#is gnawing on the walls an expression . no i don’t think so . but it’s an apt description of my current condition

[deliciousangelfestival]

Change of Heart - 2 | Bucky

Character: Bucky x Female! Reader

Theme: Angst, tragedy, romance.

Summary: The interviewer asked her a provocative question:

“If you were offered a million dollars, would you leave your partner?”

Without hesitation, she replied with a smirk, “Give me one dollar, and I’ll leave him this second.”

True to her word, she walked away, leaving the man stunned and searching for answers. Now, he’s desperately trying to find her, grappling with the haunting question—why would she leave him so easily?

And is there more to her departure than a single dollar could ever explain?

Part 1 , Part 2 , Part 3 ,-

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

“Fine,” he sighed, rubbing the back of his neck in frustration. He knew there was no point in pushing further. Grace was like a fortress, guarding whatever secrets you had entrusted her with. Talking to her felt futile, like arguing with a wall that refused to crack.

“I won’t press you for more answers,” he said, his voice softening, though the tension lingered in his tone. “At least tell me this—is she in trouble? Is someone trying to hurt her or threaten her?” His jaw tightened as he spoke, his concern leaking through despite his best effort to remain composed.

Grace hesitated before answering. “No,” she replied firmly, her gaze unwavering.

A part of Bucky felt a wave of relief at her reassurance. If Grace said you weren’t in danger, then maybe you were safe. But another part of him sank deeper into confusion and sadness. For two years, you had been his constant, his safe harbor.

You weren’t just his wife on paper; you had been someone he could rely on, someone who listened to him without judgment. Now, the thought that you might be facing something he had overlooked made him feel hollow.

Had he missed something? Overlooked a sign? The thought gnawed at him as he stood there in silence. You had always been a good listener, absorbing his worries and frustrations like a sponge. Better than any therapist he’d ever paid for. In fact, since marrying you, he had stopped going to therapy altogether.

But then it hit him. You’d rarely opened up about your own life. He couldn’t even recall the last time you shared anything personal. Was that his failure? Not listening to you when you needed him most? His chest tightened with guilt as he realized that the contract, which was supposed to ensure mutual understanding, might have become a barrier instead of a bridge.

Before he could say anything else, his phone buzzed, breaking his train of thought. He glanced at the screen and saw the agency’s number.

“Mr. Barnes, it’s about the arrangement,” the voice on the other end said.

“What is it?” His tone was curt, impatient.

“Your wife has decided not to renew the contract.”

He gritted his teeth. “I know that already.”

“Yes, sir,” the voice continued, cautiously. “But she also returned the money you gave her.”

Bucky froze, his grip on the phone tightening. “What?”

“She left it with us. I’m sorry for the way this unfolded, Mr. Barnes. If you have time, we’d like to meet and discuss this in person.”

He clenched his jaw. “I’ll think about it.”

“Understood. One more thing—Miss L/N left a message. She wanted you to know that she’s sorry.”

Bucky ended the call without a word. His mind was racing, a cacophony of thoughts and emotions he couldn’t untangle.

As he turned to leave, Grace finally broke her silence. “She told me to tell you not to look for her,” she said, her voice low but resolute.

Her words landed like a punch to his gut. He turned back to face her, his expression a mixture of disbelief and sorrow. His fists clenched at his sides, and for a moment, he didn’t say anything.

“Don’t look for her,” Grace repeated, softer this time, as if trying to ease the blow.

Bucky’s lips parted, but no words came out. He swallowed hard, his throat tight. Without another word, he turned and walked away, her parting message crushing him with every step.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

The matchmaking agency didn’t have an official name. To the outside world, it appeared to be an upscale wedding organizer. But beneath the surface, it operated a discreet business, catering to an elite clientele. The agency specialized in PR, celebrity pairings, and finding partners for those seeking unconventional marriages.

To join this matchmaking service, clients paid exorbitant fees, a cost justified by the agency’s ironclad guarantee of success and confidentiality. This exclusivity made it accessible only to the wealthiest 1%. For most clients, love wasn’t a priority. Many were too jaded, too broken, or simply unwilling to risk their hearts again, yet they craved the semblance of companionship.

Companionship didn’t necessarily mean intimacy. Some sought emotional connections without physical ties, while others wanted a blend of friendship and trust. In essence, the agency sold what its clients desired most: a reliable partner tailored to their needs.

That’s where Bucky came in. He wasn’t looking for love. He needed someone he could trust, someone who fit seamlessly into his life. You had checked every box. You charmed his parents and, more importantly, his grandfather—a critical seal of approval.

Now, Bucky sat in the CEO’s office of the agency, his jaw set and his posture rigid. The room was sleek and modern, dominated by a white sofa where both of them sat. He accepted the black tea she offered but barely touched it.

The CEO, a sharp-eyed woman in her late forties, sat across from him, her demeanor professional but empathetic. She had started this agency after her own marriage fell apart. Betrayed by her husband’s infidelity and weary of meaningless dates, she realized she wasn’t alone. Many shared her frustration with traditional relationships. That realization had birthed her unique matchmaking business.

She leaned forward slightly, her expression neutral but observant. “Thank you for making time to meet with me, Mr. Barnes,” she began.

Bucky’s voice was clipped. “Do you know what she did?”

“Yes,” the CEO replied calmly. “She came here yesterday and asked me to give you these.” She placed two envelopes on the table between them.

“This one contains the check for the money she received. She’s returning it to you. The other is a letter she wanted you to have.”

Bucky’s gaze dropped to the envelopes. They were unassuming, just thin paper, yet they felt heavier than the multimillion-dollar contracts he signed daily. He hesitated, his fingers brushing over the edges. Despite his composed exterior, uncertainty gnawed at him.

“Would you like me to open them for you?” the CEO asked gently.

“No, thank you.” His voice was firm, though his hand trembled slightly as he picked up the envelopes.

Slowly, he opened the first one. Inside was a check for the exact amount you’d received when signing the contract—$2 million for two years.

His chest tightened. So that damn $1 was enough to make you leave? Why?

Didn’t you say the money was meant to help you break free from your parents’ control? You wanted to save it to open a café, to buy a boat, to carve out a life of your own.

With a deep breath, he opened the second envelope. This was the one you had specifically instructed to be given to him. He unfolded the paper, hoping for answers, for clarity.

Instead, there was only one sentence:

“It’s not you. It’s me.”

Bucky scoffed, a bitter laugh escaping his lips. His grip on the paper tightened as his jaw clenched. What kind of joke is this? Of all people, he never thought he’d be the one on the receiving end of such a cliché. And didn’t everyone know? The person who said those words was usually the one placing blame.

So it is me. I’m the reason you left.

He pressed a hand to his forehead, closing his eyes as the weight of realization settled over him. He thought back to the countless times you’d listened to him, your quiet understanding, your patience. Had he ever done the same for you? Had he missed the signs that you were unhappy?

He cleared his throat, breaking the silence. “Did you see her face yesterday?” he asked, his voice low but steady.

“Yes,” the CEO replied, her expression unreadable.

“What did you see? Was she sad? Angry? Happy?”

The CEO took a moment before answering. “I sensed relief when she handed me the check.”

Bucky’s shoulders tensed, his chest constricting at her words. Relief? Was that all you felt after two years together?

“But,” she continued, her voice softening, “when she gave me the letter for you, I saw regret in her eyes.”

Bucky froze, those five words—I saw regret in her eyes—hitting him like a punch to the gut. He swallowed hard, his gaze dropping to the letter still clutched in his hand.

If you regretted it, why did you leave? Why didn’t you say anything? Was it really so unbearable to stay?

His thoughts spiraled as he sat there, motionless, staring at the remnants of what he thought was a stable arrangement. The unanswered questions twisted in his mind, leaving a hollow ache in their wake.

“Forgive my frankness, Mr. Barnes,” the CEO began, her tone professional yet slightly playful. “Since you’re officially single now, would you like me to add you back to the list?”

Bucky’s eyes darkened, and his jaw tightened as he leveled a cold glare at her. “Marriage is the last thing on my mind.”

The CEO nodded, her smile faint and understanding. “Of course. I apologize for asking.”

Bucky stood, adjusting his suit jacket with deliberate movements, signaling the end of the conversation. He turned to leave, but the CEO rose to her feet and extended her hand toward him.

“It’s been a privilege having you as our client, Mr. Barnes,” she said with a polite smile. “I hope our paths cross again.”

He paused, his eyes narrowing slightly as he regarded her. After a brief hesitation, he reached out and shook her hand, his grip firm but curt. “This is the last time I’ll be here.”

Her smile didn’t falter, remaining calm and composed. “Safe travels, Mr. Barnes. And thank you for using our services.”

Bucky released her hand without another word, his expression unreadable as he turned on his heel and strode toward the exit. His footsteps echoed in the quiet, elegant office, a stark reminder that this chapter of his life was closing for good.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

Bucky slid into the backseat of his car, running a hand through his hair in frustration. The driver glanced at him through the rearview mirror, hesitant but professional. “Where to, Mr. Barnes?”

Bucky exhaled sharply, leaning back against the seat. “To Grandpa’s house.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the car wove through the streets, Bucky stared out the window, lost in thought. His mind wandered to his grandfather, Paul—stubborn, sharp-tongued, and annoyingly perceptive. He wondered if the old man already knew you had left or if he was still blissfully unaware.

Ever since you met his family, you’d formed an immediate bond with Paul. The connection between you two had been almost effortless. You once told Bucky that, having never known your own grandparents, you’d always yearned for an elder figure in your life.

For Paul, who often clashed with Bucky during their 20-minute tolerance window, you were a revelation. You brought out a side of him Bucky rarely saw—a livelier, softer version of the strict, commanding patriarch. Paul saw in you the granddaughter he’d always wished for: someone who called him, visited him, and actually listened to his long-winded stories.

Yet even that bond hadn’t been enough to make you stay.

When the car pulled up to the grand estate, Bucky stepped out and made his way inside, his movements tense and deliberate. He headed toward Paul’s study, where the old man often spent his afternoons.

Pushing open the door, he paused. Paul sat in his wheelchair by the fireplace, glasses perched on his nose, reading a letter. The firelight cast warm hues across the room, highlighting the lined face of a man who had lived through decades of triumphs and disappointments.

Before Bucky could announce his presence, Paul’s voice broke the silence.

“She left, didn’t she?” The elder’s tone was heavy, filled with resignation. He crumpled the letter in his hands and tossed it into the flames, watching as it curled into ash.

Bucky froze, guilt knotting in his chest. “She… she said goodbye to you?”

Paul didn’t look up. “And about the agency.”

Bucky’s stomach dropped. His mind raced, scrambling for an explanation. Did Grandpa know everything?

“Grandpa, I can explain—”

“Shut up, you stupid boy!” Paul snapped, his voice rising with a force that belied his age. His hand moved to his chest as if to steady himself. “You fooled me twice, Bucky. Twice! First, you made me believe your marriage was real. Then, you made me believe I finally had a granddaughter.”

Bucky instinctively stepped closer, his hand resting gently on Paul’s shoulder, his other moving to massage the elder’s chest. “I’m sorry, Grandpa. I—”

Paul shook him off, his eyes blazing with disappointment. “And don’t get me started on that ridiculous matchmaking agency. It’s absurd! What happened to normal relationships? Real love?”

Bucky swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Paul’s voice cracked, the anger giving way to heartbreak. “You broke this old man’s heart, Bucky. I thought… I thought I could finally go in peace, knowing you had a wife. A good girl by your side. But now…”

He saw it with his own eyes—that Bucky and you were a perfect match. Turns out, it was all a lie. It broke him.

“Tell me,” Paul said, his voice trembling with a mix of anger and desperation, “does she mean anything to you? Or was it just a contract?”

Bucky hesitated, the weight of the question pressing down on him. He opened his mouth but no words came out.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, his disappointment deepening. “You know what? She was right to leave you for a single dollar.”

The words hit Bucky like a slap. His fists clenched at his sides, his jaw tightening. Everyone seemed to blame him for your departure—Grace, the agency, and now his own grandfather. What did I do that was so wrong?

He finally snapped. “If she didn’t mean anything to me, would I have walked out of a $100 billion meeting to go ask where she is?”

It hurt even more because he had lost his best friend. A wife was just a word to him, but a best friend? Yes. Yes, you were. You meant a lot to him, and to his grandfather as well. And you just left without a proper goodbye, as if he didn’t deserve one. He needed answers.

He even skipped a meeting worth billions of dollars. For him to miss it means you are worth more than billions to him.

Paul’s eyes widened, his expression shifting from anger to realization.

“Then what are you doing here?” Paul barked, his voice regaining its edge. “Go find her!”

Bucky stood, stunned into silence.

“Don’t come back until you’ve found her!” Paul continued, pointing toward the door. “And forget about the company. It can survive without you. She’s the one you need to fix this with.”

Bucky nodded stiffly, his expression a mix of determination and frustration. Without another word, he turned and strode out of the study, leaving Paul alone by the fire.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

As Bucky stepped out of his grandfather’s house, the weight of the conversation still hanging over him, his phone buzzed in his pocket. He took it out, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration before answering.

"Sir," came the voice of his head of security.

Bucky sighed, exhaustion creeping into his bones. "Tell me at least some good news," he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

"We found her."

The words hit him like a jolt of electricity. His pulse quickened, and for the first time in what felt like ages, a flicker of hope lit in his chest.

Bucky straightened up, his posture shifting from defeat to determination. "Where is she?" His voice was sharper now, his body leaning forward, eager for any hint of where you might be.

This was the news he’d been waiting for, the answer he desperately needed.

Join the taglist:

@thezombieprostitute

@bellamoret

@bucky-baby-barnes

@greatenthusiasttidalwave

@paryl

@pattiemac1

@kjah97

@danzer8705

@singsosworld

@mrsnikstan

@vicmc624

@cjand10

@wintercrows

@winchestert101

@rethasavedlives

@sjsmith56

@sarcasmoverlordxo

@buckybarnesfic

@angstangstbabeh

@everythingmybeloved

@tofuonfaiya

@longpondlibrary

@marvel-wifey-86

@jeremyrennermakesmesmile

@tasersloth

@diffidentphantom

@pklol

@ellosmile

@sebastians-love

@irishhappiness

@kmc1989

@440mxs-wife

@longpondlibrary

[whatiswrongwithpeople]

I keep going over the world we knew (p.2)

a player 230/ Thanos/ Su-Bong x fem!reader fic

summary: “It had always been him and her against the world. But if you've been fighting against the world for years, how do you react when you suddenly realize that your best friend has become your world?”

warnings: none really except the usual Thanos/Squid Game stuff. Maybe slightly ooc Thanos? , Written in my notes app.

note: not gonna lie, I originally planned for this to only have 2 parts BUT I decided taking my time with it and all that gives it a nice pace.

Hope you enjoy!!!

🏷️: @l5byrinth , @wpdarlingpan , @lollipopsandstuff

Part 1 , Part 3

The night after the second game was far too quiet for Thanos to ignore the gnawing feeling that had settled in his chest ever since coming back to the dorm. He had survived the games with a cold mix of calculated precision and blasting his brain to the moon with drugs. But neither the success , nor the growing amount of money in the ever present piggy bank was enough to drown out the nagging ache in his ribs when he thought of [Y/N].

His [Y/N].

The way she moved with a sense of confidence and purpose that was simply too authentic to be fake. The way she had shut him out so quickly, eyes never seeming to truly look at him. Gods did he long for that familiar gaze to land on him. To rediscover that warmth he had once found in it. By now it had been years since Thanos had last spoken to her—since he’d ruined everything. But the memories, the raw, untouched feelings, were still there. Unforgiven. Unwavering. Never truly gone.

And as much as he hated to admit it, he couldn’t keep pretending that this wasn’t affecting him. Not even with several of his colourful pills pumping through his system.

Thanos’ eyes drifted across the darkened room, only stopping when he had found [Y/N]’s form a few beds down from his. She was sitting there, still as stone, eyes staring straight ahead with that same unreadable expression she had been wearing ever since the first game. Not a single word had passed between them since their brief interaction during the last game. But ,despite how it might seem, Thanos wasn’t stupid. He could feel the tension in the air whenever their paths crossed.

He wasn’t used to feeling this way. Especially not when his survival instincts kicked in so loudly, demanding every ounce of his energy to focus on the prize. “Win the money , pay off your debt.” had become the silent mantra in his brain. But that was the thing with [Y/N], she had always been able to pull at the strings of something deep inside him, something far more complicated than any strategy or skill. Something deeply ,deeply personal.

“Hey do you think I could-“ Nam-Guy -or whatever his name was- popped into Thanos’ field of vision. With an annoyed sigh, the purple haired player stood up. “Not now.” He muttered, putting both of his hands on the boy’s shoulders, turning him to the bed next to his. “Talk to him instead.” Baffled Nam-Gyu looked over his shoulder, surprise in his voice as he exclaimed a “What-“. But Thanos was already halfway across the room, shoes making quiet thuds against the floor as he made his way over to [Y/N]’s cot.

“You know,” Thanos came to a halt on one of the lower steps that rested between the beds, resting his arms on [Y/N]’s mattress as he propped up his head. Thanos’ voice was calm. Almost too calm to [Y/N]’s ears, judging by the gravity of the situation they had found themselves in. “Staring at the wall isn't going to change anything."

Thanos leaned against the bed frame, his usual cocky smirk tugging at the corners of his lips as he watched [Y/N]. She was sitting still as a stone with an expression colder than ice. Not once had she bothered to look at him since he had approached her bed, and that infuriated him.

“Are you really gonna sit there like you don’t know who I am?” he drawled, his voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and annoyance. “You know, I’m starting to feel like a ghost. And I’m not really the type to fade into the background, you know?”

[Y/N] fought the urge to roll her eyes, choosing to ignore the purple haired pain-in-the-ass who she had once called her best friend.

“Well, if it helps, I can try and get a little more dramatic,” Thanos said, pushing himself off the bedframe in order to lean in closer, reducing the distance between them. “Maybe I’ll do a little tap dance or something. You seem like you’d appreciate the effort.”

At that [Y/N] finally glanced at him, but only for a brief moment, before turning her gaze back to the wall. "You’re a real piece of work, Su-Bong," she muttered under her breath, but still loud enough for him to catch the venom in her words. He chuckled.

“Yeah, I know. I’m one of a kind.” His voice was playful, but there was an edge to it, a challenge in his tone. “And I’m starting to think you don’t even remember who I am anymore.” [Y/N] shot him a glance, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Oh, I remember exactly who you are, Su-Bong. And that's the problem."

The words hit him like a splash of cold water, but he refused to let it show. He leaned in closer, deliberately invading her space, his eyes gleaming with that familiar cockiness. “And what’s that supposed to mean?”

She met his gaze with a fiery intensity. “It means that you left. You walked away, and I’m still here, cleaning up your mess. So yeah, I remember you. And I remember how it felt to have you pull away like I meant nothing.”

Thanos laughed, but it was dry, forced. “Jesus, you’ve got a way with words, don’t you? You know, I thought you’d be more fun to mess with, but I forgot how good you were at throwing guilt trips. Really good.”

“Guilt trips?” [Y/N] turned her body to face him fully now, her eyes flashing with a mix of fury and sheer hurt. “No, Su-Bong, this isn’t about guilt. It’s about the fact that you’re standing there, pretending like it’s all fine now, when you did leave. You disappeared, and now you expect everything to just magically go back to how it was? Is that it? You think I’ve been sitting here waiting for you to waltz back in with your pretty purple hair and expect me to just forgive you?”

Thanos smirked. “I don’t expect anything from you. But you might want to reconsider that little attitude of yours. It’s really not helping the situation.”

“You think I care about your situation?” she snapped, her voice louder. “You think I’ve been sitting here, all starry-eyed, just waiting for you to get your shit together? Newsflash: I’m done doing that. I’m done with you, Su-Bong.”

The weight of [Y/N]’s words hung heavy in the air, the tension between the estranged pair was palpable. Thanos was about to speak again, something sharp and cutting on the tip of his tongue, when the loudspeaker's monotone voice sliced through the silence, calling the players to line up for food.

Without as much as a glance, [Y/N] brushed past Thanos as though he were invisible, the force of her shoulder knocking him slightly off balance. Her gaze was firmly locked onto the middle of the room as she began walking toward the food line, every step measured, holding that unwavering confidence.

For a moment, Thanos stood there, frozen in place. The argument had been abruptly interrupted, but the sting of her words and her rejection lingered in the air like smoke. As the others began to shuffle toward the line, he realized there was nothing left to say—at least, not now. The silence between them was louder than any argument ever could be.

[duskholland]

Just wait until u get to season like 12 or 13 oh my god he gets so hot it's unreal

no stop it because i’ve seen the gifs and it has me gnawing on the walls

[moonstruckme]

hello! im not sure if you've done this before and if you have, i hope its ok to ask for more hehe but can i request rockstar poly marauders w a shy!reader and gets easily flustered when they show affection? thank u sm i really love all your poly marauders drabbles!!

Thank you for requesting angel <33

rockstar!marauders x shy!reader ♡ 1k words

The sound tech at this venue is nice. You liked her first for her pink hair and then for the easy way she motioned you over to help do the boys’ sound checks. You don’t think she needed the help; she only saw you standing off by herself and did a kind thing to make you feel less awkward. 

Now the boys are off in their dressing room, and you’re trailing contentedly behind her while she shows you how she sets up for shows. 

The bustle and ruckus of crews setting up before shows isn’t new to you. You’ve been with the boys since the beginning of their tour, but usually you stay out of the way, blending into walls or taking refuge in your boyfriends’ dressing room while they’re busy. You’ve never really gotten to know the actions the bustle and ruckus constitute. 

“Usually I help with lighting once I’m done with my own stuff,” the sound tech tells you. “It’s all programmed ahead of time, so really I’m just on standby in case something happens. Do the boys have a favorite color if I have to pick something?” 

You gnaw your lip, contemplative. “Sirius would probably like yellow, if you get the chance.” 

Her eyebrows shoot up. You know it’s not in the usual color palette of the boys’ shows. “Really?” 

“No.” You suck in a breath as a pair of arms wraps around your middle, releasing it when you realize it’s Sirius. “Not really. Minx, you know I hate yellow.” He smushes his face into your cheek. “Joke’s on you though, I look good in every color.” 

“Yellow certainly least,” James teases. He steps into your field of vision wearing his concert outfit. Jeans and a tight t-shirt just short enough to tease a sliver of abdomen. Of all the fans who will get to see him looking so handsome tonight, you’re glad you’re one of them. 

“Anyway,” he says, grinning, “we have a very important question for you both. No pressure.” 

“Well, some pressure,” Sirius says. 

You look at your sound tech friend. Like most crew, she’s largely unaffected by the rockstars currently sharing in casual repartee in front of her. Her eyes don’t appear to dip to James’ stomach or trace the myriad of tattoos you know are showing through Sirius’ sheer top. If anything, she looks only faintly amused by the way the band’s lead singer is mushing tiny, soft kisses into the skin by your ear. Your cheeks warm. 

“What’s the question?” you ask, dreading the reply. 

Sirius turns you in his arms, taking you by the shoulders and levelling you with a very serious look. “What is the hottest instrument for someone to play?” 

Your sound tech friend barks a laugh. “Bass,” she says. “No question.” 

James’ eyebrows fly up, his expression one of utter disbelief, but Sirius only says swiftly, “Wrong. You know what it is, don’t you, gorgeous?” 

Your shoulders gravitate upwards at the moniker. “You can’t ask me to pick between you.” 

“Don’t think of it as picking between us,” he says. “Just, which is the hottest? Objectively.” 

“I can’t be objective,” you plead. 

“Does anyone know what time it is? I can’t seem to find a clock in this whole place.” You turn your head as Remus emerges from their dressing room, blowing smoke from the corner of his mouth. “Oh.” He blinks when he sees you, waving to dispel the smog. “Sorry, dovey. Where’ve you been?” 

“I’ve been here,” you say, voice softening. Sirius makes a quiet sound and hugs you again. 

“You’re cute,” he murmurs, low enough that only you can hear. Your face flames. 

“It’s quarter ‘til,” the sound tech offers helpfully. 

Remus turns to her with a smile he’ll never understand the power of. “Thank you.” 

“We’re conducting a poll on which instrument is the hottest,” James informs him. He jerks his thumb toward the sound tech. “She says bass.” 

Remus’ grin turns smug. “Quite right. What’s your pick, dove?” 

You’re mute and melting, hot enough by now that you wish you could evaporate into steam and float away through the vents. 

“She won’t say,” Sirius sighs dramatically, breath warm against your cheek. 

“Oh.” Remus seems to wisen to your plight. “It’s not really playing fair, is it? She can hardly be objective.” 

“Right,” you agree quickly. 

“But angel,” says James, bewildered, “guitar is classic.” 

“I’ll tell you what’s not fair,” Sirius argues. “For anyone to say anything other than the front man! We’re chosen for our hotness!” 

“Well, that’s not strictly true, is it?” 

“Yeah?” Sirius has that shit-eating grin, like he’s winding James up in anticipation of hauling him into a broom closet. You’re only glad it’s not directed at you. “You got something to say, Potter?”

“Sorry,” Remus apologizes to your sound tech friend on their behalf, touching a hand to Sirius’ back to guide you both towards the dressing room. James follows. 

“You’re good,” she laughs. “Nice to meet you, y/n.” 

“You too,” you say, cringing at the unintentional softness of your own voice. 

“Who was that?” Sirius asks as James closes the door to their dressing room behind you. “Have you made a new friend?” 

You groan, flopping down onto the posh-looking, uncomfortable couch and covering your face with your hands. “I was trying to.” 

“It looked like it was going well,” James says. “Maybe you can hang out with her again while we’re onstage.” 

“I can’t now,” you mumble between your palms. 

“Why not?” 

“Because,” says Remus, as he sits beside your head and begins smoothing your baby hairs with his fingers, “we’ve embarrassed her.” You let your hands slip down enough to see him, and he smiles at you. “I don’t think she’ll hold it against you, dovey. She seemed nice.” 

“You would think so.” Sirius plucks the cigarette from between Remus’ fingers, taking a drag before it can burn out. “She picked your instrument.” 

Remus shrugs, smug again. “That helps.” 

Sirius squints at him spitefully. He sits next to your knees where they’re flung over the arm of the couch. “Don’t let us spoil your new friend for you,” he says, sincerely. “She loves you already, I can tell. You’re perfect.” 

“You’re biased,” you counter, face heating again. 

Sirius grins like he can tell and reaches down to tug you upwards. He grasps you with a roughness for which he has no follow through, kissing you sweetly with his fingers bunched in your jacket.

“Wrong,” he says, lips moving against yours. “I know how to be objective.”

[geneviveleocardius]

i want y’all to know that this isn’t okay, i’m not romanticizing it, much less normalizing it in any way.

simon riley never saw himself as a good man. not even close. he knew his flaws too well—sharp-edged and cutting like the knives he carried. you deserved better, he told himself a hundred times, but selfishness had sunk its claws deep into him. you were his, and the thought of you walking away felt like a death sentence.

lately, though, he couldn’t ignore the signs. you weren’t as warm as you used to be, weren’t lingering in his arms like before. your laughter, once so easy and free around him, had quieted. he told himself it wasn’t a big deal, that you’d come around. but when he caught you sitting alone, staring out the window with an expression he couldn’t read, doubt began to gnaw at him.

you were slipping away.

he couldn’t let that happen.

that night, when you crawled into bed beside him, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you close. his grip was firm, unyielding. you stiffened at first but didn’t pull away.

“what’s wrong with you lately?” you asked, your voice soft, almost cautious.

he knew what you wanted—what you’d confided to him during one of those rare moments where walls had come down. you wanted a family, a child to hold and love. he’d scoffed at the idea back then, brushed it off as something far too tender for someone like him. but now… now he saw it differently.

he saw it as a way to keep you.

he didn’t answer right away, his face buried against the curve of your neck. he breathed you in, grounding himself.

“you’re mine,” he said finally, voice low and rough. “you know that, don’t you?”

you shifted slightly, trying to put some distance between you, but his hold tightened. “simon—”

“no,” he interrupted, his tone sharper now. “i mean it. you’re mine. you don’t get to leave me.”

“i’m not trying to leave you,” you muttered, but he didn’t bought it.

he didn’t believe you. not fully. and that fear, that bone-deep terror of losing you, made him desperate.

“simon,” you murmured, your voice laced with sleep.

“shh,” he whispered, pressing a kiss to the back of your neck. “just relax.”

you didn’t resist as he tugged you closer, his hand sliding down to grip your thigh, spreading you beneath him. his movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring the moment.

he didn’t speak. he didn’t want to give you a chance to question him. instead, he focused on the feel of your skin, the way your body responded to his touch. he buried himself in you, his breath hot against your shoulder as he moved, his grip on your hips possessive.

he knew exactly what he was doing.

he wasn’t thinking about the consequences, not fully. all he could focus on was the need to keep you tethered to him. and he knew what you wanted—had heard it in the way you spoke about children, about the family you dreamed of.

this was his way of giving it to you, of ensuring you’d stay.

when it was over, he stayed inside you, his hand splayed over your stomach as if to seal the promise he’d just made—without words, without asking. you didn’t say anything, your breathing still uneven as you lay there, and he took your silence as acceptance.

he told himself it was for the best. you’d understand eventually. and when the time came, when you held that baby in your arms, you’d stay. you’d have to.

because simon riley didn’t lose the things that mattered to him.

he’d make sure of it.

[solxamber]

Hello, I love your writing! The isekai fics are so fun, Vil's was my favorite! Can I request the twst boys (+ staff if you have inspiration for it) comforting a reader who just breaks down in tears after the seventh overblot is resolved because they haven't had much support and time to process being in a new world away from everything they've ever known, were basically told to play therapist by Crowley, and have had their life and their friends lives at risk. Lots of angst but mostly comfort in the end! Thank you if you write this!

7th Overblot Aftermath

Characters: All NRC + Staff

hi! and thank you so much 🫶 vil was the first one I wrote I'm glad you liked it. I love this request and I hope you like it <3

The aftermath of Malleus’s overblot felt surreal. The sky had cleared, but the air was still heavy with the weight of what had just happened. It was over. Finally over. You had seen seven overblots now, each one pushing you and your friends to the edge, forcing you to confront darkness that shouldn’t have existed in people you had come to care for.

But this one had felt different. Maybe it was because of the sheer power Malleus wielded, or maybe it was because of how fragile the world around you had seemed as you fought to bring him back. You had nearly lost him—nearly lost everyone. And you were so, so tired.

Your knees gave out, hitting the ground with a soft thud. You stared at the grass beneath you, eyes blurring with unshed tears. Everyone was celebrating the victory, but all you could think about was the sheer exhaustion gnawing at your bones, the burden of playing mediator, therapist, and survivor all at once. You hadn’t signed up for this. You had been thrown into this world without warning, away from everything you had ever known, and you hadn’t had a moment to breathe since.

“I’m so tired…” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

And then it all came crashing down. The walls you had so carefully built around yourself crumbled, and before you knew it, tears were streaming down your face. Quiet at first, but then the sobs came harder, your shoulders shaking as you finally let yourself break.

You barely registered footsteps approaching until a pair of hands rested gently on your shoulders.

Ace Trappola

"Hey, hey," Ace’s voice broke the silence, softer than you’d ever heard it before. “What’s wrong? You’re... crying.”

You hiccuped, trying to suppress the sobs that wouldn’t stop coming. Ace was never one for emotional moments—at least, not the serious kind. He usually joked his way out of anything too heavy, but right now, he seemed out of his depth.

“C’mon, don’t cry,” he mumbled, his voice awkward but concerned. “We’ve been through worse, right? I mean, we beat Malleus of all people. If we can get through that, we can get through anything.”

He crouched beside you, his hand patting your shoulder in an attempt to be comforting, though he was clearly fumbling. “Just… talk to us, okay? We’re here. You don’t have to keep everything inside.”

You shook your head, not trusting your voice, but the tears kept coming. Ace sighed, running a hand through his hair, clearly unsure of what else to say, but he stayed close, his presence enough to remind you that you weren’t alone.

Deuce Spade

Deuce knelt down beside you, his expression full of concern. His hand hovered over your back, unsure whether to touch you, as if he was afraid of making things worse. He eventually settled on patting your back gently, his voice unsteady but earnest.

“It’s okay,” Deuce whispered, his usual tough demeanor nowhere to be found. “It’s gonna be okay. We’re all here for you. I—I didn’t realize how much you’ve been going through.”

His face was a mix of worry and guilt, as if he felt bad for not noticing sooner. “You don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. You’ve been looking out for us this whole time, and I… I didn’t see how much that’s been hurting you.”

You couldn’t respond, your throat tight with emotion. Deuce, seeing your tears still falling, gently shifted closer, offering the only comfort he knew how: his presence. “We’re friends, right? And friends help each other. So… let us help you, okay?”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle appeared beside you, his normally rigid posture softer now. He knelt down, placing a hand on your arm, his touch surprisingly tentative. He looked at you for a moment, eyes filled with unspoken regret before he spoke.

“I should have seen how much you’ve been carrying,” Riddle began, his voice uncharacteristically gentle. “You’ve been through so much—more than any of us realized. I’m sorry I didn’t notice sooner.”

His words were measured, careful, as if he was trying not to overwhelm you. “I’ve been so focused on maintaining order, on fixing things after my own mistakes, that I failed to recognize how much weight you’ve been holding on your own.”

He sighed softly, guilt clear in his voice. “You’ve been our support through everything, but you’ve had no one to lean on yourself. That’s not fair to you, and it’s not something you should have had to do alone.”

Riddle stayed close, his hand still resting on your arm, offering comfort in the only way he knew how—through quiet sincerity.

Trey Clover

Trey crouched down beside you, his presence calm and steady, like always. He didn’t say anything at first, just rested a hand gently on your shoulder, waiting for your sobs to slow. He wasn’t one for grand gestures or overly emotional words, but he didn’t need them. His quiet support spoke volumes.

“You’ve been doing a lot for everyone,” Trey said softly, his voice low and warm. “More than anyone should have to. It’s okay to feel overwhelmed.”

He offered you a tissue, waiting patiently as you wiped your face, though the tears kept coming. Trey’s hand stayed on your shoulder, a grounding weight.

“You don’t have to keep everything bottled up,” he continued, his tone gentle. “We’re all in this together, you know? If you need a break, if you need someone to listen… we’re here. I’m here.”

There was no judgment in his voice, no impatience, just the quiet assurance that he’d be there for you whenever you needed.

Cater Diamond

Cater slid down beside you, his usual carefree smile nowhere in sight. Instead, his eyes were soft with concern as he pulled out a tissue and handed it to you.

“Y’know, it’s okay to break down sometimes,” Cater said quietly, watching as you wiped your face. His voice was unusually subdued, and for once, there was no joking, no lightheartedness to deflect from the situation.

“We’ve all been through a lot,” he continued, “but I think you’ve been carrying more than the rest of us. Crowley’s been dumping all this stuff on you, expecting you to handle everything, but you shouldn’t have to. Not alone.”

Cater leaned back slightly, his expression thoughtful. “You’ve been the glue holding us together. But who’s been holding you together, huh?”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to answer, but the tears just kept coming. Cater didn’t push. He just sat beside you, his presence steady, offering you the space to cry without judgment.

“It’s okay to let it out,” he said, his voice soft. “We’ve got you now.”

Leona Kingscholar

Leona crouched down next to you, his green eyes narrowing as he took in the sight of your trembling form. He let out an exasperated sigh, as if annoyed by the situation—not by you, but by everything you’d been forced to endure.

“Ugh, this is exactly why I hate people like Crowley,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “Always dumping stuff on others and never dealin’ with the mess themselves.”

He placed a heavy, warm hand on your back, his grip firm but comforting. “Listen, you ain’t weak for feelin’ like this. You’ve done more than enough, and I don’t blame you for breakin’ down. Hell, anyone else would’ve lost it way before you did.”

Leona’s tone softened slightly, his voice low and steady. “You’re tougher than most of the idiots I know. So, stop thinkin’ you gotta do everything yourself. Just rest already.” He grumbled something under his breath about humans overworking themselves, but stayed close by, a quiet, protective presence.

Ruggie Bucchi

Ruggie hunkered down next to you, his usual cheeky grin replaced by something much softer. He clicked his tongue, shaking his head lightly. “Sheesh, you really let all that pile up on ya, huh?”

He gave you a light nudge with his elbow, playful but careful. “Look, you don’t gotta carry everything by yourself, ya know? I get it—you’re tough. But even tough people gotta take a break now and then, yeah?”

Ruggie’s eyes gleamed with empathy, his voice taking on a gentle, comforting tone you didn’t hear often from him. “Life’s been a little unfair to ya, huh? I mean, Crowley dumpin’ all that responsibility on you… it’s not right. But you’re here, and you’re still standin’, even after all that.”

He flashed you a small, reassuring smile. “But you don’t gotta stand alone. You’ve got us now. Lemme know if you need a break—I’ll hustle for the both of us.” Ruggie winked, his familiar mischievousness flickering back into his expression, but the concern in his eyes remained genuine.

Jack Howl

Jack’s ears twitched as he knelt down beside you, his tail swaying slowly with a sense of unease. He wasn’t great with words, but the sight of you breaking down hit him harder than he expected. “Hey,” he began softly, his voice gruff but sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

His hand hovered awkwardly for a second before settling firmly on your shoulder. Jack wasn’t sure how to help, but he wanted to—more than anything. “I know you’ve been strong… probably stronger than anyone should have to be. But it’s okay to let it out.”

He shifted slightly, trying to find the right words. “I… I know how it feels to be away from everything familiar. To feel like you don’t have anyone to lean on. But that’s not true. You’ve got me. You’ve got all of us.”

His grip on your shoulder tightened briefly, like he was silently reassuring you of his support. “You don’t have to face all of this alone. We’re here for you. And I’m not gonna let anything happen to you—or anyone else.”

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul approached you cautiously, his usual calm and collected demeanor faltering as he saw you crumbling under the weight of everything. His steps were slow, calculated, but there was an unusual tightness in his chest. He knelt down beside you, his expression torn between concern and his usual polished facade.

“You’ve… been carrying quite the burden, haven’t you?” he asked softly, though there was a certain edge to his voice, almost as if he was angry—at the world, at Crowley, at everything that had led to this moment.

His hand hovered over your shoulder for a moment before he rested it gently, almost hesitantly. “I won’t lie to you,” he continued, his voice quieter now. “I’ve always admired how capable you are. But no one should be expected to handle what you have. Crowley’s negligence… it’s unacceptable.”

Azul glanced away briefly, his sharp gaze softening. “But you’re not alone anymore. You have us. You have me. And I promise, I won’t let anyone take advantage of you again—not without consequence.”

There was a sincerity in his words that Azul rarely revealed, a vulnerability hidden beneath his usual polished exterior. “You don’t have to keep being strong on your own. Allow yourself to lean on someone else for once.”

Jade Leech

Jade knelt gracefully beside you, his usual serene smile gone, replaced with a look of quiet concern. His movements were slow, deliberate, as though he was gauging how best to approach the situation. “My, you’ve been holding this all in for quite some time, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice as smooth as ever, but with an underlying warmth that was rare for him.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, his fingers light but reassuring. “You’ve done more than anyone could ask of you. It’s no surprise that you feel overwhelmed.”

Jade’s gaze flickered over your trembling form, his mismatched eyes studying you carefully. “It’s a great deal of responsibility to bear, especially in a world so far from your own. But… you’re not alone.”

There was a softness in his tone that you didn’t expect, his usual composed demeanor shifting. “You’ve been strong for everyone else. Now, allow yourself to rest. Let us take care of things for a while. You’ve certainly earned it.”

He smiled gently, his hand still resting on your shoulder, steady and reliable. “And do not worry. Should anyone try to take advantage of your kindness again, they will have me to deal with.”

Floyd Leech

Floyd approached you in his typical loose, carefree stride, but when he saw the state you were in, his usual playful grin vanished. His steps quickened, and before you knew it, he was crouched down right in front of you, his mismatched eyes widening in genuine concern. “Whoa, hey, hey! What’s this?” he asked, tilting his head as he examined your tear-streaked face.

Without hesitation, he pulled you into a tight hug—so sudden and fierce that it left you breathless for a second. “You can’t cry like this, Shrimpy. It doesn’t suit you,” he said, his voice unusually soft, though still carrying that familiar teasing edge.

Floyd squeezed you tighter, his long arms wrapping around you like a lifeline. “If things are bad, you should’ve just told me. I’d go squeeze the life outta Crowley for you—he deserves it.” He chuckled, but his grip didn’t loosen, like he was afraid you might fall apart if he let go.

He leaned back slightly, still holding you close. “You don’t gotta be strong all the time, you know? You’re my friend, and I don’t let my friends break down alone. So, whenever you feel like this, just come find me. I’ll squeeze the sadness right outta ya.” His words, though playful, carried a weight of sincerity that made your heart ache a little less.

Vil Schoenheit

Vil stood before you, his expression unreadable, though his eyes held a rare softness. “You’ve let yourself reach this point of exhaustion,” he sighed, shaking his head slightly. “It’s not your fault, but you shouldn’t have been forced to carry this burden alone.”

He knelt beside you, his touch gentle but firm as he took your hand. “You’ve been strong for so long, but even the strongest need time to recuperate. Don’t mistake vulnerability for weakness. It takes great strength to admit you need help.”

Vil brushed a stray tear from your cheek, his voice dropping to a softer tone. “You’ve given so much of yourself, but now, it’s time to prioritize your own well-being. I won’t let you neglect yourself any longer. Remember, even a diamond can crack if too much pressure is applied.”

Rook Hunt

Rook’s eyes sparkled with emotion as he knelt gracefully beside you, his usual exuberance tempered by an uncharacteristic stillness. “Ah, mon ami, you have been carrying such a heavy heart all this time,” he whispered, his voice a melodic lilt.

He placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch light, almost reverent. “To be in a world so foreign, surrounded by danger, yet still you’ve stood tall… such beauty in your strength. But even the most resilient soul must rest.”

Rook smiled warmly, leaning closer as if to share a secret. “Let us lift this burden from your shoulders, together. You are not alone. I, too, am by your side, always watching, always ready to catch you should you stumble.”

Epel Felmier

Epel crouched down next to you, his face tight with concern. He scratched the back of his head awkwardly, not used to comforting others but determined nonetheless. “You shouldn’t have had to go through all this,” he muttered, his country drawl creeping into his voice. “Crowley’s a real piece of work, throwin’ all that on ya.”

He reached out, offering a hand in his own shy way. “You’ve been tougher than most, and I admire that. But that don’t mean you gotta keep it all bottled up. It’s okay to feel this way. We’re all here for ya, and I’m not lettin’ anyone mess with you anymore.”

Epel’s expression softened, his voice gentler now. “You’ve got us, so don’t think you’re alone in this. We’ll face it all together.”

Kalim Al-Asim

Kalim immediately rushed to your side, concern written all over his face. “Oh no! You’ve been carrying all this by yourself? Why didn’t you tell me?” he exclaimed, kneeling down and grabbing your hands with both of his, his usual exuberance tempered by a rare sincerity.

He gave you a bright, reassuring smile. “You’ve been so strong for everyone else, but it’s okay to take a break. You don’t have to do everything alone—you’ve got us! And I promise, from now on, we’re all going to make sure you’re okay too.”

Kalim’s warm eyes sparkled with optimism. “Let’s go celebrate once you feel better! Something fun and happy—just to take your mind off everything. I’ll plan the best party ever, and you can just relax, okay?”

Jamil Viper

Jamil crouched down beside you, his dark eyes watching you carefully, as if assessing your every emotion. He sighed softly, his voice low and calm. “You’ve been under more pressure than anyone should have to deal with, and none of it was your fault.”

He rested a hand on your shoulder, his touch firm and grounding. “You shouldn’t have had to bear all this alone, but you don’t have to anymore. I understand what it’s like to carry more than you should.”

Jamil’s eyes softened, though his expression remained calm and composed. “From now on, you can rely on us. I won’t let things spiral out of control again, and I won’t let Crowley push you to your limits anymore. You deserve to take a step back and breathe.”

Idia Shroud

Idia stood awkwardly at a distance at first, his usual nervous fidgeting even more pronounced as he saw you breaking down. He hesitated before kneeling beside you, keeping his hands to himself. “I, uh… I get it,” he muttered, voice quieter than usual. “Feeling like the world’s too much to handle? Yeah, I’ve been there.”

He shifted uncomfortably but spoke with genuine understanding. “You’ve been through way more than anyone should. And, uh, it’s okay to not be okay. You don’t have to act like everything’s fine all the time.”

Idia’s blue flames flickered a bit brighter as he added, “If you need to… y’know, not deal with everything, I’ve got games and stuff to help you chill out. No judgment. Just… take it easy, okay?”

Ortho Shroud

Ortho hovered closer, his usual upbeat tone shifting to something far more gentle. “You’ve done so much, and I know it’s been really hard on you,” he said softly, his mechanical voice somehow conveying warmth.

He floated down beside you, his small hand resting lightly on your shoulder. “But you’re not alone anymore! You’ve got big brother and me, and we’ll help you through everything. You don’t have to carry all this by yourself.”

Ortho gave you a bright smile, his eyes glowing softly. “Let me help you feel better! We can work together, and you can lean on us whenever you need to.”

Malleus Draconia

Malleus approached you slowly, his imposing presence softened by the genuine concern in his eyes. He knelt gracefully beside you, his voice low and soothing. “You have been through much, more than anyone should bear. It is no wonder you feel as though the weight is too much.”

He extended a hand, his fingers brushing gently against your arm. “You are not alone in this world. I understand what it is to feel isolated, but you have friends, and you have me.”

Malleus’s gaze softened further, his voice almost a whisper. “I am here for you, as are the others. Rest now, and let us share in your burden. No harm shall come to you as long as I stand by your side.”

Lilia Vanrouge

Lilia floated down beside you with a lightness that contrasted the gravity of the situation. His usual playful demeanor faded, replaced by quiet empathy. “Ah, little one,” he murmured, his voice soft and filled with affection. “You’ve been carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

He rested a hand gently on your head, giving it a comforting pat. “You’ve done well, more than anyone could have asked of you. But now, it’s time to let go of some of that burden. There’s no shame in needing help.”

Lilia smiled gently, his eyes twinkling with warmth. “You’re not alone, not anymore. We’ll protect you. You can lean on us when you need to.”

Silver

Silver knelt beside you, his calm eyes filled with quiet understanding. “You’ve been strong for a long time,” he said softly, his voice low and soothing. “But you don’t have to be strong all the time.”

He placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder, his touch steady and grounding. “It’s okay to let yourself feel overwhelmed. It doesn’t mean you’re weak—it means you’ve been through too much.”

Silver’s eyes softened as he spoke. “You have friends here, people who care about you. You can rely on us. I’ll be here, watching over you, so you can rest.”

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek approached you with his usual fervor but hesitated when he saw your tears. His sharp voice softened, though it still carried his typical intensity. “Human! You have been through much, but you must remember—you are not alone in this!”

He stood tall beside you, his green eyes blazing with determination. “You have shown strength, but it is not weak to ask for help! Lord Malleus would never allow you to suffer alone, and neither will I!”

Sebek crossed his arms, standing like a guardian at your side. “You are under the protection of Lord Malleus, and by extension, my protection! No harm will come to you now.”

Crowley

Crowley fluttered over, his usual flamboyant demeanor subdued as he saw your distress. “Ah, my dear prefect,” he began, wringing his hands nervously. “It seems that perhaps I’ve… placed more on your shoulders than I should have.”

He knelt beside you, his expression uncharacteristically somber. “You’ve done so much for this school, more than anyone could have asked of you. And for that, I owe you a great debt.”

Crowley’s voice softened, uncharacteristically sincere. “But now, it’s time for me to take some responsibility. You’ve more than earned your rest. From now on, I’ll make sure you have the support you need.”

Divus Crewel

Crewel knelt beside you, his sharp eyes softened with concern. “You’ve been through hell, pup,” he said, his voice low but firm. “And it’s no surprise that you’re feeling the strain.”

He reached out and adjusted your collar with practiced precision, as if he could fix your emotional state as easily as he could fix your appearance. “You’ve shown remarkable strength, but even the strongest need a break."

Crewel’s voice took on a more gentle tone as he gave your shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “You’re not expected to bear the weight of the world on your own, pup. You’ve more than proven yourself, but now it’s time for you to let others shoulder some of that burden. I won’t allow anyone to exploit your loyalty or determination again.”

He straightened up, his steely demeanor still present but tempered with warmth. “You’ve got me in your corner now. If anyone dares push you to the brink again, they’ll have to deal with me. Understood?”

Mozus Trein

Trein approached slowly, his usual stern expression softened with concern as he adjusted his glasses. “You’ve been under undue stress, haven’t you?” he observed in his deep, calming voice. “No one should be forced to handle such pressure alone.”

He knelt beside you, his demeanor fatherly as he rested a hand on your arm. “This world has not been kind to you, I see that now. But you’ve handled it all with remarkable resilience. However, even the strongest minds and hearts need time to recover.”

Trein sighed deeply, his tone softening further. “I will ensure that you are given that time, without further demands placed on you. You’ve done more than enough.”

Ashton Vargas

Vargas came over with his usual boisterous energy, but seeing you in distress made him pause. His expression softened, and he knelt down beside you. “Hey, hey! What’s all this about, huh?” he said, his voice a bit gentler than usual. “You’ve been holding up the team for too long, I see. That’s a heavy weight, and it’s no wonder you’re feeling tired.”

He placed a strong, reassuring hand on your back. “You’re tougher than you think, but even the toughest need a break sometimes. You’ve done amazing—really! But now, it’s time to rest up and let others carry the load for a bit.”

Vargas smiled warmly, his usual energy tempered with sincerity. “You’ve earned it, champ. We’re not leaving you behind. We’ll get through this together.”

Sam

Sam quietly appeared beside you, his usual playful smile replaced by something softer, more caring. “Well now, looks like you’ve been carryin’ quite the burden, huh?” he said in his deep, smooth voice.

He crouched down next to you, his hand resting on your shoulder with a firm but gentle grip. “You’ve been strong for everyone else, but you can let that go for a bit. No shame in feelin’ overwhelmed.”

Sam’s eyes twinkled kindly, and he gave you a warm smile. “Remember, you’ve got friends, and we’re all here for you. Anytime you need a little pick-me-up, you know where to find me. No more carryin’ this all by yourself, alright?”

Grim

Grim strutted over, his ears twitching as he noticed the tears on your face. “Oi, what’s this?” he huffed, trying to sound nonchalant but clearly concerned. “You’re not supposed to be cryin’. You’re supposed to be tough, like me!”

He hesitated for a moment, unsure of how to handle the situation, before awkwardly patting your arm with his paw. “Uh... stop bein’ all sad, okay? You’ve been through a lot, but you’re still here, right? And that’s ‘cause you’ve got me, the Great Grim! I mean, you’re my henchhuman, so obviously you’re tough enough to handle anything!”

He puffed out his chest, trying to inject some of his usual bravado into the situation. “I’ll take care of things next time! No need to worry. Just... stop cryin’, alright? It’s weird. I’m supposed to be the one gettin’ pampered, not the other way around!”

Despite his tough words, Grim stayed by your side, his tail flicking nervously. “But, y’know, I guess... if you need to cry, that’s fine too. Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

Masterlist

[mythicalmaven]

hiya! Could i please have number 1 with charles leclerc from the prompt list please? Extra smutty with a super needy reader please xxx

Racing Pulse - Charles LeClerc (request)

Masterlist ↳pairing: charles leclerc x female!driver!reader ↳word count: 1,9K ↳prompts used: 1 - 'Use my thigh" ↳warnings: reader is an f1 academy driver, charles and her are friends, thigh riding, voyeurism (kind of? if you count charles letting her use his thigh), masturbation (sort of) ↳summary: The reader is a driver for the f1 academy & finds herself very very sexually frustrated before the race, leading to Charles offering her a way to relief herself.

The roar of engines echoes through the garage, a constant reminder of the race ticking closer with every passing second. But no matter how hard you try to focus, your mind keeps wandering, pulled back to the gnawing frustration that’s been simmering beneath the surface. You’re pacing, restless, the usual pre-race jitters replaced by something far more distracting. You’re wound so tight you think you might snap, and it’s only making the tension worse.

Just as you were about to kick against the wall, you catch Charles watching you from across the room. His eyes narrow, noticing your agitation, and before you can look away, he’s already making his way over, concern laced in his steady stride. “You look like you’re about to combust,” he says, his voice pitched low, so only you can hear. “What’s going on?”

You roll your eyes, trying to brush off his teasing, but the tension inside you only tightens. "Nothing, nothing," you huff, attempting to sound normal, but the frustration seeps through. "Everything is going peachy."

Charles raises an eyebrow, clearly not buying it. "Yeah, totally, that's why you were about to kick a table, huh?" he quips, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

A frustrated sigh escapes you, and you run a hand through your hair, the pent-up energy making it impossible to stay still. "Okay, fine," you admit, glancing around to make sure no one else is within earshot. "I'm just... sexually frustrated, alright?"

He blinks, then a laugh bubbles out of him, not mocking but genuinely amused by your candid confession. "Seriously? That’s what’s got you all twisted up?"

You huff again, this time more at yourself than at him. "Yes, Charles. And it’s driving me insane. And no, I’m not joking."

His laughter fades, but the smile remains, a little softer now. "I could help with that, you know," he says, surprising you with the seriousness in his tone.

You furrow your brow, tilting your head to the side. "Do you, though? I mean, this isn’t just some casual frustration. I need... well, you know."

Charles steps closer, his expression unreadable, but his eyes are locked on yours. "Yeah, I know," he says simply, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. As he looked at you, leaning against the wall, he moved to the table near you, leaning against it with his backside, his hands behind him on the table to hold him up.

You blink, processing his words. "Wouldn't it be weird," you start, hesitating slightly, "You know, most friends don’t just... do that. And besides, we don't even have time to go anywhere private, the race is starting soon"

He chuckles, the sound low and warm. "Friends are supposed to help each other out, aren’t they?"

You open your mouth to protest, but he’s pulling you in by your wrist, his voice dropping to a whisper. "And even if you let me help, you wouldn’t have to go anywhere."

You raise an eyebrow, confusion flickering across your face. "Charles, how—?"

"Use my thigh," he murmurs, his tone calm but with an edge of something darker. His gaze flickers to the shadows around you, the secluded corner of the garage where the angle and low light provide a surprising amount of privacy. "No one would be able to see from here. And with the noise out there, it’ll just look like we’re talking, getting close to hear each other better."

Your breath catches, the idea sparking something deep within you. The tension that’s been gnawing at you suddenly has an outlet, and the suggestion is as thrilling as it is scandalous.

For a moment, you hesitate, the absurdity of the situation battling with the undeniable pull of desire. But Charles's gaze is steady, reassuring, and there's something in the way he looks at you—like this is just another challenge, another hurdle to overcome together.

You swallow hard, nodding ever so slightly. The moment the decision is made, Charles shifts closer, his hands finding your waist as he guides you to straddle his thigh. The heat of his body seeps through the fabric of your suit, and the tension you’ve been battling for hours seems to tighten and ease all at once.

“Just relax,” Charles murmurs, his voice low and husky, the vibration of his words sending a shiver down your spine. He pulls you closer until you’re pressed up against him, the thickness of his thigh positioned perfectly between your legs. “No one can see a thing, I promise.”

You let out a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself as his hands settle on your hips. He gives an experimental roll of his thigh, and the friction against your clothed core draws a sharp gasp from your lips. The sensation is maddening, just enough to stoke the fire that’s been smoldering inside you, but not nearly enough to satisfy.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear. “Feels good, doesn’t it?” he whispers, his breath hot against your skin. “I can feel how much you need this.”

You bite your lip, trying to keep quiet, but he’s relentless. His hands guide your movements, encouraging you to grind against him, each subtle shift sending sparks of pleasure through your body. The friction is delicious, the pressure just right, and it’s all the more intense because of how forbidden it feels, knowing anyone could walk by at any moment.

“Charles,” you breathe out, your voice trembling with a mixture of desperation and disbelief. You feel him lean in, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.

“Let go,” he murmurs, his tone dropping to a seductive rumble. “No one can hear you over the engines. No one’s watching. It’s just us.”

His words are your undoing. You start to move with more purpose, pressing down harder, seeking out that sweet spot that will tip you over the edge. Charles tightens his grip on your hips, guiding you with a slow, deliberate rhythm that’s both torturous and perfect.

You begin to rock your hips against Charles’s thigh, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through your body. The need that’s been gnawing at you for days flares up, making you desperate, and you can’t help but lean your head on his shoulder, seeking the comfort of his warmth as you move. Each grind sends a wave of heat rushing through you, and you cling to him, trying to suppress the whimpers that threaten to escape.

Charles’s breath hitches slightly, but he stays composed, his hands steady on your hips as he guides your movements. “Look at you,” he murmurs, his voice low and sultry, lips brushing against your ear. “So needy, so desperate… What’s got you so worked up like this?”

You let out a small, frustrated whine, your voice strained with need. “I-I haven't really had.. any sex lately,” you admit, your words barely a whisper as you press yourself harder against him, trying to find the relief you crave.

Charles chuckles softly, the sound vibrating against your ear, sending a shiver down your spine. “Poor thing,” he coos, a teasing edge to his tone. “You know, I could always help you with that… if you want. All you have to do is say the word.”

You bite your lip, suppressing a moan as the pleasure builds, the fabric of your clothes rubbing deliciously against your throbbing core. The wetness between your legs is undeniable now, soaking through your panties, your racing suit and onto his thigh. You know he can feel it too, and the realization only makes you grind down harder, your desperation growing with every passing second.

A small, breathless moan escapes you, and in a desperate attempt to stifle the sound, you lean in and bite down lightly on Charles’s shoulder. His grip on your hips tightens, a soft groan escaping his lips as you continue to grind against him.

“Charles, I need more,” you whimper, the words slipping out in a moment of vulnerability. Your voice is heavy with desperation, your body trembling with the effort to find release.

Charles’s breath is warm against your ear as he leans in closer. “Oh, chérie, I’d give you everything you want, mon amour,” he whispers, his voice like velvet. “But you don’t have time, remember? You have a race to win.”

His words are a cruel tease, and the ache between your legs only intensifies. He continues to guide your movements, setting a slow, torturous rhythm that keeps you on the edge, but never lets you fall over it.

“If we had the time,” Charles murmurs, his tone dark and seductive, “I’d have you spread out in front of me, completely bare. I’d take my time with you, taste every inch of you until you’re begging for more.”

Your breath hitches at his words, the vivid image sending a fresh wave of arousal crashing through you. You can’t help but glance down, your eyes widening slightly when you see the clear outline of his erection straining against his jeans. The sight of him, hard and ready beneath you, only spurs you on, and you quicken your pace, grinding down on him with more urgency.

Charles’s breath grows heavier, his chest rising and falling with each ragged inhale. “God, you feel so good,” he groans, his voice laced with need. “I love seeing you like this, so desperate, so willing to take what you need.”

Just as you feel yourself getting close, the heat building to a fever pitch, someone walks past, calling out a quick greeting. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest as you fight to keep your breathing steady. Charles’s hands tighten on your hips, holding you still as he nods in acknowledgment, a casual smile on his face as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Once the person is out of sight, Charles relaxes, letting out a breath he’s been holding. “We have to be careful,” he whispers, his tone a mix of warning and thrill. “Can’t have anyone catching us, can we?”

Without waiting for your response, he resumes the slow, deliberate grind, guiding you back into that maddening rhythm. The brief interruption only heightens the intensity, and you find yourself clinging to him, desperate for release.

“Come on,” Charles whispers, his voice both encouraging and commanding. “Go for it. I want to see you fall apart for me.”

His words, combined with the relentless friction and the feeling of his hard thigh pressing against you, push you closer to the edge. You can feel the tension coiling tighter and tighter, your body straining for that sweet release.

“I’m… I’m close,” you manage to gasp out, your voice trembling as the pleasure becomes almost unbearable.

Charles responds by leaning in, his lips brushing against the curve of your neck in a barely-there kiss. To anyone watching, it would seem as if he’s simply whispering something to you, but the intimacy of the gesture makes your heart race even faster.

“Come for me, mon amour,” he murmurs against your skin, his breath hot and heavy. “I want to feel you let go.”

The combination of his words, the sensation of his lips on your neck, and the relentless pressure between your legs sends you spiraling over the edge. Your body tenses, a sharp cry escaping your lips as the orgasm crashes through you, waves of pleasure radiating out from your core. You bury your face in Charles’s shoulder, biting down on his jacket to muffle the sound, your entire body trembling with the intensity of it.

Charles’s hands hold you steady, guiding you through every pulse and shudder, his voice a soothing murmur in your ear. “That’s it,” he whispers, his tone filled with a mix of pride and desire. “Good girl. Let it all out.”

Masterlist

[natswife-marvelicious]

Between Shadows and Secrets

Plot: Natasha and you are having a secret affair, but you want to make things official. Natasha on the other hand sees things differently and whatever you had, had to come to an end. After weeks of contempting yourself, Natasha can't pull her shit together at one of Tony's parties.

Warnings: argument, drinking, hooking up w strangers, not feeling loved, light depression?/self-contempt

Word count: 3,7k

Masterlist

It started as something simple, something you could both control. You and Natasha kept things quiet, hidden between stolen moments and secretive glances. It was exciting at first, sneaking around Avengers Tower, slipping into each other’s rooms in the dead of night, sharing whispered promises under the cover of darkness. There was something thrilling about being her secret, the one who could make her lose that cold exterior and melt into someone real, someone vulnerable.

But over time, the thrill faded, and the secrecy became heavy, suffocating even. You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were something to be kept hidden, something not worth showing to the world. It gnawed at you, the way she would smile at you in the shadows but barely acknowledge you in the daylight. Every day, you found yourself wanting more, needing more, but Natasha stayed firm. She was always cautious, always guarded. It was like there was an invisible wall between you, and no matter how close you got, you could never quite break through.

Then, there was that night, the night everything changed.

You had just gotten back from a brutal mission. Your body ached from the bruises and cuts that littered your skin, and your mind was frayed from the tension of the last few days. You had needed comfort, something familiar to remind you that it was all worth it. But when you walked into Natasha’s room, seeking her warmth, you found something else, something colder than the woman you had fallen in love with.

She was standing by the window, her arms crossed over her chest, staring out at the city lights. The tension in the room was palpable. You swallowed hard, knowing that the conversation you were about to have would be one of the hardest.

“Natasha,” you began, your voice quieter than you had intended. “We need to talk.”

She didn’t turn around, but you could see her shoulders tense at your words.

“I can’t keep doing this,” you said, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. “I can’t keep pretending like I’m okay with hiding. We’ve been doing this for months, and I need-”

“What?” she interrupted, finally turning to face you. “What do you need, y/n?”

Her tone was sharp, defensive. The calm, composed Natasha was starting to crack, and you could see the frustration lurking just beneath the surface. You took a step toward her, your heart pounding in your chest.

“I need more, Nat,” you said, your voice soft but firm. “I need to know that you’re not ashamed of me. I need to know that you want something real.”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her expression hardening. “It’s not about being ashamed,” she snapped, the tension in her voice making the room feel even smaller. “It’s about keeping you safe.”

You frowned, your brow furrowing in confusion. “Safe from what?”

“From them,” she said, gesturing vaguely toward the window, where the world outside felt miles away. “From the people who would use you to get to me. You think this life is simple? You think my enemies wouldn’t jump at the chance to hurt you if they knew what we are to each other?”

Her words stung, but you weren’t sure if it was because of her coldness or because deep down, you knew she had a point. Still, the ache in your chest wouldn’t go away, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to it than just fear for your safety.

“So what?” you shot back, your voice rising. “You’re just going to keep pretending like this doesn’t mean anything? Like I don’t mean anything to you?"

Natasha’s jaw clenched, and she looked away, refusing to meet your eyes. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

“Then what are you saying?” you demanded, your voice trembling with a mix of anger and hurt. “Because it sure as hell feels like you don’t care.”

“I do care,” she said through gritted teeth, her fists clenching at her sides. “But this is the way it has to be. I won’t let you become a target because of me.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to keep the tears at bay. “I want to be with you, Nat. Really be with you. I’m tired of hiding. I’m tired of feeling like I’m not enough.”

For a moment, Natasha’s face softened, her eyes betraying the turmoil she was feeling. But just as quickly as the vulnerability appeared, it vanished, replaced by the cold mask she always wore when she was trying to protect herself.

“It’s not going to happen,” she said flatly.

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You stared at her, stunned, your heart pounding in your chest. “What?”

“I said, it’s not going to happen,” she repeated, her voice emotionless, detached. “This, us, it’s not real.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, you couldn’t speak. “What do you mean, it’s not real?”

Natasha’s green eyes were hard, cold. “I don’t love you.”

The room seemed to spin around you as the words left her lips. It felt like your heart had just been ripped out of your chest. You stood there, staring at her, trying to process what she had just said. This woman, this woman you had fallen in love with, who you had shared so much with, was standing there, telling you that she didn’t love you.

“Don’t,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t lie to me.”

But Natasha’s expression didn’t change. If anything, it hardened. “It’s not a lie,” she said, her voice colder than ever. “I never loved you.”

The words were like a knife to your chest, twisting deeper with every second that passed. You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. You refused to let her see how much she had hurt you.

“Fine,” you said, your voice shaking. “If that’s how you really feel, then I’ll leave you alone.”

Natasha didn’t respond, and that silence hurt more than anything. You turned on your heel, walking out of her room and slamming the door behind you. The second you were alone in the hallway, the tears began to fall, silent and steady.

After that night, everything changed. You threw yourself into a reckless spiral, trying to bury the pain in any way you could. You started hooking up with strangers, people who didn’t know you, didn’t care about you. It was easier to lose yourself in fleeting moments of distraction than to face the reality of what you had lost.

Every time you hooked up with someone, it felt like you were punishing yourself. It was never about wanting them, it was about forgetting her. But no matter how many drinks you had, no matter how many meaningless kisses you shared, nothing made the pain go away. Nothing made you forget the way Natasha had looked at you when she said those words.

The other Avengers started to notice your behavior, especially Wanda. She had always been your closest friend in the team, and she could sense the shift in you almost immediately. She tried to reach out, tried to talk to you, but you shut her out just like you had shut out everyone else. You didn’t want to talk about it. You didn’t want to admit how broken you were.

And Natasha? She had barely spoken to you since that night. She avoided you whenever she could, and when she couldn’t, her eyes were cold, distant. It was like the woman you had loved had disappeared, leaving nothing but a shell in her place.

You tried to tell yourself you didn’t care. You tried to convince yourself that it was better this way, that if she didn’t love you, you didn’t need her. But the lie was harder to believe with each passing day.

It was at one of Tony’s infamous parties that everything came to a head. The Tower was packed with people, music blaring and drinks flowing freely. You were already three drinks in by the time you spotted her, Natasha, standing near the bar, her arms crossed as she surveyed the room. She looked as calm and composed as ever, but the second your eyes met, your stomach twisted.

You quickly turned away, not wanting to get caught in her gaze for too long. Instead, you focused on the girl standing next to you, a pretty blonde who had been flirting with you all night. She was giggling at something you said, her hand brushing against your arm, and you leaned into the touch, trying to ignore the knot of anxiety tightening in your chest.

It didn’t take long for things to escalate. You were drunk, drunker than you’d like to admit, and before you knew it, you were leaning in close, whispering something in the blonde’s ear that made her laugh again. She touched your arm, her fingers lingering a little too long, and you didn’t pull away.

But then you felt it, eyes burning into you from across the room. You looked up, and there she was. Natasha. Her face was unreadable, but her eyes were blazing with something you couldn’t quite place. Anger? Jealousy? Whatever it was, it made your heart race.

Before you could react, Natasha was storming across the room, her jaw set in a tight line. She grabbed your arm, pulling you away from the blonde, who stood there looking bewildered.

“What the hell are you doing?” Natasha hissed, her voice low but venomous. Her grip on your arm was firm, almost painful. You could feel the eyes of everyone around you turning to watch, but you didn’t care. The alcohol had dulled your senses, and all you could focus on was the anger radiating off her.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you shot back, your words slurring slightly. You yanked your arm out of her grasp, glaring at her. “Why do you care, anyway? You don’t love me, remember?”

Natasha’s eyes darkened, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Stop this,” she ordered, her voice cold and commanding. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”

You laughed, the sound bitter and hollow. “I’m making a fool of myself?” you repeated, your voice rising in disbelief. “What about you, huh? You’re the one who’s been treating me like I don’t exist for weeks! You’re the one who told me you didn’t love me, and now you have the nerve to act like you care?”

The room had gone quiet, the music and chatter fading into the background as people turned to watch the scene unfolding. You could feel Wanda’s eyes on you from across the room, could see Tony’s concerned expression out of the corner of your eye, but none of it mattered. The only thing that mattered was Natasha standing in front of you, looking at you like you were a stranger.

“I told you it wasn’t real because it’s for your own good,” Natasha said through gritted teeth, her voice barely above a whisper. “You don’t understand the risks.”

“Oh, I understand the risks,” you spat, your chest heaving with the effort to keep your emotions in check. “But that’s not why you said it, is it? You were just trying to protect yourself, Natasha. You were scared, and instead of dealing with it, you pushed me away. You lied to me.”

Her jaw clenched, and for a split second, you saw something flicker in her eyes, guilt, maybe even regret, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. “I was trying to protect you,” she insisted, her voice growing more desperate.

“By telling me you didn’t love me?” You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. “You know what, Natasha? Maybe you were right. Maybe you don’t love me. Maybe I was just some distraction for you, someone to pass the time with when you were bored.”

The words were harsh, cruel even, but in that moment, you wanted to hurt her the way she had hurt you. You wanted her to feel the same pain that had been gnawing at you for weeks.

Natasha flinched, and for a moment, you thought you saw her mask crack. Her lips parted as if she wanted to say something, anything, to refute your words, but nothing came out. The silence between you was deafening.

Your chest felt tight, the weight of everything pressing down on you until you couldn’t breathe. Without another word, you turned on your heel and bolted for the stairs, pushing through the crowd as you ran. You could hear Natasha calling after you, her voice strained with panic, but you didn’t stop. You didn’t want to hear any more excuses, any more lies.

You slammed the door to your room, your breath coming in ragged gasps as you leaned against the wall. The tears you had been holding back finally spilled over, hot and angry as they streamed down your cheeks. You slid to the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as the sobs wracked your body.

All you had ever wanted was for Natasha to love you, to treat you like you mattered. But instead, you had been nothing more than a secret, something to be hidden away. And now? Now you felt like you didn’t even know her anymore. The woman who had held you in the quiet of the night, who had whispered soft promises in your ear, was gone. In her place was someone cold and distant, someone who didn’t care.

You didn’t know how long you sat there, your tears falling silently as the ache in your chest grew heavier and heavier. The sound of footsteps outside your door startled you, and before you could move, the door swung open.

Natasha stood in the doorway, her face pale and drawn. For the first time in weeks, she didn’t look like the Black Widow, the fearless, untouchable assassin. She looked like Natasha, the woman who had once made you feel like the center of her world.

“Y/n,” she said softly, stepping into the room. “We need to talk.”

You shook your head, wiping angrily at your tear-streaked face. “There’s nothing to talk about,” you muttered, your voice hoarse from crying. “Just leave me alone, Natasha.”

“I’m not leaving,” she said, her tone firm but gentle. She closed the door behind her, leaning against it for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. “Not until you hear me out.”

You let out a shaky breath, your anger flaring up again. “Why should I? You already said everything you needed to say. You don’t love me, right? That’s what you said.”

Natasha winced, her eyes softening with regret. “I never meant that,” she admitted, her voice quiet. “I was scared, y/n. Scared of what would happen if people knew how much you meant to me. Scared of what it would mean for both of us.”

You stared at her, your heart pounding in your chest. “So you lied?” you asked, your voice trembling with hurt. “You thought lying to me, telling me you didn’t love me, was better than just being honest?”

“I thought I was protecting you,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “I thought if I pushed you away, if I made you believe I didn’t care, it would keep you safe. But I was wrong. God, I was so wrong.”

Her confession hung in the air between you, the weight of her words sinking in. You wanted to believe her, you wanted to believe that she had been trying to protect you, that she hadn’t meant to hurt you. But the pain was still fresh, still raw.

“I needed you, Natasha,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

Tears filled Natasha’s eyes, and for a moment, you saw the real her, the vulnerable, broken part of her that she kept hidden from the world. “I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but I see now that I hurt you. And I hate myself for that."

The tears you had been holding back came rushing to the surface again, and you buried your face in your hands, the sobs wracking your body. Natasha crossed the room in an instant, kneeling in front of you and pulling you into her arms.

“I’m so sorry,” she whispered, her voice thick with emotion as she held you close. “I’m so, so sorry.”

You clung to her, your tears soaking into her shirt as you let yourself fall apart in her arms. For so long, you had been carrying the weight of your hurt, of your confusion, but now, in Natasha’s arms, it all came pouring out.

“I thought you didn’t care,” you choked out, your voice muffled against her chest. “I thought I was nothing to you.”

“You’re everything to me,” Natasha said softly, her hand gently stroking your hair. “I’m sorry I made you feel like you weren’t. I’m sorry for all of it.”

You cried harder at her words, all the pain you had been holding inside finally breaking free. Natasha didn’t let go, she held you tightly, whispering soft apologies and reassurances into your ear.

Eventually, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling drained but somehow lighter. You pulled back slightly, wiping at your tear-streaked face as you looked up at Natasha.

“Why now?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. “Why are you telling me this now?”

Natasha sighed, her thumb gently brushing away the last of your tears. “Because I can’t lose you,” she said softly. “Not like this. Not ever.”

Her words sent a wave of warmth through you, but the hurt still lingered. “You already lost me,” you said quietly, the truth of it hanging between you.

Natasha’s expression crumpled, and for a moment, you thought she might cry too. “I don’t want it to be too late,” she whispered, her voice raw. “Please… give me another chance. Let me show you that I can be better.”

You searched her eyes, looking for any sign of doubt or insincerity, but all you saw was the same vulnerability that had always been there, the vulnerability she had tried so hard to hide.

“I don’t want to hide anymore,” you said quietly. “I don’t want to be a secret.”

Natasha’s eyes softened, and she nodded, her hand still cradling your face. “You won’t be,” she promised. “No more hiding. No more secrets. I’m done pushing you away.”

The sincerity in her voice made your heart ache, but for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope.

“I want to believe you,” you admitted, your voice shaky. “But I’m scared.”

“I know,” Natasha whispered, her forehead resting against yours. “But I’ll prove it to you, y/n. I’ll prove that I’m not going anywhere.”

You closed your eyes, letting the warmth of her presence wash over you, but the uncertainty still lingered. Natasha had hurt you so deeply, and it would take time for the wounds to heal. But in that moment, as she held you close, you felt something you hadn’t felt in weeks, hope.

“I don’t know if I can trust you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But I want to try. I want us to be… something real.”

Natasha pulled back just enough to look into your eyes, her green eyes soft, almost pleading. “I’ll do whatever it takes,” she promised. “I’ll spend the rest of my life making this up to you, if that’s what it takes. Just… don’t give up on me. Don’t give up on us.”

Her words were raw, vulnerable in a way you’d rarely seen from her. It felt like the walls she had built around herself were finally crumbling, and for the first time, she was letting you see her, the real her.

Your heart ached with the weight of everything, but slowly, you nodded. “Okay,” you whispered. “But it has to be different. No more pushing me away. No more lies.”

“No more lies,” she agreed, her voice thick with emotion. “I promise.”

You stared at each other for a long moment, the tension slowly melting away, replaced by a fragile, tentative peace. Natasha gently brushed a strand of hair from your face, her touch soft and careful, as though she were afraid you might break.

“Can I hold you?” she asked quietly, her voice almost hesitant, as if she wasn’t sure she had the right to ask.

You hesitated for a moment, but then, with a deep breath, you nodded. Without another word, Natasha pulled you into her arms again, cradling you against her chest. Her warmth, her scent, everything about her was familiar, comforting, and for the first time in a long time, you let yourself relax in her embrace.

The two of you sat there on the floor for what felt like hours, wrapped up in each other, the weight of your argument and the pain slowly starting to lift. It wasn’t perfect, and it wasn’t a complete resolution, but it was a start, a beginning.

“I’m sorry,” Natasha whispered again, her voice barely audible against your hair. “I love you, y/n. I always have. I’m sorry it took me so long to say it.”

Your heart skipped a beat at her words, and though the pain was still there, something in you softened. You pulled back just enough to look at her, searching her eyes for any sign of doubt, but all you saw was sincerity.

“I love you too,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “I never stopped.”

For the first time in what felt like forever, Natasha smiled, a small, fragile smile, but it was real. And for the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe, just maybe, things would be okay.

It wouldn’t be easy, and it would take time to rebuild the trust that had been broken. But as you sat there, holding each other in the quiet of your room, you knew one thing for certain: you were both willing to try.

And that was enough. For now, it was enough.

Little longer one for now.. I'm in love with this.. how do you feel about it?? Lemme know :)

[psychedelic-ink]

ㅤㅤㅤ✦ 𝐇𝐄 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖𝐒

ㅤㅤjoel miller x f!reader x tommy miller

genre: smut, minors dni, no outbreak

word count: 2.7k

summary: joel knows you have a little thing for his younger brother so decides to indulge you for your birthday.

warnings: gonna state this very clearly: joel gets cucked by tommy and watches, everyone is consenting and it's discussed beforehand, piv, dirty talk, possessive!joel, daddy kink, size kink, established relationship between joel and reader, jealousy, some brotherly rivalry, facial, mild degradation kink, creampie

a/n: this work was commissioned through kofi by the lovely @losergurlsstuff, thank you so much for your support and thank you so much for this delicious idea, I had a blast! ❤️‍🔥

**gif made by the amazing @pedgito thank you so much dear!! dividers made my the talented @saradika-graphics 💜💜💜

Everything has been amazing since you and Joel started dating. To you, he was perfect. The perfect man. The perfect partner. The perfect person. You are forever grateful to whatever god made your roads cross. You have no idea what you’d be doing without him. You’ve never felt so cared for in your entire life. What he doesn’t say with words he shows with what he does and today is no exception. 

“What do you want for your birthday?” 

You smile and shake your head, his head is laying right above your stomach, his one hand under your shirt, caressing the warm skin. “I have everything I need.” 

“Just tell me.” 

“I really don’t want anything, Joel. Especially not from you.” 

His hand on your skin stills, looking up, you giggle at the way he’s frowning. Shocked. 

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” 

“It means, you dork,” you lean and brush your lips against his forehead. “That you already give me everything. Being with you is enough.” 

Joel’s eyes narrow. A pleasurable shudder rolls through your spine, you adore it when he looks at you like that. It reminds you of all the times you pushed his buttons, resulting in a delightful time. 

“I have an idea what you might want.” 

“And what’s that mister know-it-all?” 

“Tommy.” 

“W—What?” Your heart sinks to your stomach, your palms suddenly cold and sweaty. His younger brother’s name was the last thing you expected to hear. Joel spreads his fingers across your waist, gently, he squeezes. 

“It’s a’right, sweetheart. I’ve been thinkin’ about it a lot and well, I think it might be a good gift for your birthday.” 

“I don’t understand.” 

You genuinely don’t. Also, he’s been thinking about it? The inside of your stomach feels like lead. It’s true that once upon a time you thought how it would be with Tommy—but that was before Joel. And after you two started dating well. . . sure maybe your eyes did linger a bit, maybe you leaned a little too close when he whispered something in your ear during a party. . . You genuinely thought Joel wouldn’t notice. 

“I haven’t asked him yet,” he says, thoughtful. “But I was thinkin’ of indulgin’ your curiosities.” 

You‘re still not quite sure what he means by that. Your guilt gnaws at the walls of your stomach. Joel gives you everything, yet you make him feel like he doesn’t. Your eyes move away, falling to the corner of the wall. You can’t bear to look at him. He deserves better. 

“Hey,” he says, hand cupping your jaw and pulling you back. “Don’t cry.�� 

“I’m not crying.” 

“You look like you’re about to,” he cracks a small smile. “I don’t mind, darlin’. It’s just a fantasy ain’t it? I know that you’re mine.” 

“I am,” you say tearfully. “I am and always will be.” 

“And I’m yours. I just want to spoil you as best as I can, sweetheart. And this seemed doable.” 

“Why do you even think Tommy would agree to this?” 

“Oh he will,” he says with a grin that makes your cheeks grow warm. “Don’t you worry that pretty head of yours.” 

You nod but doubt still taints your expression. You don’t doubt Joel’s words, but no one can deny that this might be a bit odd. You’re not entirely sure Tommy will be on board. But you trust Joel, so you don’t question it. 

Despite all the doubt, and tension in your muscles, excitement slowly brews deep within you. 

“Joel, I’m not so sure about this.” 

His head turns harshly to face his brother. There’s no way he’s backing out now, not when they were only inches away from the fucking bedroom door. 

Then again, he does understand. He’s ain’t stupid. But Joel had seen the way Tommy looked at you, the way his eyes would do a subtle sweep and linger on your ass whenever you walked out of a room. “I ain’t gonna suddenly choke you out if that’s what got your feathers ruffled.” 

Tommy shifts from one foot to the other. Joel’s not used to seeing his brother so deep in though. He fears that if he thinks a little harder he might break his brain. With a huff of breath escaping his lips, Joel throws a hand over Tommy’s shoulder and squeezes, drawing his attention. 

“Look, I’m gonna tell you the same thing I told her, if at any point you decide you don’t wanna do this, just say so and we’ll stop. No one is gonna get offended.” 

Tommy visibly relaxes at Joel’s words. He nods, lips a tight line. It reminds Joel when he taught him how to ride a bike when they were kids. He had the same expression.

“A’right then, now that that’s settled, let’s not keep her waitin’ anymore.” 

Without warning he opens the door and pushes Tommy in. If it was any other situation Joel would’ve laughed at the way Tommy tripped over his own feet. But his attention is immediately dragged to the bed you’re perched on. His mouth waters. He knew you were going to get dressed, well undressed in this situation, but he hadn’t thought about what you would put on. Joel’s eyes briefly flicker to Tommy, he seems just as in shock. It’s hard not to be with what you’re wearing. 

The fabric is a luxurious, deep blue, reminiscent of the darkest hours when the stars come out to play. The material is silky and smooth against the skin, offering a touch of elegance and comfort. And he would know. It’s his favorite damn set. Shimmering sparkles that adorn the fabric, mimic the stars scattered across the night sky. These sparkles catch the light of the scented candle you’ve lit, creating a subtle and enchanting glow.

Joel gradually meets your gaze. As soon as he does he knows you’ve done it on purpose. His lips quirk up, amusement growing in his eyes, you’d pay for this little stunt. 

“Wow,” Tommy exhales and takes a step forward. “You look amazin’ sweetheart.” 

You seem a little out of breath already, it’s going to be fun to watch you crumble. Though Joel isn’t quite sure how he feels about his brother being the one doing it. 

“Thanks,” you answer, unsure. 

There’s a lingering tension in the air and Joel almost rolls his eyes at them both. Almost. 

“A’right then,” he pushes Tommy until he’s at the edge of the bed and takes a seat on the chair he brought in this morning. “Stop bein’ shy now. Tommy, you’re her gift, are you sure you want to be the person responsible for her havin’ a shit birthday?” 

Tommy’s chest raises, “N-No.” 

“Then what are you waitin’ for?” 

“Jesus Joel, it’s not like I'm bringin’ her a new plant, give us a second.” 

Joel grins at the way he snaps and Tommy only shakes his head, turning to you and finally focusing on the right thing. You. 

Tommy tenderly presses both palms on each side of your face, thumbs moving in circles. Your nipples are already hard, he can see them like little diamonds showing up through the fabric. His fingers twitch. Patience isn’t something that he has, but he’ll try. For you. 

Your lips part with a soft gasp as Tommy finally brings you in, their lips brushing before full-on pressing against one another. Joel doesn’t miss the way your chest heaves. Your hands fist his shirt and Tommy tilts his head in response, Joel hears your little moans, his own cock gradually hardening under his jeans. 

Fuck, you look too good in that lingerie set. It’s hard just to sit and watch. 

“Take off his shirt,” Joel grunts, sounding more cross than he intended. You nod, but not without giving him a wary look first. When Tommy’s shirt hits the floor, the younger Miller roughly grabs your chin and turns your head so you’re facing Joel. His spine straightens. 

“You ain’t the one given’ orders,” Tommy says. “If you want me to make her feel good, you’re goin’ to shut up and watch, understood?” 

Joel’s mouth goes dry but he nods anyway. His eyes narrow as Tommy’s smile grows, his hand slips between your legs and begins to stroke you through your panties. Joel’s breath hitches, his gaze landing where you grow wetter and wetter. 

“Who’s in charge baby, tell him.” 

Your hips grind down to his hand, “You are.” 

“Well that wasn’t much of a challenge,” he chuckles, eyes finding Joel’s again. “Don’t you think you’re bad girl sayin’ that in front of your daddy?” 

Heat rushes to Joel’s cheeks, crimson spreading from his chest to his face. He wasn’t expecting Tommy to know that. A tingle he hasn’t felt before spreads from the base of his spine. His jealousy is starting to brew, but at the same time, it feels oddly nice to be helpless, even though he knows he isn’t. 

“Answer my question,” Tommy commands, lips brushing the shell of your ear. “Are you a bad girl?” 

“Y–Yes.” 

Your eyes roll when Tommy presses your clit, drawing rough circles, he smiles. “Tell your boyfriend who’s your daddy now?” 

Joel holds his breath. Beads of sweat coating his back. “You are,” he hears you say to Tommy. There’s a slight quiver to your bottom lip and every part of him wants to soothe you. 

But instead, his brother does. 

Tommy sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and kisses your deeply, his hands caressing the contour of your body. 

“Don’t worry,” Tommy says. “Daddy is goin’ to take care of you.” 

You’re about to lose your mind. Your body is a flame and with each devastating snap of Tommy’s hips, your mouth drops open with a guttural moan. You’ve always assumed he’d be a gentle lover. Though you have a sneaking suspicion that Joel’s presence might be a solid reason why he’s tearing you and building you up over and over again. 

He positioned you so you’re staring at nothing else but Joel, you see how hard he is under his pants, the outline of his cock visible and making you gush all over Tommy’s cock. You want him in your mouth so bad but you know this isn’t that kind of game. Joel’s eyes follow the sway of your breasts, your bra ripped from you a while ago. You were completely naked except for your panties—Joel’s favorite and now Tommy is fucking you in it. 

Tommy reaches forward and grabs your throat, pulling you up so more of your chest is exposed. His cock is bigger than you imagined, nearly big as Joel. He pounds into you mercilessly, his length stretching you every day, reminding you whose cock is tearing you apart. 

“Does it turn you on that he’s watchin’ how wet you’re gettin’ my dick sweetheart?” With his question another fresh wave of slick drips out of you, tears build in your eyes, your insides left throbbing. His hips stutter, going balls deep, breath catching in his throat. “Fuck. Joel, she’s soaked— does she ever get this wet for you?” 

“‘Course she does,” he grunts, crossing his arms. You can’t tell if he’s upset or not, but the fact that Tommy doesn't have a broken nose already must be a good sign. 

Tommy leans into your ear, loud enough for Joel to hear. “Bet the old man can’t fuck you as well as I do.” 

You don’t answer. You can’t. Both of them are so good at this, and your head is in shambles. 

Tommy suddenly stops, and you’re a brink away from breaking down. A whine tears away from your lips. He releases your neck, you fall forward, only upright thanks to his hands holding your arms. “Answer me.” 

“You’re making me feel so good,” you say instead and thankfully, he doesn’t try to gauge a different response. His cock pulses, making you believe that was all he wanted to hear. Joel observes the two of you carefully. 

“Say it again baby, tell him how well daddy’s taking care of you.” 

“Daddy’s taking care of me,” you slur as his pace begins to pick up again. Each thrust makes you squeeze his cock like a vice. Liquid heat drops down your spine, your stomach clenching as he edges you closer and closer to your downfall. “J–Joel,” you call out without much thought and his dark gaze meets your own. “He feels so good.” 

“Oh fuck—” Tommy chokes and swiftly pulls out, prompting you to let out a disappointed whine. “Shit, baby, I’m gonna— fuck— bring your face here—” 

The back of Tommy’s head falls against the headboard and you quickly hurry towards him, your glistening cunt now in perfect view. You hear Joel taking in a sharp exhale. You part your lips, dipping down to take Tommy into your mouth but he stops it, holding you by the nape. “I’m gonna ruin that pretty face of yours,” he groans, forcing you down so your cheek would be pressed right below his pelvis. He starts stroking himself, fucking into his fist, and the sight is so beautiful that you lick one of his balls into your mouth, his back arches. 

Suddenly, he grips you even tighter and starts moaning loudly in harsh gasps, his hips thrusting uncontrollably against your face. He closes his eyes, losing himself in the sensation of you. You can feel him pulsing against your skin. You moan in response, feeling the rush of excitement as you open your mouth wider to take it all in.

“Tommy, please,” you breathe out, your eyes locked with his as he releases a stream on your face, covering your cheeks and lips with his release. You can feel yourself growing even more aroused as he continues to stroke himself, coating your face with his warm come. You whimper, the vibrations sending shivers down his spine as he lets out a final raspy breath.

“Fuck, baby,” he breathes out, his chest rising and falling heavily as he stares at you, your face damp and covered in his release. “You look so beautiful like this.”

You can feel your cheeks heating up, the intimate moment causing your heart to race in your chest. Tommy reaches out, gently wiping some of the come off of your face with his thumb before bringing it to your lips, letting you taste yourself.

“Fuck,” Tommy murmurs, his breaths coming out in short pants. He pulls you up to him, his lips crashing onto yours in a fierce kiss. However, while you’re lost in his mouth, you don’t realize the bed dipping with an added weight. You hear a clink of a belt and suddenly Joel is buried deep between your legs, his fingers rubbing tight circles around your clit. You gasp against Tommy’s mouth, the sensations becoming almost too much to handle.

“You didn’t make her come, idiot,” he groans, fucking himself into your deeper and deeper. Your eyes roll, your lips parting an inch away from Tommy’s face. Joel sinks his teeth into your neck, hips rutting into you without leaving you. His other hand playing with the elastic of your panties, you break down around him, your orgasm hitting you like a truck. “Mine,” he growls, acting as if the two of you are alone. “Mine, mine, mine—” 

Joel spills into you with a deep and visceral groan. There’s so much, his cock twitching and pulsing as he forces himself even deeper, claiming you as his. Doing something Tommy isn’t allowed to do. You shiver all over, your body weak with pleasure. 

He trickles down the inside of your thighs as he pulls out, falling back to his knees. You collapse onto Tommy’s chest and you’re surprised when you feel his hand on your neck, rubbing soothingly over your warm skin. 

Joel leaves a trail of kisses down your spine, “You were amazin’, honey.” 

“Such a good girl,” Tommy murmurs, though both of their voices feel as if it’s coming from a distance. Your eyes flutter closed, exhaustion taking hold of you. “Let’s get her cleaned up and tuck her in.” 

Joel presses his mouth against you one last time before heading to the bathroom. 

[mythicalninjas]

Hii! First I want to say I LOVE your fics. They're amazing!!

I saw your requests were open and came up with one. How about a jealous Raphael? Maybe reader was training with Leo once because Raph was busy. And he came in the dojo to see them laughing and getting along well, with reader who fell and fell on top of Leo they were just laughing it off. But Raph geta angry and drags reader away to fight about it and maybe some make up smut???

Awwn thank you! Happy to read that!

Rate/Warnings: +18, jealousy, anger, happy ending (make up smut)

Jealousy had always been a shadow that clung to Raphael like a second skin. It was something he tried to keep buried, but in moments like this, it reared its ugly head. The dim lighting of the dojo cast long shadows across the room, flickering slightly with every movement. Raph had been preoccupied all day, leaving his brothers to their training while he handled his own matters. But something had been gnawing at him, an itch he couldn’t quite scratch. It wasn’t until he wandered into the dojo that he realized why.

There you were, laughing—laughing—with Leonardo, the eldest brother. Sweat glistened on your brow, and the sound of your laughter echoed off the walls as you and Leo sparred. You had fallen, clearly tripped during your training session, landing squarely on top of him. For a moment, it was nothing but shared amusement, an easy, innocent moment between friends. But to Raphael, it felt like a dagger to the chest.

His blood boiled at the sight. The way you and Leo seemed so comfortable with each other, how naturally your body lay sprawled over his brother’s. The sight was too much. Without thinking, Raphael stormed into the room, his broad shoulders tense, and his face twisted into an expression that was far from friendly.

“Hey,” he growled, his voice low, eyes narrowing. “What the hell is goin’ on here?”

You scrambled off of Leo, confusion flashing in your eyes as you glanced between the two brothers. Leo, ever the calm and collected leader, simply raised an eyebrow, not yet catching onto what had set his hot-headed sibling off.

“We were just training, Raph,” you explained, brushing off the dust from your clothes. “You were busy, so Leo stepped in.”

“Training?” Raphael spat, his fists clenching at his sides. “Looked like somethin’ else to me.”

Before you could respond, Raphael grabbed your arm—not hard, but firm enough that it was clear he wasn’t asking. “We’re talkin’. Now.”

He dragged you out of the dojo without another word, Leo watching silently, his lips drawn into a thin line. The tension was thick as Raph pulled you into one of the side rooms, slamming the door behind him. The room was smaller, more intimate, and with each second, you could feel the heat radiating off of him.

“What the hell was that, huh?” Raphael snapped, his emerald eyes flashing with hurt beneath his anger. His breathing was ragged, his broad chest rising and falling quickly. “You think I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t care?”

You stepped back slightly, taken aback by the intensity of his reaction. “Raph, it was just training! Leo was just helping me out because you weren’t around.”

“Yeah? Well, maybe I don’t like the idea of you ‘n him gettin’ all buddy-buddy when I’m not lookin’,” he muttered, though now there was something softer in his tone. The edge of insecurity that he tried so desperately to hide.

“Raph…” You sighed, moving closer, your hand finding his. “It’s not like that. You know it’s not.”

He glared at the floor for a moment, jaw clenched tight, his large hand trembling slightly beneath yours. “I know, but… seeing you like that. With him. It just… it messed with my head.”

You could feel the heat of his jealousy simmering down, though the air between you was still charged. Your fingers slid up to his wrist, tracing the tense muscles there. "You don’t have to be jealous. You know I’m here for you, right?"

Raphael grunted, his body relaxing under your touch, but there was still an intense, lingering tension. Slowly, his eyes met yours, the fire in them shifting from anger to something else entirely. The air between you thickened, and you could feel his grip on your arm tighten, but this time, it wasn’t out of anger.

Without warning, he pulled you closer, his lips inches from yours, his breath hot against your skin. “You think I’m lettin’ this go just like that?” His voice was a low rumble, full of heat and unresolved feelings.

And just like that, the conversation shifted, the jealousy morphing into something far more primal, something that needed release. In the heat of the moment, the frustration, the possessiveness—all of it—boiled over, and Raphael’s lips crashed into yours, full of a raw intensity that made your knees weak.

His hands were everywhere, pulling you close, desperate to remind you exactly who you belonged to. Every ounce of his jealousy poured into that kiss, a bruising, passionate clash of emotions as he pressed you against the wall, leaving no room for doubt about how much he wanted you.

And in that moment, as the world around you disappeared, you knew one thing for certain: no one could ever make you feel the way Raphael did.

"You're... mine.", he growled, sliding his hands down your thighs slowly. Very slow... The way it feels you couldn't describe, but your body can.

Tongues intertwining, hands exploring each other bodies, moans feeling the room. The red-clad huge turtle moves his waist foward, pressing his hardness agaist you. "It is not the en', honey."

[gothcsz]

part eight of the neighbors series. soooo my angsty little brain just couldn’t leave these two alone 😫 i think we all want to see javier navigate through the consequences of his actions, and thus this was created. this takes place after part six since i’m finally starting to curate a timeline for this. enjoy the angst muñekitas (gn) 🖤

javier peña x f!reader. ~2.2k word count. nothing to tag except the angst that comes with this pairing 😭 oh and some allusions to like porn but even then it’s not a lot.

Now it’s Javier’s turn to feel the absence.

It’s a slow, creeping ache that nestles into his chest every time he notices your purposeful distance.

Since that night when he stumbled to your door, drunk on bourbon and drowning in guilt over disappointing two women in different, disastrous ways, it’s like you’ve vanished, retreating behind walls he helped you build with his own selfish hands.

The way you breeze past him at work, your gaze fixed on anything but him, your expression carefully neutral, like he’s just another face in the crowd.

He lets his eyes linger on you when you’re not looking, tracing the set of your shoulders, the curve of your lips as you smile at someone else. He tells himself it’s just a habit, but the truth is uglier: it’s longing.

He misses you, and it’s eating him alive.

He doesn’t push it, doesn’t call your name or try to stop you. What would he even say?

This is why he thinks, maybe, it’s best to let you go. To step back and leave you to a life that doesn’t revolve around his mess of baggage and excuses. You deserve that—someone consistent.

But Javier is nothing if not selfish.

You make him feel good about himself, make him believe, even for a fleeting moment, that maybe he isn’t as broken as he thinks.

He knows it’s fucked up to want that back, to keep you in his orbit when all he’s done is take and take and take.

He tells himself he’ll change, that he’ll be better for you, but the lie tastes bitter in his mouth. He’s said it too many times before.

He’s never changed. He doesn’t know if he ever will.

Even your apartment feels like it’s given up on him.

The sounds of your life—the muffled hum of your TV, the groan of the pipes when you shower—have vanished. There’s no scent of your cooking wafting into the hallway, no warm glow of your living room lamp spilling onto the street at night.

The first time he knocks on your door and you don’t answer, it’s to apologize. For everything. For being him. He knows you’re tired of his apologies, but he doesn’t know how else to fix things.

The second time, he’s worked himself into a dumb excuse just to see you. Borrowing sugar? Too cliché. Asking you to water his plants? A lie—his plants are fake, courtesy of the furnished apartment.

He settles on a half-baked story about needing your phone because his isn’t working. But you’re not home, or at least you don’t answer.

The third time, he’s drunk again, and missing you has become unbearable. Work is getting worse, and the pressure is pushing him toward old, ugly habits. Temptation whispers in his ear to drive across the city to the familiar brothel.

He’s fighting it—fighting himself—but losing. He mutters nonsense against your door, forehead pressed to the wood, cursing himself for every way he’s managed to screw this up.

By now, he feels pathetic, like a ghost haunting your door with no purpose.

Has he been so self-absorbed that he missed the signs of you moving out? No, he’d have noticed that. He’s sure.

Are you pretending not to be home, just to avoid him? No, you’re not the type. Even thinking it makes him feel more desperate.

He’s grasping at straws, trying to make sense of your absence, but the truth gnaws at him: this is what he deserves.

Javier’s knee bounces impatiently as he watches the clock in the office. The minute hand finally ticks past twelve, and he’s up, snatching his jacket off the back of his chair. His movements are quick, borderline desperate.

Steve doesn’t even look up from the report in his hand, but his coffee mug tilts lazily in Javier’s direction. “Where are you goin’?”

“Out,” Javier snaps, already tugging on his jacket.

Steve smirks, leaning back in his chair. “Gettin’ your dick wet in the middle of the day is impressive, Peña.”

Javier doesn’t dignify the sarcastic comment with a response, brushing past him and into the hallway.

The elevator takes its sweet time, and he jabs the button repeatedly, as if that’ll make it arrive faster.

He doesn’t have much of a plan. Just the hope of catching you on your lunch break, cornering you long enough to get a word in.

He doesn’t care if you tell him to fuck off—it’s very warranted. He just needs to see you, hear your voice, anything to bridge the unbearable silence that’s imposed between you.

When the elevator doors open, he’s out like a shot, weaving through the hallway until he makes it to the courtyard.

He picks a bench partially hidden by shrubs, knowing full well that if you spot him beforehand, you’d turn on your heel and walk the other way.

On cue, you appear. Lunchbox in hand, you push open the glass door and step into the sunlit courtyard.

The way you breathe in the fresh air, as if it’s the first real breath you’ve taken all day, does something to him—something he can’t explain and it warms him up inside.

You settle at a table, pulling out your lunch with that same careful precision he’s always found maddeningly endearing.

He calls your name softly, stepping out from his hiding spot.

You’ve been proud of yourself lately, weaning yourself off of him little by little. It’s been painful, sure, but necessary.

Spending more time at Mateo’s penthouse has helped. What started as a few overnights has quietly turned into something more—a drawer in his dresser, a spot on his bathroom counter, a spare key on your keychain.

You’ve unofficially moved in, and with it has come a tentative sense of peace.

The man dotes on you, showers you with affection and thoughtful gifts, and you’re starting to let yourself feel something for him. How could you not? He treats you well, and after everything with Javier, that feels like a revelation.

So you’ve given Javier the cold shoulder. It wasn’t easy at first—cutting him off, ignoring the drunken mess who showed up at your door that night, all guilt and bourbon fumes.

But you’ve stayed firm. You let him crash on your couch, sure, but only because you didn’t have the heart to turn him away entirely.

After that, you swore you wouldn’t let him back in—not until he showed up with a real apology instead of the hollow ones he always throws your way.

Javier doesn’t understand apologies. Not really. His are more about smoothing things over, dodging guilt, than actually taking responsibility for how he’s hurt you.

You’re tired of being the balm for his bad choices.

“Javier,” you exhale sharply, a hand flying to your chest as your heart races from the scare he’s given you. He always had a knack for sneaking up on you, but now, it’s more irritating than endearing. “You scared me.”

His expression twists in discomfort, a cringe already tugging at his face. “I’m sorry,” he mutters, the words reflexive.

Your brows pinch together at the sound of them, suspicion creeping into your tone. “Can I help you with something? I’d rather take my lunch alone today.”

There it is—the cool detachment, the way your voice wraps around the words like barbed wire, leaving him no easy way in. He hates it. But he knows he’s earned it.

“I just…” He hesitates, shifting his weight like the words are hard to carry. “How are you?”

Your eyes narrow, scanning him like you’re trying to find the angle, the ulterior motive buried beneath the surface. “Fine,” you say crisply. “What do you want, Javier?”

He takes a step closer, his voice low and almost pleading. “I haven’t seen you around. Things have been tense between us, and I—”

“I wonder why,” you cut him off.

He grits his teeth, the frustration crackling in his chest like static. “Can you just talk to me? Please?”

You straighten in your seat, meeting his gaze head-on. There’s no softness there, only a resolute weariness. “Why?” you demand. “Because you’re upset? Because you’re sad? Why is it always on me to be there for you, but you can just disappear when the roles are reversed?”

The soft gurgle of the courtyard fountain fills the silence that follows, a gentle backdrop to the storm brewing between you.

“I never…” He rubs the back of his neck, searching for the right words and finding none that feel adequate. “I never intended for it to come off that way.”

Your laugh is bitter, devoid of humor. “Intention or not, you’ve been a terrible friend. And honestly? I’m done putting energy into something that only drains me.” You lean back, crossing your arms with finality. “So please, just leave me alone.”

He stares at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of softness, any opening he can slip through. But all he finds is resolve, the hurt buried behind it making the air between you feel suffocating.

Finally, he nods, the movement stiff and reluctant. “Okay… okay.” His voice is quiet, resigned, the words a pale shadow of what he wants to say.

There’s a thousand arguments, apologies, and pleas clawing at the back of his throat, but none of them escape.

All he can do now is give you what you’re asking for—the space he let get too vast.

He lingers for a second longer, like he’s memorizing the sight of you, before turning and walking away.

You keep your eyes trained on your lunch, refusing to watch him leave. It’s only when his footsteps fade into the background that you let out a shaky breath, your head falling into your hands.

He’s so damn frustrating.

The days pass in a haze, Javier’s life tumbling forward at its usual relentless pace.

He doesn’t mope by your door anymore, no longer knocking with some feeble excuse or lingering in hopes you’ll let him in.

At work, he doesn’t glance your way when you pass. Doesn’t try to engage.

Conveniently, the streets are rife with bullshit, and his job gives him more than enough to drown in.

Between navigating corrupt bureaucrats, dodging the cartel’s web of influence, and wrangling informants who can’t keep their stories straight, there’s no time to brood.

Or so he convinces himself.

Instead of facing the weight of his loneliness head-on, he starts seeing Vanessa more often. She’s sharp, witty, and knows how to keep secrets—a working girl turned informant turned... something else.

Lover feels too strong, too sincere. What he has with Vanessa isn’t love. It’s relief. A salve for the parts of him he doesn’t know how to fix.

He doesn’t feel the same about her as he does for you—or as he did for Helena. But that doesn’t stop him.

She doesn’t ask questions she knows he won’t answer. When he talks, she listens, offering the occasional hum or sly smile as he dumps his thoughts on her like she’s a therapist.

Vanessa plays the part well, whether it’s for his money or because she genuinely gives a damn, he’s not sure. The nights spent with her—whether tangled in sheets or sharing cheap whiskey and broken conversations—leave him feeling lighter.

Until he’s alone and the crushing intensity of his life presses down again. It amplifies the parts he tries to ignore: the failures, the detachment, the void left behind.

He’s currently standing in the VHS section of a raunchy sex shop, the bright pink neon lighting casting a faint glow on his face.

His hip juts out as he stands in front of the display, one hand braced there while the other dangles loosely at his side, his fingers twitching absently.

The provocative covers blur together in his mind: exaggerated poses, bold fonts, and overly made-up faces.

His gaze roves over them, a bored sort of interest in his search for something to take home. Something to tide him over on the nights he can’t visit Vanessa or doesn’t feel like picking someone up.

Then he sees it.

At first, he thinks it’s your face staring back at him from the glossy cover. His breath catches, his heart stopping like he’s been sucker-punched. He leans in, blinking hard to clear his head.

The resemblance is uncanny, but not exact. The eyes aren’t quite the same, and the curve of the smile is just a little off

It’s enough to shake him. Enough to make his stomach twist in knots, caught somewhere between relief and disappointment.

For a moment, he hesitates, stroking his mustache as his mind races.

The rational part of him knows better. But the other part—the desperate, reckless part that hasn’t quite let you go—pushes him forward.

His gaze flicks around the shop, paranoia creeping in like he’s a teenager sneaking a dirty magazine under his bed, and finally, he gives in.

He grabs the tape quickly, his gaze darting to the image on the back—a sultry, obscene shot of the actress who looks so much like you. That seals it.

Before he can second-guess himself, he’s heading to the register, slapping a few bills on the counter and ignoring the clerk’s bored, knowing look.

He rushes through his apartment door, not even bothering to kick off his boots before fumbling to pop the tape into his player.

His knees spread wide as he leans forward, elbows on his thighs, remote in hand.

The screen flickers to life, static giving way to the image of this woman who isn’t you but is just close enough to hurt.

His heart pounds as the film begins, anticipation mixing with shame.

He tells himself it’s nothing—it’s just a distraction, just something to pass the time.

But as he watches the you-lookalike pleasure herself, he realizes it’s not just about getting off. It’s about pretending, for one fleeting moment, that he still has a piece of you.

Even if it’s a lie.

“¿Estás segura que necesitas ese collar, lindura?” (Are you sure you need that necklace, darling?) Mateo’s voice drips with indulgence as he parks outside your apartment building, glancing at you with an amused smile.

“Sí,” you reply, already unbuckling your seatbelt. “It goes perfectly with this dress. I’ll just be a second, and then we can go.”

He sighs lightly but doesn’t argue, his smile widening when you lean over to kiss his cheek.

Swiping your keys from the console, you push the door open, your heels clicking onto the pavement as you hop out.

The night air is cool, and you feel radiant in your cocktail dress. It clings to your curves just right, the rich hue of the fabric practically glowing against your skin.

You’re on your way to dinner with Mateo’s boss and his wife. Somewhere too expensive, probably, given how you’re dressed.

You stride into the building, the sound of your heels echoing in the quiet corridor. But as you approach your door, your steps falter.

There, slumped against your apartment door, is a figure you’d recognize anywhere. His head is tilted awkwardly to the side, soft snores rumbling from his chest. Javier.

For a moment, you just stand there, stunned. You weren’t expecting this—not the sight of him disheveled and vulnerable, slouched like he’s been there for hours.

He’s a piece of work, truly. It’s almost laughable how he can show up uninvited and still manage to pull at your heartstrings.

This is the first time you’ve seen his face so… relaxed. Without that signature scowl or smug grin. He looks so at peace, your heart begins to flip in your chest.

“Javier,” you say sharply, crossing your arms. He doesn’t stir, his head lolling slightly.

You glance over your shoulder, catching the headlights of Mateo’s car spilling into the hallway through the windows.

“Javi,” you try again, stepping closer and nudging his foot with the toe of your shoe.

That finally does it. He stirs, blinking groggily, then rubbing his face with one hand as if trying to erase the remnants of sleep.

“Mierda,” he mutters, his voice a low, husky rumble.

“What are you doing asleep at my door?” you demand, trying to keep your tone firm.

He squints up at you, his eyes widening as they adjust to the sight of you.

For a beat, he just stares, taking in the sweep of your makeup, the soft shimmer of your perfume, and the way that dress clings to you like it was made for your body.

You see his throat work as he swallows, his brain clearly short-circuiting. “I—um…” he starts, fumbling for words as he plants a hand on the floor to hoist himself up.

He winces, groaning as he stretches out his back, his body protesting after the long fucking day he’s had.

Perhaps he should lay off the cigarettes, his lungs still aching from the intense foot chase he had engaged in earlier in the day.

It had been one of those situations that really resonated with him, and his cruel mind had shoved a memory of you two to the forefront in an attempt to ease his anxiety.

It’s why he had sought refuge by sitting outside of your door, as absurd as it looks.

“What are the odds of both of us getting locked out?” you say, breaking the silence with a sigh as you lean your head back against the wall.

Javier lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head in disbelief as he sinks down to sit across from you, his legs stretched out lazily. The flickering hallway light casts soft shadows on his face, and you try not to notice how effortlessly handsome he looks, even while stranded outside his apartment.

“Maybe this should incentivize us,” he says, gesturing vaguely toward the locked doors,“to finally get spare keys made.”

You slide the takeaway container across the carpet toward him with your foot, nodding for him to dig in.

“What are you feeding me, anyway?”

“Chicken stir fry. I was craving it all day so I stopped to get some after work and now here we are.” You say with a dramatic sigh. “Figured it’s only fair to share. For the sheer cosmic injustice of tonight.”

He smirks, spearing a forkful of food before taking a bite. “How thoughtful.”

The two of you have been sitting there for nearly twenty minutes already, waiting for the locksmith to arrive.

Takeout had been your plan for a quiet night in, but now it’s turned into an impromptu hallway picnic.

“You know,” you start, a teasing edge to your voice, “you could always use your agent strength to bust the door down.”

He pauses mid-chew, one eyebrow quirking up in amusement. “Agent strength?”

“Yeah.” You grin, uncapping your water bottle to take a sip. “Don’t you guys get superpowers at the academy? Like, enhanced strength? X-ray vision? Maybe even the ability to charm your way out of literally anything?”

His laugh rumbles low in his chest, and you can’t help but feel a pang of satisfaction at coaxing it out of him. “You’ve got a wild imagination, cariño.” He leans back, the fork still dangling from his fingers as his smirk deepens. “I hate to disappoint, but it’s not exactly the X-Men over there.”

“I don’t know, Javi,” you quip, pretending to inspect him. “You’ve got the smolder, the mysterious backstory, the leather jacket. Sounds pretty superhero-esque to me.”

He scoffs, but the smile tugging at his lips betrays him. “I think you’ve been watching too many movies. What I do is… significantly less glamorous.”

“Less glamorous, sure,” you counter, “but I bet it’s still got its moments. Like when you bust down a door or take down a cartel big shot. Or when you dramatically light a cigarette while walking away from an explosion.”

The laugh that escapes him this time is louder, the sound echoing faintly in the quiet hallway. He hands the container back to you, his eyes soft with mirth as he shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re avoiding the question,” you shoot back, grinning as you take a bite of your own. “Admit it, you’ve thought about the superhero thing before.”

He tilts his head, as if considering it for a moment, then leans forward slightly, his voice low and teasing. “Alright, maybe once or twice.”

“See?” You point at him triumphantly, though the warmth in his gaze as he watches you makes your breath hitch.

There’s a moment of quiet as the two of you sit there, and you suddenly wonder if you’re imagining how much smaller the hallway feels with him in it.

The banter continues as you kill time, the two of you sharing bites of dinner and passing the container back and forth.

But when the locksmith still hasn’t arrived, the night stretches on, and you find yourself shifting closer to him. Eventually, you slide down the wall until you’re sitting side by side, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

Javier freezes at first, his breath catching as he glances down at you.

He notices the curve of your lashes, the way your lips part slightly as you drift off, and—god help him—the faint trace of sauce smudged at the corner of your mouth.

He swallows hard, his jaw working as he debates waking you, but the quiet weight of you against him is oddly comforting.

His fingers twitch, the urge to brush a strand of hair from your cheek almost too tempting. Instead, he exhales slowly, willing himself to stay still. He doesn’t need to touch you to feel the pull you have over him.

For now, just watching you sleep—so close, so serene—will have to be enough.

“Well?” You raise a brow, folding your arms tighter across your chest as you snap him out of his reverie.

He looks away briefly, dragging a hand over his face. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he says finally, his voice gruff. “Just… had one of those days. My place felt too damn quiet, and I couldn’t get out of my own head.”

Your brows furrow. You don’t want to care, but there’s something about the way he says it that gives you pause.

Behind you, Mateo’s headlights flash once, a silent reminder of the evening waiting for you.

Javier notices, his gaze flicking toward the light, and his expression shifts.

“You look nice,” he says, his voice softer now, almost reverent.

You grit your teeth, refusing to let the compliment sink in. “Javier, I don’t have time for this. I’m going to be late.”

“Right,” he murmurs, stepping back and rubbing the back of his neck. “Didn’t mean to hold you up.” But the way his eyes linger on you for a second longer says otherwise.

You shake your head, brushing past him as you unlock your door. “You need to figure yourself out,” you say, not unkindly but firmly. “I told you to leave me alone. That includes sulking outside of my apartment.”

He doesn’t respond, just watches you disappear inside, his jaw tight and his hands stuffed into his pockets.

You’re gone for only a minute, returning with the necklace in hand, and his eyes meet yours as you lock the door behind you.

“Goodnight,” you say pointedly, brushing past him again as you head for the exit.

“Goodnight,” he mutters, barely audible, watching as you slip back into Mateo’s car, the door shutting behind you with a decisive click.

The car pulls away, leaving Javier standing there alone, the glow of the streetlights casting his shadow long and weary against the pavement.

started a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

🏷️ : @persephone-girl . @magneticecstasy . @thundermartini . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiyart . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @samanthajonees . @yellowbrickyeti . @bambisweethearts . @whiskeyneat-coffeeblack . @picketniffler . @itwasntimethatdidit40 . @94namkooksworld . @dontlookatme121 . @cherrysugarx . @half-moon16 . @dinanabuu . @sunshinefive . @angiewatson .

[srslyblvck]

── SECRET KISSES, remus lupin

pairing: remus lupin x fem!reader

synopsis: you were sirius’ cousin. remus was his best friend. secrets like that were bound to explode.

genre: fluff

warnings: kissing, making out

word count: 1.5k

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ REMUS LUPIN WAS A man of composure—or at least, he liked to think so. But when you yanked him into an empty classroom, all thoughts of self-control went flying out the window.

You moved swiftly, pushing him against the cold, unforgiving stone wall with surprising force. His back hit it with a thud, and before he could even muster a protest, you had him pinned.

“Hello, Lupin,” you purred, a wicked smirk curving your lips as you planted a hand on his chest.

Remus blinked, flustered. Your presence was intoxicating, your dark robes and air of cool detachment a sharp contrast to the fire dancing in your eyes.

“Y/N,” he stammered, his heart racing. “Do you have to keep doing this?”

“Yes,” you replied matter-of-factly, leaning in closer. The corner of your lips twitched in amusement at his flustered expression. “It’s fun.”

“I’m starting to suspect you enjoy scaring me half to death,” he muttered, trying to maintain his composure.

You tilted your head, pretending to think. “Not scaring you. Surprising you. There’s a difference.”

Before he could respond, your hand trailed from his chest to his collar, tugging lightly on his tie. Remus swallowed hard, his brain scrambling to form coherent thoughts.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” you murmured, your voice dropping to a dangerous softness.

“I haven’t been—”

“Don’t lie to me, Lupin,” you interrupted, cutting him off with a raised brow. “You’re terrible at it.”

He let out a resigned sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve just… had a lot on my plate.”

“Always so responsible,” you teased, stepping closer until there was almost no space between you. “But you’re here now. So stop running away.”

Something in his chest twisted at your words. The truth was, he hadn’t been avoiding you intentionally—well, not entirely. The weight of his secrets, the fear of being caught, the anxiety of you realizing you deserved far better than a half-blood werewolf… it gnawed at him constantly.

But standing here, looking at you now, he realized how futile those fears were. You always sought him out. And he was powerless to resist.

Suddenly, Remus’s instincts took over. With a quick movement, he flipped your positions, pressing you against the wall.

Your eyes widened for a split second before narrowing with a mixture of surprise and amusement.

“Well, well,” you said, your voice light with mock approval. “Didn’t think you had it in you.”

His hands found your waist, holding you firmly in place, while his other hand rested near your head, caging you in. He leaned in, close enough that your noses almost touched.

“Maybe you don’t know me as well as you think,” he quipped, his lips quirking into a rare smirk.

You raised an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, I know you, Lupin. You’re far too polite to—”

“Far too polite to do what?” he interrupted, his voice a low murmur that sent shivers down your spine.

Your confidence wavered for the briefest moment, and he caught it.

“This,” he whispered, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke.

The sheer boldness of the move caught you off guard, and before you could stop yourself, a laugh bubbled up from your throat.

“Remus,” you said between giggles, shaking your head. “That was absolutely ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” he repeated, his tone mock-offended. “I thought it was rather dashing.”

Your laughter grew louder, and you tried to muffle it with your hand. But before you could succeed, Remus clamped his own hand over your mouth, his eyes wide with alarm.

“Y/N, shh! Do you want Filch—or worse, Sirius—to find us?”

Your shoulders shook with laughter, your muffled giggles vibrating against his palm. When he finally removed his hand, you took a deep breath, calming yourself.

“You’re lucky I find you charming,” you said, your smirk returning.

“Lucky doesn’t begin to cover it,” he replied, his voice soft but sincere.

The two of you lingered for a moment, the world outside forgotten. Then, with a glance at the clock, you sighed.

“We both have classes,” you said reluctantly, stepping away.

As you moved toward the door, you turned back, leaning in to plant a feather-light kiss on his lips. It was brief but enough to leave him dazed.

“See you later, Lupin,” you murmured, your voice tinged with affection.

Before he could respond, you were gone, slipping out of the room like a shadow.

The next time you and Remus met, the classroom felt like your own little world. Your lips were on his, your hands tangled in his hair. His bag slid from his shoulder, hitting the floor with a soft thud as his arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer.

“Y/N,” he murmured between kisses, though he made no effort to stop you. “This isn’t exactly subtle.”

“Then stop me,” you challenged, your voice low and teasing.

He didn’t.

Instead, he let himself sink into the moment, his fingers curling into the fabric of your robes as if anchoring himself to you. The world outside faded to nothing—until the sound of the door creaking open snapped it back into focus.

“WHAT THE BLOODY HELL IS THIS?!”

Remus froze. You froze. Both of you turned slowly, dread pooling in your stomachs.

Standing in the doorway were James, Peter, and Sirius, their expressions a chaotic mix of shock, disbelief, and (in Sirius’s case) pure, unadulterated horror.

James’s jaw dropped, and his glasses slid down his nose as he stared at the two of you. Peter looked like he might faint from laughing, while Sirius clutched his chest like he’d just been stabbed.

“YOU’RE SNOGGING MY COUSIN?” Sirius bellowed, his voice echoing off the walls. “MY COUSIN?”

Remus groaned, pressing the heels of his hands to his temples. “Oh, Merlin.”

James recovered first, a smug grin spreading across his face. “I knew it!” he crowed, turning to Peter. “Pay up, Wormtail!”

Peter, still giggling, fished a handful of Sickles out of his pocket and handed them over. “Worth every Knut,” he muttered, wiping tears of laughter from his eyes.

Sirius ignored them entirely, his gaze fixed on you and Remus like they’d committed the ultimate betrayal. “I—I can’t believe this. Remus! My best friend! And Y/N! My sister! Have you both lost your minds?”

You crossed your arms, raising a single, unimpressed brow. “Calm down, Sirius. It’s not that big a deal.”

“Not that big a deal?” he repeated, his voice climbing to an almost comical pitch. “You’re my cousin! And Moony’s supposed to be the sensible one!”

“Clearly, I’m full of surprises,” Remus muttered, though the flush on his face betrayed just how mortified he was.

James, meanwhile, was leaning against the doorframe, absolutely delighted. “Honestly, Pads, this is the best thing that’s ever happened. Your cousin and Moony! This is gold.”

“Gold?!” Sirius sputtered, his face reddening by the second. “This is a betrayal! This is treachery! This is—”

“Drama,” you interrupted, cutting him off.

“Drama?” he echoed, looking at you like you’d grown a second head.

“Yes,” you said coolly, stepping forward. “You’re being dramatic. And if you keep this up, Sirius, I’ll tell everyone about the time you cried because you got lost in the hedge maze at Aunt Druella’s garden party.”

James choked on his laughter, doubling over and clutching his sides. “Wait, wait—you cried?”

Peter’s eyes widened, and he clapped a hand over his mouth to stifle his giggles. “Sirius, you cried in a hedge maze?”

“I WAS EIGHT!” Sirius roared, his face turning an alarming shade of red.

Remus, who had been valiantly trying to melt into the floor, couldn’t help the laugh that escaped him. James, still wheezing, clapped Sirius on the back.

“Come on, Pads,” James said, grinning ear to ear. “You’ve got to admit, they make a good couple. Bit of a power move, really. Your cousin snagging Moony and keeping it a secret? That’s impressive.”

“It’s infuriating,” Sirius snapped, glaring at you and Remus in turn. “How long has this been going on?”

You exchanged a glance with Remus, your smirk growing. “Almost a year,” you said casually.

“A year?” Sirius yelled. “You’ve been sneaking around behind my back for a YEAR?!”

“Don’t act so surprised,” you replied, arching a brow. “You’re not exactly the most observant.”

Peter finally managed to catch his breath long enough to chime in. “This explains why Moony always looks so… happy lately.”

Remus groaned again, burying his face in his hands. “Can we please stop talking about this?”

“Absolutely not,” James said cheerfully.

You patted Remus’s arm consolingly before turning back to Sirius. “Relax. It’s not like I’m marrying him. Yet.”

That set Sirius off again, sputtering incoherently as you leaned up to plant a quick kiss on Remus’s cheek.

Sirius gagged dramatically. “No! No kissing in front of me!”

You smirked, walking toward the door. “Then maybe you should leave.”

James slung an arm around Sirius’s shoulders, still grinning. “Come on, Pads. It’s not the end of the world.”

“It’s the end of my world,” Sirius muttered, looking utterly defeated.

Peter tilted his head, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “So… does this mean I have a shot with Narcissa?”

Sirius spun around so fast that Peter yelped, darting behind James for cover.

“I WILL END YOU, WORMTAIL!”

The commotion echoed down the corridor as James howled with laughter, and Remus leaned against the wall, shaking his head with a bemused smile.

And so, the secret was out—and Sirius would never recover.

[kryoee7]

The Architect and the Muse

this is my first time writing a fic soo lmk what you think ! -

The control room hummed with subdued power, its sleek walls and towering monitors casting a cold, unyielding glow. On the screens, the macabre ballet of Red Light, Green Light unfolded—players moving and stopping, their lives dictated by a mechanical doll’s gaze. Death punctuated the air like gunshots, for that was exactly what they were.

At the center of it all, Hwang In-Ho sat in his throne-like chair, his tailored suit immaculate despite the undercurrent of violence in the room. His mask, as much a shield as a crown, obscured his expression, but the weight of his presence was unmistakable. Draped across his lap, you embodied an eerie grace, your fingers tracing lazy patterns along the armrest as your gaze lingered on the carnage below.

“You see her hesitate?” In-Ho’s voice was a low, commanding rumble, his gloved hand resting possessively on your hip. “Player 029. Her legs quiver before every step. Weakness will swallow her whole.”

You tilted your head slightly, lips curving into a faint smirk. “And yet, the bold ones are the real spectacle. They’re the first to break when things get… personal.”

His fingers tightened reflexively on your waist, a quiet affirmation. “And the ones who don’t break?”

“They burn,” you said, your tone as detached as it was assured. “Beautifully, I might add.”

Your eyes remained fixed on the monitors, cataloging every stutter, every falter, every flash of defiance, as your mind began to drift to where it all started..

The rain lashed against the cracked pavement of a forgotten alleyway. Hwang In-Ho, disheveled and gaunt, leaned against the wall, his suit tattered and soaked. He clutched the prize money, his victory in the games a hollow triumph that gnawed at his soul.

“You look like hell,” a voice remarked, cutting through the storm.

He glanced up sharply, and there you stood, umbrella in hand, the rain sliding off its edges as if refusing to touch you. Your sharp eyes seemed to dissect him in an instant.

“And you,” he rasped, voice raw with despair, “look like you don’t belong here.”

“Maybe,” you replied, stepping closer. “But you do. And I’m curious—what keeps someone like you standing when it’d be so much easier to fall?”

He didn’t answer, but something in your gaze held him there, a tether he didn’t know he needed. Over time, your quiet strength became his anchor, your sharp mind his counsel. When you discovered the horrors behind the games, you didn’t flinch. Instead, you stayed. You stayed, and he began to realize you weren’t just his salvation—you were his equal.

Snapping out of it, the tension in the air was a living thing. The eerie melody of "Red light, Green light" echoed across the arena, the giant doll swiveling its head with mechanical precision.

On the monitors, Player 029 hesitated again.

“Watch,” In-Ho murmured, his voice reverent. “She’s done.”

The crack of a rifle confirmed it. The player’s body hit the ground, lifeless.

You leaned back against his chest, your calm mirroring his own. His arm tightened around you, fingers brushing yours in a silent exchange.

“Some surprises,” you murmured, gesturing to another screen. A bold player—Player 067—had darted forward in defiance of the doll’s rhythm, earning gasps from her fellow competitors.

“She’ll be one to watch,” In-Ho admitted, a rare hint of admiration threading his tone.

You hummed in agreement, the faintest trace of a smile playing on your lips. “For now.”

The room dimmed, the monitors fading into standby mode as the first game drew to a bloody close. In-Ho removed his mask, revealing the sharp planes of his face. His eyes, dark and searching, found yours.

“You see things I don’t,” he murmured, his hand cupping your jaw. “I trust your eyes more than my own.”

You chuckled, a soft sound that belied the weight of your shared history. “Careful, In-Ho. You’ll spoil me with that worship.”

His gaze hardened slightly, a reminder of the feral edge that always lingered just beneath his surface. “You’re already spoiled. And I’d destroy anyone who tried to take that from you.”

You traced your finger along the edge of his jaw, your touch as much a challenge as an affirmation. “You’d better." You mutter as you draw closer to him. In-Ho's thumb brushed over your lower lip, the gesture a silent question. You answered by tilting your head forward slightly, inviting him closer. His breath was warm against your mouth, the faint scent of mint and expensive cologne mixing in the air. When he kissed you, it was with the same fierce intensity he brought to every battle, but tempered with a tenderness that made your heart ache.

Your hands slid around his neck, fingers tangling in the short strands of his hair as you deepened the kiss. The world around you faded into the background, leaving only the steady rhythm of your heartbeats echoing in your ears. You felt the tension in his muscles, the way they flexed under your touch, and the heat that seemed to radiate from his very core.

In-Ho's grip tightened, pulling you closer until there was no space between you. His other hand rested on the small of your back, the pressure both reassuring and demanding. You could feel his desire, a potent force that seemed to vibrate in the air around you. It matched the thundering of your pulse, the rush of blood in your veins.

But as the final buzzer sounded, the room flooding with light and the sound of cheers and curses from the other players, you reluctantly broke the kiss. In-Ho's eyes searched yours, the question clear even without words. You nodded, and pulled away. The moment had been perfect, a secret shared between the two of you amidst the chaos of the games.

The surviving players were herded out of the arena, their terror lingering in the air like smoke. The control room was silent but for the crackle of monitors.

You rose gracefully from In-Ho’s lap, smoothing over your suit. Your voice, calm but laced with an edge, broke the quiet.

“Let’s make the second game… unforgettable.”

In-Ho smirked, his voice low and amused. “What do you have in mind?”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, your eyes alight with something dangerous. “Why don’t i join with you? Shake things up a little.”

His laughter was a dark, rumbling sound. “You’re playing with fire.”

“Good thing I like the heat.”

As the monitors flickered to life again, the next game revealed itself—a playground, with two giant rainbow circles on either side of the place. The room seemed to hum with anticipation, the stakes rising for both the players and the couple who controlled their fates.

In-Ho reached for your hand, his voice a whisper. “Let’s see if they can survive your game.”

Your smile was razor-sharp. “Let’s see if they can survive us.”

[aventurineswife]

hello!! may I req platonic sunday, aventurine, blade and jing yuan with a teen!reader like ai hoshino?

reader is a talented and captivating idol/singer, but outside of their idol persona they are sort of empty, trying to understand love and often doing self-destructive things while doing so, and as a famous idol, they have a stalker problem too :(

Behind Every Smile, There’s A Heart Breaking

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Aventurine x Reader, Blade x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Teen!Reader, Platonic Relationships, Ai Hoshino based Reader, Angst, Self-Discovery, Idol Life, Vulnerability, Emotional Support, Reader has a Stalker, Inner Conflict, Mentorship, Protective Characters, Manipulation, Trauma, Solitude, Psychological Struggles, Emotional Support.

Warnings: Mentions of Stalking, Emotional Distress, Self-destructive Tendencies, Manipulation, Themes of Loneliness, Vulnerability, Existential Angst, And Mental Health Struggles.

You stood backstage, adjusting the microphone in your hand, the weight of the moment pressing on your shoulders. The bright stage lights did little to alleviate the feeling of emptiness that gnawed at you. On stage, you were a star—brilliant, magnetic, adored by millions. But offstage, the glitter faded, and the walls closed in. The adoration of your fans never filled the void inside, and despite the applause, you often found yourself grasping at an idea of love that seemed just out of reach.

Lately, it seemed like the only thing that kept you tethered to reality were the constant reminders that you were under surveillance. You had a stalker, someone who had made it their personal mission to track your every move. It was terrifying, and the fear of being watched sent shivers down your spine, but you couldn’t speak out. After all, you were an idol—the show must go on.

As you prepped for your next performance, you felt a presence behind you. The air shifted, and you turned to find Sunday standing at the doorway, his soft eyes observing you with a quiet intensity. His expression was unreadable, but there was something in his gaze—something soft, perhaps even caring, that made you pause.

“You look troubled,” Sunday said, his voice gentle, almost too soft for someone usually as composed as he appeared. "What is it that's on your mind?"

You sighed, looking down at your shoes, the weight of everything threatening to crush you. “I just… sometimes I feel like I'm just pretending. Everyone loves the idol version of me, but outside of that, I'm just… lost. I don’t even know what love really is, and I can’t keep up this act forever. It’s exhausting.”

Sunday’s gaze softened further, and his wings fluttered subtly behind his ears, the feathers catching the light. He took a few steps forward, his presence comforting despite the distance you tried to maintain. “You’re not alone in feeling lost. Sometimes, the world demands so much from us, and we forget to ask ourselves if it’s what we truly want. But that doesn’t mean you don’t deserve to understand love. To find it.”

You tilted your head, a flicker of curiosity in your eyes. "You... think it's possible? After all, everything feels like a game I can’t win."

Sunday’s expression grew even more solemn. “Love is not a game, [Name]. It’s not a thing to be won or lost. It’s something we discover in moments of vulnerability, in our weaknesses as much as our strengths. You don’t have to figure it out alone, and you don’t need to carry that weight all by yourself. If you ever want to talk about it… I’m here.”

His words held a gravity that you couldn’t ignore. For the first time in a long while, you felt the possibility of something real—something deeper than the fleeting affection from fans or the hollow praise of strangers. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start.

You nodded, finally lifting your gaze to meet his. “Thanks, Sunday.”

With a warm, almost imperceptible smile, Sunday offered his hand. “Anytime, [Name]. You’re not alone in this, even if the world feels like it is.”

The glimmering lights of the casino were nothing compared to the brilliance of the crowd that surrounded you, cheering as you hit every note perfectly in tune. They adored you, and in return, you gave them the illusion of happiness. On stage, you were flawless—a talented idol who seemed untouchable. But in the solitude of your dressing room, away from the applause, you couldn’t shake the feeling of emptiness that haunted you. Fame felt like a cage, and the deeper you went, the more detached you became from the version of yourself they adored.

Tonight, you felt it stronger than ever—someone was watching you. The sense of dread that had followed you for days was now at its peak. You could feel eyes on your every movement, and it made your skin crawl. The door to your dressing room clicked open softly, and you turned to find Aventurine standing there, his eyes gleaming in the low light, a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes playing at the corners of his lips.

“You look troubled,” he remarked, his voice smooth, almost too smooth. “Is something weighing on you, [Name]?”

You froze for a moment, reluctant to voice your concerns. It was hard to speak about the things that gnawed at your soul, especially to someone like Aventurine. He was too calculating, too manipulative—yet, for some reason, you found yourself wanting to open up.

“I… I don’t know what’s real anymore. Out there, I’m everything people want me to be. I’m an idol, a singer, admired and adored. But when I take off the mask, I’m just this… hollow person. I don’t understand love, and I keep making mistakes… self-destructive ones. And there’s this stalker, someone who’s been following me, and I don’t know who I can trust.” you admitted, the words tumbling out.

Aventurine’s gaze flickered for a moment, his expression unreadable, but he said nothing. He stepped closer, the faintest hint of amusement in his eyes as he examined you like a puzzle to be solved.

“Trust is a delicate thing, isn’t it?” he mused. “So many people want to give it freely, and others… would rather hoard it. But that doesn’t change the fact that it’s a dangerous gamble. You, [Name], are a high-stakes game—your mind, your heart, everything you are. And you’re playing a game you might not be able to win.”

You blinked, startled by his frankness. “What do you mean?”

Aventurine smirked, tapping his fingers lightly on the side of his glass, as if deep in thought. “The truth is, people like us—those of us who play in the high stakes of fame and power—often lose sight of what really matters. People crave the illusion of control, the thrill of the game, but sometimes… they forget that the price of losing can be their very soul.”

He leaned in slightly, his eyes locking onto yours. “But I’ll let you in on a secret, [Name]. The greatest gambles are the ones we don’t make alone. Maybe you’ve lost a few rounds, but there’s always a new game. You don’t have to play it by the rules everyone else sets.”

You swallowed, unsure if you were supposed to be comforted or unnerved. Aventurine’s words were a mix of both, a careful balance of truth and manipulation that only he could wield.

“I don’t know what to do anymore…” you whispered.

“Then let me show you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper. “Let me show you how to play the game and win. You might not understand love, but perhaps that’s just another game to be mastered.”

There was something both comforting and terrifying in his gaze—he understood you in ways no one else did, even if it came with a dangerous price.

Aventurine’s smile widened, a devilish glint in his eye as he offered you a hand, his voice low and enticing. “Shall we gamble, [Name]?”

Blade watches you perform from the shadows, his piercing eyes locked on your every move. On stage, you're nothing short of captivating—a star in your own right, your voice filling the room with an ethereal beauty. Yet, he can’t shake the feeling that something’s amiss. He’s seen it before in others: the void behind the glimmering façade, the emptiness that gnaws at the soul when the spotlight dims.

Off-stage, he knows the truth. He’s caught glimpses of the way you interact with your fans, the way your eyes, too, betray the emptiness you try so hard to hide. You’re lost, and it's evident in the way you spiral—pushing yourself to the brink, self-destructive tendencies lurking beneath the surface. Blade’s eyes narrow. He understands that kind of pain, that desire to disappear into oblivion, to break free from the chains that bind you to this hollow existence.

He doesn’t need to ask you about the stalker; he’s already seen the glint of fear in your eyes after your performances, the way your steps falter, and how you always look over your shoulder. Blade knows all too well the weight of being hunted, of feeling like your every move is being watched.

"You think you're strong," Blade murmurs, his voice low, "but you are already broken."

His words aren’t meant to harm; they’re a reflection of a truth he understands all too well. You’ve built a wall of smiles and cheers, but it’s fragile. Behind the glittering idol persona is a person in need of saving. Blade’s expression softens, just a fraction, a hint of something almost compassionate in his gaze.

“I don’t need to be saved,” you respond quietly, almost as if you’re convincing yourself. “I can handle it.”

His broken sword glints in the dim light, a sharp reminder of the destruction he’s already walked through. He steps forward, his presence imposing, but oddly calm. "You can try, but in the end, nothing can erase the cracks."

Blade doesn't offer false promises of rescue. Instead, his presence is one of quiet understanding—a dark figure who has also lost too much and wandered too far. If you need someone to guide you through the abyss, perhaps he's the last person you'd turn to. But for now, he stays close, a protector in the shadows. Because even if you don’t understand the need for help, Blade does.

Jing Yuan is known for his calm demeanor and calculated approach to leadership, but even he can’t ignore the weight you carry. As an idol, you shine brightly in the public eye, drawing attention with your talent and charm. But beneath the surface, Jing Yuan sees the fragility that you hide behind the mask of perfection.

He often watches you from a distance, his sharp eyes perceptive as always. You're young, far younger than most of the people he commands, and yet the burdens you carry seem to age you in a way that troubles him. He knows the toll fame takes on someone, how it chips away at your sense of self, leaving only fragments of the person you once were.

Jing Yuan never asks too much of you. He knows that sometimes, people who appear the strongest are the ones who need the most protection. He’s seen you falter off-stage, when the lights fade and the cameras stop rolling. The emptiness in your eyes, the uncertainty in your movements, it all speaks to a young soul adrift, unsure of where to go next.

"You need not bear this alone," he says softly one evening, his voice almost lost in the quiet hum of the room. You stand beside him, the weight of your burdens pressing down on you.

You glance up at him, a smile playing at the edges of your lips, but it doesn’t quite reach your eyes. “I’m fine, really. I’ve got everything under control.”

Jing Yuan watches you for a long moment, his gaze steady and unyielding. He’s not here to lecture you, not to tell you what you should or shouldn’t do. He knows that advice falls on deaf ears when someone is as lost as you are. Instead, he offers his presence—quiet, reassuring, like the calm before a storm.

“Control is an illusion,” he murmurs, a deep understanding in his voice. “True strength is knowing when to ask for help.”

You stiffen, not used to hearing such vulnerability from someone like him, a leader so accustomed to managing others. But his words strike something within you, something buried beneath the surface. He’s not asking you to reveal everything. He’s simply offering the space to breathe, to exist without the pressure of having to perform for the world.

There’s a moment of silence between you, the two of you standing side by side, both aware of the quiet loneliness that you carry. Jing Yuan doesn’t speak again right away. He doesn’t need to. His quiet support is enough, a reminder that even those who walk the path of leadership carry their own burdens.

And for just a moment, you let yourself be still, feeling the weight of his unspoken understanding. Maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to fight this battle alone after all.

[bandsofmarv]

Forbidden

In which y/n potter is secretly dating mattheo riddle.

No warnings

The glow of the Gryffindor common room fire danced across the walls as you leaned closer to the parchment on your lap, pretending to focus on your Potions essay. In truth, your mind was elsewhere—on the boy with the dark curls and piercing eyes who had managed to worm his way into your heart. Mattheo Riddle.

It was a dangerous name to whisper, even more so to feel something for him. Yet here you were, sneaking glances at the clock, counting down the minutes until curfew when you’d slip out and meet him.

If Harry knew, he would lose his mind.

Your older brother had always been fiercely protective, but his hatred for Mattheo was on another level. Harry saw him as everything wrong with Slytherin—a cocky, sharp-tongued troublemaker with dangerous connections. And Mattheo’s reputation as Tom Riddle’s son didn’t help.

So you kept the relationship a secret. For now.

————————————————————————

The Astronomy Tower was empty, as usual, when you arrived. The December chill cut through your robes, but before you could shiver, a pair of warm arms wrapped around you from behind.

“You’re late,” Mattheo murmured, his breath tickling your ear.

You grinned and turned to face him. “Had to wait for Harry to stop hovering like a Dementor.”

Mattheo chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent warmth spiraling through you. “The Golden Boy really doesn’t like me, does he?”

“He doesn’t know you,” you countered, reaching up to brush a curl from his forehead. “Not like I do.”

“And he never will if we keep sneaking around like this,” Mattheo said, though there was no real anger in his tone. Only a quiet longing. “Don’t you ever get tired of hiding?”

You hesitated, guilt gnawing at you. “I hate it,” you admitted. “But I can’t hurt Harry like that. He—he’s been through so much. He wouldn’t understand.”

Mattheo’s jaw tightened, but he nodded. “For you, I’ll wait. But he’s going to find out eventually.”

It happened sooner than you expected.

You were leaving the library, Mattheo’s hand brushing against yours as you both ducked into a quiet corridor, laughing softly about some joke he had made. Neither of you noticed the figure lurking in the shadows until it was too late.

“What the hell is this?”

The icy tone made your heart drop. You spun around to see Harry standing a few feet away, his wand clutched tightly in his hand, his green eyes blazing with fury.

“Harry, it’s not—” you began, but he cut you off.

“Not what it looks like?” he snapped. “Because it looks like my sister is sneaking around with him.” His glare shifted to Mattheo, who stood his ground, his expression unreadable.

“Harry, please—just listen,” you pleaded.

“Listen to what? That you’ve been lying to me? That you’re sneaking around with Riddle?” Harry’s voice cracked with anger. “Do you have any idea who he is? What his family has done?”

“Harry, I know who he is!” you shot back, your voice rising. “But he’s not his father! He’s not what you think!”

Mattheo stepped forward then, his voice calm but firm. “I love her, Potter.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Love? Don’t you dare talk to me about love. You’re just using her—”

“Stop it!” you yelled, stepping between them. “Mattheo isn’t using me. He cares about me—he’s been there for me in ways you wouldn’t understand.”

Harry’s expression twisted with a mix of hurt and betrayal. “I’m trying to protect you,” he said quietly.

“I don’t need protecting from him,” you replied just as softly.

For a moment, the three of you stood in silence, the tension crackling like electricity. Finally, Harry let out a bitter laugh and turned away. “Do what you want,” he said, his voice cold. “But don’t come crying to me when it all falls apart.”

He walked away, leaving you and Mattheo alone in the corridor.

That night, as you lay in bed staring at the ceiling, you wondered if Harry would ever forgive you. But when Mattheo found you the next day, his hand slipping into yours despite the glares from the Gryffindor table, you knew one thing for sure: some things were worth fighting for.

And you weren’t giving him up. Not for anyone.

[solxamber]

Desperate Confessions with: Riddle Rosehearts , Leona Kingscholar

Others: Jamil and Sebek

Riddle Rosehearts

It’s almost dark when you finally step out of the library. The entire campus is steeped in the quiet warmth of the setting sun, casting long shadows and filling the air with a golden glow. You spot Riddle just a few paces away, standing by the ivy-laden wall, seemingly waiting for you. His usual composure is absent, replaced by an odd stillness in his posture, a tension that you can feel even from here.

"Riddle?" you ask, concern coloring your voice as you approach him. He turns, and for a moment, he doesn’t seem like himself. His face is flushed, his gaze intense, almost… desperate.

“You’re here,” he says quietly, almost in relief, though the softness of his words belies a turmoil simmering beneath. "I didn’t expect you to come out this late."

You tilt your head, trying to read the unspoken thoughts in his expression, but he doesn’t give you a chance. “I… need to tell you something.” His voice is tight, as though he’s struggling against himself to form the words. His hands are clenched at his sides, and he looks as if he’s trying to steady his breathing. “It’s—it’s been too much lately, and I don’t think I can keep pretending I’m…unaffected by you."

For a moment, he closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, they hold a vulnerability you’ve rarely seen. "You’ve haunted my thoughts, day and night. Every time I see you, I—I’m left wondering if I’ll be able to speak without… without feeling like my heart will burst. I feel like I’m losing control of myself whenever you’re near.”

His cheeks flush deeper, but he doesn’t look away. "I’m embarrassed by it. This—this lack of control.” His voice breaks, just a bit, and you can hear the self-criticism beneath his words. “I’ve spent my whole life restraining myself, and then you—” He takes a shaky breath. “You come into my life, and suddenly… I can’t.”

Your chest tightens at the rawness of his confession, at the deep-seated need he’s barely holding back. Before you can stop yourself, you close the gap between you, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him close.

Riddle’s breath catches, but he doesn’t pull away. His eyes are wide, a hint of disbelief mingling with hope as he gazes at you, unspoken words trembling on his lips. And in that moment, you realize that there’s no need for more words.

You surge forward, capturing his lips in a fierce, unrestrained kiss. It’s hard, almost desperate, and every ounce of feeling he’s kept bottled up seems to crash over both of you at once. Riddle’s arms wrap around you, and he clings to you as if he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

He kisses you back with the same intensity, almost a little shyly at first, but it quickly deepens into something far more passionate. His hand slips up to cup the side of your face, and you can feel his fingers tremble ever so slightly as he pulls you closer, kissing you like he’s wanted to for far too long.

When you finally part, both of you are breathless, your foreheads resting together as you catch your breath. Riddle’s eyes are shining, his lips swollen from the kiss, his face flushed.

He looks at you with a kind of wonder, like he’s still not entirely certain this is real, and then, almost shyly, he whispers, “I didn’t… I didn’t know it could feel like this.” His voice is soft, reverent, as if he’s savoring each word, the remnants of his vulnerability lingering.

Leona Kingscholar

It sneaks up on Leona, this feeling he doesn't know what to name. At first, he thinks it's just irritation—that persistent gnawing that comes with your endless presence. You’re always around, talking, laughing, pulling him into things he swears he doesn’t care about. He assumes it’s only a matter of time before he finally snaps. But then you’re not there one day, and the world feels off-kilter.

He spends that entire afternoon restless, eyes flickering toward every entrance as if expecting you to walk through it. But you don’t. The gardens are too quiet, his naps too still, and he’s left with a strange emptiness that he can’t shake off.

The next day, you’re there again, and the weight lifts. He scowls when he catches himself relaxing, brushing it off, but it keeps happening. Days pass, and it’s clear—he misses you. This realization grates on him, bothers him in a way nothing else has. How could he, Leona Kingscholar, find himself so wrapped up in someone else?

Then, today, he’s back in his usual spot in the garden, the shade cooling his skin as he lounges, pretending to nap. He can hear your footsteps before he sees you, and he opens one eye as you approach, carrying a basket of food, smiling that soft, familiar smile of yours.

"Thought you’d like something to eat," you say, setting the basket down with that easy grace of yours that makes his chest ache.

And that’s it. That ache in his chest spills over, and he can’t hold it back anymore. It all comes rushing out, like a dam breaking.

"Why?" he says, his voice rougher than he intended. "Why do you keep coming here, even when I’ve given you every reason not to?" He’s sitting up now, leaning toward you, the intensity in his eyes making you blink.

He huffs, a bitter smile tugging at his lips. "I thought you were a nuisance at first. Always hanging around, always in my space." His voice drops lower, rougher, almost as if he’s frustrated with himself. "But the truth is… I’m the one who’s a mess without you. You leave, and everything just… feels wrong."

There’s a pause, and he looks down, jaw clenched, hands clenched in his lap. "I don’t know what you’ve done to me, but I don’t care anymore. All I know is… I want you here. Always." He raises his gaze to yours, the desperation flickering in his eyes a vulnerability that catches even him off guard.

Your heart swells, and as his words sink in, a smile breaks across your face. Tears well up in your eyes, unbidden, but you can’t help it. Before you know it, you’re leaning in, cupping his face, and pressing your lips to his in a kiss that’s as gentle as it is profound. The warmth of him, the rough texture of his skin against yours, grounds you, and you kiss him deeply, tasting the intensity of his feelings, the rawness he’s bared just for you.

As you pull back, his thumb brushes across your cheek, catching a stray tear. He leans forward, pressing a lingering kiss to your lips, his own lips brushing lightly against the salt of your tears. "Even that," he murmurs, his voice a soft rumble, "even the taste of you like this… I want it all."

And you hold him close, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath your palm, realizing that this is where you both belong.

Masterlist