#i’m not scared of abandonment. i’m scared of people using me and hurting me again. it feels impossible not to be

[namosaga]

And guess who was inspired by this. Have my own little addition to your masterpiece, @pukefactory.

____________________

“Don’t leave me in here again,” she begs in both voices, harmonised, like a hymn and a siren.

You press your forehead to hers and whisper, “Then don’t disappear on me.”

If only it was that simple…

…

“You see, I heard the Door you are at is about to close right now. That means you may get trapped in there, you know?” Froggy mentioned over the phone (if you can call that red cup and string a phone, but you’re used to that by now. It’s the least weird thing you’ve seen).

∃NA was completely unphased, as if Froggy was simply telling her the weather. Her red side responded. “Well! It’s time to be that one drop inside that ocean full of opportunities! Am I right?”

“AH. Sure, sure. I forgot you have your sale’s tricks” Froggy breathed. ∃NA’s reassurance seemed to be all Froggy needed to drop any concerns he may have had, if simply for the return of a worker. “You really are good at those, aren’t you?”

The world was so grey after you two had turned the smoke off. Literally grey. Sickly. A world so full of bright flashing neon lights had turned into the fallen ashes of Pompeii in an instant. Silence rang out, lumbering in a scene once full of noise; your ears ringing as if trying to replace the grand symphony that defined this world only moments ago.

Wrong.

The world began to look like a mere concept. A world simply full of assets, used and unused alike, in some sort of twisted video game. You two traveled towards the door.

You can feel something in your body twitch. At first you thought it as just a reaction to this world’s distortion. But then the twitch grew. Into an itch. Into a burning. Into a fire that grew so hot it quickly became a tingling numbness. You looked down.

Polygons.

Polygons slowly were slicing through you. No, they were growing on you. From you. Around you. And not just you. The others too. The other people- the other assets. And looking up… they were forming on ∃NA too.

Wrong.

wrong. Wrong. WRong. WRONG. WRONG. WRONG.

Your heart hammered. Your breathing quickened. You weren’t sure what was happening but you wanted it to *stop*!

___________

Time no longer ticked. Or it ticked very slowly. Or very quickly. Every nanosecond stretched out into a thousand years. Or did every thousand years pass by in a nanosecond? What was time?

You were everywhere. You are nowhere. You are a dying universe, expanse as vast as infinity. You are the heart of a pin-sized black hole, matter packed away tighter and tighter and tighter. Every atom zings and dances, enranged and screaming like a swarm with a dying queen.

You felt your pinky finger twitch. You have no pinky finger.

Where was ∃NA? It hurts, your consciousness screamed into the expanse, a whisper in the broken code. Silence rings back at your formless existence. Deafening silence, thunderous as a war drum. Why wasn’t she here with you? Were you simply left abandoned? To be separated atom by atom and code by code? Did she manage to escape? Should you rejoice? Should you mourn? You don’t know.

It hurts…

Please come back…

I’m scared…

Purgatory.

Schrödinger’s anomaly.

You try to scream. You have no mouth.

•☽────✧˖°˖ EVENING SCHEDULE ˖°˖✧────☾•

(COMMISSION)

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Salesperson ENA Being Separated From The Reader As You Are Trapped In The Lonely Door

★ Commissioner: @namosaga

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @JoelG

The respawn hits like a headache. Not the polite kind, either—no, this one’s jagged and cold and lonely in all the wrong places. ENA blinks back into the Hub, blinking and blinking until her triangle pupils shake from the strain. Something’s wrong. Something’s missing. “Where’s my associate?” she demands, red-side first, voice a silken pitch of mock-customer service panic. “Where’s my contractual companion? My deal-partner, my emergency exit buddy?” Froggy doesn’t even glance up from the clipboard. “Back already, huh? Good. Got another job for you. Big smoke issue. Very urgent. Big big fog. Go do the thing.” “No. No no no—I felt them behind me! I grabbed their hand—!” Meanie side takes over mid-sentence, volume flaring into a banshee scream. “WHERE IS THE BATHROOM BASTARD!? DID THEY GET SUCKED BACK IN!?” Froggy snorts. “Probably stuck in the Lonely Door. That’s what happens when you hesitate.” “You call this hesitation?! I TRUSTED the algorithm!” ENA screeches, arms flailing as her shadow elongates weirdly behind her, puppet-like, cartoon loops of panic glitching around her legs. “SEND ME BACK IN!!” “It’s a one-way valve, you neon ferret. Can’t un-flush a dimension.” But ENA is already pacing in figure-eights, her red side babbling like a hotline agent mid-breakdown. “We must file an appeal. Get a Genie. Get a mannequin. Get GØD. We cannot leave them. They are still in there. With it. With that. They’ll be all… cracked.” Froggy mutters something about caffeine and overtime, but it barely registers. ENA’s claws dig into her temples, yellow side twitching, blinking, muttering: “I didn’t mean to leave them. I didn’t mean to. This wasn’t in the pitch deck…” Even for a Salesperson, some deals hurt too much to walk away from.

☆ The Door doesn’t swing shut—it clenches. Clenches its thin muscles like the mouth of something divine and bored. ENA’s voice flattens into a hum, just shy of hopeful. “Let’s conclude this endeavor, shall we?” she offers with a tilt of her head, but her eyes don’t match. Her pupils are missing again. You don’t have time to ask where they went. Your legs are cubes now. You can feel the vertices.

☆ It begins like static in the bloodstream. You blink and your hand is a jpeg of a hand. ENA turns toward you and grins—Salesperson, all customer service and plastic cheer. “Not to worry, asset decay is standard in unscheduled transitions. Just think of it as… modular.” You try to scream. It renders as a corrupted flute trill.

☆ “YOU LOOK RIDICULOUS,” Meanie blurts, voice warping, lips out of sync. “FIX YOUR STUPID BODY ALREADY—WHAT ARE YOU, A YOUTUBE THUMBNAIL?!” It’s the closest thing to a plea she can muster. ENA is glitching too. Her torso duplicates and overlaps, one frame behind the other. She stumbles when she laughs. You see her blood is orange now. No—it’s loading.

☆ The hallway outside the Door is collapsing like an unraveling .zip file. Textureless walls crumbling and folding underneath itself. ENA’s hat drifts past you, and she doesn’t notice. Or maybe she left it behind on purpose.

☆ “You go ahead, I’ll catch up,” ENA says. But she says it while stepping backward, smiling with the kind of smile that doesn’t want to be watched fall apart. You beg her not to leave. She shrugs. “It’s not abandonment. It’s automation. You’re simply stuck in the wrong instance.” Her voice cracks. She was never meant to stay.

☆ You watch your own mouth vanish. There’s no time to panic before ENA—not the one you knew, but the mannequin she’s puppeting—shudders to life in the main world, glitching and sputtering before she’s finally cut free of her binds. Froggy, grumpy as ever, berates her: “Quit being so unprofessional, people will get the wrong idea! What even happened?!” ENA doesn’t answer. Her eyes are looking at something else. Something behind Froggy.

☆ In the Door’s fading echo, you hear the sound of typing. Dozens of voices speaking in code. “If statement. Boolean value. Body = NULL.” ENA tried to hold them together, but she was losing cohesion. Her model couldn’t keep up. Her limbs lagged in and out of place. You then realized—too late—that she was never supposed to bring you this far. And she never expected this outcome.

☆ As Froggy chews her out, ENA’s head tilts and she whispers: “There’s something still inside. I left them. I had to. I didn’t want to be unmade.” She wrings her mitt-shaped hand with her clawed one. “You’re mad, right? I should’ve stayed?” Her voice warps with guilt, skipping like a scratched DVD. Froggy stares. Then mutters: “…You’re not even here.”

☆ In the Door’s final light, you see ENA one last time. Not as a whole, not even as halves. But as shards. Her voices no longer alternate—they collide. “I’ll save you—” “NO I WON’T—” “What’s your pain point—” “SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP—” The Door slams its fleshy arms shut like a final period on a sentence never proofread. Silence echoes like a scream with nowhere to go.

☆ Back in the hub, the casino gleams. Froggy stamps forms. Business resumes. But sometimes, the lights flicker. ENA’s body twitches. She grins and spins her cap. “You look like someone with a lot of unresolved data.” she says to herself. You’re not coming back. But ENA watches the Door anyway. Because maybe. Just maybe. The save file is still corrupt, but not deleted.

[boolger]

A lapdog at a farm - chapter 6

<-former chapter -AO3-next chapter -> Call of duty. My ko-fi, Explicit, 18+, minors do not interact. read the tags. WC: 6.1k

MDNI MDNI READ THE TAGS

tags: Rape/non-con elements, dub-con, dog!hybrid!people being kept as pets, alternative universe - farm, dark, farmer!John Price, working-dogs, punishments, mating cycles/rut/heat (no omegaverse), the dove isn't dead but its dying, it dies later on, reader is a brat, knotting, animal tails and ears, mentions of trauma, violence, angst, hurt/comfort, collars, rough sex, breeding kink, biting, threesome, foursome, everyone is fucking your honor, enemies to lovers, chubby reader, reader has a pussy, pregnancy

Authors note: this is unedited until I pull myself together and fix it tomorrow. Thank u for your patience while I stumbled through life.Enjoy sinners.❤️

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You found him in the living room alone, reading. Your uncertainty made you whine, your fear of him actually getting rid of you overtaking you once more.

“John?” Your voice was barely above a whisper and you slowly crawled closer to him in the armchair, leaning against one of his legs, carefully looking up at him.

“Yes, sweetheart?” He lowered his book, a soft smile on his face, looking down at you with a gaze you had missed. A look shared just between the two of you, with an understanding and loving gentleness that made your heart swell. Nikolai was outside, having forced John to stay. To relax.

“Are you going to ban me from the house?” Your voice shook a little, for once not dramatic in any way or using it to get attention; it was from genuine worry of being abandoned, “or get a new lapdog?”

You could see it happen honestly, some cute little thing that was everything you were insecure about. Having spent a whole life being forced and told to be a lapdog, suddenly being pushed out of that box felt weird. It scared you, the thought of Price not wanting you back inside then, not a good enough working dog but not a good enough lapdog either. You’d never had full control over your life - and once again, your fate was in the hands of somebody else.

John blinked down at you while you tipped your ears down a little, tail still while you waited for the reply.

Waiting for your upcoming future to be revealed; to be forced to be an outdoor dog, just for your owner to find a new sweet thing to cast his love upon. Somebody who accepted everything without question.

“Oh, princess,” the softness almost took you by surprise and then his warm hand was on your head, gently petting you and you felt your eyelids lower as little, breathing in the love, “my sweet darling puppy.”

A whimper left you.

“I have not been giving you enough attention, have I?” He was whispering too now.

“I just -“ you hadn’t planned to cry but you felt the tears threaten to break free from your eyes, “I know you want me to get along with the others but I don’t wanna lose you, I don’t -“

His hands moved and suddenly the book slid down to the floor, while you were grabbed beneath your armpits and you were more than happy to help crawl up in his lap.

“My sweet girl,” he whispered into your skin as you nuzzled closer, both his and your own arms sliding around to hold around the other. Intertwined. Your soft body was pulled tight against your owner and you breathed in the pure scent of him, feeling your tail wagging even as you sniffled a little.

“I will never get rid of you,” he whispered, “no matter what happens, you’re my princess puppy. My sweet darling, my perfect Daisy, eh?”

You nodded into his neck, your fingers digging into his clothes. Trying to make your brain understand the words, accept them, try to keep your anxieties away.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered but Price just gave you a squeeze.

“Don’t apologise,” he answered gently in his own whisper, “I’m sorry, darling, we’re not going back to the city but that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve my attention. Misbehaving or not.”

You cried into his neck, one of his hands gently petting your back, his hand a calming touch as your rib cage shuddered now and again.

“I love you, sir.”

“I love you too, my sweet girl,” he promised, “even when Nikolai moves in permanently or when you get along more with the boys, you’ll always be my favorite girl, my favorite puppy. Got it?”

“Yessir,” it was barely a whisper any more. Settled in his lap, you might have been instantly fucking in the past, but for now the two of you just enjoyed each others closeness.

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Outside the safety of the farmhouse that you never wanted to live in, laid the dangerous grounds; filled with terrifying animals and farm hands that tease you, with creepy sheep that screamed, with threatening fields that seemed never ending yet the fear of the unsafe on the other end seemed worse.

There was the stench of so many things, so many objects that could offer pain, animals that could attack, hybrids that could bite.

But you had found one single spot that you supposed you liked.

… a little bit.

Not if anybody asked.

You carefully pet the head of one of the mothers, as it bleated at you, eyes carefully watching you. Whether it didn’t find you dangerous or remembered you from the other day, you weren’t sure - and it wasn’t like you could ask it.

But none of them attacked you as you joined them, sitting down close to the baby goats, just as Gaz had shown you the other day.

Their tiny bodies happily snoozing away in the hay, small tails wagging.

… you supposed this was a nice place on the farm as well.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You curled a little closer around Price’s feet that night, listening to the distant barks now and again. It was a riddle to you how the other hybrids were able to stay up so late. You knew they slept in schedules and you had seen them nap several times during the day. Still.

Perhaps it was your fear of the unknown in the dark that you didn’t like. You assumed the pack had seen worse than these dark fields; they never spoke about it, at least not while you were near, but you weren’t stupid. Sure, you had been sheltered a bit since everything had been focused on being a lapdog and you weren’t that great of a reader, but you had seen television. Listened to the radio. And, you had seen their scars, heard a bit from John and Nik - you knew Soap had lost most of his hearing because of explosive, you had seen the bullet scars and their implicit history on their skin. You didn’t want to know about how Ghost got the scars around his mouth or how it looked like one of Gaz’s legs had been stuck in a bear trap like contraption at some point.

Still, despite knowing that they could take care of themselves and was dangerous on their own, you were horrified when you woke a few days later, early in the morning - to the distant sound of barking and snarling, to howls that sounded more wolf than hybrid - to the sounds of the different farm animals getting antsy.

You had woken Price then, worried about them even if you didn’t say it directly — Nik woke the moment your owner got out of bed, your whines making him groan.

Uttering the word ‘wolves’ had awoken them both fully in a matter of seconds.

You could still hear scuffle in the distance, angry barks and sounds that confused you and you didn’t want Price to go outside alone. Even as Nik got up and Price got his shot gun, you were worried.

Was he going outside? What if the boys were hurt and they couldn’t keep John safe?

It had gone quiet.

Despite your lack of knowledge about anything and your fear overwhelming you in the early morning hours, you still followed, quickly tugging on shoes and a jacket.

The lights outside of the gravel driveway lit up the place as John and Nik went out first, the motion sensors activated. You barely needed to take more than a few steps outside to see why. They walked with calm steps.

There was a heavy sound as the body slammed onto the ground, completely still. Then another. The wolves laid on the gravel, no sound escaping their maws that seemed giant to you - blood seeping into the fur.

Blood was smeared across the faces of the three hybrids, making them look like brutal deities in your mind. Stepping out of a nightmare, victorious over the monsters. You couldn’t help your tail wagging a little with pride - or how your pussy reacted to the sight of three strong hybrids as well.

Tongues licked off blood from fangs and lips. Eyes rested on you - then their owners - then back on you.

They had saved the goats and sheep from being wolf dinner - both Nik and Price praising them, ruffling their hair and patting them. The shotgun was lowered and after a quick check it was confirmed that they wouldn’t be needing them. Both animals were dead.

There was pride from them, but also from Nik and John, who tried getting them inside, promising food. But the hybrids refused, wanting to stay out instead until later. To make sure no other wolves came by.

Soap sneaked from the two of them to you, his tail wagging proudly, chested puffed up a little.

“Could nae let ‘em get close tae yer goats, princess,” he rumbled darkly, and you didn’t move as he got close to you - almost touching you, sniffing your neck. Another please rumble leaving you.

“Thank you,” you whispered back, your own tail wagging a little, for once not minding the sniffing, despite the quite disgusting blood on him. Unsure of how to describe that you were relieved that nothing happened to them either… that wasn’t anything you would admit to anyways.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

“Ex-fucking-cuse you?” You all but snarled, hands instantly going onto the table, body ready to jump across the table and attack the man who had just offered the worst fucking idea ever. Hadn’t it been for John’s quick hand on your collar and Laswell’s hand gently pressing against your chest to get you to sit your ass back down, you would be fully attacking Nikolai now.

Nikolai, who looked quite amused - and rather pleased with himself over your reaction.

“Settle down, princess,” there was a stern tone in Price’s voice but you still tipped your long ears a little downwards, baring your filed down teeth at your owner’s boyfriend.

“That’s not your decision!” You were almost screaming, growling so loudly you almost surprised yourself.

“Sit down, milaya,” Nikolai said, amusement barely hidden in his tone and you regretted not biting the man’s finger off that first day.

“You don’t decide that over me!” You screamed this time, your collar tugged further backwards and it wasn’t until a sharp slap from John landed on your cheek, that you looked away from him.

“Sit down, princess.” His voice was harder now and you finally followed John’s order, sitting back down on your chair. While Laswell’s hand retreated, Price’s grip remained on your collar. The woman didn’t particularly look too pleased neither how this was going; you had a strong suspicion that she had seen this coming or knew of it - and that it annoyed her to have her meal disturbed by it.

She had teased you about it so many weeks ago, had she not?

“He can’t decide that,” you whined, looking over at John, wanting him to agree with you, to not let Nikolai control your body like that.

“No, he can’t decide that -,” John’s voice was almost sweet and you could feel your heart almost stop its intense pounding in your chest, only for it to pick up again as he continued, “but neither can you, technically.”

You whimpered, trying to make yourself a little smaller somehow, despite your size, “- sir-“

“I’m your owner, my pretty pup,” he reminded you, letting go of the collar, the warm hand instead softly patting the cheek he had just slapped mere moments ago, “so I can make that decision. If I want your implant taken out, then that’s what we’ll do.”

You let out a displeased whine, almost ready to cry.

“Then I’ll go into he-heat,” you whispered pathetically, the few memories you had of those not good ones, hazy and feverish moments flashing before your eyes, almost childishly adding “I don’t wanna.”

“Yes, you will,” Price agreed softly, caressing your cheek gently, while he stared into your eyes with a soft look, as he had just confirmed a fear of yours. It was like no one but the two of you existed for a few moments - as if everything and everyone else had disappeared into smoke, leaving you and your owner as the last breathing beings of the universe, “but you might get a litter with the boys - wouldn’t that be nice, princess?”

“No.”

Nikolai let out a huff. You knew both Kate and John were watching you, looking for any signs of your chubby ass jumping over the table in order to strangle Nik. Instead you just let out a growl. You received a nudge with the elbow fit on Kate. You were probably real close to losing table rights and being forced to eat on the ground but you didn’t care.

“Not now, of course,” Nikolai tried, “summer first.”

“Why not spring?” Price suggested and Nik shook his head, while you wanted to suggest that they could go fuck themselves with both ideas.

The worst thing was that you maybe, just maybe didn’t mind getting a litter. You would never admit to it, especially not while Nik was in the room, but your instincts had been screaming every second you had spent with the goats. But it was out of your control, so you refused out of pure spite.

“- can become better friends,” you heard Kate say as you zoned back into the conversations, almost wanting to snap at Kate now. She had brought up litters the very first time that they had met the mutts.

“No they won’t. Worst thing they’ll do is probably knock you up.” The memory of her words echoed in your mind for a while.

“-spring, then pups will be born in late winter,” Nik pointed out, as they sat there and talked about you and your apparent upcoming litter, “nyet, summer - then puppies will come spring. Good for their lungs.”

“We don’t know if it will even take quickly,” Kate pointed out and you felt her hand gently petting you, scratching behind one of your dog ears, as if to comfort you which wasn’t too often she did so, “she has had implants for quite a while, after all.”

You wanted to cry and scream and beg to be the one to decide when at the very least. Or if. The idea of going into heat scared you shitless - with three beasts to help you through it? No thanks.

The food on your plate with the cute paw patterns along the rim suddenly didn’t look so enticing, despite there being everything you would usually love on it. Even a couple of strawberries.

You barely managed to eat those, ignoring their talks for the rest of the dinner.

You didn’t eat much more, disappearing the moment you could, rushing out the door, ignoring the sharp stones biting into your bare feet or your lack of jacket. Not stopping or listening as Price and Nikolai called out your name.

Pretending you didn’t want to scream and cry, throwing a tantrum on the floor inside- but you didn’t, for once. Though tears swelled in your eyes.

They didn’t go after you, probably because they suspected that you weren’t going to run off - and you weren’t, which wasn’t hard to guess, given how you ran directly towards the stable.

It wasn’t that you liked the stables. No. It was tolerable… maybe a little nice. Out of the whole farm, it was tolerable.

You didn’t enter the booth you had been in before however, not wanting to scare the animals off by being upset. They were all laying inside after a nice day spent out in the sun, doing whatever goats did during the day - now relaxing as the dark overtook the sun’s place. You kept your sniffling to a minimum, stubbornly drying away any of the tears.

“ ‘you upset?”

The deep voice caught you off guard, making you jump - several of the goats looking towards the voice. A few of them bleating.

Ghost stood a little further down the hallway of the stables, the great Pyrenees hybrid looking at you - you couldn’t quite decipher what he was thinking, if he found it amusing or was pitying you. Scarred white ears tipping towards you.

You huffed, crossing your arms, trying your best to look tough, raising your tail a little as you let out a stubborn “no,” trying to ignore how your voice shook a little.

“Uh-huh,” Ghost answered, clearly not convinced one bit and you considered bolting back inside, “so it wasn’t you screamin’ bloody murder in th’ hous’ a moment ago?”

Your tail fell a little and you looked away, ignoring the way Ghost sighed - as if upset with the fact you wouldn’t just admit what was wrong, what had happened. As if the two of you had a normal kind of relationship or… whatever this was, that your owner was trying to force upon you.

“Come,” he grunted out then - and you looked back at him; he had already turned around, walking down the stone floor. You dared to cast another glance at the goats, who were all staring at you, as if to say ‘get going’. So you followed, a little tense, still drying off a couple of tears with the back of your hands.

Ghost had stopped in front of a couple of hay bales, not too far from one of the bigger windows. The big hybrid sat down with a grunt, yawning for a moment; his big canines exposed, reminding you of how they felt when they sank into your skin, pierced it and entered your muscle. There was nothing threatening about him right now however - in fact he patted the spot next to him on the bale. You stood a couple of steps from it, unsure whether to do as he silently asked you to.

There was no growling. No hard stares from him, in fact, he was looking out through the window, keeping tabs of things, even when inside. You finally sat down with a sniffle.

For a couple of seconds, there was only the sound of you sniffling and the faint sounds of the animals in their booths. Baby goats with their light voices. Shuffling in the hay. A horse moving in its booth, the faint sound of eating.

“What happened, then?” he asked, voice a little softer than what he usually spoke like. You dared to look up at him, his body giant even when sitting down - as if he could feel your glance, he looked down at you, meeting your gaze. Suddenly your nails were much more interesting to look at.

“Why do you care?” you asked almost accusatory, voice not that loud, vary about his interest in you. You earned a huff in response.

“You sounded quite upset,” he said a few moments later, “we got worried.”

Your bare, slightly cold toes curled. We got worried. They cared… or at the very least, they were curious. You weren’t sure if you even wanted them to be either. Even though attention was attention, no matter the kind, you supposed.

“You don’t care,” you accused in a voice that barely sounded rude, barely sounded like you meant it. The other man let out a hum like the asshole he was and it annoyed you; it wasn’t the reaction you had expected, wasn’t a mean laughter or a tug on the tail.

Instead you were met with his half lidded eyes watching you, as he quietly waited. He didn’t move to hurt you. Finally you caved.

“They wann’ take out my implant,” you finally murmured, looking down at your feet now. You would need a bath when you got inside. There was sawdust and tiny pieces of hay on them, dirt from the outside. You settled a little more on the hay bale, trying to get comfortable as you were uncomfortable with being honest with Ghost.

“Implant?” Ghost repeated and you didn’t even care whether it was a question or not, you merely nodded. The silence filled up the air for a few moments and you dried another of the stupid, stubborn tears of your cheek.

“‘That will mean you go into heat, yeah?” he finally asked and you wanted to curl upon yourself at the mere mention. Maybe bury yourself in the hay. Once more, you nodded, your tongue feeling as if it was swelling in your mouth.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered, “Nikolai just said it… so casually.”

“Why don’t you want to?”

“They didn’t ask me,” you sniffled, “I don’t like heats.”

“When was the last time ye’ even had one?”

“... years ago,” you admitted to the bigger hybrid, “I didn’t like it.”

“Hm. Sounds like ye’ didn’t have a good partner then,” hadn’t you been too upset you would have rolled your eyes at him - then again, it wasn’t like he sounded demeaning. More just… pitiful. You didn’t want pity from him, you wanted it from your owner.

“Was it with a hybrid?”

The question caught you off guard - you looked up at him again and Ghost was looking down at you, towards the left; he somehow seemed non judgemental, even though you had expected him to be mean about it.

“T-the first time, yeah.”

“The others not?”

You shook your head and looked away again. It wasn’t like you wanted to talk to him about this whole thing, about your body, about heat. Yet, here you fucking were.

“It’s easier when it’s with hybrids. The pheromones help.” His explanation was gentle and your mind almost found the gentleness confusing. You were too used to his sarcastic comments, to his meanness, to his thirst for your body, whether you wanted to or not.

“Doesn’t matter,” you murmured, “don’t want a litter anyways.”

“They talkin’ about puppies too?”

He sounded genuinely surprised - and then a familiar spike hit the air. The scent of lust sparked, escaping the bigger hybrid. You didn’t dare to look at him. Neither of you moved.

“I just want to decide for myself.”

Ghost huffed. You didn’t look at him, ignoring the lust still crawling through the air.

“you’re a hybrid,” it was a reminder, a statement you knew was true even as the following words hurt, “you know you don’t have that choice.”

“I know,” you snapped, ears tipping backwards a little, finally looking up at him again, baring your teeth a little at the hybrid, “I just want some sort of control.”

He stared down at you. The pupils of his eyes had expanded and in the slightly dark stable, his eyes almost seemed black.

“I haven’t heard ya’ say that you don’t want our puppies though,” he said instead, darkness seeping into his voice even if it wasn’t that loud, a hunger you had heard before.

“I don’t want to,” you whispered in return, lying, trying your best to keep the anger in your voice.

“No?” he asked again, disbelief in his voice, a teasing tone as he added, “don’t want us to fill you up, huh? Fill you with puppies?”

The idea made your entire body feel hot and you wanted to hide from the shame that followed the lust. The idea of them actually breeding you, leaving your belly swollen a couple of months later.

“Hehe.”

You ignored his dark chuckle, knowing your own lust got exposed from your scent - in fact, you froze as Ghost leant down a little, ignoring your bared teeth and took a deep breath, inhaling your scent. He was nasty, you reminded yourself, even as you felt your pussy wetten, a nasty hound. You should bite him, attack him. Instead you didn’t move, his scarred nose touching your skin as he pushed a little closer, a deep groan leaving him.

Finally he straightened his back, pulling away. As you felt a whine escape you, he looked rather pleased with himself.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess,” he finally crooned, “we will help you.”

For a moment you thought he was going to fuck you right there. Press your face into the bale as you got fucked from behind, howls muted by it as he filled your cunt with his cock. Yet he didn’t do that; despite not even hiding how he and his pack wanted to spend your heat with you, the implication of them knocking you up - well… you had expected him to fuck you. A part of you, that sinful, bad part that you sometimes hated, was almost disappointed.

“Let’s get you inside’,” he said instead of touching you as expected, “dont wan’ you to get sick.”

He abandoned you by the door, telling you to get some more clothes on so you wouldn’t be sick. You just nodded, his words still in your mind.

“Take control of what little things you can then, princess, we will help you.”

But what could you control? It sounded like they had already planned out your entire pregnancy, down to how to best care for the pups and socialise them - figure out whether they would work best as lapdogs or working dogs.

You weren’t sure why it caught you so off guard; it really shouldn’t have. Seeing them both naked wasn’t a new sight to you, you had had sex with both of them. Yet seeing them like this, together, their chest hairs touching as they grinded against each other, Nikolai’s cock deep inside John.

The sight made you whimper. The scent of sex was heavy in the air and it made your own pussy wet. You took a step closer towards them, both men looking over at you, though their movements didn’t stop.

The very least they could do after upsetting you, would be to fuck you silly. Nik hands tightened on John’s skin, love clear in his eyes as he looked back at John, smiling.

You took another step forward, carefully moving to pull off your shirt.

However, Nik stopped John from riding him, your owner letting out a displeased sound, bare toes curling as Nik’s cock rested fully inside him.

The Russian tugged at you, making you stop where you were, letting go of your shirt.

They didn’t want you to join.

“Misbehaved earlier, milaya,” Nikolai pointed out, his big hands resting on John’s hips, who huffed, clearly not pleased with the pausing.

“Go to your room, princess,” John urged, his gaze softer, skin sweaty, face red.

“Please.” You weren’t beneath begging, despite your anger at them.

“Do you want time in the crate?” That made you bolt, ignoring their giggles that were soon replaced with moans again.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You stole one of their jackets in the hallway since it was the closest, putting on a pair of boots, before you left the farmhouse once more.

This time you didn’t go towards the stables.

You felt embarrassed, but you were upset, almost desperate. One dog, seeking out another. The same hounds you had promised never to like.

But you were fucked up, you knew that somewhere deep inside, but your instincts were begging for some comfort. Since your owners weren’t willing to give it to you, you went to the next best. The ones you had declared your hatred towards all this time, who had hurt your repeatedly yet still made you smile as well.

You hadn’t been in their little house ever since last time; it looked almost the same, safe some more clothes and their scent more present. There were a few photos on the walls.

None of them were there. You whined, entering it anyways, toeing off the boots, carefully going into the dimly lit place. It was almost like a little home.

You could remember when they had tumbled out from their respective carriers, drugged and confused. You sniffed around a little, before you ended up settling in the hay area. It seemed to be the lesser used sleeping place and you didn’t want to intrude in their nest, despite your hatred for them.

They probably would have done that to you, you realized, but you wanted sex; not a fight. You sniffled as you curled up in the hay, feeling the vague prickling from the straws.

You felt lost. Angry, upset. Worse, horny. If they didn’t want to fuck you, you had other places to go. Things had changed, whether you wanted them to or not and you had no control there either. Despite not getting along with Nikolai most of the time, he and John seemed… happy together.

As you laid in the shed, you listened to the world outside. You could hear an owl, or at least, you were pretty sure it was an owl. That was what they sounded like in television shows. Then there was the wind. It made some nearby trees sway, some fields too.

You sniffled a little more.

You had changed too, you knew that. With or without your consent - so had the other hybrids, it seemed. Price had confirmed he still loved you however and despite your current anger and betrayal you felt towards him, you knew your owner wouldn’t truly abandon you. Nik wouldn’t want that either.

The nearby footsteps roused you from your half sleeping thoughts and a moment passed by, before the door was opened - you wondered for a moment, if it was John or Nikolai coming to pull you back inside for not following their commands.

Instead it was Ghost.

Despite seeing him just a mere moment ago, you had already forgotten how big and intimidating he was; it surely didn’t help that you were laying down or he was barely lit from the light above you.

“Princess,” he greeted, tipping his head to the side, clear confusion over seeing you here. You whined, doing your best to prove that you were not here to fight, carefully wagging your tail as you curled to the side a little, showing your stomach.

He huffed, looking over his shoulder again, but despite his lack of words, he didn’t seem to be against you being in there, in fact you could see his tail wag. The scent from him became a little thicker.

He let out a sharp bark.

You heard their movements a moment later and as Ghost entered, Soap and Gaz followed — clearly much more surprised to see you there, a couple of excited barks leaving them. A sharp growl from Ghost made them quiet down then and you curled yourself to the side again.

Fearing for a moment that he would turn you away as well. While Gaz and Sop began to pull off their outdoors clothes, Ghost walked to the edge of the hay filled area, squatting down, as you carefully sat up.

You must have looked like a little mess, eyelids puffy, eyes red, hay in your hair. Pathetic thing, your mind supplied, why would they want you?

“Why ar’ you here, princess?” Ghost asked and you felt your muscles tense.

“I can leav—“

“He dinnae say that,” Soap was quick to interject, letting you and Ghost have some space. He smiled at you - so did Gaz. You dared to look back at Ghost… he looked worried, a small smile.

“I - they didn’t want to fuck me,” you admitted with a whisper, “I want somebody to want me.”

Simon let out a huff and you tried making yourself seem smaller. Telling them that they were second choice had perhaps not been the best decision.

“Do you actually want us?” Kyle asked, his arms now crossed, a more sceptical look on his face.

“Yeah,” you whispered, because that was the truth; their mere eyes on you made your pussy clench around nothing, “want you. Nice. Show me, I…”

You didn’t know how to describe it. Instead you dared to crawl through the little hay, all close to Ghost now. Stopping, looking into his eyes that was staring right back at you; your faces were so close they would almost touch with the wrong movement.

“Princess,” there was hunger in his voice that made you lick your lips.

“I am taking control,” you whispered, “making my own decision.”

A smug smile appeared on his scarred face and then the hybrid leant forwards nuzzling his nose against yours for a short moment.

“Let’s get you to the nest,” he rumbled, an almost underlying hum in his voice, the scent of lust almost exploding from everyone in the little shed “we’re not fucking you in the hay.”

They were welcoming you to their nest. Not forcing you and you whined with happiness, letting out a yelp as Simon then lifted you quickly with a little grunt. You landed on their mattresses and blankets a second later, a wagging Soap next to you almost instantly, licking your cheek.

“Dinnae worry, hen - I’ll take ye’ where ever ye’ want.”

Gaz appeared on your other side, arms curling around you and nuzzling into your chest.

“Stay with us tonight,” he asked softly, “please.”

How could you say no to a polite offer like that? You nodded, his tail wagging as well, thumping rhythmically against a pillow.

A moment later an energy bar hit your stomach and then the others as well.

“Eat first,” Ghost commanded, “we will need the energy.”

Since you hadn’t eaten much earlier, you were only happy to, hungrily watching together with Soap and Gaz as Ghost pulled off his shirt.

Gaz turned and nuzzled against you after eating, pressing his face against one of your tits.

“I’m sorry they didn’t ask you ‘bout the litter beforehand,” he said, meaning that Ghost had told them. The big man shrugged as you shot him a look, as he focused on eating his own energy bar.

You looked up at the ceiling, licking your lips for a short moment. Your pussy was dripping wet by now, knowing it was a matter of time before the other hybrids would fuck you dumb all night. As a short of fuck you to John and Price, but also because you genuinely wanted it for once.

An idea filled your head, only shortly distracted as Soap grinded against you, his hard on most likely leaking in his own underwear.

“I can smell ye’ kitty,” he crooned darkly and you had almost forgotten how he had called your pussy that, “I’m gonna make ‘er purr, pretty lass.”

You let out a needy whimper, closing your eyes for a moment. Thinking. It was stupid, probably a dangerous idea. Yet it slipped from your lips as you sat up and looked directly at Ghost.

“Rip out my implant.”

The little house went quiet immediately.

“Wat?” It was Soap who spoke the first, sitting up and looking at you, confusion taking over his horniness.

“No,” Gaz said, uncertainty in his voice over your idea, “didn't they want to wait?”

You almost wanted to growl at him.

“If I’m having pups, I want them on my terms,” you huffed, sending Gaz a sharp look, his ears tipping down in submission for once and you looked back at Ghost, who was undoubtedly their leader.

“Knock me up.”

“It’s just yet anger, innit?” He pointed out, mean but with a smile on his face that looked almost hungry , “sure you want our pups, darlin’? We’re not lapdogs.”

“Want somebody who can protect me,” you pointed out, “protect me ‘nd my pups. Not a lapdog.”

There were pleased growls from all of them. Both Soap and Gaz began to touch your shamelessly, pulling at your clothes to get them off and Ghost got down on all four, crawling towards you, making you lay down again, helping them get your shirt off. Bared and without any agression, they all shared a look.

“This isn’t a one time thing,” Gaz earned, “if we do this you’re ours. Not just sometimes, all the time.”

You whimpered at his words, nodding as you felt slick wetting your panties even more. Soap growled into your neck, taking deep breaths.

“No takin’ the pups from us,” he warned, “no matter who of us succeeds.”

“I won’t,” you promised quickly, moving your head to tip it up to kiss him and agreeing against his lips, “want my pups to grow up with their daddies.”

They all growled in delight, more hands on you and you helped getting the last things off, tugging at their clothes as well, making them undress so you weren’t restricted by clothes.

Daddies - they were going to knock you up; breed you, like a dark part of your mind wanted, breed you for days, not letting you leave without being pregnant. Fucking you day and night, making sure your cunt was stuffed with their cum.

Ghost were grinning darkly down at you, hunger in his eyes, cock hard between his legs, dripping already - your hand resting against Gaz’ neck and Soap’s hair.

“Now Princess,” Ghost crooned darkly, his fangs almost shining in the dim light of the shed, all of your tails wagging, the heavy scent of lust, with your slick and their precum in the air, “in which arm is that implant of yours?”

[greenwitchfromthewoods]

broken trust. [part1] l Joel Miller

Summary:  you used to be very close, but he broke your heart, now your paths have crossed again

Warnings:  angst, guns, knife, blood, violence, swearing, mentions of sex, alcohol, Ellie appears

 A/N: i wanted to write something for Joel (again, I’m sorry...) and i'll break it up into a few parts. hope everything goes as i planned. something like lovers to enemies to friends to lovers. do you understand any of this, because i don't? i hope my scribbles don't scare you off. thanks for reading and feedback in any form. 🖤

"Fuck!"

You hit the wall with such force that the air left your lungs and for a moment you lost your breath. Your back hurt like hell, but you didn't have time to focus on the pain.

Focus!

You should have been more careful, but the noises from the ground floor of the building distracted you. The man took advantage of this moment, hitting you so hard that you hit the wall, badly bruising your back.

"Get up, you little slut!" he growled, approaching you and kicking you painfully in the stomach.

The gun slipped out of your hand and even though you blindly groped the concrete floor, your fingers couldn't find it.

"I said - GET UP!" he roared, grabbing you by the jacket and lifting you up, then pressing you hard against the wall. "You thought you could catch me by surprise, huh? Stupid bitch!"

His hand tightened around your throat. You tried to push him away, but the man was bigger than you, so all you could do was struggle like a fish caught in a net.

"You should know your place." he hissed, seeing you struggling for breath. "Don't mess with people bigger than you."

"I-I can't d-do that." you whispered with difficulty.

"What? What the fuck did you say?"

But he didn't find out what you said. You pulled your leg up and with your free hand reached for the short knife hidden in your boot.

It had to be fast. 

And accurate. 

You didn't have a second chance.

Focus!

You hit the man's exposed neck, the silver blade smoothly cutting through his skin, piercing into his flesh. The hands clenched around your neck immediately let go of you as he fell to his knees, then to the floor with a dull sound.

You took a few deep breaths. Too much time wasted.

You noticed your gun a few steps away from you and quickly picked it up, heading towards the stairs to find the source of the noise.

The building should have been abandoned, at least that's what it looked like. Broken windows, grass growing on the lower roofs, a few rusty barrels. They had to be some kind of warehouse.

"Don't aim at her, asshole!"

A loud male voice echoed through the empty interior. You quickened your pace, but now you were more careful, more focused. You noticed a slightly ajar door and slipped into the room. 

It must have once been a hall or something. Moving behind the shelves, you headed for the source of the raised voices.

"Tell the kid to put the gun down!" a male, low voice rang out very clearly, you saw the outline of a male silhouette.

"Ellie, do what he says!"

"No!" a girlish, terrified, but also determined voice reached your ears now.

"Put the fucking gun down!"

You heard the sound of a gun falling. You were so close now that you could see the attacker clearly. 

The old leather jacket he was wearing was already pretty worn out on the back. You could see the shoes and legs of the girl who was in front of him, covering someone kneeling on the ground.

"Let us go!" The girl, whose name was Ellie, tried to control the situation. "We won't tell anyone you're here."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" The man aimed a gun at her. "I should kill the old man, have some fun with you, and then, together with my buddies, find the place you came from. That's close, right? Tell me!"

"Oh, shut the fuck up!"

The sound of your voice echoed through the room so suddenly that everyone froze. They looked around nervously, and then a shot rang out. The girl squealed as the man standing right in front of her fell, and a blood stain began to appear on the floor.

She quickly jumped to her gun, trying to find the shooter or where the shot came from. Then she noticed you as you came out from behind the shelf. You still had the gun in one hand, but you raised your arms in surrender.

"Is everything okay with you?" you asked. "Did he hurt you?"

"No, not me, but him..."

You glanced at the man on the floor. He was holding his arm, his fingers covered in blood. You saw dark hair interspersed with gray, wide shoulders, dark eyes that seemed familiar to you.

"It's you?" you whispered in surprise.

Your footsteps echoed down the staircase as you ran up the dusty stairs. First...second...third floor. You ran to the door and opened it with the key.

"Joel?"

You spotted him dozing on the couch with one arm folded above his head, the other lying on his stomach. You smiled at the sight and quickly went inside. He opened his eyes at the sound of the door closing.

"Hi. What kept you?" he asked, sitting up and rubbing his face with his hands.

He didn't even know when he fell asleep waiting for you. It was dark outside and you were already a few hours late. However, he saw that you were safe and sound, and he sighed with relief.

"We're going to celebrate today!" you chirped happily, placing your bag on the table, and something strangely knocked on it.

"Celebrate what?" Joel asked, standing up and stretching.

Two glasses appeared in your hands. He saw your face light up with excitement and a big smile on your lips. God! He loved your smile. In a place like QZ it was his most precious treasure.

You pulled a bottle, of what Joel recognized as whiskey, out of your bag.

"Where the hell did you get that?" he asked as you started pouring the drink "What happened, Y/N?"

"We did it! We did it, Joel!" you repeated and then pushed the glass into his hand "I can't believe it! I talked to Howard, that smuggling guy from the other end of the zone."

Joel choked on his drink.

"Howard? I told you not to go to him alone." he said, frowning.

"Oh, listen to me!" you put your glass down without taking a sip, you were so excited that emotions were pouring out of you in buckets "Howard knows someone who can get us a car. A car that actually works!"

"Bullshit! He doesn't know anyone."

"But I talked to that guy!" you were pacing around the room the whole time. "He wants a lot, but we should be able to handle it. I thought about it the whole way here. This is our chance, Joel!"

He was leaning against the kitchen table and watching you carefully. He didn't know what was worse, the fact that you went to Howard by yourself and met up with another strange guy, your excitement, or the fact that he would have to brutally bring you back down to earth.

This was your dream, and Joel had instilled it in you months ago. He knew that you always wanted to live outside of Boston. Ever since he met you a few years ago, he had seen the part of you that wanted something normal so badly. It irritated him at first, but then, as you started spending more and more time together - you were a really good smuggler - he loved it.

You were his bright spot in this gloomy place, someone he came back to and who was important to him. You filled some empty place in his heart, and that was good. 

So when you had a really bad moment in your life Joel wanted to give you some of that hope too. He started spinning a story that maybe one day you'd find a car and escape from this place. Find a safe haven somewhere else, maybe another settlement, maybe you'd go find Tommy, his brother.

And you totally bought into it. It didn't bother him, until now. Joel knew that those dreams were like houses of cards, they could collapse very easily.

"Are you listening to me?"

Your voice brought him back to reality.

"Y-Yeah, this all sounds...great." he replied uncertainly and took another sip of whiskey. "Are you sure you want this?"

"We both talked about it." You laughed, walking up to him and wrapping your arms around his waist, your warm lips finding his and brushing them gently. "We just have to plan everything, but I'm sure we'll figure it out."

He brushed your hair away and smiled. His heart ached because he already knew how badly he'd screwed it all up.

And even that night when you made love, when you moaned his name as his cock moved inside you, your words kept replaying in his head. Like a broken record. He kissed your lips, caressed your body, and at the same time he wanted to apologize to you for everything he had to do.

"Can you walk?"

You were proud of yourself that your voice didn't shake. Joel nodded. His eyes were wide as he stared at you like he'd seen a ghost.

"That asshole shot him." The girl said.

You gave her a quick look, then walked over to Joel to see his arm. His jacket was bloody, but it didn't look too bad.

"It's a superficial wound. He'll be fine. Just a lot of blood." You stated. "Ellie, yeah?" The girl nodded. "Will you help me?"

You and the girl picked Joel up. You could feel his gaze on you, but you avoided it. 

Focus!

You had to help them get out of here.

"Do you have a car or something?" You asked.

The girl shook her head.

"Great. So you must be from Jackson." You stated. "Come on, I'll take you there. He needs to see a doctor."

"Wait!" Ellie looked at Joel confused. "Can we trust her?"

The man nodded.

"Yeah. We can." He cleared his throat and added "This guy said he had friends with him."

"Yeah, he did. There were four of them."

"You killed them? All of them?" The girl's eyes widened in surprise "What are you? A serial killer or something?"

"Like all of us, right? Come on, it'll be dark soon."

You led them out of the building and through the small parking lot at the end of which your car was parked. You opened the door and pulled out a first aid kit from under the seat.

"I can only give you something to stop the bleeding." You said, looking into the box.

"No need." Joel replied.

"Don't be stubborn. Take this." You pressed the bandage into his hand and threw the first aid kit inside. "Hop in kid, I'll take you home."

The girl happily climbed into the back seat. Miller, however, was still standing by you. It was hard to avoid him, feeling his eyes piercing through your skin.

"How did you find us?" he asked.

"I wasn't looking for you, I was looking for them. For a few days." You replied, looking at him. "I came across them a while ago, they were looking for a place to stay. I think they heard about Jackson or something."

"They didn't seem nice."

Your gaze went to his shoulder. He pressed the bandage, but he seemed to be feeling better.

"And they weren't." You mumbled. "Come on, we're not just going to stand here."

You opened the car door and were already getting in when Joel spoke again.

"Y/N, thanks."

"You're welcome."

[PART 2]

☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[heaven4lostgirls]

Can you pretty pleaaassse write for regulus black x reader angst

Where they were friends and got along really well and because they're both pureblooded there families arranged marriage for them. But then regulus gets paranoid and starts to think badly of you and thinks that you were only ever nice to him so that your parents would arrange marriage. And he thinks that you hold the same awful pureblood beliefs as both of your parents and he is afraid to say anything about it incase you tell his family that he doesn't really believe that muggles are lesser. Then regulus is quite distant and mean in your marriage and he eventually comes to his senses when he realises how upset you are and how much his distance hurts you and he can hear you crying yourself to sleep

pairing: regulus black x fem!reader

warning: angst, regulus is a bit of a dick but he comes around ! miscommunication (i’m sorry✊)

summary: request above

authors note: hi! sorry this took forever, i’m really bad at keeping up with requests but i hope you enjoy this, i always say im hoping to get back into writing but it’s always touch and go, my mental health isn’t great a lot of the time and uni just piles on so much more, hopefully you guys understand ! 🫶🩷

regulus wasn’t used to people sticking around, he had been abandoned by the only person he ever truly cared about and left to fend for himself. which was why he assumed when news of his engagement to you was announced by his parents, at a shared dinner party for the sacred 28, you two would simply…co-exist. never fully acknowledging the others presence yet acquaintances at best.

what a shock to his system it was when he grew to know what a wonderful person you were, never abrasive or hostile like his parents, never boastful like most of the pureblood families he knew, instead you were the embodiment of everything he never knew he wanted, a calm to the raging angst inside of him he couldn’t quell after sirius had left, and that alone left him scared more than any of his parents threats to present him to the dark lord as a servant.

you two had formed a quick friendship due to the circumstances surrounding your fast paced engagement, you were set to marry next august and your engagement had only been announced in april. regulus had no problem performing his duties to his family, however this one came with little to no reluctance from either of you as feelings of love and respect blossomed from the friendship you two shared.

however, as time passed, regulus could slowly but surely feel his walls he had fought so hard to build up, crack. he couldn’t fathom why someone like you would feel so comfortable around him, how you somehow managed to worm your way under his skin like no one ever could, not even sirius.

except as time flew by, he had somehow found some of that “gryffindor courage” as james potter always declared, to tell you about his feelings, emphasizing that if you wished, he would never bring up again if you did not reciprocate and you two would still move forward together into marriage as friends.

to his surprise, you were much more welcoming to his feelings than expected, you two had shared a small kiss as you leant your forehead against his and claimed “i was just waiting for you to see me.”

since you two were already a couple in the eyes of the public, the only people he had really had to tell was your shared friends. as expected, they all reacted joyfully to the news and you both carried through the rest of your year no longer pretending to be in love, but actually falling into it.

however, at the beginning of your 6th year, you could tell something had shifted between yours and regulus’ dynamic. no longer was he patient and comforting, instead he was judgmental and fast to anger. some part of you knew it had to do with his parents but you didn’t have the heart to push your questions onto him.

as time passed you watched as he distanced himself from you, pushing away your touches, rejecting your offers to hang out, blowing you off when he would eventually agree. you could only handle so much of his behavior before you eventually broke when telling your friends.

“i don’t know what to do anymore, it’s like walking on eggshells whenever he’s around because im scared of him snapping at me for breathing too loud” you vent to your friends as you place your hands on your eyes to try keep the tears at bay.

“how longs this been going on y/n?” pandora asks softly as she shares a concerned look with lily. you blubber out as answer that sounds like “a couple of months” as tears leak past your palms.

“i can’t keep doing this” you emphasize to them both, “and you know i can’t break up with him because we still have to get married-“

“break up?!” lily questions surprised, “you can’t be serious y/n.” she says as she places a hand on your shoulder.

“i think you need to talk to him” pandora says again as she smiles softly at you as you look at her with tear filled eyes.

“…what if he doesn’t want me anymore?” you whisper, too afraid to say it out loud in fear of it coming true.

“oh love” lily coos as she drags you into a small cuddle with her and pandora, “you’re gonna need to ask him to know that y/n” she whispers as she rubs your back.

you sigh heavily and nod before looking at the both of them. “okay” you concede as you try and form some sort of a plan to confront regulus, your anxiety spikes at the thought of him not wanting your relationship anymore, you couldn’t imagine a marriage with the man you loved where his feelings weren’t reciprocated.

the next day, you planned to corner regulus at the library before dinner but as you walked up to his table, you heard the voice of not only regulus, but barty as well.

“reg, you know you’re hurting her by ignoring her” barty says with a sigh as you pause behind a bookshelf near the table to eavesdrop.

“you know better than i, that i can never be with someone who thinks the way she does…its disgusting” regulus says with a sneer but you can hear how disappointed he is by the statement.

disgusting? he thinks i’m…disgusting? what is he even talking about? you don’t think you’ve ever done anything remotely bad enough to be called disgusting.

“how do you know she thinks like them?” barty implores and you hear regulus sigh, “you’ve seen how she acts when the sacred 28 talks about the muggles” he says and you frown, part of being a child of one of the sacred 28 meant you had to act your part, regulus knew that better than anyone else. so why was he suddenly judging you and telling barty about your issues when he couldn’t even give you the time of day?

“i don’t know if i can marry someone like her” regulus says again and your heart drops. someone like her, you repeat in your head, every insecurity you ever worked through, comes back in tenfold from that sentence alone. you stumble on your feet from the flashes of tears and heartache from all your deepest points of sorrow.

you shake your head and straighten your back before reminding yourself, if he wants a true pureblood wife, that’s what i’ll be. quiet, docile,…perfect.

your wedding approaches faster than you can imagine, dress fittings, bridal party dresses and events all pass with a blur. never fully there, you encompass a state of numbness.

regulus and all your friends notice how you slowly fall into the facade you usually have in front of your parents, instead this time, it never breaks in front of them.

regulus waits for you to come to him, to seek his comfort like you have so many times before, but it never comes.

he spends his nights worrying about you, questioning if it’s something he’s done, you’re still sweet and loving to him, just…more hollow than you were before.

you embody the perfect pureblood princess and he couldn’t hate it more, he hears from people around you how you’re not sleeping, always coming to class in a perfect face of makeup everyday when you usually only used skincare, in beautiful dresses for hogsmead days when you used to use comfortable clothes.

he tries to talk to you, to question why you’ve somehow flipped the switch out of nowhere, but they go unanswered.

the day of your wedding, he can see past the makeup, your sunken in eyes and red eyes. he still places a soft smile on his face as you stare passively into the distance, never making eye contact with him while saying your vows.

the distance between the both of you grows larger as he starts to believe that this was the life you truly wanted, a prince and princess, a couple born out of need not out of love, arranged perfectly to fit the narrative of pureblood royalty.

however, one night he falls asleep later than usual and hears you cry into your pillow, small pleas of being good enough for him as your body shakes with small sobs. he resists the urge to reach out to you in fear of you not recieving his touch well.

he lies awake as he hears you say, “i’m not like i was before, please let him love me now, oh merlin please” you whisper with clenched hands and eyes that leak tears. his heart breaks at the thought of you existing to please him.

he had seen how his mother had done the same for his father, how she turned cold and abusive with no comfort and love from her partner, how she pushed her self hatred onto her children. how that pushed her eldest son to run away.

he spends the next week racking his brain for what he could’ve done for you to think that way before he realises that the summer after his 5th year, his parents had implored him never to give you anything more than the bare minimum because nobody could be trusted. he remembers pulling away from you and pushing you away in fear of you using him for his fortune.

the idea that his parents had made him internalize that you would never love him just for him, you were moving into this marriage not because of your shared love but because of necessity. his heart drops out of his chest as he realizes all of this must have translated to you and that he now had a lot to make up for.

he plans out meticulously how to get his wife back and slowly but surely, he does. it starts with small things, a single flower that you had told him once you liked the smell of on your nightstand, a pair of earrings you remarked look beautiful when window shopping. a handwritten letter telling you goodmorning and his favorite things about you in your bag before class.

your initial confusion morphs to anger at the thought of changing yourself all for him to want you to go back to the self he called repulsive. you don’t respond to his initial attempts to woo you, but as weeks and months pass, he doesn’t give up.

he speaks to you, really speaks to you, asking you about your day, how he can help you when you’re not feeling well, what you need whenever he leaves the house, small compliments about your cooking or how the colour of your dress matches your eyes.

you two start sharing small good mornings and good nights when going to bed, which then translates to small hand holding or shared touches between each other. the ice around your heart slowly but surely starts melting whenever he’s around, you quickly become accustomed to his quick kisses on the cheek whenever he leaves the room or house.

he holds you at night as he whispers sweet promises of never letting you down again, grasping your face to look into your eyes whenever he compliments you to let you know how much you mean to him.

your heart is now warm and full at the thought of his presence, no longer a shell of yourself, slowly but surely healing with his sweet actions.

[colouredbyd]

The Nightingale II: Victor’s Mask

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: Regulus and his childhood love are torn apart by years of betrayal and silence, each carrying the weight of unspoken pain. In their reunion, guilt and heartbreak consume them as Regulus realizes he failed to protect her, his promises shattered.

warnings: emotionally intense themes, scenes of crying, trauma, survivor’s guilt, and the weight of abandonment. hurt and comfort

word count: 7.4k ( i need a fucking lobotomy)

authors note: my back broke writing this but omg thiss was an emotional rollercoaster HOLYY FUCKK, anyways i hope u love it and if u wanna be added to the taglist just leave a comment🌷💖

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They gave me three minutes.

Three minutes. That’s all they give us. Three minutes to say goodbye to everything I’ve ever known. To the crooked streets that raised me. To the voices that kept me breathing on nights I didn’t want to. To the only home I’ve ever had, even if it’s always been splintered and aching. Three minutes to wear a brave face I don’t believe in, to lie through my teeth and pretend I’m not already unraveling.

The door closes behind me with a finality that splits the air. And then the silence crashes in—deafening, suffocating—like a scream caught somewhere deep in my chest, one I’ll never get the chance to release.

Mary reaches me first. She slams into me so fast I nearly lose my footing. Her arms wrap around my ribs like iron bands, like she’s trying to hold me in place, to keep me from being torn away. Her sobs shake through both of us, hot and wild, and I bury my face in her shoulder because if I look at her, I’ll fall apart.

“No,” she whispers, over and over again, like a broken hymn. “No, no, no. Not you. It wasn’t supposed to be you.”

I hold her tighter. I don’t trust my voice, don’t recognize the way it sounds when I finally force the words out. “It’s okay.” It isn’t. “It’s not, but… just pretend it is. Please.”

She leans back just far enough to see my face, and her eyes are raw, rimmed in red. Her lip trembles as she tries to speak, but when she does, her voice is fierce through the heartbreak. “You don’t deserve this. You’re soft. You’re kind. You keep people alive with your voice. You sing when the world can’t even speak. This shouldn’t be your ending.”

I have nothing to give her. No comfort. No answer. So I press our foreheads together like we used to when we were little and scared and hoping the stars would listen. It’s a small thing, fragile and familiar. A borrowed kind of peace.

“I’ll scream for you,” she says, and her voice is fierce now, like fire catching. “Every night. I’ll scream so loud the stars hear me.”

“Don’t,” I whisper. “Don’t waste your voice on something already lost.”

And then she’s gone. Or maybe I’m the one slipping away.

Pandora steps forward next. Quiet, trembling. Her eyes are wide, distant, filled with something brittle and breaking. She doesn’t cry—not yet—but I can see it in the way she moves, careful and slow, like the wrong breath might shatter her.

She reaches out, tucking a stray lock of hair behind my ear. The softness of it is what destroys me. Not the noise. Not the grief. The tenderness.

“You don’t have to say anything,” I tell her, barely able to get the words out. “Just stay. That’s enough.”

But she speaks anyway, her voice cracking like thin ice beneath a heavy weight. “I wish it was me. I’d go. In a second. If it meant you didn’t have to.”

My head shakes before I even know I’m doing it. “Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.”

Her hand finds mine, cold and small, and for a heartbeat that stretches far too long, the three of us just stand there—fused together in the center of the storm, tangled in a silence thick with everything we’ll never have time to say. Grief blooms between us, wide and all-consuming. Too big for the room. Too big for the world.

And still, we hold on. Because that’s all we can do.

Then I hear her—my mother.

She’s humming.

The tune is broken and slow and out of time, like a lullaby she’s forgotten the words to. She drifts into the room like a ghost, arms slightly outstretched, eyes distant but fixed on me. Her hair’s coming undone. She hasn’t looked like herself since my father was killed. Since they dragged him out in the night and called him a traitor and left us behind to rot.

She blinks like she’s seeing me for the first time in years. I don’t know whether to cry or run. But she reaches for me, and I let her pull me into her arms.

“Sing for them,” she whispers, brushing her lips to my temple. “Just like you used to sing for me.”

I can’t hold it in anymore.

The dam inside me shatters without warning, and I collapse into her arms with a sob that rips through my throat like it’s been waiting years to be heard. I bury my face in her neck, her hair, her heartbeat, clinging to the only thing left that feels remotely like safety. Like home. I cry for everything—for the girl I used to be, for the childhood they stole, for the promise she once whispered when the world was still soft.

“You’ll never have to see the Capitol,” she told me once, tucking me into bed with lullabies and lantern ight. “Not with your own eyes.”

Now I’m being offered up like a lamb, gift-wrapped in sorrow.

But she holds me. She holds me like she remembers. Like somewhere inside the grief and the panic and the aching bones, the woman who raised me still exists. Still knows me. Her arms don’t tremble. They anchor. They remind.

A knock on the door.

Sharp. Final. A sound like a sentence being read aloud.

Time’s up.

The door creaks open and a Peacekeeper steps inside, uniform pressed, face blank, voice colder than death. “It’s time.” Two words. That’s all they give me.

I pull away slowly, like tearing fabric. Every inch of distance feels like something sacred unraveling. Like losing a limb. Mary’s fingers are the last to let go, slipping from mine like falling leaves. I don’t look back. I know if I do, I won’t be able to leave at all.

I turn. And I’m already shaking.

The Justice Building is colder than I remember.

Not just the kind of cold that clings to your skin—but the kind that sinks into your bones. That finds the softest parts of you and freezes them solid. The marble walls gleam too perfectly, polished until they shine like something holy, but it doesn’t fool me. I know what they’re hiding. I know what’s seeped into the stone over the years—blood, screams, last goodbyes swallowed by silence.

I sit still. Or I try to.

But my hands won’t stop trembling in my lap. They won’t stop remembering. Mary’s voice, sharp and shattering, breaking like glass when they said my name. Pandora’s arms, wrapped so tightly around me I couldn’t breathe, refusing to let go as if holding on could stop the tide. And my mother, knees in the dirt, her cracked whisper looping like a broken lullaby as the Peacekeepers dragged me away. He’s just asleep. He’ll come back. He promised.

The door opens with a soft click that still manages to feel like thunder. And then she enters.

Marlene McKinnon.

Capitol escort.

She walks in like she owns the sky, like she has never been told no in her life. Her honey-blonde curls are pinned to perfection, a crown that glows under the dim lights. Her dress shimmers in the colors of bruised twilight, plum and gold threaded together like a storm caught mid-scream. Every click of her heels is a countdown, measured and merciless. She smiles, but it is the kind of smile you wear to a funeral when the cameras are watching. Her voice follows, smooth and slow like silk dipped in poison.

"Darling," she purrs, stepping toward me as if approaching something fragile and afraid. "You must be our star."

I say nothing. I can’t. My voice slipped away somewhere between the platform and the train, curled into the hem of my mother’s dress and stayed behind.

Marlene tilts her head like she’s trying to decipher whether I’ll break beautifully or disappointingly. Her gaze glides over me, sharp and assessing, and then softens into something almost admiring. Or maybe it’s hunger. I can never tell with Capitol people.

"Pretty," she hums. "Tragic. District Seven always gives us the most beautiful tragedies."

She reaches out, slow and theatrical, and tucks a stray curl behind my ear. It is a gesture meant to soothe, but it feels like branding. Like I belong to her now.

"You’ll do well, sweet girl," she says, her voice low and pleased. "The Capitol loves a little poetry."

I don't respond. My stomach turns. I am a song she is already rewriting.

Before I can gather myself enough to speak, the door opens again. And he walks in.

James Potter.

He is the last person I expect to see, and yet he fills the room like he was always meant to. I’ve seen him on television more times than I can count. Loud, fast, brilliant in that way that makes people look twice. The boy who laughs at danger and grins like the world should keep up. His hair is a mess of storms. His eyes, wildfire.

He never looked at me. Not really. Not until now.

He stops in the doorway as if the air has thickened. And then his eyes meet mine, and the bravado slips for just a second. Something flickers there. I don’t know what it is. Recognition, maybe. Maybe guilt. Or maybe he just hates what this place does to people.

His jaw clenches. His shoulders go rigid.

"Shit," he mutters, dragging a hand through his hair. "Of all the people..."

I want to ask what that means. I want to ask if he remembers me. If he knows I should have died in the arena five years ago. But the words knot themselves in my throat.

Marlene’s voice slices through the silence. "And here’s our charming young hero."

James lets out a dry laugh. "If I’m a hero, we’re all screwed."

She waves her hand, breezy and unconcerned. "Sit. Sit. We’ve got a thousand things to do, and no time to do them if you two insist on brooding."

He sinks into the chair beside me. Not close enough to touch, but close enough that I can feel his attention like pressure against my skin. He doesn’t speak for a moment, just breathes like he’s trying to steady himself.

Then, softly, "What’s your name?"

"You know my name."

He nods, not looking away. "Yeah. I do. But I wanted to hear you say it."

I turn to face him. His eyes aren’t warm. They aren’t kind. But they aren’t fake. And after everything, I don’t know what to do with something that feels that real.

"I’m not going to die in there," I say, barely above a whisper.

He doesn’t smile. But his gaze sharpens like the flint of a promise. "Good. Then don’t."

Marlene claps her hands, too loud and too delighted. "Perfect. Just perfect. Beautiful girl with ghosts in her eyes. Brooding boy with a chip on his shoulder. You two are going to be Capitol darlings."

She means it like a blessing. It feels like a curse.

James leans back in his chair, arms folded tight across his chest. His voice drops.

"I’m nobody’s darling."

And for the first time since the Reaping, I almost laugh. Not because anything is funny, but because I want to remember what it feels like to be alive.

But I don’t laugh.

Because I know what’s coming.

And it will not be kind.

The train glides into the Capitol like a blade through silk. I don’t move from the window. My breath fogs the glass as the city rises—no, erupts—before us. A fever dream stitched together from shards of gold and chrome and cruelty. Every surface gleams like it’s daring you to blink. Towers spiral like broken spines into a burning sky, red and gold bleeding together as if the horizon itself has caught fire.

I should look away. But I don’t.

The platform below is crawling with people who’ve twisted themselves into something inhuman. They glitter and glint and move like dolls wound too tight, their faces painted into expressions that don’t feel real. A woman blinks and glitter falls from her lashes. Another wears needles in her braid. They clap and cheer and whistle—not for us, but for the story they think they’re watching. We’re not people. We’re the performance. The slaughter, neatly gift-wrapped in silk and steel.

The doors hiss open. The air is heavy with perfume—sweet, cloying, with an undertone of something rotting underneath. I step down, the ground tilting under me, and might have fallen if James hadn’t caught me by the elbow. He says nothing, but his grip is steady. His jaw is tight. He feels it too.

The dining car hums with warmth, the kind that clings to the Capitol like perfume, artificial and overindulgent, too much of everything. Across from me sits James Potter, jacket shed, sleeves rolled up like he’s trying to pretend we’re still home. As if fabric and posture could stitch us back into the lives we lost. His eyes flick toward me, then away again. Over and over. Like he’s trying to figure out how I’m still breathing. Like he wants to ask but already knows there’s no answer that won’t ruin us both.

The silence is louder than the train. It pulses under my skin, tugging at my fingertips, making them twitch with memory. It’s the kind of silence that only comes after goodbye. The kind that echoes.

Then the door opens.

And in walks Marlene McKinnon, like she invented the sun and decided to wear it.

She’s wrapped in sapphire silk that spills over her frame like water, laced with golden threads that catch the light and dare it to look away. Her heels strike the floor with the kind of certainty that cannot be taught. Her lips are blood-red. Her eyeliner is so sharp it could draw blood. She wears herself like a weapon, a crown, and a dare all at once. A girl forced into royalty who chose to play queen anyway.

“Ah,” she says, voice soft as a clap, “my lovely little tributes.”

There’s Capitol polish to her tone, but it’s not cruel. Not yet. James doesn’t bother to hide his eye roll. I say nothing. My hands are folded tight in my lap, knuckles aching from the strain. I can’t afford to be soft.

Marlene’s gaze flicks between us, her smile sharp and tired. “I know,” she says, threading her fingers through her curls. “It’s all a bit much, isn’t it? One minute you’re counting bread and chopping wood, and the next…” She flicks her wrist, and the rings on her fingers glint like small stars. “Bam. Welcome to the big leagues.”

James mutters, “You said it. Not us.”

She laughs then, a short, broken sound like a bell cracked down the middle. “Touché, sweetheart.”

She slides into the seat beside us, crossing her legs with elegance that has been rehearsed to the point of muscle memory. She smells like roses and something sharper beneath, like rust or blood or the taste of fear when you’ve bitten your tongue too hard.

“You’ll be meeting your mentor soon,” Marlene says after a beat, voice quieter now, edged with something brittle and unraveling beneath all the Capitol polish.

We both look up.

James glances up. “What’s he like?”

And for the first time, something fractures in her carefully painted expression. Her hand rises to her pinky, twisting a thin gold ring around it like it’s the only thing anchoring her to this moment. Her voice lowers. The words drop like stones.

“He’s not the nurturing type.”

James raises an eyebrow. “So a real ray of sunshine, then.”

“He doesn’t watch the reapings,” she says flatly. “He avoids his tributes. Refuses to learn their names. Doesn’t train them. Doesn’t speak to them. Doesn’t save them.”

The air in the car changes. Like someone’s drawn the curtains and let the storm inside. Like we’re all drowning now, slowly, beautifully.

James straightens. Just slightly. His shoulders tense the way a tree might bend before lightning strikes.

“What does that mean?” he asks.

There is something new in his voice. Not fear. Not yet. But suspicion, cracking through the bravado.

Marlene doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t blink. She just looks at him. Like someone who has watched too many people walk into fires thinking they were invincible.

“It means,” she says, carefully, “you’d better hope the odds are extra in your favor. Hope the sponsors take pity. Hope the audience likes your face.”

She leans back, crossing one leg over the other. Her voice never rises. It doesn’t need to.

“Because some victors mentor for the attention, for the cameras, and the glory. Some for the paycheck, for the Capitol parties, and for the illusion that they matter.”

She pauses to let the silence crackle.

“And some,” she adds, quieter now, “don’t even notice they’ve been assigned. They’re too far gone. Drunk. Sedated. Hollowed out.”

Her eyes move.

And then they find me.

The quiet that follows isn’t stillness. It’s pressure. Something thick and invisible and pressing down on the bones.

“And some,” she says, her voice dropping to a hush, “don’t care if the children they mentor live, or die screaming.”

Everything inside me stills.

Not in fear.

Something worse.

Recognition.

It isn’t a chill. It’s a return. An ache I buried and forgot to mourn. It is letters that stopped arriving. Stars that stopped being carved into soft bark. A voice that used to murmur always beneath the dark canopy of pine, now replaced by silence so total it echoes.

I know what absence tastes like. I know what it means when forever means until the cameras come. Until the Capitol gives you a crown made of blood and demands that you wear it smiling.

Because if it’s him—if it’s really him—then I already know.

I already know what it means to be abandoned.

James shifts beside me, frowning. He hears it too, the truth under her words. But he hasn’t put the pieces together. Not yet.

“Who is it?” he asks.

Marlene smiles, but it is not a smile.

It is a wound shaped like a promise. Something sharp wearing the mask of sweetness. It curves at the edges like she’s amused, like she’s been waiting for the reveal, like this is the part of the story she always loves best.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she says.

And in my chest, something quiet begins to unravel. Then she rises—smooth and unbothered. Fixes the fall of her dress like it matters. Glides to the front of the car in a whisper of silk and perfume and something heavy and unsaid.

The door clicks shut behind her.

And the silence she leaves in her wake is deafening. Not empty, not peaceful—just loud in a way only grief can be. Like something once living has been removed from the room, and the absence aches louder than a scream. It thrums beneath my skin, crawls up my throat. I feel it in the pit of my stomach, a sickness blooming.

James exhales beside me, slow and jagged, like the air is thinner here. Like he’s just now realizing we’re breathing something poisoned.

“You think she’s just trying to scare us?” he asks. His voice is quiet, but there’s tension in it, a sharpness trying to hide behind casual curiosity. He wants to laugh it off. Wants to shrug and say it’s all Capitol theatre. But I hear the edge.

I don’t answer right away, because Marlene’s voice is still ringing in my ears. Cold. Clear. Final.

Some don’t care what happens to the kids.

And I remember.

I remember the boy who stopped writing before I could beg him not to. The letters that once smelled faintly of pine, always folded with care, slowly turning into silence. I remember the boy who carved stars into the bark of our secret tree and swore they were mine. Swore he’d never leave. Swore he’d find a way back. And then he didn’t.

I remember the boy who kissed me like he was memorizing the shape of my soul. The boy who whispered my name like it meant sanctuary. And then disappeared like something forbidden. Like something holy that should never have touched something like me.

I remember the shadows that loved him before I did. The way they clung to him. The way they claimed him. Long before the Capitol ever did. He was always fading, always slipping through my fingers like smoke I tried to hold.

If it’s him.

If it’s Regulus Black.

Then this isn’t just the Hunger Games.

This is something ancient. A reckoning stitched into the stars. A punishment the universe has been holding back, waiting for the perfect moment to let loose. This is my name echoing through time, not as a tribute, but as a ghost he thought he left behind.

This is the wound I never got to stitch. The one I hid beneath music and performance and practiced smiles. This is every unfinished goodbye coming back with claws. Every whispered promise cracking open like a rib.

I close my eyes, and there’s ash on my tongue. The taste of endings. The taste of betrayal. The taste of a boy who used to be my whole world and now might be the one who watches me die.

“No,” I whisper finally, my voice so low it almost doesn’t belong to me. “I think she’s warning us.”

James goes quiet beside me. For once, he doesn’t have a joke. Doesn’t press for more.

And I don’t explain. Because if he knew—if he really knew—he’d understand that this isn’t about sponsors or scores or surviving the arena.

This is about the boy who made me believe the stars were mine, and then left me to burn alone in their light.

When we arrive, the Training Center towers over us like a grave marker. All glass and steel and too much light. It reflects our own faces back at us—fragile, doomed, terrified. Inside, the floors gleam and the air smells like metal and bleach, like they’re trying to erase all the blood spilled here over the years.

A Peacekeeper leads us down a hall, stopping at a silver door at the end. “Your mentor is inside.”

James doesn’t hesitate. He reaches for the handle. But I freeze. Every nerve in my body tightens. Something in me is screaming—something that’s known the shape of this moment for years.

The door creaks open.

The world on the other side isn’t loud. It doesn’t roar or scream. It exhales. A breath held too long, let out too slow. The hallway behind us disappears like a memory as we step into the dim, circular room, and all the noise in my head—the train, the Capitol, Marlene’s voice—all of it falls away.

It’s quiet in here. Not peaceful. The kind of quiet that follows violence, when the blood has already dried and the echo of screaming still lingers in the walls. The floor is scuffed and scored, marked with the ghosts of training sessions that ended in bruises, breaks, or worse. Straw dummies lie in tatters near the far wall, their insides spilling out like something once human. Targets line the perimeter, each one punctured over and over again, scarred with precision.

This is a place designed to kill the softness in children. A place where they’re sculpted into something sharp enough to survive.

James shifts beside me, his footsteps hesitant. Even he, all fire and fury, feels the weight in the air. It's thick with memory. With expectation. With dread.

And at the very center of it all, standing alone beneath the flickering fluorescent lights, is someone.

A figure. Still. Silent. Back turned.

He’s dressed in Capitol black—sleeves rolled neatly to the elbows, collar buttoned to the throat. His posture is too careful to be relaxed, too precise to be casual. He stands like someone who has learned not to flinch, not to hope. Like someone who has made a habit of bracing for pain.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t turn. And still—I know.

Not a guess, not a maybe. It’s the kind of knowing that doesn’t whisper or knock, it doesn’t wait for me to catch up. It crashes into me, fierce and unforgiving, like a memory I spent too long trying to bury. The kind of knowing that lives in your bones, that aches behind your ribs, that haunts the quiet parts of you. It’s the weight of years pressing down at once—years of silence, of unanswered letters, of dreams that ended before they began. It’s every night I stayed awake wondering what I did wrong, what he meant by forever, and why he never came back to prove it.

He’s alone in the space, framed by shadow and fluorescent flickers, posture held with the kind of precision you only learn from fear or war. His arms hang stiff at his sides, not relaxed—braced. Every inch of him is poised like a wire pulled taut, like one wrong breath might snap something buried deep.

There’s a rhythm in him that hasn’t changed, something so deeply etched into my memory I couldn’t forget it if I tried. The way his weight settles on the balls of his feet. The way his shoulders slope like he’s always carrying something unseen. The way he stands like the world might hurt him if he lets it close enough.

It’s him.

Even if the Capitol has tried to scrub the boy I loved out of him—this is still Regulus Black.

He’s taller now. Sharper. Haunted. His hair’s shorter, neat in a way that feels wrong, too clean for someone who once smelled like pinewood and campfire smoke. But the ghost of him is here, stitched into the shape of the man standing before me.

Even after all this time, my body remembers what my mind tried to forget.And now, here he is. Standing just a few feet away, close enough to touch, and yet impossibly distant.

Regulus Black.

I can’t breathe.

Marlene’s heels snap against the floor like a gunshot, pulling me back to the moment. She steps forward, face carefully composed, though there’s something too sharp in her eyes.

“Black,” she says, and her voice is colder now, like even she knows what’s about to happen. “Your tributes are here.”

He doesn’t turn.

Doesn’t even blink.

For a moment, I wonder if he’s even heard her—if this is all just some cruel trick, a Capitol performance, a silent punishment stitched together to humiliate us. But then his voice cuts through the room like a wire pulled too tight, and suddenly, there's no air left in my lungs.

It’s not the voice I remember.

It’s deeper now, carved hollow, stripped of softness like someone reached into him and scooped out all the warmth, leaving only the shell behind. A shell that sounds like Regulus, shaped like him, but missing every piece that once made him human.

“I don’t care who they are.”

The words punch the breath from my lungs.

“I don’t care where they’re from, what they’ve lost, or who they’ll leave behind.”

Each sentence is slower than the last. More deliberate. Like he’s not just speaking—he’s severing. One word at a time.

“I don’t care how you die. Fast, slow, screaming or silent—it doesn’t matter.”

My fingers curl into fists, but I can’t feel them.

“I don’t want to know your names, I won’t remember your faces, don’t waste your breath trying to make me care.”

My body goes still. My mind follows. Because I think—some fragile part of me still thought maybe. Maybe he would look at me and flinch. Maybe he would hesitate. Maybe some small flicker of the boy I loved would crawl out of that Capitol-polished armor and whisper that this wasn’t who he wanted to be.

But there’s nothing. Not a pause. Not a tremble.

Just that voice, steady and ruined.

“Don’t ask me to pretend. I’m not your hero. I’m not your comfort. I’m not here to save anyone.”

And that’s it.

That’s the moment something inside me rips loose.

Not in a burst—not in the kind of way that makes noise—but like thread slipping from a needle. Quiet. Slow. Final. A pain that doesn’t bleed but leaves behind a hollow where something soft used to live.

And now here he is. Saying he doesn’t care if I die. Saying he doesn’t care who I am.Saying  life means nothing.

But I remember. I remember every look, every laugh, every promise he made with shaking hands. I remember the stars. I remember the kiss he never should’ve given me, and the goodbye he never said.

I remember enough for both of us.

So maybe he doesn’t care.

But I do.

God, I do.

And that might be the cruelest thing of all.

I don’t wait. I can’t.

The moment his voice fades — sharp and final, like the slam of a cell door — I leave. I move before I even realize I’m moving, as if my body has already made the decision my mind is too splintered to face. I slip past James, who flinches like he wants to reach out, like his voice is caught in his throat and strangled by something heavier than air. Past Marlene’s warning glance, sharp and gleaming, slicing across the space between us like a blade she’s too practiced with. Past the weight of everything we haven’t said, the things we should have screamed, the silence that hangs between us like a noose.

My legs don’t ask if I’m ready, they don’t care if I come undone in the process. They just carry me forward — steady in pace, but shaking beneath the skin like I’m stitched together with thread drawn too tight, like one wrong step will unravel everything.

I don’t stop. Not when the doors hiss closed behind me. Not when the world becomes blur and breath and noise with no name. Not until I’m alone.

Until the echo of his voice no longer bounces off the marble. Until the scent of him — that Capitol musk of static and smoke and something sweet that’s already rotting — stops clinging to the air like a ghost I can’t shake.

Only then do I collapse. Not dramatically, not like the heroines in Capitol cinema reels. Just enough to fold into the wall, to press my shoulder against something cold and real. Just enough to feel the stone bite through the silk and remind me that I’m still solid, even if everything inside me is slipping like dust through a crack in the floor.

They find me, of course, they always do.

Color and glitter and too-bright teeth, with perfume that clings like poison. They descend like a flock of doves carved from razors, cooing with voices soaked in syrup and steel. I don’t fight them. I don’t speak. I don’t even blink. I just let them touch me, reshape me, peel me open like I was made for their hands, like I was never mine to begin with.

They treat me like glass, but not in the delicate sense. Not fragile — no, not that. They treat me like I’m meant to be broken. Like it’s the point. They scrub me down, dip me in rosewater until my skin reeks of a garden I was never allowed to belong to. They file and bleach and measure. They talk about my waist, my legs, the lines of my collarbones, as if I’m not there, as if I’m nothing but a thing to be altered and offered up.

They dress me in purple — not the kind that blooms in spring, not the kind that lives in twilight skies. No. This purple is bruised and blooming with silence. A shade so deep it almost swallows the light. It hangs off my shoulders like a second skin, threaded with stars. Tiny constellations stitched in silver, glinting like prayers in a sky no one can reach. The fabric clings, soft as smoke, sharp as memory. The neckline grazes my collarbone. The sleeves drift down my arms like spilled ink.

They pin a star into my hair. Just above my left ear. And they call me “The Nightingale.”

I don’t smile. I don’t flinch.

My stylist is Lily Evans, she is nothing like the others.

She’s quiet — not with the silence that comes from fear, but the kind that feels deliberate, chosen, sacred. She moves slowly, carefully, like she’s touching something already half-ruined and doesn’t want to break it further. She doesn’t speak unless she needs to, just nods or hums or murmurs when something fits right. She handles my wrist with the same care someone might give a match in the wind.

There’s grief behind her eyes. Not pity — She would never pity me. But old, folded grief. The kind that’s been pressed flat and carried too long. The kind that no longer begs for release but waits for the right moment to burn.

“You don’t have to be loud to be seen,” She says as she fastens a silver cuff around my wrist. Her hands are warm. “They’ll see you. Even if you never say a word.”

I nod, because my voice doesn’t feel like it belongs to me anymore.

Then the lights come.

They are cruel and cold and blinding. The stage hums under my feet with some mechanical heart I can’t see. Everything around me is too loud and too quiet, the air thick with expectation and hunger. The crowd pulses, restless. The cameras slither like serpents on mechanical limbs, all of them stretching toward us like they can smell blood already. Every lens is an eye. Every eye is a mouth. Every mouth is waiting to devour.

The host stands at the center, tall and sharp, dressed in black that gleams like oil. His mouth is a blade. His name is Severus Snape — the Capitol’s favorite storm. He speaks in a voice that feels ancient and poisonous, every word perfectly carved. Even when the crowd cheers, he doesn’t smile. He doesn’t blink. He doesn’t breathe.

“Welcome,” he says, smooth as spilled ink. “To a night of introductions. A glimpse into the lives of those who may not survive the week.”

The audience laughs. I don’t.

“And now,” he says, with a curl of his lips that isn’t quite a smile, “let us welcome a familiar face. The youngest Victor in Capitol history. The boy who made blood look poetic. Your mentor from District Seven… Regulus Black!”

The lights shift.

And he walks onto the stage like he was born in shadow.

He wears black, always black — no color, no warmth. His jacket is sharp enough to cut. His boots make no sound. He moves like fog trapped in crystal. The crowd explodes. They adore him. They worship his silence, his cruelty, his carved-out sorrow.

He raises his hand once — the perfect gesture. Just enough. Capitol-trained. Emotionless.

I know the shape of that mask. I watched him build it with bleeding fingers and shaking breath. I watched him craft it over the boy who used to trace the stars on my wrist and whisper stories only we knew. The boy who once called me “Starling” like it meant something holy.

Then Snape speaks again.

“And now, our male tribute from District Seven. Please welcome… James Potter!”

James emerges like he was born for this. He smiles, runs a hand through his curls, and lets his jacket catch the light like it’s part of his heartbeat. The crowd laughs, swept into his orbit. He bows low and wide. A showman’s charm. A warrior’s grace. And for just a second, just one heartbeat, I forget why we’re here.

Then the silence returns.

Snape raises his hand.

“And finally…”

I know before he speaks. My body knows, my heart collapses inward like it’s been waiting for the blow.

“Our female tribute from District Seven… Y/N  Y/L/N!”

It doesn’t sound like a name. It sounds like a sentence. It sounds like steel.

And I see it — everything — all at once.

Regulus stills

Not in the way the Capitol adores, not with the glimmer of stage light on gold and victory, not with the polished pause of someone soaking in their applause. No, this stillness is the kind that doesn’t belong here, the kind born of something breaking. It’s sharp and sudden, humming beneath his skin like a pulled wire about to snap, too tense, too still, too quiet to be mistaken for anything other than what it is—fear

It begins in the smallest ways. A twitch in his jaw, a barely-there shift in the set of his shoulders, a breath caught too high in his chest. His arm, raised in a practiced salute, falters mid-air like it’s forgotten its purpose. The smile on his lips lingers a moment too long, then wilts at the corners, slipping away like melting wax. The crowd doesn’t notice at first, too busy clapping, cheering, basking in the glittering illusion of their perfect boy—but I do. I see it all. I see him

His eyes move—not toward the lights or the endless rows of glittering faces, not toward the cameras that hover like insects—but toward the wings of the stage, toward the shadows, toward where I’m standing, silent and still and shaking just beneath the surface

And then

He sees me.

His gaze doesn’t just land on mine, it sinks. It finds me, like it was always meant to. Like some invisible thread between us has pulled tight for the first time in years and neither of us can look away. For a breath, we exist nowhere else. Not in the Capitol, not on a screen, not in a nightmare painted to look like a dream. Just here. Just him. Just me

And that’s when he begins to fall

His hand drops first—not carefully, not with that Capitol grace they taught him, but like something heavy has torn it from the air. It falls too fast, too sudden, too human. The movement slices through the performance like a blade through silk. The crowd begins to quiet, uncertain now, shifting in their seats as if they can sense something sacred is being unraveled before their eyes

His chest rises like he’s gasping for air in a place where none exists, like his lungs have only just remembered how to move and now it hurts. There’s a tremble to it, barely visible unless you know what to look for. But I do. I always have. His frame leans forward slightly, just enough to make one of the handlers shift uneasily, ready to step in

His mouth opens like a wound. His lips part, shaping a name he doesn’t say—but I know. I know. It’s my name he’s reaching for in the silence. It’s me he’s trying to speak into a place that has no room for the truth. His voice doesn’t come, but it doesn’t have to. His face says everything. His eyes, wide and horrified, already speak in a language only I remember

And then the moment is stolen

The screen glitches—only for a breath, a flicker of static that dances across his face. The Capitol reacts fast, always fast, slicing clean through the feed like it was a mistake that never happened. The image reappears, seamless and polished, his expression replaced with a safer version, something empty, something usable

Music floods the room. Manufactured warmth replaces the cold reality. But it’s too late. Everyone saw

And worse than that—they felt it

The crowd shifts, unsettled now. Conversations still, laughter dries out like ash. No one knows what to do with what just happened. No one wants to name it. They pretend not to notice, pretend the illusion is still intact, but it hangs in the air between them like a bruise

Because they saw the crack

And in a place like this, where everything is built on silence and spectacle, a crack is dangerous. A crack is a promise that something deeper is waiting beneath the surface, something hungry and sharp and true

He shattered in front of them

And they’re too afraid to admit it

Because here, silence is a god

And when someone dares to break it, the world forgets how to breathe

And everyone remembers what it means to bleed

The lights haven’t even cooled, the cheers still echo faintly through the walls like ghosts of a show gone wrong, when Marlene storms in, heels hitting tile like gunshots, sharp and unforgiving. Her dress ripples behind her like a warning. Her face is a painting cracked straight through the middle—flawless on the surface, but fury bleeding through the lines

“What the hell was that?” she demands, voice slicing through the room like broken glass. “You nearly exposed everything—do you have any idea what they’ll do if—”

“Get out.” Regulus says

Quietly, at first

Marlene blinks, lips still parted, caught mid-rant. “Excuse me?”

He turns to face her. Slowly. Deliberately. Like every movement costs him something. The shadows catch in the hollows of his face, in the sharp line of his jaw, in the haunted dark of his eyes

“I said out!” he repeats

No longer quiet

Not polished or practiced. Not the voice the Capitol put in his mouth. This one is older. Deeper. Unforgiving. It sounds like thunder clawing its way through stormclouds. Like something ancient waking up inside him

Marlene straightens, something in her spine pulling taut like she’s trying not to flinch. “No one’s leaving until we—”

“Now.” he says, and this time the word hits like the crack of a whip

There’s something in it. Not just anger. Not just exhaustion. Something final. Something cold. The kind of tone that stops people from breathing, the kind of tone that knows exactly what power sounds like when it stops pretending to be polite

The room stills

One by one, they scatter. The stylists vanish without a sound, like petals pulled from a dying flower. James opens his mouth, a protest already blooming on his tongue, but someone grabs his arm and he’s gone too, dragged out before he can even say my name

And then it’s just us

The silence that follows is too large for the room. It settles over everything, thick as smoke, curling into the cracks, pressing into the spaces where words used to live.

Regulus turns fully this time. Not the mentor. Not the Victor. Just him. Just the boy I knew. His eyes land on me and it’s like he’s seeing something he thought the world had burned away.

His eyes find me, and everything he’s built to survive collapses. The Capitol polish fades. The armor cracks. His face drains of color. His lips part, barely breathing, and for a second, I think he might shatter from the inside out.

His legs buckle beneath him, as if his body can no longer bear the weight of this moment, as if his bones are finally acknowledging what his heart has known all along. He crumples to the floor, not with grace, not with restraint—but with the brutal honesty of someone unraveling. There is no performance in the way he falls. Only broken instinct.

“No,” he breathes, the word cracking as it leaves his mouth. “No, no, no…”

His voice is fragile, but it keeps breaking like a wave refusing to die. He crawls toward me on his hands and knees, not caring about the eyes watching, the silence hanging above us like a blade. His hands hover, shaking mid-air, as though I’m something sacred. Like if he touches me, I’ll vanish into smoke. Like I can’t possibly be real.

“You’re not real,” he whispers, voice disbelieving and raw. “You’re not—” It splinters. “They told me you were safe. They swore they’d never touch you.”

“I’m here,” I breathe, my voice almost too soft to hear, and I can barely stay standing. “I’m really here.”

His hands twitch, aching to close the distance between us, but they falter. He doesn’t touch me. Not yet. Not while he’s still convincing himself I exist.

“I didn’t watch, star.” he confesses, and the words feel torn from him, his eyes wide, burning, begging for forgiveness I haven’t yet offered. “I stopped watching the Reapings. I couldn’t bear it. I thought—if I didn’t look, it wouldn’t happen. I thought I’d saved you.”

“You didn’t know,” I say, but the words are a blade in my throat. They taste like metal. They taste like lies.

“I should’ve known,” he says, his voice crumbling into sobs. “I should’ve felt it the moment they said your name. I gave them everything. My silence. My smile. My soul. I let them carve pieces out of me until I didn’t recognize myself. I thought if I became theirs, if I let them make me a puppet, they’d forget you ever existed.”

“You left,” I whisper. The words fall like ash, soft but final. “You promised you’d come back.”

His hands are trembling again, caught between motion and stillness, suspended inches from my skin. “I left so you wouldn’t have to be part of this,” he says, his voice low and breaking. “I left so you’d never be in a room like this. With cameras and weapons. With strangers deciding if your blood is worth spilling.”

He looks at me as if he’s memorizing everything he forgot. His eyes trace my features like they’re trying to count the years we lost—like he’s scared each blink might erase me again.

“I thought if I played their game—if I smiled when they asked, bled when they demanded, performed like a good little ghost—I could make them forget about you. I thought my silence could shield you.”

“It didn’t,” I say. And it hurts to say it. “You disappeared. And they came for me anyway.”

He doesn’t argue. He can’t. His face caves inward, like something in him has cracked so deeply it can’t be stitched back together.

“I thought you hated me,” I whisper, unable to stop the truth now that it’s out. “I thought you forgot.”

He shakes his head with a desperation that borders on grief. “I never hated you,” he says, the words tumbling out like they’ve been waiting years. “I hated myself. For leaving. For living. I remembered you every single night. I whispered your name into pillows I didn’t deserve. I carved stars into the walls when I couldn’t sleep. I prayed the Capitol would forget you.”

His tears fall silently, cutting down his face like glass. “But they didn’t. And I was too much of a coward to look.”

Then, finally, his hand lands on mine. It’s cold. Unsteady. Reverent. Like he’s afraid I’ll dissolve under his fingers. “Say something,” he whispers. “Please. Tell me you don’t hate me. Tell me I didn’t lose you completely.”

I’m crying too hard to answer. But I reach forward. I guide his trembling hand and press his palm to my chest, over my heartbeat.

“You left,” I say, my voice shaking, “but I never let go. Not really.”

He breaks. Not in the quiet way he did before—but completely. His sobs come without warning, deep and strangled, as if every scream he’s swallowed over five years is finally ripping its way out. His arms wrap around me, desperate and tight, and he pulls me against him like he’s terrified I’ll be stolen all over again.

In his embrace, we are no longer mentor and tribute. No longer Victor and girl destined to die.

We are just two broken people who once made a promise beneath the stars.

“I would’ve burned the Capitol to the ground, little bird.” he breathes into my hair, voice scorched with agony. “If I had known. I would’ve walked back into the arena a thousand times if it meant you could live.”

I close my eyes. Press my forehead gently to his. Feel the way his breath catches when I do.

“It’s too late,” I whisper. “They already chose me. I’m here now.”

His grip tightens. “Then let them do what they want to me,” he says, and his voice has changed again. It’s sharper now, like steel dragged through flame. “But I won’t lose you. Not again.”

But the Capitol does not barter with love.

And somewhere inside, we both know that.

Still, in this moment—just for this moment—we are not surrounded by cameras or death or power.

We are two children, grown into ghosts, clinging to each other in a room built for blood.

Outside, the Games wait with open jaws.

But we let the world pause.

Because we already died once.

Because this is the moment our hearts remember each other again.

Because pain, when shared, is louder than any silence they can force on us.

And because love—bruised, trembling, defiant—is still here.

Breathing. Burning. Bleeding.

Alive, for now.

taglist: @urfunnyvalentin3 @yvessentials

[codename-adler]

i’m so scared shitless the way aftg fandom is reacting towards nora sakavic and TSC leads to her just… abandoning the project and not publishing anything ever again. why so much vehement hate and rage? why are you still here if you cannot tolerate her or her writing?

mistakes were made in canon aftg. not everything is perfect, not everything is greatly represented. so? it’s been ten years. was the author intentionally insensitive? intentionally hurtful? no. and that’s what matters. she’s been gone for god knows how long, because social media has been bad, and she’s right. good for her.

but some of you are already burning her at the stake before anything has come out. some of you have been spitting on her and her work for years. can’t a person grow up? can’t a person change? can’t an author change and do better?

nora sakavic is out there on twitter x defending palestine. i think that’s much more impactful and meaningful than some much more influential celebrities. and i think it’s very telling on her as a person.

i believe in her. i admire her, and respect her, and appreciate her. the same goes for her work. i wouldn’t be here without her and aftg, and i can never deny that, turn my back on that, forget that, and why would i even want to?

it’s not bad authorship. it’s not bad writing. it’s not bad media. it’s a story about fucked up people for fucked up people. nothing about that is going to be smooth or polished nor palatable to and approved by all. it shouldn’t be.

listen, i’ve got my own disagreements with some things in canon and EC. and? they’re just that. personal disagreement. i’ve got no right to tell an author that her writing and ideas are shit when they have consumed me every waking day, have boosted my creativity, my writing, helped me make long-lasting friends.

nora sakavic isn’t a poor fragile thing by any means, but she has spoken about social media not being good for her mental health. she has told us. we know. we know she sees our stuff. we know our stuff affects her. it’s not hard to get.

i’m not telling anyone to let go of their opinions and negative emotions. i’m saying that respect must prevail. that’s all.

[deancaspinefest]

The Width of a Circle

Author: imogenbynight | Artist: Randi

Posting on Sunday March 30

Years ago, while investigating a missing teenager, Dean made an account on a blogging platform in the hopes of tracking down the monster that took her. He’d planned to delete the app once they wrapped the case, but one thing led to another, and the next thing he knew he had a surprisingly popular blog on his hands. Over the years, he’s become kind of dependent on the outlet his "Circlr" community affords him, especially when going through hard times. Hard times like now. Because Cas just came back from the dead, and he’s already taking off again. Leaving Dean behind to raise Jack in Washington where he’d died not so long ago, hoping to give the kid the time and space he needs to get a handle on his volatile powers. Feeling abandoned and rejected, Dean needs pocket friends more than ever. Cas, meanwhile, has no idea how to raise a teen. Luckily, the internet has directed him to a blogging platform full of helpful advice, recipes, and semi-anonymous people to befriend...

Keep reading for a sneak preview!

There are very few circumstances in which Dean is relieved to see Sam and Cas having a conversation without him. It’s not a jealousy thing. Not entirely, anyway.

Mostly, it’s a danger thing.

Even individually, Cas and Sam can be reckless and single-minded. When they team up, Dean’s learned to brace for impending disaster.

So when he shuffles into the kitchen a little later than usual the morning after they get back from Dodge City to find Sam in his workout gear and Cas sitting stone-faced opposite him at the table, he knows before either of them even turn to meet his eyes that he’s not going to like what’s coming.

“Everything okay?” he asks anyway.

Sam grimaces.

“Yeah.”

“You lie to cops with that face?”

“I have to talk with you about something,” Cas cuts in, and indicates the empty seat next to Sam. Dean’s favorite mug is sitting there like a peace offering. Dean eyes it with distrust.

“How bad is it?”

“It’s not bad at all,” Cas insists, and gestures again toward Dean’s seat.

Dread rising despite the reassurance, Dean takes the seat and wraps his hands around the mug. Breathes in the usually comforting scent of coffee prepared just the way he likes it, and tries not to catastrophize before he’s heard what Cas is going to say.

“As I was just telling Sam, I spoke with Jack last night after you went to bed.”

Dean’s gut twists, suddenly certain that Jack has told him in excruciating detail how awful things had been when they first brought him home. How angry Dean was.

I told Jack I’d kill him, and I meant it, Dean thinks. And now Cas is gonna say he’s done with me.

His eyes burn. His throat feels tight. Cas keeps speaking before he can think of a single damn thing to say in his own defense.

“He told me he’s afraid of his powers.”

Dean’s hands tingle with confused, unspent adrenaline. He loosens his grip on the mug.

“He is?”

“What happened with the security guard… he’s scared that something like that could happen again. He has all this power but no true understanding of how to safely wield it, and he’s terrified that he’ll harm another civilian. Even more so that he’ll hurt one of us, or inadvertently set off some magical weapon here in the bunker.”

“Again,” Sam adds.

Glancing at him, Dean frowns.

“Again?”

“Apparently the day before I was resurrected, he accidentally destroyed a curse box in the storage room while practicing the ‘pencil trick’ Sam had been teaching him. I checked the storage records and the room last night after he told me. The curse it had contained was very short-lived, and it has long since dissipated, but I’m sure you can understand how lucky it was that it didn’t affect Jack or anyone else.”

“So what do we do?” Dean asks, glancing between Cas and Sam, and Cas seems to steel himself.

“I’m going train him,” he says.

Dean slumps in relief.

“Fuck, okay, yeah, I figured you would. Is that what you—”

“Somewhere else.”

The words hit Dean like a kick to the chest, and he feels a little like he’s going to throw up. Swallowing roughly, he drops his gaze to the table.

“So you're leaving,” he says, and though he tries to mask it, he knows his hurt is as plain as if he’d said it aloud. “When?”

He’s not sure why he’s bothering to ask.

Keep reading on Ao3 after Sunday March 30 🌲Find more 2025 Pinefest previews here 🌲

[lowkeyerror]

Power Dynamics pt3

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Word Count: 1.5k

Notes: Requested, Nothing crazy, conversational

Summary: You and Wanda address the elephant in the room that is your feelings.

An: I honestly didn't really know what to do here, but I tried anon 😭

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist

It had been a few months since Wanda became your mentor. You control on the powers of the black vortex had increased tenfold. You were able to do significantly more than you had in the beginning. There were still some things that you struggled with, but you worked relentlessly to become better.

It all would’ve been impossible without Wanda.

Throughout the months things became better between the two of you. However there was still so much left unsaid. Instead of tiptoeing around each other, it felt like you were dancing each other.

The more you trained with Wanda, the more your anger toward society dimmed. There was still a part of you that longed to get revenge, but it was much more calm than before.

It allowed you to think. The only reason you were in the position the were was because of S.H.I.E.L.D, If you were to attack them, you could prevent another Avenger’s event. There would be no longer because any secret government initiatives that cost people their lives.

Heroes existed before the government got their hands involved, and you were sure they’d exist after.

It didn’t matter who got in your way, with this power, you could easily destroy them.

“Thinking about world domination again?”

Wanda finds you with your back towards her in the kitchen.

“Something like that,” you mumble. “Are you still insisting that I can’t be the bad guy?”

She shrugs, “Free will, do what you want.”

“So what’s on the agenda today?”

Wanda sighs. You know by that tone it means she’s been thinking about something. You turn to five her your full attention and you can see it on her face.

Her nerves don’t manifest the same way they did all those years ago. There was a poise to her mannerisms that never seemed to leave. Instead of seeming jittery or nervous, she was calm. It was practiced, you could tell by the way her chest rose like she was deeply breathing.

Her eyes meet yours and yours, “Can we talk?”

Usually one for sarcasm, you can't bring yourself to respond anything other than, “Yeah. Here or…”

“Follow me.”

You follow her to the room, that you usually train with the Darkhold in. She sits on the floor with her legs crossed over each other and you do the same. She inhales deeply before softly exhaling.

When she looks at you, there’s vulnerability in her eyes. You see a little fear in them as well. It as if for a moment, she’s letting the mask drop. The relationship that you’ve rebuilt as mentor and trainee, rather than what you really were, was being temporarily abandoned.

“Wanda, what’s this about?”

“Us, I want to talk about us. I‐ I’m tired of us ignoring it. I wasn’t ready, but now I am and I’m willing to open up if you’re ready to hear it.”

You lean back, your palms lying flat against the wood floor. Your eyes closed, as if it would prepare you for a conversation of this magnitude. The tough outer shell, you had put up already seemed to be cracking.

You breathe deeply, like she had, before responding, “Ok.”

“I know when I said it before, you didn’t believe me, but I loved you. I mean how could I not ? You were charming, attentive, patient; you were the only one in the compound that seemed to trust me from the start.”

Instead of protesting, you chime in, “We were both young. The others, they were uncertain, maybe a little scared of you. I saw through it, you had your childhood ripped away from you, forced to become something you never asked to be. You were hurting, and you were alone. I didn’t know if I could stop the hurt, but I thought that maybe I could help you feel less alone.”

“And you did both. I never felt alone when I was with you.”

The pause in her words showed you where this was going, “But…”

“But Vision and I had something in common that just... it’s hard to explain.”

“Wanda,” you start empathetically.

“No-”

You cut her off, “I get it.”

The argument dies on her lips, as she looks at you. She searches your features trying to read you, but she can’t. You inadvertently shrink under her gaze. Your knees come up to your chest and your arms lock around them.

“I got it even back then, I just didn’t want to admit it. You and Vision were both learning how to navigate your emotions at the same time. Since he was a- well you know, he could make logical sense out of literally anything, even emotion. He could show you what you were feeling and why, in a way that was non-provocative. Even if it did provoke you, he wasn’t like other people because he wasn’t going to flare back. It was safer for you to explore those feelings with him, it was better.”

He was better.

“I didn’t mean to fall for him, to put either of you in that situation. I couldn’t make sense of my feelings and I knew you were getting frustrated. I was hurting you and I didn’t want to leave you in limbo. So, I did what I thought was right and broke it off between us. I didn’t get with him right after, it took months, nearly a year,” she whispers.

“I saw it coming, but it didn’t help. I spiraled and I lost myself. The insecurities made it impossible to move on. I lost the love of my life… the smartest being in the universe. To someone without real skin or a heartbeat. To someone that was indispensable to my teammates, my family. I didn’t have a choice, but to get over it.”

“I’m sorry,” Wanda’s composure slips as her voice cracks.

“Don’t be, you loved him and I’m okay with that.”

Wanda can’t help but ask, “Do you believe me, when I say that I loved you?”

No.

You sit silently, unable to craft answer. She’s already heard it loud and clear in your mind. You know she has. Instead of saying yes or no you try to explain it to her.

“After we defeated Thanos, I was alone. Almost everyone had someone else, except for us. A foolish part of me thought that maybe we could stick together. I’m not blaming you when I say this, but I want even an option in your head. You didn't even think about me. You created an entirely different reality where you got to be happily married with kids. If it wasn't for Strange contacting you, we would've never seen each other again. So when you say that you loved me…”

“Y/n,” Wanda starts, but stops when you meet her eyes.

“How am I supposed to believe that Wanda?” Your voice was small and broken. “I don’t hold it against you anymore, can’t that just be enough.”

She crosses the room, and kneels in front of you, “I- I want to show you.”

“Wanda, it doesn’t matter.”

Her hand reaches out to cup your face and you let her, “It matters to me.”

Slowly you could feel her entering your mind. , placing images in your head. Her thoughts, feelings and emotions mixed with yours. You could see it, her love for you. It was so much clearer in her eyes, it made sense. That doesn’t mean it was easy to digest.

“I understand,” you say silently.

“Y/n, is it too late?”

Your eyes widen, “Too late for what?”

“For us,” it’s a whisper on her lips.

Part of you wants to pull yourself from her grasp but you don’t, “Wanda, I don’t know.”

“Y/n, before this I was sure about going down a dark path. I was okay with becoming whatever everyone thought of me, but when you came into the picture… I didn’t want that anymore. I just wanted you."

You close your eyes, “You know how I feel about you, but this power… I don't want to let it go. It’s been months of us working to understand them and now that I'm so close, you want me to give them up?”

Wanda sighs, “No, I guess not. Sorry, this was stupid, let’s just forget I said anything,” her hands fall from your face. She tries to stand, to put distance between the two of you.

You’re quick to your feet pulling her back into you, “I love you, but I’m scared. Wanda we’ve done this before and you broke my heart.”

“I'm scared too.”

You look into each other's eyes and in that moment, you break, “Fuck it.”

Your lips touch hers, her hands hold your face. There’s an urgency to the kiss. Almost as if you’re both searching for answers in the essence of each other. Revenge the furthest thing from your mind as Wanda’s lips chip away at the venom in your mind.

“Don’t break me again,” you whisper against her lips with your eyes shut.

“I won’t, not ever,” she breaths against your lips.

[casanovawrites]

random sentence prompts  ━ from various tv shows, part 16

i don’t think i’ve ever been this fucking tired.

sometimes people act like one thing, even though they’re something else.

that little bit of hope, that’s the part i couldn’t bear.

i would give anything to feel like a good person again.

best way to make us suffer is to give us hope.

piecing this together is like trying to grab hold of water.

so far, i’m underwhelmed. 

i don’t want a relationship. i just want to be with you all the time.

i just wanna know why everyone always abandons me.

i can’t be around you anymore. it’s confusing, and it makes me feel insane.

you didn’t take me out of love, you took me out of spite. 

don’t let love make you out to be a fool. leave before you’re left.

you are a lonely, selfish, narcissistic asshole. 

every time i look at you, i feel so completely dismantled. 

i have people who mean more to me than you would ever understand. 

always surprised to see you so tenderhearted. 

that’s more like salvation than a simple favor.

when i think about the specifics too much, i just get sad.

i let my ego get in the way of a lot of good shit in my life.

it’s easier to lose interest than to work through things. 

it’s my life. it’s already over in the first place. 

i only wanted to leave because i’ve never felt seen here.

do you wanna be right, or do you wanna have your family?

you’re exactly like me. that’s the problem.

i just wanna feel normal. please help me feel normal.

it felt like we were changing the world.

i am so sorry i freaked out. it will not happen again.

i thought that work would distract me.

you challenged me, and in return, i made you feel small. i’m sorry.

you said that we were bad for each other.

why is my fucking point of view the one everyone’s assuming is wrong?

sometimes it feels like i’m watching other people experience things.

you know, sometimes i think you just lie for the fun of it.

i fucking love that. i love when you stoop to my level.

sometimes i just wanna feel so normal that i’m almost boring.

that’s the thing about liars. they look just like everybody else.

i don’t hate you. what good is that gonna do?

i feel angry, sad, betrayed. i don’t hate you, i feel bad for you.

i feel bad for you because you aren’t the good person you thought you were. that’s gotta hurt, knowing that.

i'm either all in or all out. i need to find a way forward.

when you are ready, this will make you stronger. better.

you either adapt, or you lose your mind.

don’t tell me you’re pretty, privileged, and humorless.

you know, at some point, we’re gonna have to start trusting each other. 

i used to be a happier person.

thank you for not being full of shit.

she was a nuisance as a child and a horror show as a teen. 

i’m so sick of hearing everybody’s opinions about me.

i don’t think you’re pathetic. i just want you to be careful.

i’m done looking like a fucking idiot, so i’m asking you to treat me with some respect from now on.

i just got you back. i’m not losing you again.

everyone was so scared, there was no time to be angry.

i believed in you. don’t you get that?

would you rather i just pick you apart and make you feel like shit?

what you want is for me to read your mind so i can say whatever you want to hear at any given time.

i was already on my fucking own.

whatever this is, it’s you and i.

i couldn’t kill you. i’d probably just cry.

if we’re gonna do this, we’re doing it together.

this seems like a really good plan to piss off my parents, so i’m in.

do things around here feel different to you?

scared people do scary things. even the good ones.

i know we don’t right now. but could we make sense again?

we keep playing with fire, and we need to stop before we burn our lives down.

i am the one who keeps people alive.

which fucking nightmare am i supposed to be afraid of?

i cant help if i’m in the dark.

every time something good happens, something bad comes to ruin it.

whatever this is, we are stronger than this.

will i ever feel normal again?

i think this is your normal now. and everyday, you’ll get a little more comfortable with it.

[pipwritesoccasionally]

the love we share (two little lines part 4)

toji x reader

in which you go to your last appointment of your pregnancy with toji.

technically AFAB reader, but i've left it as gender neutral as possible.

wc: 1188

parts: 1 2 3 5

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

goodness gracious does your back hurt. after carrying a whole other human in your body for over 37 weeks, you’re ready to give birth. unfortunately, the universe has other plans for you, and so instead of going to the hospital to give birth, you’re getting ready for yet another appointment. 

you waddle around the house, ankles burning with your newfound weight, getting all of your records and doctor’s notes to bring with you to your appointment. 

“toji! we need to go!” you yell, holding onto the handrail to make your way down the stairs. toji’s footsteps stomp down the hall, and he meets you at the bottom of the stairs, supporting you with a hand in yours.

“i got the keys already, and i got you a car snack so you don’t get sick,” he hands over a granola bar, and you feel your eyes well up with tears. 

“i’m so in love with you,” you cry, and he wipes your cheeks. at this point, he is so used to your hormones that he does not even question why you’re crying. 

“let’s go see our baby,” he says, and you nod, following him to the car.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

you’re laying on your back, cold lotion rubbed over your belly to aid the ultrasound. the doctor brings the machine over, and you see your baby once again. 

“they’re beautiful,” you whisper, holding onto toji’s hand. looking over, you see your husband’s eyes full of light and love for your coming baby.

“yeah. they are.” he says softly, and you squeeze his hand. 

“now, i know you’ve said that you don’t want to know the gender, but i just want to double check one more time,” the doctor asks, and you shake your head. 

“we want it to be a total surprise,” the two of you had discussed this as you slowly moved into your second trimester, and you had both decided that you wanted to find out the baby’s gender when you give birth. in order to make it easier on your bank account, the nursery was full of both megumi and tsumiki’s old baby supplies, still giving you enough money to take care of the two kids. 

“alright. well, the baby looks almost fully developed, and their heartbeat sounds normal. they should be coming sometime within the next week, and if you need anything, or if anything happens, please come see me again,” you and toji thank the doctor, and start the effortful journey back to the car, where you eventually slump into the passenger seat. 

toji slides into the driver seat, hand resting on top of yours. 

“so,” he begins, “how are you feeling?” 

this is a question that he’s posed to you many times throughout the duration of your pregnancy, but with the idea of giving birth casting a shadow over you, it had never been more appropriate. 

“i guess i’m nervous,” you say, completely understating your true feelings. you were positively terrified. all your life, you’d heard people recounting stories about how birth was one of the most painful things ever. 

“you know you can’t lie to me, doll,” toji says, him squeezing your hand this time. you sigh, but nod. 

“i’m so scared toji. i mean, it’s supposed to be some of the most insane pain of my life. also, what about the kids? a baby is exhausting, and i don’t want them to feel abandoned.” 

“hey, breathe. remember how we talked about making time for the kids months ago? we will make it work. and you’re not alone, i’m here to help take care of all of our kids,” his large, warm hand comes to cup your cheek, and you lean against him. 

“what if i’m not ready?” you ask, and he shakes his head. 

“you’re already the world’s best step-parent, so raising our biological will be a walk in the park for you,” you laugh lightly, but he continues. “i’m serious. megumi and tsumiki really do like you more than me.” 

“i doubt that. they love you,” your face breaks into a grin. 

“which means that they love you a lot too,” toji smiles softly at you, and you don’t know if you can love someone more. 

“stop being so handsome!” you exclaim, turning away from him. 

“only when you stop being so attractive every single day,” he responds without missing a beat, amplifying your embarrassment. 

“stop!” you laugh. 

“i can’t, doll.” 

how can you keep a normal heartrate around your beautiful husband when he compliments you like that? you turn your head back, staring at him. 

“what? is there something on my face?” he asks, running a hand down said face. 

“no. i’m just wondering how i got so lucky,” his ears turn pink, and he tries to cough to hide his blush. 

“if anyone’s lucky in this relationship, it’s me,” he says, and you smile. 

“can we just say we’re both lucky? we do live with megumi and tsumiki,” you both laugh, before pulling on your seatbelts. 

“that sounds right. those brats are, well, brats, but they’re pretty cool too.” 

“i’m pretty sure that’s a contradictory statement,” the car revs to life, and he hums. 

“maybe. either way, they’re pretty cool kids.” 

“wait. is toji fushiguro not calling his amazing kids brats for once? i’m shocked,” you feign shock, with your hand placed against your chest. he scoffs, pulling out of your parking spot. 

“okay, i don’t always call my kids brats, and never to their faces. i can’t have them misconstrue my meaning,” his pretend annoyance at his kids is something you understand as sarcasm, but the kids might not.

“besides,” he continues, “we both know that they’re the greatest gifts the world has ever given us. and i’m sure baby #3 will be just as great a gift,” warmth envelopes your body as toji cups your belly, looking lovingly at your bump. 

“we love you,” you whisper, rubbing your belly. while you know that most parents talk to their babies in the womb, you and your husband were more reserved. you mostly just told the baby how much you love them, and how excited you are for they to come home. 

“yeah, we love you so much. so do megumi and tsumiki, though they might be grumpy teens when you’re old enough to know it,” toji says, and you laugh. the car develops into a serious silence, and you find toji looking at you with serene look in his eye. 

“is something wrong?” you ask. 

“no, nothing’s wrong. i’m just thinking about how i’m so grateful for you and our baby. my life is better because you’re in it,” toji can seem gruff or standoffish, but he can be such a sweet-talker to the people he loves. 

“i thought i couldn’t fall more in love with you, and you’ve proved me wrong. you’re the best husband i could ask for,” you lean in, and he meets you halfway with a kiss. 

“alright, should we go home?” he asks, holding your hand over the middle console. 

“yes, we should.” you reply, the car crackling with warmth from the love you share.

[advisorykitty]

hello! I’m the person who wrote the Randal x wheelchair user request (I’M ABSOLUTELY OBSESSED WITH IT AAHH)! I was maybe wondering if you could do a part 2 or maybe one shot? :3 no pressure at all! You don’t have to do it ofc. I hope you’re doing well!

Just a trip!

Hope ya like the oneshot!!! I hope you're doing well too ^_^

The sound of creaking metal and distant echoes made your stomach churn as you rolled your wheelchair along the uneven ground. The air was damp and heavy, carrying a metallic tang that left a strange taste in your mouth. You didn’t know why you agreed to this—or, more accurately, how Randal had convinced you. Again.

“We’re gonna have so much fun!” Randal chirped, pushing your wheelchair down the narrow corridor of the abandoned factory. His mismatched shoes squeaked against the grimy concrete floor. “This place is perfect, don’t you think? So spooky! And dangerous. I love it.”

You gripped the armrests of your chair tighter, trying to keep your breathing steady. “Randal, I… I don’t think this is safe.”

He leaned over your shoulder, his wild grin almost brushing your cheek. “Safe? Pfft. Where’s the fun in that? You’re with me, so you’ve got nothing to worry about!”

That didn’t reassure you at all. Randal wasn’t exactly known for his careful planning or concern for other people’s well-being. Still, you’d never seen him this excited, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him no. You never did.

Randal continued to chatter as he pushed you deeper into the building. “Did you know this place used to be a meatpacking plant? Lots of sharp tools and hooks and stuff. I bet they left some behind! Ooh, maybe we’ll find something really creepy, like… I dunno, a severed hand or a haunted chainsaw!”

You swallowed hard. “Why… why would we want to find that?”

“Why not?” Randal shot back, giggling like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard. He stopped abruptly, making your chair jolt. “Oh, look at this!”

He darted ahead, leaving you alone for a moment. Your chest tightened as you glanced around the dimly lit space. The flickering light from Randal’s flashlight cast eerie shadows on the cracked walls, making them seem alive. The faint hum of distant machinery—though the factory had been abandoned for years—sent a shiver down your spine.

“Uh… Randal?” you called out, your voice trembling.

“Relax, bunny! I’m right here!” His face popped out of the darkness suddenly, and you let out a startled yelp. He doubled over with laughter. “Oh, man, you should’ve seen your face! Priceless!”

You pressed a hand to your chest, trying to calm your racing heart. “Don’t do that!”

He tilted his head, still grinning. “Why not? You’re so cute when you’re scared.” He grabbed the handles of your wheelchair again and started pushing you down another hallway. “C’mon, don’t chicken out now. We’re just getting started!”

The two of you eventually reached a massive room filled with rusted machinery. Chains hung from the ceiling, swaying slightly in a nonexistent breeze. Randal parked your wheelchair near a conveyor belt and hopped onto it, balancing precariously on the edge.

“Check this out!” he said, kicking at a chain to make it rattle. “Doesn’t this place just scream ‘horror movie’? Imagine all the things that could’ve happened here. Blood. Screaming. Death. Awesome, right?”

You didn’t answer. Your eyes were glued to the dark corners of the room, where the flashlight’s beam couldn’t reach. Every creak and groan of the old building made you flinch.

“Hey, are you even listening to me?” Randal hopped down and crouched in front of you, his face uncomfortably close to yours. “You’re not scared, are you?”

You hesitated, then nodded slightly. “A little…”

His grin widened. “Good! Fear makes everything more exciting. It’s like… seasoning for life. Or maybe dessert. Yeah, fear is dessert.” He stood up and twirled the flashlight like a baton. “But don’t worry. If anything tries to hurt you, I’ll rip it apart. Easy peasy.”

You weren’t sure whether that was comforting or terrifying.

The mood shifted abruptly when you heard a loud clang from somewhere above.

You froze. “Randal… what was that?”

“Probably a ghost,” he said nonchalantly, tilting his head to listen. “Or a rat. Or a ghost rat! Oh, wouldn’t that be cool? I should make a doll of that.”

The sound came again, louder this time. It was followed by the unmistakable groan of metal straining under pressure.

“Uh… maybe we should leave,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Randal waved you off. “Nah, it’s probably nothing. Besides, brother would kill me if I came home this early.”

As if on cue, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You fumbled to pull it out and saw Luther’s name on the screen. Before you could answer, Randal snatched the phone away.

“Brotherrr!” he sang into the phone. “Guess where we are!”

You couldn’t hear Luther’s response, but judging by the way Randal winced, it wasn’t pleasant.

“Relax, big brother! We’re just having a little adventure. You worry too much.” He paused, then laughed. “Okay, okay, fine. We’ll head back soon. Jeez, you’re no fun.” He hung up and handed the phone back to you.

“Big brother is such a buzzkill,” Randal muttered, kicking at a loose bolt on the floor. “But I guess we should wrap this up. For now.”

You let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said with a mischievous glint in his eye. “We still have to get out of here alive.”

As Randal wheeled you back toward the exit, the building seemed to come alive around you. The groaning metal grew louder, accompanied by distant thuds and the occasional sound of shattering glass.

“See? Isn’t this fun?” Randal said, laughing as he dodged a falling piece of debris. “It’s like the whole place is trying to kill us! What a rush!”

You couldn’t even respond; you were too busy clutching the armrests of your chair, your heart pounding in your chest.

By the time you finally reached the exit, you were shaking. Randal, on the other hand, looked like he’d just had the time of his life.

“That was awesome!” he said, spinning in a circle. “We should do this again sometime.”

You stared at him, your face pale. “Randal… you’re insane.”

He grinned, leaning down to meet your gaze. “Maybe. But you’re stuck with me anyway, bunny.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue.

As the two of you made your way back to the street, Randal started humming a creepy little tune under his breath.

You promise yourself that next time you'll Sebastian handle him.. well more like endure..

Hope ya guys enjoyed this! Also i cba asked to proof read so mind the msitakes pls!! ^_^

[justmeinadaze]

Take It Out On Me Part 27 (Steddie X Plus Size Reader)

Warning: Soft Doms Daddy Steve and Sir Eddie & Sub Fem Plus Size Y/N, SMUT, dirty talk, a bit softer than the norm with these two but she's preggo so lol FLUFF, they love her and the little one. We find out the gender and get a name for da baby.

ANGST, Steve's dad makes an asshole cameo, the three of them confront the other parents to tell them reader is pregnant. Those are the biggies. Not my normal level of angst :)

Word Count: 4696

Series here/ Donate to my Ko-Fi <3

“Hey guys. Thank you for coming and please have a seat.”, Steve instructs your parents as he gestures towards the couch where Wayne was already waiting. 

“Okay…is everything alright?”, your mother asks in a worried tone.

“Yeah, everything’s ok, Mrs. Y/L/N.”, Eddie answers as he sits in one of the chairs they placed on either side of yours. 

The three of you came up with a game plan since the last time all the parents were addressed it didn’t end well. You were going to do the bulk of the speaking when it came to your parents but if they addressed one of the boys or reacted as they had before, Eddie and Steve would take over to promptly end the conversation. They weren’t going to allow you to be hurt again especially after your hospital visit. 

Now they had two lives they needed to look after and protect.

Once your mom and dad were seated, you smiled as you handed your mom a little envelope and back away to take a seat near your protectors. 

No one says a word as she opens the paper and pulls out its contents. Your eyes close as you physically prepare for the fallout and you hear your mother heavily exhale.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“H-How? I don’t…I thought you were on the pill? At least…I mean…you told me you were.”

Your father cringes at your mom’s words as he continues to process what he’s hearing.

“I am…was…Before we went to Italy, we had an incident where they needed to switch the birth control. The nurse told us to wait a week but my doctor said that was wrong.”

“What?!”, your mother and Wayne exclaimed at the same time causing you to recoil a bit. 

Steve petted your head to calm you, assuring you everything was still alright.

“That’s more than just being wrong, sweetheart. Jesus, what is your doctor doing? Did she fire that nurse?”, Eddie’s uncle asked with what you could immediately tell was genuine concern.

“She said she was going to talk to her—”

“She needs to more than that! I’ll go down there and talk to them myself—”

As you folded more into yourself, Eddie glanced at Steve ready to jump in; the other boy agreeing.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, please, with all due respect we need everyone here to be calm—”

“And how do we do that, Steven?”, your father asked sharply. “This is a pretty big fucking deal.”

“Well, you better fucking figure it out because we’ve already had one scare that put her in the hospital and it won’t happen again!”, Eddie growled. 

“What?! I don’t…what happened…why didn’t anyone call us!? Edward, she’s our daughter!”

“And she’s our wife!” Everyone became silent at the metalhead’s outburst as he blinked realizing what he said. “Girlfriend…she’s our girlfriend…That we have never abandoned but you have. WE needed to make sure she was safe first.”

“Is the baby ok?”, Wayne asked, breathing a sigh of relief when you nodded. 

“She panicked and, again, for fear of how people would react tried to break up with us. She was so stressed…she was in pain…”, Steve relays as his jaw tightens hating the memory. 

“So, I’m assuming because this was an accident you don’t know who’s the father?”, your dad asked as he stood up and began pacing. 

“Please don’t call my baby an accident.”, you whimper. 

“He’s OURS and we love him.”, Eddie announced making you smile softly. 

“Could they get a sex?”

“Oh, no, Wayne, it’s still too early. I’d call that parent’s intuition.”, you mom responds flashing a grin his way. 

“Ok, Bev, I’m trying really hard but I need to be the reality check here. She just graduated college, Steve works at a video store, Eddie works at a record store. How are they going to take care of a child?”

“Mr. C offered to let me continue interning for him and then next school year I could teach if the principal still wants to hire me.”

“Robin and I have a plan together for the non-profit. We actually have meetings with investors within these next couple of months.”

“That’s amazing, Steve.”, Eddie’s uncle praises making the boy smile in appreciation. “And you, Ed? Last I spoke with you, you were working to get recording time.”

“Yeah, the guys and I have a lot of money saved. We’re hoping within the next month we can get something out. Funds have slowed a bit since I started putting money aside for Y/N.”

“What about the birth certificate? You both can’t put your names on there.”

“We’ll cross that bridge when we get there.”

“Oh, Steven? Have you already crossed the bridge of your feelings about how this child is going to have one of your genes? How it might cause animosity that this kid looks a bit more like one man than the other?  How it could drive you crazy to NOT know.”

Eddie steps forward squaring his shoulder as he comes toe to toe with your father. 

“That’s OUR kid. I don’t care if he’s biologically mine or Steve’s. As long as he’s happy and healthy…as long as he knows BOTH his father’s love him…no matter what. I don’t fucking care.”

The other man places his palm on his friend’s chest to calm him, pushing him back towards you. 

“Are you going to tell Bill?”, your mom inquires. “With the way he reacted about Y/N, I’m sure he’ll take this well.”, she says sarcastically. 

“I wasn’t going to say anything. They haven’t been in my life for over 4 years.”

“I know, baby, but you should give them the chance. At least your mom…”

“I’d go with you but your dad placed a restraining order on me.”, your father sighs as he places his hands on his hips. “Don’t laugh at me, Beverly.”

“I can’t help it, Robert.”

“Are you mad at me?” Your voice cuts through the room as both boys back up so you can see your parents. 

“No, honey. We aren’t mad. We’re just concerned but like Mr. Munson here we want our daughter to be happy and healthy.”, your mother coos as she gets up to hug you tightly to her. 

############

“Ok, so tell me again what else you need?”, Masie asks as you two browse the baby section of the store you two were walking around. 

“The most expensive thing we need is a crib. Besides that, um, a stroller, a car seat…my mom said we can’t have enough bottles.”, you giggle. “I was thinking for the baby’s room, maybe, we could do like a Wizard of Oz thing. Wayne told me a story about how that book always comforted Eddie.”

“I can do that. Did they have a preference or…”

“No, they said I should just do whatever I wanted.”, you giggle. 

It had been a couple of months since you guys talked to your parents and the reality of everything was beginning to set in. The first time you felt him move you cried for an hour scaring the boys to death. 

“Is…is this normal?”, Steve asked as he petted your head. 

“Yeah, I’m just so happy. We’re having a baby.”, you sob.

“Oh, sweetheart.”, Eddie chuckles as he pulls you to his chest. 

“What do you think, little dude? Do you want bottles with lions or elephants?”, Masie inquires as she leans down to speak directly to your tummy making you laugh harder. “Both? Sounds good.”

“Maze—”

“Nope. I won’t hear it. I’m buying these for my new little best friend.”

“Your nephew.”, you correct. Your best friend pauses as she straightens up and her eyes meet your own. “Masie, you’ve been with me since kindergarten and through all of my chaos. You’re my sister and I love you.”

She wraps her arms around your neck, kissing your cheek when she finally pulls away. 

The sudden sound of glass breaking catches your attention as you both turn towards the noise coming face to face with Mrs. Harrington’s wide-eyed expression. Without addressing you, she abruptly swivels around, dropping everything in her hands as she powerwalks out of the store.

***

Steve was already pacing in the living room mentally preparing himself when the sound of loud banging on the front door echoed through the house. 

After kissing his lips, you and Eddie backed away to allow him to take control as he casually began opening the door to his home. Before he could do anything about it, his father burst through uninvited, huffing as his wild eyes landed on you.

“How dare you, you little whore!”

As he began charging your way, the metalhead pushed you behind him as Steve slid between him and his father to cut him off. 

“No. If you want to talk we can talk but you will NOT speak to her like that.”

“I’ll speak to her any way I see fit! I’ve put up with this farse long enough, Steven. This is not a relationship, you three aren’t married, and that bastard doesn’t belong to you both!”

Before anyone could do anything about it, the younger Harrington’s fist flew knocking his father to the floor. 

“Eddie…”, you whispered in fear, gripping his arm. 

He could feel the worry you had for them practically radiating from you and his protective mode instantly kicked in. 

“Don’t move.”, he commanded, stepping forward to place himself beside his friend. “Get out.”, Eddie growled as he yanked Mr. Harrington to his feet and shoved him towards the door. 

“You’re done, son. I’m cutting you off. No more installments into your account, no more inheritance from me or your mother. Nothing, do you hear me, NOTHING will go to that thing. I don’t care if it is biologically yours.”

“Fine. I don’t need anything from you, Bill. You both weren’t there for the worst moment in my life. What makes you think I’d want you there for the best? I can’t wait to be father so I can be nothing like you. Now…GET…OUT!”

As soon as his father left, you wrapped your arms around Steve’s waist and clung to him as his arms remained at his sides. 

“Are you alright, man?”, Eddie asked as he came up beside you both. 

You could feel it coming off his agitated frame as your cheek rose and fell with each heavy breath of his chest. He was furious. 

He was angry that his father was despicable and continued to hurt him even now. He was pissed that anyone, let alone his own blood called his baby that he already loved so much a ‘bastard’ and a ‘thing’. Steve felt betrayed by his mother who immediately ran to her husband knowing how he’d react without coming to speak with him herself. He wanted to kill him for disrespecting you and even THINKING he could charge at you to lay his hands on you. 

But more than anything, he was hurt that both his parents still didn’t seem to give a damn about him or his happiness. 

Tilting back, your palms cup his face as he continues to look past you into the void.

“Daddy, baby, look at me.”

It took him a few seconds and some more soft murmurs before his eyes glassy eyes met yours.

“I’m so sorry. You don’t deserve the bullshit he puts you through. I know you’re a good man and I have no doubt you’ll be an amazing father.” When his forehead presses against yours, you feel his breathing begin to calm. “It’s ok, honey. You can still use me.”

Glancing towards Eddie, he waits for his friend to give him a nod letting him know he thought it would be ok. You three were still intimate but it was much softer than before. They didn’t want to trigger another episode or hurt you too much even after getting the ok from your doctor. 

Since that point a lot had happened and all of you were just genuinely too exhausted to do anything more than cuddle. 

Lifting you into his arms, Steve carried you to the bedroom and laid you on your back horizontally across the mattress. After tearing away your clothes, he opened your legs wide and spit into your cunt before falling onto his side next to you and sliding his arm under your head for you to use as a pillow. On impulse you raised one of your legs in the air and his heavy breathing warmed your cheek as he guided his cock inside of you. 

As his fingers dug into your thigh, he set a rough pace as he absorbed the feeling of being inside you like this again. Glancing to your other side, you watched as Eddie came around the bed and knelt down by your head. Your fingers reached for him but he shook his head as he tenderly took hold of both sides of yours and turned it till you were facing the other man. 

“He needs you right now, sweetheart.”, he whispered in your ear as he gently played with your hair that hung over the end of the mattress. 

“Mmm—feels so good, Sir.”

“Yeah, baby? You’re going to cum already? It’s been a while since we’ve been able to take care of you, huh.”

Steve abruptly pulls out of you and shuffles around till you feel his tongue rapidly flick your clit as two of his fingers thrust in and out of your core.

“Fuck! Daddy, please.”

Placing your hand on the back of his head, you hold him to you as your back arches off the bed and you cum, groaning as he drank you in. 

“Color, baby?”

“Green, Sir…Fuck…”

After taping your pussy with his length and making you twitch at the feeling, he slides himself inside of you again, stretching your leg up his chest so he could cling to your thigh for leverage as he pounded into you. 

Eddie continued to gently kiss your forehead, cheek, or any other part of your skin he could reach with his lips. 

“Right there, Daddy. Just like that. Fuck, I love you so much.”

 Steve’s pace suddenly slowed and your eyes locked as he blinked as if coming back into the moment. Dropping your leg to the side, you promptly wrapped it around his waist as he leaned down till his head was by your ear. 

“I’m not…too heavy…am I?”, he panted.

“No, Daddy. You feel perfect against me.”

“I love you, Y/N. I’m so s-sorry for how my family treats you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Threading your fingers in his hair, you held him as tightly as you could as you rolled your hips underneath him encouraging him to continue. 

“It’s ok, Steve. All—All I care about is how they make you feel. I’m sorry—fuck—I’m sorry they can’t see what an amazing man you are.” Finding his rhythm again, the bed began to subtly shake as his cock abused your g-spot. “Oh my god. Just like that, Daddy.”

With Eddie having long moved out of the way, Steve’s palm clung to the sheets next to your head as he groans. 

“Fuck, baby. You wanna cum with Daddy?”

Nodding your head, your nails drag down his back as your pussy quivers around him and the coil snaps. Grunting at the feeling, he slowed his movements but not his intensity as he slammed his seed inside of your cunt. 

“Good girl. Shit, you feel so good. Do…Do you need anything?”

“Water.”

“10 steps ahead of you, sweetheart. Here, sit up and drink this.”, Eddie instructs as he hands you a glass that you knock back. “Whoa, whoa. Babe, you’re going to throw up. Slow down.”

“Thirsty.”

“Jesus, Steven. Fucking fucked the vocabulary out of our girl here.”

You and Steve giggle as he takes your cup and leaves to get you more. 

“Can we take a bath? I’m a little sore.”

“Yeah, honey, of course.”

Carefully guiding you out of bed, the former jock fills the tub with warm water as the metalhead comes back with more for you to drink. 

“Slow, baby. Good girl.”

As soon as everything is ready and the bathroom is smelling like sand on a beach, Steve takes your hand and helps you in, placing himself behind you as he cleans you and gently massages your lower back. 

When he abruptly pauses you can’t help but giggle when you take hold of his palm and move it back over your tummy. 

“He loves you both. Every time you talk or touch me, he does a little dance.” Eddie sits on the floor outside the tub and places his hand beside Steve’s. “Say something.”

“Listen, little rockstar, I know you’ve heard a lot of craziness out here but I promise it won’t be that chaotic. Whoa.”, he breathes when something pushes up towards them. “We love you, dude.”

##################

“Ok, are we all ready to find out what this baby is?!”, Masie shouts from her spot at the end of the table in your backyard. 

Today was the afternoon of the baby shower and you were so grateful for everyone that came. You half expected people to treat you differently but just like your reception you threw for the boys so many people came to celebrate this new milestone with you.

Your family from New York surprised you by coming down to see you, the family, and what the new edition would be. Your uncle loved Masie, helping her get things together for the party and decorating. Your parents and Eddie’s mother came as well with her little ones which the metalhead loved watching you interact with. 

As Wayne held the string to lift the pinata that read “The Baby Is…” off the ground, you gave the large bat to one of his half-sisters and spun her around making her giggle. Robin and Mr. C stood as far out of the way as possible enjoying the view but trying not to get whacked in the process. 

“Op! You have to swing harder than that!”

With one final hard hit your mouth fell open in shock as pink confetti and candy hit the ground. 

While everyone cheered, your eyes met theirs as they smiled and shrugged.

“I guess we’re having a girl!”, Steve beams as he comes around to give you a hug. 

***

You giggle from your spot at the sink as you continue to wash some of the dishes from that evening. Steve said he just needed a minute to rest and the next thing you knew, you heard him snoring on the couch with his arm slung over his eyes. 

“I’m telling you. Kid sleeps like a rock.”, Eddie grins as he enters the room and tosses some trash into the bag nearby. “Did you have a good day, sweetheart?”

“I did. It was nice to have some fun without all the drama we’ve been dealing with. What about you?”

“Yeah, I had a good day to. My favorite part was watching you with my siblings. You’re going to be an amazing mom.” The way he said that gave you pause as you turned off the facet and dried your hands. “I know we always talk about how Steve and I aren’t going to be like our dads but I hope you know that even though you love your family very much there are some things that will be different and that’s ok, baby.”

Blinking back your emotions, you wrap your arms around him as he lifts you off your feet. 

“I don’t want her to ever feel unloved.”, you murmur into his chest making him smile as he tilts back your head to kiss your lips. 

“She won’t because her mom and dads already love her so much. I can’t wait to meet her. I’m going to show her Dio and Judas and—ow!”, he teases when you lightly smack his chest. As you turn to head back to the sink, he tugs on your wrist bringing you back in front of him. “We, um, we haven’t talked about it yet but… I know…the titles…you don’t have to use them anymore…”

Taking a hold of his chin, you lift his face till his eyes meet your own and he doesn’t know if you can tell but he appreciates the softness behind them. 

“Do you want me to stop using them?”

“I mean…NO but…”, Eddie chuckles nervously. “It’s not like you can call me and him that stuff in front of a kid.”

“Yeah… but I can do it when we’re alone.” Pressing your lips to his, he groans against your kiss as your palm slides down his chest, past his stomach, to the bulge in his jeans. “You’re always going to be my Master and Steve will always be my Daddy. Even when I use your names those titles don’t fade. I’m yours, baby.”

“You are, pretty girl. Fuck.”

“You can use me to, Sir, if you need me. It’s been so long since I felt you inside me.”

“I—mmm—are you sure? You’ve been on your f-feet all day.”

Grinning, you lean forward to trail soft kisses along his chin, jaw, and up to his ear. 

“Then sweep me off them.”

That’s all the confirmation he needs as he takes ahold of your head in both hands and crashes his lips back to yours. You have no clue where he’s taking you as he starts walking you backwards till you bump into the table. Hastily, he unbuttons your pants, sliding them down your legs with your panties and kicking them aside. 

Eddie effortlessly lifts you onto the flat surface and as he fumbles with his belt you suck that sweet spot on his neck that you know drives him crazy. Giggling as he stumbles out of his jeans, he smiles as he licks his palm and strokes his cock a few times before effortlessly sheathing himself inside you. 

Resting his forehead against the nook between your neck and shoulder, you mewled as you felt his jaw fall open and his breathy moans warm your skin. Your hands cupped one of his cheeks just below his ear, pressing him to you while the other clung to his own shoulder as your arm rested behind his neck. 

“Just like that. Oh my god.”

“I know, baby. Fuck me. I know exactly where that spot is inside you. Right…here…”

At his last couple of words, Eddie slammed his hips into your own making you cry out as his cock perfectly hit that sensitive spot inside you. 

“You’re going to have to learn to be a lot quieter, princess.”, he chuckles as you smirk. 

After giving you a quick kiss, he guides you till your back is flat against the table and he takes hold of your legs, pulling you closer to the edge as he holds both limbs up with his strong arms under your knees. When his eyes meet yours, you already know what he wants, even giving you a helping hand as a long line of spit falls from his mouth onto your clit. 

As your fingers come down to rub his saliva into your bundle of nerves, Eddie bites his bottom lip to stifle a loud groan of his own as his pace hastens. 

“Fuck, Y/N. You look so fucking beautiful like this.”

A string of repetitive uhs fall from your mouth as the surface shakes underneath you. 

“Shit. Talk to me, sweetheart. I wanna hear you.”

“God…I’m…you’re gonna make me cum. Please…Please, Sir, cum with me.”

Chasing both your highs, the metalhead pounded into you till he felt you tremble and your pussy squeeze his cock like a vice. 

“That’s it, baby! Good girl. F-Fucking good girl.”, he praised as his rhythm faltered and he coated your insides with his release. “Fuck…are you ok, babe?”

Still trying to catch your breath, you nod and give him a thumbs up that makes him laugh through his teeth. Taking hold of your arms, he playfully lifts you up to a sitting position and pulls you into him for a hug. 

“What about you, Daddy? You ok?”

Steve chuckles as he sits up and peaks his head over the back of the couch.

“Jesus, woman. I swear you have superhero levels of hearing. Yeah, I’m alright, honey.”

After helping you to the floor, Eddie took off your shirt and started walking you down the hall to the bathroom as Steve followed leaving his pants unbuttoned, holding them up with his hands. 

“I heard you trying to hide your moans. I know what you touching yourself sounds like.”

“Witch.”

“I’m not a witch, I’m your wife!”, you laugh as you stick out your tongue. “We should show her that movie all the time…The Princess Bride. It’s so good.”

Something flashes across Eddie’s face only for a moment before he grins at you both and steps into the shower bringing you with him.

“Hey. What was that? What passed through you mind?”

“Nothing, princess. It’s silly.”

After brushing some of his damp hair away from his eyes, you cup his face in your hands. 

“Tell me.”

His chocolate eyes flicked to Steve behind you as he stepped into the tub before sighing and shrugging his shoulders. 

“I want to refer to you as my wife. OUR wife. Obviously I already feel that way…fucking saying it without even thinking. Add in the fact that you’ve been with us for 5 years, through fucking everything and now you’re about to the mother of our child. I just… I don’t know. Maybe I’m being too sappy or cliché.”

“Eddie, baby. It’s a piece of paper we don’t need—”

“I know. I was just saying.”

“Can I talk?”, you giggle.

“I don’t know. Give it a try.”, he teases making your grin grow.

“I was going to SAY…It’s a piece of paper we don’t need because like you said we’ve been together through everything and we’re adding to our family. Eddie, if you want to tell people I’m your wife…tell them. Fuck what the assholes of this town think.”

Steve’s arms wrap around you from behind as he kisses your shoulder while the metalhead trails small pecks from your forehead down to your lips. 

After cleaning you up and drying you off, Eddie curls up against the headboard and fiddles with your hair while the other boy lays on his back in front of you both browsing through a book someone had given as a gift filled with baby names.

“We should name her after one of the elves in Lord of the Rings.”

“No, no. You are not giving our baby a nerdy name like Frido or something.”

At Eddie’s exasperated sigh and Steve’s mispronunciation you spit the water you had been drinking back into your glass as you laugh hard. 

“Look what you’ve done now, Steven. You’re killing the woman we love.”

“Shut up. What about you, honey? Any suggestions?”

“Um…”, you hum as you think for a moment before something pops into your head. “What about Molly?”

The pretty boy pouts out his lips in amusement as he and the metalhead nod. 

“How’d you come up with that?”

“The Breakfast Club.”, you whine as your voice cracks in embarrassment and you cover your face with your hands. 

“No! No, baby, don’t hide. You definitely have to break that down a bit.”, Eddie jests as he pulls at your wrists so they can see you.

“We met in detention… The first time I saw it with Maze it made me think of us. Steve is the jock Emilio Estevez who had problems with his father and being popular. Eddie would be Judd Nelson’s bad boy with an asshole family and a school system that didn’t seem to care. I’d be Ally Sheedy’s weirdo feeling ignored by her family… Molly Ringwald is the princess and since Ed already calls her that…just made me think…Molly.”

Crawling up the length of your body, Steve kisses your lips and then your stomach before falling beside you as Eddie did the same. 

“I like that name. Molly.”

“Molly Munson-Harrington.”

#############

@manda-panda-monium @sherrylyn628 @eddiesguitarskills

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@paleidiot @mrsjellymunson @dashingdeb16

[azriels-shadowsinger]

helloooo!!! i wanted to request #15 from the prompt list with Az? have a great day<33

“I’m sorry. I don’t feel the same way.” “Look me in the eyes and tell me that.”

Azriel x Reader

wc: 900

a/n: thank yall for 300 followers!!

prompt list

You pushed your dinner around on your plate with a fork, unable to ignore the nausea in your stomach that lingered whenever Azriel was gone on a mission. He was supposed to return this morning, and the more time that passed, the larger the pit in your stomach felt. What if he was hurt? Why is he still shielding his thoughts from Rhys? You can’t control the spiral of thoughts.

Just as you are about to stand to throw the food away, you hear a commotion in the other room. Abandoning your plate, you rush towards the living room. When you enter, you see Azriel standing there, reassuring Cassian and Rhys that he is fine. You immediately run, enveloping him in a bear hug. His shadows immediately circle around you and Azriel chuckles, wrapping his arms around you as well. You hear Cass and Rhys quietly leave the room and Azriel assures them that he will fill them in on the mission later.

“You aren’t allowed to leave for that long anymore.” You mumble into his chest. “I was worried something happened.”

“I’m fine, y/n/n. I got held up, but it wasn’t anything I couldn’t handle.” He reassures. “You worry too much.”

“How can I not? My best friend who I love dearly is gone for days at a time with no contact and-“ he cuts you off.

“You what?” He pulls away and stares at you.

“What?” You look at him confused, clearly unaware of what exactly you said, too focused on fussing over him.

“You said you love me.”

Well shit, you think. You have had a crush on Azriel for many years, the two of you constantly flirting and acting in ways beyond what most would consider appropriate for friends. However, it was only recently that you realized that you love him. And you were almost certain he loved you too, but you were always too scared to find out.

“Yeah. I do.” You say hesitantly, biting your bottom lip. Azriel pauses for a long moment before looking at the floor.

“I’m sorry. I…” he hesitates. “I don’t feel the same way.” Your heart sinks.

You knew what he was doing. Azriel’s insecurities run deeper than most people realize. But as his best friend, you were very aware of his habit of self-sabotaging when it came to dating, convinced that he was not good enough for them or that he would only cause them pain. In the past, you hadn’t tried too hard to stop him. Rather, you would selfishly relish in the fact that his time wasn’t being taken up by some other female anymore.

“Then look me in the eyes and tell me that.” You see his hand clench into a fist, and then flex. He was obviously fighting with his inner demons in his head, and if it went on for too long, the demons would win. Not this time, you thought. Not as you felt him slipping through your fingers. You place a gentle hand on his cheek and guide him to look at you.

“Y/n, I don’t-“ his shadows swarmed over his mouth, refusing to let the words leave. You smirked.

“See, even your shadows know you’re full of shit. Wanna try that again?” You said playfully, trying to lighten the mood. He reins the shadows in and takes a deep breath.

“Of course I love you.” You feel the tension ease from your shoulders. “But you deserve more. You deserve someone who doesn’t have a complicated past, who isn’t always leaving on missions, who doesn’t do such horrible things for their job.” His voice shakes slightly.

“I love you because of those things, not in spite of them. Yes, you have a complicated past, but it only proves your strength in overcoming it. Yes, you’re always gone on missions, but it’s because you are fiercely loyal to keeping your court safe. And yes, you may do some gruesome work on those missions, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s still work that helps the Night Court and keeps us safe.” You can see his eyes light up slightly as you explain the reasons you love him.

“You may think I deserve better, but that isn’t your decision. And I’ve decided that I only want you.” You state matter-of-factly, stepping closer and wrapping your arms around him again. “There’s nothing you can say to stop that. I’ve been your friend for centuries and those things have never bothered me before, why would they now?” He smiles at your words and returns your hug.

“I love your stubbornness.” He mumbles before pulling you into a kiss.

“Keep that in mind down the road when you start to hate it, okay?” You reply with a cheeky grin, pulling a laugh from Azriel.

this one was kinda tough bc personally i don't think azriel would ever be able to lie about loving someone, the poor guy craves to have someone to love who loves him too. But i also didnt wanna have reader the line, because anyone who knows azriel would never push him away like that if it wasn’t true because they know how badly he wants love. so idk how i feel about this one, lmk what yall think.

prompt list

tag list: @fxckmiup

[auspicioustidings]

Ae Fond Kiss - Part 8 (Final)

A Red, Red Rose

Summary: A bombshell is dropped and you look to the future. Words: 2k TWs: mention of miscarriage

So I've lost interest in this fic hence why we have a rushed wrap up because I didn't just want to abandon it :') All parts - 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8

“We gonna do this forever then Johnny?”

It was a form of torture Simon was sure, them having lunch together once a week every week and making small talk. He missed his best friend. He missed being able to say something outrageous and knowing Johnny would call him a sick bastard and then immediately try to outdo him.

“Eat lunch?” Johnny replied a little miserably, shuffling pasta about his plate.

“Johnny…”

“What dae ye want me tae say LT?”

“Not your LT anymore, retired remember? And Price told me about your promotion.”

Captain John MacTavish did have a nice ring to it, and Soap had more than earned the stripes. In another world he’d have grinned at Ghost, smug as anything and making some comment about being able to order him around now. But instead he frowned and Simon hated it. 

“Talk to me for Christ sake!”

“I cannae! Ye want me tae tell ye how much I miss your wife? How it kills me that she’ll never forgive me and that she’s right about it?”

“Johnny…”

“Or were ye hoping tae hear that I dinnae even regret Las Almas? It’s ruined everything, but I’ve loved you since I broke my fingers on that stupid bloody mask and I didnae even realise until we nearly fucking died! Ignored it even when I did, had 9 years tae think about how either way I was breaking my own heart because it decided it loved two different people!”

Fuck. He was crying. Johnny was crying. And Simon was caught between wanting to kiss him or kill him. He had never expected to be loved back was the thing. He did something unbearably selfish on the understanding it was all one sided, that the fuck was just the adrenaline from thinking they were going to die and they’d forget it ever happened. And then everything had went to shit and he had fallen in love with Johnny’s widow. He’d already lost one person he loved because he was too scared to admit it, he just couldn’t do it again,  selfish asshole that he was. 

“You should regret it. You… we hurt her. Hurt her so bad that we might lose her.”

“Aye. I deserve tae lose her though, never deserved tae have her in the first place anyway. I just caught you in the crossfire of my sins.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Simon said with full derision.

This has gone on long enough. So what? Everyone was just supposed to be miserable forever? They were supposed to just lay down and take it? Johnny looked at him, hurt and confused. 

“I watched you fight every break up. You fought tooth and fucking nail to make it work. When you fucked up you made it up to her. When she fucked up you forgave her. And what? Now that Johnny is dead? Either you still love her and are willing to fight to get her back, or any part of the man I loved died in Russia.”

“You’ve lost yer fucking mind Si, she’s your wife!”

Simon stood, determined.

“And our wife needs to remember who she belongs to and who belongs to her.”

As he started marching off Johnny near choked and scrambled to follow.

“Ye cannae be serious! Leave her be Si! Ye cannae just barge in and-and-”

“And tell her she’ll try forgive us because we’ll spend the rest of our lives making it up to her? That we can start right now by showing her how well you can follow orders and how well I can give them for her benefit? I bloody well can and I’m bloody well going to. Either you’re with me or you can stay and mope.”

“...aye sir.”

–

Once upon a time Joey being at a sleepover was exciting, it meant some much needed alone time with your husband. Now though? The house felt cold, empty. You considered asking Gaz and Price’s partner if they’d come round to hang out, but it felt so messy when they were just as much Simon’s friend as they were yours. It would somehow make you miss him more. 

Everytime he was at the house briefly and you made polite conversation you wanted to cry. You had a few times, only after he was gone of course. That big fucking lummox. You wanted to strangle him, but then again that wasn’t exactly new. And you wanted rhubarb and sugar. Oh you could murder some rhubarb dipped in sugar like your parents used to give you as a kid. 

The door went just as you finished pouring a large glass of wine. Simon stood looking like he sometimes did when you were about to get absolutely ruined in bed and you swore your heart nearly stopped. Johnny was by his side, pupils blown with a blush crawling up his neck as if he somehow knew exactly what images just popped into your mind. Oh. Oh you suddenly wanted them so badly it hurt. 

And damn them for knowing you so well, for being able to fucking tell. Simon’s lips were on yours as he walked into the house, you being led backwards. You were clawing at his shirt as he squeezed your ass until you bumped into the kitchen island and realised how insane this was, pulling away to try find Johnny. He had followed, was swallowing thickly as Simon started to kiss and nip a path down your neck. This was insane. This was certifiably mental. You could not… have a threesome? Have a threesome with your husband and your husband who had fucked each other ten years ago on a mission before one faked his damn death. 

“W-what are you doing? We can’t…” you mumbled, trying to get your head on straight since currently your brain seemed to reside between your legs.

“Tell me what you need princess. Want me on my knees begging against your pussy? Want Johnny to fly you to Hawaii and keep you in the lap of luxury for a month? Want us to be here every single day in the garden announcing to the neighbours that we deserve a fucking whipping for how badly we fucked everything up with the gorgeous mother of our child?”

Christ almighty. So much for Simon being the unemotional and ineloquent one. You couldn’t handle this. You couldn’t handle how much you wanted to just give in. He made it sound so easy, like you could have them both, like they would give you whatever you wanted just to stay by your side despite what they’d done. He was going to his knees in front of you.

“Rhubarb!”

The room froze for a moment as Simon hit the ground with his knees and just stared at you.

“...is that, uh, a safeword?” Johnny asked, seemingly surprised out of the slack jawed, dazed state he seemed to have been in. 

“No. I mean I… rhubarb. You asked what I needed. Rhubarb and sugar, but we have sugar in the cupboard so… just the rhubarb.”

“...ok, rhubarb. We can do rhubarb” Simon said after a moment, taking it in his stride as he snuck a peck to your stomach where his head currently was and then stood. 

If they just left and went to the shops maybe you could… you didn’t know. Maybe you could hurriedly touch yourself to get rid of the ache between your legs and then neck your wine to get rid of the one in your chest. Simon turned and nodded to Johnny and took a few steps, so you picked up the glass of wine to calm yourself down only for Johnny to pluck it out of your hands.

“Unless you’ve suddenly developed a taste for red wine I’d appreciate that back” you snapped at him.

“And since you’ve suddenly developed a taste for rhubarb I’m naw giving it tae ye.”

“MacTavish” Simon scolded, sure Johnny was about to ruin what he was hoping was some reconciliation here.

“That’s not…” you started before you went pale. 

“How ye been feeling recently hen?”

Oh no. Not now. You just assumed you felt sick because of the stress. But then the take away food had seemed so off despite you usually loving it. You kept having to throw up. You were lethargic. And now you needed rhubarb and sugar, something you had only craved twice in your adult life, the most recent being over a decade ago. The last time you were pregnant. 

“What’s going on?” Simon asked, not liking at all how your face just fell as he strode back to you. “What did you do Johnny? It’s ok sweetheart, I’m sorry we just showed up, seemed like a good idea at the time. Just missed you so much.”

The universe had a sick sense of humour. Over a year of trying for a baby with this man. 18 fucking months. And you get pregnant right before your other husband comes back from the dead, the one it turns out your current husband has slept with behind your back? This could not be happening, but all the signs were there. When had you last had a period? You hadn’t even noticed that you were late with everything going on. 

You tried to do the maths in your head. It had been a few months since Johnny had come back, so you were at the very least that far along. 8 weeks. You had miscarried at 10. Maybe you were further along, maybe you were past the worst of the danger. God you prayed you were past the worst of the danger. 

“Si, gie her some room would ye? We’re right here, if ye want us tae be. It’s up to you, you dinnae have tae…” Johnny said, struggling to get out the words.

There was no thought in your mind that you would get rid of this baby, but the fact that he was putting that option out there when he himself had always been so desperate for a big family was something you appreciated more than you could say. Goddamnit, he still loved you. 9 years away and he still bloody loved you. Would still do whatever it took for you to be happy. Even if in that case this meant not having another baby.

How strange that you thought of this baby as his. How strange that you just as strongly thought of it as Simon’s. If the past few months had shown you anything it was that you could look after a child between the three of you, so it wasn’t like they had to be with you to do it. Even if you’d like them to be. Despite it all, you’d really fucking like them to be.

“Princess?”

You took a deep breath and smiled softly at Simon who was looking increasingly alarmed. You caressed his face and it felt like relief to touch him. 

“Maybe we can go a trip to the doctor on the way for the rhubarb Casper. Think we might be pregnant.”

–

A very healthy baby girl with an incredibly healthy set of lungs. You sang to her, love like A Red, Red Rose for your little Rose. You bawled your eyes out when Joey refused to turn down his hearing aids even when she was screaming at the top of her lungs because that was his baby sister and he would never not want to hear her. It was a good thing you could all sign with the way she drowned you all out, even Johnny as clumsy as his hands were with it had dedicated himself to learning since he had got home. 

You were fairly certain your little Rose was making Price broody with Gaz and their partner finding their grumpy old man losing his mind over a chubby baby adorable. Although there was a good chance Price wasn’t making any babies with how you had planted your foot in his groin when he finally came out of hiding. 

You were still figuring things out, but right now? Right now you were happy. You had two perfect children by two imperfect husbands. It was up in the air what your family was going to look like in the future. Did you want to forgive them? Even if you did, would you be friends and co-parents or something more?

That you hadn’t quite decided yet. But you were determined that whatever the future held for you, it was going to be a future full of love and laughter.

[ongreenergrasses]

Late night confessions fluff

somehow this got written almost immediately, I hope you enjoy anon 💜

“You can sleep,” Finnick says gently.

“I’ll stay awake with you,” Annie says around a yawn. The last time she’d checked, it was two in the morning, and they’re in a pile of blankets on the floor of the bedroom. But Finnick’s not sleeping, he’s still too wired, so she won’t either.

“You don’t have to.”

“I missed you. I want to stay up with you.”

“I missed you too,” he says quietly.

“No, you didn’t. I know you don’t think about me while you’re there.”

“That doesn’t stop me from missing you.”

Finnick doesn’t usually talk like this with her. It’s not as simple as him being scared to. It’s smart for him not to tell her how he feels, because if he says it, there’s always the chance they’ll overhear it through the bugs in the house. Snow knows about them, but he still thinks Finnick’s humoring her to keep her calm. That he pities her. The longer they can keep it that way, the better.

It doesn’t stop her from wanting to hear it.

Annie rolls over onto her side and nearly knocks heads with him. “Will you tell me a secret?” she says. It comes out almost as a whisper.

“What kind of secret?”

“Any kind,” she says.

“I think you’re beautiful.”

“Finnick, that’s not a secret.”

“I don’t tell you enough.”

“You don’t need to. Tell me another.”

“I’m afraid of heights.”

Annie stares at him. “Really?”

“I didn’t use to be.”

“What about when you’re there? Aren’t you in…” She casts around in her memory. She doesn’t think any of the Capitol buildings were less than maybe three, four stories, and the wealthier the person, the higher the floor they lived on. She remembers that. “Tall buildings?”

“I don’t look out the window.”

“Huh,” she says. “Tell me another.”

“You first.”

Annie thinks about it. “When I was little,” she says, “I found a duck.”

“A duck?”

“A baby duck. And it was abandoned, I sat with it for a while and the mother didn’t come back. I didn’t know what to do, so I took it home and put it in the sink.”

“Annie.” She can hear him holding back laughter. “How old were you?”

“Six, maybe? Seven? My sister was still alive, and she was so mad, she tried to take a swing at me with one of the pots.”

Finnick starts laughing. Annie bites her lip to keep in the smile. She loves his laugh, she always has. “Did you keep the duck?” he asks.

“For a while. Then we ate it.”

“How is that a secret?”

“My brother never found out.”

“How did your brother never find out?”

“We kept it under the sink, and he’s unobservant. Do not tell him.”

“Well,” he says. “I’m sorry you had to eat your duck.”

“I still have a feather from it.”

Finnick’s laughing so hard he can’t talk. Annie doesn’t really think it’s that funny, but his laughter’s infectious, and she starts to laugh, too.

“Tell me another,” he says, once they’ve both calmed down.

Annie doesn’t have many secrets. The biggest secret she has is how she feels about him.

“It’s selfish,” she says. “But I don’t want you to leave me.”

There’s so many ways he could leave her. He could overdose, again. Something could go wrong while he’s there, people hurt him so badly, and there could be an accident. But mostly, he’s miserable. He’s so miserable, and she’s not enough to keep him alive forever.

It doesn’t hurt her feelings, the knowledge that she’s not enough. She dreads it, she dreads the day he’ll leave her, but she hopes it’ll at least be here, at home. Where he can be comfortable, and feel as safe as he ever does.

“Come here,” he says, and Annie moves a little closer, close enough that their foreheads are touching. “I have one for you.”

Annie hums.

“I want to marry you.”

Annie’s heart stops.

He’d whispered it. There’s no way anyone’s heard, and she’s trying to tell herself that’s why her heart’s pounding in her chest, the fear that they’ve been overheard, that the bug in the bedroom somehow picked it up, but she knows it’s not true. That it’s what he’s said instead.

“I know we can’t. And I don’t - it wouldn’t be fair to you. I don’t want to put you through that.”

“Through what?”

“Being my wife.”

Annie shivers. She presses a little closer to him. “You wouldn’t be putting me through anything.” Their lips are almost brushing as they whisper.

“It can’t happen,” he whispers. “I know that. But that’s what I want, more than anything.”

“More than anything, hmm?”

He nods.

Annie carefully reaches up, up to stroke his hair. He startles but doesn’t move away from her. “I know you’d be so good to me,” she murmurs. “That you’d show me how you feel every day.”

He nods again. Her fingers curl briefly into the hair at the nape of his neck, and he shivers.

“I would be so lucky,” she whispers. “To have you as my husband.” The words fall off her tongue, hang in the air. She realizes that she’s shaking, just a little.

Finnick leans in and kisses her.

He’s never told her he loves her. He probably never will. She doesn’t care. He shows her every day. She feels it every day, how much he loves her. She feels it in everything he does for her. She feels it in his kiss.

She winds her arms around his neck and kisses him back.

[rayne-elra]

To my dear Amazon forest,

Faiiiiiiii, do you know? You light up my world like nobody else. Every Sunday, I patiently wait for you, to see you, to watch your story unfold.

At first, I was drawn to your silly jokes, sweet smile, and kind nature. I mean, who wouldn’t be, huh?

The way you stepped forward for Gun, even fought with Yotha, the way you took care of him, it made me realize that you are such a good friend and a pure human being. But the more I watched, the more I understood that you’re not just a pure soul but also a hurt heart.

In the scene where your mom revealed why she took you with her and not Yotha, my heart shattered into pieces. I know you must have felt even worse. Then, I remembered the part where she even forgot that you are allergic to milk, and I couldn’t begin to imagine what you might have gone through when you were with her.

When the whole family was reunited and everyone was happy, my eyes were fixed on you. I noticed your missing smile, your hurt eyes. I knew you must have felt betrayed, and… and I honestly wanted to break the screen and run to you, to hug you, to comfort you, to tell you, "Baby, you are not alone in this."

Then, as the story moved forward, I saw your people-pleasing personality, and I wondered how lonely you must be. It stabbed my heart because, at this point, I knew that the charming campus star was scared of being abandoned. You’ve sacrificed so much just to see others smile.

I kept begging the universe to send you someone, someone who would truly value you, truly love you, truly cherish you, and take care of you.

Someone who would make you feel at ease.

And now, I’m glad that you have your Nong Wine. I know you’re in the right hands, and things will get better soon.

When Wine entered your life, you raised my standards high. You comforted him when he cried, you stood outside his dorm until he called you, just so you could immediately run to help him if he needed it. And the fact that you have his chat pinned? It’s so lovely.

I love how you are willing to change for him, not because you have to, but because you want to make him feel special, because you want to take care of him.

But let me tell you this… you were always enough! And you deserved so much better. I wish you could have opened up a little more, but it’s okay. Now that you have your Nong, I’m sure you’ll learn to put yourself first.

Faifa, my dear Amazon forest, you are not just a campus star. You are a star in every sense! shining even when the night is dark. You have given so much love to others, and I hope you now receive it in abundance. I hope you never have to hide your pain behind a smile again. I hope you find the happiness and security you've always deserved.

And most of all, I hope you know that you are loved, not just by Wine, but by all of us who see you, who understand you, and who will always, always root for you.

Love,

Your Admirer ❤️🌻