#maybe two more parts of angst before the not-angst

[sonotpattismith]

ruin it all over

pairing: tattoo artist!sukuna x ballerina!reader word count: 12.9k content: angst, insecurity, feelings of worthlessness, reader low-key crashing out, hurt w/comfort, loss of virginity, there's a happy ending here somewhere pls bear w/ me, smut, 18+ a/n: continuation of where I first saw you

Ryomen was a guarded guy. Sure— he was getting a little better at the small talk he once thought was so pointless, but it was only because you always seemed genuinely enthralled to hear about what kind of cereal he ate that morning or what song he was listening to on the car ride to work (even though you had no clue who the artists were that he would name, but you were keeping a running playlist). He tried, but it certainly didn’t come naturally to him. 

No, because it was much more entertaining for him to listen to your sickeningly sweet voice ramble on and on about the exam you almost missed because you were trying to give a stray campus cat your leftover egg salad sandwich, or how you started keeping tins of actual cat food in your bag  just in case even though the critters never seemed to appear when you were actually prepared for them.

The silent man would go about whatever he was doing— closing up the shop with you perched on the counter awaiting him, cleaning his car as you sat in the passenger seat pretending not to stare at the way the sweat clung to his bulging arms as he wiped down the dashboard, shaving his face as your voice fluttered through his phone on the sink— he was taking in every word with as little as an occasional grunt that proved he was still listening. 

His favorite part though, was nearing the end of your drawn out stories, when your words would start to trail, and your face would begin to flush because you realized— god, you really have been talking for a long time. Whenever he’d notice those little queues, he’d always look up just in time to watch as you buried your burning face into your hands, muttering out an apology about talking his ear off, and he would smile, because something about that gentle timidness contrasted so deliciously with his brash and jagged edges. It lit a fire in his chest each time, one that had him reminding himself to reel it back in before he scared you one of these days.

So, he’d bite down the urge to pounce and opt to flick at your forehead, tutting softly as he urged you to not leave me in fuckin’ suspense as soon as you’d peek up at him through your fingers. 

His crass mouth was another aspect of him that didn’t seem to phase you as much as he thought it would. In your eyes, he could curse like a sailor and scowl all he wanted, because none of it ever took away from the way his typically rough hands handled you with the delicacy of fine china, and how he always seemed to remember the little bits of you you’d shared when you were sure he hadn’t been listening. It also didn’t hurt to have someone without any hair on his tongue around when the cafe got your order wrong, and you were too scared to say anything. 

So, maybe you weren’t sure exactly how to label whatever it was that had been going on between you two for the past couple weeks, but you knew you were actually excited for something other than your frequent dance practices for the first time in months. Shrugging on a sweater and a pair of sweatpants over your leotard and tights, you scooped up your bag before tossing a rushed goodbye out to your teammates and bursting through the doors. 

Your feet still ached from the extensive time spent awkwardly constricted in your pointe shoes, but Sukuna had texted you just before practice asking (demanding) to meet him at the shop afterward since his last appointment was ending early. He’d offered to come pick you up, but the last thing you wanted to do was become a burden on him after he’d been working all day. So, you trudged through the dull pain and walked as fast as your throbbing feet would take you through the campus. 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you busied yourself with checking the train schedule as the breeze messied your once neat bun. Glancing up after you narrowly avoided getting knocked into one too many times, you had to do a double take when you saw the familiar mop of pink hair in the distance. Biting down your tickled smile, you shook your head at his stubbornness. You picked up your pace a bit, but slowed down just as you were a few feet away from him. It had become a self-appointed challenge, your constant attempts to scare him as it seemed nothing swayed this man. 

With an unnecessary burst of adrenaline, you made a running start before pouncing on his hoodie-covered arm with an exaggerated shout, an eccastic grin lighting up your face at the sound of his abrupt yelp. 

“Hah! So much for— oh my god!” It was now your turn to yelp, because the startled face looking down at you was free of all the intricate tattoos that you’d grown so fond of, and the bicep in your grasp was most definitely a few inches smaller in circumference than you remember. Perhaps you should have known, because the hoodie you were clinging onto was a baby pink color, and you were positive you’d never seen that man in anything other than black.“I-I’m so sorry, I thought—” Your mortified apology died on your throat, because now that the jolt of fear had somewhat subsided, you noted that this was a damn near spitting image of Ryomen. “Oh my god!”

Stumbling back with a start, your foot twisted awkwardly on the rocky pavement below you, nearly sending your ass tumbling to the ground when the black haired man in front of him, whose eyes had since been shooting daggers into your skull, jolted forward to steady you. Stammered apologies continued spilling from your lips as you crouched against the sudden pain in your foot that had already seen better days before your tumble.

“I’m so sorry, it’s just that you look exactly like—”

“Ohhh,” The doppelganger cut you off, an amused smile of recognition finally lighting up his once startled expression. It wasn’t long after though that his face quickly scrunched up in disbelief once again as he took in the way you starkly contrasted his gruffer counterpart. “Wait, you’re the one seeing my brother?”

You blinked once, then twice, mouth hung open as the puzzle pieces began clicking together. Ryomen had mentioned that he and Choso have another brother, but he left out the arguably major details that for one, you two attended the same university, and two, that they were—

“Twins?”

Sukuna had already wrapped up his last appointment by the time you waltzed through the doors of the parlor, your eyes narrowed at the back of his head as he cleaned his station absentmindedly. Pausing your hunt to offer a warm smile to Choso as he greeted you, you quickly locked back in. It didn’t seem too busy in the shop today, only one other customer in the back getting the finishing touches of their ink. 

Taking advantage of his lack of attention, you quietly made your way over and took a seat in his tattoo chair, holding back a groan of relief at the weight being taken off your twisted ankle. As he turned back around, it didn’t surprise you that he didn’t jump in the slightest at your sudden appearance. Hiding the tiny smile tugging at his lips with a short scoff, he reached up to flick at your forehead before swooping in with an urging hand on your jaw to press a kiss to your temple, your cheeks mushing together under his grip.

“There you are, geez. What took you so damn long— got lost?” 

“No, funny story actually,” You began, watching with a tilted head as he began putting his supplies away. “I ran into this guy that looked just like you. Pink hair and everything!” 

This made his movements falter for a fraction of a second, and you could practically see the realization don on his face that he’d forgotten to tell you something. Playing it off as he always did though, he only hummed in response. Narrowing your eyes again, you finally thought of the one thing that might actually startle him for once. 

“Yeah, it was pretty embarrassing. I accidentally kissed him and—”

“You kissed my brother?” His baffled shout echoed through the shop, the bottle in his hand clattering to the ground abruptly. 

“You kissed one of his brothers and it wasn’t me?” Choso shouted incredulously from the front, face morphed in bitter betrayal. “Yuji doesn’t even like girls!”

Sukuna felt his eye twitch, and he wasn’t sure which one of his siblings’ necks to wring out first. Deciding that Choso was closest and therefore easier game, he quickly pivoted on his heels to make a beeline for his target before you squeaked at the predicament you’d caused, snatching him back by his wrist with poorly disguised laughter. 

“Wait! Wait! I surrender, I was kidding— spare him!” 

The pure mass of him had you tumbling from the chair, clinging onto him desperately to give his half-brother a running start to lock himself in the bathroom. A pained yelp fell from your lips as you stumbled after him. This had him abruptly whipping his head around, staring down at the way you limped back over to the chair. 

“The fuck happened to you?” He was kneeling down before you had the chance to answer, grasping at your calf as his other hand worked the fleece-lined boot from your foot. Leaning back on your hands, your scrunched face stared down at him as he carefully peeled your sock back to reveal the red skin that was paving the way for a gnarly bruise. Along with it though were the scars and blisters that your pointe shoes had graced you with over the years, and he tutted under his breath. 

“Well, it kinda freaked me out when I saw Yuji.” You explained sheepishly, wincing as he ran a thumb over the warm skin. “And my feet were already killing me from practice, so I tripped up a little.”

“Can’t blame you— punk’s got an ugly fucking mug.”

Despite the searing ache in your feet, you couldn’t help the airy laugh that bubbled up your chest at his ridiculous claim. A smirk slid onto his lips at the sound. From your peripheral, you saw Choso poke his head out of the bathroom to check if the coast was clear, and you offered a subtle thumbs up, biting back an amused smile as he carefully slipped out to quietly take his place back at the front. 

Sukuna ditched the plans he had to take you to lunch, opting to take you back to his place so you could get off your feet. You flushed initially at the idea, still never having stepped foot into his apartment since you two started… whatever this was that you two had started. Your unease was palpable as you sat stiffly on his couch, watching as he bustled around the kitchen after having told you to wait here. 

He almost looked too large for the space he was residing in, the appliances in his kitchen appearing ridiculously small next to him. You couldn’t help but wonder what he’d look like in his pajamas, hovering menacingly over that stove as he cooked you breakfast after—

You quickly cleared your throat, cheeks burning as you tore your gaze from him in search of anything that might distract you from your impure thoughts. With a wandering gaze, you landed on the picture frame sitting idly on his side table. Sukuna had his middle finger positioned at the camera, partially blocking his face as his other arm was slung around the neck of the boy that had startled you so badly just hours prior, his brother's finger hooked into his already beaming smile to pull at his lip. You smile softly at the picture, being able to detect the subtle softness in the brooding man’s eyes even with all the layers of stone he always seemed put up before him. 

“Alright, take them dogs out.” The man in question commanded as he trudged back into the living room with a bucket in tow. Your brows furrowed as he set it down on the floor in front of you. As if you had already been taking too long to comply, he kneeled down with a disapproving tsk to snatch your socks off himself and roll up your sweatpants before lowering your aching feet into the water. 

“Ah—” You hissed as the warm water enveloped your inflamed tendons and skin. A few short pants escaped you before morphing into a sigh of relief as you felt your feet throb as if thanking you for showing them mercy. Slumping back against the couch, your eyes shifted apprehensively between him and the bucket. “Um, Ryo, do you happen to have any—”

“Salt? I already put a shit ton in there.” 

“Oh.” You blinked in surprise, watching as he finally stood from his knelt position to trek back to the kitchen and procure a water bottle from the fridge. Finally sinking into the spot beside you, he passed over the bottle. “How’d you know to put it in there?” 

A small, questioning hum left him, and you tilted your head down to the bucket. 

“Punk’s been running track for years.” He explained as he slung an arm around your shoulder to pull you into his side. “If you think your toes are fucked up, you should see what I’ve had to soak off that bastard’s feet— shit’s not natural.”

A laugh attempted to leave you, but it came out closer to a groan than anything else, your head falling back against the cushion in agony over the state of your feet. Shifting your head to the side to look up at him, you found that he was already looking down at you. The intensity in his eyes seemed to suck you in, opening the smallest window to the inner thoughts that he seemed so protective of. 

You found yourself flushing at the way it never wavered, unabashedly trained on you as though he could possess you by will alone if only he tried just hard enough. His fingers caught your jaw as you tried to escape it in hopes of calming your racing heart, ruby eyes dragging down your face until they fell upon the lips that were smushed between his fingers.  

“You didn’t really kiss my brother, did you, doll?” He tested, his hot breath creating a mind-numbing humidity over your gently parted lips. The faintest of whimpers escaped you, and you quickly shook your head in hopes that he’d put you out of your misery already and kiss you as you’d been waiting for all day. Your response made him smirk, his nose brushing against your as he seemed to inhale each shaky breath that left your mouth. “Good, cause I woulda’ hated if I had to scrub him off of ya’.”  

Lord, if you’re up there, please spare me.

Your frantic inner prayer seemed to fall on deaf ears though, because Ryo was swiftly pulling you in for a nearly bruising kiss, barely giving you the time to relish it before releasing you all together. He always loved the look on your face— the tiniest of disappointed furrow in your brows paired with that glossed pout— it drove him to the brink of insanity each time. 

Gluing your eyes to your lap for the sake of having anything else to concentrate on, your fingers dug into your thighs for a moment as you thought of something to say. Hearing the sloshing of the water bucket as you shifted uncertainly, you were reminded of why you were in this position in the first place. 

“Why didn’t you tell me you were a twin?” You finally broke the tense silence, the one during which his gaze not once left your delicate side profile. A dainty smile pulled at your lips when you glanced back up at him. “Probably would have saved me the embarrassment— his boyfriend looked like he was going to kill me on the spot.”

“Why— think you’d like the other one better?” It was so like him to brush off your questions with a jab and a matching smirk, though you had a feeling there was some truth hiding in the depths of this one. 

“Is that what you thought?” You questioned, not matching his banter as you usually did. Instead, your voice was level, careful in how it broached this topic with him.“That I’d prefer your brother?”

The reaction he tried to disguise revealed itself within his fluttering blink, the way his smirk faltered for even just a millisecond before he scoffed. You caught it though— that rare sliver of vulnerability in his eyes just before he turned his head away from you under the guise of pushing his hair from his forehead. 

“Bullshit,” He quipped, that guarded smirk back on his face faster than it had left. Reaching down to scoop up the towel he’d left beside the bucket, he placed it in his lap before abruptly pulling your feet out of the now luke-warm water to dry them. “Brat might be nicer than me, but he sure ass hell don’t got my hands, huh?” 

Before you could even consider flushing at the implications of his words, said hands were kneading into the searing arch of your feet with more pressure than any of the myriad of foot rollers you’d come to know in all your years could ever manage. All thoughts of Yuji and his brother’s oddly stubborn defenses vanished from you as you fell back horizontally against the couch, a gutteral groan leaving you that Sukuna hadn’t even realized could come out of such a comparably small person. 

“Geez, doll,” He whistled lowly through the pure mirth etched onto his face as he drifted his focus down to your heels, rolling his knuckles over them tantalizingly. “Not what I imagined when I thought of you all spread out and moaning on my couch, but I’ll take it.”

With a burning flush, you dug the back of your head into the cusion below you to shield yourself from his teasing gaze. 

“Sorry,” You mumbled, covering your timid face behind your hands with a blissful sigh. “Just haven’t had much of a break lately.”

“Take it easy the next few days.” He grumbled as though he hated how his own concern sounded in his ears, fingers trailing up to gently massage into your calves. His neck nearly snapped with the abrupt turn it took at the sound of your quiet, incredulous laugh at his suggestion. “Did I say something fuckin’ funny?” 

“No!” You squeaked, though the amusement still lingered in your tone as you peaked at him through your fingers. He only raised his brows at you in challenge. “That’s just… not possible right now. Swan Lake is only like a week away, remember?” 

Of course he remembered— he had been reeling to see you perform again since that first night you took his breath away, though he’d never admit it. The air of nonchalance that waved from him when your ecstatic voice squealed through his phone weeks prior that you had been picked to portray Odette was carefully calculated. In truth though, he felt as though his chest might burst with a sense of pride he wasn’t sure he’d ever experienced before. 

Sure, he hadn’t the slightest clue who the fuck this Odette character was, but he wasn’t at all surprised after a quick google search that you would have been the only choice fit for the lead role— though perhaps he was a little biased.  The stoic man wasn’t upfront with his praises though, but you heard it loud and clear in his simple response of yeah, no shit you got picked, a hidden smile lingering in his otherwise gruff tone. 

“Yeah? How you gonna play Odyssey with no fuckin’ toes left?” He quipped, purposefully mistaking the name just to hear that saccharine laughter of yours as he paused his massage to creep between your legs. 

“It’s Odette, Ryo!” You giggled, pushing at his chest to no avail as he hovered over you to pepper wet kisses along your jaw. “And I can’t afford to slack off.” 

“You’re taking a day offa’ practice.” He grumbled against your ear before snagging the soft lobe between his teeth. Your breathless pants tickled his neck, and the hands that had since been haphazardly shoving at his broad shoulders curled into the neckline of his shirt. 

Those pretty, pink lips that took up so much space in his mind circled into the gentlest of oh’s as his hand wandered down your waist and grasped at your hip, pulling it up to press you against him. 

“I-I can’t—”

Slipping that same hand down, he cupped at the warmth between your legs purposefully, sending your back arching up from the plush cushions. 

“Hm?” He hummed tauntingly at your sudden loss for words, easing up the pressure on your center just enough to make you beg him for it. “You gonna stay home and rest those pretty little legs of yours tomorrow?” 

The heat radiating from your cheeks warmed his lips as he traced them up your face and nipped at your pouted lips. You nodded deleriously, tangling your hands into his hair to pull him in to properly kiss you. 

“I’ll take a break.” You barely got out against his curled up lips before he was consuming you once again. 

His once idle hand eagerly snuck up to dive down the front of your sweatpants, and he tsked in aggravation at the barrier that was the leotard and tights you had yet to change out of. Pulling away from you with a wet smack, he instead focused his efforts on snaking down your body, pressing kisses against your clothed chest, across your ribs and down your stomach. 

A faint rumble had him pausing his pursuit to glance up at you, that familiar glitter of amusement hidden in his ruby eyes. You quickly shook your head, mumbling that you were fine, and your eagerness had all but convinced him that you were, diving back down to slip his fingers into the waistband of your sweats. Your fingers danced up to tangle into his already mustled hair, lifting your hips ever so slightly so he could tug down your bottoms. They had only just barely grazed the swell of your ass before he heard it again— this time more vengeful than the last. 

“Okay, put your fuckin’ shoes on, we’re getting you a burger.” 

Much to your dismay, Ryo did convince you (stood over your shoulder until you texted your instructor that you were sick) to take the day off of practice the next day. In his defense, the foot that you had injured the day prior had begun to take on a faint purple hue along the bridge. Still, you couldn’t help but barely relax the entire day as you were meant to be doing— too caught up in the fear that the mere day you were taking would set you back tremendously. 

Truthfully, while you were completely over the moon to have been given such a coveted role, one you’d dreamt of since you were little no less, the years of buildup had paved the way for a blackhole of self doubt. Not only were you given the opportunity to perform your dream role, but you knew for a fact there would be recruiters for at least three professional dance companies in attendance for the show. Additionally and nearly as nerve-wrecking, Ryo would be there, and it would be the first performance he would see following that first night you two had spent together. 

With how matter of factly he always spoke of your dancing abilities, you couldn’t bear the humiliation of messing up under his watch. Aside from him, your identity as a dancer was all you had since moving here. Without it, you weren’t sure there was anything left to you at all. There was a gnawing fear sprouting roots in each of your bones that told you that Ryo wouldn’t find much else either. Perhaps it was unfair, unhealthy to be putting such pressure on yourself, but you’d much rather drown in your contradictions than bear the weight of swimming up to the surface to confront them. 

Maybe it was the fact that you had worried yourself into the early hours of the morning when you should have been sleeping to prepare for the hours of practice that would be awaiting you when you woke. Even more likely was the fact that it was the barely healed, blackening bruise lingering maliciously on your foot that assured that you just wouldn’t for the life of you land any of your grand jetés, your aching tendon simply dipping too far under the leaden weight of your drops. Your partner, who would be fulfilling the role of Prince Siegfried alongside you, really did try to help, his hands tightening in a barely noticeable fashion around your waist each time you came down from your leaps in hopes of easing your landing so that you may execute it with more grace— but not even his mercy seemed to save you. Whatever you could inevitably point the blame at though caused you instructor to finally snap about four hours into practice that day.

It took barely a sharp glare, a hushed critique, but it sliced through you like a knife. Over the years, you had of course learned to take and constructively use the feedback given by your instructors, though the weight of your role’s importance to the success of the show perhaps made her words cutting and her eyes despondent toward your previously blossoming potential. You could even feel your partner’s typically playfully smug expression boring into the side of your head with barely concealed sympathy, but not even Satoru’s usually life saving swoop-ins could pull you out of the hole you were throwing yourself down.

You could hardly think of a thing else when you left that evening, sun already prepared to retreat soon for the night. The score played resoundingly in your headphones speakers that sat snuggly against your ears, aiding in your wide-eyed, mental rundown of each number on your trek back to your dorm, every muscle in your body seemingly screaming with every dragged step.

Nothing would allow you to let up on yourself, it seemed. You stared blankly into your fridge for nearly ten minutes following your scalding shower before deciding your mind was far too preoccupied to conjure up any sort of appetite. And so you didn’t rest when you got home that day. With the increasingly taunting melodies of Tchaikovsky's compositions filling the already tense air of your dorm, you continued your trembling fouettés and pirouettes until each of your steps wavered and it became glaringly difficult to lift yourself from your rocky landings. 

There was barely a glimmer of sunlight left shining from your window, and you weren’t sure how long you’d been furiously torturing yourself for, each falter or misstep being met with blindly frenzied repetitions. A sharp rap on your door seemed to shake your resolve, almost drowned out by the volume of your music that had been steadily ticking up and up and up until the fact that you hadn’t received a noise complaint had to have been chalked up to a heavenly intervention. 

It startled you in the midst of your leap, reducing whatever semblance of grace you had prepared for your landing into a thudding heap on the floor. Your knee’s resounding smack against the wood floor along with your frustrated cry was only followed by a harsher pound at your door, and you were sure you saw the door frame rattle even if just by a hair. 

“I’m coming!” You tried to sound as though you weren't ready to open your window and scream your miseries out to the world, though you weren’t sure how well it translated. A shuddering breath shook your frame as you rose from the floor to make your way to the door one wincing step at a time. You had barely the chance to crack the door before it was being pushed open, and the spine-chilling scowl on the face of the man who invited himself in would have had you calling campus security in any other situation. “Ryo?”

“What the hell happened to you? I haven’t heard from you since this morning. Ain’t been answering any of my—” His exasperated interrogation died in his throat as he took in the state of your dorm— namely the main floor, where your modest couch had been pushed haphazardly against the far corner of the room, with your rug rolled up and slouched against the wall. The body mirror that typically hung on your bathroom door was ripped from its place and leaned against the wall to face the makeshift practice space. 

You watched with a waxing humiliation as his expression morphed into a startled disquietude he did little to mask. With a flickering gaze, the cool air of your space whipped against your burning cheeks as you shook your head, placing your hands desolately onto his shoulders in an attempt to push him back toward the door. 

“You should go, I—”

“Like hell I should go, what the fuck is going on?” Sukuna’s venomous tone contrasted the desperately gentle manner at which he reached out to grasp at your cheeks. In his frenzied inspection of you, he noted how your flushed face and damp skin paired painstakingly with the droop of your exhausted eyes. “Have you stopped at all today?”

“I—” Your weak stammer pitched until you could no longer hear it falling from your lips. The fat of your cheeks squished against his palms as you slumped defeatedly into his grasp, a traitorous tear slipping down your burning eyes. You tried to cast your gaze downward in search of any solace against the way you were breaking down so pathetically before him, but his insistent fingers prevented you from doing anything of the sort. 

His incredulous eyes widened as one tear turned into several, until no dam could possibly stop your abrupt onslaught onto the tightening grasp of his hands. And god, how he felt he was the worst person to have stumbled upon such a scene, because Sukuna had never in his life been sure what to do with tears. In all his years, he’d solved matters with his sharp tongue and barreling fists— though he’d never quite mastered the intricacies of handling anything with fragility or care. 

So, as comforting as he thought he could manage, he stiffly pulled your head against his chest, sighing in modest relief when you buried your nose in further. The motion gave him hope that just maybe whatever foreign moves he was making didn’t come off as horribly stiff and unnatural as they felt to him. 

“I kept messing up my choreography today, a-and I just— I can’t—” The choked sobs were rendering your frenzied explanation nearly incomprehensible as you began heaving out your breaths. Your shoulders were jostling with the sudden expended efforts of your erratic breathing, and he decided that perhaps a hug wasn’t going to cut it, because your skin was clammy and you were choking on your breaths and he was sure you’d pass out any second now. 

“Nah, c’mon, get it together f’me.” Ryo muttered with a crippling effort to not raise his voice and make the situation worse. With a firm hand on your nape, he began urging you toward the hall where he nearly tore your bathroom door off the hinges opening it. Twisting on the faucet of your ivory sink, his hand pushed you down until your frazzled face was a mere inches from the now running water. Cupping his hand under the stream, he ran the starkly cool water down your feverish face. You gasped softly at the way it seemed to shock your already strung-out nervous system. “Breathe, dammit.” 

But the much needed air was already crashing against your withering lungs like waves against an unsuspecting shore as his hand continued splashing at your face. 

“I’m sorry— I’m sorry.” You finally rasped out, feeling as though you were at last breaking through the surface tension that had been trapping you in your haze. The grip on your nape slowly loosened in tandem with your leveling breaths, and you leaned against the counter for support. 

Sukuna switched the faucet off before turning you to face him once again. There were stray droplets of water still rolling down your face and dripping into the divets of your collarbones, and he swiped at your dribbling jaw as he waited for you to collect yourself. It was silent as his intense gaze burned holes into your forehead, and it pushed the few stray tears lingering in your waterline out. 

“She told me that I—” You cut yourself off, face scrunching up in embarrassment, but he gently jostled you to urge your continuing. “That I-I’m not taking this seriously.”

“Fuck that—”

“No, she’s right, Ryo.” Your sudden insistence caught him off guard, his eyes searching yours incredulously because he couldn’t think of one person who could’ve grasped at their goals as tightly as you had between your delicate fingers. “I skipped practice yesterday, and I haven’t been putting in as much time as I can— I’m gonna mess everything up.” 

“Hey, no that’s bullshit, you hear me?” His fingers squished at your cheeks in order to urge your wet gaze onto his grave eyes. “You ain’t a damn machine— how the hell do you expect to put in a hundred percent when you’re grinding yourself stupid? Huh?” 

You didn’t answer him, instead opting to squeeze your eyes shut, chewing on your bottom lip. 

“You need a break. You need to fucking relax, alright?”

“I can’t— I don’t know how.” You admitted meekly as your own trembling hands came up to grip desperately at his wrists. The scent of his cologne helped marginally to ground you as he leaned down to press ardent kisses against your temple and forehead. “I feel like I’m possessed or something. I can’t sit still, I can’t—”

“You gotta try for me, baby.” The way his gruff voice reverberated in his chest had you pulling yourself closer to him, desperate to drown in the intoxicating distraction that had been laid before you. Because Ryomen— he smelled like a forest, his hands were so sure in their pursuit of you, his voice flowing like the most expensive of wines, and he had never called you that before, and you thought there was nowhere you’d rather plummet into insanity than his fortifying embrace. 

“Can you…” Your soft whisper drifted in apprehension, a deep scarlet painting your still drying cheeks. He hummed in question, already terrifyingly resolute in his decision that he’d burn cities down to complete whatever request it was that would fall from your lips if it meant that painstaking little crease of worry between your brows would leave you alone. “Can you help me? You know… r-relax?” 

And oh how his chest filled with pride, because the tears and the speeches were lost on him but this? This he could do, he determined as he sank to his knees before you. He’d felt utterly hopeless at the hands of your tender nature and gentle touches, because he knew that anyone else would be able to reciprocate them to you far better than he could ever hope to, though he knew one thing for certain as he tugged your bottoms down, chin propped on your navel to look up at you in that sweltering manner he was so good at— there was no one alive or dead that would be able to take care of you like he intended to. 

Your hands found purchase on the counter behind you in desperate pursuit of support as he nudged your legs further apart and buried his head between them. His tongue was warm as it lapped mercilessly at your center, urging hands gripping at the back of your thigh to wrangle one of your legs over his shoulder. He moaned against you as you arched into him, his grip around your thigh tightening as if to encourage your movements, and you found yourself crying out along with him. Your chords meshed together and danced harmoniously off the thin walls of your dingy, dorm bathroom. 

The mystery raced through your mind of what planet this man had come from, as he was managing to pull at threads you hadn’t known existed in you with each skilled thrust of his tongue. Your balance wavered on the leg that remained standing, trembling on its tiptoes as it attempted desperately to keep up with him to no avail. Just as you slipped forward, Sukuna’s bicep was hooking under the wavering limb before hoisting himself up along with you. 

Your back fell against the mirror once he dropped you onto the counter, and his fingers were soon replacing his tongue just as all your crippling thoughts of self doubt were soon replaced by him. Him as he lurched forward over the sink to capture your lips, allowing you to taste yourself lingering on his tongue before leaning back to watch the way you began to desperately grind yourself against his fingers. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” He all but growled out as his fingers found a blistering rhythm within you, the continuous, wet smacks of his palm against your heat making it difficult for you to think of anything at all though. So, you only whined out in response, your feet craning up to gain any kind of leverage on the counter’s edge. At once, his free hand was grasping at your nape to angle your gaze to look up at him, his incandescent eyes demanding to be met. “I asked you a question.”

“You!” You gasped out, the searing pleasure making way for the tears that gathered in the corner of your eyes. He smiled wolfishly at your response, and you moaned softly at the sight. “Just you, I’m thinking about you, Ryo.”

“Yeah?” Sukuna muttered smugly, grasping at your leg as it continued to slip against the counter in search of support. 

His heated touch ran down your calf teasingly until it curled around your ankle that was still partially covered by the ties of your pointe shoes. Ever so slowly, as if testing the spellbinding flexibility that had had the perverse wheels turning in his head since he first witnessed it on stage all those weeks ago, he inched your leg up and up and up until the bridge of your foot brushed against the mirror only a mere inches away from your rapturous face. For once, the wind felt as though it had been knocked from his lungs at the sight, but he worked to quickly compose himself lest you bear witness to the slip in his resolve. 

So, he instead leaned in closer to you, the back of your thigh now flush against his chest as his hand kept your leg pinned up. A shuddering moan slipped from you at the feeling of his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. 

“And what am I doing in those thoughts of yours, doll?” The whisper sent shivers down your spine, and you couldn’t help but turn your face away from him bashfully. Tutting softly in mocking disapproval, he nudged your face forward once again with a push of his nose against your chin. “Hm? Speak up now, I can’t hear you.”

But your climax was nearing closer and closer, evident in the way your warmth squeezed around his relentless fingers and your breaths grew choppy. Perhaps that was the only reason you had the nerve to actually answer him.

“Y-You’re— ah!” A sharp gasp shook you as he angled his palm to brush against your clit with each stroke, but he quickly ground out for you to keep talking. “You’re making love to me, Ryo.”

Your high came crashing down onto you just as your words seemed to shatter his mind, his mouth falling open in tandem with your pitched cries as you peaked. His brows drew fiercely together, his teeth gritting together as he worked you through the waves of your release, and he no longer cared if you saw the way his thusfar fierce front had fallen, because Ryomen couldn’t possibly want anything more in that moment than for you to allow him to bring your lust-clouded thoughts to fruition as he leaned forward to swallow your moans.

“Can’t talk like that, doll.” He groaned despondently against your lips, foreheads brushing together while your lower half jolted against him.

“Why?” In your delirium, you could have cried at his disapproval. 

“Cause I might just fucking do it, that’s why.” 

It fell silent in the already small bathroom that seemed all the more cramped with Sukuna’s Herculean figure occupying the majority of it. Your soft pants puffed against his mouth, eyes fluttering out a stray tear as you reached up to grasp at his nape. The sensation of your nails dragging down the blunt hairs of his undercut made his fingers curl deeper around your ankle, scrambling for any semblance of restraint. It would never come though, because you had the gall to pout against his parted lips, your grip like a vice on his neck as you whispered to him.

“Please, Ryo.” 

He certainly didn’t feel as though he deserved such a privilege, but it was also far from him to make you beg for a part of him that was already wholeheartedly yours. So, his grip fell from your leg in favor of scooping you up by your thighs, your dripping core soaking against his shirt as he moved through your dorm like a man possessed, kicking at your bedroom door impatiently. 

You barely had the chance to recover from the abrupt manner in which you bounced back against your mattress before he was wrangling your sweater from over your head. Sighing wantonly at the sight of his tattoo marked proudly against your heaving sternum, he leaned down to sink his teeth into it. Any semblance of rationality seemed so far from you as your jaw hung open, and you blindly reached down to tug at the back of his shirt until he disconnected from you to pull it off. 

In a lust-filled haze, you reached out to trace the black ink that ran down his chest, making him hum appreciatively, his own hands capturing yours to hold them against him even if for just a moment longer. Slowly though, those sinful hands were drifting down your bare sides until his fingers dug into the swell of your hips to yank you down until your ass was just barely kissing the edge of the bed. 

“These legs drive me fucking ballistic.” His sultry confession would have made you blush had you not already been spread open so vulnerably before him. Laden fingers dragged down your legs as he gathered them up to rest against his chest, turning his head to press salacious, open mouthed kisses along your calves. With a feather-light touch, he drifted up toward your ankle before tugging at the tie of your pointe shoes hungrily. That fervid, side-long glance he tossed your way as he worked the stiff shoes off you was nearly too intense to take head on, but there was a glint in his eyes that told you that you should know better than to look away. 

The offending shoes fell against the floor with a soft thud. The keen gaze he kept on you should have sent you sprinting, akin to an apex predator scouting its next meal. As you assured yourself just moments prior though, you knew better. So, you stayed perfectly still, save your heaving breaths, as he dug a small, gold foiled packet from his wallet, holding it between his teeth before working his belt off and allowing his pants to pool at his feet. 

There was the slightest hint of a pause as Ryo allowed the scene to settle in— to give you a chance to turn back at the very moment you’d left off on the last time your fates brushed this closely. That resistance never came though, and your ankles dug into his shoulders in anticipation. Your eyes fell on their own volition as he pushed his boxers down to join the rest of his clothes, and you thought you might swallow your own tongue in the midst of your shock. 

His erection sprang from its cotton prison, ever so gently brushing against your core in its escape. You shuddered at the sensation, but for once your tremors rooted not in fear but instead in an aching anticipation. Much like the rest of him, as you had assumed, he was intimidatingly… above average— not that you had much by way of comparison. Gulping down the saliva that seemed to pool dramatically on your tongue, you took note of the black rings that circled his upper thighs, and you couldn’t help but let your lips curl up at the sight. 

“What’re you smilin’ at, huh?” Ryomen teased through clenched teeth, the condom still hanging between his lips. An adoring smirk was splitting across his own face as he took the opportunity to pump leisurely as his leaking cock, using his free hand to smooth up your navel. 

“You just… match everywhere.” Your timid giggle had his length twitching in his grip, his intense gaze softening just a bit. Abandoning his caress against your lower half, he reached up to tear open the foil between his teeth.

“What— don’t like ‘em?” His husky question was followed by the teasing plap of his heavy cockhead on your sensitive bud. The amused smile on your lips quickly fell into a sharp gasp at the sensation. Sukuna hummed as he rolled the condom over his aching length before guiding it through your folds. 

“I love them.” Your sincere, breathless confession caught him off guard. “You look like… a piece of art, Ryo.”

For the first time since knowing him, you watched a genuine flush fall over his face at your words. Wide eyes were staring down at you as though he’d never received a compliment a day in his life, but, truthfully, he wasn’t sure anyone had ever bothered showing him such tenderness, always preferring to veer off his path lest they get caught in his crossfires. There was a barely noticeable tremble in his breath as he sighed out. 

“Art, huh? Nah.” He murmured, pushing forward until his tip dipped into your straining entrance. 

You cried out softly at the abrupt stretch, and he quickly hushed you with a soothing hand up your thigh. It felt so incredibly cathartic, enduring the dull pain at the hands of Ryomen. No matter how much you felt you might split in two as he gradually introduced each inch of himself into your honied heat, you would have done it all over again if it meant you’d be able to see that look on his face as he bottomed out. Eyes rolled back, fingers clutching at your thighs as they rested against his chest with a bruising grip, with a gaping mouth that curled up at the corners in a lingering, intoxicated smirk. 

He fell forward until your knees pushed up against your breasts, moving one hand to fist the sheets beside your head to pace himself as he licked at the tears rolling down your cheeks. 

“This is art.” Sukuna corrected as he dipped down to capture each, pained whimper that fell past your lips until it was your moans would soon compete against his favorite of artists, because if he was art then you must be a masterpiece. 

You slept with a serenity that rivaled a corpse that night, your dreams floating through clouds as your mind was utterly consumed by him. For the first time in weeks, something had rivaled the searing ache in your feet, and it was the dull reminder of Ryomen between your thighs— though you couldn’t possibly bring yourself to deem that particular pain unwelcomed as you stirred from your slumber. 

The frigid air bit at your bare skin, sending a tremor through your shoulders. Cracking your eyes open, you were greeted by the sight of the man so many seemed to fear, his lips gently pouted as half his face molded against your pink pillow sheet. You wondered if it was his perpetually defensive nature that made him sleep on his stomach, the idea putting an amused grin on your tired features as you observed how his arms clutched onto the pillow under his head. 

His legs were tangled into yours under the covers, giving you the vital information that he seemed to be putting out far more body heat than you could hope to at this hour. Shuffling closer to him, you carefully placed a hand under his arm in an attempt to lift it just enough to slip into his warm embrace for solace against the cold. 

“What’re you doin’, brat?” His gravelly voice cut through the morning silence, catching you red handed without ever having opened his eyes. 

Biting back the disappointment upon realizing that you weren’t nearly as stealthy as you thought, you smiled sheepishly despite his closed eyes. 

“I’m cold.” You whispered softly.

“No one told you to get this thin ass blanket.” He grumbled, and you let out a quiet huff of disappointment before turning over and pulling the covers tighter over yourself. It only took a mere few seconds though to hear the rustling of sheets behind you, and you were soon being enveloped in a bear-like embrace nonetheless. His arm dipped under your head to cross over your chest, and you smiled against the warmth of his forearm. “What’re you smiling for? Too fuckin’ early.” 

The fervent kisses he began pressing against your shoulder contradicted his grumpy rambling though, and he was soon nosing at your jaw for you to expose your neck to him. His teeth sank into the new area bared to him, and you arched against him just as his tongue began circling the attacked skin. 

“Hmm,” He hummed in a deep baritone, his hand running up your thigh before dipping down to where you still ached of him. “Better cancel whatever fuckin’ plans you had today.” 

Just as you nearly allowed yourself to succumb to him once more, his words sunk into your still barely functioning mind. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked, shooting up from his grip and nearly tumbling off the bed as you reached for your phone. 

“Woah, woah, settle down. What the hell are you tweaking about?” Ryo groaned, rubbing at his now ringing ear as he propped himself up to watch you. 

“I’m late! Oh my god, I’m so late.” You rambled through trembling breaths. It was like watching a tornado ripping through your tiny room, clothes flying as you wrangled on whatever was closest to you. He quickly sat up at your frenzied movements. “I’m supposed to be at practice!”

“Hey, take a fucking breather, you’re gonna pass out.” 

“I can’t take a fucking breather, Ryomen!” His eyes widened at your uncharacteristic tone, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever heard such… unsavory language falling from your lips. Tears of frustration blurred your vision as you began shoving your abandoned pointe shoes haphazardly into your bag. “I keep messing everything up, I’m such a—”

“Nothing’s messed up—”

“Everything’s messed up!” You cried, grunting in frustration as you shoved your aching feet into your boots. “My foot is still messed up, my routine is messed up, my instructor thinks I’m a joke, and I’m about to screw everything up because I keep letting myself get distracted, and I—”

“Distracted?” Sukuna scoffed, pulling on his boxers as he stood up to follow you out of your bedroom. “Is that what I was fucking doing last night? Distracting you?” 

“I don’t have time for this right now, Ryo.” 

“Well you better find some fucking time before you mess this up too.” He regretted them as soon as the words left his mouth, but his entire nervous system had switched onto the defense at your ruthless undermining of what had transpired between you two last night.

 The wounded expression on your delicate face told him he should drop to his knees to beg your forgiveness, but the wounded pride of the rejected child in him refused to submit so easily. So, he simply stared back at you with that callous expression you hadn’t ever seen him dare direct your way. Wiping furiously at your traitorous tears, you slung your bag over your shoulder and left, slamming the front door behind you. 

That door had shut in his face five days ago, and you had yet to hear from him since. In hindsight, you knew that what you said was out of line, and it was clear that you had hurt him in a way that he would refuse to outwardly display. Sukuna would always bare his teeth before showing his belly— you knew that whole heartedly even after knowing him a mere few months. Still, his words stung, and you were too afraid of how the things he’d left unsaid might feel if you should reach out to him first in the midst of his anger. 

You tried to use his absence to your advantage, throwing yourself wholeheartedly into your now daily practices that went hours on end. Your grief, anger, and betrayal fueled each twist and turn, each leap you aimed to perfect until you could convince yourself it was worth what you had damaged in the name of your passion. Even when you finally received that pathetically anticipated approval from your instructor, it no longer felt as sweet. 

There was hardly time for you to wallow over Roy’s radio silence though, because Swan Lake was in a day, and you weren’t even sure that he’d still show up. The thought clutched at your chest, but you were quick to dismiss Satoru when he’d whispered his concerns into your ear during your final dress rehearsal. It felt as though you were back in that desperate solitude that had inadvertently veered you on his path in the first place. 

Sukuna had been pretending that it wasn’t eating him alive that you had yet to crack first, but he sure as hell wouldn’t do it. Everyone around him could tell though. He was quiet— even more so than usual, and the fuse that they were sure couldn’t get any shorter was blowing easier than ever. Choso was met with a biting snap when he dared to ask why he hadn’t seen you around lately, so he figured you must have something to do with it, and he’d be damned if he sat back and simply watched his brother fuck this up. 

“Hey,” Despite his determination, his tone was still careful as he approached the pink-haired man who was still hunched over his client, brows furrowed as he concentrated on the cat he was coloring in on the woman’s thigh. It so obnoxiously reminded him of you and the soft spot you held in your heart for the damned feral animals. Sukuna grunted in question at his half-brother. “You still coming to the show tonight?”

He paused his careful strokes for a fraction of a second before blinking away his frustration. 

“Why the hell wouldn’t I be?” 

His gruff response made Choso’s eyes roll in annoyance. It was so like him to pretend as though no one could tell that something was going on with him. 

“Well she just texted me to ask, so I figured there was a reason.”

It took every bit of restraint in him not to jolt in surprise and completely fuck up this client’s day. Why didn’t she text him? Why the hell did she feel more comfortable going to his damn brother than him? His jaw clicked as it clenched in indignation. An aggravated huff escaped him as he wiped at the woman’s tattoo and prepared to wrap it up. 

“You can tell her that if she wants to know that she can ask me her fucking self.” The dark-haired man’s brows rose at his brother’s tone, pursing his lips as he turned on his heels with a shake of his head, a motion that certainly didn't go over Sukuna’s head. “You got something to say?” 

“Other than you’re going to regret whatever the hell it is you’re sulking over in a few days? Nah, it’s all good. I’ll let her know that Yuji and I are still coming.” 

He didn’t give him a chance for a rebuttal before he made his way back up to the front. A grumbled tut left him as he cleaned the tattoo before him and began wrapping it. 

“That sketch is gorgeous.” The client commented as he busied himself with her wrap. He glanced up at her in question before following her gaze to the sketch that he’d created for you that night and inevitably inked on you. The original was still taped to his station, always having been his favorite reminder of you to get him through his shifts. “You the artist? I have a friend who would probably love to get that inked.” 

Faster than he could even fully process her request, he was adamantly shaking his head with a fierce defensiveness. Even through the haze of his hurt, he knew that that drawing would never grace the skin of anyone else— no one else would be worthy of a piece inspired by you, no one had the right. He couldn’t bear the thought of tainting its sanctity with the likes of some of the scum that came through here. 

“Out of commission.” He gruffed plainly, not bothering to grace the notion with an explanation. Ripping off his gloves, his eager fingers dug his phone from his back pocket, but he was only met with further disappointment at the realization that— no, you still hadn’t reached out. 

As he walked his client to the front, he could see his brother typing away adamantly on his phone, and it pissed him off to think of you on the other end of it with the reassurance that his damn brothers would be coming to support you tonight. 

Sukuna couldn’t drag himself outside fast enough, hiding under the guise of needing some air when, truthfully, he was tempted to rip the stupid fucking buns right off Choso’s head if he heard his phone ping one more time. It was his rage, that’s what he’d blame it on as his thumbs furiously pounded at the poor, unsuspecting screen of his phone before hitting send.

I’ll be there.

You were sure you would throw up if there had been anything in your stomach to begin with that day. With your nerves so overwhelmingly shot, you could barely stomach a few saltine crackers before even they were making you nauseous. 

Staring back at you in the mirror was the woman you had been fighting tooth and nail for for so long. The white, feathered headpieces sat snuggly against your temples and into the sides of your slicked-back bun. You almost didn’t recognize yourself in the dramatically winged, dark shadow that shrouded your eyes. 

You couldn’t be sure if the reassurance that Ryo would be coming despite your near week of radio silence comforted or intimidated you even more. 

From the closed door of your dressing room, you could hear the orchestra performing each intricate number as act one got the ball rolling. There were dancers in and out of the room, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move, stuck idly in your chair as you awaited act two to begin with your entrance. 

No matter how much you had soaked it, iced it, rolled it— goddamn it, prayed over it, your foot still throbbed under the constraints of your pointe shoes. It only needed to get through the next hour and a half— that’s the mantra that played like a broken record in your head in hopes of calming your very real fears of it failing you mid-performance. 

The minor piece of solace you had apart from that was that your sudden change in behavior had urged you and Satoru to get a bit more comfortable with each other as you had to begrudgingly explain to him why you had been a bit off your game. You were shocked when the man, who you were sure hadn’t a sincere bone in his body, reassured you that he’d be more cautious with you with each lift and land the two of you had ahead of you tonight given your injury. 

You watched with bated breath from the side stage as Satoru aimed the prop crossbow before turning to prance toward his stage left to mimic his hunt, the long awaited queue for your entrance. The peripherals of your vision blurred as you allowed your muscle memory to take over, and you were soon landing your grand jeté before dipping into your first bow as Odette. 

Ryomen felt each last puff of air in his lungs abandon him at the sight of you with your breathtakingly intricate, snow-white costume, truly embodying a princess. He had admittedly been growing restless throughout the first half hour of the production without so much as a glimpse of you. Now though, as the glimmering crown tucked into your hair shimmered under the stage lights, he was sure he’d wait it tenfold to relive the magnetic way you commanded the stage upon your first arabesque. 

The grip he had around the base of the bouquet he’d brought you tightened as he watched you and your partner float about the stage, twisting and turning against and around each other with a synchronicity that embodied just how much dedication you two had put into your performative chemistry— at least that’s what he hoped as your noses brushed in an almost kiss. 

Not even in his wildest dreams would he have thought he’d ever find himself sitting through a two-hour ballet, but you had him completely enraptured. He recalled what you had mentioned about the recruiters that would be coming to this performance, and he knew without a shadow of a doubt that this was your night. The recruiters had to be captivated by you— just as every soul that was surrounding him seemed to be. 

As the show progressed, it was clear how you lost yourself inch by inch to Odette, and you soon weren’t sure where you ended and she began. You had just been starting to convince yourself that you’d make it. There was but a half hour left, and though you could feel your injured foot growing angrier and angrier with each pointed formation, you were pushing it to the back of your mind, something to be dealt with later. 

But somewhere after the fourteenth of the iconic thirty-two fouettes in a row you had to execute as your darker counterpart, Odile, was perhaps the beginning of the end for your optimism. As fate would have it, each gruelling fouette was meant to be spun off of that fucking foot, and by the end of them you were sure your face was tinted red from the way you held back your cries of pain. 

Ryomen could see it too, despite how well you disguised it as an expression of passion. His fingers dug deeper and deeper into his thighs with each spin during the sequence, because he could practically feel that bruised foot crumbling under such pressure. Despite it all— you did it, and, not only that, you made it appear damn near effortless. 

It was nearing the final number now, and he had been watching your eyes morph with each second that passed. Perhaps it wasn’t clear to anyone else, but he knew that glassy look wasn’t just your impeccable dedication to the scene. You had been changed back into your white swan costume, taking the stage with both Prince Seigfried and Rothbart as you gracefully dashed yourself between the arms of each man. It wasn’t until the final leap that Satoru would catch you from that you felt it.

Just as your pointed foot hit the stage floor, you could all but hear the tiniest of cracks. Your breath hitched, a nearly muted choke catching in your throat that luckily the audience couldn’t hear over the orchestra. Satoru did though, his hands on your waist tightening as he attempted to subtly lift you ever so slightly to take some of the weight off your foot. A whimper lingered in the back of your throat as the pain radiated up your leg. 

“It’s okay.” Your white-haired partner whispered subtly so as not to break the illusion of the performance. “You just have to make it to the lake.” 

His near silent reassurance into your ear was fleeting as you spun away from him. Make it to the lake. The words were chanting like a mantra in your head. 

Ryomen thought the armrest of his seat would snap under the pressure of his grip, watching in horror as a single tear slipped down your cheek upon that fateful landing, and he knew something had gone wrong. Judging by the way your partner seemed to subtly lean in to whisper in your ear, he knew he was right.

Still, your remaining bourrees across the stage were flawlessly executed despite you feeling the likely fracture in your foot arguably worsening with each step, and Odette was finally taken up into the arms of Rothbart, lifted high above his head to take her behind the veil of the lake to die— and that’s certainly what it felt like you were doing. 

Sukuna was out of his seat before Prince Seigfried could even properly fall to his knees to mourn the loss of his love, practically hopping over seats to get to the back. It was proven difficult, what with all the attendees rising to their feet to offer a standing ovation as the show concluded. Finally making it out of the row, he shouldered into attendants and workers until he found the backstage entrance sign. 

A worker placed a hand on his shoulder to inform him that he wasn’t authorized to go back there, but he knew the man wasn’t about to be stupid enough to fight him if he pushed his way through those doors anyway. There were troves of ballet dancers moving like ants through the hallways, all looking up at him in bewilderment as he pounded toward the dressing room at the end of the hall. 

“Oi, you all had better be fucking decent cause I’m coming in!” It was the only warning he gave along with the three cautionary pounds against the door before he burst in. There in the far back surrounded by a myriad of frazzled dancers was you, still hauntingly enchanting in your Swan Queen costume as you heaved out cries against the cold floor. The pointe shoe on your injured foot had already been wrangled off, and Satoru was frantically tearing your tights between his fingers from the ankle down to observe the damage. 

You looked up at the sudden commotion. The dramatic, black makeup that had been so intricately painted onto your face was now streaming down your cheeks in ugly, noir waves as your face scrunched up heartbreakingly at the sight of him standing before you. 

“Ryo.” You choked out helplessly between your heaving sobs of pain, and he felt his heart shatter all at once. Parting through the sea of dancers, he shoved at the white-haired man’s shoulder. 

“Move the fuck outta my way.” Sukuna bit out, probably much harsher than necessary for someone who seemed to be trying to help, but he did just watch this dude grabbing at your waist and thighs and caressing your face for damn near two hours straight. And sure, he knew it was all part of the performance, but fuck you didn’t warn him that you’d actually be kissing the dude. In spite of it all, Satoru didn’t need to be told twice before he was standing to let him take over. 

“I-I think it’s broken. I can’t m-move it—” 

“It’s okay, I’m right here.” He urged, his fingers just barely ghosting over your calf as he took in the sight of your mangled foot. It had swollen considerably within the confines of your pointe shoe over the past few hours, and the nearly black skin was hot to the touch. 

“The recruiters, Ryo— I screwed it up, I—” 

“Fuck the recruiters, I’m taking you to the fucking hospital.” You didn’t get much of a word in edgewise as he scooped you up, darting through the parted crowd and out the back exit. 

Though he wasn’t quite sure what he would say if given the chance, your frenzied sobs filled the air around you two the entire drive. He tried to calm you, but it was proven difficult with his split attention on the road. It also wasn’t clear if your cries were mainly attributed to the pain or the mental anguish. Still, with sweat beginning to bead at his temples, he grasped at your hand and placed it over his chest in a desperate attempt to get you to match his breathing. Although it seemed like you were truly trying, you continued choking up with each throb of your foot. 

Sukuna’s perpetual feeling of being absolutely worthless continued as you sat silently in the hospital bed, only your occasional sniffles breaking through the white noise of the room as you awaited the okay from the doctor to be discharged. The xray they performed confirmed your suspicions, and you had been suffering from a stress fracture. He sat in the stiff chair beside your bed, hunched over with his elbows resting on his thighs as you stared blankly at the stark white cast now covering your foot and ankle. 

Neither of you were quite sure what to say to one another. Your current state was… delicate, and he wasn’t sure that bringing up the fight would be the best idea for you right now. Clearing his throat awkwardly, he straightened his posture, eyes fluttering over you apprehensively before he cast his line out. 

“I don’t know how you do it.” He confessed sincerely, watching as your eyes cast a sidelong glance at him. 

“What, manage to fracture my foot during one of the most important performances of my life?” 

“How you let yourself feel so much for everyone to see.” His response made you flush, your brows furrowinf as you looked away from him once again. 

“I couldn’t really help it, my bone was kind of split—”

“I’m not talking about your damn foot, doll.” Ryomen sighed in exasperation. It was already difficult enough for him to be so sincere in his appreciation, and your making him spell it out was twisting the knife in his already wounded pride. “The show. I… I ain’t ever seen anything like that before. You’re just not fucking scared of yourself.” 

Twisting your arms around yourself, you gulped down whatever emotions his words seemed to ignite in you. 

“Yeah, well it doesn’t matter now. I screwed it all up.” 

“Bullshit, you had everyone hanging off their fucking seats.” 

“And they all watched me ruin it with that— that stupid landing.”

Sukuna blinked harshly in disbelief at your self-critictism. With an incredulous laugh, he leaned forward to look you in the eyes. 

“You played that shit off like nothing happened. No one noticed.” 

“You noticed.”

“Yeah, cause I fucking love you.” It tumbled out his mouth faster than he could have reeled it back in. For the second time that night, he was struck by the gruelling confusion of how the fuck it came so easily to you to pour your heart out, because it felt like he was chewing on glass right now as he awaited your response. Your glassy eyes finally looked up at him, face stained by makeup and disbelief. It all showed so clearly on your face, so bravely and unabashedly. It made him want to stand resolute for something for once in his pathetic life. “I love you.”

Soon, your lip was trembling once again as a fresh stream of tears stung at your already burning eyes. Burying your face into your hands, you shook your head. 

“I said such awful things to you, Ryo.” You cried into your palms, the guilt that had been festering over the gruelling week finally coming to fruition without the distraction of your performance to keep your mind from dwelling on it. “Y-You were just trying to help me—”

“Hey, I say mean shit all the time,” He reassured, moving from his chair to squeeze beside you in the bed. “You should’ve beat the shit outta me if we’re really trying to get equal.”

Your back shook, and he knew this time it was finally from your laughter instead of those gut-wrenching sobs that had been frequenting his ears. Desperate to catch a glimpse of your smile after so long of being met with your frown, he gently pried your hands away from your face. Ryo sighed wistfully at the sight of your wobbly grin, reaching up to wipe at the smudged makeup under your eyes. 

“You look more like a fucking racoon than a swan right now.” Your teary-eyed gaze didn’t seem to help his lack of brain-to-mouth filter at all, and he smirked at his own pathetically weak restraint. “See? I should’ve gotten my teeth knocked out for that one.”

But, of course, you only smiled at him— that glimmering eyed smile that even after all this time he felt so undeserving of. 

“Well, you’re lucky I love you then, huh?” 

His heart pounded embarrassingly against his chest, blanketed with the safety of your reciprocity. 

“The luckiest bastard I know.” He whispered before pressing a kiss gentler than he was accustomed to against your awaiting lips. 

There was a soft knock at the door that had him sighing in frustration against your face, but he pulled away from you nonetheless. When the door cracked open, it wasn’t the doctor as the both of you had been hoping so you could get the hell out of here. Instead, Choso and Yuji both filed in hesitantly as though they weren’t sure what kind of energy they’d be met with. When you smiled brightly at the sight of the various flowers in their arms, the pair felt more at ease as they stepped fully into the room. 

“That was the most metal shit I’ve ever seen in my life.” Choso was the first to gush excitedly, setting down both his and Sukuna’s abandoned bouquet in your lap. 

“So sick— I can’t believe you just walked that shit off!” Yuji was rushing to the far wall of the room to snatch the marker off the whiteboard containing the nurse’s information on it. He continued to ramble enthusiastically as he sat himself at the foot of your bed to doodle on your cast. Your eyes fluttered between him and his twin, and it was a bit disorienting seeing them side by side for the first time. “You’re a total badass.” 

“Oi, easy with her fucking foot, brat.” Ryomen grumbled as he flicked his brother in the forehead, already annoyed at both his brothers for butting into you two’s moment. 

It was clear that his bright-eyed counterpart was used to his brash nature as he completely brushed it off, tongue poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrated on his drawing of what you could only assume was supposed to be a swan. It was clear his twin got all the artistic ability while Yuji was left with all the sunshine. As if his drawing triggered his memory, he quickly perked up. 

“The casting was crazy too! That girl playing the black swan seriously looked just like you.”

A quiet disbelief fell over the three of you as the boy continued marking up your cast. 

“Yuji—”

“Don’t bother,” Ryo quickly stopped you from correcting him with what could only be described as a fierce look of exhaustion on his face. “He’s a little slow— it’ll come to him.”

All the artistry and the brains— got it.

gojo and itafushi crumbs because your girl is starving

masterlist | requests | talk to me ❤︎

I love hearing everyone's thoughts! ◝⠀(ᵔᵕᵔ)⠀◜

[rafecameronssl4t]

F1 driver!Rafe x Reader! As someone that loves watching F1, I'm so happy you're doing this, and damn fans can be vicious sometimes so it gave me an idea. Maybe Reader is getting hate online, with jelaousy comments, saying that ''she's not pretty enough, she's so basic looking, I don't understand what he sees in her, I guess anyone has a chance with Rafe,''. And gradually the words get to her, making her really self concious when she's around him in public, girls near him that are (in her opinion) prettier and eventuallys she tries to break up with him, but he does not let her (not in a toxic way, more so because he loves her and isn't going to let anyone come between them)

Public eye || F1 driver!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader

A/n: So sorry this took awhile!!!!!! But thank you for the request it was sm fun to write :)

Warnings: angst, mental health struggles, bullying and online harassment, if theres anything else lmk!

Word count: 2, 946

MASTERLIST (F1 driver!Rafe x fem!reader au masterlist)

Your fingers hovered hesitantly over the comment section of the video, your heart beating just a little faster as you stared at the screen. The clip, a simple moment of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, was already gathering attention. He was beside you, his hand casually draped over your shoulder as you both made your way through the crowd, looking every bit like a power couple.

You could still hear the soft hiss of the shower jets from the bathroom, Rafe taking his time to wash off the stress of the race. You should have been doing something productive, but the pull of curiosity was too strong. Lately, your presence on social media had been growing—both the praise and the hate.

You’d never been one to look at the comments, always avoiding the spotlight, but today… something felt different. You clicked on the comment section, your thumb hovering nervously over the screen as you scrolled down. The first few comments were harmless, even flattering. “You two are perfect together,” one said. “Her smile is contagious,” said another.

Your lips curved into a faint smile as you read through them, the warmth of their compliments offering a brief comfort. For a moment, you forgot about the nagging feeling building in your chest. But then the tone shifted. You could feel your stomach tighten as the first negative comment appeared. “She looks so out of place with him,” one user wrote, followed by another comment: “She doesn’t belong in paddock.”

Your fingers trembled slightly, but you tried to push the discomfort aside. It was just one comment. You kept scrolling. More criticisms followed. Someone commented on your outfit: “Why does she dress like that? She looks like she’s trying too hard.” Another user posted, “She looks so stiff next to him. Does she even smile?” A sharp sting pierced your chest, and you tried to shake it off, but it wasn’t easy.

You’d spent so much time trying to dress right, trying to look the part, but now it felt like none of it mattered. “Her resting face is so rude,” one person said. Another added, “She looks miserable. Why does she always look so cold around Rafe?” You couldn’t help but feel your stomach drop. You knew you had a more serious expression, but it hurt to see it picked apart like this, as if your face wasn’t enough.

You quickly scrolled past more hurtful comments, but the damage had already been done. The video, which had once seemed like a simple moment between you and Rafe, now felt like an invasion of your privacy, like everyone was judging you. You glanced back at the bathroom door, where the sound of Rafe still hummed softly from the shower, completely unaware of the thoughts swirling in your head.

Your hands tightened around your phone, and you felt the familiar weight of insecurities settling in. You weren’t sure why this time felt worse than before. Maybe it was the fact that you were constantly being compared to Rafe’s world now, his fame, his fans, his life in the spotlight. It felt suffocating at times, and the negativity from strangers only made it worse.

You took a shaky breath, trying to pull yourself together. This wasn’t about you. It was about Rafe, and his world. You tried to convince yourself that you didn’t need their validation, but the ache in your chest remained. Before you could sink any deeper into the spiral of your thoughts, the bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe’s voice, still heavy with the sound of water dripping, called out to you.

“Hey, everything alright?” Rafe’s voice was soft as he stepped into the room, the steam from his shower trailing behind him. His towel hung low on his hips, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. His brows furrowed slightly when his eyes landed on you, the tension in your posture giving you away. You swallowed hard, quickly flipping your phone face-down on the bed as you forced a small, unconvincing smile.

“Yeah, just… tired. It’s been a long day.” Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer, his lips pressing into a thin line as if he were debating whether to push further. Instead, he let it slide, disappearing into the closet to grab a pair of boxers. When he returned, his tone was casual, though there was an edge of curiosity in his voice.

“Did you want to walk in with me tomorrow?” he asked, tossing the towel into the hamper before slipping on boxers. He moved with practiced ease, his body language as relaxed as ever. It was a question you’d heard countless times before, something routine between the two of you, but tonight, it felt heavier. Different. You nibbled on your bottom lip, his question tugging you back to the comments you’d just read.

She looks out of place next to him… She doesn’t belong there. The words replayed in your head like a taunting echo. You hesitated before replying, your voice quieter than usual. Your fingers toyed with the edge of the duvet as you hesitated. “Uh, I think I’ll come a bit after,” you said finally, trying to sound casual, though the slight tremor in your voice betrayed you. Rafe paused for a moment, his head tilting slightly as he considered your answer.

His brows furrowed just enough to show that he noticed the shift in your tone, but he didn’t push. Instead, he hummed in acknowledgment, his gaze lingering on you for a moment longer before he climbed into bed. Once settled, he turned his attention back to you, his head propped on his hand as he studied your face. “You sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his voice softer now, laced with genuine concern.

You nodded quickly, your smile brighter this time, though it still didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah. I promise, I’m fine,” you said, hoping the words sounded convincing. But even as you said them, your mind was still swirling with doubt, the insecurities clawing at the edges of your composure. Rafe didn’t seem entirely convinced, but he let it slide for now. Instead, he reached out and tugged you gently toward him, his arms wrapping around your body in a warm, familiar embrace.

His lips brushed softly against your temple before trailing down to your shoulder. “I love you,” he murmured, his voice low and steady, like an anchor. A shaky breath escaped your lips as you nestled into his chest, the comfort of his presence momentarily dulling the ache in your heart. “I love you too,” you whispered back, your voice almost trembling.

~

Walking into the paddock alongside Rafe’s PR manager, Mia, you couldn’t shake the weight of countless eyes on you. It felt suffocating, as though everyone’s gaze was dissecting your every move, every expression. The hum of chatter and camera shutters blended into an almost deafening background noise, and you couldn’t help but wonder what they were saying—or thinking.

Were they silently judging you? Waiting for you to stumble, to make some minor misstep they could pounce on? The thought sent a sharp pang of anxiety through your chest. It wasn’t just paranoia; you’d seen how quickly narratives could form online, how a single bad photo could spiral into accusations and labels. If you weren’t smiling enough, they’d say you were cold, ungrateful. If you stood too close to Rafe, they’d call you clingy. Too far, and you’d seem distant, uninterested.

Your grip on your paddock pass tightened, glancing briefly at Mia, who was confidently walking ahead, her phone in hand, seemingly oblivious to the tension building inside you. She had a way of carrying herself that made it seem like none of this affected her—like the noise bounced off her shield of professionalism. You envied her for that. The click of a camera somewhere to your left made your heart skip a beat.

You didn’t dare look, afraid of what expression might’ve been caught. You straightened your posture instead, forcing a faint smile that felt unnatural, plastered on for the sake of appearances. The effort felt exhausting, but it was what you’d learned to do in this world—pretend you didn’t notice, pretend it didn’t hurt. As you walked, you could feel whispers trailing in your wake, the murmurs mingling with the mechanical hum of the paddock.

Were they talking about your outfit? Your hair? The fact that you weren't walking in with Rafe? It was a never-ending game of scrutiny, and you felt like a chess piece on a board you barely understood. "Hey, are you good?" Mia's voice pulled you out of your spiraling thoughts. Her tone was light, accompanied by a small chuckle as she caught the distant look in your eyes.

You blinked rapidly, turning to her with a startled expression. “Sorry, what?” you asked, your voice slightly shaky. She chuckled again, tilting her head curiously. “Are you okay? You seem nervous,” she repeated, her eyes scanning your face as the two of you approached the Ferrari area. “Yeah! Yeah—I’m fine, just jet lagged,” you replied quickly, your tone a little too chipper to be convincing. You added a casual shrug for good measure, hoping it would sell the lie.

Mia’s gaze lingered for a moment, but she slowly nodded, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Alright, if you say so. I’ve got to go organise Rafe for his interview. Will you be okay by yourself? I think Austin’s around here somewhere,” she said, glancing around the bustling paddock. “Yeah, of course, go ahead. I’ll look for him,” you assured her with a polite smile.

She nodded, giving you a quick wave before disappearing into the chaos, leaving you alone amidst the buzz of mechanics, media personnel, and fans. You continued walking, your eyes darting around in search of a familiar face. The usual hum of the paddock felt louder now, almost oppressive, as you noticed more phones and cameras turning in your direction. A knot tightened in your stomach.

Normally, you could brush it off, but today the weight of their stares was unbearable. Biting your bottom lip nervously, you quickened your pace, practically darting into the safety of the Ferrari garage. The moment you stepped inside, a voice called out to you, making you pause. “Y/n!” Relief flooded your chest as you spotted Austin waving you over from the balcony of the hospitality area.

“Hey!” you greeted him warmly, embracing him in a quick hug. “Rafe should be done with his interview pretty soon,” Austin said, glancing at his watch. You hummed in response, setting your things down on the table before joining him at the railing. The two of you leaned against it, looking down at the sea of people navigating the paddock below. “Yeah, Rafe and I were planning to head back to OBX for a week after—”

Your words trailed off as your eyes froze on a group of girls huddled together, their phones unmistakably aimed in your direction. Their whispering and laughter sent a chill through you, making your shoulders stiffen visibly. Noticing your silence, Austin followed your gaze. His brows furrowed in concern. “You okay?” he asked, his voice soft but probing.

You swallowed hard, tearing your eyes away from the girls. “I-uh—I’ll just sit down for a bit,” you muttered, moving back toward the table. Austin watched you carefully, his confusion evident. “Do you know them?” You shook your head, avoiding his gaze. After a moment, he sighed, his tone shifting to something more knowing. “Have you been reading comments again?”

The question made your head snap up, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t respond, but your silence was enough. “Y/n,” he said gently, pulling out a chair across from you and sitting down. “You know those are just jealous people who wish they were in your position, right?” “I know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible. “But they still hurt, Austin.”

“I know they do,” he admitted, leaning forward. “But think about it—what they’re saying about you… Is any of it true?” You bit your lip, your gaze dropping to your phone as you hesitated. “They’re not,” Austin continued firmly. “Because they don’t even know you. But we do. Rafe does. Don’t let them get to you. They’re just miserable people trying to make someone else miserable too.”

His words sunk in, easing some of the tightness in your chest. A small smile crept onto your lips, the warmth of his reassurance breaking through the cloud of doubt. “Thanks, Austin. I really appreciate it,” you said, your voice softer now but filled with genuine gratitude. He grinned back, leaning back in his chair with an air of casual confidence.

“Anytime. Now, let’s get you smiling again before Rafe gets back, or he’ll never let me hear the end of it.” You chuckled lightly, feeling just a little lighter as the weight of those comments began to fade, replaced by the comfort of a friend who truly understood.

~

The jets in the bathroom continued to hum, the sound blending into the background as you stared at your phone screen, your chest tightening with every cruel word you read. The image of you and Rafe walking into the paddock, so innocuous and routine, had somehow become the catalyst for a torrent of negativity.

Your throat constricted, and you bit down hard on your bottom lip, trying to keep the tears at bay. But it was too much. The weight of their words pressed on you, an avalanche of insecurities crashing down. You dropped your phone onto the bed as though it had burned you, standing there frozen for a moment, your hands trembling.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Rafe stepped out, a towel slung low on his hips, droplets of water clinging to his skin. His carefree, post-shower demeanour faltered the moment his eyes landed on you. “Hey,” he said cautiously, stepping closer. “What’s wrong?” You shook your head, quickly wiping at your cheeks, but the tears had already betrayed you. “Nothing, I’m fine.”

“Don’t lie to me.” His tone was firmer now, his blue eyes scanning your face for answers. He glanced at your phone lying facedown on the bed, and his expression hardened as he pieced it together. “Did you read the comments again?” The lump in your throat grew, and you couldn’t speak, your silence confirming his suspicion.

Rafe let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through his damp hair. “Y/n, why do you let them get to you? They’re just a bunch of—” “It’s not just them, Rafe!” you snapped, cutting him off. The words spilled out before you could stop them, sharp and heavy. “This is my life now—being constantly judged, criticised, compared. It’s exhausting. I can’t do this anymore.”

His brows furrowed in confusion and alarm. “What are you saying?” “I’m saying I can’t be with you anymore,” you said, your voice breaking as the words left your lips. “I don’t think I can do this anymore.” Rafe’s face fell, his confident façade cracking in an instant. “What? No. No, that’s not happening.” “Rafe—”

“No!” He stepped closer, his voice low but desperate. “You’re not doing this because of a bunch of idiots online who don’t know anything about us.” “It’s not just them!” you cried, the dam of emotions finally breaking. “It’s everything! The constant attention, the pressure, the way people look at me like I’m not good enough for you. And maybe they’re right! Maybe I’m not!”

“Don’t you dare say that,” he interrupted, his voice rough with emotion. He reached for your hands, holding them tightly even as you tried to pull away. “You are good enough. You’re more than good enough, Y/n.” “I can’t keep living like this, Rafe,” you whispered, tears streaming down your face. “I feel like I’m losing myself.

Rafe’s grip on your hands tightened as if letting go would make your words true. “I don’t care what they say. None of it matters to me. You matter. You’re the only thing that matters.” Your lips trembled as you looked into his eyes, the sincerity there almost too much to bear. “But what if I can’t handle it?” “Then I’ll help you handle it,” he said firmly, his voice softening as he pulled you closer.

“You’re not doing this alone. I love you, Y/n. I don’t care what those people think. They mean nothing to me—nothing.” You let out a shaky breath as his words washed over you, your resolve weakening under the weight of his conviction. Rafe cupped your face gently, his thumbs wiping away your tears. “Please don’t do this,” he whispered, his voice breaking slightly. “We’ll get through it together. I promise.”

For a long moment, you just stood there, your forehead resting against his as you tried to steady your breathing. The pain was still there, raw and jagged, but so was the love in his voice, in his touch. “I don’t know if I can be enough,” you whispered. “You already are,” he replied without hesitation. “You’ve always been enough for me.” And somehow, in his arms, the weight of the world felt just a little lighter.

[g4rvez-r3id]

Back To You

Ex! Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU Reader

Synopsis: Spencer finally realizes that he wants you to stay and that he loves you and he proves to you just how much he does.

Category: Angst, Fluff, Smut

Warnings: established past relationship between spencer and reader, spencer being a lil shit, reader being depressed, cursing, mentions of Lauren arc, maeve arc, Grey’s Anatomy spoilers 4x17 “Freedom” and 11x21 “How to Save A Life”, heartfelt talks, love confessions, kissing, smut warnings: soft!dom spencer, cunnilingus, spencer is packing, praise, he whimpers (idc WHAT y’all say), unprotected sex, creampie (find a better word for this pls), a lil bit of aftercare and that should be it(?)

Author’s Note: here it is, the long awaited part three! sorry y’all i lowkey struggled to write this lmao, i hope y’all like this end to the 3-parter hehe 🤭 hope it was worth the wait! <3

part one part two

Spencer Reid was utterly bewildered when he headed into work that following week and saw that you didn’t show. That wasn’t like you. You were always at work, no matter what. Sure, you had a few sick days here and there and after your guys’ breakup, you’d taken a couple of days off but you were into work about a day or so later.

He chalked it up to your guys’ previous conversation. The one where he pushed you away. And he knew you needed time to deal with that. So, he went straight to work and didn’t think anything more of it.

But then a day turned into a few. And before he could march to Garcia’s lair and ask to track your phone down because he was concerned — and it didn’t help that his mind first went to you lying in a ditch somewhere — he instead went to Hotch and asked if maybe you were taking vacation time.

Thankfully, Hotch had told him that you indeed were taking vacation time but that you hadn’t gone into why you needed to.

But Spencer knew why.

He’d felt horrible about how things ended in the parking garage. He knew it was his fault. And he wanted to go make it right… with you, he just didn’t know how. And Spencer also worried that going to see you would just make things worse.

All he could think back to was when you guys dated. Things seemed so easy being with you. You understood the workload, since you’d had the same job, you let him ramble and listened to him — even when you weren’t dating anymore. And you were just such a good person and a good friend, no matter the cost. (The cost being his relationship with you when you hid the fact that you knew about Emily’s fake death). He didn’t think he’d ever forgive you for that. But now, since Maeve, since everything, since you were there for him, he was willing to finally push all of that aside and beg for you to come back to him.

He knew you were a hard person to convince. You held grudges like he did, which was why you two were in this mess now. But Spencer knew, eventually, you had to come back to work. But then he thought about it.

The chances of you transferring to a different unit, to a different city, maybe even to a different state because you could stand to see him any longer were high. Like previously stated, he knew you. And he knew from when you two were together that once your mind was made up, there was no changing it.

But he didn’t want you to. He hated that now he was realizing this, but now, he had to march down to your apartment and tell you how you truly felt. That he really didn’t want you to go.

And damn it, he was gonna do something about it right now.

You wondered if you’d ever recover from the hard blow Spencer Reid hit you with. It was like a punch in the gut, the fact that he wouldn’t let you in. It was to be expected, that he needed time to recover himself. But it hurt that he pushed you away, even though you knew that would happen.

Since what happened with Spencer in the parking garage, you had called in sick from work for a week or two. It wasn’t until Hotch literally texted you and asked if you were okay and if you wanted to formally request the month off to do so.

You hadn’t gone anywhere, you weren’t on any vacation and you weren’t seemingly blowing off work. You just needed time and right now, seeing Spencer in the office wouldn’t make it any better. This is what you would do, you’d wallow for a short amount of time and then move on.

Although you wouldn’t really move on. You’d pine silently and wait for the day you stop having feelings. It’s what happened with Spencer before and it’d likely happen again.

So, you sat in your living room, re-watching Grey’s Anatomy for about the third time. The men absolutely sucked in this show. You were wearing your sweatpants and a white tank top with your hair looking like a rat’s nest. You showered last night but unfortunately didn’t have the energy to blow dry your hair so it dried over your pillow covers and you woke up the next morning with your hair looking absolutely atrocious. You slumped on the couch, stuffing your face with chocolate ice cream and frowning at the screen as Meredith shows Derek she’s ready to commit to their relationship by designing a floor plan for their home. What’s the point when he’s just gonna die anyways? Someone always dies and someone always gets hurt.

You only planned in sulking on your couch for another day but you certainly didn’t plan on someone knocking outside your door rapidly.

“No one’s home.” You grumbled as you took another scoop of your ice cream from your spoon into your mouth. The knocking continued once more. “Go away!” You demanded. But the knocking wouldn’t let.

So, you groaned, pausing the TV and getting out of your blanket, putting your ice cream to the side and walking towards the door. You look through the peephole and scoff when you see who’s at the door.

“No fucking way.” You say loudly for him to hear. “Y/n, will you just open the door, please?” Spencer pleads with you. “Why should I let you in when you’ve never bothered to let me in?”

Spencer closes his eyes as he curses to himself. He supposed he deserved that. He says your name again as he rests his palm on the wood of the door. “Please, just open the door. Can we talk?”

“What is there to talk about, Spencer?” You question, crossing your arms and you choose to stand your ground, deciding not to open the door. “Open the door, please. I’d rather your neighbors not hear.”

You roll your eyes and decide to give him the benefit of the doubt. You unlock the door and open it. “You have two minutes. Two.” You lean to the side so Spencer can walk in to your apartment.

You quickly check your watch. “You’ve got,” You click your tongue. “A minute and fifty-four seconds remaining. Make it count.”

“I should’ve asked you to stay.” Spencer started. “I should’ve asked you to stay a long time ago. But Maeve… the whole thing with her… it broke me. And maybe I’m beyond repair and maybe I will never be over her, but you should not have to suffer because of it. I’ve… been… an ass.” You knew it was serious when he cursed. He rarely ever did.

“Strong beginning.” You comment, your arms carefully crossed over your chest in defense. Spencer noted to this being something you did every time you two fought.

“I wanted you to stay. Trust me, I did. And still do. But I can’t burden you with this. With my… pain. You’ve done so much for me already. Taking care of me, making sure that I was okay, being there for me when I was heinous to you after our breakup. We barely spoke a word to one another before then and you knew that but you were still there. I guess I just… don’t know how to do this. I… I was given another chance and I… couldn’t save Maeve. I’m scared that if I let you in… it could…” Wind up the same way. He doesn’t finish but you figure that’s what is about to come out of his mouth.

It made sense now. Why he pushed you away. He didn’t owe you an explanation, because you knew why he did. At least, later you did. But your heart couldn’t cope with the heartbreak and you asked for the time off anyways. You needed it. At least, your heart did. You owed her that much.

Spencer looked defeated as he stood in front of you. Like he couldn’t lose the one thing that seemed to fit in the puzzle piece of the void. He knew he didn’t deserve you. And he would be okay with the fact if you had just kicked him out this second.

Instead, you stood in front of him and your shoulders sank out of defense mode and into a shy tone. You thought to yourself for a moment before you turned back to him.

“Spencer,” You start hoarsely and walk towards him slowly and carefully like he was ready to break like glass. “How come you let me into your apartment after what happened to Maeve? You could’ve let JJ in or Garcia.” The burning question lingered for so long, you had taken the opportunity to ask here and now.

His answer was simple. “Because you’ve seen me in that state before. It’s so easy to mask my emotions in front of JJ or Garcia or Morgan. With you, I knew I could feel anything and not have you look at me out of pity. Because you’ve been there before.”

You swallow at that answer as you walk over to him, face to face with him. (Of course, you’re a tad shorter than him so you have to look up at him a bit).

You extend a hand and caress his face with your palm and he nuzzles into it like a cat to a scratch post and closes his eyes tightly as he grabs your wrist, as if he’s wanting to keep your hand there. Your eyes lilt down from his eyelids to his plump lips and you shake your head.

“Where did we go wrong?” You ask in a whisper. And you’re almost afraid for his answer. You’re entirely aware of where you went wrong. It was your fault, after all. And suddenly, you don’t want to hear his answer as he parts his mouth and looks into your eyes. “Never mind,” You say. “I remember.” Your tone is somber.

And Spencer knows why. Sure, he was upset and honestly, he had the right to be after you kept the fact that their close friend had faked her death and you knew about it but didn’t tell him. But he was willing to put that all behind him just to have you back in his life again.

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” He said and you looked up at him with wide eyes at this. “It was a long time ago. And I can’t stand not having you in my life any longer.”

“Spencer…”

“I love you.”

The words fall out of his mouth so easily. “I love you, so much. I know we didn’t get it right last time but I want to, this time. I have always loved you.”

“But Maeve?” You ask.

“She was my past and I’ll always be grateful for the time that I had with her, even if it was short.” He admits but he takes your face into his hands, so tenderly as he looks you in the eyes. “But you… I’ll be damned if you’re not my future, Y/n. I’m sorry for how I’ve been. I’m sorry for how I’ve acted. You’re stuck in my head and I just… can’t seem to get you out of it, not that I’ve ever wanted to, anyways. But, Y/n, I’d go back to you. In a heartbeat. And my head is the most clearest it’s ever been so don’t you dare accuse me of just saying this on a whim. Because it’s not a whim.”

Spencer Reid knew you too damn well. He’d broken your heart in two, sure, but when it healed, it continued to still beat for him. You’ve always loved him and you never stopped. He held the darkest parts of you but he never once tried to fix them, he embraced them.

“I love you.” He said, out of breath. “Will you let me love you again?”

You stare up at him and instead of answering, you lean impossibly closer and your lips graze his and you don’t know who leans closer — you or him — (you later confirm that it was definitely him) and your lips connect.

The coffee taste is familiar in his mouth as his lavender scent fills your nostrils and he holds your face closely as he swallows you whole. Eventually, breathing becomes a chore and Spencer takes this opportunity to set you on the kitchen counter as his lips connect with your neck and you close your eyes as you feel all of him all at once.

Your hands explore his back, trying to shake his cardigan off of him — no matter how sexy it looks on him — and you are successful as it comes off of him and lands on the floor, revealing one of his dress shirts underneath.

You’re too busy admiring his body when he takes a moment, looking at you and taking in your features. He’s been here before. You’ve been here before. He’s home.

Realizing what he’s done, he knows you deserve better than being mauled on your marble counter and looks at you for permission before hoisting you to his waist and finds your bedroom, letting you get down and lay on your bed as you look at him, only in love and admiration.

He begins to unbutton his dress shirt and tear off his slacks and you take this opportunity to shake out of your sweatpants and your hair out of your elastic hair band. He’s left in his boxers and you’re left in your top and underwear.

He stares down at you, eyes full of lust and love and he smirks down at you and God, that should not have been so hot.

Spencer leaned down to kiss your lips and then kissed your neck and your collarbone. He shakes you out of your top and kisses each your breasts and then your bare stomach and then gets to his destination and with nimble fingers, pulls at the waistband of your underwear and pulls them off, flinging them across the room and looks at you as your rest yourself on your elbows so you can see the show.

You feel as his hot breath sigh into your pussy and you tilt your head back, dizzy by the sight in front of you. You had to have been dreaming. Surely, this is God’s cruel way of hurting you even more by making you have a vivid sex dream about your ex-boyfriend. (Or was he your boyfriend again?)

But when his tongue licks a stripe over your entrance, it’s confirmed. You’re definitely not dreaming, but definitely on Cloud 9.

He licks at your hole a couple of times before putting his mouth on your clit and making figure-8s with his tongue and your dig your hands into his messy locks and pull him impossibly closer.

And with his hands, he takes them out of his hair and holds them, interlocking his fingers with yours and Jesus, you might cum too soon from the sight alone.

The one thing you always liked about Spencer in bed was his expertise on sex despite not being very experienced himself. After your first time together, you were surprised to find out he’d only done it one other time because of just how damn good he was at it.

You wanted to hold out for him, but the way he looked at you and then moaned into your pussy, “That’s it,” He said. “Cum on my tongue.” It made you cum. Hard. You gasped out his name as he lapped up everything you gave him.

Eventually, he let go of your hands and let you take breather as he climbed over you and stroked your face with his hand. “Are you okay? We can stop here.” Ever the gentleman, even after giving you an orgasm that made you think you’d gone to heaven.

“You are crazy if you think I’m going another day without having your dick inside of me.” You joked and he lightly chuckled as he removed his boxers and you eyed what you were working with.

Also, another reason you were surprised he wasn’t lucky with the ladies in the past before you. He was well endowed despite being lanky and skinny.

“Wait,” You stop before he can press his cock towards your pussy and he divides his attention right onto you, willing to end this right here and now because you stopped him. “Are you okay? Because if you want to stop, we can.”

His heart swells for you even more. He understands why you’re asking him. But he was true to his word. His head was the clearest it’d ever been.

“I’m the greatest I could ever be right now,” Spencer admits. “I’d only ever want to stop if you wanted me to.”

Your eyes bore into him as you smile at him, caressing his face with your index finger, touching his plump bottom lip with it and you see the essence of you on his face, something that reminded yourself that he belonged to you. And only you. “Ready?” He asks, breaking your focus from his lips and you nod as you gasp, “Yes.”

Spencer breaks his focus away from you for a moment as he slides himself towards your entrance. You gasp out as you feel him sheath himself into you and his fingers interlock with yours beside your head as he bottoms out into you. Your body welcomes him and it’s as if your body remembers his.

“God, you’re tight,” He told as he shut his eyes and tilted his own head back because of how good it felt. How good you felt. “You feel so good.”

“So do you.” You manage to get out and his head is tucked into your neck as you hear his whimpers as he rocks into you, his only wish to make you feel as good as you’re making him feel.

He mumbles into your collarbone, trying to take you to the edge with him with his words.

“You take me so well.”

“You’re so beautiful.”

“I love how you tighten around me.”

The praise had made you rock your own hips back into him as you plead, “Harder, Spencer, please.” You beg and he commands at your wish as he fucks you into the bed even harder now. Your whines are more high-pitched as your nails dig into his back as he rails you and your bed begins to creak loudly.

“Let’s—Let’s cum together,” Spencer tells. “Where do you want it?” You gasp, “Inside, inside, please.”

You beg him, wrapping your legs around his torso and he plows into you even harder and then you feel him shudder and that’s send you over the edge as you feel his hot seed paint your insides.

You stare up at the ceiling as he collapses over your body, his hand still tightly perched into yours and his hot breath panting over your collarbone. Your hand rakes over his now sweaty chocolate locks and you hold him close to your body, not ready to let him go. It’s so peaceful as you both sit there in the silence.

But eventually, all good things come to an end and you whimper as he pulls out of you due to how sensitive you are. You close your eyes in slumber as he leaves the room, muttering something to you before he leaves and the next time you open your eyes, he’s back with a bottle of water and a warm rag to clean you up.

He takes a moment to gawk at your pussy and his cum leaking out of you before cleaning you up. You flinch at the contact at first, but he assures to you that it’s mandatory to clean you up after sex.

When he’s done, he expels the rag into your hamper and tucks you in under the covers, shortly joining you after he does so.

You turn on your side, facing him and going to hold by his torso and Spencer smiles to himself as he wraps his arms around you and quickly leans over to grab the water bottle and you open your eyes as he opens up the cap and puts the bottle to your mouth, wanting you to at least take a sip. You do so and he smiles as he puts the cap back on and then puts the bottle on the desk next to the bed.

Spencer looks down at you, playing with a strand of your hair and shortly rubbing your back soothingly, drawing out mathematical equations on your back and gazing lovingly down at you. When you woke up tomorrow, he’d be right here, right next to you and he wouldn’t leave until you were begging him to.

He meant every word he said to you. He loved you and he wanted to make it work with you again. The past was what it was — the past. And you were his future. He let you go once, over something that you had no choice but to keep from him and he let his pain get in the way of your relationship. No way was he about to make the same mistake again.

Over a few months ago, you two were barely speaking, only talking to each other when your jobs depended on it. And now, he couldn’t go another minute without speaking to you.

He got you back and this time, he had no intentions of letting you go.

[marsmaximoff]

💔; crimson pain -a different kind of blood

content warning: gn!reader who plays as number 028. (dating) angst. mentions of death, financial struggles, vomit, blood and fainting.

word count: 1935. i got a bit too carried away 😬

author’s note: finally, here it is. i’ve had this idea for so long but the universe wasn’t on my side, it seems. i really wanted to post it sooner 🥲. as always, constructive criticism is welcomed, and i apologize for the mistakes (english is my third language). oh, and tysm for the support on the jun-ho headcanons post! what do you mean over 1000 likes? that is insane 🤧🤧. i hope you’ll enjoy this one too. 🩷🩷🩷🩷

the sugary umbrella lays on your shaky hand, under the excruciating yet unmasked gaze of the soldier. once the ‘pass’ is given, you stand up ready to get out of there. “you made it!” the voice of the one that has become the closest thing to a friend you could have in here relaxes you ever so slightly. “i almost didn’t. can’t believe i’m adding umbrellas to my traumas list.” having chosen the hardest doesn't surprise you much, not with unluckiness being a part of your life since you can remember. “well, im just happy you did. i thought the square was simple, but now i feel like we should have just chosen the triangle instead, you know? take a look at the survivors; most of them chose it and….” his words fade as an eerie feeling takes over your body, like something’s wrong. turning around, you’re met with one of them, staring right at you completely stiff, not even holding the weapon, merely some feet away.

“is he looking at us?” he can sense the uneasiness too, it seems. “let’s just go.” you can still feel his unfamiliar gaze on your neck, sending a shiver down your spine.

the doors opening break the silence and the rare calmness of the room. “player 028?” your body freezes completely. a stomach drop follows, and your heart rate skyrockets. no. nonono. you’ve done nothing wrong. is it the dalgona? the figure was perfectly carved out; you made sure of it. are they gonna kill you? two soldiers stand by the entrance, waiting. with a final glance at your friend, who is most definitely thinking the same, you reach the pink guards. you don’t even know what to say, should you beg for mercy? try to stay as cooperative as possible? “be quick.” what? the other one grabs your arm and begins to lead you somewhere. “i-i don’t-” your hands are shaking. “please, i didn’t do anything wrong...” begging it is. “keep. walking.” the words are almost a whisper, tho demanding. a hint of desperation can be heard as well. “okay, okay, ok-” wait. why did those words- no. you’re going crazy. it’s just the anxiety, the fear. 

the stranger takes you to the bathrooms and quickly closes the door. you step back. again. and once more. what now? he wouldn’t shoot you here, right? and why the hell does he look so tense? his hands move to his mask and make it disappear, and with it, the remaining bit of sanity you had.

the nausea from a few seconds ago comes back stronger, maybe you will die today. “jun-ho…” your voice is almost unrecognizable, tho a miracle, given the struggle breathing has become. “what are you doing here?” “i could ask you the same thing.” he’s angry, of course he is, but the hurt in his eyes pains you the most. “no….you need to get out of here.” god. you can feel yourself spiraling. nothing makes sense. “i will. and im taking you with me.” “h-how- when did- i-“ cold sweat has completely taken over your palms. “wait….wait. was it you?…. this morning?” he nods. “i found the damn card they gave you at yours and my brother’s house” what? “in-ho…?” why does everything keep getting worse? “have you seen him?” surely you would remember something like that, “n-no. maybe before the first game…..” you heed your legs’ warning to give up and sit down. “why are you doing this? i dont understand.” it’s not like he could. “they let you out. and you didn’t seek me. you hid yourself. again. i had to learn what was going on from a random man at the station. not you!!” silence between you had never felt this suffocating before, nor the atmosphere so uncanny. “don’t you realize how dangerous this is? they are killing innocent people! haven’t you realized?! 79 have died today. just because of a stupid cookie? what do you think you are doing?! you could have gotten yourself killed! you have no idea how worried i’ve been.” you don’t look at him. this shouldn’t be happening, he wasn’t supposed to find out.

“please, honey. this is insane and you know it. let’s get out of this madness.” the change in his tone of voice is evident, bordering the plea. it’s obvious he’s making an effort to remain calm, to use less confrontational comments. “i can’t.” “yes, you can. we’ll leave the same way i got here, don’t worry. no one will see us.” but you really can’t. you know that well. he sighs, “why didnt you tell me? how could you hide something like this from me? i thought we trusted each other.” 

distress seems to have replaced the blood running through your veins. “i would have helped you, always. i can still do it. if you need money, i’ll give it to you, it’s not a problem.” he keeps going after your negative. “i will. we can find another way-” “there isn't.” “of course there is. i have my savings, we’ll use them. i can ask for a raise. mr kim owes me after all this time. and i could do more hours-”

“its not FUCKING ENOUGH!” the sharpness of your words cuts all over his face. pain flows out, dripping a bloody red. more silence. you could drown in it. well, in for a penny, in for a pound.

“my parents’ house is gonna get seized.” a burning throat accompanies the confession. “i messed up like crazy.” the expected embarrassment doesn’t show up, instead, regret does. “it’s not your fault.” how can he say that? “it is. i got them into this, I'll get them out.” “and you think risking your life here is the only way to do it? thats not true. god, why didn’t you tell me?” you rub your temple. “that doesn’t matter now. you-you need to get out, all this is suspicious.” you are not only trying to avoid the question, the guards could notice at any moment. “i told them you were gonna throw up.” “vomit or not you’re still in the bathroom with a player.” for some seconds, the only noise that can be heard is the shatter of your heart. “honey, listen to me. your parents wouldn’t want this. they don’t even blame you, im sure. how could they ever wish for something at the expense of their daughter’s life?” but the guilt is too heavy, too imprinted on your mind. “it’s not about me. if it were my house, i wouldn’t care, but it’s theirs. i would never forgive myself for not doing anything.” “and there are so many things you could do that don’t need you participating in some psychopaths’ games! do you really not see how dangerous and demented this is? please leave with me.” “jun-ho. think about it. if i ended up here, even after they gave us a second chance, it’s because i want to. no one forced me, and i’m old enough to know what i’m doing.” your replies are getting colder, which you hate. but it’s the only way to make him understand. “besides, they’re all kids' games. they’re easy.” you can only hope he won’t sense your attempt at self-persuasion. “they are shooting people. you could be dead. and i would have never seen you again, or known what had happened.” the urge to cry gets stronger with every word, to dive into his arms and finally feel some sort of calmness, warmth, love.

“i’m sorry that i hurt you, that i made you worry and feel like i couldn’t trust you. but i won’t apologize for being here.” “i don’t want you to apologize. i only want you to get out of here and not die.” his desperation has increased so much it’s swallowed your own distress. “i’ve already won two, i can make it to the end.” you refute. but you read him easily, he is planning to get you out without your agreement, somehow.

“please.” now it’s you that pleads. “if you love me, let me stay.”

his eyes widen, you see them watering. his heartbreak drowns out yours. you are aware you’ve never said anything as painful before. it hurts. more than anything they could do to you here. perhaps you are already dead. “how can you ask me something like this?” maybe you’re desperate, or too blinded by the blame that’s rotting on your insides. or perhaps it’s love. “get out of here. stay safe. and don’t tell the police, jun-ho. don’t even think about stopping the games. i need this, don’t ruin it.” god you don’t recognize yourself anymore. how nice it would be to go back when things were easy. when remorse didn’t control yourself, and you were happy with him. “what do you expect me to do if you die?” “i won’t” “you can’t know that! how can i let the love of my life risk it all when i know i could do something?” understanding such perspective is effortless. if it were the other way around, you too would act like he is.

you approach him for the first time, god how you craved it. your hands cup his pained yet beautiful face and a tear drops. “i missed you.” he says quietly, unable to stay angry at you for long. “i missed you too.” you answer back, wiping the tear. “i missed your face, your voice, your touch. i miss your kisses.” things already ache enough like this, so you give in. the kiss is soft, so fragile, like a bit more intensity would make it disappear. “i love you.” he whispers resting his forehead on yours. “i love you too.”

a knock on the door destroys the illusion. shit. “lay on the floor.” “what?” “lay on the floor”, he repeats, walking towards the door while putting his mask back on, “and play along.” the door opens and the same voice from earlier speaks. “what do you think you’re doing in there?” may that unluckiness give you a rest for some minutes. “she passed out. she was taking too long and not answering back so i entered and found her unconscious.” footsteps grow louder. “player 028…. i don’t remember any health issues on the file… fuck.” you stay as still as possible, it sounds plausible, given the stress. “take care of it, i’ll let the boss know. and don’t take longer.” with that, he exits the room, and you thank his unwillingness to deal with sensitive issues.

sitting back up, jun-ho kneels to your level. “you look good for a faint.” a hint of a smile appears on your face. “are you mad at me?” “i was. mostly worried. i don’t like this at all.” you grab his gloved hands. “i’ll be okay, believe me.” he doesn’t. he can’t. “please, be careful. and think about it. if you change your mind, i’ll be waiting.” you won’t. you wouldn’t let yourself. but you nod. “you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. i hope you’ll carry that with you. i love you so damn much.” his voice breaks, and you tell yourself it’s time to go back, this conversation can only get more and more devastating for you both. you offer the bleeding and broken pieces of your heart. not meaning to cut him this time. and he takes them. how could he not treasure them? you kiss again. it tastes different this time. like farewell. 

and when you get out of the room, you both know that was the last time you’ll see each other. 

[unfortunatelyphoenix]

Ok, so I know that the GIW base got blown to smithereens but if they really are a part of the government then there is probably at least 1 in each state, meaning Danny isn't as safe as he first thought and that brings in so much potential angst. So ima give a small prompt/scenario to the people who actually know what's going on in these fandoms other than the odd episode or two that they watched when they were still a kid.

The GIW that were stationed in New Jersey had recently gotten a very strong reading from the city of Gotham, and while the place usually has a lower reading thanks to what's constantly happening in that hell city this is way more than normal, so they go and investigate it. This team likely hasn't heard of Phantom before, and if they did they think he died in the explosion, so when they go to investigate and inevitably find Trickster during the night they think that he's a new ghost harassing the living and causing problems. Danny on the other hand is scared shit-less when he sees this group of GIW and immediately freaks out, having thought he had gotten rid of them or at least away from them when he set the bomb off, so he immediately goes to flee in terror. As he was fleeing them though one of the agents managed to hit him in the abdomen with one of their weapons, and while not a direct hit it's still really bad. Like it's causing him unimaginable pain and making his powers freak out badly, so he is crying as he holds his bleeding stomach as he desperately tries to get away from these guys.

Eventually, at some point of him fleeing, he runs into another rogue somehow, maybe he runs into Harley Quinn and Poison Ivy or something idk. But what matters is that this kid, who has never shown anything goofy kindness, even in the few rogue fights he's been in (and those are more so just bickering or him being a lighthearted prankster), is crying and absolutely terrified with a horrendous injury to his abdomen that's somehow causing his powers to freak out. Whoever found him knows this couldn't have been one of the bats or birds since they wouldn't hurt a rogue this bad, so they assume it to be another rogue (probably Joker or someone of the like) and go to beat them up cuz no one attack The Friendliest Rogue(™) but instead of it being a rogue it's a group of government agents from out of town, immediately making them more pissed off. So they quickly deal with the threat before going back to focusing on Trickster to try and help him while also somehow passing word on to the other more decent rogues to keep an eye out for any government issues who are in white because they tried to murder the Golden Retriever Puppy (Danny) and eventually this gets into the greater public and now everyone hates the GIW, because while Trickster maybe strangely friendly he is a Gothamite through and through and nobody messes with one of their own.

As this is going down the rogue(s) who found him are attempting to help heal this poor guy who is absolutely terrified and in an unbearable amount of pain and learn a couple things.

1. This is a literal child.

2. He has a ton of scars, especially lichtenberg scars.

3. He has a very bad history with this specific group of government people and is absolutely terrified of being dissected by them.

4. He wasn't born with his powers and misses his parents (probably mumbled this one in his sleep or when he was in too much pain to think straight).

This ends up leading to the conclusion that Trickster was likely kidnapped as a small child by the government and experimented on him. This makes everyone even MORE pissed and ready to throw down with these assholes.

GOTHAM'S NEW ROGUE 3

-An hour before-

Danny is hatching a new plan today. Usually, he goes after the rogues who decide to make a spectacle or show for the public. But today, he will be the one to make it.

As all the devices are put together, Danny readies himself to turn on the screen. Lightly slapping his cheeks a few times Danny brace himself for his first solo stream.

*Live On*

Trickster: Well hello everyone! Isn't today unusually too peaceful. With all the rogues in Arkham and no one for me to bother, I decided to do the most out of my time.

Danny walks to a big hulking machine under wraps by a big piece of cloth. Danny pulls the cloth revealing a big machinery that has a giant clock in the middle.

Trickster: Over here I have my latest invention. I realized that people in this city really love coffee so what I do is make a machine that will spread gasses of caffeine into the air for people to consume via breathing. I even make sure that the special caffeine concoction wouldn't affect children because if I know one thing, it is that children with caffeine are scarier than any rogue.

Danny walks to the panel with a comically large red button with the word 'start' on it right under the clock.

Trickster: Now, when I click this button, it will turn on the timer, which is 30 minutes by the way, and when it runs out, the machine will release the caffeine into the air making everyone unable to sleep for one whole day. What is the effect on the city you may ask? I honestly don't know. But it will be funny if tomorrow everyone just drops dead asleep on the ground at work tomorrow.

Danny suddenly stops talking and slams the button heavily.

Trickster: Anyway, the timer starts now. Come find me if you wanna stop it.

Danny then leaves the screen and lets the camera focus on the clock as it ticks down. Danny sits on a nearby table and continues tinkering with his new special glitter bomb.

It's been 30 minutes when suddenly a window is broken and comes in Batman in all his glory. Except what Batman sees isn't the machine or even Trickster. It is a maze full of what he deems as traps laying around. Batman carefully trudges through the maze as he skillfully disarms the traps that are laid on the ground.

It takes Batman a whole 25 minutes to finally pass the maze before he finally sees the machine without Trickster anywhere in sight. He slowly and vigilantly approaches the machine and sees a small blue button with the word 'stop' right beside the red button.

If Batman had more time, he wouldn't have done anything rash but right now he doesn't have the time nor the ability to safely disarm the machine without making any mistake.

He pushes the button and the clock stops right then and there. He stares at his surrounding vigilantly expecting an ambush. And he is not wrong. There is indeed an ambush. Just not a normal ambush.

The machine that has stopped moving suddenly begins to shake heavily and Batman immediately jumps back to distance himself from whatever the machine is about to do.

Except when he lands, an ice forms under his legs trapping him and he tries to break the ice but the ice is very hard and impossible for him to break immediately at least. He is going to request for backups when the machine turns into tiny robots that start to surround him. He tries to smash all of them but not only are they strong and durable, EMP bombs also don't work on them.

After struggling for a while, some of the robots finally climb their way onto his head. One of them hangs from his mask and releases a gas from its mouth. Batman starts to lose consciousness and just as he is about to pass out Trickster appears in front of him.

Danny looks at Batman and orders his robots to tie him upside down, while rummages through his belt. Danny pulls out a lot of things from smoke bomb that accidentally explodes when Danny throws them to a bat shark repellent? What the hell? Anyway, after going through his belt for a while he finally found his target.

The Batwallet.

Danny turns to the hidden camera and starts to monologue.

Trickster: Hello hello everyone. Today, we have a very special guest. Presenting to you an unconscious Batman! And right here I have the strongest weapon in the world. The Batwallet! Hahahahaha.

Trickster: Now, you might be thinking. What is so strong about the wallet? And that my dear friend is the reason I am here today. Let's take a look at what's inside shall we.

Danny pulls out a black card with a bat symbol in the middle of it. Showing it to the camera, Danny gives out the biggest smile he can (somehow).

Trickster: This is the Bat credit card. I know. Sounds stupid. But you know what isn't stupid. The limit on this card. There is no limit. That means I can buy whatever I want with this.

Danny then pulls out a few polaroid pictures from the wallet that catches his attention.

Trickster: What's this? The bats secret identity? Boring. Why would I need to know who they are? Wait. This one is funny. Is this little Nightwing? Hahahaha. He's so little. *Gasp* Little Red Hood. Aww schmuck. I wanna share this with someone. I'm keeping this. I'm sure Batman has backup of these pictures.

Danny then phases the card and the photos into his body and picks up the camera.

Trickster: All right. That's it for today's stream. Oh yeah. We are in the warehouse south of the Bowery. I will shoot a flare after this for you to come get Batman. Well, you better come fast or other people will come for him.

After that the stream is cut off and a flare is shot from one of the warehouses in the Bowery. When the Bats arrived, all that was left was an unconscious Batman, tied up from the ceiling with his belt on the ground.

While the bats are busy extracting Batman back to the cave, Danny is having a feast at the Batburger. On his table, there are 50 sets of burgers, fries and cokes (the soda). Along with his food, he has pretty much paid all the food for everyone inside the Batburger. People were pretty on the fence when he first entered, but Gothamite being Gothamite, they readily accepted him when he paid for their food.

While Danny is busy eating, a big buff guy in a suit approaches him with his own food.

???: Good evening, Mr. Trickster. May I eat with you?

[kateswallofweird]

EX-BOYFRIEND DICK GRAYSON PT. 2 . . .

dick grayson x reader; cw angst ish fluff ish, second chance at a failed past relationship, attempted mugging with a gun, blood

💭 we don't talk enough about brenton thwaites as dick grayson

PART 1 HERE

it had been nearly three weeks since his message, and dick grayson had only left confusion in his wake and a ghost of himself in your home.

so maybe you were distracted, and that's why you didn't realize the man hiding in the shadows until the feeling of a gun pressed to your back on your way home stopped you in your tracks. then, a slimy demand for all your money and your bag was whispered near your ear. and the alley you found yourself in seemed darker, more sinister as your blood thrummed with a jumpy pulse.

after living in gotham for so long, it almost slipped from you the dangers of the city. you'd grown so accustomed to the filth, the chaos, and the craziness of it all.

"i—"

but you hadn't even the chance to spill out pleas for mercy when the cold metal fell away from you and you heard a sickening crunch followed by a grunt.

you turned around, nerves afire but curiosity winning out, and you stilled at the sight.

it was funny the way life worked—you'd committed yourself to not calling him, and yet when you needed him most, he was there in a flash.

you'd forgotten how good he looked in his uniform—the skin tight blues and black meshing well together and only leaving so much to imagination. he was beautiful, and your heart tugged against your chest with painful familiarity.

"shit, are you okay?" dick was before you in an instant, fingers gentle as he checked you for injuries, staining your clothes red with every motion.

"you've got blood on your hands." it wasn't so much as a complaint as it was an observation while the shock began to subside.

"i've done worse," he said.

your eyes fell to the crumpled figure on the ground doused in traces of himself, gun kicked to the side and bullets amess. dick, it seemed, had forgone his escrima sticks and wingdings in favor of his fists.

and all at once all the emotions you'd stuffed away deep inside you that came from his voice mail and being held at gunpoint and now seeing dick again for the first time in two years came raining down on you. you weren't sure whether to cry or to crash out, but before you knew it, you were taking your bag and smacking your ex-boyfriend with it.

"i was doing well without you," you choked out, unrelenting in your hits. "i was getting over you. you broke my heart and i was gluing it back piece by piece, and—and then you said you missed me. you missed me?" you breathe in too fast and let out a loud huff, feeling your arms burn the more you try to take your bag to his body. "and then you have the fucking audacity to save me."

dick stayed quiet through it all. he didn't bother to block your blows, and if you had looked closer you might have seen the slightest trace of a smile ghosting his face.

"you're mad i took down your mugger?" he asked, amusement evident into his voice.

and you almost launch your bag at his face with half the mind to pull off his stupid domino mask. "are you seriously having fun right now?"

"i'm just happy we're talking."

"i'm going to—"

but dick catches you by the wrist this time, and your bag drops to the floor with an unceremonious thud.

"unhand me."

he does, but neither of you move away. you refuse to meet his gaze, but it's piercing. you're close enough to feel his breath, the rise and fall of his chest and his beating heart.

"i'm sorry." his whisper comes with the weight of heavy memories, the very words he'd uttered when they'd broken up. it was a reminder of all they had amounted to together—one simple apology and two broken hearts.

what's to say things would be different this time?

"take me back," he asks, and it's unlike him to be like this, to plead.

"it's been two years," you reason, though your resolve is weakening as your heart falls into sync with his.

"and i've spent every moment of it planning this conversation. i was young and stupid before, but i've grown now. i know what i want and where i want to be and every road leads me back to you." dick takes your hand into his, careful as he links them. "it's always been you."

you're scared—to fall, to love, to split yourself open to the world again for him to see. to love is to be vulnerable. it's acquainting yourself with the possibility of pain but praying it never comes. it's risk and variable, jumping into the unknown.

but when you finally look, meeting his stare and wading through the electric blue of his eyes, your worries melt away. because to love is also learning to trust (again). it's forgiveness and beginnings. it's change.

"okay."

💭 shitty cheeseball ending i know but happy endings have always been a little difficult for me. that aside i don't think i'll post a part three to this. it just feels right to leave it here like this

[httpsdana]

hey love x

can you write something about reader not feeling like anybody cares about her anymore like pau has been distant and her friends have been excluding her and stuff? just a lot of angst as im dealing with some friendship problems rn.

it’s okay if you don’t! love you and your writing ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Mirrorball~Pau Cubarsi

・❥・prompt list

・❥・masterlist -> part 2

・❥・who I write for

・❥・a/n: part 2?

It had been there for a while, that nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach. It wasn’t particularly one thing that made her feel like that. It was everything.

After her semester was over and she had a break for a few months, she expected herself to go out and enjoy herself. But now halfway through this vacation all she did was sit at home, away from everyone.

Not on purpose though, all she wanted to do was be around her loved ones. But it seemed like the feeling wasn’t mutual. Her friends, who had been there with her through her whole life, almost seem like a distant memory now.

All she sees is pictures of them all together, hangouts that are hidden from her, an invitation never sent her way.

And Pau. Oh Pau. He was always her person, even before they started dating, he was the only person who was with her all the way.

But something changed. The phone calls started getting shorter and the messages she sent were left with no replies. She didn’t understand what had happened. It was like he was slowly pulling away and she didn’t even have the courage to ask him about it, afraid she might lose him for good.

The day everything went down began like every other day. She always had that little glimpse of hope that she’d wake up to one of Pau’s ‘good morning’ messages, that were a part of her old routine, but again all that hope shattered when she stared at the picture of her and Pau on her lockscreen, no messages, nothing.

The picture now mocked her; how she kept all this foolish hope even after everyone made it clear they didn’t want her around anymore. But she didn’t want to believe it, not now.

She sat on her bed, the house quiet after her parents left for a while, something about a family funeral all the way across Spain.

Usually she loved some quiet, but now it was suffocating. She grabbed her phone from her nightstand, opening her messages app.

She hesitated before opening her friends’ group chat, the one that had been silent for a while, which made her realize that another one exists; one she wasn’t a part of.

Her fingers typed out the message, and before she could reread it, she hit send.

y/n Hey, does anyone maybe wanna go to the mall?

The message was left with no reply for about an hour, with most of the girls seeing it but not replying. She let out a sigh, the hole in her chest deepening as she once again felt invisible to everyone. The hope in her came back when one of the girls started typing.

Isabela I'll go if Gabriela goes

Her heart dropped once again as she read the message. She didn't wanna go for her, she wanted to go if Gabriela went.

Her phone buzzed once again, more messages from the group chat

Gabriela fine I'll go

y/n swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat, forcing herself to type out a response.

y/n cool. let's meet there at 2

She dropped her phone on the bed, already regretting it, but she needed the air outside the house.

It was 2:30, they were late. She had been sitting there just scrolling through Instagram, seeing the recent pictures of Pau in training.

His carefree smile, how he didn't seem to focus on anything besides training, not even her.

“Sorry we're late, we had more important things before,” a voice said, making her look up at the two girls. Though her voice lacked any sign of guilt, y/n smiled and stood up.

“It's fine. where should we go first?” she asked, clutching her bag tighter.

“Isa?” Gabriela turned to the girl who thought for a second before answering.

“We should go to Zara. I've seen some things online that are perfect for tonight's party” she said, before Gabriela nudged her quickly.

y/n's smile faltered, before forcing it back again. Another party she wasn't invited to.

“Let's go,” she mumbled, though the girls had already started to make their way to the shop.

In the store, she felt like a ghost again. The girls were going through the shelves, suggesting clothes for each other, helping each other choose the perfect outfit for tonight.

“I think this color looks good on you” she tried joining the conversation, smiling at Isabela.

The girl gave her a look, before turning to her friend, making y/n's smile fade again.

“Gabriela? What do you think?” she asked, giving her a spin.

Gabriela inspected her dress for a second before shaking her head.

“No, I liked the one before better,” she said. Isabela nodded and went back to the changing room.

y/n opened the door of the house, dropping the keys on the nearby table and rushing to her room.

She thought a day out would make her feel better, but all she felt now was worse, and all she wanted to do was talk to Pau.

He was always the one to make her feel better, and she hoped, just slightly, that he'd answer her and listen to her.

She opened her phone, hesitantly typing a message to Pau before pressing send.

Hey Pau, I had a really bad day and I just wanna talk to you, please 

She stared at the message for what felt like an hour, just waiting for something. anything.

After about an hour, she opened her phone again, only for her to see that Pau had seen her message. no reply

That was the last straw. Tears welled up in her eyes quickly, and before she could stop them, they were already falling down her cheeks.

She just wanted to feel visible for someone. She wanted to believe that she wasn’t alone; that someone cared. Her family. Her friends. Pau.

my taglist: @barcapix @paucubarsisimp @spidybaby @mxryxmfooty @n0vazsq @joaosnovia @ilovebarcaaa @f1lover55 @jajajhaahaha (lmk if you want to be added!!)

[jenosbliss]

Hellooo!! Can I request a fic where the mc is being cheated on by another member and when she finds out she turns into a mess (the sad one, not the one that parties and things like that) until she randomly meets jisung (like at the park or the convenience store) and she starts to heal with his help and they end up in a relationship

— he healed something he didn’t break

pairing. fem!reader x jisung (ft. sion) | genre. angst, fluff | wc. 1.3k | warnings. mentions of infidelity and depression

a/n:: hey anon! i loved your request, the way you asked for the reader’s emotional state… i relate to it sm. and i hope sion as your ex is okay? bcs i just can’t imagine any dreamie there :(

It didn’t break you all at once.

When you discovered the truth about Sion—his betrayal, the lies he so effortlessly told—it felt more like a slow unraveling than a sudden crash. At first, there was disbelief. You stared at the picture on your phone, the image of him with someone else, their bodies too close, their smiles too intimate. You’d convinced yourself there had to be an explanation.

But when you confronted him, the betrayal solidified into something colder, sharper. His excuses were pathetic at best: “It’s not like we were serious-serious.” “You’re overreacting.” “Maybe we weren’t working out anyway.”

His words played on repeat in your head, each one a hammer blow to your self-worth.

We weren’t working out anyway? He hadn’t even given you the chance to know there was a problem. You’d been investing your time, your energy, your love—only to find that he’d been giving his to someone else.

In the days that followed, you fell into a dark haze of heartbreak. The lively, hopeful version of you seemed to vanish. You stopped answering calls from friends, retreating into your small apartment, leaving texts unread and the world outside your door ignored.

Self-doubt crept in like an unwanted guest, whispering cruel questions. Was I not enough? Was it something I did? Did I deserve this? Every memory you’d shared with Sion felt tainted, every happy moment now twisted into something painful.

You barely ate. Barely slept. Your reflection in the mirror became unfamiliar—eyes dull, shoulders slumped, the energy you once carried replaced by a weariness you couldn’t shake.

The convenience store was your only escape.

You went there late at night when the world was quiet, hoping to avoid seeing anyone who might recognize you. The bright, sterile lights and rows of snacks were strangely comforting in their mundanity.

It was during one of those visits that you met him.

You were staring blankly at a shelf of instant noodles when someone accidentally bumped into you. The impact knocked a pack from your hand, and you barely had the energy to bend down and pick it up.

“Oh—sorry!”

The voice was warm and apologetic, and when you turned, you were met with a pair of wide, kind eyes. A boyish-looking guy crouched to retrieve the noodles, holding them out to you with a sheepish smile.

“Didn’t see you there,” he said, scratching the back of his neck.

“It’s fine,” you mumbled, avoiding his gaze as you took the packet.

The question caught you off guard, your lips parting in surprise. “What?”

“You just… look like you’re having a rough day,” he said, his voice soft but earnest. “Sorry, that was probably rude.”

You shook your head, hugging your arms around yourself. “No, it’s fine. I’m just… tired.”

He nodded, seemingly unsure whether to say more. “Well, uh… I hope it gets better,” he said finally, offering you a small, sincere smile before stepping past you.

You watched as he stepped past you, his presence lingering even after he disappeared down another aisle. For the first time in weeks, something stirred inside you—an unfamiliar warmth cutting through the numbness.

You didn’t expect to see him again.

But a few nights later, there he was, standing by the freezer section, holding two tubs of ice cream and looking impossibly indecisive.

“Hey,” he said when he noticed you, his face lighting up. “Noodles, right?”

“What?”

“Last time,” he said, grinning. “You were holding noodles. I’m terrible with names, so I gave you one based on context.”

You couldn’t help but laugh—a small, involuntary sound that felt foreign after weeks of silence. “That’s a terrible nickname.”

“Better than nothing,” he teased, setting one of the ice cream tubs back on the shelf. “I’m Jisung, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, the weight in your chest lifting slightly.

“Nice to officially meet you, Y/N,” he said, offering a lopsided smile.

The convenience store became your accidental meeting place.

You’d run into Jisung every few nights, sometimes exchanging quick hellos, other times lingering to chat about nothing in particular. He had a way of making the world feel lighter, like the heaviness that followed you around could be momentarily lifted by his presence.

He never pushed, never asked more than you were willing to share. Instead, he filled the silence with stories—about his quirky neighbors, his obsession with trying every snack in the store, the stray cat that sometimes followed him home.

Slowly, you found yourself opening up.

One night, as the two of you stood by the drinks cooler, you broke the silence with a quiet confession. “I don’t understand why people cheat.”

Jisung turned to you, his expression softening.

“If they fall out of love,” you continued, your voice trembling, “why can’t they just… say it? Why fake it? Why pretend to care?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his gaze steady and thoughtful. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice gentle. “But it’s not your fault. Some people don’t know how to value what they have. That doesn’t mean you deserved it.”

His words settled over you like a warm blanket, soothing a wound you hadn’t realized was still raw.

As weeks turned into months, your conversations with Jisung grew longer. You started texting, too—random memes, late-night snack recommendations, and the occasional check-in when he hadn’t seen you at the store.

With him, you felt safe. He never treated you like you were broken, never made you feel like you had to rush to “move on.” Instead, he showed you that healing wasn’t linear—it was messy and slow, but it didn’t have to be lonely.

He was patient, warm, and consistent in a way that felt like a balm to your battered heart.

One evening, the two of you sat on a bench in the park, watching the sun dip below the horizon. Jisung was telling a story about a stray dog that had followed him home, his hands animated as he described the encounter.

“You’re smiling,” he said suddenly, his voice tinged with surprise. “What?”

“You’re smiling,” he repeated, his lips curving into a soft grin. “It’s nice. I’ve missed seeing that.”

Your cheeks flushed as you looked away, but his words stayed with you, a warmth blooming in your chest.

It wasn’t until another late-night walk that everything changed.

The two of you were strolling through your neighborhood, the quiet hum of crickets filling the space between your words. You’d been talking about your plans for the future, your voice lighter than it had been in months.

Jisung stopped suddenly, his gaze turning serious. “You’re amazing, you know that?”

You turned to face him, your brows knitting together. “What are you talking about?”

“I mean it,” he said, stepping closer. “You’ve been through so much, but you’re still here. Still strong. Still kind. And…” He hesitated, his voice softening. “You make me want to be better, just by being you.”

Your breath caught, your heart racing as his words hung in the air. “Jisung…”

“I know this might be too soon,” he said quickly, his voice trembling slightly. “But if there’s even a chance you might feel the same way—”

You didn’t let him finish. Closing the distance between you, you wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest.

“I do,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his shirt. “I feel the same.”

Relief flooded his expression as he pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you like they’d been meant to hold you all along.

You realized that piece by piece, Jisung had helped you put yourself back together. And for the first time in a long time, you felt whole again.

navigation.

masterlist. nct dream | nct 127 | wayv

[wonupatootie]

홍지수 // Hong Jisoo [Joshua] Fic Recsᡣ𐭩 Part II

널 위한 위로가 되고 싶어 힘이 들 땐~

Main Recs Masterlist

➣Part I // Part II

MINORS DNI!!!!!!!

Please like and reblog the fics to show the creators love and support~

“City Lights” by @hannieween

[Series] || Fem!reader || rockstar au, neighbours with benefits, smut || Parts: 9 || Total W.C: 177k || Status: Completed

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Joshua Hong could be many things. For one, he is your next door neighbour. He is a rockstar, a relentless tease, a menace. But, ironically, he is always willing to lend a hand whenever you need it, regardless of the nature of your desires.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Wildest Dreams” by @viastro

Gn!reader || Fake dating au, best friends to lovers, fluff, humour || W.C: 6.8k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･it’s your last year of school forever, and you’re about to meet the most horrifying chapter of life: the real world. now worrying about your life’s lack of spontaneity, you decide to get married to your best friend in vegas for 24 hours.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Stolen Entries” by @bitchlessdino

Fem!reader || stalking au, thriller, smut || W.C: 10k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Diary entries of a man in love. Joshua knew he loved you the moment he laid his eyes on you and had to have you, even if it meant enduring the echoes of every intimate detail of every sexual encounter you’d had before him. But he knew you were worth the wait. He was worth the wait.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Vanilla” by @milfgyuu

Fem!reader || Friends to lovers, smut || W.C: 11.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Joshua has a secret but perhaps it’s not really a secret at all. Maybe you’ve just refused to see it in an effort to keep your feelings at bay.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Late Night Confessions” by @multiland

Fem!reader || friends to lovers, fluff, smut || W.C: 12k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･They say people turn into their most vulnerable selves in the middle of the night, can you trust yourself at 3 a.m. to keep hiding the crush you've been harboring on your friend?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“The Royal Gambit” by @idyllic-ghost

Fem!reader || royalty au, angst, fluff, smut, romance || W.C: 17.7k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Marriage should be a beautiful union between two lovers, but you did not love Prince Hong and he clearly did not love you. Everything you did, you did for your kingdoms - except when you started meeting him in quiet corners of the castle to take out your frustrations on each other. However, would this relationship be enough to hold together a marriage which your countries depended on?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Curse the Stars” by @shuadotcom

Afab!reader || 70s hollywood au, strangers to lovers, fwb to lovers, fluff, smut, little angst || W.C: 8.4k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Meeting someone at the disco to take home for the night is customary for you, especially in your line of work. But meeting this man on this night at this disco feels more like fate as Joshua becomes much more than just your routine one night stand.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Not According To Plan” by @the-boy-meets-evil

Fem!reader || fake dating au, strangers to friends to ??, fluff, slight angst, smut || W.C: ~22.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･your ex-fiance is getting married and everyone you know is going to be there. when he calls to ask if you're coming, you accidentally mention a boyfriend. which would be fine, if you weren't very single. thankfully your best friend comes through with the perfect solution when he sets you up with a friend of his. what could possibly go wrong?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Tell Me That You Love Me” by @wheeboo

Gn!reader || kdrama romance-esque, strangers to friends to lovers, fluff, slice of life, mild angst, slowburn || Parts: 2 || Total W.C: 37k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･in which you and joshua are simply different in more ways than one, yet only seem to find a common ground in struggling to chase your dreams. so why does life keep throwing you two at each other, despite your different worlds, and why does it feel so terrifyingly right?

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Lover Boy” by @starlightxsvt

Fem!reader || regency au, romance, historical, drama, slowburn, angst || W.C: 8.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･pining for someone like him is as scandalous as it can be but the heart wants what it wants and your heart wants him.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Skin” by @bratzkoo

Fem!reader || uni au, angst, fluff || W.C: 7.3k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･you’re doing great with your boyfriend of 5 months but when his ex drops a podcast talking about their past relationship and indirectly mentions you, your relationship takes on challenges you don’t know if you can handle.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Operation: Laundry Love” by @bratzkoo

Fem!reader || love at first sight, fluff || W.C: 9.1k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Joshua Hong falls in love at first sight with you at a laundromat and schemes his way into making you like him back.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Just Like That” by @kwanisms

Fem!reader || demon au, supernatural, angst, one-sided pining, smut, religious themes || W.C: 16k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･fantasizing about her handsome and sweet coworker has some unintended consequences for Y/N when an incubus shows up in her home after unintentionally summoning him with what she thought was just gibberish.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Lies And Butterflies” by @bluehoodiewoozi

Fem!reader || fake dating au, mostly fluff || W.C: 19.2k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Your roommate begged you to pretend to date him while his mom is in town for the month. The little crush you’ve had on him will either become your best friend or worst obstacle on this quest.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✮

“Calendar Killer” by @miabebe

Afab!reader || psych thriller, smut, supernatural elements || W.C: 14k

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･Was it really love if it didn't include just a little madness? What was love if it didn't cross the line? And how was it love if it didn't care whether it was the red of love and the red of blood?

Please let me know if the links have any problems~

[pandapetals]

Healing

Something shifts in you after Jean and Scott have their baby making you wonder if you and Logan should have kids.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair, trying for a baby, angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of blood, triggering topics, self-loathing, healing

a/n: been sitting on this one for a while. Not going to lie this fucking hurt to write. I cried so much. I have never been through this but i know a few people who have and i can’t even imagine the pain and strength they have.

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Jean beamed, her face glowing with a soft pride, as she held her baby boy close. His tiny hands curled around the fabric of her shirt, his chubby face peaceful as he dozed off in her arms. Over the past few months, you’d watched him grow from a fragile newborn, all soft whimpers and sleepy eyes, into a curious, squirming infant. It seemed like only yesterday he was swaddled and still, but now here he was, wide-eyed and alert to the world.

Scott stood beside Jean, his posture softer than usual, his typically intense gaze almost watery as he watched her gently rock their son. He looked at them both like they were the center of his universe. A quiet awe in his expression that made something tighten in your chest.

"He’s so precious," you said quietly, unable to tear your eyes away from the little family in front of you. The warmth between them radiated out, a kind of contentment that was hard to describe but impossible to miss.

Jean glanced up at you with a knowing smile, one that made you feel as though she could read you like an open book. "He is, isn’t he?" she said, her eyes sparkling. Then, almost without thinking, she added, "Makes you wanna have one, I bet?"

The words hung in the air for a second too long, and you felt your breath catch, an awkward chuckle slipping out before you could stop it. "Oh, kids aren’t really my thing," you blurted, your voice a little too quick, a little too high. "I mean, I love kids—who doesn’t—but, me... well..."

You trailed off as both Jean and Scott turned toward you, exchanging a quick, subtle glance. Their expressions were a mix of curiosity and mild confusion, like they hadn’t expected that answer, like maybe they were wondering why someone like you—someone married to Logan, no less—would feel that way.

The truth was, you’d never really discussed it. Not in depth. Sure, it had come up in passing a few times, but it was one of those conversations that lingered at the edges of your relationship, something neither of you had pushed too hard to figure out. Logan, with all his complications and dark past, never really seemed the type to want a family. And you? You weren’t sure if you did, either. It was easier not to think about it, to enjoy the life you had now—the two of you, perfectly in sync, no added weight of expectation.

But something had shifted recently. Maybe it was watching Jean and Scott, the way they orbited around their son like he was their entire world. Or maybe it was something deeper you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until now.

"Do you want to hold him?" Scott asked, his voice gentle, trying to break the tension he had sensed creeping in.

You shook your head quickly, hands coming up in protest. "No, it’s fine, really—"

Before you could finish the thought, Jean was already moving, carefully transferring her sleeping son into your arms. You froze for a moment, a rush of panic flooding through you as the small, warm weight of the baby settled against your chest.

"There you go," Jean said softly, stepping back with a smile.

For a heartbeat, you felt a strange rush of anxiety—what if he started crying? What if you held him wrong? As the baby squirmed lightly against you, something softened inside. His small face scrunched up for a moment, but he didn’t stir, and before you knew it, the panic eased into something warmer, something you weren’t sure you were ready to name yet.

"You’re a natural," Jean whispered, her smile widening as she watched you gently cradle her son.

You glanced down at the tiny face, his soft breathing rising and falling steadily, and for a moment, everything else seemed to fade away. There was something so... peaceful about it. The weight of him in your arms, the delicate rise and fall of his chest. It was calming in a way you hadn’t expected. Your mind drifted, just for a second, imagining what it would be like to have a child of your own, one that looked up at you with Logan’s piercing eyes, with his stubbornness and strength.

The thought caught you off guard, making your chest tighten. You had always been so certain that kids weren’t part of the plan, or at least, that’s what you told yourself. Now with this small life cradled in your arms, you weren’t so sure.

Logan’s low, familiar voice broke through your thoughts. "There you are," he muttered, stepping into the room. His eyes softened immediately when he saw you holding the baby, though he tried to hide it behind his usual gruff expression. "Didn’t know I was married to a babysitter now."

You smirked, though your heart was racing a little. "Jean practically forced me."

Logan grunted in response, but there was a subtle shift in his expression as he watched you. His eyes lingered on the baby for a moment longer than usual, and you could see something flicker there. He stepped closer, his hand gently resting on your lower back, warm and reassuring.

"Doesn’t look like you mind too much," he said, his voice softer than usual, his eyes meeting yours.

You shrugged, feeling the baby shift slightly in your arms. "It’s... nice," you admitted quietly, surprising even yourself with the truth of it. "Holding him, I mean."

Logan didn’t say anything right away, but you could feel him studying you, the way he always did when he was thinking something over. Finally, he nodded toward the baby, his voice low. "You look good like that."

You blinked, caught off guard. "Like what?"

His eyes dropped to the baby in your arms before meeting yours again. "Holdin’ him," Logan said quietly, his voice rough but filled with something more. "You look... happy."

You smiled, but there was a knot forming in your chest now, a new kind of weight pressing down. You couldn’t shake the image from your mind—Logan, holding a baby of your own, the two of you together as parents. It wasn’t something you had let yourself picture before, but now that it was there, you couldn’t unsee it.

Later that day, as you watched Logan outside, talking to Jubilee with that soft, fatherly look he sometimes wore, it hit you again. The way he was with her, with Rogue or the younger kids at the mansion—it was so natural, so instinctive. He had this way of guiding them, protecting them, even if he’d never admit it out loud.

You started to wonder if maybe Logan would make an incredible father. As much as you tried to deny it, the thought made your heart ache.

When Logan caught you watching him, he smirked as his eyebrow raised in curiosity. "What’re you lookin’ at?"

You shook your head, smiling softly. "Just you."

Logan came closer, wrapping his arm around your waist, his usual smirk softening. "Yeah?" he murmured. "What’s that look for?"

You hesitated, biting your lip. "Just... thinking."

"‘Bout what?"

You glanced up at him, your eyes searching his, and for the first time in a while, you didn’t brush the thought aside. "Logan," you started softly, your voice unsure but steady, "have you ever thought about... having kids?"

Logan’s eyes widened slightly, caught off guard by the question. He was quiet for a moment, his brow furrowing as he considered your words. Then, after what felt like forever, he sighed softly, pulling you a little closer. "I dunno," he admitted quietly, his voice rough. "Never thought I’d be good at it. But... maybe." His gaze met yours, something unspoken lingering between you. "What about you?"

You swallowed, your heart pounding. "I think... maybe I’m starting to."

Logan didn’t say anything, but his hand slipped into yours, his calloused fingers curling around yours. He gave your hand a gentle squeeze, his silence saying more than words could at that moment.

𓂃

In the days that followed, you couldn’t shake the thought from your mind. It was as if a switch had flipped inside you, and now you were noticing every little thing Logan did—the way he spoke softly to one of his students who was struggling, the way he offered a stern but patient lecture to one of the kids running down the hallway, his voice rough with that familiar gruffness but still carrying a warmth that hinted at something deeper. Every time, your heart tightened, as though it was trying to tell you something you hadn’t quite figured out yet.

The idea of having kids had never seemed urgent. It was like a vague notion floating somewhere in the distance, something other people did after getting married. For you and Logan, it hadn’t felt like a natural progression. You liked your life the way it was—just the two of you, wrapped up in each other. Lazy evenings spent tangled up on the couch, quiet mornings with coffee and teasing banter, spontaneous trips to the city where you wandered hand-in-hand without any real plan.

Now, with every small act of kindness, you saw Logan show, you couldn’t help but imagine him as a father…and it scared you.

The thought of having a child felt like a seismic shift—one that would change the landscape of everything you loved. It wasn’t just about the sleepless nights or the endless responsibilities. It was deeper than that. You worried that the closeness you shared with Logan, the way your lives intertwined so effortlessly, would somehow slip away. That all the little moments you cherished would be replaced by the constant demands of a tiny person who needed everything from you, leaving little room for the quiet intimacy you had now.

Most of all, you worried that your love for each other would get... lost. That Logan, with all his quiet strength and unspoken fears, would pull away when faced with the weight of fatherhood.

It was late one evening, the two of you curled up in bed, the room dimly lit by the soft glow of the lamp on the nightstand. Logan was lying on his back, one arm behind his head, the other draped over you, his fingers absentmindedly tracing circles on your shoulder. You were nestled against his side, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, but your thoughts were racing.

You hesitated before speaking, your voice barely above a whisper. "Logan," you began, your tone uncertain. "Can I ask you something?"

He tilted his head slightly, looking down at you with those piercing hazel eyes, his expression softening as he nodded. "Always," he said quietly.

You swallowed, trying to find the right words. "Do you ever... do you ever feel like we might lose what we have if things change?"

Logan’s brow furrowed slightly, a hint of concern in his eyes. "What do you mean, darlin'?" His voice was low like he was afraid to push too hard.

You took a deep breath, your fingers absently tracing the outline of his chest. "I mean, if we had a kid," you whispered, the words feeling strange on your tongue. "If we became parents… I’m worried that we’d lose... us. The way things are now."

Logan was silent for a moment, his hand stilling on your shoulder as he considered your words. "You think a kid would take that away?" he asked, his voice gruff but gentle.

"I don’t know," you admitted, your voice trembling slightly. "I just—everything would be different. We wouldn’t have these quiet nights or our spontaneous trips. We’d have to give up a lot." You paused, feeling the weight of your confession settle between you. "I’m scared that I won’t have as much time for you. Or that… you’d pull away."

Logan’s gaze softened, a deep sigh escaping him as he pulled you closer, his arm tightening around your shoulders. "I get it," he murmured. "I’m not gonna lie, I’ve thought about that too." He hesitated, his eyes drifting to the ceiling for a moment before returning to yours. "Hell, I’m scared of a lot of things when it comes to havin’ a kid. What if I’m no good at it? What if I… pass on the worst parts of me? All the anger, the darkness?"

You reached up, your hand cupping his jaw as you turned his face toward you. "You wouldn’t," you said firmly, meeting his gaze with unwavering certainty. "You’re more than that, Logan. So much more."

He looked at you, his expression raw. "I try to be," he whispered, his voice rough with emotion. "But there’s a lotta things I can’t control. And I don’t know if I’d be any good at raisin’ a kid. I’ve spent most of my life tryin’ to protect people by keepin’ ‘em at arm’s length. How do I protect someone I can’t keep away from everything bad in the world?"

His words sank into you, and you could see the fear in his eyes, the way his past haunted him in a way that was hard to put into words. It wasn’t just about fatherhood—it was about feeling worthy of it. Of deserving that kind of joy.

"You protect me," you whispered, your thumb gently stroking his cheek. "Every day. And you do it without keeping me at a distance. You let me in, Logan. That’s not easy, but you did it. You do it. And if you can do that, then I think you’d make a great father."

Logan’s eyes searched yours, his breath hitching slightly as your words settled in. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his lips lingering there like he was drawing strength from the contact. "I’m not sure I deserve you sayin’ that," he murmured against your skin. "But it means more than you know."

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, your hand slipping down to rest over his heart, feeling its steady rhythm beneath your touch. "I’m scared too," you confessed. "I’m scared of everything changing, and of not being able to handle it. But I��m also scared of… what if we don’t even try? What if we let fear decide for us?"

Logan’s expression softened, his thumb brushing gently over your knuckles as he held your hand. "If we do this," he said, his voice low and steady, "we do it together. No matter what. It won’t always be easy, but…" He hesitated, his voice breaking just slightly. "I’d rather face that with you than spend the rest of my life wonderin' if we shoulda tried."

You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his words, and suddenly, the idea didn’t seem as overwhelming as it had before. It was still scary, yes, but knowing that Logan was just as unsure, just as scared, made it feel more... real.

You pressed a kiss to his lips, letting it linger, your fingers curling into his hair as you drew him closer. "So… we're gonna try for a baby?" you whispered, the words slipping out softly.

Logan’s arms tightened around you like he was anchoring himself to the moment. He pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his eyes searching yours with a mix of uncertainty and quiet determination. There was a heartbeat of silence before he nodded. "Yeah," he murmured, the sound almost lost in the space between you. Then, with more conviction, he added, "Yeah, why the hell not." His lips curved into a small, genuine smile.

𓂃

Trying for a baby had started out exciting—a new chapter to explore with Logan. You’d always had an active and passionate sex life, and the thought of intentionally building a family together made your heart swell. 

It wasn’t the act of trying that was hard—it was the waiting, the endless cycle of hope and disappointment. You had been so sure, so confident at the start. But now, after months of trying and nothing to show for it, doubt had begun to creep in like a shadow you couldn’t shake.

Standing by the window in the quiet library, you stared out at the sprawling gardens, but your gaze was unfocused. Your mind was too busy unraveling itself. Why hadn’t it happened yet? Was it you? Was something wrong with you?

Your thoughts drifted back to the last four years of marriage with Logan. You couldn’t help but wonder why you hadn’t gotten pregnant sooner, even by accident. Not once had there been a scare, not even a close call. The questions swirled in your mind, each one more suffocating than the last. Was it my body? Did I do something wrong? Am I broken?

��Hey.” Logan’s familiar voice broke through the haze. You hadn’t even heard him enter the room.

You felt the warmth of his arm as he wrapped it around your shoulders, his touch gentle, steady. “What’s wrong, darlin’?” he asked, his voice low and filled with concern.

You stiffened slightly, shrugging his arm off and taking a small step away. “I don’t want to talk about it, okay?” you whispered, your gaze still fixed on the window.

Logan hesitated. He wasn’t the type to push when you didn’t want to talk, but this—this distance, the way you’d been pulling away lately—was starting to worry him. He could see the weight you were carrying, the exhaustion etched into your face, even though you tried to hide it behind small smiles and quick deflections.

“Sweetheart,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea, “you don’t have to talk to me if you’re not ready. But… you gotta talk to someone. You can’t carry this by yourself.”

His words broke something loose in you, and you bit your lip hard to keep it from trembling. A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it. “I just don’t understand,” you finally said, your voice cracking. “I thought I’d be pregnant by now. I thought it’d be easy… but it’s not, and I can’t stop feeling like—”

“Like what?” Logan pressed gently, stepping closer but keeping his distance enough to not crowd you.

“Like a failure,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. The words felt heavy leaving your mouth, as if speaking them made them more real.

Logan’s expression softened instantly, his brow furrowing with a mix of concern and heartache. “Darlin’,” he said quietly, closing the gap between you and gently cupping your face in his hands. He tilted your chin up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze.

“You listen to me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with emotion. “You’re not a failure. Not even close. Don’t you dare think that.”

“But, Logan,” you choked out, your tears now spilling freely. “What if it’s me? What if there’s something wrong with me? You deserve someone who—”

“Stop,” he interrupted firmly. His thumbs brushed the tears from your cheeks, his hazel eyes locking onto yours with an intensity that made your breath hitch. “Don’t do that to yourself. Don’t put all this blame on you. We don’t know why it hasn’t happened yet, but it sure as hell isn’t because you’re not enough. You’re everything to me.”

Your knees felt weak at the raw sincerity in his voice, and you leaned into his touch, letting his warmth hold you together. “I just… I don’t know how to stop feeling like this,” you admitted, your voice trembling.

Logan pulled you into his chest, his strong arms wrapping around you in a way that made you feel shielded from the weight of the world. “We’ll figure it out,” he murmured into your hair. “Together. However long it takes, whatever we have to do—we’ll figure it out. But I need you to promise me somethin’, okay?”

“What?” you asked, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Promise me you’ll stop beatin’ yourself up over this. You’re not weak, darlin’. You’re the strongest person I’ve ever known. And if this doesn’t happen the way we planned, it doesn’t change a damn thing about how much I love you.”

His words wrapped around your heart like a warm blanket, soothing the ache that had been gnawing at you for weeks. You tilted your head back to look at him, your hands resting on his chest. “You always know what to say,” you whispered, a faint, watery smile tugging at your lips.

He gave you a small, lopsided grin, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your face. “Guess I’ve got a good reason to.”

You took a deep breath, feeling a flicker of hope reignite in your chest. “You know, sometimes I wonder if this is harder on you than you let on,” you said softly.

Logan hesitated, his gaze dropping for a moment before he looked back at you. “It’s hard,” he admitted. “But not because of me. It’s hard seein’ you like this. You’ve always been the one who makes things feel right, and I hate seein’ you doubt yourself.”

Your heart swelled at his honesty, and you leaned up to press a soft kiss to his knuckles. “I love you so much, Logan. No matter what happens, I’m just glad I have you by my side.”

His hazel eyes softened, and he pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours. “I love you more, darlin’. We’re in this together, okay?”

You nodded, letting the warmth of his embrace settle over you like a safety net. The quiet hum of the library wrapped around you both, cocooning the moment in a kind of stillness you hadn’t felt in weeks.

𓂃

It was a few weeks later, and life had settled back into its usual rhythm—teaching classes, grading papers, and the occasional chaos that came with living in a mansion full of mutants. But something was… different. At first, you didn’t think much of it. Everyone felt off sometimes, right?

The fatigue came first. You yawned at least five times during one of your lectures, earning amused glances from your students. “Long night, Professor?” one of them teased, and you waved it off with a laugh, though you were secretly confused. You’d gone to bed early the night before, and yet you still felt like you could curl up under your desk and sleep for hours.

Then, there was lunch. Your usual favorite—whatever Logan had grilled up the night before—suddenly turned your stomach. The smell alone had you rushing out of the dining hall, your hand clamped over your mouth as you tried to breathe through the nausea. Jean had given you a concerned look, but you waved her off, blaming it on some "bad leftovers."

By the third day of these strange symptoms, you couldn’t ignore them anymore. Your mind began to piece things together— the fatigue, the nausea, the way your favorite coffee suddenly tasted too bitter to drink. A flicker of hope sparked in your chest, but you tried to push it down. Don’t get ahead of yourself, you told yourself. It could be anything.

Still, the thought wouldn’t leave you alone. That night, after Logan had gone to bed, you slipped out of your shared room and quietly headed to the mansion’s lab. You grabbed a pregnancy test, your hands trembling slightly as you tucked it under your arm and snuck back to the bathroom.

What if it’s negative again? What if this hope I’ve been holding onto is just… nothing?

But then, something shifted. A small voice in the back of your mind reminded you of Logan’s words. We’re in this together.

Finally, you took a deep breath and glanced down at the test. Your heart stopped.

Two lines.

Tears welled in your eyes, your hand flying to your mouth as a soft, disbelieving laugh escaped you. Positive. You were pregnant.

For a moment, you just stood there, staring at the test as joy bloomed in your chest, spreading through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. The months of waiting, of disappointment, of wondering if it would ever happen—all of it melted away in that instant.

You couldn’t wait to tell Logan. He deserved to know right away. But you wanted it to be special, something he’d never forget.

The next morning, you woke up earlier than usual, your excitement too much to keep contained. While Logan was still asleep, you snuck into the kitchen, rummaging through the cabinets for supplies. If there was one thing Logan loved as much as you, it was breakfast—specifically pancakes.

You whipped up a batch, taking extra care to shape them into letters. The smell of warm batter filled the air, and you couldn’t help but smile as you arranged the pancakes on a large plate, spelling out: You’re going to be a dad.

By the time Logan wandered into the kitchen, his hair sticking up in every direction and his usual gruff morning expression on full display, you were practically bouncing on your toes.

“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he grumbled, rubbing the back of his neck as he headed for the coffee maker.

“Morning,” you chirped, barely containing your excitement.

He turned, narrowing his eyes at you playfully. “What’s got you so chipper this early?”

You gestured to the table, where the plate of pancakes sat waiting. “I made you breakfast.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, clearly suspicious as he stepped closer. But the moment his eyes landed on the pancakes, his entire body stilled.

His gaze moved slowly over the words, his expression unreadable at first. Then, his eyes shot up to meet yours, wide and filled with a mixture of disbelief and hope. “Darlin’… are you serious?”

You nodded, tears brimming in your eyes as you whispered, “Logan, we’re going to have a baby.”

For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then, he let out a shaky breath, a hand running through his hair as he took a step toward you. “You mean it? You’re… we’re…”

You smiled, nodding again as tears slipped down your cheeks. “Yes. It’s real.”

Logan’s arms were around you in an instant, pulling you tightly against his chest. You felt his body tremble slightly as he held you, his face buried in your neck. “I don’t even know what to say,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“You don’t have to say anything,” you whispered, your fingers tangling in his hair. “Just… be here with me. That’s all I need.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hazel eyes shining with a rare vulnerability. “I never thought I’d get to have this,” he said softly. “A family. You’ve given me more than I ever thought I deserved.”

You cupped his face, your thumbs brushing away the tears that had slipped from his eyes. “You deserve everything, Logan. And I can’t wait to do this with you.”

A soft, genuine smile curved his lips as he leaned down, capturing yours in a kiss. His hand cradled your cheek, his touch warm. When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead lightly against yours. 

Logan’s gaze flickered downward, his expression softening even more as his roughened hand moved to rest on your stomach. His palm was warm against you, and for a moment, he seemed almost in awe, his thumb brushing gently over the fabric of your shirt.

A chuckle rumbled through him, deep and affectionate. “Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting,” he murmured, his voice carrying both wonder and a touch of that familiar, teasing tone.

Your lips curved into a smile as you rested your hand over his, fingers threading together as your eyes followed his gaze to where your hands now lay. “Yeah,” you whispered, the word carrying a quiet awe of your own. “They really are.”

The world outside the kitchen faded away as you both stood there, the enormity of what was to come settling in. Logan’s thumb idly traced circles over the back of your hand, his expression a mix of pride, love, and something almost boyish—like he couldn’t quite believe this was real.

“You know,” he said softly, his eyes lifting to meet yours, hazel and filled with an emotion so raw it made your breath catch, “I’m not sure how we’re gonna do this, but… I can’t wait to figure it out with you.”

Your chest tightened, tears prickling at the corners of your eyes, but you held his gaze, your hand squeezing his. “We’ll figure it out,” you whispered, your voice trembling slightly but full of certainty. “Together. Like we always do.”

Unable to resist, you leaned into him, resting your head against his chest, your arms slipping around his waist. He held you close, his hand still protectively resting on your stomach as the other wrapped firmly around your back.

“You’re gonna be a great dad,” you murmured into his chest.

Logan let out a low, soft laugh, his chin brushing the top of your head as he pressed a kiss there. “I’ll try, sweetheart,” he said quietly, his voice heavy with emotion. “But with you beside me… I think I might just figure it out.”

You tilted your head up to meet his eyes again, a tear slipping free but your smile unwavering. “You already have,” you said softly, your fingers gently brushing along his jaw.

𓂃

Everything was going great—or, well, as great as could be expected when you were juggling teaching, mutant chaos, and the excitement of being newly pregnant. You’d gone to the doctor for a check-up, double-checking everything was on track, and Logan had been, well… different.

Attentive wasn’t even the right word for it. Logan had turned into an overprotective force of nature. He refused to let you lift anything heavier than a book, shot you a look of warning anytime you so much as bent down, and always seemed to be hovering nearby like he thought the baby might need saving from a falling bookshelf or something.

Not that you minded. In fact, you found it… sweet. Especially when his rough hands would slide under your shirt at the end of the day, his palms brushing over your barely-there bump as if he could somehow connect with the life growing inside you. The way he looked at you—at both of you—made your heart feel like it might burst.

But of course, Logan's changed behavior didn’t go unnoticed.

You and Logan stood outside on the mansion’s back patio, enjoying a rare moment of peace. The fresh air wrapped around you like a soft blanket, and you leaned back into his chest as his hands gently rested on your stomach, his thumbs absentmindedly brushing little circles there.

“I like that it’s just between us,” Logan murmured into your ear, his lips grazing the shell of it as his arms tightened around you.

You hummed in agreement, resting your hands over his. “Me too, but… we can’t hide it forever, you know.”

Logan chuckled low and warm, the sound sending a pleasant shiver down your spine. “Pretty sure Chuck already knows,” he muttered, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. “And Jean. She’s probably just sittin’ on it, waitin’ for you to spill.”

You tilted your head back to glance at him, a knowing grin on your face. “Oh, she’s definitely sitting on it. Jean loves a good secret almost as much as she loves saying, ‘I told you so.’”

He grunted in agreement, lowering his head to press a soft kiss to the side of your neck. “If you wanna tell everyone, darlin’, just say the word. I’ll follow your lead.”

You sighed, closing your eyes as his lips trailed down your neck in a way that made you forget about anything other than the warmth of his embrace. “Should we do something special? Oh! What if—”

“Is there any place you two won’t get freaky in?”

The voice startled you both, and Logan quickly yanked your shirt back down as you peeked over his shoulder to see Scott and Ororo walking toward you. Ororo had a toolbox in hand, presumably for the greenhouse, and Scott, as usual, was looking far too amused for his own good.

You burst into laughter, unable to help yourself. “We were just—”

“Just about two seconds from Logan ripping your clothes off,” Scott interrupted with a smirk.

Logan shot him a glare, his arms still loosely wrapped around you. “I was not,” he growled, though the faintest hint of pink dusted his cheeks.

You grinned, turning in Logan’s hold to face them. “We were enjoying the fresh air, Summers. You should try it sometime. Might do wonders for your sunny personality.”

Scott rolled his eyes, but his expression grew suspicious as he glanced between you and Logan. “Something’s… different.”

“Yeah,” Ororo chimed in, narrowing her eyes at Logan. “He’s not acting like himself. He didn’t even make a sarcastic remark about Scott interrupting his make-out session.”

Logan groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose as if to will away their nonsense. “I’m right here, you know.”

Ororo gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. “No witty remark again? What in the world is happening? Is Logan… soft now?”

Scott snorted, crossing his arms. “What’s next? Is Logan volunteering to help with art class? Baking cookies for the kids?”

You bit back a laugh, looking up at Logan with mock seriousness. “You have been oddly chipper lately. You’re not sneakin’ cookies out of the kitchen again, are you?”

Logan shot you a look, though the faintest twitch of a smirk betrayed him. “Real funny, sweetheart.”

“Actually,” Ororo interjected, her eyes narrowing in playful suspicion, “maybe it’s not the cookies. Maybe you’re the reason Logan’s gone all soft and smiley.”

Scott’s eyebrows shot up, his lips curving into a sly grin. “Ohhhh, I think ‘Ro’s onto something. Spill it, you two. What are you hiding?”

Logan sighed, running a hand down his face as he grumbled, “Can’t a guy just be happy without you nosy lot diggin’ into it?”

Ororo and Scott exchanged knowing looks, but before they could press further, you took pity on Logan and looped your arms around his waist. “Honestly, I think Logan’s just been spending too much time with you two,” you teased. “It’s rubbing off on him. Maybe we should keep our distance, huh?”

Scott chuckled, shaking his head. “Yeah, right. Whatever’s going on, I’ll figure it out eventually.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Logan muttered, shooting Scott a glare as he led you back toward the mansion.

Once you were out of earshot, you rose up on your toes, your voice dropping to a playful whisper. “Well, that went… better than expected. Look at you, handling things so maturely.”

Logan glanced down at you, his signature smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, sweetheart,” he drawled, his tone low and teasing. “I’ve still got plenty of gruff left in me.”

“Oh, I know,” you quipped, giving his hand a gentle squeeze as you leaned into him. “But maybe you should save a little of that charm to keep them from growing even more suspicious. You’re practically glowing, Logan.”

He huffed a soft laugh, the sound rumbling in his chest as his fingers brushed absentmindedly over your stomach. “So, let me get this straight—you’re tellin’ me to be grumpy? Never thought I’d hear you say that.”

You grinned, nudging him with your elbow. “Hey, mister, I love you and all your grumpiness. You can’t just go soft on me because we’re having a baby.”

His lips twitched, but he wasn’t listening anymore. His gaze had shifted, fixating on your stomach with a quiet intensity, like the world had narrowed down to just the two of you—and the life you were carrying. His fingers stilled, brushing softly over the fabric of your shirt as if he could feel the baby beneath it.

“Logan,” you said, trying to stifle a smile as you reached up to cup his jaw. You tilted his face back up toward yours, catching his hazel eyes. “Eyes up here, tough guy.”

He blinked, snapping out of his daze, though his lips curved into a sheepish smirk. “Can’t help it,” he muttered, his voice softer now. “Kinda hard to believe, ya know? That it’s… really happening.”

Your heart squeezed, and you ran your thumb gently along the scruff of his jaw. “It’s happening,” you murmured, your voice tender. “And you’re already doing so much. You’re gonna be the best dad, Logan. I know it.”

His hand slipped up from your stomach to rest against your hip, grounding himself in your touch. “Dunno about the best,” he said, his voice low and raw, “but I’m sure as hell gonna try. For you. For them.”

Tears prickled at the corners of your eyes, but you refused to let them fall. Instead, you leaned up, brushing your lips softly against his. “You’ve got nothing to prove, you know,” you whispered against his mouth. “You’re already everything we need.”

Logan didn’t say anything for a moment, just let his forehead rest against yours as he closed his eyes. His hand found its way back to your stomach, resting there protectively. “You make this gruff old guy believe in things he never thought he’d have,” he finally murmured, his voice rough with emotion.

“Good,” you replied with a small smile, threading your fingers through his. “Because we’re not going anywhere, Logan. You’ve got us—gruffness and all.”

He chuckled, pressing a kiss to your temple before wrapping his arm around you and guiding you back toward the mansion. “Guess I better start practicing my grumpy dad voice, huh?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you teased, leaning into him as the warmth of his presence surrounded you. “You’ve got a reputation to maintain, after all.”

𓂃

A few days later, you stood in front of your class, pacing slowly as you explained the finer points of literary symbolism. Your voice was steady, your gestures fluid, but the dull ache in your lower back that had been nagging you all morning suddenly sharpened, sending a jolt of pain through your abdomen.

You froze mid-sentence, your breath hitching, one hand instinctively moving to your stomach.

“Mrs. Howlett?” a girl in the front row asked hesitantly, her wide eyes filled with concern. “Are you okay?”

You forced a smile, straightening up despite the discomfort clawing its way through you. “I’m fine,” you replied, your voice gentle but strained. “Just… give me a moment.”

The room felt too warm, the air heavy, and the students’ curious gazes only amplified your unease. You gripped the edge of your desk to steady yourself, taking a slow breath.

“Claire,” you said, turning to the girl who had spoken up, your tone soft but firm. “Can you keep an eye on the class for a few minutes? I’ll be right back.”

She nodded quickly, her concern etched into her features, and you grabbed your bag, clutching it tightly as you made your way to the door.

The hallway felt endless as you walked, the sharp pain twisting in your abdomen with every step. You tried to focus on your breathing, on the soft click of your shoes against the tiled floor, but panic was starting to creep into your mind.

By the time you reached the bathroom, your hands were trembling. You pushed the door open, the fluorescent lights casting a harsh glow as you stumbled toward the sink. The pain was intensifying, and a sense of dread settled heavily in your chest.

The sound of the bathroom door shutting behind you echoed in the silence, but you barely heard it over the pounding in your ears. Something was wrong—very wrong. Your hands trembled as you stumbled into a stall, the sharp pain in your abdomen making it hard to catch your breath.

You fumbled with the clasp of your bag, searching desperately for aspirin, though deep down, you knew no pill was going to fix this. Then you felt it—a warm, wet sensation and your heart plummeted.

“No, no, no…” you whispered, your voice cracking as you yanked open the bathroom stall door and hurried to the sink.

With shaky hands, you splashed cold water on your face, trying to calm your racing thoughts. But when you glanced down and saw the crimson staining your pants, the world seemed to tilt on its axis.

Panic clawed at your chest, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. “Please, no… please…” Tears blurred your vision as you stumbled back, your legs giving out beneath you. You crumpled to the bathroom floor, clutching your stomach as sobs wracked your body.

This couldn’t be happening. It couldn’t be.

In the hallway, Logan was walking back to his classroom after helping a student with a project. He’d been in a surprisingly light mood—until he heard it. The sound of your sobbing carried faintly down the corridor, and his entire body tensed.

He broke into a sprint, following the sound to the bathroom door.

“Darlin’, you in there?” His voice was urgent. The sound of his voice only made you cry harder. You couldn’t bring yourself to respond, couldn’t find the strength to tell him what was happening.

Logan didn’t wait for an answer. He pushed open the bathroom door, and the sight before him made his heart stop.

You were curled up on the floor, your arms wrapped tightly around your stomach as you sobbed uncontrollably. The crimson streaks on the tiles told him everything he needed to know.

“Sweetheart,” he breathed, his voice breaking as he rushed to your side. He dropped to his knees beside you, his hands hovering over you like he wasn’t sure where to touch without hurting you further.

You looked up at him, your tear-streaked face filled with anguish. “Logan… I think—I think we lost—”

Your words dissolved into a fresh wave of sobs, and Logan’s chest ached with the weight of your pain. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you tightly against his chest, holding you as if he could shield you from the cruel reality of what was happening.

“I’m here,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “I’m here, darlin’. I’ve got you.”

You clung to him, your fists gripping his shirt like it was the only thing keeping you from completely falling apart. Logan’s hand found its way to your hair, stroking it gently as he rocked you back and forth.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured, his voice trembling. “Do you hear me? It’s not your fault. Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”

“I… I wanted this so badly,” you choked out between sobs, your face buried in his chest. “I wanted this for us, Logan. And now it’s… it’s gone.”

Logan’s jaw clenched, his eyes burning with unshed tears. He hated how powerless he felt—how he couldn’t fix this for you, couldn’t take away your pain.

He gently scooped you up into his arms, cradling you like you were the most precious thing in the world. “C’mon, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. “Let’s get you outta here.”

You buried your face against his neck, your tears soaking into his shirt as he carried you down the hallway. Logan’s usual gruffness was gone, replaced by a quiet, tender resolve to be whatever you needed him to be at this moment.

When he reached your shared room, he gently laid you down on the bed, pulling the blanket over you. He sat down beside you, his hand never leaving yours, his thumb tracing soothing circles over your knuckles.

Your words were barely a whisper, fragile and heavy. “I’d gotten used to the idea of us… us being parents.” The tremble in your voice made Logan’s chest tighten, and he couldn’t stop the pained expression that flickered across his face.

He leaned closer, resting his forehead against yours, his hands cradling your face. “I know, sweetheart,” he murmured, his voice low and raw. “We… we just have to find a way to keep going.”

You gave a small, broken nod, tears slipping down your cheeks as your fingers reached out, trembling slightly, to cup his cheek. “I just… I wish I could fix this, Logan. I wish I could do something to make it better.”

Logan’s jaw clenched as he swallowed hard, his thumb brushing over your cheek, wiping away a tear. “There’s nothin’ to fix, darlin’,” he said quietly, though his own voice cracked at the end. “This ain’t on you. It never was.”

But you shook your head, your voice breaking into a sob. “It feels like it is. What if—what if my body just… can’t? What if this is because of me?”

The words spilled out, laden with guilt you couldn’t seem to shake. Logan’s breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. He hated seeing you like this—so vulnerable, so broken, carrying the weight of something that wasn’t yours to carry.

“Stop,” he said firmly, though his tone was still soft, his hand gently tilting your chin up so you’d look at him. His hazel eyes, glassy with his unshed tears, locked onto yours. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for this.”

You shook your head again, unable to stop the wave of tears that came. “But what if it’s me, Logan? What if I can’t—”

“Enough,” he cut in, his voice barely above a whisper, but the rawness of it stopped you in your tracks. “It’s not your fault. You hear me? This… this is just somethin’ that happened. And it hurts like hell, but it doesn’t mean you failed.”

His words cracked something inside of you, and you turned away, burying your face into the pillow as another sob wracked your body. Logan didn’t pull away. He stayed close, his hand rubbing slow, steady circles on your back, his presence grounding you even as your world felt like it was crumbling.

After a moment, Logan’s voice broke the heavy silence, softer now, as if he was speaking to himself as much as to you. “Darlin’, we’re not givin’ up. We’ve faced worse. We’ll get through this, too. But you gotta stop thinkin’ this is somethin’ you did.”

Your muffled voice came from the pillow, shaky and raw. “But I wanted it so badly, Logan. I already—I already pictured everything. The nursery, the little shoes… us holding—now it’s been ripped away from us.”

Logan’s chest ached at your words, and he let out a shaky breath, leaning down to press a kiss to your temple. “I know,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I wanted it too. I already saw you as a mom, sweetheart. I still do. I always will.”

You turned your head slightly, your tear-streaked face meeting his gaze. His honesty—his vulnerability—broke through the wall of guilt you’d been building. “You still…?”

“Always,” he said firmly, his thumb brushing away another tear. “I’m not gonna let this define us. We’re more than this pain. And I know it feels impossible right now, but we’ll figure it out. We always do.”

A shaky sob escaped you as you reached for him, wrapping your arms around his neck. Logan pulled you close, holding you tightly against him, his hand tangling in your hair as he pressed a lingering kiss to your forehead.

“You’re not alone in this,” he murmured, his voice a quiet promise. “We’re in this together, no matter what. You and me.”

You allowed yourself to lean fully into him, your tears soaking into his shirt as he held you. His arms were strong and steady, and the way he cradled you made you feel, just for a moment, like maybe things could be okay again.

“I love you,” you whispered into his chest, the words muffled but heavy with meaning.

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion as he rested his chin on top of your head. “More than anything. Don’t forget that.”

𓂃

Life was supposed to keep moving, but for you and Logan, it felt like time had stopped. The days blurred into weeks, and while the mansion hummed with the usual chaos of students and X-Men missions, you both drifted through it like ghosts.

The weight of the miscarriage hung heavy between you, unspoken but ever-present. You couldn’t bear to talk about it, not yet. Not to anyone except Logan, and even then, words often failed. Nights were the only solace, the quiet hours where he held you tightly in his arms as you sobbed until exhaustion finally overtook you. In those moments, he didn’t say much—what was there to say even as his own grief simmered just beneath the surface.

Logan hated feeling helpless, but this was something he couldn’t fight, couldn’t fix. He saw the pain in your eyes every time you avoided his gaze, the way you masked your tears with a smile that never quite reached your face. And it scared him. His mind spiraled into dark places late at night when he couldn’t sleep. What if this broke you? What if it broke your marriage? What if you left him because he couldn’t give you what you wanted?

The others started to notice. It wasn’t just that you both were quieter than usual—it was the way Logan didn’t bite back as much during arguments or how your laughter, which used to light up any room, had grown rare.

“You two seem pretty... off lately,” Scott had commented to Logan one morning in the kitchen.

Logan barely glanced at him, too tired to muster a sarcastic reply. “We’re fine,” he muttered, his tone gruff but unconvincing.

Scott frowned, crossing his arms. “Fine? You’ve barely said three words to anyone all week, and she’s not much better. Is something going on?”

Logan clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the coffee mug he was holding. “Drop it, Summers,” he growled before walking out, heading upstairs to check on you.

But Scott didn’t drop it.

It was a Friday night, and the team had gathered in the living room for what was supposed to be a relaxing evening. Someone had put on a movie, but the dialogue barely registered as you sat curled up on the couch next to Logan. His arm was draped around your shoulders, protective as always, but you could feel the tension in his body. You weren’t much better, fidgeting with the edge of the blanket you had pulled over your lap.

“Alright,” Scott said, breaking the lull in conversation. “I can’t be the only one who’s noticed something’s off with these two.”

You froze, your fingers tightening on the blanket as all eyes turned toward you and Logan.

“Scott,” Jean warned, her tone cautious.

“What?” Scott pressed, looking around the room for support. “They’ve been acting strange for weeks now. Don’t tell me none of you have noticed.”

You forced a smile, trying to deflect. “We’re fine, Scott. Just busy, that’s all.”

Scott wasn’t convinced. “Busy? Come on. You guys are like the most annoying, lovey-dovey couple in this place. Now you’re quiet and avoiding everyone? Something’s up.”

“Scott, maybe—” Ororo started, but Scott cut her off.

“No, I’m serious. If something’s wrong, we can help, but we can’t do that if you don’t tell us what’s going on.”

Logan’s grip on your shoulder tightened, and you could feel the tension radiating off him. He leaned forward, his jaw clenched, his voice dangerously low. “I said drop it, Summers.”

“Why? What’s the big deal? We’re just trying to—”

Before he could finish, Logan shot to his feet, his voice breaking as he shouted, “Because we lost our baby, alright?”

The room fell into a stunned silence. Logan’s chest heaved, his hands clenched into fists at his sides as he stood there, raw and vulnerable in a way none of them had ever seen.

You stared up at him, your heart breaking all over again as you saw the tears streaming down his face, the anguish he’d been holding back finally spilling over. Logan, the man who never cried, was now sobbing in front of everyone, his shoulders shaking as he tried—and failed—to pull himself together.

“Logan…” you whispered, rising to your feet and reaching for him.

He shook his head, his voice cracking. “I—I couldn’t protect the baby. I couldn’t do anything. It’s my fault, sweetheart. I let you down.”

“Stop,” you said firmly, wrapping your arms around him despite the way he tried to pull back. “Logan, stop. It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.”

He collapsed into your embrace, his head resting against your shoulder as he clung to you, his sobs muffled against your skin. “I’m so sorry,” he choked out, his voice broken.

Tears streamed down your face as you held him, your fingers tangling in his hair as you whispered, “You didn’t let me down. You could never let me down.”

The others sat in stunned silence, their initial shock giving way to quiet understanding. Jean wiped at her tears, her hand resting on Scott’s arm to keep him from saying anything more.

“It’s going to be okay,” you murmured into Logan’s ear, your voice trembling under the weight of your uncertainty. The words felt hollow, like trying to patch a dam with a handful of sand, but you needed him to hear them, to believe them.

Logan pulled back just enough to meet your gaze, his hazel eyes brimming with unspoken pain. His rough edges, the walls he so carefully built, seemed to crumble in that moment. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice hoarse and raw, each word a struggle.

“You don’t have to know,” you whispered, your fingertips brushing a tear from his cheek, the small gesture grounding both of you.

For a moment, he just stared at you, like he was searching for something—hope, strength, maybe even forgiveness. Then, with a shaky exhale, he let himself lean into you, his weight resting against your shoulder as though surrendering to the vulnerability he so often avoided.

You guided him back to the couch, easing him down with gentle hands. Logan found your hand gripping it firmly, almost desperate, as if letting go would make the pain worse. You stayed by his side while the rest of the team sat in stunned silence. Their usual chatter and banter were gone, replaced by an unspoken understanding that this was something fragile that required care.

Jean broke the stillness, her voice soft but resolute. “Why don’t we give them some space?”

One by one, the others stood, their footsteps hesitant as they left the room. Scott lingered near the doorway, his expression conflicted. He seemed rooted to the spot, torn between leaving and staying.

“I’m sorry,” Scott finally said, his voice cracking under the weight of his guilt. He took a step closer, his gaze darting between you and Logan. “I didn’t mean to push earlier. I didn’t know…”

Logan lifted his head slightly, his jaw tight, his expression unreadable. The tension in the room was palpable, but there was no anger in his gaze—just a quiet exhaustion.

Scott ran a hand through his hair, clearly struggling to find the right words. “I was out of line,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t realize… I just thought something was off, and I pushed when I shouldn’t have.”

Jean stepped into the room, placing a steadying hand on Scott’s arm. She looked at both of you, her own eyes glistening with unshed tears. “Scott didn’t mean to make things worse,” she said gently. “We’ve… we’ve been where you are.”

You blinked, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

Jean hesitated, her fingers tightening on Scott’s arm as if drawing strength from him. “Before we had Nathan, we… we lost a baby.” Her voice was barely above a whisper, but the weight of her confession filled the room.

You felt your chest tighten before glancing at Logan, who looked just as surprised as you. Scott’s usual stoic demeanor was gone, replaced by a raw vulnerability that you had never seen before.

Scott cleared his throat, his gaze fixed on the floor. “We didn’t tell anyone. Not even the Professor. It was early… and we thought we could handle it on our own.” He let out a shaky breath, his hands clenching at his sides. “But it was hard. Harder than we ever expected.”

Jean nodded, her eyes glistening as she looked at you. “We blamed ourselves. Blamed each other. But eventually, we realized… it wasn’t anyone’s fault. It just… it happens.”

You blinked, the tears welling in your eyes threatening to spill over again. “I didn’t know,” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

Scott let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. “No one did. I thought if I buried it deep enough, it wouldn’t hurt as much. But seeing you two...” His voice cracked, and he cleared his throat, trying to steady himself. “I’m sorry for pushing earlier. I didn’t mean to make things worse.”

Jean stepped closer, her hand reaching out to yours. “It’s going to take time,” she said softly. “But you don’t have to go through it alone. If you ever need to talk… we’re here.”

Her words, simple but heartfelt, broke through the wall of grief that had been suffocating you. You nodded, a small, grateful smile breaking through your tears. “Thank you,” you whispered.

Scott extended a hand to Logan, who hesitated for a moment before shaking it. It wasn’t much, but it felt like the beginning of an unspoken understanding, a bridge between two men who had rarely seen eye to eye.

As they left the room, you turned to Logan, your hand squeezing his. “That… helped. A little.”

Logan nodded, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “Yeah,” he murmured, his voice low and steady. “Guess even Scott has his moments.”

You managed a weak laugh, leaning into him as he pulled you close. For the first time in weeks, the weight on your chest felt slightly lighter even if you knew this was only the beginning of trying to find a new normal. 

𓂃

Months had passed since the miscarriage, and while life had begun to find its rhythm again, the pain lingered like an uninvited guest. The grief wasn’t as sharp as it had been in the beginning, but it still loomed over you and Logan, casting a shadow on your once-effortless connection. You both knew it wasn’t your fault, but knowing and feeling weren’t always the same.

Logan, always the protector, had become even more so in the aftermath. His hand rarely left yours, as if letting go for even a moment might cause something else to slip away. He hovered constantly—not in a stifling way, but in a way that spoke volumes about his fear and guilt. While you appreciated his care, you could see that he was holding something back, burying his pain in the only way he knew how.

It wasn’t until one late night, when you reached out for him in bed and found his side cold and empty, that you realized just how much he was struggling. Pulling on a robe, you wandered the quiet halls of the mansion, searching for him. It didn’t take long; you heard the familiar snikt of his claws in the training room.

Peeking inside, your heart broke at the sight of him. Logan stood shirtless in the dim light, sweat dripping from his forehead as he lunged at the sparring dummy. His movements were wild, full of rage and frustration. His claws tore through the dummy with brutal efficiency, slashing and stabbing until it was shredded to pieces. When the dummy finally collapsed in a heap, Logan dropped to his knees, his claws retracting with a metallic hiss. He leaned forward, bracing himself on his hands, his breath coming in harsh, uneven gasps.

You stayed in the doorway for a moment, debating whether to give him space or step in. But as you saw his shoulders slump, the weight of his grief almost palpable, you couldn’t hold back.

“Logan,” you called softly, stepping into the room.

His head whipped around, his eyes wild for a second before softening when he saw you. He wiped a hand across his face as if trying to compose himself. “What’re you doin’ up, sweetheart?” he asked gruffly, his voice low and strained.

“I could ask you the same thing,” you replied, walking closer until you stood in front of him. “I woke up, and you weren’t there.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “Just needed to… work some things out.”

You knelt in front of him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder. “You can’t keep doing this, Logan. Pushing it all down, burying it in anger. It’s not going to help.”

His eyes flickered back to you, and for a moment, you saw the raw vulnerability he rarely let anyone see. “I don’t know what else to do,” he admitted, his voice breaking slightly. “I can’t… I can’t stop thinkin’ about it. I don’t know how to make it right.”

You cupped his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “You don’t have to make it right,” you said softly, your voice trembling with emotion. “We can’t fix this. We just have to accept it and move on.”

His eyes filled with tears, and he shook his head, his hands coming up to cover yours. “I just wanted to protect you. To give you… everything,” he said, his voice cracking. “And I couldn’t even do that.”

“You did,” you insisted, your thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “Logan, you were there for me every step of the way. You held me when I thought I wasn’t worthy of it. You loved me through it. That’s everything. But you have to let yourself grieve too. You can’t keep punishing yourself like this.”

He looked up at you, his hazel eyes searching yours as if trying to find some kind of answer. Finally, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You felt his chest heave as a sob escaped him, and it broke your heart all over again. You stroked his hair, whispering soothing words as he finally let himself feel the weight of his grief.

After a while, when his breathing steadied, you pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. “Logan,” you began gently, “we need to get out of here. Just for a little while. Go somewhere quiet, just the two of us. We need time to heal.”

He hesitated, his brows furrowing. “You think runnin’ away’s gonna fix it?”

“It’s not running away,” you said firmly. “It’s giving ourselves a chance to breathe. To remember who we are together. We’ve been so caught up in the pain… we need to find our way back to each other.”

He considered your words for a moment, then nodded slowly. “Alright,” he said quietly. “Where do you wanna go?”

You smiled faintly, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face. “Somewhere peaceful. Maybe the cabin up north? Just us. No distractions, no one else.”

Logan exhaled, his shoulders relaxing slightly for the first time in what felt like weeks. “Yeah,” he said, his voice soft but resolute. “I think that’s exactly what we need.”

You leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to his lips feeling a flicker of hope. It wouldn’t be easy, but you knew that as long as you had each other, you could find a way forward.

𓂃

The secluded cabin was tucked away in a quiet corner of nowhere, surrounded by towering trees that swayed softly in the breeze. The air smelled of pine and earth, and the only sounds were the rustling of leaves and the occasional chirp of birds. It was peaceful, untouched, and exactly what you and Logan needed to find each other again.

The calm of the place had worked its magic over the past week. The tension that had weighed heavy on your shoulders began to ease, and you could see the same was true for Logan. His usual gruffness was quieter here, softened by the stillness of the forest and the warmth of the cabin.

As you laced up your hiking boots near the fireplace, you glanced out the window at the sun filtering through the trees. “I’m gonna walk the trail,” you announced casually, straightening up and brushing your hands against your jeans.

Logan’s voice rumbled behind you as he walked into the small living room. “Do you want to go alone?” He leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed as a small, warm smile played on his lips.

You turned to face him, quirking an eyebrow as you stepped closer. “Depends… are you gonna be good company, tough guy?”

That earned you the smallest huff of laughter, his smirk tugging wider. “There she is,” he murmured, his tone warm and teasing as he reached out to pull you into his arms. His lips brushed against the bridge of your nose, lingering for just a moment before he tilted his forehead against yours. “I missed those little remarks,” he admitted quietly.

You chuckled, your hands sliding up to rest on his chest. “And here I thought they annoyed you,” you teased, glancing up at him with a playful glint in your eyes.

Logan rolled his eyes, though the grin that spread across his face betrayed him. “Darlin’, I’d be lost without ‘em,” he said, his voice softer now. His hazel eyes searched yours for a moment, and his hand came up to gently cup your cheek. “I love you,” he added, the words quiet but weighty, as if they held the sum of everything he couldn’t quite say.

You felt a warmth spread through your chest, and you leaned into his touch, brushing your thumb over the back of his hand. “I love you too,” you whispered, the words spilling out like a promise. Then you grinned, breaking the moment with a playful nudge to his side. “Now hurry up, or I’m leaving you behind.”

Logan smirked, dropping his hand to give your hip a playful squeeze. “Don’t get cocky. Let me grab my boots.” He turned toward the door, muttering something about you always keeping him on his toes, but there was no bite to his words—just affection.

A few minutes later, the two of you were walking side by side down the dirt trail, surrounded by the serene beauty of the forest. The sunlight trickled through the canopy above, casting dappled patterns on the ground. You could hear the crunch of leaves beneath your boots and the faint trickle of a nearby stream.

For a while, neither of you spoke, content to simply exist in the quiet of nature and each other’s presence. Logan reached out to take your hand, his fingers wrapping securely around yours. You glanced up at him, catching the way the golden light softened his rugged features. He looked more at ease than he had in months, and it made your heart ache.

“You know,” you began, a teasing lilt in your voice, “I didn’t peg you for the hand-holding type.”

Logan glanced down at you, one brow arching. “Don’t start,” he warned, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

“What? I think it’s cute.” You swung his hand slightly, earning a quiet groan.

“You’re lucky I’m in a good mood,” he muttered, but the smirk tugging at his lips gave him away.

You laughed, leaning into his side as you walked. “Admit it—you like it.”

He let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand. “Maybe I do,” he murmured, his voice softer now. “Can’t say I mind when it’s with you.”

Your chest swelled at the admission, and you stopped walking for a moment, turning to face him. “Thank you,” you said, your voice earnest.

Logan frowned slightly, confused. “For what?”

“For bringing me here,” you explained, gesturing to the forest around you. “For… letting me have this time with you. I needed it.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “I needed it too,” he admitted, his voice low. “I didn’t know how much until now.”

You smiled, leaning up to press a kiss to his cheek. “You know, this whole reconnecting thing looks good on you, Logan.”

He huffed a laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, it’s already there,” you teased, slipping your arms around his waist. “Now, let’s see if you can keep up, old man.”

Logan let out a bark of laughter, his hand sliding to rest on your lower back. “You’re gonna regret that, sweetheart,” he warned, his voice full of playful challenge.

“Promises, promises,” you shot back with a grin, taking off down the trail as Logan chased after you, the sound of your laughter carrying through the trees.

Eventually, Logan caught up to you, his strong arms wrapping securely around your waist as he pulled you to a stop. Your laughter echoed through the trees, a sound that seemed to brighten the peaceful forest around you. “I was so sure I was gonna win,” you teased, still catching your breath as you squirmed halfheartedly in his grip.

Logan let out a low chuckle, the rumble of it vibrating through you. “Guess I’m not as old as you think I am,” he shot back, his smirk smug as he held you against his chest.

“Oh, you’re definitely old,” you teased, leaning back into him. “I mean, just look at your white—”

“Don’t finish that sentence, gorgeous,” Logan warned, cutting you off with a playful growl, though the amusement in his voice betrayed him.

You turned in his arms, grinning as your fingers reached up to play with the strands of his hair. “You know I love you,” you said softly, letting the teasing drop for a moment. “Pretty sure if I met you… say ten years from now, I’d still fall for you. Still, marry you.”

Logan’s expression softened, his hazel eyes meeting yours with a tenderness that made your chest tighten. “I don’t doubt that,” he murmured. “But for the record, darlin’, I’m glad it didn’t take ten years.”

You smiled, your fingers tracing small circles on the back of his neck. “Me too,” you whispered. The peaceful silence of the forest wrapped around you both, and for a moment, everything felt still, like the world had paused just for the two of you.

Logan’s hands settled on your hips. “You’ve been thinkin’ about the future a lot lately, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice quiet but full of understanding.

You hesitated for a beat, then nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted. “I mean, with everything that’s happened… I guess I just wonder what’s next for us. Like, are we supposed to keep trying? Or are we supposed to let it go?”

Logan’s jaw tightened slightly, his gaze dropping to where his hand rested on your waist. After a moment, he sighed and looked back up at you, his eyes steady and sure. “I think… maybe we don’t need to push so hard. If it happens, it happens,” he said, his voice low but resolute. “But what we’ve got right now? It’s enough for me. You’re enough for me.”

His words hit you like a warm wave, washing away the doubt and guilt that had lingered for weeks. “Logan…” you began, but your voice caught, the lump in your throat making it hard to speak. You swallowed hard and managed a smile. “You really mean that?”

“Of course I do,” he said, his thumb brushing gently against your cheek. “I don’t need anything else, sweetheart. Just you. The rest? That’s just… bonus.”

You let out a soft, shaky laugh, leaning your forehead against his. “You always know just what to say, don’t you?”

He smirked, pressing a quick kiss to your lips. “That’s my job, isn’t it?”

You grinned, shaking your head. “Well, for what it’s worth, I feel the same way. I don’t want us to lose ourselves trying to force something that’ll happen when it’s meant to.”

Logan’s arms tightened around you. “Good,” he murmured. “Because I don’t want to miss a single second of us, just the way we are.”

[axolotl4days]

Batman Dead Daughter AU part 2

I'm so sorry this took so long, I ment to post this like the day after the first one but I kept getting distracted and didn't have time to write it TwT

Anyways-

We are starting off with Damian after patrol and approaching Bruce

I also realized how my writing is a lot closer to script in the last one, especially with the dialog, and it's something I'll work on

Without further a due: Angst :D

Damian POV:

'This is really unordinary, first a new student in the middle of the year, who looks... similar to Father, but now she's hiding under a bridge? What is going on with that girl. Somethings not right, it's clear there's something she's not telling me, I should be angry, she could be some sort of threat. So why am i not? This isn't anger its.. something else. What even is this feeling? I feel like I know her. One things for certain, she needs help. Maybe I should speak to Father about this. He does have a habit of adopting children.' Damian thinks to himself as he removes his vigilante gear, he decides to approach Bruce and bring up his concerns

"Father." Damian says, commanding his attention away from the computer

"Damian. Is something wrong?" Bruce asks

"I'm not sure, it's about my new friend" Damian says

"Ah yes.... y/n correct?" Bruce asks but his voice waivers as he says her name

"Correct, father. I believe y/n may be in trouble of some kind. As you know she joined the school at an odd time, which is weird enough as it is. However, during patrol, I found her under a bridge. She claimed that she couldn't go home but wouldn't say why. And to make matters even more confusing, she didn't seem to know who I was." Damian explains

"What do you mean? Like she didn't know what a vigilante was? It's possible if she's new to Gotham, unlikely but possible." Bruce says

"No, she wasn't suprised, or confused, she acted as if meeting a vigilante were normal, but she didn't know my name, she seemed to know about vigilantes, but didn't know which one I was." He explained while gesturing to the cases of costumes throughout the years. "She also didn't have anything with her. When I found her, she only had her backpack with school supplies and a few clothes. No blankets or food items, nor any personal belongings. It seems like she hasn't been here for very long, but she's been attending school for a few weeks now." Damian says

Bruce pauses for a moment "That's... odd. Even if someone had recently become homeless, they would have more than just school supplies, especially if they've been living outside." Bruce says mostly to himself before turning back to his son "What are you thinking Damian?" Bruce asks

Damian remains silent for a while before responding, "With your permission, Father, I would like to invite her over after school tomorrow. Perhaps we could learn more then. I heard it's supposed to rain tomorrow as well, and I'd feel bad knowing my friend was out there getting sick." Damian states and waits for a response

"I see. Very well then, you may invite her over, I'll inform Alfred so he will make extra for dinner." Bruce says, calling Alfred in. "In the meantime, you need to turn in for the night, I'll speak with Alfred about tomorrow"

"Very well, goodnight father." Damian says, walking past Alfred

Bruce POV:

"Master Bruce? Are you alright?" Alfred asks having heard the conversation

Bruce doesn't speak for a moment, but eventually, he turns to face the loyal butler

"Alfred I... I don't want to get my hopes up. I know that it's probably just a coincidence, but... when you pick the two of them up tomorrow, I want you to call me immediately and let me know if it... if it's possible.. if it could be -"

"I will Master Bruce. I promise that the moment I am able to confirm, I will let you know." Alfred says

"Thank you Alfred." Bruce says, as he unlocks one of the drawers in his desk, and he pulls own a dusty photo and cleans it, the photo being a photo of him, and his long lost daughter smiling eating icecream

"I know it's... highly unlikely, but would you like me to prepare her favorite? Even if it's not her, I know that you enjoy the meal as well, and it's been awhile, it'd be nice to relive the good memories." Alfred suggests

"That... that would be nice Alfred, thank you." Bruce says before looking at the photo again and putting it away

The next day:

Damian was right, it is raining and by the looks of it, it'll be raining all day, the day begins the same as normal with Damian getting prepared for school, and packing a larger umbrella with him before heading down to breakfast where he finds two of his older brothers

Damian POV:

"Grayson, Drake" Damian greets them

"Hey kid, you got everything you need? It's raining cats and dogs out there" Dick says causing Damian to roll his eyes

"I'm well aware Grayson, I already knew this would happen so I prepared accordingly, even grabbing a larger umbrella to fit us" Damian replies

"Us? Who's us? We aren't going out today" Tim asks

"Us, as in me and my friend, I'm bringing her here after school today. I've already informed Father and Alfred. You two better not freak her out." Damian warns

"Woah, you're bringing a friend home? That's new" Dick says

"You have friends? Like. Real friends? From school?" Tim laughs

"Yes I have friends. What's with the laughter. And whats real friends supposed to mean" Damian snaps

"Well, considering your always calling people peasants it's surprising, not to mention it's someone who's not like us." Tim replies as if it's common knowledge

"What is that supposed to mean. Y/n doesn't have to be like us. We're friends, and that's that. Honestly, we're practically siblings. That's what the people at school say." Damian says. "Oh, and for your information, she may be in a tough situation right now. I don't yet know the details, but something is up, so when she gets here, you guys better not say anything suspicious, got it?" Damian basically orders before he walks away to head to school.

"Y/n? Huh..." Dick mutters to himself

"What is it? You know this person?" Tim asks

"No no it's just... I swear I've heard that name before." Dick says almost serious

At school, y/n pov:

'Okay, y/n, there's no need to panic just yet. No one's said anything, so he didn't tell anyone. What do I say if he brings it up? It happened while in the suit, so he probably won't approach it as himself, but what if he does? Or if he asks me about home? What do I do if he asks me about my parents? I need to think of a plan. Dad always has plans, but what do I even do? I can't just go up to the manor and explain who I am. It's been..' y/n pauses to do math but fails 'it's been an unknown amount of years, it's possible more things have changed than what I can tell. It's possible they won't even remember me, or they could think I was some sort of clone like in a Sci fi movie. I don't know anything for certain yet, so I have to play it safe... even if it hurts'

Y/n braces herself, thoughts of things that could go wrong still swirling about in her mind, but she can't think about that now, she has classes to attend.

Damian arrives to class and greets her like normal, she holds back her sigh of relief knowing that it's probably because it was 'Robin' that she talked to last night, she's seen her dad shift between personas before and if he learned from him then he won't mention a thing about what happened.

The two start talking about homework, which y/n suddenly realizes she didn't do, but before she can worry about it, the teacher speaks up

"Good morning class, today's going to be a bit different as we're starting a new project and for this you'll need to work in pairs, so before anything, everyone needs to go around and get into pairs and then when that's done I'll start handing out information on the project and explain what it is."

"Y/n? Would you like to work on this project together?" Damian asks

"Sure, we work together on some stuff already so this should be a peice of cake" y/n replies

"Perfect, we can work on it at my place after school as well, speaking of which, would you like to come over today? It's Friday, and I was thinking we could have a uh... sleepover. There's lots of stuff we could do, and it'll be easier to find time for the project that way and you could stay for the whole weekend" Damian asks, hoping to convince his friend without sounding weird. But he can't stand the idea of her being outside all weekend, especially with Gothams weather.

"Oh! Sure I would love to come over for a sleep over it sounds like a lotta fun!" Y/n replies, trying to hold back her excitement 'oh my god this works out perfectly. Now I can see what's changed, maybe I can talk to dad, I hope he's okay, this'll let me find out if he remembers me or not. I'll finally have Alfred's cooking again!' Y/n thinks to herself

"Good good, I'll have our bulter Pennyworth pick us up straight after school. We have a library in the manor so we don't need to use the schools library, oh and just a warning, my brothers are probably going to be at the manor as well, just ignore them, they're fools." Damian says

'There's more of them?!' Y/n thinks to herself, trying to hide her shock, but Damian notices anyways but he doesn't say anything about it.

"Alright class, now that everyone is partnered up I'll explain the project, this one will take a few weeks so listen up" the teacher says, gathering everyone's attention and explains the project

They spend the rest of class working on the project, writing notes, and during breaks they talk about what they're going to do at the manor, Damian discovers y/n knows even less movies than he does so they decide they could have a movie marathon when they first get there.

Before they know it, school is over and it's time to head out. Just as Damian said, Alfred comes to pick them up right after school, and parks somewhere where the rain isn't as intense.

"Hello Pennyworth, this is Y/n." Damian introduces the two noticing the pale look on Alfred's face just like he had when he first mentioned Y/n

"Hello, thank you for picking us up Alfred!" Y/n says, happy to see Alfred again after all this time, though a bit shocked to see how white his hair has gotten, but otherwise he looks the same. She too sees the pale in his face, but is still too nervous to say anything.

"Of course miss Y/n" He says, while getting into the car "If you'll excuse me, I have a phone call to make while we head to the manor, so I'll put the sound dividers up, in the mean time the two of you can pick what music you wish to listen to during the drive" Alfred says

"Alright, here y/n, we can listen to almost any song with this" Damian says

As the two begin to look through the music, Alfred sinks into the sea as he processes what he's seen. Could it really be Y/n?

Alfred pov:

He takes a moment to compose himself, he has a cold sweat, but he calms himself and calls Bruce

The phone feels like it rings forever before Bruce answers

"Hello Alfred, any news?" Bruce asks, for he was waiting for this call ever since Alfred left

"It's her Master Bruce. It has to be. She looks exactly the same as she did before. She sounds the same, too, I froze for a moment, but neither of them addressed it." Alfred says

"Are you sure? Did she say anything?" Bruce asks

"She didn't say much. However, when Damian introduced us, he referred to me as Pennyworth as he always does, yet Y/n referred to me as Alfred, regardless. Her eyes were unmistakable, even if it were someone who looked like her, those eyes, I would never forget them." Alfred says

"I see. Come get me once you arrive at the manor, we need to discuss how were going to go about this, see what she knows and confirm everything for sure." Bruce replies

"Of course Master Bruce, we'll be their shortly" Alfred informs him

The drive passes quickly and they arrive at the manor, quickly getting in as the rain pours harder and harder. Alfred takes their umbrellas and coats

"Alright, I have some business to attend to, but I shall make dinner shortly. Feel free to do whatever you wish in the meantime, but stick together, wouldn't want anyone to get lost." Alfred says side eyeing Y/n

"No need to worry, Pennyworth. I've memorized the layout of the manor. We will be heading to the theater first, you may find us there when dinner is ready." Damian states

"Wow, you weren't kidding, you actually brought a friend," two voices call out, causing Damian to scowl

"Grayson, Drake." Damian turns to the approaching duo."Y/n, these are my older brothers and nuecences. Who have apparently decided to bother us." Damian says

"Awe, don't be like that, Dames. we just wanna meet our baby brothers new... friend, " Dick says, meeting Y/n's gaze "Anyways- the names Dick Grayson, pleasure to meet you" he introduces himself before elbowing the boy next to him to stop his stareing

"Ow- oh uh, I'm Tim Drake. Sorry about Dick, it's not every day we meet a friend of the demons. Are you guys going to be working on something?" Tim asks

"Oh well, technically, we have a school project, but we have plenty of time to work on it, so we were going to have a um, 'movie marathon'" Y/n replies, unsure of how to react

"Yes, we plan to binge some movies that neither of us have seen before, I also wrote a list of other activities we could do, including but not limited to, various board games" Damian replies

"Wow, sounds like fun, maybe we'll pop in for a movie or two later on" Dick teases

"Grayson-" Damian hisses before being interupted

"Ahem, boys play nice, Master Dick and Master Tim, dinner will be ready in a few hours, I have some matters to attend to with Master Bruce, so please behave yourselves." Alfred states

"Alright, alright, we'll let the two of you go have fun, but don't think we won't drop by for some family board games." Dick says

Groaning, Damian leads Y/n towards the theater while Alfred heads to Bruce's office, leaving Dick and Tim alone

"...... So I'm not the only one who noticed she looks exactly like Bruce, right?" Dick asks

"No, no, you were not. How is this even possible she looks like she's Damian's age, so it's not like Bruce had another affair? But she looks so much like him it's kind of creepy, it could be another clone situation." Tim replies

"Makes Damians little comment about them being siblings earlier seem like it may not have been a joke" Dick says

"He didn't say anything about it, though. You'd think he'd have made all sorts of blood siblings comments by now." Tim says

"Yeah..." Dick says absentmindedly

"You good Dick?? You look like your thinking which is never a good thing" Tim jokes

"Ha ha, very funny. I'm fine. I was just. I feel like I've heard the name Y/n before but can't remember where, " Dick explains, and the two of them stand there for a moment before deciding to actually join movie night

With Alfred:

"Master Bruce?" Alfred approaches the office and lets himself in, noticing the papers all over the place, recognizing all of them

"Is it really possible? Even if it is her, how hasn't she grown up? She'd have been older than Dick by now. And if it is her, why didn't she come back? Why did it take until Damian invited her over for her to come here? Are we sure she even remembers us? What if it's some sick joke? What if some villain made a clone of her and sent her here to toy with me? What if -"

Before he could spiral any further, Alfred cuts him off

"Master Bruce. Calm down. I'm aware of how... odd this situation is, and there is much to discuss. However, I feel it would be best for you to speak to her yourself. I'm sure there's a reasonable explanation for all of this. She is her father's daughter, I'm sure she'll explain everything." Alfred says

"And what if she can't? What if it isn't really her and just a huge coincidence? What then? We would be back at Square one not knowing what happened to her or where to find her or-"

"You're doing it again Master Bruce. Please, go talk to her" Alfred says

"Alfred I- I don't know if I can. If I can face her. It's been so long I.." Bruce, finally looking away from his papers to look up at his butler

"It'll be okay. I'll be there with you as well. You... you don't have to see her just yet. You could wait for then to finish with a few of their movies and settle in before approaching. It'll give you some time to brace yourself as well." Alfred suggests

"That.. sounds like a plan Alfred, thank you." Bruce says

"Of course Master Bruce. I'll go ahead and start dinner now, it shouldnt take too long, so I'll fetch you when it's done, and we can go talk to her. And then have dinner afterward," Alfred replies

"Alright Alfred." Bruce says

After some time passes, the kids have watched around two and a half movies, they're in the middle of third when they hear footsteps approaching

Y/n Pov:

Y/n slightly tenses up. She knows those footsteps, even through the sound of the movie, she can hear them. Her father always taught her to notice the little things like that. The boys notice but don't think much of it until

"Ah, there you all are, Alfred told me you guys would be in here," Bruce's voice calls out as he walks over the greet the others, he looks more tense than usual, but he has been for the past few days it's probably case related the boys think

"Hello father, this is my friend y/n" Damian turns to look at Bruce who after making his way over to everyone finally lays his eyes on y/n, and he freezes

Dick and Tim don't say anything, both looking back and forth between Bruce and Y/n wide eyes, there is a long awkward silence before Damian decides to speak up

"Alright, what is with everyone today! I swear you have all been acting strange. It's not even that rare for me to have friends. If I knew you'd all act like this, I would've thought twice. Even you father, I can't believe it -" Damian starts to scold, but Y/n cuts him off

"It's okay, Damian, cut him some slack, it's not every day a dad sees his dead daughter again" Y/n says while putting a hand on Damians shoulder with wet eyes

"It really is you, Y/n..." Bruce says, tears forming in his eyes

"Hey, Dad... I'm back, I'm sorry I didn't say anything sooner, and I know you probably have a lot of questions, but -" Before y/n can continue, Bruce pulls her into a hug, and the two let out their tears

The others can only stand there and watch as the two cry and apologize to another

"So, I'm all for new family members but what the hell is happening right now can anyone explain" Dick asks

"I agree with Grayson for once, what is going on?" Damian adds

"It's... a long story that we can discuss later. First things first." Bruce stands up but doesn't let go of Y/n almost like he's worried if he let's her go she'll disappear again."Right now, all that matters is that it's time for dinner. Alfred made your favorite Y/n, we weren't sure if it was really you but we wanted to hope it was." Bruce says and they all head to the dining room, still all in shock

They sit at the dinner table and-

"Wow Bruce, another kid? You seriously have a problem." A voice calls out causing the others to look at him and try to signal that it's not the time to say stuff like that

"Hello Jason, it's good to see you too. And for your information, this is Y/n, and technically, she was my first kid, " Bruce says. "Are you here for dinner?"

"Yeah, I wanted some of Alfred's cooking- hold on. What do you mean she's your first kid she's like the same age as the demon spawn??" Jason acts

"Oh that's because I was dead for- ..... uh dad how long was I dead for? I didn't do the math" Y/n says

"It's been... 20 years now" Bruce says hesitantly and watches the realization set in in everyone's eyes

"Oh... wow... that's a lot longer than I thought... but yeah, I've been dead for a while. I only came back to life earlier this month... Also, dad, I know we'll do questions later, but I don't actually know how I came back to life, I was completely alone when I woke up, and I wasn't where I died." Y/n tells him

"I see. That's alright, my dear, we can worry about that later, Damian told me about where you were staying after he found you during patrol, so I'm sure you're hungry" Bruce says

"Father! "Bruce!" The boys yell

"What?" He turns around confused

"Pft wow bruce" Jason laughs only causing Bruce to look even more confused

"Dad I think they're talking about the fact you mentioned patrol" Y/n tells her father while giggling

"Oh, guys, y/n already knows. Well, she knew about me and knowing my daughter she put two and two together when she saw Damian as Robin" Bruce explains

"Yeah, the moment I heard about there being more vigilantes and that apparently dad had more kids, I figured he started a family business, speaking of which dad how many kids did you have after me??? Did you lean into the 'Brucie' persona that much?" Y/n asks, nudging her father

"Okay, in my defense, most of them are adopted. You and Damian are my only biological children, and technically.... these aren't the only ones there's a few more, but they're out right now. Technically Dick and Jason don't live here anymore. They come here for Alfred's cooking most of the time, " Bruce says and almost as if on que y/n's stomach growls, "Speaking of which, it sounds like it's time to eat."

They finally settle at the dinner table, and Alfred brings out the food, y/n practically drools at the smell alone

They eat, and none of them say anything, but they all notice y/n crying while eating the food, and they wonder what she's been through in the month since she woke up before coming here. Bruce and Alfred especially make mental notes to do a health check-up and get her back onto a proper and healthy diet once she's settled back in. Alfred has many mixed feelings seeing y/n eat. She eats much faster than she used to. Jason notices this also and knows what it's like trying to find food on your own as a kid. He not so subtly gives her some of his food.

After dinner and desert (Alfred was so relieved to hear it really was her, he made cookies to celebrate)

Y/n starts to look really tired

"Are you alright sweetheart?" Bruce asks

"I'm okay, dad, just stuffed. It's been a while since I've eaten that much. I'm probably going to have a food coma - that was a joke. I'm not actually going to fall into a coma. " She quickly adds, knowing how much her dad overthinking things

"Well, food coma or not, it's been a long day, I think it's time for you to head to bed." Bruce says, standing up

"Aw, dad already? We haven't even gotten to talk, and I know you have questions, and I do too, and" Y/n starts

"Sweetheart." Bruce says firmly but warm as he crouches down to meet his daughters eyes. "You're right. There are many questions, but those questions can wait. You need your rest. As much as I want to know everything, I want to make sure you're okay first. We can talk in the morning, and the day after, and so on. Your home now." Bruce says

"Yeah... I'm home now." Y/n says, as she starts to cry again and Bruce gently scoops her up in his arms

"It's okay, sweetheart." He says cooing

"I missed you so much, dad." y/n cries

"I missed you too." Bruce says, "Let's get you to bed, I'm sure you've missed your room too. " He starts to walk through the halls while the others are still sitting at the table stunned

"You still have my room?" Y/n asks as Bruce carries her

"What kind of question is that? Of course I still have your room." Bruce replies

"Well... it's been so long, and you probably knew I was dead so I figured-"

"I never accepted you were dead." Bruce cuts her off. "I always hoped I would find you one day. Even if you were a grown adult, I kept your room the same." Bruce says

"Dad..." Y/n says, knowing that this whole time, her father has been looking for a daughter that he would never find "I... I *was* dead... I'm sorry-"

"Don't you dare apologize. Your only a kid it isn't your fault. Whatever happened wasn't your fault. We can talk about it more in the morning. But for now.." Bruce takes out his keys and unlocks the door to Y/n's room and tucks her in. She yawns and Bruce starts to get up but Y/n grabs him

"Dad... could you stay with me until I fall asleep? I know you have work to do and that those guys are probably waiting but-" y/n pauses

"Of course I will. Just rest now my dear." Bruce says and it's not long before y/n is out like a light

Bruce after a few more minutes finally gets up, he plugs in a nightlight and makes his way back to the dining room where he is then greeted by the boys and he sighs

"Boys."

"Bruce" "Father

"Alright. I suppose it's time to explain." Bruce starts as he pulls out a chair "Where do I even begin?"

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Aaaaaaaand another cliffhanger! Sorry not sorry but I've been working on and off on this post for weeks I think. Theres still a good bit of story left (aka the explanations) I don't currently have much planned afterwards but I feel like when I write the next part depending on how I write it this may become a mini series (I say mini because again, I don't have much planned this started out as a random concept in my head) if i do write more after the explanations I'd definitely lean even more into the yandere aspects (I attempted to start planting some seeds of it with the batfam getting more concerned and protective, and the next part will definitely tip them over the edge :) hehe )

I'm sorry if the characters are well, out of character but, *points to the fact I'm new to this fandom and new to writing fanfiction in general*

Also I'm sorry there's no cass, duke, barb, or steph

I don't know much about them yet, I know who they are but not really how they act or solid personality traits so I don't know how to write them yet, but I'll probably allude to them or say that the others explain the situation to them or smth

Thanks for being patient with me for this part lol

[storiesfromafan]

Just His Best Friend

A/N: I am back with Mattheo and angst. The two go well together, haha. Maybe part two?

Pairing: Mattheo x Longing!Slytherin Reader

Warning/s: angst, spelling/grammer mistakes, briefly revised

“I can’t imagine who I’d be without you in my life” were the greatest words to hear from Mattheo's lips, which held a warm smile.

Your heart skipped a beat. Tingles running up your spine. This was it. The moment you’d been waiting for. The last five years of friendship leading to this, Mattheo's confession. Finally hearing the words you’d been longing for, craving for. The validation that you were something more, something meaningful. And yet once more you were wrong...

“How could I be here without my best friend!” He sounded so pleased, the giddy chuckle leaving his mouth.

Your heart stopped, no longer skipping a beat. The tingles, doused with a wave of a cold chill down your spine. Five years of friendship, which was really longing and hoping on your part. Crashing down by just those words, his best friend. That validation for your place at his side, actually the space behind him. That seat at his side, his arm around them belonged to another. Any other that wasn’t you.

You forced a smile, hoping the crushing of your heart doesn’t show. “A-ah, yeah...right b-back at ya" you sputtered. Not really like you, but it’s all you could muster right now.

Your mind though, you could only imagine it as mini yous running around, screaming and cursing. Some throwing paper, while some kicked chairs or turning over desks. No doubt one was in a corner crying, bawling out their eyes. What you’d like to be doing, but remaining steadfast and strong.

Mattheo clapped you on the shoulder before something behind you caught his eye. The sly smirk that crossed his tempting lips told you all you needed, he’d spotted his next target. “I’ll catch up with you later (Y/N/N). I see someone begging for my attention”.

And with that he slipped past you. You stayed where you were, eyes looking to where the boy you loved once stood. You heard his cheeky hello, along with a sweet giggle. That snapped you out of your comatose state. Holding the strap of your bag for dear life, the last thing grounding you, you took off in a hurry. Back into the castle, back to the dungeons and back to your room.

You didn’t take in the halls or people you past, didn’t even make a snide comment when you bumped into any students. Your focus had been returning to your sanctum, your space. You were glad none of your room mates were there, for as soon as the door was closed, and your back against it did the tears fall. Big, warm tears cascaded down your face. Your face heating up from the humiliation and heartbreak.

Pansy and the other girls of your dorm room told you this would happen. The day would come when it finally reached heartbreak. That Mattheo wouldn’t see how you felt, how you cared for him. Or see how much you did for him. Rather he expected it now. And you had only yourself to blame. You had opportunities to shoot your shot. But you always crumbled, chickening out. If the moment wasn’t ruined by someone else, you’d always come up with an excuse to put it off. And look where it had gotten you. Best friend zoned.

The next two weeks you mopped and cried in bed. In class you remained blank, reserved even, almost on autopilot. You went through the motions, barely passing. And that was only because of Pansy. She was the one there for you, helping you and pushing you. After being the one to find you on the floor crying your eyes out, Pansy had said told you so but didn’t hesitate to hold you. You were grateful for that.

At the start of week three you were finishing getting ready to head to breakfast when Pansy stood by watching you. You didn’t even notice her, just putting on your cardigan before grabbing your bag. The moment you turned for the room door was when you finally noticed her. She stood there with a concerned look upon her face, her hands on her waist. You had a feeling where this would go, and weren’t looking forward to it.

“That’s it" Pansy started. “This has gone on for long enough. It’s time to move on”.

You flinched, knowing she was right and yet part of you couldn’t let him go. “I-I can’t”.

She sighed, arms dropping to her sides. “Yeah, you can. It might take time, but you have to start somewhere (Y/N/N). You can’t give him this power!”

The logic part of your brain agreed with her, while your broken heart protested. How could one just get over Mattheo Riddle? It wasn’t possible. The girls who want, long for him. The girls who’ve had him pine for him. And the girls who didn’t stand a chance – where you sat – dreamed for him. Mattheo was a parasite you couldn’t just remove, once infected you were like that for life.

“I-it’s not so easy, Pan...” you muttered, feeling like a child being scolded. And you kinda were.

Pansy moved to you, hands taking hold of your shoulders. Her eyes looking right into yours, and your soul. “I get it, really...but this isn’t good for you. The best way to get over a guy is the move on to another...”

The look on your face hearing her words was pure shock and horror. The suggestion of another guy was blasphemy. Who could be better than Mattheo? No one. Not to you, not to the girls who worship the ground he walks on. And you voiced that, minus the worshipping part.

“There are other guys, believe me. Ones who actually like you!” Pansy stated, as if it was common knowledge. But not to you. “There’s Patrick Darby in our year, he’s asked me about you before. Or Kellen Barlowe – in the year above us, who Mattheo detests! I know he would die to have you look at him!”

She went on to state a few more guys from your year or the next up, or other houses. Your head was swimming from the new information, the boys who like her. You’d never known this, never been presented with the opportunity of another. Of someone who wasn’t Mattheo. But could you do that? Just turn your back on your feelings? Yet could you continue to stand behind Mattheo, waiting for your chance, however long that could take?

“I-I...h-how?” You found yourself asking, all you could ask.

A soft smile formed on Pansy's lips. “Just start with a hi, maybe a conversation".

You nodded slowly, mulling over her suggestion. It wouldn’t be easy, but it was a start. You would try it her way. And if it didn’t work, you’d return to your solitude and misery. Back where you belonged.

True to your word to Pansy, you said hi and struck up a conversation with Kellen Barlowe. It was at lunch in The Great Hall, you were heading to Pansy when you noticed him smile at you. And you took that as a sign to take a leap. Awkwardly you had slowed down, before stopping by Kellen, who’s smile just widened.

“H-hi" you greeted. Simple and a little stupid really. But it worked.

“Hey (Y/N)” Kellen replied in a warm, airy tone. “Morning classes went well?”

You put on a smile, trying to be nice. Though you wanted to run away, for this didn’t feel right. It felt so, so wrong. Sure, the boy sitting before you was gorgeous, on the same level as Mattheo. But he wasn’t Mattheo. He didn’t have the chocolate brown eyes that held your attention. Nor did he have the brown messy curls that Mattheo has. But his green eyes and mousy blonde locks was still appealing, just didn’t have a lasting hold on you.

“T-they were alright...McGonagall was tough, as always" you supplied, with a sigh.

Kellen chuckled. “Yeah, she’s a tough nut to crack".

“How about your classes?” You enquired, feeling it only right to ask him the same question.

He sighed dramatically. “Absolutely draining. Snape was on the war path, not even us Slytherin’s were spared. If you have potions later, best be prepared".

You nodded, believing his words. “G-good to know, thanks".

A bit more small talk was made before you moved on, quickly scurrying to Pansy. As soon as you took your seat did the girl bombarded you with questions, as well as praise to have followed her advice. Not long after did a familiar body fall into the seat across from you both. Mattheo looking to you with a raised eyebrow.

“Friends with Barlowe, huh?” Came his offended tone, shocking you.

“A-ah, wouldn’t s-say that" you replied. “I was just being nice...”

He nodded. “Hmmm, alright. But keep in mind Barlowe goes through girls like socks".

Pansy laughed. “You’re one to talk, you’re worse than him!”

Mattheo rolled his eyes. “Please, I’m not like him, nor am I worse!”

That fired up Pansy. She and Mattheo going back and forth, voices rising with every second. You don’t know what came over you, or why you did it. But you slammed your hands on the table, rising to your feet. Both parties stopped their bickering, eyes flying to you. You took a deep breath, realising that frustration and anger got the better of you. But you couldn’t shy away now. Instead you cast a quick look to Pansy, before moving to Mattheo, where your eyes stayed. You hoped he saw how upset you were, he needed to know this wasn’t right. He couldn’t come in, trying to dictate what you can and can’t do.

“Matty, you don’t get a say in who I say hi to, or who I have a conversation with" you took a deep breath before releasing it. “I-I can do what I want".

And with that you grabbed your bag, and headed for the hall’s doors. Lunch not even dished up, let alone eaten. None the less your appetite lost. You could feel the eyes on you as you made your escape. Of course you’d have an audience, a loud noise would get attention. The moment you left the large room did you feel the air return to your lungs, the weight of everything lifting. That moment was broken when a hand grabbed your upper arm, causing you to jump.

“Easy (Y/N)” came a soft, airy voice.

Upon turning to the new presence, you were surprised to find Kellen. He looked concerned but wore a faint smile. Wanting to not come off as suffocating or over bearing. You could see the questions in his eyes, those forest green orbs of his.

“You alright?” He asked in a tender voice.

You nodded, remaining silent. Unsure if you could be convincing in a lie. As you weren’t all right. You weren’t sure how you were feeling. That was the first time you’d done that, stood up and made a scene. You were so fucked up right now.

“Hey" came Kellen's voice, face moving closer. “It’s alright, don’t cry".

You brought a hand up, and sure enough there were a few fallen tears. Turning away you wiped them away in a hurry, embarrassed to be caught like this. You weren’t supposed to cry outside your room. This was not how it was supposed to be. Either you shouldn’t have spoken to Kellen, or Mattheo could have just let you be. Maybe then you wouldn’t be standing here like an idiot, fighting back tears.

Kellen moved around to stand before you, hands on your shoulders. Those forest green eyes of his peering into yours, concern shining in them. “It’s alright, you’re alright” – he looked back to The Great Hall for a moment – “come on, let’s get out of here, yeah?”

Slowly you nodded, letting the older boy lead you from the doors of The Great Hall, down a hall and off to a courtyard. Away from those in The Great Hall, and those chocolate browns of Mattheo Riddle. Who’d headed for you, but stopped upon seeing you with Kellen. And how he had his hands on you.

Seeing that sight, Kellen so close to you, and you letting him be. It stirred something in Mattheo. Something he hadn’t felt before. Sure, he hated the male who pulled you away. But this was jealousy, the green eyes monster. Yet, why was Mattheo jealous? Why would he be jealous of Barlowe? Maybe it was the way he looked at you, was close to you just now. Whatever it was, Mattheo did not like it. At all.

[meowr4wr]

𝙨𝙘𝙖𝙧𝙨 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙖𝙡𝙡 -

jason x reader / 1.18k wc

(angst, comfort, mention of scars, sad jason, in love w eachother but haven’t said anything yet, reader has curly hair cause hell yeah, idk what else, lowkey rushed, concepts all jammed together)

—

a/n: been on writers block for a while & suddenly started writing again while listening to music. also been busy with family stuff lately & been a little down. based this off under your spell by snow strippers & we’ll never have sex by leith ross! enjoy :3 btw not proof read i wrote this half asleep.

—

Being in love with someone like this wasn’t part of his plans—for life, actually. You were the one person who could keep him grounded, keep him from falling apart. It was as if he’d been bewitched by a powerful force—one that he didn’t dream of being free from.

Maybe it was just the fleeting feeling of love, having warmth in those dark nights by the arms that wrapped around him. Your smile that made all his pain fade away—even for a mere moment. Your gorgeous curls that looked so inviting to just bury his face in and never leave. Everything about you just made him feel that innocent love he’s yearned for.

Even in those loving moments when he could feel your love for him practically radiating off you, he can’t ignore that pit in his stomach. The picture that creeps into his mind of you and him being happy together could never happen. Not when he sees his scars, gnarled and etched onto his skin when he takes his clothes off. A painful reminder of his ‘defection’. How could anyone love him like this?

His mind clouds with insecurity and doubt, truly thinking that he’s unworthy of anything that would bring him joy.

Even as he cries into his pillow late at night, finally letting himself to put down the rough exterior he desperately keeps up. It was late at night, the city lights and cloudy skies making his room gloomy.

He didn’t even hear you coming into his apartment, forgetting that you were supposed to come by at night after your long day to drop off a few things. It wasn’t until he hears the creak of his bedroom door that he faces the door.

What he didn’t expect was to see you standing at the doorway, hesitant on coming into his room. Hearing his sobs as you entered filled your heart with worry, quietly making your way through his apartment to see him.

Jason says your name in confusion, his voice shaky and strained from his crying. “Shit—Look uhm—“ he sniffles quietly, wiping his tear stained face with his hands. “..Sorry.” He sighs, too embarrassed and numb to make up an excuse. He’s grateful that his room is dim, but hoping that the subtle glow from the moon didn’t show his puffy eyes.

There was silence for a long moment, Jason internally panicking and overwhelmed by you seeing him so..vulnerable. He couldn’t see your face or even read you, the dim lighting made it difficult. It wasn’t until you broke the silence, your voice soft.

“..It’s alright. I..already left some of the things you asked for on the table. But uhm..” you trailed off, a hesitant step into his room. “..I’m here if you need to talk yeah? Or if you just need someone to sit with you.” You say, anxiously fidgeting with your hands.

“Can I..?” You ask, mentally bracing for his response.

Jason felt his chest get tight, his hands balling the blanket he had over him. “..Yeah..that’s—okay.” He whispered, looking down at his hand.

As you walked to his bedside, you could see him a lot more clearly now. He wasn’t wearing a shirt, his scars all over his skin catching your eye. You’ve never seen them before, not that he’d let you.

Although that wasn’t important as comforting your best friend right now, sitting next to him and leaving a small space between the two of you. You didn’t want to overwhelm him, not when he’s showing his true self before you.

Sitting in silence, all Jason wanted to do was crawl up into a hole and disappear. He felt humiliated by himself, for being so emotional and having these feelings that only hurt him more. But it was exhausting having to go on with life.

Stuck within the limbo of what he used to be and what he is now, Jason desperately wants to cling onto the boy who was filled with joy. To feel free and for the first time in his childhood, to be loved.

He held onto the happy memories of the past, yet the pain and suffering never forgotten or left behind. It’s what made him, imperfect or perfect in your eyes & others.

“..This is humiliating.” Jason dryly admits, an ashamed chuckle following along to hopefully ease the tension.

“Sorry you had to see me..like this.” He sighs, more shameful by the second. Jason immediately gets up from his bed, wanting to cover the scars and hide his face from you. “I probably look like complete shit right now. I’ll—“

He feels your hand on his wrist, stopping him from going. You both know that he could easily break away, yet a part of him doesn’t want to.

“..You don’t need to keep pretending anymore, Jason. Please.” Your voice was filled with understanding, something that made him feel less anxious. He could feel your thumb subconsciously rubbing on his skin to bring him comfort, which was working.

His eyes slightly widened, his shoulders becoming visibly less tense. Jason let himself sit next to you once more, the gap between you two closed. His thigh met yours, his burning skin a contrast to the joggers you wore.

“I’m here for you, always. You don’t need to tell me anything or explain yourself to me. I just want you to be okay—you just mean..so much to me. And I can’t see you so hurt when all you deserve is happiness. You’re…really important to me.” You stumble on your words, your hand still holding onto his wrist tight.

Your words only made his eyes prickle with tears, speechless as his lips parted. Next thing he knew was that his arms made their way to hold you against him, bringing his face to your shoulder.

Tears began to fall once more, you felt the wetness on your shoulder. Yet, you only wrapped your own arms around him.

“..I’m just..so tired..” he whispered, your name falling from his lips once more. “..These scars..everything about me is disgusting..” he sniffles. “I don’t deserve you..I don’t deserve to have you with me..” he sobs, holding you tightly.

It was sudden, having his arms wrapped around you and crying into your shoulder. All you could do was hold him, to give him the comfort you desperately wanted to give him.

“..You’re anything but disgusting, Jason. You’re perfect.” You whispered, cupping his face as you wiped his tears away.

Jason’s eyes practically dazed as they locked into yours, his pale blue-green eyes glinting by his tears. Scars and all, he was everything you could ever want.

Looking into your eyes, it was as if he got a glimpse of his future. It was you, it’d always be you. Night or day, the only person who could truly make him feel like the world wasn’t falling apart was you. He choked up, letting his head fall onto your shoulder once more.

“..Please don’t leave me tonight.” He whispered, voice cracking.

“I wouldn’t dream of it.” You whispered back, your eyes closing as you brought him close.

—

[unsoju]

★ trust. trust who?   𓂃 k. kozume x f. reader

cw. MINORS DNI. word count ; 3.5k. smut. third year! kenma. p in v sex. use of condoms (wrap before you tap it folks). loss of virginity. fingering. constant reassurance. turned into light angst at the end (sorry). first time writing smut (i do take constructive criticism, so pls point out what i could be doing better. thank you!).

syn. you’ve been here before, standing in this doorway asking kenma for something. last time was childs play. this time, though? this time it’s monumental.

The TV light flickers off, leaving you in complete darkness save for the light coming from your phone, and you realize you’ve stayed up too late. 

You point your phone down towards your chest, sneaking a peak at Keiko. It dawns on you that she’s probably been asleep for a while now. You hadn’t heard the random laughter and comments about the movie that had been playing for some time.

The hum of the AC and very faint sounds of gunshots are all you hear. A normal person would be confused and maybe even scared, but you’ve stayed at the Kozume residence enough to know that it’s just Kenma playing video games. Again.

You let out a sigh and glance around the dark room. There’s not much to do out here except play on your phone— your dying phone. Leave it up to you to forget a charger and forget to ask for one before Keiko falls asleep.

Eventually, you flip your blanket off your legs and stand. The hardwood floor is freezing cold even through your socks. A shiver runs down your spine as you tiptoe towards Kenma’s room. You stop just before it, leaning forward to put your ear against it.

You can hear Kenma cursing quietly, the repetitive clicking of his keyboard, the hum of his PC. Through the crack at the bottom of the door, you can see blue light and white flashes every so often.

You and Kenma have always gotten along. When Keiko brought you over for the first time, when you were in your last year of middle school and Kenma was a first year in high school, you two had an immediate understanding of each other. Kenma didn’t like to talk, and you did. You two left each other alone for the most part.

But, the older you get, the more things change. Kenma grew taller, he grew leaner from volleyball, he somehow got more handsome than before. He got friendlier with you, too. You’re not around him enough to know if he got like that with other people, but it’s nice.

You bring your balled fist up to the door, and only hesitate for a moment before knocking twice. “Kenma?” You whisper, trying to get his attention. When nothing changes in the sounds coming from inside the room, you knock again. “Open the door, gamerboy.”

There’s a pause in the noise now. No more curses from Kenma, no more faint gunshots. Instead, the sound of creaking floorboards replaces it. There’s a shadow in front of the door and then it opens. The blue LED lights almost blind you with how bright they are.

Kenma has his hair back. Unbidden, but strong, the feeling of pure attraction shoots through your body, making you shiver involuntarily. He has his headset on, but one of the sides is farther back on his head, leaving one ear open for him to hear the outside world. His hoodie is too big for him— like all of his hoodies— and he probably wore those sweatpants to bed last night.

How can one look like a slob, yet so hot at the same time?

“What?” He almost sounds annoyed, but by the way he keeps glancing back at his monitor, you can tell he’s probably in a match right now.

“Um, sorry. Am I interrupting something?”

One more time, he glances back, then sighs and looks back at you. “Not anymore. What’s up?”

Suddenly, you get nervous. You’ve done this once before— your first year, when all your friends were bragging about their first kiss and you still hadn’t had yours. You showed up to Kenma’s door in the middle of the night and asked him to kiss you. And, for some strange reason, he did. Right there in the doorway. You two didn’t speak about it the next morning when he joined you and Keiko for breakfast, and you certainly didn’t tell Keiko about it when you finally revealed to her that you’d had your first kiss.

This question, this ask, is different, though. A much more intimate act to do in the doorway.

“Um, I have, uh, a question for you,” you mumble out, looking down at your socked feet. There’s a part of you that is already regretting coming to his door. And there’s another part of you that’s aching. For this? For Kenma? You’re not sure.

“Okay.” Out of your peripheral vision, you can see his own socked feet shuffling around. Probably antsy to get back to his game, you think.

The palms of your hands start to sweat as you twist your fingers around. If you look up at him while you ask this question, you’ll never recover. The thought of rejection makes you want to throw up in embarrassment.

You take a deep breath, letting your eyes fall shut, and ask on the exhale. “Will you take my virginity?”

The silence that hangs in the air is deafening. A silent killer. Your stomach starts to turn and you can almost feel the bile rising in your throat. This was a horrible idea. He’s your best friend's older brother— if he says no, you’ll still have to deal with him for the rest of your life. He’s probably going to tell his friends about you. His little sister's desperate friend. God, you think you’re going to pass out.

You turn your body away from him, preparing to do the walk of shame back to the living room couch, but he stops you by grabbing your arm. You freeze in his grasp. You’re going to turn around and he’s going to call a crazy lunatic for asking. him such a question.

“Why?” Is all he says. You blink at the ground a couple times. You ask him to take your virginity and his question is why? Out of pure disbelief, you look up and meet his eyes. They’re so genuine, you could sob. “You want me to take your virginity,” he states plainly. “Why?”

His fingers feel warm wrapped around your arm. Your skin is tingling. Your heart is racing. You swallow hard. “I trust you,” you mumble out, voice shaky. “You’re… I just trust you.”

You notice the furrow in his brow. You can tell his brain is working harder than it probably ever has before. You don’t want to, but you remove your arm from his grip. “It’s stupid. I’m sorry I asked. Just forget it, okay?”

You turn to leave again, but he sighs frustratedly and grabs you again. “Okay,” he says. You look at him, eyes wide. He glances down the hall in both directions, then pulls you into his room and shuts the door behind you. When he finally notices your surprised expression, he shrugs. “If you want to lose your virginity, I’d rather you do it with me than some random guy from school.”

It warms your heart a little bit and the thought of Kenma being jealous makes you discreetly squeeze your thighs together. He looks around his room awkwardly, finally landing on his PC.

“I should probably turn this off.” He gestures at it.

It dawns on you that he’s probably nervous too. Not as nervous as you, you’re sure, but nervous nonetheless. By the way he’s acting, though, you’re assuming he’s done this before. Just not with his little sister’s best friend. 

He walks over to his PC and turns it off, leaving the room illuminated in pure blue light. When he turns to look at you once again, your legs almost give out. You’re so nervous, you’re pretty sure you're shaking.

“You can sit down,” he says, taking a few steps towards you. He reaches up and scratches his neck. “We can’t really… do it standing. I mean, we can, it would just be, uh, awkward for your first time.”

You sit down on the very edge of his bed and stare at the ground. What are you doing? Asking Kenma, of all people, to take your virginity? Are you insane? You bite your bottom lip into your mouth, letting your teeth dig into the skin harshly. This is ridiculous.

You feel the bed dip, and your head starts to spin. Do you really need to lose your virginity? You have your whole life ahead of you! What if Kenma doesn’t enjoy it? What if it’s bad sex? What if—

“Are you sure you want to do this? Uh, with me, I mean.”

You look up to meet his eyes, and every negative thought reaching through your mind vanishes. You surge forward, placing your lips on his in a gentle kiss.

“Sorry,” you mutter, leaning back. “I’m sure, Kenma.”

His eyes dart down to your lips, then back to your eyes. With a small nod, he leans forward, putting his weight on one hand and cupping your face with the other.

It’s soft at first. Light kisses to the corner of your mouth, then to your lips, then down your neck. Your chest is rising and falling at a rapid rate. Your hands sit awkwardly at your side— what are you supposed to do with them?

Kenma lifts his head from your neck, eyes scanning your face. He glances at the top of his bed and nods his head. “Can you lay back? I have to…” he sighs, running a hand down his face. “We can’t just go straight into it. You know that much, right?” When you nod, so does he. “I have to prepare you.”

“Okay.” You scoot back until your back hits his pillow. His bed is comfortable, you think. You would probably get a really good night's sleep in it. You’re shaken out of your thoughts when Kenma comes into your vision, hovering over you.

“Can I take off your shorts?”

You swallow hard, but nod. Shit is getting Real now. He hooks his fingers under the band of sleep shorts and pulls them down, huffing out a breath of hot air.

“You’re not wearing underwear,” he says breathily. He looks up and you can feel your face heat up. You open your mouth to talk, but he runs his finger down your slit and you gasp, trying to squeeze your legs together. “You’re soaking. You—“ he cuts himself off, hesitating. “Just from a few kisses?”

He’s not looking at you, seemingly entranced by you and your wetness. After a few beats, he looks up, licking his lips. “Have you done this to yourself before?” He clears his throat. “I mean, is one finger going to hurt?”

You give him a meek, dumb nod. When your brain catches up, you shake your head. “I’ve, um, it’s not going to hurt. You can— Ah!” You let out a surprised gasp as he pushes a finger into you. It’s loud and you know it. “Sorry, I’m— sorry. That surprised me.”

“Keiko is sleeping in the living room. You have to be quiet or she’s going to wake up.”

“I know, I know.” You nod, digging your teeth into your bottom lip again. You bite down so hard, you can taste a little blood. Keiko finding out is probably your worst fear at the moment. You went to great lengths to hide a kiss from her, you’re not sure what she’s going to do when she finds out he took your virginity.

Tentatively, he pumps his finger in and out a couple times, watching your face for any sort of reaction. You almost can’t look him in the face. He shifts on the bed, pushing his fingers deeper and your mouth falls open in a silent moan.

His fingers continue moving, but his eyes are glued to your face. His eyes are lidded as he stares at you. “Can I put another one in?” Again, you nod silently. Slowly but surely, he adds another finger. “Does it hurt?”

“No,” you gasp out. “No, it— shit, Kenma.” Your back arches off the bed just a bit and your eyes fall shut. If his fingers feel this good, how will you survive when he actually fucks you?

“There?”

His fingers speed up slightly and your hand shoots to your mouth, muffling the moans bubbling up in your throat. One of your legs, caged in between his own, twitches and brushes up against something. Something hard. The thought that you made Kenma hard makes you groan. “K- enma,” your speech is broken, interrupted by the arousal shooting through your body. “I’m ready. I—”

His fingers stop and the whine you let out is involuntary. You open your eyes and look down at him to find him staring intently. “I’ve only been fingering you for like, two minutes.”

“Kenma,” you whisper, brows furrowing. “Please.”

The way his face changes is instant. It looks like someone has flipped a switch in his brain. A brief memory flashes through your mind. Summer after first year, when you were staying over at Keiko’s for seemingly the umpteenth time, you needed something from the top shelf and neither of you could reach it. You had been in a boot because of a minor car crash, and Keiko had chosen just then to reveal her fear of heights. You had run to Kenma’s room, once again interrupting his video games, and asked him for help. He, of course, refused. But then you said his name and he looked at you. And you said, “Kenma, please.” And he stood up like a robot who had only one task in life; reaching the thing that you needed.

His sweatpants are off in an instant, laying in a haphazard pile on the ground, leaving him in his boxers. You think there’s flowers on them, but they might be cartoon characters instead. You’re not sure that matters right now. You meet his eyes again and they’re dark. A haze seems to have fallen over them. You swallow hard as he pulls down his boxers.

Your eyes almost bulge out of your head. He’s huge. Keiko had once told you that gamer boys have the biggest cocks— are the freakiest— and, of course, you hadn’t believed her. Maybe you should have.

“Is that going to fit?” The question slips out of you, dumb and full of disbelief. “I— sorry, was that weird?”

And Kenma laughs. He laughs. “It’s fine. Not the first time I’ve gotten that reaction.” He pauses, squinting his eyes. “That was the douchiest thing I’ve ever said in my life. I sounded like Kuroo.”

You giggle at that. You’ve only met Kuroo a handful of times, but you can picture him saying that.

“I should get a condom.” He crawls over you, reaching into the drawer beside his bed. His cock brushes against your inner thigh and you shiver. 

This is it. You’re about to lose your virginity to your best friend's brother. There’s a feeling of guilt festering in your stomach, but the second Kenma is hovering over you again, ripping the condom open, it fades away.

You watch him slip the condom on curiously. He’s really hard, it’s almost surprising. For the millionth time tonight, he looks back up at you, seeking permission. You give him a nod, but your head seems to stutter, so you give him multiple. He smiles and lines himself up with your entrance. 

“This is going to be a little uncomfortable since you were so eager.”

You swallow hard and finally, finally he pushes in. It’s just the tip, but it’s stretching your hole more than you’ve ever gone before. Your face scrunches up in discomfort and he stops moving. “N- no,” you stammer out. He furrows his brows and you shake your head. “Keep going. I- I can take it.”

He hesitates, but pushes in more. He pulls his lip into his mouth, sucking in a breath. His head drops down, now watching himself disappear inside you.

Your head drops down to the pillow, mouth open, eyes closed. You’ve never felt anything like this. It doesn’t hurt, you don’t think. It’s just different.

And then Kenma lets out a huff of air, mouth falling open to match yours. He looks up and gives you a smile. “I’m all the way in. Does it hurt?”

You shake your head. “It doesn’t hurt. It—” you shift, cutting yourself off when he hits what you can only assume is your g-spot. “Shit. Kenma, I—”

He pulls his hips back, then thrusts into you again. “C- can I move?” His voice is quiet, tight. “Fuck, you’re so warm inside.”

“Move.” You nod, reaching your hand out to grab his arm. Your grip is too tight, probably, but you can’t even begin to think about that right now. “You can— fuck, please move.”

This time, when he pulls his hips back, effectively leaving your weeping hole empty, he pulls back until only the tip is left inside of you. You clench around the cock remaining, biting your lip in a sad attempt to hide the whine that comes out of you.

And then he snaps his hips, sheathing himself inside of you in one thrust. You let out a noise, half-gasp, half-moan. Kenma’s hand slides up the side of your body, over your neck, then over your mouth. “You have to be quiet.” He punctuates the word with a thrust of his hips, pushing deeper inside of you, reaching places you didn’t even know existed. 

“Mhm.” You nod frantically, though it’s sort of difficult with the way he’s holding your face, fingers gripping tightly and squishing your cheeks together.

He starts at a steady pace. In and out, in and out, in and out.  You’re bewildered by how full you feel, by how good he feels inside of you. It’s perfect, almost. He fits inside of you like he was made for you, perfectly sculpted to your insides. 

Your hand, formerly grabbing his arm tightly, moved to his hand, pulling it off your mouth. “F- faster, Ken- ah- Kenma. Faster.” You press your lips together and exhale through your nose, another attempt to quiet yourself. You didn’t even know you could be this loud.

His hands slip down to your thighs, gripping them tightly, fingers digging into the plush skin, and pistons into you at an unforgiving pace. Your back arches off the bed completely, mouth once again falling open in a mostly silent moan. Your chest is heaving, overwhelmed by the pleasure. There’s a familiar feeling building in your stomach— a knot, one might call it.

“Shit, shit,” Kenma curses breathily. You look up at him only to find him staring down at where he’s fucking into you. He looks so focused, you don’t even think he realizes that his grip on your thighs tightens and his pace gets faster.

As he hits that spot inside you, the one that sends a spark up of your spine, makes you want to close your legs and curl up into a ball, you think you’re going to cry. He hits it over and over and over again. That knot that was forming gets tighter, gets bigger, gets hotter.

You claw at his arms, a warning of your approaching climax. He jerks his head up to look at you and, for a brief moment, you get insecure. He’s seen all of you now, but you can’t help but think about how your face looks right now. The insecurity is washed away as Kenma lets out a quiet, yet genuine, moan. It’s hot and it’s nothing you’ve ever heard before.

“Kenma—”

“Fuck, Y/n. You’re so warm, so tight, so— ah—”

Your vision flashes white. Your back arches off the bed. The knot unravels and hot, hot pleasure shoots through your body. Your hand is over your mouth, muffling the slew of moans rolling off your tongue. 

For a final time, his cock brushes your g-spot and your orgasm almost violently rakes through your body, back arching impossibly, drawn out moan leaving your mouth, legs shaking faintly. 

Kenma follows your lead after a few more thrusts, and the feeling of his seed shooting into the condom makes you shiver. It’s a weird sensation. You both sit there for a moment, staring at each other, breathing heavily.

“Thank you,” you whisper, barely audible. Your eyes fall shut and you exhale heavily. “God, thank you.”

When you wake up the next morning, you’re still in Kenma’s bed. Panic shoots through you and you immediately sit up. The clock on Kenma’s wall says 6:30 AM. You look over at the sleeping boy and give him a soft smile.

And then the embarrassment of last night hits you, and you immediately get out of his bed and go back to the living room couch. If your legs hurt as you walk, you don’t say anything. When Keiko wakes you up, asking how you slept, you’ll tell her you slept fine.

And when Kenma finally wakes up, walks into the kitchen to have some breakfast, you’ll smile at him and pass the cereal as if nothing ever happened.

Maybe that’s your fate with Kenma.

[sourw0lfs]

ash from your fire

written for @steddiebingo 12 days of christmas prompt: fire rating: t words: 501 tags: firefighter au, hurt/comfort, angst

Despite having scrubbed his skin near raw, Steve can still smell the smoke, can still feel the fire, can still taste the ash every time he closes his eyes. After so many years, he should be used to the way he feels after a particularly bad call, but something about them still shakes him to his core every time. His heart, body, mind, and soul all sync up with a deep-rooted desire to be back at home, to be in a place he knows is safe. It’s so strong this time, Steve doesn’t even bother drying his hair before he’s out the station’s door and in his car.

The drive home feels like a dream and he doesn’t wake up until he’s walking through the front door and falling into his husband’s embrace. For the first time in hours, Steve feels like he’s returning to his own body, feeling the strain in every muscle, the ache in every bone, as Eddie’s arms wrap around him, squeezing all of his broken bits back in place.

“Your hair is still damp,” Eddie greets him with a kiss on the top of his head as he pulls the two of them onto the bed, holding Steve closer still. It feels like he’s trying to mold the two of them into one person, and Steve can’t find a reason to complain.

“Needed you more than my hair needed me,” Steve mumbles into Eddie’s shoulder. To anyone else, the words might be at least a little silly, but Steve doesn’t miss the way Eddie’s muscles tense slightly before relaxing again.

“Do you need to talk about it?”

Steve is quiet for a moment, mulling over his answer. His therapist would definitely encourage talking about the things that plague him, but he’s not sure if he’s willing to drag Eddie into that. Not yet. Maybe not ever. He doesn’t want to risk blurring the line between work and home more than he already does. He needs the space to keep them separate. He needs Eddie to be something he has beyond the ghosts that haunt him at night.

“Not right now,” he decides eventually. “Maybe in the morning, once the world feels a little less dark.”

They both know he won’t, but the words are part of their routine for bad days anyway. They give Steve the space to open up if he ever finds the strength to, and they give Eddie the chance to feel included in something he’s only on the fringes of. They’re comforting, even if they never amount to anything.

Another kiss finds its home in Steve’s hair and Steve sighs. Now that he’s settled back in his own body, surrounded by the safety that is Eddie, the exhaustion is creeping up on him. Lazily looking up at Eddie, Steve moves just enough to give him a peck on the lips before settling down again and finally, finally, finally letting himself rest.

He can only hope that things will feel better come morning.

[the-lazyyy-artist]

i saw you in a dream a two-part Karasu Tabito x Filipina!reader story part one

Synopsis: The Japanese Occupation was far kinder than you expected, especially in his eyes.

Word Count: 19.1k

Content Warning: historical au (based in the Philippines), talks about the Japanese Occupation in the Philippines, glimpses of the events during World War 2, love despite the war, angst

Author's Notes: I tried to be as mild as I could with the information of the war, as well as the reader's situation. Based on my research, some families were exempted from the horrors. I tried to be as clear as possible with the story too, so if you have any notes after reading, please let me know thru the comments, reblogs, asks, or DMs! I would love to discuss things with you guys!

@fishii28 ✨

"We have to do this," your father iterated once more as he paced across the living room in anxiety, "It's for the safety of our family, Y/n, the safety of your sisters and your mother... most especially you. You're our eldest daughter, you have to understand."

"Compliance? For safety? How is that even a good thing, Papa? These Japanese are... massacring the country, our city! The best we can do is fight back!" You reasoned out, your voice raising in frustration. Of all people in the world, you would never expect your father to bend the knee to the colonizers. Sure, his allegiance is to the Americans, who also colonized your country after the Spanish did the same, but he held hope that they would be saved by them. For now, he has to think of the best way for his family to be safe, especially with the news going around about the abuses against women. He couldn't bear to live the rest of his life thinking that the women in his family would be facing the same fate as everyone, so compliance with the Japanese was the best option.

"My dearest, please. I don't want you to be..." he sniffled and lowered his head, then he cried in anguish. "I don't want to endanger all of you. The situation is hard, I understand that, but the best way for us to be safe is to side with them. Despite the crimes they're committing to our country and the people, we need to be safe. Think of yourself, Y/n. Think of your mother and your sisters. They're still so young." He walked towards you and pulled you into a hug, the tightest he had given you. "I love our country. You know that out of everyone. But right now, my love for my family overcomes that."

Two weeks later, a Japanese General, accompanied by his Lieutenant General, entered your home and had a written agreement with them, officially making your family untouchable from the atrocities of the war. You listened to their conversation from your room, peeking through the crack of your door. It was a surprise that the General had some English skills, which you then figured that maybe they had to learn for the invasion. From what you have gathered in their conversation, they have laid out some privileges for the family: you'll sustain your way of life and be exempted from the abuses, forced labor, and serve as entertainment for the soldiers.

That was good enough, you thought.

You then heard a cry from the other room. Your youngest sister's voice can be heard through the walls, and unfortunately, throughout the house. You saw the General and Lieutenant General perk up as soon as her cries spilled out. Your parents' bedroom door flew open, and out went your sister, crying for your father. "Maria!" You exclaimed, bursting out of your room to grab her before she could even reach the living room. You carried her in your arms despite her protests, but your eyes landed on the guests, specifically the Lieutenant General. He was about your age, a little stern at first glance. His blue eyes met yours, full of curiosity and a tinge of annoyance from the disturbance. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," you said as you walked away, carrying your crying sister back to your parents' room, closing the door behind you.

A few moments have passed, and you heard the bedroom door open, revealing your father, looking more distraught than he should be. He looked at you with apologetic eyes, and your stomach flipped at the sight. "What did you do, Papa?" you asked, your voice anxious and breaking.

"I'm sorry, my dearest. It had to be done."

Lieutenant General Karasu Tabito became a frequent visitor to your home. The reason? He became interested in you despite your short presence that day, thanks to your good-for-nothing sister. You're forced to face him every day with soft fake smiles that never reached your eyes. You try your best to be kind, at least just for the facade, so your family would be safer. You try your best to entertain his stories, all interesting and questionable. You try to respond accordingly, just as how your mother trained you all these years when the time comes for suitors to arrive at your doorstep.

Karasu was nothing but patient and kind, though sometimes, his eyes gave it away. He would sometimes look like he was analyzing you, the way you move, the way you speak, the way you laugh. Then one day, he said, "You're faking." That caught you a little off-guard. You cleared your throat and shifted in your seat, pulling your skirt down your knees. "I beg your pardon?" you replied.

"I don't like the way you're faking your interactions with me."

Like any other person in this time of war, hearing that would feel like a death sentence, especially with the situation your family was in. You, acting like their sacrificial lamb to this Japanese soldier, and him, a wolf. You smiled at him and shook your head. "I don't think I understand."

"Y/n, I know you feel forced to talk to me almost every day. But I want to let you know that I'm not like anyone out there. I don't agree with what they're doing, and I would..."

"You would?"

"If there wasn't a war, things like taking an interest in knowing you better wouldn't be that hard. Because I want to know you more and take you as my wife," he continued, his eyes full of honesty.

It took a year before you agreed to marry him, which your father was more than enthusiastic about. For him, it meant that your alliance and complacency with the Japanese colonizers were now set in stone and that your family would be forever safe from the horrors you read from underground newspapers that often arrive on your doorstep. You made sure Karasu never found any of it every time he visited your home before the marriage.

Life with him was peaceful, or it seemed to be. You were away from all the noise, and Karasu ensured you would live as a married couple peacefully. Every morning, there was a routine of you two drinking coffee at the dining table, him reading the newspaper, Japanese issued ones, and you humming a tune. It was lovely. Sometimes, he'd hold your hand as he drinks his coffee, and you'd smile at him.

Mornings also included helping him into his uniform every time he's being called to the office, ironing it to perfection. You'd help him button up his shirt, then hand him his hat, sometimes dusting it off before you do. "I'll be back soon," Karasu would say with a smile, and you'd respond, "Take care."

Your afternoons are spent tending the garden and listening to the vinyl records your father gave you as a wedding gift. They were pretty old, and you played them anyway. You'd sway alone in the living room until you grew tired. Then it was time to prepare dinner for you and your husband.

He'd consistently arrive home at 6:00 PM, leaving his boots by the doorway before he walked to you as you worked in the kitchen. He'd give you a chaste kiss on your temple, whispering, "I'm home." You're always glad whenever he comes home because it means things haven't gotten worse yet.

One night after dinner, while you were washing the dishes, humming a tune you heard from one of your records, you heard Karasu rummage through the same shelf of records in your living room. You weren't concerned, no. It's just he never once had an interest in your collection, yet here he was. Then you heard him put on one of the records to the record player you had in your home.

"Y/n," he called out, his feet padded on the wooded floor of your shared home, "dance with me." You looked at him over your shoulder, giving him a kind smile. "Just after this, Karasu."

He sighed as walked nearer to the sink where you were and turned off the faucet. You faced him with a slight disappointment on your features and he just smiled at you. He took a towel hanging from the drawer handles, and then wrapped your hands with it, drying them for you. "The dishes can wait. Please, dance with me." You could only nod and walk back with him to the living room as the scratchy music filled the living room. Karasu placed his hands on your hips as you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, beginning to sway with him. "We never danced before," he stated in which you hummed in reply. "I think the war hasn't let us, Karasu."

He shushed you softly as he shook his head. "No mentions of war in this home, Y/n. I told you that before, remember?"

"Sorry."

"It's okay. No need to. I want us to live away from it, even if we have to pretend. Keep your mind away from it."

Karasu sighed shakily as he pulled you closer to him, embracing you. You can feel the tension radiating from him, so you rest your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat. "Karasu, what's wrong?"

"You've been calling me Karasu for the longest time. Maybe it's time for you to call me Tabito," he said, his voice low, ignoring your question. You nodded and spoke his name. It felt new on your tongue, but it sounds much better now that you won't be calling his, and your, last name. Tabito rested his forehead against yours as you two were engulfed by the silence of the night and the hum of your record player.

It wasn't long until that peace slowly faded as Tabito would spend more time away from your home.

He came home with news of a possible battle, one that was inevitable. He told you in great detail what Japan would do to defend the Philippines from the Americans, and it would be bloody. You listened to him intently, holding his shaking hands. Tabito warned you of two outcomes: either they will lose and leave the country, or Japan will continue their reign over the islands. If you were asked right now, you don't know what to feel. If you were still 2 years younger, you'd feel overjoyed about the liberation of your country. However, now that you've come to know Tabito, and eventually, loved him more than you imagined, Japan losing would mean him leaving you behind.

The news of Japan's surrender broke you.

The sight of Tabito running to you and apologizing broke you.

"I know I never told you this in our whole marriage but remember that I love you. I loved every moment with you, and I would trade everything to be with you," he cried as he cupped your wet cheeks. "I love you, I love you, Y/n."

He left the next day along with the other Japanese troops, leaving you in your once-shared home.

It's such a shame, others would say, that your Japanese husband left you without a child. That you were left alone with hopes of him returning to get you. That after 3 years, you ended up lying on your deathbed.

That your last words before you closed your eyes were his name.

A second part of this story will be posted soon, so keep an eye!