#i always feel like the therapists here never know what to do with me and i kind of have to hold their hand a bit through my psyche

[crossfandomskylines]

Anywhere But Here

Summary: A Valentine's Day singles event was the last place you wanted to be until an unexpected conversation with Bradley Bradshaw turned the night into something else entirely. What started as shared sarcasm and an easy connection quickly became something deeper. And by the time the night was over you realized maybe fate had other plans after all.

Warnings: 18+. Suggestive Content (some nudity, heavy making out, implied smut but none directly), Alcohol Consumption, Mild Language.

Word Count: 4,389

Author's Note: Still struggling with a little bit of writer's block because of my headspace but managed to write this over the past few days and I think it turned out okay. This is my first time writing for Bradley so I'd love any feedback you guys have! I'm also still a little rough around the edges when it comes to writing smut so I'm sorry if that part isn't good. Hope you enjoy xx

You should have known better than to let your friends talk you into this. The dim lighting, the too loud music, the room full of strangers who all seemed to have the same agenda. It was everything you hated about Valentine’s Day wrapped into one overcrowded venue. 

Somewhere across the room your friends were probably watching and feeling satisfied that they’d successfully dragged you out, but they weren’t the ones stuck making small talk with men who either wanted a rebound, a hookup, or a therapist.

You sighed as you swirled the cheap cocktail in your glass as the third guy of the night launched into a monologue about his “complicated” relationship with his ex.

“Sounds rough,” you said nodding absently.

“Right? And she just doesn’t get that I need space,” he continued, leaning in like you were supposed to be impressed by his emotional unavailability.

You were about to excuse yourself and find your friends when suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the conversation.

"Is this seat taken?" Bradley Bradshaw’s voice was easy, casual, like you hadn’t just been trapped in a one-sided conversation about someone’s divorce for the last fifteen minutes. You blinked in surprise, looking up to find Bradley standing beside you. You couldn’t help the relief that flooded through you at his arrival, a smile tugging at your lips. 

“Bradley,” you said with a chuckle, knowing full well he’d been watching from the corner of the room. 

You’d always known of Bradley. He was part of the same circle of friends though you’d never really talked outside of the occasional greeting or passing comment at group events. He was always nice enough, just not someone you ever felt a need to connect with more deeply.

He raised an eyebrow at the guy you were talking to, still unaware of his impending rescue. “Mind if I steal her for a minute?” Bradley asked, looking at you with an easy grin.

The guy hesitated for a moment, eyes darting between you and Bradley before he finally nodded, mumbling something about catching up with some people. Bradley’s lips twitched in amusement as he pulled the barstool out and took a seat next to you, making it clear he wasn’t leaving anytime soon.

As the guy shuffled away, Bradley glanced at you and whispered, “I’ve got to hand it to you, you were handling that a lot better than I would have. I’d have run for the hills by now.” His grin was teasing, but there was a warmth in his eyes, an unspoken understanding.

You laughed softly, shaking your head. “It wasn’t that bad, I just didn’t know how to get out of the conversation without being rude.”

Bradley leaned back, getting comfortable. “Yeah, well, you’re lucky I was nearby. My friends usually do a pretty bad job of saving me from stuff like that. But if it helps, I’m pretty good at the rescue mission.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at him with a smirk. “I’m sure you are. But I’m guessing Jake and Mickey had something to do with this little rescue operation?”

Bradley chuckled, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Guilty as charged. They’ve been trying to convince me to get out here all night. Apparently, they think I’m a really good wingman.” He grinned, clearly not taking the comment too seriously. “But between you and me, I’m just here for the free drinks.”

“Free drinks? I think I missed that memo?”

Bradley grinned as he motioned towards where Jake was across the room. “His price for dragging me out tonight was picking up my tab.”

Bradley leaned against the bar, nodding toward your empty glass. “Speaking of…need a refill?”

You hesitated, but he shrugged, adding, “Promise I won’t try to trauma-dump on you.”

That earned him a small smirk. “Well, in that case… sure.”

He flagged down the bartender, ordering for you without making a big deal of it. As you waited, you glanced around the room at the couples awkwardly chatting, the guys clearly scanning for their next target, the women trying to seem interested but mostly looking bored.

“This might be the worst Valentine’s Day event in existence,” you muttered.

Bradley let out a low chuckle. “That bad, huh?”

You turned back to him, arching a brow. “Come on, you’ve gotta admit half these people don’t even want to be here.”

He shrugged, smirking. “That includes us, doesn’t it?”

You laughed. “Fair point.”

The bartender slid your drink across the bar, and you murmured a thanks before turning back to Bradley. Somehow, standing next to him felt…easy.

“So, what were you doing before you got roped into this disaster?” he asked, taking a sip of his own drink.

You shrugged. “Had plans to drink wine, eat chocolate, and watch literally anything that wasn’t romance related. But my friends staged an intervention.”

Bradley smirked. “Tragic. What were you gonna watch?”

“Probably a concert film. You know, something that really captures the Valentine’s Day spirit.”

His grin widened. “Concert film, huh? What band?”

You lit up, immediately launching into a mini rant about your favorite band. You talked about their best albums, the time you saw them live, how their early work was underrated but their newer stuff still held up.

And Bradley listened. Not in the way people do when they’re just waiting for their turn to talk, but in a way that made it clear he was actually interested. He nodded along, grinning at your enthusiasm, occasionally asking a question or making a comment that proved he was keeping up.

At some point the noise of the bar faded into the background. The awkwardness of the event, the forced conversations, the reason you even came here in the first place…it all disappeared. It was just you and Bradley talking like this was the most natural thing in the world.

And you kind of liked it.

The DJ must have had a cruel sense of humor because without warning the music shifted from upbeat pop to something softer. Something that clearly signaled it was time for couples to pair off.

Around the room, people hesitated before awkwardly stepping closer to their dates or scanning for someone to dance with. You weren’t planning on participating until you caught movement out of the corner of your eye. It was him. The guy Bradley had saved you from earlier. He was lingering near the bar, glancing in your direction like he was debating coming over for round two.

You groaned under your breath. Bradley must have followed your gaze because he leaned in slightly, voice low and amused. “Uh oh. I think your ex therapy patient wants a second session.”

You shot him a look. “Don’t even joke.”

His lips twitched like he was fighting back a laugh. Then after a beat he nudged you with his elbow. “We could always pretend to be together. Save you from another deep dive into his complicated emotions.”

You arched a brow. “Oh, we could, huh?”

Bradley shrugged. “I mean I’d hate to see you suffer.”

You rolled your eyes but honestly? The idea didn’t sound half bad. Better than standing here pretending not to notice your former conversation partner lurking nearby.

“…Fine,” you sighed.

His grin was instant like he’d known you’d agree. Without another word he reached for your hand, his fingers warm as they laced easily through yours. Before you could process that he was already tugging you toward the dance floor.

“Smooth,” you muttered as you followed.

He glanced back smirking. “I have my moments.”

You stopped near the edge of the dance floor where other couples had already started swaying to the music. Bradley turned to face you, his expression a mix of amusement and something softer, unreadable.

“Alright,” he said, his voice teasing but gentle as he placed one hand at your waist. “Try not to fall in love with me.”

You snorted. “I’ll do my best.”

Dancing with Bradley was… easy. You had expected it to be awkward and stiff like the kind of slow dances you endured at high school prom. But he moved with an effortless confidence, his hand steady at your waist, his grip firm but not overbearing.

“So,” he said, his voice warm and low over the music, “how am I doing so far? Best fake Valentine’s date you’ve ever had?”

You smirked. “I don’t know. The bar’s pretty low. But I’ll give you points for effort.”

Bradley let out a soft chuckle, his thumb absently tracing small, slow circles where it rested against your waist. You weren’t sure if he even realized he was doing it, but you noticed. And suddenly, the room felt just a little warmer.

The first song came to an end, and for a second, you thought about stepping back, about making some teasing remark and putting space between you. But before you could, the opening chords of a new song filled the air. A song from your favorite band. Your favorite song.

Your eyes widened. “No way.”

Bradley’s mouth quirked into a knowing grin. “What are the odds?”

You looked up at him, suspicious. “You didn’t request this, did you?”

He shook his head, smirking. “Nope. But now that it’s playing, it’d be wrong not to keep dancing.”

Before you could argue—not that you really wanted to—he pulled you back in.

And this time, you let yourself sink into it.

Somewhere between the first verse and the chorus, the space between you disappeared. His hands settled more firmly at your waist, his fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of your shirt. Without really thinking about it, your arms slid up, looping around his neck.

You felt him exhale, a quiet little laugh against your temple. “See? You’re having fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but you were smiling. “Don’t let it go to your head, Rooster.”

He grinned, tilting his head slightly. “Too late.”

The warmth of him, the way his chest brushed yours with every slow step, the way his voice curled around your name when he murmured it just loud enough for you to hear. It all felt so natural and easy, like you’d been dancing with him forever instead of just minutes.

And when he made a dry teasing comment about one of the couples beside you, something about their awkward middle school dance stance you tipped your head back and laughed.

The sound must have done something to him because his hold on you tightened, just slightly. Just enough that you felt it. Just enough that you didn’t want to let go.

The song drifted into its final chords, but neither of you stepped away immediately. You were still close. Closer than you probably should have been considering this whole thing had started as an excuse to avoid bad small talk.

Bradley was looking at you, a lazy smirk tugging at his lips, like he knew exactly what he was doing. Like he knew you weren’t in a hurry to move either. But then the DJ switched back to something obnoxiously upbeat, and the spell broke.

Bradley exhaled, glancing around before leaning down slightly, speaking just loud enough for you to hear. “Alright. You wanna get out of here?”

You arched a brow, pretending to consider it. “Bradley Bradshaw, are you trying to take me home?”

His smirk widened. “Would it work?”

You scoffed, even as heat curled in your stomach. “Not a chance.”

He chuckled. “Good to know.” Then, with an easy shrug, he added, “I was thinking we could go do something actually fun.”

You tilted your head. “Oh yeah? Like what?”

“I don’t know yet. But I promise it’ll be better than this disaster.” He gestured around the bar where people were still fumbling their way through awkward conversations and stilted dances.

You eyed him, considering. “You do realize this is how horror movies start, right? Some girl follows a charming guy into the night, never to be seen again.”

Bradley placed a hand over his heart, feigning offense. “You wound me.”

You bit back a grin. “Shouldn’t you buy me dinner first?”

He didn’t miss a beat. “You hungry?”

You blinked. “…Are you serious?”

Bradley grinned. “Why not? We ditch this place, get some food, and actually enjoy the rest of the night.”

You should have said no. You should have come up with an excuse, played it safe, stuck to your original plan of going home alone.

But instead, you found yourself saying, “Alright, Bradshaw. You’ve got yourself a deal.”

His grin turned downright smug. “Knew you couldn’t resist.”

You rolled your eyes, but you let him take your hand anyway, following him toward the exit. Leaving behind the bad dates, the awkward glances, and the Valentine’s Day you thought you were going to have, and stepping into the one you never saw coming.

The bar door swung shut behind you, the cool night air a welcome contrast to the stuffy heat inside. You hadn’t realized how loud it was until now. It was so much easier to breathe out here.

Bradley, still holding your hand like it was the most natural thing in the world, shot you a look. “Alright, I’m thinking pizza. And not some fancy, sit down place. I mean real pizza.”

You smirked. “Define real pizza.”

His eyes glinted. “Late night counter service, greasy but perfect pizza.”

“…Go on.”

“There’s a spot a few blocks from here. Open late, no frills, just damn good food.”

You pretended to think about it, though your stomach had already made the decision for you. “Fine. But if it sucks, I’m never trusting you again.”

Bradley laughed, leading the way down the sidewalk. “That’s a lot of pressure, sweetheart.”

When you arrived after a short walk from the bar, the place was exactly as he’d described. A hole in the wall joint with neon signs buzzing faintly in the window and the unmistakable scent of fresh pizza wafting out the door.

Bradley let you step inside first, the warmth from the ovens immediately washing over you. The glass display case was lined with massive slices ready to grab and go.

“Alright,” he said scanning the selection. “You a toppings person, or are we keeping it classic?”

“Pepperoni,” you answered without hesitation.

His smile was approving. “Good choice.” He turned to the guy behind the counter. “Two slices of pepperoni, please.”

You arched a brow. “Two? What if I wanted two slices?”

Bradley gave you a look. “Trust me. You won’t want the second when you see the size of these.”

He wasn’t wrong.

A few minutes later, you were standing outside, each holding a massive, perfectly greasy slice, the warmth seeping into your fingers as you took your first bite.

You groaned. “Okay. Fine. You were right. This is really good pizza.”

Bradley grinned, chewing his own bite. “Told you.”

The street was quiet, save for the occasional car rolling by and the faint hum of city life in the distance. For a moment, you just stood there, eating in comfortable silence.

Then, Bradley wiped his fingers on a napkin and glanced over at you. “So.”

You swallowed your bite, eyeing him warily. “So.”

His smirk was lazy, unreadable. “Wanna head back to my place?”

You nearly choked. “Wow. Straight to the point, huh?”

Bradley laughed. “Not like that.” He gestured to the nearly empty street. “It’s still early. I figured we could keep hanging out…unless you’re dying to go home.”

You hesitated for a moment, considering the offer. It wasn’t that late, and you weren’t tired. And if you were being honest with yourself you didn’t really want to say goodnight yet.

“…Alright, Bradshaw,” you said, giving him a knowing look. And just like that, you found yourself following him into the night.

When you reached the curb, he gestured toward an old but well kept Bronco parked under the glow of a streetlamp. It suited him. It was rugged, classic, and also a little effortlessly cool.

You expected him to climb in first, but instead he reached for the passenger door, pulling it open.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Seriously?”

Bradley just shrugged, stepping back to give you space. “What? You think I don’t have manners?”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “I don’t know. I just didn’t peg you as the door-opening type.”

His smirk was subtle but genuine. “Guess I like keeping you on your toes.”

Still eyeing him, you slid into the seat. The door shut with a solid thunk, and a moment later Bradley was rounding the hood and climbing in behind the wheel.

Bradley’s place was exactly what you would’ve expected. Laid back, a little old school, but effortlessly him. Warm lighting, a well-loved couch, a few framed photos on the walls, and a record player in the corner. It felt lived in, comfortable.

“You want a beer?” he asked as he tossed his keys onto the counter.

You nodded, stepping further inside. “Yeah, sure.”

Bradley grabbed two from the fridge, popping the caps off with practiced ease before handing one to you. You took a sip as he led you toward the couch, where he sank down with an easy sprawl.

You hesitated for half a second before sitting next to him, tucking your legs underneath you. The conversation picked up right where it had left off with music, movies, dumb things you’d both done as kids.

At some point you kicked off your shoes and stretched your legs out, your sock clad feet nudging his thigh. Bradley didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he absentmindedly rested a hand on your shin as he talked, fingers tracing lazy patterns against the fabric of your jeans.

You should’ve noticed it earlier. That shift, that subtle change in the air. Because somewhere between the teasing and the laughter, something had settled in the space between you. Something quieter. Heavier. Bradley’s fingers stilled against your leg, his gaze flicking to yours.

You swallowed. “What?”

He shook his head, his voice softer now. “Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing, and you both knew it. The air crackled, and before you could second guess it, you were shifting closer. Bradley’s hand slid up, palm skimming your knee before settling at your waist. His fingers curled there, warm and steady.

You weren’t sure who leaned in first, but suddenly, he was right there. His breath fanned across your lips, his eyes locked onto yours, searching.

And then he kissed you. It was slow at first, just the soft press of his lips against yours, like he was testing the waters. But when you didn’t pull away and you kissed him back,he deepened it, his hand tightening at your waist as he pulled you closer.

Your fingers found the back of his neck, threading into his hair, and he groaned low in his throat, a sound that sent heat curling through your stomach. By the time you finally broke apart, you were breathless.

Bradley rested his forehead against yours, his lips quirking. “So… I’m guessing you don’t regret leaving that singles event?”

You laughed, still catching your breath. “Not even a little bit.”

Bradley’s hands were still resting at your waist, warm and steady, as you hovered just inches from him. The air between you felt charged, humming with something unspoken but undeniable. You moved first, shifting onto your knees before slowly swinging a leg over his lap, settling yourself against him. Bradley inhaled sharply, his hands tightening their hold on you like he was still processing what was happening, like he needed a second to let himself feel you there.

“Yeah?” His voice was low, rough around the edges, his hands twitching slightly against your hips.

You nodded, fingers trailing up the back of his neck as you leaned in. “Yeah.”

That was all he needed.

His mouth met yours again, deeper this time, the hesitancy from before fading as he pulled you closer, molding you against him. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging lightly, and he let out a quiet groan that sent a shiver down your spine.

His hands, large and warm, traced slow circles at your waist before slipping under your shirt. His palms pressed against your bare skin, mapping their way up your sides, his touch reverent like he was savoring every inch of you.

He paused, giving you a chance to stop him, but you weren’t going anywhere. You lifted your arms, silently telling him to keep going, and Bradley took his time easing your shirt up and over your head, his eyes flickering over your newly exposed skin. His fingers followed the path of his gaze, tracing along your ribs, your back, your shoulders.

“Damn,” he murmured, almost to himself, before leaning in to kiss you again, slower this time, deeper, his lips moving with purpose as his hands roamed over you.

You shifted in his lap, pressing closer, and that was when something changed. His grip on you tightened, his fingers digging into your skin like he suddenly couldn’t get enough. His kisses turned hungrier, his breath heavier as he tilted his head, deepening the kiss until all you could do was melt into him.

You gasped as his mouth trailed along your jaw, then down the column of your throat, his lips and tongue leaving a heated path in their wake. His hands moved again, exploring more boldly now, and you arched into him, letting yourself feel everything. His touch, his warmth, the way he was unraveling right along with you.

Your fingers moved with growing urgency, skimming over Bradley’s shoulders as you tried to push off that damn ugly printed shirt. But the fabric bunched awkwardly at his arms, refusing to cooperate. Frustrated, you tugged harder, reaching for the undershirt beneath it too, wanting them both gone except now you were tangled in two layers of fabric, and nothing was coming off the way you wanted.

Bradley chuckled against your skin, his breath warm where his lips had been trailing along your collarbone. 

“Impatient, huh?” His voice was teasing, but there was something deeper laced in it too, something thick with amusement and want.

You huffed, still struggling. “If you’d stop wearing so many damn layers—”

He cut you off with another quiet laugh before leaning back slightly. “Here,” he murmured, his hands covering yours, steadying them. “Let me help you out, sweetheart.”

Your stomach flipped at the easy way the endearment rolled off his tongue, but before you could dwell on it, Bradley took control. He shrugged out of the over shirt first, letting it drop to the floor before crossing his arms to pull the undershirt over his head in one smooth motion.

And damn.

Your breath hitched as you finally took him in. His broad shoulders, toned chest, the soft trail of hair leading down his stomach. His dog tags rested against his skin, catching the low light of the room, and for a moment, you just stared.

Bradley smirked, clearly enjoying your reaction. “Better?”

You didn’t answer. Not with words, anyway. Instead, you leaned in, hands splaying against his bare chest as you kissed him again, slow and deep, making sure he felt exactly how much you appreciated the view.

Bradley groaned against your lips, his hands sliding back to your waist before gripping your hips firmly, grounding you against him. The kiss deepened, turning messier, more desperate, and when you rolled your hips just slightly, testing the friction, that was when he lost the last bit of his restraint.

His grip tightened, his breath shuddering against your mouth. “You’re playing with fire, sweetheart.”

You smirked. “Maybe I like the heat.”

His eyes darkened, his jaw tightening for half a second before he suddenly moved, flipping you onto your back on the couch in one swift motion.

You barely had time to gasp before he was hovering over you, his body warm and solid against yours. His lips found your neck again, his hands roaming over newly exposed skin, and suddenly, you weren’t the one in control anymore.

And you definitely didn’t mind.

Bradley’s hands moved with deliberate slowness, fingers grazing over your hips before settling at the waistband of your jeans. His eyes flicked up to yours, silently asking for permission. When you nodded, he made quick work of the button and zipper, his fingers brushing over your skin as he tugged them down your legs, leaving you in just your underwear.

He leaned back slightly, his gaze raking over you, dark and unreadable for a moment. Then, a slow smirk tugged at his lips. His voice was rougher now, lower, as he shook his head. “You’re even prettier than I imagined.”

Your breath hitched, warmth spreading through your chest at his words, at the way he was looking at you like he wanted to devour you.

Then, before you could think of a response, he dipped his head, pressing his lips to the base of your throat. His mouth was warm, his kisses slow and reverent as he made his way down, lingering at the delicate skin along your collarbone, then lower, teasing over your ribs before his hands found your thighs.

He shifted, lowering himself onto the floor in front of the couch, his large, rough palms pressing against your inner thighs as he spread them apart. The contrast between his calloused hands and the soft skin of your legs sent a shiver up your spine.

Bradley’s breath was warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his mouth trailed lower until it hovered just above the place you ached for him most. His grip on your thighs tightened, thumbs stroking slow, lazy circles into your skin as if savoring the anticipation.

“Still with me?” he murmured, his voice husky, teasing.

You let out a shaky breath, your fingers sinking into his thick curls, tugging just enough to earn a soft groan from him. “Bradley—”

His lips curved against your hipbone. “That’s all I needed to hear.”

A slow, unrelenting press of his mouth, a sound of satisfaction rumbling low in his throat as he pulled you closer, as your world narrowed to nothing but the feeling of him, the steady, torturous rhythm of his hands and lips unraveling you piece by piece.

The last coherent thought you had before everything melted into sensation was that you’d never look at him the same way again.

[taniamunson]

𝙨𝙩𝙖𝙮𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙡𝙞𝙫𝙚 ; ex-boyfriend!eddie x fem!reader

summary: After rehab, you return to Hawkins to find that nothing has changed… except you. And Eddie Munson.

warnings: Substance abuse, depression, mental health struggles, rehabilitation, family tension, past relationship drama, possible triggers for anxiety or trauma.

‼️ I don’t speak English perfectly, my native language is Spanish, and although I’ve taken many classes, my English is not perfect. I’m sorry if it sounds too “formal” or if something is unclear, please feel free to correct me. Thank you. ‼️

━─━────────━─━━─━───────

The first breath of air in Hawkins hits you with a weight you didn’t expect. There’s something about this town that feels dense, as if the air is mixed with memories you’d rather leave buried. Everything here is steeped in what you were, what you did, what you lost.

As your mom’s car stops in front of the house, you feel like time has frozen in this place. Nothing has changed. The paint on the fence is still peeling, the mailbox is still crooked, and the window in your room still has the small crack in the corner they never bothered to fix.

The only difference is how you feel seeing all of it.

Your mom turns off the engine and looks at you, a smile that’s a little forced.

“Ready?”

You don’t answer. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t know what to say. Ready for what? To pretend everything’s fine? To face the stares of people who think they know who you are? To return to the place where everything fell apart?

You grab your backpack from the back seat and get out of the car. The house smells the same as always: old wood and a hint of cheap perfume your mom insists on spraying everywhere. It’s a familiar smell, but instead of comforting you, it makes you feel like you’re in someone else’s house.

Your brother is in the living room, playing with the chain of his lighter, though he’s not smoking. He looks up when you enter and studies you for a second before letting out a dry laugh.

“Wow, you survived.”

Your mom smacks him on the arm, but he just shrugs. You don’t react. It doesn’t bother you, not even a little. He’s always been like that: indifferent, a bit of a jerk, but not with bad intentions.

“Are you hungry?” your mom asks, changing the subject too quickly.

He shakes his head, and you head upstairs, feeling his gaze follow you until you disappear down the hallway.

When you push the door to your room open, the smell of dust hits you like a punch. Someone made the bed and put some of your things away, but not enough to make it feel different. You still have the same blanket with a small cigarette burn in the corner, the same lamp on your nightstand with the busted bulb you never replaced, the same shoebox under the bed with memories you’d rather forget.

You sigh and drop your backpack to the floor before lying down on the bed.

You’re home.

But you don’t feel like you belong here. A small part of you would’ve preferred staying in that stupid hospital, though another part of you hated it.

The center had white walls, that clinical shade that made you feel like you were in a hospital instead of a recovery center. Each day had a strict routine: wake up early, group therapy, individual therapy, activities to “reconnect with yourself,” bland meals, more therapy.

The first weeks were unbearable.

Withdrawal hit you like a train, with headaches, insomnia, and an anxiety that made your skin feel like it didn’t belong to you. You cried more than you’d like to admit. You hated every second. But the worst part was the loneliness.

There was no noise to distract you, no way to escape your own mind. And when there was nothing else to focus on, you realized how much you’d ruined your own life.

It wasn’t until one of the therapists asked you a simple question that everything clicked.

“If you went back to Hawkins tomorrow, what would you do differently?”

You didn’t know how to answer. Because you weren’t sure you’d do anything differently.

Your family? They’ve been acting strange. They look at you too much, as if they’re waiting for you to do something. Your mom tries too hard to be affectionate, your dad is showing interest in your life, your brother is holding back from making “too cruel” comments.

It’s not that they didn’t pay attention before, but it was never like this. They were never the type to ask questions or try to get involved in what you were doing. Before, you could go days without exchanging more than two words with them.

Now, suddenly, they’re acting like a normal family.

And that’s what bothers you the most.

Because it means they see a problem with you now. That they think they need to watch you. That they feel guilty.

They don’t mention what happened. They don’t mention the overdose in the school bathroom, the ambulance, or the weeks you spent in that chlorine-scented center. But every word, every gesture, every glance is filled with something that was never there before: caution.

As if you were a ticking time bomb.

And as if that weren’t enough, you can’t sleep.

You toss and turn in bed, but your mind won’t shut off. Tomorrow, you go back to school. To the hallways that felt like a prison. To the same faces that saw you at your worst.

To the possibility of seeing him.

You squeeze your eyes shut, as if that could push the thought away.

You don’t want to think about Eddie Munson. You don’t want to remember his voice shouting at you that night, the last time you spoke before everything went to hell. You don’t want to remember the expression on his face when he realized you were pulling away, and you definitely don’t want to remember the cassette you left at his house, the one he probably threw away the second you disappeared from his life.

You force yourself to take a deep breath. To calm down.

Tomorrow will be the real test.

Tomorrow, you’ll know if you can really do this.

Or if Hawkins will drag you back.

[astrolook]

Moon in the houses

Moon in the 1st House: Emotions? Yeah, I’m wearing them like a neon sign.

Mood Swings? Who Needs a Weather App? – One minute, you're on cloud nine, ready to conquer the world, and everyone around you is like, "Wow, you're so inspiring!" . The next minute, you're in a full-on emotional hurricane, and people are like, “Uh, is everything okay?” Yep, they can literally see the storm clouds forming.

You’re basically an emotional X-ray for anyone who needs to know how you're feeling. Super helpful in knowing exactly where you stand.

You have the perfect built-in therapist, your mom, who never asks for a copay and always responds with “I love you, sweetie.”

Moon in 1st gives you a youthful young face. If a man, could be a mama boy. On the flip side, mommy could be overbearing.

When you're happy, you radiate positivity like the sun itself. You make everyone around you feel like they’ve just had a shot of espresso… without the jitters. But when you're in a mood, watch out. It’s like the ocean’s about to swallow up the entire coast. You can go from zero to “I’m emotionally drowning, help!” in 0.3 seconds.

Moon in the 2nd House: The Emotional Shopping Spree - You feel things, and you buy things. Repeat.

When you're feeling happy, it’s like “treat yo' self” day, and suddenly you’ve got 14 new pairs of socks that totally spoke to you in the store. Feeling stressed? Well, it's probably time for a little retail therapy... because nothing says “I’m handling my feelings” like buying a $50 scented candle you’ll never use.

Impulsive purchases. When your emotions take a dive, so does your bank account. "I'm sad, I need a new purse."

When someone asks how you're feeling, your response might just be, "Well, I bought a new jacket, so I’m feeling fabulous."

Your Emotions Are Always on Sale. You're like, “You know what would make me feel even better? A cute new scarf!” Because nothing says “I’m emotionally balanced” like a $15 markdown.

You love investing in things that make you feel good—whether it’s a cozy home, a nice meal, or that perfectly curated playlist you bought (yep, it’s a thing). Your finances are tied to your emotional health like a carefully organized spreadsheet.

Moon in the 3rd House: The Over thinker's Hotline - You think, you feel, you text… then you overthink it all.

Your emotions are running wild and they need to talk. A LOT. Like, you’ll have a deep emotional moment and then immediately text your bestie about it, but also text your mom for a second opinion, and then maybe send a message to a group chat for a third—just to make sure everyone’s on the same emotional page.

You’re the Emotional Wi-Fi of your social circles—always transmitting and receiving feelings, whether anyone asked or not.

You overanalyze everything. Sent a text at 11:30 PM? Now you’re wondering if that emoji you used in your response was “too much.” Did they think you were crying in that voice message, or just, like, “really emotionally engaged”? You end up spiral-commenting under your own messages. "Wait, I wasn’t mad, I swear!" Cue overthinking every single word.

You’re emotionally open, but also maybe one text away from sending an entire novel about your mood swings. If you have a Moon in Aquarius in 3rd house, you are very much into conspiracy theories.

The overthinking is so strong, even Siri gets nervous. “Did I say that correctly? Does it sound too emotional? Let me try that again, Siri, do you think they’ll understand?"

Moon in the 4th House: Home is Where the Feelings Are - Your emotions? Oh, they're all cozy in your emotional fortress… with snacks.

If you're ever feeling down, you know exactly where to retreat: the couch, surrounded by blankets, a mountain of snacks, and probably a weirdly specific playlist of “emotional” songs you know no one else understands.

Your vibe says, "Come on in, let me feed you, and here’s a blanket!" You’re basically the human version of a warm cup of tea.

On the flip side, you can get way too attached to your personal space. Don’t even think about messing with your “comfort zone,” because that zone is sacred. You might find yourself overly attached to places, people, and objects in your home that just... feel right.

If someone says something you don’t like, you might retreat into your home and pretend to reorganize your kitchen for the next four hours. Not because it’s necessary... but because it’s emotionally satisfying.

If there’s food involved and your loved ones nearby, you’re ready for some serious heart-to-hearts.

Moon in the 5th House: The Drama Queen of Feelings - Life’s a stage, and you're always in the mood for a performance.

Your feelings take center stage like you’re auditioning for a Broadway show every single day. You’re all about self-expression, fun, and creating joy—because, let’s face it, life’s too short to not have an emotional karaoke session on a Tuesday night.

Moon in 5th bestows with a girl child. Of course, we need to check whether it is associated with any other planets.

Professions like actor or any artistic professions fits you. You can turn any situation into a joyous celebration and make even the most mundane things feel like a special event.

The flip side? When you're down, it's like the curtains close on the show, and you’re the star in a drama you didn’t sign up for. You may exaggerate your emotions a little (okay, a lot)—an offhand comment from a friend turns into a full-blown emotional musical number. Cue the tears, dramatic exits, and possibly a solo performance on why no one understands your very deep feelings.

You’re basically the person who gets emotionally invested in every movie, reality show, and Instagram post you see and also celebrities.

Moon in the 6th House: The Emotional Overachiever - Feelings? I’ll just organize them into a to-do list.

With the Moon in the 6th House, you take your emotions very seriously—like, spreadsheet-level seriously. You're not just feeling your feelings, you're tracking them, analyzing them, and organizing them with the same precision of a perfectly color-coded calendar.

Your home? Probably a Zen-like temple of organization. You could be a productivity guru and an emotional support animal all rolled into one.

You’re probably the person who compulsively checks your horoscope, wellness app, and to-do list while also making sure you're drinking enough water—because, yes, your emotional health must be on track.

Service - oriented professions.

Probably keeps a journal. Your motto - "Productivity meets therapy!"

Moon in the 7th House: Emotional Rollercoaster + Relationship Drama

You Have a PhD in Relationships – You analyze, you nurture, you feel. Basically, you’re the emotional therapist of every relationship/partnership you’re in.

Emotional Dependency? Yup, It's Real – Your partner's mood? It's now your mood. If they’re happy, you're on cloud nine. If they're sad, well, buckle up, emotional crash ahead!

You Can’t Just "Date" Someone—You Feel Them – It's never just a date night. It's a journey. You’ll be emotionally invested before the appetizers even arrive.

If your partner says, “I’m fine,” but their voice cracks, you’re immediately putting on your emotional detective hat. Something’s definitely wrong.

Your partner's mood shifts and you’re already planning a 5-step plan to emotionally heal them. Just call you “Dr. Love.”

Moon in the 8th House: The Emotional Detective with a Dark Twist

If emotions were a rollercoaster, you’d be the one flipping the safety bar off and screaming, "Let’s go faster!"

Family gatherings? More like family mysteries. You can feel the unspoken tension, and you’re practically Sherlock Holmes, trying to figure out what’s being left out. Every holiday dinner has a side of “What aren’t they telling me?"

When you lose your virginity, you could even hide it from your family.

Being vulnerable with you is like peeling an onion—layer after emotional layer until someone’s crying. Sometimes you overshare, sometimes you say, “I’m fine,” but everyone knows you’re not. You can’t help it.

You can turn pain into growth like a magical wizard. Hurt feelings? Great, now you’re ready for transformation. You take all that emotional mess and somehow turn it into deep wisdom—or a really great, tear-filled diary entry. Either way, it’s epic.

Moon in the 9th House: The Emotional Philosopher on a Soul-Searching Road Trip

Your emotions don’t stay local. You feel them on an international level, like, “Why am I feeling so deep right now? Is this about my past life in a distant land or because I watched a documentary on the Amazon?” Your emotions are basically the United Nations of your soul.

Family & Friends Talks Are Like TED Talks – When you try to explain your feelings to family/friends, it’s less “Hey, I’m upset” and more “Here’s a 45-minute monologue on the meaning of life, and also I read a book on existentialism last week.”

One minute you’re high on life, quoting philosophy, and the next, you’re googling “Why does everything feel so overwhelming?” You’ll go from thinking you’re a wise sage to wanting to crawl into bed and watch Netflix documentaries. Your moods are basically a journey, so pack your bags.

You can't just feel something—you need to analyze, interpret, and probably give it a name. "I feel anxious. Is this anxiety or is it just me tapping into the collective consciousness of humanity?

You’re an Emotional Nomad – You can’t sit still. Emotionally, you need to keep moving, exploring, learning, and growing. "Home? Well, I feel emotionally connected to 17 different places.

Moon in the 10th House: The Emotional CEO of Life

Your emotions are always on display like you’re giving a TED Talk about your deepest feelings.

You don’t just work; your career is an emotional journey. “Am I feeling fulfilled at work? If not, should I change my entire career path? Do I need a promotion to feel better about myself?!” Your job? Basically your emotional therapist, but with more PowerPoint presentations.

Public approval is your emotional fuel, and you’re like, “Did I mention I’m emotionally attached to other’s opinion of me?”

Your mood? It directly impacts your work ethic. When you’re emotionally stable, you’re like, “Let’s take over the world.” But when you're upset? You’re still working, but you’re crying in the break room, making dramatic phone calls to your loved ones.

You’re emotionally invested in how the world sees you. You need to be the best at everything, but emotionally—"Did I look too emotional during my presentation? Was my inner turmoil apparent?" It’s a lot of pressure to keep it all together, but hey, it’s worth the “likes”.

Moon in the 11th House: The Emotional Social Butterfly Who Forgets Why They Came to the Party!

People love your warm, nurturing energy, and your squad is basically a second family. Just be careful—you might adopt every stray friend like a lost puppy. You could even get in trouble for helping your friend.

One day, you're the life of the party, the next, you’re ghosting everyone because feelings. People around you should have learned to just roll with it.

If you are feeling bad, you might turn to strangers online for some emotional support.

You’re energized by like-minded people and might thrive in large social circles, community work, or even fan clubs (yes, you might cry over your favorite celebrity’s life updates).

You might bend over backward to fit into a group, even if it means suppressing your own needs. That’s right—you RSVP to events you know you don’t want to go to, then regret it immediately.

Moon in the 12th House: The Emotional Mystic Who Feels Everything & Nothing at Once

congratulations—you’ve unlocked "Feelings: Hardcore Mode." Your emotions live in the deep, mysterious waters of the subconscious, making you an intuitive, dreamy, and sometimes tragically misunderstood soul. You might love solitude but also feel unbearably lonely, sense energies others miss, and randomly cry for no reason (or is there always a reason?).

Your intuition is next-level. You pick up on vibes, unspoken emotions, and even spiritual messages like a human radio antenna. Your relationship with your mother could feel distant, mysterious, or full of unspoken emotions. Either she was deeply spiritual and nurturing or emotionally unavailable and hard to read.

Unlike most, you actually enjoy being alone. Your inner world is rich, and isolation helps you recharge from the chaos of life.

Even in a crowded room, you might feel disconnected. You crave deep emotional bonds but struggle to express your own feelings.

Emotional stress can manifest physically—sleep issues, mysterious body aches, or just always feeling tired for no reason.

You might secretly love someone from afar rather than openly express your feelings. (Just confess already!). You crave deep, spiritual connections but may self-sabotage by isolating yourself. You love soulmate vibes, but fear vulnerability.

[hisfavegirl]

Endless Battle Of Love - Modern!Jacaerys Velaryon x Female.

Prologue, Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6.

Word Count : 5.4k

Jacaerys Velaryon Masterlist.

House Of The Dragon Masterlist.

and also big thanks to @zaldritzosrose for let me using yours beautiful dividers 🫶🏻.

The office smelled like lavender and old books, a mixture that had become strangely familiar over the past month. The soft ticking of a clock on the wall was the only thing filling the silence as you sat on the couch, knees pulled close to your chest. Jace sat beside you, his hand resting protectively on your thigh, his thumb drawing soothing circles over the fabric of your jeans.

"How have you been sleeping?" your therapist, Dr. Elara, asked gently, her pen poised over her notepad.

You hesitated.

Jace’s grip on your thigh tightened slightly in encouragement.

"Better," you said finally. "The nightmares aren’t as bad anymore. Some nights, I sleep all the way through."

Dr. Elara nodded, offering you a small smile. "That’s progress. And the panic attacks?"

Jace answered for you before you could. "Less frequent," he said, his voice firm. "But they still happen."

You glanced at him, watching as his jaw tensed, his other hand curled into a fist on his lap. Even after all this time, he still carried the weight of what had happened to you. He had seen the worst of you—the screaming, the shaking, the nights when you woke up clawing at your own skin as if you could rid yourself of the ghosts Cregan had left behind.

But he never left.

"Would you like to talk about them?" Dr. Elara asked.

You swallowed hard.

"It’s always the same," you murmured. "I dream about being in that jet again. About being trapped."

You closed your eyes, and for a moment, you were there again. The dim lights. The suffocating silence. The weight of Cregan’s hands on you.

Jace must have sensed your distress because he immediately shifted closer, his arm wrapping around your shoulders, pulling you into his warmth.

"You’re not there anymore," he whispered. "You’re safe. I’m here."

Safe.

You clung to that word.

Dr. Elara tapped her pen lightly against the notepad. "Have you been using the grounding techniques we discussed?"

You nodded. "The breathing exercises help. And…" You glanced at Jace. "So does having him with me."

Jace looked down at you, something unreadable in his expression. He had given up so much for you—his company, his peaceful life—stepping into the darkness without hesitation just to protect you.

Dr. Elara sighed softly. "That’s good. But you need to be careful. Depending too much on one person for stability can be dangerous. You need to find strength in yourself, too."

"She is strong," Jace said immediately, his voice quiet but firm. "Stronger than she thinks."

You turned to him, startled.

Dr. Elara smiled knowingly. "And do you believe that?" she asked you.

Did you?

For months, you had felt like a victim. Like a shattered version of the person you used to be. But now… you weren’t so sure.

You had survived.

You had fought back.

You had walked into the darkness—and come out the other side. You inhaled slowly, then exhaled.

"I think I’m learning to."

The sun streamed through the windows of the therapist’s office, casting golden rays onto the wooden floors. You shifted slightly on the couch, feeling the warmth seep into your skin, but it did nothing to ease the unease creeping through your chest.

"You’re making progress," Dr. Elara said, her voice calm and reassuring. "You’ve been able to get into cars without panicking. That’s a big step."

You nodded, biting your lip. "I know, but… the plane was different."

Jace’s hand found yours, fingers intertwining as he gave a gentle squeeze.

"Tell me about it," Dr. Elara encouraged.

You took a slow breath, trying to steady your thoughts before speaking. "Jace’s family planned a trip last week. I—I wanted to go. I didn’t want to be left behind."

You swallowed hard, recalling the way your hands had started trembling the second you stepped into the airport.

"She started shaking before we even got to security," Jace murmured, his grip on your hand tightening. "And when we got to the gate…" He trailed off, jaw clenching.

You glanced at him, watching the way his thumb brushed absentmindedly over your knuckles. He still carried every moment of your pain like it was his own.

"I froze," you admitted softly. "I couldn’t breathe. I felt like I was back there again."

The memory came rushing back—your heart pounding against your ribs, the feeling of walls closing in, the sheer terror that gripped you as you stared at the cabin door of the private jet.

"I told her we didn’t have to go," Jace said, voice edged with frustration—though not at you, never at you. "But she wanted to try."

Dr. Elara nodded. "So what happened?"

You exhaled shakily. "I couldn’t do it. I wanted to, but my body just—just shut down. I started crying and—"

"And she almost passed out," Jace finished, his voice tight.

You flinched at the reminder, your free hand curling into a fist against your lap.

"So we had to sedate her," Jace muttered bitterly. "She slept through the entire flight."

Dr. Elara regarded you carefully. "How did that make you feel?"

You swallowed, looking down.

"Weak."

"You’re not weak," Jace said immediately, his voice a low growl. "You went through hell, and you’re still standing. That doesn’t make you weak."

Your throat tightened.

"It felt like I was back there," you whispered. "Like the moment I stepped into that plane, I wasn’t safe anymore."

Dr. Elara leaned forward slightly. "That’s a trauma response," she explained gently. "Your brain associates the plane with danger because of what happened. It’s not something you can just ‘get over.’ It takes time."

Jace exhaled through his nose, clearly struggling to keep his frustration in check. "How do we fix it?"

Dr. Elara smiled slightly. "We don’t ‘fix’ it. We work through it. Gradually." She turned to you. "Would you be willing to try exposure therapy?"

Your stomach twisted at the thought.

"It doesn’t have to be all at once," Dr. Elara assured you. "Maybe just stepping onto an empty plane while it’s still grounded. Sitting in a cabin for a few minutes. Small steps."

You hesitated.

Jace’s thumb stroked over your knuckles again. "You don’t have to do anything you’re not ready for," he murmured.

You bit your lip, glancing between him and Dr. Elara.

"I… I want to try."

Jace tensed beside you, but he didn’t argue.

Dr. Elara smiled. "That’s a good first step."

And deep down, you knew she was right. You couldn’t keep running from this forever. If you wanted to take back your life—to stop feeling like a prisoner in your own mind—you had to start somewhere.

Even if it scared you.

The ride home was silent, the weight of the session still lingering between you. Jace's fingers traced slow, comforting patterns over your knuckles, but neither of you spoke.

Your mind was spinning. Next session. That was when you’d have to face it. The thought alone made your stomach twist, but you had agreed. You wanted to try. You needed to try.

Jace glanced at you again, his grip tightening around your hand for a brief moment before loosening. "Are you okay?" he finally asked, his voice soft.

You hesitated, staring out the window at the passing city lights. "I don’t know," you admitted.

His jaw tensed, but he didn’t push. Jace had learned not to pressure you—not after everything. Instead, he lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to your knuckles. "We’ll take it slow," he murmured. "You don’t have to do this alone."

You turned to look at him then, meeting his gaze. The concern in his eyes, the quiet determination—it made your chest ache. "I know."

The car pulled up to his mansion, and Jace stepped out first, walking around to open your door. His hand was already reaching for you before you had even moved. You took it, letting him help you out, his warmth grounding you as he pulled you closer.

Inside, the atmosphere was just as quiet. Jace set down his keys and immediately turned to you, hands finding your waist. "Come here."

You let him guide you toward the couch, where he sat down and pulled you into his lap. His arms wrapped around you tightly, his head resting against yours.

"I hate seeing you like this," he murmured after a while.

You sighed, curling into him. "I’ll get better."

"I know," he said, but there was something else in his tone. Something unspoken.

You pulled back slightly, looking into his eyes. "What?"

Jace hesitated, then exhaled sharply. "I just—" His grip on you tightened. "I wish I could make it all go away."

Your heart clenched. You reached up, brushing your fingers along his jaw. "You being here helps."

He leaned into your touch, his eyes dark with something unreadable. "I’ll always be here."

You nodded, believing him. Jace had never once left your side. For now, that was enough.

Jace stiffened at first, caught off guard by the way you leaned in. Your lips brushed against his—gentle, testing—and for a moment, he didn't move.

You felt his hesitation, the way his hands stilled on your back. Jace had always been careful with you, sometimes too careful. He never wanted to push, never wanted to risk hurting you. But this time, you were the one reaching for him.

So you kissed him again, a little firmer.

A quiet sound escaped him, something between a sigh and a groan, and then he was kissing you back. Slowly, deliberately, his hands sliding up your spine as if mapping every inch of you. His lips moved with restrained hunger, as if he was still holding himself back.

But you didn’t want restraint. Not tonight.

You deepened the kiss, shifting in his lap so that your arms wrapped around his neck. He pulled you closer instinctively, one hand pressing against your lower back, the other coming up to cradle your jaw. His thumb brushed against your cheek, his touch unbearably soft.

When you finally broke apart for air, Jace rested his forehead against yours, his breath uneven.

"Are you sure?" he asked, voice hoarse.

You nodded, your fingers tightening around the fabric of his shirt. "Jace… I want this. I want you."

His grip on you tightened for a fraction of a second before he exhaled sharply. "I don’t want to hurt you," he admitted, his brows furrowing. "I don’t want you to feel like you have to—"

"I know." You cut him off gently, brushing your fingers against his jaw. "But I’m not afraid right now. With you, I’m safe."

Jace swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. Whatever he saw there seemed to undo him.

"God, I love you," he murmured, and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time. Less hesitant, more sure. His hands roamed your back, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw, then lower.

And for the first time in a long time, you felt like you were reclaiming a part of yourself—one kiss at a time.

You felt Jace’s arms tighten around you as Aegon’s amused voice filled the room.

“Well, well, well… don’t stop on my account.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks as you turned away, but Jace only exhaled sharply, his grip on you firm. “Get out, Aegon.”

Aegon merely laughed, strolling into the room with that insufferable grin on his face. “Relax, lover boy. I’m just here for my laptop. Unless…” He smirked, looking at you. “You two need some pointers?”

Jace growled low in his throat, his jaw ticking. “Aegon.”

“Alright, alright, I’m going.” Aegon held up his hands in mock surrender, but his smirk didn’t waver. He grabbed his laptop from the desk, but before he left, he paused at the door, casting one last glance at the two of you.

“You know,” he drawled, “it’s about time. Poor Jace has been suffering for months.”

Jace didn’t even hesitate. He grabbed a pillow and threw it straight at Aegon’s head.

Aegon ducked, laughing as he stepped out of the room. “Just saying!” he called over his shoulder. “Don’t be too loud. The walls are thin.”

The door shut behind him, leaving the room in silence.

You could feel Jace’s frustration radiating off him, his hold on you still possessive. When you looked up, his face was buried in your shoulder, his breaths slow and controlled.

“You’re tense,” you murmured, running your fingers through his hair.

“Because he’s an ass.” Jace huffed against your skin.

You giggled, the sound soft. “He’s not wrong, though.”

Jace lifted his head to look at you, his expression softening. “Are you okay?”

You nodded, your fingers tracing slow circles on his shoulder. “More than okay.”

His lips quirked up slightly before he leaned down, brushing a kiss to your forehead. “Good. Because I’m not letting Aegon ruin this moment.”

You smiled as he pulled you closer again, pressing another lingering kiss to your lips—one that Aegon, thankfully, wasn’t there to interrupt.

Jace pulled away first, and you let out a small noise of protest, making him chuckle.

“Patience, love,” he murmured, his fingers tracing your jaw before cupping your cheek.

You pouted. “You started it.”

His grin widened as he pressed a quick kiss to your forehead. “I know. And I plan to finish it—later.”

Before you could complain again, he took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “But first, I’m taking you out tonight. Dinner. Just the two of us.”

You blinked in surprise. “Dinner?”

“Yes. A proper one.” Jace’s thumb brushed over your knuckles. “And I won’t take no for an answer.”

You smiled, your heart warming at the idea. “Okay.”

He smirked. “Good. But first, I’m taking you to a salon.”

You raised a brow. “A salon?”

“Yes.” Jace tilted his head slightly. “I want you to relax and feel good. I’ve already made an appointment.”

You laughed softly. “You planned all of this?”

“Of course.” His fingers toyed with a strand of your hair. “You deserve to be pampered.”

You sighed, leaning into his touch. “You’re spoiling me.”

“And?” He grinned. “Isn’t that my job?”

You rolled your eyes playfully but couldn’t hide your smile. “Fine. I’ll get ready.”

Jace’s smirk grew. “Good girl.”

Your cheeks burned, but before you could say anything, he was already guiding you toward the closet. “Now, go. I want you looking like the most beautiful woman in the city tonight.”

“I already am,” you teased.

Jace hummed, his eyes darkening slightly as he pulled you close once more. “That you are.”

Then, with one last kiss, he let you go. “Now hurry up. The salon is waiting.”

You chose a simple dress, something elegant yet understated—just the way you liked it. Even though you now lived with Jace and his family, you had never been the type to indulge in excessive luxury.

As you descended the stairs, you felt Jace’s gaze lock onto you. He had been leaning casually against the railing, scrolling through his phone, but the moment he looked up, he froze. His expression shifted—his eyes darkened, his lips parted slightly, and for a moment, he looked as if he had forgotten how to breathe.

“You’re staring,” you murmured, stopping a few steps above him.

He blinked, inhaling sharply before smirking. “Can you blame me?”

Your lips curled into a small smile. “It’s just a dress, Jace.”

He stepped forward, closing the space between you. His hands found your waist as he looked up at you from where he stood a step below. “No. It’s you in that dress. That’s the difference.”

Heat crept up your neck, but before you could respond, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek. “Come on, love. We have a salon to get to.”

You let him take your hand, allowing him to lead you outside. The drive to the salon was peaceful, the city lights passing by as Jace rested one hand on the wheel and the other on your thigh, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns.

“Are you nervous?” he asked suddenly.

You glanced at him. “About what?”

“Tonight.” His grip on your thigh tightened just slightly. “It’s our first proper date.”

You considered his words. In a way, he was right. The two of you had been tangled in each other’s lives for so long—through obsession, trauma, and chaos—but you had never had something as simple as a normal date.

“Not nervous,” you admitted softly. “Just… I don’t know. It feels different.”

Jace smiled, his thumb stroking your skin. “Different is good.”

You met his gaze, warmth blooming in your chest. “Yeah. It is.”

The rest of the drive was quiet, filled only with the soft hum of the radio. When you arrived at the salon, Jace was already out of the car before you could move, opening your door for you.

“My lady,” he teased, offering his hand.

You rolled your eyes but took it, letting him guide you inside. The staff greeted you warmly, already expecting your arrival, and Jace made sure you were comfortably seated before pressing a kiss to the top of your head.

“Enjoy yourself,” he murmured. “I’ll be waiting.”

You smiled as he stepped back, watching him settle onto one of the couches near the entrance, his eyes never leaving you. Even now, he couldn’t take his attention off you.

And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

You hummed softly as the hairstylist ran their fingers through your hair, carefully working on the final touches. The salon smelled of lavender and vanilla, the air warm and calming.

“You’re a lucky woman,” the stylist commented with a smile as they adjusted a curl. “Jacaerys Velaryon isn’t just rich—he adores you. I can see it in his eyes.”

You met their gaze through the mirror, a small smile forming on your lips. “I know.”

Jace was many things—obsessive, overprotective, sometimes reckless—but his love for you had never wavered. He was always there, watching over you, making sure you were safe. Even when you had been at your lowest, drowning in trauma, he never left.

Just as you were about to turn and look at him, you noticed he was gone. His seat near the entrance was empty.

Your eyes scanned the room until you caught sight of him through the reflection of the mirror. He was standing near the back of the salon, phone pressed to his ear, his expression dark. His jaw was tight, shoulders stiff, fingers gripping his phone with more force than necessary.

Something was wrong.

Your fingers curled into your lap. You wanted to ask, to get up and walk over, but before you could, the stylist gently tilted your head. “Almost done, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes.”

You swallowed your concern and nodded, letting them finish. Jace was still on the phone, his voice low, his free hand rubbing the back of his neck.

By the time you stood up, he had disappeared completely.

Your stomach twisted slightly as you stepped away from the chair, smoothing down your dress. Where did he go?

You made your way toward the back of the salon, slipping past the employees. You pushed open the door leading to a quieter hallway, and there he was—standing near the exit, his back turned to you.

”—if he’s still alive, I want to know where the fuck he is.”

Your breath hitched.

“No mistakes this time. Handle it.”

Silence.

Then, Jace let out a slow breath, his shoulders visibly relaxing before he ended the call.

You took another step forward. “Jace?”

He turned sharply, his eyes meeting yours. The storm in them softened almost immediately.

“You’re done?” he asked, his voice lighter now, as if nothing had happened.

You nodded slowly. “Who was that?”

“Just business.” He stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You look beautiful.”

Your heart clenched. He was trying to distract you.

“Jace,” you murmured, your fingers brushing against his. “That call—who were you talking about?”

For a moment, he hesitated. Then, instead of answering, he sighed and cupped your cheek. “I told you, love,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your skin. “I’ll do anything to keep you safe. Even if it means making sure ghosts stay buried.”

A shiver ran down your spine.

Ghosts.

Cregan was dead.

Or at least… he was supposed to be.

You froze for a moment when you saw the dress draped over the chair—a stunning white gown, its fabric smooth and flowing like liquid silk. It was elegant yet simple, not overly extravagant, but enough to make anyone feel like royalty.

Slowly, you turned to face Jace. He was leaning casually against the counter, hands in his pockets, watching you with a small smile.

“You got this for me?” you asked softly, fingers grazing the fabric.

His smile widened. “I did. Thought you might like it.”

You swallowed. The idea that he had taken the time to choose something like this, something so perfect, made warmth bloom in your chest.

Before you could say anything else, one of the salon attendants approached, bowing her head slightly. “Would you like to change now, miss?”

You hesitated, glancing back at Jace. He didn’t say anything, only giving you an encouraging nod.

So you took the dress and followed the attendant into the fitting room.

The moment you slipped into it, you felt… different. The way the fabric hugged your body, the way it shimmered under the soft salon lights—it was breathtaking. You barely recognized yourself as you stared into the mirror.

The attendant helped adjust a few details before stepping back. “Perfect,” she murmured.

Taking a deep breath, you stepped out of the fitting room.

Jace was waiting just outside.

The moment he saw you, his entire body seemed to go still. His usual confidence faltered, his lips parting slightly as his gaze traveled over you. He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. Just stared.

You had seen him look at you many times before—with adoration, with amusement, with that possessive hunger that never seemed to fade. But this?

This was something else.

“Jace?” you murmured.

He blinked, as if snapping out of a trance, then exhaled a soft laugh. “You’re…” He shook his head, running a hand through his curls. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your heart skipped a beat.

You smiled, stepping closer. “You really think so?”

His hand reached for yours, fingers curling around your wrist gently. “I know so.”

There was something about the way he was looking at you—like you were the most precious thing he had ever laid eyes on. Like he would burn the entire world down just to keep you safe.

And in that moment, you realized—no matter how dark things got, no matter what ghosts from your past tried to haunt you—Jace would always be there.

"Jace, what are you doing?" you grumbled, your hands reaching up to pry his away from your eyes.

He only chuckled, his breath warm against your ear. "Patience, love. Just a little longer."

You could hear the waves crashing gently in the distance, the salty scent of the ocean filling your lungs. The breeze was cool against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Jace—"

"Alright, alright." He finally let go, stepping back. "Open your eyes."

The moment you did, your breath caught in your throat.

The beach stretched out before you, bathed in the soft glow of lanterns carefully placed in the sand. A small dining table sat in the center of it all, draped in white linen, adorned with flickering candles and a delicate arrangement of roses. The ocean reflected the moonlight, casting silver ripples across the waves. It was… perfect.

You turned to Jace, speechless.

"You did all this?" your voice barely above a whisper.

His lips curled into a smirk. "Do you like it?"

You exhaled a shaky laugh. "Jace, this is—" You shook your head, eyes glistening. "It’s beautiful."

"Not as beautiful as you," he murmured, his fingers brushing against your cheek.

Your heart fluttered.

"Come," he said, guiding you toward the table. He pulled out your chair, waiting for you to sit before taking his place across from you.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You just stared at each other, the sound of the waves filling the silence between you.

"You didn’t have to do all this," you said softly.

"I wanted to." His voice was firm, unwavering. "You deserve this. You deserve everything."

You looked down, swallowing hard.

Jace reached across the table, taking your hand in his. "You’ve been through hell, love. But you’re still here. Still fighting." His thumb brushed over your knuckles. "I want you to know that no matter what, I’ll always be by your side. Always."

Tears stung at the corners of your eyes.

"Jace…"

"No more looking back," he whispered. "Only forward. With me."

You nodded, squeezing his hand.

"With you."

You couldn't help but chuckle as you watched Aegon and Aemond pour champagne into your glass with exaggerated grace, as if they were trained butlers.

"What is this?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

Aegon smirked. "A royal service, my lady. Enjoy it while it lasts."

Aemond rolled his eye, setting the bottle down with practiced ease. "Jace insisted we do this. I still don’t know why I agreed."

"Because I made you," Jace interjected smoothly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he took a sip of his drink.

You shook your head, still chuckling, before a sound caught your attention—the soft, elegant melody of a violin drifting through the night air. Your laughter faded as you turned, eyes widening.

A musician stood a few feet away, playing a slow, enchanting tune that mingled perfectly with the sound of the waves. The scene felt like something out of a dream.

When you looked back at Jace, he was already watching you. His gaze was intense, filled with something deep, something unspoken. The flickering candlelight reflected in his dark eyes, making them look almost golden.

"Dance with me," he murmured, standing up and holding out his hand.

You hesitated for a second, your heart pounding, but then you placed your hand in his.

Jace pulled you to your feet gently, his grip firm yet careful. With Aegon and Aemond smirking behind you, you stepped onto the soft sand, where the melody continued to play.

"Ignore them," Jace whispered, pulling you closer. "It's just us."

And so, with the moonlight shining above, the waves singing their lullaby, and the violin playing just for you, you danced.

Jace’s arms tightened around you as you swayed gently to the rhythm of the violin, the soft sound of the waves harmonizing with the melody. His warmth enveloped you, grounding you in the moment, in him.

Then, his voice—low, rough with emotion—whispered against your ear.

"I love you."

You stiffened slightly, your breath catching in your throat.

"I love you more than anything in this world," he continued, his voice steady, unwavering. "And I will protect you, no matter what it takes. No one will ever hurt you again."

You swallowed hard, your fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as your heart pounded.

"Jace... I—"

"Shh," he cut you off softly, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes. His hand cradled your cheek, his thumb brushing against your skin with infinite tenderness. "I don’t need you to say anything. I just need you to know that I will never leave you. Never."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears, overwhelmed by the sheer intensity of his words, of his presence.

Jace leaned in, pressing his forehead to yours. "You are everything to me," he whispered. "And I will walk through fire, through hell itself, if it means keeping you safe."

The night felt still around you, as if the universe itself had paused to witness this moment.

Slowly, you lifted your hand to his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingertips. A silent promise. A vow.

And when you finally spoke, your voice was barely above a whisper.

"I believe you."

Jace exhaled shakily, his lips curling into a small, relieved smile. And then, without another word, he leaned in and kissed you—soft and slow, as if pouring all of his love into that single moment beneath the moonlit sky.

The world around you seemed to blur, the sound of the waves fading into the background as Jace knelt before you. The small velvet box in his hands was open, revealing a stunning ring that sparkled under the soft glow of the moon.

Your breath caught in your throat.

"Jace..."

His gaze never wavered as he looked up at you, his eyes filled with nothing but love, devotion, and something deeper—an unbreakable promise.

"I know you’ve been through hell," he began, his voice steady yet thick with emotion. "I know you think you're broken, that there are pieces of you that can't be put back together. But I don’t care how many scars you carry, how many nightmares still haunt you—I love you."

Your hands trembled, your mind racing, but he reached out, gently taking one of your hands in his.

"You don’t have to be perfect," he whispered. "You don’t have to heal overnight. I just want to be the one standing beside you, through every high, every low, through every dark night and every bright morning. I want you, always."

Tears welled in your eyes as you looked at him—the man who had fought for you, who had held you through your worst nights, who had never once turned away even when you tried to push him away.

"Marry me," Jace said, his thumb rubbing soothing circles against your skin. "Let me be the one to love you for the rest of my life."

Your lips parted, a shaky breath escaping as emotions swirled inside you—fear, hope, love.

You had never thought this moment would come. Not after everything. Not after the nightmares and the broken pieces you thought no one would ever want.

And yet, here he was.

Still choosing you.

Still loving you.

Your voice wavered as you finally found the strength to speak.

"Yes."

The moment the word left your lips, Jace let out a breath he had been holding, his expression breaking into one of pure, unfiltered joy. He slipped the ring onto your finger, his hands shaking slightly, before standing up and cupping your face.

Then, without hesitation, he kissed you—slow and deep, as if trying to tell you everything words couldn’t.

The cheers of Aegon and Aemond broke through the quiet night, but you barely heard them.

Because, for the first time in so long, you felt something you thought you had lost forever.

Hope.

Your tears fell freely, but for the first time in a long while, they weren’t from pain or fear. They were from joy—overwhelming, heart-crushing joy. Jace was still kissing you, his lips moving softly against yours, pouring all his love into that one moment.

Then, the sound of clapping grew louder.

You pulled away slightly, your breath hitching as you turned to see a group of familiar figures standing nearby. Rhaenyra, Alicent, Luke, Daemon—his usual smirk present—Helaena. They were all there, watching, smiling, celebrating.

Jace chuckled, pressing his forehead against your temple. "I should’ve known they wouldn’t let us have this moment alone."

Rhaenyra stepped forward first, a teasing smile on her lips as she looked between the two of you. "Took you long enough," she mused, her voice warm. "I was starting to think my son didn’t have the courage."

Jace groaned, shaking his head. "Not you too, Mother."

Alicent laughed softly, stepping beside Rhaenyra. "Oh, she’s not the only one. We’ve been waiting for this moment for a while." Her eyes softened as they met yours. "And I can’t think of anyone better to stand beside him."

Luke practically tackled you in a hug before Jace pulled him away, shaking his head. "Careful with my fiancée, Luke."

Hearing that word—fiancée—sent a shiver through you. It was real. You were engaged.

"Fiancée, huh?" Aegon smirked, holding up a glass of champagne. "So does this mean we can start planning the wedding? Because I have some… let’s just say, unique ideas."

Aemond rolled his eye. "Don’t let him anywhere near the planning, unless you want a bachelor party that ends in absolute chaos."

Jace shook his head, wrapping an arm around you protectively. "Aegon is not planning anything."

You laughed softly, leaning into Jace as he held you close. The moonlit beach, the sound of waves crashing, the warmth of Jace’s body beside you, the presence of family—it was more than you ever thought you could have.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t feel like a broken woman trying to survive.

You felt like a woman who was finally, truly living.

Tag list : @danytar @hangmanscoming @julessworldd @yazzzmints @callsignwidow @giirlinblack @searatarg @vaelry @ashblooddragons

[starlene]

Anne of the Island Book Club: Chapter 14

Okaaaay.

Faced with Ruby's dying fears, Anne feels "it was difficult for [her] to speak to any one of the deepest thoughts of her heart" – but even so, she deals with Ruby better than I think many professional therapists or theologians would.

Maybe it's because I've always been of the socially awkward sort myself and thus I cannot understand how anyone as young as Anne here can be anything but a fumbling mess with other people, let alone in a literal life-and-death situation... but even if I disregard that knee-jerk reaction, I feel like for a 19-year-old who gets upset when people post constructive criticism in her Wattpad comments, Anne is unrealistically good with people.

We've already seen she's brilliant with children (or at least, brilliant with Davy), and now, she's also brilliant with the dying. I mean, good for Ruby, it's great that she can have this conversation and pass away peacefully – but yeah, I just kinda feel like Anne is exhibiting quite a lot more wisdom and/or people skills here than you'd expect of someone of her age.

~

I also want to say that I think the part where Anne thinks about Ruby's attitude towards life, "She had laid up her treasures on earth only; she had lived solely for the little things of life" etc., is a bit... uuuuggghhhh.

In my mind, no matter how religious you are, a 19-year-old dying of an incurable disease is a tragedy, and said dying 19-year-old feeling upset about it is not indicative of some kind of a character flaw.

Ruby expresses sorrow that she'll never get the chance to be a wife and a mother. I don't know, I'm neither religious nor do I dream of becoming either of those things myself – but I feel like having to give up your dream of having a family because you're dying at 19 is always awful, no matter whether you've been a hopeless flirt all your life or an extra pious model Christian. The narrative paints Ruby as unreasonable here, which I think is incredibly unfair.

Oh well. It is what it is; I guess some ways, this book is simply very much a product of its time.

~

Anyway, I don't think this chapter is all bad, it's just incredibly heavy-handed when it comes to delivering the moral of the story. I've always found the description of Ruby dying touching, I think "And, while light feet danced and bright eyes laughed and merry tongues chattered, there came a summons to a soul in Avonlea that might not be disregarded or evaded" is a beautiful way of putting it.

I'm from a culture where open-casket funerals are not a common thing, so a a child, and to some extent even know, Ruby in an open casket and especially Avonleans talking of the sight of her for years afterwards (!) feels macabre to me. Macabre, and just plain weird.

"Ruby Gillis was the handsomest corpse she ever laid eyes on" – who says that!! I mean, yeah, Mrs. Lynde does – but really? The handsomest corpse?? Maybe it's just a culture difference, or maybe Mrs. Lynde is overstepping some boundaries here even in the original context, but to me, that feels like such a disrespectful thing to say it's making my skin crawl.

~

In any case, I think it was an especially interesting experience to reread this chapter an adult.

As a nine-year-old, I think I just read through this thinking, uh-huh, makes sense, if you're pretty but not intelligent in life then death will fix that, yeah.

Nowadays, I vibe with Diana feeling uncomfortable at the end of the chapter. You and me both, girl. You and me both.

[girlpetrarca]

gang I'm not sure I have the courage to come out to my boxing coach

[eclarinet]

same soup... different day

[kojakaj]

i do think its silly that if u have trauma ur allowed and even encouraged to be in therapy for ur entire life, or at least until u have less symptoms of mental illness, but if u dont u get kicked out after like 2 months once u stop being in active crisis

[birbtails]

.

[jackass-jones]

Ooooooghhhhhhhhh stressed 🥺

[void-tiger]

Yeah. The difference between whether I have my head back or feel like I’m trying to work around a festering pearl is whether or not I feel safe and secure and accepted and worth the trouble. It isn’t even the depth and frequency, apparently. It’s security and whether or not either I can truly make myself choose to trust someone or they fight to earn my trust back as many times as it takes with my own personal history and environment mucking things up

But yeah. It’s good to have a clear head again.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, no curse au, dead dove, violence described including murder, dark romance, use of y/n, descriptions of mental illness.

Synopsis: Sukuna’s talking to his therapist in jail about you. He’s incarcerated because of you, and his obsession is concerning.

An: Yeah idk i thought of this while I was driving to work one morning.

Session one. | Session two. | Session three. | Session four. |

His large frame laid lazily over the couch, clad in an orange jumpsuit. He had his feet propped up on one side, and his head was propped up on the other side in a far too casual manner. His naturally pink hair pushed up near the front, messily so.

He was still cuffed and shackled, but the therapist was still afraid of him. To the therapist’s credit, he had read the warrant that went into viscous detail of Sukuna’s crimes.

Normally, the therapist wouldn’t read the inmates warrants due to situations like these. He liked going into sessions with an open mind, but he had gotten warnings about Sukuna… how the man can fly into a blind rage like a switch on the wall.

He was brutal, unforgivable, inhumane.

Simple counseling wasn’t going to “fix” a broken human like Sukuna. The therapist knew this, but the state mandated that Sukuna undergo weekly counseling sessions per his sentence.

Sukuna could taste the therapist’s fear, and he let out an earnest laugh. “You don’t even want to try to fix me, do you?” He asked tauntingly with a lopsided grin. “I don’t blame you. Don’t feel bad~”

The therapist swallowed the lump in his throat, and he adjusted in his seat. “I can’t fix anyone… Counseling isn’t about fixing.. It’s about moving forward and learning how to live.”

“Bullshit.” Sukuna spits with shrug. “Counseling is about focusing on the past and letting shit hang you up for far too long. I guarantee you that you’re going to ask me about how I got here, is that right?”

The therapist is shaking like a leaf at this point. “Our past can help us navigate to a better future.” He murmured out weakly.

Sukuna roars in laughter, causing the therapist to nearly jump out of his seat. The pink-haired felon doubles over as he laughs hysterically. “You’re a funny guy. Fine. You really want to know how I got here? I’ll tell you.”

After a deep breath and wiping away a fake tear, Sukuna goes on, “You know, teachers always believe that pairing the troubled kids up with the good kids will inspire them to act right. That shit never works.”

“I think that’s when my ‘type’ developed. My bitch of a second-grade teacher assigned me to sit next to this frail meek girl after I got in trouble one too many times for terrorizing the other kids. She was a real stick in the mud.” Sukuna laughs fondly, a rare genuine smile on his face.

“Y/n?” The therapist asks, remembering your name from the warrants.

Sukuna’s red eyes snap over to the therapist with an almost predatory gaze. His hands visibly curl into fists. “Say her name again, and I’ll splatter your blood all over this room. The officers won’t be able to pry me from you, deeming you to be a lost cause.”

The therapist freezes as the breath hitches in his throat. His eyes dart toward his panic button, knowing he should probably press it now, but he’s frozen in fear.

“We’ll call her mouse.” Sukuna goes on as if he didn’t just threaten the poor guy’s life in brutal detail.

“Mouse was a real challenge. I for some reason made it my mission to get her to talk to me, but she always stayed silent — only answering me with simple head gestures.” He laughs again, lying his head back further as he’s replaying the memories in his mind. He can remember you vividly and how you looked back then. He yearns for that feeling again. The feeling of seeing you for the first time.

“I can’t exactly tell you when the challenge started to border obsession, but she slowly slithered her way into my brain. Even when I wasn’t in school, I thought about her. I wondered what she sounded like, wondered why she wouldn’t talk to me, wondered why she looked at me like that.”

The therapist furrows his eyebrows. Even though he doesn’t feel safe in this session, and he doesn’t trust Sukuna at all, he has a hunger for knowledge, and he loves solving things that have to do with the human psyche.

“Looked at you like what?” The therapist dared to ask.

Sukuna stayed silent for a moment, and he tapped his finger against the back of his hand. His face hardened as he found the words he was looking for. “She looked at me like she had no preconceived notion of me. Her eyes… were so big and round. Even though she didn’t talk to me, it was like she accepting of my presence.”

The shackles jingled as Sukuna rubbed his face in a stressed gesture. Remembering you was like a double edged sword. He loved thinking about you, but he hated being reminded that he was without you.

The therapist eased in his chair. There was actual emotions underneath all those tattoos, thick skin, and muscle. The media had portrayed Sukuna as a complete narcissistic sociopath, but this was proof that diagnosis was false.

“I bothered the shit out of her for years, continually getting myself paired up with her.” Sukuna grinned, shifting the conversation back in a direction that he was more comfortable with, “I remember those asshole kids always called me her shadow because I followed her everywhere. Jokes on them.”

The therapist shivered as be remembered a chilling detail from the warrants. Each time a victim was found, a message was written in the victim’s blood.

-ʏᴏᴜʀ ꜱʜᴀᴅᴏᴡ

His victim’s - their deaths were like an homage to you.

“Were the kids ever… assholes to mouse?”

Sukuna’s jaw visibly tightened. He loathed this therapist’s questions… thinking he knew everything just because you and Sukuna were misunderstood kids.

“They called her weird for not talking.” Sukuna recalled as he bit his inner cheek. His eyes glared to the wall in front of him. “Now look at who can’t talk.”

Sukuna’s first victim. He didn’t start out with murder. He started out with stapling your bullies mouth shut for taunting you. Everything was for you. Everything.

He held a kid down to the teacher’s in third grade, grabbing a stapler, and he pressed it down one by one into the kids lips, binding them together. The kid couldn’t scream or cry for help, or else he’d risk ripping the flesh on his lips.

The teachers found the kid and immediately knew the only kid sadistic enough to go through with such an act was none other than Sukuna.

“Did mouse witness you do that?” The therapist asked, genuinely intrigued by Sukuna’s narrative. For being a ruthless criminal, he was a wonderful historian.

“No. Why would I scare her like that?” Sukuna’s voice was tense as he eyed the therapist carefully, as if he was waiting for him to say the wrong thing.

The therapist clicks his tongue in surprise, and he looks like a deer in headlights. “Scare? No.. no, I thought you’d maybe just show off what you did for her.”

“I’m not the type to show off.” Sukuna answers flatly, and the therapist wonders if that’s the first time Sukuna’s lied during this session. He knows that Sukuna likes to show off. The warrants prove it.

“Anyways, I wore her down over the years. She didn’t speak to me until we were in sixth grade.” An eerie smile curls on Sukuna’s lip. “I can still remember her first word to me and how she said it…”

The therapist leaned in, curiosity getting best of him.

Sukuna smirks, knowing he has the therapist interested now. “Her first word to me was a plea. A word to show her undeniable want. Her first word to me was please.”

Bang! Bang Bang!

The therapist literally flinches out of his chair from the heavy knocks at the door.

“Ryomen! Your time is up!” The officer yelled on the other side of the door.

“Pity. I was beginning to have fun.” Sukuna remarked as he stood up from the couch. The shackles jingled as he walked toward the door, and the door buzzed, letting him out. “See you next week, doc.”

[fairyysoup]

easy living

pairing: eric (a quiet place: day one) x fem!reader

summary: You ran into Eric on accident. Now you're facing the end of the world together. How do you get to know someone when you can't make a sound?

tags: smut, oral (f receiving), dry humping, piv sex, silent fucking, angst, hurt/comfort, survival, discussions of trauma, slight suicidal ideation by reader, words of affirmation as a love language, stay silent or die (obviously), strangers to lovers, apocalyptic, the cheesiest ending bc it's me writing, billie holiday lyrics bc it's also me writing

a/n: here it is, the silent fucking fic i promised y'all a year ago when this movie was announced. it was supposed to be like 1-2k words of plain smut but then I got too into the theory of what one does when you can't show affection through words and I genuinely discovered a tidbit of trauma I didn't know I had while writing it so I will be talking to a therapist about it, and also I'm literally out here baring my soul lol.

i also want to thank @bigtiddythanos @raraeavesmoriendi and @maximoffwxnda for supporting me throughout this writing process <3 this fic literally would not have been finished or published without y'all

ALL MY WORKS ARE 18+ MINORS DNI

The rain has ended. Morose, you stare up at the ceiling, wondering when you’ll get something close to free reign with your voice again. 

Of course the world had to end while you were at fucking Whole Foods.

You’ll miss certain things. Things you always took for granted, that you never even considered made a lot of noise until now. Typing on the computer. Making stir fry. Microwaving a burrito at 3am. Lighting a match, washing your face. Taking a shower.

And other things, too, that are more obvious, like singing while making cookies. Slurping the bottom of a milkshake. You’ll never be able to have a pet bird. You’ll never be able to see another concert again, and damn it if you didn’t really want those Glastonbury tickets a month ago. But it all just seems trivial, now. You don’t see why you shouldn’t just lay here on the couch forever. 

On the other side of the coffee table there’s a gentle shuffling. Eric rouses as quietly as he can; at the very least, your apartment creates a hospitable enough environment that he isn’t startled awake. It’s so silent in the apartment that you can hear the slight shift in his intake of breath, the rustle of the pillow as he turns his head to look at you. 

You want to look at him, but you fear that you’ll end up wanting to talk. So, you say nothing. You do nothing. You stare at the white paint on the ceiling and you wonder whether it would be better to get on one of the boats headed out into the water, or to move inland, away from people, away from sound. There has to be somewhere far enough away from the city that the… creatures won’t go, right?

Eric waves his hand in your periphery, so that you have no choice but to acknowledge that you know he’s awake. You have no choice but to turn your head and look into the depths of his eyes, and feel all the pain of the last 48 hours return to you. You’d been able to talk last night, just enough, in time with the rain and the thunder– enough to learn that he has family across the world. 

You can’t imagine knowing that somewhere, across an ocean and half a world away, your parents may or may not be dead. No way to contact them, no way to know what’s become of them. You can’t even begin to fathom the fear that he’s feeling, as much as you’re despairing. 

Eric’s big eyes tell you everything. Sadness and fear, and trying to grasp at the smallest hint of normalcy he can get. He blinks at you, and mouths, You okay?

No, you’re definitely not okay. Things are not okay. Things are broken and can’t be fixed. Things will never be the same again. He knows that, as much as you know that. But you nod anyway, even though you feel your heart beat a little bit slower than usual, like it wants to just go ahead and give up already. Tears prick at your eyes, and you have to close them before you let on that you’re lying.

Eric knows you’re lying, of course. How could anyone be okay, in this kind of situation? But he waits until you open your eyes, and then he mouths, Coffee?

You let out a small sigh of relief, and a smile that’s indescribably warm crosses your face. Even though he can’t make a sound, he knows exactly what to say.

You don’t have a coffee maker that doesn’t also make a ton of noise. But through some kind of witchcraft, Eric quietly empties two k-cups into a glass measuring cup and boils a soup pot full of water on the stove, and suddenly you have hot coffee in front of you. 

On a notepad left on the counter, you write, Wish I had some tea for you. 

Eric’s lips turn up at the edges, and he takes the pen from you. You’re able to doctor your coffee for about one second before he slides the notepad back to you.

Bloody American.

Your ensuing huff of a laugh is enough to make him turn pink around the ears, and he turns to place the dirty measuring cup into the sink. He reaches for the faucet, but then thinks better of it. You’ll have to figure out how to wash the dishes later.

You both drink your coffee in silence on the couch. You never considered yourself uncomfortable with silence; you’ve lived alone, you’ve gone for weeks without uttering a word before. But it’s so difficult to be sitting next to someone– someone you feel you could really get to like– and not be able to say a word. To make a sound, laugh or cry or snort or grunt. 

You’ll never be able to know what Eric’s laugh sounds like, or listen to his favorite song with him, or watch some stupid rerun of Friends with him while ignoring your responsibilities. He’s right there next to you, he’s risked his life to save you once already, and yet he’s so far away. You’ll never get to know him in all the ways you want to. Will you ever really know him at all?

He’d created a diversion when one of the fucking things had you trapped in a corner, between a dumpster and a brick wall. He chucked a rock at a car and set off an alarm, and then ran with you down an alleyway, his arm wrapped tight around your waist. Eric looked so sad, following you like a lost puppy. He was fucking drenched, too, so you know he’d probably been through one hell of a morning. And then the rain started, and the creatures were confused and… well, you weren’t just gonna leave him, scared and alone.

You, too, were scared and alone.

Eric’s hand appears to brush away a tear that had begun to fall down your cheek, betraying your internal monologue. You look to him with puffy eyes, and he pulls his hand away, suddenly unsure of whether you’re okay with such an intimate gesture. 

Your coffee cup meets the table with a quiet tap. You’re slow to move, but you scoot towards him, his arm still outstretched towards you, his eyes wide. Eric has the prettiest eyes in the world, you think. You want to tell him so.

But you’re a little too choked up to form words, anyways. Your forehead meets Eric’s shoulder, and his arm comes around you before you can huff the first silent sob that brims up. He coos softly into your hair, so softly that you can barely hear it, but it conveys enough. It does enough. 

The world is fucked. Your life is fucked. You have tunnel vision and you can only see things getting worse from here on; the only good thing you know anymore is holding you and caressing your head so gently that it pushes your tears out for you. 

You’ll never get to see a movie in a theater, and smell the stale popcorn again. You’ll never drive down the highway with the wind in your hair. You’ll never ride a roller coaster or sing karaoke. You’ll never go to a club and have a drunken heart to heart with a stranger in a bathroom.

“Do you think it’s worth it?” You whisper, so faintly that it’s barely above a breath, your lips pressed to the shell of his ear. “To try to exist in a world where you have to pretend like you don’t exist?”

Eric pauses, holding you to him. You can see the wheels turning in his head, while he tries to figure out what to say. Then he turns his face to put his lips against your ear, the same way you’d done to him. 

“I think it’s worth it to try to survive.” His breath tickles your skin when he whispers, “So survive with me, yeah?”

You nod solemnly, your tears threatening to rise up again. “I can’t stand not talking to you.” It’s so hard to keep your voice from cracking, from rising above the merest hint of a whisper, directly to him and no one or nothing else. 

Eric takes it in stride. “You are talking to me.” He pulls back and bats his eyelashes, and you think, he oughta fucking know what that does to me. 

“Not like this,” you breathe to him, because that’s really what it is– it’s a breath. A sigh. A gust of air and nothing else, barely anything that registers on your vocal chords. Your hand on the back of his neck, pulling him close to you. His hand, tightening on the middle of your back, holding you there. “I want to talk– I want to get to know you.” 

“Well, this isn’t so bad, is it?” Eric turns his head. His forehead nudges yours at the temple, and you swear you see a flash of a smile on his face. “What do you want to know?” 

His forefinger traces up and down, up and down, a gentle pattern that keeps you grounded. You bite your lip, trying to keep from letting the sounds come out too loud. You say the first thing that comes to mind. “What’s your favorite song?”

“Easy Living. Billie Holiday.” 

“You’re kidding.” You’re blushing, hot in the cheeks. You’re imagining it; slow dancing in the kitchen with him while oldies plays on the radio. You didn’t think such an innocent question would send you spiraling like this, but it hurts worse to know that it will probably never happen.

“Absolutely not.” 

“Somehow… I can’t picture you listening to jazz.” 

“Picture it all you want,” he whispers. Eric swallows, and continues, “My granddad used to have these records, and we used to play them on Christmas. But when– when he died, the records went missing. I couldn’t find the song until a couple years ago,” he explains, and his voice cracks just slightly into a murmur. 

You both freeze. You wait for the sound of creatures coming down the hallway, busting down the walls… nothing happens. You let out a breath, and you pull his face closer to yours. His eyes flick over your face, and you put your lips against his ear. 

“You have to be so quiet. Can you do that for me?” Eric nods in your hands. “I wish we could do anything but this. I wish that we could have met in better circumstances. I wish… I wish I had known you before all of this. I think we would have had a lot of fun. But if this is the only way I can get to know you, and hear your voice now, I’ll take it.” You’re nodding as well now, like you’re trying to convince yourself of it. “I’m telling you this because I don’t know how long we have. Together, I mean. And I don’t want to waste it passing notes. Okay?” 

“Okay.” He sounds clipped. His hand fidgets on your back, and you pull away to find him misty-eyed, his brows turned up. He fishes for words that don’t come, and then he nods. “Okay.” 

Neither of you move. The atmosphere around you feels heavy, like it’s pressing in on all sides. Eric’s hand slides up your back and to your face, and you remember that you’re still holding his. You’re near sitting in his lap with how close you’ve become, and the realization of that feels like a punch to the gut.

You think you should pull away. You don’t. 

Eric’s thumb traces a gentle arc across your bottom lip. It’s so featherlight it’s barely there– his eyes are honed in on your mouth, clearly lost in thought. You’d let him stay there as long as he wants, but you want every minute you can get. “Eric–”

He closes the gap and kisses you. The way you’d said his name– or not said it, rather, you sort of mouthed it against his thumb– had done the job you wanted it to. It feels like this was the obvious conclusion to the system you’d worked out, the close proximity and your shared fears. He’s scared, he said as much last night. You’re scared, you said so just now. 

Nowhere to go, nothing else to do except be right here, living. Alive, together. Kissing Eric, and him pulling you close by the waist, so that you do swing your leg and seat yourself in his lap. And as much as you love talking, and it breaks your heart that you can’t jabber at him, there are some things you just can’t put into words. Like the way that his hand on the back of your neck lights you up inside, or that you can’t think of anything other than all the areas where his skin is touching yours, and how you suddenly wish there was way more of them.

It’s stupid how much you like him already, really. You can feel your nonexistent friends clucking their tongues and shaking their heads, saying, “One day? That’s all it takes? You find some guy at the end of the world and you fall in love in 24 hours?” And they’d be right– maybe it’s not love. Not yet, anyways. But you could see it easily becoming that. And that fact scares you even more.

Your hands find Eric’s chest and the frantic beating of his heart tells you nearly the same thing. You break the kiss, trying to quietly catch your breath without gasping like you’re half-drowning. It’s harder than you expected. 

“Been wanting to do that all morning,” Eric whispers. And just like that you’re falling again, faster this time, like he’s just melted your wings right off and sent you plummeting.

You struggle to keep from gasping aloud when he kisses your jaw, just beneath your ear. It’s the lightest touch but you swear it burns, sears your skin. 

Your hands find the back of the couch, twitchy fingers digging in to keep you steady. Your mouth finds his again, his tongue tasting of coffee, and Eric kisses you a bit harder now, a bit sloppier. 

Breaking away, you open your eyes to find his wide, starstruck, his mouth hanging open like he’s been shocked beyond belief. You didn’t honestly intend for this to happen– you wanted to talk. But somehow this seems better, more appropriate. 

How do you get your feelings across when talking isn’t really an option? When innocent attraction becomes… whatever this is? 

You press a single finger to his plush lips, signaling exactly what you mean without a word. Quiet. 

Eric purses his lips, kisses your finger without breaking eye contact. His pupils are blown out so far that the barest hint of golden brown surrounds them, glinting in the sunlight from the window. 

You lean forward, until your mouth touches his ear. “Your eyes are so fucking pretty, Eric,” you whisper to him, and your teeth latch onto his earlobe to tug gently. You can’t help it– you grind your hips down into his lap, without even thinking of doing it. “You’re so pretty.”

Eric whimpers. It’s a soft sound, hollow in the back of his throat, but it’s still too loud for the world that you’re in. You clamp your hand down over his mouth, and his breath comes out sharp and hot over your knuckles as he tries to regain composure.

“Do you want me to stop?” You ask him, whispering gently in his ear. Against you, he shakes his head no. “Want me to keep going?” Eric nods his head yes. 

He’s shaking under you, his fingertips digging into your lower back like he can’t hold onto you hard enough. At the thought, your pulse pounds, blood positively humming through your veins. 

You nuzzle his cheek, and give him the sweetest kiss you can while your hand is still clamped over his mouth insistently. “You have to be. Fucking. Silent. Do you understand?” He nods. “We can’t make a sound. Okay?” 

Eric nods again, and keeps nodding until you let him go. If the rain was still pouring like earlier, you could tell him how much you want him, too. How you don’t want to be mean, you just don’t want to get hurt. This is a bad idea, all things considered. But Eric slides his hand down and cups your ass to lift you up a bit, and the words bad and idea suddenly fucking vanish from your vocabulary.

You stand long enough to kick off your sweats, your day old panties going down with them. You hadn’t dressed to be sexy yesterday, you dressed to get groceries. You don’t necessarily want Eric to see your faded cotton underwear with the stretched out elastic and multiple frayed holes. You don’t think it would add to your sex appeal right now. 

He doesn’t notice the lack of a strip tease– he’s already taking you by the hips, not even waiting for you to shuck your t-shirt. He pulls until you’re stood in front of him, and then hooks your leg over his shoulder. 

So. Eric doesn’t need to be asked to go down on you, he just does. The gentleman. His hands are firm on your ass as he nuzzles into the patch of hair between your legs, and the precarious balancing act makes you snatch onto the back of the couch again. 

His tongue glides through the folds of your pussy slowly, methodically. You aren’t sure if he wants to take his time, or if he’s going slow so that he doesn’t make too much noise when doing it, but he latches onto your clit and sucks agonizingly softly, like he knows he should do it harder but won’t risk making you moan. 

It’s so gentle, and it builds. Pretty soon, you’re having a tough time keeping your whimpers in, even when he’s basically just teasing you, flicking his tongue over your clit with even the barest pressure. Your head has fallen back on your shoulders, your hand now clasped over your own mouth to stifle your sighs. 

Then, Eric’s hand glides up to splay across your lower back, and he sucks long and hard at your clit, and your hand squeezes murderously at the back of the couch while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue. 

Knees buckling, you collapse into Eric’s lap. He has a doe-eyed look on his face that’s way too innocent after what he just did to you. With panting breath and shaking hands, you cup his rosy cheeks in your palms, shaking your head in disbelief. 

Eric’s brows tilt in worry, like he did something wrong. He opens his mouth, but you put your fingers against his lips to silence him, and lean forward to breathe, “You’re too sweet for me, Eric.” 

He traces his fingers lightly up your spine, and turns his head. “Maybe one day I won’t have to be sweet. Maybe then I can really fuck you.” 

The sound of his whispering voice in your ear makes you shiver, your lust reaching a boiling point. The idea of him really fucking you– that this isn’t even him as normal, that he’s having to hold so much back– makes you burn hot all at once. That this isn’t something he’s planning on doing once. That there’s a ‘one day’ that he sees in the future with you in it. 

With a nod, your breath catches in your throat. You find your way to his mouth again, kissing him desperately. You can taste yourself lingering on his lips, and your hips rock forward against his again. 

Eric inhales sharply, stifling his own moan. You guess you have to take it just as slowly as he did, ease him into it. You work your hand beneath his unbuttoned fly and palm him, keeping your touch gentle against his hot skin. He shakes, his hands laid out against your spine, his eyes sparkling when he looks up at you. 

You push your forehead against his as you sink onto his cock, letting yourself adjust to his size. His breath stutters as he tries to keep quiet, small puffs of air spilling out and meeting your electrified skin. You curl your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck, rocking your hips just barely, settling into his lap. 

This is more intimate than you can ever remember being with anyone, but right now it just feels right. Maybe it could be cathartic to fuck like a couple of animals in the face of doom, but Eric pulls your body flush against his, one strong forearm around your waist, and his nose nudges yours, and you think this is better. This is what you both need. Closeness. Sweetness. 

There isn’t a lot of movement– you can’t risk it. You and Eric seem to be in agreement on that, because as soon as you start trying to move in earnest, he just pulls you back to him, his arm around your waist and his hand petting the back of your head. 

Eric rocks his hips up into yours slowly, deeply, and it’s the depth of it and the slow sensuality that keeps you floating. Your clit catches on the patch of hair at the base of his cock each time you roll your hips with him, and you have to kiss him to keep from keening aloud. He doesn’t seem to mind it. 

You know he’s close when he tucks his face against your neck, his arm tightening around you. “Feels so fucking good,” comes his whine in your ear, and you gently shush him, your hand resting on the back of his head to keep him muffled against your shoulder. You want so badly to look at his face when he cums, but there’s that pesky issue of staying alive, and that hinges on whether or not he can keep quiet when he does. 

To his credit, he bites your shoulder and only whimpers a little bit. It’s just a squeak, but really, he could have been much louder about it, and then you would have both been in trouble. Imagine having to run for your life with your pants down. 

Ever the gentleman, he keeps you there even after he’s spent and sensitive, his hand clamped down on your thigh to prevent you from moving. His thumb finds your clit, and he lifts his head to watch you, his hooded eyes trained on your face as he brings you to the edge and over it again. He watches the way your brows tilt up, the way you struggle to keep your own eyes open, and the silent moan that threatens to break past your parted lips.

Eric claps his hand down over your mouth before it can. Your eyes fly open, your cunt clenches down around him, and he bares his teeth as you cum hard. It’s cyclical, comes in waves as he continues to stroke you through it, as he keeps his hand clamped down on your mouth to keep you quiet. 

To keep you quiet. 

Feverish and exhausted, you come down with your chest against his, Eric’s head flopped back onto the backrest of the couch. Your knees fucking hurt and you have yet to get off of him, and you sort of dread the moment when you have to. But this means your mouth is positioned right next to Eric’s ear, and you’re nothing if not a talker.

“Eric?” you whisper, and he turns his head just enough to let you know he heard you. “I’m glad that I met you when I did. Even if it’s terrible timing, I’m glad we met.”

A sweet, tired smile flits across Eric’s beautiful face. He nudges his nose against your temple. “I’m glad, too.” 

You shift off of him, and he squeezes your thigh just at the same time as he scrunches his face. He’s such a trooper about it, you kiss his cheek as you go, leaning over to grab a pair of earphones from the coffee table. 

You hand one ear bud to him, watching as confusion crosses his face. He watches you type on your phone as he tucks the bud into his ear, and you the other. 

On low volume, you listen to the soft piano and saxophone intro to an old jazz standard. Eric grins, his hand finding your cheek before he pulls you in for a kiss. 

And then, Billie Holiday’s voice plays for only you two to hear. 

Living for you is easy living, It’s easy to live when you’re in love And I’m so in love, There’s nothing in life but you.

[obsessedwrhys]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ The Seven x Deadpool!Reader

t/w: loooots of dark humour/jokes, reader is insensitive and an asshole since they're also a supe working at vought, your powers are the exact same as Deadpool (even the skin condition), mention about killing, death, gore, r-pe, n@zis?!?!, alcohol, some intimacy (?). Also reader is gn!!

ᯓ★ here's a version with the boys <3

HOMELANDER

This man hates you so fking much

Has tried to kill you multiple times, he tried lasering you, tearing you in half and even throwing you into the sky but you just always manage to come back like the damn plague

Eventually he gives up trying to kill you and just had to deal with the fact you'll be kept alive... just temporarily though... he's still looking for ways to kill you

However, your powers gave you dozens of advantages when around Homelander.

He can be having a meeting about something serious and everyone would be listening to him due to their fear towards him, then there's you who'd be doing your own thing and just shout out unrelated things like "Donald Trump just blocked me on Twitter!! HAH!! SUCK IT CORNFLACKS!!"

Everyone turning to you with startled expressions while Homelander simply rolls his eyes before continuing his presentation.

You are a complete nightmare to the PR team, that's why for interviews or any events, you'll always be paired up with Homelander so he can keep you under control and stop you from saying weird shit that could ruin the company's image.

"So Deadpool, how does it feel being in the Seven working alongside Homelander? You've been working together for almost 3 years now" A reporter would ask as you two are surrounded by screaming fans.

"Like I'm in the twilight series, not because of the fantasy but because I'm still waiting for the part where he impregnates me—"

"O-kay! That's enough, just silly ol' Deadpool with those inside jokes"

"You can tell in this eyes that he wants to fuck me right now. HE'S GONNA FUCK ME!!" You shouted as you're being dragged away by him.

Obviously when you had found out about his relationship with Stormfront, especially her background, you had to say some shit about it. Not giving the slightest care about the fact he could be grieving over her death.

He'll be in his room standing in front of the window and you'd just storm in, being as loud as possible.

"I can't believe you dated a N@zi!! Is it because I'm Jewish?!" Which may or may not be true, nobody knows your origin.

He may hate your guts but if he ever needs someone to help him do some dirty work, you're the person for the job, you never ask why or how, which could be the only thing he likes about you.

"Y'know, maybe if you didn't have such a big mouth, you'd be tolerable"

"All the people I've slept with have said otherwise"

Compatibility? 50%

STARLIGHT

Before she joined the Seven, she had an image of what kind of person you were, she just didn't know it was this worse.

When you found out she used to work at this Sunday School Church, you just haaaaad to say something about it.

"So like, you say that prayer always works, but every night I pray for my hair to grow and it never does. Do you think God has me blocked? How do I get unblock?"

"Uh..."

You two surprisingly get along without one wanting to slice the other's throat, except sometimes the things you say can really piss her off. Which is why when the company assigned her a new costume, she was trying her hardest to avoid you, but you found out anyways.

"Holy shit Starlight! Nice costume, is this your Miley Cyrus breakthrough? Girl power!"

Insert her groaning out of annoyance.

Again, the second you discovered she was dating a guy behind the death of Translucent, you were heartbroken :(

"Of course this happens right when my therapist gives up on me!"

Despite your behaviour, you pitied her when it was revealed that she was taken advantage of by The Deep, so like any good friend, you took revenge by cooking his friend octopus and eating it happily in front of him.

"Revenge does taste sweet" You'd say happily while Starlight just watches by the side, both grateful and horrified at your actions.

In my opinion, you would definitely be the person she goes to once she starts working with the boys, you'll always be providing whatever information that happens in the company for her to use.

It helps her worry less about getting anyone killed 'cause you literally can't die.

Compatibility? 60%

QUEEN MAEVE

You're half the reason why she rethinks about her life choices when she wakes up in the morning

Not because you're a handful (which you are) but because you're always paired together on missions

"Deadpool! The hostages!"

"OKAY! God... you act just like my drunk uncle"

Which is a joke/nickname you like to address her by because of her alcoholism (yikes)

Whenever the company needs you for something, half of the time she's the one assigned to search for you.

There was this one time she caught you trying to have Anika track down Kanye West's location, nobody knows what shenanigans you were up to.

Another thing to mention was that you two were chosen by the company to sing a Christmas song for the year's Christmas ceremony.

Just imagine during the bridge of the song, she's singing normally while you're completely going off, your high note so high you were sure you had Mariah Carey a run for her money.

Even though she finds you a lot to deal with, you're actually her buddy to train with.

Since you're very skilled with Katanas, she likes to practice her swordsmanship with you.

You like to tease or make fun of her everytime she fails to strike you which is good motivation for her to get better. Maybe you guys bring out the best of each other?

Last thing I'd like to add is when she was found out by the public that she was a lesbian (She's bi but you get the running joke), you had gifted her a t-shirt that says, 'Biggest Dick in Town'

Compatibility? 80%

THE DEEP

Your human punching bag

If Vought was a high school instead of a company, you'd be the bully and he'd be the nerd getting stuffed inside the locker room.

For example, Homelander could be confronting Starlight about her relationship with Hughie and everyone would just start raising their voices til you come in yelling "SHUT UP!" to the Deep who had not said a single thing during the entire time.

Just imagine him staring at you like 😐

To be honest you also ate his friend octopus so you guys are actually never getting the chance to make up.

"Look dude, I don't appreciate your tone"

"I don't appreciate your haircut either but we can't all get what we want"

You may be a crazy person but you weren't going to be okay with the fact he violates every woman he sees, so not only did you cook the octopus but you also called in a male stripper disguised as a woman just for him to celebrate on his birthday.

Just imagine him all happy when you tell him the news and later that night he'll run inside your room, completely pissed off at your act after finding out but you just laughed and said.

"Happy April Fools 😚!"

"That's next month dipshit!"

Also, you never understood his weird fantasies. He has a thing for sea animals??You've caught him multiple times either flirting or getting off to one. It was concerning even for you.

"From how many animals you've fucked, you might just turn from the ocean's 'Seaman' to 'Semen'." You joked which he did not find funny.

Maybe you messing with him could just be your way of getting along with him since you're the same with everybody else, it's just he has more flaws to poke fun of and he's sensitive about them.

Compatibility? 5%

A-Train

He thinks you're fucked up in the head.

Half of the shit that comes out of your mouth just has him reacting like in the GIF

Buuuuuut you're the one he always brings to the club because you always know ways to give the party life.

You've somehow even got on the wall of fame, a lovely portrait of you with your hands making out a heart.

Also, you know about his business with Compound V waaaaay before anyone else did. He's still grateful you didn't tell anyone.

Just like everyone else, you also enjoy messing with him except he's fast and constantly avoiding you.

"Hey A-Train, how much do you wanna bet that I can die faster than you?"

"Dude... seriously?"

You guys rarely get sent on missions together because you're always slowing him down, not basing off the fact he's fast but because you get easily sidetracked with other things.

"Alright, we're here now, how much C4 do we use?"

"Fuck math! Let's use all of 'em!"

You ended up detonating all of the C4 on you before he could object the idea, he was able to run out in time, your action nearly getting him killed while you ended up dead.

But it's fine you'll just grow back.

You know that race he has against Shockwave? You'd be at the VIP section standing near where Homelander and Queen Maeve is, waving your huge banner that has a picture of A-Train's face and yours pasted over a figure carrying the other in bridal style.

Compatibility? 55%

TRANSLUCENT

He makes people paranoid but you make him disgusted.

There was this one time he was bored so he snuck in your room to see what you were doing.

At first he was confused why you had so many cute plushies but then the more he explored your room, he realised your room is basically every collector's dream.

You even had a huge teddy bear in the corner of your dressing room.

The reason why he doesn't like to spy on you is because the last time he did, he saw you putting your hand in the blender, then proceeding to put your private part into it.

Never again, he thought, never again.

He doesn't need to witness you carry out your intrusive thoughts.

Surprising enough, you're close with his son, I'd like to think that after his death, you practically became the kid's godparent. Though you can be sort of a bad influence, leading up to how he is in Gen V.

You always tell him you hate kids but he thinks otherwise.

After all, he can read people well.

You guys like to pull pranks on each other since you guys like competing on who's more sneaky

There was this one time, you woke up to find your suit gone so you ended up walking around the building, completely naked and unfazed by people's stares.

It was when you walked around the corner that you found your suit worn by someone else, turns out it was Translucent under it.

"Why is it so fucking tight dude? How do you stay in this shit all day?"

"You get used to it"

Compatibility? 85%

BLACK NOIR

Lovers.

He doesn't mind your attitude because he actually can't say anything about it.

No seriously... he can't talk.

But hey he's got a good shoulder to cry on.

"I just... hffgh... I can't believe my album didn't surpass lady gaga's... She doesn't even know how to use Katanas like I do!" You'd let out a loud sob while he just stares at you for a while before placing a hand on your shoulder, patting you gently.

You know the scene where he's playing the piano for one of the company's party? You'll be laying down on top of it and singing in your usual overdramatic high pitched voice.

He finds your humour amusing so he always does this little head tilt like in the GIF when you say some weird shit while waiting for his response.

Since both of you are the only members of the Seven that wears a full body suit, obviously you had to try on his but since it was impossible to achieve that, you just had the company make a copy for you.

He'll be walking down the hallway doing his normal routine until he notises another person in his suit, the moment you speak and he realises its just you is when he let's his guard down.

"I just got some transplants done to my ass, that's why I look different"

You both are never sent on missions together 'cause you guys don't work well, pretty much nobody works well with him since he's the silent type.

Example, you two were hiding behind some crates ready to jump on the bad guys who were snucking in illegal drugs. He gestured for you to wait as he went to check again, only to turn back to see you gone.

"Marry Christmas motherfuckers!"

He heard your voice shout and he found you standing on top of the stacked crates, machine gun in hand and began shooting aimlessly.

He didn't even do anything but just watch until you ran out of bullets. However, multiple survived and began shooting at you so you ended running towards where he's hiding at.

"Yankee yankee!" You yelped.

You know the video of the two girls taking off their wigs to reveal that they're bald and they start bonding over it? I'd like to imagine that's you and Black Noir with the skin condition under the suits.

One more scenario I wanna add, you guys could be having a meeting but since you were bored and you always hated meetings, you'd draw a big heart on a piece of paper and show it to Black Noir from across the table. Surprisingly he'd draw a heart back to you.

You were overjoyed so you began to draw you and him doing it, doggy style. He stares at your doodle for a while before choosing to just focus on the meeting instead.

Compatibility? 90%

(This took a while cause I was on vacation)

[reshinless]

Hiii, it's me again, I'm here to ask abt kinich- anyways, Reader is kind of insecure and self conscious and she's dating kinich, and she sees how good mualani is to kinich and starts to ask herself if she should actually be with him (+I would appreciate it you somehow turn this into smut because I'm a dog for him🤭)

NSFW CONTENT AHEAD UTC.

you knew kinich was close with her too, but you couldn't help but feel like you weren't as good as she was.

you saw the way she looked at him, what were you supposed to do? you knew she'd never pursue someone in a relationship but she always asked about your relationship with kinich.. was she hoping you'd break up?

well i'll be glad to answer that no she does not! but ill explain more later.

you continued to feel like you weren't a good partner, therefore distancing yourself from the man you fell in love with.

maybe he was better off with her. or at least so you thought. you see, mualanj was giving him advice on how to treat you, she always smiled whenever her and kinich spoke about it.. because.. well.. it was funny to her how he doesn't know how to talk to you.

you have barely had your first kiss with him, and he's never had anyone else like you before.. so he had to ask a professional (mualani plus her 0 relationship experience advice)

"just remember to make them feel at home! you notice if they've been sad or anything recently?" mualani puts up her surfboard up on a tree, sitting on the soft grains of sand on the beach.

"i.. feel like they've been running away from me.. did i do anything wrong?"

mualani realized immediately why you'd distance yourself; you were jealous. kinich has a dense sense for romance, so he wouldn't notice immediately unless.. well professional couplw therapist mualani ensures it doesn't happen again!

once kinich realizes what he's done, he goes to find you as soon as possible. not even hearing out more of mualani's words. she was sure you both would figure it out anyway.

but trust me kinich is quick on his feet to tell you how you're everything to him.

when you tell him you didn't believe him.. well i guess he just had to show you.

kinich who learned a few things from the books mualani threw at him, she didn't realize one of them was basically sex in a book, as he read on, he wanted to try out a specific scene.

laid out in front of him, taking his gloves off carefully tossing them to the side. prepping your hole for him to treat you good. your wetness already all over his fingers as he added another digit progressively.

he who hums into your ear, hearing how well you whimpered, and whined out his name. he could only praise you for how good you took him.

your cunt sucked him inside so well, the sounds of pleasure echoed throughout the hallway in the gap of the unlocked door.

your walls started to tighten around his cock, but that wouldn't stop him from penetrating you. he'd make sure by tonight that no one other than you could make him cum.

kinich who likes to put you into a mating press, your legs held high above your head, he slaps the soft skin of your ass, before laying a kiss onto your wet cunt, mixed with cum of your own and his.

kinich will make sure you know that he loves you more than anyone else. and he wants you to do the same (not that you weren't already doing that.)

but when its all over, his words are sweet, learning a thing or two from whatever mualani discussed with him. clearing the air on why he had been talking to mualani more recently.

he just meant to ask her about advice on what to get you for your next anniversary 🩵

[v1x3n]

REUNITE! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - angst - mentions of torture, panic attacks and breakdowns.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

Days go by, long fucking days where you're practically stuck in this bed. You could get up and walk around but you didn't want to. You stared at the ceiling, kind of hoping it would fall down on you but it never came. Your face stuck in the same position for hours as you melted into the bare sheets of the hospital bed. A singular tear pricks down your cheek while you look towards the dying flowers that sit on your bedside table.

"Hi honey!" Your nurse walks into your room with some food clumped on the plate. You glance up at her with weak eyes. She places the food on your bedside table. Glancing at the withered flowers, she sighs. "They been in here recently?" Jane asks with a hint of disappointment. Your head shakes, not really wanting to even think about or even talk about them, let alone speak to them. "Listen, I know what they did to you was terrible and you probably never want to open that wound but-"

When you scoff and look away after the 'but', she continues talking. "...You should talk to someone about it. I'm not asking you to talk to them. Because god knows I wouldn't even look at them, but you should see a therapist. You do need one and you can't keep pushing away everyone who wants you to get better." Jane's sweet smile makes you acknowledge that there are nice people in this world.

"I-I uhm- I was forced to go to a session like within the first week of being here but they just..." you trail off, looking towards the flowers that had lost nearly all their life. Huh, you never thought you could relate to flowers.

"I understand, I do." She gently puts her hands on your knee. This time you don't flinch though. This time, memories didn't flash through your eyes - forcing you to relive the horrible things those fucking four put you through. This time, it was peaceful, it was comforting. "You should still give it another go, after what you went through - you need someone safe." Your nurse's thumb rubs against your knee as she speaks.

You take in her words, the lingering feeling of wanting to get better - to heal - stabs at your heart but you also wanted to show those fucking horrible four that this is what they fucking did to you. Not wanting to waste time getting better, if you even could, you knew deep down you'd always hurt. You wouldn't be able to trust anyone again - especially a man. What they did to you tore you apart.

So, you shrugged off your nurse's words before she let you be, to eat your hospital food. The slop slumped onto the plate looked so disgusting. The sandwich that you could tell would stick to the roof of your mouth was unappetizing. Honestly the food there made you less hungry. After sighing and shoving the meal to the bedside table, pushing the dead flowers off the wood so they splattered all over the floor. The hard floor was littered with wilted petals and the dark, pale green stems.

So here you are. Sat in another white fucking room, except there wasn't a lonely bed or flowers scattered across the floor. There were two cream couches and a massive window. And a woman wearing a tight pair of trousers, a white blouse with a blazer swept over the couch she was sitting on top of. The girl was holding a clipboard with text filling the papers. Her hair was straight and was neatly brushed - the total opposite of you. “Ah, y/n? Right? You can call me Jones." she smiled as you came into her viewline. You nod nervously as you swipe down on your little gown the hospital gave you. 

Multiple panic attacks. Your body was in pain. The wounds that litter your body - not to be healed ever again. Your 8 fingers that trailed over the stitched up cut across your cheek. The breakdown you had just a week ago. How you flinch when anyone (but Jane) gets close.

All of that flashes through your head while you sit opposite the women. "You're quite famous, you know?” the woman states. You tilt your head towards the left. 

“Oh?” you hum, looking around the room, clearly avoiding eye contact. She scribbles something quick onto a clean bit of paper, the one with text flopped over the top of the clipboard. “Heard about your ‘story’ a lot, from a lot of different people.” You slump against the sofa. Feeling the soft fabric beneath your fingertips. “Oh.” mumbling when your eyes finally meet hers for the first time. Her blue eyes connect with yours. A deep passion for helping was buried in her eyes. You could tell. 

“I haven't heard the story from the person who went through it all though.” Jones looks down at her clipboard, “why don't you tell me about it? How are you feeling?”

“What's there to tell?" you scoff. Sweat starts pouring from your forehead so you pull an arm that was littered with healing bruises up across it. Your question was not much of a question, more of a statement. What was there to tell? She knew the story, everyone fucking did. “Let's start with how's your day?” Jones smiled with a hint of amusement when your scoff reached her ears. “Fine.” She raised an eyebrow skeptically at your answer but didn't comment on anything. She leaned forward. Placing her clipboard on the seat beside her. 

Your figit uncomfortably, "that's.. all? Fine?” Jones questions, her voice hinting at suspicion. “Yep.” 

“You know if you aren't honest, I can't help you." 

After burying your head into your hands, you drag your cheek down with your palm as you let out a long sigh, "I'm doing better.” 

“Well that is good to hear,” she coos, reaching for her clipboard and writing down a few words in the margin. “Has anyone visited you lately?” Her question makes you hesitate for a moment. “Like family and friends?” Jones nods whilst leaning back.

Looking around the office you notice the way the woman in front of you tilts her head in the slightest when you shake your head. Her ramblings go on and on but you end up blurring them out. High squeaking forms in your ears, blinding out your therapist talking. 

That's when a loud bang sounds from the door that you entered through. It brings you back to life. You flinch back as the door opens. “Hey Jones, sorry 'm late just got outa trainin’” the blurred man walks through the door, holding tight onto a notebook. His scruffy appearance so familiar.

You wish you didn't have to face him yet.

“Your session is on a Thursday from now on, I told you-” she gets cut off when Johnny drops the book in his hands as he stares at you with wide eyes, his mouth opening slightly as fear shoots through your stomach and heart. The man before you mumbles one quiet word.

 “...Bonnie.”