#let’s pretend she wouldn’t gut me open

[heartdoomed]

Head pats Dani because why not

[romugh]

IN HER REFLECTION- nerd!NR

pairing- nerd!natasha romanoff x reader

cw- 18+!!; top!reader, sub!bottom!natasha, fingering, mirror sex, liiiight choking, strap (n rcv), heavy praise kink!!, slight degradation if you squint i guess, natty in subspace!

wc- almost 10k of pure smut? sorry?

a/n- got inspired by a request! and then my brain did something weird and suddenly there's 7k words about natasha taking a strap, but that's not on me. not. on. me. blame the anon! (loved writing your request, feel free to send some more in x)

request- forcing nerdy!nat to look at herself on the mirror while you make her sit on your lap and finger her.

synopsis- natasha had been a brat, so you treat her like one, exploring her desires as she confronts herself in the mirror.

taglist- @esposadejoyhuerta, @lost-mortemanghel - comment or dm if you'd like to be added x

It wasn’t just today that had you on edge. Natasha had been bratting out in the most subtle, infuriating ways for days now, but today she had taken it to another level. She knew exactly how to toe the line—pretending to be her usual innocent, shy self—while leaving just enough doubt in your mind to make you question whether or not she was pushing you intentionally.

The text messages were what really started it.

You’d been in class, trying to focus on a lecture, when the first one came in. It was simple enough: “Hope your class is going well ;)”—completely harmless, right? But you couldn’t shake the feeling there was more to it, especially when you opened it and saw the little winking emoji she’d added at the end. That wink, so out of character for her, made you pause. You stared at your phone, trying to decide whether or not you were imagining things. Natasha didn’t usually send flirty texts, let alone ones with winking emojis.

You could already feel the flicker of heat in your chest, but you pushed it aside and ignored the message, hoping it was just an innocent mistake.

Except it didn’t stop there.

Three hours later, another text came through: “I keep thinking about you today. Can’t focus on anything else.”

And this time, it wasn’t so easy to brush off. Her words were vague enough to be taken as sweet, but your gut told you there was more to it. You could almost imagine her saying those words, the way her voice might sound just a little breathless as she admitted it.

By the third class, you were struggling to concentrate. The way Natasha kept popping into your mind, her texts leaving you on edge, had you feeling more than just a little distracted.

As soon as the lecture ended and you stepped out of the classroom, your phone rang. Natasha.

You picked up, trying to keep your voice casual. “Hey, Natty. Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” she replied, her voice soft and shy, but there was something else. A breathlessness. Like she was slightly out of breath. “I was just thinking about you.”

Again, it sounded innocent enough, but the timing, the tone… something about it felt deliberate.

You frowned, trying to make sense of it. "Are you sure you're okay? You’ve been really... attentive today."

“I just miss you,” she murmured, her voice carrying that same soft, almost innocent tone. But underneath it, you could sense that there was more she wasn’t saying.

There was a slight pause on the line, and for a moment, you thought you heard her inhale sharply, like she was trying to catch her breath. It made your pulse spike, sending a ripple of heat through you. You didn’t ask, but the thought crossed your mind—was she…?

No. Natasha was too innocent for that. You knew she wouldn’t touch herself without you.

Still, the way she’d sounded out of breath left you imagining all sorts of scenarios, ones you tried to push away as you focused on getting through the rest of the day.

By the time you got home, her teasing texts and those breathy phone calls had simmered inside you, leaving you wound tight. She was fully aware of her actions, even though she acted like she wasn’t. The winks, the subtle innuendos, the way she kept thinking about you and calling you after every class—it was all part of her game.

And now, here she was, sitting at your dining table, acting like the same sweet, innocent nerd who couldn’t possibly have done anything wrong. Her head tilted slightly as she studied you, still feigning innocence, but there was that glimmer in her eyes, that hint of mischief that sent a fresh surge of frustration through you.

“What’s wrong?” she asked again, her voice sweet but clearly baiting you, her lips curling into the faintest smirk. “Did I do something?”

You exhaled sharply, narrowing your eyes at her. “Don’t play dumb, Natty. You know exactly what you’ve been doing all day.”

She blinked up at you, a blush warming her cheeks, but she didn’t deny it. Instead, she held your gaze, biting her lip as if struggling to suppress a smile, that bratty confidence shining through.

You moved closer, standing directly in front of her now, crossing your arms as you stared down at her. “The texts, the calls… were you just trying to mess with me?”

Her breath hitched slightly, the blush spreading across her cheeks. “I-I wasn’t trying to—”

“Don’t lie,” you interrupted, your tone firm. You leaned in, placing your hands on the arms of her chair, caging her in. “You’ve been bratting out all day, trying to get a reaction. Haven’t you?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, her bravado faltering just slightly. But then, after a beat of silence, she bit her lip and nodded.

“Maybe a little,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the admission was clear.

You could feel your pulse quicken, the tension between you crackling like electricity. You knew she was doing this on purpose, trying to push your buttons, trying to test you. But now? Now she was going to find out exactly what happens when she pushes too far.

“You like pushing me, don’t you?” you asked, your voice low and dangerous, watching as her blush deepened even further.

Natasha squirmed slightly in her seat, clearly flustered, but she didn’t look away. “I-I like it when you… when you pay attention to me,” she admitted softly, her voice filled with nervousness and excitement.

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curling into a smirk. “Oh, you have my attention, alright.” You let your hand move to her chin, tilting her head up so she was forced to keep looking at you. “But if you want to keep bratting out, then you’d better be ready to handle what comes next.”

Her breath caught in her throat, her wide eyes locking onto yours. You could see the anticipation swirling there, her nervousness mixing with anticipation as she realised what was about to happen.

“Stand up,” you commanded, your tone leaving no room for argument.

Natasha quickly obeyed, her body trembling slightly as she rose to her feet, her gaze never leaving yours. You could see the flush creeping down her neck, and you knew that under her composed exterior, she was just as affected as you were.

You moved behind her, placing your hands on her shoulders and guiding her toward the mirror on the far wall of the room. She looked confused for a moment, but she didn’t resist.

You positioned her in front of the mirror, your body pressing close to hers from behind, your hands slowly sliding down her arms as you leaned in close to her ear.

“Look at yourself, Natty,” you whispered, your voice low and commanding. “Look at how flushed you are. How much you’ve been teasing me today.”

Her breath came in short, sharp gasps, her eyes fixed on her reflection as you stood behind her, the tension between you thick in the air. She could see it herself too now—the bratty smirk gone, replaced with the vulnerable, needy expression you knew she’d been hiding all day.

“You think you’re so innocent,” you murmured, your hands moving down to rest on her hips. “But you’re not. You’ve been begging for this all day.”

Natasha let out a shaky breath, her eyes flickering between the mirror and the floor, her body trembling under your touch.

“I… I didn’t mean to—”

“Oh, but you did,” you interrupted, your tone soft but firm. “And now, you’re going to take the consequences.” -

You sit on the edge of the bed, facing the mirror in your bedroom with Natasha in your lap. Her back is resting against your front, her body snug against yours. She’s still wearing her panties and your oversized shirt—one she had been using as pyjamas, soft and far too big for her. The image of her in it, slightly dishevelled, only adds to the intimacy of the moment.

She had undressed you earlier, her hands tentative but eager, slowly pulling off each piece of clothing until you were left bare. Her fingers had lingered on your skin, tracing over your chest, arms, and thighs with a delicate touch, as if still unsure of her own boldness. Now, the warmth of her bare back pressing against your chest feels both grounding and electrifying.

The oversized shirt hangs loosely off her shoulders, the fabric falling down past her thighs, barely covering anything. Her skin glows in the dim light of the room, and the way her chest rises and falls with each shallow breath betrays the nerves bubbling inside her. You can feel her heartbeat thudding softly against your chest, her anticipation palpable.

With one hand resting on her waist, you reach for the hem of the shirt. Your fingers brush lightly against her skin, and you feel the shiver that runs down her spine. "Let’s get rid of this," you murmur softly into her ear. She tenses for a moment, but she doesn’t object, only nodding slightly in agreement.

You tug the shirt upwards, brushing it over her shoulders and guiding her arms out of the sleeves. Her skin is warm beneath your touch, and when the shirt is finally discarded, it leaves her sitting there in nothing but her panties, vulnerable and exposed in the dim light of the room.

The soft blush on her cheeks deepens, her eyes glancing away from the mirror in front of you as she tries to hide her embarrassment. But there’s no hiding now—not when you’re both like this.

"Look at yourself," you say gently, your voice soft but firm. Your fingers lift her chin, tilting her head slightly so she’s forced to meet her own reflection in the mirror. Her wide eyes flicker nervously, trying to focus on anything but the image staring back at her. But you don’t let her turn away.

"Look at how beautiful you are," you continue, your hand sliding down her bare stomach, feeling the soft skin beneath your fingertips. She trembles slightly, her body pressing further into you for comfort. The sight of her like this—vulnerable, unsure, and so soft—makes your heart ache with affection.

Her breathing hitches as your hand travels lower, tracing over the waistband of her panties. She’s already wet—you can feel it through the fabric—and the knowledge sends a thrill down your spine. You slide your hand under the waistband, teasing her with the lightest of touches.

"You’re already so wet for me," you murmur, pressing a finger against her slick entrance. Natasha gasps softly, her body jerking in your lap. Her hips shift instinctively, trying to push against your hand, but you hold her steady.

"Keep looking," you remind her, tilting her chin up again as you tear her panties away with a swift motion, leaving her exposed to the mirror. "I want you to watch every second."

Her breath comes in soft, shaky pants as you slide a single finger inside her. Her walls flutter around you, the slick heat welcoming your touch, but she’s so tight, so sensitive. She bites her lip, trying to stifle the whimper that escapes her, but you catch it anyway.

"Tell me how it feels," you coax her gently, your lips brushing against the shell of her ear.

"It feels… good," she whispers, her voice trembling. Her cheeks are flushed, her eyes half-lidded as she watches the reflection of herself in your lap, back pressed against you, utterly at your mercy. She’s barely holding on to her own control, the sensation already overwhelming her.

You add another finger, stretching her slightly, and her body tenses. She lets out a soft moan, her head falling back against your shoulder as you continue to move inside her. The wet sounds of your fingers sliding in and out of her fill the room, and her reflection shudders at the sound. Her hips rock involuntarily against your hand, desperate for more friction.

"Look at yourself," you whisper again, your voice a mix of command and praise. "Look at how beautiful you are when you’re falling apart so fast."

Natasha’s eyes flutter open, her gaze locking onto the reflection, and the sight makes her blush even deeper. She watches herself being fingered, cheeks flushed, lips parted as soft gasps fall from her mouth. She’s trembling in your lap already, her hips moving slightly, but she’s still shy, still struggling to meet her own gaze.

"Don’t hide from me," you murmur, curling your fingers inside her, causing her to whimper. "I want to see you, hear you. I want you to see yourself."

Her chest rises sharply as the pleasure builds, and her body reacts to every small movement of your hand. The intensity of it is written all over her face—her soft moans, the way her legs tremble in your lap, the way she tries so hard to maintain her composure but can’t.

You pick up the pace, curling your fingers just right, and Natasha’s breath hitches. Her hips jerk forward, her body writhing as the pleasure starts to take over. She’s close now, her walls tightening around your fingers, her moans growing louder as her body shudders in your arms.

"That’s it," you praise softly. "You’re doing so well."

It doesn’t take long before Natasha falls apart completely. Her orgasm hits her in waves, her body trembling violently as she gasps for air, her reflection a beautiful, trembling mess. Her walls clamp down on your fingers, and she lets out a loud moan, unable to hold back any longer. You keep your pace steady, letting her ride out the full extent of her climax.

"Good girl," you whisper, kissing her temple as she leans back against you, her body spent. "You’re so perfect."

For a moment, you think she might be done, her breathing heavy and her body limp against yours. But then, she surprises you.

"I want more," she whispers breathlessly, her voice barely audible. There’s a neediness to her tone, a desperation for something deeper, more intense.

You pull your fingers out slowly, watching as her body twitches at the sudden emptiness. She’s still trembling, her slick heat clinging to your fingers. "Are you sure?" you ask, your voice gentle but firm, wanting to be absolutely certain.

Natasha nods, biting her lip as she gazes at you in the mirror, cheeks flushed and eyes still glassy from her orgasm. You position three fingers at her entrance, and her breath catches in her throat. She’s never taken that much before, and the nervousness is evident in her expression. But she trusts you—completely.

With slow, deliberate movements, you push three fingers inside her, feeling the stretch and the tightness as she struggles to take all of you. Natasha lets out a sharp gasp, her body tensing, but you’re patient, whispering soothing words of encouragement into her ear.

"Just breathe," you murmur, one hand resting on her waist to ground her. "You’re doing so well, Natty."

Gradually, her body adjusts to the stretch, and the burn begins to melt into pleasure. She’s panting now, her walls fluttering around your fingers as she finally takes all three. Her hips begin to move again, her body seeking out the pleasure despite the overwhelming sensation of being stretched so deliciously. The sensation is intoxicating, and she could easily get addicted to it—the way her pussy clenches around you, taking you in, while she watches herself in the mirror, captivated by the sight.

"That’s it," you praise, your voice low and soothing as you curl your fingers inside her. Natasha’s moans grow louder, her hips rocking against your hand as she loses herself in the pleasure, her reflection shaking and flushed with arousal.

Natasha’s hips move restlessly, grinding down onto your hand as her breath comes in shallow gasps. Her body feels like it’s on fire—every nerve alight with the intense pleasure that your fingers are pulling from her. She’s still trembling, her chest rising and falling erratically as she fights to stay grounded, but it’s slipping away from her with every passing second.

The mirror reflects everything—her flushed face, the way her thighs quiver, craving more of you, even though there’s nothing more to take. Her body tightens and relaxes, caught in a desperate struggle to maintain control over herself. But she’s slipping. She’s losing herself in you, in the way you fill her completely, in the overwhelming need that her body can’t seem to satiate.

Her thoughts blur, everything hazy and distant except for the overwhelming need that pulses through her. There’s no space for anything but the intense sensations, the pleasure so deep and raw it’s almost painful. Her mind can’t focus on anything but the feel of your fingers inside her, the way they stretch her, fill her, the pressure growing until it’s too much.

“I-I can’t—" Natasha gasps, her voice trembling as she tries to form a coherent sentence, but she can’t finish it. Her head falls back against your shoulder, her eyes slipping shut as her body jerks again, a sharp moan escaping her lips.

"You can," you murmur softly, your free hand sliding up to caress her thigh, your voice gentle yet firm. "You’re doing so well, Natty. Just breathe. Let go. I’ve got you."

Her breath catches at your words, the praise hitting her in a way that makes her twitch even more. It’s as if every word of encouragement digs deeper into her mind, making her desperate to please you. She wants to take more, to be good for you, to show you just how much she can handle, how much she needs you.

Her hips jerk forward again, her body trying to pull you even deeper, but it’s still not enough. It’s never enough.

"I want to... please you," Natasha whispers, her voice breathy and weak, barely audible above her own moans. Her fingers clench at the sheets, her body trembling uncontrollably as she rocks back against you, but she’s so far gone that she’s not even sure of what she’s asking anymore.

"You are pleasing me," you whisper, lips brushing against the soft skin of her neck. "You’re perfect, princess. You’re everything I want."

Her breath hitches, her heart pounding as she hears your words, and she can’t help the soft whimper that escapes her. The praise makes her head spin, makes her want more, makes her want to be everything for you.

As you worked her open, the world around you faded into a blur. Natasha’s breathy whimpers filled the space between you, mixing with the steady rhythm of your fingers. The burn and stretch she felt was becoming a delicious ache, one that ignited something deeper within her.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, your voice a low murmur as you continued to move inside her. “You’re doing so well, Natty.” The praise slipped from your lips like honey, sweet and thick, wrapping around her as she began to surrender to the sensations.

With a deep inhale, Natasha’s eyes fluttered closed, and for a moment, the tension in her body dissolved completely. She began to rock her hips, slowly at first, testing the waters, but soon it transformed into something more urgent, more desperate. You could feel the weight of her trust, a gift that was both intoxicating and thrilling.

Then, without warning, she surprised you. Natasha shifted her weight, driving your fingers deeper inside her as she began to ride them, her movements instinctive, almost primal. The way her body responded to you was mesmerising. Each rise and fall was a dance, her movements fluid and graceful, yet filled with an undeniable hunger.

“Oh my God,” you breathed, utterly captivated by the sight before you. The way she looked, the way she felt—it was overwhelming. The flush of her cheeks deepened, a beautiful shade of crimson, contrasting against the gentle curves of her body. Her eyes, once filled with uncertainty, now sparkled with a wild abandon that made your heart race.

With every thrust of her hips, you could feel the warmth of her surrounding your fingers, enveloping them in a slick, delicious heat. The way she took you deeper, riding your fingers like she was trying to chase down that elusive high—it sent a surge of primal instinct through you. You wanted to guide her, to push her further, but she was taking the lead, and you were powerless to stop it.

“Natasha,” you murmured, your voice thick with desire. “You’re so beautiful like this.”

At your words, her eyes snapped open, locking onto yours in the mirror. There was a glint of something—was it pure submission?—in her gaze that sent a shiver down your spine. She looked so captivating, the way her body moved in tandem with your fingers, her breasts rising and falling with each breath, the soft swell visible through her shirt. You could feel your pulse quicken, blood rushing to your ears as the sight of her lost in pleasure ignited a fire within you.

“Does it feel good?” you asked, wanting to hear her voice, to feel her pleasure wrap around you like a warm embrace.

“Yes,” she gasped, her voice a breathless whisper. “So good.”

You could see the way her body tensed, the slight tremors that coursed through her as she adjusted to the rhythm. The way she leaned backward, pressing her back into your front, gave you an even better view of your fingers disappearing into her. Her sweat clung to her skin, highlighting the curves you wanted to worship.

“Just like that, Natty. You’re perfect.”

Her breath hitched at your words, and she pushed her hips down harder, eager to feel you filling her. Each time your fingers brushed against that sweet spot deep inside her, she gasped, the sound filled with pure ecstasy. The way she rode you, her body moving with both urgency and grace, was hypnotising. She wanted more, her mind hazy from the pleasure, she needed more.

“Look at yourself,” you urged, your voice low and sultry. “Look at how you’re losing yourself in this. How beautiful you are.”

As she gazed into the mirror, you saw a flicker of vulnerability, mixed with a newfound confidence. The tension in her body began to shift, the way she moved becoming more fluid, more assured. The flush on her cheeks deepened, and her mouth fell open in a long moan, the sound reverberating in the silence of the room.

“I—oh God,” she stuttered, her body beginning to tremble as you curled your fingers, hitting that sweet spot again and again. “I can’t… Please–I need more.”

“It’s  okay,” you reassured her, your voice steady, not knowing just how serious she was. “Just let go. Trust me, Natty.”

And as if your words had cast a spell, she surrendered completely. You could see it in her eyes—the moment she slipped into subspace. The tension that had held her so tightly began to unravel, the trust she placed in you lifting her higher than she’s ever been before.

“Please,” she begged, her voice thick with need. “I want more.”

You felt a surge of pride, knowing that you were the one to take her there, to help her explore these depths. “You want more, huh?” you teased lightly, relishing in the power dynamic that flowed between you.

“Yes,” she gasped, her hips working furiously against your hand, every movement driven by instinct. The way her body tightened around you, her walls squeezing your fingers, made your breath hitch in your throat.

“Such a good girl for me,” you praised, watching as her eyes fluttered closed once more, a blissful expression painting her features. The way she was losing herself, riding your fingers with reckless abandon, filled you with an overwhelming need to see her reach her peak.

“Keep going, Natty. I want to see you come undone,” you encouraged, your voice dropping to a low, sultry whisper that wrapped around her like a warm blanket.

With each thrust, you felt her teetering on the edge, her body trembling with pleasure. “I’m so close,” she panted, her voice shaking with need.

“Let go for me,” you urged, your fingers never faltering, coaxing her closer to that precipice. “You can do it. I’m right here.”

In that moment, you felt her walls tighten one last time, her body quaking as she finally surrendered to the waves of pleasure crashing over her. “I—oh God!” she cried, the sound filled with pure bliss as she fell over the edge.

As her orgasm washed over her, you could see the way her body tensed and relaxed, the euphoric release igniting every nerve ending. You held her tightly, guiding her through it, feeling every pulse, every quiver as she rode out the waves of ecstasy.

Natasha was deep in subspace, the remnants of her first orgasm still coursing through her like a gentle wave. Her breaths were slow and steady, but the way she clung to you—her fingers gripping your arms tightly—betrayed the excitement bubbling beneath her surface. She was in a world all her own, a place where she felt safe, vulnerable, and strangely empowered.

You watched her through the mirror, captivated by the way her expression shifted from blissful surrender to a shy longing. Her cheeks were still flushed, and her eyes sparkled with something you recognized as desire, but there was a hesitation there, too. It was a mix of trust and uncertainty, and it only made you want her more.

“Can I…?” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, yet filled with a shy eagerness. “Can I have your cock?”

The request sent a thrill through you. “You want my strap?” you asked, your voice low and teasing. You were ready to give her anything, but you wanted to draw out the moment, to enjoy this shift in power dynamics.

“Y-Yeah,” she stammered, biting her lip, her innocence suddenly seeming more pronounced in the heat of the moment. “Please?”

You nodded, a grin spreading across your face. “Alright. Just let me choose one for you.” You reached for the drawer to your left, excitement bubbling in your chest as you pulled out various options. As you displayed them, you couldn’t help but notice the way Natasha’s eyes widened and her breath quickened.

But when you picked up one of the smaller straps, she shook her head vigorously. “No! I want the biggest one.”

Your brows shot up in surprise. “The biggest one? Are you sure about that?” You hadn’t even used it before—it was something your friends had gifted you as a joke, but here was Natasha, deep in subspace and adamant about wanting it.

“I’m sure,” she insisted, her voice a mixture of shyness and determination, almost as if she was testing the boundaries of her own desires. The way she bit her lip again, uncertainty creeping into her gaze, made your heart race. “Please.”

You couldn’t resist her. There was something so endearing about her shy insistence, her innocence shining through even as she pushed her own limits. “Alright, then. It’s in the other drawer, baby. But you have to promise me you’ll tell me if it’s too much.”

“Promise,” she replied, her gaze unwavering, the trust in her eyes melting any reservations you had.

With a nod, she hopped off your lap, her legs slightly wobbly but her determination shining through. She moved to the drawer, reaching inside to retrieve the oversized strap. You couldn’t help but admire the way she handled it, her shyness somehow making her seem even more alluring.

When she returned, her cheeks were bright red, and her hands trembled slightly as she held the strap. “I want it,” she stated, her voice firm but still laced with a hint of innocence. You could see how deep into the mindset she was, yet her shyness made this moment feel even more intimate.

“Alright, sweetheart,” you said softly, your voice reassuring as you got up. “But let’s take it slow. I want you to enjoy every moment.”

After you had stepped into the harness and adjusted the 12-inch strap, you moved toward the bed, but Natasha lingered behind, not immediately following. Her blush deepened as she stood by the mirror, her gaze falling shyly before she finally spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, “Can you... take me where I can see myself?”

Her words caught you off guard, but the longing in her eyes made your chest tighten. “Are you sure?” you asked softly, needing to ensure she was comfortable with what she was asking.

She nodded, her eyes flicking between you and the mirror. “I’m sure,” she breathed, her lips parting with a mix of anticipation and uncertainty.

You smiled, nodding as you guided her back to your previous position. Natasha settled onto your lap again, shifting just a bit higher onto your abs, her back pressed against your chest while the strap nestled against her stomach. The strap was secured snugly to your hips, its impressive length and girth nearly brushing her navel when she sat up straight. The sight alone made your pulse quicken, but you couldn’t help but wonder if she’d be able to take it all.

You rested your hands on her waist, offering a gentle squeeze. “Let’s go slow, okay?” you murmured, feeling the warmth of her body against yours. “We’ll take it one step at a time.”

She bit her lip nervously, her eyes wide with both eagerness and hesitation as she moved up, situated herself and began to lower herself back down. The tip of the strap nudged against her entrance, and she let out a soft gasp, her thighs trembling with the effort.

“Relax, Nat,” you whispered, guiding her down slowly. “Breathe.”

She nodded, exhaling shakily as she sank down a little more, the stretch becoming apparent as she took in the first few inches. Her brow furrowed, her body tensing as she tried to adjust to the sensation. “It’s... it’s so big,” she stammered, her voice laced with both excitement and uncertainty.

“I know, sweetheart,” you reassured her, your hands steady on her waist. “You don’t have to take it all at once. Just take what you can.”

Natasha’s breath hitched as she lowered herself a bit more, her body stretching around the strap. The burn of the stretch was evident in the way her thighs quivered and her soft whimpers filled the air. She could barely take a quarter of it, and even then, she paused, her chest heaving with effort. The sheer girth of the strap made it appear enormous, and you were astonished she was able to take this much of you.

“You’re doing so well, Natty,” you praised, your voice gentle but filled with pride. “You don’t have to rush. You’re perfect like this.”

She exhaled slowly, nodding as she leaned back against you. “It feels... different,” she murmured, her hands gripping your arms for support. “But I like it. I just... I want to take more.”

Your breath caught at her words. “You will,” you said softly, brushing your lips against her shoulder. “But let’s go at your pace.”

For a few moments, she stayed there, hovering on the strap, her body adjusting to the stretch. The sight of her reflection in the mirror—her flushed cheeks, her parted lips, the way her body clung to the strap—was almost too much to handle. But you stayed focused, rubbing gentle circles into her hips to keep her grounded.

Then, as if something shifted in her, Natasha began to move again, slowly lowering herself down further. Inch by inch, she took more of you, her body trembling with the effort but her determination unwavering. You could feel her pulse around you, the heat of her arousal making every movement slicker, easier. Still, she hadn’t taken it all—just over halfway—and the sight of the strap glistening as it nestled within her was mesmerising. The sight of her slick coating the parts she hadn’t taken yet had you hypnotised, utterly drunk on desire.

“I... I can feel it,” she whimpered, her voice breathy and thick with pleasure. “I think I can take more.”

“You’re doing so well,” you murmured against her ear, your hands holding her steady as she tried to sink lower. “Just like that, Natty. You’re amazing.”

Time seemed to blur as she kept moving, her breath ragged, her movements tentative but eager. And then, after a while, you realised Natasha had been taking more and more of you. Your eyes flicked to the mirror, watching in awe as the strap slowly disappeared into her, the stretch making her body quiver with every inch.

She still hadn’t taken it all—just a quarter left—but the sight of her reflection, of how much of you was inside her, made your control slip.

“God, look at you,” you breathed, unable to hold back. Your hands slid from her waist, moving upwards to cup her breasts, kneading them gently as she moaned under your touch. “You’re so beautiful, Natty. Taking me so well.”

Her breath hitched as you massaged her breasts, her nipples hardening against your palms. “I... I’m trying so hard,” she whimpered, her voice breaking. “I want to take it all... I want to please you.”

“You are,” you reassured her, your fingers teasing her nipples as you pressed your hips up slightly, deepening the stretch. “You’re doing so good, baby. I’m so proud of you.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, her body melting into your touch. She leaned back into your chest, her head resting on your shoulder as she focused on the sensation of you filling her up. The praise made her moan, her thighs shaking as she tried to sink down even further.

“Just a little more,” you coaxed, your voice husky. “You’ve got this. You’re perfect.”

Your gaze wandered back to the mirror, entranced by the image of Natasha’s flushed, needy expression and the reflection of your bodies joined together. But then something else caught your eye—a bulge pressing against her lower stomach. It was the outline of the strap inside her, stretching her so much that it was visible through her skin.

The sight made your breath catch, something primal snapping inside you. You hadn’t even realised how far you’d pushed her, how deep the strap had gone until you saw that bulge—and it ignited a fire in you that was impossible to contain.

Your grip on her breasts tightened momentarily, then slid down to her waist again. Natasha let out a soft gasp of confusion as your hands left her chest, only to clamp down firmly on her hips, pulling her down onto you in one swift, overwhelming motion.

Her eyes flew open, a sharp cry escaping her lips as her body was forced to take the rest of the strap all at once. The sheer girth stretched her impossibly wide, her thighs trembling violently as you thrust your hips up at the same time, slamming the last bit deep into her core.

“Fuck,” you groaned, the word dripping with unrestrained lust as you felt the full weight of Natasha's body sink down onto you. The strap filled her completely, the bulge in her stomach more pronounced now as you both struggled to breathe, overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

“I-I can feel it,” Natasha whimpered, her voice trembling as she struggled to catch her breath. “I can feel all of you.”

“You’re doing so good, baby,” you whispered, your voice rough with desire. “Look at you... taking all of me.”

Natasha's head was against your shoulder, her eyes wide and unfocused as her entire body shook from the overwhelming sensation. She’d never felt this full before; the sensation made her feel like she was on the verge of breaking—and yet, the pleasure was undeniable. She loved it. The overwhelming stretch, the sheer size of the strap filled her in ways she’d never experienced. Her thighs shook violently, her breath coming in ragged, desperate gasps, and then you saw it—tears.

Her eyes, already glassy with pleasure, began to well as she lifted herself up and then sank fully back onto you. The tears spilled over, streaming down her flushed cheeks, her lips parted as soft, broken whimpers escaped her. She was so deep into subspace, so lost in the haze of sensation and submission that her body didn’t know how to react. All she could do was feel.

You watched her, completely captivated by the sight of her like this—so vulnerable, so beautiful, her skin glistening with sweat, her cheeks stained with tears. It made your heart ache with an almost possessive kind of affection.

“There you go,” you whispered, your voice low and tender as your hands moved from her waist to cup her cheeks, gently wiping away her tears with your fingers while using the reflection as a guide. “You’re doing so well, baby. Look at you, taking it all. You’re perfect.”

Her chest rose and fell rapidly, her breath catching in her throat as she struggled to comprehend your words. The praise washed over her like a warm blanket, pulling her deeper into that fuzzy, blissed-out space. But the tears didn’t stop. If anything, they flowed even more freely now, her lips quivering as she let out another soft sob.

“Too much?” you asked, though you knew from the way her body clung to yours, the way she kept sinking down further and further, that she wasn’t going to stop. “Or do you like it, hmm? You like being so full of me?”

Her response was almost incoherent, a soft whimper and a nod, her head lolling against your shoulder as she tried to gather herself. The praise was affecting her so deeply, every word sinking into her foggy brain and amplifying the pleasure until she didn’t know what to do with herself.

But then you leaned closer, your lips brushing against her ear, and you let your voice dip into something more commanding, more degrading.

“Look at you,” you murmured, your tone taking on a sharper edge. “Crying just because you’re so full. You’re such a pretty little thing, aren’t you? You can barely handle it, and yet here you are... taking all of me like a good girl.”

Natasha whimpered again, her entire body flushing deep red as the words cut through the haze in her mind. She didn’t fully understand them—her brain was too fuzzy, too far gone—but the tone, the way you said it, made her blush even harder. It was a mix of praise and something else, something darker, and it sent shivers down her spine.

“I... I’m trying,” she mumbled, her voice shaky, her lips trembling. “I’m trying so hard to be good.”

“You are good,” you reassured her, your hands moving back to her waist again, gripping her firmly as you pulled her down onto the strap again. “You’re so fucking good, Nat. So perfect for me. Taking it all like such a good girl.”

Her breath hitched as you moved her, her body too weak to resist, too deep in the pleasure to even think of stopping you. Her mind was spinning, her body trembling, and the tears kept flowing. She didn’t even know why she was crying anymore. Maybe it was the overwhelming sensation of being filled so completely, or maybe it was the praise that made her heart ache with need.

“You’re so beautiful,” you continued, your voice softer now as you kissed the side of her neck, your hands still guiding her hips. “So beautiful when you cry for me.”

The tears kept coming, her body shaking with quiet sobs, but her hips kept moving, kept following your lead as you pushed her down again and again. She didn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. The pain and pleasure mixed together, a heady cocktail of sensations that had her spiralling deeper into submission.

“I don’t know if you can take me much longer,” you teased, your lips brushing against her ear as you spoke. “But you want to, don’t you? You want to be good for me.”

Natasha could barely form a response now, her head spinning with the intensity of it all. She nodded, her cheeks burning with embarrassment and need, her brain too fuzzy to process everything. But she knew one thing for certain: she wanted to make you happy. She wanted to please you, even if it meant pushing herself to the edge of her limits, even further than now.

“Yes,” she whimpered, her voice barely a whisper, her head falling back against your shoulder. “I want to... I want to make you happy.”

“You are,” you murmured, your tone laced with approval as you squeezed her waist, your eyes glued to her reflection in the mirror. “You’re making me so happy, sweet angel. Look at yourself. Look how good you’re doing.”

Her gaze flicked to the mirror, and she moaned at the sight. The strap pushed deep inside her, creating a visible bulge in her stomach that moved with each thrust. Her skin was flushed, hair damp with sweat, and her cheeks streaked with tears. She looked completely wrecked—and yet, so incredibly beautiful.

“You see that?” you asked, your voice thick with lust as your hands slid up her stomach, pressing down on the bulge gently. “Look how full you are, baby. You’re so perfect like this.”

The praise, the sensation, everything was too much for her. Natasha’s mind was a blur of pleasure and pain, her body stretched beyond what she thought she could take, and yet she wanted more. She needed more. Even if her body was trembling, even if the tears wouldn’t stop, she needed to make you proud.

“I’m... I’m so full,” she whimpered, her hands resting right above yours on her lower stomach, feeling the bulge there, her face bright red as she looked at herself in the mirror. “It’s so much...”

“You can take it,” you growled, your hands moving from her waist to her breasts, massaging them roughly as you thrust your hips up again. “You’ve already taken all of me, Nat. You’re doing so good. So fucking good.”

The praise hit her like a tidal wave, making her moan as her body convulsed in your lap. She was too far gone to even process the words properly, her brain fuzzy and overwhelmed, but she nodded anyway, tears still streaming down her cheeks as she whispered, “Thank you...”

“Such a good girl,” you purred, your hands squeezing her breasts as your lips brushed against her ear again. “You love this, don’t you? Being full, being praised... You’re perfect, Nat. Absolutely perfect.”

Her body trembled at the words, her eyes fluttering shut as she let out a soft, broken sob. She didn’t know how to respond, didn’t know how to process all the feelings swirling inside her, but one thing stayed clear in her mind—she wanted to make you proud. She needed to. And she would.

Natasha’s body shuddered violently, her breath hitching in sharp, desperate gasps as she tried to stay grounded. But you could feel the way she was clenching around you, her inner muscles spasming uncontrollably as her body teetered on the edge.

You shifted your hips upward, thrusting the strap even deeper inside her. The rough movement sent a jolt through her entire body, and that was it—Natasha couldn’t hold on any longer. Her third orgasm ripped through her with devastating force, her legs trembling uncontrollably as she let out a loud, broken moan, her body convulsing in your lap.

“There it is,” you murmured, your voice thick with satisfaction as your hands tightened on her waist. “That’s it, Nat. You feel so good when you come for me.”

Natasha’s head lolled back against your shoulder, her body sagging against yours as she came hard, her walls tightening around the strap, her muscles clenching and releasing in frantic waves. Her hands scrabbled for purchase, one gripping your thigh while the other pressed against the mirror as if trying to steady herself, but she couldn’t. She was completely lost in it.

The tears that were already spilling down her cheeks came faster now, mingling with the sweat that coated her skin, her lips trembling as sobs of pleasure wracked her body. She was overwhelmed, her mind completely submerged in the sensation, but even through the haze of subspace, she kept moving—kept riding your strap, desperate to please you, desperate to be good.

“There you go,” you whispered, guiding her gently as she shook in your lap. “Just let go. I’ve got you.”

The praise sent another wave of pleasure crashing through her, and she moaned, her body responding without thought, without control. Her hips bucked, the muscles in her thighs spasming as her fourth orgasm hit her before she had fully come down from the previous one. It was too much. She couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think, couldn’t stop her body from convulsing as she rode out the wave after wave of pleasure that seemed to keep rolling through her.

“Oh god, oh god,” Natasha gasped, her voice barely audible between her sobs. “I can’t... I can’t stop...”

“You don’t need to stop,” you reassured her, your voice low and soothing even as your hands gripped her tighter, pulling her back onto your strap as she tried to squirm away from the overwhelming sensation. “You’re doing so good, baby. You’re perfect.”

Her sobs turned to wails, absolute filth escaping her mouth, her entire body trembling as her next orgasm crashed into her like a tidal wave. She couldn’t hold herself together anymore, her body completely out of her control. Her hips jerked, moving on instinct as she ground down against you, her walls squeezing the strap so tightly that you could feel the tension all the way through your core.

The sight of her in the mirror drove you wild—the way her stomach bulged from the size of the strap, her breasts bouncing with each desperate movement, and the tears that continued to spill down her cheeks. She looked utterly destroyed, so beautifully wrecked, her skin flushed and glistening, her lips parted as broken moans and whimpers slipped from her mouth.

“Fuck, look at you,” you growled, your hands exploring every inch of her skin, fingers digging into her softness as you continued to thrust deeper with increasing force. “You’re so fucking beautiful, Nat. You’re so full.”

Natasha just whimpered, her breath hitching as her body responded to your rougher touch. She was so deep in subspace now, so far gone, that she couldn’t even register the words you were saying, but she could feel them—the way they made her body react, the way her muscles tightened and trembled under your hands. She nodded, her head falling forward, her eyes glassy and distant as she let out another soft sob.

“I... I want to be good,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath as she tried to steady herself. “I want... I want to make you happy.”

“You are good,” you whispered back, your voice a mix of praise and possessiveness as you kept pulling her down harder onto the strap. “You’re fucking perfect, Nat. You’re making me so proud.”

The praise sent another wave of pleasure crashing through her, and suddenly, Natasha was coming again—her body convulsing in your lap as her next orgasm hit her with even more intensity than the last. Her hands pressed against the mirror, her palms flat against the glass as she sobbed, her entire body trembling uncontrollably.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmured, your hands sliding up from her waist to her breasts again, squeezing them as she convulsed in your lap. “Look at you. Look at how beautiful you are when you come.”

Natasha’s eyes fluttered open, her gaze fixing on the mirror, and the sight of herself—flushed, sweaty, tear-streaked, and utterly wrecked—sent another shudder through her. She moaned, her hips jerking as her body tried to keep up with the pleasure, her mind too fuzzy to process it all.

“I... I still can’t stop,” she whimpered, her voice thick with need. “It’s too much...”

“I know, baby,” you cooed, your voice dripping with approval as you massaged her breasts, your thumbs brushing over her nipples. “You’re doing so good. Just let go. Let me take care of you.”

Her body obeyed without question, her hips moving on their own as she sank down onto the strap again, her walls clenching around it as another orgasm built inside her. She was completely lost to it now, her mind a haze of pleasure and submission, her body trembling as she came again and again, each orgasm rolling into the next until she didn’t know where one ended and the other began.

“Such a good girl,” you murmured, your hands sliding down to her waist again as you thrust up into her with more force. “You’re taking me so well, Nat. You’re perfect.”

Natasha’s response was a soft, broken sob, her body collapsing against you as the pleasure overwhelmed her completely. She was gone, completely lost in subspace, her mind a blur of sensations and praise, and all she could do was ride it out, her body trembling in your lap as you guided her through each wave of pleasure.

Natasha’s body continued to tremble against yours, her breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps, her chest heaving with the effort. The storm of pleasure was still coursing through her, but her hips had stilled, no longer able to move after the relentless waves of orgasms that had wracked her body.

You could feel the twitching of her muscles, the way her body clenched around the strap still buried deep inside her, but she wasn’t grinding and you weren’t thrusting anymore. She was utterly spent, her head resting against your shoulder, her tears still trickling down her flushed cheeks as she tried to catch her breath.

Gently, you loosened your grip on her waist, moving your hands with deliberate care as you wrapped your arms around her trembling form. Natasha whimpered softly as you pulled her close, her body still so sensitive, every slight movement sending aftershocks rippling through her.

“It’s okay,” you whispered, your voice soft and soothing now, a stark contrast to the intensity that had filled the air just moments before. “You did so good, Natty baby. Just breathe.”

Natasha’s body relaxed a little in your hold, though she was still shaking, her limbs twitching with the lingering ecstasy that coursed through her. She made a small, broken sound—half a sob, half a whimper—as her body gave in fully, collapsing against you, completely spent. You cradled her carefully, holding her close, one hand stroking her arm while the other stayed on her breast, grounding her in your touch.

“I’ve got you,” you whispered again, pressing a soft kiss to the top of her head. “You’re safe. You’re perfect.”

She let out a shaky breath, her head lolling to the side as her eyes fluttered closed, her mind still foggy from the intensity of everything. You could feel the way her heartbeat was gradually slowing, the frantic rhythm calming as you continued to hold her, shushing her softly, letting her know she wasn’t alone in this vulnerable moment.

Your hand on her breast moved gently, tracing soft circles around her nipple, a grounding sensation to remind her she was safe in your arms. Her body twitched under your touch, her chest still heaving, but she didn’t try to move away. She stayed nestled against you, letting the warmth of your embrace calm her.

“You’re okay, Natty,” you murmured softly, your lips brushing against her ear. “Just stay with me. I’ve got you.”

She nodded weakly, her body sagging further into your lap, her legs spread open as she remained impaled on the strap. It was a quiet, intimate moment now—no longer about the intensity of lust but about something deeper, more tender. Her body was twitching from the aftershocks, the occasional clench around the strap still reminding you of how deep you were inside her, but she wasn’t trying to take more. She was just… being.

Natasha let out another shaky breath, her fingers gripping your arm as if to anchor herself. The tears that had been flowing earlier were slowing, but her face remained wet, her cheeks flushed and streaked with saltwater. You watched her closely in the mirror, your gaze softening as you took in the sight of her—completely vulnerable, completely yours.

“There you go,” you whispered, brushing your thumb gently across her cheek, wiping away the remnants of her tears. “You’re so beautiful, Natty. So perfect.”

She whimpered softly at the praise, her eyes fluttering open for just a moment before they closed again. Her breathing was slowly evening out, the shaky gasps becoming steadier as you held her close, your hands moving in gentle, soothing motions. You could feel her muscles slowly unclenching, her body relaxing into you, no longer overwhelmed by the intensity of the pleasure.

“It’s okay now,” you whispered, resting your chin on her shoulder as you held her tighter. “Just breathe with me.”

You stayed like that for a while, the two of you wrapped in each other, the room filled with nothing but the sound of your quiet breaths and the faint hum of the world outside. The strap was still inside her, but it was a comfort—something grounding for her as she came down from the high of subspace.

Natasha’s body, though still trembling, seemed to relax even further, her head turning slightly as she nestled into your neck. She was quiet now, her soft whimpers replaced with gentle sighs, her body twitching occasionally but no longer driven by the need to move. She was content to just be held, to let you take care of her.

You pressed another soft kiss to her hair, your hands still stroking her arms and chest, reminding her that you were there—that you had her.

“You’re so good for me,” you whispered, your voice barely audible now, a quiet affirmation that she didn’t need to do anything more. “So perfect, Nat. I’m so proud of you.”

Her response was a quiet, barely-there hum, her body settling even more as she melted into your embrace. The tension was gone now, replaced with a soft, languid peace that settled over both of you. You could feel the steady rhythm of her breathing, the way her back moved against yours, and it grounded you just as much as it did her.

You cradled Natasha in your arms for what felt like forever, the quiet comfort between you speaking louder than any words. She was completely limp, her body heavy against yours, her breaths soft and steady now.

After a while, you pressed a soft kiss to her temple and whispered gently, “I should clean you up, baby. Let me run you a bath.”

Natasha hummed in disagreement, her head shaking slightly as she leaned further into you, her eyes still closed. She wasn’t ready to move, wasn’t ready to let go of the feeling of you inside her, keeping her grounded and safe. You smiled softly at her stubbornness, her bratty behaviour making you shake your head in amusement. The bulge in her stomach, still there and almost casual now, was like a silent reminder that this wasn’t the last time something like this would happen whenever she decided to brat out.

You chuckled again, warmth spreading through your chest. She was so beautiful, so perfect, and you loved her even more in these quiet, vulnerable moments.

“Alright, alright,” you murmured, running your hand gently along her side, “we’ll stay here for a bit longer. But when you’re ready, I’m cleaning you up.”

Natasha didn’t respond, just snuggled deeper into you, her body still. Her face was completely relaxed, her lips parted slightly as she rested against you, lost in the lingering haze of subspace. You held her close, stroking her arm softly as you watched the slow rise and fall of her chest, content to stay like this for as long as she needed.

It was about ten minutes later when you felt her stir. A faint wince crossed her face as she shifted in your lap, her muscles clearly starting to ache after the intense session. She let out a small, pained whimper, her brow furrowing as she tried to move slightly, the soreness settling in.

You kissed her head gently, your voice soft and reassuring. “Ready for that bath now?”

This time, she didn’t protest. She nodded weakly, her eyes still closed but her body slowly coming back to her as she let out a quiet, “Mhm.”

You helped her sit up, your hands gentle as you guided her, though even the small movement made her wince again. As Natasha began to lift herself off the strap, you couldn’t help but groan at the sight. She was slightly gaping, her body clearly feeling the aftereffects of the stretch, and the sight was enough to make your stomach twist with desire all over again.

Natasha blushed deeply, her cheeks flushed a soft pink as she noticed your reaction. You saw her glance in the mirror, catching the way her body looked before quickly averting her gaze, embarrassed but unable to hide the small, sheepish smile playing on her lips.

“You’re beautiful,” you murmured, your voice a little rough from the sight of her. Natasha’s blush deepened, and she looked away again, biting her lip in that shy, adorable way she did when she was overwhelmed with praise.

You discarded the toy to the side, knowing you’d deal with it later. Right now, Natasha was your priority, and aftercare was the only thing on your mind.

“Come here, Nat,” you whispered, helping her to her feet and wrapping an arm around her waist to support her. She wobbled slightly, her legs weak from the intensity of everything, but you held her steady, guiding her slowly toward the bathroom.

Once you had the bath running, you sat her down on the edge of the tub, kneeling in front of her as you gently cleaned her up, wiping away the remnants of the session with a soft, damp cloth. Natasha was quiet, her eyes half-lidded as she watched you with a tired, hazy gaze, her body still relaxed in the warmth of your presence.

“You’re doing so good,” you murmured as you cleaned her, your hands gentle and careful. “I’m so proud of you, Nat.”

She let out a soft hum in response, her cheeks still a little pink from earlier, but she didn’t try to speak. She was too exhausted, too deep in the afterglow to do anything but watch you with that sleepy, content look on her face.

Once the bath was ready, you helped her into the warm water, holding her hand as she slowly sank into the tub, a sigh of relief escaping her lips as the heat soothed her aching muscles. You stayed by her side, your fingers tracing soft patterns along her arm, watching as she closed her eyes and leaned back against the edge of the tub.

“Are you feeling better?” you asked softly, brushing a strand of hair away from her face.

Natasha nodded, her lips curving into a small, tired smile. “Mhm,” she mumbled, her voice soft but hoarse from all the moaning and gasping earlier.

You chuckled, leaning in to press a kiss to her forehead. “Good.”

For the next while, you stayed with her, washing her hair gently, your hands careful as you massaged her scalp, the soothing motions helping to relax her even more. Natasha let out quiet, contented sighs every now and then, her body completely at ease in your care.

When the bath was over, you wrapped her in a soft towel, drying her off gently before helping her into a comfortable, oversized shirt. She was still quiet, her movements slow and sleepy, but she leaned into your touch every chance she got, seeking out your warmth and comfort.

You led her back to the bedroom, guiding her under the covers before climbing in beside her. As soon as you settled in, Natasha curled into your side, her head resting on your chest, her arms wrapping around you as she let out a soft, contented sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible, but the gratitude in her tone was clear.

You smiled, wrapping your arms around her and holding her close. “Always, Natty,” you murmured, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “I’ll always take care of you.”

She hummed softly in response, already drifting off to sleep in your arms, her body finally fully at peace.

a/n- i need to start writing shorter fics oh my god. thanks for reading!

[ktownshizzle]

Love & Lullabies | Part 3

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: What begins as a simple favor for your best friend Namjoon soon pulls you into the rhythms of Yoongi’s life—afternoons spent caring for his son, late nights filled with candid conversations, and a connection neither of you thought you needed. You’re just fresh out of a long-term relationship with an ex who didn’t want a family with you, so did you really just stumble into a life you’ve always dreamed of? (Thank god Namjoon isn’t the only one who’s clumsy.)

Alternatively: It’s 2025 and BTS is prepping for their comeback. All members seem to have gained muscle weight from their time at camp. But Min Yoongi has gained a different kind of weight—an 8-pound baby and a fuck-load of responsibility. (Thank god you’re there to help him.)

Genre: Fluff, Angst, Smut, idol!au, Acquaintances to Lovers, Reader is Namjoon’s bestie

Warnings: Yoongi is a DILF (!!!) That’s it.

Chapter warnings: GRAB YOUR TISSUES!, this bitch is a whole ass kdrama episode and it’s gonna hurt before it gets better, happy ending tho!, themes of self-loathing, anxiety, and depression (MC), severe postpartum depression (not MC), it’s monsoon season and namgi don’t like umbrellas, (____) in the rain cliche scene, NAMTIDDIES because I can’t help myself, lastly… watch me morph this into another workplace romance/co-workers to lovers story lmao (real)

Word count: ~7k

Posting date: November 21, 2024

Notes: This is inspired by an ask/prompt sent by @yoongznme. 

I am a clown 🤡 and a liar 🤥 From pretending this is a two-shot, then a three-shot. It has become a chaptered series, atp. There is a part 4 in the works and I fully intend to end it there, but again, I may have just jinxed myself. Anyway! Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four |  Masterlist

“She’s Haneul’s mom.”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut.

“What?”

“Sung Kyung and Yoongi… they’ve been good friends for years,” Namjoon explains quickly, his tone almost apologetic. “I didn’t think they were dating. But yeah, she’s his mom. She left for months and when she came back, she'd already given birth.”

You feel like the ground has been ripped out from under you. What Namjoon said made no sense. You clutch the edge of the counter, your mind racing. “What do you mean she left…?” You have never been more confused in your entire life.

Namjoon sighs. “I don’t know all the details. You know hyung, he tells you what he thinks you need to know. The rest, he keeps to himself. But I do know they did the paternity tests and everything, and Haneul’s his, theirs.”

Theirs. It’s easier if Namjoon just slices your heart open at this rate. 

He places a tentative hand on your shoulder. “It’s better to hear it straight from Yoongi-hyung, since you guys are, you know.”

“I– I don’t know. I don’t know what we are,” you say, leaning your weight sideways against the wall to steady yourself. 

Get a grip. It’s Haneul’s day. 

Namjoon stands to shield you from the rest, in case anybody chances to look your way. You probably look like you’re about to puke. You definitely feel like it.

“Joonie…” Your voice is small when you ask, “Do you think she wants to come back now?”

Namjoon lifts his shoulder, lets it sag, “I don’t know. Maybe. She wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Your chest tightens, a wave of insecurity crashing over you. Of course, she would want to come back now. She’s beautiful, successful, everything you’re not. And most importantly, she’s Haneul’s mother. That’s the kicker. How can you compete with that?

Spoiler alert: you can’t.

When you step back into the living room, the first thing you notice is Yoongi’s mom. She’s standing off to the side, her lips pressed into a thin line as she glares at Sung Kyung from across the room with a mixture of disapproval and barely-contained irritation.

“She shouldn’t be here,” she says quietly, her voice cold and clipped.

“Eomma,” Yoongi grits.

“She abandoned Haneul, Yoongi,” his mom hisses, her tone sharper now. “And she thinks she can just come here like nothing happened?”

Yoongi sighs, his hand briefly brushing his mother’s arm in a silent plea for calm. “Not here, eomma. Please. It’s Haneul’s birthday. Don’t make a scene.”

Of course he is siding with her.

You’re unable to tear your eyes away from Sung Kyung. How can she look so beautiful even if she looks miserable? She exchanges a few more quiet words with Yoongi near the door, her expression alternating between frustration and what looks like regret. You can’t hear what they’re saying, but you catch the way Yoongi’s shoulders stiffen, the way his jaw tightens as she reaches out to brush his arm. You see Yoongi nod, and you’re so curious, what is he agreeing to?

Finally, after what feels like an eternity, she leaves. The door is closed, but for sure this chapter isn’t. Not even close.

You entertain yourself by watching some of the BTS members play some video games. Their antics, as funny as they are, don’t really register. Your laughs are hollow, mind totally elsewhere. It’s a while before Yoongi finally finds you, after he disappeared to his studio after Sung Kyung left and went MIA for half an hour or so.

He corners you near the snack table as you pretend to be engrossed in arranging leftover cupcakes.

“Hey,” he says softly, touching your arm lightly.

You turn to face him, your smile brittle. “Hey. How’s everything going?”

“Can we talk?”

You nod, following him toward the hallway, away from the laughter and chatter. The noise completely fades as you enter his soundproof studio and he turns to face you.

He exhales deeply, running a hand through his hair. “I wanted to talk to you,” he says carefully, like he’s choosing every word with precision.

“About Sung Kyung.” you offer. He nods, shoulders visibly tense. “Yeah. And Haneul.”

The mention of Haneul makes your chest tighten, but you steady yourself, waiting for him to continue.

“She and I… we were close for a long time,” he begins, his gaze dropping to the floor. “And yeah, there was a point where I thought it was going somewhere. But then she just… disappeared.”

“Disappeared?”

“She left Korea. No warning, no explanation. Just… ghosted.” He shrugs. “I didn’t know where she went or why. She didn’t contact me for months.”

“And then one day,” he continues, “she called. Told me she just gave birth to a son. That it was mine.”

The words hang between you, heavy and jarring. You don’t say anything, letting him get it all out.

“She didn’t tell me she was pregnant,” he says, shaking his head as if he still can’t believe it. “I literally only found out after he was born.”

You feel a pang of sympathy, but then you’re also feeling angry at Sung Kyung. “Why did she wait so long to tell you?”

“She said she didn’t want to burden me. I was already doing my military service and I had that thing… that case. She thought she could handle it on her own.” He looks up at you then, his eyes dark and conflicted. “But after she had him… she couldn’t. She fell into really severe postpartum depression and some other health issues, basically telling me she was diagnosed unfit to take care of him.”

Your throat tightens, and you clasp your hands together to keep them from shaking. “So you stepped in.”

He nods, “I didn’t have a choice. Haneul needed someone, and I couldn’t—I wouldn’t turn my back on him. He’s my son. It was confirmed by a paternity test.”

“And now she’s back,” you say, more a statement than a question.

“Yeah,” he says quietly, dragging a hand down his face. “She says she’s better. That she wants to be in his life now. That she can be. And honestly… I don’t know what to do.”

You study him for a moment, your emotions warring between compassion and your own sense of inadequacy. “What do you want, Yoongi? Not for her, not for Haneul. What do you want?”

“I don’t know,” he admits, gnawing his lip before he says, “I just… I want to do what’s right for Haneul.”

The words cut deeper than you expected, but you force a small smile, nodding as if they don’t sting. “That makes sense.”

Yoongi takes a step closer as he studies your face. “But what about you?” he asks, his voice almost too gentle. “How are you feeling about all this?”

The sincerity in his question takes you off guard, and for a moment, you’re tempted to tell him everything. The ache in your chest, the jealousy you hate admitting to, the fear of losing whatever connection the two of you have built. But instead, you plaster on a smile, shoving all those emotions into a corner of your mind.

“I’m fine,” you say lightly. “It’s Haneul’s birthday. That’s what matters.”

Yoongi doesn’t look convinced, his gaze lingering on you as if he’s trying to read the truth in your expression. But after a moment, he nods, letting it drop. “Okay.”

Finally, you glance at the door, forcing yourself to straighten up. “We should probably get back to the party.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi says, stepping aside to let you pass. But as you reach for the door, his voice stops you.

“Thank you,” he says quietly.

You turn back, your brows furrowing. “For what?”

“For everything,” he says, his eyes filled with something you can’t quite name.

You don’t know how to respond, so you just nod. Because his words—why did it feel like a goodbye?

The rest of the party passes in a blur. You keep smiling, keep laughing, keep pretending everything is fine. You stand by as Yoongi helps Haneul blow out his single candle, snapping pictures of his chubby hands smashing into the frosting. 

You’re wiping stray frosting from Haneul’s cheek when you glance at him and for a split second, you see her. Sung Kyung’s face is right there, faint but unmistakable, in the shape of his eyes and the curve of his brows.

The realization hits you like a freight train. You freeze, the cloth clutched in your hand, staring at this beautiful baby boy who isn’t yours. Who will never be yours.

It’s too much. You set the muslin down, excusing yourself to the kitchen with a muttered, “I’ll grab more drinks.”

You don’t even make it to the fridge. You stand there by the counter, gripping its edge as you force yourself to breathe, to keep the tears at bay. You’ve never felt more out of place in your life.

Namjoon finds you a few moments later, leaning against the doorway with a quiet, watchful look. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t ask if you’re okay. He just stays there, close but not too close, his presence steady and silent. You appreciate him for that—for knowing exactly what you need when you’re unraveling. He’s your best friend after all.

But even his quiet support isn’t enough to keep the emotions at bay.

Across the room, Yoongi’s eomma catches your eye. There’s something pitying in the glances she throws your way, a faint furrow of her brow that makes you want to sink into the floor. You had the feeling she knows there’s something between you and Yoongi, but now… now it feels like she’s seeing through you, like she knows exactly how small you’re starting to feel.

Because the truth is, you’re nothing.

You’re not Haneul’s mom. You’re not Yoongi’s girlfriend. You’re just someone who helps out when it’s convenient, and now that they have a nanny, you’re not even that. And it hurts. God, it hurts because you thought—maybe foolishly, maybe selfishly—that you were becoming something more. That you were becoming someone to them. That, maybe, you were becoming a family.

But now, as you stand there watching Yoongi carry Haneul to his room, barely sparing you a glance, the truth sinks in like a stone in your chest. You’re not someone. You’re a placeholder. A stand-in.

And pretty soon, just like Jiyong, they’re going to discard you. Because that’s what always happens. You’re always easy to leave behind. Always replaceable. Always useless.

The thought claws at you, and you suddenly can’t breathe. You grab your things and run. The cool night air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the ache in your chest.

The tears come before you can stop them, hot and angry and full of every ounce of self-loathing you’ve tried to bury.

You glance back at the building. Maybe for the last time. You’re on the outside now—of course you are. You’ve been on the outside this entire time.

Namjoon must have noticed you were gone because he texted shortly after:

Namjoon: You okay? Namjoon: Don’t worry, I told them you weren’t feeling well. Go home and rest. Text me when you’re there.

That night, you ignored Yoongi’s call. You stared at the screen as his name lit up, your finger hovering over the answer button before you let it ring out. He left a voicemail. You deleted it without listening.

The next morning, you wake up to another call from him. This time, he doesn’t leave a voicemail. Instead, he sends a message.

Yoongi: Can I come over?

You stare at the text for a long time, your stomach twisting with guilt and anger and sadness. Finally, you type out a single word:

You: No

You throw your phone face-down on the couch, ignoring the way it buzzes again and again and again.

For the next few days, you ghost him.

It wasn’t easy. Every time your phone buzzes, you feel a pang of guilt, a deep ache that gnaws at your resolve. But you can’t bring yourself to answer. You need time. You need to figure out where you stood in all of this.

His messages come sporadically at first:

Yoongi: Hey, can we talk? Yoongi: I don’t know what I did wrong, but I want to fix it. Yoongi: Please. Just let me know you’re okay.

You delete most of them without reading too much into them. But then he starts sending pictures.

The first was of Haneul, grinning in his chair, wearing the capybara slippers you’d gifted him for his birthday.

Yoongi: Haneul misses you

The next day, another photo. This time, Haneul was lying on his playmat, still wearing the slippers, holding onto Bora.

Yoongi: Still missing you

Each message chips away at your resolve, but the one that breaks you comes Thursday evening:

A short video clip. In it, Haneul is sitting on the floor, babbling as he clutches Bora. And then, clear as day, he says it:

“Sa-ra.”

Your heart twists painfully. It’s clipped, but it’s unmistakably sarang. Your term of endearment for him, the nickname you’d called him since he started smiling every time he heard it. He’d never been able to say it back—not until now.

And Yoongi knows exactly what he is doing, sending this to you.

You stare at the screen for what feels like an eternity, leaving the video on loop, before finally opening your call log. His name was right at the top, of course. You hit the call button, your hands trembling as you bring the phone to your ear.

“Hello?” Yoongi’s voice comes through almost immediately.

You exhale shakily. “Hi.”

There was a pause. Then he speaks again, and you can hear his vulnerability. “I didn’t think you’d call back.”

You close your eyes, trying to steady yourself. “How could I ignore that video? Haneul… he said sarang.”

“Yeah, he’s been saying it non-stop since yesterday.”

You swallowed hard, gripping the phone tighter. “Yoongi… about… us.”

“Mmh?” He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you. He just waited.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began. “Haneul deserves to have a complete family. He deserves to know his mom, to have her in his life. If—if that’s what you both want.”

Yoongi was quiet for a long moment before he finally responded. “But… he needs you, too.”

Before you can back out, “Yoongi, I need space,” you say finally, your voice trembling.

There was a pause, and when he spoke again, his voice was quiet. “Okay.”

It wasn’t a protest. It wasn’t an argument. Just… okay. It’s the most ‘Yoongi’ reaction to things, and you hate it. You hate it so much.

You hang up, staring at the screen until it goes dark. Your chest felt heavy, your heart splintering in ways you didn’t know it could.

You’d told him you needed space and he said okay. The truth is, when you said space, you just wanted him to make room for you. To assure you that you belong with them. That there is a seat, warm and yours. But he didn’t.

You miss Yoongi so much it feels like a physical ache. But it’s not just him. You miss Haneul’s face, his giggles, his sleepy weight in your arms. 

Namjoon has been doing his best to check in. He sends you UberEats nearly every other day, a steady stream of meals you barely touch. The one time he came over, unannounced, he walked into what could only be described as a disaster.

“Jesus Christ,” Namjoon muttered, kicking a stray box out of his way as he entered your apartment. The laundry basket was overflowing, your trash can piled up. You were in a 2-day old shirt, hair a rat’s nest, and you’re slouched on the couch with an empty brain.

Namjoon stared at you, his disappointment radiating off him. “Y/N, you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“I’m fine,” you lied, barely looking at him.

He scoffed. “Fine? You look like you’ve been run over by a truck. Twice.”

“So dramatic.” You rolled your eyes, but the truth of his words stung.

Namjoon crouched in front of you, placing his hands on your knees. “Move in with me for now. You know I have the space. You can’t stay here like this. It’s not healthy.”

“I’m not moving in with you, Joon,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not your charity case.”

He sighed, rubbing his temples. “You’re not a charity case. You’re my best friend. And I’m not gonna sit back and watch you drown in your own misery.”

“I’m not gonna live in your and Soyeon’s sex den,” you snapped unnecessarily.

Namjoon just looked at you, shook his head, before he flopped beside you on the couch. He fed you, forced you to go take a shower, and watched some shitty reality show with you. He eventually left, though you could feel the weight of his disappointment long after the door shut behind him. If he only knew how thankful you were of those visits.

A week later, you find yourself standing in front of Yoongi’s apartment. You didn’t plan this. You don’t even know what you’re hoping to achieve by being here. All you know is that the ache of missing them—missing him—has become unbearable.

You knock on the door before you can second-guess yourself.

Mrs. Kwon opens it, her expression immediately uneasy. “Y/N,” she says, her tone cautious. “You should come back another time.”

“Why?” you ask, your voice sharper than you intended.

She hesitates, her lips pressing into a thin line. “It’s just… not a good time.”

“I need to see them,” you insist, stepping forward.

“My dear girl, please listen—”

But you’re already past her, your determination overriding her warnings.

When you step into the living room–

Fuck.

There she is. Sung Kyung, sitting on the floor with Haneul in her lap, holding a plush toy you don’t recognize. She’s smiling at him, her voice soft as she tries to coax him into playing with it. Adding salt to the wound–Bora, the capybara plush you gave Haneul, is discarded carelessly in the corner near the diaper pail.

Your heart stops, and before you can control yourself, you take a step back, your movement catching Sung Kyung’s attention. She looks up, confused. She doesn’t know you, why would she? 

Yoongi’s voice comes from behind you, and you turn to see him emerging from his studio, his brows furrowed in confusion. “Who rang the—”

His eyes widen when he sees you, but you’re already moving, your feet carrying you toward the door in a blind rush.

“Wait—Y/N!”

You barely hear him as you bend down and snatch Bora from the floor. Haneul’s voice suddenly cuts through the air, his tiny, excited voice calling out, “Sa-ra! Sa-ra!”

Tears blur your vision as you wrench the door open and run, Yoongi’s voice calling after you, but you don’t stop.

It’s raining when you step outside. Great, because this day couldn’t get any worse. The cold droplets soak through your clothes almost instantly. You don’t have an umbrella, but you don’t give a shit. Tears stream down your face mixing with the rain.

You don’t know how far you get before you feel it—a warmth against your back, arms wrapping around you tightly.

Yoongi’s voice cracks as he says your name, his rain-soaked body like a furnace against your shivering frame. “Please.”

He sounds like he is begging, but why? What is he asking? What does he want from you?

You shake your head, your voice breaking. “This was a mistake. I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then why did you?” he asks, his tone desperate, his chest heaving as he pulls you tighter.

“Because I thought… I thought I had a place here. But I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“Don’t say that,” he pleads, his voice barely audible over the rain as he turns you to face him. His hands come up to cradle your face. He was starting to shake too, the pads of his fingers damp against your skin. His eyes search yours, desperate, and before you can stop him—or yourself—he closes the space between you and kisses you.

Against the pouring rain, your lips press against each other, clumsy, shaky, unexpectedly urgent. His lips move like he’s trying to say all the things he can’t find the words for, like this is his only way to make you understand. And for a second, maybe a minute, maybe more, you let him.

You feel his ragged breaths as he licks into your mouth, his hair brushing your temple, droplets trailing down your skin. His hand slides from your cheek to the nape of your neck, fingers threading gently through your wet hair. It’s tender and fierce all at once, like he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

But there is a tinge of bitterness cutting through the taste of his kiss. This isn’t enough—not to fix everything, not to erase the doubt clawing at the edges of your mind. Not to prevent the new thoughts from worming its way inside.

Sung Kyung is in his apartment right now. So maybe it’s not just about Haneul anymore. Maybe they’re reconciling. Trying to sort out their own feelings that they put on ice. Yoongi did say he thought their relationship was going somewhere. 

God, you do not want to be some homewrecker. You cannot do that to Haneul. Weakly you try to pull back. 

But Yoongi doesn’t let you. His lips chase yours, teeth gently sinking into your plush and you’re unable to stifle the moan from your mouth at the delicious sting. You open up to him, lips sliding against his as his other hand grips your waist now, pulling you closer until you can really feel the heat of his body through the drenched fabric of his clothes. The world feels like it’s spinning, everything is blending into a dizzying blur, and you don’t know how to stop it.

Your hand hovers at his chest, not pushing him away but not pulling him closer either. Your heart is screaming to hold on just a little longer. But your head is telling you—

“No,” you whisper, breaking away as quickly as you can without slipping on the slick ground. Your chest heaves as you clutch Bora tighter against you.

Yoongi stands frozen, his lips parted as if he’s about to speak, his dark eyes locked on yours. The rain clings to his lashes, his hair plastered to his forehead, and for a moment, he looks completely lost.

“I can’t do this, Yoongi,” you choke out, your voice shaking. “I just… I can’t.”

And before he can stop you, you turn and run again, your feet splashing through puddles as you make your way to the nearest bus stop. By some miracle, you make your way home in one piece. Barring one vital organ that’s discarded somewhere in Hannam.

My tea's gone cold, I'm wondering why I Got out of bed at all The morning rain clouds up my window And I can't see at all And even if I could, it'd all be gray But your picture on my wall It reminds me that it's not so bad, it's not so bad - Stan, Eminem

Your apartment is cold and quiet, the soft patter of rain against the windows the only sound. The mug of tea on your table has long since gone cold, untouched, as you sit curled up on the couch, staring at that grainy selca Yoongi sent you weeks ago. 

You’re startled out of your thoughts by the sound of the door opening. Namjoon steps in, shaking off the rain and holding a grocery bag in one hand, his hoodie slung over his shoulder. He’s soaked to the bone, but he flashes you his dimples anyway.

“You know,” he starts, setting the bag on the counter, “for someone who always claims they’re fine, you sure as hell don’t look it.”

“Don’t start, Joon,” you mumble, pulling the blanket tighter around yourself.

Namjoon ignores you, glancing around the apartment with a disapproving look. “Seriously? It still looks like you just moved in. No decorations, no warmth. This part could be a photo wall or something…”

You roll your eyes. “Alright, Mr. Art influencer.”

“I need a dry shirt,” he says, gripping the edge of his tee and pulling it up and over his head without fanfare.

You’ve never felt attracted to your best friend in any physical or sexual way ever (seriously, ew), but you can appreciate a good physique when you see one.

“Wow, Joonie, are your tiddies getting bigger?” you say as you stand to find a shirt for him from your makeshift closet.

“You’re an idiot.”

Before you can respond, the doorbell rings. Namjoon straightens, wiping his hands on his pants. “You expecting someone?”

You shake your head.

Namjoon strides to the door, glancing through the peephole with a tsk before pulling it open. He doesn’t seem to care that he’s shirtless, which would be awkward enough if it were anyone else standing there. 

But it’s Yoongi.

Yoongi stands in the hallway, his expression strained, his eyes immediately scanning the room behind Namjoon until they land on you, curled on the couch. You clutch the t-shirt you were about to lend Namjoon tighter against your chest, unsure whether to feel relief, anger, or the painful longing that’s been gnawing at you for days.

“I need to talk to her,” Yoongi says, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

Namjoon steps into the doorway, crossing his arms as he blocks the entrance. “Maybe not today, hyung.”

Yoongi’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t flinch. “I have to. I need to explain.”

Namjoon doesn’t budge, his voice soft but firm. “Sorry, hyung. Not after everything.”

Yoongi’s eyes flick to you again, desperate. “I just… fuck,” He swallows hard, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t let her think she doesn’t matter to me. She does. More than anyone.”

Namjoon hesitates for the first time, glancing back at you. His expression softens briefly, but when he turns to Yoongi again, it’s your voice that responds.

“Yoongi.” Your voice is quiet, but it cuts through the tension like a blade. Both men turn to you, and the hope that flashes across Yoongi’s face makes your lungs shrivel.

You grip the fabric in your hands tighter, willing yourself to stay firm. “You should go.”

Yoongi’s lips part as if to argue, but the look in your eyes silences him. He nods once, slowly, his expression crumbling for just a moment before he turns away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his voice so soft you almost don’t hear it.

Namjoon watches him for a moment longer before stepping back into the apartment and shutting the door.

The first step is always the hardest.

Namjoon didn’t sugarcoat anything when he told you to get your shit together. “I love you,” he said bluntly after Yoongi left that rainy night, “but you’re the only one who can pull yourself out of this. No one else is coming to save you. Not me. Not Jiyong. Not Yoongi. Just you.”

You hated hearing it, but he was right.

So you took the first step: you called a therapist. Twice a week, you sat in that tiny, clinical room and talked about everything you’d buried for years. The abandonment issues you’d carried since childhood. The shame you felt after your relationship with Jiyong fell apart. The way you constantly give pieces of yourself to others, just like you did with Haneul and Yoongi, leaving nothing for yourself. Thinking that’s okay.

Session by session, the fog began to lift. Slowly, you started to understand that happiness couldn’t come from someone else, no matter how deeply you loved them. It had to come from you—built piece by piece, nurtured, protected.

You realized that loving yourself wasn’t selfish. It was necessary. And for the first time in months, you began to believe you were worthy of it.

At home, you started small. One night, you finally tackled the pile of laundry that had been haunting you for weeks. Another night, you scrubbed down the kitchen until the counters gleamed. And then one weekend, you went to IKEA and bought a bed frame—not just a functional one, but a beautiful one that made you feel excited to wake up in the mornings.

You even hung up paintings on the walls, little pops of color that made the apartment feel like it was actually yours. Namjoon gave you some from his collection, too.

Running sucks, but it became your nightly ritual. At first, it was hard. Your legs ached, and your lungs burned. But the more you pushed yourself, the better it felt—the rush of endorphins, the rhythm of your feet hitting the pavement, the way your thoughts quieted for just a little while.

Bit by bit, you started to feel lighter. Like you were shedding layers of weight you didn’t even realize you were carrying.

And then there was Yoongi.

He was still a constant name on your phone, though the tone of his messages had shifted over time. At first, his texts were full of apologies and pleas for a second chance:

Yoongi: I know I messed up. Please let me make it right.

Yoongi: I’m sorry for everything. I hate that I hurt you.

Yoongi: I need you, Y/N. I should have told you sooner.

Yoongi: Can I come over? I really want to explain everything.

Yoongi: I’m an idiot.

Yoongi: I’ll wait for you. Just tell me when you’re ready to talk.

Then came the texts about Haneul:

Yoongi: Haneul misses you. Not to one-up my own kid, but I miss you more.

Yoongi: Han said your name today. He kept pointing at the door like he was waiting for you to walk in.

Yoongi: I bought him a new Bora. This giraffe is lame. [image attached]

Yoongi: Han’s been carrying Bora 2.0 everywhere. He even tried to feed it rice last night.

And now, weeks later, his messages had settled into something different.

Yoongi: I was in the studio all day, and Hobi made me take a break. We ended up eating too much fried chicken and now I have a zit.

Yoongi: How was your run today? Namjoon says you’re joining a mini marathon. Good luck!

Yoongi: Still have boxes of Silver Moon tea. It’s too bougie for my ghetto taste buds. Lmk if you want it. Yoongi: Actually, no need. I'll send it thru Namjoon.

Yoongi: I fucked up the choreography to our new track at Mubank today like an amateur. I hope you didn’t get to watch it.

They were simple, almost mundane. But Yoongi’s texts had a way of hitting you square in the chest. You think back to that conversation in his home, the one where he admitted how lonely he sometimes felt—how he wished for someone to talk to about the little things, the big milestones, everything in between. Someone to share life with. And now, with every message he sends, it feels like he’s choosing you.

Even though weeks have passed without seeing him, he’s still there. Reaching out. Trying to stay connected. Even when you never reply.

But his messages have become tiny bursts of dopamine in your otherwise quiet days. You’re both surprised and relieved he hasn’t stopped trying, that he hasn’t grown tired of pouring himself into the void of your Kakao.

Namjoon told you recently that Yoongi and Sung Kyung have started co-parenting Haneul. She gets supervised visits twice a month. At first, the green-eyed monster threatened to come out. But your best friend tells you that Yoongi never wanted to rekindle anything with Sung Kyung, which gave you some peace. Maybe if you’d been braver back then, you could’ve asked Yoongi yourself. Maybe if Yoongi had been better at communicating, he would have told you then it wouldn’t have felt like such an uphill climb.

But, he was also having such a difficult time, sorting through his own circumstances. And your insecurities at the time were too heavy, too overwhelming to sift through. You probably wouldn’t have believed him then. The progress you’ve made now—to love yourself first—feels hard-won and necessary. And maybe Yoongi also needed to go on a journey to really know what he wants for him and Haneul.

You’ve come to realize through all this that you don’t really hate Sung Kyung. Maybe you were angry on behalf of Yoongi and Haneul for all the secrets she kept, for the ways her choices hurt them both. There was even a night when you found yourself doing a Naver search on postpartum depression. You hadn’t understood how debilitating it could be, how it could turn even the strongest person into a shell of themselves. It didn’t excuse everything, but it gave you perspective, especially as you battle your own demons.

Still, as you journey forward, there are moments when you imagine the “what ifs” with Yoongi, if Sung Kyung hadn't showed up that day. Sometimes, late at night, your mind drifts back to him. You replay his kiss, remembering the way it felt, the way he tasted. You can still conjure the image of his face under the rain, the way he looked at you in that fleeting, heart-wrenching moment.

You wonder if he thinks about it, too. You know he’s waiting. You just hope that when you’re finally ready to let him back in, he’ll still be there—on the other side, willing to try again.

One evening, Namjoon called, his tone unusually excited. “Hey, I’ve got something for you.”

“No, I don’t need more lube, I’m stocked,” you joked, just to be a piece of shit.

“Shut up and listen,” he said, laughing. “Hybe’s opening a daycare for employees’ kids. They need someone to run it. You’re perfect for this.”

Your stomach flipped. “What? Joonie, I don’t even—”

“Don’t even try to argue,” he interrupted. “You have a degree in early childhood education. You love kids. This was your literal job in the states. C’mon, this is made for you.”

“What if I’m not ready?”

Namjoon sighed. “You are. I’ve seen how much work you’ve been putting in. You’re stronger than you think. Just… apply. The worst they can do is say no.”

You’re quiet, so he added. “...and they won’t. I’ll have each member of Bangtan sign a recommendation letter for you.”

“You’re too much, Joonie,” you laugh. But you surely won’t put it past him to do that. “But ok, I’ll apply.”

So you did. And a week later, you got the call.

Your first day at Hybe’s daycare center feels like a dream you didn’t know you had. The space is beautiful—sunlight streams through floor-to-ceiling windows, casting a warm glow over the colorful toys, tiny tables, and pastel murals. There are only three kids who pre-registered, but you were expecting more to walk in.

Namjoon is there, truly your ride or die, sitting casually on your desk with his ever-supportive grin. “You nervous?” 

“Nope,” you say, trying to sound confident. But the way your voice wavers gives you away.

Namjoon chuckles. “Relax. You’re going to crush this.”

Before you can respond, the door swings open, and in walks Hobi with Yunjin and their toddler, Jeongyeon. The little girl looks adorable in her sunflower-patterned overalls, her tiny pigtails bobbing as she walks toward the play area.

“Jeongyeon, say hi to teacher Y/N,” Yunjin says, gently guiding her forward.

“Hi!” Jeongyeon squeaks.

You crouch down to her level. “Hi, Jeongyeon! You’re gonna have so much fun today.”

“First kid of the day, ayeeee!" Hobi says, high-fiving Yunjin, before she runs to Jeongyeon who is mounting the toy pony. Then he turns to you, “Congratulations, Y/N.”

Just as they’re leaving, Namjoon nudges you. “By the way, did you know there’s a capybara mascot today?”

“What?” you blink, confused.

Before Namjoon can explain, something soft and warm suddenly envelops you in a hug. You turn to see a capybara mascot wrapping its plush arms around you, its giant head tilted adorably to the side.

“What the…” You laugh, surprised, grasping its arm. “Hybe really went all out, huh?”

Namjoon smirks. “Of course. First-day activations are a big deal here. And look at that, your favorite animal. What a coincidence.”

You grin, stepping back to look at the mascot. “Guess I’m a little biased, but this might be the cutest thing ever.”

The mascot gives you an exaggerated thumbs-up. 

Shortly, Haneul arrives. The moment you see him toddling through the door, all your nerves, all the weight you’d carried for weeks—gone. There’s no ache, no tension. Just pure, uncomplicated happiness.

His nanny, a kind older woman, walks him in, holding his hand as he peers curiously around the room.

Haneul bounds toward you giggling, his gummy smile stretching wide as he lets go of the nanny’s hand and waddles toward you.

“Hi, sarang,” you say, crouching down to scoop him into your arms. He smells like baby lotion and sunshine, and your chest feels full as he buries his face in your shoulder. “I missed you.”

You glance toward the door, your eyes darting around instinctively, but there’s no sign of Yoongi. A small pang of disappointment settles in your stomach before you shake it off. He’s probably holed up in his studio, working on something brilliant. It would have been nice to see him though.

The capybara mascot wanders over, drawing Haneul’s attention instantly. His eyes light up as he points at it, giggling.

“Appa!” Haneul says excitedly, punching the knee of the mascot with his tiny fists.

You laugh, brushing a hand through his soft hair. “That’s not your appa, Haneul. He’s probably in one of the big studios upstairs working very hard right now.”

The mascot gives you a pat on the head, and something about its movements feels oddly familiar. But you don’t dwell on it, too caught up in Haneul’s delighted squeals as the mascot does a little dance for him. It sure loves to shake its ass.

For the rest of the morning, you’re in your element, guiding the kids through activities, wiping tears, and singing songs during circle time. Every so often, Haneul points at the mascot and calls out “Appa!” again, and you can’t help but laugh.

And if the capybara mascot seems to hover a little longer around Haneul, or if it lingers near you whenever there’s a chance, well… you just chalk it up to coincidence.

(One day, much later, you’ll find out the truth. But for now, you’re content not knowing.)

That night, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you pull it out to find another message from Yoongi.

Yoongi: Congratulations on your first day!

You stare at the screen, your thumb hovering over the keyboard. For the first time in weeks, as you look at your thread of messages from him, you let yourself smile—a small, cautious smile, but a smile nonetheless. And for the first time in months of radio silence, you type up your first reply to him.

You: Thanks, Yoongi. I’m really happy. :)

His reply came almost immediately.

Yoongi: You deserve it

And it may have taken a while, but you finally believe that. So you decide you are also finally ready to do this.

You: Can we talk? Yoongi: giv me 10 mins im cming overr

:)

A/N: 

Alright!! Wheeeew! You good? How are you feeling?!?!? As usual, please sound off in the comments. 💕

I just want to say that am so proud of this chapter. I think I wrote my best, angst work here. Plus - Kissing in the rain? Namtiddies? A taste of smau? Hee hee. 🤗 

If you make it to here, thank you so so much for reading this story, you lovely, beautiful, human! xo

Part 4 is coming uppp and it’s gonna be a doozy~ 🤭

P.S. As some of y’all know I am a mom and I have experienced post-partum depression before. It was nowhere near the severity of how it is depicted here (a condition that is grave and rare because the character also has other mental struggles), but I empathize. I cannot imagine being truly unfit to care for my own baby. So I request that we do not vilify L&L! LSK. She fucked up real baddd, she could’ve involved Yoongi earlier, etc etc but again she is trying to do better. Plusss, it needs to be said, she does not want Yoongi. Gasp. Y’all can rest easy. He’s yours! 💕

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.

Taglist:

@yoongznme @nnybtitts08 @rinkud @nbjch05 @perfectiondazesworld

@marnz1990 @mxrauds @queenbloody @jadestonedaeho7 @futuristicenemychaos

@direnediane @glossdebut @maryhopemei @theresstardustinmyblood @mggv97

@wobblewobble822 @kam9404 @supernoonanyc @damn-u-min-yoongi @ot72025

@busanbby-jjk @granataepfelchen @jajabro @tarahardcore @marihoneywk

@ryryvna @tea4sykes @mar-lo-pap @lilkittenjenjen

@captainchrisstan @thelittlecatonthecake

@flaneuseonthestreets @sexytholland @diamonddia-mond

@yronathaniel @as-hs-blog @amarssfanfic @mafersame @amarawayne

@eurydiceofterabithia @diame93 @welcometomyworld13 @wonh0oe @lilkittenjenjen @jalexad

@jkkkkkay @chimmisbae @angellekookie @jovanaprime @txtsoobean @joonlovely

@kookiewithluv @soop-sprite @hyukaluve

[lucidfairies]

pretty girl [a.a]

pairing: experienced!Abby x inexperienced!reader // Owens sister!reader x bbf!Abby

synopsis: Abby was irritatingly beautiful, nobody could deny that. But one night, everything changed between the two of you.

warnings: mdni 18+, religion mentioned, dom!abby, sub!reader, poc friendly, oral sex [r], fingerfucking [r], praise, slight size kink, corruption if you squint

word count: 2.1k

a/n: this is short and really not good but that's okay cuz I have more coming out soon! also no more virgin reader because it kinda made me wanna shoot myself

Out of all of the friends your brother, Owen, had over the years, Abby Anderson was definitely your favorite. Aside from the fact that she was built like and had the face of an actual god on earth, she was so sweet to you all the time. Always acting like, well, a sister. The feeling had never been mutual, though. You didn’t want her to see you as her best friend’s cute younger sister, you wanted her to see you as her best friend’s undeniably sexy younger sister.

You never really knew when this crush became, but Abby had been in your life for so long that it didn’t matter. All you knew was that every time you looked at her, your stomach flipped and warmth spread between your legs. Because, god, those eyes. Always looked like they were picking you apart, one inch at a time.

She’s the exact reason you were tossing and turning in your bed, trying to get her out of your head. Your body reacted differently to her lately, every accidental touch was like a punch to the gut, and at night, every time she crossed your mind, your clit throbbed, a feeling you weren’t used to.

It’s not like you never found people attractive, it’s just… she was different. You needed her in a different way, in a very unholy way. One your brother would absolutely not be okay with. You tried to tell yourself that that’s why you wanted her - just to get to Owen. But that didn’t work.

You sat up in your bed, wiping the sleep out of your eyes and forcing your legs together to end the throbbing. You were so fucking wet. Looking in the mirror at the end of your bed, you huffed and got up, brushing your hair out and changing into a smaller, hotter pajama set. Before you could register any consequences to what you were about to do, you grabbed your keys and left the house.

You knew where Abby’s house was. You’d been there a handful of times over the course of the years, normally to pick up Owen when he was high. Suddenly, you were pulling up and parking at the curb and getting out of the car, slamming the door on the way out. Standing at the door, you banged harshly, hoping she miraculously wouldn’t be home.

“Okay, Jesus, give me a sec- y/n?” Your stomach dropped. The reality of what you were doing hit you like a truck, and you suddenly second guessed everything, ready to turn around and run away. “What’re you doing here this late, sweetheart?” You sighed, digging your palms into your eyes and rubbing them.

“I need your help, Abby.” You looked up at her, unwilling to elaborate until she let you in. And she did. She opened the door further, allowing you to step in, then shut it behind you. “There’s this… feeling in my stomach that won’t go away. It’s like heat. I don’t even know what I’m doing.”

Abby wanted to pretend like she didn’t know what you were talking about. Wanted to pretend that she was thinking about the fact that you were literally horny and came to her for help, not to mention the little pajamas that you had on, that hugged you tight and hardly covered anything. She could tell you that Owen would hate her if she helped you the way you needed, and it was just unethical, but.

But.

That would be like telling you she hasn’t been in love with you for seven years, telling you that she didn’t want you, telling you that she hasn’t thought about this every night practically since she met you. And she surely didn’t want you thinking any of that.

Abby sighed. “Is that all it is? Heat?” She took a step closer to you, making you catch your breath.

“No,” you paused, taking a step forward as well, so that your chests were almost pressed against each other. “It’s this wet feeling. And this throbbing.” Abby could’ve come in her boxers, right then and there, if she wasn’t trying to focus on you.

“Where?” Your face was burning. She placed her large hand on your stomach, head dropping to the crook of your neck. “Here?” she ran her thumb over the skin. You shook your head, placing your hands on her shoulders. Her hand cupped your cunt, heel of her palm pressing up ever so slightly, just to press into your clit. You pushed up on your toes, trying to get away from the overwhelming sensation, but it was unrelenting. “Here, baby?” You nodded quickly. “Words.”

You moaned at her harsh change of tone. “Yes Abby,” she left an open mouthed kiss on your neck, pulling her hand away from your pussy. “I don’t know what to do about it.” The way you looked at her made her want to kiss you until you couldn’t breathe. Big doe eyes, unknowing but curious. You were so innocent, and it turned Abby on more than it should’ve. All she could think about was your pretty, big lips wrapped around her strap, taking it deep in your throat.

“Oh honey,” Abby sighed again. She didn’t want it to seem like she didn’t want this, want you, but she didn’t know how to go about it. “Have you never touched yourself?” Your brows scrunched.

“No. But that’s not what- oh!” Abby couldn’t take it, she picked you up and threw you over her shoulder, walking down the hallway and going into her bedroom. She shut the door and sat you down on her bed. “Abs.. I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“Wanted what, baby? I thought you didn’t know what you were doing.” She was on her knees in front of you, hands on your waist as she looked up at you.

“I..” you groaned, running your hands over your face in embarrassment. “I want to have sex with you. That’s why I came here, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” Abby knew that. But she didn’t stop you from telling her. It sounded so nice coming out of your lips. “Owen can’t know, if we do.”

“I never said we were doing anything, darlin.” Remaining on her knees, she pressed against you and caught your lips in a kiss. Her hands were on your thighs, wrapping them around her waist, while she kissed you so hard you lost your breath. It was all tongue and teeth, nothing sweet about it. “What do you think about when you think about me, baby?”

Your brain was in a haze as you tried to formulate words. “You-your arms. And h-how your voice sounds, and how you look at me w-whenever we make eye contact.” She hooked her fingers under your shorts and pulled them down, then tossed them and shifted the two of you so that you were laying against her pillows and she was overtop of you.

When Abby caught a glimpse of the gold cross around your neck, she almost stopped. But the thought of corrupting you, turning you against the things you believe in just for her... extremely attractive.

"The heat between your legs is because you're horny, baby. Don't they teach you that at your pretty prep school?" You shook your head quickly, mind fuzzy as she kneaded your tits overtop your pajama shirt. She grabbed your hardened nipple and ran her thumb over it, making you shiver.

"Too much, Abby. Too much." You whined, pushing away from her hand.

"Is it really too much, sweet girl?" She twisted your nipple and pulled it, making you whimper and arch slightly off the bed. You couldn't tell whether you liked it or disliked it, but the way she was doing it felt extremely different from the way you briefly experimented with yourself here and there.

She knew what she was doing, and it made you want to moan and ride her fingers like you'd heard Owen talking about with her. You had listened to the vulgar stories she would tell your brother of her hookups, talking about what she did and how she did it.

You pushed up, sitting against the headboard as you pulled your pajama shirt up and over your head. Abby couldn't tear her eyes away from your tits. In seconds, her lips were latching onto your nipple and biting lightly, her hand flicking the other. Your back was arching into her mouth, moaning quietly.

"You're so pretty, my love." She mumbled into the skin of your sternum as she made a path of open-mouthed kisses towards your pajama shorts. Your skin was burning, and you were tingling at the thought of her teaching you what to do and how to do it.

She slipped your shorts off your legs and tossed them somewhere, gently running her thumb down your center. You shivered and whined, lacing one of your hands in her hair. "Abby," your head lolled back when she finally pulled your underwear down, kissing your clit gently. "Abs be gentle."

"Don't worry pretty girl, I'll go easy on you this time." Your stomach flipped at 'this time'. Would there be more times?

She licked a fat strip up your cunt and your hips bucked into her face, encouraging her. The sensation was brand new, and so much different than anything you'd ever done or felt. So much better.

Her tongue circled your clit, tracing shapes and letters, spelling her name against you. "Oh God, Abby," you moaned, the feeling of her hot breath and wet tongue creating the best mixture on your clit. The harsh middle ground where hot and cold met, where her thumb ran down your folds, was the greatest. You decided it was a good thing you waited, but you could definitely get used to this.

Moments later, Abby's middle finger was slowly pushing into your entrance, and she was groaning into your clit. She pulled away from your clit, watching her finger sink into you as she pressed kisses into your stomach and thighs. "So fucking tight, baby," her other hand rubbed your thigh, "need you to relax, angel."

A whine was ripped from your throat at the unfamiliar pressure. Your hips moved, trying to find some way to make it more comfortable. Abby was praising you, leaving quiet chants against your skin reminding you to breathe. You took a deep breath and released it, allowing your lower half to become less tense.

She began to thrust her finger slowly, curling it towards the sensitive bundle of nerves within you and grunting at the way you squirmed and cried out her name, begging her to do it again.

When you were ready, she added another finger, letting you adjust to both of her digits before reattaching her lips to your clit. Her right hand had found its way back to your tits, pulling at your nipple.

Your stomach became wound up, almost like a cramp in need of release. You knew it meant you were going to cum, but you never had before. "Abby- m'gonna, oh, Abby," a gush of warmth flooded between your legs, stronger and much better feeling than when you got wet.

Your legs were shaking and your hips were twitching, head thrown back and she worked you through it. Abby on the other hand, was wide-eyed and blushing as she watched you come around her fingers. She hooked up with girls regularly before now, but she had never been with someone like you.

She retracted her fingers and licked them clean. You were panting, forearm thrown over your eyes so that you wouldn't have to meet hers. "You did so well, my love." She had her hands pressed into your hips as she kissed your neck, waiting for you to come out and talk to her.

She was painting your skin in soft kisses when you finally brought your arm away from your face, cupping her face with both of your hands. "That was nice," you both grinned, which turned into laughter. It felt so good to laugh with her without worrying about Owen.

"I didn't hurt you, did I?" She asked once the laughter had subsided, turning things to a slightly more serious note. "I wanted you to be comfortable."

"You didn't hurt me, Abby. I'm glad I waited for you." She was kissing you then, smiling into your mouth as your teeth clashed and nicked at each other's lips. "Can I stay here tonight?" Abby rolled over next to you and took your hand as hers before looking towards you.

"You can stay here forever." She whispered quietly, kissing the back of your hand.

[mikodrawnnarratives]

Have some art + fic rn cuz i had this idea plaguing me for a whlie in my first playthrough of the game and i needed to have it realized.

I don't want to edit my writing just yet so i'll do that later, but for now have some mentally unstable Siffrin 👍

I'll come up with a title ltr, prob when i edit this and post to ao3 (so if this gets reblogs just check out the og post for latest ver.)

For now the warnings you should know of are just character death, lots of Siff hating himself, and i think suicide ideation? I wrote this a few hours ago n still don't want to go back just yet but basically its nothing that doesn't already exist in the game

Fic starts under the cut! Roughly 2000 words

(edit: i forgor some colors don't exist/can't be seen 🤡, fixed now!)

Siffrin can’t seem to fall asleep at all anymore. The night right before the loops he can only pretend to get some rest before facing the king. He isn’t quite sure what the reason is. Being stuck in one place for too long? Useless? His urges to reach out for Isa’s touch that keep him awake at night, yearning for connection that is immediately are followed by disgust in himself?  The pure exhaustion at the thought of repeating the next day again? None seem to be the answer. Maybe its a combination.

He only knows that he’s exhausted. Exhausted, yet unable to rest. Even if he were able, would he want to risk what ever dream or nightmare his head might concoct? A blend of memories and deaths to remind him that he can’t escape?

Not being able to sleep makes them worse at the loops too unfortunately. They got along fine for the first few loops after his first sleepless night, though the mistakes ramped up. They cursed their body, cursed themself for being so weak. Simple and stupid mistakes getting them killed via boulder when they forgot and slip of the hand resulting in the weakest of Sadnesses offing him.

Loop of course taunted about his failures, like they always do. He couldn’t fully blame them, knowing deep down he deserved it. There was a pull he sometimes had though, to rest with them, even for just a little bit. He’s hung out with them before, when it gets overwhelming, never for very long. Despite that, to actually sleep with them is a different story. Different vulnerability that, he wasn’t comfortable with. Too weak, he didn’t need another thing for Loop to tease him about. No matter how tempting it would be to sit in the tree and doze off. He wouldn’t doubt that, if he could rest at this point, he would doze off until the next loop.

He can’t have that. He can’t let his family die again.

The next loop began, the stage set, and Siff opened his eye, despite every ache in their body telling them not too. They can’t listen to their body right now though. They need to travel the entire house in the next few loops for anything he might have missed before. One more sweep. 

He carries out his lines, plays the role he’s meant, rehearsing the other actor’s lines in his head before they speak up. Familiar steps, expressions, directions. When they get to Isabeau, they slip up again, Isa’s concern blooms. But they’ve seen this before. It’ll be fine. Their gut twists at forcing Isa to be concerned, but theres a warmth in it too. That Isa cares. Cares about them. It’s strange, when Odile gets close to the truth, stars when she FINDS OUT the truth, there isn’t any warmth. Just, fear. But knowing Isa won’t find out, just cares and makes them promise to talk about it at a time they know won’t come, it’s a guilty pleasure. At least, for now. Before it becomes meshed with all the other lines Siffrin has come to expect from The Fighter.

While navigation the House like normal, they slip up occasionally, interacting with objects that spark Odile’s concern. They don’t bother reversing the mistakes, he hasn’t slipped up that much. There’s no way she could know. Siff crumbled on the first floor at the counter they jabbed themself into again. Unable to see it and always stupidly forgetting to be cautious there. Stupid. 

And they kept making mistakes. Their exhaustion pulling at their body, their nerves eating them alive. There’s no warmth with new lines of concern from their actors. Just spikes of panic followed by their attempts to reassure them. To continue on.

By the final snack stop before the King, their actor’s change the script again. Siffrin tensed, their hand tracing the handle of their dagger in case of emergency. Odile… odile doesn’t call out suspicious connections to time craft this time. Everyone just.. Just asks him to nap.

The third floor they had fumbled the most, their quick grabs at the keys became more clumsy against his will. His hands can’t stop shaking. The aches won’t cease their whining in his body. Change, of course they noticed, they aren’t blind. The script is similar, repeating the words that simultaneously warm his body and send nausea through it. They’re a family. They care.

Absently, Siffrin notes Mira’s asking him if he’ll accept a comb, again. At least that’s familiar. At least one of them new the script to stick to. And, he really wouldn’t mind it again. The loops reset his hair back to the tangled and knotted mess it was when he startled back to awareness in Dormont. Everytime. Sometimes they briefly wondered if Mirabelle would comb their hair out back in town too. They would never ask though.

Their family quietly chated as Mirabelle combed through his hair. Gently, dare they think lovingly. Careful not to hurt him. Like he’s fragile and weak. Pathetic. They are pathetic aren’t they. For wanting this. Selfish for forcing them. Their hands continued to tremble, as much as Siff tried to suppress it.

The Fighter changes the script first. First to notice. Notice a slip up. They tense, not for any particular reason just, they don’t know this script. The Fighter’s face is concerned but softens. Isa. Isa asked hesitantly it he could see their hands. Siff let him, letting their pathetic shaking hands be engulfed in Isa’s large ones. He hesitantly rubs their knuckles, Mira continues to brush the tangles out of their hair. Siff’s eyelid got heavier, their body screaming to just let go, just relax. They haven’t reached the king yet, the head housemaid, they can’t yet. 

When they heard Odile close her book, another off script action, they jolted up and looked her way. Odile was about to speak up, but hesitated at their startled form. Her concerned and piercing expression remained.

“Siffrin, did you get any rest at all last night?”

They stop and meekly speak up, “I slept..”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Siffrin grimaced, tensing up. “I got.. Some rest. Why do you ask?”

“The fumbling around and absent performance don’t suggest you did.”

She had them there. Their fingers twitch as they internally remind themselves their dagger is still on their person. Even if their hands are occupied with being held by Isa’s. They take a breath.

The other actors contribute, sharing their nerves about facing the King. Needing to be ready before confronting the Threat, that could be their final standing place. No. No they won’t fail. They won’t die here. He might, but he won’t let his family.

Odile is actually the first to suggest Siffrin rest before they face the King. They can’t have any weak links before such a moment. Weak members. Weak. They were clumsy this loop. Their other family members share in the sentiment. They probably think he’s weak too. Their concerned smiles are hard to say no to though. The aches and exhaustion overwhelming his body probably wouldn’t let him refuse such an opportunity either. Surely. Surely they went through the first couple floors quick enough that another fifteen minutes before the king wouldn’t be too long. Right?

It’s a thought that didn’t seem to cross his family member’s faces when he gave into their requests and laid down. Mira scooted over, getting started on the next clump of tangled hair. Isa offered his lap as a pillow, and Siffrin’s slow mind just. Accepts the request. Not noting the dark shade flooding The Fighter’s face as they dragged their body to his lap, their head and partial upper body relaxing immediately. They rest their head on their blind side, one hand interlaced with The Fighter’s, behind them Mira finishing off the last of their tangles. The concern from their family’s faces hasn’t completely disappeared, but it’s eased. And that is enough to release the remaining tension in his body. It’s enough. 

Their family makes a few jokes that their brain muffles. Some laughing. Bonnie’s working on their snacks in the corner, still. They’ll be ready when they wake up. Their legs adjusted and placed in someone else’s lap, they think. Whoever it was, rubs circles into their calf. His eyelid grows heavier, their breathes come easy. Deep breaths. Someone rubs their back. 

It’s nice. Really.. really nice. One could easily forget they were even about to face the King at all. Face the end. They close their eyelid. It’s warm. One breath in. And out. Just.. just a quick nap. Where they are loved. They.. they are loved right? This is what this means… at least right now…

Yeah. They hope this is right.

Sleep engulfs them for the first time in several loops and their breaths slow.

The chatting continues around him, not lacking some glances exchanged between the adults in the room. But mostly, just relief fills the air. Mira stayed by Siffrin’s side, threading her fingers through his now completely combed out hair. The flush in Isabeau’s cheeks still hadn’t fully left, every movement reminding him of his crush resting so peacefully in his lap. Like a sleeping cat that once it has claimed you as it’s cushion, you are bound by the universe to not move for any reason. Odile didn’t pass up the opportunity to tease him, met with Isa’s shushing and hushed whisper “what if he wakes up and hears you!!”

Siff had done a lot today, and everyone would have assumed he was completely calm about fighting the king if not for his uncharacteristic clumsiness. Mirabelle supposed it made sense though. A night of rough sleep right before facing the most dangerous threat facing the country? That would make anyone mess up.

After another twenty minutes, Bonnie comes over with the freshly prepared snacks. Made extra special since they were more ahead of schedule than expected. Last hurrah before the king, everyone needed to be at their best.

Mirabelle smiles, heading over to were Bonnie had announced the snacks. Isa attempts to move but flounders at the idea of moving Siff. Mirabelle giggles at his flushing face as Odile moves their legs out of their lap. Well, time to end their nap she supposes. Their sleepy family member probably won’t be too thrilled about waking up but it is snack time.

Mirabelle collects her choice of snack and crouches over to Siff, moving their hat from where it had obscured their resting expression. Isa looked both upset to have the time his crush sleeps on their lap come to an end, and relieved. He lets out a chuckle as Mira gently shakes their shoulder.

“Time to wake up, Siffrin! Bonnie has snacks for everyone.” Mira moves a few hairs out of their face. “Siffrin?”

Isabeau adjusts, and joins in. “Siff? Sorry to wake you bud but..” He pauses, seeing Mirabelle’s face shift. Odile’s gaze sharpens as Mirabelle’s leans over them, placing her ear to their chest.

“They- th-they aren’t” Mira cries out. “They aren’t breathing! No no no-” 

Isabeau moves Siffrin off his lap with shaking hands. Odile rushes over to their side, checking their wrist and neck for a pulse. Bonnie’s face crumbles in the corner, alarm replacing the happy air.

Isabeau shakes Siffrin’s still body, Mirabelle readies a heal craft as Odile begins to try resuscitating them.

but 

the 

world

goes

blank

Siffrin first feels the gentle breeze around them. The grass moving in tune, sometimes brushing up against the small areas their clothes don’t cover. They hear Mirabelle in the distance and when they open their eyes, she’s right above them, apologetic for waking them. Siffrin blinks. It’s been a while since Mira’s been the one to wake them up. 

“Good morning! Well, more like good afternoon, I gue- wow. Are you okay?”

That’s new. Why would her lines-

“You’re crying.. Is something wrong, Siffrin?”

He blinks and brings a hand to his face. Sure enough, his cheek is stained with tears. He doesn’t remember crying, he just woke up too. From..

“Must’ve happened in my sleep” He says absently.

Mira frowns, “Oh no! What did you dream about…?”

Siffrin shrugs and repeats lines he remembers that will reassure her the quickest. She sighs and returns back to town. They’ll be waiting for him.

He takes a moment to think about what happened in the last loop. He.. doesn’t remember dying. Must have been when he went to sleep. That. That probably should worry him, that falling asleep could end a loop, but he doesn’t feel any regret about it. Actually, it’d be nice if all his loops ended like that. Just, dying with his loved ones around. It would take too long though, even if it could happen again. This loop needs to be faster. Last loop they didn’t even reach the king, and they have questions. 

He grumbles as he sits up, a part of him yearning to go back to that warmth. Oh if only the universe could have let it be permanent. A permanent death that didn’t even hurt. That’s wishful thinking though, the universe isn’t so kind. And they have work to do, his family- actors. They need what he knows. He can’t rest forever yet.

The show must go on.

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

Hope

Sam and Dean Winchester & little sister!reader, Crowley & Winchester!reader (platonic)

Requested by anonymous

Synopsis: (very very loosely) set during 5x10 when Sam and Dean get killed and go to heaven (doesn’t follow cannon really)

Crowley took in the room before him, a pit opening up in his gut at the gruesome scene. Sam and Dean were splayed out on their respective beds, chests gaping open from near-identical bullet wounds. And then there was you.

The brothers’ young sister was sitting on the floor between the two beds, the demon-summoning ingredients in front of her. She was shaking from head to foot and her eyes were red-rimmed and wild with desperation. Her eyes met Crowley’s, and he nearly staggered back just seeing the haunted terror residing there.

“Darling…” Crowley’s voice was quiet, apologetic.

“You have to bring them back,” you whimpered. “Please.”

“I…I can’t,” he sighed. “Just because I’m king doesn’t mean I can just reanimate whoever I want. Not without…” Crowley stopped suddenly, but it was too late. Your eyes lit up with realization. “No,” Crowley said, but you were already nodding.

“I’ll do it,” you said. “You can have my soul, just bring them back!”

“It’s not that simple. If the demons find out that I brought their biggest threats back to life…” he was stalling, and you both knew it. He didn’t want your soul in hell, but he would never admit that.

“Please,” you pleaded. “Crowley, I-“ your voice cracked. “Please. I-I can’t live without them.”

Crowley looked from the boys’ dead bodies to you, then back again. You followed his gaze, your eyes settling on Sam first, then Dean.

“It was hunters.” Your lip quivered. “They-they said Sam was evil, and-and he had to be stopped. Then-then Dean recognized them, so they said that…” your voice cracked as tears slid down your cheeks. You took a deep breath before continuing. “They said they had to kill him, too, so that he wouldn’t come after them. De-Dean didn’t even care.” A sob wracked your body, and Crowley had to resist the sudden surprising urge to comfort you. “He didn’t care that they were gonna kill him, he-he just told them over and-and over not to kill me. I guess they thought I couldn’t be much of a threat.” You pulled your knees up to your chest, and your next sentence was so quiet that Crowley had to strain to hear. “I wish they got me, too.”

Crowley had been ready to leave you here, to turn down your deal and walk out and leave you with your brothers’ corpses. He didn’t want to make this deal, he didn’t want Sam and Dean screwing things up for him in hell, and he didn’t want you, just a kid, to give up your soul. You didn’t deserve hell.

But the last thing you said—your wish to die alongside your brothers.

Crowley couldn’t turn away from that.

“You’ve got yourself a deal.”

…

Crowley was gone before Sam and Dean opened their eyes. They sat up simultaneously, identical gasps leaving their throats as they breathed again for the first time.

You were off the floor and in their arms before they even knew what was happening.

…

“What happened?” Dean asked after he had gotten his bearings. “We were caught by Zachariah, how did we���” Dean caught sight of the summoning ingredients on the motel floor, and it hit him like a truck. Sam and him hadn’t gotten out by themselves.

“No…” Sam breathed, his gaze following Dean’s. “Y/N, no, tell me you didn’t.”

“Don’t pretend you wouldn’t have done the same,” was your response.

You flinched when Dean slammed his hand against the desk.

“What were you thinking?” He demanded.

“That I wasn’t about to let the two of you die,” you shot back.

“We could’ve gotten out ourselves!” Dean exploded. “The angels need us alive!”

“Yeah, but they would’ve tortured you until you said yes to Michael and Lucifer first!”

“How long did you get?” Sam’s quiet voice interrupted you and Dean’s shouting match. His tone sobered the room.

“A year.” Your voice was no longer strong or defensive. You were scared, and the boys could see it instantly.

“We’re gonna get you out of this,” Dean promised. “You’re not going to hell. I’m gonna call Crowley and—“

“Who do you think I made a deal with?” You sighed. “He may be the king of hell, but there’s only so much he can do. It was dangerous enough for him bringing you guys back as it was.”

“I don’t care,” Dean said. “He helped get you into this, he’s gonna help get you out.”

…

The year passed faster than anyone had anticipated. Crowley never answered when the Winchesters summoned or called, and they hadn’t been able to track him down or summon any other demons either.

You were on your last day, sitting on a motel bed next to your brothers, when he finally made contact.

“Hello, boys. Y/N.”

All three Winchesters nearly jumped out of their skins at the sudden appearance of the king.

“It’s about time, Crowley,” Dean growled. “We’ve been trying to contact you for—“

“Three hundred sixty-four days, twenty-three hours, and twenty-six minutes,” Crowley interrupted. “Y/N’s almost out of time.”

“Exactly,” said Dean. “Now fix your mess.”

“I can’t undo a deal, Squirrel.” Crowley couldn’t meet your eye as he spoke. “There’s nothing I can—“

While his gaze was focused on Dean, he didn’t notice Sam pulling out the demon knife until it was up against his throat.

“Then why are you here?!” Sam demanded.

“I can’t undo the deal,” Crowley said, his hands raised defensively. “Nor can I tell you about the hidden escape hatch out of hell. It would be utter treason for me to accidentally leave Y/N’s cell door in hell open in exactly seventeen hours and twelve minutes, when the guards change. It would be an affront of all I stand for to give you boys this address,” Crowley reached into his pocket and pulled out a piece of paper, handing it to Dean while Sam kept the knife on him. “It also wouldn’t be possible for me to tell Y/N to take two lefts and a right, and that the escape hatch is behind the giant rock shaped like a nose—trust me, you’ll see it.”

The trio of siblings was silent for several long seconds as they took in Crowley’s words.

“Why are you doing this?” Dean asked.

“I didn’t want to make this crummy deal in the first place,” Crowley sighed. “But you Winchesters are stubborn, so I made it. Now I’m doing the little I can to un-make it.”

The Winchester brothers began questioning Crowley about the specifics of the plan, but you remained silent. The men seemed to forget your presence until you suddenly interrupted them.

“So I still have to go to hell?”

All eyes turned to you.

“I’m afraid so,” Crowley said, still unable to look you in the eye.

“Dean?” Your pleading voice had your big brother in front of you in an instant. “Does…” your gaze focused on your fidgeting hands, and your voice came out in a tearful whisper. “Does dying hurt?”

Dean’s heart lodged in his throat. He wanted so bad to lie, to tell you that you wouldn’t feel a thing, and that you’d be reunited with your brothers before you knew it. But you didn’t want just assurance, you wanted the truth. You needed someone to trust more than you needed comfort. So he did the last thing he wanted to do; he told you the truth.

“Yeah,” Dean sighed heavily. “Yeah, it’s gonna hurt like crazy.” Dean’s hands found your fidgeting ones, and he held them tightly. “And those seventeen hours are gonna feel like a whole lot longer. And it’s—“ Dean’s voice cracked. “It’s gonna be real dark, and you’re gonna feel like the only person in the universe for a little while. Then the demons are gonna come, and it…it’s gonna be really bad for a while, kid.”

Tears were steaming down both of your cheeks now, but still Dean continued.

“But you just gotta hold on, ok? Hope is the only thing you’re gonna have down there, so you can’t let it go for anything, understand?”

“Ok,” you choked, holding Dean’s hands in a vice grip.

“Ok,” Dean forced a fleeting smile. “Good girl.” He pressed a kiss to your forehead. “You’re gonna be ok, alright?”

You nodded, leaning into your big brother’s touch.

Dean felt you flinch in his arms, and he pulled back to see you glancing around wildly.

“Did you hear that?” You breathed. You glanced up at Sam and jerked back, gasping in surprise.

“Hey, hey,” Dean tried to grab your arms, but you backed away from him, trembling. “What you’re seeing, it’s not real, ok? Y/N, it’s me.”

“I have to go, they can’t see me here.” Crowley was gone before anyone could comment.

“Y/N, it’s Sam.” Sam appeared on your other side. “It’s ok, you’re ok.”

“Baby close your eyes.”

You looked up to see Dean staring down at you.

“Just close your eyes,” he repeated. “It’ll be ok.”

You closed your eyes tightly before the hallucinations started again, your last visual memory being that of your big brothers holding onto you. You felt Dean’s hand squeeze yours, and your breathing turned to hyperventilating when you heard the hellhounds burst through the door.

Your instincts were screaming at you to open your eyes, but Dean seemed to read your mind.

“Keep your eyes closed, sweetheart. We’re right here, we’re not gonna leave you.”

You couldn’t help the terrified gasps that were escaping you, but you listened to your big brother and kept your eyes closed, even as you heard the vicious bark of the hellhounds.

Even as you felt their claws rip into your flesh.

You shrieked in pain, and you struggled to back away from the hounds, to no avail. But you never opened your eyes.

And you never let go of your brothers’ hands.

…

Seventeen hours later, Sam and Dean were waiting at the address that Crowley had given to them. Your body was laid out carefully in the back of the Impala, having been carried there by Dean. Dean told himself over and over again that you weren’t dead; they were just waiting to get your soul back to your body.

“Is there something we should be doing?” Sam asked, glancing around.

“Not according to Crowley,” Dean sighed. “He said as long as her body is here, and she gets through that escape hatch, it should be a done deal.”

The brothers had done what they could for your body; Sam had stitched up your wounds, and Dean had done a homemade blood transfusion using his own blood. They could only hope that your soul returning to your body would somehow help the more internal injuries that they couldn’t fix. Dean insisted that they do this, since Cas wasn’t around to heal your injuries, they didn’t know what state you would be in when you got back to your body.

“So we just sit he—“

Sam’s question was cut off when your body suddenly jerked upright, a deep breath filling your lungs.

“Y/N!” Dean was by your side immediately, Sam coming to stand beside him.

“Dean? Sam?” You were out of the Impala and in your brothers arms before you even finished getting their names out.

“Hey kid,” Dean breathed a sigh of relief as you relaxed completely in his arms. “Miss me already?” He quipped, but his forced easygoing tone dropped at your response.

“It felt so long.” You held Dean tighter and started to cry into his shoulder.

“I know, I know it did sweetheart.” Dean brought his hand up to cradle your head. “I know. You’re safe now, ok? We’re right here.”

“Hey,” Sam pulled you away from Dean and held you at arms length to look at you. “How do you feel?”

You touched the stitches running up your stomach.

“It feels sore, like-like it’s healing.”

“Ok.” Sam sighed in relief. “Ok.” He pulled you into his arms, letting you relax against him.

“Let’s get going,” Dean said. “We don’t need any demons figuring out what happened.”

Dean regretted his words when he saw you tense in Sam’s arms.

“Hey.” Sam noticed too, and he pulled away and brushed your hair away from your face. “We’ve got you, ok? You’re not going back to hell. Ever.”

For the first time in months, a smile found its way onto your face.

“Let’s hope so.”

Taglist:

@nyotamalfoy @mrvlxgrl

[imtryingbuck]

Affair Part 2

~ gif not mine credit goes to owner ~

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader, Fem!Reader x ??

Summary: The aftermath of reader telling Bucky she’s divorcing him

Word count: 3157

Warnings: Bucky is a big huge gigantic humongous dumdum. Swearing, if there’s more let me know.

Translation: милая девушка - beautiful girl. ангел - angel.

Masterlist

Part 1

“I filed for divorce” kept playing on his mind for the rest of the night long after she had gone to bed. His phone kept going off nonstop, the messages and missed calls all from Sharon.

He stayed at the home he shared with his wife and children for four hours waiting, hoping his beautiful wife who he betrayed would come back down the stairs and tell him she forgave him.

It never happened.

He left, getting into the car his wife brought him, the same car he fucked his mistress in and went straight to Sharon’s. Knocking on the door he only had to wait for a few minutes before the wooden door came swinging open.

“You finally showed, I’ve been waiting for ages! We need to talk” Sharon stands there, red eyed as if she had been crying.

“She’s divorcing me” Walking past her and looking around the room he’d been in so many time before - double date nights, just seeing his best friend, cheating on his wife with his best friend’s wife.

“He’s divorcing me too” Her voice was happier than his. “Now we can be together, I had to cry in front of Steve pretending I cared. Then you wouldn’t pick up your phone I wa-”

“I don’t want you Sharon. I want Y/n. I want my children and my best friend back. Me and you biggest mistake I have ever made!” Cutting her off.

“You’re joking right? We are so perfect together not me and Steve and especially not you and that bitch!”

“Don’t. Don’t you dare call my wife a bitch” he seethes.

“Don’t act like you care now Bucky where was that caring nature of yours when you was sleeping with me for 8 months? And news flash she’s divorcing you she’s not going to get back with you!”

Having her remind him of the stone cold truth hit him in the gut. Sharon was right, his wife was divorcing him. She was never going to get back together with him.

“I don’t care if she’s divorcing me just don’t call her a bitch.”

“Okay, how about we don’t talk about them two okay? Here’s what I was thinking, I’m getting the house in the divorce so I’ll just sell it and me and you can get an apartment together? We can buy all new furniture and it can be a fresh start for us and oh I’ve already found -“.

As Sharon stands there rambling on he had the urge to ring his wife and tell her she was wrong. Sharon did want him now that they were divorcing, she’s even planned to sell her house so they can get an apartment together. Y/n was wrong about that Sharon and himself couldn’t run off into the sunset and live happily ever after because he stood there with his mistress in front of him and having to hear her rambling off about their new future together.

His wife who he loves more than anything in this world was wrong.

Because it wasn’t Sharon that didn’t want him now their affair was known to their spouses. It was him. He was the one that didn’t want her, he didn’t want the apartment with Sharon, he didn’t want a fresh start with his best friends soon to be ex-wife. No, he wanted his wife back. He wanted a fresh start with Y/n so he can get a second chance of being better. He wanted the love of his life back, and he wanted Steve back - he knew himself that Steve wouldn’t forgive him for his part of her affair.

“-Bucky? Bucky are you even listening to me?” Sharon’s voice cut his inner monologue off.

“Huh? Oh yeah sorry”

“You wasn’t listening was you? It’s okay silly bum I was just talking about an apartment I found the other day, oh Buck it’s beautiful and I honestly think it would be perfect for us” Her voice was hopeful and excited. He found himself comparing her voice to the one belonging to his wife when she found the house that became their home.

“Sharon this isn’t going to work”

“Of course it will, I love you and you love me”

“No Sharon I don’t. I don’t love you, I will always love Y/n”

“No! No you don’t James! You love me!” Sharon screamed at him.

Sighing “Listen Sharon I don’t love you, I never had. I have never been attracted to you-“

“Never been attracted to me? You’re joking right?”

“No”

“You prick!”

“We wouldn’t work anyway Sharon. You cheated on Steve with me and I cheated on Y/n with you. We would always accuse each other, we wouldn’t be happy I can promise you that”

“N-no you wouldn’t cheat on me though!”

“I cheated on my WIFE! You really think I wouldn’t do it to you? I love her for Christ sake, she’s the only person I have ever been attracted to! When I was fucking you I was thinking of her! C’mon Sharon don’t be so stupid, it doesn’t suit you” He’s only now regretting coming over here, at the time he didn’t know where else he could go.

“Yo-you ruined my marriage James” he watched her struggle to breathe for a moment “you ruined my marriage!”

“No I didn’t, you did. You are the one that made a vow to Steve not me. Like how I ruined my marriage with Y/n not you.”

“You-we made love James”

“We fucked. We didn’t make love Sharon” rolling his eyes at her petty attempt at making him change his mind.

“I-don’t-you don’t want me now? But you did earlier? You fucked me in your car, went home and get confronted by your wife, then you come here and tell me you don’t want me anymore? Is that what you’re trying to tell me right now?” Her anger and tears were on full display.

“I’m sorry. I am. It’s just I love Y/n more than anything. I’m going to go; I’ll see you around I guess” he was just about to touch the door handle when her voice stopped him.

“Fuck me one last time. Please James”.

And ever the fool, he did.

~~~

The months after she told him she had filed for divorce she flourished, no more crying herself to sleep, no more fake smiles and no more faking confidence. She was the happiest she had been since she caught her husband fucking a woman that was most definitely not her. Her and Steve’s friendship grew too, they became closer than ever. They were each other’s shoulder to cry on, they supported one another when they needed it.

But then came their divorce to being finalised, and that’s where Y/n struggled.

Nat had forced convinced her to go and see a therapist, Dr Grey was a lovely woman who didn’t care about telling her to stop putting herself down, happily called her stupid when she blamed herself for the affair. Dr Grey - Linda as she told Y/n to call her - became a good friend, a friend she needed and wanted.

In the aftermath of her divorce she became isolated, she didn’t want to see or hear anyone that wasn’t her children. Sam being the best friend that he is, would pick up the kids and take them to school and drop them back off. Nat would go to the shops and sometimes even cook them dinner. She felt like she was causing problems for Nat and Sam because they were spending so much time running around after her that they couldn’t spend any time together.

“Don’t be stupid Y/n. You know me and Sam love you, we are more than happy to help” Nat spoke one night when they were lying in bed together.

“I feel like I’m causing problems and I don’t want you two to argue becau-“

“Y/n stop! You’re not causing problems and we are not arguing, like at all. You know Sam loves them kids of yours, he actually loves taking them to school because and I quote ‘they make me feel cool’” both women chuckle at the red heads husband “so stop милая девушка, we are both here for you, I promise”

She cried herself to sleep most nights, cried for the loss of her marriage - for weeks she would find herself going to play with the ring that use to sit on her fourth finger only for her to look down and only see a fading white tan line. Signing her maiden name not married one took months to engrain as she was just so use to writing Barnes after her name. She would find herself reaching out to the other side of the brand new double sized bed searching for his warmth, always finding it empty, always leaving her feeling alone and cold.

She cried the loss of her friendship with Sharon. They had been friends for nearly three years prior to Sharon introducing her and Bucky to each other. She was the first person Y/n would phone whenever something good and bad happened, she was actually the first person to know Y/n was pregnant with her oldest child - hell it was Sharon that told her she was pregnant as she couldn’t bring herself to look at it. Y/n was always there for Sharon night or day she was there. The pain of her betrayal was almost more unbearable than Bucky’s.

Her mental and physical health took a toll too. Constantly blaming herself for not being enough for him, blaming herself for being tired sometimes to not have sex with him. Blaming herself was so much easier and safer for her than to blame the two people who hurt her. Her weight loss was concerning to Nat and Sam, although she would find herself hungry she just couldn’t stomach anything. Nat cleaned the house whilst Sam took the kids to the park as Y/n had a shower for the first time in nearly a month, she felt like she could conquer the world all because she showered, washed her hair and shaved.

Then she accepted the divorce. She accepted that she was no longer someone’s wife, she even (more dramatically) accepted that she’d be single for the rest of her life. With the help from Linda she accepted that Bucky’s affair was not her fault.

~~~

It had now been two years since they were officially divorced.

Y/n made a friend at work, Peggy. Beautiful, kind and the sweetest person. She had set her up with Steve to help him get himself back out there, they’d been dating for nearly a year. Y/n couldn’t believe how much happier he looked now, she was happy for him truly she was. She believed he deserved it.

Dating for her was, well….

“You’re absolutely glowing ангел” Nat whistled as Y/n walked into the kitchen.

“Stop flirting with me”

“I can’t help it милая девушка”

“Sam come and get your wife!”

“What’s going on?” Sam asks coming to where the women were, placing a kiss on Y/n’s temple then giving Nat a quick kiss.

“Your wife keeps flirting with me”

Wiggling his eyebrows “well things can be arranged”

“Samuel!” Both women scold him but shortly after burst out laughing.

“No but I was telling her that she was glowing” Nat informed.

“You are, you seem happier as well” Sam agreed.

“Well… ikindofmetsomeone”

“What!” Both Sam and Nat shout in unison.

“I met someone..”

“Who?” When? Where? How?” Y/n rolled her eyes at the pair talking in tandem.

“His name is Ari. I literally bumped into after I ran out of the cafe after setting Steve and Peggy up on their date”.

“Is he good to you?”

“Yeah, and he’s great with the kids”

“Wait…he’s met the kids?”

“Yeah it was an accident, James said he couldn’t take the kids because of work and Ari came to pick me up for our date but ended up staying at mine. The kids love him”.

“I can’t wait to meet him!” Nat smiles.

~~~

Bucky hadn’t seen Sharon after he left the next morning, he felt ashamed and guilty for sleeping with her. For some bizarre reason he thought it would be a great idea to go to Nat and Sam’s to talk to Steve.

“Absolutely not. You’re not coming in Buck”

“Please Sam I know he’s here, I jus- I just need to talk to him”

“About what? Jesus Bucky you were having an affair with his wife!”

“I know I just need to apologise” He heard movement behind Sam, when he saw Steve’s pained expression his heart sank.

“I don’t want to hear any apologies. But you will listen to me.” Steve gives Sam a small nod, stepped further out of the doorway. “I have known you since we were kids and not once have I ever not trusted you. Not once have an ever wanted to punch you as much as right now. But.. but I’m not going to, it’s not worth it. You betrayed me man! You knew how much I loved her! And there’s Y/n, you had this perfect woman and you cheated on her!” Slightly shaking his head “you-you had the perfect family and you fucked it up by fucking my wife! I was always jealous of you, did you know that? Sharon never wanted kids so when you told me Y/n was pregnant I was jealous. You two had this perfect relationship whilst me and her were arguing all the time, I was jealous” swallowing hard and taking a deep breath “but you see James as much as I wanted the life you had I would of never and I mean never of done what you have done!”

Bucky stands there with tears rolling down his cheeks, wanting to say something but the words just wouldn’t come out.

“You know when Y/n told me about the affair she couldn’t stop apologising, couldn’t stop crying, she even puked up. I had to calm your wife down trying to reassure her that what you did wasn’t her fault! And where were you huh? Screwing my wife!” Chuckling lightly to himself. “Me and Y/n deserve so much better than you two. I really hope it was worth it James because I can’t forgive you. And the fact you have the audacity to come here after spending the night with Sharon just proves how little you care” when he sees Bucky’s eyebrow twitch in confusion he laughs “I really can’t see Y/n giving you a hickey after she’s told your sorry ass she’s divorcing you. Goodbye James it was nice knowing you”.

Y/n was right, he was alone. He had no one in his corner. Going through the divorce process was difficult for him, like she said she wasn’t going to take anything from him. Custody had been split between them evenly as agreed. The part he was struggling with was, only being able to see her at the weekends, their conversations was just about the kids nothing more nothing less.

Then Sam started to do drop offs and pick up leaving him completely crushed. He no longer got to see her even if it was for 10 or if he was really lucky 15 minutes. The friendship he had with Sam and Nat became strained, he didn’t blame them. He did miss them though.

To deal with the loss of his marriage he turned to drinking. Sometimes he would come home from the bar and call out for Y/n, cry when he got no response, 9 out of 10 times he’d fall over and then fall asleep on the floor.

Then that dreaded day came.

Sam had long gone after dropping the kids off, he was in the middle of cooking dinner with his oldest talking about school when he heard a name he hasn’t heard before.

“Sweetheart what was that?”

“Me and Tommy and Billy are now best friends they’re new to school”

“I’m glad but not that bit baby, you said someone helped you with your homework?”

“Oh Ari, he helps me he’s so clever daddy”

“Who’s Ari?”

“Mommy’s new friend. We saw them kissing” giggling when her younger brother pulls a disgusting face.

Of course he knew that it would happen, her dating. Of course she would, she had every right to find happiness and love after he destroyed that for her. Any man would be lucky enough to be with her - she’s funny, beautiful, loving, kind and passionate, the list goes on - he should know, he was once that lucky man before he fucked it all up.

The knowledge of his now ex-wife is dating again broke something inside of him. What? He doesn’t quite know, he shouldn’t have felt anything other than happiness for her.

~~~

It was their son’s birthday party today, the squeals of close to 30 children running around the backyard full of sugar could be heard from down the street, most of their little faces decorated with face paint.

The birthday boy was currently bouncing around on the dinosaur themed bouncy castle - that he just had to have - after laying on the grass for 10 minutes complaining he was ill. Their oldest daughter was walking around showing the adults her butterfly wings that went with the butterfly paint on her face.

Y/n was rushing around making sure everything was okay and running smoothly as well and making sure everyone was having a good time. Bucky thought she looked absolutely breath taking in the white floral dress and white pumps. Her hair was up in two fishtail braids, just like his daughter.

It was the first time in two years that he saw Steve - like Y/n he looked happier, healthier, freer. The woman that was placed snuggly under his arm was beautiful and when Bucky noticed Steve’s hand position when talking to Sam he saw the pregnancy bump, Bucky couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his former best friend finally getting his dream of being a dad.

The cheerful scream pulled his eyes away from Steve to his daughter who was running past him heading towards the sliding glass doors. A tall, well-built man stood at the doorway with a huge smile on his face.

“Ari Ari - look mommy Ari’s here”

“I can see that sweetie-“

He started to struggle to breath, his own daughter was more happier to see this Ari guy than him, the smile that lit up Y/n’s beautiful face crushed him. Then it got worse for him. He watched as his former best friend go up to Ari and greeted him in the same way them two use to great each other.

~~~

Going back to the once lively and warm house that he once called home the realisation of how truly alone Bucky was, was a tough pill for him to swallow.

~ banner credit goes to @sweetpeapod ~

[eliorabunny]

deny me

angstyyyyyy!!!!! bestfriend!chris x fem!reader, unrequited luvvvv

𐀔⋆ ིྀ₊𖧧 “i get this twisted and sickening feeling i’m gonna marry you” 🂱*𖦹°‧ ༘

𖦹 genre: fluffy angst, no happy ending (unless i decide to do an alternate version) ✄༝𑁤

𖦹 word count: 547 𖧧

𖦹 a/n: first thing i’ve written on here yippie🧚🏻‍♀️ also do i tell my friend/producer i’m using their song for plot inspiration. stream grace gardner everyone they fucking rock

i’m feeling moody so now y’all are too ᵕ̈ ̤̮

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

it felt painfully safe to lie in his arms.

any moment with him, really, made her heart plummet deep into her gut. her rosy thoughts of him felt wrung out like a towel every time they were together. each minute gnawed at the fragile bones of a fading daydream. for once, she actually wished her best friend liked her more than that.

unfortunately, he was respectful.

they’d known each other since childhood, always seeing movies together at the local theatre and getting ice cream across the street afterwards. she knew which monopoly piece he’d choose (the terrier) and he knew which ice cream truck character she’d pick (spider-man). only those who have surpassed love and found themselves in a deeper bond could remember details like that.

which is why it hurt so much more once she realized she was falling. honestly, it felt more like repeatedly tumbling over exposed roots and snarled branches in a cliffside nosedive. she chuckled bitterly to herself at the cartoonish image, eliciting a raspy “hmmm?” from the sleepy arms around her.

“oh.. was that out loud?” she mumbled bashfully, as reality yanked her back from imagination. she turned to look up at the boy sitting next to her on the couch, who nodded slowly. his half-lidded but steady eye contact would have made her collapse if she wasn’t already curled up against him. a vague redness crept towards her face, and she struggled to ignore the corners of his mouth twitching towards an amused smile.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked softly, laying a gentle finger on the skin between her eyebrows. she tried to disregard the idea that superheroes ever had the ability to read minds. her eyes wandered to the collar of his hoodie, which had slipped enough to let his collarbone taunt her, dare her, to move closer.

and if the lights were dimmer, she wouldn’t have seen it.

a violet, blooming there on his chest. a mark of someone else’s teeth and lust. a tear begged to be set free, pricking the corner of her eye. she prayed her mascara would remain faithful and squeezed her eyes shut.

“hey,” he whispered, pulling her into a tighter hug. she melted against his neck, idly chewing on the sleeve of her sweatshirt as her focus dissolved. this particular sleeve had a heart-shaped patch sewn onto it, a playful gift from her best friend. it felt ironic now, knowing her feelings would only cause trouble if she let them show.

the warmth of his lips just inches from her forehead was devastating. her skin ached for contact, and she mindlessly tilted her head upwards. her gaze met azure, caged by enviably long lashes. the delicate beauty of his features overwhelmed her, and she quickly glanced down to the offensive blossom on his neck.

she contemplated bringing it up, knowing every response would shatter her. the sight was torturous, and she felt her tether to paradise disintegrating as she pointed. her mouth opened slightly, and she felt the pressure behind her eyes threatening to betray her.

his eyes followed the line of her finger and felt his heart wilt. they shared an understanding, silent moment, and he pretended not to notice the tear that traced an apologetic line down his shoulder.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌❀°✩⋆ʚ♡ɞ⋆✩°❀﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

[raspberryslxt]

UNEXPECTED TURNS - PROLOGUE

OBX X TVD FANFICTION

jj maybank x gilbert!reader x rafe cameron

-

The road stretched endlessly before her, the salty tang of the ocean air growing stronger with every passing mile. She hadn’t set foot in the Outer Banks since she was a kid, spending summers with her parents, siblings, and the Camerons. Back then, life had been carefree—beach days, late-night bonfires, and riding bikes with Sarah Cameron until the sun went down. But now? Now, the Outer Banks was a place she was running to, desperate for an escape from Mystic Falls and the memories that refused to let her breathe.

Her parents were gone. That reality hit like a punch to the gut every time she thought about it. Elena was trying to act like things were fine, but her forced optimism only made things worse. Jeremy had shut everyone out entirely. And y/n? She couldn’t keep pretending to hold everything together.

Ward Cameron had offered to take her in when she mentioned returning to the island. He had been one of her dad’s closest friends, and the Camerons had always been like family. Staying with them seemed like the easiest option, even if it meant navigating the complicated dynamic of Ward’s overbearing personality, Rafe’s unpredictable moods, and Sarah’s golden-girl world.

As she pulled up to the sprawling Cameron estate, y/n took a deep breath, gripping the steering wheel for a moment before getting out.

The front door swung open almost immediately, and Sarah appeared on the porch, her wide smile a flicker of the summers they used to share.

“Y/n!” Sarah called out, bounding down the steps to greet her. “You’re finally here!”

Y/n smiled despite herself. “Yeah, I made it. Barely. This place looks…huge.”

Sarah grinned, throwing an arm around her shoulders as they walked toward the house. “Yeah, Dad’s been adding on since you were last here. You’re staying in the guest room, but if Rafe gets annoying, we can kick him out of his and you can move in there.”

Y/n laughed, shaking her head. “Somehow, I don’t think he’d agree to that.”

“Trust me, he wouldn’t have a choice,” Sarah said, leading her inside.

The house was just as overwhelming as y/n remembered—bright, expansive, and luxurious in a way that made her feel small. Ward appeared from the study, his smile wide but his gaze calculating as always.

“Y/n,” he said, holding out his hand. “It’s good to see you. You’ve grown up a lot since the last time you were here.”

“Thanks for letting me stay,” she said, shaking his hand.

“Of course,” he said smoothly. “Anything for your parents’ daughter.”

Sarah led y/n upstairs to the guest room, chatting the entire way about all the things that had happened since her last visit. But even as Sarah chattered on, y/n couldn’t help but feel a weight in the pit of her stomach. Being here was supposed to be a fresh start, but she couldn’t

[thedovesaredying]

Little Chicken | Cowboy!Nikto x F!Reader | Oneshot

Figured out a cute little nickname for Nikto's reader in the Cowboy AU originally created by @ghouljams as always! I thought it was fitting since "chicken" or "chook" is an affectionate term where I live and I think it's an adorable petname.

Nikto has complicated feelings about watching his girl doing her job. She's by no means weak or incompetent at it, but he can only hold his nerve for so long.

Call of Duty Masterlist

“цыпа,” Nikto huffs, trying in vain to call you back while he watches you continue to wade through the knee-deep water of the river. He normally trusts your ability to handle yourself with large and dangerous animals; this is your job and you’ve been doing it for years. But this? This is too far even for him.  

“Nikto! Come look!” you excitedly call to him, looking back to grin at him with that blindingly bright smile that shows off your dimples. In any other situation, seeing such a loving, genuine smile aimed his way would give him that warm feeling in his gut. Instead, it just concerns him even more that you’re paying attention to him and not the animal at your feet.  

“нет, we can see fine from here,” he keeps his eyes glued to the huge creature floating in place only a few feet from you.  

“Aww, c’mon Nikto! He’s only a little fella, can’t be more than seven or eight feet,” you look back to the alligator sitting on the riverbed. You hum to yourself, tilting your head this way and that as you observe the animal, “he’s got a nice thick snout, so it’s definitely a male.” While you continue to list different facts about the species, Nikto can only watch as the alligator in question starts drifting closer.

“-and look, because of all the sensory nerves along the top of the head, tapping the water’s surface like this will cause him to-” you reach down toward the water and- Before you can do... whatever it is you’re planning on doing, he takes a couple of long strides into the water and reaches down, hauling you bodily from the river.  

“нет, абсолютно нет, не происходит, нет,” He throws you over one shoulder and carries you back to dry land, regardless of your protests.  

“Nikto, Nikto put me down,” he ignores you, “I know what I’m doing, I wouldn’t have let him actually bite me.” You grumble when he continues all the way back to the truck the two of you arrived in, corralling you into the front seat with his broad body blocking you from attempting to escape.  

You hop up into the seat, turning your body so that you’re sitting facing out the open truck door. The truck is high enough that you can look him in the eye without craning your neck, and the pout you subject him to is admittedly rather endearing. “You will be the death of us, цыпа,” he sighs, gently knocking his forehead against yours.  

Your brows furrow slightly, “I’ve never heard that one before, what does it mean?” you ask quietly, refusing to break this soft moment.  

“It means chicken,” he replies, and tries not to grin when you giggle, “you are like a little chicken, yes?” 

“Are you saying I’m a coward?” you pretend to clutch your pearls, but the dramatic reaction is ruined by your bright grin.  

“No, of course not,” he reassures you, “you’re stupid.”  

He receives a slap to the chest as you gasp, “Nikto!” You glare at him, poking his chest with a single finger, “I guess that makes you a donkey, then, because you’re a complete ass.” 

The cackle that bursts out of him is entirely genuine, but he can’t help it, not when you come out with something so unexpected. You quickly join him in laughter, and the two of you must be a strange sight, sitting in a truck beside the river, giggling like a couple of teenagers.  

“You’re lucky, моя цыпа, no one else would be allowed to get away with being so rude.” Perhaps he’ll keep the name, it suits you, to be a sweet little chicken, and you don’t seem to be too put off by it given the way you plant a soft kiss against his clothed lips.

-

Translations:

"цыпа" - Chick/Little Chicken - A baby chicken - Pronounced Cypa

"моя цыпа" - My chick/My little chicken - Pronounced Moya Cypa

"нет" - No

“нет, абсолютно нет, не происходит, нет” - No, absolutely not, not happening, no/nope.

[lunarw0rks]

Hiiii, saw that ur reqs r open and I'm (desperately) asking for a Soap oneshot <33 U can do whatever u want, just rlly asking for fluff with him pLEASE

Skinny Love // Drabble

Summary: Your best friend Soap confesses, reciprocating feelings you were convinced he didn't have for you. Warning(s): bsf!soap, friends to lovers, mutual pining, idiots in love, fluff, gn!reader, no use of y/n Word Count: 1k ꒦꒷ MAIN MASTERLIST ꒷꒦ SOAP MASTERLIST // have a request? ˖⁺‧₊˚ ask box / ao3 ver. ˚₊‧⁺˖

After nearly a year of friendship, things had changed.

You began to see him differently, like an object of your attraction you had to have.

It was almost unbelievable, considering the rocky start you two had in the beginning. He was a friend of a friend, completely plastered and obnoxious the night you met him. To add to it, he spilled his bear all over you, which was the final straw that evening.

In hindsight; it couldn’t have worked out any better. If it weren’t for that clumsy happening, you wouldn’t have reached out to him to apologize for snapping. Without that, you wouldn’t have conversed with him when he was sober, no longer a drunken prick. When you heard his pleas for forgiveness, how genuine they were, you quickly realized you two really had gotten off on the wrong foot.

Several months later, the unfortunate first impression was nothing more than a memory.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your laughter echoed through the summer air; warm and stuffy despite the setting sun. ❝She was totally flirting with you, Johnny!❞ You matched his speed, a brisk jog as he distanced himself from the ice cream shop.

The cashier was flirting with him, it was obvious, given the fact that she made little attempt to conceal it. In all fairness, you two were of similar age and out for ice cream together — you mirrored that of a couple. Though, Soap had gone quiet when pursued, eyes either on you or the menu, for whatever reason.

❝Aye, whatever you say, love.❞ He shovels some rocky road into his mouth to keep himself quiet, sitting beside you on the park bench. For the first time that night, he was looking at anything else but you. His hands had gone clammy, his face flushed and heated, all a foreign feeling to him. He was rarely nervous when making a move. But you weren’t someone eyeing him across from a pub, you were a dear friend — one he wanted to be more with.

Soap could let you think it was his own stubbornness preventing him from accepting advances or indulging in hookup culture, but it wasn’t. He only had eyes for you, literally and figuratively. Typically he read like a book, yet you were entirely clueless or pretending to be. You had no clue he was head over heels, you were too stuck in your own head. Confiding in you about his feelings wasn’t a question of him fearing rejection, it was more of a concern about causing you to distance yourself from him. That nearly a year of friendship would fizzle away until it was nothing.

You savored the taste of your own gelato — the one he ordered for you because he already knew your favorite. ❝You’re so lucky to have me, Johnny.❞ Your teases were chewing at him, piece by piece. It wouldn’t be long before he spilled his guts, not long at all.

Soap made his best attempt at playing it cool, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. ❝Would be lost without you, that’s for sure…❞ He murmured, which only made your stomach churn. Has your unintentional pining made him uncomfortable? He was uncharacteristically quiet right now and refused to look you in the eyes. On your end, it looked as if he loathed your existence, yet to him, it was merely nerves feasting on his confidence.

Playful flirting was inevitable with him, it was in his nature. There was a line that was never crossed, however. Tonight, it would be, though. Either that or his confession would do irreparable damage to a close friendship.

❝What is it? I was only kidding, Johnny, you know that.❞ You set the sundae down on the bench beside you, full attention on your suddenly distant best friend.

Soap’s head snapped back to you when he heard your concern, ❝I’m not mad at you.❞ It sounded like the lie of a century, but it wasn’t. This was his fault for being so nervous, for walking on eggshells around you.

You scoffed at his words, eyes lit up in a baffled manner. He had such distaste written on his face like he had seen a ghost. By now, your head was spinning with worst-case scenarios. ❝What is it, then? Is there something on my face? Or… are you trying to get rid of me? If you don’t want to be around me, you should just say it—❞

❝I’m in love with you.❞ His blunt statement overlapped with your expelling racing thoughts.

For a few seconds, your clueless rambling continued, until you froze when you finally processed his words. ❝What?❞ There was no chance you misheard him, not when he had interrupted you with such firmness. Him, in love with you? Meaning, he reciprocates the anguish of suppressing one's feelings for weeks? Now you were just frustrated. This whole time you had been dancing around the subject, purposefully attempting to set him up with dates, he had felt the same.

❝Johnny, you don’t mean that.❞ You wanted him to mean it, but you had already scrambled to sway his desires. Surely it was a rash statement made to shut you up, it had to be. But Soap was never a man with concealed motives.

In a sudden advance, his hands cupped your face, ❝when have I ever said somethin’ I didn’t mean, hm?❞ He asked with lips straightened into a line. He had a point, and he knew it. There weren’t any other excuses you could find to convince him to not cross that imaginary line in the sand.

You sighed heavily when you realized fighting your feelings wasn’t worth it. ❝You haven’t.❞

When his words were received with a slight crack in your worries, he eased up on his grip, though his hands remained on either side of your face. Soap leaned a bit closer, his heated sugary breath on your mouth.

His thumbs caressed your skin, both sets of eyes unblinking and yearning for the inevitable.

❝Now, are you goin’ to shut your mouth and let me kiss ye? Or do I have to do all the work?❞

[rowretro]

Yandere Jungwon please

✧warnings✧:Yandere/toxic themes, Violence, gory descriptions

✧synopsis✧: Over a month had passed and y/n had Jungwon’s trust completely. So she decided to take her chances and run away. However things didn’t go down how she’d have pictured it, she found herself being dragged back to hell yet again…

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

It was a solid plan. Jungwon headed to work, leaving y/n behind at home. He trusted her. Trusted her enough to let her roam around the house freely, and in the garden when he’s around, he just didn’t trust anyone outside, hence the extreme security on the doors. However Jungwon is still human to some extent, and humans always make mistakes. Though it was rare for Jungwon to make such  mistakes.

He typed the code while you were in the room. Though she pretended that she didn’t see, she could see the reflection in a mirror. So she waited for the perfect time to strike, a few necessities in her backpack, as she typed in the very code, in the exact order Jungwon had done. Just like a moth to a flame, she got caught in a trap. Sirens flashing, alarms blaring loudly within the room. She fucked up. The girl curled up in a corner, screaming as she covered her ears, hoping her own noise would deafen out the wailing sirens.

After what felt like an eternity, the room was filled with silence yet again. Did she just lose her hearing? “I knew it… Trusted you to stay indoors and you pull this stunt?!!!” Jungwon yelled as he crouched down before her. The girl hugged her knees, whimpering as she stared up at him. Jungwon emptied the back pack sighing. “Were you going camping without me sweetie? Tell me darling, who put such an idea in your head?” Jungwon asked with an oh so sweet tone.

She didn’t really have anyone who cared for her, all your closest friends were around the world and happened to be close to Jungwon, so of course he couldn���t kill them. However, no one that he knew would ever even give her the idea of running away. “I told you not to trust strangers, didn't I? Now look. He tried to take you away from me… Now I know you wouldn’t willingly run away from me… would you? No one treats you the way I do sweetheart, you know that, so of course you wouldn’t try to leave me” he said, enforcing the fact that he’s perfect for her.

The male softly wiped away her tears with his fingers as Y/n finally told him who it was. That poor poor guy ended up in a bloody mess on the entrance to the police station. His stomach ripped open, the bloody remains, a mess as it leaked out, coating the ground beneath him in thick, red blood. A sight so gory, that not even the officers had the guts to convict the murderer because they all knew better than to mess with Yang Jungwon…

"Are you mad at me?" Y/n asked, a small pout on her lips, though she didn't intend on it. Jungwon snickerred running his hand through her hair, his eyes landing on her thighs, the bruises long gone. "You know what... I'm not mad at you... but I'm disappointed. I'm disappointed in you for trusting a stranger's words instead of mine." Jungwon simply said. God she hated it when people are disappointed in her... it makes her feel... guilty. She always think about it all day, reflecting on her actions, and Jungwon smirked to himself knowing that his disappointment was punishment enough.

✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧♡✧

[caplanbuckybarnes]

The Lies Between Us (Dramione)

*image found on google.

Summary: Draco keeps lying to Hermione.

Warnings: angst, picturing this as an Eighth Year Fic, otherwise ive no idea what it is. lol

WC: 1K

Read on Ao3!

--

The cold stone walls of the dungeon classroom seemed to close in on Hermione as she paced back and forth, her mind racing with everything she had discovered. The truth had hit her like a punch to the gut, and now, standing in the shadows of the dimly lit room, she felt the weight of betrayal suffocating her.

She had been a fool. She had trusted him. And he had lied to her.

The door creaked open behind her, but she didn’t turn around. She didn’t need to. She knew exactly who had just entered the room.

“Hermione,” Draco’s voice was cautious, careful, as if he already knew what was coming. “What’s going on? You sent me that note saying it was urgent.”

Hermione stopped pacing but didn’t turn to face him. She couldn’t. Not yet. Not until she could keep her voice steady.

“I know everything, Draco.” Her voice was colder than she intended, but she didn’t care. She needed answers. She needed the truth.

Draco was silent for a moment, and then she heard him take a few steps closer. “What are you talking about?”

She turned around sharply, her eyes locking onto his. His expression was unreadable, but she could see the tension in his jaw, the way his hands were clenched into fists at his sides.

“You lied to me,” she said, her voice trembling with anger and hurt. “And I fell for it.”

Draco’s eyes flickered with something—guilt, maybe, or fear—but he didn’t deny it. He didn’t even try.

“Hermione,” he started, his voice softer now, almost pleading. “It’s not what you think—”

“Not what I think?” she interrupted, her anger rising as she took a step toward him. “I trusted you, Draco. You told me you’d changed. You told me you were different, that you weren’t your father, that you didn’t believe in the same things they did anymore. And I believed you. I believed you.”

Draco’s face tightened, and he opened his mouth to speak, but Hermione cut him off again, her voice breaking with emotion. “But it was all a lie, wasn’t it? You were just playing along, making me think you cared, when all along you were still—”

“Stop!” Draco’s voice was sharp, his eyes flashing with frustration. “It wasn’t a lie, Hermione. I do care. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Hermione let out a bitter laugh, shaking her head as tears filled her eyes. “Care? You care about me?” She took another step toward him, her voice rising with every word. “If you cared, you wouldn’t have kept this from me. You wouldn’t have let me fall for you when you knew you were still working with them.”

Draco flinched at her words, his face paling. “I’m not working with them,” he said quietly, his voice laced with desperation. “I’m not like my father.”

“Then explain this!” Hermione reached into her robes and pulled out the letter she had found—crumpled, stained, but unmistakable. It bore the Malfoy family crest and was addressed to Draco, detailing plans and orders that tied him directly to the Death Eaters.

Draco’s eyes widened when he saw it, and his face twisted in horror. “Hermione, I can explain—”

“Explain?” she hissed, throwing the letter down on the floor between them. “Explain how you’ve been feeding them information all this time? How you’ve been lying to my face while pretending to care about me? Tell me, Draco. Make me understand.”

Draco’s hands trembled as he reached down to pick up the letter, his eyes scanning it with dread. He let out a shaky breath, then looked up at her, his face drawn and pale. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Hermione crossed her arms, her chest tight with fury. “Then what is it? Because right now, it looks like you’ve been playing both sides this whole time.”

“I haven’t,” Draco said, his voice breaking with the weight of the truth. “I haven’t been feeding them information. That letter… it was sent to me, yes, but I never acted on it. I didn’t want to be a part of their world anymore. I didn’t want to be like them.”

Hermione’s anger faltered for a moment, but the hurt was still there, gnawing at her. “Then why didn’t you tell me?” she asked, her voice softer now, more vulnerable. “Why did you hide it from me?”

Draco ran a hand through his hair, his expression tortured. “Because I was scared. Scared of what you’d think, scared that you’d leave. Scared that if you knew about my past, you’d never look at me the same way again.”

Hermione’s heart ached at the raw emotion in his voice, but the pain of his deception still weighed heavily on her. “I would’ve understood,” she whispered, tears slipping down her cheeks. “I would’ve listened. But you lied to me instead.”

Draco’s eyes filled with regret as he took a step toward her, reaching out as if to touch her, but stopping himself at the last moment. “I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I know I messed up, Hermione. But I swear, I never wanted to hurt you.”

Hermione’s breath hitched, her emotions warring inside her. She wanted to believe him—wanted to trust that everything he was saying was true. But the weight of the betrayal was too heavy to ignore.

“You already have,” she whispered, stepping back, away from him.

Draco’s face crumpled with pain, his hand falling limply to his side. “Please, Hermione,” he murmured, his voice breaking. “Don’t walk away from me. I need you.”

Hermione wiped at her tears, her heart torn in two. She loved him—Merlin, she loved him more than she ever thought possible. But she didn’t know if she could forgive him.

“I need time,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need time to figure this out. To figure out if I can trust you again.”

Draco’s shoulders slumped, and the pain in his eyes was almost unbearable. “I’ll wait,” he said quietly, his voice hoarse with emotion. “I’ll wait as long as it takes.”

Hermione nodded, her heart heavy, before turning and walking away, her footsteps echoing in the silence of the dungeon.

And with each step, she felt the pieces of her heart shattering.

[rubberfuckey]

summary: After a worried phone call from Wheezie, you decide to come back to Kildare.

wc: 1.3k

a/n: This is set right after season three, let's pretend the time skip in the show doesn't exist (: This is my first post since 2020! Let me know what y'all think <3333 part two??? ;)

Eyes snapping open and with a rush of panic, you try to locate your piercingly loud phone tangled in the sheets somewhere next to you. Who the fuck would be calling me at whatever ungodly hour it is? Finally finding it, you damn near blind yourself with how bright it is and how unadjusted your eyes are. Squinting, too tired and agitated to read it, you swipe to answer the call like muscle memory. 

“Hello?” you huff.

“I’m sorry I know it’s late… but I have a favor to ask.”

“Wheeze? What’s going on? Are you okay?” Hearing her voice sits you straight up in your bed, she has never called this late or has ever asked of anything from you.

“I’m okay, kind of. I’m alive. It’s not me I’m worried about.”

“Wheezie-”

“I know,” she cuts you off, “nevermind it was stupid anyways.”

“No, Wheezie, talk to me.”

“It’s just, Rafe,” you flinch at hearing his name, “I’m scared. I’ve never seen him like this before. We know he’s already a pretty angry guy, but this is something different.”

You sit there quietly listening. You left Kildare a year ago, after a nasty breakup with Rafe and trying to break apart the unhealthy codependency you both developed. You transferred to a different state college but you always stayed in touch with Wheezie. Before you and Rafe went wrong, you were close with both his sisters and promised to stay in contact with the young girl you watched grow throughout your time with Rafe. No one knew of course, you and Rafe were completely no contact- opting to block his number after one too many heartwrenching voicemails while obviously under the influence of his favorite white powder. 

Sarah hadn’t tried to reach out, but from what Wheeze had mentioned she got herself distracted with a pogue-turned cop killer-who was proved innocent. What a shit show. You knew it all, countless Facetime calls caught you up to speed. You consoled her through the “death” of Sarah, the “death” of her father and what other trauma presented itself. Sometimes it was too much being constantly reminded of your ex, whom you still loved very deeply, but being there for this poor girl trumped how it made you feel. The feeling went both ways, she stopped you from coming back to the island quite a few times when she told you just how bad things have gotten, insisting that she would be okay, when in reality she really just needed a hug from her honorary sister. He was never brought up, you didn’t ask, she didn’t tell. Something in your gut told you it’s just better if you don’t know what had been going on with him. You appreciated her respecting that boundary. 

“The club is hosting some kind of party in Ward’s honor tomorrow. It’s weird, he was supposed to be dead months ago and the island is just now doing something in memory of him. Probably Rose organized it or something, who knows. Anyways,” she stopped and took in a deep breath, “Rose wants us all to be there and speak about him in front of everyone. I went to ask Rafe what he planned on saying to hopefully find some inspiration but he just went on and on about how ‘the pogues killed him on purpose’ and how ‘they have another thing coming to them if they think they’re just going to get away with it’. I’ve seen him mad before, I’ve watched him punch holes through the walls, scream, yell, and cry. But this…” she trails off, inhaling deeply after her fast paced rant. 

You sigh, not knowing what to say, “Give me some time to get a bag packed and get on the road, and I’ll be there.”

“I’m sorry, I wouldn’t bother you with his dramatics if I didn’t think it was important.”

“Hey, don’t apologize, I’m glad you told me. I’ll be there soon, just keep working on what you want to say. I’ll help you brainstorm tomorrow while I’m driving if you need me to.”

“Thanks, Y/N. You’re seriously the best.”

“Keep your head up Wheeze, get some rest and maybe steer clear of your brother for a little bit.”

After hanging up, you sigh and stare up at your ceiling. Shit.

-

The drive back to the OBX gave you time to think, what would you actually be walking back into? Was his grief manifesting itself into the kind of anger and violence that could be fatal to anyone he saw at fault? You shuddered at the thought. Pulling in to your parent’s driveway, you sent a text to Wheezie telling her you just got in and you’ll meet her at the country club. You could name about a thousand and one places you would rather be than under the same roof as Rafe Cameron for the first time in over a year, but you wanted to pay your respects and be there to support the people that had turned into your bonus family during your 2 year relationship with Rafe. 

“You ready honey?” your mom asks as you slip on your shoes to match the black dress you had chose. 

“As I’ll ever be.” 

The car ride was quiet, your anxiety was palpable as you bit your nails down and bounced your leg uncontrollably. Walking in the familiar doors, all you saw was the looks on people’s faces as they realized you were back on the island and here no less. Pretty much everyone knew who you were, your family’s status not much different from the Cameron’s themselves. You were known as the sweet girl from the affluent family who smiled politely at everyone who looked in your direction and would never hurt a fly. Rafe’s reputation was quite the opposite. When you and Rafe had made your first entrance together at Midsummers at the age of 17, it was the talk of the island. Ignoring the stares and whispers, you held your head high and looked for Wheezie.

Standing next to a huge photo of Ward leant against an easel stood Rafe, watered down whiskey in hand as he blankly looked around at the people in the room. If one more person awkwardly gave him a tight lipped look of sympathy, he was going to lose it. He heard people murmuring and the looks in his direction seemed to increase. Shaking off the feeling like everyone knew something he didn’t, he downed his drink and made his way over to get another. Sofia caught him before he reached the bar and assumed her position under his arm. 

“Maybe slow down on the whiskey?” She meant well, but damn did he need another drink. Looking at her blankly, he kept moving towards the bartender. His father was dead, who gives a fuck how much alcohol his grieving son intakes. Kelce walks into the room from the hallway, looking around frantically, catching sight of Rafe as  he beelines toward him, out of breath. 

“Yo, Rafe, Y/N is here.” 

Rafe nearly chokes on his drink as he looks at Kelce with an unreadable expression, “What the fuck are you talking about?”

“Y/N, I just saw her walking in with my own two eyes bro.” 

He sets his glass back down and suddenly Sofia was right all along, he needs to slow down on the whiskey if you were really here. He thinks back to the last time he saw you, all the screaming and crying and pleading with you not to leave. Even with the past year's events, he puts losing you at the top of the list of the most painful things he’s ever been through. He understands why you left and couldn’t blame you, but damn did he miss you like you were the air he needed to breathe. You walked in, obviously looking for something or someone as he watched your eyes scan the room until they caught his. He immediately felt nauseous. I’m going to puke, you thought.

part two

[weemssapphic]

Strange

PART ONE: Isn't it strange?

Link to part two!

Brienne of Tarth x f!reader

Summary: Betraying the King is one thing. Betraying the King when the Lord Commander is your girlfriend? That’s another. 

Words: ~1.4k | ao3 link in title

Content/warnings: angst, breakups, hurt/no comfort (pssst... part 2 has a happy ending!)

A/N: The first part of this fic is a songfic to Strange by Celeste - I highly recommend listening to it as you read. Special thanks to @dianneking for being an excellent beta! ✨

I tried for you Tried to see through all the smoke and dirt It wouldn’t move What could I do?

You sit gingerly at the edge of the bed that you share with Brienne - the Brienne of Tarth. You’ve been together for nearly three years now and, still, she makes your heart beat just a little faster and your stomach do a somersault every time she looks at you. Just the thought of her is usually enough to make you swoon - usually. 

Your eyes scan your surroundings, filling with tears as you realize it may be the last time you’ll sit here, on this bed, in this little cottage. A small home filled with memories, filled with love. Little trinkets on every shelf, gifts from you to Brienne, and from Brienne to you; paintings on the walls, each carrying a unique story; every piece of furniture carefully crafted to satisfy both of your tastes. Memories of sitting at the dining table sharing meals, of staying up late curled up in front of the fire to talk, of making love in the pale glow of dawn, sleepy and lazy - carefree and in love. Your eyes fall to the bags next to you on the bed - almost packed.

Say, isn’t it strange? Isn’t it strange? I am still me You are still you In the same place

The door to the cottage slams open, deafening in the otherwise quiet space. Brienne storms in, her face red and her jaw clenched. Instinctively, you rise to your feet as she comes to a stop in front of you.

Isn’t it strange? How people can change From strangers to friends Friends into lovers And strangers again

“Why would you do that?” she spits out - you’ve never seen her fury directed at you before, and it breaks your heart just as much as it ignites a fury of your own inside of you.

“He let hundreds of women and children die or worse, and I’m supposed to stand around and pretend the great King doesn’t deserve to be gutted on his throne for what he’s done? How can you defend him?”

“It’s my duty.” Brienne’s face is hard and her tone unwavering, and she stands straight and tall, and, Gods, does that piss you off.

“Fuck duty! Since when is duty more important than doing the right thing?” Your chest is rising and falling erratically now, your cheeks flushed with anger. You can’t believe she would take the King’s side over your own - but then, she’s a knight. You shouldn’t have expected her to be different.

Brienne looks like she’s about to raise her voice again, but then her eyes fall to the bags at your feet and the color drains from her face. “What are you doing?”

“It wouldn’t look too good for you to be with a traitor,” you say, keeping your voice level - as level as you can, at least, as you drink in Brienne’s expression, watching her heart break in real time.

“It… what?” Brienne’s mouth opens, then closes, then opens again. Her lower lip begins to quiver and she swallows visibly as her eyes dart between you and the packed bags.

What did we lose? What did we lose?

“I’m a traitor now, apparently. I cannot stay here - and the righteous and just Lord Commander should not be seen with a traitor - it’s unbecoming of a knight.” You try for a smile but it looks more like a pained grimace - you feel tears prick at your eyes once again as Brienne’s own eyes turn watery, pale eyelashes fluttering rapidly against her cheekbones.

If I could, I’d pull your strings for one more dance But I can’t

“This life is everything you’ve ever worked for. I can’t be the one to take that away from you. But… I can’t stay. It’s better for both of us like this - you get to keep your position and your honor. And I…” You swallow thickly - your own words sound foreign to you, so far away. “I won’t have to watch the woman I love sell her soul to a heartless monster.”

Brienne’s lips part but she says nothing - the hurt on her face says more than words ever could, but so does her silence. That breaks your own heart most of all.

“Brienne, I-” The words catch in your throat - they can’t get past the lump that has settled there, dying before they even reach your lips.

Isn’t it strange? You look at me I look at you With nothing to say

You have never seen Brienne look at you the way she’s looking at you now - a strange mixture of grief, remorse, and incredulity that looks foreign to you amongst her features. Her eyes, which usually hold all the stars in the galaxy, twinkling brightly, are reserved and guarded. Her lips are pressed into a hard line - curling down slightly at the edges, rather than up. A stray golden curl falls across her furrowed brow - you feel yourself reaching out involuntarily to brush it aside, a force of habit, before thinking better of it and dropping your arm to your side.

“I should go,” you croak out. You reach into your bedside table and pull out an ornate necklace, made of solid gold and sapphires the colors of the waters of Tarth. It’s all Brienne has from her mother, and Brienne had given it to you on your first anniversary - it would suit you better than it had ever suited her, she’d reasoned, and you’d always carry a part of her and of Tarth with you when you wore it. “Here. It was your mother’s, you should have it back.”

Brienne’s eyes widen, the crease between her brows deepens. Her teeth sink into her lower lip to prevent it from quivering again and she turns her head, a shaky breath leaving her throat. “No. I gave it to you - keep it. Please.”

The ‘please’ tapers off into a tremble and you feel the entirety of Westeros being pulled out from underneath your feet. You want to do what she says - but you can’t. She deserves to have a piece of her family with her - and you know you could never wear it again without feeling the weight of your grief hanging around your neck. 

“I can’t.” You place it delicately on the bed - it catches the rays of the setting sun, and the sapphires remind you of Brienne’s eyes, and you glance up at the ceiling, willing your oncoming tears not to fall. You reach down to grab your bags, then, with a deep breath and one last look around the cottage (memorizing, desperately memorizing), you head past Brienne out the door.

Gravel crunches underneath your boots as you round the cottage, taking quick strides towards your horse. A second set of footsteps is not far behind and, as you fasten the bags to your horse’s saddle, slender fingers grip your wrist.

“Don’t leave. Please. Don’t. Leave.” Brienne’s voice breaks this time, and you don’t have to turn around to know that she’s crying. You close your eyes for a moment to steel yourself, then turn to face her. Her expression hurts like nothing you’ve ever experienced, her face scrunched up as tears leave pale tracks down her cheeks. 

“I don’t have a choice,” you whisper, your own voice hoarse and trembling. “They’ll be searching for me soon enough. And you have to tell them that I was gone before you came home. If you want to keep your position, you need to let me go.”

Brienne’s eyes dart between your own and, for a moment, you hope she won’t let you leave. You hope she’ll say that she’ll take your side, that she’ll fight for you - her position be damned. You hope she’ll hop on the horse with you and ride away. You hope she’ll choose you.

But she doesn’t. Her grip on your wrist loosens and her hand falls back down to her side, and though she cries and cries and cries, she stays rooted to the spot.

There you have your answer, you suppose. You swallow against the lump in your throat and turn away, ignoring the broken wail that leaves Brienne’s throat as you mount your horse.

“I love you, Brienne,” you whisper softly - you don’t think she’s heard it over her own sobs, and maybe that’s for the best. You start to ride off, looking back only once, just before you reach a bend in the road that will take you out of King’s Landing. Brienne watches you - but she doesn’t move to follow.

Isn’t it strange? How people can change From strangers to friends Friends into lovers  And strangers again

x

Find part two here!

Taglist: @alexusonfire @brienneswife @rosieathena @pro-weems-places @bigolgay @kimiinou @imprincipalweemspet @h-doodles @bychrissi @katie-bennet @giogwensversion @gela123 @friskyfisher @justcallmelittleone @michi2504 @scream-queenlover @a-queen-and-her-throne @sequoirius @anne-lister @winterfireblond @imgayforwoman69  @Ssappling2004 @fictionalized-lesbian @i-like-reading @aemilia19 @milfsloverblog @missdowling @billiedeansbitch @The_Demon_of_your_Dream @agathaandgwenslesbian @http-sam @Cute-catx @saltrage @renravens @opheliauniverse @zillahofviolets-bayolet @scarlettssub @catechristiestuff @niceminipotato @barbarasstar @women-are-so-ethereal @thevillagegay @willowshadenox @lilfartbox1 @larissaoftarthweems @syrenacrainn @mysaviorfalsegod @theonefairygodmother @lvinhs @rainbow-hedgehog @sweetderacine @daydream-cement @milfomaniac @sapphos-ode @ilovetlcc @ladylarissaweems @makemyworldworthliving @yourmomwhitediamond

Join my taglist here!

[moonlightazriel]

Chapter 17: Let the darkness set us free /// Azriel X F!Reader

Summary: They finally get face to face with the Valg King.

Word Count: 3,8K

Warnings: Angst, mentions of blood and war.

Notes: Hey, I'm back, I'm sorry ahahah hope you guys still remember what happened last chapter cuz I don't

Main Masterlist

Worlds Apart Masterlist

A droplet of sweat ran down the column of Azriel’s neck, his grip on his shadows was tight, any slip ups and the cover he had on both his and Lucien’s body would be gone and their whole plan would go down the drain. Nesta was the first one, her wrists tied together, Ataraxia buzzed with energy on his back, wanting to be reunited with its owner. 

Y/N guided Nesta carefully, her own sword covered by her cloak, and a dagger just a few inches away from the pulsing point in Nesta’s neck. From where he followed them closely, he could see the shaking in her hands, anxiety emanating from her distressed body.

Something deep inside her gut told her this was a mistake, but she knew it was the only way to kill Mantyx and guarantee a way home, even if as the time passed, the idea of going back to Erilea didn’t seem as appealing as it was in the beginning. Her stomach twisted and the content of the breakfast she had that morning threatened to spill as she stepped closer to that bridge. 

The idea of getting trapped again with that monster, freeing him from his restraining, facing his full power and full wrath, was something that deeply scared her. But at the same time, she had to, so Prythian wouldn’t be just something else the valgs had destroyed. 

The wood underneath her feet creaked with the weight of her boots, Nesta was as silent as the dead, controlled breaths escaping her mouth every once in a while, her icy blue eyes pierced the door, her magic recoiled inside of her as she felt the presence lurking in the shadows of the house. 

With a screech, like the hinges couldn’t hold the old oak door for much longer, the door bursts open. Wearing a dark tunic that exposed his chest, his hair slicked back in an attempt to make himself more presentable, Mantyx walked out. His arms stretched forwards, the tips of his fingers itching to touch the power he felt emanating from Nesta.

Both of the females shivered in distress at the wicked grin he gave their way, his golden eyes taking in the bobbing of Nesta’s throat as she swallowed dryly. She was afraid of him and that made everything just so much more exciting. 

“When I felt the amount of pain inside of your heart, I knew you could do it for me.” His velvety voice echoed around in the woods, the soldiers hiding there were able to hear it, Cassian clutched his sword harder, not being able to escort his mate inside was killing him, but he trusted Nesta to come back to him alive. 

“I would do anything for my sister.” She refused to say Asterin’s name out loud, it was her way of protecting her from the cruelty of another Valg King. 

“I know! And you will be compensated.” His smirk grew wider, awfully similar to Maeve’s. “Let’s come inside so we can discuss our plans.” Mantyx pushed Nesta inside, to make sure she wasn’t going anywhere, Y/N followed them closely. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Rhysand mustered his magic, his power seeping around, a huge cloud of mist covering the surrounding of the cabin, a mask to pretend everything was fine while the Vanserras positioned themselves, one by one, they circled the cabin. 

Eris felt the doors that keeped his power controlled begging to be open, a wave of magic cursed through his body as he opened it, flooding like a waterfall, he had never felt so powerful before. He imagined his power expanding, forming the dome that would protect them from the evil inside of the cabin.

His brothers and his mother did the same, opening their bodies to that power, allowing that magic to consume and pour out of them, cascading around their limbs in a comfortable warmth. The fire bended to their will, forming the dome around the cabin to prevent them from getting out. 

Cassian signalled to his troops that it was time to get in formation. The soldiers spreaded around the woods, their backs turned to the dome, protecting it was the top priority at the moment, if the dome faltered for just a second the consequences could be disastrous and no one in that field wanted to risk it. 

So the Illyrians got in a defensive instance, their syphons glowing as shields started to be projected out of them in various colours. Cassian was in the sky, trying to spot any threats before they attacked, but to this moment nothing had appeared and he wondered if Nesta had started with the freeing spell. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Her skin prickled at the power who pushed hers back, like it was testing the waters before it attacked her. Koschei or Mantyx, whatever the hell his name was, moved around, his home smelled the same way Y/N did when she came back with the Ridderak’s head and coated in its putrid blood. 

Nesta glanced at the female standing quietly in the shadowy corner, her dark blue eyes glued to the stone that called Nesta, a power just as old as the one coating the troves. She was afraid of getting too close, of touching it, afraid that the alluring song would consume her and drive her insane. 

There was a faint smell of metal, and she knew the plan had begun. She forced her brain to focus on the words written in the diary. She had spent her days with her nose glued to those pages ever since Y/N and Azriel came back. 

“Can I go to the bathroom?” Y/N asked and Mantyx turned his gold eyes to her, like he had just remembered that she was still there.

“Go ahead.” His hand pointed to a door on the opposite wall and the female nodded, placing her hands in front of her body just before she disappeared behind the door.

“What do you want from me?” Nesta asked as the male sat in front of her, three mugs filled with boiling hot tea, it smelled nicely. He threw a charming smile her way and she felt her guts twisting inside her body.

“You are the one who can help me achieve what I want.” He grabbed the mug and brought it to his lips, the sweet taste filled his mouth and he gestured for Nesta to drink her own tea but she shook her head in denial. 

“And what would that be?” He blinked a couple of times.

“When I crossed to this world, conquering was my goal. Despite the resistance and the spell that locked me into this particular piece of land, I still will proceed with what I was destined to do.” He took another sip. “But you see, as I'm trapped here, I'm not in my full glory. I need you to free me.”

“I would never do it.” Nesta almost snorted with the irony, she was there to do exactly what he wanted and he had no fucking clue.

“Your power is formidable, you’re the only one who can break this spell, and once I'm free, I will assume my place as the King of Prythian. And you, Nesta Archeron…” He paused and Nesta knew that she should expect a completely absurd idea to come out of his mouth, but she had never expected what he said next. “You will be my queen.” 

Nesta choked on her own saliva, a laughter of pure disbelief escaped her mouth and he squinted his eyes like he was offended. He needed a strong female by his side, he had lost his chance with Maeve once, he wouldn’t miss it now.

“I have a mate.” She managed to reply and he rolled his eyes, scoffing like that was irrelevant.

“Mating bonds mean nothing to me, they only serve to make good men weaker.” Nesta couldn’t believe her ears. “And if it matters so much to you, it’s not a problem for me to get rid of that brute you call a mate.” His eyes were glued to hers, in a challenge.

“You won’t touch Cassian.” She blurted, feeling the grip in her emotions slip through her fingers. To her relief, the bathroom door opened loudly and Y/N stepped out of the room, drying her hands on her pants. “You should give her the reward you promised her.” Mantyx leaned closer to Nesta, his lips brushing the shell of her ear as he whispered.

“As powerful as I am, not even I could reverse death.” He placed his index finger in front of his mouth as he leaned backwards, away from her, winking so she would keep his secret. “Come sit with us.” And Y/n did as she was told, her knee bumping against Nesta’s.

The female looked at Y/N, watching as she closed her eyes and placed two fingers on her forehead, their secret sign to tell Nesta that everything was ready. Her eyes scanned the room, spotting the blue symbol made with Y/N’s blood, one on the wall she leaned when she entered, one in the bathroom door and one on the wall behind her, she knew that both Azriel and Lucien had made those while she distracted Mantyx. 

With an iron nail, she started to free Nesta, her body turned towards the male while she tried to keep his focus solely on her. She talked about Asterin, giving random descriptions to keep him entertained, Mantyx pretended the things she said were relevant, but what he really focused on, was the heartbreak and pain she would feel once he told her the truth. Oh the sweet pain of losing again.

Nesta started chanting the words under her breath, the walls of the cabin starting to shake slightly as she repeated the verses from the diary. In a swift movement, Y/N was standing, her hand covered in black blood as she used her nails to rip his throat open. Mantyx looked at her startled, the motion caughting him by surprise. 

Azriel dissipated his shadows, him and Lucien jumping into action, also coating their palms in the blood and rushing to the symbols they made. Nesta’s chanting got louder as she stood in the middle of the room, watching in horror as the wound closed just as quick as it was open. 

“Now!” She instructed and the three of them placed their bloodied hands on the middle of the symbols, the pattern started to glow, and the whole earth shook with the power of those ancient chains that tied him to the lake were finally gone. 

Mantyx got up, opening his arms and welcoming his full power back into his body. The four of them could feel it, the power emanating from him, dread set in their guts, this wasn’t going to be good. Mantyx walked towards Y/N.

“It’s my turn now.” He said, a horrific grin spread across his face when he wrapped his hand around her neck, squeezing the air out of it. “It’s time for my beasts to play.” He snapped his fingers and it was like the darkness had come to life. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Howling started to sound in the distance and the sound of leathery wings filled the air, Cassian shot up to the skies, followed closely by Rhys. They could see the black cloud approaching quickly, by foot, more horrendous creatures ran to them. 

A large tail swung in the cloud, breaking the formation and making a confused mass of black bodies and ripped wings. Meraxes roared loudly, his powerful jaw closing on a bunch of those monsters, that only meant that Koschei was finally free and his family was trapped with that monster. 

“They’re coming.” Rhys yelled and Cassian whistled. His troops breaking formation and shooting up towards the sky, protection from above and the sides, should be enough to keep the Vanserras alive. 

The first wave of monster hit them by foot as Meraxes kept postponing the arrival of the flying beasts, his claws ripping them, his teeth swallowing their rotting flesh and his tail poisoning them, the beasts struggled to keep flying, falling dead as the poison quickly acted. 

Their bodies colliding against the shields, talons trying to find any target, their only motivation was to kill, they didn’t care if they hit each other in the process, as their claws kept digging into each other’s skin, their screeches were agonising to hear. 

Devlon commanded the Illyrians forward, their shields pushing the monsters back and their swords cutting through their flesh, but the monsters pushed forward too, their strength showing as their muscles contracted, trying to break their shields. 

Cassian soared over their heads, his twin blades in each of his hands, decapitating the monsters as the others killed the ones who were able to escape Meraxes. One of the creatures jumped, landing inside the siege, just to be quickly impaled by a sword, the warrior cutting the monster in two.

Rhysand released his shadows, using his power to kill as many as he could, but the waves of monsters seemed endless, Mantyx had all the time in the world to create an army after all. One of the beast’s sharp teeth had sunk in the skin of his arm, making him growl in anger, spinning around, he cut the monster’s head in one movement.  

His violet eyes caught the movement on the other side of the camp. Shining in the sun, the orange feathers of Vassa were beautiful. She squeaked and like a thousand suns, she lit on fire. Her flames finding their target each time, making the beasts shake in despair, moving their bodies around trying to extinguish the fire. Rhysand smiled at her, and with a loud growl, he went back to the brawl.

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

The air was getting cut out, she couldn’t breath, dark orbs flew around in her vision as she felt her consciousness slip away from her reach. She lifted her hand, wrapping her shaking fingers around the key, cold spread across her fingers, it was like her own soul had died. 

At the same time she forced the stone away from him, Nesta had pierced Ataraxia on his arm, forcing him to let go. Y/N fell to the ground, trying to catch her breath, the wyrd key clutched hard on her hand. Mantyx felt the lack of power, looking down to find HIS key in that female’s hand, even with her heavy breathing she smirked at him. 

Rage consumed his body, and he kicked her, Azriel growled in anger, jumping in front of her, using the truth teller to slash across his abdomen, but the wounds closed quickly. Mantyx punched him in the face repeatedly, being stopped by both Nesta and Lucien that held his arms back, pulling him away from Azriel’s bleeding face.

The shadowsinger crouched and took her face in between his hands, worry laced his features as he took in the blue coating her lips as she coughed blood from the kick in her belly. “Are you okay?” He asked, helping her to her feet, she nodded, twisting the band that held the key around her hand and grabbing her sword.

Mantyx was skilled, he dodged both Nesta’s and Lucien’s attempts to land a hit on him, moving gracefully like a swan. He wielded his power like a whip, hitting Lucien and Nesta, making them bleed. Y/N and Azriel joined, and Mantyx turned towards them, smelling the air, he scoffed.

“I told you that mating bonds mean nothing to me, and it will be my pleasure to destroy the one tying you two together.” Azriel lost his focus, feeling all the blood drain from his face, he looked over at her, and like a cruel joke, he felt the tug in his chest, the same he felt the day she went into the cabin for the first time, but now he knew what it was and what it meant. The oblivious female standing by his side was his mate, and when Azriel finally got back to reality, it was too late. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆ 

Elain felt her head dizzy once more, she was hiding behind the trees, Jurian guarding her when she closed her eyes, another vision filled her head, but this time, one she would never want to see again, Azriel cold body on the floor, his lifeless eyes open and facing the ceiling. Elain gasped, cleaning the blood dripping from her nose and looking at Jurian.

“We need to go, Azriel is in danger.” She grabbed Jurian’s hand, pulling the male towards the cabin; she didn’t care about the beasts that still fought with the Illyrians. Jurian opened the way for them, until she reached the dome, looking for Eris, she knew he would help her. 

The male was standing, sweat coating his forehead as he kept using his powers, his eyes turned to her with a curious expression and Elain tried to steady her breath before she  spoke. 

“I NEED TO GET INSIDE.” Elain yelled over the sounds of the battle and Eris shook his head.

“You can’t, Lucien wouldn’t forgive me if I allowed it.” Elain groaned in frustration.

“Eris you don’t understand, Azriel will die if I don't enter right now.” The autumn heir looked at his sister in law, feeling the urgency in her words.

“Just try not to die.” He warned before he opened a small space on the dome, just enough for Elain to cross, followed by Jurian. 

The female ran, crossing the bridge as fast as her feet would allow her, Jurian closely behind her. She reached the door, forcing them open but they didn’t budge. The male joined her, and the two started to force the heavy doors open, the oak woods scraping against the floor.

Elain took in the sight in front of her, Azriel laying on the ground in a pool of his own blood, his organs threatening to spill from the hole in his abdomen. Nesta crouched on the floor next to Azriel, trying to catch her breath. Lucien and Y/N had their backs turned to the two of them, and tried to prevent Koschei from getting closer to Azriel.

The two of them approached Azriel quickly, they needed to get him out before he bleeded out and nothing could be done to reverse his condition. He groaned when they lifted him, and Jurian carried most of his weight, dragging him outside and through the bridge.

Elain helped Nesta, pulling her sister with them and urging the remaining two to get out of the dome. Mantyx knew it was his chance, with his whip of power, he forced Lucien and Y/N backwards, forcing them outside, when they tried to remove the dying male he would get out and be free to conquer Prythian.

Jurian waited with Azriel, his body collapsing on the floor, Elain let go of Nesta, sitting on the floor to steady Azriel’s head on her lap, her hands ripping the fabric of her dress to try and stop the bleeding.

“Lucien, we need a way out.” She screamed and in a second her mate was on her side, his face turned to the dome ready to open. 

Mantyx eyed Y/N, she held her sword against his power, the wyrd key still tied around on her hand, he just needed to get it back before he freed himself. His gaze softened and a lovingly smile graced his features, the whip disappearing as he prepared to talk. 

“If you stop this right now, I'll bring your sister back.” He took a step forwards, slowly walking towards her. “All the pain will be gone in a second, and you will be happy again.” Another step.

Heavy tears fell from her tired eyes, Mantyx still smiled lovingly at her, his eyes however, they were fixed on the wyrd key clutched between her fingers. 

“I can take her back to you, you won’t be alone anymore.” He promised, urging her forward with a slender finger. 

She gave one step forward, her broken heart would finally find peace. A strangled plea for her to stop, to come back to him, sounded from somewhere behind her back but she didn’t listen. 

All she could hear was Asterin’s soft laughter, the wind blew and it was like she could feel her spirit there, watching her. Love poured from the cracks of her heart, love for her sister, for the family they had, for the male bleeding behind her and the friends that welcomed her with open arms. 

She kept walking until she was at arms distance from him, just a few inches closer and he would have what he wanted. 

“Just give me the key, and I’ll bring her back.” His voice was saccharine, laced in false sympathy, like he could actually feel it. 

Burned wood and smoke filled her nostrils, a sparkle of red behind him, and as he reached for the key in her hand, Godslayer pierced his stomach, and from behind him, straight to his heart, Lucien pierced his blade coated in his fire. 

Black blood poured from his open mouth, straight to her face, his eyes wide as whatever that kept him alive started to fade.

“I would never want her back, not like this.” She turned her head backwards to her friends that awaited her, to the male being held by Elain, the male she loved so much and didn't have the courage to tell him. “And I’m not alone anymore.” 

She removed the sword, stepping backwards and allowing Lucien to burn the fucker down. She closed her eyes, hearing the screams and smelling the burning flesh. She turned on her heels, walking towards Azriel and kneeling in front of him. 

“I love you.” She breathed, hands cupping his cheeks and pulling him towards her to kiss him. “I’m so sorry for not saying it earlier.” He groaned. 

“We need to get him to a healer.” Lucien spoke, forcing the dome open so they could cross.

Outside, the bodies of the monsters fell to the ground, without their master to keep them alive, they perished. Cassian and Rhysand ran to them, helping Jurian carry Azriel back. 

“We have to get him back to Velaris.” Rhys said, and Cassian nodded, the male winnowed, disappearing with his brother. The rest of them would stay back to get everything in order. 

“Are you okay?” Nesta said, her body slumping against Y/N. 

“No, but once he is okay, I'll be.” She replied. Mantyx had said he was her mate, both her heart and her brain confused on what it even meant. 

“Do you still want to go home?” Nesta inquired and Y/N turned to her, sorrow laced her features. 

“I have to.” And with that, she left to find Meraxes. 

⋆˙⟡☾𖤓☽ ⟡˙⋆

Taglist: @fieldofdaisiies @blackgirlmagicforever @a-frog-with-a-laptop @going-through-shit @asweetblueberry2

@roses-r-red54330 @mis-lil-red @sheblogs @hibye02 @impossibelle

@glitterypirateduck @zeroangelo13 @sekiro1310 @nelapeach14 @annamariereads16

@just-here-reading @celestialend @donttellthecats @scatteredstardustt @snoopyspace

@asterinblacksword @tsumudoll @georginat12 @skyjasper @anuttellaa

@willowpains @quinzzelx @amysangel @fightmedraco @puttyly

@lees-chaotic-brain @thisblogisaboutabook @esposadomd @stained-glass-eyes0708 @brujitafantomatico

@a-cup-of-nightshade @faridathefairy @bubybubsters @krowiathemythologynerd @joey-hoey

@acourtofdreamsandshadows @mendes-bae