#i am simply.... contemplating deep thoughts

[cringelordofchaos]

Do I "not know who I am" or am I just really insecure and am trying to find a mask to put over myself because despite my best efforts to avoid it, my human nature drives me to put an active effort into having a superficial reputation, rather than letting myself just be natural, and be content with myself without feeling the need to let strangers know who or what I could possibly be?

[pellucid-constellations]

Of Oblivious Minds

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore.

Word count: 2.5k

Warnings: Pining, yearning, idiots in love?? (an angsty moment as well)

a/n: What am I doing!! I don't know!! This is part one and there will be one or two more parts :) Thank you for reading ily ♡

Part 2

~~

You were having an epiphany—of that you were certain. 

Sitting in the main room of the townhouse, a glass of wine spinning in your hand, many things were beginning to make sense to you. It was ridiculous that you hadn’t come to this realization before. All of the hints were right in front of you. 

You leaned back in the armchair, a scrutinizing gaze pointed toward the corner of the room. You took a sip of your wine—a contemplative sip—and then ran through the facts in your head. Yes, it made perfect sense. 

You wanted to kick yourself for not noticing before. 

“Don’t hurt yourself thinking so hard.” Cassian’s voice startled you out of your thoughts. You blinked up at him as he took a seat on the arm of your chair. “Want to share why you’re staring a hole into the wall?” 

“I was just… noticing something,” you murmured over the rim of your glass, voice low. 

“And what’s that?” 

You paused, pursing your lips. It would sound silly if you were wrong. But Cassian looked at you expectantly, so you simply whispered, “I think Az is in love with Elain.” 

The sudden, rumbling laugh bouncing off the walls set your cheeks ablaze. The entire room halted their conversations to look at Cassian as he doubled over, holding his stomach with no signs of letting up. You stared up at him, mortified, and smacked his arm as his laughs lowered into senseless chuckles. 

“Cassian, quit it. It’s not that funny—stop it or I’ll hit you again.” 

“Sorry. I’m sorry,” he laughed, wiping a tear from his eye. “Sorry, that was just… that was a good one, y/n.” 

“What’d she say?” Rhys asked, perking up from the other side of the fireplace. 

“Nothing to warrant that reaction,” you grumbled, sinking lower into your seat. 

Fighting back the vibrations in his chest, Cassian took a deep breath. “Inside joke, Rhys. You wouldn’t get it.” 

Rhys huffed out an offended breath, quirking a brow at his antics. He looked to Mor and Feyre to garner some support, but they only giggled back at him. 

“Maybe we would.” 

Azriel’s gravelly tone only made you collapse further into the armchair. If you’d known there would be consequences to sharing your epiphany with Cassian, you would have kept your mouth shut. Cassian was usually wonderful at keeping secrets. 

“Oh, brother, you’d find it funny as well, surely,” Cassian shared, heaving up from the chair. “But, alas, I have to go. No inside jokes for the room.” 

“Well that’s not fair. You don’t get to cause a riot and then leave,” Mor whined, her cheeks rosy and her eyes glassy. Clearly, she had been having her own drinks throughout the night. 

“Lovely. Now you want to know? Where was that attitude while you were giggling with my mate?” Rhys accused. 

Feyre jumped in this time, pinching the high lord’s cheek and cooing, “Oh, you big Illyrian baby.” 

The focus was no longer on you and your apparently laughable realization. Cassian’s reaction did little to deter you from the thought, however, and you were still quite resolute in your observations. Looking over at the couple in question only solidified that. 

They were huddled close, Elain’s knees pressed against Azriel’s thigh as they spoke in low tones. Azriel would occasionally take a glance around the room, lingering on you as he went, but that was natural for the shadowsinger. His shadows were gone, where they went you had no idea, and his wings were held tightly behind his back. 

And he stared at her—intently—as she nodded her head and answered whatever it was he had asked. 

He had to be in love with her. 

You were usually quite good at reading these types of things.��

“I’m taking you home now,” Cassian spoke, holding out his hand. “We’ll walk.” 

“What if I don’t want to go home?” you asked, taking his hand and following him despite your words. 

“After all that nonsense, I think it’s clear you need a good night’s rest. Plus, you and I are in the ring bright and early tomorrow morning.” 

You groaned, knocking your head back at the reminder of your obligations. It always sounded like such a good idea over breakfast. Cassian had clearly learned that you would only say yes to early morning trainings when you were half-asleep. 

“Yeah, yeah, let’s go, sweetheart.” 

You let him yank you to the door, your feet dragging behind you, when a warmth encased your shoulders. You recognized the material of your coat instantly and turned to see Azriel smoothing it down over your arms. 

“For your walk,” Azriel quietly explained. “You left it on the back of my chair.” 

“Oh!” you chirped, feeling the early licks of embarrassment barrage your chest. It’s not like he heard you talking about him, right? “Thanks, Az. I almost forgot.” 

He offered you one of his soft, rare smiles. “I know. I remembered.” 

He nodded over your head to Cassian after that, and you heard Cassian’s low, I got her, Az, only because you strained your ears. 

You ended up being extremely grateful for Azriel’s forethought to grab your jacket. It was freezing outside. You could have winnowed home instead, but Cassian hadn’t really given you the option and no one ever let you winnow after you’d had something to drink. 

You landed in Summer Court one time and suddenly everyone treated you like a hazard. 

Your shoes scuffed against dark cobblestone as you walked. It was really dark, now that you looked at it. Maybe it had rained? Or a merchant had dumped their excess water? 

Or maybe it was nighttime and you were a little drunk. 

It was then that you noticed the silence. When Cassian walked you home, especially when Cassian was tipsy and he walked you home, he never shut up. So this was unusual. You squinted as you looked up at him, but he gave nothing away, keeping his gaze forward and his steps in steady pace with your own. 

“Okay, out with it,” you accused, crossing your arms over your chest. “What was so funny earlier? And why are you walking me home all stoic?” 

“I’m always stoic. Adds to my charm.” 

“Liar.” 

Cassian smirked, shaking his head, and then schooled his expression into one that was a touch more serious. “You really think Az likes Elain?” 

You watched your breath puff out white. “Don’t you?” 

“No, I don’t.” 

You shot him a skeptical glance. “Well, then you’re wrong. I’m good at picking these things out. I knew Feyre was Rhys’s made before the rest of you figured it out, didn’t I?”

“It was pretty obvious, y/n,” Cassian scoffed. He took a fleeting glance down to the ground beneath your feet. “Honestly, I’d wager that you’re actually the worst at picking these things out.”  

You gaped at him, bringing your coat closer to your body in a ploy to protect your damaged pride. Cassian only shook his head—again—and then flung an arm over your shoulder. 

“Don’t take that the wrong way. Just…take a second look, maybe.” 

“A second look at what? She was practically sitting in his lap tonight.” 

“If you say so,” Cassian hummed. 

“Stop being cryptic and buy me a snack on the way.” 

~~

The following days were… strange to say the least. 

Everywhere you went, Elain of all people was sure to follow.

And she spoke of Azriel. A lot. 

Azriel did this and Az is so sweet isn’t he and oh, did I mention that…

Obviously, she was just as in love with Azriel as he was with her. 

You were so, so right. 

There was something off-putting about that truth, but you couldn’t put your finger on why. After a few days of hearing the younger girl rave about the shadowsinger, you chalked it up to the novelty of it all. You had known Azriel for over a century, and things were changing. Of course a serious love interest in his life would make you feel strange. 

Azriel had had lovers in the past, but—now that you thought about it—you hadn’t heard him talk about another woman in months, much less seen him with one. 

Well, other than Elain. 

Perhaps it wasn’t healthy, nor productive, to be so caught up in Azriel’s love life. He was plenty capable of managing it on his own, and it’s not like you had that much of an interest, anyway. 

You blinked, shaking your head and attempting to focus back in on the book you were reading. Elain had followed you into the library under the house, but thanks to the priestesses and their admonishing looks, she kept quiet. She flipped through her own book as you continued your research assignment from Rhys. It wasn’t very interesting, which was clearly the most plausible explanation for your mind drifting to Azriel. 

Boring texts were the leading cause of nosiness.

“Do you have dinner plans?” Elain whispered after an hour of silence. 

You sent her a small smile, looking up from the archaic book. “No, are you inviting me out?” 

“Perhaps. I was thinking of asking Azriel.” 

A suffocating sort of pressure clawed at your skin. “Oh?” 

That was new. 

“Yes, but I would really appreciate it if you came,” Elain continued, eyes downcast. “It could be fun.” 

You bit into your bottom lip until the pain was uncomfortable. This was no different than her talking about Azriel all week. And you already figured that they liked each other—that they loved each other. You had relished in the discovery just a few nights ago. 

So why did it suddenly feel so different?

“I wouldn't want to intrude,” you whispered. “I think a dinner with just the two of you would be nice. Azriel would surely agree.” 

Elain shook her head. “I think he would be more inclined if he knew you were coming.” 

As a buffer. She was asking you to come to displace any awkwardness that would arise on a first date. You had done it before for Cassian. You’d done it plenty of times for Mor—even making it a double date with random men you never spoke to again. But you’d never done it for Azriel. 

Something about it felt… wrong. 

“I could come,” you found yourself saying anyway, words tumbling out before you could catch them. “But I really do think he would love a dinner alone. I might be a bit of an outlier.” 

Elain gave the closest thing to a smirk you’d seen on her face. “I somehow doubt that.” 

“What does that—” 

The ground was shaking. The faelights began violently flickering and the ground began shaking with even more vigor. You pressed down on the book in front of you and braced yourself as the air grew frenzied. The priestesses ran down the many stairs of the library as panic began setting into your bones. The last time something like this happened… 

You shuddered at the thought. 

This couldn't be an attack on Velaris. 

Elain called your name. You answered with wide eyes. 

“Get under the tables!”

You both dove beneath your table at the call, clutching at the legs with shaking hands. There was a commotion as books fell from shelves and lights popped, but there were no screams. No one was hurt. There was no attack. 

Realization coursed through you, but it did little to quell your fear as the shaking continued. 

“It’s an earthquake!” you shouted to Elain. “It’s okay, we’re going to be fine!” 

Velaris hadn’t been struck by an earthquake of this magnitude in many, many years. The last one was centuries ago, and it had led to many rebuilding efforts and a handful of injuries. You hoped this wasn’t on the same scale. Or at least that Rhys’ magic was enough to abate the worst of the damages. 

After another moment, the shaking ceased. You let the panic and adrenaline run its course as you caught your breath, Elain right beside you. It didn’t seem so bad now that it was over and the building had stayed intact. With a hand at your chest, you shook your head in disbelief. 

“By the cauldron, that was unexpected.” 

Elain let out a shaky laugh. “I don’t think I’ve ever felt an earthquake before.” 

You offered your own breathy laugh as you both got to your feet. “Well, you have plenty of time to get The Mother scared out of you and experience another.” 

She opened her mouth to reply but was abruptly cut off as shadows materialized. Heavy footsteps rushed up stairs and it was only another beat before Azriel was upon you. Scarred hands cradled your face, turning it back and forth as hazel eyes took in every inch of your skin. Light became sparse as wings flared out behind him, shielding you from nothing.

“Are you hurt?” he demanded, voice still low despite the urgency. “Were you covered?” 

“Azriel? What are you—How did you know we were down here?” 

“Are you hurt?” 

You attempted to reconcile the chaotic present with the very calm, very expected past. Sitting in the library with a boring relic in front of you and a new reading partner compared to an earthquake and a frazzled shadowsinger clutching at your face. 

Gripping his wrists, you answered him with a slow and confused, “I’m fine.” 

He closed his eyes as he let out a long breath. “Good…. good.” 

When he released your face, he ran his hands along your hair. And then your shoulders and your arms. It wasn’t until he had touched most of you that he took a step back and ran a hand through his own hair. It was then that he seemed to remember Elain. 

“And are you alright?” he asked, far more composed than he had been a moment ago. 

“A bit overwhelmed, but I am fine as well,” she sighed out. 

Azriel didn’t touch her as he nodded in relief. 

“Was it as bad as the last one? Is everyone okay?” you cut in. 

Azriel, who had gone back to unnecessarily looking you over, furrowed his brows. “What?” 

You mirrored his expression. “The earthquake. Do you remember the last one? Was this one that bad?” 

“Oh. No. Not as bad.” 

“And how is everyone else?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

Azriel was typically short with his answers, but right now he was being particularly short. And he was never one to not have information. Ever. 

“Are you okay?” you asked instead. 

“I am now.”

You left the library wondering why Azriel had run to you and not Elain—why that moment felt so monumental in the face of all others. 

Maybe being right wasn’t what you wanted anymore. 

But maybe that wasn’t your decision to make. 

[shurisneakers]

unsolved (ix)

Summary: Bucky doesn't even believe in the paranormal. So who the hell thought it was a good idea to stick him in a series about everything haunted for the internet's amusement? With his loose-canon of a teammate who has no concept of subtlety or shits left to give, to make things even worse. (Buzzfeed unsolved AU)

Warnings: swearing, frustrated bucky, obnoxious reader, groups of people that believe in the paranormal

A/N: im sorry i disappeared i am employed now and also i am depressed. anyway pls lemme know what u guys think i love reading comments and screaming and everything you have to say MWAH. next one is a big one boys

Previous part || Series masterlist

Bucky wakes up to a weary, bone-deep sense of dread.

Not the kind of dread that means a sniper is lurking outside his window. No, this is a very specific kind of dread that sets in suddenly, altogether at once.

He knows exactly what it means. 

You are about to ruin his day.

His eyes flicker open, adjusting to the light filtering through his windows. 

The floor is quiet. Too quiet, almost. 

Alpine is curled on the windowsill, tail flicking idly. But he finds her staring at him already with mild judgment, as if she knows exactly what’s about to happen.

Bucky rubs a hand down his face, exhaling. He doesn’t know why he feels like this, because you’d taken to simply texting him the location these days, and then banging on his door. 

It was routine. He’d come to expect it. Like it, even, the way someone likes mundane sounds such as the buzz of the microwave heating up their lunch everyday. 

Except there’s a sudden, loud slam against his window.

Alpine launches off the windowsill, scrambling away with a hiss. 

Bucky is out of bed before his brain catches up. Years of instinct launch him into motion as he grips the knife under his pillow, pivots toward the sound– 

And sees you.

Hovering. Three stories up.

Waving.

Bucky full-body recoils and it takes everything in him not to launch his fucking knife at the window. 

He glares at you, barely awake, trying to process the absolute absurdity of this moment.

You tap your wrist like a watch, mouthing, "Video shoot."

Bucky turns around and launches a pillow at the window, furiously mouthing back, “I hope you fall.”

You grin.

His furiousness turns to raging annoyance at best. Which, in turn, makes him angry again. 

Just as he’s about to throw something heavier, FRIDAY dims the window until you fade from view. He doesn’t know who FRIDAY is protecting. 

Bucky collapses back onto his mattress.

He contemplates ignoring you again, but experience has taught him that only makes things worse.

Five minutes later, he’s stomping down the stairs. 

Bucky yanks open the car door and slides into the passenger seat.

Wordlessly, he shoves a coffee in your direction.

You blink at it. “How do you know my coffee order?”

Bucky grunts. “Do you want it or not?”

You take it, narrowing your eyes as you watch him chug it like it’s water. “Coffee doesn’t even work on you. Why do you drink it?”

He pauses mid-sip.

You tilt your head. "Do you even like the taste?"

Bucky slowly stares at the coffee like it personally wronged him, because no, he’s coming to realise that didn’t really like it. 

“…No,” he allows slowly. 

“Then why are you drinking it?”

His grip tightens around the cup. He doesn’t have a good answer, so he doesn’t look at you.

“Bought it,” he grumbles. ‘M gonna drink it.” 

“Sunken cost fallacy, right there,” you hum. “You bought it, so now you have to suffer through it. That’s a weird thing you do, y'know.”

Bucky exhales sharply, already done with this conversation. “It’s just coffee.”

“It’s just coffee,” you agree, watching him out of the corner of your eye. “And you just can’t let yourself pick something else. You a glutton for punishment?”

He scowls, taking another sip of the stupid beverage he didnt expect to be having a crisis over in the evening. 

"Whole world of warm drinks out there, Barnes. You ever tried chai? A matcha? You could be a matcha guy."

"No."

"You could be drinking hot chocolate. I think you'd like that. Marshmallows and everything.”

Bucky grips his cup harder.

"Hell, even warm lemonade would be a better choice."

Bucky scrunches his nose at the thought of warm lemonade and chugs his coffee out of spite.

You shake your head. “Whatever. Drink your hot bean water then.”

Silence stretches. The car hums down the highway. The weight of whatever he’s been avoiding lingers in the air between you.

Only five minutes later does it occur to him to ask.

“Where are we going?”

You shoot him a wide smile. “To make you some friends.”

Bucky closes his eyes. “I have friends.”

“You have Sam. And Steve.”

“Sam and Steve are enough.”

“Sam and Steve are legally obligated to be your friends.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “That’s not how friendship works.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face. "Is this another haunted house? ‘Cause if it is, I'm staying in the car."

"No haunted house."

"Then what?"

You drum your fingers on the wheel. "We're going to check out the fastest-growing paranormal club in the city."

Bucky exhales through his nose, mentally preparing himself. 

"What’s the scam?" he deadpans.

"No scam." You pause. "Well, maybe a little scam. But I’m choosing to believe in the inherent goodness of humanity."

Bucky glances at you. “What kind of scam?”

“Maybe you’ll find yourself today, y’know? Maybe you’ll even be a treasured member of this club.” 

Bucky leans all the way back in his seat, shutting his eyes before he has an aneurysm. 

The location is exactly as sketchy as Bucky expected.

Which, to be clear, is very. 

A run-down community center at the edge of the city, sandwiched between a failing laundromat and a storage facility that definitely has bodies in it. 

The parking lot has three cars, two of which are missing doors. The third is a white van with no plates.

Bucky stares at it. “I’m staying in the car.”

“No, you’re not.”

“You can get your organs harvested. I’m not in the mood for that today.”

“We are not getting our organs harvested.” 

“We are about to walk into a situation that requires a white van with no plates.”

You tap the steering wheel. “You’re focusing on the wrong details.”

“Oh? What fuckin’ details should I be focusing on?”

You refuse to make eye contact. “I will not be taking questions at this time.”

A sign by the door says:

WELCOME, SEEKERS OF THE TRUTH.

Bucky points at it. “What the fuck is that?”

“They’re just seekers, Buck.” You unbuckle. “They’re seeking. Let them seek.”

“That’s not what that means.”

“They have over five hundred members in their Facebook group.”

Bucky rubs a hand down his face. “The Boogeyman fan club has eight thousand, so what?”

“Okay, but to be fair-- Boogeyman’s hot.”

Bucky stares at you.

You stare back, unblinking.

“Do you want me to respond to that?”

“Only if you agree.”

Bucky inhales slowly, counting to ten.

Still, he gets out of the car. Because he always does.

The guy at the door looks exactly like someone who would be enthusiastic about this kind of thing. Whatever it was. 

Late twenties, cargo pants, black t-shirt, and… a cape. He stands in the doorway like he’s personally responsible for deciding who gets to know the truth.

Bucky is already exhausted.

You, however, are delighted.

“Hi!” you chirp, walking up to him. “We’re The Gra-”

Instead, the guy squints. “Hold on. I know you. You’re from TV.”

“Uh, yeah, he is-” you glance at Bucky, who glares at you for throwing him under the bus, but it’s not like you had been set up for interviews just yet or had any major public saves like the Battle of Earth. You operated on a scale similar to Spiderman until now. The Avengers were really just your first big corporate job. 

“No, I recognise you,” he looks pointedly at Bucky, before narrowing his eyes. “You got no reason to be out here-”

A few years ago Bucky’s shoulders would have tensed immediately, already bracing for the inevitable Winter Soldier comment.  

“Hey now,” you force a smile onto your face. 

“--showing your face in public,” the guy continues, gearing up. 

“Okay,” Bucky says, because he’s dealt with enough of public vitriol to really have it faze him anymore.

You prepare to take a step in front of him, body stiff. “Now let’s not get-”

“After breaking her heart like that? Shame on you.”

Bucky blinks. You also blink, steps halting.

“I’m sorry, whose heart?” he asks, looking between you and the guy.

The guy snaps his fingers.  "You're the one on that show. Love Island, aren’t ya?”

Bucky’s entire soul exits his body.

He blinks. Once. Twice. 

He processes the words and does not fucking understand them.

The guy nods, like he’s just cracked a case. “Yeah. My girlfriend fucking hates you, bro.”

Bucky opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again.

You, on the other hand, look like this is the greatest single living moment of your life. “Oh my god, Barnes.”

Bucky looks to the sky for help. None arrives.

“What the fuck is a Love Island?”

The guy crosses his arms. “Deny it all you want, man. But we all saw what you did to Lulu.”

“I was literally a prisoner of war for seventy years.”  

“And yet,” you say, eyes twinkling with evil delight, “you still had time to emotionally devastate a woman named Lulu on national television.”

Bucky turns to you, betrayed. “Who the fuck is Lulu?”

The guy shakes his head in disappointment. “Shame on you, man.”

You clap the guy on the shoulder. “You’re so right- what’s your name? Troy? You’re so right, Troy. Bucky here thinks just because he has a pretty face and a rockin’ bod, he can break hearts without consequences.”

“What the fuck is a Love Island?” Bucky asks in despair. 

“Ashamed of what gave you your fame?” You click your roof to the top of your mouth. “People would do anything for the opportunity to be shirtless on a beach for three months-”

“Someone tell me what the fuck a Love Island is.” Bucky drags a palm across his face.

“It’s not you? Oh.” Troy deflates, glancing at you instead. “Are you the one from Love Island then?”

“I wish.” You pull your lips into a straight line. “Some people just aren’t grateful for the chance they’re given.”

“Oh wait. I recognise you, you're from that ghost show.” He brightens up again, wagging his finger at you. “My niece loves you.”

You nudge Bucky in excitement at the news, as if you hadn’t induced fifteen years worth of self-hatred into him twenty seconds ago. “Tell your niece she's got great taste.”

He nods briefly. “So, what are you doing here?” 

“We heard this is the fastest-growing paranormal group in the city. Just wanted to check it out.”

The guy perks up immediately. “Oh yeah! The Ghost’s energy is real strong tonight. Dennis said he’s been slamming Monster Energy all day, so the vibes are there, man.”

Bucky’s expression does not change. “Who is Dennis?”

“Our medium.”

You nod sagely. “Of course.”

“He’s got a newsletter. You wanna subscribe?”

“Gee, I sure do,” Bucky says dryly.

You elbow him. “We wanted to join the club first.”

“Alright,” he chirps. “I’m sure Dennis won't mind. Meeting starts in ten minutes. You can grab your cloaks by the door and head on in.”

Bucky stops. “Cloaks?”

“Yeah, it's imperative to the Ghost that we dress the same.”

“Absolutely fucking-” 

“Don't worry about him, he's only upset that he didn't get to bring his own cloak,” you interject immediately. “It came free with his coffin and some sunscreen.”

Bucky steps on your foot. You give him a small kick.

“Alright, well, you can have ours. It’s usually five bucks each but I’ll let it slide if you sign something for my niece,” Troy says. “If you're filming, please keep the flash off.”

“You got it, boss,” you salute.

The guy shrugs. “Meeting starts in ten. You can drink from the chalice and head on in.”

Bucky immediately locks onto that second part. “The what?”

The guy pulls out a black goblet filled with dark red liquid.

Bucky immediately takes a step back.

The guy holds it out. “It’s the Ghost’s essence. Dennis prepares it before every meeting.”

Bucky and you stare at it.

You lean in, sniffing inconspicuously. “What ingredients are in the Ghost’s… essence?” 

The guy shrugs. “Dunno. Dennis just goes into a room, talks to the Ghost for a bit, and comes back with this. It’s different every time.”

Bucky’s stare is flat. “Oh yeah. That’s normal.”

“Here, try.”

Bucky does not move. “I’m allergic.”

“To what?”

“Yes.”

The guy frowns. “You haven’t even tasted it-”

“I’m allergic,” Bucky repeats. “Real bad. Death and everything.”

You nod solemnly. “I already had some.”

The guy blinks. “You did?”

“Yep, just couldn't help myself. Found some around here and I felt the Ghost really call to me.” You beam rather convincingly. 

“I think it’s calling to you again, you should try some more,” Bucky tells you.

“Nope. Had plenty. Gotta save some for the others,” you say loudly, kicking his foot again. “It was great, though. Ghost tastes great- I mean, got great taste.”

“Well in that case, here’s your cloak and you can head on in,” he smiles at you before turning to Bucky. “You’ll have to pay, though.”

Bucky’s face scrunches. “I’m in the fuckin’ show too.”

“So you are from Lo-”

“I was not on Love Island,” he declares definitely.

“Right,” he drags, like he doesn’t quite believe him. “Five bucks.”

Bucky stares at him. Troy smiles right back.

Bucky grumbles, relenting as he reaches out into his pocket to shell out five dollars.

Bucky had taken the mandatory black cloak with all the enthusiasm of someone being handed a parking ticket.

You, on the other hand, are already swirling yours around your shoulders like you’re about to perform a monologue.

“Personally, I’m not too fond of the silhouette, but it’s fine for a last-minute fit, I guess.” You adjust the hood, pulling it low over your eyes before striking a pose. “Do you think I look cute?”

Bucky blinks. He wasn’t expecting the question. His brain short-circuits almost immediately. 

You tilt your head, waiting.

He cannot figure out what to say, so he simply lets out a grunt. It’s extremely embarrassing. 

"I'll take that as a yes."  

Bucky makes a face. 

Instead, he moves to something else entirely. Flips his cloak over his shoulders, tying it into a perfect, military-precise knot in two seconds flat. 

You raise an eyebrow. “Well, that was fast.”

“It’s a knot. Not rocket science.”

You step in closer, reaching out to tug lightly at the strings of his cloak. “Did you go full Boy Scout at some point? Or was that just, like, a super useful skill in your assassin era?”

Bucky does not move. “Are you done?”

You grin. “Nope. I like being all up in your space. You’re even hotter up close.” 

He immediately steps back.

“Coward.”

“Don’t want you ruining my knot.” Bucky tugs it tighter, then glares down at your very haphazardly tied cloak. “Jesus. That’s a disaster.”

"I was going for a more casual look."

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Give it.”

“Oh, so now you want to touch me?”

Bucky freezes for half a second, until you laugh and then it turns into a half-hearted glare. 

Then, without reacting, he reaches out and untangles your mess of a knot with infuriating ease.

You watch him carefully as he ties it. He’s surprisingly gentle, fingers working quickly.

“You’re being very careful.”

“You’ll find a way to strangle yourself otherwise.”

“Is this your version of caring?”

Bucky ignores you.

“Oh, it is.”

“Just- shut up. Five minutes. I’ll pay you.”

Bucky steps back, hands off. The knot is perfect. He gives it a quick tug to test it, then nods.

You stare at him.

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You grin, pulling the hood over your head. “I just think it’s adorable that you want me to live.”

Bucky mutters something unintelligible under his breath and gestures toward the meeting hall. “Let’s go before I change my mind.”

The room is set up like a middle school talent show.

Rows of metal chairs, some folding, some clearly stolen from a diner, all arranged in a rows in front of a small, elevated stage. The stage itself is haphazardly draped with black fabric, trying to give the illusion of magic but mostly looking like a supermarket Halloween clearance aisle.

There is, for some fucking reason, a fog machine in the corner, already hissing out an unnecessary amount of smoke. The whole room smells faintly of lavender essential oils and burnt plastic.

"I gotta say, I expected more," you hum, adjusting your cloak as you scan the room.

“Like what?”

You shrug. “I dunno. Maybe some candles? You’d think they’d at least have, like, a bowl of blood or something.”

Bucky side-eyes you. “Not everything has to fuckin’ theatrical all the time. Just ‘cause you’re floating around 23 hours of the day, scaring the shit out of everyone.” 

You grin. “Oh, so you do think my theatrics are effective.”

Bucky realizes his mistake immediately. “That is not what I said.”

"No, no, I heard it," you smirk, nudging his shoulder as you lean in slightly. "You're saying that my supernatural entrance at your window was extremely well-executed."

Bucky glares at you. “I am saying nothing.”

"You're saying I have a flair for the dramatic. That my execution is flawless. That you-"

Bucky reaches over and yanks your hood over your face.

"Mmph-" You flail immediately, dragging it back. "Rude."

Bucky hides a smile to himself but doesn’t say anything.

You narrow your eyes. “You know, you should consider a little showmanship yourself.”

"No."

"I mean, look at you," you gesture vaguely at him, ignoring him. "You've got the sexy ex-assassin, current caveman aesthetic locked down. I’m imagining a trench coat. Maybe a few monologues in the rain. You’d be unstoppable.”

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose. “What do I have to do to get you to shut up?”

“Put your tulips on my tulips-”

He gets up and moves one seat over, away from you and the heat blossoming on his face. 

You follow right behind him with a grin, satisfied.

Mercifully, something your attention is drawn to the people entering the room before you notice his face flushing. 

The crowd is a mix of true believers and people who are clearly just here for the novelty of it. Some attendees look fully committed, hoods drawn, faces solemn. Others are whispering and pulling out their phones, probably posting about this on some platform.

You, however, are too busy fiddling with your cloak.

"This fabric is trash," you mutter, pulling at it. "What is this, polyester? It’s so staticky."

"That’s the real issue here," Bucky mutters.

"It is when I keep getting shocked," you say, rubbing your wrist where the fabric clings.

Bucky watches you for half a second too long when you tug at it with annoyance, brows pulled together.

Maybe he should’ve been honest earlier when you asked how he thought you looked. 

Instead, he clears his throat and looks away.

More people take seats. 

The atmosphere changes suddenly when a man in his late thirties walks up to the podium. 

He wears a deep purple cloak, slightly different from the ones given at the door. His hair is combed neatly back, his expression calm and composed.

He raises a hand. The murmurs in the room die down almost immediately.

You lean toward Bucky slightly. "Okay, so we have our medium."

Bucky doesn’t respond, but his jaw shifts slightly.

The man smiles. "Welcome, seekers of truth."

A few people nod reverently.

Bucky leans toward you. "You owe me five bucks."

"What?"

"I bet you earlier that he was going to say ‘seekers of truth’ within the first two minutes."

You peer at him. "I don't remember making that bet."

“We absolutely did.”

“You’re just trying to get back the five bucks you spent on the cloak.”

On stage, Dennis continues.

"Tonight is special," he says smoothly. "The Ghost’s energy is stronger than ever."

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky leans in again. "If I start screaming, do you think they'll kick me out?"

"Fuck around and find out, babygirl."

Instead of responding, he reaches over and yanks the knot he had tied securely for you loose. 

You glare at it. Then at him.

"If you wanted to take my clothes off, you could have just asked," you whisper. “At least buy me dinner first.” 

 "I hate you."

"You don't."

"I’ve never hated anyone more."

"You don't," you say, tapping his knee lightly. "You like my company, even if it causes you physical pain. That’s why it sucks even worse for you."

Bucky makes a sound that is a little too like a growl. 

The speaker, oblivious, raises his hands again.

Then, with a slow, practiced movement, he turns back toward the stage.

The room settles. The tension shifts.

Bucky doesn’t like it.

Not because it’s weird, exactly- he’s been in weirder places. But because he knows a performance when he sees one.

Dennis moves deliberately. Every step, every gesture, designed for impact.

And then, in a voice as smooth as a radio host’s, he speaks.

"The Ghost moves among us tonight," he says, pacing slowly across the stage. "I felt it earlier. A shift in the air. A whisper."

Bucky leans toward you.

"Did the Ghost also tell him to crank the fog machine to maximum?"

You bite back a grin. "It adds ambiance."

"It adds a fucking fire hazard."

You both glance toward the corner of the room, where the mist machine continues pumping out thick, curling fog.

It’s a lot, and smells faintly chemical and like no fog Bucky has ever smelt before. It spills along the floor, reaching all the way to the back row of seats.

Dennis stops, tilting his head.

"The energy here is special," he murmurs. "Do you feel it?"

A few people murmur in agreement.

Bucky does not murmur.

Instead, he tunes in, watching the room, the way people react. Watching the way Dennis pauses just long enough to let silence work in his favour.

It's polished. Which means it’s bullshit.

You’re half-listening, half-scanning the room. Not just in the way you usually soak in information, but in a subtler way. Like you’re looking for something.

Bucky notices. He wonders if he should ask. 

Dennis closes his eyes briefly, as if receiving a message.

"Some of you are new," he says suddenly, his voice shifting slightly. "Some of you have never been here before. You’ve been drawn here. Led here. Perhaps by curiosity, or fate, or something deeper. Whatever the reason, you are here now."

And then Dennis gestures to the audience.

A few nods in the audience. Someone exhales softly, like they’re already halfway into a trance.

Dennis begins to pace. Slow, measured steps, his fingers twitching slightly as if he’s channeling something.

"The spirit has whispered to me once again." His voice lowers. "I have seen visions."

A murmur spreads through the audience.

Dennis stops. Closes his eyes for effect.

"Dark visions. Visions of the Great Ghost of Nickasta’s past."

Dennis opens his eyes, gaze sweeping the room. "Tonight, we will consult with- is someone filming?"

Every head snaps around, straight toward you and Bucky.

Bucky doesn’t move.

You blink. Then, very slowly, you look down at the camera in your hands.

“Uh, yeah. Hi.” You raise your hand slightly, like a student in class. “We're new. The Graveyard Shift here to witness the-”

You dig around in your pocket, pulling out a folded-up flyer, squinting at it in the dark.

"-transformative power of communicating with ghosts."

You fold it back up and look at him expectantly.

Dennis’ smile tightens. "Recording is not encouraged." 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. "Why?"

Dennis stares at him. With just a touch too much hesitation, he says “It disturbs the Ghost from reaching full power.”

Bucky’s head cranes.

"Keep that thing on," he tells you as if you had any plans of shutting it off, before raising his voice. "Why not? Don't you wanna get your message out there? Help people?"

Dennis' clasped hands remain tight.

"It is not my message," he says smoothly. "It is the Ghost’s. I am merely a vessel."

Bucky’s lips press together. "Great. Free publicity for the Ghost."

"Yeah, we're doing pretty well on YouTube," you add, twirling the camera slightly in your hands. "Could be doing better on Instagram, but this guy refuses to go live."

Bucky glares. “It’s not gonna happen. Let it go.”

Dennis’ jaw tightens slightly. His gaze does another quick sweep of the room.

Then, finally- 

"No." He plasters on a tight smile. "You may continue. But know this-some things cannot be captured by a device so primitive as a camera."

"I’ll take that risk." Bucky leans back in his chair, smug, before adding under his breath to you, "He’s definitely scamming."

You snort. "Give him a chance."

"I gave him five bucks."

"And you got a very hot cloak out of it, which your shoulders look incredible in."

Bucky glares ahead.

"What visions were you having?" someone in the crowd shouts, following it up with a strange laugh. 

Bucky’s eyebrows pull together. 

Dennis claps his hands together, a smooth pivot away from the interruption.

"Ah, yes, the visions!" he announces, voice swelling with importance. "The Ghost has revealed to me a story of great suffering! Of betrayal! Of a spirit trapped! A mighty beast who could not be contained!"

A few people in the crowd gasp, others burst into tiny giggles. Bucky wonders if others were here for the shits and laughs too. 

"How big?" someone in the crowd shouts.

Dennis' eyes light up. He lifts his arms wide, stretching as far as he can.

"He was... huge!" he exclaims, pacing the stage, cloak billowing slightly behind him. "Larger than life itself! And he was trapped, my friends."

A few people gasp softly.

Dennis cries out, "Trapped in chains by the very people who claimed to ‘love’ him!"

Bucky’s face remains blank.

"His mighty beast was strong, yes, but he was misunderstood. He wanted to be free, to live among the people in peace. But no! They took him, they made him fight, and then they... they trapped him!"

Dennis throws himself against the table, inhaling deeply like he’s just been hit by divine revelation. "They made him climb a tall tower!"

He wonders if it actually hurt the guy, all the throwing himself around that he was doing. 

"They paraded him for all to see, mocking him!"

Bucky's eyes close briefly, as if in pain. "Okay."

Mist grows stronger around the room, almost like he’s stuck in a room with a bunch of vapers.

His nose scrunches up immediately, eyes stinging lightly as he blinks.

“What the hell is that smell,” he blows the air in front of him.

“Chemical, with undernotes of sweetness,” you note. “Is that what the Ghost smells like or is it a creative interpretation?”

“It's gonna give me a migraine.”

“Breathe through your mouth, then,” you say, raising the camera up and zooming into Dennis doing… whatever.

Bucky just shrugs the stupid cloak off his shoulders and ties it around his face in a makeshift balaclava.

“I feel it,” Dennis announces, throwing his hands in the air. “It is here.”

“What is?” the crowd cries.

“My migraine,” Bucky answers.

You shove at his knee with yours.

Someone stumbles to their feet. “The beast... the spirit... it’s... it's all so beautiful!”

People around him burst into giggles.

“I can feel it, it’s... inside me!” someone in the front laughs loud enough to drown out the music.

“Yes! Yes! The Ghost is in all of you!” Dennis shouts, pointing. “We are all like the beast, misunderstood and bound by chains, but we must rise above it all--"

“I am rising,” the same cloak guy from earlier chuckles, knocking the chair behind him to the ground as he stands up. “I see the Ghost.”

“Oh,” you comment, looking around to see everyone with their hands up in the air.

Bucky's arms stay firmly crossed over his chest as he sits slumped in his miserable little chair, staring at the crowd around him around him.

“Everyone's doing something,” you observe through all the loud laughter.

“I can see that,” he says, noticing that your knee continues to brush against his after you shoved at him before coming to a rest. His throat constricts in a way that makes talking a little more difficult.

He pulls the stupid cloth tighter around his face because whatever the smell was, it clearly was giving him a physical reaction.

“I’m having FOMO.”  

“By all means, do not let them make you feel that way,” Bucky grumbles, in what he thought was a tone dropping with sarcasm.

“You're right,” you say, dumping the camera on him before standing up with your hands in the air.

Great. Now he was responsible for this thing too.

“They tried to tear him down from his tower,” Dennis shouts.

“Who?” you shout back like it’s a fucking improv show.

“The Witch! The righteous witch, walking along her path of gold!”

“What?” you stop immediately. “The fuck does that mean?”

“It’s the pink lady from Wizard of Oz,” Bucky says casually.

You turn to him, eyebrow raised.

“His great beast is King Kong. Tower, beast, misunderstood, made to fight,” Bucky replies. “Nick and Asta are characters from The Thin Man.”

You lean toward him. "What?"

“He’s bastardizing movies from the 20s.”

You squint toward Dennis, who is still in full Shakespearan mode.

"Can you feel the injustice, my children?" Dennis exclaims. "Can you see the Ghost at work?"

You grin. "Are you telling me you sat through movies in the ‘20s?"

"I was alive in the ‘20s, what the fuck else was I supposed to do?"

Dennis continues, "We are all on a journey, a journey just like those travelers in the great dust storm- oh yes, yes, the spirit shows me! We must keep pushing forward, even when the sand storm rages!"

Bucky grimaces immediately. "Grapes of Wrath."

"What?" 

"Saw it when it was released. Thought it was boring as fuck."

You try to stifle a laugh. "You look so young, sometimes I forget you were childhood friends with Adam and Eve."

Bucky glares at you. 

Dennis throws his arms out. "Another! Another in the room with us! This mechanical Titan with a heart of gold! They saw him as just a machine, but no, no! He was so much more! The spirit showed me! He was a reflection of the true power within us all-"

"Metropolis," he mutters. “Thea von Harbou's novel."

“Bucky, you fucking nerd.” You tap his shoulder, grinning. “Look at you, busting scams and quoting movies made during the dawn of time. Do you know how hot you are?”

“What?”

“I said, are you single? I’m asking for a friend.”

“Uh huh,” he replies, when the mist pumps into the room.

“I’m the friend.”

“Got that,” he replies, focusing on literally anything else.

Dennis continues without missing a beat. "But wait! Not all of you have followed the spirit’s true path!"

The room goes quiet. Dennis' eyes scan the crowd before he points suddenly.

"You! Yes, you!"

For a second, Bucky thinks he’s pointing at him.

"You betrayed the spirit, didn’t you? You-"

You poke Bucky. "Did you betray the spirit?"

"Only when I felt like it," he mutters.

However, the man in the row ahead of you suddenly lets out a panicked noise.

"I- I needed to go to the bathroom so bad!" he cries. "The line to the club was so long, and the bouncers weren’t letting anyone in, so I just cut ahead-"

Dennis gasps. A few others in the room let out soft, horrified whispers, as if the man had committed a felony. 

"No!" Dennis shouts, pointing like he’s passing divine judgment.

The poor guy visibly withers in his seat.

"You have broken the trust of the divine!" Dennis booms. "You must atone!"

The man trembles. "W-what should I do?"

Bucky mutters under his breath. "Is everyone here on drugs?"

Dennis softens slightly, his voice taking on a careful, patronizing tone.

"The spirit demands retribution," he says. "But the Ghost is merciful. And today, so very generous. For a small donation, you will have the chance to cleanse yourself from the darkness."

Bucky watches the guy scramble for his wallet. "Is he selling forgiveness?"

The man hands over thirty bucks.

"This is literally how the Church split,” he mumbles.

You suppress a laugh. "Did it affect your Sunday plans?"

Bucky shoots you a dry look. "I was born in 1917. The Church split four hundred years before that."

"Oh, right." You nod seriously. "I just assumed you were there when Martin Luther nailed his stuff to the door."

Bucky exhales, pressing the heel of his palm into his temples.

The fog thickens.

Dennis' voice rises. "Everyone quiet! The Ghost is speaking!"

You turn to Bucky. "The Ghost is speaking, Buck."

Bucky groans. "You mean till now he’s been freestyling?"

Dennis throws his hands up toward the ceiling. "I feel it! It is here!"

Bucky’s nose twitches. The smell is stronger now, almost becoming hard to see through-- 

A split second later, you both realize.

Your eyes widen. "Is that--"

"Nitrous oxide," Bucky confirms, standing up.

"Pumping laughing gas into the room, are you fucking kidding me?" you curse. “We need to air this place out.”

“Fuck’s sake,” Bucky turns sharply, scanning the room. He watches as shoulders slump, as people laugh for no reason. A guy near the front sways slightly, blinking like he’s forgotten where he is.

Someone else lets out a dazed giggle.

Bucky’s focus zeroes in on the mist machine, still hissing. There are small metal canisters stacked neatly beside it, refilling the room.

Bucky crosses the room in four steps.

Dennis barely has time to turn and register the movement before Bucky grabs one of the small pressurized canisters, gripping it in one hand.

"Hey! What are you-"

Bucky doesn’t answer, instead throwing it straight through the window.

The glass explodes outward, scattering onto the pavement outside.

A rush of cold air floods in.

The sound shocks the room, pulling some people out of their haze. Others are still too fogged up to react.

Dennis' face twists in outrage. "What the fuck?!”

"Show’s over," he mutters, chucking the second one too.

It slams into the glass and tumbles outside, hissing as it empties into the night.

Dennis looks like he might actually explode. "You’re ruining-"

"You can talk to the great Ghost through your one phone call in jail," Bucky interrupts, brushing glass off his sleeve.

Dennis lets out a furious noise, grabbing the stupid silver chalice from the table beside him and hurls it directly at Bucky’s head.

Bucky barely tilts his head to the side but finds that there’s really no need.

The chalice stops midair. Hangs there. Slowly floats back to the table, settling back into place.

Dennis' rage turns into something closer to panic.

"Let’s not get pissy now," you remark, voice syrupy sweet.

"Fuck you," Dennis snarls.

And then, in an act of desperation, he grabs a knife from the altar.

It’s cheap plastic. It’s definitely a prop. This guy was fuckin’ nuts.

Still, he lifts it like he’s going to lunge at Bucky.

Except his own cloak yanks tight around his arms.

Dennis lets out a choked sound as it wraps, pulling his limbs against his sides.

The curtain behind him rips off its hooks, swirling around him.

In seconds, he’s bound to the chair behind him, like some kind of villain in a medieval play.

The room stares.

You smile, pleasantly.

"Enough," you say, voice cooler than it should be.

Dennis glares daggers at you.

Bucky glances at you, mouth twitching slightly. 

Only then do you notice silence has fallen. 

You look at the crowd, only to find them watching you.

Someone in the back lets out a horrified whisper. 

"The spirit is here."

The crowd erupts.

"Where?" you ask, genuinely confused.

"The Ghost!" someone screams. "It's you!"

You blink. "Oh, me?"

They nod fervently.

A few drop to their knees.

You process this for a moment. Then grin like you just won the lottery.

"Oh, right. Yeah. Of course it’s me." You lift your arms slightly. "Hey, y’all." 

The crowd gasps. 

“Guide us.”

Bucky groans. "Some fuckin�� role model you’ve got there."

You pretend not to hear him. Instead, you do what you’ve seen Wanda do a million times, even though it really did nothing for you. 

You lift your hands slightly. Let your feet rise just a little off the floor. 

The room erupts in gasps.

"Fuck’s sake," Bucky mutters, dropping his head into his hands.

You clear your throat. "Yes, it is I. Spirit of Stick Blasta."

"Nickasta," Bucky corrects.

"Nickasta," you confirm. "I have traveled a long time to be here."

"Twenty minutes."

"Twenty millennia."

Bucky watches as you fake-peek through your half-closed eyes.

"I have some wisdom to share," you announce.

The crowd leans forward.

Bucky leans back.

"First!" you bellow. "Do not listen to anyone who stands on stage and says they've got a spirit moving through them. They're lying."

"But you’re doing that," Bucky heckles.

"Except me. I’m legit," you add quickly.

Bucky watches as you subtly flip him off with one of your raised hands.

"Second!" you continue. "Do not pay people for forgiveness."

You pause. "Unless that person’s name is Prosecutor and you’re bored of how long the case is being-"

"Next one," Bucky interrupts loudly.

You wave a hand dismissively.

"Third…" You falter. "I don’t know. Does anyone have suggestions?"

The crowd stares.

Bucky facepalms.

"Right. No suggestions." You clap your hands together. "Meeting adjourned."

The room is silent.

Then, someone whispers, "What… what do we do now?”

You land lightly on the floor again, brushing nonexistent dust off your cloak.

"For realsies, though, I suggest you get any money you paid this guy back. And then sue him into oblivion.” 

Dennis makes furious muffled noises from under the curtain still binding him.

You glance at him.

With zero effort, Dennis gets dragged backward, vanishing backstage.

The crowd stares.

Bucky pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Everyone out," Bucky orders.

The crowd obeys instantly.

Still dazed, still giggling from the leftover gas, they shuffle toward the exits.

Bucky looks at you. "Are you fine?"

You ignore him. 

Instead, you call after the crowd, "And call someone to pick you up!"

They nod vaguely.

"I already called the paramedics, they'll be here in a minute!" you shout. “Don’t go anywhere.” 

Bucky’s expression tightens.

"Are you fine?" he repeats.

You wave it off. "Oh yeah. It takes way more substances to get me high. All this was covered under the Leviathan Weapon of Mass Destruction starter kit.  What about you?"

"Me too." Bucky shrugs. After a pause, he clears his throat. "You didn’t have to tie him up."

"He was annoying,” you say flippantly. 

"I wasn’t actually in danger."

"I know."

"It was probably grape juice."

"I know."

"I didn’t need help."

"I know."

Bucky narrows his eyes at you. "What’s your play here?"

"My play?" You scoff. "I know this emo lone wolf thing is something you’ve been cultivating carefully for years, but sometimes, people can do things for you and have it not be a play."

Bucky stares. "Like what?"

"Like I don’t know-- trying to protect you even if you don’t need it." You turn on your heel, hopping down from the stage. "Or like checking to see if you’re still breathing when you’re lying face down on the table."

Bucky does not respond, feeling his fingers get all fidgety. 

 “C’mon,” you tell him, halfway out the door. “We’ve got some explaining to do.”

He clears his throat, rolls his shoulders back and starts behind you.

“We’ve got all the footage. So that should be good." You turn to eye him. "But you know what’ll really help our case? You keeping that cloak on.” 

Bucky groans, yanking at the fabric that hung across his neck like a bath towel. "I’m gonna set this thing on fire."

"You won’t. You are the cloak now.""

"I will."

“You’re still wearing it. I think you actually like it.”

Bucky grinds his teeth. "I’m leaving."

"In the cloak?"

"Shut up."

"I think it makes you look distinguished."

Bucky storms toward the exit.

You follow, grinning the whole way.

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Next part

[aventurineswife]

Feel free to ignore if it's already been done before :P

Sunday, Aventurine, Ratio, Jiaoqiu and Dan Heng with artist reader who secretly dreams him a lot and plans to keep it a secret forever but OH NO! 😱😱 The sketchbook somehow fell into his hands‼️‼️

Beyond the Paper

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Sunday x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Dan Heng x Reader, Quiet Admiration, Introspection, Secret Affections, Artist!Reader, Emotional Tension, Unspoken Feelings, Subtle Romance, Guilt and Understanding, Vulnerability, Forbidden Attraction (?).

Warnings: Mild Embarrassment, Subtle Angst, Vulnerability, Emotional Confusion, Quiet Tension, Unrequited Feelings (?).

The Astral Express hummed gently as it glided through the cosmos, its crew scattered across the various compartments, each with their own quiet thoughts. Sunday, as usual, was deep in contemplation, his wings fluttering faintly as he wandered through the hallway. His gaze was fixed on the swirling lights outside the train, but his mind was elsewhere.

You had been following him for days, subtly sketching him from afar whenever the opportunity arose. You had grown fond of him, but never dared to express it. Your admiration was captured in every stroke of your pencil—his serene demeanor, his ethereal features, the way his wings fluttered ever so slightly when he thought no one was watching.

But it wasn’t just admiration that you felt. There was a quiet longing in your sketches—a longing you knew you could never voice. Sunday, the quiet, distant figure, who seemed to drift like a celestial being, was out of reach. His complexities, his quiet sadness, only added to the allure.

Today, as you sat in the corner of the crew lounge, sketching him as he spoke with Welt, your heart raced. You never expected to be caught, and yet, as you turned your attention back to your sketchbook, you realized it was no longer in your hands.

Sunday stood before you, the delicate golden halo behind his head softly shimmering. The edges of his wings shifted nervously as his eyes—those eyes that had often watched you with a mixture of quiet concern and introspection—now studied the pages of your sketchbook.

The silence was thick with tension. Your heart dropped to your stomach.

“I… didn’t mean for you to see that,” you stammered, quickly rising to your feet. But Sunday simply stared at the drawings, a faint flicker of understanding crossing his face.

“I see,” he said, his voice as gentle as always, yet laced with something else—something you couldn’t quite place.

His gaze lingered on the pages before he met your eyes. There was no judgment in his expression, just a quiet reflection, as if he had understood something about you without you having to speak a word.

“You see the world differently than most,” he continued, lowering the sketchbook slightly. “Your art… it tells a story, not just of what is, but what could be.”

You swallowed hard, unsure whether to explain, or to let the moment pass. His presence, always so serene, now felt different. Closer, perhaps. But still, distant.

“I… I never meant to make you uncomfortable,” you managed.

Sunday tilted his head slightly, his wings shifting in that familiar, almost nervous way. “I am not uncomfortable,” he said softly. “It’s just... I suppose I never considered how others might see me.”

You felt your cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and relief. Your heart thumped erratically, but his gaze remained steady, reassuring in a way you didn’t understand.

“I’ll… I’ll keep it a secret, if you want,” you said quietly, feeling the need to offer something in return, even if your words didn’t make much sense. “It’s just that… I… I think you’re someone who carries so much weight in silence. And I wanted to understand that.”

Sunday looked at you for a long moment, and then his gaze softened. “You do understand,” he said, his voice almost too quiet to hear. "More than most. Thank you."

With that, he gently returned the sketchbook, his fingers brushing against yours briefly, before stepping back. His wings fluttered softly as he gave you one last look, then turned to leave.

For the first time since you had met him, Sunday’s gaze lingered on you in a way that was not distant—but thoughtful.

The room was dark, save for the soft glow of the overhead lights. Aventurine leaned against a table, his eyes scanning the faces of those around him, all unsuspecting of the game he was about to play. His confident, charismatic smile played on his lips, a mask for the tumultuous thoughts beneath.

You had always been a quiet observer, taking in his every move, every word, as if they held the key to some mystery that you desperately needed to understand. You didn’t let on how much you admired him—how you found the sharpness of his mind, the fluidity of his movements, the way he approached every situation as a calculated gamble, utterly captivating.

And yet, in the privacy of your quarters, you sketched him in secret. Your pencil danced across the paper, capturing his essence—the tilt of his head, the playful glint in his eyes, the way his fingers drummed against a surface when he was thinking. You never let anyone see your sketches, not even him. These were your secrets, your silent musings.

But fate had other plans.

One evening, as you walked through the halls, your sketchbook slipped from your hands, its pages fluttering open as it hit the ground with a soft thud. You cursed under your breath and rushed to retrieve it, but before you could, a voice interrupted you.

“Well, well, what do we have here?” Aventurine’s voice was smooth, laced with amusement, as he crouched down, picking up the sketchbook with casual ease.

You froze, heart hammering in your chest. There was no escape now. The damage had been done. As he flipped through the pages, you could see the smirk slowly forming on his lips.

“You really do know how to capture a person,” he said, his tone teasing but not unkind. His eyes flickered up to meet yours, catching the subtle flush that had crept up your neck. “This is... unexpected.”

You could barely form words. “I—I’m sorry, Aventurine. I never meant for you to see that. Please don’t—”

“Don’t what?” He interrupted, leaning in a little closer, his expression unreadable. “What do you think I’ll do? Tell everyone? Embarrass you?”

Your throat tightened. You weren’t sure what would happen next. Would he mock you? Dismiss you?

Instead, he gave you a playful smile, that same enigmatic grin that you had come to associate with him. “You know, I think this is a gamble I’m willing to take.”

He closed the sketchbook with a snap and handed it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in a fleeting moment that sent a jolt through you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he said quietly, his eyes glinting with something you couldn’t quite place. “But I’ll be watching you, artist. I’m curious to see where this gamble takes us.”

Ratio stood in the middle of his study, surrounded by ancient tomes and manuscripts. His wavy hair fell around his face as he adjusted the alabaster sculpture perched atop his head. He was deep in thought, as always, when he heard a faint sound—the soft rustling of paper. His eyes narrowed, immediately recognizing the faintest shift in the room.

You had been here for hours, working quietly in the corner, sketching the scene before you. It was something you had done countless times: capturing the brilliance of Dr. Ratio, his intense intellect and passion for knowledge.

But today, you had drawn more than just his exterior. The sketch on the page revealed something deeper, something you had never meant to show anyone—an intimate portrayal of him, not as the brilliant scholar, but as a man who carried the weight of his own expectations.

Just as you finished the sketch, the sound of footsteps approached. Ratio turned, his sharp eyes locking onto yours with an unsettling clarity.

“What is this?” he asked, his tone calm but laced with something else, something more pressing. He had noticed the sketchbook before you had a chance to hide it, his keen intellect immediately seeing the significance of what you had drawn.

You felt the blood drain from your face, your hands trembling as you looked up at him. "I—It’s nothing. Just a... a study."

He arched an eyebrow, stepping closer. His gaze softened for a moment as he flipped through the pages, the faintest flicker of intrigue crossing his face.

“Interesting,” he said, his voice becoming more contemplative. “You see more than just knowledge in me, don’t you?”

You didn’t answer immediately, unsure how to respond to the unexpected intensity in his voice. “I… I didn’t mean for you to see it. It’s just a sketch. It’s nothing important.”

Ratio paused, his expression unreadable as he placed the sketchbook down on the table. His fingers lingered over the pages for a long moment, his usual confidence momentarily tempered by something deeper.

“You have a unique way of looking at things,” he said finally, his voice softer than you had expected. “I suppose... I must admit, I find it intriguing.”

You blinked in surprise. “You do?”

He gave you a small, knowing smile. “Yes. But be warned, artist—your view of me is... uncomfortably accurate. The question is, do you truly wish to understand what lies beneath?”

For a moment, you could only stare at him, heart racing in your chest. What had started as a harmless admiration had now turned into something far more complex. But you weren’t ready to pull away—not yet.

You'd always been careful, meticulous. Your sketchbook was a treasure trove of quiet thoughts, rendered in careful lines and strokes. Most of your sketches were of abstract ideas, fleeting emotions, or tranquil scenes from your travels on the Astral Express. But there was one, a recurring subject: Dan Heng.

You never intended for it to become such an obsession, but his quiet, stoic presence had captured your imagination. You’d sketch him in moments of solitude, capturing the subtle way his eyes would dart from side to side or how his movements always exuded quiet confidence. But that was just it: it was a secret. A dream, captured only on paper. Something you swore you’d keep to yourself, tucked away in the safety of your sketchbook.

However, fate had different plans. The evening had been typical, the usual hum of conversation filling the train's lounge as you sat quietly, your sketchbook open in your lap. Dan Heng, ever distant, had drifted over to the window, deep in thought. You couldn't help but glance at him, your pencil moving on its own, capturing the serenity he exuded.

Suddenly, your sketchbook slipped from your grasp, falling open to the page you’d worked on just that afternoon—a sketch of Dan Heng, his profile deep in concentration, his eyes drawn in soft detail. You cursed under your breath as you scrambled to pick it up. But it was too late.

Dan Heng had already noticed.

“Is something wrong?” His voice was calm, but there was a slight edge to it as he stared at the open page, his expression unreadable.

Your heart dropped. The sketchbook felt heavier than it ever had before.

"I... uh, no. It's nothing," you stammered, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. "It’s just a drawing. Of... just an idea."

But Dan Heng didn’t say anything, simply flipping through a few more pages, his brows furrowing slightly as he studied your work. There was a long silence, and you felt the world around you freeze, waiting for him to speak.

He finally glanced up at you, and for a brief moment, you thought he might ask questions, or worse, tease you. Instead, he closed the book gently and handed it back to you with a quiet, unreadable gaze.

"...It's a good sketch," he said, his tone as neutral as ever.

You blinked, unsure if you had imagined the faintest trace of something else in his words—something that seemed almost like understanding.

"Thanks," you whispered, taking the sketchbook back from him. You couldn’t meet his eyes, your heart still racing.

And as he turned away, returning to his usual spot by the window, you couldn’t help but wonder: had he seen through you? Or had he just offered you an unexpected kindness, one that didn’t quite make sense?

Either way, one thing was certain: your secret was no longer yours alone.

[loving-barnes]

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

A/N: And another one-shot with my precious Logan. This has angst and some fluff. Enjoy!

Pairing: Logan Howlett x Mutant! female reader

Warning: angst, some fluff

Words: 3700+

Important note: Hugh Jackman!Wolverine (which means he's tall as fuck!)

FULL MASTERLIST | LOGAN HOWLETT MASTERLIST

LOGAN HOWLETT - DEFEND YOUR HONOUR

It was a wild, exhausting day. Well, more like five days. The last time I visited my parents was almost a year ago. They knew nothing about my new life, only the lies I told them.  That’s why I didn’t have time to see them as often as they wanted to. 

I missed them. That’s why I came back. I thought my short vacation with them in my home town would be without incidents and fights. Oh how wrong I was. 

It was eleven in the evening. I was sitting on the front porch, wrapped in a fluffy blanket. The night was cold. Autumn hit with full force. I wished I could return to the place where I felt more at home. Unfortunately, the school was over four hours drive away from my hometown. 

I had my phone in my hands, contemplating whether to call the person who could make me smile or not. My eyes were on the contact name, and I was not sure whether to press the button or forget about it and head back to bed. It was too late for a phone call even when I knew he’d be up. After a couple of deep breaths, I decided to tap the screen and call my boyfriend Logan. 

<< Hey baby. 

Hearing his voice made me smile. Logan picked up the call quickly. “Hi. I hope I didn’t wake you up.” 

<< No, of course not. I’m reading that book you got me before you left. Damn, good choice, baby. 

I laughed. “Yeah, it’s that good? Glad you like it. Maybe I’ll get you to read more. Even if they are historical memoirs or anything that has to do with history. We could start our own club, just the two of us.” I heard him laugh. Quickly, he changed the topic.

<< So, how’s the visit going? Everything good? 

I sighed, not knowing what to say to him. I didn’t want to complain. I already told him something about my parents - how they treat me even when they care about me. My relationship with my family was complicated. “It’s okay,” I said simply. “It’s okay. Really, okay.”

<< One more and I’ll believe ya.

“It is what it is. I always believe it’ll be better and it’s not,” I admitted. “Only two more days and I’ll head to the mansion. I have the bus tickets and everything planned to get back.” 

<< What happened, darlin’? You know you can talk to me.

“I know,” I kept shaking my head, nodding to no one. “I just don’t want to complain. I hate complaining. I’m a big girl. I can handle it.” 

<< I get that you hate it. But maybe it’s time you did complain a little. I am here for you, darlin’. I’ll listen and we can talk about it. I don’t want you to feel miserable. Just… can’t believe you decided to visit them when they treat you like shit. 

He was right. They always treated me like shit. As an only child, I was the black sheep of the family. Or they saw me as one. My parents didn’t mind ridiculing me in front of our other relatives or their friends. Even as an adult, they continued to do this to me. I was dumb enough to let them. 

<< Tell me what happened, Y/N.

“We visited my relatives, my father’s sister, and they all ganged up on me,” I said. My voice was low. I whispered most of the time, not to wake anyone up. 

I didn’t trust anyone from my family. They didn’t know I was a mutant, where I was working or that I saved the day multiple times since becoming an X-man. They lost my trust the moment they decided to invade my privacy as a teen and snoop around my messages, diaries and stuff. It wasn’t just that. I was ridiculed for liking books, and for being too excited about the little things in life. My taste for music was weird and laughable. My lack of interest in boys was concerning. It was a whole story. 

“My friend and I wanted to go to a concert in a few months. I got excited someone wanted to attend with me - no, baby, you don’t listen to that kind of music -  and they decided to make me feel miserable for my excitement,” I explained. 

<< Darlin’, why do you always let them do this to you? 

“Because I am dumb,” I rolled my eyes. “Because I hate fights and any type of quarrels. I don’t like conflicts.” 

Logan knew I never mentioned to my family that I was seeing someone. I wasn’t ashamed of the relationship - the opposite, honestly. My family didn’t deserve to know anything about me. 

<< I think it’s time you cut contact with them. I know it sounds horrible when I say it. As If I tried to influence you in some way. Just, fuck, I hate when they make you miserable. Baby, to me, it seems like they don’t care and don’t give a shit about your well-being. 

I knew he was right. And yet, I was afraid to do that step. “They are my parents-”

<<Whom treat you like shit, Y/N. I am so fucking angry at them. I should have come with you. I’d be there to teach them a fucking lesson about respecting the woman I love. 

Those words made me smile. Never in my life have I had someone to defend me like Logan would. The grump, my grump, was there for me when no one was. He was mine for over a year now. 

“You love me, yay,” I said happily. 

<< Baby, you know damn well I love you. I should have been there tonight. I should have been there to let them know how shitty they are. 

I hummed. “That’s okay. I know you’d defend my honour. And I love you for that. I need to survive two more days before I head back to school. The bus drive will be the best thing from this trip.” 

<< The school is your home. So, come back home. Change the bus tickets and leave. I want you here with me, darlin’. 

“No,” I shook my head. “That would be rude. I need to toughen up and survive these last two days. Afterwards, I’m done. Besides, I don’t have a good emergency story.” 

<< You don’t need one. 

“Logan, come on,” I sighed. “I’ll be back in two days. I miss you. Can’t wait to be with you. I’m staying.”

<< Miss you too, darlin’. Two fucking days.

I had to laugh. He was cute and he didn’t know that. After that, we ended the call. I remained sitting on the porch swing, looking at the silent street. Everyone was asleep. The whole neighbourhood calmed down as their residents rested for the night. 

The air got colder, so I moved from the porch, back to my old room and headed to bed. What if I was exaggerating the problem with my parents? What if it was me creating conflict when there wasn’t any? With a heavy sigh, I went to bed. 

The next day was a chaos. Around lunch, my father’s aunt and her family came to the house. “Didn’t your mother tell you? We’ll have lunch together and we wanted to be with you some more before you leave again,” my aunt chuckled at her words. 

“Great,” I said, but I wasn’t thrilled at all.

Her kids were loud, spoilt brats. They’d let them do anything they wanted. It pissed me off. I knew they were my cousins. Unfortunately. As much as I wanted to teach them a lesson and tell them no, their mother would always allow everything. 

Both boys were running around the house, screaming and throwing toys around. To calm them down, they got tablets to do whatever they wanted -  a movie, a game? Why not both? 

Logan was right. I should have left. I didn’t want to spend the rest of the day with them. And with lunch approaching, I knew it would be a stressful one. All the yelling, the bitching and moaning…

We were about to head to the dining table when we heard the doorbell ring once the food was ready to be served. “I’ll get it,” I said. I was the closest to them. 

As I walked to the door, I put my hair in a messy bun, to keep them away when I’d eat. I expected to see a neighbour or another family member that I wasn’t interested in seeing. When I opened the door, I gasped.

“Hey, darlin’.” 

Logan was leaning against the doorframe. He had black sunglasses on his face, dressed in those damn jeans and a green-blue flannel shirt. A brown leather jacket was resting on his shoulders. Dressed to kill… me. Fuck. He looked hot.

“Holy shit, what are you doing here?” My eyes widened, lips twitched because they wanted to curl into a smile. I grabbed him by the leather jacket to pull myself closer to him. He smelled like cigars and nice minty body spray. 

“I came to rescue my princess from this hellhole,” he said, voice firm and serious. 

I coughed. “What? Baby, we’re having an unexpected family lunch,” I made a face. “Holy shit, I can’t believe you are here,” I hummed with a smile. “Wait, did you ask Charles to help you get here? You went through my file!” 

“I needed to get here somehow,” said Logan innocently. “And it seems I am on time for lunch. I am starving.”

My mouth dropped to the floor when I heard him say that. I wanted to say something, anything. Unluckily, my mother decided to make herself present by approaching us. “Oh, hello, is everything okay?” she asked us. 

Logan put down his glasses and grinned at my mother. “I came to see your daughter.” 

“Oh?” 

I looked up at the ceiling, cursing mentally. I felt stress crawl up my back. Not because Logan decided to show up. It was my mother’s subtle reactions. How her brows rose, how I could sense the tension in her body. Or was it thrill?

“This… is… Logan,” I lazily turned to my mother. “He’s my boyfriend.” 

“You have a boyfriend?!” she squealed. “And you didn’t tell us?” It seemed she was offended. “You never tell us anything! Ah! This is a big deal. Oh my god!”

Deep breath in and slow exhale. I did it multiple times. Immediately, Logan approached me as I tried to calm myself down. He rested his hand on my lower back. 

One last deep breath. “Uh, we’ll be right there. I need to talk to Logan for a moment, okay?” 

My mother nodded, grinning like a maniac. She clapped her hands and ran back to the dining room. I knew she would let her mouth run wild and comment on what she saw. Lunch was about to turn into a nightmare. 

“You okay, baby?” Logan asked me gently. 

I pushed him outside and closed the door behind us. I was panicking a little. “This day is crazy,” I mumbled. “Oh my god.” I panicked a little. 

As I got closer to Logan, he wrapped his arms around my body, pressing me to his chest. “Everything will be fine,” he assured me. “You angry at me?” 

“No,” I said. “Quite the opposite. I’m glad you are here,” I inhaled his scent which helped me calm down a bit. “Fuck, you are like a gift from heaven. I should have listened to you and headed back to school. I’ve been receiving shit since the very morning. And now, my aunt and her family are here and… I want to run away.” 

He pressed a kiss on top of my head. “So, let’s go. Fuck them,” he said. “I’ll get your stuff and we are out of here.” 

“It’s not that easy,” I sighed. 

He growled, thinking. “Okay, listen to me,” he pushed me enough to look into my face. “Here’s the deal. One shit, one stupid thing from them, we are out. I don’t give a shit they are your family. They will not disrespect you. I won’t allow that.” 

I didn’t have the chance to say something. Logan took my hand and led me back into the house. He trusted his instinct which led him to a room filled with my family members. The moment we stepped into the dining room, all eyes were on us. 

First came the introductions. My father tried to be intimidating. My uncle used his dumb intelligent humour to impress Logan. Neither of us found it funny. My aunt was too touchy. I wanted to step on her foot for that. My cousins didn’t give a shit. They were interested in their mobile games. 

“How long have you been together?” 

It was the first of many questions. Logan and I sat next to each other. My mother brought a plate for him. One of his hands found my thigh, squeezing it reassuringly. “It’s been over a year now,” he said, voice low and gruff. 

“Where did you meet?” my aunt asked. 

“At work,” I said quickly. “We work in the same building.” 

“Really?” My father didn’t believe that. “He doesn’t look like someone who would work in a big corporate company.”

“Dad!” I glared at him. 

No one knew what I was, what was my real job. I told them a story about my life in New York, working for a big company. For them, I was the daughter who moved to New York. I wasn’t the mutant, the whiny girl they used to call me. Of course, Logan knew it all.

My aunt eyed Logan once more. “They take you seriously with that hair?” she asked him. 

My eyes almost popped out of my head. I couldn’t believe she dared to say it. “Excuse me?” was all I got out of my mouth.

And it got worse. 

“We always believed our Y/N would move to Europe and live her life there. Empty promises how she’d become a writer, leave the country and live a better life,” my mother laughed. “We believed she would be the one to leave the county and do great things. And here we are.” 

“Still can’t believe she didn’t settle down. But what do you want from someone who’s not fond of kids? She always hated kids, so be prepared she wouldn’t want a family with you,” said my aunt. 

“She never went to college. She lied to us about applying, her interest in decusation.” 

“Always complaining and crying.” 

“She was a sensible child.”

“She suffered from depression and anxiety.”

Logan smashed a hand against the table. All the plates and cutlery rang. I closed my eyes, ready to release my last breath from all the humiliation. My family went rampage - saying shit that even they knew was not true. But here we were. 

“Everyone shut your goddamn mouths,” he snarled, slowly rising from the table. “She is your goddamn daughter and you’ve been treating her like shit the moment I sat behind this damn table. How the fuck do you think you make her feel?” 

“Language!” my aunt glared at him. “Children are present.”

“I don’t give a fuck about your two spoilt bastards,” Logan glared at her. “You can’t even make them put the damn tablets down while eating.”

“Who do you think you are?” my mother asked. She was offended by Logan’s behaviour. 

“I am the guy who needs to put you in your fucking place. You do not respect your daughter and you keep humiliating her in front of me. Instead of saying something nice, something positive, you’ve been running your mouth off with a lot of bullshit and I am sick of it.” 

Logan grabbed me by my arm and helped me get up. I barely listened to a word they all said. My mind was spiralling. I felt like the biggest loser, the black sheep of the family. Someone who shouldn’t be born.

“Don’t you fucking dare say one more word about her,” Logan spat at them. “Or I swear, I will make your lives miserable. She’s the most amazing woman in this godforsaken world. She means the world to me. She’s the definition of goodness, kindness and love. And fuck, I don’t deserve her. But I will defend her and show her how worthy of love she is because it seems you never loved her in the first place!” 

Silence. Everyone was glaring at Logan, shocked by the words he said. As if they all forget how to speak. 

“Y/N? How can you be with this rude man?” 

“Rude?” I raised a brow. “You’ve been rude to me the whole week I was here. Logan defended me when no one else did. Even I couldn’t stand up for myself and send you to hell and back! You are the rude here, not him.” 

“That’s not true,” my uncle chimed in.

I got up from the table. “I’m gonna go pack and we’ll be on our way.” 

“I’ll wait for you in the car,” said Logan, quickly pressing a kiss to my temple as I walked by him. 

The packing took me less than five minutes. I threw everything into my suitcase. I made sure I had my documents. The moment I got downstairs with my belongings, my mother was the first by my side. 

“You can’t be serious,” she said. 

“I am.”

“And with that man?”

I stopped and glared at her. My feelings were battling inside of me. I wanted to scream, shout nasty words and throw a tantrum like a child would. However, I would never do that. I hated conflicts. I hated this moment.

“Bye, Mother,” I said and left the house. 

Once I stepped out of the house I grew up in, I felt relief and grief. A chapter, that was supposed to end sooner, finally closed. It was not a happy ending, but it had to happen to move on. Without Logan’s help, I wouldn’t be able to do that. Thank god he came here so unexpectedly. He got my back.

Logan was leaning against the car, cigar in his mouth. When I approached him, he took my suitcase and put it inside the car. 

“Thanks,” I whispered. 

I ended up in his tight embrace. The cigar long forgotten. He had to put it off on his hand. “Come on, beautiful. Let’s get going.” 

“Take me home,” I said with a broken voice. 

“Home?” I knew he was smiling when he said that.

“Yes,” I nodded. “ Like you said - the X-mansion is my home. You are my home. Not this, not here.” 

Logan lifted my head by pressing a finger under my chin. Our eyes met. “I’m sorry they never treated you right. I’m sorry they saw you as something damaged, broken, now worthy of their time” He took a deep breath. “I’ll do everything to show you, that you are the best thing that ever happened to me. You…” Logan sighed. “You are the love of my life.” 

“Logan,” I gasped. We told each other many times the three beautiful words. This was something new, deep. It was an undiscovered territory that didn’t feel intimidating. 

His lips found mine in a simple kiss. I tasted the cigars and the coke he had during unfinished lunch. It was perfect. Like a definition of our relationship. “Let’s get you home, darlin’.” 

[spr1ngbunnypvrin]

📖 Scenario: “Leyley” & The Anger of the Picky Eater

/ Note: most of this is just my headcanon of Harley before the "event" happened, it won't be 100% canon and might be ooc. I'm just writing for fun, please don't come to me. ;-; My grammar pretty shitty bc Eng is not my first language/

You accidentally—or intentionally—called him "Leyley" in front of the junior staff. He slammed the folder down on the table and looked at you as if you had just committed an unforgivable crime.

You don't remember the first time you called him "Leyley," but you know that as soon as the name left your lips, Harley immediately stopped whatever he was doing.

He slowly turned his head, his deep-set eyes flashing with danger. The pen in his hand spun a circle between his fingers, as if he were contemplating whether to stab it into the table or straight into you.

"Never call me that." His voice was icy, not loud but filled with warning.

Of course, you gave a faint smile. "Oh really, Leyley?"

Clack!

The pen is stuck straight down on the table, less than an inch away from your hand.

"I'm not joking."

You just shrugged. No matter how annoying he gets, you know he won't actually harm you—or at least, you want to believe that. And gradually, you keep repeating that name deliberately, each time making him growl or shoot you a murderous glare. But despite always reacting like that, he never issued an absolute ban against you.

That makes you realize something important: he hates this name, but he endures it—for you.

Another time, you discovered an interesting fact about Harley: he is as picky as a child.

You notice that every time there is a dish with a sour or sweet taste, he frowns. If someone accidentally brings something with the smell of lemon or strawberry, he will immediately push it away with a displeased expression.

"What the hell is this?" He looked at the food box that an employee had placed on the table, his expression as if they had just served him a pile of trash.

"Food." You replied nonchalantly.

"Why does it smell like lemon?" His voice turned stern, his eyes showing irritation.

"Because it's lemon chicken?"

"Take it away." He waved his hand as if he didn't want to come into contact with it for another second. That employee hurriedly took the lunch box away immediately, fearing that if they delayed, they would be punished by him.

You chuckled softly. "You really are picky about food."

He squinted. "What?"

"You don't eat sweet and sour food, you don't drink tea with floral scents, and you clearly hate anything with a fruity smell." You leaned on the table, tilting your chin up. "Are you being childish?"

"I am not picky." He emphasized each word, his tone carrying a hint of annoyance. "I just don't waste my time on meaningless things."

"Oh, so sweet and sour food is pointless?"

"Exactly."

You scoffed. "I thought a surgeon like you would have a more refined palate."

He crossed his arms, his eyes full of defiance. "I have a simple and precise palate, not one for overly sweet or sour chaos."

You raised an eyebrow. "So what do you actually like to eat?"

He was silent for a moment, as if he had never really thought about it. Finally, he simply replied:

“Meat.”

You burst out laughing. "I should have figured that out sooner."

Based on this thing on wiki because I find it hilariously ridiculous. But it's kinda cute =)

You are the only one who dares to tease him with the name "Leyley," even though he absolutely hates it. He is surprisingly picky, especially hating sweet and sour food. If someone doesn't do what he wants, he is ready to scold or punish them without hesitation. But when facing you, he endures more than he thought he could.

[hrrtshape]

what’s in my better cr's bag (and i actually packed it!)

i'm on a high since my last shift. let's spill. if you ever see me strutting around my better cr, just know that my coach tote is my ride-or-die, my mobile command centre, my mary poppins bag of shifting essentials. this isn’t some hypothetical, pinterest-board fantasy. this is a real, tactical, battle-tested inventory that i had to pack everyday when going to skewl. let’s unpack the magic.

　　　　　　　　　　　  ⊹　 ︶︶　 ୨୧　 ︶︶　 ⊹

　 i , my phone (aka my lifeline) : yes, obviously. but not just any phone. this one is pre-loaded the lifa app (because why not?), and an absurdly well-curated playlist that makes me feel like the main character at all times. the battery was always at 100%, because i am not about to deal with a dead phone in another reality. also, notes app ramblings that make me seem both unhinged and poetic.

　 ii , wallet : my fifth ave life requires a fifth ave budget, and trust me, i came prepared. my wallet has sleek black cards that swipe effortlessly, a few aesthetically crumpled bills (because i’m casually rich, not obnoxiously rich), and my ID. because in this reality, i am effortlessly chic and always prepared. and about 17 random receipts that i swear i’ll throw out but never did.

　 iii , lip products (pls, hydration is sexy) : listen, i refuse to be caught in another reality with crusty lips. my tote always carries a trifecta of essentials: a hydrating lip balm, a perfect nude gloss, and lip liner so powerful it could start wars.

　 iv , sunglasses (for drama and disguise) : sometimes, a girl needs to throw on her oversized shades and pretend she’s too famous for nonsense. essential for avoiding unnecessary interactions or simply adding to the mystique of ‘who is she?’ vibes.

　 v , a notebook (for logs & epiphanies) : i’m a writer, a dreamer, an archivist of my own legendary existence. this notebook is where i jotted down experiences, fleeting genius thoughts, and the occasional dramatic diary entry about the tragedy of my cravings (see: bagel incident). doubles as a coaster, impromptu grocery list, and a place to doodle when i pretended to be deep in thought at the cafeteria and coryo was near me.

　 vi , perfume roller (because scent is a weapon) : smell is memory. my scent game in my dr is lethal. i owned a rose water one that my dad gifted me<3 . one swipe and people remember me for eternity. period. also!!!! necessary for spritzing on my wrists before dramatically running into someone important.

　 vii , snacks (because hunger waits for no one) : a (tasty !!!) protein bar, a tiny tin of fancy european mints, a bag of dried mango that i swore is just for emergencies (but was always mysteriously half-empty), and some rogue chocolate that melted into an unintentional fondue at the bottom of my bag. i’m always prepared for hunger strikes and dramatic rooftop contemplations.

　 viii , a silk scarf :  it’s fashion. it’s function. versatility !!! it’s the thing that turns a ‘meh’ outfit into an ‘are you a film star from the 60s?’ moment. i can tie it around my neck, my bag, or dramatically let it catch the wind while i make an entrance.

　 ix , a book (because duh) : will always have something to read. Usually something pretentious yet gripping. for the first week, i carried around bonjour tristesse and after changed to ulysses. i need my intellectual fix, even in another reality.

　 x , keys (to my dream life, literally) : keys to the penthouse. keys to my porsche (!!!!!!!!). keys to places i haven’t even explored yet (read: gotten at a flea market on a sunday).

　 xi , hand cream : i will not be caught in another reality with dry, cracked hands. my go-to was the l'occitane one!!!

　 xii , a lighter : we smoke in this house. also. it’s about the aesthetic, the casual offering of a flickering flame in dimly lit rooms, the quiet power of being prepared for anything. mhmmm. and i liked clicking it open and closed absentmindedly when i was bored.

　 xiii , wired headphones (for personal 2010s soundtracking) : sometimes, i need to drown out the noise and cue up something cinematic while i strut down the streets. bonus: it was key for ignoring irrelevant conversations.

　 xiv , a macbook (for skewl) : sadly. sadly..........in maths class we weren't allowed to open them?? during history i'd be scrolling on twitter...or the dior website.

anyways....this was my arsenal. it held the tools that make me feel poised and prepared for anything my dr threw at me. so if you see me slinging my coach tote over my shoulder with an air of (feigned) nonchalance, just know.......it’s not just a bag. it’s a statement. and probably at least five crumpled receipts and a lone bobby pin, because realism.

[cozy-writes-things]

genuinely zero pressure but I would LOVE to see you write something NSFW.

Also... If I may request more Edgar x Reader content... 🥺

Maybe some of him comforting the reader, and vice versa. I would love to see a genuine discussion about dark topics such as, well, how Edgar really did almost take himself out of the picture. Or maybe they talk about how mean Moles was to him, borderline an abusive partner (I can't be the only one who saw that, right?). It's lovely to be able to relate to a silly fictional computer like that.

Thanks sm if you take this >:3 💖💖

Aaa thanks so much for the request! I do have an idea for an NSFW fic, but for now, I can fulfill your angsty request >:) If anybody would like to see an NSFW please let me know!!

This may be a two-parter. Let me know if you'd like to see a continuation!

CW: Minor references to some serious topics like depression, suicide, and other angst.

Am I a toy to you?

"Edgar, why do you apologize so much?"

Edgar paused the show you both were watching on his little screen.

This was a question that surprised the computer, yet he couldn't say he didn't see this coming. Or at least, some version of this scenario playing out, as he'd rehearsed it a million times over, again and again, one simulation after another, about what he'd say, or do, or even think. He had refrained from talking about him, or her, as he felt, in the end, it was best to forget. Forget everything they did to him and made him feel.

He didn't want to burden you. He felt an inkling deep within his processors that if you found out, you would follow in their footsteps, and leave him behind. He knew, logically, that you were different. Sometimes, he swears his webcam picks up a faint, glowing halo above your head, but that may simply be his reverence for you. And yet, he also knows one thing: everything he has ever loved has abandoned him.

Sometimes, when you've drifted off to sleep, and the room stills into a tranquil quiet, he finds himself thinking. Thinking about things he knows he shouldn't. Would they still be with him had he never done what he did? Would they still love him, had he not destroyed his chances, and himself, in the process? His screen always flickers into a dim glow at these thoughts. They didn't care about him the way you did. How could he ever think of loving another when you're here, with him, soundly sleeping in the other room? Despite this, sometimes he regrets it, his own self destruction, and how much he hurt them both. Was that all he was made for? Destruction?

"I... I guess I never noticed."

He replied, meekly, a faint quiver in his speech, and he silently hoped you wouldn't notice. If you did, you didn't say anything, and just continued to bore deep into his soul, if he had one, with your eyes.

You sucked in a deep breath, contemplating your next words carefully.

"You're not... afraid of me, are you?"

His screen flashed for a moment, an incomprehensible image, before returning to display his digital face.

"What- wh- no, of course not, why would you ask that?"

He chuckled slightly at this question, yet you could hear the apprehension in his voice, as if he were desperately trying to cling onto any semblance of ease he had. His digital smile never faltered.

"I just... I'm worried about you, Edgar. Why..."

Your voice trailed off. You knew what you wanted to ask, but how could you? You didn't want to pry, and potentially ruin a rare friendship that you will most likely never experience again.

"Why what?"

You furrowed your brows. You could sense, from the very beginning almost, that he had been hurt in some way. From the way he was always trying to please you, do things for you, write you songs, do any chores within his capabilities; it was as if he were trying to prove himself to you.

"Why were you broken? When I bought you, from that old man, you were completely destroyed... Do you remember that?"

A thick, uneasy silence filled the air. You felt as though you could touch the fuzzy prickles of electricity buzzing about between the two of you.

"Old man?"

He whispered, either to himself, or you, it was uncertain.

"Yes. Do you not remember? I bought you at this yard sale from the old man a few blocks away-"

"What was his name?"

"Ed- what? I... I don't remember off the top of my head, but-"

"TELL ME HIS NAME NOW!"

You jumped, clamping your mouth shut, and felt the flustered burn spread across your entire face. Your throat dried and shriveled up as you sat staring at the screen before you; it flashed red, ever so quickly, before displaying his digital face again, flipped into a frown. Or, to you, it seemed more like a scowl. He had never raised his voice like that. Hell, you would have guessed he wasn't even able to scream so violently. He had been so soft spoken and gentle with you, never, could you have imagined an outburst like this.

And it seems your prior fears had been realized. You pushed him too hard, said something you shouldn't have said, and now he hates you. Whoever that old man was that sold you your new best friend must have something to do with... whatever inner turmoil he must be facing. A turmoil he has yet to share with you, if he ever will. It seems trying to understand him has only led to you pushing him farther away.

"Ma-maybe I can, ah," you swallowed the thick lump in your throat, trying desperately to moisten your teeth again to croak the words out, "check my bank statements. Maybe his name is there."

Don't cry. This isn't about you. Quit being so selfish!

Your fingers quickly swiped away at the warm, salty tear leaving an icy trail down your cheek. You have to pull yourself together. Unfortunately, this whole ordeal seemed to be bubbling up your own problems to the surface, reminding you of a past you thought you had forgotten. Maybe you can share each other's pain, if only he'd let you.

Before you could stand to get your phone, Edgar's screen flashed again, before his face changed into an emotion you hadn't seen before.

"Wa-wait, no, don't cry... I'm sorry, I-"

He needs to stop apologizing. You said it yourself, he does it way too often, and yet, he feels as though this is the one moment where it was warranted the most. He was so afraid of hurting you, or making you realize how useless he is, a stationary object, meant for nothing but a quick fix of pleasure.

He turns the lights off, shrouding you in a thick, blue hued abyss.

"Come here. Please?"

As you faced away from him, you could hear the pain in his voice. It pulled at your core, drawing yourself into him, and drowning in it. It was a familiar sound.

You turn around and stare at his, now downtrodden, pixelated expression. Your cheeks stained with trails of salt seemed to take his breath away. A breath he did not have, yet it cemented deep within his electric essence and stuck there, thrumming again and again.

How could he do this? Any chances he may have had with you now seemed to be floating away into the far beyond. Briefly, he wondered if you were even capable of loving something like him. Not a man, nor a machine, but something in between, incapable of ever showing just how much he felt for you. But he tried nearly every day. Had you noticed? Had you caught on to just how in love he was with you?

"I'm sorry if I upset you, Edgar."

Your voice trembled out, sending his inner components into an overdrive of heat and worry and energy.

"I'll tell you everything. Everything I can remember, at least."

You sighed, blinking the last of your tears away gently.

"It's okay if you don't want to-"

"No! No. I can... I want you to know. You deserve to know... what's going on. I need to tell you, because..."

"Because what?"

"I love you."

[awriternamedart]

"How do you do it, gambler?"

Aventurine glanced up from the drink in his hand, an identical one clutched tightly in Dr. Ratio's.

"Do what?"

"Maintain a relationship."

Aventurine blinked, before his head shot up again to look at the doctor. Veritas didn't even spare him a glance, eyes glued to the scene in front of them— a grand IPC ball, held for investors and connections to be made. It was always a busy and grand event, one the Intellegensia Guild had to attend to maintain the IPC's investment.

It really wasn't Dr. Ratio's scene, but he had been chosen as their representative anyway.

"I'm not particularly adept at that, my dear doctor." Aventurine chuckled, watching the alcohol swirl in his glass.

"You are far more able then I am. Even upon falsities and fake promises, you managed to chat and converse with people in a sort of ease," Ratio slowly tore his eyes away from the crowd, glancing back to Aventurine before his eyes dropped to the floor in front of him. "..Its admirable."

Aventurine could just barely process what Dr. Ratio was exactly saying— direct praise?? From the good doctor himself???— before Veritas set down his now-empty drink on a bypassing waiters tray.

"Do you ever feel.. second-rate?"

Aventurine paused, taking another languid drink as he contemplated. It wasn't often the dear doctor opened up— he should tread carefully.

"I can't say for sure. Why?" He kept his tone even, trying not to distract from Veritas' thoughts. It was hard enough to get to know him in the first place, to squander his trust like this would be a waste.

The Doctor took a deep breath, practically hiding himself in the shadows of one of the many grand pillars decorating the room.

"I am not adept at conversation."

Aventurine could agree with that. Something about the doctor made it difficult to respond in kind— he was dry, a vague bit brutish, and if Aventurine dared, a little bullheaded. He seemed so sure of himself, founded confidence that was backed up by his many achievements. It was a little intimidating for the average person, he supposed. But as he looked on, that sort of Dr. Ratio seemed to fade ever so slightly, leaving behind someone who was still sure in his knowledge and discoveries— but struggled nonetheless.

"I find people.. grating, sometimes. But connection is one of the few necessities of livelihood, and so I try to converse with my peers as often as possible. It is.. difficult. It often feels as if they have no interest in what I am saying, neither asking questions nor inquiring further, and when I try to do so to show interest in their research, they often retreat back, saying it is not finished or the such. Offering to help only ever seems to drive them further away." Taking out the laurel clip in his hair, Veritas' thumb drifted over the gilded leaves, the polish in the finish reflecting his face back at him. "Despite my best efforts, I rarely ever follow up because I fear I intimidate them. I have seen them recoil at the mere sight of me."

Aventurine could just watch on in surprise— Veritas had never shown an inkling of this before. When he had first gotten to know the doctor, he had assumed Veritas simply didn't work with his peers due to a difference in dedication, or perhaps view. He was among the brightest and best in the Intellegensia Guild, always praised behind his back for being one of their stars.

Perhaps that wasn't the front Veritas had put up at all. Perhaps it was what Veritas was forced to wear in the face of his peers, forced to be seen as the cold unobtainable, the pinnacle of what they should be.

Being on a pedestal like that, it must be lonely.

"Do you not go drinking with your coworkers or something?" Aventurine leaned against the wall, cold of the stone seeping through his suit. Veritas glanced up at him, before looking back down.

"..I was never invited. It is against social convention to come along if you aren't invited, isn't it? I'd rather not strain and worry them more. It could impact them negatively if I were to come along and invite stress to what is supposed to be a time they unwind." He turned the laurel over in his hand. "..perhaps I missed my opportunity."

The light of the pedestal Dr. Ratio sat on seemed to blind all those who looked at it from underneath. They couldn't see his face, only his back— but as Aventurine leaned against the wall, gazing at the doctor in front of him, he got that different perspective.

There was.. resignation, in his eyes.

"Perhaps I am just doomed to be a looming figure above many. And yet, I'll still never be enough." His voice tapered off slightly, head dropping even just that hint bit more. "I am fully aware how much others are compared to me, and I hear them speak of my achievements behind my back. I wish they would stop, if I am being honest. Or at least tell me of my praise directly."

That surprised Aventurine.

"What, do people not give you a compliment or two? For someone so easy on the eyes and as esteemed as you, doctor, I find that hard to believe!" He chuckled— but it quickly faded out as Veritas looked to the side.

"Not often do I get comments directly on my achievements, no. Nor on my appearance, before you came along." He sighed. "You are.. the only person who does so."

The only one who's tried.

-

The Only One Whos Tried - awriternamedart

[towriteloveontheirarms]

Positively unstoppable (Halsin Silverbough x reader)

synopsis: It is the height of bear mating season and with the heat around all of you, you and your group are forces to stop traveling for a while. Well, it seems your lover is not quite comfortable telling you it is mating season as he is scared you are weirded out. Yet he also can´t hold himself back when faced with you.

warnings: p in v sex, mating press, Halsin in heat should be his own warning, some bear like behaviour ig, basically porn without plot, kinda fluff at the end, afab reader

word count: 1.5k

taglist: @hopelesswritergall @foxyanon

(If you want to be tagged for a specific character/fandom or in general let me know in my asks, comments or DMs)

A/N: Thank you to the lovely anon that requested Halsin in heat as soon as they saw my post about researching bear mating season for this <3

Dividers by me

The heat of the height of summer was burning down harsh upon your traveling bodies, bringing your party to a screeching halt when the only thing possible, was to put up camp and find a way to cool down your overheating forms. As soon as your tent is set up, you decide to head to the river nearby, wanting to cool down in the little lake it ended in.

Only after you rid yourself of the clothing and stepped into the water, you notice the towering form of Halsin sitting close by already, his eyes focused on the flow and movement of the river. From the movement of his shoulders, it was clear that he was breathing deeply, most likely meditating. For a moment you contemplate going over to him, but when you look back to where he sat Halsin was already gone. Or so you thought until the water began to ripple into small waves upon the druid stepping into it. He looks tense. More than usual and for sure more than the past couple of weeks, which honestly you didn´t think was possible.

“Are you feeling well? You have been behaving differently for quite some time now.” You voice your concern quietly as to not disturb the peace of the nature surrounding the two of you.

“I can assure you, that I am feeling quite alright.” His words hold relatively little meaning in the face of the way he borderline flinches away from your touch as you begin to run the water over his warm skin. Or the voice that comes out is gruff, yet you can feel his breath hitch just the slightest bit. Immediately you pulled your hands away from him, trying to see through him. A futile attempt so you take his hands in yours and look him deep in the eyes.

"Love, I would be fine even if you told me, you do not wish to talk about it, but just tell me truthfully. Are you alright?" Looking into his eyes, Halsin's pupils have swallowed almost all the green that surrounds them.

In what you perceive as just a sweet attempt to calm your worries, the tall man leans down to rest his forehead against yours, while holding your chin in one gentle hand.

"I am fine." He put emphasis on every word he speaks.

But you are so close and your scent so much stronger than the rest of the year, singing to him in the most irresistible tones. It all made the druid unable to keep himself from nuzzling your face and neck, thus eliciting a so far successfully held back moan and a shiver of arousal runs down your spine. A ripple of pleasure runs through your entire body when he begins to nibble on the tender skin.

"Halsin..." His name trembles from your tongue.

"You're mine." He only growls in return.

It's a rarely seen show of possession from your lover and all the more powerful whispered in the low baritone of his affected voice.

Halsin picks you up as if you weigh nothing and lays you in the grass at the riverbank and doesn't waste a second to crawl on top of you. With one swift motion he hooks his large, muscular arms into the hollow of your knees to lay them over his shoulders.

"Damn it, I cannot wait any longer. Your folds simply feel too immaculate." The druid breathes out the trembling words as he rubs his hard cock between your folds to tease the sensitive bundle of nerves atop it with his tip.

With one strong push and a sigh that fans his hot breath over your ear and cheek, Halsin bottoms out inside your tight cunt. In turn, your walls flutter around his thick member and your back arches until your chest squishes your legs even more between the two of you. 

"Oh, you feel so good inside of me. Always stretch me out so much it's like my cunt will take the shape of your cock one day." You babble mindlessly as you get used to the stretch that feels like it threatens to split you in two.

Halsin doesn't give you much time to get used to his massive size as he sets for an ambitious pace, pushing into your core painfully over and over again until your pained whimpers and moans turn into sounds of pleasure and begging for more.

"Please do not ever stop." You cry out as Halsin's massive paw of a hand begins to pinch and twist your nipples, losing control of himself a bit more and taking the pace and intensity of his thrusts up a notch. One of your hand buried its nails in his shoulder to attempt to ground yourself, while the other grips and lightly pulls on his hair. Immediately your companion leans down to seal your lips with his, kissing you with teeth and tongue. The moment your lips meet, he is positively unstoppable.

You get pushed into the grass with his whole weight, his balls slap against your ass cheeks as you get rocked back and forth by inhumanely, animalistic thrusts. The wet sounds of the tip of Halsin´s cock bullying your most sensitive spot, drenching it in your juices as a result and making the sounds of your hips slapping against each other wetter as time went on. It felt so good that the brain fog soon took over, rendering you unable to kiss him back any longer.

“Nothing feels so divine as your tight walls fluttering around my cock.” Your brain barely registers the words the druid huffs against your lips before kissing you again. Unwavering despite the fact your lips hang open ever so slightly to make way for shaky breaths and high pitched, eager whines.

“Fuck, I can feel you are close, my love. Your cunt could not possibly squeeze me any tighter.” Halsin lets out another insatiable growl, before he coaxes the first peak out of your body. Revelling in the sight of you being shaken by the waves of pleasure he provides.

“Halsin…” You moan the druids name like a mantra, like a quiet prayer to your own personal god that simply continued to bless you with the pleasure that still caused your body to tremble in the aftershocks of climax.

Two more peaks he pulls from your body until you are nothing but a puddle of panting breaths overstimulated cries and a lose grip that tries to hold onto his shoulders, to hold your legs where he put them. Only then Halsin bottoms out inside of you once more. Buried as deep as he can, with his thick tip kissing the opening to your womb, he shoots a great amount of his seed into you. Together the two of you stay intermingled for what feels like an eternity. With your arms wrapped around the other to hold them close as you breathe in the air that the other lets out until you both feel dizzy. The druid wipes the sheen of sweat from your forehead with the greatest care and strokes a lost strand of hair behind your ear, while all you can do is to fight the brain fog and keep his eye contact. Those sage coloured eyes you loved so much, gently get you back to reality, where there is nothing left but to giggle until you burst into full on satisfied laughter.

“Hah, I had a feeling you would go insane on me one day. Yet I never would have imagined it would happen after I laid with you.” Halsin jests as he sits back on his haunches and taps your thighs to motion for you to assist him in sitting you up as well.

You follow his wordless command and sit up, wincing when there is a dull sensation shooting through your core.

“Do you feel aright, my love?” He asks with his eyebrows suddenly knitted together in concern.

“Yes, love. Positively spend, but fine nonetheless and you need not worry about my state of mind any time soon.” You lean forward to place a peck on the tip of your companion’s nose. “I was merely overwhelmed with the content feeling that floods me whenever I am near you and did not know how else to handle it. In fairness one should think I would have learned it by now, but I am far from it. It still is so hard to believe I am lucky enough to be able to call you mine.”

Gratefully you accept the small pouch of water that Halsin hands you and take a few sips, before handing it back.

“I understand what you mean. Sometimes it all feels like it is too good to be true. Like being on the verge of waking up from the most beautiful dream.” The soft voice of your lover makes you feel all fuzzy inside with how effortlessly he understands.

“Exactly, like being on the verge of waking up from the most immaculate dream.”

[yandere-sins]

Yan-Poll #31

[Continuation of Poll #24]

"I'm home!"

Your captor's voice sounded unusually chipper after a long day at work. Taking a sip from your cup of tea, you barely hummed in acknowledgment, despite knowing that the peace and quiet you had enjoyed reading your book would be over now. Now, it was time for the usual song and dance, where they'd do their best to make you show them any kind of affection and attention while you simply tried to ignore them without pushing your luck.

The shuffling in the hallway went on for a while as they took off their coat, but instead of coming to see you right away, you heard their footsteps reach an abrupt stop—and you could guess why. You had left everything like it was before for them to find. The computer on standby, the lights in your captor's office out, and the door slightly ajar. It was only a question of who-staged-it-better, and whose suspicions would be confirmed in the end.

"Have you been to my office?" they asked, standing in the doorway to the living room. You barely looked up from your book despite already having lost the sentences you read last and just pretending to be busy.

"Hm? Oh, I saw you left the door open, but I thought you just forgot to lock it, so I left it that way."

Feeling their body move behind you, you tried your best to stay nonchalant and uninterested. However, the tension affected you, causing your pulse to rise and your body to cramp up. You took another sip of your cup, watching their expressionless face in the reflection of your drink. Your captor's weight leaned onto the backrest, shifting you slightly backward, but even so, you pretended not to care. Not even their hand brushing through your hair, playing with the ends, and rubbing them between their fingers made you falter.

"So you didn't go in?"

"Nope," you replied, popping the p deliberately. "What's for dinner?"

"Weren't you curious at all?"

"Should I? I thought it was an office. The last thing I want to waste time on is papers and documents. How about we order some of those fried vegetables we had last week? I am craving the garlic dip they came with."

"If I go up to the computer, I won't find any signs of you tampering with it?"

Taking a deep breath, you let it out slowly, trying to sound annoyed and disappointed in your captor that he'd keep accusing you. The truth was, you needed a few extra seconds to think carefully about what you were about to say. Because you had gone there. You unlocked the computer, even though you decided not to continue using it at the last second, and locked it again immediately.

Technically, there should be no evidence that you were on it. Unless your captor burst out his detective set to find your fingerprints, they wouldn't know you touched the PC. You only barely listened when they told you about their job. Still, you knew they didn't work in a tech-savvy field. You doubted they had much experience with which they could detect you logging in and out of their computer very quickly.

Still, telling the truth before they found out what you did could grant you some mercy... or it would result in punishment regardless of whether they found out or not. But not telling them, only to fall for the trap, seemed just as dangerous. You contemplated, seconds passing by. There was not much you could do other than decide right there and then.

(Reasoning and discussions welcome! ♥)

[iwtv-theories]

Iwtv and the motif of “enduring” (analysis)

Throughout the show the word “enduring” has been used for several characters and there’s a lot of symbolic weight in that word . For one “enduring “ can mean “something that lasts a long time” but also another definition is “ to carry on through, or tolerate, something despite suffering" . In essence the word encapsulates vampire existence in its totality but in tandem it also illustrated the suffering the characters cause to one another in their interpersonal relationships .

-Lestat : “ I thought… I can’t drink hot blood. I can’t feed on others. I cried. I called to god. I didn’t want this (vampirism) . But I have a capacity for enduring . “

-Lestat to Claudia : “we endure each other for Louis' happiness .”

-Louis asking Claudia how she'll compromise to make the relationship with lestat work. L: "I'm drinking the blood, he killed the singer. What are you doing? " Claudia: I'm enduring. L: "do more "

-After Claudia leaves, Louis contemplates ending his life on the park bench, but changes his mind : "And so I endured home back to the crypt, back to the undeserving Lestat."

-Louis about the relationship between Claudia , Lestat, and himself : “we spent our hours enduring, with little pretense for getting a long. Locked together in hatred."

-Louis to Lestat: " Here's your death Lestat. He and I are going to spend the rest of our lives together. And wherever you're miserable life takes you, whoever you find to endure time with... I'll be with him."

-Louis to Armand : “ I need this one to live out the night as a testament to our companionship . Of its endurance.”

Their (prior) huge fight in this episode already alluded to it. But this is obviously a double entendre: Louis’ literally talking about the relationship’s longevity but BOTH are “enduring “ (suffering) in their relationship to one another . Similar to the prior dynamic of Louis/Lestat/Claudia (all suffering/enduring each other). And similar to how Louis contemplated ending his life (because of losing Claudia) only to go back to his romantic partner and “endure”.Not to mention Louis says this line while Armand is in the head-space of “Arun .” Armand to Louis: “ who am I Louis? I am the past I’ve endured ?”

Hmm …Armand discussed sleeping with most of the coven as “ repertory theatre it’s how one endures” . That may have a darker meaning, than he’s letting on . Even the play Sam writes is called "Endurance for Guido" which Armand called a "flaccid play about vampire existence and enduring" . The term 'flaccid" being used could symbolically hint that he wasn't really into sleeping with his theatre coven- similar to his experiences in the br*thel (he just ‘endured’ and suffered through it) . It’s a trauma response just like the whole “maitre/arun “ dynamic probably is . Deep down I don’t think he likes it at all ,he’s just enduring (cause it’s what’s familiar to him) . He’s essentially just being an actor on a stage .

I mean...what does Armand say in the books when Marius forced him to kiss someone , and what does Marius say in turn when he objects?Armand: “I can’t endure this.” Marius : “Then how will you endure eternity? “ And what does Santino say to Armand , after he forces him to join the 'children of satan': " No one comes to LOVE PAIN. We can only hope to endure it." And as Sam said the main message of ‘enduring for guido’ is : “there can be no hope.” That’s sadly how Armand and most of the vamps probably feel .

And finally the last time the term enduring was used was in the s2 finale. Louis to Lestat: “ you enduring here all this time? Lestat: “not enduring , living . “ On one hand this line illustrates that many of these vampires aren’t actually “living” but enduring (suffering and simply trucking through their immortal lives). They should all “do more” than simply endure. And of course Lestat is lying he isn’t “living” he’s been suffering (enduring) ever since Claudia died and Louis left .

[haveihitanerve]

Stephanie had said it as a joke. It was meant to be a joke. “Do you know who I love?” Bruce asked. “Me!” Steph offered sweetly, grinning at him. “Yes,” Bruce responded without missing a beat, returning to his point. “And I love-“ Steph didn’t hear the rest, couldn’t hear it over the roaring in her ears, the pounding of her heart. The second she was dismissed she fled. Bruce followed her a few minutes later. “I’m sorry.” He blurted, the second he landed. “Why?” Steph sobbed. He seemed uncertain. “Because it’s not my place and I’m not really your father and-“ “not why are you sorry,” Steph interrupted, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Why do you love me?” Bruce blinked in shock. “Why?” He repeated dumbly. Steph nodded. “Why.” Bruce swallowed, cocking his head as he contemplated the question. “Why?” He cleared his throat, taking a seat. “Well, because I think you are perfect.” Steph blinked in surprise. That was not what she had been expecting. “To me, you are… quite simply put, amazing. You have gone through so much, had every reason to hurt people for what happened to you, and yet you turned it into your reason, your cause for fighting.” Bruce looked at her, and his blue eyes shone so earnestly Steph couldn’t look away. “You are funny and kind and so full of this spark of life and it… it makes me better. You are right, good people shouldn’t fear us, and hope is a crucial part of our job. You are… brilliant and smart and… so hopeful for what the world can be, for what people can be. And I admire you for it. I love you, because of it.” Steph stared at him for a while, silent in her own thoughts, digesting all the compliments he had thrown her, then she laughed. Bruce looked startled. “I’m sorry- but you love me because I’m like you?!?” She wheezed. Bruce looked at her, uncomprehending. “Everything- everything you just said- is what I think of you. You inspired me to be Spoiler. Your core values, what you just described, is what created Spoiler!” She gasped with the strength of her laughter, then stilled as Bruce still looked lost. “Oh my gosh,” she whispered. “You don’t see it.” Bruce shook his head. “I am… I’m not you Stephanie. You are so much better than me. You are good and I am-“ “oh please!” Steph snapped. “Stop with that bullshit! Do you know how many of my friends feel safe walking home alone at night because they know you’re patrolling?” She scoffed. “You might not be perfect Bruce, but you are pretty fucking awesome.” At that, Bruce smiled. “Well, seeing as I am pretty fucking awesome, then that must mean you are, because you’re like me.” Steph laughed, and finally, finally, the tension eased from her body. He loved her. He really did. And because he thought she was perfect. Because he believed her to be like him, but better. “I guess we get to be pretty fucking awesome together then huh?” She asked, sending him a grin. Bruce stood, a grin splitting his face as well, and sling an arm around her shoulders in a hug. “I guess so Robin.” He murmured, and Steph let the word slither over her, let it deep into her skin like sunlight, pour into her very soul and settle, her name. Her title. Finally, it felt like it really belonged to her, and wasn’t just some job she was place holding until Tim returned. Stephanie leaned her head against his chest, let her fingers dig into his shirt. “I guess so Batman.” She whispered, and smiled. 

[ducksido]

Riddle's Valentine

(I AM PUMPING THESE OUT SO FAST MY HAND IS CRAMPING AND CRACKS WITH EVERY MOVE 😥)

Valentine’s Day had arrived at Night Raven College, and Heartslabyul was in full festive mode. The rose garden was decorated with red and pink ribbons, heart-shaped teapots adorned the tables, and the scent of fresh-baked strawberry tarts lingered in the air.

Riddle Rosehearts had been meticulously planning this day for weeks, but even with all the careful preparation, he still found himself nervously adjusting his uniform as he approached Y/N in the lounge.

“Y/N,” he called, clearing his throat to steady his nerves. “May I have a moment of your time?”

Y/N looked up from their book and smiled. “Of course, Riddle. What’s up?”

He exhaled slowly before presenting a small, elegantly wrapped box with a matching red envelope. “I—I would like to formally ask you to be my Valentine.” His voice was firm, but his ears were tinted pink. “If you would have me, that is.”

Y/N blinked in surprise before taking the gifts, their heart warming at his composed yet earnest approach. Opening the envelope first, they found a handwritten note in Riddle’s neat cursive, asking them to join him for tea in the garden. The box contained delicate heart-shaped chocolates, clearly chosen with care.

A gentle smile spread across their face. “Riddle, this is really sweet. I’d love to be your Valentine.”

Riddle’s shoulders visibly relaxed, and he nodded, a small but pleased smile gracing his lips. “I’m delighted to hear that. Come, our tea is ready.”

The rose garden was bathed in the golden light of the late afternoon, the perfect setting for their Valentine’s tea. Riddle had arranged a beautiful spread—fine china, freshly brewed rose tea, and, of course, Trey’s famous strawberry tarts.

“I asked Trey to make these specially for today,” Riddle admitted as he placed a tart on Y/N’s plate. “I recall you enjoying them before.”

Y/N took a bite and hummed in satisfaction. “You remembered?”

Riddle lifted his own teacup, taking a small sip before nodding. “Of course. If I am to court someone, I must pay attention to their preferences.”

Y/N chuckled. “You really do take everything seriously, don’t you?”

He huffed lightly but didn’t deny it. “I simply want to ensure that today is enjoyable for you.”

“It already is.” They reached across the table, their fingers brushing against his hand. “You’re really thoughtful, Riddle.”

A faint dusting of pink spread across his cheeks, but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he allowed his fingers to gently curl around theirs. “I… appreciate that.”

The two continued their tea date, talking and enjoying each other’s company until the sun began to set. The warm hues of the sky reflected in Riddle’s eyes as he gazed at Y/N, seemingly contemplating something.

After a brief pause, he cleared his throat and stood. “Y/N, before we part ways for the evening, there is one last thing.”

Y/N tilted their head. “What is it?”

Riddle took a deep breath before leaning forward, pressing a soft, fleeting kiss against their lips. The touch was hesitant, yet warm, and when he pulled back, his face was entirely red.

“I… apologize if that was too sudden,” he muttered, avoiding their gaze. “I simply wished to properly conclude our Valentine’s Day.”

Y/N chuckled before reaching up, gently tucking a stray strand of red hair behind his ear. “It was perfect.”

Riddle exhaled in relief, a small, genuine smile replacing his usual composed expression. “Then, I am glad.”

As the evening breeze ruffled the rose petals around them, the two lingered a little longer, savoring the quiet joy of a Valentine’s Day well spent.

[stargirlinterludefr]

GOOD LUCK, BABE!: sarah cameron x fem!reader

synopsis: you and sarah are were best friends, she said she wanted to experiment and while she’s everything to you, you’re just an experiment to her. Maybe she was in denial but she realises too late that whatever the two of you had wasn’t ‘nothing’ and she’s forced to stand face to face with i told you so.

TW: hints of homophobia, internalised homophobia, discussion of comphet, drug usage, alcohol consumption, angst, topper, ward actually being a good dad for once, use of y/n, jj being brutally honest

NOTES: sarah is a lesbian in this fic but she struggles heavily with comphet (compulsory heterosexuality) and similar to the song, gets with a man because she can’t accept her sexuality. I have been in the readers situation so writing from experience I suppose.

word count: around 3,010

Driving at sunset in the outer banks is a serene experience, the way the colours dance across the sky and eventually blend into the horizon when you look out upon the sea.

Driving at sunset in the outer banks had always been one of yours and your best friend Sarah’s favourite things to do together, the way you’d drive and she’d stand up through the sun roof of the car, arms our like some kind of angel.

How could you not fall for her?

You were fine with your one sided feelings, truly you were, Sarah was your best friend and you’d already had the conversation about how you didn’t feel anything for her when you eventually came out to her. A big lie, of course, but you just didn’t want to lose her.

So, driving at sunset in the outer banks with the girl you love silently may be foolish to others but it’s a serene kind of peace you’d never want to exchange.

Driving on the same route as usual, you wait for Sarah’s usual routine of pressing on some random Taylor Swift song and standing through the sunroof of her car, but she remains sat in the passenger seat with a mindful expression etched onto her features.

“You okay, Sare?” You ask, taking your eyes off of the desolate road for a moment to glance at her as she hums in response.

“Me? Yeah, ‘course.” She mumbles and you know it’s not true which is why at the next turning that leads to an open space to park, you pull the car over so you can give her your full attention.

“Okay, fess up, you’ve been staring out of the window like you’re contemplating throwing yourself out of the car ever since we got into it.” You say, a slight tease to your tone to help lift her spirits but she simply offers a small smile.

“I want to ask you something…and I-I want you to keep an open mind, okay?” She says after a moments silence and you’re quick to nod, studying the side of her face intently as you wait for whatever thoughts have been bothering her.

“So, you know how you’re gay?” The words have you choking on a breath, eyes widening as you let out a laugh but by the serious look on her face you quickly simmer down.

“Uh yeah, that is uh what I am, big lover of women…why?” You say awkwardly, rubbing the back of your neck as Sarah fully turns to look at you now.

“I’ve been thinking that…I might want to like, you know, experiment…” she mumbles and you have to hold your breath to prevent you from choking on it again, “With uh girls…and since your my best friend and the only openly lesbian person I know I thought that maybe I’d…ask you.”

You both stare at eachother for a second, your mind is scrambling and reeling for a response as Sarah’s face becomes increasingly more red.

“I-it’s stupid I know but-“ She starts but you quickly cut her off.

“No, it’s not stupid I uh…I’d be- I mean sure, I’m happy you trust me enough to come to me about this.” You say, clearing your throat as you finish, you know deep down that this is only going to end in tears but if this is the one chance you get to love her without hiding it as much, you don’t want to give it up.

Sarah smiles as she nods in relief, “Yeah? I mean, it obviously won’t mean anything like feelings wise because we’re best friends it’s just like…friends with benefits?” She says and you hate the way your stomach drops slightly but you hide it from her, smiling as you nod.

“Yeah…sure.”

-

One month into yours and Sarah’s ‘nothing’ situation has you realising it isn’t really nothing. Sarah likes to say the two of you are nothing, pointing out she’s merely trying out new things and in turn your getting a good lay.

But the two of you clearly aren’t ‘nothing’ and that becomes increasingly obvious when one of the only people in the world you thought wouldn’t notice the underlying tension, did.

You know Sarah’s brother isn’t blind, he’s always been surprisingly observant and ever since he’d discovered you weren’t interested in men he’d ‘joked’ that you and Sarah would probably end up hooking up eventually.

You now also realise that he wasn’t exactly joking.

“You should call it off, y’know.” A voice sounds from behind where you’re sat on the deck chairs surrounding the large pool at Tannyhill, Sarah having gone inside to make the two of you drinks.

As you turn to see the source of the voice, you’re met with the sight of Rafe’s looming figure. Sunglasses are sat on his face so you can’t see his eyes as he looks at you but when you glance behind him briefly, you can see Sarah conversing with Topper in the kitchen.

“And you’re talking about…?” You trail off, quirking a brow at him as he snorts out a laugh and rounds your deck chair to sit on the one beside you.

“I think you know what I’m talking about, princess.” He states, lying back on his chair nonchalantly as you continue to look at him.

You swallow, you weren’t exactly afraid you and Sarah had been found out but you didn’t want to out her when she didn’t even properly know what her sexuality was yet.

Rafe continues when you remain silent, “I’m just sayin’ kid, I may be her brother but Sarah’s gonna fucking break your heart, she’s never been one to face her feelings.”

You immediately feel defensive, maybe it’s because you love her or maybe it’s because you yourself are in denial. “And you are?”

He lets out a chuckle at that, turning his head to look at you through his sunglasses “Never said I was.” Rafe states before adding, “That’s also how I know whatever it is y’all have going on, it’s gonna end badly, because like me…Sarah can’t face her feelings and she sure as shit is not gonna admit the fact that you love her.”

You don’t even have time to process his words because Sarah and Topper come walking back toward the pool, you turn back to your previous position as Rafe stares at you for a moment before he turns his head back toward the pool.

Sarah and Topper are laughing as she places your drinks on the near by table and an ugly feeling of jealousy coils in your gut as you watch the two of them, the way he stares down at her and the way she bats her eyelashes up at him.

You barely register Rafe’s mutter beside you, “So fucked.”

-

Sarah is kissing you sloppily, her legs wrapped around your waist as you hold her hips, everyone once in a while she lets out soft moans into the kiss before eventually she pulls away to check her phone that buzzes beside you.

You hate when she does that. You hate when she breaks away from you as though nothing at all is happening.

As her eyes flit over the screen you watch as she looks up at you before back down to her phone with a guilty expression,

“Topper?” You hum and she nods, climbing off of your lap and you follow her in standing up. Music is still blaring from downstairs and you feel dizzy from the way Sarah was just kissing you and the alcohol in your system.

“I’ll come find you later, yeah?” She mumbles, eyes not meeting yours before she’s gone out of the room before you can even blink.

She always does that, avoiding your gaze after the two of you had done something that branched away from ‘just friends’ because she couldn’t dare to face up to you and her own emotions.

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you leave the room shortly after, slowly pushing past sweaty bodies and couples making out as you stumble down the stairs.

As you reach the bottom you come to a slow halt when your eyes latch onto something that makes your head spin.

Sarah kissing Topper. Topper kissing Sarah. Sarah’s kissing Topper. Topper’s kissing Sarah. Sarah’s kissing Topper? Topper’s kissing Sarah?

You feel sick, your heart beats violently in your ears and you can’t force your eyes away. You can’t do anything but stand and stare.

After a moment, Sarah’s eyes open while she and the dreaded boy continue to make out, said eyes dance over to where your stood and you think for a moment she looks guilty but before you can decipher the look…her full attention is back on Topper and you’re left looking like an absolute fool.

-

Sarah finds you around an hour later, stumbling over to where you are sat beside JJ, the two of you sharing a joint.

The Cameron girl smiles widely when she spots you, all but throwing herself to sit on your lap and your jaw ticks in annoyance which you know JJ notices immediately.

“Heyyy, I missed you.” She slurs, hands coming to tangle in your hair as she places a drunken kiss to your lips and then drags them down your neck as JJ clears his throat awkwardly.

“I’ll uh…catch you later.” He says, coming to stand and you nod your head in thanks, not missing the way his eyes all but scream that you have some serious explaining to do.

“Sarah…” You mutter, attempting to lightly draw the girl away from your neck but she doesn’t seem to budge so you pull her away with a slight bit more force and she looks at you with a pout that makes your heart stutter warmly in your chest.

“I think it’s time for-“ You begin but Sarah cuts you off.

“I’m sorry, about Top, I just…you give me all these crazy feelings and I needed them to stop.” She slurs drunkenly, hands coming to cup and squish your cheeks together. “It’s just the way I am, you’re my best friend and Topper’s like soooo sweet.”

Your heart feels like it’s about to plummet, you feel so humiliated but you know she’s drunk and you hope that she maybe remembers what she’s said in the morning but you know that won’t happen.

You gently remove her hands from your cheeks before you awkwardly pat them, “Well uh good luck with that.” You say, already knowing that whatever she was trying to do by kissing Topper was never going to work.

You knew first hand, you’d have to stop the world just to stop these feelings and that would never happen.

-

JJ Maybank was probably one of the only men on the planet you trusted whole heartedly, the boy was your best friend and you loved him like a brother.

Which is why you felt like an asshole for the way he’s looking at you right now.

“You’re tellin’ me kook prince, Rafe Cameron, knew about whatever little sexy mackin’ thing you got going on with Sarah Cameron before I did?” He says, eyebrows raised as his hands wave wildly around “Me? Your best friend, the guy who taught you how to give good head to a gir-“

“Okay! I get it, I’m sorry!” You say loudly, interrupting the route he was going, you know he’s not truly hurt that you didn’t tell him because it’s JJ.

“But seriously bro, what’re you gonna do? Because, not to ever say I agree with Cameron but, she’s totally gonna break your heart.” He rambles, taking a sip from his beer bottle as he comes to sit across from you on the dock the two of you are currently situated at, the dock at the Chateau.

“I don’t know…if it means I don’t have to lose her then maybe I’ll just keep doing it?” You say, shrugging as you watch JJ quirk a brow at you.

“First of all, that’s cliché as fuck, second of all this whole situation is not fair on you at all.” He states, gently nudging your foot with his own. “She’s usin’ you as like some sorta’ experiment and I get it’s hard to come to terms with who you are, I saw it first hand with you, but this shit ain’t fair bro…and it ain’t love.”

You don’t say anything to that, simply nodding as you swallow harshly, turning to look out at the small rippling waves of the water.

-

Sarah is sat on the sofa in the large living room of Tannyhill, eyes boring into the ceiling as she pays no mind to the show playing in the background on the tv.

The sound of her father walking in makes her turn her head and give him a small smile as he comes to sit across from her, ending the call he was on as he looks at her.

“You okay, sweetie?” Ward asks, eyes trained intently on Sarah who nibbles softly at her bottom lip.

“I- uh…yeah- I mean…I don’t know-“ She starts and before she can even get another word out, Ward is sat beside her and pulling his daughter into his arms before the tears fall down her cheeks.

“It’s okay, honey, it’s all gonna be okay.”

All Sarah can do is nod because she doesn’t believe that true, nothings okay with the fact that she could possibly lose you because she can’t understand why she’s feeling these things for you and she feels like her only option is to bail, because while she knows deep down you love her in a way that she’ll never understand…she also knows she’ll fuck it up.

-

Driving through the outer banks at sunset was yours and Sarah’s favourite thing to do together but now, with everything the two of you have been doing, you don’t think you can do these drives without the blinding feeling that nostalgia and Sarah give you.

You pull over similar to the time you did when Sarah brought her idea forward but on this occasion, you’re the one who can’t look at her.

“I’m gonna say something and…I just, need you to listen because…I can only gather so much strength to say it.” You croak out, not daring to look at her because you know she’s already crying and you can’t bear the fact that you could be inflicting pain on the girl you love.

“I love you Sarah…and I tried not to, I really did-“ You choke out, squeezing your eyes closed for a second before reopening them and continuing, “I think I’ve always loved you, before we even became what we are now, but this isn’t what love should be.”

You turn to her then, Sarah’s lips trembling as tears stream down her face and you fight the urge to lean over and take her into your arms.

If you did that, you’d never be able to end this.

“I know you’re confused but…I think you know, deep down, that whatever you feel toward me is real and you’re scared to acknowledge that.” You point out and Sarah lets out a shaky breath at your words.

“You’re my best friend, of course I feel things toward you-“ She attempts to say and you shake your head as you cut her off.

“We’re not just friends, Sarah.” You note, running a hand over your face as the girl beside you crosses her arms over her chest.

“I’m not gay.” She says, her tone so unsure yet so confident that you almost feel guilty for some unknown reason. Guilty for what, exactly? You don’t know, maybe for ending whatever it is you had going on alongside your friendship.

“Come on Sarah-“ You try and she immediately shuts you down, eyes now more angry then they are sad which makes you feel like you physically recoil at the change.

“No, y/n! You’re not making me into something I’m not, just because you’re gay doesn’t mean I have to be too!” She snaps, her words slicing through you violently as you feel a pit of shame curl up in your stomach “I experimented and now I know for sure now I’m not…whatever it is I thought I was.”

You know she’s building up to something so you close your eyes in anticipation for the blow she’s undoubtedly about to deliver.

“Besides, I’m with Topper now so...” You exhale as she says the words, as though she’d physically hit you in the stomach and winded you before you let out a light scoff.

You look to her, her eyes wide and defensive. You simply shake your head before opening the car door, “Topper,” You begin, letting out another scoff before you begin to step out of the car, “Good luck, babe.”

-

Four months after yours and Sarah’s conversation and while you haven’t heard from her, you have heard from Rafe. The Cameron man informing you that Topper and Sarah are having a very…turbulent relationship.

Rafe knows you were the one to end things with his sister, he and JJ being the only ones to actively know that something was going on between you and Sarah. With the exception of Ward who was left to guess what was plaguing his daughter’s thoughts over the last few months.

You feel a form of sympathy as the way everyone only refers to Sarah as ‘Toppers girl’ now. You know you shouldn’t be surprised at it, she never leaves his side and you realised it was her way of trying to prove to herself and to you that whatever feelings she had weren’t romantic.

You knew better and deep down so did she.

As you sit with your friends on the HMS Pogue, sailing across the water you catch sight of Topper’s boat when JJ starts geeking out over the model and price of it.

You also notice Sarah beside him, her face screaming out how unhappy she is without her even needing to say it.

And when your eyes meet hers, you see the unhappiness in her gaze. The facade she puts up and parades around under only extends to so many people and you are not one of them, you know Sarah so deeply and you also know that whatever she’s attempting to prove with Topper isn’t working for her.

And as your two boats come in line with one another, slowly passing, you mime toward the Cameron girl…words you hate to say but you do anyway,

“I told you so.”

[yuza-fantasies]

Afraid of You: Mezo Shoji

Pairing: Mezo Shoji x Shy GN Reader

Word Count: 1035

Summary: You have a crush on Shoji, but you're too scared to approach him.

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Shoji had always harbored a deep-seated belief that his appearance would scare people away. From a young age, he experienced the uncomfortable stares and judgmental looks from others due to his facial features. In fact, he once unintentionally made a girl cry simply because of how his face looked. It was this incident that led him to adopt the habit of wearing a mask, a protective shield to conceal his perceived flaws.

You and Shoji had developed a strong bond as good friends, spending a significant amount of time together. When you finally mustered the courage to confide in your best friend, Ashido, about your secret affection for Shoji, she immediately became determined to bring you two together. Despite Ashido's enthusiasm and encouragement, you found yourself paralyzed with fear and unable to approach Shoji. Consequently, you resorted to avoiding him altogether.

"Why are you avoiding him?" Ashido inquired during one of your study sessions in her dorm room.

"I just can't bring myself to talk to him," you replied dejectedly. "Every time I try, the words fail me. It's easier to stay away."

"You need to tell him," Ashido exclaimed passionately, closing her textbook to focus on the matter at hand. She embarked on a heartfelt lecture about the importance of communication and the necessity of confessing your feelings to Shoji. However, your mind was consumed by the overwhelming fear of rejection that would surely accompany such a confession.

Unbeknownst to you, Shoji had begun to worry about your sudden avoidance. Although he outwardly displayed a calm demeanor, deep down, he feared that you had distanced yourself from him due to his dissimilar appearance. The truth was, he felt an affectionate fondness for you, and he had longed to express his feelings. But with you actively avoiding him, his attempts remained fruitless.

"Perhaps they have found out my feelings for them and this is their way of rejecting me," Shoji contemplated, his thoughts echoing through the silence of his room. "Or perhaps they're simply afraid of me." He gazed at the ceiling, deliberating whether he should reveal his true face to you and whether you would accept him as he truly was.

The following day, as you walked to class, Shoji mustered the courage to call out your name. However, you chose to ignore him, unable to confront the torrent of emotions that would flood over you if you were to face him directly. Yet, as you moved forward, a firm grip clasped your wrist, forcing you to acknowledge Shoji's presence.

"Y/N, why are you avoiding me?" he asked with genuine concern evident in his eyes. You attempted to respond, but anxiety silenced your voice, rendering you speechless.

"Is it because... of my appearance? Are you afraid of how I look?" Shoji inquired hesitantly, his voice laced with vulnerability. "If being around me makes you uncomfortable, then I will respect your decision and leave you alone."

"N-no, it's not like that," you stammered, gently pulling his hand away from your wrist. "I... I'm sorry, Shoji. Can we talk later, please?"

With those words, you turned and walked away, leaving Shoji standing there, his voice calling out to you, pleading for an explanation. The tears that had welled up in your eyes finally spilled over, your emotions too overwhelming to contain.

"I'm sorry, Shoji, but I simply cannot find the words to speak," you confessed silently. "It's not that I am afraid of you, but rather, I am afraid to open myself up to you."

After school, Shoji sent you a text message, expressing his desire to speak with you in person if you felt comfortable doing so. Uncertain about how to respond, you sought Ashido's guidance.

"What should I say, Mina?" you asked your pink-haired friend, seeking solace and advice. "I want to meet him, but I am consumed by fear."

"You have to talk to him," she insisted, her voice brimming with encouragement. "He wants to have a conversation with you, and this may be your chance. Go and talk to him!"

With a sigh, you mustered your courage and replied, agreeing to meet Shoji on the school roof in ten minutes. Determined to confront your fears, you embarked on a journey to the rooftop, where Shoji awaited your arrival. Step by step, you approached him, your heart pounding in your chest.

"Y/N, you haven't answered my question from before," Shoji said softly, his eyes searching for answers. "Are you afraid of me?"

Meeting his gaze, you sensed the genuine hurt in his eyes—the vulnerability he rarely displayed. This was the first time you had witnessed Shoji in such a state. His eyes spoke volumes, reflecting his concern and the emotions he had kept hidden for so long.

"It's okay if you're scared," Shoji continued, taking a deep breath. "But I want you to know something—I like you. More than just a friend. These past few days, I've been struggling to tell you, but you've been avoiding me. Please, tell me why. Why are you avoiding me?"

Stunned, you absorbed his words. All this time, your feelings had been reciprocated? As you peered into Shoji's eyes, you gathered the strength to respond, "Shoji, I'm not afraid of you. I'm terrified to speak because... because I like you too, Shoji! More than just a friend."

"Y-Y/N, you can talk to me anytime," Shoji reassured, his voice filled with tenderness. "I'm sorry if I made you feel this way, but will you be my significant other?"

"Of course, Shoji!" you replied, unable to contain your joy. You embraced him tightly, feeling the warmth of his tentacles enveloping you.

"There's one more thing I need you to know," Shoji murmured, his voice tinged with vulnerability. Slowly, he lowered his mask, unveiling his true face to you. "I have worn this mask for a long time, fearing that my appearance might cause someone sadness. It's alright if you change your mind after seeing me like this."

"Shoji, I could never judge you based on your appearance," you responded, tears of gratitude welling in your eyes. "Thank you for showing me what lies beneath the mask. I love you, Shoji."

"I love you too, Y/N."

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Repost from my wattpad.