#i'm so sorry about the constant disappearing.

[darkintothedawn]

stiles sneakin into ur window at night bc he refuses to use the front door and wake everyone up

DRAIN PIPE || Stiles Stilinski 'Teen Wolf'

Pairing — Stiles Stilinski x Gender Neutral reader

Summary — Stiles is climbing into your window and causing a mess, it's late and you're tired and you just don't want to deal with it. The morning is better, with all traces of annoyance gone, until Stiles' dad is screaming for him outside and you're instead confessing to your mother that you were the one who called him over.

Memo— I'm sorry if this isn't exactly what you wanted, I genuinely couldn't figure out how to start this to begin with for a while. Thank you for the request of course and if you did want something different or if someone wants something similar you can always send another ask! I do hope you like this, anon.

Word Count — 3741

Warnings — Fluff. Mild annoyance. Puppy dog Stiles.

Your room is dimly lit by the glow of your phone screen, the only source of light as you lay sprawled out on your bed. The house is quiet, the kind of stillness that only settles in when everyone else is asleep, leaving you alone with the soft hum of your thoughts—and Stiles blowing up your phone.

Stiles: You up? Stiles: Wait, ofc you are. You literally just opened this. Stiles: Soooooo Stiles: What if I was dying? And you ignored me? How would you feel? You: I’d be mildly inconvenienced but ultimately fine. Stiles: Rude. Disrespectful. Hurtful, even. You: You’re not dying. Stiles: Not physically, but emotionally? Spiritually? Maybe even mentally? You: Sounds like a you problem. Stiles: Wow. Ok. Ice cold. Where’s the love?

You shake your head, biting back a smile as you toss your phone onto your chest. It’s always like this with Stiles—constant, clingy, and so unapologetically him. And you don’t mind, not really. If anything, his ridiculous messages have become a staple of your nights, filling the silence with his chaotic energy even from a distance.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard, about to hit send on another sarcastic reply, when your phone buzzes again.

Stiles: What if I was outside your window right now?

You scoff, rolling your eyes. You: I’d tell you to stop being creepy and go to bed.

The typing bubble pops up, then disappears. A pause. Then—

Stiles: Bold of you to assume I’d listen.

Before you can respond, there’s a soft thud outside your window.

Your heart stutters.

Another sound—this time a muffled curse, followed by the unmistakable scrape of sneakers against the siding of your house.

You freeze. No. No way.

Slowly, you sit up, eyes locked on the window. A shadow moves outside, just beyond the glass.

You don’t even think. You launch yourself toward the curtain, yanking it back, and—

Yep.

There he is.

Stiles Stilinski, clinging to the edge of your windowsill like some kind of sleep-deprived raccoon, his hoodie askew and his expression caught somewhere between triumph and regret.

"Hey," he whisper-yells, flashing you a lopsided grin. "Fancy meeting you here."

You stare at him, unimpressed. "Are you serious?"

"Would you believe me if I said no?"

You push the window up just enough to glare at him properly. "Do I even want to ask how you got up here?"

"Uh—" He looks down for the first time, then back at you, his grin faltering. "So, funny story… Turns out your drainpipe is not, in fact, built for weight-bearing activities. Who knew?"

You follow his gaze to the slightly bent metal, your jaw tightening. "You're the reason it looks like that?"

"Technically, gravity is to blame, but sure, pin this on me."

You press a hand to your forehead, exhaling through your nose. "You have got to stop doing this."

"And yet," he says, shifting his grip and hoisting himself higher, "Here I am."

"Yeah, and I’m starting to question why I keep letting this happen."

"You don't let it happen," he corrects, grunting as he swings a leg over the sill. "I make it happen."

Before you can protest, he somehow manages to wriggle through the window with all the grace of a drunken deer, knocking into the curtain and nearly toppling your bedside lamp. He lands on your floor with a soft oof, sprawled out on his back, staring at the ceiling like he’s just run a marathon.

"That was exhausting," he groans. "You should really consider moving to a ground-floor bedroom."

"You should really consider knocking on the front door," you retort, crossing your arms.

Stiles scoffs, propping himself up on his elbows. "Okay, yeah, and then what? I wake your parents up? They already think I’m a bad influence—if I show up at your front door in the middle of the night, they’d never let me stay over again."

You blink at him. "Stiles. They wouldn’t let you stay over now."

He pauses, then clicks his tongue. "That’s fair."

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose. "So, let me get this straight—you climbed up the side of my house, almost fell to your death, broke my drainpipe, and risked getting caught all so you could not wake my parents?"

"When you say it like that, it sounds kinda dumb."

"It is dumb."

He grins. "Yeah, but, like… dumb in a charming way, right?"

You roll your eyes, nudging his foot with yours. "No, dumb in a dumb way."

He gasps, pressing a hand to his chest like you've just mortally wounded him. "You wound me. Really. I don’t think I’ll ever recover from this betrayal."

"Yeah, well, actions have consequences."

Stiles flops back onto the floor with a dramatic sigh. "Fine. I see how it is. You don’t appreciate me. I’m just some guy, risking life and limb to see you, and for what? Disrespect?"

"For a concussion, probably," you mutter.

He watches you from the floor, his expression softer now, less exaggerated dramatics, more something real. "You’re not actually mad, though. Right?" He stands up when he talks, almost as if he's ready to spring out the window if you are.

You hesitate, then sigh, flopping down onto your bed. "No. But I should be."

"Yeah," he agrees, grinning. "You should be. But you’re not. Because deep, deep down, you love that I do this."

You lift your head just enough to squint at him. "Love is a strong word."

He smirks. "You tolerate that I do this?"

You huff, shaking your head. "That’s more accurate."

And honestly? It is. Because at the end of the day, this is just… Stiles. Sneaking in through your window like a delinquent, making himself at home on your floor, filling your nights with his restless energy.

And despite how much you should be annoyed, how much you should tell him to stop—

You know you’d miss it if he ever did.

You shake your head, still lying on your bed as Stiles lingers in the middle of your room, looking awkward in a way that’s almost endearing—hands shoved into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders slightly hunched, like he’s suddenly unsure what to do now that he’s actually here.

You watch him for a second, then sigh. "Okay, so—why are you here?"

He shifts on his feet, glancing around your room like the answer might be hiding in your bookshelf or taped to your walls. "I dunno," he says, rocking back on his heels. "Just… couldn’t sleep, I guess. And I was thinking about stuff. And you."

Your eyebrows lift. "Me?"

"Yeah, you." He shrugs like it’s not a big deal, but the way he won’t quite meet your eyes says otherwise. "And I figured, you know, since I was already thinking about you, and since you were obviously awake, and since your window is right there—"

"—you decided to break in."

"Not break in. More like… strategically enter."

You sigh, dragging a hand down your face. "You’re impossible."

"Yeah," he says, grinning a little. "But you like me anyway."

You don’t dignify that with a response. Instead, you just pull your covers to the side, turning over onto your other shoulder. "Close the window."

There's a pause.

You don’t look at him, don’t clarify, don’t explain—because if he doesn’t get the hint, that’s his problem.

For a second, there’s nothing but silence. Then, finally, the soft creak of the window shutting, the lock clicking into place.

And a few moments later, the dip of your mattress as Stiles climbs in beside you.

Stiles hesitates for only a second before he takes what you’ve silently offered, slipping under the covers and settling in behind you. His movements are careful, almost tentative, like he’s waiting for you to change your mind and shove him off the bed.

You don’t.

Mostly because you’re exhausted—mentally, emotionally, and from the sheer effort it’s going to take to pretend your drainpipe isn’t hanging on for dear life outside your window. You don’t have the energy to kick him out, and honestly, even if you did, you probably wouldn’t.

He shifts slightly, adjusting until he’s pressed fully against your back, his arm draping naturally over your waist. He’s warm—unfairly so—and for a moment, you hate how easy it is to relax against him, how comfortable this feels despite the absolute nuisance he’s been tonight.

"You’re still mad," he murmurs, his breath warm against the nape of your neck.

"Not mad exactly," you say, your voice muffled against your pillow. "Just… annoyed."

"Right. Annoyed. Got it." His fingers tap lightly against your hip, thoughtful. "So, like… mild annoyance? Or are we talking long-term consequences? Should I be preparing for some kind of slow-burn revenge arc?"

You snort. "You wish I had the patience for a slow-burn revenge arc."

"True," he concedes, squeezing your waist lightly. "You’re more of an ‘immediate consequences’ type. Which, honestly? Fair."

You hum in agreement, staring at the wall. You should turn around. Should look him in the eye and make sure he knows you’re actually a little pissed this time, that he can’t just pull some reckless stunt and expect to charm his way out of it.

But the problem is… if you do turn around, he’s going to be looking at you like that—all soft-eyed and stupidly endearing, like a kicked puppy who just wants to be forgiven. Because he is one.

And you will forgive him, way too quickly, because you always do.

So, instead, you stay facing away, letting him be the big spoon, letting him hold you without having to see the expression that’s no doubt on his face. He can deal with you being slightly annoyed for once. He deserves to sit with it.

Besides, you’ll be the one stuck explaining to your parents why the drainpipe looks like it lost a fight with a raccoon.

For now, though, you let your eyes slip shut, focusing on the steady rhythm of his breathing behind you, the warmth of him pressed close, the way his fingers trace mindless patterns against your side.

He’s here. He’s safe.

And maybe you’ll be less annoyed in the morning.

The morning light filters softly through your curtains, painting everything in hazy gold. The world is still quiet, wrapped in that early morning stillness where reality hasn’t quite settled in yet.

You’re warm. Comfortable. And you don’t fully register why until your sleep-fogged brain starts to catch up with your body.

Your face is pressed against something solid and warm, rising and falling with slow, measured breaths. Your arms are curled around a familiar frame, fingers tucked into the fabric of a hoodie, holding on just as tightly as the arms wrapped around you.

Stiles.

He’s awake. You can feel it in the way his body is just a little too still, like he’s trying way too hard not to move. His breathing is slow—too slow—like he’s deliberately keeping it shallow so he doesn’t disturb you.

You peek your eyes open, blinking up at him. Sure enough, his gaze is already on you, wide and soft, like he’s been staring at you for a while now. His expression is unreadable, but there’s something tender about it—something careful, like he doesn’t want to do anything that might ruin this moment.

You yawn, stretching slightly but not moving away. Instead, you nuzzle just a little further into his chest before tilting your head up, pressing a lazy, barely-awake kiss to the underside of his jaw.

“Breathe,” you murmur against his skin.

You feel him suck in a sharp inhale, his arms tightening around you instinctively.

Then, a breathless laugh. “I—yeah. Okay. Noted.”

You shift, resting your chin against his chest so you can look at him properly. “I’m not annoyed anymore.”

His lips twitch, his fingers brushing absentmindedly against your back. “I figured. You are currently cuddling me like I’m your emotional support human.”

You don’t even try to deny it. There’s no point—you both know the truth. It was you who moved into his arms sometime during the night, who sought him out in your sleep, curled up against him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Stiles knows it. You know it. It always happens. And neither of you are in any rush to change it.

So instead, you just sigh, pressing your face back into his hoodie, letting yourself relax completely into him.

His arms stay wrapped around you, holding you like he has no intention of letting go anytime soon.

And honestly?

You’re perfectly okay with that.

The warmth of him, the slow, steady rise and fall of his chest, the way his fingers absentmindedly trace the curve of your spine—it’s grounding in a way you don’t fully want to acknowledge yet. You should probably say something snarky, tease him for the way he’s holding you like you might disappear if he lets go, but you don’t.

Instead, you shift, stretching lazily, letting your nose brush against the hollow of his throat as you settle back in. Stiles tenses for half a second, his breath hitching, and you feel the way his fingers tighten at your waist like he’s trying to keep himself in check.

It makes you smirk against his hoodie.

"You okay there?" you murmur, your voice still thick with sleep.

He exhales a little too forcefully. "Yeah. Totally fine. Just—" He clears his throat. "You, uh. You can't just do that."

"Do what?" You tilt your head, blinking up at him with innocent eyes.

Stiles levels you with a look. "You know what."

You just hum, clearly unbothered, shifting again so that your leg slots between his. It’s barely anything—just a sleepy, natural movement—but it's enough to have Stiles groaning under his breath, pressing his head back into your pillow like he's gathering some kind of strength.

"You’re doing this on purpose," he mutters, eyes squeezing shut.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about," you say, voice light, but the smile you’re biting back gives you away.

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat. "You are a menace."

"And yet, you’re still here."

"Yeah," he breathes, his voice quieter now, something softer threading through it. "I am."

You finally glance up at him properly, and it’s a mistake. Because he’s already looking at you, already watching you with that look—the one that’s way too fond, way too open, way too everything. His eyes flicker over your face, lingering for half a second too long on your mouth before meeting your gaze again, and it sends a quiet thrill through you.

For once, he doesn’t fill the silence with words. He just watches you, his hand at your waist stilling, fingers pressing just a little firmer into your side. You swallow.

"You’re staring," you murmur, voice quieter now.

"Yeah," he says simply. "Guess I am."

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s you, maybe it’s him, or maybe it’s both of you at the same time—but it doesn’t really matter, because one second you’re just laying there, hovering in that space between hesitation and action, and the next—

His lips are on yours.

It’s soft at first, tentative, like he’s waiting to see if you’ll pull away. When you don’t—when you press into it, letting your fingers curl into the fabric of his hoodie—he exhales against your mouth, something loosening in him, and suddenly, you’re kissing Stiles.

And it’s good.

Better than you would have expected, if you’d ever let yourself think about lazy, sleepy, morning kisses with Stiles before (which, for the record, you totally haven’t). His lips are warm and a little chapped, moving against yours in a way that’s way too easy, way too natural, like this isn’t the first time you’ve done it. Like this isn’t the first time he’s thought about doing it.

You sigh against him, tilting your head slightly, and he makes a quiet, almost desperate noise before kissing you again, deeper this time. His hand slides up, fingers tracing along your ribcage, settling just beneath the hem of your shirt, and the warmth of it sends a shiver through you.

He notices. Smirks against your mouth.

"Cold?" he murmurs.

You huff, nudging his nose with yours. "Shut up."

"Not a chance," he says, grinning, before kissing you again.

This time, there’s nothing tentative about it. His hand slips higher, his body pressing closer, and it’s dizzying—the slow drag of his lips, the heat of him against you, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been waiting for this, like he needs it, like he’s making up for lost time.

And maybe—just maybe—you feel the same way.

You tangle your fingers into his hair, tugging just slightly, and he groans against your mouth, his grip on your waist tightening. His hoodie rides up between you, fabric bunching as your hands roam, and suddenly, it’s all warmth and pressure and Stiles.

It’s almost too much. It’s not enough.

And then—

There’s a loud bang from outside.

You both freeze.

A beat of silence. Then—

"Stiles?"

Your stomach drops.

Stiles curses under his breath, forehead pressing against your shoulder. "Oh, you have got to be kidding me."

A second later, another call.

"Stiles Stilinski, are you up there?"

Your eyes widen. "Is that—"

"My dad," Stiles groans, rolling onto his back and dragging his hands down his face. "That’s my dad."

Your stomach twists. "He knows you're here?"

"I don’t know!" Stiles hisses, already scrambling to sit up. "But considering he’s currently yelling my name outside your house, I’m gonna go ahead and assume that, yeah, he knows."

You swear under your breath, sitting up with him. "How the hell does he know?"

"I—" Stiles pauses, then closes his eyes in defeat. "Oh my god."

You stare at him. "What?"

"My jeep is parked in your driveway."

There’s a beat of silence as you both process that. Then—

"Oh my god."

"Yeah," Stiles groans, rubbing his temples. "I am so unbelievably screwed."

You don’t even hesitate. You shove him. "Get out."

"I’m trying!" He flails, nearly toppling off the bed as he tries to untangle himself from the covers. "Do you have a back door? A fire escape? A trapdoor?"

"Oh, yeah, let me just pull the secret lever in my suburban bedroom," you deadpan. "Obviously not, Stiles."

He glares at you, shoving his feet into his sneakers. "Your sarcasm is not helping right now."

"Neither is your existence in my room at seven in the morning."

"Okay, ow," he mutters, making a beeline for the window.

Before he can climb out, there's a knock on your bedroom door.

Your heart stops.

"Sweetheart?" your mom calls. "Are you awake?"

You and Stiles lock eyes, frozen in panic.

He exhales sharply. "I’m never sneaking in here again."

You shove him toward the window. "Yeah, that’s what you said last time."

He hesitates for half a second, glancing back at you, and in the middle of all the chaos, the sheer insanity of the situation, his expression softens. "Hey," he murmurs.

You blink. "What?"

He grins, lopsided and infuriating, but somehow still—sweet. "Worth it."

Your chest tightens, but before you can respond, the knock comes again, more insistent.

You take a breath, forcing your voice to stay steady. "Yeah, Mom, I’m up."

The door cracks open, and she peeks in, her gaze flicking between you and Stiles, who is now standing awkwardly by the window, caught in the act.

Her eyebrows lift. "Stiles?"

You nod, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself. "I, uh… I called him over. I missed him."

She glances between the two of you again, then sighs. "Next time, maybe tell me beforehand, okay?"

You swallow. "Okay."

And miraculously, somehow—she buys it.

Stiles is still frozen by the window, one leg halfway up like he’s debating whether to fully commit to the escape or just surrender to the inevitable. He looks at you, then at your mom, then back at you.

“So… do I keep going? Or…?” He gestures vaguely toward the open window. “I mean, I can, but—"

Your mom sighs, already turning to head downstairs. “Oh, for god’s sake, Stiles, just come have breakfast.”

He blinks. “Wait, really?”

“Yes,” she says, exasperated. “And tell your father to come in, because his yelling isn’t doing anyone any good this early in the morning.”

Stiles stares after her as she disappears down the hall, then slowly turns back to you. “… I’m sorry, what just happened?”

You groan, falling back onto the bed and dragging the blanket over your face. “I don’t know. Just—go downstairs before she changes her mind.”

He huffs out a quiet laugh, then hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. “Hey.”

You peek out from under the blanket, raising an eyebrow. “What?”

His expression softens, a flicker of guilt passing over his face. “Thanks. For, y’know, taking the blame.”

You roll your eyes but nudge his foot with yours. “It’s the least I could do.”

He grins at that, rocking back on his heels before reaching for your hand. His fingers thread through yours easily, like it’s something he’s been doing forever, and your chest tightens at the casual intimacy of it.

You try not to let it show, but he catches it anyway. Because of course he does.

He lifts your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles, and your breath stutters just slightly. When he speaks, his voice is quieter, more serious.

“I promise I’ll never put you in a situation like this again.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re a terrible liar.”

He winces. “Okay, yeah, that was definitely a lie.”

You snort, shoving his shoulder. “Come on, Stilinski. Let’s go face the music.”

He groans, dragging a hand down his face as he follows you toward the door. “If my dad tries to give me the talk at the breakfast table, I am walking into oncoming traffic.”

You grin, bumping his hip with yours as you head downstairs. “Relax. My mom likes you.”

“That’s what worries me,” he mutters, but his fingers are still laced with yours, and somehow, even with the looming awkwardness of breakfast with both your parents, it doesn’t feel so bad.

[h1ghscre]

been a little quiet here, hasn't it?

[atalienart]

✧*:･ﾟArt summary 2024

2014-2017 | 2018 | 2019 | 2020 | 2021

[deerest-deer]

thinking really hard about logging into my old tumblr acc after being gone for like a year and a half cause i stumbled upon a post that led me to my old mutuals and i teared up a lil </3 but also i feel so ashamed i left without saying a word to anyone aaaa

[l0vergirlsw0rld]

my little voyeur

neighbour!loganxvoyeur!reader

a/n: so sorry about the hiatus, started university and midterms are already here, crazy. anyway, enjoy this little idea i had, inspired by a real life situation. xox

wc:3.1k

MDNI !!! 18+, AGE GAP, SEXUAL CONTENT, ALCOHOL USE

summary: Y/N is growing needier with every one-night stand her hot neighbour brings over, one night she decides to be his next.

"-Oh fuck, keep going!" A muffled voice cried between the rhythmic thumping noises that came from the ceiling above you.

You bit down on your lip, shifting needily on your sofa. 

"Here we go again" You mumbled to yourself, glancing at the clock on your microwave.

8:37 PM. 

"Earlier than usual... Do you have to be somewhere early tomorrow?" You pressed the mute button on your TV remote to get a better listen.

The intrigue in your neighbour's activity had been a shameful recent development. He'd have company over almost every night now; which meant constant, rough sex.

The shared two-story house was old, and the walls were poorly insulated, which surely didn't aid your newfound obsession. Your unit was the basement suite: a homely one-bedroom, one-bathroom with a large kitchenette and living room. Even though you both lived in the same quarters, you both had your own respective spaces and entrances, which meant you rarely crossed paths. 

You knew little about the man upstairs, only that he lived alone, wasn't the talkative type, and rode a Harley Davidson that was equally as loud as his one-night stands.

Though it was ill-mannered of him to be as careless as he was, you couldn't stop yourself from being attracted to him. He might've had a good twenty years on you, but that didn't matter in this case. 

The man was in phenomenal shape for his age; You had come home one day to him working on his bike, shirtless. His physique was composed of thick broad shoulders that counterbalanced his narrow waist and muscular biceps that bulged beneath his skin, flowing seamlessly into veiny forearms. Dark curls of hair stretched downwards from his brawny chest, over his chiselled abs and disappeared into the denim waistband of his wranglers. 

To pair with that irresistible body, was a charmingly rugged face. Thick, untamed eyebrows cast a shadow over his piercing hazel eyes, while dense sideburns traced the sharp angles of his jawline. His short, spiked hair flared into two distinct tufts on either side of his head, adding to his wild, primal look.

"-Logan! I'm coming!" The voice screamed. Since this all began, you found yourself feeling rather bitter. Not only was it rude and annoying but from what you managed to pick up, most nights they would be playing out the very type of fantasies you'd always had but never got the chance to experience.

You let out a heavy sigh, feeling that excitement slowly pool in your lower stomach. You knew this would end soon, Logan seemed to have quite the routine, so your impending neediness wouldn't go any farther. 

His partners were usually dead silent for the rest of the night, presumably busy sleeping off the intense sex, which made the inconvenience somewhat tolerable. The only time they would potentially disturb you again was as they made their exit down the stairs the morning after. You could catch glimpses of them as they passed in front of your kitchen window, usually around the time you'd be having your coffee. 

From the looks of it, he had a type: girls your age. They'd always be dressed in last night's skimpy outfit, with knotted hair, but somehow still looked gorgeous. As they stumble their way to the taxi at the edge of the driveway. You'd observe them closer pressing up the glass, often spiking your jealousy.  

The first few you had laid eyes on made you snicker a jaded"How original."  But you were well used to it by now. 

Logan was your typical walking mid-life crisis; Bringing home adventurous young women, fucking their brains out, sending them away in a yellow chariot and never talking to them again. From the frequency of these one-night stands it looked as if he was trying to satisfy a hunger he couldn't seem to fulfill. Almost like preparing for hibernation.

 He was living the bachelor life that men his age could only dream of having, but there was something about the whole routine that felt...off. It was as if every conquest left him more empty, more distant and detached from everything and everyone around him. It wasn't just women that Logan indulged in, he was also a heavy drinker. You could tell by the recycling bin, always overflowing with liquor bottles, and the fact that the few times you'd been to The Black Lodge—the only bar in small-town Burns, Alaska—you had seen him there

You watched from your bar stool, careful to remain unnoticed. The brief exchanges between him and the bartender made it clear he was a regular—no need for small talk, just an easy, practiced silence. Logan's eyes, however, never lingered on the glass of neat whiskey in front of him. Instead, his gaze swept over the crowd, scanning for his next target, his posture relaxed but predatory. Despite his intimidating exterior, there was something magnetic about the way he worked the room, luring them in with lustful glances. He wasn’t just playing the game—he was built to win.

His trophy shelf was overflowing, yet there was no trace of happiness in Logan’s eyes.

You couldn’t help but wonder if this was the Logan everyone else saw—rough around the edges, careless, chewing through women and booze as if they were nothing more than fleeting distractions. Or was there something deeper, a hidden tenderness that only emerged behind closed doors? He never had family or friends over, just a revolving door of women. His life seemed lonely, private, and it made you wonder what demons gnawed at him when the nights grew quiet and the distractions faded away.

Was it trauma? 

Regret?

Or just the inevitable realization that his time was running out?

A part of you cared and wanted to be there for him, but it wasn't as simple as ringing his doorbell, he was unapproachable. During the few interactions you shared, he made it unmistakably clear that he had no interest in forming any kind of relationship with you. His responses were dry and curt, laced with a dismissive tone that cut down any hope of connection. Each word felt like a brick wall being built between you. He practically didn't look at you the entire time, keeping his eyes focused everywhere else but on yours. You couldn't help but feel a pang of disappointment with every exchange, it was as if he was purposefully keeping you at arm's length.

Through your confusion, you understood why. You weren't what he was interested in, you couldn't contribute to his unfaltering hunger. You were more than happy to not be categorized with what he'd bring home from the bar, but a slight part of you wished that for one night, you would be. 

The selections were slim in Burns and you were newer to the area, which made it impossible to call for a late-night booty call, unlike him. It had been a long time since you'd last been with someone and the constant exposure to Logan's fruitful sex life made you grow needier by the day, which is where your obsession initially formed.

It began with something small, almost too innocent to notice. You found yourself paying closer attention to his everyday routine, drawn by curiosity. You’d glance out the window to check if his motorcycle was parked in the yard, and when you heard the faint sound of his footsteps starting the day, you’d instinctively check the clock taking mental notes of his wake-up times.

Before you knew it, your interest had evolved into something deeper, something far more personal. You began noticing his trash in your shared waste bin; discarded remnants of his life blending into your obsession. At the liquor store, you found yourself buying the same brand of beer he preferred, curious to experience the taste that would linger on his lips if you kissed him. At the supermarket, you began to choose the same detergent, not for practical reasons, but to breathe in the scent that clung to his skin.

There was a day that he left his Johnny Cash shirt outside. He tossed it on the ground carelessly after working up a sweat while fixing something in the yard. When he left, you ran out and took it. As your compulsion grew, so did your need for closeness to him. The shirt became more than just a relic of him—it was a trigger. 

You began wearing it late at night, feeling its used fabric against your skin. While the sounds of him having sex filtered through the thin walls. The rhythmic creaking of his bed upstairs, the faint moans, you’d inhale it deeply, lost in his scent. You'd thrust your fingers deep inside of you, following along with his rhythm, imagining it was him inside you—picturing how Logan would take control, filling you with the intensity you longed for. In those moments, it was as if he belonged to you, even if just in fantasy.

Your cheeks flushed red as you listened along, It was become too much to handle. You unmuted your episode and got up, needing to find some distraction. 

"It’s almost over," you told yourself, trying to ignore the urge to grab his shirt and take care of things right then and there. Instead, you walked over to the unpacked boxes in the corner of your living room, hoping to find a distraction.

As you opened the cardboard, you started sifting through the mismatched stuff crammed inside. Your fingers brushed against something soft and bristly, sparking your curiosity. You tightened your grip and pulled it out for a better look. To your surprise, it was an old wig from a Halloween costume—vivid and wild, a memory you had almost forgotten.

The faint sounds you were trying so hard to ignore managed to slip through anyway, sparking a devilish idea as you twirled the wig in your hands. You were going to get his attention, whether he liked it or not. A mischievous grin spread across your face; this could be your way in. It was time to shake things up and show him a side of you he hadn’t seen yet. 

It was the next day, and you knew for sure that Logan would be at that bar, just like he was every Thursday. You stepped inside, adjusting the wig discreetly, tucking away any hint of your natural colour, determined to become someone new for the night. This was a wild idea, but desperate times called for bold measures. You were dying for some relief and he was the only remedy for this ache you couldn’t shake.

The bar buzzed with energy, a lively crowd which meant you had competition. But tonight, you were set on one thing: going home with him, and anyone else.

You’d dressed the part—skin exposed, tight-fitting clothes that hugged your curves just right, making you feel both powerful and vulnerable at the same time. 

You scanned the bar, your heart racing as you spotted him in his usual seat. The moment you walked in, his eyes locked onto you, holding your attention captive. You averted your gaze and took a shaky breath, your feet guiding you across the room, drawn to him like a moth to a flame.

Pretending not to notice his gaze, you played coy, an enticing smile dancing on your lips. You slid into the seat across from him and reached for the black menu that lay before you, feigning interest in the options. Your eyes traced the words, but your mind was elsewhere—focused on the weight of his stare and the electric tension building between you.

The bartender approached, and you quickly ordered the first thing your eyes landed on, feeling a rush of nerves. You folded the menu neatly, deliberately turning your attention to the crowd, avoiding his gaze, you weren't playing his game, you were playing yours. The thrill of the chase sent a shiver down your spine. The bar chattered around you, laughter and conversation creating a lively backdrop as you focused on maintaining an air of nonchalance, even as you could feel his eyes on you, studying you with that intensity.

A beautiful stemmed glass slid in front of you, snapping your attention to your hands. You mumbled a thankyou and you took a sip, savouring the sweet burn as it slid down your throat. It gave you a moment to gather your thoughts. Just as you were about to steal a glance his way, you noticed from your peripheral that he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, a smirk playing on his lips. That confident look told you he knew exactly what you were doing.

"Nice wig," he said, his voice low and smooth, cutting through the noise of the bar like a knife. The compliment sent a rush of heat to your cheeks, but you kept your expression cool, shooting him a sidelong glance as if you were just as unfazed by him.

“Thanks,” you replied, forcing a casual tone. “Just thought I’d switch things up a bit.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. The game was on, and you were ready to play.

Logan leaned forward, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “It suits you, it's different.”

You felt a thrill at his words, the compliment warming you in ways you hadn’t anticipated. You kept your composure, but inside, your heart raced. “I like keeping things interesting,” you replied, matching his playful tone.

The atmosphere around you shifted slightly, the crowd fading into the background as you locked eyes again. The moment felt charged, filled with unspoken possibilities. You could sense the magnetic pull between you intensifying, and it was exhilarating.

He took a sip of his drink, never breaking eye contact. “Well, you're doing a good job of doing that."

You smiled, feeling a rush of confidence. “It's just a little bit of fun for a Thursday night. What about you? Same old routine, I bet?”

His smirk widened a glint of challenge in his eyes. “You could say that. But maybe I’m looking for something different tonight.”

The weight of his words hung in the air, sending a thrill of anticipation coursing through you. This was the moment you’d been waiting for. You leaned forward, pushing your breasts together. “Well, that's hard to imagine. What’s your idea of different?”

 Logan’s eyes dropped to your cleavage. “How about we take this conversation somewhere a little more private?” His voice was low, rich with promise, and it sent a jolt of anticipation through you.

You raised an eyebrow, feigning casualness even as your heart raced. "And where would that be?”

He chuckled softly, a deep, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “How about the upstairs at your place?”

The two of you made your way up the narrow staircase, the familiar creak of the wooden steps echoed in the silence. You could feel the heat radiating off him, each step heightening the anticipation of what was to come. You both reached his door, and his keys jingled as he unlocked it.

The door swung open, and you stepped inside as he held the door open for you. The soft light from his living room illuminated the space, casting warm shadows that danced along the walls. The place was surprisingly tidy, with the scent of cedar and booze lingering in the air.

Logan followed you in, closing the door behind him with a deliberate click that sent a thrill down your spine. “Welcome to my humble abode,” he said, his voice low and teasing.

You didn't know what you expected but it wasn't this. You took in the details of his space—artwork hung at odd angles, a well-worn couch sat invitingly in the center, and an empty whiskey glass perched on the coffee table. It was comfortable, lived-in, and spoke to the kind of man he was.

“Nice place,” you said, trying to sound casual, but your pulse quickened as you caught the intensity of his gaze. A beat passed.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asked, a hint of seriousness threading through his playful tone.

Your heart raced at the implication of his question. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t,” you replied biting your lip,  voice steady from a boldness surging through you.

Logan smirked, his expression shifting from playful to something more primal and dark. 

“Good. Because I don’t plan on holding back. Gotta teach you a lesson after all,”

Before you could respond, he closed the distance between you, backing you against the wall with a firm press of his body. The warmth of him enveloped you, and you felt your breath hitch as he leaned in, his lips hovering just inches from yours. As he grabbed your face, his calloused fingers dug into your cheeks roughly, parting your lips open.

“I know you took my shirt, you fucking freak,” he murmured, his voice thick and husky.

You were unable to form words as you felt the threat of what was to come flood your senses. Your heartbeat stammered in your rib cage, fear overcoming you but there was a thrilling undercurrent of excitement that was hard to ignore. Logan’s intense gaze held you captive, and the edge in his voice sent the tension crackling in the air between you.

“You didn’t think I’d notice?” he continued, a low chuckle escaping his lips, laced with a hint of danger. “A man owns about three good shirts and is bound to notice when one goes missing.” His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, making your breath hitch again, but you couldn’t bring yourself to respond.

“You’ve been watching me,” he stated, his voice dropping even lower. “Spying on me like some lovesick teenager. It’s cute, but it’s also… a little sick.” The intensity in his gaze softened slightly, a flicker of something deeper behind his fierce exterior.

You swallowed hard, the words caught in your throat. “I—”

“Save it,” he interrupted, his grip tightening around your jaw just enough to keep your attention focused on him. “Don't give me excuses. Tell me why.”

The question hung in the air, heavy and charged. What could you possibly say that would explain the tangled web of emotions and desires that had led you here? His proximity was intoxicating, and the conflict between fear and yearning made your head spin.

“I... I just wanted to understand you,” you finally managed, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hear you with the women you bring home... and I want that. ”

Logan's smile grows somehow even darker. "So ya' got all dressed up for me because you want me to fuck you like I do with the others? That right, sweetheart?" 

The only thing you could do at this moment was give him an eager nod, the ache between your legs growing shamefully larger by the second. 

“I’ll give you what you want kid', but you need to know something first.” He paused slightly, the air between you thick with tension. 

“I’m the best at what I do, and I don’t do it very nicely.”

cliff hanger I know, but i'm such a slut for teasing.

🏷️: @back2thebasics , @spookyfunhottub, @lanassmarty, @hypermarvellove, @kbear8863

If you'd like to join my tagged list and be notified whenever I post new content, click ->-> HERE<-<-, instructions will follow.

->->masterlist<-<-

[utterlyazriel]

let me keep you company

a/n: a wee break from the doom & gloom of wtssf! it's unedited so i want no flack for that thank u <3 enjoy <3 wc: 5.1k whoops synopsis: You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect.

For the record, you had never met a Shadowsinger before.

You'd never even seen one. Sure, you’d read about them briefly in your studies and almost every Fae in Prythian had heard about them in whispers and rumours.

Rumours that increased more so when a Shadowsinger rose to become a hand for the Highlord, his own personal spy. Then became the spymaster of the entire Night Court for the next Highlord.

But beyond gossip and unfinished chapters within the scripts of your libraries, the knowledge of Shadowsingers is far limited. They’re rare. For all you know, Shadowsinger’s are a ghost— moving as a shadow, disappearing in and out of the darkness of the world.

You had never met a Shadowsinger before—so it makes sense that you hadn't an ounce of a clue what to expect.

Staring at him now, 6 feet something of pure muscle, you're a bit embarrassed at your own surprise.

Because he's probably— no definitely— the most beautiful Fae you've ever laid eyes on. His hair is tousled and dark, his glorious tan skin that's mostly hidden beneath the black of his fighter leathers, and his amber eyes that laid on you for only one long moment. Breathtaking is the only adequate word for him.

All that beauty and he's a Shadowsinger.

And it's not like you thought he wouldn't be like, well, any other Fae. But also... you kinda did? Mother, you should've known Freya was tricking you when she said they were all just shadow-y corporeal forms.

But she's also not entirely wrong there. There are dozens of wispy shadows that hover around him in constant motion, dipping and flying around his shoulders and if you look close enough, you can see how he seems to ripple at the edges. Shadows blur the edge of his very being.

You wonder if he can disappear into them all together, if that was one of the abilities granted with them. Does he control them? He must, you think, if the title is Shadowsinger.

But looking at him now, his beautiful face turned to face the Highlord you should definitely be listening to, they flit about almost absentmindedly, as though they have a mind of their own.

One curls up by his ear and you watch it, fascinated, more and more questions springing up in your mind— what do they feel like on skin? Do they make any noise? Is that what they're doing now? Talking to—

A sharp elbow jabs into your side, making you jump.

Your head whips to the side, an instinctive scowl almost overtaking your face before you plaster it over with a smile, realising your mistake. Your mentor, Sergei, clears his throat and smiles awkwardly ahead at Rhysand. You blink and take another moment to realise you've been asked a question.

"I'm— I'm sorry, could you repeat that?" You try not to sound as mousy as you feel but the question comes out as a squeak anyway. He is the Highlord of the Night Court after all. You suddenly feel very foolish for being so easily distracted.

Thankfully, Rhysand regards you with an easy smile. He's leaned back in his chair, relaxed, and his violet eyes dance with humour as he flicks his gaze over to where you had just been staring.

"That's alright. Azriel is a piece of eye candy, I can't blame you for staring," He all but purrs, a hint of mirth pulling at his lips as he casts another glance at his Spymaster. You're taken aback by the casualness of his words.

Rhysand continues. "I was only saying that for the duration of your stay, you'll be hosted in one of my homes, the House of Wind. You aren't afraid of heights, are you?"

A smidge of fear pinches at your stomach because, honestly, you aren't overly keen on the idea. But you know better than to turn down the generosity of a Highlord.

You take another glance at the wings of his Spymaster and General and pray that it's not too high up.

"Not... much." You answer honestly.

There's a chuckle from the side of the room and your head swings around at the noise. It's not the Shadowsinger, though he looks as though he's politely trying not to smile, his chin ducked. It's the General, just as beautiful as his brother but in that more rugged way.

He flexes his wings out a bit, showing off their mighty wingspan. "We'll rid you of that fear in no time."

You try for a smile but it might be closer to a grimace.

"Fantastic." You say, not managing to put all your enthusiasm into the word like you hoped.

Another sharp jab of Sergei's elbow in your side. The Shadowsinger, Azriel, huffs a quiet laugh, his amber eyes flashing up to steal another look at you. You try your best not to fluster.

It's going to be a long two months.

—

As Sergei's apprentice, you're expected to shadow him through his allowed time within Velaris.

Which means if he goes to the library, you go to the library.

There's just one problem; the library is down in the city and your temporary home is up in the mountain. The quickest way down is with wings.

Rhysand— or just Rhys as he had told you to call him— had relayed the information that you could ask either Cassian or Azriel to escort you if you didn't wish to take the stairs.

Cassian, the General, had been the one to fly you down and back the first couple of times you had asked and you weren't in any particular hurry to relive the experience.

Cassian was nice and he was more than friendly but seemingly incapable of understanding any fear of heights. You weren't sure if that was just the only way to fly— swooping and dropping fast enough to make you shriek— but it certainly seemed to be Cassian's way.

Which leaves you with the option of either asking the Shadowsinger or taking the stairs.

You get down about two hundred steps before you start to regret your decision. But, also, how in the Cauldron were you supposed to ask him to take you? (Never mind that you had asked Cassian quite easily, albeit very nervously.)

Oh, hi Shadowsinger who I can't stop staring at for both your abilities and your handsome face—care to sweep me into your arms and carry me places?

As if, you snort to yourself.

You take the thousand stairs all the way to the bottom and trot towards the enormous library, pretending your thighs aren't aching with overuse or that you're out of breath. Thankfully, the library itself isn't too far from the House of Wind, carved into the same side of the mountain.

As expected, Sergei is less than pleased with your tardiness.

"Sorry," The word rushes out of you in a wheeze, probably too loud for the library, as you scuttle in the entrance. A few priestesses turn their heads to look at you and you cringe, raising your hands in apology. "Sorry, I'm sorry,"

You focus back on your mentor and try to catch your breath, all while you explain. "I took the stairs and it took—" You huff out a breath. "—way longer than I thought."

Sergei's face softens a bit at your explanation, his face taking on a pitiful smile. "Still not enjoying the flying?"

"You are?" You ask in response. The thought of Sergei, your old-Fae mentor, swept up in Cassian's arms as he dips and dives makes you chuckle just a bit.

Sergei shakes his head as if to change the topic of conversation, deciding you've wasted enough time already. He turns, beginning to head further into the library and you follow behind him closely, eager to brush over your early morning fumble. The cavernous structure within the mountain yawns out ahead of you and you get all of two moments to wonder just how deep down it goes, when—

"You did not ask for a ride this morning."

Azriel steps up beside you, seemingly from nowhere, his steps falling in time with yours with ease. You jump, startled, and your footsteps falter for a moment. You're relieved to say that you only make one embarrassing noise in your surprise.

"I— oh, it's— I mean, I just..." You trail off, feeling flustered. "...like to walk."

You chance a glance up at him. He's wearing that same polite expression from yesterday, as though he's trying not to laugh and you get too caught up in the swirlings of his shadows to remember to be properly embarrassed. Both of you walk in tandem behind Sergei, slowly descending into the lower levels of the library.

"If you insist," He says, his voice low. It sends something warm down your spine and you pray he doesn't notice how your body temperature is definitely climbing.

His amber eyes pin you with another look, his lips twitching into a small smile. "However, if Cassian is giving you trouble, I would be happy to provide a smoother ride."

You flounder for a moment. You don't want to get anyone in trouble.

"I— he's not giving me trouble," You stammer.

Azriel smiles a little wider as if he can tell how polite you're trying to be. He slows to a meander and you realise only after you walk past him, it's because Sergei has stopped himself, turning down one of the many aisles.

You skid yourself to a halt and turn back, praying your flaming face isn't as obvious as it feels. You're not entirely sure if Azriel is accompanying you today but you're sure that Sergei would've mentioned it if he was.

You dip your head in a strange, awkward bow motion. Then point to the aisle Sergei disappeared into.

"I'll be... going this way."

Azriel's smile grows, like you've told a joke, and he ducks his head. He peers up at you through his dark lashes and you wonder if anyone's ever told him how damn beautiful he is. Probably. You're probably the last in a long line of people. Mother, his eyes though.

"If you don't wish to make the hike the other way," He murmurs.

He extends one of his hands and you watch the dozen shadows swarm around it, one of them separating from the pack to dive to the ground. It shoots forward and spins around your ankle, almost happily. "Just let the shadow know. I would be happy to assist."

When you look back up, he’s already gone without a sound. You try not to look so surprised— you’ve seen someone winnow before but you’re almost certain that the way Azriel moved about silently was something else altogether.

“Y/n!” Sergei’s voice echoes down the shelves, reminding you that you’re still late. You throw a quick glance around to check but it's fruitless; you can’t see the Shadowsinger anywhere.

You turn and bustle down the aisle quickly, not wanting to keep Sergei any longer. It takes only a second to notice the sole, black shadow that dances along behind you.

Guess you have company.

—

Okay, so, the shadows are definitely their own little guys.

Mainly because you can’t imagine how Azriel would be controlling them when he’s nowhere in sight.

And this one shadow is being awfully helpful.

The first time you drop your quill, knocking it to the ground as you lean over one of the many intricately carved desks, trying to reach another book, you don’t even notice it fall to the ground.

In fact, you have no idea how many times it’s picked up your fallen quill that you’ve undoubtedly knocked over countless times— only that it had given you the fright of your life to have it hover before your face, gripped only by the wispy shadow Azriel left with you.

“Holy shit!” You gasp, your loud voice echoing in the quietness of the library.

Sergei's head whips up, his eyes narrowing at the intruding sound with evident disapproval. You quickly snatch the quill out of mid-air and sink down in your seat. Gods, the echoes in here were doing you no favours.

“Sorry,” You whisper. Your eyes dart down to the shadow that retreated to your side, flickering around your ankle more wildly. “Er, thanks.”

It feels a bit silly to give thanks to something you’re not sure can hear you. But you figure if it can pick up your quill, you're better off using your manners.

Sergei gives you a somewhat bewildered look and you try to appease him with an awkward smile. It works enough for him to continue his work but not without one more lingering glance of worry in your direction. Great. You're talking to shadows and your old-man mentor thinks you're a bit nuts.

The shadow continues its helpful endeavours, following you when you head down different aisles at Sergei's request. It dances across the shelves, dissolving occasionally just to puff back up somewhere else, pulling your attention this way and that. It's playful. Friendly.

You deduce by the end of the day that you know even less about Shadowsinger's than you had thought. The abilities and personality of just one shadow are uncanny; like a silent friend keeping you company. You imagine that Azriel rarely gets lonely with as many as he has. Maybe you'll ask him.

When Sergei and you wind back up the staircases and he dismisses you for the evening, heading into the city for his own further business, you stand at the mouth of the library and ponder if you'll be brave enough to summon the Shadowsinger.

The shadow is still with you, circling your wrist absently. You peer down at it and think of all those stairs. Somewhat nervously, you raise your hand and try to be as casual as possible about talking to a shadow on your hand.

"Hi." You start, trying not to feel foolish. "Um, well, I guess I'm done for the day. Could— could you, if he's not busy that is, uh, let Azriel know? I don't mind waiting if he is."

The shadow zips off barely before you can finish your sentence and your head swings to watch it go, disappearing somewhere to your left.

You can't help but be a little amazed at its speed—it must be an incredible networking system to have a thousand little spies running around for you. No wonder almost all Shadowsingers tend to end up in the same line of work, you think to yourself, still peering in the direction of the shadow when—

"Y/n."

Even though he's said your name soft and quiet, Azriel still manages to take you by surprise. You jump and turn, all in one motion.

"Mother!" Your hand holds over your chest, relief curling in at the sides as your fright ebbs away. "That was fast."

"You called," Azriel responds, as if it's the easiest thing in the world. He gives you an almost shy smile.

It makes you fluster a bit and you gesture to the exit awkwardly and wordlessly, if only so you don't have to come up with a response to his intense and endearing answer.

Together, you wander out from the library and creep towards the edge of Velaris. It's a beautiful city and more than deserving of its title, especially when viewed from the House of Wind. You turn and cast your eyes up the mountainside, your familiar nervous fear pitching up from your stomach.

Then you look at the warrior beside you, tall enough that he's got what feels like more than a head's height on you, with his wings reaching above even his own head. His jaw is sharp and his eyes are already on you as your gaze trails up his face. Fuck. He's really pretty.

Now you're nervous for an entirely different reason.

"We can still take the stairs if you wish," He says, his hand sweeping back to the path you had followed along this morning. His shadows move with his hands, a black vortex that whirls around and around. "I'd be more than happy to keep you company."

Mother, he's not helping you in the slightest, being so perfectly nice to you. You regard the stairs and think back to how many hours it took before your thighs stopped aching—and that was on the way down.

"No, we can- we can try flying again." You say, nodding to yourself as if it'll help quell your fear. It takes another moment to realise that means you'll be bundled up in his strong arms, held against his broad chest and you feel a little shiver run through your body at the thought.

Azriel notices it too, his eyebrows knitting together in concern. "You're sure?" He checks.

You nod, not meeting his eyes, trying to keep your nerve. Flying is already something you're not keen on. Flying whilst being swept up in the arms of a Shadowsinger who you think is the most beautiful Fae you've ever seen? You send a silent prayer to the Mother that you don't do something embarrassing, like puking down his front.

"Let me know if you're uncomfortable at any time," He says softly and then he bends his knees slightly, one of his scarred hands resting on your lower back as the other scoops beneath your knees. He lifts you as though you weigh nothing.

It's impossible not to flush as you get nestled against his firm chest, your hands panicking for a moment as you try to think of a normal place to put them. Around his neck? On his chest? Either of them feels far too intimate for a man you've known only a week.

"You don't have to but I would suggest holding on," Azriel comments with a smile, his chest vibrating with the words. You nod, agreeing with him, but don't make a move to do so, only holding your hands out in front of you to indicate you're not sure where to put them.

The shadows adorning his shoulders move on their own, their friendly presence easing your nerves as they slither down to circle around your wrists. There's a gentle tug and you let them move your hands til they're wrapped around Azriel's neck, moving you much closer in the process.

Gods, your faces are close together. Another couple of inches and you could probably press your lips to his perfect ones—a thought that makes you fluster all over again. Was he getting prettier every time you saw him? For not the first time, you thank the Mother that it was Rhys with the daemaeti gift and not Azriel.

"Ready?" He checks, which is sweet. Cassian had just shot up into the sky the first time, without any warning.

You grip your arms around his neck a little tighter and then nod. "Ready," You say, quieter than intended.

You catch just a moment of Azriel's demure smile, your heart swooping at the sight, before you're both launched into the sky with one flap of his wings.

The noise that escapes you is one you're less than proud of, a squawky sound noise of panic that you bury into Azriel's neck. You expect him to laugh like Cassian had, not meanly but playfully, but instead Azriel's arms just tighten around you. As if he was assuring you that he would not let you fall.

By the time you're up at the House of Wind, Azriel making a far more graceful descent than his brother, you're less freaked out and more ready to point some accusatory fingers in the face of the Night Court's General.

That bastard had been fucking with you! The flight with Azriel proved as much, considering how much calmer and smoother it had been. You couldn't help but say as much as you were placed down from Azriel's hold, glad to be back on solid ground.

"I have some words for Cassian, Mother above," You ramble, straightening out your rumpled clothes from the flight. "Did he think I was kidding when I said I was afraid?"

Azriel smiles at your fieriness, his shadows calmer than they were in flight, moving about lazily. His eyes take a fleeting glance at the house behind you before focusing intently back on you.

"Cassian can have a strange sense of humour at times. He means well." He says. Then he grins. "I should like to see you tell him off— not enough people do."

You hmph. "Maybe I will."

You suddenly realise the closeness between you and Azriel, close enough to feel the warmth of his body. His scent of cedar and mist swirls around you, tantalizing and alluring in a way you've never known before. You take a step back to contain yourself.

"I—uh, well, thank you very much." You say, as sweet as you can. "For the ride."

Your eyes catch on one of his dozen shadows and you smile, observing them for a moment. "And the shadow. It was excellent company."

Azriel brightens, an expression of surprise crossing his face before he schools it away. He smiles, brazen and breathtaking. When he speaks, he sounds a little disbelieving. "You like them?"

You nod quickly, noticing how one of his shadows has snuck off again and circulates your ankle speedily. You laugh at the ticklish feeling of it against your skin.

"They're incredible." You breathe, meaning every word. "I imagine you must've ge—"

"Apologies, y/n." A smooth voice cuts in, Rhys stepping up somewhere behind you and stealing both of your attention. He dressed in more casual clothes than you last saw, but not quite Azriel's fighting leathers. "Azriel here is needed for some brief business. Do you mind if I borrow him?"

The way he poses the question, as if Azriel is yours, does something wonky to your heart. You flounder for a moment, stepping back and waving your hand in the direction of the Shadowsinger.

"Of- of course, by all means." You trip over the words and hope you don't sound too eager to escape his company. That couldn't be more untrue.

You turn back to Azriel and fix him with a smile, hoping it's not as nervous as you feel. "I'll... see you around?"

Azriel steals a glance to the side where Rhys awaits before he nods with another reserved smile. Hold on, is that pink on his cheeks?

"Let me know if you need any more help getting to and from the library. I'd be happy to assist."

And then with a quick nod to you, he walks off to join Rhys, his wings tucked in tight, careful to not nudge you. You watch them go, unable to stop yourself from letting your eyes wander down. Damn, all that training did wonders. What was that saying? Hate to watch 'em go, love to watch them leave.

Ahead, Rhys abruptly laughs and peers back over his shoulder, letting you exactly how well you had shielded those thoughts. You flush and scurry into the house as if it'll save you from the embarrassment of what's just happened. You only hope he won't pass the message on to Azriel.

—

It continues like that for the rest of the week.

Azriel carries you down the height of the mountain and leaves you with a promise that if you need anything, you can tell the shadow and he'll come to find you.

The shadow keeps its usual playful company. Beyond retrieving your dropped quills, it helpfully turns the pages of books for you. When you're focused on what you're writing, it nudges back any loose strands of hair. Once it even brings you a flower from Mother knows where. One single Lily of the Valley, left resting on your desk.

It makes you wonder; are all Shadowsinger's shadows like this? You can't help but imagine these niceties are shaped by Azriel's own soft nature.

Today, whilst you study in the vast caverns of the library, you get an unexpected visitor.

As you take your time scanning through the books in one of the vast aisles, you realise the Fae coming down from the other end of the aisle is none other than the Highlady herself.

"Feyre!" You greet warmly. The two of you had met before when she had taken duties in your home court and if it weren't too bold, you'd say you consider yourself good friends. Feyre smiles, glowing like moonlight, as she realises who it is.

"Y/n," She says your name sweetly and her hug is just as such. She pulls away, ready to inquire about your studies when she spots the trailing shadow behind you.

"Making friends, I see," She comments. Her eyebrows raise almost teasingly as if she's made a certain insinuation. You take a moment to notice what she's referencing.

"It's nice," You say, a defensive lilt to your tone. You hold out your hand and the shadow jumps at the opportunity to skitter around it playfully. "It's like a little friend."

Feyre smiles at your words but chuckles a little. "Except Azriel is anything but little."

You pause at her words, glancing down at the shadow and back up at Feyre. "What do you mean? I thought— they're not- I mean, aren't they...?”

You trail off, unsure of how to word the question you're trying to ask. Feyre smiles, her gray eyes glittering with mirth as she realises what you're figuring out.

"They're all his. Azriel's. He controls them." She tilts her head a bit, watching the shadow that drifts about your hand and wrist. "True, they roam a bit on their own but... Not like this."

"Oh," You murmur, thinking back to that first day in the library.

The playful shadow that lead you back and forth, picking up your quill and turning your pages. It was him, all along.

Something immeasurably warm starts to glow in your chest, a thread that loops through your heart and sends the valves into overdrive. Its warmth grows, something molten hot beginning to bleed in your chest— and it feels wonderful. It feels right.

"Oh," You gasp as you figure it out.

Feyre grins, watching you piece together what the rest of the inner circle has clued together from the very first day. She stands to the side and gestures to the entrance of the library with a tilt of her head.

"Go on then," She urges you.

For a moment, you think back to Sergei who sent you hunting for a certain manuscript Cauldron knows how long ago but the thought is washed away in an instant. You can feel it now, the strong tug in your chest. The connection that binds you to another.

You stride past Feyre, giving a quick thanks! and all but run up the spiral staircases, heading for the entrance. The shadow pings along with you and as you near the top, you look down at it and say through huffed breaths, "You better go get him."

He's waiting by the time you get there.

Against the setting sun, for a moment there's only the silhouette of him— a warrior with tall wings, the edges of him rippling like a mirage. He might just be one; an oasis in your life, the answer that you've been searching for for centuries. You can't believe you didn't notice.

Your footsteps echo on the marble as you march right up to him and Azriel watches you closely the whole time, his amber eyes soft but his expression hinting at his nervousness. Gods, he's wonderful. You can't believe he gets to be yours and you get to be his.

"How long have you known?" You ask because it's the first thing on your mind. You're nearly panting from the exhilaration of your sudden exercise, from the dawning future that's blooming right in front of you. He's your mate. Gods, how could you have missed it?

Azriel smiles, that same tentative one that's been driving you crazy all week. His wings give a little shake behind him, a giveaway of his nerves.

"I... suspected from the beginning." He chooses his words carefully, wary of how you might respond.

You can't help your little gasp, feeling even more of a fool. You curse, ducking your head before you glare back up at him, no real heat in your gaze. You have the urge to give him a little shove, just for keeping you in the dark.

"And you didn't think to tell me?"

One of his shadows spins up unexpectedly, dancing across your shoulders and tickling your cheeks gently. You startle in surprise but something sweeter curls up in your chest at the tenderness of its touch.

"Believe me," Azriel says with a quiet chuckle, his amber eyes darting over your face intensely. "I've been trying."

You melt. Eyes locked with his, you move slowly, letting your arms drift up to drape around his neck like they've done every morning and evening since he began flying you around. You realise acutely that Cassian's behaviour, his shoddy flying, had likely been on purpose. You laugh a little, eyes creasing shut in pure euphoria.

Azriel's hands find your waist and you can feel the slight tremble in them.

"In my defense," You murmur, pushing up on your toes. You're close, so close, your lips hovering just an inch from a kiss—his shadows go wild around you both. It makes you grin. "I had never met a Shadowsinger before."

"Yeah?" Azriel breathes shakily. "Disappointed?"

He says it like a joke but you can hear the note of sincerity in his tone. His hidden worry that he isn't all you dreamed of. It's nearly laughable how wrong he is.

This close you can see his long lashes and every shade of brown in his eyes. You wonder if you'll ever get used to how beautiful he is. Part of you hopes you never do.

"Not in the slightest," You say, nearly a whisper.

Then his lips are on yours, pillowy soft skin against yours, and it feels like coming home. He kisses you, kisses you, kisses you til you're breathless and the glow in your chest could rival the sun in its warmth.

He kisses you and every atom in your body hums and fizzes and comes to life — and all you can do is hold him tight and kiss him back, just as fiercely.

Breaking the kiss to catch your breath, you pant and grin brazenly at Azriel, at your mate, happier than you've ever been. Faintly, you realise that you won't be heading home when the two months of your study are up after all.

Not when you have a man who looks at you so reverently, who kisses you like there's oxygen hidden in the plush of your lips, who holds you like there's nothing more precious in the world.

Not when you know that home is right here, in front of you.

[mayxxday]

how bakugou would react to his child telling his mom to shut up?

Katsuki has always had his doubts when it came to parenthood. However the first day he held his baby boy to his chest after his birth, he felt all his fears disappear in thin air. The comfortable weight of his tyke somehow was enough to silence his fears of being a good father.

When he found his little brat inherited the same quirk as him, he was over the moon. Their bond only grew stronger and stronger through their endless training and practice at his agency. After all, if Katsuki was anything, he was a family man.

With his son growing in a young adolescent, Katsuki could see only more of himself in his boy. The same brash attitude he once strutted around the campus of his middle school. Their mannerisms hardly differed as they sat discussing on the couch, his sweet little wife tucked under his arm.

"This is heaven" He couldn't help but think. There he was, living a life his younger self could never have imagined. Yet this was all he needed. The most important two people of his life, right here with him. The explosive pro hero's train of thought was rudely interrupted however by the loud sneer of his son.

"Shut it mom- we're busy"

The words that left his son's mouth in a fleeting moment, left a bitter look on Katsuki's face. How could Katsuki ever miss the way his wife tensed under his arm, a look at her and he would have seen the tears that rushed to her lash line. However he didn't know if he was strong enough to see that at the moment.

Had he not been holding his wife to his side, he would have flown into a rage. Katsuki loved his boy to pieces, but his wife had been the one to teach him how to love. His wife had stuck out his explosiveness, all the crude remarks and his constant hot and cold behavior throughout his UA years, and made herself a home in his heart. So no matter who it was, Katsuki wasn't gonna have it.

"What did you say, brat!"

Katsuki snaps back, his voice dangerously low as if daring his son to try to repeat himself. Holding his wife protectively to his side, his thumb subconsciously rubs circles on her arm in an attempt to comfort her, while his teen could only look at him dumbfounded. Frozen still in place for Katsuki was never like this at home, his anger never directed towards him especially.

"Dad I-"

"Apologize. Now."

Katsuki said coldly. He wasn't the one for any dumb excuses and his son's malicious tone towards his wife wasn't something he was just gonna tolerate.

"Katsu, it's okay"

He could hear his wife mumble softly, her warm hand pressed his chest, coaxing him gently to let go of the matter. He was only a teenager after all, isn't this what they do, his wife believed. Katsuki however, didn't believe the same. Had the remark been directed towards Katsuki he would have let go of it, getting back to him a crude comment of himself, but this was his sweet little wife. He couldn't even remember one instance of her raising her voice to discipline their son, she's always been kind and gentle in her parenting methods, offering only the utmost support. So no, it wasn't okay in eyes Katsuki's eyes.

"I'm sorry mom... I shouldn't have done that. I didn't- ..mean to"

His son replies, his head hung shamefully as he takes a moment to reflect what he had just done. Katsuki had raised him to be gentleman through and through. Every step of the way, reminding him how his mother deserved only the best in the world. So for him to snap at his mom was out of character for him, but he would say the stress of school and preparing for UA was getting to him, resulting in him snapping at the only person his heart trusted not to hate him for it.

"Try that once more and we'll have long talk about it. And I can promise you the next time we train you won't have it easy"

Katsuki threatens lightly, knowing he had the little smack to his chest coming as his wife chuckled shyly as his protective instinct. Maybe he meant it, but his wife didn't have to know that he wasn't kidding. Of course he would never hurt his own son, but of course he could tire him out until his body had no energy to snap at his own mother of all people.

His wife's chuckle however was enough to lighten the air around them. The little bakugou earning a little tug on his ear to make sure he understood his lesson. All the while he smiled sheepishly, moving to sit on the floor in front of his mother, burying his head in her lap as a silent apology, seeking her reassurance.

Katsuki could have been the strongest damn hero to exist, but again, he was only a family man after all and the sight was enough to soften his iron heart. His wife tucked under his arm, rubbing the head of his now teen boy.

"brat"

Katsuki mumbles softly, tucking his wife's under his chin as he starts his earful lecture for his son about his wife being 'the most damn amazing woman on earth' and how he needs to do better he's gonna be a true bakugou, because in this family, we love our only woman.

That night, Katsuki slept with his head tucked in his wife's neck, whispering sorry's for not being a good father enough for this to happen in the first place. His worries however were soothed with an array of kisses on any skin his wife could reach, all pressed with a "you're the best father our baby could have had".

p.s. thank you soooooo much for the ask! I had so much fun writing this. I hope you like it <33

[jaewritesfic]

Everlasting Trio DP x DC Nobody Knows AU Part 9

Part 8

“Nothing? At all?”

“Nothing, Red,” Barbara's voice repeats through the speakers of the Batcomputer, sounding irritated at this point.

“But- I mean, did you try-”

“She's going to come to the cave and shove a Batarang up your ass if you ask her one more time whether she missed something, Replacement,” Jason drawls off to the side. He's reclining in a chair, feet kicked up on a weapons table.

Tim groans. “I know, I know. I'm sorry.”

He's back in the Cave, and so is pretty much everyone else. Turns out he'd caused something of a panic, and it was all hands on deck for a hot second.

When the engineer had density shifted out of his grasp and heckled him from some nebulous spot midair, it had taken only a few seconds afterwards for Tim’s comms to explode with noise.

Turns out nobody had been able to hear anything from him except a constant low static from shortly before the encounter until after it ended, and his mask camera was borked the whole time too.

Understandably, there was some alarm about that. Bruce had ordered everyone back to the cave for a full explanation and conversation on what the hell happened.

“Sit down and tell us what happened, baby bird. You're gonna wear a hole in the floor at this rate,” Dick tells him, a gentle hand on his shoulder nudging him towards a seat.

Tim groans and throws himself into it like a puppet with his strings cut.

“Well he's definitely a meta,” he grumbles. “I never actually laid eyes on him. Wouldn't have even known he was there if he hadn't gotten ghost busted.”

“Ghost busted?” Jason asks, eyebrows raised. Tim huffs out a reluctant laugh, because in retrospect that part was pretty funny.

“His fucking phone went off. All of a sudden the empty air next to me was blasting the Ghostbusters theme song and an invisible man was swearing like a sailor until it cut out.”

Stephanie blows a raspberry in the start of a laughing fit, and suddenly the whole cave is echoing with mirth. It lifts Tim's spirits a little, makes him laugh too.

He means, come on. That has to be the new record for the funniest botched stealth mission, a position previously held by Damian when a stray dog outed him because it smelled the treats he keeps in his utility belt.

The shade of red the demon brat's face was when he had to explain why the mission went sideways was fucking glorious.

“So you've confirmed that we're dealing with a male meta?”

Speaking of the brat.

“Sounded male, and he at least has invisibility and density shifting,” Tim confirms.

“Density shifting?” Bruce prompts.

“Yeah. After the phone went off I couldn't see him but I was trying to figure out where he was. Then the lockbox disappeared too - he can transfer the invisibility through touch, apparently.”

“Huh. Haven't seen that before,” Duke comments.

“Me neither. But I made an educated guess at where I thought he was and grabbed his arm. Had a damn good grip, and then he just…went through me. Like I literally felt something pass through my hand all cold and tingly and suddenly I wasn't holding anything anymore.”

Jason snorts. “Bet that was a kick in the nuts, huh.”

“Come on, Little Wing,” Dick scolds half heartedly. “Be nice.”

Jason rolls his eyes.

“You said ‘at least’,” Bruce says, brow furrowed. “You suspect he has other powers too?”

Tim purses his lips. “I can't be sure, considering I couldn't see him, but…I think he probably has flight too.”

“Flight?” Dick says, furrowing his brow. He crosses his arms and shakes his head, looking both thoughtful and troubled. “No, that's not possible.”

Tim blinks. “What? Why not?”

Dick ‘Be Nice, Little Wing’ Grayson looks him dead in the eyes and says, “Because according to all known laws of aviation-”

“You-!”

The cave is filled with laughter again, Jason throwing his head back and cackling in a way that's particularly irksome. Tim reaches over and shoves at his boots while he's tipping his chair back and sends him toppling to the floor.

Jason flails and fails to save himself, rolling back to his feet and spitting curses with a hint of green to his eyes. Tim freezes at the sight of it.

It's not that he's scared. He and Jason have come a long way, and everyone knows by now what amount of green is actually dangerous. Jason's nowhere near actually losing it right now, he's just annoyed.

What makes Tim freeze is-

“He's been exposed to the Pits.”

Everyone pauses, confused. Jason blinks at him. “Uh…yeah, fucking duh?”

“No,” Tim shakes his head. “No, not you. The Engineer.”

Suddenly there's no laughter anymore. Everyone has gone tense and alarmed.

“Tim?” Bruce prompts lowly.

“I did see part of him,” Tim murmurs lowly, realizing it himself for the first time. “When I grabbed him, there were two bright lights for a second or two before they faded. God, I should have realized- it was his eyes. Like Christmas lights, bright Lazarus green."

Masterpost

[shaisuki]

❝ WOUNDS FOR ME TO HEAL. ❞

✞ FEATURING. BULLY! GOJO SATORU AND GETO SUGURU

▶ SERIES MASTERLIST

CONTENT WARNINGS. body image + talks about insecurities + mentions of past traumas + angst + ooc geto and gojo. i wrote this at five am and i still have not sleep yet.

NOTES. i'm sorry for the lack of update on this series. I've kind of lost interest in this one since i'm no good in plotting and writing multiple chaps. you can read from how it have gotten boring starting from the previous chapters. i apologize now for the confusion of the plot.

SYNOPSIS. to break from the past you desperately want to forget, facing them is the only choice you have left to move forward and is forgiveness is easy to be given as it was forgetting.

your fingers reach for the switch. flipping it and the light turns on, illuminating the bathroom where you spent your days staring at the large mirror by the sink. back in the days you avoided mirrors finding your reflection repulsive added by the torture where they forced you to touched yourself. confidence isn't the only qualities you wished you have and maybe thing weren't be this bad. a constant battle to yourself where you always lose.

grabbing the collar of your coat, you slowly removed it, followed by stripping out of your blouse and then your pants until you were left in your undergarments. there in the mirror stood you.

your reflection clear as the daylight and you can see every imperfections that you hated. the words came echoing how the strangers surrounded you holds such sharp tongues about your body when they didn't live on it. the venom in the words stinging your skin like it was a sin to grew with a body you have.

you scan your body with every flaw you can see starting from your face. round and the baby fat since you were born didn't dissolve as you grew up. the cheeks remains the same. you slightly cringe at the pain surfacing. this is where gojo have pinched your cheeks so bad that they started to bruise. he pays no attention to your eyes swelling with tears, too indulged in the feeling of the softness of your cheeks that he can't believe that they were that squishy and the many times where they would grasp it when they force to look in the eyes. geto is cruel when he comes to cup your cheeks in his hands and your jaw also.

then your eyes. the eyes you own where it cried tears. there's nothing bad about them. it just it have seen the hundreds of event in where they defiled you. the degrading actions you have done out of their expenses and you hear nanami's words. “they're kind. the gentlest of eyes i have seen in a person. never to cloud with wrath and kindness is the only thing you could ever see.” you remember him saying that to you. one night when you're in the brink of losing yourself and you lost the hope to move forward. you find his own eyes staring back at you. honey is the color of them and when you look farther it's brown and then this close it's a different shade of color. a sugar caramelizing in a hot pan and the thought of nanami's eyes brought you peace.

you see your lips curving into a smile in the reflection but it turns into a thin line when your eyes move to look at your flabby arms. the slightest of movement and just holding of it moves. you remember a joke to one of your skinny classmates that it is almost the size of their legs while it's true, you thought that they should have never pointed it out since you already knew it and it's not like within seconds it would disappear.

it was with you in a different time of the span of your life and then the biggest insecurity that comes into view is your stomach. it was round with the pooch almost drooping down but it is still big that pokes in tight shirts and where you find him lying down. your palms touch the squishy flesh. you grabbed a handful of it before letting it go. watching it jiggle and you look at it weird. it once carried life and after scrutinizing yourself from head to toe. you never changed and only gained the weight. you laugh at yourself like you heard something stupid. you tried to lost the weight but it's something that won't leave you and you accepted it. long ago where you've decided you want to be a better version for yourself and for the people that surrounds you, especially the two who have been your light.

after your little session with yourself, you made it a habit to do so. to remind what needed to be done and you won't be blinded again by such pretentious acts. part of you wanted to fight but you were weak and you cannot be weak when you want to fight. you set aside the thoughts for tonight, what happened earlier scared you. meeting him early wasn't intended but you did and it scares you. what if you suddenly revert back to the old helpless you. your body can betray you at such times and you needed a mind to remind and you scoff. you act like the wounds and how they scarred you didn't turned your flight or fight mode. there are things that much needed your attention and you're only starting to wrap things up.

after a quick bite, you quickly made your way to your work cubicle. paperwork's are starting to pile and you don't want to be buried underneath by it and you start except there was a huge bouquet of flowers sitting in your desk. an arrangement of deep purple hyacinths and daffodils. there's no note about it but you knew where this is coming from. without a second thought you grabbed the flower arrangement that cost more than what its worth and dunked it into your trash can. you didn't need it. it's a distraction and flowers won't make you forget and forgive. it would cost more than that.

sighing, you rubbed a sore spot in your temple. taking a big breath and exhaling. you settled in your chair. punching the keyboard with the documents needing to be submitted in the later day. glancing at the already wilting flowers rotting in your trash. this isn't going to be easier. they're already moving and sooner or later you're going to meet them. your fears already coming back and you clenched your fists. crumpling the paper you hold.

“satoru~”

a flirtatious voice coming from his fiancee who is seated on his lap. poking him with her acrylic nail in his cheek to get his attention. “you're not spending time with me anymore.” her voice sad and the gloss in her lips sticks upon pouting. gojo almost rolls his eyes but for appearances and to satiate his fiancee's attention from him, he plays along. “sayuri, i am. why are you in my lap then?” he bites his tongue from making it sound sarcastic but his fiancee was oblivious to it and continues her childish whims to to him.

“because i missed you and i want your attention.” her hands creeping up on his thigh and satoru winces from it. he hold her wrist. “laters, baby. i'm expecting company.” he interrupts her advances and it made her annoyed.

“with who?” she asks. batting those eyelashes that made her look like a stupid bitch. “suguru.” her eyes brightened like she received a good news. “then he won't mind.” she says. trying to convince him of staying but gojo isn't convinced in the slightest. sayuri's been desperately clinging to him since college and hasn't left his side ever she knows that they were about to be engaged and now engaged, she's been worst.

“private matters between us and it's not your business.” he doesn't look at her and his sight stays glued to his phone. sayuri smiles at him before kissing his cheeks and then getting up on his lap much to her dismay. she began to slowly walk away and part of her hopes he would call her and ask her to stay. say he don't mind and suguru could go fuck himself if he don't want her staying him but it was a far cry from what she hoped. deep down, she's always second to the bitch that got the best friends head over heels even if they won't show it, especially satoru but what about it, the fat bitch's probably dead and she's the winner. satoru belongs to her and later suguru would be next. the heels click against the cold floors and that's the only thing she hears as she walked away from her fiancé's office and with her thoughts.

his eyes search for something, specifically someone. the one who had been haunting him since that accident. your disappearance were a blow to him and he longs to see you again even a glimpse of you is enough to know you were alive and within in his grasp.

he spots you taking a phone call, papers in your hand as you diligently arranged them while being in a call and it was enough for him. a small smile etched in his face. while in the elevator ride, you didn't change after that. still plump and you look like you've gained more and his hands itched to touch you. feel your body move and hear your voice.

despite busy schedules he took time to meet satoru who was equally busy as him. he's building his own firm with the influence he have it won't take long before it's established and he already have people following him and he was earning from it.

the elevator dings, stepping out. he barely glanced at satoru's secretary. what's the reason to check up on his secretary when he usually frequents the building and is a long time friends with the ceo.

upon entering, he finds satoru in deep thought. “yo, satoru.” he casually calls him and satoru perks up at the sound of his voice. they settled in one of the couches except for where he's seated as the ceo.

“is there a progress, satoru?” he began. since you were in gojo's turf working under him, he let gojo shoot his shot at you and from the looks of it, the answer is disappointing and when this kind of dilemma occurs. patience isn't what satoru's next move. it would be brash and that will definitely spook you for good. suguru chuckles at satoru's silence before sipping from his cup or tea he brewed.

“flowers won't win her, satoru and certainly not those gifts you've been dumping on her desk. bet she'd thrown that out. she's not you fiancee.”

gojo groans at the thing where his fiancee is brought up and the failed attempts of wooing you anonymously. you know it was him but choose to ignore it without hesitation of dumping his gifts and not even showing the faintest of appreciation.

“and what do you propose, suguru?”

they both exchanges gazes and they know what the answer is. they have to meet you, personally.

it's been a year since you've started working here for the company and your supervisor have taken a liking to you. you were more like of her assistant than the other and you kinda felt bad about it since you're eclipsing her job but the other's fine with it means she could slack and you can even workloads now with the same pay check. you didn't complain though and with your supervisor being this attentive you might get the recommendation you needed to rise and it would be a good reference for when you're about to switch jobs.

currently, you were busy preparing the files that were needed for a meeting. the client decided they would like to meet up in a private restaurant. it wasn't a first to you since you've dealt previous appointments similar to this and besides your supervisor was going to be there or is she?

apparently, she have to cancel and let you handle this one since she trusts you she says before running to the upper floor to get her other duties. it was last minute that's why she have to let you go alone and you accepted it without hesitation cause you were just getting over proposals. get them to sign and you're done. it's courtesy to transact faster.

a high-end restaurant is where they have decided and you weren't surprised by it. half of the work force who have the same job as yours and exclusive clients choose to use restaurants like this as a meeting place.

upon arrival, you greeted the host and told the name of the client.

“hi, i have the reservation under mr. kobayashi for three pm.” you politely inform him and the host nods before ushering you to a private room. “mr. kobayashi informed us that he will be running late and you have to wait here.” the host told you and you nod. understanding the situation and this happens occasionally. you thanked him before seating in one of the chairs. you didn't bother to notice the arrangements since your supervisor isn't available at the moment. thus, you began to review the files you were about to show mr. kobayashi.

the doors open and that takes your attention from the files you were checking. your head low and when you raised your head. standing up to greet mr. kobayashi. the words for stuck before you can utter his name.

it wasn't mr. kobayashi, a balding man, whose in his fifties in a suit is what you expected instead it was two of them who have entered. a matching suit and tie but it differs in color. a navy colored suit is what gojo wear and a coal black suit for geto.

“stay where you are, (y/n). we have things to discuss.” suguru started and your legs felt weak. your heart beating rapidly and your hands starts to feel clammy. you want to throw up and just like that, it looks like you were teleported back in that cold room where you lay naked without a voice to speak and the strength to fight back.

after ordering the waiter to come back for a another hour, you feel trapped again with no means of escape. they can easily hold you down and worse, do it again. you have never felt this fear so you distract yourself from taking a sip of water.

they both sat down in their chairs beside you. not too far, not too close but it doesn't ease your nerves. you placed your hand in your thigh, your leg hasn't stopped shaking. a tick that developed, being triggered when you are put in a stress.

satoru places his hand in your shoulder. “don't touch me.” you muster the courage to speak up and he was quick to retract his hand back to its place. a touchy asshole who can't live without any physical contact. he was visibly annoyed and suguru shoots him a look.

“we won't do anything to you, (y/n). we just want answers.” suguru assures you. you take a brief look at him and you take a deep breath.

“answers for what? i'm not obligated to answer the questions you want to ask.” you swallowed thickly. you should have done it a long time ago. talk like this but you would get a spanking for it.

satoru rolls his eyes. you were this feisty since college and he's getting the full brunt of it right now. he's not the same anymore he would tell himself but sometimes he still is. “what happened to you that night?” is the first question he asked you. they know what happened to you that night but it would ease them if the answer comes from you.

you raised a brow at him. tears pooling at the corner of your eyes. you didn't have much memory of it except for when you woke up at a hospital with nanami and haibara at your side.

“i don't know. i just woke up in a hospital. doctors saying i was in coma for two days. might as well be dead.” you say without hesitation and you just want to leave this room.

their expressions is what you cannot make. disbelief? confusion? guilt? you laughed at the last part since when these two felt guilt about what happened to you. they certainly didn't feel guilty when you were crying your eyes out begging them to stop.

“why come working at my company, (y/n)-chan?” gojo was the next to ask you and you want nothing than to wipe that look on his face.

“don't you call me (y/n)-chan. i am not your (y/n)-chan. i needed a job. isn't it that obvious.” you want to scoff at him and you didn't dare make eye contact to the both of them.

“you transferred hospitals and never came back. w—”

“why i didn't came back?” you interrupted geto. oh boy, you were starting to spit venom. “so what? you can fuck me all over again?”

gojo was about to open his mouth again but you beat him to it. “it's not what it is? you didn't mean it? what? you two are changed people now? stop with the excuses and please i want to be excused in this farce of a meeting.”

“you're not resigning.” gojo warns you. “rest assured i'm not going to. i'm not planning to break my contract.” you tell him. your voice barely above a whisper. trying to keep your tears at bay.

“(y/n)...” suguru mutters. his hand holding your cheek and you close your eyes. his touch repulsed you but why does your body wanted to be held like this. he comes closer. “we can't change what we did to you but will you allow us to make it up to you?”

you opened your eyes and you met his own and it just reminded you of the misery and the torture they put you through. the same eyes who looks at you like you were trash is now somewhat holding warmth. you glance at gojo and he was also anticipating for your answer.

you inhaled and then exhaled. a stray tear rolling down in your cheek and it pains them to see you hurting from what they have done. they'll do anything in their power to make up for the pain they caused you. say the word and they'll do it. your forgiveness is what they wanted and maybe your affections too but they won't take that chance easily.

your eyes searched for the sincerity in their looks and mostly in their eyes and it was honestly true to their words and you hate yourself for what you are about to answer.

“i'll think about it.”

TAGLIST. @missakward123 @lupitalove @i00bear @socialanxietyvictim @tourmalxine @labelt-san @ghostlyworld @kashxyou @chiiiiiiiiiiifuuuuuuuu @cute-sucker @skii-high @boyimjustaloserforyourlove @jossayuuu @bubblesandsand1-0 @ply4vnce @witchymermaid12 @luna-v-roiya @mariyumemi @sinfullygay @higurumapet @kvk6433gkcigv @s-j320 @bts-skz @imcreepininyourheartbabe @hazzelle-kento @cashcadaver @n1vi @kiruupon @vebbiewuzhere @its-princessmara @ssetsuka @unicornqueen05 @idkwhattfimdoinghere2 @sunnytyun @tomriddles-wh0re @ya-mamaaaaa @wateriswhatiam @red-writes @saltyladyflower @greyclouq @bahurani @lovayle @okayiamkassandra @sealikesushi @sanzuandmike @spicana @luvsymai @uniquenicefangirl @ushijimaschubbs @lansy-4 @aesonsgirl @eggieshiteru @jellibean2018 @uchihabucketlist @sunaemoby @cupidscourt @divinedolliebun @rottmntrulesall @mmeharuno@sleighter @haesify @desperadaparasapagmamhal @ichikanu @daytej @0honeylemonade

[lyinginmeadow]

Shadows will guide you home | Azriel × reader

Summary: Some fae don't like the idea of the Archerons turning into high fae and reader being one in unfamiliar city makes a perfect opportunity for an intervention Warnings: acotar related violence, not super descriptive, language, slight angst Word count: 1.4k a/n: Hii, this is my very first fanfic, please remember to be kind. <3 Also English is not my first language so it may be a bit rough.

Being another Archeron sister was quite exhausting. The constant comparison drawn between you ever since you were born created a dark place deep within you. After years of being poor, starved, and uneducated, the family regained their riches back thanks to Feyre. The cost left you empty, breaking your heart into a million pieces. You wanted your sister back more than anything, you would return your newfound lifestyle to have her with you again. Taking lessons together, sharing laughs, and pretending as if everything is normal. As if she never left and their father hadn't left them to starvation.

Instead, the Gods were laughing in your face as you with two of your sisters were changed and thrown into the world of high fae. While you got your sister back, there were matters to be taken care of. Leaving you alone in a city and with species foreign to you. You had met the inner circle while you were still human. They were nothing but kind to you then, but you assumed that was because you were Feyre's sister. Now they haven't paid you much mind because their hands were either full with court business you didn't understand or your sisters. You were left scarred inside while pretending it hadn't affected you as much.

''Are you listening?'' Asked a pretty blonde in a red dress, Mor. ''I'm sorry, I just spaced out a little. What were you saying?'' You smiled, red creeping up your cheeks. ''You are free to explore the city, you don't have to feel caged inside.'' She returned your smile. ''Oh, I don't feel like that. I...I guess it's kind of strange to be here. Is there an apothecary around here?''

''Yes, it's in the square just next to the bridge you can’t miss it,'' Mor replied. ''I must go, but I will see you during dinnertime.'' She smiled for the last time as she disappeared into thin air. She came by just to invite you as per Feyre's request. Your sister knew you were too polite to decline any offer and without it you would probably not show up.

''Right.'' You mumbled under your breath as you looked out of the window. In the reflection, you caught the sigh of a shadow. You whipped around to see nothing. Signing, you turned to the window again thinking about certain Illyrian familiar with shadows. When you first met him, he was like a rock that you could lean onto while the queens invaded your home. You talked, feeling an instant connection and thought he felt the same. You didn't remember what happened during the changing process, your brain blocked the memory altogether. But after waking up in Velaris, he didn't seem to notice you, rather seeking the company of your older twin sister.

You knew it wasn't rational to feel hurt by this, but that didn't stop your heart from throbbing. Exhaling a deep breath you went to explore the city as Mor suggested, feeling sick of your little pity party.

After hours spent in the city, it was starting to get dark. Nights here were magical, but your fear of them only amplified during years spent in the dark streets trying to provide for your family by any means necessary, so you tried to hurry back to the house. Taking a turn into an ally wasn't a choice you wanted to make, but panic started to take over every action your body made. Looking around you knew you were lost and didn't know where to go next.

''Looking for something?'' You whipped around with shock in your eyes. ''No, but thank you. My partner is just around the corner.'' You smiled politely your instincts kicking in as you lied smoothly. A shadow caressed your skin as if to soothe your worries and disappeared. You didn't have time to think about it more as the man standing in front of you stepped closer. ''Are you sure? We could help you, Y/N.'' Another dark figure from behind you said so near you could feel his breath on your neck. ''I don't know who you think I am, but that is not my name. And I do not need help from strangers. So let me pass.'' You tried to will your voice not to tremble, but it was of no use. You were starting to give in to the panic rising within you. ''And we don't need humans becoming high fae and hijacking our court. But here you are.'' Said a male in front of you while pulling out a knife. “This will send the message." Continued another one next to what you pressumed was the leader. One againts three were not the odds you prefered.

You had no idea how they found out your name or how they knew of your fate of becoming fae. "Feeling threatened by a female?" You knew getting a rise out of them was not the smartest idea. But maybe it could gain you valuable time for someone, anyone to notice. Velaris was supposed to be peaceful after all.

"You think you're funny, huh? We'll see if you'll find the knife just as entertaining." The male behind you pulled your hair harshly earning a scream from you. You didn't understand how they could blame you for something you had no control over. “Watch the alley, will you?” The male infront of you ordered the one standing next to him as he lifted his hand to your face. The knife danced lightly on your cheek leaving you defenseless. "Just so you know, maiming your face will be a pleasure." He whispered to your ear as he increased the presure on the knife drawing blood.

The whole alley turned pitch black. You had fae senses, but the dark was completely impenetrable yet familiar. You could only feel your hair being released, knife falling to the pavement, followed by screams and scratches on the stone. You were paralyzed, terrified, and unable to move. The dark had you in its claws and you could feel your breath getting more and more quick. ''How dare you hurt her ?'' A deep familiar voice took you out of your panic. There was no answer to his question. Only whimpers.

The shadows slowly dissolved letting in light from the main streets. There was no one here anymore. Only blood and scratches deep in the stone indicated a struggle.

Azriel appeared in front of you his hands gently grazing your untouched cheek. ''Don't look at it.'' His voice hoarse. You inhaled his scent making you instantly relaxed. ''Are you hurt?'' He asked worry lacing his voice. You gave him a shake of a head not trusting your voice. ''Lies. Shaken. Blood.'' Hissed hushed voice, startling you. ''I am not lying. I am just fine.'' You pushed Azriel away looking around for the source. ''You can hear them?'' Azriel frowned examining you.

''Look, I am sorry you had to bother with this. I know there are a lot of things to be done and I should have known how to protect myself-'' He stopped you from rambling with a thumb to your lips. His previous question forgotten. ''No one has a right to assault you. It is not your fault. Velaris is supposed to be safe. I promise that no one will harm you ever again.'' He left you completely stunned. ''Now, could you please show me where they hurt you, so we can heal it?'' Azriel asked slowly removing his thumb from your lips. Leaving you wishing it could stay there for a bit longer. You pushed back the hair that was covering your healing cheek. ''It's already healing. My abilities do come with very fast healing. As long as I don't use my powers much. I am just a bit shocked, that's all.'' You admitted looking to the stone path. ''Let's get you home then." He offered his hand which you gladly took your heart threatening to jump out of your chest.

''Look, Nesta started training with Cass and a few priestesses joined her. It is a way for them to regain their power and help them with their struggles. I was thinking that maybe it could be something you would give a try?'' Azriel asked as he led you through the house to your bedroom. ''Oh...I think I would like that.'' You smiled. Silence enveloping you again.

''Thank you, Az. For today and the offer.'' You looked down standing infront of the door to your bedroom. ''There is no need to thank me. But you should get some sleep.'' He looked at your door and then down the hallway. ''I will be right next to your room if you need anything. So please, let me know.'' He gave you a look of urgency and you gave him a nod even if you knew you would not. He probably knew it, too. ''Goodnight.''

"Goodnight."

[churipu]

I love you so so much omg ur posts, ur content, un vibe everything. you’re so so nice and yet you have me crying over every single post because of how good this is. Like yesterday i had a whole debate talking to myself abt how good of a person you were and how the likes were not doing you justice.. usually I never send requests mostly because i’m scared they take a look at it and be like “you cannot be srs”. Idk if it makes sense but oh well😭😭

can i request u make a scenario where the reader is insecure and worried their partner is going to leave them for someone prettier but they dont say anything and just start to distance themselves from them from how big of a toll it was taking on the reader? thank you sm😭🫶🏽

YOU BEING INSECURE + JJK MEN

featuring. gojo satoru, nanami kento, sukuna ryomen x reader

warning. cursing

note. ANON YOU'RE SO SWEET OMG BRB SOBBING HAVE ABIG FAT KISS, and i love this request so much, you don't have to worry <33 thank you for requesting my love, sorry it took so long :')

GOJO SATORU. even if gojo didn't seem like the type to be aware of his surroundings — he is very much aware. behind those blindfolds and dark glasses, his eyes darts everywhere, making sure everything is fine. even if one small thing is different to his eyes, he'll notice.

so when you began distancing yourself from him, he notices off the bat. but decided to say nothing just to make sure of it, gojo did not want to jump into conclusions. it started off as you telling him that you're busy to go on dates, or even declining his offers when he wanted to come over to your place.

he didn't think much of it until it visibly worsened, you looked miserable. when he sees you, it was like the shine in your eyes have gone away — gojo didn't know what happened, but he automatically assumed that he was behind the disappearance of it. when he asks you if you were okay, you brushed him off with a forced out smile, and he was dying to push you to just tell him everything.

but he didn't. he was afraid that if he'd push you, it would spiral an argument. for a while, he was walking on eggshells around you, you were like a ticking time bomb ready to blow up at any minute.

it was gnawing internally in gojo's mind, what did he do? what happened to you? what happened to y/n?

his y/n.

so when shoko drops the bomb on him, asking if he had broken up with you. gojo was mortified, is that what it looks like to other people? him and you calling it off? he was terrified, scared, nervous. the strongest sorcerer. yeah — he was scared.

and so he felt like it was a now or never situation.

"y/n, can we talk?"

you grimaced at his soft voice, wondering if this is the part where he's had enough and decided he'd leave you. but you nodded your head, your mind was ready, you were ready to hear it, those words: "i want to break up with you."

"please talk to me. i can't do this whole...you avoiding me, tell me what's bothering you...please." the desperation in his voice was visible, almost as if he was in the verge of tears.

his cerulean eyes were filled with such hopelessness, one you've never seen even when he was fighting a curse. you widened your eyes and inhaled sharply, "i...i'm sorry, satoru."

that was all you managed to muster up and gojo was clueless, he needed more answers, he needed answers to why you were like this, "baby, i don't... is it me? did i do anything wrong to you? please tell me, don't run away.. let me make it up to you."

it pained you to see that he thinks it was him, when it was you behind this. you shook your head, "'s not you 'ts me."

and that made gojo even more terrified than he already is, a lot of questions spiraling in his mind, did you find someone else? did you get bored of him? were you finally breaking up with him because of his constant bothering? so many questions.

"i just...there're so many more people prettier than i am. i just can't stop thinking about it. you leaving and all. 'm sorry i distanced myself from you." when you said that, gojo felt like half of his questions were all useless and he felt a bit relieved to finally get an answer to his speculations.

gojo wasted no time pulling you into his embrace, he needed it, you needed it. both of you needed it just as much, you felt so small in his embrace, head buried into his chest. gojo didn't move a bit, fearing if he moved at all — you'd break, you looked so fragile and so dainty, it scares him.

"i..love you so much." was all he could say,

"'ts you, 'ts you that i love. it hurts me to hear you talk like that." you felt like shit, you really do — so you said nothing back, you kept your face hidden in his chest.

and gojo didn't pry you away, he just needed to be close to you, "sorry."

that was when he pulled away, "you don't have to be sorry, but please talk to me, 'ts not fair if we're happy together and you have to be sad alone.." you hated crying in front of people, especially gojo, and he knew that about you.

so when you cried in that moment, gojo knew this wasn't something light — he didn't need any more explaining from you, he was just there by your side the whole night. and the next day. the next week. month. year. both of you never spoke of it again.

he's in love with you and nobody could change that, he thinks you're the prettiest anyways.

NANAMI KENTO. nanami's eyes are always on you. nobody else. and everyone knows that.

everyone except for you, unfortunately.

usually he comes home and you were always there to greet him, with a hug and kiss. it was an inseparable combo he made a routine, but for the past couple of days — he hasn't been getting that.

instead, he was greeted with silence. and just from the second time, he knew that something was definitely wrong with you. he'll find you curled up in bed, under the covers like it was the only thing that mattered in the world; but he tries to see it as a sign of exhaustion.

nanami watches your every move, for the past couple of days. you have been out of it. to the point where it was plain obvious and nanami tries asking about it, but you tell him it was just because of the stress. a sweetheart he is, he tries telling you to get some rest from work — he'd even excuse you if it's needed, but you tell him that wasn't needed and that you were fine.

obviously lying. he could see it, smell it, hear it.

it was suffocating. everything was suffocating to you, it's like everything was slowly masticating on every fiber in your body. you wanted to just, drop down and cry but whenever you try to, you just end up sitting on the floor blankly staring at nothing.

it scares yourself sometimes how empty your eyes look.

you wouldn't be surprised if nanami didn't come back home one day because he's so fed up — that's what you've been planting in you. that nanami would leave you for prettier people, for people who don't overthink, people who are generally better than you.

"y/n?"

oh. you didn't even hear him come home, you sat on the bedroom floor trying to push yourself up. and you couldn't even do that, so when nanami opens the bedroom door, seeing you on the floor — he said nothing, not even a hello.

nanami just scoops you into his arms and lays you down on the bed mutely, his slender fingers brushing your hair, "i love you," he murmurs quietly.

that was enough to make tears dwell up at the corner of your eyes, and he said nothing, grazing your tears away, "'m sorry. 'm so sorry, kento."

nanami didn't understand why you were apologizing, he hushed you, cradling you in his embrace as you let your tears free fall, "why are you sorry?"

that's when it struck you, why were you apologizing?

nanami didn't question you any further but he held you close, pressing chaste kisses onto your forehead, "is something in your mind?" you nodded slowly, "do you want to tell me about it?"

you nodded, inhaling sharply, "i just don't feel pretty enough...i feel like you deserve better than me, ken."

nanami laced your fingers with his, kissing your knuckles, "why do you say such things?" you didn't answer him, and it just breaks his heart even more, "you're perfect for me."

his words fall into deaf ears, but you didn't continue saying your worries, you just feel like nanami gets a gist of it. nanami didn't leave your side, cradling you in his arms like you're the most fragile being, "i love you," he kissed your forehead, "so much," and he kisses your lips.

nanami makes sure to spend every second telling you how much he loves you, telling you how beautiful you are, and how you're the most perfect for him.

SUKUNA RYOMEN. he hates it when you ignore him without any explanations, he's told you before, "if you have anything to say, say it to my face, don't ignore me."

but this feels like something you couldn't tell him, how you feel. it's obvious that you were distancing yourself from him, when he calls you, you sometimes pretend like you didn't hear him — and when he confronts you later, you tell him that you just didn't hear his calls.

"you're ignoring me, hm?"

"what? no— i just didn't hear you calling out to me."

don't even try to lie to him because he will always confront you about it, he sees right through you and your lies. the second time you try to run away from him when he calls out to you, he wastes no time holding you in place; confronting you right at that moment.

"why're you running away, brat?"

"i...oh, i didn't realize you were here, ryo." sukuna clicks his tongue in mere annoyance — what a bad actor you are, it's so ridiculous sukuna wanted to just burst out into laughter.

"bullshit. why're you avoiding me?"

that was it. you were cornered just like that. sighing, there isn't any way out unless you tell him — sukuna just won't let you go unless you tell him everything behind your recent behaviors.

"just don't feel pretty enough for you," you mutter out, avoiding his sharp gaze, "i feel like you can do much better than me. you deserve better than me."

sukuna gave you nothing but a mere smirk, pushing his lips onto yours. god, he didn't want to admit it — but he hates the way you talk shit about yourself, if he could tell you everything that he loves about you, he would. but he didn't because he's a jackass (and he's too shy to tell you that).

"that's it?" that's it? that's it?

you were about to push him away when he gives you that glare of his, "which person has been making you think like that?"

"no one. me."

he flicks your forehead, "then stop."

if only it was that easy, you grumbled at his response, and said nothing else so you could just leave. but sukuna, despite his ignorant answers always makes sure that you never run away from him anymore, he's a lot more touchy than usual — and he (tries) to compliment you and your appearance.

keyword: tries

he fails at it though. but you gave him kudos for trying, that's all that matters, really. that he makes you feel loved.

© CHURIPU 2023 , DO NOT COPY OR REPOST ANYWHERE !

[aspenmissing]

Hi!! Could you please write Arcane characters (Jayce, Viktor, Sevika, and basically all the mains) x reader with a self harm addiction? But reader never told them about it, and they find out after reader relapses after a fight? If it's okay of course (I'm projecting hard with this one)

ᴜɴᴅᴇʀ ᴛʜᴇ ꜱᴜʀꜰᴀᴄᴇ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ-ɪꜱʜ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ || 9204 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ ||

ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴇʟꜰ-ʜᴀʀᴍ, ᴅʀᴜɢꜱ, ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ, ᴀʟᴄᴏʜᴏʟ ᴀᴅᴅɪᴄᴛɪᴏɴ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ꜱᴜɪᴄɪᴅᴇ ᴀᴛ��ᴇᴍᴘ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ɪ ᴄᴀɴ ᴍᴏꜱᴛ ᴄᴇʀᴛᴀɪɴᴛʟʏ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇ ᴛʜɪꜱ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ! ᴘʀᴏᴊᴇᴄᴛ ᴀʟʟ ᴀᴡᴀʏ! ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜɪꜱ ᴡɪʟʟ ʙᴇ ᴍʏ ꜰɪʀꜱᴛ ᴛɪᴍᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛɪɴɢ ꜰᴏʀ ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ ꜰᴜʟʟʏ (ɴᴏᴛ ᴊᴜꜱᴛ ᴀ ꜱɪᴅᴇ ᴄʜᴀʀᴀᴄᴛᴇʀ), ꜱᴏ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ɪ ɢᴇᴛ ʜᴇʀ ᴘᴇʀꜱᴏɴᴀʟɪᴛʏ ᴡᴇʟʟ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ | ꜱᴇᴠɪᴋᴀ

JAYCE

Y/N had always kept her struggles hidden from Jayce, afraid of how he would react or if he'd see her as weak. She was his rock, the one he could always rely on, and she refused to burden him with the darkness that lingered in her heart. The weight of his dreams, his work, and his battles were all that seemed to matter. She couldn’t add her own turmoil to his already heavy load.

But Jayce wasn’t blind. He noticed the subtle signs—the faint tremble in her hands when they touched, the shadows that clung to her eyes even on the brightest of days, the bruises she tried to hide with layers of clothing. He saw how she disappeared into her workshop at night, and sometimes how she’d come back with that distant look in her eyes, as if she were trying to drown something inside her. But despite all that, he had never asked, never pushed her to talk. He simply believed she’d come to him when she was ready.

It was a Sunday evening when the fight started. Jayce had been consumed by the mounting pressure from the council, the looming responsibilities of his position, and the endless plans that seemed to drain him of everything. Y/N, ever the supportive partner, tried to help, tried to offer guidance or simply a listening ear. She knew how hard the constant demands were on him, and she just wanted him to lean on her as he had so many times before.

But this time, when she suggested an alternative approach, Jayce snapped.

"You don’t understand, Y/N," he barked, the tension in his voice thicker than it had ever been. "You never understand the weight of what I’m dealing with. I don’t need you telling me how to handle things!"

Y/N recoiled at his words, the sting of his anger like a slap across her chest. "I do understand, Jayce," she said, her voice shaking as she tried to keep the tears at bay. "I know what it’s like to feel like you’re drowning. But you never let me help."

Jayce’s frustration boiled over. "You just don’t get it," he shot back. "You’re not the one in charge here. You don’t have to carry all the responsibility. Just let me do this my way!"

His words hit her harder than she could have prepared for. It felt as though all the weight of her own battles—the ones she’d fought alone—was being discounted. She had tried, so hard, to be there for him. Yet in that moment, it felt like she was failing. Like she was invisible. Like she was just in the way.

"I’m sorry," Y/N whispered, the words barely audible as they choked on the lump in her throat. "I’m sorry I’m not enough for you."

Jayce’s anger faltered, guilt flashing across his face for a fraction of a second. But the damage had already been done. There was no taking back what had been said. The silence that followed was deafening. Without another word, Y/N turned and fled from his presence, the familiar ache of isolation wrapping itself around her.

She didn’t know where to go. Her heart felt as though it might burst from the weight of her emotions. She couldn’t be here. She couldn’t be near him when he saw her as a failure, when the very core of her had been torn apart by his words.

=

Back in the solitude of her apartment, she threw herself onto the bed, trying to breathe through the searing ache in her chest. Her hands shook as she reached for the bottle she had promised herself she would never touch again. But the darkness was suffocating. The pain was overwhelming, and the pull of her addiction, the thing that had always been there, whispering softly, calling her back—was too powerful to resist.

She cracked open the bottle, the smell of alcohol hitting her immediately, sharp and familiar. With trembling hands, she took a swig, the liquid burning its way down her throat. The numbing sensation took over almost immediately, washing away the sting of the fight, the shame, and the guilt. She hadn’t realised how much she needed this until it was already too late.

Her telephone rang, the familiar sound cutting through the fog of her thoughts. Jayce. She stared at it, her heart pounding in her chest. She should answer. She should talk to him. But the pain inside her felt like it would rip her apart if she did. She didn’t want him to see this side of her—the broken, imperfect side she’d tried so desperately to hide.

Instead, she let the phone ring before it promptly cut off, and she took another drink. She just needed to forget, to numb the guilt, the sorrow, the crushing weight of feeling like she was never enough. The alcohol worked for a while, but soon the emptiness grew larger, the voices in her head louder.

In a moment of desperate escape, her hand found the small blade she had hidden in her drawer—a blade she had used once before in her darkest times. She didn’t think, didn’t care. The sharp sting of the metal cutting into her skin was a quick relief, a fleeting moment of peace. But as the blood pooled beneath her fingers, the guilt and self-loathing came rushing back in waves. She hadn’t wanted to hurt Jayce. She hadn’t wanted to hurt anyone.

But she was drowning again, and this was all she had to keep her head above water.

=

The hours passed in a blur. The telephone continued to ring, but she didn’t answer. Her head grew heavy, her limbs numb, and the world seemed so far away. She was spiraling, and there was no way out.

Jayce, on the other hand, was frantic. His anxiety was quickly growing into something worse—something dark and suffocating. He couldn’t understand why she had run away, why she was avoiding him. Every gut feeling told him something was terribly wrong.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he entered her apartment, his breath shaky as he searched every corner. His heart dropped when he saw her on the floor, her arm bleeding, her body curled into itself in a desperate attempt to hide from the world.

"Y/N!" Jayce cried, rushing to her side, his voice breaking with fear and concern. "What happened? Why didn’t you tell me?"

Y/N’s eyes were glazed over, filled with shame and pain. She could barely meet his gaze. "I didn’t want you to see me like this," she whispered, her voice thin and fragile. "I didn’t want you to think I was weak."

Jayce felt his chest tighten as he knelt beside her. He gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away the tears that stained her cheeks. "Oh love," he said softly, his voice trembling, "You’re not weak. You’re human. I don’t care about your flaws, your mistakes. I care about you."

Her breath hitched, and for the first time in ages, she allowed herself to feel vulnerable. The dam inside her broke, and she collapsed into him, her arms wrapping around him tightly as she sobbed uncontrollably.

"I’m so sorry, Jayce," she whispered, her words muffled against his chest. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Jayce held her tighter, feeling the weight of her pain in his own heart. He knew she’d been struggling, but this—this—was something deeper, something far darker than he had realised. He would never let her fight this alone. "Y/N," he murmured, his voice full of resolve. "I love you. You don’t have to hide from me. I’m here for you. Always. You’re not alone in this."

They stayed like that for a long time, Jayce gently stroking her hair as she cried. There were no words left. There didn’t need to be. He would help her through this. They would face it together, step by step, no matter how long it took.

In time, Y/N would find her way back from the darkness. And with Jayce by her side, she knew she wasn’t as lost as she’d once thought.

VIKTOR

The dim glow of the workshop filled the room as Viktor hunched over his desk, scribbling intricate designs on a yellowed piece of parchment. The rhythmic scratch of his quill filled the quiet space, occasionally interrupted by the soft hum of machinery in the corner. Across from him, Y/N sat on a battered stool, her hands loosely clasped in her lap. She watched him quietly, her eyes tracing the lines of his face, the way his brow furrowed in concentration, the faint glow of his golden cane resting nearby.

Her presence usually brought him a sense of calm—an anchor in his chaotic world of innovation and ambition. But tonight, something felt off. She had been distant lately, retreating behind a carefully constructed wall he couldn’t seem to break through. Viktor, ever perceptive, had noticed the signs: the way her hands trembled when she thought no one was looking, the way her eyes lingered on nothing in particular, as if lost in some distant place, and the way her laugh, once warm and genuine, now seemed hollow.

“Y/N,” Viktor said softly, his voice breaking the silence as he glanced up from his work. “Is something bothering you?”

She stiffened at the question, her gaze darting away as if the answer might be found in the scattered tools and papers around the room. Viktor leaned back in his chair, his sharp eyes studying her. He knew her well enough to recognise when she was hiding something, and tonight, it was as if her entire being screamed of a silent battle raging within.

“It’s nothing, Viktor,” she muttered, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear with shaky fingers. The lie came easily, but it didn’t fool him.

“You know you can tell me anything, don’t you?” he pressed, his voice filled with quiet concern. Setting his quill down, he stood, crossing the small distance between them. His cane clicked softly against the floor as he reached her side, his hand resting gently on her shoulder. “Whatever it is, we can face it together.”

For a fleeting moment, her expression softened, and Viktor thought she might let him in. But just as quickly, something dark flickered in her eyes—fear, shame, perhaps both. She pulled away from his touch, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“I just need space,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. Before he could respond, she turned on her heel and walked towards the door.

“Miláčku—” Viktor started, but she didn’t look back. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving him standing there, confusion and worry gnawing at his insides. He sank back into his chair, his head in his hands. He couldn’t shake the feeling that she was slipping through his fingers, and the thought of losing her was unbearable. (Darling)

=

Hours passed, but Viktor couldn’t focus. The designs on his desk blurred together as his mind replayed the scene over and over. He knew something was deeply wrong, but she wouldn’t let him in. He felt helpless—a sensation he despised. The sound of the workshop door creaking open pulled him from his thoughts.

Y/N stood in the doorway, her figure outlined by the dim light from the hallway. Her eyes were red-rimmed, though she tried to hide it, and her posture was tense, like a tightly wound spring. Viktor’s heart clenched at the sight of her. She looked fragile, as if the slightest gust of wind might shatter her.

“Y/N…” he said softly, standing. He approached her slowly, not wanting to startle her. “What’s going on? You’re not yourself.”

Her jaw tightened, and for a moment, she looked as though she might break down. But instead, she took a shaky breath and shook her head. “You want to know what’s going on?” she snapped, her voice sharp, though it trembled. “You can’t fix everything, Viktor. I’m fine. I’m just tired of pretending.”

Viktor’s brow furrowed in confusion. “Pretending? Y/N, I—”

“No!” she interrupted, her voice rising. “You don’t understand what it’s like. You don’t get it, Viktor. You can’t just fix me like one of your machines!”

The words hit him like a physical blow, and he felt a flicker of anger rise, though it was quickly overshadowed by concern. “You’re right, I don’t understand,” he said, his voice steady but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I can’t try. I love you, Y/N. Why won’t you let me help you?”

Her eyes glistened with unshed tears, but she refused to let them fall. “Because I don’t need your pity! I don’t need your help! I just…” Her voice broke, and she looked away. “I need you to leave me alone.”

Viktor stepped closer, his expression softening. “Y/N, I’m not going anywhere,” he said quietly. “But I can’t help you if you keep pushing me away.”

“I don’t need your help, Viktor!” she shouted, her voice cracking as the tears finally spilled over. She turned and stormed out of the workshop, leaving Viktor standing there, the weight of her words pressing heavily on his chest.

=

The cold night air bit at Y/N’s skin as she wandered the streets of Zaun, the fight replaying in her mind like a broken record. Shame and anger twisted together in her chest, threatening to overwhelm her. She felt like she was drowning, and she couldn’t see a way out.

Her feet carried her to a familiar alleyway, one she had hoped never to return to. Her hands trembled as she reached into her coat pocket, pulling out a small vial. The liquid inside glistened faintly under the dim streetlights. She hated herself for this, but it was the only thing that quieted the storm.

“Y/N.”

Her heart stopped at the sound of his voice. She spun around to see Viktor standing a few feet away, his cane in hand, his eyes filled with worry and pain. He had followed her.

“Viktor…” she whispered, her voice shaking.

He stepped closer, his gaze never leaving hers. “Please, don’t do this,” he said softly, his voice tinged with desperation.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she looked at the vial in her hand. She felt exposed, vulnerable, and utterly ashamed. “I’m sorry,” she choked out. “I didn’t know what else to do. I don’t know how to stop.”

Viktor reached out, gently taking the vial from her trembling hands. His touch was firm but careful, as if he were afraid she might break. “You don’t have to do this alone,” he said quietly. “I don’t have all the answers, but I’m here. We’ll face this together.”

The dam broke, and Y/N collapsed into his arms, her sobs muffled against his chest. Viktor held her tightly, his hand running soothingly through her hair. He didn’t say anything—there were no words that could fix this—but his presence was enough.

In that moment, Viktor realised that love wasn’t about fixing someone. It was about standing by them, even in their darkest moments. And no matter how hard the road ahead might be, he would never give up on her. Not now. Not ever.

JAYVIK

The apartment was unusually quiet, save for the faint hum of the streetlights outside their windows. Y/N leaned against the kitchen counter, her arms crossed tightly over her chest as Viktor and Jayce stood in the adjacent living room. The tension was suffocating, coiling in the air like a storm waiting to break.

“You don’t understand, Viktor!” Y/N’s voice cracked as she snapped, her eyes glistening with frustration. “You can’t keep shutting me out when things get hard!”

Viktor’s expression was guarded, though his fingers gripped his cane tighter than usual. “And you cannot expect me to involve you in everything,” he replied, his voice measured but sharp. “This work is dangerous, Y/N. I do it to protect you.”

“Protect me?” Y/N repeated, her tone incredulous. “By pushing me away? By making me feel like I don’t matter?”

Jayce, who had been sitting on the edge of the sofa, stood abruptly. “Alright, let’s all take a step back,” he said, holding his hands up in a placating gesture. “We’re all stressed, but yelling isn’t helping anyone.”

Y/N turned on him, her voice rising. “And you! You always take his side, Jayce! Every single bloody time!”

“That’s not fair,” Jayce shot back, his face clouding with worry. “I’m just trying to keep this from spiralling out of control!”

“Well, congratulations,” she said bitterly, throwing her arms up. “It’s already out of control.”

The argument escalated, words tumbling out before they could be reconsidered. Y/N’s hurt came out like daggers, while Viktor’s temper, usually restrained, began to flare. Finally, in a moment of uncharacteristic anger, Viktor snapped, “If you cannot handle this, maybe you should leave!”

The room fell silent.

Y/N stared at him, her lips parting as if to say something, but no words came. Her chest rose and fell with uneven breaths. Then, without another word, she stormed out, slamming the door behind her with enough force to rattle the frames on the walls.

Jayce let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “Well done, Viktor. That was bloody brilliant.”

Viktor closed his eyes, a pained expression crossing his face. “She just needs time,” he murmured. “She will come back.”

But as the hours ticked by, their apartment felt emptier, the tension hanging in the air refusing to dissipate.

=

By morning, the shared apartment was filled with an uneasy stillness. Jayce paced back and forth in the kitchen, his hands on his hips, his brows furrowed deeply. He hadn’t slept. His concern weighed heavy, gnawing at him as he glanced repeatedly at the front door.

“She’s never stayed out this long,” he muttered, his voice tight with worry. His eyes flicked to the clock on the wall and then back to the door, as if willing it to open.

At the dining table, Viktor sat hunched, his cane resting against the edge of the chair. He stared at a mug of tea that had long since gone cold, his fingers twitching slightly as they drummed against the wood. “Perhaps we should go looking for her,” he said at last, his voice soft but tinged with hesitation.

Before they could decide, a sharp knock at the door shattered the silence. Both men froze, their gazes snapping to the source of the sound. Jayce moved first, his long strides taking him to the door in an instant.

He opened it to reveal an enforcer in full uniform. The man’s expression was professional, but there was a hint of weariness in his eyes.

“Is this the residence of Y/N L/N?” the enforcer asked.

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a glance, dread flashing in their eyes. Jayce’s voice was strained as he replied, “Yes. I-Is she alright?”

The enforcer sighed, a slight shift in his posture betraying the unpleasantness of the news he carried. “She’s alright. She spent the night in a cell. Got into a fight at a tavern. She was drunk and caused quite a scene.”

Jayce’s stomach dropped, his heart sinking like a stone. Viktor’s grip on his cane tightened, his knuckles turning white. “Where is she now?” Viktor asked, his voice trembling slightly, though he tried to mask his fear.

“She’s still at the station,” the enforcer replied. “We figured someone would want to collect her.”

=

The walk to the station was silent, the kind of silence that pressed down on their shoulders like a weight. Jayce’s jaw was set, his shoulders tense, every step reflecting his inner turmoil. Viktor walked beside him, outwardly composed but gripping his cane with such force it seemed as though it might snap in his hand.

When they arrived, the scene in the holding area was far from reassuring. Y/N was slumped on a wooden bench, her head bowed slightly, her hair dishevelled, and her clothes rumpled and stained. She looked smaller somehow, as if the night had drained the fight out of her.

“Y/N,” Jayce said softly, crouching in front of her. His voice was gentle, almost pleading.

She lifted her head sluggishly, her bloodshot eyes meeting his. A bitter laugh escaped her lips, hoarse and broken. “Great,” she muttered, her voice laced with sarcasm. “My knights in shining armour.” She avoided their gazes, looking instead at a spot on the floor.

Jayce flinched at the bitterness in her tone, but he didn’t argue. He simply stood and moved to the counter to handle the paperwork. Viktor stayed where he was, his gaze lingering on her, his heart heavy.

=

Once everything was settled, they guided her out of the station and into the early morning streets. The walk home was just as quiet as before, save for the rhythmic tap of Viktor’s cane and Y/N’s occasional sniffles. Jayce glanced at her every few steps, his concern etched plainly on his face, while Viktor kept close to her side, his usually steady hands trembling slightly.

When they finally reached the apartment, Y/N headed straight for the bedroom, shutting the door behind her without a word. Jayce and Viktor stood in the living room, exchanging worried glances. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken fears.

“I’ll check on her,” Jayce offered after a long pause, his voice low.

Viktor shook his head and stood, leaning heavily on his cane. “No. Let me.” He moved slowly to the bedroom door and knocked gently. "Miláčku?"

There was no response. After a moment of hesitation, he pushed the door open slightly. What he saw made his heart sink.

Y/N stood by the dresser, her back to him as she pulled on a clean shirt. Her arms were bare, and the scars were impossible to miss—long, jagged lines running along her skin. Some were faint, faded with time, while others were fresh and angry red, a painful reminder of battles fought in silence.

“Oh, lásko…” Viktor’s voice cracked, the word barely more than a whisper. (Love)

She froze, her hands trembling as she quickly yanked the shirt down. Turning to face him, her eyes widened, glistening with tears that she blinked back furiously. “Don’t,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “Don’t look at me like that.”

Viktor stepped forward, his cane forgotten as he reached out to her. “Why didn’t you tell us?” he asked, his voice soft but heavy with pain.

“Because it’s not your burden to bear!” she cried, her voice rising as tears spilled down her cheeks. “It’s mine, and I don’t need you trying to fix me!”

Jayce appeared in the doorway, his expression stricken. “Oh, Y/N…” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

“You weren’t supposed to see this!” she sobbed, her knees threatening to give way beneath her. “You weren’t supposed to know!”

Viktor moved closer, his hands trembling as he cupped her face gently. “You are not a burden,” he said firmly, his golden eyes meeting hers. “You never were, and you never will be.”

Jayce stepped forward, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “We’re here for you, Y/N,” he said softly. “Whatever it takes, we’ll get through this. Together.”

Y/N stared at them, her defences crumbling under their unwavering support. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to break. She collapsed into their arms, her sobs wracking her body as Viktor and Jayce held her tightly, their presence a promise that she wouldn’t have to face her pain alone.

And for the first time, Y/N began to believe that maybe, just maybe, she didn’t have to carry the weight of the world on her shoulders.

VANDER

The Last Drop was alive with its usual buzz, the murmur of voices mixing with the clink of glasses and the occasional burst of laughter. Zaun’s finest and most desperate alike had gathered here tonight, the haze of smoke and the scent of cheap liquor creating a familiar, suffocating atmosphere.

Y/N sat at the bar, her fingers clenched tightly into fists on her lap, her nails digging into the rough skin of her palms. She felt caged by the noise, every sound around her grating against her nerves like steel on glass. Her chest tightened with frustration, a storm brewing just beneath her skin, and she struggled to keep it all contained.

Across the bar, Vander leaned against the counter, his broad shoulders a familiar and comforting sight—though not tonight. He was chatting with some regulars, his deep voice cutting through the din, but Y/N couldn’t focus on his words.

Her mind was elsewhere, replaying the events of the day. A deal gone wrong. Tensions in the Undercity reaching an unbearable peak. And now, this fight.

It wasn’t even about anything that mattered, not really. Yet the way his words earlier had cut through her had set her off, poking at wounds she’d worked so hard to bury.

“Why won’t you just talk to me, Y/N? I can’t help if you keep shutting me out.”

It had struck a nerve, slicing through her defences like a blade.

“Maybe I don’t need your help, Vander!” she’d snapped, her voice rising over the low hum of the bar. Her tone had been sharp, dripping with venom she hadn’t meant to release, but it was too late.

The look on his face—disappointment flickering in his tired eyes, his jaw tightening as he took in her words—was like a punch to the gut.

He’d opened his mouth to respond, but she didn’t give him the chance. She’d stood abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor, and stormed out of the bar before the emotions threatening to spill over could take hold.

=

The air outside was cold, biting against her skin as she stepped into the dimly lit streets of Zaun. The usual hum of the city echoed around her—the hiss of steam pipes, the distant clatter of machinery—but it felt muted, distant. Her own heartbeat pounded louder in her ears.

She walked aimlessly, her fists still clenched tightly at her sides, her breathing shallow. The anger inside her was a living thing, coiled and writhing, demanding release. She needed to let it out before it consumed her completely.

She found herself in a narrow, empty alleyway, far from the crowds. The shadows clung to the walls, the only light coming from a dim, flickering streetlamp at the entrance. Her chest heaved as she tried to steady herself, but it was no use.

The anger bubbled over.

Her gaze locked onto the wall in front of her, and before she could think twice, her fist shot out. The impact was jarring, the rough surface scraping against her skin. Pain shot up her arm, but it was a welcome distraction—a way to drown out everything else.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Her punches came harder, faster, the sound of her knuckles cracking against the brick mixing with her ragged breaths. Blood smeared across the surface, her skin splitting open as she continued. She swore she felt something break—a finger, maybe—but she didn’t care.

The pain wasn’t enough.

Nothing was ever enough.

“Y/N.”

The voice cut through the haze, soft but firm, and her movements faltered for just a moment. Her breath hitched, her vision blurry from unshed tears, but she didn’t stop. She couldn’t stop.

“Y/N, stop.”

This time, there was a presence between her and the wall—warm, solid, familiar. Vander’s hand caught her wrist mid-swing, his grip firm but gentle. His other hand came up to press against her bloodied fist, shielding it from the wall.

She blinked, her tears spilling over as she tried to focus on him. He was crouched in front of her, his broad frame a stark contrast to the vulnerability in his eyes.

“Let me go,�� she choked out, her voice barely more than a whisper.

“Not until you stop,” he said, his tone steady but strained, the worry evident in every word.

She tried to pull away, but his grip didn’t falter. His hand was so much larger than hers, warm against the cold, shaking skin of her wrist. She finally looked at him, really looked at him, and the sight broke something inside her.

His brows were drawn together, his expression a mixture of anguish and determination. His blue eyes weren’t filled with anger as she’d expected—they were pained, desperate, as if her own hurt was reflected in his gaze.

Her knees buckled, and she crumpled to the ground, her bloodied hand cradled against her chest. Vander sank to his knees in front of her, his movements slow and deliberate, as if afraid she might shatter at the slightest touch.

“What are you doing to yourself, love?” he asked, his voice breaking. He reached for her hand, but she flinched instinctively. He pulled back slightly, his gaze softening even further. “Please. Let me see.”

She hesitated, her breath catching in her throat, but eventually, she extended her trembling hand towards him.

His jaw tightened as he took it in, his rough fingers brushing over the swollen, split skin. Blood coated her knuckles, and her fingers were bent at unnatural angles. He sucked in a sharp breath, his thumb brushing lightly over her wrist where her pulse raced erratically.

“I… I didn’t mean—” she started, but her voice broke, and the words died in her throat.

“You didn’t mean to hurt yourself?” he asked gently, his voice low and filled with something she couldn’t quite name. “Or you didn’t mean for me to find out?”

She couldn’t answer. She couldn’t even look at him.

“Y/N,” he murmured, shifting closer. “You can’t keep doing this.” His tone was calm, but there was an edge to it, a rawness that made her chest ache. “You think hurting yourself makes it better? That it solves anything?”

“It’s the only thing that stops the anger,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

“No,” he said firmly, shaking his head. “No, it doesn’t. It just hurts you more.”

His hand moved to cup her face, his thumb brushing against her cheek as he tilted her chin up to meet his gaze. His touch was impossibly gentle, as if he was afraid of breaking her further.

“You don’t have to go through this alone. You hear me? You’ve got me. Always.”

The sincerity in his voice was too much. Her walls crumbled, and the tears came in full force, her body shaking as sobs wracked her frame.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice muffled against his shirt as he pulled her into his arms. “I’m so sorry.”

“I’ve got you, love,” he murmured, his lips pressing a kiss to the top of her head. “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, she believed him.

SILCO

The Last Drop was unusually quiet that night, the hum of the neon lights casting a cold glow through the damp, smoke-filled air. The faint crackle of electricity and the distant murmur of drunken voices filtered up to Silco’s office, but none of it registered. His sharp, mismatched eyes stared out of the large, cracked window, his gaze focused but unseeing as he paced the room.

The argument still echoed in his head, a whirlwind of barbed words and heated accusations. Y/N’s fiery spirit had always been one of the things that drew him to her, but tonight, it had burned too hot. Her stubbornness against his unrelenting need for control had caused their tempers to flare. He had said things meant to wound, words he regretted even as they left his lips. She had fired back with equal venom, her eyes brimming with tears even as she stood her ground.

And then she had left.

=

He hadn’t seen her since. Hours had passed, and with each one, the gnawing dread in the pit of his stomach grew.

The creak of the door to their shared quarters broke the silence. Silco hesitated for a moment, steeling himself before pushing it open. The sight that greeted him froze him in place, his breath catching sharply in his throat.

Y/N lay sprawled across their bed, her body unnaturally limp and her skin pale under the dim light. Scattered around her were empty vials and syringes, their contents long gone, leaving only the sharp, metallic tang of chemicals in the air. Her chest rose and fell faintly, the movement so slight it was almost imperceptible.

“Y/N,” Silco whispered, his voice low and urgent as he crossed the room in long, deliberate strides.

She didn’t stir.

Kneeling on the bed, he leaned closer, his gloved fingers brushing strands of hair from her clammy forehead. He hesitated, his hands trembling for the first time in years. He pressed his ear close to her lips, straining to hear the faintest whisper of breath. Relief washed over him when he found it, but it was fleeting, swallowed by the rage and fear bubbling beneath his skin.

“What did you take?” His voice broke, sharp and laced with desperation. “What did you take, Y/N?!”

Her head lolled to the side, her lips slightly parted as if she were trying to answer, but no sound came.

Cursing under his breath, Silco slipped an arm beneath her, lifting her as though she were made of porcelain. Her body was limp against his chest, her weight unfamiliar and alarming. He carried her to the worn sofa tucked in the corner of the room, laying her down gently.

“Stay with me,” he muttered, almost to himself.

He checked her pulse, pressing his fingers against the fragile skin of her wrist. It was faint but steady, a fragile thread anchoring her to the world. Relief flickered in his mismatched eyes, though it did little to soothe the storm raging within him.

Silco didn’t leave her side. The hours dragged on as he sat in the chair beside the sofa, elbows resting on his knees and hands clasped tightly. His sharp, angular features were etched with an uncharacteristic vulnerability, his brows furrowed in an expression of anguish and frustration.

The neon glow outside began to fade, replaced by the dim, grey light of dawn creeping through the grimy windows. Silco’s gaze remained fixed on Y/N, watching every shallow rise and fall of her chest.

=

Finally, she stirred. A soft groan escaped her lips as her eyes fluttered open, squinting against the dull morning light. Her head pounded, her body ached, and nausea churned in her stomach. As her vision cleared, the first thing she saw was Silco, his rigid posture and bloodshot eyes betraying the sleepless night he had spent beside her.

“Good,” he said, his voice cold but edged with relief. “You’re awake.”

“Silco…” she began, her voice hoarse and trembling.

“No.” He held up a hand, silencing her. “You’re going to listen, and you’re going to tell me why.”

Y/N’s gaze dropped to her lap, tears welling in her eyes. She couldn’t meet his piercing stare, the weight of his disappointment pressing down on her like a heavy shroud.

“I— I was angry,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper. “We fought, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. I… I wasn’t thinking, and they were there.”

“The same people I helped you leave behind,” Silco spat, his tone venomous. His mismatched eyes narrowed, his anger barely restrained. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done? What could have happened?!”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “I didn’t mean to—”

“Sorry won’t save you next time,” Silco interrupted, his voice softening slightly but still laced with frustration. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he ran a hand through his dishevelled hair. “You can’t do this to me. To us. I’ve fought too hard to pull you out of that pit, and now you’re clawing your way back into it.”

“I don’t want to lose you,” Y/N sobbed, her hands trembling as she wiped at her eyes. “I don’t want to go back to that life.”

“Then don’t,” Silco said firmly, his voice steady and resolute. His gaze locked onto hers, his mismatched eyes burning with intensity. “But if you do… I won’t be able to save you again. Do you understand?”

Y/N nodded, the weight of his words sinking in like stones in her chest.

Silco reached out, his gloved hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. His touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fire in his gaze.

“I won’t give up on you,” he murmured, his voice low but filled with conviction. “But you have to fight for yourself, too. This isn’t a battle I can win for you.”

“I will,” she whispered, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

Silco let out a breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. They had a long road ahead of them, fraught with challenges and the ghosts of her past, but he wasn’t about to let her walk it alone. Not this time, not ever.

JINX/POWDER

The Last Drop was as loud and chaotic as ever, the air thick with the sounds of laughter, shouting, and the occasional clink of glass. The atmosphere felt tense, but not in a way anyone could place — it was the sort of unease that seeped in from every corner. There, at the edge of the bar, Jinx leaned back, her posture lazy, arms crossed as her gaze lingered on Y/N.

Y/N was crouched low, attending to a Zaunite child who had scraped their knee. She was focused, her movements careful as she applied a bandage to the small cut, her expression softening with an unspoken affection. The child, a younger boy, watched her with wide, trusting eyes, not even flinching when she gently patted the wound. She always did this for them, making the pain a little less real.

Jinx’s gaze, however, turned colder, narrowing with something darker beneath the surface. Her hands gripped the edge of the bar as she watched. Her voice sliced through the noise. “Why do you always waste your time with them?”

Y/N paused mid-motion, looking up, her frown immediate. She met Jinx’s gaze, trying to read the storm brewing in her eyes. “They need someone, Jinx. Not everyone has someone to look out for them.”

Jinx rolled her eyes dramatically, her posture shifting into something that was almost like a snarl, but she forced it into indifference. “They’ve got other places for that,” she muttered, voice laced with bitterness. “You’re supposed to be my person, not theirs.”

Y/N’s expression softened, but there was something resigned in the way she sighed as she finished bandaging the child. She gave the boy a reassuring pat on the head, watching him scamper off with a soft smile before walking over to Jinx. Her footsteps were light, but the air between them heavy.

“I am your person, Jinx,” she said, her voice steady. “But I can’t just ignore everyone else who needs help. It’s not who I am.”

Jinx’s sharp intake of breath was all the warning Y/N had before she was face-to-face with a storm of emotion. Jinx’s eyes, usually so mischievous and unpredictable, were now wide and wild. She was angry, and the fury was bubbling over. “Yeah, well, maybe you’re too busy playing saviour to remember the people who actually care about you!” Her voice cracked as the words spilled out, the vulnerability there too sharp to ignore.

Y/N’s heart clenched. She could feel the sting of those words more than she’d ever let on. “That’s not fair, Jinx. I’ve been here for you through everything. You know that.”

Jinx's mouth twisted into something almost painful, the hurt and jealousy in her eyes making Y/N’s chest ache. “Do I?” Her voice was quieter now, a tremor of emotion cutting through. “Because it feels like I’m always second place to your little sob stories!”

Y/N’s fists clenched by her sides, the weight of the accusation like a slap in the face. “That’s not true, and you know it!” she snapped, her voice sharper than intended. She wanted to reach for Jinx, to pull her close, but instead, she stood still, trying to hold her ground.

But Jinx wasn’t listening anymore. Her fists clenched at her sides, and in a burst of frustration, she threw her hands up into the air, muttering curses to herself. “You never get it, do you? You always think you’re better than everyone else, like you’ve got all the answers!”

Before Y/N could respond, Jinx turned and stormed out, her shoulders tense, her back rigid with fury. The door to the bar slammed behind her, and Y/N was left standing there, the emptiness of her heart settling in like a deep chill. Her hands shook slightly, and she bit her lip, trying to keep herself from sinking further into the storm that raged inside her.

=

The walk back to her flat felt endless. Every step felt like it was dragging her further into a pit, every memory of Jinx’s angry words echoing louder and louder in her head.

Maybe she was right, Y/N thought, her mind clouding. Maybe I have been too distant.

The door to her flat clicked shut behind her, and she leaned back against it, breathing in deeply, trying to steady herself. The usual peace of the small room was shattered, and for the first time in a long while, Y/N didn’t feel safe here.

She dropped to the floor, her back against the door as she slid down, her hands shaking violently. She dug through the drawer beside her, her fingers trembling as they closed around the small, cold object hidden inside. Her breath caught in her throat as she held it in her palm, the familiar weight, the cold steel, beckoning her in. She knew it was wrong, but the relief it brought... it was the only thing that could silence the noise in her mind.

The sting was sharp, cutting deep enough to pull her from the spiraling thoughts, but it wasn’t enough. Nothing ever was. The silence that followed was thick with guilt and shame. And yet, it was still the only thing that gave her even a moment’s peace.

=

Jinx had, as expected, cooled off faster than she’d thought. But the guilt gnawed at her like a persistent ache in her chest. She hated herself for saying the things she had to Y/N, especially when she knew how much the other cared. She didn’t want to hurt Y/N. She just... didn’t want to lose her.

By the time she reached Y/N’s flat, her mind was racing. “Stupid fight,” she muttered to herself, kicking at a small rock in frustration. “Stupid me. I’ll just say sorry, and it’ll be fine.”

She pushed open the door without thinking, hoping to find Y/N sitting in her usual spot. But what she saw made her stomach drop.

Y/N was curled up on the floor, her knees pulled to her chest, her face pale and streaked with tears. Blood stained her sleeve, and the small blade that had been the catalyst of her pain lay discarded beside her.

Jinx’s breath caught in her throat. She felt the world tilt on its axis as she took in the sight, her mind barely able to process the horror in front of her. “Y/N?” Her voice barely registered in the silence that hung heavy around them.

Y/N flinched at the sound, her body going rigid, and her hands hurriedly moved to cover the fresh wound. “Jinx, I—” she stuttered, her voice breaking. She was already trying to hide it, but there was no use. The damage had been done, both physically and emotionally.

Jinx’s heart slammed in her chest. She didn’t think. She didn’t care. She dropped to her knees beside Y/N, her hands shaking as she reached for her, pulling Y/N’s hands away from her arm. Her eyes — usually wild and erratic — softened, the fierce anger that had driven her earlier replaced by something far more vulnerable.

“Why... why didn’t you tell me?” Jinx asked, her voice cracking. She wanted to shake her, wanted to scream, but she couldn’t bring herself to do that. Not when Y/N looked so broken.

Y/N’s breath hitched as she tried to swallow the sobs threatening to escape. “I didn’t want you to know,” she whispered, voice strained. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

Jinx’s fingers trembled as they touched Y/N’s wrist, pulling it gently away from the wound. “I’m always going to worry about you, idiot. You think you’re the only one who can look after people?” Her voice was low but fierce, her own tears threatening to fall. “I’m your person too, Y/N. You don’t get to do this alone.”

Y/N let out a shaky laugh, but it was more a choked sob than anything else. “I didn’t want to burden you... You’ve got enough going on.”

Jinx shook her head furiously, her blue hair falling around her face like a halo of wildness. “You’re not a burden!” she shouted, her eyes fiery and wide. “You’re my family, Y/N. You’re my person. And if you’re hurting, you tell me. Got it?”

Y/N nodded, tears falling freely now, her chest heaving with the force of her emotions. “I’m sorry, Jinx,” she whispered.

Without another word, Jinx pulled Y/N into her arms, holding her tight, her own pain momentarily forgotten in the need to keep Y/N safe. “Don’t apologise,” she muttered, her voice trembling. “Just... just don’t do this alone anymore, okay? I’m not letting you slip away, not now, not ever. You’ve got me. Always.”

As they sat there on the floor, holding onto each other, Y/N allowed herself to sink into Jinx’s embrace, the weight of her pain lifting just a little. For the first time in a long time, she didn’t feel so alone.

And Jinx, despite all the chaos inside her, held her tighter, silently vowing to never let Y/N slip away again.

SEVIKA

The streets of Zaun were a labyrinth of decay, thick with the ever-present stench of chemicals, rust, and the low hum of machinery. It was a city built on the backs of those who dared to survive the grind, each day just another battle for those born without the luxury of choice. It was the perfect place for someone like Y/N—a Vastaya in a world that didn’t care for the different, the strange, the unique. A city where no one asked questions as long as you could fight, survive, and keep moving.

Y/N wasn’t just a survivor, though. She lived her life like a storm, a force that charged headfirst into whatever came her way, with no fear and no concern for the consequences. She wore her arrogance like armour, keeping the world at arm's length, pushing through the pain, the bruises, the blood. She didn’t care. Or at least, that’s what she wanted everyone to believe.

Sevika, on the other hand, saw through it. There was something about Y/N that tugged at her, something in the way she threw herself into danger, as if daring the world to take her down. It wasn’t reckless bravery. It wasn’t the kind of heroism that drove someone to fight for others. It was self-destructive. Y/N wasn’t just pushing forward. She was pushing herself to the edge, as if she didn’t care if she fell.

Sevika had seen it before—people like her, people who wore their pain like a badge, hiding behind the bravado of their tough exterior. People who wanted to be left alone with their demons. But Sevika wasn’t the type to ignore it. She couldn’t.

=

The first crack appeared after a brutal street fight that had left Y/N bloodied and bruised. They had been cornered by a gang looking for trouble, and Y/N had met them with a ferocity that bordered on madness. Sevika had taken care of the rest, but Y/N hadn’t slowed down—not even when her knuckles split open, not when a fist collided with her cheek, leaving her jaw sore and swollen. When the fight ended and the alley grew quiet, Y/N stood tall, as though she were untouched by the violence that had just unfolded.

Sevika watched her carefully, the concern in her gut growing with each step Y/N took. She was acting like nothing had happened, but Sevika knew better. There was too much blood on her skin for this to be normal. Too much pain buried beneath that stoic expression.

“You alright?” Sevika asked, her voice softer than she intended. Y/N didn’t look at her, but the way her shoulders stiffened told Sevika that her question had hit a nerve.

“Just another day in Zaun,” Y/N replied, her tone dismissive, like the cuts and bruises didn’t matter. But Sevika could hear the hollow note beneath her words. There was something wrong. She just couldn’t place it yet.

Sevika knew better than to push—at least not right away. But the unease remained in the pit of her stomach. Y/N had always been reckless, always pushing the boundaries of what was safe. But this… this was something else. She wasn’t fighting to win, or to survive. It was as if she was fighting to feel something, anything. And that terrified Sevika more than the violent streets of Zaun ever could.

=

Their mission for Silco wasn’t supposed to be complicated. A simple delivery, an easy in-and-out. But as they walked down the familiar, grimy path toward the rendezvous point, the sharp crack of gunfire shattered the silence. An ambush.

Without hesitation, Y/N charged forward into the gunfire, her movements fluid and fast, instinct taking over as she dove headfirst into the chaos. She didn’t pause. Didn’t think. It was as if she had already decided that this was her fate.

“Y/N!” Sevika shouted, her voice cutting through the cacophony of gunshots. Her footsteps were heavy as she tried to keep up, pushing through the smoke and the noise. “Get back here!”

But Y/N didn’t hear her. She didn’t care. She was too caught up in the adrenaline, too absorbed in the fight to notice anything else. Her movements were dangerous, graceful, and reckless. She darted between gunfire, taking down enemies with the precision of a trained killer, but there was no passion in her strikes. No hunger. Only a coldness that made Sevika’s heart tighten in her chest.

Y/N wasn’t fighting to protect anyone. She wasn’t fighting for Silco. She was fighting because it was the only thing that made her feel alive.

Sevika’s blood boiled. She had seen this before—people so willing to die that they no longer cared about the world around them. People like her. People who pushed others away because they didn’t want to be saved.

“Damn it, Y/N!” Sevika cursed, her voice low and furious. She saw Y/N dodge a bullet by mere inches, the flash of the shot almost too fast to register. But Y/N didn’t flinch. She didn’t even seem to notice.

That was when it hit her. The hollow look in Y/N’s eyes wasn’t just the result of battle. This was something deeper. Y/N was actively courting death. She wasn’t just being reckless. She was numb.

Sevika’s stomach twisted with anger and something else—something that made her fists clench. She couldn’t let this happen. Not to her. Not to someone who had stood by her side through so much. She couldn’t allow Y/N to keep hurting herself this way.

As the gunfight died down and the remaining enemies fled, Sevika pushed her way through the bodies, her eyes fixed on Y/N. The younger woman stood at the centre of the chaos, breathing heavily, but there was no satisfaction in her expression. No pride. Just… emptiness.

Sevika reached out, grabbing Y/N by the arm, pulling her around to face her. “What the hell is wrong with you?” she demanded, her voice rough with frustration. “You’re not invincible, Y/N. You’re throwing your life away!”

Y/N’s gaze flickered, but she quickly masked it, her cold facade slipping back into place. “I’m fine,” she said, her voice sharp but distant. “I’m always fine.”

Sevika wasn’t buying it. Not anymore. She stepped closer, her tone softening, but only slightly. “You don’t have to pretend with me. What happened to you, Y/N? What are you running from?”

For a moment, Y/N didn’t answer. She looked away, her shoulders tight, her breathing shallow. She was hiding something. And Sevika knew that until she pushed her, she wouldn’t get it out.

But Y/N wasn’t going to let her in so easily. “Nothing,” she muttered, the words cold and empty.

Sevika’s heart clenched. She had been where Y/N was—lost, broken, unable to see the point in anything. She had her own scars, her own demons. But she wasn’t going to let Y/N face hers alone. She wasn’t going to let Y/N destroy herself just because she thought she deserved it.

“You’re not alone, Y/N,” Sevika said, her voice gentle but firm. “Whatever it is you’re hiding, whatever’s eating you alive… you don’t have to carry it by yourself.”

Y/N’s defences wavered, but only for a moment. Her gaze dropped to the ground, and her lips tightened in a grimace. Sevika’s hand reached up, brushing a stray lock of hair from Y/N’s face, fingers grazing over the fresh cut on her cheek.

For the first time, Y/N didn’t pull away.

“I don’t deserve to be saved,” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible, a shiver of vulnerability in her words that was too quiet to hear unless you were paying attention.

Sevika’s chest tightened. The words were a punch to her gut, a painful reminder of just how deep Y/N’s self-loathing ran. Sevika’s eyes softened, her resolve hardening. She wasn’t going to let Y/N slip through her fingers. Not like this.

“You do,” Sevika said firmly, stepping closer, her hand cupping Y/N’s cheek. “You deserve more than this. You deserve someone who won’t let you fall.”

Y/N’s walls were crumbling, slowly, ever so slowly. The fierce, self-destructive mask she wore was fading, and for the first time, Sevika could see the woman beneath it. The one who wasn’t just a warrior, but someone who had been hurt beyond measure.

“I’m here,” Sevika repeated, her voice soft, almost soothing, as she reached out, offering her hand. “Don’t push me away, Y/N. Not this time.”

Y/N hesitated, her eyes flickering between Sevika’s hand and her face. The weight of everything seemed to press down on her, but Sevika’s steady presence was grounding. For the first time in what felt like forever, Y/N didn’t want to run. Didn’t want to push her away.

Slowly, her hand moved towards Sevika’s, and without a word, she placed her palm in Sevika’s, finally letting someone else in. The fight was far from over. But maybe, just maybe, this was the first step toward healing.

[f1nalboys]

Could you do a Billy Loomis x Stu Macher x Reader oneshot that's just super kinky I'm just fienin for some billy and stu smut 🙏

MY RETURN TO POLY GHOSTFACEEEEEEEE!!!! anon thank u very much for this request (and dont worry, i got the other one!!!) and i super duper hope u like it!!! it did make me realize i havent written a praise focused fic in FOREVER so sorry if im a little rusty D:

Poly!Ghostface x GN!Reader

WORD COUNT: 1132

WARNINGS: nsfw, hair pulling, praise, creampie, begging, reader isn't gendered but does get called pretty and beautiful, billy likes to watch <3, established relationship, kinda proofread

Billy and Stu knew how to make you tick in every way. Stu was great at aggravating you just enough to get you to pay attention to him, easily earning your affection back in just a few words. Billy could break you down, build you up, and do it over and over again until it made your head swim. Being with them meant you were on edge, always waiting for the other shoe to drop.

But then there were times, like now, where you didn’t have to worry about anything other than cumming.

“There you go, baby,” Stu’s voice is muffled despite him being right behind you, his lips at your ear, his breath hot against your sweaty skin. He’s moving so slowly, cock pushing deep inside you and dragging out at an agonizing pace. You want to yell at him, tell him to move faster, go harder, something, but the only thing that comes out is a weak whine. He laughs and you feel it vibrate against your back. “Aw, sweet little thing is tryin’ to tell us something, Billy.”

Your eyes open and you do your best to blink away the haze. Billy is in front of you on the bed, his hand slowly stroking his cock as he watches Stu fuck you. Your hands are on Stu’s knees, your own legs bent uncomfortably backwards so you were sitting in his lap. “You gotta use your words, Y/N.” Billy says smoothly, tilting his head, voice smug. “You want him to stop?”

“No!” You say quickly, nails digging into Stu’s skin, your eyes widening enough to earn a laugh from Billy. Your voice is hoarse, raw from your constant babbles of pleasure over the last hour. “More,” you say, wiggling your hips slightly, your head tilting forwards as a sharp gasp rips through you. “Please, need it.” Billy watches with a pleased smirk as you begin to take over for Stu, using your hands on his knees as leverage to push yourself up and down, sinking down onto his cock.

Stu groans at the feeling, his hips flexing slightly. “Fuck, Billy, man… they’re so fuckin’ tight.” His hands rest on your hips, mouth agape as he pants, watching his cock disappear inside you. “So sexy like this, so fucked out, aren’t you, baby?” He asks, his usual laugh cut off by a moan. “Y/N?” You don’t answer. Your eyes are closed, your breaths coming quick, focused solely on the building pleasure in your gut. You barely even register the bed shifting before you feel thick fingers tangle into your hair, tugging your head back up roughly. 

“Hey,” Billy says sharply, fingers still tugging at your hair. Your eyes are open now, head bent back enough to force you to look him in the eyes, and he watches you with a pleased grin. “Stu asked you a question. You better answer unless you want him to stop. And you don’t want that, do you?” He tsks, shaking his head mockingly, his free hand leaving his cock to touch you between your legs. You gasp sharply, tightening around Stu, causing him to dig into your hips to push you down onto his cock even more. Billy’s gaze is unwavering. “Feels like you don’t want that.”

“Way they’re tightening around me, fuck, they better not want me to stop. Not even sure I could pull out.” Stu teases, placing sloppy kisses against your jaw and down your neck to your shoulder. Your head was beginning to throb from where Billy was still gripping your hair but the thought of him letting go, replacing the pain and his fingers with a dull thud, seemed unbearable. “Too tight, you know that, Y/N? Too fuckin’ pretty, too. Fuck, I love you like this, you know that? So sweet.” 

“You’re gettin’ ‘em excited, Stu,” Billy grins, his hand moving in tangent with Stu’s thrusts. “Baby, you better tell Stu you don’t want him to stop or you won’t get to cum.” Billy’s voice is soft and he’s leaning in, pressing his forehead against yours. His cock is aching, untouched, but you know better than to do so without his go ahead. “C’mon, baby, you can do it. Beg Stu not to pull out so you can cum. God, you’re fucking perfect, you know that? I mean, shit, Stu; you ever met someone like ‘em? So perfect?” Stu answers with a grunt and a quick shake of his head, going harder. Billy hisses as his cock twitches. “Fuck, you can touch me after you cum, baby, doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Yes-”

“Always trying to get your hand on my dick,” Billy grins, his hand speeding up, the pleasure building in your stomach tripling in less than a second. “So fuckin’ cute, so dirty, aren’t you? Sexy fuckin’ thing, God, c’mon, start begging so we can reward you.” 

Billy almost sounds desperate, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it before, and his grip in your hair loosens as he kisses you. Stu’s pace increases, barely pulling you up off his cock before slamming up into you. He’s grunting with the force but he’s holding back and you can tell; he’s waiting for you to beg. 

“Please, fuck, please don’t stop,” you cry out inbetween messy kisses, your face growing hot as your stomach tightens. “F-fuck, I wanna cum, I swear, please let me cum! I need it, I need to touch you,” you say to Billy and he nips at your bottom lip, pleased, “And I need you to cum in me. Please!” You cry, tears burning at your eyes from holding onto the edge of your orgasm. You watch as Billy’s eyes flick back towards Stu, darkening slightly, before he meets your eyes again and nods. 

You cum hard, vision growing blurry at the edges as you let out a strangled cry. Billy and Stu don’t stop their movements, working together to make your orgasm last as long as it could. “H-holy fuck!” Stu grunts, your tight hole finally sending him over the edge. He cums, wrapping his arms around your waist and keeping you seated fully on his cock. “So fuckin’ perfect, there you go… take every drop, baby…” he coos softly, head resting on your shoulder as his hips flex, pumping everything he could into you. You let out a shaky breath, a weak hand pushing at Billy’s. He listens for once, grinning at how out of it you seem, and he dips his head towards you to give you a few kisses. “Happy anniversary, baby,” Billy whispers, brushing his nose along your cheek. You grin, worn out but pleased, your hand moving to rub against Billy’s cock. He sucks in a breath, looking down at his lap, before grinning. “You’re fucking beautiful.”

[appleblueberry-pie]

hear me out- yandere Miguel capturing us after we managed to escape from his lair (he kidnapped us) and us dealing w/ the consequences he put up for us 👀

Anyways thank youuu 🤭

I Thought You Knew Better Than This.

You've never thought your own home could look so ruined. He threw and destroyed everything. Your walls covered in claw marks in certain places with big and heavy pieces of furniture destroyed and laying on the opposite side of the room it's supposed to be on. You tried to make minimal sound as his hand on the back of your shirt continued to hurt you. Miguel hasn't stopped breathing heavy since he found you hiding in your little corner. He was seething. Absolutely furious with how the way things have turned out. It was supposed to be a simple day today. He drowns you in his luxury and money while he also indulges in the feelings of happiness that your happiness gives him. But when he was distracted and had his back turned, you disappeared without a second to spare, taking his patience and mercy with you.

Even though he wasn't wearing the symbol of his power, his spider-suit, something about him wearing just regular clothes while chasing you as if he was a predator catching his prey made your heart pang in fear. You said nothing and kept to yourself as he practically shoved you into the fully formed portal.

When you two were back into your very carefully decorated and designed (he would call this your real bedroom in your real home)bedroom meant for your comfort and safety, Miguel sat on the edge of the bed and had you planted on his lap. Your back touched his hot chest and your each of your legs were spread out with the outer sides of his own.

You swallowed thick bile and continued to keep your mouth shut. Your eyes roamed around your room in hopes of self soothing your erratic inner turmoil. Miguel grabbed the lower part of your face and turned you to make eye contact with him. His eyes held some sense of control within him, but you knew his heart was telling an entirely different story. You tried your best not to look away, knowing how he feels about eye contact.

"Por qué te fuiste?"(Why did you go?) His voice was quiet as he asked. He spoke to you as if you were a child, and truth be told, you really really didn't want to tell him why. But the last thing you should ever do is lie. Especially to him. "I just.....I didn't want to be with you." You silently croaked out the answer, guilt showing in your eyes, but he didn't care. "Hm? Don't I give you everything? Don't I take good care of you? Papi no te cuida bien?"(Doesn't daddy take care of you?)

You slowly nod and he shakes his head. "I don't understand. Help me understand why you thought it was a good idea to run away. Please." You stutter as you try to answer as his hand somehow sneaked past your pants to rub his cold fingers on your clit through your underwear. ".......B-because I-" "Because you don't think. You just act immediately on your thoughts and leave me to clean up your mess. This is why I make you stay home."

No matter how hard you tried to ignore his fingers, your body somehow managed to build pleasure from the constant stimulation he was giving you. "I'm sorry." He rolls his eyes and begins to take off your pants. "Yeah." You didn't want to think about what he wanted to do with you. You drop the pants onto the floor once they pool around your ankles and Miguel manhandles you over his lap.

"Wait, no, Miguel. I don't wanna do this, I'm not ready!" You feel his digits prod at your entrance as best as they could through the small and unnecessarily damp part of your underwear that he caused. "It never seems like you're ready for me to give you any of your punishments, mi cielo. But don't you think it's time for me to give you what you deserve?" You squirm under his hold, and he rightfully continues to hold you down.

"No!" He coos at you while staring down at your panties, shoving the piece of the cloth to the side to access you more easily. "Mmmm, I think I should." Two of his digits poke at your hole and your shame drastically increases as you automatically whine at the feeling, squirming in his arms.

You hated, hated getting sexual with him. It wasn't fair that he had more experience than you and could play with you like an instrument, making you sing every song known to man. He was so good at touching you, you never wanted to try it again since the first time it happened. Knowing how hard it was to not only ignore him, but also how hard it was to go against his word when you and him both knew he could make you feel so good in ways you didn't think was humanly possible.

Miguel looks back up to see your reaction as he inserts his fingers and you immediately go silent. His fingers thrust inside of you two, three times and then on the fourth time, curls on that spot and you squeeze your eyes shut. A very small upward curve makes itself known on Miguel's face. He softly praises you and continues working your pussy out. "There, we go, bebé. No se siente increíble? Déjame escucharte."(Doesn't that feel amazing? Let me hear you). Your hands tighten their hold on his thigh and you shake your head no. He suddenly pulls his fingers out, licking them clean before tossing you onto the bed, immediately taking his hard cock out of his pants. "Está bien, nena."(That's okay, baby) He almost seems to say his words excitedly, rushing to mount your ass, one of his hands on the small of your back to keep you in place, his head hanging to watch the hot tip of his cock slip between the plush doors to his only escape to reality, indulging in you entirely. "........Tengo otras maneras de hacerte cantar."(I have other ways of making you sing.) He was gone, too far gone to stop and it was all of your fault.

He lets out a shaky sigh, leaning down to connect his chest to your back, now moving the hand that once was restricting you so that his body can take that role, and instead putting his hand in your hair to move your face to meet his. You look up at him with those adorable glossy eyes, the tears threatening to drop down your pretty cheek only makes him smile. "You did this to yourself, baby. Don't be so sad. All you have to do is let me do the work, okay? Just relax." Then his lips connect with yours in a sweet, loving kiss that you fucking hated. But your opinion never mattered in these moments, and it especially didn't matter when he kept deepening the kiss, groaning into your mouth as you felt him very gently intrude your entrance.

His kisses. His kisses successfully distracted you. Those plush lips making you forget your words. And when his tip oh, so gently kissed that spot inside of you when he was fully in, you felt your mind begin to buzz and didn't even realize you stopped trying to resist. Miguel took that moment to let his hands roam your heavenly body. There were only a few times he got to do this, and sadly, it was only when he was having sex with you. He wanted to be able to touch you every day. He wanted his hands to touch your stomach, your sides like this every morning and every night. He wanted to soothe your mind and body like this every day in any way he could, outside of a sexual context, because he knows he could. He just wishes you would love him back so he can give you what you truly deserve. Own him like you truly deserve.

But then he remembers you telling him he wasn't shit, his love wasn't shit, you wanted him dead, wanted him gone, he was worth nothing and the only thing you'd enjoy would be him in the dirt. Dead, gone, cold and forever silent, out of your mind. But what about all of this he built for you? What about those mornings you'd be in his arms and immediately realized you cuddled him all of the damn time in your sleep? What about those times he had to help you cook, had to help you with those weirdos who cat-called you outside, had to help you with your stress? Your pain that he took away from you? Just like this?

What about that? "Nothing I do is ever enough for you." His hips slowly roll into yours and you focus on the sheets in front of you, ignoring his crazy talk. "Maybe I should try giving you all that I got. Maybe then, you'll learn to be thankful." He grabs you by the waist and pulls you to the edge of the bed. Both pairs of feet touch the ground, but you both remain bent over the bed. His hands grab onto yours and pulls them up, giving you no space or peace of mind to be able to ignore anything he's doing to you.

The soft rolling picks up speed and force, the jabs he makes inside of you increasing in pleasure with each thrust. You begin making sounds you can't control, and Miguel smothers you with kisses on your neck, praising your actions.

You hated him. You hated how you began leaning into his affection and relaxed at his words as he fucked the logic out of your mind. You hated how he numbed your tongue and continued to abuse your sweet spot constantly, knowing how sweet you'll be to him afterwards. And even when you grind back into him, all of your muscles tensing as he rubs at your clit during your orgasm, you still find a way to try and curse his name, only for it to come out of your mouth as if he was an angel from heaven.

Miguel pulls out to shoot his load onto the sheets, knowing the relationship you two have isn't something he wanted his child to see. It'd take a few more months.

You let him clean you, wash the sheets, feed you and put you to bed. And you couldn't find it in you to complain, let alone have any kind of opinion of what just happened. Not when you were this tired. Miguel decided to skip work for the rest of the night to sleep with you. You don't say anything.

You curled into his arms, knowing the next morning will just be a mental battle with yourself over giving in or continuing this exhausting fight you were putting up. His hand softly caresses your head, the other one holding your body close to his. He is whispering to you in such a soft and lovely tone, it just makes you wonder how obsessed he really is with you. Skin to skin. He lulls you to sleep and stays awake for a good while, just to embrace the moment he's never given. Then follows you into his subconscious.

[woozinhos]

when you and vernon ( both as idols) get caught dating and he gets so mad that fans don’t approve your relationship

kind of angry sex?

I tried to make this one a bit longer let me know what you guys think I gave it a little bit of a plot as well :D

It was a secret that you and Vernon had been keeping for a while - your relationship with him. But the secret had been discovered, and the news had spread like wildfire.

As you walked through the halls of the company building, you could feel the stares of other idols and staff members on you. Whispers and murmurs followed you wherever you went, and it was clear that people were not happy about your relationship with Vernon.

Vernon, however, was furious.

He had always been protective of you, but now he was on edge. The constant attention and criticism from fans and media had taken a toll on him, and he was struggling to keep his anger in check.

When you finally made it back to his apartment, Vernon was waiting for you. He looked tense and on edge, his jaw clenched tightly as he paced back and forth in the living room.

"You're finally here," he said as soon as you walked through the door. "I was worried sick."

He pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close as if he was afraid you might disappear.

"Why didn't you answer your phone?" he asked, his voice tight. "I've been trying to reach you all day."

You wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

"I'm sorry," you murmured, feeling guilty for making him worry. "I just needed some space to think."

Vernon held you tighter, his body still tense with frustration.

"You can't just disappear like that," he said, his voice strained. "Not after what happened today."

He pulled back slightly, his eyes searching your face.

"Do you have any idea what people are saying about us?" he asked, his voice low and angry. "They're tearing us apart, tearing you apart."

Vernon's grip on you tightened as he spoke, his fingers digging into your skin.

"They're saying all kinds of things about you, about our relationship," he said, his eyes flashing with anger. "That you're not good enough for me, that you're only after my fame and money."

You met his gaze, your own expression determined.

"But I'm an idol too, Vernon," you said firmly. "I've worked just as hard as you have, and I'm just as talented. I deserve to be with you, just like you deserve to be with me."

Vernon's expression darkened as you spoke, his anger flaring up even more.

"That's not the point," he said through clenched teeth. "It doesn't matter that you're an idol too. The fans still don't approve of our relationship, and they're not going to stop until they tear us apart."

He let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through his hair.

"I hate this," he said, his voice rough. "I hate that we have to hide our relationship, that we can't just be together in public without people judging us."

He started to pace again, his footsteps heavy and agitated.

"I just want to be able to hold your hand in public, to kiss you in front of everyone without worrying about what they'll say," he said, his voice laced with frustration. "Is that too much to ask for?"

You watched as he continued to pace, his anger palpable in the air.

"I'm tired of hiding," he said, his voice low and strained. "I'm tired of pretending that we're just friends, that there's nothing between us."

He suddenly stopped pacing and turned to face you, his eyes blazing with a mixture of frustration and desire.

"I want you," he said, his voice low and intense. "I want you so bad, and I don't care who knows it."

He took a step towards you, his eyes raking over your body.

"I need you," he said, his voice thick with need. "Right now, I need you so badly it's driving me crazy."

Vernon's lips crashed against yours, his kiss rough and demanding.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against him as he deepened the kiss. He backed you up against the wall, his body pinning you in place as he devoured your mouth.

His hands roamed over your body, his touch possessive and desperate. He broke the kiss for a moment, his breath coming in ragged gasps as he looked down at you.

"You're mine," he growled, his eyes dark with desire. "No one else's. Understand?"

He claimed your mouth again, his tongue exploring every inch of your mouth as he pressed his body against yours. His hands slid down to your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he lifted you up and pinned you against the wall.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, holding onto him tightly as he continued to kiss you senseless. He moved his lips to your neck, nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin as he started to grind his hips against yours.

You moaned at the sensation, your head falling back against the wall as Vernon continued to mark your neck. He let out a low growl, his grip on your hips tightening as he felt your body respond to his touch.

Vernon quickly moved to the couch, sitting down with you still in his lap. He looked up at you, his eyes dark with lust as he ran his hands up and down your thighs.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough with desire. "And all mine."

He pulled you closer, his hands sliding under your shirt to feel your skin.

"I want to mark you all over," he said, his lips brushing against your ear. "I want everyone to know that you belong to me."

He leaned back, a smirk on his face as he looked up at you.

"I want to make sure that when you go out in public tomorrow, everyone sees the marks I've left on you," he said, his voice low and possessive. "I want them to know that you're mine, and that no one else can touch you."

The room was filled with the sound of tearing fabric as Vernon's hands tore at your clothes, his desire taking over completely.

He growled as he exposed more and more of your skin, his lips and teeth trailing hot kisses across your body. Once you were completely naked, he took a moment to admire your body, his eyes roaming over every inch of you.

"God, you're perfect," he breathed, his hands tracing over your curves.

He looked up at you, his eyes filled with raw need.

"I want you to ride me," he said, his voice hoarse. "I want to feel you, I want to see you take control and use me to make yourself feel good."

He moved his hands to your hips, his grip firm as he guided you onto his lap.

"Go ahead," he said, his voice strained with anticipation. "Take what you want, baby."

You slowly lowered yourself onto him, a gasp escaping your lips as you felt him fill you completely. Vernon's eyes rolled back in his head, a low groan escaping his throat as he felt your walls clench around him.

You began to move, riding him slowly at first before picking up the pace. Vernon's hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your skin as he watched you take control.

"That's it," he said through gritted teeth. "Ride me hard, baby. Show me how angry you are."

You increased your pace, your hips moving frantically as you rode him.

Vernon's hands moved to your ass, squeezing the flesh roughly as he helped guide your movements. He was watching you intently, his eyes dark with lust and desire as he took in the sight of you above him.

Suddenly, Vernon couldn't take it anymore.

He started to thrust upwards, meeting your movements with his own and increasing the intensity of the pleasure. He let out a growl, his hands on your hips pulling you down harder onto him with each thrust.

Your moans filled the room as you arched your back, your head thrown back in ecstasy. Vernon's eyes roamed over your body, taking in every curve and dip as he continued to thrust up into you.

"You feel so good," he grunted, his grip on your hips tightening even more. "So tight and wet for me."

He pulled you down so that your chest was pressed against his, his arms wrapping around you and holding you close. He buried his face in your neck, his breath hot against your skin as he continued to pound into you.

"I'm never letting you go," he whispered in your ear. "You're mine, forever."

His lips found yours again, kissing you hungrily as you continued to move together. The kiss was messy and desperate, filled with a mixture of desire and possessiveness.

Vernon's hands roamed over your body, touching every inch of you as he held you tightly against him. The pleasure built higher and higher, each thrust sending shockwaves through your body.

You could feel yourself getting close, your body tensing as you neared the edge. Vernon sensed it too, his movements becoming more frantic as he chased his own release.

"Come for me," he growled, his voice low and commanding. "I want to feel you fall apart around me."

You were so close, your body teetering on the edge of ecstasy.

Vernon's words sent you over the edge, and with a cry of his name, you came undone in his arms. Your body trembled and convulsed as waves of pleasure washed over you, your inner walls clenching around Vernon's cock.

He held you tightly, his own orgasm triggered by the feeling of you coming undone around him. He let out a guttural moan, burying his face in your neck as he spilled himself inside you.

The two of you stayed locked together for a moment, both of you panting and trembling in the aftermath of your release. Vernon held you close, his arms wrapped tightly around you as he placed soft kisses along your neck and shoulder.

"You're amazing," he murmured, his voice still rough with pleasure. "So perfect."

He pulled back slightly, looking up at you with a serious expression.

"I don't care what anyone says," he said, his eyes locked on yours. "I don't care what people think about us, about you. I don't want to leave you, ever."

He reached up to cup your face in his hands, his touch gentle yet firm.

"You're the most important thing in my life," he said, his voice low and earnest. "I would do anything for you, I would give up everything just to stay by your side."

[purifiedclitoris69]

The Truth

pt2 darkness and chaos

love spoiling you guys. i never really know what to put up here j like to yap lol. anyway enjoy ;)

angst with fluff and hurt/comfort

pairings: wanda maximoff x enhanced!reader

"I think I'd like some space for a little," you mumble turning away from her as you try so desperately to keep the tears from spilling.

"Okay," she agrees quietly walking towards the door, she pauses looking back as she's about to leave, "I'm sorry, y/n," she leaves.

It took about a week to heal from your injuries; your enhancements and Cho’s inventions helped immensely but the rest of your time in the medbay was cold.

The sterile white walls and beeping monitors were constant reminders that you were alone. It wasn’t just the physical pain—the ache in your abdomen that flared every time you moved—but the emptiness that settled deep in your chest, far more painful than the wound itself.

Days blurred into one another, filled with nothing but the low hum of medical equipment and the occasional visit from the team. Natasha came by when she could, sitting by your bed with gentle words of encouragement, trying to make you laugh. Sam would swing by too, cracking jokes that only barely lifted the suffocating weight you felt. Steve made a few appearances, his hand on your shoulder, telling you how strong you were, how you’d be back on your feet in no time.

But they couldn’t fill the void. Not really.

Because every time the door to the medbay opened, a part of you hoped it would be her. You waited for Wanda, every second stretching into an eternity, hoping that she’d come back and say she loved you.

Once you were healed and out the medbay , something in you shifted. It wasn’t immediate—more like a slow, creeping numbness that settled in over time. At first, it was just avoiding her, making sure you weren’t in the same room if you didn’t have to be. But the distance didn’t stop there. Soon, you found yourself pulling away from everyone, isolating more and more until you were just a shadow moving through the compound.

You stuck to a strict routine now: wake up early, hit the training room before anyone else is awake, then disappear into your quarters for hours on end, either preparing for missions or finding a way to distract yourself. Solo missions have become your escape, and you volunteer for every one, no matter how dangerous or tedious. Anything to get away from the compound. From her.

The team has noticed. Of course they have. Natasha has tried to get you to open up, but you always find a way to deflect. “Just focused,” you’d tell her, throwing on a smile that you know she doesn’t believe. Steve’s asked you to join in on a few team exercises, but you decline, claiming you need to work on personal skills. Even Tony has made a few snide remarks about you turning into a recluse, though there’s concern in his eyes.

The compound itself feels suffocating. The once comfortable space where you’d joke with the others, share meals, and decompress after missions has now become a maze of memories you’re trying to avoid. Everywhere you go, you feel Wanda’s presence—whether it’s the soft hum of her magic in the halls or just the weight of her lingering gaze when you pass each other in silence.

You keep your interactions with the team to the bare minimum. A nod here, a muttered response there. Nothing more than what’s necessary. It’s easier that way. Easier than facing the questions, the pity, the inevitable confrontation with Wanda that you know is coming but can’t bring yourself to endure.

The training room became your sanctuary. You pushed yourself harder and harder each day, punishing your body until it screams for rest. It’s the only thing that makes you feel anything—the burn of your muscles, the sting of exhaustion. It drowns out the ache in your chest, even if just for a little while.

You’ve been reckless, too. Clint’s called you out for taking unnecessary risks in the field, and even Steve’s noticed your tactics have become more desperate. You don’t care. The danger keeps your mind off her.

When you’re not on a mission or in the training room, you’re holed up in your room, avoiding any social gatherings. Movie nights, dinners, even simple conversations in the kitchen—they’ve all become a thing of the past. You can’t stand the thought of sitting there, pretending everything’s fine while Wanda’s just a few feet away, acting as though you’re not both suffocating in the same silence.

Wanda was desperate for things to go back to the way they were.

It’s a quiet afternoon in the compound, the sun casting soft light through the large windows as you make your way to the kitchen. You’ve been trying to avoid everyone—especially her—but it’s almost impossible to escape entirely when you live under the same roof. You tell yourself that grabbing a cup of coffee and heading back to your room won’t take more than a minute. You can slip in and out without a problem.

But, of course, she’s already there.

Wanda stands by the counter, absentmindedly stirring a mug of tea. The second you step into the kitchen, her eyes flick up, and you can see that familiar spark of warmth—of friendship, or whatever’s left of it—light up her face.

“Hey,” she says softly, her voice cautious but hopeful, like she’s testing the waters.

You force a neutral expression, giving her a small nod. “Hey.”

She smiles a little, and for a split second, it’s like nothing has changed. Like the last few months of distance and silence never happened. She moves over to the counter where the coffee maker is, just a few feet from where you stand, and her presence feels too close. Too familiar. Too painful.

“I was thinking…” Wanda starts, her tone casual, like she’s trying to bridge the gap, “maybe we could do something this weekend? Watch a movie or—” She pauses, her voice faltering as she notices the stiffness in your posture. “You know, like we used to.”

The words hang in the air, a thin thread of hope dangling between you. It’s tempting, that old dynamic, that easy friendship. But you can’t. Not anymore.

You force a tight smile, keeping your tone as neutral as possible. “I… don’t think I’ll have time this weekend. Lots of mission reports to catch up on. I’m, uh, heading out for another mission soon too.”

Her face falls, just a little, but she quickly hides it behind another smile. “Oh, okay. Maybe when you get back?”

“Yeah,” you say, but it’s hollow. You’re not sure you believe it. “Maybe.”

You pour your coffee in silence, the tension between you thick and suffocating. She’s standing so close, so desperate to pull things back to what they were, but you can’t meet her halfway. You’re too hurt, too angry. And you can see it in her eyes—the sadness, the regret—but she’s still acting like everything’s fine. Like she didn’t break you that day.

Wanda tries again, her voice quieter this time. “It doesn’t have to be weird, you know. We’re still… friends.”

Friends. The word stings. You clench your jaw and take a long sip of your coffee, pretending like the statement didn’t just slice through you. “Right.”

There’s an awkward pause. Wanda shifts uncomfortably, her fingers tightening around her mug as she watches you, waiting for something—anything—from you. But you can’t give her what she wants. You can’t pretend like things haven’t changed.

You clear your throat, already looking for an excuse to leave. “I, uh… actually, I’ve got to get to the training room.” It’s not a complete lie. You do spend most of your time there now, drowning out the ache with physical exhaustion. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

You’re already halfway out of the kitchen when you hear her soft reply. “Yeah. Okay.”

You don’t look back. You can’t.

As you walk down the hall, your heart aches with every step, but you shove it down, burying it beneath layers of numbness. Wanda wants to pretend everything’s normal, but it’s not. It can’t be. And right now, the only way you can protect yourself is by keeping that distance.

The door to the training room closes behind you, and with it, the mask you’ve been wearing all day shatters. Alone again, you drop your coffee cup onto the bench and run a hand through your hair, the sharp sting of tears prickling behind your eyes. You bite the inside of your cheek hard, desperate to stop them from falling, but it’s no use. The pain is too much, too raw. It claws at your insides, demanding to be felt.

You hate this. You hate yourself. For ruining everything. For letting your feelings get in the way of the one thing that mattered most—your friendship with Wanda. How could I have been so stupid? The thought echoes in your mind like a broken record, repeating over and over until it becomes a dull roar in your ears. You could have kept it to yourself, should have kept it to yourself. If only you had stayed quiet, swallowed your love like a bitter pill, maybe things would still be the way they were.

But no. You had to go and spill your heart out, thinking—hoping—that maybe she felt the same. That maybe there was a chance.

Now, all you have is the hollow, gnawing emptiness of her rejection. The distance that’s grown between you feels like a chasm, and every day that passes, it only gets wider. Wanda’s attempts to act like nothing’s changed cut deeper than any words. You hate that you can’t just let it go and pretend like she can. You hate that your love for her consumes you so completely, making it impossible to act normal, to act like the wound she left in you isn’t still bleeding.

And the worst part? The nightmares.

Every night, you dream of her. But it’s never the Wanda you used to know—the one who would laugh with you, who understood you better than anyone else. No, the Wanda in your dreams is cruel, her words laced with venom. She stands in front of you, her face twisted in disgust as she calls you stupid, pathetic, for ever thinking she could love you. “Did you really think I could love someone like you?” she sneers. “I had the greatest love of my life with Vision, and you—you’re just a joke.”

Each time, you wake up drenched in sweat, your chest tight with grief and shame, your body aching from the weight of the rejection that follows you, even in sleep. It’s torture. You’ve stopped trying to sleep altogether, throwing yourself into training, into missions, into anything that can distract you from the gnawing pain that follows you around like a shadow.

And Wanda…God, Wanda.

Every time she sees you now, her stomach twists into knots, guilt pulling at her like a heavy chain she can’t escape. She’s tried to reach out, tried to act like nothing’s changed, but every time she sees the neutral expression on your face, every time you make some excuse to leave, it’s like a dagger to her chest. She knows you’re hurting, knows that you think she doesn’t care—but she does. She cares more than she ever could have imagined.

The lie she told you that day, the one that broke you? It’s been haunting her ever since.

She can still see the look on your face when she said she didn’t love you, that she couldn’t be with you. It wasn’t just the hurt she saw—it was the betrayal. She knew what you had gone through just to tell her how you felt, how much courage it must’ve taken to lay your heart bare, while you were dying.

You weren’t entirely lying to her, you did have a mission coming up, it just wasn’t planned.

“Hey got another solo, if your up for it,” Nat proposed as she entered the training room, your fist rhythmically beating the punching bag.

“You know it,” you breathed, stopping the bag swinging.

“you leave in an hour,” she pursed a smile, dropping the file onto the bench next to your cold and forgotten coffee.

The mission had been simple enough on paper—intel gathering, no need for backup, in and out. You’d handled it alone plenty of times before, so it made sense that Steve signed off on this one without hesitation. What he didn’t know was how messy things had gotten.

You’d gone in hard and fast, ignoring the usual caution you’d been trained to follow. Maybe a part of you wanted it that way—needed the adrenaline, the distraction. You fought recklessly, pushing yourself further than you should’ve, not caring about the consequences. A knife wound here, slams into a couple walls there—it didn’t matter. You kept going, forcing yourself through the pain.

By the time you made it back to the jet, your body was screaming at you to stop, but you didn’t. You were trained for this, after all. No matter how bad the bleeding was, no matter how sharp the pain in your side, you forced yourself to pilot the jet back to the compound.

As you limped down the ramp, the pain finally caught up with you. Your side was drenched in blood, the makeshift bandage you’d wrapped around yourself soaked through. But still, you didn’t care. You just wanted to get back to your room and forget about everything. Forget about the pain in your body, and more importantly, the pain you couldn’t shake from your heart.

You didn’t think anyone noticed as you made your way through the compound, each step sending a fresh wave of agony through your body. But as you reached your door, your vision swam, and you realized you’d left a trail of blood behind you. That wasn’t great.

You managed to get inside, closing the door behind you with a quiet thud. Sitting down on the edge of your bed, you glanced at the mission report in your hand, half-written and filled with details you barely remembered jotting down in the jet. You were too out of it to finish the thing properly, but at least you’d gotten it done. You tossed it aside, planning to sleep the pain off.

But then there was a knock on your door.

You didn’t need to open it to know who was on the other side. A cold dread settled in your stomach as Steve’s voice called out, “Y/n? Open the door.

You stood, slowly, wincing as the pain flared again, and opened the door just enough to see Steve standing there. His eyes immediately flickered down to the blood staining your clothes, then to the trail leading from the jet.

His expression shifted, brows knitting together. “What the hell happened?”

You forced a shrug, downplaying it. “Got the job done, didn’t I?”

Steve’s eyes hardened. “At what cost?”

“Nothing I couldn’t handle.” You tried to shut the door, but Steve pushed it open, stepping inside.

He stared at you, his jaw clenched tight, then glanced around the room—at the blood, at the half-done mission report, picking it up and looking it over “You didn’t say anything in your report about getting injured.”

“I didn’t think it was relevant,” you muttered, turning away from him.

“Bleeding out isn’t relevant?” His voice was sharp now, frustration clear. “You’re limping, leaving a trail of blood through the entire compound, and you think it’s nothing?”

“It’s just a scratch,” you shot back, trying to keep your tone even, but the exhaustion and pain were getting to you. “I don’t need you to babysit me, Steve.”

“That’s not what this is about,” Steve said, his voice quieter but no less firm. “This is about you being reckless. You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there, Clint’s already mentioned the other risks you’ve been taking.”

You turned on him, the anger rising in your chest. “What difference does it make? The mission was a success. I’m alive. Isn’t that what matters?”

Steve stepped forward, his eyes searching yours. “What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing’s going on,” you snapped, pulling away from him. “I’m doing my job.”

“No, you’re not,” he shot back, his tone sharper now. “You’re pushing yourself too far, and it’s not just today. “Look i don’t no what happened but ever since–,” He hesitated, his expression softening for a moment. “Ever since you and Wanda stopped hanging out, you’ve been different. You’re not thinking straight. You’re taking unnecessary risks, maybe you should talk to her…clear whatever it is up.”

You scoffed, turning away from him. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine,” Steve said, stepping closer again. “And I’m not going to sit by and watch you destroy yourself.”

You clenched your jaw, the frustration and anger boiling over. “You don’t get it, Steve. You don’t—” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, trying to keep it together. “It doesn’t matter.”

Steve’s expression softened. “I know you’re hurting, y/n. But this isn’t the way to deal with it.”

You shook your head, trying to push down the rising emotion. “I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity,” he said, his voice calm but firm. “It’s concern. You’re part of this team, and right now, you’re a danger to yourself.”

You turned to face him, your chest tight with anger and frustration. “So what? You’re gonna bench me?”

“Yeah,” Steve said, not missing a beat. “I am.

Your heart sank, but the anger bubbled up again. “You can’t do that. You need me out there.”

“Not like this,” he replied, crossing his arms. “I’m pulling you from active duty until you get your head straight.”

You stared at him, the reality of his words hitting you like a punch to the gut. “Steve—”

“You’re on probation, y/n,” Steve said, his voice final. “Until you deal with whatever’s going on in your head, you’re not going back out there. Not like this.”

Your fists clenched at your sides, and you fought back the urge to scream. You wanted to argue, to tell him he was wrong, but deep down, you knew he wasn’t. Still, that didn’t make it any easier to accept.

Without another word, you turned away from him, retreating into the bathroom to deal with your wounds. The sting of the alcohol on your skin was nothing compared to the frustration burning in your chest.

Steve lingered in the doorway for a moment longer before quietly stepping out, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the heavy weight of his decision. You were benched. And for the first time in a long time, you weren’t sure if you even cared.

After dressing your wounds and enduring a scalding hot shower, you collapse onto your bed, too exhausted to even care about the fresh bruises or the burning pain in your side. Your mind is louder than the physical aches, churning with frustration, anger, and something deeper—something you don’t want to name.

You stare at the ceiling, willing your thoughts to quiet down, but the more you try to ignore it, the worse it gets. Wanda’s face flashes through your mind, the way she looked at you when you confessed. The way her expression twisted into something unreadable before she shut you down. The ache in your chest deepens, and you force your eyes shut, hoping sleep will take over.

But it never does.

You don’t know how much time has passed when you hear a knock at the door.

You don’t move at first, thinking if you stay still enough, whoever it is will just go away. But the knock comes again, softer this time, followed by a familiar voice.

“Y/n, it’s Nat. Can I come in?”

You hesitate, staring at the door. You know Natasha well enough to know she’ll come in whether you say yes or not, but there’s still a part of you that wants to push everyone away. You’re tired—tired of talking, tired of feeling.

With a sigh, you mumble, “Yeah, come in.”

The door creaks open, and Natasha slips inside, closing it behind her. She doesn’t say anything right away, just stands there for a moment, taking in the state of your room—the bloodstained clothes tossed aside, the half-empty med kit, the way you’re sprawled on the bed like you’ve given up.

“You look like hell,” she says finally, her voice soft but laced with concern.

“Thanks,” you mutter, keeping your gaze on the ceiling. “I feel great.

Natasha crosses the room and sits on the edge of the bed, her weight causing a slight dip that you barely register. She’s quiet for a moment, and you can feel her watching you, waiting for you to say something more, but when you don’t, she takes a deep breath.

“Steve told me about the mission. About the probation.”

You grit your teeth, the frustration bubbling up again. “I don’t need a lecture, Nat.”

“I’m not here to lecture you,” she replies calmly. “I’m here because I’m worried.”

You finally tear your gaze from the ceiling to look at her, seeing the genuine concern etched on her face. It’s the same expression you’ve seen a hundred times before, but it doesn’t make it any easier to deal with. In fact, it makes it harder. Because if Nat’s worried, that means everyone else is too. And that means they’ve all noticed how far you’ve spiraled.

“I’m fine,” you say, but even to your own ears, the words sound hollow.

Natasha raises an eyebrow. “Really? Because last I checked, ‘fine’ people don’t come back from missions bleeding all over the compound and locking themselves away in their rooms.”

You swallow hard, turning your head away from her. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal, y/n.” Her voice softens even more. “You’ve been different. Ever since… well, ever since Wanda. You’ve shut everyone out.”

Her name hits you like a punch to the gut, and you sit up abruptly, swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Don’t,” you snap, your voice sharp.

Natasha’s face remains calm, but there’s something sympathetic in her gaze. “I know what’s going on between you two.”

Your chest tightens with both panic and frustration. “How do you even know what’s going on with me and Wanda?” you ask, your tone defensive, almost bitter. “What, did she tell you everything? Tell the whole team how I messed everything up by catching feelings?”

Natasha shakes her head slowly, her eyes softening even more. “She didn’t have to tell me. It’s been pretty obvious.”

You feel like someone’s ripped the ground out from under you. “What the hell does that mean?” you ask, standing up, pacing the room. “What’s obvious? That I was stupid enough to fall for my best friend? That I destroyed everything because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?”

“It’s not about you being stupid,” Natasha says gently. “You’re not stupid, y/n. And Wanda didn’t think that, either.”

You laugh bitterly, your chest tight and aching. “Then what was it, Nat? Because she sure didn’t make me feel like someone who had a chance. She didn’t make me feel like… like anything. Just told me she didn’t feel the same and—.”

Natasha stands up and crosses the room, moving to stand in front of you. “She lied, y/n. She didn’t reject you because she doesn’t feel the same. She rejected you because she’s scared.”

You stare at her, your hands clenching into fists at your sides. “How could you know what she feels?”

Natasha doesn’t back down, her voice calm but insistent. “Because I’ve seen how she looks at you. We all have. Wanda’s terrified, y/n. She’s lost everyone she’s ever loved—her brother, Vision… She’s scared of loving you because she’s afraid of losing you, too.”

You freeze, her words hitting harder than you expected. The anger that had been boiling inside you starts to deflate, replaced with confusion and hurt. “fear makes people do stupid things,” Natasha continued softly “It makes them push away the people they care about most. You know that better than anyone.”

Her words hit too close to home, and you shake your head, trying to process everything. The self-hatred you’ve been drowning in, the isolation, the nightmares—it all starts to feel different.

But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

You turn away from Natasha, your hands running through your hair in frustration. “I didn’t want to lose her, Nat. That’s what I was afraid of this whole time. And now it’s exactly what happened.”

Natasha steps closer, placing a hand on your shoulder. “You haven’t lost her. Not completely. But you’re both going to keep hurting like this until you talk to each other.”

You let out a shaky breath, feeling raw and exposed in a way you hadn’t before, it could all become ten times worse if you talk to her and she just pushes you away more. “I don’t know if I can handle being hurt again.”

Natasha looks at you with a mixture of sympathy and strength. “You won’t know until you try.”

Steve knew something was wrong. He’d seen the tension between you and Wanda for weeks now, long enough to know it wasn’t just some temporary falling out. He had watched you slowly unravel, becoming more reckless on missions, more distant from the team, and he could tell it wasn’t just a professional matter. Something personal was tearing you apart.

And after today, after seeing the trail of blood you left from the jet to your room, he knew he couldn’t stand by any longer.

Steve found Wanda in the quiet of the compound’s common area, sitting by the window and staring out into the darkening sky. Her hands were clasped tightly in her lap, her expression distant, but there was a sadness in her eyes that he hadn’t seen before.

He approached her cautiously, his steps quiet but deliberate. “Wanda.”

She didn’t look at him right away, her gaze still fixed outside. “Steve.”

“Can we talk?” He kept his tone gentle, not wanting to push too hard. She finally turned to face him, her eyes red-rimmed as though she hadn’t slept in days.

“What’s going on with you two?” Steve asked, cutting to the chase. He knew Wanda well enough to know she appreciated honesty over dancing around the subject. “Y/n’s not… they’re not themselves.”

Wanda’s face tightened, her shoulders stiffening as she looked away again. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Steve sighed. “Wanda, you’re both avoiding each other. It’s affecting everything. Not just on missions but… it’s the whole compound,” he tried to tease but quickly saw it wasn’t the time, “I don’t think either of you are okay, it’s getting concerning.”

She didn’t say anything for a moment, her fingers fidgeting in her lap, twisting around each other. Steve watched her, waiting patiently. He could tell she was holding back—he had seen it before in the way she carried herself, always guarded, always afraid to let too much slip.

Finally, she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. “I hurt them, Steve.”

Steve frowned, leaning against the wall as he folded his arms. “What happened?”

Wanda hesitated, the weight of her guilt evident in every movement. “They told me… they told me they loved me.” She took a shaky breath, her voice wavering. “And I— I told them I didn’t feel the same.”

Steve’s eyes softened as he listened. “But that’s not true, is it?”

Wanda shook her head, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “No. I love them. I love them more than anything. But I can’t—” Her voice cracked, and she pressed a hand to her chest as if trying to hold herself together. “I can’t lose them like I lost everyone else, Steve. I can’t go through that again.”

Steve watched her, the silence stretching between them before he spoke. “I know you’re scared. I know what it’s like to lose people you care about. But pushing them away? That’s only going to hurt you both even more.”

Wanda bit her lip, her breath hitching. “You don’t understand, Steve..”

“I think I do.” Steve’s voice was firm but kind. Wanda looked up at him, confused. “I lost Bucky, more times than I can count. I thought he was gone during the war, then I found him as the Winter Soldier. And every time I thought I had him back, something would happen. Hydra, the government, the Accords… it felt like I was always fighting to keep him in my life.”

Wanda’s expression softened slightly as she listened, her defenses lowering.

“But I never stopped fighting for him,” Steve continued, his voice steady. “Because the love I have for Bucky—it’s unconditional. Even if it was messy, even if it hurt, it was worth every second I got with him.”

Wanda’s eyes welled up with tears again, and she wiped at her cheeks, her hands trembling. “But what if I lose them, Steve? What if I love them, and then they get hurt, or worse—what if they die because of me?”

Steve stepped closer, his gaze unwavering. “You can’t live your life afraid of what might happen. Love is a risk, always. But it’s a risk worth taking. Because the time you spend pushing them away, that’s time you’re losing right now. You’re hurting them, and you’re hurting yourself.”

Wanda swallowed hard, her throat tight. She could feel the weight of her own fear pressing down on her, suffocating her, but Steve’s words rang true. Every moment she spent avoiding you, every time she told herself it was for the best, she was only making things worse.

Steve crouched down to be at eye level with her, his voice gentle but firm. “You don’t know what the future holds, Wanda. None of us do. But I promise you, shutting them out is going to hurt a lot more than loving them ever will.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding in her chest. She had been so focused on her fear, on the possibility of losing you, that she hadn’t realized she was losing you right now. It was happening before her eyes, and it was her fault.

“I just… I don’t know if I can be that strong,” she whispered, her voice broken.

“You’re one of the strongest people I know,” Steve said softly. “And you don’t have to do it alone. You’ve got us, and you’ve got them. But you have to take that step, Wanda. You have to let yourself love them.”

Wanda closed her eyes, tears spilling down her cheeks as she nodded. She knew Steve was right. She had been running from her own feelings for too long, hiding behind the fear of losing you. But now she realized—by lying, she was already losing you.

“Thank you, Steve,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Steve gave her a soft, reassuring smile. “Go find them. It’s not too late.”

Wanda took a deep breath, gathering what little courage she had left. She had to fix this. She had to find you, tell you the truth, and face whatever came next—because no matter how terrifying it was, losing you completely would be far worse.

You were back in the training room, throwing punches at the bag with reckless abandon. Each hit sent waves of pain through your body, but you didn’t care. It was easier to focus on the physical ache than the emotional storm swirling inside you. Natasha’s words echoed in your mind: Wanda loves you, but she’s scared.

Scared. You let out a bitter laugh, swinging another punch that nearly knocked the bag off its chain. Why didn’t she just tell you that? Why did she make you feel like you were out of your mind, like you were stupid for thinking she could ever love you back?

You wiped the sweat from your brow, breathing hard as your thoughts spun in circles. The truth had been right there all along, but instead of being honest, she had let you spiral. You weren’t even sure what you felt anymore—anger, hurt, maybe even guilt for forcing her into this position. You had laid your heart out for her, and she crushed it, all to protect herself.

Just as you were about to throw another punch, you heard footsteps behind you. You didn’t have to turn to know who it was. Her presence was unmistakable, a warmth that always made you feel safe and now felt like a dagger in your chest.

“Y/n…” Wanda’s voice was soft, hesitant, and it made your skin prickle. You kept your back to her, clenching your fists as you tried to control the emotions bubbling to the surface.

“I know you probably don’t want to talk to me,” she continued, taking a cautious step closer. “But I—I need to explain.”

“Explain what?” You finally turned around, your voice sharp. “How you made me feel like an idiot? Like I imagined everything between us?”

Wanda flinched at your words, her eyes widening with guilt. She looked like she hadn’t slept in days—her eyes were rimmed with red, and her usually steady hands were trembling. “That’s not what I meant to do. I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Well, you did,” you said bluntly, crossing your arms over your chest. The air between you felt heavy, suffocating.

Wanda stepped closer, her gaze pleading, but she still wouldn’t meet your eyes fully. “Y/n, please. It’s not that simple.”

“Then make it simple,” you snapped, your frustration finally boiling over. “Stop beating around the bush, Wanda. Tell me the truth. Just say it.”

She opened her mouth but hesitated again, her eyes flicking away from yours. You let out an exasperated sigh, running a hand through your hair. “For once, just be honest with me. You owe me that.”

There was a long pause, and you could see the conflict in her eyes, the way her whole body tensed as if she was fighting herself. Finally, she took a deep breath, her voice shaky but louder now. “I lied to you. About everything.”

You blinked, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

Wanda took a step closer, her eyes brimming with tears as she finally let her guard down. “I lied. When I said I didn’t love you—I was lying.” Her voice cracked, and a tear slipped down her cheek. “I’ve been lying to myself, to you… I’ve been so scared of losing you that I thought it was better to push you away.”

Your mind was reeling, trying to process her words. You took a step back, overwhelmed by the flood of emotions—anger, relief, confusion. “So you do love me?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Wanda nodded, tears falling freely now. “Yes. I love you. I’ve loved you for so long, but I was terrified.” She wiped at her cheeks, her breathing uneven. “I’ve lost everyone I’ve ever loved, and I couldn’t stand the thought of losing you too. So I did the only thing I knew how to do—I pushed you away.”

You felt a lump forming in your throat, and your vision blurred with unshed tears. “Do you have any idea what that did to me?” Your voice cracked, and you swallowed hard, fighting to keep your composure. “I told you I loved you, and you made me feel like a fool. I was terrified too, Wanda. I didn’t want to lose you, but I had to tell you because—because I couldn’t keep pretending. My feelings for you—they consumed me.”

Wanda took another step closer, her hand reaching out but hovering in the space between you, afraid to touch you. “I know,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I’m so sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting both of us, but I was wrong. I hurt you, and I hate myself for it.”

Tears spilled down your cheeks as all the pain you had been holding back came rushing out. “You were my best friend, Wanda. My best friend. And I lost you the moment I opened my mouth.

Wanda’s face crumpled, her own tears falling faster now. “You didn’t lose me. I was the one who messed everything up. I was scared, and I made all your worst fears come true.”

There was a long silence as the two of you stood there, both of you crying, both of you broken by the weight of your own fears. Finally, Wanda moved closer, closing the distance between you, her hand finally resting on your arm. Her touch was tentative, soft, but it sent a shiver down your spine.

“I don’t want to lose you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “Not like this.”

You looked into her eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability there, and it broke something inside you. All the anger, the frustration—it melted away in that moment, leaving only the overwhelming love you had always felt for her.

Without thinking, you reached down and cupped her face in your hands, pulling her close. Wanda’s breath hitched as your lips crashed together, a mix of tears and desperation. The kiss was soft but intense, full of everything you had both been holding back for so long. It was tender, warm, but laced with the pain of everything you had gone through.

Wanda’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, both of you pouring your hearts into it, trying to mend what had been broken. When you finally pulled away, you rested your forehead against hers, both of you breathing hard, tears still slipping down your cheeks.

“I love you,” you whispered, your voice raw but full of conviction. “I’ve always loved you.”

Wanda let out a shaky breath, her hands gripping the back of your shirt like she was afraid to let go. “I love you too. I’m so sorry for everything.”

You pulled her into a tight embrace, burying your face in her hair, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered softly, kissing the top of her head. “We’ll figure it out together.”

Wanda nodded against your chest, her arms tightening around you. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You won’t,” you promised, your voice full of the kind of love that you knew would last forever.

The two of you stood there, holding each other, the weight of the past weeks slowly lifting off your shoulders. For the first time in what felt like forever, you felt like you could breathe again. The fear, the pain—it was still there, but it didn’t matter. Not when you had her in your arms.

“Come on, you need a shower and some rest,” she mumbled tearfully.

“Are you saying I stink,” you joked hands going to her own.

She smiled, missing your childish jokes, “I’m saying we’re both exhausted and I’ve missed cuddling with you.” she pulled you towards the exit as you laughed following her, “and Steve told me what happened..Idiot,” she finished as you mumbled something about hitting steve.

Eventually, you both made your way back to your room, neither of you wanting to be apart any longer, you took a brief shower as Wanda found a movie to play. You curled up together on your bed, Wanda resting her head on your chest, her arms wrapped around you like she was afraid to let you go, legs tangled together.

As you both drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, the nightmares seemed far away. For the first time in weeks, you felt peace. Wanda was with you, and that was all that mattered.