprised yelp escaped your lips, clearly not expecting him to do that and you buried your face on his hair, a reflex, to hide the blush that bloomed on your face and you accidentally took in the scent of petrichor with faint notes of expensive tobacco, gunpowder, and burnt pinewood.

A strange combination of fragrance synonymous to safety.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to,” you said when he put you down and he held your waist gently, a quiet reassurance when he noticed you shifting back and forth anxiously.

“I don’t mind, sweetheart,” Sylus chuckled and he raised his brow when he noticed you trying to peek behind him, as if checking if there are other passengers inside the car.

“Looking for someone, miss seamstress?”

“Oh, I was just wondering if-”, you fiddled with your right sleeve, biting your lip while you avoided his gaze.

“Wondering if?”, he encouraged gently, a small smirk on his face. 

The curious gaze, the hint of anticipation in your eyes. He had seen this expression too many times, his deer always looking forward to the day she would finally meet the elusive ‘Mr. Sylus’.

As always, all of his patience is reserved only for you, waiting for his favorite tailor to piece it all together.

And maybe, a piece of him is hoping this little charade will last long. You are the only person he sees looking for him without any hint of selfishness, just genuine intentions of hoping to thank him for everything and yet, you have already returned everything back to him tenfold, even when there is nothing you need to do, even when there is nothing to repay.

“If Mr. Sylus tagged along?”, you finished your question quietly, your sheepish smile hidden behind your hat while you looked up at him.

Perhaps he also takes pride when you look for his real identity, a constant reassurance to him that even if you don’t know the face of your benefactor, you still want to get to know him better.

“No, I am afraid not, sweetie,” Sylus replied, pinching your cheek, “It is just me and you today if that’s alright.”

Your deer ears drooped slightly at his answer but you don’t want Skye to think that you don’t like his company, in fact, you do enjoy it and you are hoping to thank Mr. Sylus not just for his presents this time but for allowing Skye to stay longer every time he comes over.

“I don’t mind,” you replied cheerfully, “You’re my favorite visitor after all.”

“Is that so?”

“Very much so.”

“Maybe I should visit more often. I wouldn’t want to lose that spot to someone else, little doe.”

“Mr. Sylus wouldn’t mind?”, you asked, your tail wagging slightly at the thought. Does that mean he will come over everyday? It must be too much to fit in his schedule, especially since you heard from the twins that Mr. Sylus can be very demanding.

“He’ll be very pleased that someone’s looking after his favorite tailor, sweetie,” Sylus answered, tapping your nose, “He knows how fond I am of you as well.”

He wouldn’t deny that he has multiple meetings, negotiations, and auctions he has to attend but even then, he will always make time to be Miss Deer’s second assistant because it looks like he wouldn’t be able to take away the title of first assistant from Mephisto anytime soon.

“Ready to go, miss seamstress?”

“Can Daisy sit with me in front?”

Mephisto let out a beep, certainly pleased, and Sylus rolled his eyes, fully understanding that the bird was holding it over his head and acting like an indoor pet bird when around you.

But with you sitting on his passenger seat holding a basket lined with white cloth for Mephisto to rest? He will let it pass. 

How is it that all the henchmen he sent to you become so docile?

Not like he minds, not when he sees his crow already made itself comfortable on your lap, preening itself.

Now he wonders when it's his turn.

────────────────────

Linkon City is one of the few cities in the country that allows hybrids and humans to mingle together.

Still,  a crowd is certainly not something you are used to after residing in the N109 zone for a while. There are too many noises and you have become more used to the hum of the sewing machines, the sound of the fabric scissors cutting through the cloth, and the distant gunfight muffled by the thick walls of your shop that unfamiliar and sudden noises tend to overwhelm you easily.

You held on Skye’s sleeve before you stepped inside the museum, hiding behind his back and Daisy, always quick to sense your discomfort, nestled itself on the crook of your neck.

“Feeling a bit spooked, sweetie?”, he asked softly, his tail wrapping itself loosely around your waist and pulling you closer.

Even then, he waited for your reply, your eyes switching back and forth between him while the small crowd dispersed around you. You glanced up to him with a small smile, a silent request, to give you a few minutes to take in everything around you.

“I just need a moment, please.”

“We are in no rush, little doe, take all the time you need.”

As always, Sylus complied with your request, his gaze trained at your hand on the cuff of his sleeve that acted as your anchor on your new surroundings.

He can sense the cautious looks mixed with curiosity directed to him and you both by humans and hybrids passing by but he pays them no mind as long as they do not pose a threat. To you.

With his imposing height, your petite frame, and the sharp contrast of your species, everyone is likely to assume you are coerce in this meeting by him but people who take a closer look will realize that this rare hybrid-

-Is as obedient as a housepup, his crimson eyes only trained to you when you pulled on the cuff of his sleeve gently, a signal you are ready to explore the large halls with a new found confidence.

Should you go to the main hall first?

Or take a look at the paintings?

Perhaps the tapestries?

It has been so long since you stepped on a place such as this that you realize you may have been dragging Skye around.

“Oh I am sorry,” you said, suddenly letting go of his cuff much to his disapproval, “I did not ask where you wanted to go first.”

“Didn’t Mr. Sylus said today’s your day? Go wherever you want, little doe.”

“But I want you to enjoy it as well.”

“I am already having a good time, sweetheart,” he replied, playfully tweaking the brim of your hat then fixing it, making sure the ribbon under your chin is secured.

“Oh, don’t you make a unique pair?”, a voice behind Sylus back commented cheerfully and you immediately hid behind his back when he turned to check the person who spoke up.

A young rabbit hybrid stood in front of you, clearly someone working here in the museum based on her name plate, offering you a map to the museum. There is no hint of judgment in her gaze while she waits for either of you to take the brochure from her.

She opened the map, pointing at a specific area further inside the museum, “Here. People usually go here when they are on dates.”

Date?

You looked up at Skye who did not bother to correct the staff, thanking her and studying the map after she bidding you both to have fun and then walking away.

“Can I also take a look please?,” you asked, tugging his sleeve for him to bend down slightly and he immediately complied, letting you view the details of the brochure and making sure you don’t have to stand on your tiptoes.

“Anything you want to see first, sweetie?”

“They all sound interesting. I want to see all of them.”

“Same here but we can’t start exploring just yet, miss seamstress. Where do you want to start?”

Your brows furrowed slightly, a small thoughtful hum escaping your lips, and he playfully tapped the crease between your brows, amused at the fact how you are indeed weighing your options while Mephisto tilted its head in beat with you.

“How about this one?”, you asked, pointing at the room displaying a series of paintings from an obscure artist.

He nodded, “Good choice, little doe.”

If you walk, he will follow. If you stop, he will halt. With you leading the way, your footsteps will be replaced with his, tracing the same path his deer left just for him but today, there will be not one set of footsteps but two when you hold the other end of the brochure he had in his hand while both of you walk side by side.

For a brief moment, his fingers brushed against yours.

────────────────────

When night comes, what fairy tales do every human and hybrid tell to their children before they tuck them to sleep?

The lullaby of the music box plays in the background of the small room you have, in the humble two story house your father managed to purchase with his savings to build a tailor shop in the Bloomshore District.

It was during those years when the humans on the top are kinder, determined to erase the lines all of your ancestors collectively have set over the years but with change comes resistance and grand plans of building cities become smaller and smaller and out of it came a little portion of Bloomshore District, empty because of its close distance from the industrial zones.

It was home and it was yours.

Every night, your father will leave his work downstairs, taking a break from sewing together uniforms for employees working in the factories nearby and each step creak, on his hand the first picture book you bought from a second hand bookstore and his other hand helping you climb the stairs.

It was always his soft voice who put you to bed while you watched the little dragon figurine frolic on the field of red wildflowers, in a world where it is neither the hero nor the villain.

“Are all dragons born bad?”

It was the same question you asked him, confused why it is always the nameless dragon who is given the role of the villain, the one who is always slain at the end and their death celebrated. Savage beasts who only know how to take and with every place they arrive, they leave a trail of black snow.

They should be punished, the knight of every story always proclaimed, pointing his blade at the chest of the dragon smiling with its pointed teeth in the picture.

“I don't think anyone is born bad, twig.”

He always let out a sigh, seemingly amused at your question and he always give you the same answer before pressing a kiss on your forehead, reminding you to sleep or else you would not grow taller, even if you try to point your ears up or add more tree branches on your antlers and the day ends when he closes the door behind him, his exit punctuated with the lullaby coming to an end.

You always forget to ask him why people said otherwise.

“Skye, I am sorry,” you said quietly, looking up at the dragon hybrid whose expression remained neutral while he gazed at the large painting in front of you.

Dragons are born with sin. 

Dragons should not have friends.

Dragons are liars, nothing good comes out of their mouth.

It is the same lines repeated even by his fellow hybrids and in the crowd that part ways when they recognize what he is, it serves as a cruel reminder that he will always be alone in the long and winding path that looms ahead of him.

How many times did Sylus see these drawings in books he had read when he was young? Even his fingers and toes are not enough to count the instances where someone plunges anything sharp right through the dragon’s chest.

“You have nothing to apologize for, sweetie,” he spoke, his gaze softening when he turned to look at your ears drooping, guilty. Both you and him did not expect one of the paintings would have a subject such as this and even when he looked away, it was always the truth, a fact of this world.

He will always remain as it is, a fiend.

“I should have chosen a different exhibit for us to see,” you replied quietly, and his tail wrapped around your waist.

“I’m fine, miss seamstress. A simple picture is not enough to hurt me,” he chuckled, and inside the four corners of this wide, wide, room, he can only hear the small rustle of your clothes as you shuffled closer next to him, offering small comfort.

He has seen these images too many times, in reality and in dreams, but here you are, treating him as if he shouldn’t be stained with violence when he already is, that it is true, he is indeed a selfish dragon sitting on his hoard and even then, it is not enough.

All the shiny trinkets in the world but there is no material thing that could ever fill the already gaping hole left by nameless people who hated his kind.

He had convinced himself that he would remain that way, fractured and fragmented, held together by sheer determination and strength. Even then, there are pieces that slipped through the gaps, never to be found, forever lost.

But, that was before.

“Maybe the dragon did not die, Skye,” you decided to venture further, your eyes trained at the painting, “Maybe it flew far away after that.”

And then, someone picks up a thread and a needle, slowly, carefully, mending them.

You.

You with the dearest voice, with the gentlest of hands, with the scent of cotton and wildflowers enough to sooth the pain of wounds from years past.

“Perhaps. Maybe he managed to find someone to stitch his wounds together, little doe.”

“Well, he certainly does need help. I don’t think he can hold a needle and thread with such large claws.”

“You’re right. His claws are better suited for holding treasures.”

“Or protecting the people he loves,” you smiled at him, the two of you walking away from the painting and moving to another one.

Now that sounds like something a hero would do, not a villain and Sylus is more than aware he will never be one, the thought is almost amusing. He too once held a cardboard sword thinking he can also venture to the tower the princess is locked away but those are childhood follies, delusions.

No, he will never be one.

Yet, there is a glimmer of hope, small but enduring, shielded with both of your hands from the smallest gust of wind.

Maybe, maybe, you are right, the dragon had fled away, away from everything until he met a deer who led him deeper, deeper in the woods to rest while her forest friends looked on.

The uncaring world will continue to march on but his wounds will close, his scars will fade, and in the hidden grove of red wildflowers where it is just you and him, he has discovered that not all dragons are fated to live inside towers of iron and stone.

If the time comes that his precious deer, the caretaker of this little paradise, would be harmed then-

For your sake, he will be as monstrous as you need him to be.

────────────────────

In this small enclosure, your heartbeats sing in a steady rhythm, a slow and gentle melody. Sylus had always compared it to a lullaby, a melody you can only find on old music boxes in antique stores tucked far from the city centers and only if you listen closely. A melody no one would be able to replicate, uniquely yours.

Small and soft, a faint humming, but he is beginning to think he has been gifted with sharp senses so that he can always spot you in a dense and loud crowd.

The wreath of flowers he is weaving together in his hands is almost complete and Sylus gazed at you in amusement, your eyes closed and your hands folded on your lap.

The little glasshouse you and Sylus entered isolated you further from the rest. Every person who will step inside will not find any plants of interest, the blooms kept are of common variety, plain but these are not the reason why this place is here.

Various butterflies of different colors fluttered around you and you told him of your plan on staying still ahead, attempting to attract as many of these little creatures as you can because you want you and him to make friends with them so he also played along.

Little insects slowly make their way to you, some rest their wings on the tips of your antlers and a butterfly sharing the color of your eyes landed on your bandaged finger, the movement of its wing barely even making a sound in the already quiet sanctuary.

He supposed he should give his thanks to that young rabbit hybrid who pointed you two to this area isolated from the main building of the museum, and he hummed a low tune, stealing a glance to check if your eyes are still closed before fastening the red ribbon you have gifted to him in the wreath he just completed.

A little hint that you will only find out before you call it a night or, maybe the morning after.

“They seem to like you, sweetie,” he spoke softly, making sure to not scare your nameless friends.

You opened your eyes slowly to see for yourself and you smiled, moving your finger closer to look at the butterfly then peering at the white butterfly with crimson spots that made itself comfortable on his shoulder, a stark difference against the black leather of his jacket.

“Look, Skye. You have a little friend.”

“So I do but I believe they are more fond of you than they are of me.”

“They are just shy. I’ll introduce you and your friend to them,” you said softly, a quiet whisper, moving your hand slowly to move the butterfly on your finger so it can sit beside his nameless companion on his shoulder, “See, now, you have two.”

And they make a pretty pair.

“Well would you look at that, sweetheart,” he chuckled quietly, not wanting to disturb the butterflies you are transferring to him one by one, “It seems my entourage grows.”

Nameless friends.

Sylus is more than aware the lives of these creatures are fleeting, they do not have enough time to realize the differences in their colors and sizes while they dance together among the array of common blooms, a kaleidoscope rotating endlessly, different beings flowing into one stream of consciousness.

He let the first butterfly rest on his finger, bringing it close to his lips and even then, the words he had whispered are barely a gust to the little being.

“What did you tell our friend, Skye?”, you asked, a soft giggle escaping your lips when he let it rest on the tip of your nose.

Among the rows of blooms bursting with colors, the brightest flower stood out of all them.

Delicate.

Soft.

The closest you have to having thorns are your antlers that reminded him of branches of a mighty tree.

Must the strong always have sharp teeth and claws? No, Sylus disagrees. Strength comes in various forms and you, the deer who found comfort among the beasts shunned by their fell ow kind, is one of the few who dared to look past such loathsome faces they have.

“I told our new friend that it is lucky to be sitting on the most beautiful flower in the greenhouse,” he answered, reaching out to twirl a lock of your hair and gazing at the wings of the creature who had already made itself comfortable, fulfilling a small favor from him.

Of course, with beauty comes recognition and with the wreath of flowers held together by the ribbon you both created, he crowned you with blossoms of various shades of yellow, vibrant as the sun, and he will forever remember their scent mixed against yours that haunt him even in his dreams. 

Even when you have never stepped foot in the base and much along his bed, the faint aroma of springtime lingered at the empty side of his bed he had reserved just for you.

A blush bloomed on your cheeks upon his compliment, red as the spots of his first friend, and you stifled a soft laugh, your body trembling while you moved your eyes back and forth from him to your side.

Your affections for him has changed ever since that day when he wrapped the red bandage on your finger, the warmth of his tongue lingered on your fingertip and even when you are fully aware of your differences, you also wished during the lull of the quiet nights that you don’t want this to be folly, a passing fancy, just a temporary reprieve before you found someone of the same species.

You slowly reach up to him, letting one of the butterflies perching on one of the bases of his horns crawl on your finger, and you bring it close to you.

He watched your lips part while you mumbled softly to the little being and its paper thin wings before you let it go, watching it join the others.

“What did you tell that one, sweetie?”

“I told it that it is very fortunate to be friends with the kindest dragon I’ve met.”

He averted his gaze from you, chuckling softly, and you tilt your head when his fingers reach out to play with your pinky with his ears tinged red.

Certainly a word you would never describe a repulsive beast.

“You don’t believe me, Skye?”

“I am not a very good dragon that you think I am, miss seamstress.”

“But bad dragons don’t fix wounds and kiss them, do they?”

“Moments of kindness should not be mistaken as a change in character, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, the sound a cover for the thin layer of sadness hidden beneath a despicable casing that is him.

You hummed in thought, your eyes quietly studying his face and the corner of his lips lifted in a soft smirk under your curious gaze. Quietly, you reached out for one of the flowers both of you picked on the way and carried here using the underside of your hat.

“Can you come closer for me, Skye?”, you asked.

“Like this, little doe?”, he said, leaning closer without any hesitation and your hand brushed against his horn, tying the yellow blossom together with the good luck ribbon he always wears.

A small whimper almost escapes his lips upon your gentle touch, the top of his head pressing against your hand for more of it.

“I will try to put more flowers and ribbons on you then, Skye, until you finally believe that you are a good and friendly dragon,” you smiled, shifting through the stems of the array of blooms and picking those you think would suit him nicely, tucking them in his hair.

Tell him, tell him that he isn't a monster and he will believe every word you will say.

He chuckled softly, “Even if I am, do you think people would see the same as you do, sweetheart?”

“I’ll make as many ribbons as I can for you then.”

“Are you trying to turn me into a living, walking present, little doe?”

“But you are already one, Skye. You’re the best gift Mr. Sylus gave to me,” you replied, as if it is an absolute truth, a sincere declaration and his eyes widened for a fraction of a second then softened.

“More than the hairpins that he gave to you?”

“More than them, yes.”

“More than your favorite vinyl records he sent you?”

“You can sing them for me anyways."

“You’re such a strange little deer, miss seamstress,” he commented, laughing in amusement and you tilt your head at how his ears are redder than earlier, his smirk faltering to a lopsided smile.

“Will wearing a bow on your tail make you feel better if I wear one as well, Skye?”, you asked, your hand brushing against the soft petals tucked on the strands of his hair.

The image was almost whimsical, but both of you made an unlikely pair. In the thin line that divides your kind, both of you are mirror images, the same but not quite.

“I suppose I’ll have to follow suit, won’t I?”, he replied playfully, then poking your cheek, “It’s only fair.”

Having a bow on his powerful tail will be an amusing sight, you wearing one certainly does have appeal and as he follows you closely while you leave the small greenhouse, his eyes lingered on your tail swaying and he can only picture the perfect ribbon that would compliment you the best.

Although, he wouldn’t mind pulling it off as much as he looks forward to putting one on you when the time comes.

────────────────────

Everyone looks after each other in the small community of all hybrids back at the small corner of Bloomshore District.

The sheep hybrid lady with her canine hybrid husband, their two children, Simon and their daughter, who bakes the perfect strawberry shortcake. A yearly treat you always look forward to, the package familiar.

The elderly owl hybrid that runs the clinic, the one who always reminds you to take your morning walks after your father’s check-ups.

The fruits and vegetable stall ran by a rabbit hybrid who gives you a playful wink every time she slips in an extra apple on your bag, her thanks to you for fixing her apron.

The raccoon hybrid and her group of panda bear hybrid friends who play baseball at the empty lot, their jerseys you put together with their numbers.

It was a small area the government allowed hybrids to settle in but even then, they are selective to who they will let in, hybrids they believe are harmless and they all want you to follow one rule:

Do not help your other kind.

You were your father’s assistant back then and both of you have tailored clothes for hybrids and humans. All of your customers were kind, every person who entered the shop courteous with an exception.

Humans who claimed they are looking after you.

They are always the last people to enter your shop every end of the week. They don’t ask for money or anything at all but you and your father kept your head low.

Even then, averting your gaze does not mean the onlooker will do the same.

Your tail stroked. Your ears tugged. Your antlers pulled. The touches laced with malicious fascination.

That human sees you as an animal in a petting zoo.

Perhaps, it was a twisted fascination towards your kind, an exotic catch, fresh meat, and everything culminated when the advances had become too much.

It was that same human everyday and you have paid the price in full when you decided you had enough. A cry for help, small but audible, and that small baseball team who loves hanging around your shop did not hesitate to hold him down.

Your father did not forget the look that human is wearing who did not even struggle against the hold of the tallest panda bear hybrid child.

A victorious smirk. 

There was barely enough time to gather up your belongings when the fire happened.

A few of your finished works and personal items, the rest you watched turned ash outside the place your father had built when he was allowed to settle in this district while you were still a toddler.

You held the music box closed to your chest, your eyes unable to tear away at your home where all your hopes and dreams had taken root, bloomed, and finally, crushed. 

Your father watched the young Simon back then and his much younger sister put a blanket over you, whispered a few words and then slowly stepped away to give you space.

He will remember the looks of your hybrid neighbors, silent anger mixed with fear while they part to give way to the cause of everything.

“I just think you are cute, you know? Maybe this time you will learn how to put up with it now everything’s gone.”

Did I make the wrong decision? 

He asked himself back then but the question is maybe more to your mother who had left you both too early. He had witnessed everything, heard every word that human whispered to you and among the silent mumbles of kindly neighbors, they all pointed to the most unlikely place that could possibly be your new home. 

There will always be a price in every bargain struck. 

His beautiful daughter, always reserved, and your father will be your voice to your talents and if he needs to face the most dangerous hybrid just so you can continue your work, then so be it.

Better in the company of beasts than men.

It was your father’s love for you and his promise to your mother that gave him courage to face Sylus and ask for capital. The double doors inside Sylus’ estate in the N109 zone is an iron gate and ahead is a young dragon who had hoarded everything and more.

He wore his best suit that day and he was not just a proud father but a businessman who knows his wares. Never did he falter under Sylus’ gaze and when the dragon hybrid agreed, he only let out a sigh of relief once he stepped out of the dragon’s home.

Your father may have skipped on his way back to you in your temporary home. Happy, grateful, and hopeful. 

The smile on your face returned when you opened the door to your new studio and he didn’t stop you when you immediately went to work on your commission, dedicated to the first request that will eventually bring in more clients and the proud owner of that suit is no other than-

Sylus.

From there, an unlikely relationship bloomed and your father, an audience sitting in the front row.

It was around evening when Sylus returned to your shop, carrying you in his arms. You were already fast asleep, your head against the dragon hybrid’s chest and dangling on Sylus’ arms are paper bags containing souvenirs from the museum he took you earlier.

Where do you even get this courage? Your father will never know but he is sure your mother would be thoroughly amused to see her daughter all cozy against a predator hybrid.

“Mr. Sylus!”, your father immediately stood up and made his way to him, “My apologies. My daughter did not mean to impose.”

He was about to take you from the dragon hybrid’s arms but Sylus only shook his head, amused and he noticed how Sylus’ gaze at you fondly when you mumbled something in your sleep.

“There’s no need to apologize. She’s just exhausted from walking. Fell asleep on our way back,” Sylus replied, holding you tighter and you instinctively seemed to seek warmth from him, burying your face further, “Let me bring her to her room.”

If you are an odd deer then Sylus is certainly the same, an odd dragon.

There is no mistaking it.

This is the gaze of a man hopelessly head over heels for you.

“Second room from your left, Mr. Sylus,” your father politely answered, “The fifth step creaks. Might wake her up.”

Sylus gave your father a polite smile, passing by him and making his way upstairs with you. 

For a body large and powerful, he moved with a certain tenderness, not wanting to startle you. His steps are quiet, your quiet breathing the only sound he can hear. It took him to reach your room but for Sylus, it is certainly longer, much longer than the distance you both took to explore the museum.

He knew this little adventure would come to an end, that he must return his precious deer to her grove eventually but he refused to move just yet from your side after he laid you down on your bed.

Call it greed, but after having a taste of a sliver of his many wishes, he is now fervently asking for more chances of bringing you to bed and maybe, just maybe, the bed would not just dip with your weight alone when the time comes.

With the crown of flowers on your head, it is as if you are a princess waiting for your knight to wake you up.

Unfortunately, the knights are too afraid to even come close to the dragon’s most precious treasure.

Why would you need a knight when you already have a terrifying monster who doesn’t need a sword to pierce the heart of any person who would hurt you? 

Sylus sets down the bags of souvenirs you brought with him and he slowly pulls out the newest trinkets that would bring more color to your room. 

A wind-up dragon that he set beside your music box, the horns you said reminded you of his.

A deer plushie with a red ribbon tied around its neck that he set beside you, a stuffed animal you playfully voiced over with a high pitch voice and with its snout, you pecked Sylus’ cheek.

A crow plushie with a white collar around its neck that he set at your other side, the object of Mephisto’s glares back at the shop when Sylus joked about it being its replacement.

With your new gifts, your room overflows with more trinkets that he has brought just for you.

Sylus has never set foot inside your room before but he recognized it based on the photos and records Mephisto has brought to him. 

It is a simple room but it was decorated lovingly by you. All the vinyl records he sent to you neatly arranged near the player. On your desk is a basket of yarn and your crochet needles, piles of red scarves that are clearly a work in progress. On the handle of your cabinet your white apron. By your window are pots of daisies lined up together, little animal figurines on their soil with their own houses.

A small, small world, fragile, but welcoming and here he is, the strange visitor, accepted by your subjects.

Yet, Sylus knows he shouldn’t linger for long, not wanting to cast any doubts to your father who let him bring you here and after giving you a once over, his sweetheart, he stood up.

“Skye,” you whispered softly, catching him by the cuff of his sleeve.

“Yes, miss seamstress?”

You didn’t answer, just gently pulling his sleeve until he finally relented and sat at the side of your bed again.

He could never deny you.

“Did you enjoy today, Skye?”, you asked, each word breathed out slowly and it was clear you are standing in a thin line between dreams and reality.

“Of course I did, sweetie,” he chuckled softly, brushing a few strands of your hair, “Any day spent with you is a day well spent.”

He paused for a moment then asked, “Did you have fun today, little doe?”

You let out a soft laugh, your arms reaching out for the crow plushie by your side and hugging it.

“I had lots of fun,” you nodded drowsily and with your voice muffled against the soft fleece of your new friend, you spoke, “Can you-”, you let out a yawn but continued, “-Tell Mr. Sylus thank you for me?”

“Sure, I’ll make sure to pass it along when I get back.”

“Don’t forget to-”, you yawned again and the next words are unintelligible but Sylus managed to piece it together with your last words, smiling softly while waiting for you to finish your request, “-His souvenir. I hope he likes it.”

“I am sure he’ll love it. You picked it out for him after all.”

With your half lidded eyes and gentle smile, it is certainly one of the adorable expressions he hopes he will wake up to in the future.

“One last thing,” you mumbled softly, your eyes closing but it was clear you wanted to do something as you struggled against the hold of sleep, “Come closer, Skye.”

“Like this, sweetie?”

“Closer.”

“How about now?”

He is basically hovering over you at this point, his hands at the sides of your head to support his weight and up close under the moonlight, his gaze lingered longer at your lips slightly parted.

A sigh, and then you pressed your lips on his cheek.

At least, that’s what he thinks was your intent but instead, your fleeting reward landed on the corner of his mouth. 

His grip on the sheets tightened, a small, soft whine escaped his lips. 

From him of all people. 

An involuntary sound in response to the unexpected act of intimacy he had always yearned from you. 

Close. 

You were so close to giving him one of the many things that haunt him in his sleep.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed out but you were already asleep this time, your heartbeats steady.

The shadow of the dragon loomed on the walls of your bedroom, its gaping maw wide open upon you, the unassuming deer, too trusting, too sweet.

His baser instincts are yelling at him that a nip wouldn’t harm you, that the blood pumping on your veins is sweeter than candy. A little drop of spring water that would satisfy his thirst.

But Sylus' desires have always been clean-cut.

His eyes landed on your neck, beckoning. He had always wanted to sink his fangs on the soft skin. Not because he wanted to draw blood.

No, not that.

He wanted to be so much more to you. 

The flapping of the wings, a warning chirp and the music box suddenly playing made him jerk back away from you and Sylus froze at how close he was biting down on your neck while Mephisto looked at him, concerned.

Sylus only sighed heavily, sitting back as his fingers traced the outline of your ear.

He hopes you can forgive your lying dragon. 

Before he left, he lifted your hand, pressing a kiss on your bandaged finger, a reminder of the promise he made.

Then, another on your cheek, a playful correction to your sleepy mistake but he doesn’t blame you. In fact, he is honored to receive your thanks.

Finally, on the top of your head near your crown of flowers. 

May his beautiful deer sleep well tonight, your dreams to be as colorful and vibrant as the smiles you gave to him today, and when you wake up, let the sun be a little forgiving tomorrow morning, to give you a few more moments to say goodbye to your friends from the realm of unconsciousness before leaving.

“Sleep well, my precious doe,” he whispered softly in your ear, “I’ll see you later tonight.”

If the gods would be kinder to fulfill another one of his wishes, then he hopes when he closes his eyes and calls it a day, he will also find his way to you, in your quiet paradise.

The door closed softly behind him and the lullaby of the music box came to an end, the little dragon, exhausted from chasing his white ribbon on his horn, had also decided to rest on his field dotted with red wildflowers.

.

.

.

.

.

Good night, Daisy.

Good night, Mister Dragon.

Good night, Miss Deer.

────────────────────

Author's Note:

I hope this brings clarity what Reader is doing in the N109 zone and why she chose to let go of so many privileges she has when she used to live at Bloomshore District.

Will that human get it? Stay tune! Don't want to spoil you all!

I also have a tumblr! Feel free to feed me your conspiracy theories or send memes or anything, I don't judge! (The fact we are all playing this game means we have broken free from the chain of judgment. ISTG, the amount of guy friends who poke fun of me playing this is wack but that won't stop me. Why can they have anime girls but I can't have my 3D men (and anime girls)?)

Also, the lullaby of Reader's music box: Storyteller (Music Box ver.)

AO3

Ch. 1 / Ch. 2 / Ch. 3 / Ch.4 / Ch. 5 / Ch. 6

[kitbunnyroo]

more porta-pussy vlogger <33

starting up the streaming service and getting into a groove, keeping mostly your lower half towards the camera and only ever showing your face with a mask on, but the monsters don't care. they just want to see your sweet human holes get ravaged and fantasize the day they're the featured guest getting to feel your walls all around them instead of whichever lucky sap got to stretch you out for all of them to see. the subscriber count goes up by an unbelievable amount in a ridiculous amount of time, and soon enough, your donations, tips, as well as regular client payments can fund you your very own place. the only right thing to do is reward such darling subscribers.....

when you first announced that you'd be hosting a 24-hour stream with more than one featured guest, the uproar brought even more attention to your stream, even more eyes to watch you get mercilessly used by monsters and enjoy it. you want to be nervous, you do, but when there's a very much pussy drunk werewolf portalled beneath you, delving his tongue depe into you and right against your g-spot, how could you? especially when his padded finger came round to push you over the edge for the fifth time, growling enthusiastically when he feels you shudder and tighten around his tongue, your savoury taste coating his tongue and he's not letting any part of it go to waste. whatever little hope you had to receive a short break period was quickly forgotten as soon as you got the little ping from your phone that someone else had paid to be featured. the familiar gentle whoosh of the portal reopening causing your already overstimulated body to throb in anticipation once an unrecognizable rock hard cock made it's way up, already throbbing, clearly teased for the entire show so far with the way it was just leaking precum. it only took a few teasing thrusts between your slick before they sunk their full length into you. it never amazed you how every sensation felt new, this one a tad more than usual, from the almost canine shape to the alien like ridges along the sides and irregular colour, you could only curl your toes as said ridges dragged against your insides in the most delicious way possible. thanks to your previous encounter with an anonymous werewolf, it didn't take long for another crash of pleasure to practically blind you, the tell tale sound of donations rolling in big time as a gush of fluid sprayed from between your trembling legs. maybe this job wasn't so bad after all....

so, pray tell, how are we eating with this one my lovelies? 🤍 (posting this while it's 5am for me cause who needs sleep am I right)

[universefcb]

Hellooo!! Could you write something with Pau Cubarsí? Where he meets Y/N's family, and is terrified of her father and older brothers? But in the end everything turns out okay. Something fluffy and funny please hehe 🤭💓

↬❥ Mission impossible

Pau Cubarsí x Fem!Reader

sy: He meets his family for the first time, but his brothers are protectors.

a/n: Sorry if there are mistakes, English is not my language.I hope this is what you asked for!

warnings: No warning.

Today was a big day. Pau Cubarsí would finally meet his family. You were excited, but he... not so much.

“Baby, you’re freezing!” you said, holding his hands as you walked to your front door.

“I’m fine... just a little nervous,” Pau admitted, trying to hide it.

He had heard a lot about his family. His mother was a sweetheart, but his father and older brothers... well, they had a slight history of being overprotective. And Pau, despite being a fearless defender on the field, felt like this would be his toughest defense yet.

When they entered, their mother welcomed them with a warm hug.

“Dude! I finally meet you, darling! Y/N talks about you so much!” she said, smiling.

He smiled in relief. At least one positive point.

But then… they arrived.

His father and two older brothers walked into the room. Three tall men, arms crossed, with sharp gazes straight at Pau. The aura of intimidation was almost palpable.

“So you’re our sister’s boyfriend?” one of her brothers asked, narrowing his eyes.

“Yes, it’s me,” Pau replied, swallowing hard.

“You play for Barcelona, right?” his father asked, without looking away.

“That’s right, sir.”

“Good to know. Because if you do anything wrong with my daughter, we’ll mark you like a defender in a Champions League final.”

Pau almost choked on his own air. You had to hold back your laughter.

“Dad!” you complained, giving him a light shove.

But his brothers laughed, amused by the evident terror in their boyfriend's eyes.

“Relax, Cubarsí,” the other brother said, giving him a none-too-gentle pat on the back. “We just need to make sure you’re the right guy for our sister.”

Pau nodded quickly, trying to hide his panic.

“I promise I am. I like her a lot. I would never do anything to hurt her.”

His father and brothers looked at each other, as if they were considering his answer. You could have sworn they were holding back laughter.

After a few tense minutes, his father finally broke the silence.

“Well, then come eat with us. Let’s see if you can handle the family dinner.”

If Pau thought the worst was over, he was wrong.

During dinner, his brothers began a real interrogation.

“What is your intention with our sister?”

“Do you have any exes that still talk to you?”

“If my sister asked for your card, would you give it to her without hesitation?”

“Guys!!” you interjected, rolling your eyes. “You guys look like those annoying barbecue uncles!”

Pau smiled nervously and, with each successful answer, he received looks of approval. In the end, he was more relaxed and even laughing at some stories about his family.

When the night ended and you were leaving, your father finally gave a small smile and gave Pau a firm handshake.

“You passed the test, kid. But keep your eyes open.”

His brothers crossed their arms and nodded in sync.

Pau let out a sigh of relief and smiled.

“Thank you, sir. I promise to take good care of her.”

On the way back, you looked at him and laughed.

“See? It was peaceful.”

He stared at you in disbelief.

“Easy?! I thought I wasn’t going to get out of there alive!”

You laughed and grabbed his hand.

“Well, now they like you. Next time will be much better.”

Pau took a deep breath and smiled, finally relaxing.

“I hope so. Because honestly, I'd rather mark Real Madrid strikers than face your father again.”

You laughed and kissed him on the cheek.

“My hero.”

[letmedixonyou]

i'm not yours - part 12

summary: Daryl and you are friends. He used to date Leah. You told him you loved him and things fell apart, but after awhile, you returned to being friends... right?

Daryl come around after avoiding you all day to let your know about last night's situation. Yet another tragedy struck.

words: 2.5k

warnings: death

A/N: First of all, thank you so much for over 100 followers! WHAT?! Insane! I'm forever grateful! I've been struggling a bit with inspiration to finish these series. I've decided that instead of 15 parts, I will make only 14! I definitely will be continuing it with a sequel, but I'm not sure when! For now, enjoy, muffins! 🖤

The knock on the doors resounded loudly in an almost empty house. You were brought back from the book you were reading to reality in lighting speed. Your head bopped up quickly, and you took a deep breath in, steadying your raising emotions.

You haven't seen Daryl for the whole day. He was avoiding you, that much was clear. Whenever he saw you outside, he made sure to go a different way or just turned around to never cross paths with you. He even changed the shifts of supply run so he wasn't anywhere near you. It made you feel awkward, but you also knew he needed some time.

Your mind was a hundred percent sure he went to see Leah last night. He figured it out at Aaron's birthday party and decided to take care of it as soon as possible. Whatever he saw up there, it was clear that he knew and want going to let what happened to you slide.

When you got home after Aaron's party, you made your way to your bedroom and changed into pyjamas, but couldn't sleep. Your thoughts were pressing you to do something and every time you closed your eyes, you could see another scenario of how Daryl was taking care of the situation. The thought of following him popped into your head, but you chose to stay in the blissful unknown. You thought it would've been easier that way, but you were incredibly wrong. Scenarios you made in your head exceeded any normality by three in the morning. Did he kill her? No, not possible. Not Daryl. Right?

You remember the anger and confusion in his eyes, looking up at that stair landing, trying to make sense out of what he saw, and your doubt dissipates slightly. You wanted to believe he wouldn't kill her, but you also knew Daryl was capable of murder. Not only that, but you saw him do it a few times.

Your feet finally make their way to the doors and you turn the knob.

"Hey," Daryl says, seeing you. His eyes were scanning you carefully. "We need to talk."

"Okay," you mutter and nod, letting him inside, smelling the usual scent of pine and sweat when he passes by you.

Once the doors are closed, both of you head to the living room and sit down on the couch. Your heart is beating fast, and you fiddle with your fingers, waiting for him to speak up. All this time, he was avoiding your eyes and, frankly, you were quite grateful for that. You had no idea what you'd do if he was looking straight at you right about now.

A few more minutes pass until he finally speaks. "I know who did all those things to you," he says lowly.

"Oh?" You pretend not to know anything about it, trying to force the words out of him.

"Leah," he spits out. "It was Leah."

Another painfully long few minutes pass by, and you gulp when, battling your thoughts.

Should I tell him? How is he going to react?

You sigh deeply and you nod. "I know."

His head swings up, and he looks at you, his eyebrow raised in question. His palms land on his knees, and he pulls himself up to stand, starting to pace around the living room.

"You knew?" His words sounded annoyed, almost angry.

"Yeah."

"And didn't tell me why?"

"Because she was your girlfriend once," you begin to explain. "Wouldn't look weird if I started blaming the one person that I always disliked?"

"No, it-"

"Would you believe me if I told you?"

There's a long pause, and he stops pacing, stopping right in front of you. He sits down on the coffee table and takes your hands into his, sending a jolt of electricity through you, and you try your best to ignore it. He looks into your eyes, trying to figure something out.

"Yes. I would," he speaks up. "After the way she treated me, I think I'd believe anything I hear about her."

"But you understand why I didn't want to risk it, right?"

He accepts it with a silent nod and brushes his lips against your knuckles, which makes you panic internally, but you manage a smile. You sit there for a moment more before he makes a comment about your hair being too greasy and needing to hose you down to clean you. You retorted a short "says you" and suddenly everything was a bit lighter.

But you knew you weren't going to be able to fully relax until you knew what he's done.

"Daryl?"

"Yeah?"

"What did you do to Leah?"

He sucks in a breath and you brace yourself to hear the worst case scenario. Your mind is screaming at you. He killed her. He killed her. He killed her. You scold yourself internally, and you gaze towards Daryl that was now sitting on the couch next to you. He looked at you with a glint in his eyes, like he knew what you were thinking.

"She's fine," he says slowly. "I just gave her a piece of my mind, that's all."

"I guess she didn't take it well."

"She begged me to take her back."

"What?"

"She's cuckoo. I have no idea how I haven't seen it before."

"I guess love makes us do stupid things," you chuckled.

"I'm not even sure if I ever loved her," he huffs.

Your eyes dart to him, and he's clearly avoiding your gaze. You look away quickly. All these months ago, when you had that argument, he was so convinced that he loved Leah. He said it pretty clearly back then. Was adamant even. Now, he's saying that he doesn't know if he actually had any feelings for her? If there were no feelings, was the entire argument pointless?

No, don't go there. You argued because of your feelings. Not his.

Looking back at him, you realise that he's been lost in thought too. He stared at the wall, his hand loosely on his lap, and the other one was propping his head on the armrest. You poke his side, pulling him out of his thoughts.

"What are you thinking about?" You ask quietly.

He looks hesitant to share. "I'm thinking that I have no idea how real love feels like."

You wanted to say something, but you were at a loss for words. Your mouth opened and closed many times, but not a single thing came out. Your mind was in overload, thinking about all the ways you could show him what a real love looks like. From gentle kisses to talking about the darkest things possible, you could show him what it feels like to be loved this second if it wasn't for a fact that you swore you wouldn't go there any more. He's your best friend, and you weren't going to risk your friendship ever again.

You take a deep breath, finally finding your voice when a roar of a truck is heard by the both of you. There is a harsh slam of the doors and you can hear Deanna screaming for help. Daryl stands up immediately and you follow. Running to the gates, your heart was beating really hard. It felt like it was about to jump out of your chest. Those type of screams, the blood curdling, toes curling screams, never meant anything good, so you prepared yourself for the worst.

And the worst it was. Spencer hanging off of Deanna's shoulder, bloody and drenched in sweat. His shirt half open, ripped in many places. His boots undone and dusty. His hair disheveled, the usual curls gone and replaced by straight strings clinging to his sweaty forehead. His eyes barely opened like he was about to pass out. A huge, bleeding gash on his shoulder.

Bitten.

"We were gathering garden supplies," Deanna tries to explain, her voice urgent and slightly high pitched. "A group of them attacked us. Spencer told me to stay back… oh, God!"

Your arm snakes around Spencer immediately and Daryl does the same on the other side, taking over from Deanna. You carry him inside Deanna's house and plop him on he couch. You can see he blood staining the cream fabric of it, creating an uneven circle bit by bit. Spencer's mother kneeled next to him, holding his hand, crying quietly and whispering that everything will be okay.

Taking a step back, you lean against the wall, watching the scene. It was hard to watch, knowing what's going to happen next. Sure, Spencer wasn't the best person and had a mentality of a selfish and unreliable person, but it was still somebody's son, brother, life partner. And witnessing Pete slitting Reg's throat and then Rick executing him, you only could imagine what Deanna was feeling right now. Losing your entire family in such short time has to sting a bit, but that is then world you live in now.

You never know what lurks around the corner.

After a few hours, Spencer finally takes his last breath and Deanna insists on piercing his head on her own. Reluctantly, you give her your knife and put a hand on her shoulder to offer support. Spencer's body already started to decompose and it was a matter of time until he wakes up and becomes an undead corpse. You hated this part of the process. As if a person dying isn't enough…

"Goodbye, baby," you hear Deanna say a bit breaks your heart.

She slid the knife into Spencer's head carefully and then left it there. Placing a kiss on her son's forehead, she stood up and looked at Daryl and you. Her eyes were puffy and red, and her lips were pressed into a thin line to stop it from quivering. Her arms straight at her sides, body taut like a string of a bow. She was clearly trying to compose herself.

"You know what to do."

You look over to Daryl and he nods understandingly. He pushes closer to Spencer's body and removes your knife from his head. He gives it back to you, and then slings Spencer over his shoulder and mutters about following him. You do so without question and so does Deanna.

Alexandria has fallen quiet when you came out of the house, the only sound you could hear was sniffling and your footsteps. People came out of their own houses and places of work to spectate and some even joined you. Making your way to the cemetery, the only thing you could think of was your own family and how hard it was to lose them over years.

Once you arrive at the cemetery, Daryl gently put down Spencer's body and grabbed a shovel. Some residents offered help and they all started to dig. Your role in all this was offering comfort, company and support to Deanna. You stood by her, your arm around her shoulders, squeezing gently as she cried and mumbled some unintelligible things.

You stand there for awhile, Deanna was now praying with her head down and eyes closed. She mumbled to her deceased husband, to God, to heavens, trying to guarantee a place of Spencer in there. She was aware he wasn't a perfect person, but he deserved peace after death.

Finally we hear Daryl's voice. "It's ready."

With the help of some people, he lowers Spencer's body into the freshly dug grave and grabs the shovel. He offers it to Deanna to give her a chance to say the final goodbye. She takes it and gets some dirt onto it, throwing it onto Spencer's body. She muttered weak and sniffly goodbye and then gave the shovel back to Daryl.

"I'll help," you say, picking up the shovel.

"No," Daryl protests in a serious tone. "She needs you more."

You look over to Deanna and release that it may be the truth. She looked broken. She stopped crying now and her eyes were empty. Her body seated on the bench was frail and all while she tried to hug herself to protect herself from the pain.

You make your way to Deanna and sit next to her. When she speaks, her voice is weak and quiet.

"Our family was always together. We used to spend every Christmas and Thanksgiving as a family. Spencer and Pete drove all the way to us every single time."

"That sounds nice," you say and smile gently.

"It was horrible. Spencer always found something to argue about and Pete was always drinking way too much," she huffed a quiet laugh. "Every time we ended the holidays on a wrong note, but still they always came back. Because family is important, even if you don't get along."

You nod at her words, agreeing. Your family wasn't perfect either but it was family. It was difficult at times, with everybody having different perspectives on everything. But thinking about it, you wouldn't want it any other way.

Deanna asked you to stay until the grave was done and you did, silently offering support and a shoulder to cry on. She talked a lot more about her family, sharing more anecdotes and stories. You could tell that it was helping her cope so you listened.

After the grave is a gentle heap, Daryl announces to Deanna that it's all finished and she just gently nods. Standing up, she walks over to the grave and kneels at the bottom of it. Her head hangs low.

"I'd like to be alone with my son now," she says.

You nod and gently push the crowd of people away, leaving Deanna alone. Looking back one more time, you see her taking a rosary out of her pocket and starting to pray. Even in the times where the world is filled with undead walking, she still believes there's something, someone out there. Leaving the cemetery, you heard someone saying Spencer was a dickhead anyway.

You look at the male that said it. He was in his twenties.

"Have some respect," you spew out. "Maybe Spencer wasn't the best person, but he was still a human. And a part of this community. So spare the comments like these and maybe think about how would you feel if someone said that about you at your funeral."

The man looks at you and his cheeks burn with embarrassment. He opens his mouth to say something else but the words never come out so you leave. At that moment you felt a little bit triumphant. Your eyes scan the street, trying to find Daryl, but he was nowhere to be seen. Deciding he probably went home, you choose to go back home. You try to process everything what happened, hands stuffed deep into your pockets.

When you reach your house, Daryl is sat on your porch with a bottle of liquor.

[thatsmzbitchtoyou]

Barnes Bakes Chapter 1

A request that turned into a short story. Hope y'all like it! *mudak: moron or blowhard in Russian

Next chapter

Bucky waited for the elevator up to his apartment.  It had been another grueling mission and he was just not in the mood for anything but a big glass of his favorite Irish cream liqueur and a pizza.  He and his girlfriend had been bickering over text all day, and he was at his wits end.  Everything had started great between them a few months ago, but she had proven herself to be very jealous, which he had no patience for.  He put his phone on silent as the elevator rose and when he walked out he was greeted by a hallway of boxes.  Great, another new neighbor, he thought as he gingerly walked around and over the boxes.  When he turned the corner he found a woman almost completely sideways to a large box, pushing as hard as she could to get it through the doorway of the apartment across from him, blocking his way.

She grunted as she stopped pushing, then saw him and gasped.  “Oh!  I’m so sorry all my shit is in the way,” she said, moving away from the large box and shoving the smaller ones toward each wall to make a better walkway for him.  

“It’s okay,” he said gruffly, walking toward his door.

“You’re right across from me?  That’s great!  Hi, I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice way too chipper for him right now.  She thrust her hand out towards him with an expectant smile.  Bucky eyed her hand then slowly extended his right hand, shaking it firmly.

“Bucky,” he said simply.

“It’s nice to meet you, Bucky,” she said as her smile widened.  “I’m sorry for the mess.  I’ll get it moved toot sweet.”

He huffed a laugh, catching himself off guard.  “Toot sweet?” he asked.  

“Yeah, I know, I’m an old lady,” Y/N giggled and rolled her eyes.  “Well, I won’t take up your time.”  She turned back to the large box and tried pushing it again, moving it only a couple of inches.

Bucky couldn’t help but smile at her.  She was short, reaching only up to his chest, very curvy and pretty.  She was dressed in a very flowy, mint green and white perpendicular striped, strappy summer dress that she kept having to hike up so she wouldn’t step or trip on it that showed off her chubby arms, her body slightly jiggling every time she moved.  Her hair was haphazardly toppled on her head with a good amount of it falling out of the hair tie, and she had a sheen of sweat along her brow from how much she had been moving around by herself.  She would be exactly what he would have gone for back in the day.  Curvy, cute, and from what little he’d just gotten from their first interaction, spunky, which he liked.  He rolled his eyes at himself as he set his things down and pocketed his keys.

“Let me help you,” he said, leaning down to the large box.

“Oh you don’t need to—oh!  Nevermind,” she laughed as he hefted the box easily, carrying it across the threshold of her doorway.  

“Where do you want it?” he asked.

“The kitchen,” Y/N said quickly, pointing the way.

Bucky walked toward the kitchen and put the heavy, large box on the counter with a grunt.  “What’s in this anyway?” he asked.

“Cookbooks,” she replied.  

“Just cookbooks?” he asked, looking at her curiously.  “I don’t think I own a single cookbook.”

Y/N laughed.  “Well, I’m a baker, so I’ve gotta have all the recipes,” she explained.

Bucky nodded like it all made sense.  “Well, let me get the rest and you just tell me where to go,” he said, walking back toward the front door.

“You don’t have to do that Bucky, I can get the rest.  That one was the worst one,” she said, following him out.

“Too late, I’m already doing it,” he said, bringing in another box.  

She gave him an appreciative smile and pointed to where she wanted it.  They created a little system as he took the boxes and she told him where she wanted it, which he could easily find since her apartment was just like his layout but flipped.  Within ten minutes he had all the boxes out of the hallway and in her apartment, ready to be opened and unpacked.

“Thank you, Bucky, that would have taken me ages,” she said with a sigh.  “I really appreciate it.  How can I repay you?”

“Don’t worry about it, seriously,” he said walking toward his door and taking out his keys.  

“Well, what’s your favorite treat?” Y/N said before he could get away.  “Are you allergic to anything?”

He frowned at her.  “I don’t have a favorite treat,” he said.  “And I’m not allergic to anything.”

Y/N perked up at that information.  “Alright, well then I’ll repay you in treats until I can find and bake your new favorite,” she said determinedly.

“You don’t have to do that—” he tried.

“Too late, I’m already doing it!” she laughed, repeating his words from earlier as she backed away from him into her apartment.  “Thanks again sweet pea!”  She winked at him then shut the door.

Bucky gawked at her door for a moment.  She was the strangest and most bubbly person he’d met in a long time, and for some reason it was making him smile again.  Why did he feel all giddy when she called him sweet pea?  He shook his head and went inside his apartment, the Irish liqueur calling his name.

[multiversefanfics]

Cramps | Dean Winchester

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Fem!Reader warning: mention of period, fluff Summary: you get really bad cramps and Dean comforts you. Word Count: 568

It was that time of the month, and of course, Dean was out on a hunt not knowing when he'd be back. Don't worry you were prepared as usual, but you needed your heating pad — Dean.

You were in the middle of cooking something to eat when your cramps hit you like a truck, you groaned loudly doubling over in pain. Tears formed in your eyes as you clutched your stomach "I just want to eat!" You breathed out through your nose and stood back up, you took shallow breaths and continued to make canned ravioli. You sighed and sat on the couch and tried to eat while watching SpongeBob.

You giggled a few times at the jokes but when that same sharp pain in your stomach returned you decided to put the bowl down and curl up in a ball on the couch, sobbing softly. You never craved Dean more than you do right now, not sexually you wanted nothing more than to have him hold you, rub your stomach, and tell you everything will be okay. Pretty soon you were so exhausted from crying you slowly drifted to sleep.

Sam and Dean were on their way home from their hunt, and Dean was excited to get home to his girl, he was nervous when you didn't respond to his "on my way home" text, but he also assumed you were sleeping, he was right, you were sleeping but not where he thought you'd be.

They came in kind of loud, laughing about the face the monster made when Sam stabbed it, but quickly closed their mouths when they saw your curled-up state on the couch next to a half-eaten bowl of ravioli. Dean smiled to himself and scooped you up in his arms and carried you upstairs to your shared room.

You stirred in his arms, and he softly shushed you, kissing the top of your head. You looked up and saw Dean, finally, your heating pad was home "Hi baby." Dean smiled down at you and laid you down on the bed "Hi sweetheart." He kissed your cheek and laid down next to you kicking off his boots simultaneously "Why were you on the couch and what's up with the half-eaten ravioli?"

Just as you were about to respond the sharp pain in your stomach was back, you clutched your stomach and screamed out in pain "Fuck!" Dean placed his hand on your back "What's wrong baby?" You tried your best to breathe but breathing only made it worse, you pointed to your stomach and then made a clenching gesture with your hand to signify cramping.

He nodded and helped you lay back and relax "I am so sorry, sweetheart what can I do?" You choked back tears trying to lay on your back while Dean lifted your shirt and began gently rubbing circles on your bare stomach, at first it felt very unpleasant, but soon it started to feel better and better.

You sank into Dean's body allowing yourself to relax under his touch. "Don't stop, it feels so much better." You let out a breath and closed your eyes "Usually when you beg me not to stop, we're having sex, I like this way too." Dean chuckled and continued to rub your stomach "I love you, Dean." He kissed your forehead and gently pulled you closer to him "I love you too, babydoll"

A/N: I made one for Sam too, but we've all been there when our cramps were really bad, and we all need Dean's cuddles on days like this. if you would like to be tagged in future fics, comment, message me, or fill out this form and you will be added to the taglist.

Main Masterlist - Dean Winchester Masterlist