#my own fault for forgetting them‚ though. here they are

[paintedwritings]

The Battle Between

Pairing: Azriel x Reader (She/her pronouns used)

Word Count: 9.9k

Read Part 1 Here!

Summary: Reader now knows that she’s pregnant, with the Spymaster of the Night Court’s baby, after a one night stand. Cue inward groaning. How in the Mother was she supposed to navigate this?

Warning/Notes: Thank you everyone who liked and responded to the first part! I’m excited to write this part, and maybe a part three depending on how this one ends. Angst??? A little, there is gonna be hardships and talk about dangerous pregnancies and fears so just keep that in mind. There is a little self harm in the form of snapping a rubber band–nothing too bad, but just something to keep in mind.

This is my first taglist, hopefully I did it right! Please let me know if there are any problems with it. 

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Y/n 

Pregnant. 

With a baby.

No matter how hard she tried, that one thought kept elbowing its way through all of her defenses, a relentless battering ram against the flimsy walls of her denial. The rest of the day was a blur, a chaotic symphony of buzzing white noise as she finished her shift at the clinic. She had found herself outside a bakery with her sister and friend as she pushed her cinnamon bun around on the plate, their presence barely registering. Mari chatted about her latest project, her voice a distant hum she couldn't focus on. Lena nudged her knee, a question lingering in her wide, familiar eyes: Are you okay?

No.

Y/n was not okay. In fact, she was so far from okay that she couldn't even bring herself to say the problem out loud. Saying it out loud made it real, and she was so not ready to accept it yet. Not even close.

She hadn't even reached a century in age. She was supposed to have all the time in the world to find someone to share this kind of joy– because isn't that how she should feel? Shouldn't she be happy about this kind of news? Some fae tried for decades, for centuries, and weren't able to fall pregnant. And somehow she has a one night stand with a guy she only just met and it happens to her? What had she done to the Mother to warrant such bad luck?

She stared into her empty apartment. She had no idea where Lesa was tonight, couldn't find it in herself to care. She hadn't even remembered the walk home, missed the worried glance between Lena and Mari as they made their own ways home. 

She wasn't ready to tell her sister or any of her friends, so them not being here was really for the best. Her eyes snagged on the bookshelves, the coffee table, even some of the opened cabinets. The kitchen doubled as a dining area, and the two small bedrooms squished together in the back were no bigger than the one bathroom they had access to. 

I can't raise a baby here.

The thought came out of nowhere, bitch-slapping her with a fresh wave of tears as she slid down her door, her hands grappling her poor strands of hair – she could practically hear them screaming as she pulled and yanked just to feel anything other than this numbness. There was absolutely no way she would sleep tonight, not between finding out the…news, and doing her best to forget the man who had gotten her into this mess.

No.

She reminded herself that this was not his fault, not entirely. It took two to tango, and gods, she had wanted to. Why hadn't she made sure to take a tonic afterwards, though? She had had so much going on it hadn't even crossed her mind, especially not with her abysmal attempts at forgetting that night, and the male, so viscerally. But, she was a healer, and a damn good one, taking a tonic should have been at the forefront of her thoughts. Not to mention the signs of early pregnancy that she had been so spectacular at ignoring: She had been utterly exhausted, chalked that up to the hard labor at the clinic and the late nights. Her nausea, which had been so out of the ordinary, she had convinced herself that it was stress, that she just had a lot on her plate. Cauldron, she had even had a sausage bagel the other morning and something about the smell had completely turned her off, and she had just brushed that off.

The tears that spilled down her cheeks painted her face, the outside mirroring her feelings perfectly. She had made mistakes, and they had led her to this point. She was doing her best to come to terms, honestly. But, all she kept coming back to was how this would change her plans: Would Madja take away her internship? The older fae hadn't alluded to this being a problem, but the internship was supposed to last a year and a half– this baby would disrupt at least a third of that time, if not more. She'd have to find her own place, buy all kinds of baby things– gods, what did babies even need? She had absolutely no idea– and that would surely drain her savings. And that's not even considering what would happen once the baby was here, how would she continue to work twelve hour shifts, or over-nights? 

She shook her head, trying desperately to reign in her growing panic. Stress was bad for a baby, right? She'd have to brush up on her readings, reacquaint herself with the information. She knew at this point, the baby was only the size of a pomegranate seed, so maybe stress wasn't her biggest problem right now.

Trying to remember her mother's soothing voice, she took a deep breath. She used to say that if she ever found herself with too much stress, or too many problems, to look at them one at a time. To start with the most ‘in the now’ concerns.

She could do that. Right now, her most pressing concern was to calm the storm that brewed and swirled chaotically inside of her. She needed to keep herself from falling victim to her panic. 

She made her way to the bathroom, splashing cool water on her face. Taking in her reflection, she wondered how something so monumental could leave her looking so… normal. Her hair remained the same shade, her face still symmetrical with both sides meeting in the center of her heart-shaped chin, and her eyes were the same color, still vibrant– still completely her. 

The quiet enveloped her for a moment, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room her only solace of time passing. But it didn't matter, not really, because she always came back to the same question:

How could this have happened? The question burned as it travelled through her, even as her mind provided the answer it already knew by heart: She had—happily—participated in said event that had caused this entire fiasco.

The memories of that night, of him, still resonated with her. She could still picture him perfectly, his dark curls, his honeyed eyes, and that beautiful, rare smile of his. She could hear his laugh, feel his tongue on her– in her. She could still hear his seductive, deep voice in her ears, the way his body had perfectly slotted with hers. And how he had used his body like it was built to sin. The memories were vivid, potent, and now… tainted. Each one a stark reminder of the impossibility of her current situation.

A soft shiver traced its way up her spine, entirely unrelated to the chill of the evening. It was a familiar sensation now, a subtle, cool brush against her skin, the gentle caress of shadows. She’d dismissed them for weeks, attributing them to lingering residual magic or perhaps her own overactive imagination. But tonight, they felt different—agitated, almost pulsing with an urgency she couldn't quite decipher. 

Exiting the bathroom, her bare feet padding softly against the cool tile, she did her best to remind herself that she couldn't change this, wondering how she got here, what she could have done differently– none of that actually changed the fact that it had happened.

“I'm pregnant.” She said aloud to no one in particular. The sob that followed the words did little to soothe the ache in her chest, in her belly. She found herself cradling her stomach, her hand smoothing over the skin that still looked the same, that hadn't grown yet. 

Even as she groaned, collapsing onto her own bed after the longest day of her life, pressing the heels of her hands into her eyes, she could feel the shift in her worries. How in the Cauldron was she going to tell him?

She hadn't so much as seen him around Velaris, or any of the Inner Circle for that matter. The last point of contact had been when Cassian dropped her off at her apartment that morning. Since then, she'd been actively avoiding any places she may accidentally stumble upon them:Rita's, but that was really more because she was busy, she tried to go to the markets a little later in the day, and she even avoided the bookshops she knew Cassian's mate was known to linger in. She didn't know why she was going to such great lengths– well, that wasn't true, not entirely. If she happened to stumble across him, she didn't want to risk him not remembering her, or worse,  of her making a fool out of herself when it was just one night. 

Y/n wasn't an idiot, she knew that the shadowsinger didn't date, gods, he had never been seen in public with any female more than once unless she was a member of the Inner Circle. He was mysterious and alluring and very much untouchable. How could she possibly spring this on him? There wasn't a scenario in her mind where this went well, where he didn't tell her to leave him out of it.

She screamed. Into her pillow. Full force.

Little did she know that somewhere in the corners of her room, the smallest, sneakiest tendril dwelled, keeping an eye on her. And, if it's chaotic whirls or uncoordinated spirals said anything, it had heard everything.

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Azriel

The clang of steel echoed through the private training ring deep within the House of Wind, a rhythmic symphony of combat that usually brought Azriel a measure of grim satisfaction. 

Today, it was just noise. 

Cassian, a whirlwind of muscle and easy power, moved with his usual devastating grace, but Azriel was off. He had been off for weeks, and it had started grating on his nerves. He didn't react this way, not to anything, especially not to a female that he had a one-night stand with.

He blocked a sweeping kick that normally would have sent him reeling, but his parry was sluggish, his return strike lacking its usual viper-quick precision. He ducked under a heavy sword swing, his shadows flaring erratically around him, a tell-tale sign of his unsettled mind.

"Lost your edge, brother?" Cassian's voice, usually a booming laugh in the ring, was laced with a knowing smirk as he effortlessly dodged a strike that was too low to the ground. He ducked under a wide swing, his focus miles away, almost taking a glancing blow to the temple.

Azriel parried Cassian's brutal overhead swing, the clash of blades jarring his teeth. He returned with a low thrust, aiming for Cassian's knee, but his movement was a beat too slow, his focus fractured. He saw Cassian's eyes narrow, a flicker of concern mingled with amusement. Another block, then a sidestep that wasn't quite fluid enough. Cassian's elbow caught him squarely in the ribs, a breath-stealing impact that would usually infuriate him into faster, deadlier action. 

But today, it just felt dull, distant.

 Cassian grunted, twisting away from a half-hearted swipe to his legs. Azriel felt a flicker of heat, not from exertion, but from Cassian hitting too close to a nerve. He pushed back, harder, trying to banish the apple-blossom scent and the memory of soft, intoxicating skin from his mind.

His shadows swarmed chaotically, proving no help to him in the ring today. If he was being honest with himself, they hadn't been much help to him the past few weeks. Ever since that night. Almost as if he had lost his complete control over them, as if they now answered to another that he wasn't privy to. 

 "Or just dreaming of... ghosts?” Cassian quipped, a predatory grin on his face as he pressed his advantage. Something knowing glinted in the war General's eyes, an assessment that screamed he knew more than he was letting on. 

Azriel couldn't help the soft, but deadly growl that slipped from between his lips. He rushed Cassian, his sword sweeping wide as he feigned right, but Cassian saw it from a mile away. His footwork was amateur at best, his movements sluggish and sloppy. Cassian merely sidestepped the wild lunge, his own blade a blur. With a sharp twist of his wrist, he expertly hooked Azriel's sword, wrenching it from his grasp with a clang that echoed loudly through the silent training ring. 

Azriel found himself suddenly disarmed, breathless, and glaring at the empty space where his weapon had been. Cassian, breathing only slightly harder than normal, lowered his own sword until its tip rested gently against Azriel's throat. 

"Like I said, brother," he murmured, his grin widening, "definitely off your game."

He withdrew the blade, sheathing it with a decisive click. "You done for the day? Or do I need to kick your ass again?”

Azriel didn't bother with a response. Quietly getting to his feet, he grabbed the sword and placed it in its home amongst the other blades and scabbards. He made his way to the water cooler, ignoring the concerned look etching its way onto his brother's face with expert precision. 

An all-too-familiar ache took over him, his hand finding his chest on instinct. He hadn't been able to shake the emptiness that burrowed deep within him. It had only gotten worse the past few weeks, that sensation becoming a close friend– or enemy– that had stayed past its welcome.

“Seriously, Az, what gives?” Azriel loved his brother, he did, but that didn't mean his insistent poking and prodding didn't drive him up the wall. 

Had he been off his game lately? Yes. That didn't mean he needed constant check-ins, though. This was his problem, and he'd be damned if he didn't figure it out on his own. 

“Not sleeping well, that's all.” Vague, but hopefully enough to satiate Cassian's curiosity. 

That was an understatement, though. Azriel had never really slept well, he bordered the insomniac line, and usually found more comfort in resting, then actually sleeping. He had never known what he was missing out on, his sleep schedule perfect for his spy work, but that night? 

The night spent with her. 

Y/n.

The memories of that morning, weeks ago, flooded him. He had woken up then, the midmorning sun beaming in through the glass doors. For the first time in his five centuries of life, he had felt completely at peace. There were no lingering nightmares, no stress about upcoming missions; he hadn't even woken up to go to training. His shadows had kept to themselves in the corners, quiet and content, not rousing him. He had been shocked when he realized he had slept so late, had been even more shocked when he realized the beautiful fae he had brought home was nowhere to be found. The only signs she had even been there: his naked body and her lingering apple-blossom scent.

Ordinarily, Azriel made sure to go somewhere else, either the female's apartment or maybe even an inn. Never, had he brought a female back to his home, to his room. It made things complicated. Sometimes, it gave the wrong idea, made them think that because he'd brought them home, he'd want to continue the previous night's activities. He didn't like to give them false hope, no, it was much easier this way. 

His bedroom was his sacred place, the space he went to get away from everyone else, where no one could touch him. For some reason, though, he hadn't even thought about bringing her there. It had been instinct, he had wanted to see her splayed out on his bed. It made it easier to convince himself that she had been his, even if it was just for that night.

He hadn't even changed his sheets, hadn't allowed the House to do it, either. Admitting why he felt comfort in that scent, in her, though? Well, he hadn't even attempted to touch that line of thinking; it was too dangerous, too vulnerable. He simply accepted that he couldn't change what brought him comfort; why should he have to explain it?

He'd been expecting to wake up with her in his bed, his arm slung around her– maybe even have a passionate morning rendition of the night before. But, instead he'd woken up to find her gone, her side of the bed cold and deserted. She had begged Cassian to bring her home, gods, she hadn't even wanted to see him. It made him wonder if she had had as good a night as him. She had seemed to enjoy herself, if her three orgasms, that he had on constant repeat in his mind, were any indication.

No, she must have enjoyed herself, right?

Then why did she flee?

He shut that thought down as quickly as it came. He didn't have time to ponder her thoughts or what might have been. It was a one night stand and he needed to accept that. He needed to get her off of his god-damned mind.

“That's never stopped you from handing me my ass before,” Cassian continued, his eyes burning into the back of Azriel's head. He was like a dog with a bone when he wanted to be. 

And, he had taken her home that morning. Azriel would be lying if he said he wasn't a little irritated with his brother over it. He could have woken him, could have told him she wanted to go home, he would have gotten her there safely. And, maybe, he wouldn't be feeling this incomplete mess, he'd have… closure.

Surely that was all he needed.

Crushing the cup in his hand before tossing it into the bin, he shrugged, “Maybe I thought you deserved a win,” before Cassian could respond, Azriel was out of the training ring and walking to his room, ignoring the sound of his name being called. 

He held his breath the whole way there, trying desperately to reign in his jumbled feelings. He was the spymaster for crying out loud. He didn't falter when faced with enemies, or wars, or missions– nothing shook him. He needed to be a solid force for his family, his court to rely on– not some heaving mess of a male.

Azriel's mind was a maelstrom. He shot through the halls of the House of Wind, propelled by an urgency that overshadowed all else. His earlier ache had solidified into a heavy, leaden weight in his chest. He reached his room, barely registering the familiar darkness before his eyes snapped to the balcony doors and  that clawing, nagging voice in the back of his head made itself known once more.

Why couldn't he move past this, past her?

He slammed his fist against the wall beside the balcony, the sound echoing in his room. He heard the crack, felt it deep in his body as his knuckles caved under the laden stone of the wall. The skin splitting easily, the blood pooling as he took in the wrecked bones.

He couldn't find it in himself to care, not when it was the safest, most comfortable feeling he'd had in weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Y/n

Strong, calloused hands cupped her face. Deep, molten pools of honey staring intensely into her own deep wells. His lean body pressed against hers, shivers running the length of her arms as they chased his shadows.

“Azriel,” she breathed, his teeth catching her bottom lip as she let her hands roam over every glorious inch of him she could reach. His skin was dipped in pure heat, the places her fingers met only enhancing the warmth blossoming in her core.

She couldn't get enough, not as he finally breached that distance, his mouth claiming hers in with an animalistic glint in his eyes. He didn't simply kiss, he savored, he coaxed, and then devoured. His fingers found their way to her scalp, wrapping around the hair there and pulling, just enough to elicit a moan from her, just enough for his tongue to slip in. He ate the noises slipping from between her lips, his tongue quickly won the battle of dominance. 

Her hands found their place on his sides, running along the muscle and finding the curve of his ass as he continued to kiss the daylight out of her. He groaned and shifted against her aching core, right where she wanted him. She could feel his arousal, could do nothing but beg for him to end her misery.

“Please,” she whispered between kisses, “Please, don't stop,” his smile resembled something sinful, something utterly devilish, it only appeared for a moment, just long enough for her to rock her pelvis against his, a hiss coming out.

“Patience, pretty,” he cooed, his tongue finding the pulse point on her neck, sucking and licking before placing a soft, almost reverent kiss to it. 

“We have all the time in the world.”

Y/n woke with a brutal start, the moonlight from her window barely lighting enough space for her to throw herself out of bed and whip the door open. She had mere seconds between slamming into the bathroom, her knees cracking against the tile floor before retching violently into the porcelain bowl.

She’s not sure how long she stayed there, her hair a mess of waves around her, hugging the toilet like it was her best friend, all the while her throat constricted and burned as she continued to vomit, her stomach swirling dangerously.

She heard Lesa's door open, but couldn't pull herself away from the toilet long enough to investigate. Not that she needed to, the small blond poked her head into the bathroom, sleep still lingering on her delicate features.

“You okay?” She yawned. Her feet making soft noises as she padded over, collecting Y/n's hair and holding it back as another tremor made its way through her.

She barely managed a ‘no’ before the sickness took over. Lesa cooed quietly at her, grabbing a rag and wetting it before dabbing Y/n's face, securing her hair with a leather band, and flushing the evidence down the toilet.

Finally, after what felt like hours, her stomach settled. The cold compress the only real relief against her shaking limbs. She leaned against the tub as Lesa handed her a glass of water and some medication. 

“I can't believe you're still this sick,” she shook her head, golden curls getting tucked behind her ear as she took care in watching over her friend. “Are you sure it's just stress? I know it's rare for fae to get sick, but this isn't normal.”

If she had more energy she may have cursed herself for not having the foresight to stay with Lena. Her sister was many things, but a healer was not one of them. She would be worried, but she wouldn't have put it together this quickly. She could already see the wheels spinning in Lesa's intelligent gray eyes as she mentally ticked off all the possibilities.

She had met Lesa at a herbalist retreat years ago. Lesa had made a comment about how she thought the moonbloom flowers she and Y/n had been tasked with researching were in love– and therefore couldn't be seperated. Y/n had thought she was a quack– and to be fair, she is– but she’s her quack. The two quickly found shared interests and common ground when they realized they were both in school to become healers. It hadn't taken long for their bond to solidify, and they'd been thick as thieves ever since. 

She wiped her mouth with the rag, dropping the disgusting thing in the laundry basket as Lesa slowly helped her to her feet. They remained quiet as they made their way to the living room couch, there was no way either of them were getting back to sleep. She could already see dawn cresting the sky as daytime began to take over, the moon finding its home lower in the sky as minutes ticked on.

Lesa brought her a pack of bland crackers and more water, settling next to her as they watched the sunrise. She didn't pressure or ask invasive questions, she just sat there and waited until Y/n was ready. 

“I’m pregnant,” she whispered so quietly she wasn't sure Lesa could hear her. Lesa hummed, as if she already suspected, her hand rubbing soothing lines up and down her back. “And, I'm terrified,” she added, even quieter. 

Lesa smiled at her, pearl, straight teeth on full display as she worked her magic. Lesa had this magnetic pull, she could make anyone feel at ease, it was just her personality. She’s kind and gentle, and a huge gooey romantic. And Y/n couldn't think of anyone else she wanted helping her at this moment.

“That's normal, being terrified– I mean.” She laid her head on Y/n's shoulder, her sweet cinnamon and cardamom scent wafting around them. “It's a massive adjustment to a person's life, even in the beginning before anything really changes.”

She felt the tears forming, and did her best to hold them back as she said, “I don't know if I'm happy about it.” She let out a hysterical laugh that definitely bordered on crazed. “Gods, Les, what does that say about me?” Running her hand down her face, smearing the stubborn tears that had fallen, she met her friend’s kind– completely non-judgmental face.

“It doesn't say anything about you. It just means that you're coming to terms, that you need time to find a balance between what you thought your life would be, and how this could change things.”

This would change things, there was no doubt about that. There were so many aspects of her life that would be different than how she expected them to be. But, despite all that, she found herself leaning into Lesa, her warmth a shield against all those scary, and troubling thoughts.

“What would we do without you?” She said affectionately.

Lesa giggled, “Crash and burn, no doubt. Now, since you're feeling better, I'm going to go get the others so we can have a proper chat about this,” Y/n groaned, already dreading the interrogation she wouldn't be able to escape. 

Despite that, she smiled for the first time since finding out this life-altering news.

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The interrogation with her sister and friends had gone about as well as she could have hoped for:

Lesa had remained a pillar. Staying unbiased and guiding the conversation effectively. And, she threw in a few ‘oohs,’ and ‘ahhs,’ whenever Azriel was mentioned– they all knew he had to be the father, he had been the only person she’d been with in nearly a year–the timing matched perfectly.

Mari had stared at her for about three minutes, her mouth falling open in a perfect 'O' of shock. Then her gaze had shifted from that of surprise to concerned. A faint crease appeared between her brows as if she was trying to fit this unexpected piece into the complex tapestry of Y/n's life. "Is this something you want?” Not once, in their seventy-five years of friendship had either of them ever mentioned children. They were simply young in terms of fae.

Peri– the quietest of them had been a rock amongst her storm. She listened intently, didn't move or speak for a long moment. Then, with a quiet solemnity, she simply reached out, her hand finding Y/n's and squeezing, her gaze steady and filled with an unspoken, deep understanding that bypassed all the chaos. She had put her arm around her and didn’t let her go.

Lena had gone through the full spectrum of emotions. She had started with denial–she had actually laughed. And when Y/n hadn’t yelled “psych” and started laughing too, Lena’s laugh had quickly morphed into hysteria. That had quickly bled into outrage, mainly at Azriel, briefly cursing him through their shared tattoo, or threatening to make good on her scrote to throat comment.

When she finally calmed down, her anxiety had strapped its shields and lifted its blades. She had been the one to voice the question they all had: How are you going to tell him?

She hadn’t been able to answer that, and it only made the pit in her stomach evolve into something aggressive and terrifying. Maybe she could just like… send him a postcard or something? 

She wondered how long she could get away with ignoring this. She probably had another few weeks before she really started showing, not a lot of time, but maybe enough to wrap her head around it.

The real issue was that she didn’t actually know how to get in contact with him. If she did, what would he say? She hadn’t gotten the impression that he was the kind of male to be cruel or outright ignore her, but she really didn’t know him that well. And, this wasn’t like she was asking for a second date, this was a baby.

Cauldron, how did one even begin to introduce that into a conversation. “Hey, shadowsinger, remember that one night weeks ago when you rocked my whole world. Well, surprise! Here’s a forever present in the form of my womb.” 

She couldn’t stop the physical reaction to that stupid thought, her head nearly slamming against the table. She’d give herself a few more weeks to figure it out, maybe then she could finally start to wrap her head around this whole thing.

Hours later, the soft clinking of glass and the gentle murmur of voices filled the air in Madja's busy clinic. The afternoon rush had just ended, and interns bustled between treatment rooms and the apothecary, each absorbed in their end of day tasks.

She hummed a quiet, off-key tune as she carefully arranged newly mixed Sunpetal Bloom salves on a display shelf. She prided herself on the perfect order of her workspace, a small pocket of calm in the sometimes hectic environment. She reached for another perfectly preserved Moonwhisper Leaf, her movements precise and practiced. 

Yet, even as she focused, a strange undercurrent of anticipation prickled at her skin. The energy in the clinic felt... different today. A faint, almost imperceptible tremor, like distant thunder, seemed to vibrate beneath the stone floor. She paused, tilting her head slightly, doing her best to convince herself it was nothing but fatigue–she hadn’t slept much last night between the nightmares and sickness.

She put the last vial away when she heard the distinct chirp of the front bell. She had a few more hours before the end of her shift, so without hesitation she grabbed her clip-board and made her way towards the charming sound. 

She came to an abrupt halt when her eyes collided with the back of a very large, very identifiable male. 

Maybe if she turned back now–

He spun around, his wings swiping through the air, the action causing the loose hair around her face to move chaotically. Hazel eyes collided with her round ones, her mouth slightly agape as she blinked like a moron. In all fairness, he stared at her just as dumbly, as if he couldn’t think of one possible reason why she would be here.

Beautiful. It’s really the only way to describe this male. Or yummy, that also worked. His hair curled slightly behind his ears, his massive wings gleaming a soft pink against the golden rays of the sun. His leathers sinfully tight against his impressive, powerful figure. 

She wet her lips subconsciously, his eyes immediately snapping to the action, his eyes darkening to the purest obsidian. She blushed furiously at being caught practically salivating over him, in front of him. 

Before either of them could come up with something to stammer out that would definitely be stupid or completely inappropriate, her spine stiffened as pain attached itself to her. The edges of her vision shredded with deep purples and twisted reds as her mind finally caught up with her magic –sensing the pain in the room. 

On instinct, her eyes scanned for the cause. Her sensory perception peeled around the edges of her vision as she located the injury in one of his hands, a phantom pain taking over her own as she took a closer step. 

When she's in close proximity and focusing, she sees or feels flickers, distortions, and concentrations of energy where pain or injury resides. It can help her to pinpoint injuries, even unseen ones like internal bruising or hairline fractures, with incredible accuracy. 

It's like a thermal map for discomfort.

Healer mode snapped into place, immediate and absolute. She moved towards him, closing the distance between them, her steps purposeful. When she reached him, she gently took his injured hand in hers, her touch firm, but careful. 

Despite her professionalism, she did her best to avoid his gaze, an easy feat when she needed to assess the extent of his injury anyways.She barely managed to capture the hiss that whizzed by her teeth as she got a better look at the mangled bones. This was not a small injury, from the looks of it, every single bone had shattered leaving nothing but jagged and loose pieces of bone floating about. 

Gods, he could have severed tendons or important ligaments, any healer would have to be very careful when trying to move his bones back into their rightful place. That wouldn’t account for the time it’d actually take to meld them back together, even then, he’d still have to wait for his own healing magic to set them. This process would take hours, and probably several sessions.

"What happened?" Her voice, though low, was sharp with professional demand. “And when?” She readjusted her grip to his wrist, trying to see if the injuries had ricocheted to bones further up his arm.

His feet readjusted, ever so slightly, almost as if unconsciously, before he let out a low, “I think I–broke it.” His fucking voice. She slammed so hard against her instinct to move closer, to smell him. Gods, what was happening to her?

Once again, it took her mind an embarrassingly long moment to out pace her body, but when it did–

Had he said he ‘thinks’ he broke it?

His hand was so far past broken, she wasn’t even sure she’d be able to fix it without the help of more healers. It would have been easier to reattach a severed hand. This was practically a thousand piece puzzle, each piece the exact same color, no distinction whatsoever.

Her head shot up on instinct, catching him already looking down at her, eyes hooded, Adam's apple bobbing. She couldn’t help but notice the stubble he’d grown, his skin kissed by the sun as if he’d spent the morning in an open training ring– her eyes narrowed, he’d better not have been training in this state. 

That thought kicked her right back into gear, “Yes, Azriel, it’s broken, shattered would be more precise,” she murmured as she went back to watching his hand, doing her best to hide the slight tremor in them as she resumed her movements. She held her breath as she took in the scars adorning his skin, the brutal marks that promised the memory of pain. She swallowed hard, it took an awful lot for fae skin, especially with Illyrian healing, to scar like that. 

She missed the way his eyes heated as she spoke his name, the sound rolling off her tongue coated in honey. She began leading him to the back of the clinic, bringing him to one of the sickbeds so they could get started.

“How long ago did this happen?”

“A few days.”

“I need you to be more specific than that, shadowsinger. Sit.” She demanded, placing her clipboard on the desk as she washed her hands, black gloves sliding on seamlessly. She also grabbed a rubber band and wrapped it around her wrist. Snapping it just once.

“Two days ago. I–” he looked sheepish, just a tad bit as her disapproving eyes bore into him. “I thought it would heal itself.”

That, she believed. He watched her intently as she fluttered about in her environment, her ease and determination making it obvious how talented and dedicated she was to her work. She placed salves, needles, rags, and a pair of tweezers on her stainless steel cart. All sorts of medicines and herbs littered along the walls, along with charts and posters, "Our healers run on coffee, good intentions, and the sheer disbelief that you actually tried that." Y/n had found it funny, and it usually worked as a good icebreaker, so bonus.

“What did you do?” She put a pair of magnifiers on, pulling up a seat next to where she had his hand displayed for her. She placed her hand over his, skin to skin contact usually worked best, but Madja had found gloves that could mimic the sensation, still allowing them to be safe and avoid cross-contamination. Cauldron, she loved the new ideas and trinkets that fae all over came up with these days.

As soon as her hand hovered underneath his she could feel the violent hum of her magic as it did its best to navigate the injury. Her eyes watched the thin, silver strand of her magic as it followed the natural path of the injury from start to finish. She could see that his knuckles had made the first impact, the bones flattening against what had probably been a steady, firm surface– more than likely stone or cement. 

Phantom flares of pain bounced along her bones as she did her best to take it away from him. 

He sucked in a sharp breath at the sensation of her magic moving from her body to his, the immediate relief of pain as she sucked the feeling into her magic and through her own body– her magic was truly fascinating, some would even say amazing, but it came at a price. She couldn’t take his pain without transferring it somewhere else. In this case, straight into her own body. But, her body had always been better at handling pain and she naturally healed faster than ordinary fae. Not to mention her pain tolerance was through the roof, whether because of her magic or from taking others' pain so often, she wasn’t sure. 

It was a small price to pay when it came to helping her patients heal faster, and have a more comfortable experience. 

“I punched the wall,” he said, so low she almost missed it. “It’s made of obsidian stone, my hand went straight through,” she stopped, her enlarged eyes meeting his, a small smile pulling at his lips as he took her in. Large goggles adorned her face, eyes the size of saucers and her nose turned up to keep the glasses on as she stared at him.

“You broke through obsidian stone?” She finally pulled away, placing his hand down slowly. Wheeling her chair over to her clipboard as she recorded her findings. Detailing her professional thoughts and her findings, while also adding insights and possible solutions.

“I wasn’t thinking straight.” He said simply. 

She guessed that was the end of that conversation. The how didn’t matter too much, though. She knew the general way he’d broken his hand, and the rest? Well, she had just wanted to know more. She cursed herself inwardly, she should not be asking this man more questions than necessary. 

She hadn’t even had a moment to think about her pregnancy during all of this, though she did quickly make sure that her glamours were intact. Surely now was not a good time to mention it? He seemed… vulnerable. And, she had only known for a few days, she hadn’t expected him to just walk into the clinic she worked at. She thought she had more time.

Shoving the thoughts aside, she stood, her hands crossing as she informed him of her professional opinion. “So there’s good and bad news,” she said, her eyes meeting his, each time seeming to make it harder to look away. “The good news is that it doesn’t seem to have traveled past the bones in your hands, the ones directly surrounding your knuckles were affected the most.” She crossed her legs as she leaned against the desk, doing her best to keep eye contact.

Come on, Y/n. He’s just like any other patient. It doesn’t matter that she knew what it felt like to have those fingers inside of her.

NO. 

Gods, what was wrong with her?

She snapped the rubber band once, twice, three times just to be safe.

She cleared her throat, “the bad news is that you’ve completely wrecked the bones that did break. They aren’t healing because the impact caused them to break into pieces that then, over the course of two days, have moved and mixed in such a way that they can’t mend themselves back together. Imagine a cup of dice being shaken. Your bones are the dice, your hand–the cup.”

He stared at her like she was speaking another language. He scratched the back of his head, his brow furrowing as he asked, “But it can be fixed?”

Without hesitation, “Yes.” She offered him a piece of paper, the one she’d been taking notes on, a small diagram of the bones drawn out to make it easier to understand. It would help any other healers that may need to work on his injury.

“As long as you don’t use it, try and keep it elevated, and-under no circumstances- should you be training.” Her eyes hardened, locking with his as he swallowed, hard. She may not be the most intimidating, but he was hurt–which made him her patient, even if just for a short while– She doesn’t mess around when it comes to her patients' health. So she stared into his eyes, “Capiche?” 

His jaw twitched, somewhere between a grimace and a wicked grin. It was incredibly sexy. She slipped her finger between the band on her wrist and let it fly. Bad Y/n. “For how long?” She did her best to hide the shock from the cool coated sensation that wrapped around her wrist, was that a…shadow?

Pointing at the diagrams she handed him, she continued, “This outlines the treatment method, you are free to consult any other professionals you trust, I know you and your family work with Madja a lot, I’m sure she’d be more than happy to help you out. When you choose a healer, I’m sure they’ll give you a timeline for your restrictions.”

His fingers in his uninjured hand tightened on the piece of paper, the white sheet folding slightly. He didn’t meet her gaze as he asked, “What if I want you to do it?”

She blinked. Surely, he didn’t mean that? Madja was much more successful in more complex injuries like this. She had spent centuries traveling courts and helping the Inner Circle of the Night Court. She had much more experience. Y/n had meant it when she said the injury could be healed, but Madja would be much faster, and he was lucky enough to have her at his beck and call.

She floundered for just a moment, catching the slight flush on his cheeks as he finally looked at her again. “I mean I– I can do it if you’re comfortable with that. But, I’ll warn you, my magic takes a lot more energy from me than hers. We’d have to do it in probably three or four sessions over the course of a week or two.”

“Works for me.” He spoke, his deep voice sending goosebumps down her spine. 

“You’re really not gonna like my restrictions for you,” That wicked grin was back as he stood to his full height. She quickly got to work wrapping his hand and keeping it secure for the night, adding in a touch of her magic to keep it from swelling and causing him pain. 

“If taking a few weeks off training means getting to see you more, it’ll be worth it.” 

She nearly fell off her chair. “I’m sorry, what?” She must have started snapping her rubber band subconsciously because his good hand reached out, stopping her movements. Small red dots bubbling from she’d repeatedly snapped it. 

He flashed his teeth, just barely, “Please, stop doing that.” When she didn’t yank her wrist away he slowly peeled the stupid thing off her wrist and tossed it in the bin.

He stared down at her, his thumb running over the underside of her wrist a few times. Her skin tingled where he touched her. Then he was jerking away his hand as if she burned him.

She rubbed her chest, the tight, heated sensation intensifying at the action.

She should tell him. Now would be the perfect time. Right?

But, she’s technically his doctor now, surely telling him she’s pregnant with his child broke some kind of bylaw. Yes. She would wait, take a few more days. She’d tell him during his last session and it would be fine. 

Spinning on her heel, palms meeting the cool marble surface of the desk, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. 

“So what time works for you tomorrow?”

“The sooner the better, I can be here as early as six,” She tried not to balk, six am? She had not been sleeping well, and that sounded awfully early. And she had no doubt that tomorrow morning her would hate her right now for agreeing. That didn’t stop her though.

“Would you like to have dinner with me?”

She spun her pretty ass right back around, disbelief on her face. She was proud of herself, when he let out a small, rough laugh, she only faltered for a moment.

“Azriel!” She hushed him, making sure her door was completely closed. “If I’m going to fix your hand you cannot ask me things like that.” She whisper-yelled. Doing her best to ignore the chaotic thrum of her pulse, or the breath escaping her hold. 

The stupidly adorable grin was back, “Why not?”

“I’m your healer for starters, it's– it’s completely inappropriate.” She straightened her scrubs, nervously flipping her pony off her shoulder. Plus, it made her nervous, and made her stupid heart do a stupid little flip that definitely resembled something awfully close to hope. 

“So I’m not allowed to ask you out while you’re healing me?” 

“Exactly.” She allowed a small smile to slip from her as he finally seemed to understand. It would be for the best if they stayed professional, she could worry about the personal later. She hoped saying it enough would make it true. But then–

“I guess I’ll just wait until we’re done then.” Her eyes widened, wait–that wasn’t what she meant–

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Little Ghost,” oh gods, now he was calling her that? She so did not want that to stick. All she could do was watch as he effortlessly walked out of the treatment room, her head tilting she allowed herself the glorious vision of his ass. It was glorious. 

She found herself going to snap the rubber band, but was just met with the now healed skin. He had seemed rather… uncomfortable with her snapping it. Odd.

She watched the door long after he left. Her heart taking its sweet time to calm down. 

It was going to be a long couple weeks.

✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩☽✧✩

Out of everything that had happened in the past month, she regretted this the most.

Dawn was just cresting the horizon as she made her way to the clinic the next morning. She had woken up late, dropped her coffee, and stepped in dog poop on the way out of the door and into work. 

She was cranky, exhausted, and really starting to think that this baby was some reincarnated crazy person hell bent on revenge in the form of morning sickness. 

Nevertheless, she persevered because she had told Azriel that they could start his treatment as early as he wanted. And the bastard had chosen an ungodly hour of the morning, and she had been too flustered in his presence to tell him she didn’t function properly before eight a.m. Yet another thing having a baby would ruin. 

She let out a frustrated huff as she tried the keys to the clinic, too many bags filled with supplies. She couldn’t get the key in, and nearly screamed when a calm, butterfly-inducing voice spoke from behind her.

“It seems doors have it out for you, Little Ghost,” She let her head drop against the glass, her breath granted life in the frost-chilled morning. He was early. Why wasn’t she surprised that he showed up early?

“I promise, I’m usually more put together,” she spoke, her voice muffled against the store.

He let out a small chuckle, casually taking the keys from her hand and sliding them into the intricate lock. “Why do I feel like that’s not entirely true,” she groaned as they made their way inside, him holding the door open and lingering outside for just a moment longer before following her lead.

She went about flicking lights on and setting her things down before facing the unforgettable presence that came with Azriel. It was then she noticed he had something in his hand, the other one still secured in the makeshift splint she’d given him yesterday.

Her eyes widened, it looked like coffee.

A godsend.

“I didn’t know how you like your coffee, so I brought tea.”

She couldn’t help the way her chest warmed, he had thought of her when he didn’t need to. When she hadn’t expected him to.

“Thank you,” she spoke softly as she took the cup offered. The warm liquid quickly finding its way down her throat. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He gave her a panty-melting smile. Gods. No one should look as good as him in the morning. His cedar and night scent lingering in the air as they made their way to the room they’d be working in. No one was due at the clinic for another few hours, so she’d be able to focus on piecing his bones back together.

“I wanted to.” 

A simple statement that sent her mind into a very not simple freak-out.

“You are something…else.” She said with nothing but kindness in her tone. She may not know this male well, but what she did know… well, there wasn’t one thing she hadn’t liked, hadn’t wanted to know more about.

He hummed in acknowledgement as he settled into his chair.

It didn’t take long for her to gather her supplies where they needed to be and placed her magnifiers on. Her magic was fully rested and ready to take on the task.

“Is it alright with you if I use my bare hands?” She asked, washing them in the sink. “My magic works better with contact, and the gloves can mimic it, but with an injury so complex– I figure any little boost we can give can’t hurt.”

“Of course,” he cleared his throat, “if you think it will help.” 

She smiles reassuringly, expertly ignoring the way his breathing hitched. “Today we’ll focus on getting your bones back to where they belong. That’ll probably take a few hours, if you need a break for any reason just let me know.” She pulled her chair up, his hand at her mercy. 

Then she began her work.

It was a long and slow process, Azriel hissing slightly every time she had to let the conduit of his pain slip from her grasp. Not something she enjoys, but is necessary to ensure she’s not severing his pain receptors. 

“Not a morning person?” He asked, his voice tight as she maneuvered a particularly jagged piece of bone to its rightful place.

She grimaced, not taking her eyes off his hand, “What gave me away?”

“Well when I mentioned coming in this early yesterday you looked horrified at the idea. And this morning you were cursing the sun when I–”

“I get your point,” she cut him off, embarrassment climbing through her. She had to remind herself that he was the Spymaster of the Night Court. People cowered at the mere mention of him, it was his job to notice the small things. She wasn’t special. And she needed to remember that. 

“I’m used to staying up late either studying or working, the mornings always come too soon. And, that may or may not irritate me sometimes.” She watched as the silver thread made its way seamlessly through the portion of bone she’d set back into place. A relieved sigh coming from him as the pressure released.

She wanted to keep him talking, though, because she was about to move onto another jagged piece that would definitely be uncomfortable. The more distracted he was, the more likely the pain would be background noise.

“Does that mean you’re a morning person?”

He tilted his head, “I’m an every time of day kind of person, I don’t sleep much.”

That caused her to stumble. He didn’t sleep much? He hadn’t even stirred that morning when she'd woken up in his arms. He had had such a relaxed and innocent face, not a crinkle in sight. She had assumed he wouldn’t get much sleep with his job, but she had started doubting when she slipped out so easily.

Before she could shove a foot in her mouth, she said, “That surprises me, you stayed asleep that–.” His head lifted so quickly, deep hazel chasms catching hers and holding her hostage. The movement of his body caused the aluminum tray with all her goodies to shake, her carefully crafted workspace falling victim to her inability to filter her thoughts.

“That morning?” He prodded, her face flushing as she realized she’d just stepped over a very thin line she hadn’t even realized she’d been walking. Forget pregnancy announcements, he seemed ready to delve into her early morning disappearance.

She swallowed, focusing back on his hand, the feeling of his eyes burning into the side of her skull. She never should have agreed to healing his hand. She should have insisted that he work with Madja, or someone else that hadn’t slept with him. She had just wanted to help him, and maybe she hadn’t wanted yesterday to be the last time she saw him before he disappeared forever. She wanted a few more interactions before the inevitable, denial or refusal regarding this baby. Their baby. 

This was such a sticky situation and she had no idea how to navigate it. Confliction had become her most sought after companion. One moment she wanted to shout the truth from the top of her lungs, beg him to stay, to help her; and next she wanted to take this truth and shove it so deep inside of her that she forgets it, or gets to keep the way he’s looking at her, even if just for a little while longer.

“For someone who isn’t a morning person, you certainly couldn’t get away from me fast enough.” She felt his pulse flutter, his body betrayed his empty sounding words. 

She took a deep breath. She supposed he deserved an explanation, and at least she could sort of answer this one. “I didn’t want to get away from you.” Her gaze briefly flicked to his before focusing once more.

“But, I also didn’t think you’d want to wake up with me there.” She managed to move the tricky piece in the right direction, her movements short and quick to avoid more damage. “I’m not an idiot, I’m well aware you don’t do attachment. I guess I didn’t want to be collateral.”

He openly gaped at her, his jaw tightening as he absorbed her words. “You don’t know me very well, Y/n. So I guess I can’t blame you for having that perception of me.” He ground the words out, he almost seemed hurt by her admission, but it had been the truth. The only one she could offer him.

She thought that’d be all he said on the matter as minutes ticked by in tense silence. Her magic still deftly stitching him back together. Then he murmured, his voice low, “It didn’t really matter that you didn’t stay,” her eyes narrowed as they met his, where was he going with this? “You had already made your way in,”

He didn’t speak after that, and she had been too stunned to respond. The revelation was all-consuming as she took the next hour or so to finish his hand. When she finally managed to put the bones back to their rightful places, she helped set bones and splint his hand. She had used the last dregs of her magic to meld them together temporarily. Long enough for her to regain her magic in the next few days, just in time for their next session.

Her mind kept bouncing back to what he had said. Maybe she had been worried for no reason. Perhaps, she had made a big enough indent in his life that he’d decide to stay, to be a part of this baby’s life. 

Maybe– maybe she was being selfish, trying to put the inevitable off, taking the time she needed, while actively denying him his. A painful twist took place in her stomach.

She couldn’t do this to him. He deserved to know. And if the roles were reversed and he kept something like this from her, something so monumental that it would potentially change her life–well, she’d be pretty upset. 

“Azriel,” she began, meticulously cleaning her area up as he flexed his wrist, moving the blood throughout his arm after sitting stiff for so long. “I–I need to tell you something.” When she found herself without anything else to clean or put away, she began wringing her hands, anxiety taking over her being.

She swallowed the sand in her mouth, the heavy feeling of her tongue fighting against her thoughts as they tried to spill out coherently. 

He must have understood the panic in her tone, or her body language, honestly who knew at this point. But, he stood in front of her in an instant, his fingers lifting her chin so their eyes could meet. 

“What’s wrong, Little Ghost?” He whispered, worry laced in his tone.

She felt the tears well in her eyes as the words, finally, slipped past her lips. As they found their mark, “I’m pregnant.”

He just stared at her, he didn’t blink, didn’t move, didn’t even seem to breathe. She held her breath, waiting for the inevitable– for the interrogation, the demand for answers, or even yelling.

He didn’t do any of those things, though. His eyes simply slipped from hers, his hand falling to his side as he took a step back. His good hand ran down his face, and then dragged through his hair roughly. 

Her hand flew to her mouth, trying her best to hide the quiver in her lips. She couldn’t stop the shaking, didn’t dare move as she watched him digest the information in real time. 

Finally, finally, he looked at her, his tortured gaze meeting her tear-filled one. A broken, “I’m sorry,” falling from her lips as her head dropped.

He didn’t approach, didn’t offer a reassuring smile or kind words. He simply croaked, “I can’t do this.” 

And walked out.

Taglist! @anon1227 @hbizates-blog @zanaorian @meritxellao @iangelofmusic @sheblogs @paleidiot @lou-diaries @lreadsstuff @randomramblesfanfiction @waka-babe @whyucloudingmymind @bravo-delta-eccho @sttvrdustt @astraealupinblack @adventure-awaits13 @a-part-of-a-fandom @vern0268 @mich0731 @walle1908 @lilac-witch @waytoomanyteenagefeels @quiet-because-it-is-a-secret @bbontenswhhore

[front-facing-pokemon]

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Constantine Is Having Fae Problems

Not as in 'problems with the fae', but as in 'the Batfam don't understand shit about fae and it is somehow Constantine's problem'

"Thank you."

Whatever thoughts Constantine had before come to a screeching halt. He slowly turns around, praying he's misheard, but, unfortunately, no. He heard that right.

The black-haired kid - he looks like a kid, but, really, he is not, and he is not even human to begin with - is smiling at Nightwing, who just laughs and ruffles the boy's hair.

"Don't worry about it, it's nothing," the moronic eldest batkid says, like it's not a big deal, and Constantine just... can't. He is not dealing with this right now. He needs a drink.

And then it happens again. Not with the Nightwing, though. This time, it's Black Bat. Now, in all honesty, Constantine is not so sure about her being human either, what with her appearing out of goddamn aether and being silent as a ghost, but the point still stands. The new addition to Bat's menagerie of children, the fae boy, the changeling who insists he is Robin's brother, thanks her.

It's quick and easy, just like a human would say it, and Black Bat just nods back at him, but Constantine knows what it means. He knows the weight of fae gratitude.

The big question is, do the Bats know it?

He promises himself to address this issue later with the Big Bat himself. But every time he encounters the man, he just forgets to bring it up. Constantine strongly suspects it's not his bad memory at fault here, but a certain fae. Not that he is going to outright go and blame the damned creature, of course, Constantine values his life, mind, and consciousness. Also, he is very aware of the consequences of talking to the fae, unlike the furry brigade.

Alas, he can't forget something if he witnesses with his own eyes. So the next time he is in the Batcave, he makes it a point to wait until the same thing eventually happens. And, score for Constantine, it does.

"Thank you," the kid - again, not a kid, not a human, but whatever - tells Red Robin, and Constantine immediately snaps his head to him, pointing a finger at the smiling fae.

"I mean no disrespect, but what are you doing?"

The kid - Danny, as he insists to be called, although Constantine knows better than to call a fae by any name - tilts his head to the side. He looks confused, but there's a sly glint to his blue eyes. Oh, the fucker knows exactly what he means. He just doesn't want to admit to it.

"What do you mean?" It's not him, but Red Robin asking, and Constantine turns to look him in the eyes. Mask. Whatever.

"He is thanking-" a terrible thought crosses Constantine's mind, and he stares at Red Robin with horror, "Oh, don't tell me you were all thanking him and apologizing to him like he is a human being."

"I don't see how this is your business," Red Robin scolds, and his eyes narrow. Constantine can't see his actual eyes through the mask, but he knows the Bats well enough to know the kid looks as deadpan as he can.

"You can't do that!" He reaches down to the pocket where he keeps his cigarettes, but stops halfway. Right, no smoking in the Batcave. Wait, he never obeyed that rule! Constantine turns to glare at the fae boy. Danny appears as innocent as a newborn baby. Little bastard.

"Quit making a scene," comes another voice, and this one John recognizes, turning to look at little Robin. Now that he thinks about it, the demonic child claimed the fae as his brother, and he definitely should know how to talk to fae!

"Why didn't you tell them about the rules?!" He asks Robin, and the kid doesn't even bat an eye at him.

"You will not accuse me of incompetence in front of my brother," Robin huffs, not stepping closer and keeping one hand on his hip, "I did."

"You-"

"Okay, how about you calm down?" Danny interjects, and John is positive this is the first time he's heard the boy say anything other than 'thank you'. He turns to the fae, facing him, and, oh, Jesus, those are not human eyes. Or teeth. Or face. Holy fuck how do Bats live with this, it's like uncanny valley but hundreds times worse.

"If I tell you I use it for easier access, will you leave it be?" The fae tilts his head again, and this time it is not in confusion, but in the eerie manner of how all very much not human beings do it. Constantine swallows, but doesn't back down.

"Access to what, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Transportation," Danny provides. This does not explain shit and he knows it. Red Robin groans and rolls his eyes.

"We use it to summon Danny if we need him. It's faster than calling or texting."

Constantine freezes.

These fucking kids. Are using the fae debts. To summon him. Because they don't like texting.

Do they know that they can literally ask a fae to destroy a small country to fulfill a debt like that? It's not just a small favor, it's a gratitude. Fae take their gratitude very seriously. They value it. A lot.

Actually, you know what, no. John is not going to be explaining that part to them because God knows the batkids are all batshit crazy and this is an opportunity he is not willing to give them.

So he just nods stiffly, turns around, and heads to the zeta tube.

"Thank you for caring about my family," he hears a voice behind him, full of mischief and joy. Constantine feels the weight of the newly acquired debt, or better call it a favor, bind itself to his soul, and, great, he now has the power to part the sea like Moses, but only once.

He needs a drink. No, correction, he needs a whole bar to himself.

Wait, that's an idea.

"Get me a bottle of good bourbon, and we're even," he throws around his shoulder, stepping into a zeta tube.

When he steps out of it, there's an unlabeled bottle in his hand. John sighs and opens it, foregoing the glass or cup and drinking straight from the neck.

...It's good bourbon.

Inspired by @blackfoxsposts

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[sleepyhoon]

TWO MOONS - L.HS

pairing. plug!heeseung x reader

genre. smut, 18+ content, one shot, drabble. MDNI!

word count. 4k+

warnings. drug & alcohol consumption, partying, swearing, sex while intoxicated, short smut [ dry humping, multiple orgasms, oral (f. receiving), fingering ]

synopsis. based off of this hard thought! plug!heeseung who likes you so much that he's convinced himself that you're kinda evil.

a/n. sorry this took so long lol hope u enjoy regardless :) no part 2 so plss dont request it but maybe some drabbles!! also not fully proofread so pls disregard any typos or grammatical errors hehe

Never in his life did Heeseung predict he’d be getting bitched around by a girl arguably much shorter, physically weaker, and far less intimidating than him. And yet here he was, shirtless in his kitchen at two in the morning on his third attempt of baking edibles all because you were too scared to smoke a little weed. 

Fucking ridiculous.

It’s his own fault, really, he should’ve known that innocent, good girl persona you put on was all an act you use to control people – specifically men. Stirring the dessert batter in the mixing bowl, Heeseung shakes his head at the memory of you tilting your head and batting your eyelashes at him as you spoke, your perfectly manicured nails – that you probably got some desperate bitchboy to pay for – tracing and lightly scratching his bicep.

“So,” you started, dragging out the ‘o’, “how much do you charge for edibles?”

Heeseung shakes his head, tracing the rim of his half-empty red solo cup as he responds, “Edibles aren’t my forte. You don’t smoke?”

“Not my forte,” you say in a mocking tone, making Heeseung chuckle. “It’s just too much, you know? The smell, how quick it kicks in…not for me. But, uh, if you don’t make them I’ll stop wasting your time, then.” You give Heeseung a friendly pat on the shoulder before turning on your heels, fully prepared to disappear back into the party and find someone who actually meets your needs.

“Wait!” Heeseung stops you, tugging on your arm until you’re back to facing him. He can’t fucking believe this bullshit manipulation tactic you’re using on him is actually working, he’s literally pulling on your arm like a child so you won’t leave him.

You raise a brow at him as you wait for Heeseung to continue, taking note of his sudden nervousness, “Yeah?”

“Uh…are you into, like, brownies? Or…”

The smirk you gave in response said enough, you’ve got him exactly where you want him.

He’d spent the next few hours browsing the aisles of Target, checking his phone every so often and checking off each ingredient as he tossed them into the bright red shopping cart. To make matters worse, you hadn’t even requested normal brownies, you wanted some shit he’d hardly ever heard of before: blondies. 

It was bad enough that Heeseung already couldn’t bake for shit, and here you were demanding he’d make something he’d never even tasted before; you really are a master manipulator.

His third and final attempt at baking the blondies were a success, his three roommates taste-testing the fresh batch as a final confirmation.

“I can’t even taste it,” Jake says, his brows shooting up in delight, “you sure you’re not forgetting the main ingredient?”

“That’s the whole point,” Heeseung explains, cutting the remaining batch into neat squares, “YN doesn’t want the taste to be too strong, she likes when it’s more subtle and takes awhile to kick in.”

“Are you her wife or her plug?” Sunghoon jokes from his spot on the couch, taking a small bite of his own blondie.

“Neither,” Jay inserts himself into the conversation, taking a seat next to Sunghoon, “I’m sure he wants to be both, though.”

“Fuck off,” Heeseung snaps, momentarily narrowing his eyes at his roommates. “We just met, I’m just trying to get to know her.” He sets the knife down, reaching into the wooden cabinet to retrieve ziplock bags.

“You’re already her bitch, what else is there to know?” Sunghoon half-jokes, resting his feet on the ottoman.

“I am not her bitch.”

He totally is, if the way he’s hurrying to send you a picture of the freshly made blondies is anything to go by.

Heeseung * 2:47 AM

[Attachment: 1 Image] Yooo

YN * 9:06 AM

omggggg  ur the fucking best how much??

You didn’t respond until the following morning, causing Heeseung to nearly jump out of his skin once he woke up to your texts. He turns on his side, elbow propped up against the mattress as he formulates a response.

Heeseung * 10:31 AM

1 for 10 or 2 for 15. venmo or cashapp But lmk if you want more 

YN * 10:40 AM

no cash? :(

Heeseung’s about to go on a long winded explanation about how money transferring apps are quicker and more convenient than accepting cash when you interrupt him by sending a photo.

YN * 10:41 AM 

[Attachment: 1 Image] plsssss i don’t trust cashapp and ive been having issues w my venmo acc :(

It’s a photo of the bottom half of your face, lips formed into a cute pout with your camera angled low enough to show off your cleavage. You weren’t even trying to be discreet, setting your forearm underneath your chest to make your boobs sit higher, the cheetah print material of your bra peeking out from under your too-small tank top.

Heeseung swallows hard, staring down at the photo with his pupils blown wide as his trembling fingers type out a response.

Heeseung * 10:50 AM

Actually you know what don’t even worry about it lmao Consider it a gift When r u free for pickup Or i can bring to u Either or is fine lol

YN * 10:59 AM

omg :o are u sure?  don’t want u to lose out on money >.<

Heeseung * 11:11 AM

It’s fine dw about me baby U picking up? Or want me to drop off On campus is too risky

YN * 11:12 AM

thank u hee!!!!!!! im done with classes around 4:30 i’ll pick up around then if that works also u responded at 11:11…angel number u must be my angel :o

There you go again with your subtle manipulation tactics that Heeseung swears won’t work on him. If there really is angel out of the two of you, it definitely wouldn’t be you, but Heeseung’s not too sure he’d be considered one either. After all, in the twelve minutes it took him to respond to your message, he spent ten of them fucking into his fist as he stared at the photo you sent.

His mind conjured up countless scenarios; leaving hickeys and bite marks across your chest, slipping his dick between your tits as you held them together for him, cumming all over them, fucking anything. Desperate wasn’t even the word.

Heeseung * 11:13 AM

Must be :)

After a month and a half of being your personal baker slash bitchboy, Heeseung really is convinced that you’re using him, yet he doesn’t seem to mind. If anything he’s grateful, fully aware that if it weren’t for him being your plug, the two of you likely never would’ve crossed paths despite attending the same universities.

There wasn’t an ounce of school spirit in his body, so he had little to no urgency to attend any of the sporting events you cheered at or one of the many school-sponsored events you were required to attend. Meeting you at that party not too long ago had been his first encounter with you ever, and you clearly left him with a great first impression on him.

Since that night, he’s found himself conjuring up a new batch of edibles for you every week; brownies, cupcakes, cereal bars, whatever the fuck you wanted, and half the time he’d do it for free if it meant he got to give it to you in person.

He still hasn’t convinced you to actually smoke, though, but maybe it’s for the best. The mere thought of getting high with you and how you’d stare him down with half-lidded eyes was enough to make his dick hard — in fact, it already has. Several times.

Enough time has passed to the point where it’s obvious to everyone, yourself included, that Heeseung has genuine feelings for you that go beyond a physical and sexual attraction. Sure, he’s still convinced that you’re a little bit evil and definitely manipulative, but he considers it part of the fun. He’s also deluded himself into having the “I can fix her” mindset that he’s been using to justify his actions of ignoring your red flags.

However, even if he can’t “fix” you, it wouldn’t be a huge loss. Red is his favorite color, after all.

“You sound…crazy, and she sounds crazier,” Jake leans against the kitchen counter, raising a concerned brow at Heeseung as he takes a sip of his drink.

“I’m not crazy,” Heeseung corrects, “and YN is…I don’t know, honestly. Leave her alone, dipshit.”

Jake throws a hand up in defense, glaring when a fellow partygoer accidentally bumps into him, nearly causing him to spill his drink. “Rather be a dipshit than a bitchboy.” He mutters loud enough for Heeseung to hear before groaning, “Wow, speak of the devil.”

Heeseung turns, following Jake’s line of sight until he spots you walking through the front door. Stunning as always, your khaki mini skirt and black halter top fitting as if they were custom designed for you and only you.

Despite extending you an invitation to Sunghoon’s birthday party, Heeseung was fairly certain you wouldn’t show up tonight, assuming you’d be consumed with cheer practice or one of your many extracurricular activities to attend. Yet, here you were, a wicked grin on your face as you made eye contact with Heeseung.

He gulps in return, eyes wide as he watches you walk over to him and Jake.

You stand beside Heeseung, shooting him a quick smile before directing your attention to Jake, “Sunghoon! Happy birthday, king!”

Jake side-eyes you, briefly glancing at Heeseung before responding, “I’m not…you know what? Nevermind, thanks.” He takes this as an opportunity to exit the conversation, giving Heeseung a light pat on the shoulder as he leaves.

“Didn’t think you’d be here.” Heeseung comments, leaning against the kitchen countertop.

You shrug, “Wasn’t doing anything else, figured it wouldn’t hurt to stop by for a little. Besides, I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah?” Heeseung asks, tongue darting out to lick his lips.

“Yeah,” you respond, taking a step closer and resting your hand on his bicep, “got anything for me?”

Fuck, Heeseung knew he should’ve made another batch of brownies or some shit. He seriously hadn’t been expecting you to show up tonight, otherwise he would’ve been prepared.

He shakes his head, “Not this time, you should’ve told me you were coming; I would’ve made something.”

You groan, momentarily tilting your head back, “I just wanted to surprise you.”

“Consider me surprised,” his hand lands on your waist, pulling your body until your flush against him, “why won’t you just smoke with me?”

You grimace, shaking your head in response.

Heeseung rolls his eyes, “Just once? I know your first time wasn’t that great, but, I really think you’d like it if you tried again.”

“I don’t know, Hee…”

“Tell you what,” Heeseung starts, clearing his throat, “smoke with me just this once, and your next few purchases are on me.”

It isn’t much of an offer considering most of the shit he gave you was either free or already extremely discounted, but your eyes light up regardless. “Really?”

Heeseung nods, “I swear.”

You think it over for a moment, the pros instantly outweigh the cons and lead you to accept Heeseung’s desperate offer. 

A few minutes later, you find yourself in a comfortable lounge chair with Heeseung in his backyard, grateful that the remaining partygoers opted to stay indoors, giving you privacy and alone time with him.

You’re sitting sideways on his lap, trying your best to ignore the feeling of his dick pressing right against your ass, neatly rolled blunt in one hand as he uses the other to fish a lighter from his pocket. “You’re nervous,” he comments.

You shake your head, “I’m not.”

“You are, I feel you shaking.”

“I’m fine, just kinda cold. Go on.”

Heeseung studies you for a moment, eye contact strong and intimidating as ever as he brings the blunt to his parted lips. You watch carefully as he brings the lighter towards the tip, focusing entirely too much on the concentrated look on his face as he lights it. Slowly, he begins to rotate it as the end continues to burn, taking a few small puffs here and there.

Satisfied with his creation, Heeseung takes a long, slow drag, inhaling the smoke into his lungs before titling his head away to exhale.

“Your turn,” he says, offering you the blunt.

You hesitantly stare down at it before accepting; it was intimidating to say the least, the scent alone strong enough to make your head hurt. Heeseung watches you patiently, eyes darting between your lips and the blunt in silence.

Deciding you need a little bit of encouragement, he brings his thumb to your lips, parting them slightly as his free-hand wraps around your wrist, “You’ll be fine, trust me.” 

Under the guidance of his calloused hand, you finally bring the blunt up to your lips and briefly inhale before immediately exhaling.

Heeseung chuckles, shaking his head, “How’d that feel?”

You ponder for a moment, passing the blunt back to Heeseung, “I don’t feel anything. Literally nothing.”

“I mean, yeah, you didn’t even inhale it.”

You roll your eyes, “Why are there so many steps? This is why I prefer edibles.”

“I’m just showing you that you have other options, babe.”

“Yeah, well I’m sticking to my baked goods. You can have the rest of that, I don’t want anymore.”

Heeseung’s well aware that you’re a woman of your word, and the chances of you ever smoking again were a definite zero, so trying to get you to change your mind was pointless. However, there is one thing that may just work on you.

“Mind if I try something?”

You perk up, “Try what?”

“I do all the work but you still get high.”

You raise a brow, “That’s possible?”

He nods, “All you’d have to do is take deep breaths.”

Taking a deep breath, you accept Heeseung’s offer with a sigh, resting a hand on his shoulder as you adjust yourself on his lap. “Fine.”

Here goes nothing.

He guides the blunt back to his lips, taking a long drag as he holds the smoke in his mouth. He tilts his head upward towards you, taking your chin in his hand, signaling for you to part your lips. You follow his command and part your lips open, just enough for Heeseung to close the distance and allow the smoke into your mouth, his lips barely brushing against yours in the process.

You take in a deep breath, eyes closed shut and inhale the smoke, careful not to exhale too quickly and have a repeat of your previous attempt.

“How was that?” Heeseung asks, taking note of your sudden silence.

Truthfully, it wasn’t bad. The smell is still too strong for your liking and requires much more effort than biting off a piece of dessert and calling it a day, but it wasn’t bad. You’re certain that Heeseung shotgunning it into your mouth only added to the experience.

“Not bad,” you admit, “probably because you did all the work.”

He chuckles at that, “I’ll always take care of you, remember that.”

Heeseung is having the time of his life, thoroughly convinced that he finally has some power over you. Here you were sitting on his lap in his backyard letting him blow smoke into your mouth. Sure, it may have taken a lot of convincing and begging on his end to get to this point, but none of that matters; baby steps are still movement.

As if the night couldn’t have gotten any better, you’re asking Heeseung to shotgun more smoke into your mouth over and over. He’s careful to maintain a calm and nonchalant demeanor as he does so, not wanting to come off as too eager out of fear of scaring you away. Or even worse, giving you back that power you have over him.

On the fifth time, you swipe your tongue across Heeseung’s bottom lip when he passes the smoke into your mouth, a low groan escaping from him in the process. He’s fully hard in his jeans by now, and there’s no way you can’t feel his dick pressing right into you. Despite the cold weather, your entire body feels warm all over, Heeseung only adding to the pleasure.

You should’ve taken Heeseung a bit more seriously when he said you’d still get high from this; after a few minutes, your limbs were already starting to feel lighter and weaker. A delicate, cloud-like haze fills your head; your vision blurs slightly and it takes a few minutes for you to fully relax.

Heeseung, attentive as ever, remains silent and still has he watches you; primarily due to the fact that you squirming around on his lap is only adding to the uncomfortable tightness in his jeans. One wrong move, and he’d surely be cumming in his boxers.

You rest your forehead against Heeseung, pressing a firm hand against his chest when he moves to blow more smoke into your mouth. He hums, staring up at with a concerned look on his face.

You close your eyes, mumbling, “Heeseung…”

He hums again in response, still holding the smoke in his mouth.

You open your eyes briefly before closing them again, balling up the collar of his shirt in your fist as you lean down to press your lips against his. He opens his mouth on instinct, as if it were a second nature, parting his lips slightly and exhaling the smoke into your mouth once again.

Heeseung absentmindedly sets the blunt down, his hands moving to your waist to pull you closer to him until your tits are pressed right up against his chest. He groans into your mouth at the feelings, tilting his head to allow himself further into your mouth. 

You cup his face in your hands, hips moving forward as you slowly begin to grind yourself against him. “Fuck,” he moans in a low voice, “keep doing that.”

You grind down harsher this time, capturing his moan in your mouth in the process. With each movement of your hips, a shiver descends down your spine at the friction; Heeseung is painfully hard, and from what you could feel, he was definitely packing. Bigger than what you would’ve expected.

It all feels too good; you grinding against him, the state of his high, your tongue in his mouth. It’s all so overwhelmingly euphoric that Heeseung hardly realizes how close he is to literally cumming in his boxers.

His body was always overly sensitive whenever he got high, and often avoided any sort of intimacy that involved another person due to how embarrassingly quick he would finish, and tonight doesn't seem to be any different. What makes matters worse is the fact that Heeseung was already desperately attracted to you and had been dreaming of this moment since he’d first met you.

He pulls away quickly, cursing under his breath, “YN, h-hold on,” he stutters, “slow down, please.”

You don’t listen; in fact, you can barely even hear him with how caught up you were in your own head. “Hmm? Say that again?”

“S-slow – ah, fuck – slow down for a sec, baby.”

His grip on your waist tightens, and despite the urgency in his tone of wanting you to slow down, he makes no effort to still your hips move you off of him. Fuck it, it is what it is.

“Why?” You question, tilting your head, but you’re a few seconds too late.

Heeseung’s entire body shivers, hips jolting upwards as he comes on himself, making a mess of his boxers. While that alone was definitely embarrassing, Heeseung is more annoyed over the fact that you’ve regained your power over him. His priorities were definitely fucked, but he didn’t even care; he could clean himself up later, but the damage to his ego would take longer to repair.

Your hands fly to your mouth in shock, eyes widening as you process what’s just happened, “Oh, Heeseung…” you mumble into the palm of your hands.

He throws his head back, eyes squeezed shut as he runs a hand down his face, “You’ve gotta be fuckin’ kidding.”

“It’s okay! It happens! No big deal!” You try to reassure him, but it goes in one ear and out the other.

Sure it happens and maybe it isn’t a big deal, but it is for Heeseung. He’s not the type to bust a nut over someone squirming around in his lap for ten minutes, this shit was fucking insanity.

“I’m seriously not like this, I’m just overly-sensitive when I’m high. I swear, I-”

“It’s fine, Heeseung,” you interrupt, standing from his lap, “if anything, I’m flattered! Why don’t you, uh, get cleaned up and I’ll see you later?”

“YN, come on, don’t do this.” He pleads, following you and you make your way towards the sliding door. 

“I told you, it’s fine! I’m not like,” you pause, opening the door with a loud grunt, “mad or weirded out or anything.”

You slip back into the living room, Heeseung hot on your tail with every step. “Let me make it up to you!”

You sigh, “Honestly, I don’t think you have it in you to do that right now.”

“I do! Just let me, please.”

“Heeseung, please drop it. I said it’s fine.”

“It’s not fine, at least let me eat you out or something!”

“Heeseung!” Your eyes widen at his lewd, shameless offer, “Lower your voice! We’re in a fucking party surrounded by people!”

He smacks his teeth, “I don’t care. Please, YN.”

“You don’t have to make it up to me, you do not owe me anything.”

A beat of silence passes, then he says, “Then do it for me. Please.”

Even though Heeseung was the one literally begging to go down for you, there is a possibility of him having some sort of power over you; or maybe you just have a soft spot for him. Either way, you end up lying in his bed twenty minutes later, skirt bunched up around your waist as Heeseung’s wet tongue circles your clit, desperate attempt at coaxing a second orgasm from you.

He hadn’t even realized he’d grown hard again just from eating you out, and would likely end up cuuming in his boxers again just from doing this.

“Fuck,” he moans into your folds, pulling away slightly to pepper kisses on your inner thighs, “been waiting so fucking long for this.”

“Yeah?” You question, your grip on Heeseung’s hair tightening.

This earns a low groan from him as he nods against your skin, “You have no idea.”

Deciding he’s spent enough time away from your cunt, his lips make their way back onto you; his tongue falls flat against you, dragging your wetness upwards towards your swollen clit before wrapping his lips around the sensitive bud.

Your body shivers, a beam of sweat dripping down your forehead as your second orgasm approaches. You’ve been eaten out before, countless times, but never like this. It was almost as if Heeseung was doing it for his own pleasure rather than your.

He teases your entrance with his finger before sliding two of them in with ease, curling them upwards and immediately hitting the spot you needed him the most.

“H-Heeseung…hold on…”

He hums, but he’s not really listening, too occupied with kitten-licking your clit and pumping his fingers in and out of you. The knot in your stomach finally snaps and you’re gushing against his hands and mouth, Heeseung only takes this as a sign to continue lapping at your cunt. You have to literally grab him by the hair and drag him away from you.

He stares up at you, pupils blown wide and his chin coated in your juices, but he definitely looks happy. “What?” he asks.

You struggle to catch your breath, “You’re hard again?”

He looks down at his crotch momentarily before shrugging, “I guess.”

“You…don’t you wanna do something about that?”

His eyes flash down to your cunt for a split second, “It can wait.”

You scoff, “Well, I need a minute.”

Heeseung nods in agreement, impatiently drumming his fingers on his bed as you flop against his mattress. “Ready?” He asks once a minute has passed.

“No.”

He sighs, then sighs again, and again and again until you let out a frustrated groan. “Go get me a glass of fucking water.”

“Okay!” He shouts while standing, exiting the bedroom in a hurry. Maybe you really do treat him like a bitchboy, but he doesn’t seem to mind.

[colouredbyd]

Bitter Sweetness

poly!marauders x fem!reader with diabetes

summary: you mistake your boyfriends worry for pity, which makes you feel small, fragile, and broken. so you push them away, needing to prove you’re not something to be protected, only to find yourself alone in the infirmary, aching with more than just a sugar drop. but not all worry is pity, and not all softness is weakness.

w/c: 7.5k (i swear i dont know how it came out this long)

warnings: chronic illness (diabetes), medical emergency, fainting, emotional distress, yelling, arguments, insecurity, overthinking, self-worth struggles, miscommunication, soft angst, fluff, comfort, feeling like a burden, self-blame, emotional hurt/comfort. can be read for any illness!!!

requested: here!!

a/n: this was so so so sweet to write !! <3 had to add a mention of my own struggles, as i heavily related to this for a long time :(

masterlist

The morning breathes strange against your skin. Like something is off-kilter in the universe, a quiet crookedness that only your body seems to notice. 

It’s not sharp, not dramatic, but it’s enough. Enough to make you feel like gravity has forgotten how to hold you the way it used to. Enough to make your limbs feel borrowed, your bones like wet paper, your stomach turning slowly beneath the hush of your sheets. 

There’s a hollowness behind your ribs, an ache you recognize — not pain exactly, but absence. Something missing in your blood. Something you’ve learned to read like a prophecy written just under your skin.

You know this feeling. Know it like an old friend you wish you could forget. The blood sugar dip, the slow unraveling of clarity, the prickling behind your eyes. The way the air starts to feel heavier than it should, as if simply waking up demands more of you than it asks of anyone else. 

And still, you stay still. Not because you think it will pass, but because moving would mean admitting it’s real. And if you admit it, they’ll know. And if they know — you will lose the illusion of strength you’ve fought so hard to keep stitched together.

Because they love you in a way that is warm, yes. In a way that is endless, yes. But it is also suffocating sometimes — this tenderness, this devotion. It wraps around you like silk dipped in steel. 

You know they don’t mean to make you feel like glass, but gods, they do. It isn’t their fault, not really, but it clings to you anyway. The way they hover. The way they watch you like something might crack open any second. Like your pancreas made you some kind of fallen star they have to keep patching together.

Remus will wake with worry already in his eyes. He always does. Like he’s memorized the shape of your unspoken pain and carries it in the hollows of his hands. He’ll look at you like a riddle he can’t quite solve. Scribble in his notebook when he thinks you’re not looking, trying to find patterns. Trying to outsmart a body that never plays fair. He means well, of course he does, but sometimes his kindness tastes too much like surveillance.

Sirius will make jokes, always the charm, always the sparkle. Calling you his sweetheart with a wink that’s meant to be clever but lands too close to the truth. He’ll pretend it doesn’t bother him. Pretend your slurred words don’t gut him. That your trembling doesn’t keep him awake long after you’ve fallen asleep. He’ll try to turn it all into some kind of game. But you know the way his hands tremble when he pours you juice, and you hate that you’ve made him afraid of mornings.

And James — James with his untamed heart and his relentless devotion. He’ll react the way he always does. With panic beneath his patience. He’ll press the back of his hand to your forehead like he’s checking for a fever you don’t have. He’ll fetch meters and supplies before you can even ask. He’ll fuss and pace and wrap you in blankets and wrap you in himself until you forget where you end. And even though you love him, gods you do, some part of you still wants to scream.

Because it shouldn’t feel like this. 

Like their love is a mirror, always reflecting back the parts of you you wish they wouldn’t see. The fragility. The constant management. The smallness. You know they don’t pity you — you know — but sometimes it feels like they do, or like they should, and the worst part is you can’t even tell if it’s their fault or your own.

So you lie there. Quiet. Letting the fog roll in behind your eyes. Letting the room blur softly around the edges. You hope the feeling will pass. You hope you’ll be strong enough to stand before they wake. You hope they’ll never have to know how much it aches just to be human in this body some mornings. You hope — selfishly — that you can love them and still be whole.

That you can be cared for without letting your insecurities get in the way.

You know you have to move. You can’t lie here any longer, not when the walls are beginning to feel like velvet-lined cages, not when your skin is humming with static and your mouth tastes like cotton and defeat. 

You hate this part the most — the way your body demands permission before you can even sit up. The way it pulls your pride out by the roots and lays it bare at your feet like a challenge. 

It’s just blood. Just numbers. Just sugar and something too human to be this cruel. But still, it’s enough to make you feel like the smallest thing in the world.

You shift beneath the covers, muscles trembling with the effort, breath catching for half a second too long, and the whisper of dizziness curls behind your ears like a secret you didn’t ask to keep. 

Your hands feel wrong — heavy and light all at once — and there’s a part of you, dark and buried, that wants to scream. Not from the pain, not even from the fear, but from the unbearable sense of helplessness that comes with mornings like this, when everything is just a little too hard and you’re already tired of the day before it’s even begun.

But you refuse to be a glass girl. You refuse to be some soft thing to be handled carefully, with gentle voices and hovering hands. You’d rather fall. You’d rather break on your own terms than be coddled back into stillness. 

So you swing your legs over the side of the bed like it doesn’t hurt, like the floor doesn’t rise to meet you too fast. You blink away the blur, press your palm to the nearest bedpost like it might forgive your balance, and stand. Just like that. You stand.

Getting dressed feels like wading through honey, like your limbs are tied down by invisible threads that tug when you try to lift them. You pull on the uniform skirt with shaking hands, the pleats whispering against your skin like secrets, then wrestle your way into the crisp white shirt, buttoning slowly so you don’t have to see the way your fingers hesitate, don’t have to feel the fabric slipping through your grip like water. 

You hate this part too — hate how the tie droops crooked the first three tries, how the jumper clings too tight when your skin already feels too warm, how the robe settles over your shoulders like a weight instead of a cloak. 

You hate that you have to think about any of this at all. You hate how being alive feels like a performance you didn’t audition for.

You don’t stop to test your blood sugar. You don’t want the numbers. You already know you’re low. You can feel it in the way your fingertips tingle, in the cold sweat gathering at the back of your neck, in the way your thoughts slip sideways when you’re not holding them down with both hands. 

Because if they wake up and see you like this — see you swaying just slightly, holding onto the wall like a girl drowning in invisible water — they’ll look at you like they do, like they always do, and the worst part is that it isn’t even condescending, it’s kind. It’s so kind. And that’s what breaks you. That’s what drives the knife deeper.

You’re almost to the door when you hear the low, sleep-rough voice from behind you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

It’s Sirius. Of course it’s Sirius. Soft and velvet-voiced and too goddamn observant even with his eyes still half-shut. You freeze like a rabbit in snow, not because you’re startled, but because the words feel like a noose.

“I’m fine, Sirius.” You say it sharply. 

But already, you can feel it rising inside you. That slow-burning, teeth-gritting frustration that lives somewhere between your ribs and your pride. It’s not his fault. 

You know it’s not his fault. But it feels like it is. It feels like every syllable of concern is a reminder that your body is a storm they think they can shelter, like you’re something to be managed.

You hate that you snapped. You hate that it felt good. You hate that it makes your eyes sting, even as your shoulders square.

Because it’s not pity, you tell yourself. It’s not. They love you. You know they do. But your insecurity has teeth. And lately it’s been gnawing at the edges of everything they give you. So when Sirius shifts, when he opens his mouth to say something more, you don’t wait to hear it. You open the door and you leave.

And the echo of their care follows you into the hallway like a ghost you can’t stop dragging behind you.

You don’t wait for their sleepy footsteps or the familiar chorus of laughter that usually fills the dorm at breakfast. You slip out quietly, the chill of the morning air biting at the skin just exposed beneath your robe, your heart beating erratically in a rhythm that feels out of sync with the world. 

Your thoughts tangled in a storm of frustration and exhaustion as you weave through the castle corridors, the stone walls cold and indifferent against the ache pulsing through your limbs. 

Each step feels heavier than the last but fueled by a stubborn refusal to be seen as fragile or in need of saving today, or any day for that matter.

Classes blur into one another, the hours stretching like elastic, each lecture a cacophony you half-hear while your body wages a silent war you’re determined not to lose. 

Your vision flickers at the edges, a haze creeping in like smoke curling through the corners of your mind, the low blood sugar gnaws relentlessly at your focus, stealing the sharpness of your thoughts and replacing it with a fog that clings to every syllable the professors utter. 

The once familiar rhythm of lessons reduces to distant echoes as your fingers tremble slightly, betraying the effort it takes to hold a quill steady, the scratch of parchment beneath it a maddening reminder that you should be somewhere else, doing something else, anything but here succumbing to this invisible weight.

You hate the way your body betrays you, how this condition, unseen and silent, strips away your control in moments when you crave it most. 

The irony stings bitterly — you who pride yourself on your strength, your independence, now feeling tethered to this relentless unpredictability, a prisoner in your own skin. 

The ache in your chest deepens as the hunger pains twist and knot, a cruel reminder that your body demands what it needs even when your mind screams for it to be ignored.

The room tilts ever so slightly, forcing your teeth to grit and your jaw to clench, each passing second a battle against the creeping tide of weakness that threatens to pull you under. 

Yet, you refuse to pause, to slow, to rest, because the boys will worry, they will hover, and that suffocating attention is a cage of its own, gilded and beautiful but no less imprisoning. You bite back the pleading in your throat, the silent screams for sugar and rest, pushing onward despite the storm raging beneath your ribs.

The corridors grow longer, the chatter of other students a distant hum you barely register, your footsteps falter more often now. 

The familiar dizziness blossoms into a full-fledged tempest behind your eyes, your vision narrowing as sweat beads at your brow, your hands slipping against the smooth surface of the classroom desk, grounding yourself against the urge to collapse, to cry, to admit that you’re not invincible, that sometimes you’re fragile in ways that no one sees or understands.

But you won’t let them see you like this, won’t give them the satisfaction of pity or the burden of worry, so you bear it alone, swallowing the sharp edges of pain and fatigue, pretending you’re fine when every fiber of your being screams otherwise. 

As the morning stretches into afternoon, the weight of your silence grows heavier, pressing down like a storm cloud refusing to break. 

As the last lesson drags to a close, the oppressive fog in your mind still thick and unyielding, you gather your things with a stubborn precision, the worn leather of your bag rough against your fingers, the weight of it grounding you as you slip quietly from the classroom. 

The halls are bathed in the soft amber glow of afternoon light filtering through stained glass windows, casting fractured colors on the stone beneath your feet. Your steps echo with a hollow rhythm that matches the ache buried deep in your chest, the hunger and dizziness simmering just beneath the surface like an untamed fire you refuse to acknowledge.

You walk briskly down the castle’s winding corridors, the distant chatter of students fading behind you as you navigate the familiar labyrinth, the cool stone walls a silent witness to your silent battle. Your breath is shallow but steady despite the tempest building inside you. 

Just as you round a corner near the entrance to the Gryffindor common room, they appear—James, Remus, Sirius—their expressions lighting up the moment their eyes settle on you. 

A warmth that usually brings comfort now feels like a weighty presence pressing against your fragile resolve. Their eyes immediately lock onto you with a tenderness so thick it feels suffocating. 

The air between them is charged as if they are silently exchanging messages only they understand, those lingering gazes folding around you like invisible chains that tighten with every blink, every subtle glance they cast one another, and instead of comfort, a flash of anger ignites deep within you, a fierce flame against the gentle storm of their concern.

James steps forward first, his smile soft and concerned, voice dripping with a sweetness that you can’t quite bear today. 

“Hey, sweetheart, where have you been? We were worried when you didn’t join us for breakfast.” His words hang in the air like a fragile song, meant to soothe but only amplifying the tension curling in your gut. 

Your throat tightens as you fight the impulse to snap, to tell them you just wanted to breathe without their pity looming over you.

Remus follows, his eyes gentle pools of warmth and unspoken care. 

“We thought something might be wrong, you never skip breakfast, especially not on days like this.” His words are laden with such quiet worry that it almost breaks you, but that same ache twists into a stubborn refusal to let them see your cracks. 

“Are you feeling alright?” he asks, voice a soft caress you want to run from but can’t quite escape.

Sirius, usually the most reckless of the three, leans against the stone archway with a rare seriousness that unsettles you, his gaze sharp but softened by concern. 

“You don’t have to go alone, you know, we’re here, always,” and yet, the very weight of his words feels like a reminder that you’re fragile, like they see you as less than whole, a silent verdict that stings harsher than any accusation.

You force a smile, tight and brittle, the anger simmering beneath your skin flaring hotter as you catch their eyes lingering on you.

 “I’m fine,” you say quickly, voice sharper than intended, “Just didn’t want to slow you all down this morning.” The words taste bitter, a defense mechanism wrapped in fragile pride. 

They don’t ask further, their expressions folding into quiet understanding, as if they already know and don’t want to press, yet their gaze never fully leaves you, tethering you to the care you both crave and resent.

They exchange another glance, subtle and wordless, a silent pact made in the space between their concern and your resistance, and you can feel it—the unspoken message that you are theirs to protect, to worry over, to love fiercely, even when you push against it, even when it makes you burn with frustration and the aching need to prove you are so much more than their fragile, beloved charge.

Remus’s voice cuts through the lingering tension with gentle ease, “Well, dove, we’re all heading to the library to finish the work we have, why don’t you join us?” His words float like a soft invitation, an olive branch in the quiet that’s settled between you. 

Your lips part slightly in response but no words come, you just nod, the silence wrapping around you as the three boys exchange glances that speak of quiet concern and unspoken plans. 

James leans back with that familiar mischievous grin, “Come on, love, it’s better than brooding alone, and Sirius owes us detention for last week.” Sirius throws back with a smirk, eyes twinkling with teasing mischief, “And I’m only paying because you’re charming, Potter, not because I’m scared.” He jabs, earning a laugh from James that fills the corridor with a warmth you almost feel.

You trail behind them into the library, the silence between you and them folding around the pages of books and scattered parchments they begin to pore over. 

James immediately launches into a dramatic explanation of some complicated spell, his voice playful but serious, “Honestly, if I didn’t know better, I’d say I’m the smartest person here.” Sirius chimes in, rolling his eyes with exaggerated disbelief.

“Right, and I’m the King of England.” Their banter bounces back and forth, light and easy, but your mind is elsewhere, your fingers trembling as you try to steady your quill, the words swimming and blurring on the parchment, the hunger twisting in your stomach, the dizziness creeping back like a shadow, your body sending silent warnings you’re determined to ignore.

Remus’s voice drifts to you, gentle, patient, “You okay, dove? You seem a bit off.” 

You force a smile that doesn’t reach your eyes and murmur, “I’m fine, really,” but the lie tastes bitter on your tongue, your breath coming a little too fast, your vision swimming slightly, the world tilting as the ache inside you deepens, the sickness clawing at your resolve.

James shoots you a look filled with concern but masks it with a teasing grin, “Fine, but if you keel over on us, I’m dragging you back here, understood?” 

Sirius snorts, “I’ll make sure you’re the most pampered patient Hogwarts has ever seen.” 

You can’t help the small, reluctant smile that creeps onto your lips, even as the anger simmers beneath, the way their care feels like a cage, suffocating and sweet all at once. 

You hate that you need them so much even when you want to push them away.

You bite back the urge to snap, to scream that you’re not weak, that their constant hovering only makes you feel smaller, and instead, you tuck the feelings away, focusing on the books and the steady sound of their voices/.

The walk is a blur. The library looms ahead, all towering shelves and dusky light. You take your usual spot between them, but already your mind is slipping. 

You can hear Sirius whispering about how James tried to hex a feather into a quaffle. You can hear James laughing like he always does, warm and wild and boyish. Remus’s pen scratches steadily beside you. It should be comforting. It should feel like home.

But you can’t think.

The numbers on the page blur. The quill in your hand feels heavy. Your body is too warm and too cold all at once. The ache has grown deeper, sharper, like something sinking into your bones. 

The dizziness lurches through you again. Your stomach clenches with the kind of hollow that feels endless. You try to hide the way your fingers curl tighter, the way your foot taps beneath the desk as if movement alone can keep you grounded.

You stand too fast.

“I’m going to the dorm,” you say, your voice clipped and quiet.

Three heads lift. Three pairs of eyes on you.

“You alright, dove?” Remus asks.

“Fine,” you mutter, already turning. “Just tired.”

You don’t wait for permission. You push through the library doors, the cold hallway greeting you like a slap. Your pulse rings in your ears, louder than it should be. The world tilts again, and this time it’s harder to correct.

And then you hear it.

“Wait up!” James’s voice echoes, too soft to be scolding, too firm to ignore.

You spin halfway around, pulse rising.

You see their faces before they even speak — soft edges carved with worry, eyes that look at you like you might shatter if they breathe wrong. 

You hate it, that look, hate the way it wraps around your ribs and pulls tight, hate the way it sets something wild and bitter thrashing in your chest. 

Sirius is the first to take a step forward, his voice a slow murmur,"Sweetheart, talk to us, please," 

and James’s mouth is half open like he wants to say something gentle, something careful, and Remus is just watching, his eyes a little too knowing, a little too still, like he’s already bracing for impact.

And maybe that’s what sets it off.

You snap like glass beneath pressure, your voice coming out louder than you expect, raw and fraying at the edges.

"No — no, don’t — don’t talk to me like that, like I’m something breakable, I’m not — I’m not made of fucking glass," you’re trembling and you know it, your fists clench tight at your sides like maybe you can squeeze the tremor out of your veins, but it’s no use, the storm’s already here and it’s pulling everything down with it.

"I’m so tired of the way you all look at me, like I’m going to fall over if you blink, like I can’t breathe without you there holding my hand."

Sirius flinches, just barely, and James’s brows knit like he’s trying to find the right words and failing, and Remus is the only one who stays still, quiet in the way that only makes your fury burn brighter.

"I get it, okay?" you say, your voice breaking somewhere between a laugh and a sob, "I know I’m not easy to deal with — I know that when I feel like this, I’m not exactly sunshine and smiles, but that doesn’t mean I need you to hover like I’m dying — I don’t need pity, I don’t want pity, I just —"

“Stop looking at me like I’m some delicate thing, like one gust of wind is going to send me spiraling into the floor. I’m not a fucking doll, Sirius!”

His face shifts like he’s been slapped. James opens his mouth as if to speak, but you keep going, because if you stop now, the silence will swallow you whole.

“I wake up every day already behind. Do you know what that feels like? Do you have any idea what it’s like to be inside a body that refuses to cooperate? To feel it before it even hits — the cold sweat, the dizziness, the trembling that creeps in like smoke under a door. And then on top of that, I have to watch the way you look at me.”

Remus tries to step in. You see his mouth open, his eyes soften.

“Don’t,” you hiss, pointing a shaking finger at him. “Don’t tell me you don’t pity me. Don’t say it. Because you do. You all do. You act like it’s care, like it’s love, but I see it in your eyes. That flicker. That flinch. That pause. I’m not stupid.”

Your voice is rising. You’re spiraling, and they know it, and it only makes you angrier. You hate that their faces are so full of softness when you feel so raw, so splintered and exposed.

“I hate this,” you say, quieter now, but no less cutting. 

“I hate that I feel like I have to prove I’m strong every damn day. I hate that I can’t even skip breakfast or get dressed alone without you three acting like I’m about to collapse. I hate that you treat me like I’m made of sugar, like I’ll melt if things get too hard!”

You suck in a breath. Your vision is starting to tunnel at the edges, and you grip the wall behind you without thinking, just to stay upright. The words are getting harder now, sticking in your throat like splinters.

“I hate that I start to believe it,” you whisper, more to yourself than them. “That I am weak. That I’m someone who needs saving.”

James takes a step forward, his eyes soft, but you cut him off with a scream that rips through your throat like lightning.

“I don’t need saving!”

You’re trembling now, chest heaving, rage like molten iron in your bloodstream, and it’s too much. 

It’s too much because your body is already tired, your blood sugar is low, your hands are shaking and your vision is narrowing and your knees are made of smoke.

You open your mouth to yell something more, something cruel, something furious — but the words don’t come. Just a gasp.

The fire cracks. Your breath catches. Your heart gives a lurch.

And then everything tilts.

The corridor sways, the colored glass blurs, the boys’ faces twist into warped smears of panic and motion, and you’re falling before you can even feel it, the scream still half-caught in your throat as your legs collapse beneath you.

“Hey—hey. Love. Look at me.” Remus’s voice cuts sharp through the fog.

But it’s too late.

The fury that held you up has drained you dry. You hit the floor with a thud that echoes through the corridor, head lolling against Sirius’s arm as he catches you mid-fall, breath shallow, eyes slipping shut, the last thing you feel not pain — but shame. 

Shame, and the heavy pull of darkness swallowing your edges.

-

It’s white. That’s the first thing you know.

Not the gentle white of clouds through a window or parchment warmed by the sun, but something colder and brighter. 

The white of sterile linen and potion-light, of a ceiling too still above you and the thin, metallic scent of magic-sterilized air clinging to your tongue. It’s disorienting. Distant. Like you’re not quite in your body yet.

Your fingers twitch against the blanket tucked over your chest. It’s soft — far too soft to be your bed. And the light stings your eyes in a way morning never does.

There’s a muted clink of glass to your left. A voice murmuring — low, measured, careful. You turn your head slowly, as if it weighs too much to carry, and squint through the brightness.

Madam Pomfrey is leaning over another bed nearby. You recognize the girl there even through the fog; Dalia. 

She’s sitting upright with a thick book balanced on her knees, her dark hair pinned back, her expression calm as she listens to the nurse. 

You’ve seen her in classes before — quiet, clever, always with a quill in hand and an answer ready. Not a friend, not even an acquaintance, but familiar. Warm, in that distant way certain people can be.

You remember something else now. Sirius, offhandedly mentioning her once. “That’s Regulus’s girlfriend,” he’d said, like he didn’t care at all, even though you knew him too well to believe it.

She glances up then, sensing your gaze. Her eyes meet yours, soft and aware, and a small smile curves her mouth.

“Hey,” she says gently. “You’re awake.”

Your lips part, but your throat is sandpaper and nothing comes out.

Madam Pomfrey turns at the sound of her voice and sees you, her face breaking into a relieved expression as she makes her way across the room with brisk, familiar efficiency.

“There you are,” she says, checking your forehead, your pulse, the warmth in your palms. “Gave us quite a scare, young lady.”

You try to sit up, but your body protests — heavy, sore, like your bones have filled with lead. “What…” you manage hoarsely. “What happened?”

“You fainted,” she says plainly, adjusting the blanket higher on your chest. “Outside the library, your sugar was low. You’re lucky someone was there.”

The memory returns in broken flashes. The corridor. The boys. Your voice, loud and trembling. The way they looked at you. Concerned. Hurt. The throb in your temples. Then — nothing.

“Did you eat anything today?” Pomfrey asks, arching a brow.

Your silence is enough.

She exhales through her nose, not unkindly, but with that familiar edge of scolding she reserves for repeat offenders. 

“You’ve got to be more careful. You can’t just push through like that when your body is trying to tell you something. You’re not invincible, no matter how stubborn you are.”

You open your mouth, and then — “Where are—”

“They brought you in,” she says, already knowing.

“All three of them. James and Sirius carrying you, Remus storming ahead like he was going to hex anyone who got in the way. Wouldn’t even let me near you until I promised you were stable.”

Your breath catches.

She continues, her voice softening with something that might almost be fondness. “Stayed by your side until your vitals leveled. But when I asked if they wanted to stay, they said maybe you needed space. That you might not want them here when you woke up.”

You feel it like a blow to the chest.

They didn’t stay.

Because you told them not to.

Because you’d screamed in their faces, furious and shaking, eyes burning as you accused them of pitying you, of treating you like glass. You remember Sirius’s face — how it twisted, like your words had punched the air from his lungs. James, blinking like you’d slapped him. And Remus, quiet, shoulders tense, jaw clenched not in anger but in something far more difficult to name.

Shame creeps over your skin, slow and suffocating. It’s thick in your throat and hot in your eyes.

You curl inward under the blanket, as if you can hide from it — from the truth of your own cruelty.

They weren’t trying to make you feel weak. They never have. It was always you, projecting your fears onto their kindness, twisting their care into something uglier because it hurt too much to accept love without condition. And now look at you.

Alone. Dizzy. Hollowed out by your own pride.

Across the room, Dalia watches you gently, her book still open in her lap. She doesn’t say anything else.

And somehow, that makes it worse.

You close your eyes, throat aching. Not from thirst or from sickness, but from the weight of everything you said, everything you felt, everything you pushed away.

You’re not ready to cry.

But you are very, very tired.

It all happens quietly.

One moment, Madam Pomfrey is folding a blanket at the foot of the next bed, muttering to herself about potions inventory and how no one ever listens when she says rest, and the next, the infirmary doors bang open with a gust of cold air and frantic footsteps. 

A small boy — second year, by the look of him — stumbles in, his arm cradled to his chest, face pale with pain and panic. 

Another student follows close behind, stammering apologies. There’s blood, not much, but enough to make Pomfrey rush forward, her voice sharp with instinct and care as she guides the injured student to the bed farthest from yours.

And just like that, you’re left alone again.

The brightness of the room, which once felt clean and safe, now feels exposed and empty.

Your hands tremble beneath the covers, and you press your palms to your eyes, trying to breathe through the tightness in your throat, but it’s no use. 

The tears come anyway — hot and heavy and silent at first, like they’ve been waiting just behind your ribs for this exact moment, when no one’s watching, when no one can try to comfort you and make it worse.

It hurts. 

Not just your body — though that too, the way your limbs feel like stone and your stomach coils with the faint ache of shame and nausea. But the deeper ache is somewhere else. In your chest. In the cruel little part of your mind that keeps whispering you did this, you made them leave, you couldn’t even hold yourself together for them.

You’ve been so angry for so long — and what for? You don’t even know anymore.

You just hate this. Hate how your body betrays you. Hate how you’re so careful, and still it crumbles. Hate how you need help. Hate how soft their voices go when they look at you. Hate how much you love them for it, even as it makes you feel like you're being wrapped in pity instead of love.

You don’t hear Dalia approach.

It’s only when you sense someone hovering near the bed that you lower your hands and blink through the blur, startled to find her standing there, gentle and hesitant. Her book is tucked beneath one arm, and her eyes — a kind, unreadable shade of brown — are searching yours with a careful softness.

“Hey,” she says quietly, like she doesn’t want to startle you. “Are you okay?”

You shake your head without thinking, not even a pause to pretend. You don’t feel okay. You feel cracked down the center.

Dalia doesn't flinch or turn away. She steps closer and sits carefully on the edge of the bed across from yours, legs crossed, hands clasped in her lap. “Do you… want to talk about it?”

You hesitate.

Then, like something in you gives way, your voice spills out, raw and unguarded.

“I hate it,” you whisper, and then louder, with the tears returning, “I hate being like this. I hate that I fainted. I hate how they looked at me. Like I was made of glass. I know they care. I know they do. But it makes me feel so—so weak. Like I’m not someone they choose to love but someone they’re stuck loving because I need them too much.”

Your throat is thick, your eyes burning again. “I don’t want to be the girl they worry about. I want to be strong. I want to be… normal. And I feel like every time I collapse, I’m proving some horrible truth about myself. That I can’t handle life, that I’m a burden.”

Dalia doesn’t interrupt or rush in with empty reassurances. She just listens, head tilted slightly, face open, as if she’s holding the space for your pain without trying to smother it.

When you finally fall quiet, breath catching on the remnants of a sob, she speaks.

“I understand that feeling,” she says, voice calm, her words slow and thoughtful.

 “I have asthma. Pretty bad, actually. I carry a potion with me everywhere and I’ve had attacks in the middle of class, in the middle of dates. It used to make me feel humiliated and weak. Like I had this sign over my head that said fragile and everyone could see it.”

You glance at her. She’s still looking at you, not with pity, but with something deeper. Recognition.

“I remember once,” she begins, her voice soft, steady, like she’s unspooling the memory as carefully as it happened, “I was on a walk with Regulus. He didn’t know about it yet — my asthma, I mean. I was too proud to tell him, I thought if he knew he’d start looking at me differently. We were just wandering through this little grove near the edge of the Black Lake. The sky was golden, the kind of dusk that makes everything look like a painting.”

She pauses, drawing in a breath.

“And then it hit me. An attack, out of nowhere. My chest locked up, like I was breathing through a straw, and I dropped right to the ground. And Regulus — he panicked. Way more than I did. His face just—cracked open. I’ll never forget the look in his eyes. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask what I needed. He just picked me up, like I weighed nothing, and ran all the way back up the hill to the hospital wing. Like the world had narrowed down to me and the next breath I couldn’t take.”

Her smile now is small, crooked, but real. “I was livid with him afterward. Told him I didn’t need saving. Told him I wasn’t made of glass and I didn’t need him treating me like I was already dying.”

Her eyes flick up, soft and faraway. “But he wasn’t treating me like I was dying. He was treating me like I mattered, like I was something precious. He didn’t carry me because he thought I was weak. He carried me because he couldn’t bear the thought of letting me fall.”

Another breath. “I couldn’t see the difference then. I mistook his fear for pity, his urgency for condescension, but it wasn’t that. It took me a long while to understand that sometimes love doesn’t ask permission. Sometimes it panics a little, sometimes it shows up without knowing the right words. But it always carries you, even when you push it away.”

You stare at her, frozen in the moment.

Dalia tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. Her tone softens even further, as if offering something precious. 

“Sometimes, the people who love us… they love us so much that their worry spills out of them. It doesn’t mean they think we’re weak. It means they’re scared to lose us. That’s what love does to people. It makes them feel helpless when the person they love is hurting. So they try to do something — anything — even if it’s too much, even if it’s clumsy. But it always comes from love, not pity.”

You don’t respond at first, you can’t.

Because she’s right.

You remember Remus’s silence, how it always feels like a steady hand on your shoulder even when he says nothing. You remember Sirius’s voice cracking when he said your name as you collapsed. James’s wild-eyed panic, the way he couldn’t stop touching your wrist to make sure you were breathing.

Not pity. Never pity. Just love, overflowing and terrified.

Dalia reaches across the space between your beds, her fingers curling gently around yours. 

“You’re allowed to hate it. You’re allowed to be angry. But don’t forget — strength doesn’t mean never needing help. It means surviving even when you do.”

Your lips tremble. “I was so mean to them.”

“I think,” she says softly, “they probably already forgave you the moment you fell.”

The quiet after Dalia’s words hangs between you like a shared breath, like something sacred and slow. 

You don’t know how long you sit like that, her hand in yours, the smell of healing potions soft in the air, the gentle rustle of Madam Pomfrey’s movements at the far end of the room. 

But eventually, you squeeze her fingers once in thanks, letting your hand fall back to the blanket as you breathe in deep, a little steadier now, a little less splintered.

“Thank you,” you say quietly. “Really.”

Dalia smiles. That kind of smile that’s small but full of light. “Anytime.”

There’s a moment of pause, then you glance at her sideways, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your mouth. “Regulus seems much happier since he’s been with you..”

Her cheeks warm with color. She ducks her head a little, but the beam that takes over her whole face is unmistakable.

“He’s trying. He’s soft underneath, you know. Like… very soft. I think he forgets he doesn’t have to be perfect all the time.”

You nod. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Well,” she says, cocking an eyebrow, “I could say the same. Sirius hasn’t hexed a studentr in almost a month, he’s practically domesticated.”

You both break into laughter — breathy and real, a little surprised by its own existence. The warmth spreads through your chest like sunlight on a winter morning, slow and fragile and new.

But then—

“—you’ll tell us if she’s awake, right?”

The voice cuts through the curtain — unmistakable, urgent, and familiar in a way that makes your stomach lurch. 

James.

You don’t even think.

Your body moves on instinct, bolting upright as you kick off the thin blanket and rush toward the curtain, heart hammering in your chest. 

You pull it back—and there they are.

All three of them.

James, pacing just a little, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes wild and rimmed red. Sirius, slouched like he’s trying to pretend he wasn’t moments from bursting through the doors himself. And Remus — closest to you, shoulders stiff, gaze locked on the floor until the movement makes him look up.

And as soon as he does —

It breaks you.

The tears rise again, sudden and sharp and unstoppable. You lurch forward and throw yourself into Remus’s arms. 

He catches you instantly, strong hands wrapping around your waist, pulling you in like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

You bury your face in his chest, shaking, crying hard and fast as the dam bursts. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry—”

His arms tighten around you.

“Baby,” he breathes, low and firm and warm, “I’m not mad at you, I’m not. I love you. I love you so much that you had me terrified.”

You sob harder. He leans his chin against your hair and rocks you gently like you’re something delicate and precious.

James steps closer, one hand landing on your back, not saying anything, just grounding you. Sirius stands at your other side, shifting awkwardly, like he wants to punch a wall but would settle for hugging you if he thought he wouldn’t make it worse.

And still, Remus holds you. “You don’t ever have to apologize for being human,” he murmurs into your hair. “You scared me, but I’m not going anywhere. Not ever.”

They don’t say much as they leave the infirmary, their footsteps soft on the stone floors, the silence wrapping around you like a fragile thread.

James gently slipping his hand into yours, the warmth of his palm grounding you, tethering you to this moment, to him, to them, and the steady beat of his pulse beneath your skin is a silent promise that you’re not alone.

 The walk back to the boys’ dorm is slow, deliberate, almost ceremonial in its simplicity, the corridor stretching ahead like a path lined with shadows and light.

When Sirius finally opens the door to the dorm and ushers you inside, the scent of worn leather, old parchment, and something unmistakably homey wraps around you like a cloak, but as he carefully sets you down on the edge of the bed, a sudden shiver curls up your spine — a flicker of fear that makes your chest tighten, because Remus said he was okay, James held your hand, and yet Sirius remains silent, still.

His eyes flickering somewhere beyond the surface, unreadable like a book with its pages dog-eared and worn, and suddenly your mind is a storm of whispers and accusations, of doubts creeping in on quiet feet, telling you that maybe, just maybe, Sirius is the one who’s still mad, the one who sees your sickness as something to pity or protect you from in a way that feels like chains instead of care.

You sink into the bed, fingers twitching in your lap, heart sinking with each passing second of silence.

Your thoughts spinning webs of worst-case scenarios and silent judgments, as if every glance you imagine from Sirius weighs like a verdict you aren’t ready to hear, and the room feels too small, the air too thick.

 The space between you is too vast, your breath catching in your throat because you can’t tell if you’re waiting for comfort or confrontation, for anger or acceptance, and the heaviness of it presses down on your ribs, making every heartbeat a question mark.

Then, quietly, unexpectedly, Sirius kneels down before you.

 His hands reaching out with a tenderness that stops the wild storm in its tracks, his fingers wrapping around yours like a soft anchor.

His eyes meet yours with a depth of understanding that feels like a balm to all the jagged edges inside you, and when he speaks, his voice is low, rich with something gentle and fierce all at once.

 “I don’t ever want you to feel like you’re weaker than any of us, ma belle,” he says.

His voice, low and soft, fills the quiet space between you, wrapping around you like a warm embrace.

 “You are far stronger than anyone I know,” he begins, each word deliberate, like he’s carefully threading a lifeline just for you. “This illness? It’s a part of you, sure. But it does not define you. It does not make you less. It doesn’t make you weak. Not in my eyes. Not in any of ours.”

He pauses, squeezing your hands lightly, as if reminding you that you’re not just hearing empty words but a truth carved out from everything he’s come to know about you. 

“I see how you push through every day — the pain you hide, the battles you fight silently. And I’m in awe of your strength, more than anyone else here. The way you refuse to let it stop you, even when it hurts, even when it’s hard — that’s real power.” His voice softens further, laced with tenderness, and you feel the weight of his words settle deep inside you, like a gentle rain on dry soil.

“I’m sorry if sometimes we make you feel fragile or weak,” he admits, voice gentle and sincere, “that’s never our intention. We worry because we love you so much, and sometimes we get carried away with our care, not realizing how it might feel to you. But if you ever need space, just say the word — we’ll back away without hesitation, and we’ll try to be better, to understand you more, to respect what you need without making you feel like you’re less than the fierce person you are.”

“No one here pities you. Quite the opposite,” he says, eyes shining with something fierce and protective.

“We love you, every bit of you. Your courage, your stubbornness, your fire. I promise you, when we worry, it’s because we care so deeply, not because we think you’re fragile or broken.” His thumb brushes over the back of your hand, slow and soothing.

“You’re not a burden, you’re not a weakness. And if anyone ever made you feel less, I’ll fight to prove them wrong. Every single day.”

He takes a breath, voice barely more than a whisper now, as if afraid to break the fragile moment between you.

“So please, don’t shut us out. Don’t push us away because you think you have to carry it all alone. We’re here, always.” His eyes search yours, earnest and full of a quiet promise. 

His thumb brushes your skin tenderly, “I love you so goddamn much.”

Remus’s arms wrap around you gently, the steady warmth of his embrace grounding you in a way that makes your chest feel a little lighter, his fingers tracing slow, soothing patterns along your back as he whispers softly, 

“You’re doing better now, I can feel it, you’re stronger than you think, love,” and you lean into him, feeling that quiet strength wrap around your trembling edges like a shield.

“I just wish I didn’t have to be so strong all the time, sometimes it feels like I’m holding up a world no one else can see,” and he tightens his hold ever so slightly, his breath warm against your ear as he replies, “But you’re not alone, not ever, we’re here, all of us, and we’ll carry the weight with you when it gets too heavy,” you nod against his chest, the honesty of his words sinking deep into your bones.

James leans down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your temple, murmuring sweetly, “You’re incredible, you know that? Every day you amaze me,” and you feel your heart flutter, the tangled knot of fear loosening as his words wrap around you like sunlight. 

While Remus keeps doting, brushing hair from your face and murmuring more quiet encouragements, James turns to Sirius with a teasing grin and says, “Never knew a Black could be this romantic, eh?” 

Sirius rolls his eyes but can’t suppress a smirk, shooting back, “Oh, shut up,” before leaning forward and pressing a possessive kiss to James’s lips, the quiet declaration hanging in the air, James chuckling softly against him as he pulls back.

You and Remus exchange a look before soft laughter bubbles up between you, the warmth of their playful love easing the last of your tension as you settle into the comfort of being truly seen, truly loved.

James grins mischievously after Sirius’s quick kiss, catching your laughter as it spills through the room like a warm breeze. 

“Oh, you’re going to laugh now,” he teases softly, his eyes sparkling with playful intent. Before you can protest, he gently pulls you away from Remus’s comforting hold, whisking you toward the small bed, where the world narrows down to just the two of you.

His fingers find their way to your sides, tickling with deliberate softness. 

Your laughter bursts out again, bright and carefree, shaking through you like sunlight breaking through clouds. You try to squirm away, breathless and glowing, but he holds you close, his smile wide and steady.

When the tickling finally fades, and you lie beside him, still smiling, you whisper, “I feel so... lovesick. Like my heart is too full for words and it’s the sweetest kind of ache.”

Sirius smirks from the side, “Well, lucky you, that’s the only kind of sweetness that never makes you crash.” James and Remus’ laughter fills the space around the room and in between your heart.

And in that quiet, breathing moment between laughter and silence, you remember what Dalia once said—how sometimes love’s worry spills over not as pity, but as a fierce, tender strength. 

Now, finally, you feel so full of sweetness and love—not the sugar kind that flickers and fades, but the kind that hums deep in your bones, a steady, radiant pulse that warms every fragile corner of your heart, a quiet poetry written in the language of belonging, fierce enough to be gentle, strong enough to make you feel whole and loved.

Because sometimes, the sweetest healing comes not from what we take in, but from what we finally allow ourselves to receive.

[carnalcrows]

A WHOLE NEW WORLD

summary: You were never supposed to be anything more than a thief. But a stolen bracelet, a runaway heart, and a single reckless wish change everything. Now the world is spinning out of control—and the boy you can't forget might be the only real thing left to hold onto.

pairing: princess jasmine!choso kamo x alladin!male reader

content warnings: 18+, ftm choso (she/her pronous are used in the first half bc nobody knows of this), mahito is a warning of his own, top male reader, drowning, reader is an unreliable narrator (sorry bro).

word count: 8.0k

best viewed in dark mode

The market always smelled like too many things at once. Spices. Sand. Fruit that’s a little too ripe. Sweat. You’ve been running these streets since you were old enough to steal your first loaf of bread—and dumb enough to think it was free. These days, you know better. You know which stalls swap their goods by the hour, which alleys to cut through when the guards give chase, which rooftops creak beneath your weight and which ones won’t even notice you’re there.  

And today? Today, you’re hungry. Not just for food, though you could eat. It’s the other kind of hunger. The kind that scratches at the back of your throat and says don’t sit still too long. The kind that makes you pickpocket out of boredom, not desperation. Which is why you swipe the silver apple from the merchant’s tray with a grin and no remorse, tuck it into your sash, and disappear into the crowd like smoke.  

⋆｡°✩  

“Thief!” someone yells. You sigh. That was faster than usual. Megumi chitters from your shoulder, fur twitching, eyes sharp as ever. He flicks your ear like this is somehow your fault. You flick him back and keep moving. You don’t run. Not yet. You walk like someone with somewhere to be. Let the tension build. Let the guards get close enough to think they have you. And when the right corner comes—you bolt.  

⋆｡°✩  

You lose them after five turns, three leaps, and one stolen chicken skewer that you do, in fact, eat. You’re not sorry. Megumi squeaks his approval as you hop down from the awning and dust off your hands. The back street is quieter here. Fewer eyes. Fewer witnesses. And that’s when you see her.  

⋆｡°✩  

Dark cloak. Hood up. Shoulders tense, like she doesn’t want to be here. Like the world is too loud for her today. But her hands are delicate where they rest on the edge of a fruit cart—fingers trailing over a pomegranate like she’s trying to remember what sweetness is supposed to feel like. Her eyes flick up. Meet yours. There’s a flash of something you don’t expect. Not fear. Not scorn. Recognition.

And then the fruit seller turns, sees her fingers on the goods, and yells something sharp in a dialect neither of you speak. Her eyes go wide. You step in without thinking. “Hey!” you bark. “That’s my sister.” The man scowls. “She doesn’t talk,” you add quickly. “Head injury. Real tragic.” You loop an arm around the stranger’s shoulders, tug her away from the cart before either of you get hit with a broomstick.  

She doesn’t resist. Not until you’re two alleyways over and laughing breathlessly, and then—  

“Why did you help me?” she asks, voice low, cautious.  

You blink. Her hood’s fallen back a bit. Her face is pale and fine-featured. Sharp eyes. Loose braid. A little too well-groomed to be anyone’s sister from the lower quarter. You shrug. “Didn’t feel like watching you get yelled at.” She studies you. Really studies. Then—“You’re a thief,” she says, like she’s not sure whether to be impressed or irritated.  

“I’m a specialist,” you correct. “It’s different.”  

⋆｡°✩  

She walks like someone who’s used to silence. That’s the first thing you notice. Even in the backstreets—where the city’s heartbeat slows and the noise fades into sun-warmed stone and dust—she moves like she’s afraid to take up space. You pretend not to notice. You’re good at pretending.  

“So,” you say casually, adjusting Megumi’s grip on your shoulder. “You always ‘almost’ steal pomegranates, or was that just for flair?” She glances at you. Dry. “I wasn’t stealing.” You raise a brow. “You had your hand on it.” “I was thinking.” “Dangerous hobby.” She doesn’t answer that. Just keeps walking.  

She doesn’t belong here. Not just because of the cloak or the way her braid looks like it was combed by someone paid to do it. It’s the way she watches everything—eyes sharp beneath the hood, like she’s memorising the exits. Like you used to.  

“Are you lost?” you ask eventually. “No.” “Running from something?” She pauses. Then: “Not anymore.”  

⋆｡°✩  

You lead her to a little archway near the edge of the district—just low enough to duck into, just quiet enough to feel safe. You toss her a piece of the stolen chicken skewer. She catches it. Megumi squeaks at you like you’ve betrayed him. You toss him one too.  

She eats slowly. Not like she’s starving—but like food hasn’t made her feel human in a while. The light catches on something at her wrist—a bracelet, mostly hidden by her sleeve. Woven threads and silver beads. Not expensive, but loved. You can tell.  

“Nice bracelet,” you say casually. She covers it with her hand. “It was my mother’s,” she says, too quickly. You nod. Say nothing.  

The moment stretches. Softens. And then— Footsteps. Heavy. Fast. Not guards. But not far off. You both freeze. You tug your hood lower. She pulls hers up. Your heart kicks once. Not from fear—from instinct.  

“Come on,” you whisper. You grab her hand. She follows without hesitation.  

⋆｡°✩  

You split off near a vendor stall. “Go that way,” you tell her, gesturing to the alley. “Sharp right, then left again. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.” She hesitates. Then she nods. “Thank you.” You grin, backing away. “It’s what friends are for.” She rolls her eyes. Then disappears.  

You wait until the coast is clear before slipping your hand into your pocket—and finding the bracelet you never meant to steal. Your stomach dips. You stare at the familiar weight. The tiny silver bead worn smooth in the centre. You didn’t take it to be cruel. You took it because… something about her made you want to keep a piece. Just for a little while. You sigh. “I’ll bring it back,” you tell Megumi, who just tilts his head. “I will.”  

You’ve snuck into a lot of places before. Noble houses. Merchant vaults. One bathhouse, by accident (long story). But the royal palace? That’s new. It’s not the guards that make you hesitate. It’s not even the sheer size of it—white stone and winding corridors, too many windows and not enough exits. No, what throws you off is how clean it is. No dust. No noise. No secrets whispered in the walls. You hate it.  

Megumi clings to your shoulder as you scale the garden wall, little claws digging into your shirt like he’s second-guessing your choices. You pat him once, then drop into the hedges. “I know,” you mutter. “But I promised.”  

The bracelet weighs heavier today. Not just in your pocket. In your chest.  

You don’t even know her name. But you remember the way her fingers curled over it. Like it wasn’t jewellery—like it was a memory. You’re not a good man. You know that. But you can be good for one thing. Even if it’s just this.  

⋆｡°✩  

You make it halfway across the inner courtyard before you see her. At first, you think you’re imagining it. The light hits just right—filtered through silk drapes and pale stone—and there she is, no hood, no cloak. Her braid is clean and tied back, her robes richer, darker, edged in silver thread. Two guards flank her at a respectful distance. Another man walks just behind her—dark-haired, sharp-eyed, well-dressed. Not a handmaiden. Not someone she reports to.  

They’re following her.  

Your heart stops.  

She’s not just from the palace.  

It’s her palace.

⋆｡°✩  

You’re frozen in place, suddenly very aware of the bracelet in your pocket and the stolen way you’re dressed and the dirt still clinging to your boots. You shouldn’t be here. You don’t even know her name.  

And she’s the princess.  

You take a half-step forward anyway. You don’t know what you think is going to happen. Maybe you’ll give the bracelet back. Maybe you’ll say something—anything—before you vanish again into the city and pretend you never made a promise to someone you never should’ve touched.  

And then—  

“Caught you.”  

⋆｡°✩  

A hand clamps down on your shoulder. Hard. You twist. Megumi screeches and leaps off you. But it’s too late. You’re face-to-face with a man you’ve never seen before. Light blue hair, loosely tied. A smile that doesn’t touch his pale eyes. He’s dressed like a royal advisor. Gold trim, rich layers. But the look he gives you is sharp enough to slice.  

He glances down at your hand. “Oh,” he purrs. “What’s this?” You don’t answer. “Breaking into the palace just to return a bracelet?” he asks, tone sweet and sour all at once. “How noble.”  

You try to pull away. His grip tightens. “Come,” he says, and you feel your stomach drop. “Let’s talk.”  

The desert doesn't begin the way you expect. It creeps in slowly—grain by grain, hush by hush. You don't even realize you've left the city until the horizon loses its edges and the color of the world flattens. Gold swallows grey. Stone gives way to sand. And suddenly you're small beneath a sky so wide, it feels like it's watching you.

Megumi is silent on your shoulder. Tense. You don't blame him.  

Mahito glides ahead, his pale blue hair ghosting behind him like the tail of some ancient thing. He hasn't said much since dragging you from the palace. Just that there's a cave. That it's full of treasure. That you'll find what he needs at the center.  

"You'll know it when you see it," he'd said with a smile that didn't reach his eyes.  

Now, as the wind picks up and the dunes shift under your boots, you're starting to think this wasn't one of your better ideas.  

⋆｡°✩  

The cave entrance yawns before you like a mouth. Massive. Monstrous. Carved from obsidian and gold in the shape of a jaguar—or maybe a lion, but wrong. Too sleek. Too alive. Its eyes glow. Its teeth form the archway.  

Mahito sighs, almost bored. "Try not to touch anything but the lamp. The cave doesn't like greedy hands."  

You stare at him. "That's it? No map? No backup plan?"  

He grins. "Where's the fun in that?"  

The moment your foot crosses the threshold, the ground rumbles.  

⋆｡°✩  

Inside, the air turns thick—warm with the scent of old incense and metal. The walls pulse with veins of gold that glow like trapped fire. And the treasure...  

It's everywhere.  

Goblets crusted with emeralds. Weapons wrapped in silk. Jewels in colours you don't have names for. You step carefully, avoiding the statue that watches with jewelled eyes—  

—until Megumi squeaks.  

You turn just in time to see the ruby in his paw.  

Small. Beautiful. Terribly red.  

"Megumi," you whisper.  

The cave roars.  

⋆｡°✩  

Treasure collapses like water. The ground splits. You sprint, dodging falling stone, the lamp suddenly heavy in your grip as the entrance grinds shut behind you.  

You make it out—barely—hands scrabbling at the ledge as your body dangles over nothing.  

Mahito appears above you, framed by sunlight.  

"Help!" you shout.  

He smiles. "Pass me the lamp first."  

You hesitate.  

He stomps on your fingers.  

⋆｡°✩  

You fall.  

For one terrible second, all you see is sky. Then stone. Then—  

—Something catches you.  

Soft. Woven.  

A magic carpet sweeps beneath you, spiralling upward as Mahito's laughter fades. The lamp still burns in your hand.  

You stare at it.  

Wipe off the dust.  

And give it one, tentative rub.  

⋆｡°✩  

The explosion of light nearly blinds you. Smoke pours out in brilliant blues and purples, the air buzzing like it's trying to become sound. Then—  

A shape. A grin.  

And a voice like laughter and lightning:  

"DID SOMEBODY SAY WISHES?"  

Standing before you is a man, glowing faintly at the edges, with white hair that sparkles like frost and a robe that won't stay one colour.  

"Hi," he says, flashing teeth. "I'm your new favourite mistake."  

You open your mouth. Close it.  

Megumi faints.  

The man catches him mid-collapse and coos, "Aww, that's fair."  

You point. "What are you?"  

He beams. "Genie. Name's Gojo. Wishes. Magic. Sparkles. Screaming exes. The usual." He tosses Megumi gently onto a cushion that wasn’t there a second ago. Then turns back to you.

“You get three wishes,” he says, lifting three glowing fingers. “No refunds, no substitutions, no wishing for more wishes, no bringing back the dead, and no, I can’t make your eyeliner sharper—that’s between you and your mirror.”

You stare. He waits. Then tilts his head.

“…You okay there, street rat?”

⋆｡°✩  

You’re still trying to catch your breath when Gojo starts doing cartwheels in the air. Literal ones.

Glowing, twirling, smug-as-hell flips while conjuring a sparkling drink in one hand and a mini fireworks display in the other. Megumi clings to your shoulder like he’s ready to bite the next magical thing that moves.

“You okay there, sparkle-thief?” Gojo asks between spins. “Wanna make a wish? Something big? Bold? Perhaps shirtless with charisma?” You stare at him. Then down at the lamp in your hand. Then back up.

 “…So you can do anything, right?” Gojo winks. “Three wishes. Anything your heart desires, babycakes.”

“No, no,” you say quickly, waving the lamp a little. “I mean outside the wishes. Just you. Can you do anything? Or do you need the wish to work your mojo?” Gojo puffs up immediately.

“Excuse me? Excuse me? I am the most powerful being in the known realms. You think I need permission to do a little trick like—” he gestures vaguely “—I dunno, get you out of here?”

You shrug, mock-casual. “I mean, this cave’s kind of a big deal, isn’t it? Magical, collapsing death trap and all that. Maybe you can’t.” Gojo’s eye twitches.

You lean back on your palms, baiting him harder. “I mean, I get it. Maybe that’s why you need the wishes. You know. Limits.” Megumi squeaks like he knows exactly what you’re doing.

Gojo freezes midair. Then slowly floats down, landing in front of you with arms crossed and a pout forming fast.

“You wound me.” You give him a little shrug and a smug grin. “Prove me wrong.”

⋆｡°✩

There’s a snap. A burst of wind. And suddenly, the world flips. The cave vanishes. The stone. The heat. Gone.

You’re standing in open desert again, beneath a pale violet sky, stars blinking into view one by one like they’re surprised to see you alive.

Megumi topples into the sand beside you. You blink. Then slowly turn. Gojo is frozen mid-strut, mid-celebration, one finger raised in triumph. And then—

His whole face drops.

“Wait.” You grin.

He stares at you. “You—”

“I didn’t wish for anything,” you say, smug and victorious. His mouth opens.

Closes. Opens again. “You tricked me!”

“You tricked yourself,” you say, dusting off your hands. Gojo slaps his forehead. “Oh my god, you gaslit a genie.”

“I prefer to think of it as ‘strategic flattery.’” He paces in a circle. “This is so embarrassing—this is like day one Genie Academy stuff—never let them goad you, Gojo—”

Megumi snickers. Gojo glares at him. “Don’t laugh. He’s your thief.” Megumi just grins wider.

You flop down in the sand with a sigh, running your fingers over the curve of the lamp. Still warm. Still yours.

Gojo eventually stops pacing and flops down next to you, kicking his sandals off mid-air.

“So,” he mutters, still sulking. “You've got three wishes left. Gonna wish for a palace? Infinite gold? A harem of emotionally damaged men?” You shake your head.

You pull the bracelet from your pocket. And you say, “I want to become a prince.”

Gojo raises a brow. “Oh? You royalty-curious now?” You smile a little.

“No,” you say. “But she is.”

⋆｡°✩

Gojo hovers upside down for a second. Then rolls onto his back in midair and kicks his legs like a teenager hearing drama for the first time.

“Ohhh,” he sings. “It’s a crush.” You shoot him a glare. “It’s not a—”

He floats closer, chin propped on one glowing hand. “She’s beautiful, mysterious, emotionally reserved, probably a little dangerous—”

You blink. “You’ve never even met her.”

“I’m magic, babe. I know things.” He spins once, flaring his sleeves with dramatic flair. “So! Wish number one: turn you into a prince. Let’s do this!”

You pause. Just for a second. “What’s the catch?” you ask warily. Gojo gasps. “How dare. I am deeply offended.”

“You said you’ve got screaming exes.”

“Yeah, but they’re mostly jealous I look this good in silk.”

“Gojo.”

“Fine, fine. No catch. But you have to be specific.” He floats down to eye level, suddenly serious—well, serious for him. “You wanna be a prince, I can do that. But a real prince? With history, backstory, legitimacy, social clout, a tragic origin story?” He wiggles his fingers. “You gotta be clear.”

You hesitate. Then say quietly, “I just need to be… enough. Enough for her to look at me like I belong in her world.”

Gojo softens. It’s barely there, but real.

“Got it,” he says. Then he claps his hands once.

And the world explodes.

You don’t know where you are.

There’s colour everywhere—glitter and silk, ribbons of light, sand turning to glass beneath your feet. Megumi yelps as he’s scooped into a flurry of golden fabric, then promptly drops out the other side wearing a tiny embroidered vest and hat.

You are also suddenly in new clothes. Many clothes.Too many. A turban appears, spins three times, and explodes.

A jacket snaps onto your shoulders, then vanishes, then reappears in a different colour. Gojo mutters to himself, throws a handful of stars into the air, and steps back.

The whirlwind fades. You stumble forward and catch a glimpse of yourself in the water.

You look like someone else.Not a stranger. Not fake.

Just… polished. Taller. Cleaner. Like a better version of who you’ve always tried to be. Gojo whistles.

“Damn. You’re gonna break hearts and laws with that face.” You stare.

Touch your chest. Then look up.

“…This is me?”

He grins. “For now.”

⋆｡°✩

It starts with music. Low and distant at first, like a heartbeat under the ground. Then louder. Brighter. Faster.

By the time it reaches the palace gates, the sound has become a parade. Drums pounding. Horns blaring. The ground practically shakes beneath it. People gather at the edges of the street, wide-eyed, murmuring, pushing to see what the noise is about.

The guards don’t even know what to do. One of them drops his spear. And at the centre of the chaos— You.

Perched atop an extravagant, over-decorated, too-sparkling chariot that Gojo conjured five minutes ago because, quote, “You need drama.” There are banners in colours you don’t recognise, dancers flanking your path, golden confetti swirling through the air like it’s trying to make up for your anxiety.

Megumi rides next to you on the magic carpet, arms folded and expression deeply unimpressed, wearing a crown Gojo forced on him.

You want to throw up. You smile instead.

⋆｡°✩

Choso watches from the upper balcony. He doesn’t say anything at first.

Geto stands beside him, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the spectacle below. “Another prince,” he mutters. Choso hums. This one’s different.

The way he smiles at the crowd—not too big, not too forced. The way he bows at the gates. The way he scans the palace—once, quickly, like he’s trying not to look for something he wants to see.

It tugs at something in his chest. Something familiar. He frowns.

⋆｡°✩

“Introducing,” Gojo declares from the front of the parade, spinning mid-air and throwing glitter like it's a legal requirement, “the dazzling, the dashing, the devastatingly single Prince of the Seven Sands and Fourteen Rivers and One Very Cool Monkey—”

You elbow him. Hard. Gojo coughs. “—I mean. Prince—”

The guards step aside. The palace gates open. And you step through.

⋆｡°✩

You’re led into the throne room with trumpets blaring, velvet swishing around your ankles, and Gojo whispering terrible advice in your ear.

“Don’t trip,” he mutters. “Don’t bow too low. Compliment her—them, compliment them. Say something about the tapestry. Or the hair. Or, ooh, eyes! But don’t say eyes first, that’s creepy. You know what, just—say nothing. Smile. Look rich.”

“Gojo.”

“Also, maybe mention your monkey. Everyone loves a monkey.”

“GOJO.”

He vanishes in a puff of smoke. You inhale slowly. And step forward.

⋆｡°✩

Choso is already seated. Elegant, poised, eyes unreadable behind thick lashes.

You bow too low.

Geto raises a brow. Mahito smirks from the side like he’s already smelling a lie. And the king—Gakuganji, crowned and ancient and only semi-awake—beams.

“Ah! Our guest!” he says, gesturing with a heavy hand. “Look at this fine young man! What a jawline!” You straighten. Smile. Try not to sweat. Choso blinks at you. You clear your throat.

“It’s an honour,” you say, your voice suddenly a bit too deep, a bit too dramatic. “To be in the presence of such radiant… uh, royalty.” Choso tilts her head.

You panic. “And of course,” you add, “to meet the legendary tiger. I hear it has an excellent sense of character.”

Yuuji, lounging beside the throne, bares his teeth. Loudly. Choso hums. “He usually growls at liars.”

“Ah,” you say, blinking. “How… loyal.”

⋆｡°✩

Mahito glides forward, all polite venom. “What kingdom did you say you were from again, Your Highness?”

You freeze. Think fast.

Gojo appears behind Mahito, invisible to everyone but you, making frantic throat-cutting motions. “Uh—the Eastern Expanse. South of the Glass Sea. Just beyond the Twin Cliffs of—”

“—Cringe?” Gojo mouths.

“—Valour,” you say tightly. Geto narrows his eyes. Mahito hums, clearly amused.

Choso sips from a cup and doesn’t even try to look interested.

⋆｡°✩

Gojo reappears beside Geto, this time visible, in a deep navy robe and too much jewellery, swirling wine and batting his lashes. “You must be exhausted,” he says softly. “All this watching. You should sit down. Or let someone rub your shoulders. Or maybe your ego?”

Geto blinks at him. Then smirks.

“Is this your first time attempting seduction?” he asks. Gojo grins, teeth sharp. “Would you like it to be my last?”

⋆｡°✩

You, meanwhile, are dying.

You’ve complimented the floor tiles. You’ve fumbled three metaphors. You’ve told a story about a camel that might not have landed. And Choso hasn’t smiled once.

Worse, she hasn’t looked at you the way she did in the alley. Not yet. But something in her gaze lingers now—longer than before. Like she’s trying to place a shadow she saw once. A voice she heard in a dream.

You shift, fingers brushing the inside of your sleeve where the bracelet still sits. And you think: Not yet.

⋆｡°✩

The palace quiets after dark.

Servants vanish behind doors. Lights dim. Voices hush. The music from the courtyard fades into nothing but wind moving through marble archways and the distant hiss of sand brushing against stone. You’re standing on the edge of the upper balcony, staring out at the stars, feeling like they’re too far away.

Behind you, footsteps. You turn. Choso steps into view, arms crossed over her chest, long coat pulled tight despite the heat. Her braid is loose. Her expression is unreadable.

“You’re out late,” she says. You shrug. “Couldn’t sleep.” Choso doesn’t move closer, but doesn’t walk away either. You hesitate. Then smile, gentle. “Could say the same for you.”

“I’m always up late,” she replies. “Hard to rest when everything is so… quiet.” You nod. “Silence is loud, sometimes.”

A beat.

She glances sideways at you. “You’re different.” You tense. “Different how?”

“From the others,” she says. “The other suitors. You don’t walk like you’re owed something. You don’t speak like you believe your own story.” You glance down at the marble beneath your feet.

“I don’t.”

⋆｡°✩

Just then, Gojo appears beside you. Not fully visible—more of a glimmer in the air, like moonlight caught in motion.

He leans close. “Hey,” he whispers. “This is your moment.” You blink. “She’s standing there, all mysterious and gorgeous and complicated, and you’re just standing here like a guy with no game. You wanna impress her?”

You mutter under your breath, “I thought you weren’t supposed to interfere.” He winks. “I’m not interfering. I’m supporting. Now ask if she wants to see something cool.”

⋆｡°✩

You inhale. Then turn to Choso. “I know this sounds strange,” you say, “but… would you like to go for a ride?” Choso raises a brow.

You nod toward the balcony edge. “I have something to show you.” Her expression doesn’t change.

But after a beat, she says: “Fine. But if this is another metaphor, I’m leaving.” You grin. “It’s not.” You whistle.

And the carpet soars up from the shadows.

She steps back, startled. Then stares. The rug hums with magic, hovering just above the floor, tassels fluttering like they’re twitching with excitement. Choso blinks. “Is that—?”

“Sentient? Yeah. A little sassy too.” You step onto it first, then offer your hand. She hesitates. Then places her palm in yours.

Her fingers are cold. But her grip is strong. You help her up. She sits in front of you, eyes flicking to the edge of the balcony, then to the sky.

“…Are you sure it’s safe?”

“Nope,” you say, smiling. “But that’s the fun part.” And with a soft shudder—

The carpet lifts.

⋆｡°✩

The palace falls away beneath you. The night air rushes past your skin. Choso’s breath catches in her throat as the city unfurls beneath you—lanterns flickering in narrow alleys, domes gleaming under starlight, the world spread wide and glowing and endless.

She turns to look at you. You don’t say anything. You just hold on. And take her higher.

⋆｡°✩

You land softly, almost weightlessly, on the terrace just outside Choso’s chambers.

She’s still quiet, still wind-tousled, still flushed from the cold kiss of sky on her skin. Her braid is coming undone, and one hand rests on her chest like she’s trying to hold something in—something that might spill over if she speaks too soon.

You linger there a moment longer, letting the carpet drift backwards into the shadows. You watch her, eyes drawn to the way she turns from the railing to you. A slow pivot. Unreadable expression. “Thank you,” she says quietly. “For that.”

You smile. “Anytime.” You step back, ready to take your leave.

And before you think better of it, you add— “Good night, princess.” It’s meant to be charming. Light.

But her smile falters.

Not in a way that says hurt, not exactly. More like she’s standing on the edge of a truth he’s been holding for too long. You notice too late. “I’m not—” she starts, then stops.

She takes a breath. Steadies herself. And says it clearly, steadily: “I’m not a princess. I’m not even... her.” You blink.

She lifts her chin a little, eyes burning with something fierce and fragile all at once. “I’m a man,” she says. “I always have been. Even if—" She swallows. "Even if not everyone believes it.”

There’s a silence after that. Not empty. Heavy. Alive.

You don’t move. You don’t speak.

You just look at him—the way the moonlight brushes the sharp line of his jaw, the proud set of his shoulders, the tremble he tries to hide in his hands—and realise that somehow, he looks more royal now than he ever did in silk and jewels.

You find your voice. “I believe you.”

His next breath is shaky. “You thought I was someone else.”

“I didn’t,” you say. Quietly. Honest. He glances up. “I thought you were someone extraordinary,” you say. “I still do.” Something in his face cracks. Softens.

You step forward. Close enough to touch. But you don’t—not yet. “I don’t care about the title,” you murmur. “I don’t care about the rules. I care that you smiled at me once in an alley, and I haven’t been able to forget it since.”

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath since the day he was born.

And then— He reaches for you.

⋆｡°✩

His hands find the front of your robe. Yours find the line of his waist. It’s not frantic. It’s not even heated—at first.

It’s something slower. Deeper. Something that hums between your ribs and makes your skin ache just to be closer. When he kisses you, it’s hesitant. Careful. Testing the shape of your mouth like he's still afraid he’s not allowed.

You kiss him back like you’ve been waiting to. Like you knew, somehow.

Like this has always been the truth.

⋆｡°✩

The bed is quiet. Soft. Too large, too royal, too untouched by real life—but you forget that quickly. Because he’s beneath you.

Because his hands are in your hair, and your fingers are trembling as you trace them down the length of his spine, over the curve of his ribs, careful with every inch like he’s something sacred.

He breathes out your name when you kiss the spot just below his ear. His legs part instinctively when your body moves between them. Your name again—this time shakier, needier, like he’s falling open for you without even meaning to.

You ask before anything changes. He nods. And you move together like something pulled by gravity.

The room glows gold and shadow. His skin is warm. Softer than you thought. Familiar in a way that shouldn’t be possible.

You kiss down his chest, over his stomach, tasting every part of him that he gives you. He arches when you touch him—soft sounds spilling from her lips like prayers, like confessions, like things never said aloud until now.

He wraps his legs around your waist. Whispers your name again like it means something new. And when you press into him— Slow, careful, trembling—

He doesn’t flinch. He lets you in.

⋆｡°✩

It’s slow. Not quiet.

He gasps when your hips move. Moans when your lips return to his. You try not to fall apart at the sound—try to last just a little longer, to feel all of him, to remember this as the first time you were seen and wanted and welcomed all at once.

He holds you tightly. Kisses you deeper. Moves with you, against you, beneath you. You don’t rush. You can’t. It builds like a wave.

Like heat and ache and everything breaking open. And when it crests—

You fall together.

⋆｡°✩

Afterwards, you lie tangled in silk sheets and shallow breaths, the world narrowed to the space between your bodies. Your hand in his. Your thumb brushes the line of his knuckles. You press a kiss to his temple. He exhales.

And smiles for real this time.

You wake to the sound of birds. Soft, scattered, high in the distant trees.

The kind of sound you never hear in the lower quarters of the city, where the only music is wheels against stone and the creak of heavy doors. You let it wash over you. Let yourself believe—for one last, fragile minute—that the world outside is as kind as this bed, this morning, this boy sleeping beside you.

Choso lies curled on his side, braid undone, dark hair fanned across the pillow like spilt ink. One hand rests loosely against your chest, fingers twitching now and then with dreams he hasn’t woken from yet.

The light filters in slow and gold, turning the silk sheets into something almost holy. It slips over the slope of his shoulders, the faint line of a scar near his collarbone, the steady rise and fall of his breathing.

You could stay like this. You could forget the city, the lies, the borrowed name stitched into the back of your coat. You could forget the way Mahito watched you with a smile that never touched his eyes.

You could. But you don't.

You can't.

⋆｡°✩

You shift carefully, brushing your thumb over the back of Choso's hand. He stirs. Blinks sleepily up at you. His lashes catch the light. "...Morning," he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.

"Morning," you say, softer. He doesn't pull away. Doesn't flinch. He just watches you for a moment, something unreadable moving behind his eyes, like he’s still waiting for you to change your mind now that the night is over.

You don't. You kiss his forehead. He exhales, a sound more felt than heard, and tucks himself closer. You let your fingers trail lightly down his back, tracing the spaces between his ribs, the small scars and marks of a life you haven���t heard about yet—but want to. You want to learn them all.

You think: I could stay. But footsteps echo down the corridor outside. A voice calls faintly—court summons, morning meetings, new dignitaries arriving. Reality creeps in like the tide.

You meet Choso’s gaze. Neither of you says it. Neither of you has to.

This world isn’t made for boys like you. Not yet.

You don’t realise you’re being followed until it’s too late.

The palace corridors twist like veins, familiar but shifting somehow in the heavy evening air. You’re almost back to the guest wing, to the safe warmth of Choso’s voice, when a shadow cuts across your path.

Mahito. Blocking the hall. Smiling like he’s been waiting for this. You freeze. Your fingers twitch toward the lamp hidden in your sash. Too slow.

⋆｡°✩

"You're clever," Mahito says, voice silk-slick. "I'll give you that." He steps closer. You don't move.

"But not clever enough." His pale eyes gleam. His hand lifts lazily—and before you can even reach for Megumi or the lamp���   a sharp shove, magic crackling at your back—

You stumble. Arms grabbed. Ropes you can't see binding around your wrists, your ankles.

"Street rat," Mahito murmurs, almost tender. Then—

The balcony edge rushes up. He doesn't even watch you fall.

The air tears past you in a scream you can’t hear. The river below catches you in a brutal, crushing grip—icy and endless and roaring in your ears. You sink fast. Weighed down by silk, rope, and fear. You thrash. Fight. Try to scream for Gojo—but the water fills your mouth, your nose, your eyes, dragging you under.

You reach for the lamp with your bound hands. Mouth a desperate plea into the black. Please.

The lamp flashes against your chest. Heat surges in your lungs. And the world shatters.

⋆｡°✩

You’re gasping on the riverbank. Coughing so hard it tears at your throat. Gojo kneels beside you, drenched, furious, still sparking faintly with leftover magic.

"You—" he chokes, raking a hand through his wet hair. "You used your second wish." You can’t even answer. You just grip the sand, coughing, as Megumi clambers over your chest, clicking his teeth in frantic relief. "You’ve got one left," Gojo mutters.

Quiet now. Almost broken.

⋆｡°✩

But you don’t have time to think. Not yet. Because somewhere in the palace, Mahito still stands.

Still smiling. Still plotting. You push yourself to your feet.

And you run.

The guards are scattered. The throne room churns with confusion. Gakuganji—the Sultan—is slumped against his throne, eyes glazed, words slurring.  At Mahito’s side, a tall staff gleams darkly, twisted into the shape of a cobra.

You don't need Gojo to tell you. The staff is the key. You charge.

⋆｡°✩

Mahito turns just as you reach him. He grins. "You just don’t know when to die, do you?" You don’t answer.

You swing— Hard. The staff cracks at the base, splintering under the force of your stolen sword.

The magic whines. Then—  shatters. Gakuganji blinks. Shakes his head.And roars for the guards. Mahito snarls—lunges for you—but four soldiers tackle him before he can reach. They drag him toward the dungeons. He twists once to glare at you over his shoulder. "I’ll be back," he spits. "You’ll have to wait," you say, voice steady now.

And the doors slam behind him.

⋆｡°✩

Gakuganji turns to you. "You saved my mind," he says gruffly. "And my kingdom." You swallow. The lamp is heavy in your sleeve.He smiles.

A slow, approving smile. "And if my child wishes it," Gakuganji says, voice rising, "you shall have her hand."The room erupts in cheers. Choso stands stiff near the throne, eyes wide—face unreadable. And in that moment—

You realise the world would give you everything you want. If you kept lying.

Gojo appears by your side, quieter now. He doesn't say anything. Just looks at you. Waiting. Hoping. You tighten your fingers around the lamp. And you hesitate.

⋆｡°✩

The celebration fades around you.

 You barely hear it—the clapping, the cheers, the way Gakuganji beams, and the royal guards stamp their spears in approval. All you see is Choso.

Standing a few steps away. Not smiling. Not rushing forward. Just… waiting. Hesitant. Hopeful. Fragile in a way that cuts deeper than anything Mahito could have thrown at you.

⋆｡°✩

Gojo stands at your side. Still shimmering faintly from the river. Still waiting. Not pushing.  Not pleading. Just standing there like someone holding a string he already knows you’re about to let go of.

You reach for the lamp. Feel the weight of the final wish burning against your skin. Your throat tightens. You promised. When you first met him—lost and laughing in a puff of glitter—you promised you’d set him free. That was before you fell in love with the wrong name.

The wrong life. Before Choso looked at you like you were worth it. Before you knew what it felt like to belong.

⋆｡°✩

You close your fingers around the lamp. Breathe.

And you can feel Gojo’s gaze—steady and unbearably gentle. Waiting. Trusting. You falter. You think– Just a little longer. Just until the wedding. Just until you’re sure.

You need him. You can’t do this without him.

You can't.

⋆｡°✩

You lower the lamp. Don’t say the wish. Don’t say anything. The betrayal is small.  Quiet. You don’t even see Gojo flinch.But you feel it.

In the way he goes, very still beside you.  

In the way the magic in the air dims—like a candle guttering before it goes out. You glance at him. He smiles. Almost. A threadbare thing.

"Guess some promises are easier to break," he says softly. No anger. No accusation. Just… sadness.

⋆｡°✩

Before you can speak, before you can explain or apologise or take it back— Gojo retreats. The magic swirls around him, blue and gold and soft with resignation.

The lamp hums once in your hand. And he’s gone. Sealed away. Silent.

You stand alone in the throne room. Choso approaches carefully. And the crowd cheers again. But it sounds so far away. Like the echo of a door closing behind you.

⋆｡°✩

You don’t sleep that night. Not really. The palace celebrates around you—banquets and music and the rustle of gold—but it sounds muffled, like you’re hearing it through water.  

You sit alone by the windows, staring out over the empty streets, watching the stars blur.

The lamp sits heavy in your hands. You haven’t touched it since Gojo vanished inside. You don’t know if he’s listening. Or if he even wants to anymore.

The knock at your door comes soft. You don’t move at first.

You think maybe it’s Choso—come to ask if you’re alright, to pull you out of your own head the way he did once with a single smile. But when the door creaks open—

You see blue hair. You see Mahito’s grin. And you know you’re too late.

⋆｡°✩

It’s not a fight– It’s a theft. A blur of motion—magic flaring cold and sharp in the small room—the lamp ripped from your hands before you can even shout. You stagger. Reach. Miss.

Mahito steps back into the shadows, lamp cradled against his chest like a prize he was always meant to have. "Thanks for keeping it warm," he says sweetly.

Then he’s gone. Vanished into the dark.

⋆｡°✩

The alarm rises seconds later. Too late.

Guards scrambling through the halls. Choso shouting your name across the marble. Geto throwing orders like knives.   But none of it matters. Mahito has the lamp– And you know what comes next. You know because you know him—better than you want to.

He’ll wish for power. For the throne. For the kind of magic no mortal should ever touch. And no one—not even you—can stop him now.

⋆｡°✩

Unless. You run. You don’t think– you just move. Out of your chambers. Down the steps. Through the garden where the night air burns cold against your skin. You find Choso at the fountain, sword half-drawn, looking for you.

His eyes widen when he sees your face. "What happened?"You gasp for breath.

"He has the lamp." For a second—just one—fear flashes across Choso’s face.

But then he straightens. Grips his sword. "Then we take it back."

You reach the throne room just in time to see it happen.

Mahito stands at the centre of it all—grinning, wild, radiant with stolen magic.  The lamp in one hand. Gakuganji slumped to one side. The guard kneeling with empty eyes.

He holds the lamp high. “I wish,” Mahito says, voice sharp with triumph, “to be Sultan!” The air twists. Magic slams into the walls, cracking stone and shattering chandeliers.  The throne reshapes itself beneath him, black and gold and monstrous.

The room falls silent. Mahito—no longer an advisor, no longer anything human—turns his new crown in his hands. And laughs.

⋆｡°✩

You flinch backwards. Choso catches your arm. "Stay with me," he says, voice low. You nod. You draw your sword—cheap steel against magic.  It feels useless.

But you raise it anyway. Because the alternative is letting Mahito win. And you’re not that boy anymore. You’re not a street rat sneaking bread from market stalls.

You’re someone worth fighting for.

⋆｡°✩

Mahito steps down from the throne with slow, theatrical strides. Around him, the corrupted guards start moving toward you. Choso draws his sword too. Geto appears from the side doors, slipping through the chaos, blade flashing as he cuts down two of Mahito’s enthralled soldiers.

Megumi—small and furious—claws his way up a guard’s leg and bites. You lunge forward. Steel against steel. Magic crackling at the edges of your vision.

⋆｡°✩

But you’re not winning. Not really.

Mahito’s too strong now. Too fast. Too twisted with power, he was never meant to touch. Every time you cut down a guard, two more replace them. You duck a strike, parry another, heart pounding, throat burning. You can feel the ground tilting—everything sliding toward ruin.

⋆｡°✩

And Mahito watches. Smiling. Like a cat watching mice tire themselves out before the kill. "You can’t win," he says lazily. "You’re nothing. You were always nothing." Your hand tightens on the sword hilt.

You think of Choso’s hand in yours.  Of Gojo’s crooked smile.  Of Megumi clinging to your jacket like you were something worth protecting. You raise your head. And you smile back.

⋆｡°✩

"You’re right," you say. You lower your sword. Mahito frowns– confused.

"You’re right," you say again, louder. "I’m nothing. Just a street rat. A liar. A thief." You take a slow step forward.

"You’re the powerful one now. You’re stronger than anyone. Smarter. Better." You meet his eyes.

"And it’s not enough, is it?" Mahito’s smile falters. The doubt creeps in. The greed. The fear that even with the world under his heel, someone somewhere might still look down on him. You step closer. Let him see the bait.

"If you’re really that great," you murmur, voice dropping to a whisper, "why settle for Sultan?" Mahito freezes. You smile, small and devastating.

"Why not wish to be the most powerful being in the world?"

⋆｡°✩

The silence snaps. Mahito whirls toward the lamp. His knuckles whiten around it. "I wish," he snarls, "to be a Genie!"

The magic screams. The world bends. The ground heaves beneath your feet as the lamp flares—blinding white and burning blue—and Mahito’s body twists, warps, shrinks.

He screams. Not in victory. In terror.

Because he understands, too late, what you already knew: Genies are powerful.

But they are never free.

Chains—gold and searing, lash around his wrists. The lamp yawns open like a mouth. And Mahito is dragged inside. Gone. Sealed.

Forever.

The throne room stills. You lower your sword. Choso catches you when your knees buckle, steady hands warm against your ribs. You close your eyes. And breathe.

⋆｡°✩

The throne room is a mess of broken marble and stunned silence. But none of it matters. Not the shattered columns, or the scorch marks on the floor, or the lingering weight of magic still trembling through the air. You’re still standing.

Choso’s hand is still wrapped around yours. And in your other hand— The lamp. Heavy.

Alive. Waiting.

⋆｡°✩

You lift it carefully. Thumb tracing the worn edge of the spout. You hear Gojo’s voice in your head—bright, careless, teasing:

"What would you wish for, street rat?" And you smile.

⋆｡°✩

You don't hesitate this time. You hold the lamp close. "I wish," you say, voice steady, "for Gojo to be free."

The magic bursts out like a second sunrise. Blinding. Joyous. Real.The lamp trembles in your grip—then stills.

And Gojo— Gojo appears in a cascade of light, blinking like he’s seeing the sky for the first time. He touches his own chest, stunned. No chains. No pull back into the lamp. Just him.

Just free.

He laughs—wild and hoarse and a little broken—and then turns and tackles you into a hug so hard you stagger back two steps. "You crazy, beautiful, reckless idiot," he breathes into your hair. You laugh too—wet and breathless and so full it almost hurts.

"You’re free," you whisper. "Yeah," he says, pulling back to beam at you. "Yeah, I am."

⋆｡°✩

Geto appears at his side, folding his arms and giving Gojo a once-over like he’s assessing a particularly troublesome stray cat. "So," Geto says dryly, "now that you’re not a mystical prisoner of cosmic servitude anymore…" Gojo grins, flashing teeth."You’re stuck with me," he says, leaning casually against Geto’s shoulder like he’s always belonged there.

Geto rolls his eyes. But his hand finds Gojo’s without hesitating. "S'pose I could do worse," he mutters. Gojo’s grin only widens. "Aw," he coos. "You like me."

"Don’t push your luck."

⋆｡°✩

The court regathers slowly. The king—Gakuganji—steps forward, the crown still slightly askew on his head, but his eyes clearer now than they have been in weeks. He looks at Choso.

Really looks at him. Like seeing him for the first time. And Choso—

Choso straightens. Takes a step closer. And says, quietly but firmly:

"I’m not your daughter." The words hang there. Heavy. Sacred. "I never was." A beat. A breath. And then— Gakuganji chuckles. Low. Rough. Like stone cracking. "Good," he says. "I never liked raising girls. Too much screaming." A pause. Then, softer:

"I’m proud of you."

Choso blinks. Then bows his head, just slightly, like he’s carrying something too big to hold all at once.

⋆｡°✩

"And," Gakuganji continues, voice carrying, "I suppose I’ll need a new law." You stiffen.

The king’s gaze sweeps the hall. "From this day on," he says, "royals may marry whomever they choose. No bloodlines. No borders."

His eyes settle on you. "Just hearts."

The hall breaks into cheers. You barely hear them. You’re too busy watching Choso. The way his mouth curves, small and shy. The way his fingers reach for yours again.

The way he shines.

⋆｡°✩

Later, in the garden where the stars first found you—

You stand with Choso under the heavy branches of a fig tree, the lamp finally quiet at your feet, and the moon turning the world silver. You take his hand. You feel it tremble. You let yours tremble too.

"You don’t have to say yes," you whisper. "You don’t owe me anything." Choso looks at you for a long moment. Then steps closer. Presses his forehead to yours.

"I’ve been waiting my whole life," he breathes, "for someone who sees me." You close your eyes. Breathe him in.

And the world—this strange, broken, mended world—feels like it might finally be yours. Together.

⋆｡°✩

Somewhere above, Gojo and Geto bicker about constellations. Megumi steals a peach tart from the palace kitchens and almost gets caught.

And you— You kiss Choso under the stars. Not because a story told you to. Not because a wish demanded it.

But because, for the first time—

You can.

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[jarofstyles]

Appetency

Okay so we've got a bit of a long one. Kinda enemies to lovers if you blink, fuckboyrry turned softrry, dedication galore, hesitant Y/N and confident H, you're gonna love it. This is the first half- the other half is already up on Patreon and will be here later on 💕

Check out our Patreon for early access to the second half and 200+ exclusive writings

Warnings- slight angst, mentions of anxiety, alcohol, cocky h turned into a loverboy... nothing too crazy in this part.

WC- 8.5k

“Why are you every-fucking-where.” Y/N stopped short, glaring at the man across from her. The entire party, she had been trying to avoid him- but he wasn’t letting that be at all possible.

Harry grinned widely at that, the most obnoxious and infuriatingly pretty smile with those stupid dimples. Leaning against the wall as he studied her for a good moment, there was no hiding the not so casual enjoyment he got out of flustering her. 

Finally, he broke the silence, standing up from his casually cool stance on the wall. She knew he was going to say something that annoyed her and it was proven as he opened his mouth. "C’mon, don’t be like that. Perhaps you just can't keep me off your mind, baby girl. Can’t stop thinking about me, seeing me everywhere…"

“Ew. Do not call me that.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust for the nickname, walking past him. He followed, of course, because he always did. “Just because we have a few similar friends doesn’t mean you need to be at every social event. I’d love a break from your smug face.”

"You can't possibly be getting tired of this handsome face already…" He protested as he followed behind, his words purposely trying to rile her up. Getting a rise out of her seemed to make his whole day, and usually she would laugh it off but this time… things were different. Finding a spot in the kitchen, he watched as she puttered around trying not to look at him. 

His eyes danced with amusement as he added in some more. "Or are you just mad that I always seem to steal the show, love? Not my fault that I'm effortlessly charming and captivating, darling."

“Humble, too.” She snorted, grabbing a drink from the cooler. Buzzballs were not the thing she’d want to choose when she was thinking about the next morning, but they were exactly what she needed when it came to trying to mentally escape right now. “You’re insufferable. Really.” His eyes were on her as she used her nail to pop open the cap. 

“So are you going to leave me alone, or follow me around all night?”

Harry chuckled in amusement at her sarcasm, enjoying the way she rolled your eyes at him. "Leave you alone when you look this lovely? Not a chance in hell, darling." He hummed, tapping his own bottle against the counter. He paid no mind to the new people who entered the space, eyes glued on the girl he was talking to. "But as much as I'd love to keep annoying you, I have a much better way we could spend time. Don't you remember, love?" He purred. “I certainly do. It’s hard to forget the way it feels when you moan-” The interruption was instant, her hand gripping onto him. 

“Harry…” she hissed, tugging his arm further down the dark hallway and into a bedroom. Who’s? She didn’t know. All she knew was that she had seen where this was going, and she didn’t want him to say it too loudly. Everyone was so god damn nosy and respectfully, she didn’t want to deal with any of that. Not after all she had said.

“Listen.” Putting her hands on her hips, she tilted her head up at him as he stood a little too close. “We hooked up, it was a mistake. You know it.” Though it didn’t seem like he thought so considering how he trailed her ever since. “We… we were a little drunk and I was lonely and you were there.” 

Y/N knew she was slightly lying, but she was trying to fool herself. If she said it enough times, maybe she’d believe it. They’d always had chemistry. It was intensity that burned between them, her disdain and his addiction to getting a rise out of her. It was only a matter of time that they’d give into some sort of blow out- but she hadn’t expected it to be as good as it was. It couldn’t happen again. 

Harry had that knowing smirk on his face as she tried to deny it all, knowing exactly where this was headed. The thrill of chasing her, of getting under her skin was intoxicating, addicting. He loved making her growl and huff and glare at him, because it meant getting her undivided attention.

"Was it really a mistake?" He asked as he leaned against the door, finally giving her some breathing room.  "Or have you just been avoiding me because you couldn't stop thinking about it?"

The truth was that he had been thinking about that night ever since. Multiple times. Before he went to sleep, when he was in the shower.. It was hard not to. 

Her jaw clenched, placing her bottle down and crossing her arms. “Look. You’re hot, Harry. You don’t need me to tell you that. You’ve got plenty big of an ego. But I’ve been avoiding you because it can not happen again.” 

Y/N knew that Nina was into Harry and she really didn’t want to start any drama. Not that he even seemed remotely into her, but because she acted like he was someone she had dibs on. As gross as it was, she tended to start shit with anyone Harry pursued and she just wasn’t in the season for drama. There were other things to worry about other than start a feud over a man. 

He had known about Nina's crush on him, but he didn't care about her. He never had, and he never would. As fucked up as it was, what they had, in his mind, was just a harmless flirtation, nothing more. Y/N knew that, but Nina didn’t. He couldn't have been more clear he had no interest in her, but some people took delusion to heart. 

It didn’t matter how good Harry gave it to her last time, how hard her legs shook, how sore she was in the best way. Didn’t matter if his tongue was hot and through and how he’d cleaned her up with it. It couldn’t be repeated.

Harry's smirk only widened as she openly admitted he was attractive, his ego inflating even more. But when she mentioned avoiding him, his smile faltered slightly.

"Why can't it happen again?" He asked, moving closer to her, his eyes darkened. Too close, making her take a deep breath. If there was one thing he would give him, his presence was commanding. Felt. Her body was very familiar with his now, wanting to lean into him, but she fought it.

“Because.” She sighed tiredly. “I really can’t deal with any drama. I’m exhausted, and the last thing I need is that she-devil going after me because she thinks I’m ‘stealing her man.’ “

The man let out a laugh, amused by the comment. Yeah, he knew exactly who she was referring to and found it funny. He knew she could be a drama queen, and he definitely didn't care for her possessive tendencies, but he had told her that they had nothing going on between them and never would.

He stepped closer to her, his greedy hands reaching out to touch her hips, his touch firm. "You're not stealing me, love. She never had me, and she's delusional if she thinks she does." His eyes gleamed with desire as he looked at her, his touch becoming a bit more possessive in his own way. "And I want you, not her."

“Harry, you don’t actually want me.” She groaned in frustration, trying to ignore how her tummy dropped as he pulled her into him, his other hand curling around her jaw. Stupid body, stupid hormones, stupid muscle memory.  “You think you do because you like a chase. You don’t actually like me or anything, you like how I fuck.” She said bluntly, glancing up at him.

Harry's smug expression faltered as she protested. He could feel the annoyance, but he also noticed the way her body responded to his touch. There was no denying that. "Is that what you really think?" He asked, his grip on her jaw tightening slightly as he looked down at her. "That I'm just chasing you only for the thrill of the chase, for the sex?"

His eyes darkened, his other hand moving lower on her hip, pulling her flush against him. He could feel her body against his, the softness, the warmth, and he wanted it all back. There had been no way she could tell him that she hadn’t enjoyed it, considering he’d made her cum 3 times, made her gush all over his cock. She’d clung to him, held onto him, whimpered his name. But he’d taken care of her, he had gotten her some pomegranate juice and a snack, helped her tie her hair up, driven her home. When the contact had been nonexistent, he was hoping she was just making him work for it- but that wasn’t all this was to him.

“Yeah.” She furrowed her brows. “Is it not?” Harry wasn’t the relationship type, not usually. Everyone knew that. Y/N had constantly reminded herself that when they’d first met and she had a bit of a crush on him, only to see that he liked to fuck em’ and leave ‘em. It lost the appeal and she had resented him a bit for it. 

Was it fair? No. She knew that. But their dynamic had been built on that resentment. 

Harry's jaw clenched at her response, frustration and something else flickering in his face. He loosened his grip on her slightly, his gaze searching her eyes, trying to convey something she obviously wasn’t picking up on.

"And what if I told you that you were wrong?" He asked, his voice low. "What if I told you that there's more to me than just chase and sex?" He tilted his face closer to hers, his hand on her hip keeping her snug. He hadn't realized it himself just how touch deprived for her he actually was. Did she really think it was all just… a game? Had he not proven himself to her that night? Granted, he had maybe fucked up in how he communicated after but… the ball had been put in her court. 

He could tell that she was skeptical, but he was determined to make her believe him.

"I want you." He said firmly, his hand on her jaw moving to wrap around the back of her neck, his fingers tangling in her hair. "I want everything. Your body, your mind, your heart." His hand on her hip moved lower, his touch a little needy. "And the fact that I can't have you is driving me insane. Want you to believe me."

“But why?” She sputtered. “All we do is argue. All I do is blow you off and all you do is follow me around to piss me off.” 

She had no idea he had his own fascination with her. How he���d silently watched her, observed, saw how she was with other people and wanted that chance to feel that. To have one of those smiles for himself.

Harry shook his head with a light laugh, his grip on her flexing slightly as he stared down at the girl he had been playing cat and mouse with. "Because I'll take the arguing, the blowoffs, all of it, just to be near you. I don't know when it truly started, but you've gotten under my skin, love." He pushed her back against the door, his body pressed against hers, trapping the girl. Looking down at her, his eyes were dark with desire, with honesty. It was a little unsettling.

“Harry.” She swallowed, eyes fluttering as his fingers stroked over her jaw and down over her throat, tenderness tinging the touches. “It’s not funny if this is a joke. It’s not.”

Harry's let out a tired breath, his touch gentle as he stroked her delicate skin, taking advantage of every touch. He could see that vulnerability in her eyes, and it only made him more determined to prove himself. "M’not joking. " He said firmly. "This is serious, I want you, and m’not giving up until I have you."

“Then you’re gonna have to work for it.” She exhaled sharply, pushing out of his hold and escaping back towards the party.

Y/N was almost fooled into giving in again- but she could give in without a real, true idea of what he was dedicated to. Maybe it was cruel of her to try and write him off as a bit of a slut trying his luck, but she’d never been awarded the chance to get to know him outside of their usual dynamic. 

That was why, the next day, seeing him on her front porch had her gasping in surprise. “Shit!” She yelped, keys falling to the wood below her. 

He looked good. The night of sleep seemed to refresh him, he’d showered, and he was bright eyed this morning. Determined. Why? She didn’t know. But this was not at all what she had expected when opening her front door. “ You scared the fuck out of me. What are you doing here?”

"Good morning, love." He greeted her. “Nice to see you this mornin’. You look gorgeous.” That cheeky fucking grin, as usual, tilted on his mouth. 

She crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow in question. "You didn't answer my question. What are you doing here?"

Harry flashed her a grin, completely unfazed by her skepticism.  "I'm here to see you, of course." He said, as if it was obvious. “Silly thing.”

“Why?” She didn’t want to get too huffy with him but he was nearly speaking in riddles and she didn’t have the patience for that. “Are you alright?”

Of course he was amused at how frustrated she looked, finding her impatience obviously endearing. Maybe it was just her, though. Y/N was a bit of a weakness of his, he found. Pushing himself up the final step, he grabbed her keys and handed them back to her, making no effort to pull his hands away from her own. 

"I'm fine, love." He hummed casually. "I just wanted to see you." Holding her hands in his, his thumbs rubbing soft circles on the skin. Casual intimacy that slightly caught her off guard.

The girl merely looked at him in confusion.  The plan for today had been to go to the grocery shop and do stuff around the house, not entertain the man who had admitted to wanting her last night- but she knew if he was here, it meant he was determined to get his way.

Aka, spending time with her. 

“Okay.. So now you saw me.” She said lowly. “Do you want to go home now?”

The sight of her looking so flustered and on edge fueling his determination, he shook his head.  "Not yet." He said, his voice low and firm. "M’not leaving until I get some of your time."

Y/N closed her eyes, taking a deep inhale through her nose and exhaling through her mouth. Meditative breathing did wonders, it seemed. Usually. She knew Harry well enough to know that he wasn’t going to let this go. He was going to keep prodding until he understood that he probably had no actual intention of being around her long term. He was looking at her with metaphorical sex goggles on. Yeah, she was good in bed, but that was only a tiny portion of her. 

He’d learn eventually.

“Well, I have to go to the store. So…”

Harry watched you closely as she opened her eyes from the attempting to calm herself. It was a little unnerving to know she needed to calm down from such a simple interaction but then again, he had been coming on a little strong. It was his nature, but he tried to relax his stance a bit. No way was he going to let an opportunity to spend time with her be wasted. He was dedicated now, wanting to win her over.  "You're going to the store?" He leaned in closer. “Looks like I'll just have to come with you, then."

Y/N sputtered as he took her handbag and totes from her, tucking them under his arm as the other held her hand. 

“C’mon.” He said smugly, pulling her towards his car. She followed, confused at how he had just agreed to go grocery shopping with her. Willingly. It wasn’t something he liked doing and she knew that- she somehow had found out one night that he had his delivered- but he seemed eager to do this with her. 

The last thing she expected was for him to open the passenger door and help her inside, but he did. Like it was second nature, opening it up and taking her hand to aid her into sitting sound, placing her bags on her lap.

Harry's smirk widened as he scooped up her handbag and totes, his grip on your hand firm as he guided her towards his car. He snickered under her breath at her sputtered protest, enjoying her disbelief that he was actually willing to go grocery shopping with her. Like it was some sort of hardship.

Once he had settled her in, he leaned in closer, the smell of cinnamon gum filling her senses. Keeping his stance, his eyes locked on her, his gaze intense. He could see the confusion in her eyes, and it only fueled his determination to make it second nature to her, to expect this sort of thing from him. . 

"You look cute this morning." He said, his voice low and smooth. "Did you get much sleep last night?" He reached up and tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch gentle.

Her cheeks felt hot as he tenderly touched her, the softness of it all surprising her. “Um… I did.” The compliment had flustered her too. It wasn’t something she was used to from him. Their usual dynamic was tense on her end and being a pain in the ass with a stupid smirk on his. This sort of treatment was new to her. 

“Thanks. You look….” It felt unnatural to compliment him, but she meant it. Strangely enough. All of this was so new to her.  “Nice.”

Harry chuckled at the slight hesitation in her words, enjoying the way she was thrown off by his tenderness. One day she was going to accept it.  He smiled at her attempt at a compliment, narrowing his gaze at her. "Just nice?" He teased, raising an eyebrow.  He placed a light hand on her knee, his thumb stroking her skin in small circles, his touch gentle and comforting.

“Well, handsome? I dunno.” She grumbled. “Just so you know, you’re carrying all the grocery bags. If you insist on coming along you need to be useful.”

"Oh, I can be very useful, love. You jus’ need to find out what else I can off s’all." He said, his hand continuing its caressing on her knee, his touch sending a little jolt through her body "And don’t worry, I’ll carry all the bags. You just worry about picking out what you need."

Harry could see the doubt in her eyes as he reassured her about carrying the bags, and he knew he had to prove it. Not just that, but the whole thing. He hadn’t won her over quite yet, but he would. 

Removing his hand from her knee, he ignored how much he missed the touch and stood up straight, standing tall and strong next to the car. 

"You don’t believe me?" He asked, raising an eyebrow. "Just watch, sweetheart. Gonna shock the shit out of you."

——-

Y/N was suspicious. 

Harry was… behaving. More than, actually. He was being sweet and polite, borderline charming. Standing beside her as she pushed the cart, grabbing the items at the top shelves, not rushing her at all. He was flirty, sure, but nothing insane that truly made her roll her eyes at him. His voice was soft spoken and held only a tiny bit of the arrogance it usually did… and she liked it.

Who the fuck was this? And what had they done with the normal Harry? 

“You’re freaking me out a little.” She mumbled, checking off another thing on her list. “Like, you’re being pleasant. That’s not normal for you.”

"What, I can't be pleasant sometimes?" He teased, giving her a look. 

He couldn't help but grin as he watched her check off another item on the grocery list, his eyes roaming freely over her focused expression. He was enjoying this, he realized, enjoying the chance to be close to her more than he would have ever expected. "Maybe I’m just in a good mood today." He said, leaning against the cart.

“It’s just suspicious.” She glanced at him from the side of her eye. “You’re always following me around and trying to get me to snap at you. So excuse me for being a little confused when you’re acting so normal and nice.”

Harry liked working her up and getting reactions out of her, but he liked her. Y/N gave him the tummy butterflies, the excitement, the hot cheeks, all of it. She just didn’t know that- or was heavily in denial. It was his fault, he knew, from never expressing how serious the desires were and expecting her to read between the lines. But fuck, could she blame him? Y/N was a spitfire.

“Can you- fuck.” She groaned. “This can not get any worse.” 

Across the aisle, she saw her. Nina. Glaring at the scene of Harry standing a little too close to Y/N, doing a domestic activity like shopping together… It looked like they were way more than friends. This wasn’t something he liked doing and of course, the other girl would know that… So the situation didn’t look too good.

Harry could feel the shift in her mood as she spotted Nina across the aisle, and he tensed up slightly, ready for the inevitable confrontation.  Fuck, and they’d been doing so good. Of course, someone had to throw him a curveball. 

Good thing he was willing to work for this. 

"Relax." He said quietly, his hand squeezing her shoulder reassuringly, thumbing over the fabric. "I'll handle it."

Harry could feel the tension in her body as he held onto her, knowing that she was on edge. He knew Nina could be a handful, and he didn't want her to add to the stress of the situation. Especially after Y/N was seemingly warming up to him.

He took a deep breath and turned to her, his expression neutral but firm. 

"Nina." He said, his voice calm and steady- almost bored. "Why are you glaring at us like that?”

Nina’s eyes flicked between the pair, her expression hardening as she spoke. “What are you two doing?” She asked, her voice dripping with disdain. 

Harry kept his expression neutral, his hand on Y/N unmoving as he spoke to her. “We’re shopping. Is that a crime?” He replied, his tone cool.

Nina’s lip curled up in a sneer, her eyes narrowing. "Shopping? Is that all?" She asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Awfully domestic, isn’t it?”

Harry chuckled, unruffled by her attitude. "Yes, Nina. We’re just picking up some groceries. Is that so hard to believe?" he challenged, letting her try and intimidate him. It wasn’t going to work. 

The girl’s jaw clenched as Harry responded to her, clearly annoyed at the lack of reaction she was getting from him. 

She took a step closer, sizing Y/N up with an unpleasant expression. She really needed to not make that face- it was unflattering.  “Is this a date or something?” She snapped, her eyes flickering over to Harry.

Harry chuckled at Nina’s question, finding her assumption humorous. 

He looked over at the girl he wished would say yes, his eyes filled with amusement. "What do you think, love?” He taunted.  Maybe it wasn’t the nicest thing to do, but he didn’t particularly care. 

Y/N rolled her eyes. This wasn’t what she wanted out of this interaction. Hell- she never wanted his interaction at all. “We’re shopping.” She said lowly. “And we have to go.”

Nina pursed her lips as her response, clearly unsatisfied with the answer she was given. She never could leave well enough alone. Harry could see her gearing up for another snarky comment, so he quickly interjected. 

"She’s right." He said, his tone firm. “We do have to go. Bye."  There was no hint of remorse on his face as he motioned for her to get out of the way. 

With that, he guided Y/N forward, steering both her and the cart towards the checkout area.

“Christ.” Y/N rubbed her temples. “She’s gonna try and burn my house down. I know it.” She sulked.

Harry chuckled at the outburst. He continued steering the cart towards the checkout area as she went back over the list, a small smile on his lips. 

"Don't be so overdramatic." He teased. "She's not gonna burn down your house. She's just jealous."

“Harry, she’s scared like, 4 women away from hanging out anywhere near you completely.” Y/N sighed. “I know you don’t see it as much, but she’s tenacious. I don’t know what’s going to get her to stop, but you need to actually have a conversation with her to tell her you’re not interested. Or whoever ends up being your girlfriend is going to have to deal with her crawling around.”

Harry’s smile faded slightly as she mentioned Nina’s past behavior. He knew she could be intense and possessive, but he didn’t realize the extent of her actions. Considering he hadn’t even slept with her, it seemed like a massive overreaction. Of course there had been natural curiosity over some of the women in their friend circle had gone, but now that question had been answered. 

He bit his lip, mulling over the words as he helped her load the groceries onto the checkout belt. "You’re right." He said finally, his voice serious as it broke up the beeping of the items being scanned. "I guess I didn’t realize it was that serious. M’sorry. I don't particularly want to have that conversation, but it needs to be had. I’ll talk to her."

Harry continued helping you with the groceries, lost in thought for a moment before speaking again. "I’ll talk to her soon, make sure she knows for sure me and her are never going to be a thing and if she wants to try and scare off anyone I talk to, she won’t be invited to anything else." He said firmly, his eyes serious. 

"But first," he added, breaking the tense air as his tone turned playful again, "We have to get these groceries home. I’m starving."

—

It was safe to say that she was even more confused than she had started off being. 

Harry helped her bring the groceries into her place. He helped her unpack. He even fed her cat while she washed the fruit so she could put it away. Helping himself to her house like he had a right to be there, a comfortability that had her a little spooked. 

It was hard to accept the thought of Harry actually liking her. First, she hadn’t ever seen him with a serious girlfriend. All she had been exposed to was seeing him fucking around with different people. Secondly, he was always so playful and unserious that internally, the most insecure part of her felt like maybe it was a trick, and it made her more apprehensive of him. 

It wasn’t fair of her to be so judgmental when she was not a virgin mary herself; she knew that she wasn’t giving him a proper shot, but it was scary. He was scary, in a way.  Maybe it was the idea of how far feelings could go if she gave in, but it felt hard to stop those original emotions she had towards him from coming back. 

“Thank you.” She said awkwardly as Harry sat at her breakfast bar. “Um, for helping put away the stuff and bringing it inside. That was really nice of you.”

Harry, who was lounging in a chair at the breakfast bar, chuckled at the awkward gratitude.  "S’no big deal." He said, his tone casual. "I’m happy to help." 

He leaned back in the chair, his eyes roaming over her face, his favorite thing to do. Watching her was the best part of being around her.  He could see the tension in her shoulders and the uncertainty in her expression, and it made him wonder what was going on in that head of hers. Why she was so apprehensive. Yeah, he knew he had a weird dynamic with her before, but no one thought of him as a bad guy.

The longer he looked, the longer Harry could tell that there was something bothering her, and he wanted to find out what. Call it morbid curiosity, but it was needed. He leaned forward a bit, his eyes locked on her pretty face.

"You seem a little tense." He said, his voice soft. "Is everything okay? You've been quiet since we got back."

She hadn’t expected him to call her out on it, but she should have. Harry was as blunt as they came, and she could have laughed at it if she didn’t feel a little anxious. 

“I’m okay.” She wrapped her arms around herself, looking at her feet for a moment the soft green ladybug socks he had given her a laugh over. “I’m a little anxious, I guess. This new dynamic kind of… put me off kilter.” The confession hung in the air before she continued.  “I’m used to you being annoying and… I dunno. It’s unfair of me, but I keep getting nervous that this is some joke to you and you’re gonna go back to being obnoxious once I let my guard down.” She winced. “And I’m sorry. That isn’t fair to you when I know I haven’t been the nicest to you either. But I guess you intimidate me a little.”

Harry listened intently as she spoke, his expression softening as she revealed the source of the troubled look on her face. He knew that he had been a bit of an arse in the past too, and he could understand why his sudden change in behavior had thrown her off. 

He leaned forward on his hands, his gaze still fixed on the girl’s tense stance, lips rolled into her mouth. "I get it." He said quietly. "And I’m sorry if I intimidated you or made you uncomfortable. That’s the last thing I wanted to do."  He ran a hand through his hair, sighing softly. "And as for this being a joke... it’s not. Not in the slightest. Trust me."

“I guess I’m a little confused too.” She admitted. “Where all of this is coming from. I know we hooked up a few weeks ago, but you didn’t call me or anything after. I wasn’t expecting you to, don’t get me wrong, but then I felt awkward seeing you at all the events and stuff and you were acting normal. I never let you get alone with me on purpose because I didn’t want to hear you tease me for giving into you.”

Harry’s expression soured a bit as she brought up the hook-up. He knew he hadn’t done anything to dispel her doubts about his intentions, and he felt a pang of regret.  He paused for a moment, gathering his thoughts. How could he explain it without sounding as stupid as he felt? “I know I didn’t call you after, and I should have. I was an idiot… I just… I thought maybe you wanted me to chase a bit, that the ball had been left in your court after I dropped you off at home and… and I didn’t think, honestly.”  He ran a hand through his hair, a frustrated sigh escaping his lips. 

“You have to understand why I’m a little uneasy.” With arms wrapped around herself, she let herself look back up at him. There was no trace of joking on his features and it did make her feel a tad bit better.  “It’s not that I didn’t like… what we did.” It was the best she’d ever had. “But I think I’m not cut out for just hooking up. I don’t regret it, even if I acted like I did.” She decided to give him a tiny bit of her vulnerability to see what he did with it. “I just know that hooking up, for me, never ends well. And I don’t know you really well, Harry.” She fiddled with the hem of her shirt, nerves shot. The last thing she wanted to do was seem desperate about locking him down or something, but she couldn’t lie to him or herself.

“I’m not trying to make you feel any sort of pressure to want to date me or anything. I’m just trying to lay down a boundary that for me, I think I’m one of those people that really needs an intimate connection and trust with someone. For some reason I trusted you that night, and I know you wouldn’t harm me in that way, but sobered up and standing in front of you, I feel a little apprehensive. Like, I don’t want you to feel any sort of pressure from me, but in order to have me in the way you said you want… it has to have some level of commitment is basically what I’m trying to say.”

Harry listened intently as she laid down the boundaries, his expression thoughtful. He could see the vulnerability in her eyes and in the way she fidgeted with her shirt, and it tugged at his heart in a way he hasn't felt before.  The last thing he wanted was for her to feel any sort of regret and he was glad she hadn’t so far, but he had to appreciate her laying out the law here. It gave him direction on where to go. When she finished speaking, he took a moment to process the words before responding. He can feel the seriousness of the conversation, and it's clear that she wasn’t making demands lightly.

He took a deep breath, his own vulnerability on display in his honest gaze. It was imperative to him that she understood how much he got it. How dedicated he would be to it if given the chance. "I understand." He said quietly, licking over his bottom lip. "I understand that you need a committed relationship, darling. I also understand that you need trust and intimacy in order to get there." he added, his voice soft. 

He took a moment to organize his thoughts, then continued speaking. It should be laid out in front of her. “You know, I’ve been thinking about this a lot lately… about us, I mean.”

“What do you mean?” She asked quietly, taking the moment to look him in the eye. It was the most serious she had ever seen him. Usually he had that smirk on his face, so smug or teasing, he’d be poking and prodding at her to get a reaction- but nothing about this interaction was insincere. It was almost off putting to see him this way.

Harry's gaze met hers, his eyes intense. "I mean that I've been thinking about us in a more serious way." he admitted.  He took a deep breath, his expression tentative. "I know I've been kind of hot and cold with you… and I know that I've played games in the past. But after we hooked up… I really couldn’t stop thinking about you. How different we were like that… How good it felt. So I want you to know that... I don’t want to play games with you. I want t’be serious about this."

Y/N hadn’t expected that answer. In all honesty she thought he’d reject her, say he wasn’t into it and keep it moving. That was what she was prepared for- not this. That sort of confession had her realizing that maybe she really didn’t know him at all. She knew some parts, sure, but seeing him like this was brand new. This man in front of her was a familiar stranger, at least this new side.

“I’d have to get to know you better.” She brushed her hair behind her ear, giving him a tentative look. “And it would be a little slow. I think I could give you a chance, though. I’ve been unfair to you, I think. I feel like we… kind of got off on the wrong foot.”

Harry lets out a small sigh of relief, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “I’m okay with slow.” he says, his voice sincere. “I’m willing to work for it.”

He leaned back a bit, giving her a little more space as a hint of his usual playfulness returned to his features.. “And I think you’re right… we got off on the wrong foot. But I’m glad we’re taking the time to get to know each other now.”

——-

—— 

Harry was coming over again. 

It was strange. Since they’d agreed to explore something romantic, seriously, he had changed. Not completely, not to the point where she wondered who he was before, but enough to make her soften up. Hints of him being a pain in the ass we’re still there. But he was… sweet. Genuine. A little silly in a cute way that she hadn’t allowed herself to enjoy before. 

One of the biggest shocks of all, was the fact that he was so gentle with her. He handled her with care, even if he was a little overly touchy. She was getting used to it because she found herself liking it, but he was the first guy to really be a bit of a clinger. 

That was the last thing she had ever expected from him.

His touches were soft and sweet and he looked at her with this little twinkle in his eye that she knew he couldn’t genuinely fake it. He liked her- liked her , liked her. 

She was still a bit shy with him, but it was slowly melting away each time they saw each other. Now the nerves were barely there, being overtaken by anticipation and excitement. It wasn’t something she’d ever thought would happen- being excited and antsy to see Harry, wanting him back in her house. 

He was coming over tonight and she had been prepping for a bit, primping and priming herself even though she wanted to look casual. There was never once so far that he hadn’t told her she looked gorgeous, and it had started becoming part of her daily routine. She wanted to impress him, make him say it again and mean it.

Her tummy twisted as she heard his car door slam shut, smiling to herself as she adjusted her cropped top and went towards the door. 

He was beautiful. Really, gorgeous as she opened the door to reveal him in the early evening light. He looked a little tired from work,slight bags under his eyes, but his smile melted her a little as he walked right into the house, dropping his bag in the foyer with little care for its well-being and picked her up in a big hug. Her feet dangled as she squealed, strong arms wrapped around her waist as he lifted her effortlessly. 

“Hi.” She beamed shyly, feeling him set her down on the floor.

Harry couldn’t help but grin as he placed her down, his strong arms wrapping around her waist lazily.. He loved how delicate she felt in his arms, and he loved the way she squealed with surprise as he lifted her up a bit. Really, he loved most things that had to do with her. Taking a moment to admire her cozy appearance, his gaze lingered on her cropped top. “Hi.” He replied, his voice soft and warm. “You look beautiful.”

Like clockwork.

Before she could respond, Harry was pulling her back into a hug, burying his face in her shoulder as he held her, rocking slightly. A prime example of how touchy he was, unable to stop himself. He nuzzled her neck, letting his cool nose brush against the hot skin. “I missed you.” he mumbled, his voice muffled against her, leaving a little shiver in it’s wake..

When he said things like that it made her want to giggle madly, but also melt into a puddle. He truly meant it, was the thing, and she had a hard time understanding how this had happened. How he had gone from her little enemy to the person she looked toward to seeing the most. 

“I missed you too.” She admitted, fingers tracing down his back. It was an attempt to get more open about her feelings. Harry was being candid about his own, so she felt like she could extend him the same grace. Even if it was slightly terrifying, she had no reason to hold back anymore.

Harry pulled back slightly to look at her, a soft smile on his lips at her shy admission. "I like it when you say that." he teased, his voice low.  He brought his hands up to rest on her hips, his thumbs tracing small circles on the bare skin. He loved the way the cropped top revealed just enough to make him want more, and he found himself struggling to focus on anything but the feel of her body under his hands.

Harry wanted her, and there was obvious desire for her there. In all honesty, there was a lot of desire for her in general that he had done his best to keep under wraps  He’d been so good, trying so hard to prove himself- but that didn’t mean he was a saint. He was beyond attracted to her in every sense of the word, and it was hard to ignore that..

“Excuse me.” She let her smile grow, her tone playful. “My eyes are up here.” 

Y/N knew Harry wanted her in all of the ways, and he’d been exceedingly patient. He knew she was trying to build their connection before getting intimate with him again, and she appreciated it- but that didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy knowing he desired her. 

Or that she didn’t have those same urges.

Harry's gaze flicked back up to meet hers, a cheeky grin on his face. "I know where your eyes are. I look at them plenty, do I not?" He replied smoothly, his hands still resting on her waist, giving a gentle squeeze.  He couldn't help but let out a small laugh as she shot him a look, his eyes sparkling with mirth. "But you can't expect me to ignore the rest of you when you're wearing something as distracting as that." Testing the waters, he was seeing how far his flirtation could go.

“It’s loungewear, you freak.” She scoffed, a hint of a smile turning up her lips. Leggings and a cropped top were a bit of a reward for him, though. She figured if he had been so patient with her then he could at least get to look at her. “But I’m glad you like it.” 

Taking his hand in her smaller one, she led him towards the kitchen to show him the pizza boxes and salad she had made to pair with it, feeling weirdly shy about it. That was the theme of today, considering she had come to a conclusion in her head- but he didn’t need to know about it quite yet. “I knew you’d be hungry when you got off work, so I ordered ahead.”

Harry's eyes lit up as he saw the food, warmth spreading through him. No one had been thoughtful like that to him before, but of course she would be. This sort of thing was why he had liked her. He’d seen it time and time again with their other friends and secretly wished for some of it for himself, that sort of care… and now that he got it, he felt that yearning for her get a little bit stronger. He let out a low whistle. "You knew exactly what I needed." he murmured, a grateful smile on his lips. 

Pulling her into him, his arms wrapping around her waist from behind. He nuzzled her neck again, his breath warm on her skin. "You're too good to me." he murmured, his voice showing just how grateful he was.

Y/N shivered slightly as he spoke against her skin, large arms wrapping around her and making her feel that same brand of delicacy that only Harry had been able to accomplish. His arms were just… beautiful. Built and muscular, covered in those tattoos, she loved every single thing about them. Looking at them, feeling them, how he used them… she couldn’t admit it out loud yet, but being in his arms was one of her new favorite places. 

“You texted and said you didn’t sleep well and you had a rougher day at work and… I dunno. I thought maybe you’d like something ready when you came over. I would have cooked myself but I had a workshop.” She rambled on a little bit, feeling the need to overexplain herself.

Harry squeezed her tighter, his chin resting on her shoulder. He inhaled her scent, his nose buried in hair as she spoke. 

"Mmm. " He hummed, his voice low and gravelly. He ran his nose over her throat, lips brushing against the sensitive skin. "You didn't have to do all this, you know." He moved his hands down over her hips, his thumbs tracing soft circles on the exposed skin there. "But I'm really grateful you did." He was quiet for a moment before speaking again, his grip on her tightening slightly. "Can I ask you somethin’?"

“Hm?” She replied. It was hard to focus. Sure, it would be awkward if anyone else say them just standing in her kitchen with the large man wrapped around her body, but no one else was there to judge her for indulging both herself and him in this sort of cuddle. 

Harry's body was pressed against her, a small smile on his lips. He really did enjoy this moment of quiet intimacy just as much as he enjoyed the more energetic moments where they’d go out or he’d help her take care of her garden.

"Can I stay over tonight?"

It should have been a scarier question to her, all things considered, but the answer came out of her mouth naturally. 

“Sure.” She nodded. There was no second guessing it either. “Is that what that bag was?” She realized he had brought in a bigger duffle than his usual work one, but she had thought it was maybe just to change from his work clothes.

Harry's smile grew as she agreed so easily. "Mhmm." he hummed, his voice low. His hands moved up her sides, tracing the curve of her waist. "I wanted to be prepared just in case you said yes." Presumptuous? He’d prefer the terms hopeful, even confident. They’d been doing so well, he had to at least ask.

He pulled back slightly, looking down at her with a hint of a smirk on his face. "So... where can I sleep?"

He turned her in his grip, letting her look up at his face now with narrowed eyes. Her heartbeat quickened though she tried to calm it down. He was teasing her a little bit, but he did genuinely want to know. 

“If you promise no extreme funny business… you can sleep in my bed.” She placed her hand on his bicep, squeezing a little. It was her own reward. “But remember, Harry. No sex. Okay?” Gliding her other hand up to cuff over the back of his neck, she decided it was finally time to tease him back a bit. “However… If you’re really, really nice to me… I may let you kiss me again.”

Harry's smile widened, his eyes sparkling with a hint of challenge. He leaned down, bringing his face closer to the girl’s.  "You're being bold, darling." he teased, his voice low and playful. "Are you trying to tempt me?"

“A little.” She hummed. “I like when you’re sweet to me. So if you keep it up, I’ll let you kiss me as long as you’d like tonight. I know I’ve been holding all of that intimacy hostage…” 

It had been driving him wild. Near kisses and her letting him brush his hand over the curve of her ass a few times before putting them back up to her hips, he’d tested the waters but got rejected. Now, she was loosening up a bit. 

“So.” She blinked up at him. “Are you gonna be nice to me tonight so you can kiss me?”

Harry's eyes glinted with a mixture of desire and playful mischief. He loved it when she teased him just as much as he loved it when she got all shy and flustered. Which one he likes more, he couldn’t tell. "Oh, I'll be so nice to you tonight you won't be able to stand it." he purred, his voice low and husky. 

He wrapped his arms around her waist, drawing her closer until their bodies were flush against each other. "But I have one condition, little miss."

“What is that?” She questioned, unsure what it could be. With him, it could be anything.

"You have to promise me that if I'm being too... forward, you'll tell me to back off. I don't want to overstep. Even though I want to kiss you until you can't think straight. So promise me you'll speak up if I get too much." 

Her smile widened, nodding in agreement. He’d just earned himself quite a few points. Never had she expected him to be as respectful as he was, but she utterly adored it.  “I will. I promise, I’ll tell you.” She agreed, leaning up to kiss the curve of his jaw. “But it’s time for you to eat. I can feel your tummy grumbling.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his eyes flickering over her pretty face. He loved the way her smile widened, and the feeling of her plump lips against his jaw send a shiver down his spine. More. He wanted more, and more, until their mouths were tingling and numb. Until she looked drunk on the kisses, clinging to him like he could only hope.

"Mmm. Okay, fine." he grumbled. "I'll eat. But only if you feed me, since you were so kind as to order ahead for me." He gave her a puppy-dog look, his lower lip jutted out in a mock-pout. It was good, she’s give him that- but not good enough.

“Absolutely not.” She snorted. “Nice try.”

[solarhysm]

"what’s your name again?" | JEON JUNGKOOK [FOLLOWERS POLL’s CHOICE]

one shot

> summary: jungkook met you at a costume party for the new year eve. you're bold, drunk and horny.

> pairing: jungkook x reader

> genre: small smut, one shot (shorter than i thought tho)

> warnings: smut, protected sex!!, public quickie in the female restroom (i'm not good with warning)

> word count: 2.8k

*french writer, i apologize in advance for my awful english!

Jungkook never likes masked parties. But when Hoseok suggests going to one where everyone is in costumes, he reluctantly agrees. He has nothing better to do for New Year’s Eve anyway, and it seems better than drinking alone at his parent’s house. He sighs as someone bumps into him—that’s why he avoids crowded places.

Everyone wears costumes as if it’s Halloween. He’s not surprised to see most of the women in tight, short dresses. Jungkook considered dressing as a character from Squid Game but decided against it—there are already too many of them here.

Instead, he throws on his old Spider-Man costume from Halloween three years ago. It’s been gathering dust in his closet, but it saves him time and money. To account for the cold, he adds gray joggers and an old black sweatshirt. Tonight, he’s not Peter Parker but Miles Morales. He doubts anyone will notice the reference, though.

“Damn, I didn’t expect it to be this crowded,” Jimin says, handing beers to his friends.

Jungkook glances around and nods. It’s New Year’s Eve, so of course, people their age are out celebrating.

“It’s been a shitty year,” Taehyung groans, downing his beer in one gulp before heading to the bar for something stronger. His girlfriend dumped him last month, and he’s still obsessively checking her Instagram, where she flaunts her new boyfriend.

Jungkook shakes his head, amused. It was a rough year. His grandfather was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer, none of his romantic flings went anywhere, and the company he worked for went bankrupt. Now, he’s living with his parents –again- and working a terrible job under an abusive boss. He sighs and takes a sip of his beer.

“At least we’re still standing,” Hoseok says, ever the optimist.

As the night goes on, the four friends drink steadily in their corner of the nightclub. Taehyung ends up crying on Hoseok’s shoulder, while Jungkook rolls his eyes.

“I don’t understand,” Taehyung whines. “I’m a good boyfriend! I used to bring her flowers all the time and give her all the attention she wants.”

“She’s a bitch. You’re a good guy,” Jungkook says, leaning closer so Taehyung can hear him over the music. “Stop wasting your tears on someone like her.”

“Maybe I’m bad in bed?”

“Stop it,” Jimin groans, grabbing Taehyung’s shoulder. “With your third leg, it’s definitely not about sex. Some women are just terrible people. Go find someone new tonight.”

“What?” Taehyung sniffles, while Jungkook silently gestures for Jimin to stop talking.

“Yeah, Tae,” Hoseok chimes in. “Find a girl, have some fun, and forget about her.”

Jungkook buries his face in his hands. Taehyung is too drunk for this advice. He’s not a one-night-stand type of guy and will probably end up vomiting on whoever he approaches.

“I need a smoke,” Jungkook mutters, getting up and wiping his hands on his joggers. He weaves through the crowd toward the exit, hating how packed the nightclub is.

“I’m sorry!” a voice gasps as their bodies collide. Jungkook instinctively grabs the stranger’s arm to steady them. Both of them are clearly tipsy, but they look more unsteady than he does.

His gaze falls on the person in front of him—his very own Gwen Stacy. The mask hides all of their face, but the costume piques his interest immediately.

“It’s my fault,” You begin. “I didn’t—” You stop mid-sentence when you look up at him. “Oh, Miles Morales!” You giggle, recognizing his costume. And your laugh makes him smile.

“Hi, Gwen,” Jungkook smirks, the alcohol making him bolder.

“Hi,” you reply as you both step outside into the chilly air. It’s a welcome relief from the stifling crowd inside. Jungkook pulls out a cigarette and lighter.

“I like your costume,” he says, noticing you scanning the crowd inside, probably looking for your friends.

You remove your mask and smile. Jungkook doesn’t expect you to be this attractive—especially the kind of attractive he’s drawn to.

“Thanks. I like yours, even if it’s a little inaccurate,” you tease, making him chuckle.

You pull out your own cigarette, accepting his lighter with a nod of thanks.

“It’s too cold to be Spider-Man.”

“Well, not Tom Holland’s Spider-Man,” you quip, freeing your hair from the costume.

Jungkook’s eyes linger on you briefly before smirking. “Marvel fan?” he asks.

“Hm, you?”

“Hm.”

You’re pretty and a Marvel fan? Jungkook looks up at the dark sky, silently thanking the universe for this coincidence. Before he can come up with something to say, you speak again.

“I almost dressed as Wednesday Addams, but it’s way too cold for that,” you explain, and he nods.

“Wednesday was my first choice, too,” Jungkook jokes, making you laugh.

“I’m Y/N,” you say.

“Jungkook,” he replies.

“Did you come alone, Spiderman?” you ask, and Jungkook shakes his head.

“I came with some friends.”

“Yeah, me too. It was either this or sleeping early. I figured it’d be more fun to get drunk,” you say, tossing the bud of your cigarette. Jungkook licks his lips with a smile. He guesses you’re a yapper, which is a good thing because he’s not drunk enough to talk freely without embarrassment. “Do you drink tequila shots, Spiderman?”

“Are you offering?” he teases, and you nod. “Alright.”

Even though he asks, once you’re at the bar ordering a round of six tequila shots, Jungkook is the one handing over his credit card to the bartender. You scold him, insisting you’ll pay for the next round. He’s just happy that you’re thinking about continuing the night with him, though he’s a little apprehensive about drinking more.

“Alright, on three,” you say with a smile, counting down before you both toss back the first shot and bite into a lemon. “Where are your friends?”

“Somewhere in the club,” Jungkook replies, his head nodding to the rhythm of the music.

You grab his hand and guide him to the dancefloor. Jungkook marvels at how easygoing you are. Most girls he meets play hard to get, but you’re different—just here, vibing with everyone around you. His smile widens as he watches you mimicking the dance steps of a guy dressed as a banana.

You burst into laughter when you mess up the choreography, and the banana-guy spins you back toward Jungkook, probably assuming the two of you came together. You stumble into his arms, your rosy cheeks and bright giggles captivating him even though he can barely hear it over the music.

After the fourth shot, Jungkook has to stop, reaching his limit. He isn’t used to drinking this much, especially tequila. But he chuckles, watching as you confidently take down two more. When you turn to him, he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Already?” you tease, giggling, and he rolls his eyes, amused. You finish the remaining shots by yourself, and he’s genuinely impressed. How can someone as small as you handle so much alcohol?

Jungkook blinks a few times, shaking his head. He’s almost certain you’re going to regret this if you keep bouncing around to the music like that.

“Are you drunk?” you ask, leaning closer, and he nods, patting his chest to settle the burn in his throat.

He grabs a bottle of water he ordered, takes a sip, and offers it to you. But you shake your head, and Jungkook can’t help but feel a strange responsibility to make sure you’re okay. You’ve only just met, but he’s already trying to sober you up a bit—anything to avoid you ending the night sick.

“Do you drink often?” Jungkook asks, grimacing as he takes another sip of water. He’s already done with tequila—probably for life.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you chuckle, your tone playful as you make him smile and shrug.

“Just that you definitely know how to hold your liquor.”

“I just needed to get drunk and forget this year,” you admit, tossing your hair over your shoulder.

“Do you want me to walk you to your friends?” Jungkook offers, his voice laced with concern.

“Are you tired of me, Spider-Man?” you joke, swaying slightly as you both half-dance to the pulsing music.

“W-What? No!” Jungkook stammers, looking adorably flustered, and you laugh at his reaction.

“I’m kidding,” you say, nudging his shoulder with a grin.

“Can… I have your number? Or maybe your social media?” he asks, leaning closer to your ear to make himself heard over the music. You pull back to meet his gaze, your hands resting lightly on his shoulders for balance. Both of you have hooded eyes, softened by the alcohol and dim lights.

Jungkook feels a rush of admiration for your boldness. You don’t care about the people around you or their opinions. His hand hesitates before resting on the small of your back. You tilt your head, your nose brushing his as your lips hover dangerously close.

“Do you want to have fun?” you murmur, your mouth brushing his ear, the music muffling everything else.

“What kind of fun?” he asks, his breath caressing your cheek. He feels himself leaning into the moment, emboldened by your energy. Why not? There’s nothing wrong with a little flirting with a stranger on New Year’s Eve.

You smirk slowly, your hand slipping into his to guide him off the dancefloor. Jungkook frowns slightly in confusion when you lead him into the women’s restroom. Before he can ask why, you cup his face, pulling him into a kiss that sends his heart racing.

He finds it thrilling—kissing someone he just met, in a place he’d never expect. It’s not the kind of fun he was imagining, but he’s definitely not complaining. You guide him blindly into one of the stalls, closing the door behind you as he presses you against it.

“What if someone catches us?” he whispers, his lips trailing along your jaw.

“We can stop if you want,” you reply, threading your fingers into his hair before pulling him into another heated kiss.

“No,” he says honestly, making you smile. “But we’re drunk.”

“Can’t get hard when you’re drunk?” you tease, your lips brushing the column of his neck. Jungkook chuckles darkly, grabbing your hand and guiding it to his joggers. Your eyes light up as you feel his growing arousal beneath the fabric.

Jungkook’s breath hitches as your hand starts to stroke him above his jogger. His mind races—this is new for him. He’s had his share of casual flings, but never with a stranger and never in public. Surprisingly, the thrill of possibly being caught makes the moment even more exhilarating.

He wonders if you’ve done this before—you seem so at ease. But before he can ask, your hand slides under the waistband of his joggers, palming his growing bulge. His eyes close almost instantly, a soft groan escaping him as your touch sends heat coursing through his body. His own hands find your backside, squeezing gently, grounding himself in the moment.

“Do you want to fuck me?” you whisper, nipping lightly at the sensitive skin of his neck.

“What—I—right now?” he stammers, wide-eyed, and you nod. Pressing your back against the door, you reach behind to unzip the bottom of your costume, your movements deliberate and teasing. Jungkook’s gaze remains locked on you, his mind racing.

His eyes widen further as he begins patting the pockets of his joggers in a frantic search for his wallet. He knows there’s a condom in there—he’s certain he hasn’t used it. A chance like this? No way he’s letting it slip by. He’s just a guy, after all, and if a beautiful woman wants him, Jungkook isn’t about to say no.

“What are you doing?” you ask, laughing as his wallet slips from his fumbling hands. He scrambles to catch it, earning another amused giggle from you.

When he finally retrieves the little plastic wrapper, he holds it up proudly. You smirk, pulling him into a heated kiss while he helps you peel off the bottom half of your costume. The black panties underneath match the dark tights perfectly, a sight that makes Jungkook’s breath hitch. His hands twitch at his sides, trying to maintain control.

“I’ve never done this before,” he admits softly, hiking your leg up to wrap around his waist, pressing you against him.

“Yeah, me neither,” you reply with a playful giggle, one hand gripping his shoulder for balance while the other threads through his messy hair. “New year, new experiences, right?”

“You’re really something else,” he chuckles, his tone equal parts admiration and disbelief. His eyes meet yours, silently asking for permission. You nod, and his hand slides between your thighs, fingertips brushing against you through the thin fabric of your panties.

“Fuck,” you whisper, your head falling back against the door as your hips instinctively press into his touch. Your reaction sends a shiver down his spine; he swears he’s never heard anyone curse so beautifully.

Jungkook frees himself from his boxers, giving his cock a few slow strokes while watching your every reaction. His gaze flickers between your face and the way your body trembles under his hand. When he pushes your panties aside, he hesitates momentarily to open the condom.

“Tell me to stop,” he says suddenly, his voice wavering as he tries to cling to the last shred of his rationality.

“Don’t you dare,” you reply with a grin, tugging at his boxers to free him completely. He groans, any semblance of self-control slipping away as he feels your hand stroke him again, this time skin-on-skin.

The muffled music from the club outside only adds to the surrealness of the moment. Every so often, someone walks into the restroom, and Jungkook tenses, half-expecting a knock on the door. But the thrill of being caught only seems to heighten his excitement. When you grab his face to focus him on you, your lips brushing against his, he realizes he’s long past the point of no return.

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath as he rolls the condom over his length. His other hand pushes his joggers just low enough to give him room to move. “Are you sure?” he asks one last time, his voice trembling with need.

“Yes,” you answer without hesitation, guiding him to your entrance. His fingers dig into your hips as he presses forward slowly, the stretch eliciting soft gasps from both of you. He stills for a moment, his forehead resting against yours as he adjusts to the overwhelming sensation.

“God, you’re so tight,” he whispers, his voice rough with desire.

“Please, move,” you urge him in a whine, your nails digging into his shoulders. He doesn’t need to be told twice. His hips pull back before snapping forward, setting a steady rhythm that has you biting your lip to keep from moaning too loudly.

Jungkook’s movements grow more erratic as he loses himself in the sensation of you. The cramped space of the stall, the muffled music, and the ever-present risk of being caught only add to the intensity. His hands roam your body, gripping your thighs and waist as he thrusts into you with increasing urgency.

“You feel so good,” he groans, his voice a low rumble in your ear.

“Faster,” you gasp, your hands sliding down to grab his ass and urge him deeper. He obliges, his pace quickening until the sound of your bodies colliding fills the small space. “Fuck –“

You bite down on his shoulder to muffle your moans, and he curses under his breath, the combination of your teeth and the tight grip of your walls pushing him closer to the edge.

“I’m close,” he whispers, his breath hot against your neck. His thrusts grow rougher, the door rattling slightly with each movement.

“Me too,” you manage to reply, your voice shaky as the tension in your body builds. His thumb finds your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to send you spiraling over the edge. Your walls tighten around him as you climax, your muffled cries vibrating against his skin.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans, his hips stuttering as he follows you, spilling into the condom with a final deep thrust. He collapses against you, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. The countdown outside ends in cheers and shouts of celebration, but neither of you notices, still lost in the aftershocks of your high.

For a moment, the two of you stay like that, tangled together in the aftermath. Then Jungkook pulls back slightly, pressing a kiss to your forehead. The sounds of celebration seep back in as you both begin to steady your breathing.

“That was…” he trails off, unable to find the right words. “Hot.”

You smirk, cupping his face to leave a lingering kiss on his swollen lips.

“Happy New Year,” you whisper, your voice soft but playful.

“Happy New Year,” he replies, his hand snaking behind your neck to pull you into another kiss, this one just as passionate as the last. Jungkook knows he has to go back to his friends soon.

“What’s your name again?” you laugh, your breath mingling with his as he chuckles.

“Jungkook. Yours?”

“Y/N.”

hiiii!! first of all, happy new year to you all. may 2025 be a better year for you. secondly, i know, I KNOW, i'm a little late with the one shot i promised, i'm sorry! i was too busy those last few days. to be honest, the one shot didn't result as i was hoping for. I had a few ideas about it and it doesn't look like... what i expected. but i promise you a jk one shot for the new year so here it is. i'll do better next time, i swear!! but i do hope that you enjoyed reading it <3 I'll see you around, and on that, i'm going back to write the DOU chapter 6 now that i have free time!! luv y’all — Riza

[peachyscenes]

ateez recs: fic series edition

these are fics that have genuinely changed my brain chemistry. most are ot8/ateez ensemble.

the places between us by @written-in-flowers

HOLY SHIT! warning for anyone who comes across this, it is a HEAVY read. lots of content that may feel uncomfortable. oh my godddd the way i was screaming at the protagonist for making stupid decisions. honestly one of the best reads i've had in a while i won't lie to you.

clair de lune by @atzfilm

this series had me gripping my fucking sheets. it was so so good and i wish i could read it for the first time again. this one also has slightly heavy themes so warning to those who wanna read it.

into the aurora by @honeyhotteoks

lots of crying, sobbing, and even more crying. they all love each other so much, this is what i show to people when they ask me what love means. everyone is a ride or die here.

like a waltz by @justbelievinginmagic

i actually found this gem on ao3 (WE LOVE YOU AO3 🫶🫶). ateez are all red flags in this but i'm just like the protagonist, COLORBLIND ASF! not her fault though #letherdance. it's not completed yet but definitely recommend!!!

like the moon by @sunmoonjune

FREE BUG!!! SHE JUST WANTS TO HAVE A FAMILY!!! FUCK HER DAD!!! ateez clan are bug's ride or dies and i stand with them!!!

the answer by @berryunho

hongjoong is so fucking uncanny in this. every time he's up to no good i hear music from hereditary playing. ALSO FUCK YOU SAN!!!

in love and lore by @shadowynn

y/n helps someone and suddenly gets eight lovers, can we give her 5 big booms?

hotel california + paradise gardens by @mint-yooxgi

give me whatever the protagonist has (minus the people that are targeting her). 8 HOT lovers who would give me the world, genuinely love me, and got MONEY?? ladies, don't EVER settle for less.

not all that glitters is gold by @the7thcrow

TOOOOO GOOOODDD. i wanna give wooyoung a hug but also punch him.

pirate king by @chaseatinydream

the first ateez x reader i read and it was so beautiful. the lore the storytelling the world buildup was top tier and i wouldn't change a single thing about this. i love that the protagonist is her own character and while i love an x reader where i can imagine myself, this is so incredibly well made.

cat's cradle by @raincoreee

i have no idea when this'll update (i have hope) but sannie is a cat and reader is gender neutral!!

don't forget to support and show love to these amazing authors. may fanfiction never die 🙏🙏🙏

[starsofang]

CALL OF THE SEA / PART FIVE

pirate poly!141 x f!reader tw: NSFW, MDNI, not much for this chapter, but as always, be cautious! a/n: so sorry for the wait, this chapter isn't as long as the others but i'm in the process of moving! i'll be moved in by late next week, so when that happens, i'll finally have more time to deliver longer parts and be more active! <3 masterlist

When a group of unhinged pirates invade your small village, you're whisked away from your peaceful home and thrown on to a voyage out at sea. Forced to obtain a new role as their medic, you have no choice but to accept your fate as you join their forces and aid them in their treacherous travels.

“You let her get away.”

“S’not like I meant to, Cap,” Soap defended, scowling to himself.

The four men stood in Price’s quarters, all shoulders equally tensed and expressions grim. While Gaz and Ghost remained quiet thus far, the intensity rolled off of them menacingly. Soap could practically see the sourness fill the air.

“But you did,” Price reiterated, slamming his palm on the table. It shook the room, quill holders rumbling and threatening to spill onto the floor. “We already take a risk havin’ her on our ship until she grows accustomed to livin’ here. How could you be so careless?”

“Can ye blame her?” Soap spat back. The men fell silent with Price narrowing his eyes in suspicion. “The poor lass watched the four of us burn her village down. Then we took her in like a fit of scoundrels. I don’t blame her for runnin’ off the way she did.”

Price kept his mouth shut, pressed in a firm line. His shoulders were squared, an argument threatening to spill out, yet he didn’t encourage it. After all, Soap had a point, but they weren’t supposed to care. It was a simple part of being savages.

“She’ll understand eventually—“

“But she won’t,” Soap cut Price off, leaning his hands on the table to match the Captain’s. The two of them stared long and hard at one another. “We don’t even understand, so what makes ye think she will?”

“Soap,” Ghost warned. Soap’s gaze flickered over to the masked man, whose eyes were darkened with warning. Gaz shifted uncomfortably from beside him. “Watch your tongue.”

Soap opened his mouth to protest, but before he could, Price raised his palm, requesting silence. The look on his face was unreadable, but the sign of authority was clear.

“You need to get your head out of the trenches, Soap,” Price warned. “Carin’ for her will only have you throwin’ yourself overboard, and that’s not somethin’ I can save you from. We needed a medic, and she was in the right place at the right time. That is all.”

“So ye don’t have the slightest bit of sympathy for her, s’that right, Cap?” Soap asked, eyes narrowing in on the Captain.

“There is no place in this world for sympathy,” Price responded meekly. “Let alone for her.”

“And for us?” Soap questioned, gesturing to the other two men in the room.

“You are my men,” Price grunted. “She is an unlucky woman that came from rags rather than riches. That is to no fault but her own. You forget your place, Soap.”

Though Price had remained calm, Soap could see the building aggravation. It was in the way the Captain’s hands clenched atop the table, his eyes glossed over with a heated fire from being rebutted.

“It seems yer forgettin’ yers as well, Captain,” Soap muttered bitterly.

The atmosphere was so thick, it was suffocating. Not a single man said another word, caught in a deadly stare down. It was a rarity to challenge Price’s authority, let alone over an unfortunate woman who they had ruined all on their own.

If Soap’s words affected Price, he didn’t make it known. Rather, his irritability was evidence, and he appeared to be fighting off any resentment towards his own crew.

“Get out,” Price uttered, voice low, but the notion was clear. “All of you.”

Nobody argued. Rather, they filed out one by one, Price’s door slamming on the way out.

Ghost grumbled when just the three of them remained, stalking off to his own quarters for the night.

Gaz joined Soap in watching the masked man leave. It wasn’t until he was fully out of sight did Gaz speak.

“You have a point, Soap,” Gaz said quietly, slapping a reassuring hand on his shoulder. “Good luck makin’ Cap see that.”

Gaz gave him another squeeze of his hand before sauntering off himself, leaving Soap alone on the upper deck, the summer air suddenly feeling frigid and bitter.

The cell was suffocating you all over again. You missed the feel of a bed, the soft furs that lined Price’s bed that showered you in comforting warmth for the night, the flood of fresh air in your lungs.

Part of you felt like you took it for granted. The bitter part of you, though, knew that you deserved to have those things without being in the possession of a pirate.

The shoes Soap left you taunted you from the corner of the cell. They mocked you, called you ungrateful. It painted you with an uncomfortable guilt that settled deep in your bones.

You shouldn’t feel bad for a bunch of savages, but what kind of savages would think to surprise you with shoes, even picking out ones that you might like? You couldn’t speak for the others, but Soap had shed a light of humanity in a time where you needed it, and you had fucked that up.

Now, you wanted it more than ever. The cell was cold and unwelcoming, and you missed the taste of freedom you were given so shortly.

It felt as if you were back at square one. For the first day, nobody came to offer you food like before. Your stomach grumbled with a might that had you coiled over, silently crying into your hands. The second night was torturous, and it felt as if your own stomach was beginning to feast on itself.

The third night, however, was when you were finally graced with sympathy.

What greeted you, or more so who, had taken you by surprise. Expecting Soap or Gaz, or even Ghost to degrade you for being so stupid, you were instead faced with the Captain himself.

Price stood with a steaming bowl of stew and another bowl of simple rice. The sight of it had your mouth watering and your stomach gurgling in desperation.

“Hello, dove,” he offered, his tone surprisingly soft compared to the spitefulness he held days before. It still held authority, one you didn’t think would ever rid itself, but it wasn’t as angry as expected.

You gave him a nod in response but said nothing. A touch of dread crept up your spine. He was all too calm to you, who had nearly sent his men to unforeseeable death.

Price balanced the two bowls on one arm so he could unlock your cell door and step inside. Once in, he carefully placed the bowls on the ground in front of you where you sat, taking a cautious step back.

As much as you wanted to devour the food without. a second thought, you remained frozen and stubborn. You stared at the bowls of hot food before shifting up to look at him. When he gave you a nod in confirmation, that was all you needed to begin eating.

Eating was the nicer word. Demolishing was more accurate.

You didn’t bother to eat with the spoon given, rather you used your hands to grab a fistful of rice and guzzle it down. Grains of rice stuck to your face around your mouth, showing an embarrassing display. You were so hungry you didn’t care.

“Slow down,” Price ordered. You paused in your eating, glancing up at him. He didn’t look angry, but he did look a bit disturbed at your desperation.

Flustered, you swallowed the food down, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand. Picking up the spoon in the stew, you ate it with eagerness but allowed yourself some decency.

Price was silent as you ate, standing with his arms crossed, watching. You were too enraptured in the meal to care, even if you look distasteful. The food had never tasted this good before, and you weren't sure whether it was because you were starving, or because somebody else cooked.

You imagined the pirates in the kitchen together, chopping vegetables and meat to place it in a pot, using an array of spices. Arguing over who got to do what, disagreeing with a choice of meal for the day.

It gave them a small sense of normality in your mind, even eliciting a small laugh from you. Price’s face contorted in confusion, wondering what could possibly be funny, especially in times like this. You, locked in a cell, given the worst hand the world could’ve given you, finding something joyful enough to laugh through it.

“Would you like to tell me why you’re laughin’?” Price gruffed.

You swallowed down your food, peering up at him from where you sat on the floor. “I was just imagining Soap and Ghost arguing over who gets to cook,” you confessed, looking back down at your food. “I apologize. It is not funny.”

You could feel Price’s stare. The air was silent, tense, before he ultimately broke it. “Ghost is the one that cooks,” he explained. “Used to be a butcher back in his day.”

“A butcher?” you repeated, pondering. The mask Ghost flaunted made him mysterious and concealed. You would’ve never imagined him as a butcher, though the more you thought about it, the more it clicked. “That seems to make quite a bit of sense, actually.”

“Does it?” Price hummed with the telltale sign of amusement. It was hardly evident. “Yes, I believe it does. Explains why he’s so good with a knife, aye?”

You grimaced at that. Ghost was certainly good in combat, that was something you could see from the jump. You just didn’t want to envision who and what he uses it on.

“I believe we got off on the wrong foot,” Price began. The words took you by surprise. “Might have ruffled too many of your little feathers too soon.”

“That is a severe understatement,” you muttered. Price shot you a look, successfully shutting you up.

“We do not normally have others on our ship. If we have treated you with hostility, then I apologize. You must understand the walls we have built up, you see,” he explained.

“Then why have you taken me if you are going to treat me as a mere rat?” you asked. He sniffed, feigning disinterest. “I thought you appointed me as a medic. It does not feel as though you are true to your word. Is there perhaps another reason for kidnapping me that you are not telling me?”

Price was quiet, eyes wandering off elsewhere. He appeared in thought, as if debating something heavily in his mind.

“No,” he finally said, hesitating. “You were simply in the wrong place at the wrong time. I do not apologize for taking you, but I do… sympathize. Perhaps I should’ve been kinder.”

“Perhaps,” you repeated, albeit a tad bitterly. Price was unfazed by the subtle resentment you held. He didn’t seem to care at all. He was a hard man to read, even harder than Ghost. You couldn’t tell what he was thinking, and that was dangerous.

Price cleared his throat, the aura of awkwardness smothering him. It was evident to you that he wasn’t used to being kind and having to resolve with someone. You briefly wondered what made him change his mind.

“You are right,” he continued. “We took you in to be our medic. Medics cannot work in a cell.”

Price took a step back to leave the cell, yet the door remained open. He gestured for you to step out, to join him. You were weary, slowly standing from your spot and taking a skeptical step out of the cell.

“I will give you the choice in who you wish to stay with until we can arrange a space for you to sleep.” Price began stepping up the stairs that led to the upper deck, so you silently followed. “If you wish to stay with me again, that is fine. But if you wish to stay with Gaz or Soap, that can be arranged as well.”

“No Ghost?” you asked in, dare you say, amusement.

“Unless you would like to be strangled in your sleep, I would not advise it,” he responded.

“That was a jest, Captain. I know how to pick my battles.”

Price paused in front of the doors to the upper deck, turning to you. He stared for a long moment, before you saw the tiniest of smiles play at his lips. It was buried under his facial hair, but from the slight crinkle in his eyes, you knew.

“You’re quite the wise bird, I’ll give you that,” he mused, before opening the doors. “Up you go.”

The moonlight soaked into your skin the moment you stepped out of the brig. It was inviting, basking you in the warmth you so craved. The air was crisp, and you breathed it in heavily through your nostrils, your body immediately faltering in relief.

Oh, how you missed the outside. Though your stay in the brig was much shorter than when you first arrived, it was still just as alleviating to get a taste of being human again.

“You will stay with me for the night,” he explained, guiding you across the creaky decks. “The others are already in their rooms. Tomorrow, you can decide who you prefer.”

You gave him a nod in acknowledgment, following him quietly to his quarters. When you arrived, the familiar scent of musk and cinnamon invaded your nostrils. For a pirate, it was a comforting smell, and you found a strange solace in it.

“I’m sure you wish to bathe, yes?” he asked.

A bath sounded heavenly. To wipe the grime and sweat off your skin, to feel clean again. You would’ve jumped into the dark sea if it meant bathing.

“You do not mind?” you questioned, suspicious.

“You’ll be sleepin’ in my cot for the night. I’d prefer if you were unsoiled. No bad blood, aye?”

Price’s boots were heavy against the floors as he made his way to the back of his quarters, where a lone curtain hung. Pulling it back, he exposed a wooden bowl, large enough to fit you, but certainly a squeeze for him.

A barrel stood behind the bath, and Price made haste to lift it with ease. Water began to pour out of the spout, slowly but surely filling the makeshift tub.

While he worked, your eyes wandered to glance around his quarters. When staying in it previously, you didn’t have the gall to be curious. Now that the two of you were on good enough terms to be acquaintances for now, you allowed yourself to be a bit nosy.

The walls were littered with pinned up maps, all varying in land. You hadn’t a clue where everything was, so none of it made sense to you. However, upon looking over to his desk, you saw another map, one unlike the others.

This one was written on with the ink of a quill. You weren’t sure the location, however, it seemed to be a mixture.

Over some of the islands graphed on the map, a large X was drawn in its place. They were crossed out with the ink, covering up the names printed over the location, deeming it impossible to read.

However, two locations were circled rather than crossed out. One was in the middle of the sea, not a piece of land or island in sight. The other was circled around a small island, tucked away from the Mainland, its name unknown. Beside it, a scrap piece of paper sat.

“The one who heals the ill and poor

shall be the cure to all demise.

Washed away to land and shore

shall be the looking glass for ocean eyes.

Find the one that you shall seek

to end the curse of Shadow’s Peak.”

As you finished reading, a large hand came into view, slamming over the poem. Price loomed over you, leaning against the table.

“Go and bathe,” he ordered. “I will leave you alone to do your bidding and return when you’re done.”

Jostled by the surprise appearance, you offered a meek nod, sauntering off to the tub. As Price left, he rolled up the map as well as the poem, tucking them under his arm and leaving no trace of what you witnessed behind. He had something to hide, it was clear, but you couldn’t decipher the meaning of the passage you read.

Perhaps he was simply a writer. It would explain why he seemed defensive that you saw it, but it wouldn’t explain the map. He also didn’t seem the type to sit at his desk and meddle with written poetry. He was a Captain, and his priorities lied with the men on his ship and the thievery of neighboring villages.

Now left alone in the quarters, you willed yourself into the bath, sinking into the water. It wasn’t warm nor cold, but it was relaxing anyway, biting away the tension in your muscles. You were in desperate need of it, and you were grateful you and Price were at a standstill where he allowed you the pleasure.

While you tried to rid yourself of what you saw, it kept creeping in in waves, burdening you with questions unanswered. Even after you scrubbed away the caked dirt until your skin was raw and changed into clean garments that Price tugged out for you, the sense of unease never went away. You felt tainted, like a lingering darkness was coursing through your veins and oozing from your skin.

The garments you wore were large. They overtook your body, swallowing you whole, but they were much better in comparison to the rags that hung from your body, dirtied with nasty impurity. You didn’t know how to feel about the Captain after everything, but he was showing you humility, and that was enough for you right now. It was the best you could make out of being kidnapped by the four of them and thrown in a life of chaos and uncertainty.

As you tucked yourself into Price’s cot, you took one last glance to the maps that remained on the walls. None were like the one you had seen, not a scribble nor blotch tainting the paper. The one Price held was special, and you knew you’d be fighting tooth and nail in order to find out. Until then, you could let yourself relax. After all the torment you’d been through, you deserved a moment of peace before everything imploded once again.

[alastxrs]

spencer reid x male! non-bau! reader

where reader is a paramedic or maybe a firefighter, and he & spencer have been dating for a while, but spencer’s been keeping reader & their relationship a secret because he hasn’t come out to the team yet, and he scared to or smth..

one day spencer walks into the round table room late, and the team is questioning him suspiciously, because the last time reid came to work late, he was using (but in reality, he misses his alarm bc he wasn’t home; he was at r’s place).

after the team meeting spencer realizes he forgot something at r place (badge, bag, glasses, idk). and just as he’s asking hotch to stop by ‘a friends’ house to get what he left, reader shows up and brings it to him, saying something like, “I was on my way to work and I saw it lying on the couch”

( optional : spencer kisses r out of habit, forgetting the team is watching, and comes out to them, and their all reassuring and fluffy with him )

My Darling Doctor

SPENCER REID X MALE!READER

An FBI agent and a Paramedic together, it wasn't meant to be a secret. How will the team react finding out?

❝THERE IS NO PLACE LIKE HOME.❞ -L. Frank Baum.

Spencer was already late to work but it wasn't his fault that he was a few minutes late, he bit the inside of his cheek as he looked out the window of the train. He had already told Hotch that he was on his way over.

This morning had just distracted him a lot.

"C'mon N/N, I've got to head to work." The brunette haired male whispered to his boyfriend who laid next to him with his arm wrapped around his waist, the (H/C) haired male just buried himself deeper into his neck. "I need to go."

The other male frowned with his eyes still closed when he heard his boyfriend but made no move to let go.

"I know you're awake."

A sigh escaped his lips as the taller/smaller male opened his eyes and looked at him. "Do we have to? We could just stay here." he asked.

"Yes we do, you and I both have work." Spencer pointed out to which the other man groaned. Y/N gave him a kiss on his cheek before getting out of the bed, he watched his partner stretch his arms and move towards the bathroom. "I'll make it up to you when I finish work!"

"You better! Now, get your smart ass in this shower!"

He couldn't contain his laughter as he followed his boyfriend into the shower.

Spencer smiled a bit when thinking about his boyfriend, though his thoughts were cut off when the elevator doors opened and he realized he had gotten off the train; he was already at work.

He slightly jumped when he saw the group waiting before the elevator as he stepped out. Were they heading out?

"So... are you gonna tell us why you were late?" Derek asked him with his arms crossed. The question had him confused for a moment. "Cause, kid, you are never late."

The brown-haired male was about to say something until Penelope cut him off. "The last time you were ever late was when you were using, are you back?" she asked as she gently grabbed his hands and gently squeezed them. "Please tell us you aren't-"

"No! Why would you guys think I'm using again?" The taller male questioned as he pulled his hands out of her hands. "I just missed my alarm-"

"You never miss your alarm, Spence." JJ pointed out to him.

Hotch was quiet while the rest of the group asked questions, he kept his eyes on the younger man before he asked a question of his own. "Did you forget anything?"

Spencer was quiet when he heard the question before he patted himself.

He forgot his bag. With his badge and glasses.

Everything was in his bag and he had a panicked look on his face when he realized he had forgotten his bag.

He stayed quiet for a moment before he looked back at his Chief. "Is...it possible I could quickly go to my friend's house?" he asked, the others were quiet at that question. "I was....staying with him and left my bag there on accident."

Before Hotch could answer him, the elevator door opened again and there stood Y/N with his bag in his hand. A smile formed on the other's face as he saw Spencer and he quickly jogged to the group.

"Hey babe! You left your bag on my couch, I already let my Chief know that I'm gonna be a few minutes late." The (H/C) haired male giggled though his Chief was understanding. "I made sure all of your stuff is inside so your badge, glasses and-"

Spencer was relaxed hearing that all of his stuff was inside of the bag yet he stopped his partner from speaking by kissing him on the lips.

A surprised look was on the paramedics face before his smile returned.

"If this is how you are going to thank me everytime I give you something, I should get into the habit of doing this~!"

The taller/smaller male shook his head. "Thank you for bringing my bag." he thanked his boyfriend, he kissed the other on the cheek since the two of them had usually gotten into the habit of kissing either each others foreheads or cheeks when something was done. "I need to get used to bringing my stuff with me when I leave your house."

"I'm glad I caught you before you left!" Y/N gently reached for his hand before kissing the taller/smaller's cheek. "Now I've gotta get going soon but before I do..."

The Paramedic smiled at the group as he waved at them. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you guys and I wish I could have a proper conversation with you all but I must go." he squeezed Spencer's hand before letting go. "Though, when you guys get back and whenever I finish work, let's get a drink."

That was when Y/N left, without letting a single one of them speak.

Derek's expression was surprised before he pulled twenty dollars out of his pocket and hand it to Emily, who had a smug look on her face.

"You have got to tell us on the plane how you two met and got together." The dark-haired woman said to him, the rest of the group got out of their shocked daze because they had realized their Spencer had a partner.

Penelope smiled at the younger man. "We are very happy for you! He seems like a sweetheart." she said.

Derek chuckled as he patted his back. "How long have you been hiding him from us? Afraid we would scare him off?"

"No...I was scared he'd scare you all..." Spencer muttered to which the others laughed.

Y/N had scared him when they first met and somehow convinced him into a relationship.

Hotch had a small smile on his face at the conversation before he shook his head and got back to the case at hand. "You are late so we'll go over the case on the jett." he spoke as the group began walking again. "Let's go."

It was quiet while they make their way to the private jett until Derek decided to ask something when they had gotten to the jett.

"So....does he top you or do you top him...?"

JJ and Emily gently hit Derek for asking such a personal question, David rolled his eyes and shook his head as he sat down.

"You don't just ask that kind of question!!"

"You aren't winning our other bet like this!!"

Spencer had a small smile on his face since it felt nice that the team didn't think of him any different as he grabbed the case file before he paused in front of where Derek was sitting.

The slightly older man looked confused for a moment at the younger man.

"We switch, if you want more than talk to him yourself." He answered, Derek's eyes widened when his question was answered and he was going to ask more as Spencer moved to sit across from him/

Hotch looked at the rest of them. "Let's focus on the case and talk about Reid's love life later."

And now their brains were back on the case.

Meanwhile....

Y/N was currently in cloud nine while thinking about kissing Spencer again when the man got home, his own team was shaking him awake.

He wouldn't wake up until he heard they needed to head out.

The (H/C) haired man couldn't wait for Spencer to get home as he thought about the things they would do once the other's case was over.

The two were definitely adorable.

Might be clinging to each other when the case was over, Y/N already had the day off when his boyfriend would be coming home.

"HELP HELP, I'M BLEEDING OUT."

That's when Y/N woke up from his daze and he quickly sat up before realizing his team were playing a prank on him.

"Oh fuck you lot..."

[luvyeni]

🥀 … ( reaction ) it’s not over ! ୨୧ 一 스트레이키즈 ՞

⸃ ⸰ ⌁ trying to breakup with them but they don’t let you  ヾ

yandere!스트레이키즈・ fem!reader ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ g ・yandere ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ cw ・THIS IS A DARK GENERE manipulation , mentions of murder, language wc ・ 1.5k ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎| ‎ ‎click to library

request. can i request yandere stray kids' reaction to you breaking up with them, at least trying to? if i can request something else as well, a general headcanon to the type of yanderes they each would be.

「 ୨୧ authors note 」 you asked for two things so i tried to combine them to , i hope you don’t mind !

﹙ 𐙚 : bangchan ﹚ .ᐟ

chan is a manipulative yandere; he knows how to flip a situation and make you seem like you’re in the wrong. “you want to leave?” he asks with disappointment leaking in his voice. “did i do something wrong?” he sounds hurt. “i just don’t think we’re gonna work out anymore , you’re too controlling.” he tries not to get mad, “controlling? is me wanting to protect you too controlling?” you cant answer him. “my friends don’t even want to hang out with me because you’re always there.” he complain. “i can’t even go out with out you.” chan is smart though, he knows how to gaslight you. “what happens when you go out? when you went clubbing and that guy tried to take advantage of you , your friends are just jealous , do they have boyfriend who want better for them? no.” he said. “I do this because I love you.” he said , you start to feel bad. “if you want to leave then i can’t stop you but just know everything i did for you.” by then you already feel like shit , how could you do this to him? you couldn’t leave him when he cared so much for you. “i-im sorry.” you held your head down in shame. “it’s my fault for listening to my friends.” you don’t even notice his menacing smile, cause he knew he had you once again.

“it okay , but you know i can’t just let this be.”

﹙ 𐙚 : lee know ﹚ .ᐟ

lee know is a unpredictable yandere; one minute he’s calm, the next minute he’s lashing out , throwing things and breaking them. “leave? sure you can go out for a few hours , be home by 9:30 — no leave for good.” he stops petting the cat , looking up at you. his gaze alone is enough to scare you into submission , but you stand your ground. “i want to leave for good.” he doesn’t say anything just stands up. “no.” he walks away. “no? you can’t stop me from leaving , let’s just end this before things get worse.” he’s calm and level headed , until you piss him off which is what this conversation was doing. “did you not hear what the fuck i said!” he shouted , slamming the plate down into the sink , shattering it. “minho I can’t do this!” you shouted back , but he grabs your shirt , pushing you against the wall. “you don’t get it do you? you aren’t leaving.” he says threateningly. “i will kill you before letting you go.” and you know he’s serious. “i-im sorry.”

“that’s better , now go feed the cats while i clean the mess you made up.”

﹙ 𐙚 : changbin ﹚ .ᐟ

you can’t leave him; you want to but he made it so you can’t. changbin will make it so you’re so dependent on him before you decide to end the relationship that you it’s too late when you want to call it quits. “where will you go?” he asks. “you don’t have a job, when’s the last time you paid a bill?” he’s so relaxed about the situation. “i can get one and i can pay my own bills.” you respond. “you’d forget to feed yourself if i didn’t cook for you, or buy you food don’t be stupid.” if that doesn’t work he’ll just scare you into staying; he won’t ever hit you… that being said he might not hit you but he will use physical strength to scare you ( think about that one video of him holding seungmin by his arms and wrist ). “please let me- listen here.” he squeezed the back of your neck. “ch-changbin please, do-don’t hurt me.”

“i wont hurt you , but you need to drop this shit and drop it now.”

﹙ 𐙚 : hyunjin ﹚ .ᐟ

hyune is confusing ; he doesn’t really see what he does is wrong; so what he doesn’t let you out? what’s the reason for you to go out there when he’s inside here. “i can’t do this anymore.” he’s just sitting there painting as usual , not really listening because you’re being ridiculous. “are you listening.” he turns to you. “are you done?” and you’re just in shock. “good , go sit down.” doesn’t truly believe you’d leave. “hyunjin i said im leaving, i can’t stand being in here anymore.” that’s when he drops his paintbrush. “i said go sit down.” when you walk towards the door is when he fully gets up. he’s not violent — unless he needs to be, so he will rough you up , grabbing you by your shirt , throwing you on the bed. “why can’t you just fucking listen?” he curses. “there’s nothing out there for you , you can’t get any better then here.” he says , throwing your bag of clothes in the closet. “if you get up again , throwing you to bed will be the least of your problems.”

“now sit there and be good, like i said the first time , i won’t tell you again.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jisung ﹚ .ᐟ

jisung is a unhinged manipulative yandere; and his entire life is revolves around you. you’re the reason he breathes every morning. so if you aren’t there, what’s the point? “jisung we have to end this, this isn’t safe for either of us.” you held a bag in your hand full of your stuff. “look at your arms and legs they’re all cut up.” he stared at you with tears in his eyes. “i did it to show you how much i love you, why don’t you understand i love you so much im willingly to kill myself for you.” you stopped him. “that’s the problem ji , you’re not well. he’ll cry — very loudly , cries likes he’s been stabbed because in his head he might as well have been. “no! you said you love me! if you leave me i’ll kill myself , i really will.” he goes immediately to the knife he’s hidden because you threw the rest out. “jisung where did you get that?” he doesn’t answer , just puts it to his throat.

“the moment you step out the door i’ll do it.”

﹙ 𐙚 : felix ﹚ .ᐟ

his obsession with you is too strong for him to let you go; even if his heart is telling him to, his brain is louder , he’s basically fighting himself and his brain is winning. “felix please let me go!” your legs were now tied to the bed , one arm connected to the bedpost as he tried to feed you. “im not hungry i want to leave!” you shouted , which made him flinch. “i-i can’t.” he says. “i know it’s wrong , you should be out there living life , but i just can’t.” he can’t let you leave him , he needs you. “I need you with me okay , i can’t breathe without you dove.” puts drugs in your food to keep you docile , he doesn’t want to hurt you , he’s probably the less dangerous one towards you at least. “im sorry please just drink some water.” you give in not thinking its drugged — until you involuntarily start to drift off. “fe-felix.” you can hear the sadness in his voice , he genuinely feel’s guilty. “im sorry, im so sorry.”

“i just love you so much i can’t let you go.”

﹙ 𐙚 : seungmin ﹚ .ᐟ

i have said this before; seungmin knows you’ll leave regardless if he forces you to stay or doesn’t ; not matter if he threatens you, hits you, whatever. so he lets you go, that’s fine go — but not without a cost , guess you finally decided you no longer wanted your friend alive… otherwise you wouldn't have made the stupid decision of leaving him. “what did you do?” you dropped your phone upon entering his house. he has lured you there calling you from your friends phone… the friend who was currently bleeding on the ground; beaten mercilessly. “why the fuck did you have a male friend anyway if not to be a whore , should’ve killed him months ago. literally doesn’t care if you’re crying. “don’t cry now , this is your fault.” he said. “told you , I won’t ever hurt you.” he said the knife bloody , pointed at you.

“but everyone else is free game , these are just flesh bags to me, they mean more to you than me.”

﹙ 𐙚 : jeongin ﹚ .ᐟ

jeongin is a yandere who likes to play games; you want to break up? go ahead and leave. when you do , he’ll actually leave you alone for a while , let you live your life, even let you get a new boyfriend. but that’s just cause he wants you to think he’s gone; give you that high; before the low. everything is so good — then suddenly you lose your job, so you have no income; then your boyfriend suddenly breaks up with you no warning. it’s like everything went to shit , and who is there to pick up all your broken pieces? well jeongin is there with open arms, ready for you to step right into them, but not without consequences. see that job you lost? jeongin called in a favor and got you fired. that boyfriend? well let’s just say jeongin sent a few photos of the both of you together and it was the end of that. “you see how i did all that.” he tells you after you sobbed in his arms after he told you what he did.

“i can make this much worse , don’t ever think of leaving me again.”

©️LUVYENI

[konigsfavgirl]

inspiration from here 🎀 — had to make my own version, it just feels so accurate lmaoooo

König never liked the beach. Too hot, too bright, too many people. The sand got everywhere, the humidity made his clothes stick to him, and worst of all? The sun. Scorching, merciless, and completely unavoidable. He preferred the cool, quiet shade of the mountains, where he could actually breathe without feeling like he was being slow-roasted alive.

Yet, despite his many complaints, he found himself standing there, right at the edge of the shore, watching you run toward the waves with excitement. He didn’t even know how he ended up here, but he had a pretty good guess.

Your enthusiasm was his greatest weakness. He could handle combat, intense military training, and even life-or-death situations. But when you looked at him with those pleading eyes, practically bouncing on your toes as you asked, “Please, König? Just one beach day?”—he knew he had already lost.

And now, here he was. A 6’10 Austrian war machine, drowning in layers of sunscreen, sweating under the sun, and internally regretting every life choice that led him here.

When you took a glimpse of that pretty seaside, your eyes shone like there were gold coins waiting for you to pick them up, but König? He was doing that for you, not because he wanted to do it and he made that clear multiple times during your way there.

He was sent into pure horror when he realized that there was no shade anywhere. Thank God he packed a whole beach tent without your concern, and he was about to set it up immediately before his little angel got harmed by the hot sun.

König was a man of precision, but the sunscreen application? Pure panic. It wasn’t just the normal kind either. He frantically applied layer after layer to your skin, barely taking a breath. He was in a full-on frenzy, convinced the tiniest bit of exposed skin could burn you. “It’s for your safety, Hase,” he muttered, even as he smothered your face with a second, third, and fourth layer of SPF 50.

The moment you stepped away from him and into the water, he was already freaking out. Watching you wade into the water, König hesitated, his gaze darting from you to the waves. He couldn’t swim properly. Not because he couldn’t float or manage basic movements, but his height made it impossible to wade through the shallow water without his legs towering out. Plus, the waves didn’t seem to care about his size—they crashed right into his broad chest, making him feel even more awkward.

He stayed at the shoreline, awkwardly trying to look composed, but secretly dying of discomfort as he watched you splash around.

And then, it happened—the burn. Just a light redness on your cheek, but to König? It might as well have been a full-blown sun-induced crisis.

“NEIN!” He yelled, rushing over and carefully inspecting the area like he was checking for a wound, his brows furrowing in disbelief. His hands were all over you now, reapplying sunscreen like you were his most precious cargo, never mind the fact that he’d just done this not five minutes ago.

He was almost ready to take you back to the tent and wrap you in a cocoon of blankets until you were safe from the cruel sun. The waves and beach? Forget them. His main focus was now keeping you safe.

He looked around frantically, as if the itself was at fault for making you burn. “We need to go back to the shade!” he hissed. And even though you reassured him it wasn’t that bad, he wasn’t hearing it. He was already dragging you back under the tent, keeping you in the shade as if you might spontaneously combust if exposed to the sun for more than a second.

He indeed was overreacting but he would never forget himself if you got harmed by anything, he was supposed to protect you and keep you safe from any threat — he was smittened by you like he was never before and he knew that

[affableramen]

Bad spirits

𝜗𝜚 Kazuha, Wriothesley, Tartaglia, Neuvillette, Pantalone, Ayato, Capitano, Dottore, Alhaitham, Baizhu

𝜗𝜚 Angst+comfort; mentions of injury; Capitano & Baizhu slightly yandere-ish

Divider by @anitalenia

Kazuha

When you break his favourite vase that was a gift from Ayato Kamisato—a fine vase of violet colour, with flowers painted all over it—Kazuha becomes shocked first. You did it in the middle of an argument, but the both of you knew it was completely unintentional. When the shattered piece of decor lies still on the floor (in shambles), forgetting all your bickering you go on your knees and help Kazuha clean the floor and get rid of the dangerous sharp edged pieces that could harm either him or you. 

He is still slightly mad with his eyebrows furrowed, but he allows you to help him. Though, it might take a while for Kazuha to cool down. He is usually a reserved man, but the heated argument took its toll on him.

“Are you mad at me?”

“It was a personal favourite.”

“I am so sorry, but you acted like a dick.”

Kazuha did not even rush to deny it.

“I’m definitely not a saint.”

Wriothesley

You break his favourite mug in the middle of the night when you woke up to drink some water. The sleepy you accidentally pulled on the glass a little too much and it hit the mug next to it, dragging it down. Wriothesley sleeps deeply and doesn't hear any noise but upon waking up in the morning you tell him the story as you ought to. To that Wriothesley rubs the bridge of his nose and says: 

“Forget it. At least you didn't hurt yourself.”

And he must be right, you could easily get injured while the mug was falling down. Luckily, you are not hurt and Wriothesley, even being slightly upset over his favourite mug, is genuinely not so attached to material things. 

“I’ll just buy another. Maybe the same one. It’s not living things, they are replaceable.” 

Tartaglia

It was not exactly your fault to have broken Tartaglia’s red mask when you were crashing out. He put in the dinner table and it had to be just a little swing of your hand and the mask flew into the mirror on the wardrobe. Luckily to the both of you, the butler was near and he could deal with the mess immediately. Shocked by the butterfly effect and still devastated over the conflict you had, you bursted into tears. Tartaglia was heated too, and he was not exactly in good spirits, however he rubbed his face and rushed to soothe you. 

“Let them clean the mess, we’ll go upstairs for now. You’re full, yeah?”

You were not hungry at all after the warm meal you had, and even after the bickering Tartaglia still remained the gentleman you fell in love with.

Neuvillette

Breaking his cup into halves was definitely not the wisest idea to grab his attention. It was the look of horror in Neuvillette’s face that made you realise what exactly you just did. You looked at your hand in which there was a shattered glass and a few fresh cuts on your hand, already bleeding. Should you have loosened up your grip, as the shattered cup dropped onto the floor with a loud clinging noise. Neuvillette could have gone furious for you breaking his belonging, especially the one he used to drink his dear water from, but upon seeing you get hurt by your own stupid action, he could not help but rushing to you. Monseiur gently took your hand and opened your palm gently. He looked at the palm and concluded: “Foolish woman. I’m going to get a healer.”

It was just two sentences but you felt such emotion, such care for yourself. “ I didn't mean it”, you say, “I didn't mean it, Neuvillette. I was just… upset and stressed out, and you did make it any easier with your cold attitude.”

“I’m sorry, my love. I will be more attentive next time.” 

“I’m sorry I broke your cup. I guess the both of us are at fault.”

Neuvillette noded, his face twitching with worry and other intense emotion you could not comprehend. “Stay here.”

Pantalone

“That was the last straw. Are you happy now?” Hisses he after you break the intricately-done, antic lamp that was supposed to be a gift to Pantalone from one of his business partners. With your leg you mash the insides of the former desk lamp, driving them out to the corner of your bedroom.

“Can’t you see? She’s flirting with you!”

“It was just a gift, why do you have to see everything as a means to court?”

“Because it is one, look, Pantalone. There is even a letter.”

Hearing that Pantalone slowly approaches you and the broken piece of decor, his look is intrigued but disappointed at the same time. Never he had think that he’d miss something so on the nose. 

“Indeed it is”, he finishes reading the letter. “Darling I didn't know. I’m so sorry.”

“One day you have to face your fangirls and just draw a line, ‘kay?”

“I should have done it long ago, I fear”, he takes your hands, intertwining them with his own and looks you right in the eyes. “Don't need no one other than you.” 

Pantalone pulls you into a tight embrace, staying like that for a couple of long still seconds.

Ayato

Ayato wasn't exactly pleased when you broke his favourite fan that was a piece of decorum in the living room. You did it out of disappointment and boiling up inside you felt upon seeing some other women trying to grab Ayato’s attention. You have never been so possessive before like you are today, and for a good reason. Those girls had no right to peek for long at the man who was obviously (and officially) taken. Your emotions were bottled up because you couldn't make a scene just there, you couldn't fight or threaten those shameless bimbos. 

Ayato was rather tired and simply rolled his eyes on top of his head and slumped into his chair. 

“Are you done?”

“Yes I am.”

“Wonderful. I’ll ask Thoma to clean this up. Go to bed.”

He was not exactly kind, and his what usually was a request, seemed like a merciless order to you. 

Capitano

“Enough, woman, you’re just going to embarrass yourself furthermore”, Capitano says as he once again catches a dish thrown at him by your hand. “I said—enough.”

You lower your hand, gently put the remaining non shattered dish on the table and leave the dining hall. Capitano spends a couple of seconds thinking if he should invade your privacy and impact you somehow, or leave the things as they are. Torn between two evils, he finally makes his way after you and catches your arm, gently though.

“We shall discuss all our misunderstandings… in private”, he looks down, as if he is too ashamed to stare into your eyes, though you don't even see his face behind the mask. 

“In the civil manner”, he clears his throat, “as a proper couple.”

The tension between you two dies out for a moment and the Captain releases your hand, his strong posture faltering as a sign that he is consumed by very strong emotions right now. 

“Why not”, you wipe a tear from your eye. “I might humour you this once.”

Capitano offers you his hand and you accept it. As he leads you to the bedroom, he gives you quick glares here and there. 

Dottore

Dottore stares at his broken vial, his face contorted into a grimace as he stares you up and down. 

“I cannot believe you’d do that. Looks like I underestimated you”, he throws the wasted vial into the bin and barks at you. “Leave. I don't want to see your face for the rest of the day. As if you don’t know how much I worked on this shit.”

That’s right. It was just one vial, but for him it was still a piece of effort. Seeing Dottore pushing his anger back as he needs to focus on his job you have a sudden change of heart. You stop behind him, watching as he works.

“Don’t breathe onto my neck, now go away”, he remains the same grumpy old man but you understand it that deep inside his heart he just doesn't want to admit how exhausted and frustrated he is. 

“I will aid you.”

“I have clones enough to aid me”, he snorts.

“Dottore.”

You do not take any objections instead put your gloves on and start assisting him.

“Don't be stubborn”, he says.

“No, you don’t be.”

After a while of grunting in frustration and constantly rejecting your attention Dottore finally gives up and lets you help finish the task in the lab together. 

Alhaitham

In the light of you two arguing Alhaitham certainly expected you to pull a rash action like throwing his book into the river. He sighed and pulls his hair back, trying to cool down. Was it necessary for you to throw his book away? After all—what has the poor book even done?

“You never listen to me!” You cry out. “You only follow the principles of your book, that’s it. Have you ever thought out of the box?!”

“This argument is huge nonsense. I don’t even know why I spend my time on it in the first place.”

“Really? Maybe next thing you’re gonna say is that you don’t even know why you’re staying with me?!”

At that, Alhaitham finally displays a visible sign of irritation on his face. He is a calm man usually, but you have been pressuring him for a while now.

“What do you want me to do?!”

“Listen to my damn opinion! For once!”

You step back to take a breather, and Alhaitham lets out a loud, heavy sigh.

“Good. Tell me your opinion then. I will listen to it, I promise.” His voice has gone softer and he looks at you awaiting for your response. Perhaps you two can still come to a peaceful solution.

Baizhu

“I’m sorry.”

“No you’re not”, Baizhu turns away. He sighs and groans and overall is trying to cope. His lips are already hurt from how aggressively he licks them. 

“I didn't mean to tear your bracelet during our little fight. I was stressed out.”

Baizhu does not honour you with a single look and walks back to his desk. He takes a seat and continues writing his prescriptions to customers as if nothing happened. His hand works, but you can see the wrinkles forced by anger deep inside him to cripple on his face. He ignores you standing there, looking at him and waiting for any reaction that he would make, but he seems to not even acknowledge your presence.

Finally, he rises and walks to hand the prescription to the customer. 

“Okay”, you say to yourself, grab your things and attempt to go home, but in the last moment Baizhu sighs, his thin body blocking your path.

“Sit on the guest couch and wait for me.”

“So bossy”, you shake your head, perplexed with his smugness and sudden assertiveness that Baizhu perhsps kept inside for a good reason. You were pretty tired yourself so there was no point in disobeying the pharmacist. Baizhu waited until you took the seated position, eyeing you with heavy stare and furrowed eyebrows. Once you stopped there, his face took a softer look and he began working on the last few prescriptions.

[pbaz7]

ONE SHOT: CHASING FOREVER 2

paige x azzk

warning: light sexual content (not much honestly)

word count: 8k

A/N: A few people requested a part 2 of this one with a few different prompts! This one is pretty much like the first one just something cute but it’s kind of a prequel! Hope you enjoy :)

—————————————————————————

Paige pulled into her designated parking spot at the arena, backing in as Azzi glanced down at something on her phone. The car came to a smooth stop, and Paige hopped out, shutting her door quickly. Azzi reached for the handle to get out as well, but the click of the locks caught her off guard.

"Oh my God, Paige!" Azzi called, looking up to see Paige jogging around the front of the car, a grin plastered on her face.

"Hold on, hold on," Paige said dramatically as she unlocked the door and swung it open. "Alright it’s safe to get out now."

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the laugh that rolled out. “You’re absolutely ridiculous.”

"Ridiculous or thoughtful? Pick one," Paige said, leaning down to offer her hand like she was escorting royalty.

Azzi took it, though she shook her head. “Baby I'm only 5 months. I’m barely showing. I don’t need you treating me like I’m made of glass.”

Paige ignored her, gently helping Azzi step out of the car. “You are literally carrying the most precious cargo in the world. If I don’t protect you, what kind of wife would I be?”

“I can still walk, you know,” Azzi said, amused. “I didn’t suddenly forget how to use my legs because I’m pregnant.”

“Uh-huh.” Paige wrapped an arm securely around Azzi’s waist as they began walking toward the arena. “And if I let you walk on your own, and you trip over one of those cracks in the concrete, whose fault would it be?”

“Yours, apparently,” Azzi teased. “Because my wife obviously controls the universe.”

“Exactly.” Paige grinned. “Glad we’re on the same page now.”

Azzi gave her a playful shove, though Paige barely budged. “You know this is only going to get worse the further along I get, right? You’re going to be insufferable.”

Paige looked at her with fake seriousness. “You knew what you were signing up for when you married me. It’s in the fine print.”

Azzi smirked. “Oh, I must’ve missed the part where you turn into an insanely overprotective bodyguard slash butler when I’m pregnant.”

“I prefer devoted partner and future mom of the year,” Paige said, brushing off her wife’s sarcasm.

As they reached the entrance to the arena, Azzi paused, looking at Paige with a softer expression. “You know I appreciate everything you do, right? Even if you’re over-the-top about it.”

Paige’s grin softened, her blue eyes sparkling as she leaned in to kiss Azzi’s temple. “I know. And I’m never gonna stop being over-the-top about you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again despite her heart swelling. “Okay, but just don’t carry me in here or anything. We’re trying to keep this lowkey, remember?”

“Fine, fine,” Paige said, opening the door for her. “But only because I respect your boundaries…For now.”

They both laughed as they made their way toward the locker room, a few teammates glancing up and giving smiles and greeting them. Everyone on the team and within the organization had been sworn to secrecy about Azzi’s pregnancy, but they couldn’t help but admire how Paige hovered over her every chance she got.

As Azzi sat down in her usual spot, Paige grabbed her a water bottle and leaned down to kiss her forehead before heading off to her locker to get ready for the game. Azzi shook her head, smiling to herself.

“Over-the-top,” she muttered, but there was no denying she wouldn’t have it any other way.

Aaliyah strolled into the locker room with a grin, spotting Azzi sitting in the corner. She leaned casually against the bench, tilting her head. "How’s the baby daddy?" she teased.

Azzi laughed, resting a hand lightly on her bump. “The baby’s fine. But your friend is ridiculous,” she said, motioning toward the direction Paige was.

Aaliyah raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What’d she do now?”

Azzi laughed, shaking her head. “She literally refuses to let me do anything alone. This morning, she followed me to the bathroom because she had just gotten out of the shower and said the floor was too slippery for me to go alone. I keep trying to tell her I’m pregnant, not hopeless but it’s like talking to a brick wall.”

Aaliyah burst out laughing, folding her arms. “I mean, you married Paige. You should’ve known she was going to turn into your personal bodyguard. Remember how she was at UConn? She literally didn’t leave your side if she didn’t have to.”

“True,” Azzi admitted with a smile. “But this is next-level. She offered to carry me to the car last week because she said it was too hot outside with the heatwave.”

Aaliyah laughed again. “She was like this even when you weren’t pregnant though. Remember when you got that stomach bug like your freshman year, and she showed up to the dorm with five different types of soup because she didn’t know which one you’d want that night?”

Azzi groaned, though her smile didn’t fall. “I remember and you were definitely in on it. You and Nika were sitting there hyping her up like it wasn’t already over the top.”

“Guilty,” Aaliyah said with a shrug. “But hey, it worked though, didn’t it? You got yourself a wife out of it.”

Azzi smirked, leaning back. “True. But I feel like it’s only going to get worse when I’m further along.”

Aaliyah grinned. “Absolutely. She’s going to be chasing after you with snacks and water 24/7.” She paused, for a second before she remembered something. “By the way, Nika and Caroline are already fighting over who gets to be the God mom. They’re both dying to come visit and see you guys when the seasons over.”

Azzi laughed. “I’m sure they were. Knowing those two, they’ll probably try to outdo each other with baby gifts.”

“Exactly,” Aaliyah said, shaking her head. “Nika already texted me asking if Paige had set up a baby registry yet because Paige refused to tell her anything.”

Before Azzi could respond, Paige returned with a large bowl of fruit in her hand. She handed it to Azzi with a proud smile. “Here you go, wifey.”

Azzi scrunched her nose at the sight of it, her appetite for acidic things these days fickle at best. “Fruit? Again?”

Paige gave her a pointed look, crossing her arms. “Yes, fruit. It’s good for you and the baby.”

Azzi sighed, already knowing she wasn’t going to win this argument. “Fine,” she muttered, taking the bowl reluctantly. But as soon as she spotted the pineapple and grapes, she wrinkled her nose even more. “You know I can’t eat these.”

Paige tilted her head, looking down at the bowl and immediately knew what Azzi was referring to. “What’s wrong with pineapple and grapes baby?”

Azzi shot her a look. “The pineapple is too acidic, and I just don’t trust grapes right now.”

Paige groaned lightly but grabbed the fork, fishing out the pineapple and grapes with exaggerated care. “You’re so picky these days,” she mumbled as she removed them, dropping some of the pieces onto a napkin and others in her mouth.

Azzi smirked slightly, satisfied now, but as Paige handed the bowl back, Azzi noticed one lonely piece of pineapple and a grape still sitting there with the rest of the fruit. She raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

Paige grinned. “One of each won’t hurt you.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but stabbed the pineapple with her fork, eating it with a dramatic slowness just to make her point. Paige watched, arms crossed, clearly fighting back a laugh.

Aaliyah bit her lip, trying not to laugh as she watched the whole interaction. “You’ve got her trained, P.”

Paige grinned, sliding onto the chair next to Azzi as she watched her eat every piece. “Gotta make sure my wife and baby are taken care of. It’s my job.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but leaned into Paige slightly as she ate. Aaliyah smirked, looking between them. “You two are disgusting, I’m leaving” she joked, though her smile said otherwise as she walked away.

…

Azzi sat on the bench, leaning back casually with her arms draped over the backrest, her legs crossed. Outwardly, she looked just like everyone else on the team, nodding along with the assistant coach’s occasional remarks and clapping when her teammates made a good play. But inwardly, she wasn’t paying as much attention to the game as she probably should have been.

It had all started a few minutes into the second quarter when Paige drove to the basket, got fouled, and managed to finish the layup. The crowd erupted as Paige flexed in front of the other team's bench, her biceps protruding as she looked at them with a smirk before walking to the free throw line. Azzi's heart skipped a beat, her stomach getting warm, and then...a heatwave crashed over her.

Oh God please not now, she thought, shifting uncomfortably as she uncrossed and crossed her legs again and adjusted her posture.

She tried to refocus on the game, but it was hopeless. From that moment on, Paige was the only thing Azzi could focus on. Every time Paige dribbled the ball, Azzi’s eyes were locked on the way her forearms tensed with each movement. When Paige pulled up for a jumper, Azzi found herself mesmerized by the way her shoulders rolled back. And when Paige sprinted down the court on a fast break, the sight of the sweat glistening on her arms made Azzi bite her lip unconsciously.

It was maddening. Azzi silently cursed her pregnancy hormones. She discreetly fanned herself with her hand for a moment and shifted in her seat again, trying to refocus, but every time she glanced at Paige, it got worse.

The worst s ame when Paige dove for a loose ball, her jersey riding up slightly as she scrambled back to her feet. Azzi nearly groaned out loud. She pinched the bridge of her nose and leaned back in her seat, silently begging for halftime to come quickly.

Her fingers tapped lightly on the edge of her seat as she forced herself to clap for another play.

But the way Paige’s muscles flexed as she high-fived a teammate after a timeout made Azzi seriously doubt her ability to make it through the game.

During the third quarter Paige clapped her teammates’ hands as she jogged to the bench, her jersey slightly untucked and her chest rising and falling as she caught her breath. She plopped down in the empty seat next to Azzi, wiping sweat off her brow with her forearm before grabbing her Gatorade bottle from the trainers behind her. Azzi swore her pulse skyrocketed the moment Paige sat down.

Paige took a long sip of her drink before handing it over to Azzi, her silent way of telling her to hydrate. Azzi reluctantly took it, her hands brushing against Paige’s as she grabbed the bottle. That small touch alone made her legs ache, and she immediately scolded herself internally.

“You good?” Paige asked, leaning back against the bench and looking at her wife.

Azzi nodded, as she took a large gulp of the Gatorade trying to cool herself down. Paige started rambling about the game—something about the opposing team’s defense collapsing too easily in transition without a shooter on the wing—but Azzi couldn’t focus on a single word. Her gaze had dropped to Paige’s hands, her eyes tracing the veins that ran along them. They stood out prominently against her skin, glistening slightly with sweat, and Azzi was mesmerized.

“Azzi?” Paige’s voice snapped her out of her daze.

“Hm?” Azzi blinked, trying to play it cool.

“You’re not listening to a word I’m saying, are you?” Paige asked.

“I am!” Azzi insisted, sitting up straighter, but the way she shifted in her seat betrayed her. She bit the inside of her cheek, trying to ease the warmth spreading through her body.

Paige raised an eyebrow, her blue eyes narrowing slightly as if piecing something together. A slow smirk spread across her face, and she leaned a little closer to Azzi, lowering her voice. “Mmm... I see what’s happening.”

Azzi immediately avoided eye contact, crossing her arms in mock defiance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Leave me alone.”

Paige chuckled, her smile widening as she leaned in closer, her breath brushing against Azzi’s ear so no one else could hear. “It’s the hot flashes, isn’t it?”

Azzi groaned softly, her cheeks flushing as she turned to glare at Paige. “Shut up,” she muttered, trying to fight the grin tugging at her lips.

But Paige only grinned wider, leaning back and resting an arm on the back of Azzi’s seat. “Can’t help it if my wife finds me irresistible,” she teased.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the heat in her cheeks betrayed her. “You’re actually the most annoying person I’ve ever met.”

“Your fault for marrying someone who’s annoying,” Paige quipped, a glint in her eyes.

Azzi shot her a pointed look, though her lips twitched with a tiny smile. “Clearly, I wasn’t thinking straight,” she fired back, trying to regain the upper hand.

Paige grinned as she watched the game. “Nope, you’re just madly in love.”

Before Azzi could respond, the coach called for a substitution, motioning for Paige to check back into the game. Paige gave Azzi one last smirk as she stood, brushing imaginary dust off her shorts.

“Enjoy the show mama,” she said with a wink.

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the corner of her mouth flickered as she watched Paige stroll over to the scorer’s table, effortlessly exuding her charisma. She shook her head, muttering under her breath, “I married a narcissist,” though her gaze lingered a little too long on Paige’s retreating figure.

Azzi immediately regretted showing any signs to Paige because, from the moment her wife stepped back onto the court, she carried herself with an almost unbearable level of cockiness that the crowd fed into. It was like Paige knew every little thing that could send Azzi spiraling and turned it into a game of her own.

Every time Paige scored, she celebrated just enough to draw Azzi’s attention. After a three-pointer, she held up three fingers, her hand flexing purposefully as if she knew Azzi’s eyes would lock on the veins running down her arm. On the free-throw line, Paige closed her eyes, took a deep breath and dragged her tongue slowly across her lips before releasing the ball, making it impossible for Azzi to think about anything else.

When Paige got another and-one, she flexed her arms again, turning just slightly toward the bench. Her muscles rippled under her jersey, and the subtle cock of her head as she looked directly at Azzi made it clear she knew exactly what she was doing.

Then there was the jersey wipe. It should’ve been innocent—a player lifting their jersey to wipe sweat from their face—but when Paige did it, exposing the muscles of her stomach, Azzi felt her entire body tense. She crossed her legs tightly and clenched her jaw, desperately willing herself to focus on the game.

Just as Azzi thought she might get a moment of reprieve during a timeout, Paige managed to take it a step further. As she walked past her to sit on the bench, she casually brushed her hand along the small of Azzi’s back. It was brief, barely noticeable to anyone else, but the heat radiating from Paige’s body sent a shiver down Azzi’s spine.

Azzi’s breath hitched, and she instinctively closed her eyes, trying to steady herself. This woman is literally going to give me a heart attack, she thought, exhaling sharply.

When she opened her eyes, Paige was already standing up from the huddle, her smirk practically glowing as she called out over her shoulder, “You’re doing so well.”

Azzi shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling as she sat down.

It was maddening how something so simple—so mundane—could leave her feeling completely needy.

…

After the game, a few players lingered on the court to sign autographs and take pictures with the fans who had stuck around. Azzi, always being generous with her time, was among them, chatting and smiling as she signed jerseys and basketballs. Paige, of course, stayed nearby—not hovering, but never straying out of earshot. She leaned casually against the scorer's table, talking to a few people, occasionally glancing over at Azzi while she talked with fans. She always had that protective instinct about her with Azzi, but it was heightened now that Azzi was pregnant.

As Azzi handed back a signed jersey, a young fan excitedly darted forward, accidentally bumping into her stomach with their elbow in the process. It wasn’t a hard hit—just enough to be uncomfortable—but it was enough to make Paige’s head fully snap in that direction as Azzi’s hand immediately went to her stomach instinctively.

Her relaxed posture vanished instantly as she straightened, her piercing blue eyes narrowing on the scene. Paige took a step forward, already halfway to Azzi before Azzi noticed her.

She turned to meet Paige’s gaze at the same time with a calm expression already knowing her wife was panicking. Her brown eyes softened as she shot Paige a subtle warning look—Relax.

Paige froze in place, jaw tight as her gaze flicked between Azzi and the fans. She knew Azzi didn’t want her to overreact in public, but the protective instinct ringing in her head was almost impossible to suppress.

Azzi, reading Paige like a book, gave her a barely noticeable thumbs-up, her lips curling into a small smile to emphasize she was fine.

Paige exhaled through her nose, her shoulders relaxing slightly, though her eyes still lingered on Azzi for a moment longer as if double-checking. When Azzi turned back to the fan, resuming their conversation without missing a beat, Paige backed off.

Aaliyah, who had been signing things a few feet away, smirked as she walked over to Paige. “You good there, Mama Bear?” she teased under her breath, nudging Paige’s arm.

Paige rolled her eyes, but smiled softly as she crossed her arms. “I’m fine,” she muttered, her eyes still trained on Azzi. “Just...watching.”

Aaliyah chuckled and shook her head, patting Paige’s shoulder. “Yeah, I’ll bet you are.”

Meanwhile, Azzi gave one last signature before walking toward Paige. “You good, protector of all things Azzi?” she teased, her voice quiet as she reached her wife’s side.

Paige shrugged, sliding an arm around Azzi’s waist. “Yup,” she replied, pressing a quick kiss to Azzi’s temple as they started walking towards the locker room.

Azzi sighed but leaned into Paige anyway, unable to resist the warmth of her touch. “You’re going to give yourself a heart attack one of these days if you don’t relax.”

Paige grinned, her blue eyes sparkling. “Maybe but it’ll be worth it .”

…

Azzi sat off to the side in the back, her arms crossed and legs stretched out in front of her as she listened to Paige handle the press conference. Her mind wandered between the questions being asked, her own thoughts, and the swirl of heat she couldn't quite settle. The questions ranged from the usual—about her performance in the game, team dynamics, and upcoming opponents.

Paige, as always, answered everything with ease.

“Paige, how do you feel about your performance tonight? Do you feel like the team is in rhythm as you head deeper into the season?”

Paige nodded, leaning slightly forward. “Definitely. Um, we’ve been working hard in practice, and today was just a reflection of that. The chemistry’s there, and everyone’s stepping up when we need them. It’s just been fun to see it all come together on the court.”

Azzi found herself watching her wife with an almost distracted admiration. Paige had always been good at controlling the narrative, redirecting it as she needed. She answered with confidence and gave just enough without overexplaining. But as much as Azzi tried to focus on the flow of the conference, her body was betraying her again.

The sudden wave of heat hit her like a punch, taking her breath away. Azzi shifted slightly, her arms uncrossing as she tried to fan herself subtly without drawing attention. The flush spread from her neck to her face, and she clenched her jaw, her hands gripping the armrests of her chair. Her pregnancy hormones weren’t just inconvenient—they were relentless when she didn’t listen.

Azzi closed her eyes briefly, focusing on her breathing as Paige answered another question about their strategy tonight. She heard her wife’s steady voice cutting through the heat in her mind like a lifeline.

But then, as she opened her eyes, the question they'd all been dreading came.

“Paige,” one reporter began, leaning forward in his chair, “there have been reports from trusted sources that your wife, Azzi Fudd, is out for the season due to pregnancy. Can you confirm or deny this?”

Azzi froze as she tightened her grip on the armrests. Her stomach clenched, and she had to force herself to not press her hand over her belly as if to shield herself. She glanced at Paige, whose jaw tightened ever so slightly, but she kept her expression professional.

“Azzi is out right now due to an ankle injury,” Paige said. “That’s what the official report says because that’s exactly what it is. She’s taking the time to recover, and she’ll come back when she’s ready.”

The reporter wasn’t satisfied. “Yes, that’s what the official report says, but sources suggest otherwise. Are you saying there’s no truth to the pregnancy rumors?”

Paige let out a slow exhale through her nose, her lips pressing together briefly before she responded. “Um. Unfortunately I don’t think you can really take the words of ‘trusted WNBA sources’ a lot of times,” she said, the edge in her tone subtle. “Um, they have a history of spinning whatever narrative they want to fit the news cycle. We can take my situation coming out of college as an example. Back then I personally stated multiple times that I would be going to the draft after my season ended, but that didn’t stop reporters from writing articles about me trying to force my way out of Dallas with claims of me threatening to stay an extra year.”

The reporter pressed again. “Well, you kind of did eventually force your way out.”

Paige chuckled dryly, shaking her head. “I wouldn’t say forced,” she said, her tone still calm but laced with some sarcasm. “I had a genuine conversation with the front office about not being happy there, and they were able to work with me. We both got something out of the trade and we have a very good relationship to this day.”

Azzi shifted in her seat, trying to quell the heat building inside her. She knew Paige could handle the questions, but the scrutiny felt unbearable. The way the reporter kept pressing, the way her pregnancy was being prodded into the spotlight—it made her stomach churn.

“And as for the claims that your wife, Azzi Fudd, is expecting a child?” the reporter continued, asking the same question he’s already stated.

Paige’s jaw clenched again, her patience clearly thinning. “I’m not Azzi. I’m Paige,” she said firmly. “So I can’t really answer questions about Azzi for you. While yes, I am married to Azzi, we are two different entities. We’re two separate people with separate emotions, thought processes, expectations, you name it. So no, I, Paige Bueckers, cannot answer a question for Azzi Fudd right now.

The silence that followed was heavy, the reporter seemingly unsure how to respond as he sat back down.

Azzi let out a slow breath, her body relaxing slightly as she watched Paige shut down the line of questions.

Paige moved on to the next question with ease, her tone shifting back to a more casual rhythm as the questions transitioned back to basketball. But Azzi wasn’t paying attention anymore. She was too caught up in the way Paige had defended her and protected their privacy.

Azzi leaned back in her chair, exhaling slowly as she tried to focus on calming her body. Focus, Azzi. You survived a whole game, you can survive the rest of this press conference, she told herself. But the way Paige’s eyes kept flickering to the back of the room to her to check on her was making it incredibly difficult.

…

When they finally got home Azzi lay propped up against the headboard, her robe tied loosely around her as she flipped through the pages of her book. She was trying to focus on the words in front of her, but her thoughts kept drifting to the press conference earlier that day, and, more recently, to Paige. The sound of water shutting off in the bathroom made her glance up, her eyes lingering on the closed door.

When Paige finally emerged, a cloud of steam trailed behind her. Paige’s towel was wrapped snugly around her body, her skin glistening with lingering drops of water. Her hair damp around her shoulders. She moved toward the dresser, completely unaware of the effect she was having on Azzi as she sifted through her clothes.

Azzi’s eyes followed every movement, her gaze dragging down the muscles in Paige’s back as they flexed with each small shift. She bit her lip, her book forgotten in her lap. She wanted to focus on something—anything—other than the heat building in her chest, but it was impossible when Paige looked so effortlessly gorgeous.

“Baby,” Azzi said softly, her voice cutting through the quietness of the room.

Paige glanced over her shoulder, eyebrows raised. “Hm?” she replied absently, holding a folded T-shirt in her hand.

Azzi didn’t answer right away. Instead, she motioned with her hand, beckoning Paige to come over..

Paige set the shirt down and walked toward the bed. “What’s up?” she asked, her tone casual. She leaned down, her hand finding its place on Azzi’s stomach, her touch light. “You okay?” she asked softly, her brows knitting together with concern.

Azzi nodded, her hand coming up to rest on Paige’s. “We’re fine,” she assured her.

Paige exhaled in relief, her thumb tracing a soothing circle over Azzi’s stomach. “Why you being so ominous then?”.

Azzi tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips as she watched her wife. Paige didn’t even realize how naturally her protectiveness kicked in, and something about that melted Azzi’s heart.

Azzi’s hand slid up, brushing against Paige’s wrist, and she gave a playful tug. “Sit with me for a second,” she murmured, her voice dipping slightly.

Paige tilted her head, curious but still confused. “You sure you’re okay baby?” she asked again, even as she lowered herself to sit on the edge of the bed beside Azzi.

Azzi nodded again, her hand still holding Paige’s. “I just missed you,” she said simply, her voice soft but laced with something that made Paige pause.

Paige finally looked at her, really looked at her, and something in Azzi’s expression made her eyes narrow slightly. “You’re looking at me funny,” Paige teased, though her own voice dipped slightly, a smirk tugging at her lips.

Azzi chuckled, her hand brushing against Paige’s again. “You’re the one walking around here looking like that,” she responded, her eyes glancing at the towel still wrapped around Paige’s body.

A grin broke across Paige’s face as she leaned closer. “Ohhh, so that’s what this is about,” she teased, as her hand shifted, her fingers gently squeezing Azzi’s side.

Azzi rolled her eyes but didn’t bother denying it. “Can you blame me?” she said as her gaze flickered over Paige’s face. “You’re just... impossible sometimes.”

Paige’s grin softened into something warmer as she leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Azzi’s lips. “I’ll take that as a compliment,” she murmured against her lips before pulling back, her hand still resting over Azzi’s stomach.

When Paige pulled back to look at her, Azzi’s eyes were dark, her robe slipping just enough to show the soft curve of her collarbone.

Paige smiled, her hand sliding along Azzi’s side but carefully avoiding her stomach. “You miss me, huh?” she teased as her thumb grazed the edge of Azzi’s robe.

Azzi didn’t bother hiding her impatience. “I miss you,” she repeated, her voice firmer now. Her fingers curling around Paige’s forearm, pulling her closer. “You. Not just your company.”

Paige raised an eyebrow at her, amusement flickering in her expression. “You’re cute,” she murmured, but there was no hesitance in her movements as adjusted herself, carefully balancing her weight so she hovered over Azzi without putting any pressure on her stomach.

Azzi’s hands were on her instantly, sliding up Paige’s arms, then into her damp hair. “Come here,” she whispered, and before Paige could respond, Azzi tugged her down into a kiss.

Paige had every intention of starting slow, to take her time, but Azzi had other plans. The kiss was urgent from the start, Azzi’s tongue sliding past Paige’s lips without hesitation, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair to keep her close. Paige groaned softly, adjusting to Azzi’s pace immediately, her hand sliding down to grip Azzi’s hip. The sound of their breathing filled the room, mingling with the faint rustle of fabric as Paige’s towel began to loosen.

Azzi pulled back just enough to speak, her lips brushing against Paige’s as she murmured, “I don’t need foreplay.” Her voice was breathless, and when Paige pulled back to give her an incredulous look, Azzi’s cheeks flushed. “Please,” Azzi whispered, her tone almost desperate now. “I’ve been dealing with this for hours.”

Paige blinked at her, and then a soft chuckle escaped her lips. “Hours, hm?” she repeated, tilting her head.

Azzi groaned, her hands tightening in Paige’s hair in frustration. “Paige,” she said, her voice a low warning.

Paige hummed, her smirk softening into a smile as she leaned back down, her nose brushing against Azzi’s. “Okay, okay,” she murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the corner of Azzi’s mouth. “Whatever you want, baby.”

With that, Paige obliged, trailing her hand down Azzi’s body undoing her robe gently before finishing her journey and settling in between Azzi’s legs.

As she felt what was going on Paige’s chuckle was soft, and Azzi’s eyes snapped open, narrowing into a glare. “Shut up,” Azzi muttered, tugging lightly at Paige’s damp hair to make her point.

Paige only grinned wider, her lips twitching as she leaned in closer. “Mmm, don’t be embarrassed baby” she teased, slipping her fingers into Azzi easily as she tilted her head to kiss her.

Azzi sighed into the kiss at the feeling, her hands finding their way back into Paige’s hair, tugging her even closer. The kiss deepened quickly, and Paige hummed against Azzi’s lips, loving the warmth and the way her wife clung to her.

Breaking the kiss, Paige trailed her lips down Azzi’s jaw, her kisses soft but knowing exactly where they needed to go. She dipped lower, pressing her lips to the curve of Azzi’s collarbone before murmuring, “I love you, mama.”

Azzi sighed contentedly, her body relaxing against the pillows as she whispered back, “I love you too, baby.”

Paige smiled against her skin, the curve of her lips brushing Azzi’s chest as she moved to the spot just below her collarbone. When Paige nipped lightly at the sensitive area, Azzi let out a soft whimper, her fingers tightening in Paige’s hair to pull her closer.

“I’m not going to last long,” Azzi admitted, her voice breathy as her body reacted almost instantly to Paige’s touch.

Paige laughed, the sound vibrating against Azzi’s skin as she kissed the spot she’d just bitten. “I know, baby,” she murmured. “Something about this pregnancy, huh?”

Azzi groaned, her cheeks flushing embarrassed by how easily Paige unraveled her these days. “Don’t start,” she mumbled, but the way her body arched into Paige’s touch as she curled her fingers betrayed her words.

Paige lifted her head, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a soft, adoring gaze. “I promise I’m not complaining,” she admitted. “You’re perfect like this, beautiful. I love every version of you.”

Azzi’s breath hitched at the sincerity in Paige’s words, and she reached up to cup her wife’s face, her thumb brushing over Paige’s cheek. “You’re too good to me,” she whispered, pulling her down into another kiss.

Paige hummed softly as she kissed Azzi deeply, her fingers moving exactly the way her wife needed. The way Azzi was arching into her had Paige biting back a smirk. But when Azzi’s hands slid down to grip her lower back, trying to pull her even closer, Paige paused, lifting her head slightly.

“Careful, pretty,” Paige murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from Azzi’s face as she looked into her eyes.

Azzi’s breath hitched, her jaw clenching as her hands flexed against Paige’s back. Her eyes fluttered closed, and she whispered back, “I am being careful.”

Paige shook her head lightly, amusement flickering in her eyes as she leaned down to kiss Azzi’s jaw. “Mmm, no, you’re being impatient,” she teased as her fingers slowly worked.

Azzi exhaled sharply, gripping Paige tighter. “Can you blame me?” she said breathily, tilting her head back slightly as Paige’s lips wandered. “You’ve been driving me crazy since the moment you walked out of the bathroom.”

“Yeah?” Paige said softly, dragging her lips back up to Azzi’s ear. “Tell me how.”

Azzi groaned as she felt herself getting closer, her fingers tangling in Paige’s hair again. “You standing there with your towel, like you didn’t know exactly what you were doing—”

Paige chuckled, cutting her off with a gentle bite to her earlobe. “I wasn’t doing anything,” she whispered against her ear.

Azzi scoffed lightly, her voice breathy. “You exist, Paige. That’s the problem.”

Paige grinned against her skin, her kisses moving lower again. “I can’t help that, beautiful,” she murmured.

Azzi’s breathing quickened, her hands gripping Paige’s shoulders tighter as her body started to tense beneath her. A soft whimper escaped her lips, her head tilting back into the pillow. “Fuck I’m right there baby,” she whispered shakily, her voice trembling as her body reacted to Paige’s touch.

Paige smiled, leaning back up to brush her lips against Azzi’s ear. Her voice dropped to a soft whisper, speaking directly to the parts of Azzi she knew would unravel at her words. “That’s it, mama,” she murmured. “I can’t wait for you to give me kids baby.”

Azzi gasped, her back arching as her body melted into Paige’s. The combination of Paige’s words, her touch, and the overwhelming sensations rushing through her left her trembling. Paige kissed the side of her neck softly, her hand firm against her hip as she held Azzi in place.

“You’re everything to me,” Paige whispered, her lips brushing against Azzi’s jaw now. “You’re going to be the best mom, baby. I already know it. And I promise I’ll be right there with you every step of the way.”

Azzi’s nails dug into Paige’s shoulders, her body instinctively curling into her wife as a soft moan escaped her lips. Paige tilted her head up slightly, capturing Azzi’s lips in a kiss, their breaths mingling as Azzi came undone under Paige.

As Paige hovered over Azzi, she trailed slow, lingering kisses over her chest and neck, her lips barely grazing the heated skin as Azzi calmed herself down. Between each kiss, she murmured softly.

“I love you,” she whispered, pressing a kiss just below Azzi’s jaw. “You’re everything to me.”

Another kiss, slower this time, just above Azzi’s collarbone. “You’re so gorgeous… so perfect.”

Paige’s lips traced down to the center of Azzi’s chest as her fingers gently brushed over her sides. “I don’t tell you enough how much I appreciate you, how much I need you.”

She kissed just above Azzi’s heart, letting her lips linger as she whispered, “I don’t know what I did to deserve you, but I swear I’ll spend forever making sure you never doubt how much I love you baby.”

Azzi exhaled softly, her fingers threading into Paige’s damp hair, holding her close as Paige continued her slow worship.

After a long moment, Paige finally sat up, reaching for the towel at the edge of the bed, wiping her hand as she stood up. She moved to head toward the dresser to grab some boxers and a shirt. But as she turned, Azzi playfully reached out and smacked her butt.

Paige froze mid-step, narrowing her eyes as she turned to glare at Azzi, though the corners of her mouth twitched. “Really?”

Azzi smirked, leaning back against the headboard. “What? You walked away. That’s your fault.”

Paige rolled her eyes, shaking her head as she pulled on her boxers and shirt. “You’re a menace,” she mumbled.

Once dressed, she wandered back to the bed, crawling onto the mattress before settling herself between Azzi’s legs. She rested her head on Azzi’s thigh, her cheek pressed close to her stomach. Azzi let out a soft sigh, her hand going to Paige’s back, tracing slow patterns against the fabric of her shirt.

Paige hummed at the soothing motion, her eyes fluttering closed for a moment before opening again. She shifted slightly, tilting her head so she was closer to Azzi’s stomach. “Hey, little one,” she murmured.

Azzi smiled down at her, her fingers continuing their gentle path along Paige’s back.

“I don’t know if you can hear me yet, but just in case,” Paige said, her lips brushing against Azzi’s skin as she spoke, “you have the coolest mom ever. She’s strong, intelligent, and so kind. She’s a little bossy, but we let that slide because she’s also really pretty.”

Azzi laughed, her other hand reaching down to brush through Paige’s damp hair. “Bossy, huh?”

Paige grinned but didn’t look up. “You’re interrupting. I’m talking to my kid.”

Azzi rolled her eyes playfully but said nothing, letting Paige continue.

“I’m gonna make sure you get spoiled, but don’t tell her I said that. She says I have to say no to you sometimes,” Paige whispered conspiratorially, glancing up at Azzi with a smirk.

Paige shifted slightly, nuzzling closer to Azzi’s stomach as she continued to speak softly. “You’re going to be the best basketball player to ever walk the planet. No pressure, though, I promise,” she said with a smile.

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “What if she doesn’t want to play basketball?”

Paige scoffed, her head shifting up to look at Azzi. “What if she doesn’t want to play basketball?” she repeated incredulously, as if the thought was absurd. “You can’t have Paige Bueckers and Azzi Fudd as your moms and not play basketball. That’s illegal. Absolutely not. Non-negotiable.”

Azzi rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide her laugh. “You’re ridiculous. What if she wants to do, I don’t know, art? Or music?”

Paige flopped her head back down dramatically. “Fine. She can paint murals or compose symphonies—after she drops a sufficient stateline in a game.”

Azzi shook her head, laughing softly. “You’re crazy.”

Paige smirked but didn’t let up. “And while we’re at it, no dating until you’re 30 baby.”

Azzi snorted. “Thirty? That’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”

“Nope,” Paige said firmly, resting her chin on Azzi’s thigh to look up at her. “You know how people can be. You’ve seen the DMs. Nope. Not happening. She’ll thank me later.”

Azzi chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, so you’re the strict mom now?”

“Duh,” Paige said, grinning. “Fun but strict. You can have whatever you want, little one. Whatever makes you happy—except dating.” She pressed a kiss to Azzi’s stomach. “And basketball is mandatory.”

Azzi rolled her eyes again, but the smile on her face was huge. “You’re really giving her all the rules already?”

Paige leaned up just slightly, her expression softening as she rubbed her thumb along Azzi’s stomach. “I’m gonna love you more than almost anything, you know that?”

Azzi tilted her head, her smile quirking up into a smirk. “Almost?”

Paige hummed, brushing her lips against Azzi’s stomach before looking up at her. “Mmm, you’ll always come first.”

Azzi raised an eyebrow. “Paige, you can’t put me before our child.”

“Yes, I can,” Paige replied firmly, her tone leaving no room for argument. “You’re my wife.”

Azzi let out a soft laugh, shaking her head. “And she’s going to be our child.”

Paige nuzzled against Azzi’s stomach, her voice dropping to a mumble as if she were sharing a secret with their unborn baby. “Statistics show children usually end up happier when their parents prioritize each other over anything because it creates a more stable environment for them.”

Azzi couldn’t help the laugh that came out of her. “Oh, really? And where’d you hear that?”

Paige glanced up with a small smirk. “I was reading on the plane. Wanted to make sure I got this parenting thing right.”

Azzi grinned down at her, shaking her head as her fingers gently tangled in Paige’s hair. “You’re so extra sometimes, you know that?”

Paige shrugged as she kissed Azzi’s stomach again. “Maybe, but you married me anyway. Which means you’re stuck with me—and my stable-environment parenting theories.”

Her gaze softened as she looked down at her wife, her heart full. “You’re gonna be such a great mom Paige” she said quietly.

Paige turned her head to look up at Azzi, her face lighting up with a smile. “Only because I have you.”

Azzi leaned down slowly, kissing Paige’s head. “We’ve got this.”

Paige nodded, resting her head back on Azzi’s thigh. “Yeah, we do.” They stayed like that for a while, wrapped in their quiet little moment, the world beyond their room fading into insignificance as Paige talked to Azzi’s stomach and Azzi started to read her book again.

…

It wasn’t until the middle of the night when something exciting happened again. Paige sound asleep, her body completely relaxed against Azzi’s. That was, until she felt her wife nudging her gently. Paige grumbled under her breath, pulling Azzi closer and burying her face in Azzi's chest.

“Baby,” Azzi whispered softly, her tone almost pleading.

Paige hummed, not bothering to lift her head. “Mmm?”

“I really really want some ice cream,” Azzi said.

Paige cracked one eye open, peeking up at Azzi through her lashes. When she saw the look on Azzi's face, she knew her wife wasn’t joking. “Ice cream tonight, hm?” she asked groggily, her voice laced with sleep.

Azzi nodded earnestly. “Mhm. I really want Cold Stone.”

Paige groaned softly, a half-laugh escaping her lips as she shifted onto her back. “You’re so lucky I love you,” she muttered, untangling herself from Azzi. She reached over to turn on the lamp, the soft glow illuminating her sleepy features as she blinked at the clock on her phone. 3:17 AM. Paige couldn’t help but laugh.

Azzi smiled up at her, unbothered by the time. “I don’t want it. Your daughter does,” she said with a grin.

“Righttt blame the other princess,” Paige said, shaking her head as she threw her legs over the side of the bed as she got up to put on some sweats and a hoodie.

Azzi watched her with a warm smile, her heart swelling as Paige pulled on her hoodie. When Paige came back to the bed to grab her phone, Azzi tugged lightly on the hem of her hoodie, pulling her down for a kiss.

Paige let herself melt into it for a moment, the warmth of Azzi’s lips erasing any lingering sleep. “I’ll be back,” she murmured softly as she straightened up.

“I love you, be safe please.” Azzi whispered, her fingers brushing Paige’s wrist as she let her go.

Paige smiled down at her, her expression filled with love. “I love you too, baby momma.”

Azzi rolled her eyes, but the chuckle that followed gave her away. “I am not a baby momma. I’m your wife.”

Paige grinned and shrugged, leaning down to kiss her one last time. Then, with a quiet laugh, she grabbed her keys and walked out of the room.

When Paige returned about 20 minutes later, ice cream in hand, she walked quietly up the stairs. As she entered the bedroom, she found Azzi sound asleep, her phone still loosely clutched in her hand. Paige noticed the screen was open to Life 360, showing her location the entire time.

Paige couldn’t help but laugh softly, shaking her head as she set the Cold Stone on the bedside table. Gently, she took Azzi’s phone from her hand, being careful not to wake her too abruptly.

Leaning down, Paige whispered close to her ear, “Baby, do you still want your ice cream?”

Azzi’s eyes fluttered open immediately at the mention, and she sat up almost on instinct, her drowsiness quickly giving way to excitement. “Mhm,” she mumbled.

Paige grinned, amused at her wife’s antics. “You were just knocked out two seconds ago,” she teased as she slid onto the bed next to her.

Azzi ignored the comment, leaning back against Paige’s chest as she got comfortable on her side. “Can you feed me?” she asked softly, tilting her head up to look at Paige with a small smile.

Paige rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the warmth in her expression. “You’re really milking this pregnancy thing, huh?” she teased, grabbing the ice cream and spoon from the table.

Azzi smirked, resting her hands on Paige’s thighs as Paige opened the spoon. “You offered to go get it, didn’t you?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Paige muttered, scooping some ice cream and holding the spoon to Azzi’s lips.

Azzi hummed happily as she took the bite, leaning further into Paige. “You’re the best wife ever,” she murmured, savoring the sweet treat.

Paige smirked, kissing the top of Azzi’s head. “I know. You’re lucky I love you... and your crazy 3 a.m. cravings.”

Azzi giggled, tilting her head back to glance up at Paige. “Our daughter appreciates it, too.”

Paige laughed again, shaking her head as she scooped another spoonful of ice cream. “Well, you two better remember this when she’s waking us up at 3 a.m. for something someday.”

Azzi smirked. “We both know you’re going to get up.”

Paige narrowed her eyes playfully, holding the spoon to Azzi’s lips. “No, I’m not.”

Azzi, opening her mouth for the spoonful of ice cream before looking up at Paige with a gleam in her eye. “Yes you are. You’re whipped.”

Paige raised an eyebrow, trying to act nonchalant. “No, I’m not.”

Azzi didn’t say anything more, just gave her a look.

Paige sighed dramatically, shaking her head. “I’m not whipped.”

Azzi just tilted her head, the smirk never leaving her face. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

Paige rolled her eyes, leaning back against the headboard.

Azzi chuckled softly before continuing. “We both know you’re going to get up for her when she’s up at 3 a.m., so don’t act like you’re not.”

Paige shot her a mock glare. “No, the hell I’m not. It’ll be your turn.”

Azzi just raised an eyebrow, her silent threat clear in the air.

Paige sighed again, shaking her head as she gave Azzi another spoonful of ice cream. “Fine. I’m whipped. I’ll get up in the middle of the night for our daughter. Happy now?”

Azzi grinned, satisfied with the unspoken victory giving her a soft kiss on the cheek. “Very.

The two of them stayed like that, Paige feeding Azzi spoonfuls of ice cream between quiet laughter and sleepy murmurs. But after a few minutes, Paige noticed Azzi hadn’t opened her mouth for the next bite. She glanced down and smiled, seeing her wife fast asleep.

Paige let out a quiet chuckle, carefully placing the ice cream and spoon on the bedside table before turning off the light. Slowly, she adjusted herself a little lower, mindful not to disturb Azzi, though she didn’t shift too much—Azzi was still laying sideways between her legs, using her as a pillow.

Paige exhaled as tiredness immediately hit her. She was a little uncomfortable at not being able to lay down fully but she didn’t care in the slightest. If this was what Azzi needed to sleep peacefully, she’d stay just like this all night. Her hand found its way to Azzi’s stomach, her thumb tracing slow circles as her eyes fluttered shut.

[literaryavenger]

Can I be him?

Summary: When Bucky finds something of yours, he hopes against hope that you feel the same way about him.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Enhanced!Fem!Reader

Warnings: Language cause it's me. Fluff. A lot of angst. Idiots in love. Self-deprecating thoughts, both reader and Bucky. No use of Y/N. My poor attempts at being funny.

Word Count: 4.8K

A/N: It’s 3am where I live, so… Happy 107th Birthday to my favorite Supersoldier! Today I’m posting 2 Bucky fics because my baby deserves it, this one and another one sometime around the afternoon. Hope someone likes it! Thank you to my angels @ordelixx and @mrsbuckybarnes1917 that gave me so many ideas that helped me finish this. I love you🖤

Masterlist

Being an Avenger is not easy.

The long missions, the intense training, the weight of the world on your shoulders…

Everybody on the team has a different way to unwind after a mission: Steve draws, Clint and Natasha compete doing target practice, Thor sleeps, Sam plays video games, Bucky takes motorcycle rides, Tony and Bruce work on side projects in their lab, Loki reads, Peter does his homework and Wanda cooks with Vision.

For you, it’s going to the rose garden behind the Compound.

It’s a bit of a sanctuary for you, Tony allowed you to put tall hedges of roses with a gazebo-like structure in the middle of them facing the lake, only it’s entirely made of vines.

You made it yourself, that’s your power: you can manipulate anything plant-related. 

Everytime you finish a mission the team splits up as soon as the debriefing is over and you walk straight here.

You sit on the bench, also made of vines, take out your diary and start writing.

You write about everything, from details of missions to your feelings about the team. From things you did that you don’t want to forget to things that you want to do after you’re not so tired anymore.

The hedges hide you from view and the only thing you can see when you’re here is the lake.

Sometimes, after a particular difficult mission, you don’t even write. You just sit there and look out into the water, the sunshine or moonlight shining down on you, and you feel at peace.

It helps that nobody else ever comes here. The team understands it’s your safe space, and the agents are mostly scared of your powers ever since you grew a giant carnivorous plant and it bit an agent that squeezed your ass during training. 

The agent got both taken to the medbay and suspended on the same day, and you got the thanks of about a dozen girls that had the same problem with the same asshole.

You walk out of the conference room, the debriefing of the team’s latest mission just wrapped up, and like usual everyone scatters to their own after-mission ritual.

Today, though, you can’t concentrate on anything.

Your feet take you to the rose garden by reflex, but your brain doesn’t even register you’re there until you sit on the bench.

Today’s mission took a lot out of you, not just because of the amount of magic you had to use to get everyone out safely, but also because it was your fault the team was in so much danger in the first place.

You fucked up your task, Natasha had to step in and save your ass, moving away from her post and making her late for her own task and that derailed the entire mission.

At the end, you had to use your powers to take out the hundreds of Hydra agents at the same time, which is no small feat and made you almost pass out.

Everybody told you on the way home not to worry, the mission was successfully accomplished and everyone made it out safely, but you know that if it wasn’t for your screw up the team would’ve gotten in and out of base without so much as a scratch. 

Nobody had fatal injuries, thank God, but Sam got shot in the leg, Clint got stabbed and everyone else had various degrees of injuries because Hydra got the jump on the team.

Because of me.

That was all you kept thinking about. Your brain had a field day making up all kinds of scenarios where your mistake cost someone’s life, a few of them even had the entire team dying because of your stupidity. 

You were so caught up in your head that you didn’t even notice someone following you to the rose garden.

Not that you ever do. 

If there’s one thing Bucky Barnes knows how to do, is move around undetected. He’s a master assassin, he was trained for this for over 50 years, he knows how to be a shadow.

Except now he uses his skills for good during missions and, occasionally, to follow you.

Not in a creepy way, of course, just to check on you. At least that’s the excuse he always uses so he won’t have to admit to himself that what he does is, indeed, a little creepy.

But he can’t help himself, Bucky knew from the moment he saw you that he was fucked. 

The moment you walked into the room to meet the team his heart was yours. You stole it with one simple smile, with one look of your beautiful eyes.

You introduced yourself and shook hands with everyone, but when you looked at Bucky he felt like a light came on and it was just you two.

You shook his hand and he felt like he had to take it off and give it to you, it was yours now. His hand, his arm, his leg, his head, his heart, his soul. Everything he is was now yours, he just knew it.

Then you said his name and he could’ve died right there and then. It was the sweetest sound he’d ever heard, and it was barely two syllables. Every word you said, every laugh and sound that came out of your pretty mouth, Bucky felt like it was all for him. Nobody else mattered.

Bucky knew then he was in love.

But he didn’t know how to approach you. You were like a fairy, like a princess. Growing flowers, always smiling, baking, growing everyone’s favorite flowers and always willing to help, like growing Aloe when Wanda burned herself cooking, or Chamomile to help with Tony’s anxiety, or Valerian roots whenever someone was feeling down. 

You were like sunshine and he was terrified he’d kill your light. But he’d be damned if he’d let the world kill it either, he’d protect you with his life.

So he took to following you, making sure you were safe from a distance.

But it’s not like he never talked to you, the more time you spent with the team the more comfortable Bucky got around you and eventually you became friends.

Bucky knew you could take care of yourself, you were one of the strongest members of the team, but he didn’t like it when you were in your rose garden by yourself. The tall hedges made it impossible to see incoming danger, so he kept an eye on you just to be sure.

For his own piece of mind. And you never saw him.

That was Bucky’s actual way to unwind after a mission.

He’d tell everybody he was going for a ride on his bike, but he’d drive it through the woods around the compound and to the other side of the lake where he’d have a perfect view of you without you knowing. 

Deep down he knew it was a little creepy, he could just ask you if he could join you, but he felt like you needed your time alone without anyone else around, and he knew if he asked you, you’d say yes no matter what you were feeling, because that’s just the kind of person you are.

So Bucky watched you from afar, always careful not to be seen. He watched you write for hours, it relaxed him to see your beautiful face so concentrated.

Sometimes you’d laugh quietly at what you were writing and those were the only times Bucky was grateful for the supersoldier serum that allowed him to hear such a beautiful sound even with so much distance between you.

But it was torture for him when he knew you had a bad day. Sometimes you’d hug your knees and cry, Bucky could tell how much you’d need a hug, and it killed him that he couldn’t just walk up to you and hug you.

Everytime he sees you cry his heart breaks a little and he always tries to make you feel better when you walk back inside. He doesn’t ask you what’s wrong, he just tries to make you laugh. But all he wanted to do was dry your tears.

You did notice Bucky always seemed to act a little goofy when you're feeling down, like he somehow knew, but you never thought much of it.

You knew he was a very observant person, so you assumed he just saw your mood through your behavior better than most.

Bucky loves hanging out with you, even if it’s just as friends. You make fun of him like with everyone else, you don’t treat him like could explode at any moment, never walking on eggshells around him like most people do.

You’ve never been afraid of him, and he’s glad that you don’t treat him like glass. You treat him like everyone else, and it makes him feel normal.

Everytime time he hangs out with you, you take him back to a time where he was unbroken. You make him feel alive again.

And he falls more in love with you by the second because of it. You’re all he wants, he wants to have you and kiss your lips and never let anyone hurt you. That’s all he can think about, but he knows that’s not gonna happen.

He heard you talk to Natasha and Wanda, heard that there’s someone you’d gone on a few dates with. But Bucky knows that guy doesn’t deserve you, nobody does.

Even Bucky himself doesn’t deserve you, you’re too pure for anyone in this world, but if there’s someone that has any chance of making you happy, Bucky prays to God that that someone is him.

Bucky knows today’s mission shook you deeply. He knows you blame yourself, and no amount of reassurance will make you believe that everything is okay.

So today, for the first time, Bucky actually follows you. He can see your unfocused eyes even as you walk and he wants to be near you, just in case.

He almost walks to you when you curl up on the bench and start sobbing quietly, but he holds back not wanting to startle or upset you further.

He just listens to your soft cries until you stop and compose yourself. You sigh and get up, walking back to the Compound to take a much needed relaxing shower.

But you’re still so much in your own head that you don’t even notice you left your diary on the bench in the gazebo. 

Bucky did notice, though.

He’s tempted to call after you and tell you, but something deep down tells him not to. He waits until you’re gone and then walks to the bench, picking up your diary and opening it.

He doesn’t know why, he knows it’s wrong, these are your private thoughts, but he’s just drawn to it for some reason.

When he starts reading he notices you don’t mention any specific names, which makes sense because only you read it, you know who you’re writing about. He reads a page here and there, reading about your missions or lazy days. 

He reads about some memories with the team you wrote about, some he remembers and others he probably wasn’t there for, but seeing all these memories from your point of view does something to him.

It makes him feel connected to you, makes him feel like he’s reading your heart and soul, because he kind of is. Then he reads something that captures his attention completely. 

You write about eyes blue like the ocean and just as troubled, about a smile that could light up the world. You write about someone with a complicated past that never lost his spark, never lost his love for life. 

A man that went through hell, and never once took it out on the world. A man that didn’t ever blame the world, even when he had every right to, choosing instead to protect it. 

You filled pages and pages with everything you admire about this man, everything you love about him that you know he hates. 

And Bucky feels like every word you wrote, you wrote for him. But could this be him? Could he be the one you talk about in all your stories?

He wants to. He wants this to be him. He prays you’re talking about him. He wishes this could be him… Who is he kidding?

Of course it’s not me. 

It’s probably the guy you’ve been dating. Yeah, that’s it. You’re in love with that guy, that much is clear. 

Bucky gets to the page where you write about your dates with the guy, but he can’t read them.

He closes the diary, not knowing that you compared your date to Bucky every step of the way. Not knowing that you granted the guy a second date just to be sure he couldn’t compare to Bucky, and went on a third date at a coffee shop just to let him down gently.

Bucky didn’t read how you know he’s the one for you, he didn’t read his own name written in your handwriting, the only name in your whole diary because he’s the only person you never want to forget, even though you know you never will.

But Bucky didn’t read that.

He puts your diary back where it was on the bench and, with his heart broken and his hope that one day you could be his lost, he goes back inside and to his room.

It’s only when you go back to the rose garden after your shower that you notice you left your diary there, but don’t think much of it. Nobody ever comes here anyway, as far as you know.

After finding out you’re in love with someone else, Bucky can’t stop himself from acting differently towards you, which you don’t fail to notice.

It’s not like he’s mean, but your interactions get shorter, like he tries his best to end the conversation quickly.

He no longer sits close to you, no longer tries to make you laugh when you’re feeling down, doesn’t hang out with you as much during your down time and if he does, it’s never just the two of you anymore.

It’s silly to say, but you miss him.

Bucky knows he’s been distancing himself, he knows you’ve noticed and he can see it’s affecting you, but he’s doing this to protect himself.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before you present your boyfriend to the team, the man you’re in love with and he doesn’t want it to hurt more than necessary.

You decide not to push Bucky, knowing he has his reasons to pull away from you. Maybe he’s just trying to deal with all the stress the team’s been under and you don’t want to add any more to that, so you let him be.

A few weeks later the team’s on their sixth mission in just as many days and everyone is exhausted. You’ve been taking down Hydra base after Hydra base, because waiting too long meant losing your chance to shut down their operations for good before they got the opportunity to leave.

You’ve been dividing in smaller teams to take down the bases while still giving the team a chance to recuperate, but this last one was the biggest and required the whole team together, which sucked for you because you were in the last team with Steve and Bucky that took down a base just yesterday, so the three of you got barely a few hours of sleep while you flew to the last base.

You’ve cleared the base, all that’s left is the agents in the courtyard who are really going down fighting. The whole team is outside now, the Hydra agents giving you a hell of a fight. You’re using your magic against your better judgment, giant vines coming out of your arms like whips, covered in poisonous thorns. One touch of that and anyone would go down immediately, everyone except you.

Or at least that’s what you think.

As you’re fighting you can see an agent trying to sneak up on Bucky who’s fighting near you, so you quickly take care of it for him.

Bucky turns around and sees the agent down and then looks at you with that charming smile you fell in love with and winks at you. “Thank you, doll.”

That’s the friendliest Bucky’s been towards you in weeks and you can’t help but smile back with a small blush.

You can see the last agent standing coming at you from your peripheral vision and you quickly whip him with a vine, taking him down as soon as you can so you can turn back to look at Bucky, still smiling at you.

Bucky’s smile drops quickly, though, as he sees your face draining of any color. You barely have the time to register the sting of your own thorn on your arm that you’re already falling to the ground.

Bucky tries to catch you, but he gets thrown back by your magic that goes into defense mode, creating a wall of thorns to protect your now unconscious body.

The team doesn't know what to do, none of them know enough about plants to be sure that these thorns wouldn’t just kill them all.

The only one that would know that is you, the person that’s passed out, or worse, trapped in the midst of a cocoon of thorns.

“Okay, we need to find a safe way to-” Steve starts but cuts himself off almost immediately. “What are you doing?!”

Bucky doesn’t even turn around to answer, too intent on breaking the thorns around you with his metal arm, not caring that the thorns are ripping his clothes and scratching his face, all he can think about is getting to you.

He finally manages to get through to you, but nobody can follow because your magic regrows the thorns Bucky broke, trapping him with you inside the cocoon.

But Bucky doesn’t care, his eyes never leaving your face as he kneels behind you, running a finger softly along your cheek and shivering when he feels your skin is cold as ice.

His mind goes to the worst possibility, that there’s nothing he can do, but his brain gives him some hope reasoning that your magic wouldn’t be working if you were dead.

Right?

He snaps out of his thoughts when he feels the thorns around you vibrate, he takes you in his arms and shields you with his body from whatever is about to happen.

But the only thing that happens is the shade cast by the thorns gets replaced by sunlight. Bucky looks up and realizes Wanda used her magic to lift the thorn cocoon.

“You couldn’t have done that before?!” Bucky barks at Wanda with a glare while carefully picking you up to take you to the Quinjet.

“She’s not the dumbass that threw himself headfirst in a mess of thorns without even considering another course of action!” Natasha came in Wanda’s defense, though she seemed more amused at Bucky’s antics than annoyed.

As the team heads back home in the jet, Bruce examines you and lets the team know you’re still alive but in a sort of coma.

Their relief is cut short when Bruce makes it known that he has no idea when, or if, you’ll wake up.

As soon as the Quinjet lands you’re taken to the medbay and hooked up to machines, an IV in your arm to keep you hydrated.

Bucky holds your hand through it all, staying all night next to you just in case you wake up. He didn’t want you to be freaked out and alone, he wanted to be the first person to see your beautiful eyes open.

When morning comes, though, you’re still unconscious, but Bucky doesn’t lose hope. You probably need a good sleep.

That’s what he tells himself for two, three, four days.

That’s what he keeps telling himself for a week, two weeks. Never once leaving your side, not eating unless Steve brings him food and makes sure he eats before leaving, and using the bathroom of your room in the medbay.

He barely sleeps and, when he does, he dreams of you.

Everyone was getting worried about him, he refused to leave your side until one day Steve came into your room to tell Bucky there was something wrong with your rose garden.

Bucky was torn between staying with you and seeing what Steve was talking about, but decided that it would kill you if something happened to your roses so he had to make sure everything was okay when you woke up.

Because you’re going to wake up.

Bucky follows Steve to your rose garden, and his eyes widen in horror as soon as he sees it. The roses, the hedges, the vines.

Everything is dying.

Bucky’s heart breaks, only one thought in his mind. If your plants are dying, does that mean you’re slowly dying too?

No. That’s unacceptable. You’re not gonna die, not if Bucky has anything to do with it.

He takes it upon himself to take care of your garden, watering it and doing everything he can to keep the roses and vines alive, fooling himself into believing that this will keep you alive.

He stays on the gazebo day and night, sleeping on the bench, spending every waking moment trying to keep a hold of even the smallest part of you.

But it’s not enough. Nothing is enough.

Bucky loses track of how many days he’s been in your garden, sleeping maybe an hour at a time here and there, watering the roses every few hours and crying the rest of the time.

After all it’s his fault, if he hadn’t distracted you none of this would’ve happened. You’d be in your beautiful garden, probably with your boyfriend, and the only broken thing would be Bucky’s heart.

That he could’ve lived with. 

But how can he live with the knowledge that he caused your end? That he killed your light? That he killed his sunshine, his hope, the love of his life? He can’t live with that.

Not that he has to.

While Bucky’s spiraling while surrounded by dying roses, inside your room in the medbay you’re finally waking up after almost a month.

You open your eyes slowly, looking around you at the hospital-like room. There’s nobody around and, as you look at the window, you can see it’s really late at night.

You sit up and try to make sense of what happened while rubbing your eyes. The last thing you remember is Bucky’s bright smile, and then nothing.

You look down at your arm and see an IV, which you take out while frowning. How long have you been sleeping?

You carefully get off the bed and make your way outside to your rose garden, just to be sure everything’s okay. It’s not like anyone’s gonna stop you anyway.

When you get close, the moonlight shines on the hedges and you gasp at what you see. Your beautiful roses withering away, the gazebo made of vines dying too.

But the most confusing thing is the sobs coming from the bench, although no one’s sitting on it.

You get closer and see Bucky sitting in front of the bench while hugging his knees and crying softly. You frown and get a little closer before stopping, not wanting to startle him.

“Bucky…” You say quietly and his head snaps up, his eyes instantly meeting yours.

For a moment it feels like he’s trying to decide if you’re real, he reaches out and you extend your hand to take his. That seems to convince him and he gasps.

“Doll…” His voice is barely above a whisper, almost as if he thinks if he makes too much noise you’ll disappear.

“What’s wrong?” You ask him while getting a little closer to him, concern clear in your every feature.

It’s only when you get closer that you see his face full of cuts and you frown. Those are not just any scratches, it’s clear to you that they were made by thorns. “D-did… Did I do this to you?” 

You’re kneeling in front of him now, one hand still in his one the other comes up to trace the cuts in his face softly, but he takes your hand in his and kisses your palm.

“I’m okay…” He reassures you.

Just then he realizes, you’re fussing over him when you’re the one that’s been in a coma for a month. “Are you okay? How long have you been awake?” 

“I… I just woke up.” You tell him honestly, then look around at the dying roses and vines before looking back at him. “What happened to me?”

“You got stung by one of your poisonous thorns.” He says quietly, his thumbs rubbing circles on your skin while he refuses to let go of you. “You’ve been unconscious for almost a month.”

“A month?!” You’re shocked at the news, not knowing what to say or do, so you just stay there while letting the information sink in. The silence is broken by Bucky after a minute.

“I’m sorry about your roses… I tried to keep them alive, but…” He looks around with a hopeless expression. “I failed you.”

Your heart breaks a little. Does he really think he failed you?

You take a deep breath, then close your eyes and when you open them again a second later everything’s back to normal. The roses are as beautiful as ever, the gazebo just as majestic. It’s like nothing ever happened.

Bucky looks around in awe when he feels you take his chin and you make him look at you.

“You could never fail me.” You say firmly, wanting him to understand you mean it. You look at the cuts around his face and you can’t help the guilt and pain that you feel deep within you. “I’m sorry…”

“It wasn’t your fault.” It’s like Bucky can read your thoughts, he knows all you can see are your faults, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you for anything. “You weren’t even conscious. You have nothing to be sorry for.”

“I never wanted to be one of the people that hurt you…” Your voice is a whisper as a tear escapes you. “The world hurt you so much already… I never wanted to be part of that. You don’t deserve it.”

Bucky frowns. He feels like he’s heard those words, but where? No, he didn’t hear them. He read them. He read them in your diary, where you wrote about the man you’re in love with. Could it be possible?

Could I be him?

“It’s me…” He says lower than a whisper, his eyes locked on yours, and it’s your time to be confused now.

“What?” You ask him with a frown while wiping your cheeks.

“It’s me you’re in love with.” His voice is a little louder, but firm. He’s not asking you, he’s making a statement.

Your eyes widen in surprise, you almost take your hands away from his but his hold prevents you from doing that.

“I-I… What?” Is all you can bring yourself to say, confused as to why he’s so sure of it. Are you really that transparent?

“I read your diary…” Bucky says, guilt written all over his face, but at least he’s owning up to it. “You wrote about the man you love… and you wrote the same thing you just told me. It’s me, isn’t it? You love me back?” His voice is more hopeful now, his confident demeanor weavering.

“You… You read my diary?” You say, your mind still playing catch up.

It’s only a moment later that you register the ‘love me back’ and you don’t give him a chance to apologize or justify himself before you’re speaking again. “You love me?!” 

Bucky hesitates a moment but nods firmly. “I love you, doll. I’ve loved you since the moment I met you.” 

You feel like someone punched you and all the air has left your body. You have no idea what to say, so you don’t say anything.

Instead you lean in and kiss him.

Bucky wastes no time kissing you back, but a thought pops into his mind and he reluctantly pulls back. “What about your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriend?” You frown again, having no idea what he’s talking about. “I don’t have a boyfriend.”

“You don’t?” Bucky feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders and he pulls you to straddle him. “What about the guy you went on a few dates with?”

You narrow your eyes at him but decide to table the conversation about how he knows that for another time, so you smile at him and decide to just be honest with him.

“Do you honestly think that anyone could ever measure up to you? Because if you do, you’re an idiot.” Bucky grins and kisses you again. 

Maybe he is an idiot. But when he’s the idiot you’re in love with, how much of an idiot can he really be?

It looks like he can be him after all.