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bellaveux · 12 days ago

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be my mistake | n. romanoff x reader

pairing: natasha romanoff x fem!reader

summary: three years have passed since the divorce, since natasha hurt you and over time, you found yourself reflecting on the struggles you both went through, both as a couple and apart from each other. revisiting memories with your family draw you and natasha closer than you’ve been in years.

content warnings: lots of angst, hurt/comfort??, cheating, insecure!reader, mentions of alcohol/drinking, implied smut, wanda being a good friend (pls let me know if i’m missing anything else i can’t tell)

word count: 19.8k

It had been three long years since everything fell apart between you and Natasha. Three years since the day you packed your bags, gathered your daughters, and walked away from the life you’d built together. The split wasn’t clean. It wasn’t one of those polite, quiet divorces that people talk about when they’ve simply grown apart. No, yours was loud, raw, and full of hurt. You could still remember the echo of your arguments, the way her voice would crack when she begged for forgiveness, and the silence that always followed afterward—heavy, suffocating. That silence weighed more than the words ever did.

Natasha had tried. She really had. For a while, after the it happened, she did everything to make amends, to erase what she had done. But it wasn’t something you could erase. It wasn’t something you could forgive right then, no matter how hard she tried to make things right. You’d given her so many chances to explain, so many opportunities to show you that the Natasha you fell in love with was still there.

But each time, all you could see was the betrayal, the moment she chose someone else over you.

For her, it was a mistake—something that happened once and never again. But for you, it was a scar, a wound that never healed. You couldn’t go back. You couldn’t let her back in. You didn’t know if you ever could again. And she knew it, even though she didn’t want to accept it. There were moments, though, when Natasha still looked at you with that same longing, the same desperation she had the night you left her. She wanted things to go back to the way they were, back to when you were her partner, her wife, her everything.

But you couldn’t. You wouldn’t.

No matter how much she tried to show you that she had changed, the past still lingered between you, like a shadow that refused to leave. Even now, after all this time, there was still a part of her that couldn’t accept that things would never be the same. You saw it in her eyes every time she picked up the girls, every time she lingered a little too long at the door, as if hoping you might invite her in, ask her to stay. But you never did. You couldn’t allow it, not after everything. It had been hard. Painful, even. Co-parenting with someone who had broken your heart, who had shattered the life you thought you’d have together, was an agony all its own. But you had to do it, for your girls, Nina and Lily. They needed you both, and you would never let your pain come between them and their mothers. Even if it meant seeing Natasha more often than you wanted. Even if it meant reopening old wounds every time her name appeared on your phone, or when your girls came home with stories about the time they’d spent with her.

And the first year after the divorce was hell for Natasha. She tried everything in her power to get you back—flowers, letters, showing up at the house at odd hours, always begging for another chance. She couldn’t accept that it was over. Every time she saw you, even in the briefest of moments, she could see the pain in your eyes, the devastation her betrayal had caused. It tore her apart. She had broken something precious, something she didn’t know how to fix, and yet she kept trying. She was relentless, desperate to rewind the clock, to undo what couldn’t be undone.

But the more she tried, the more tired you looked. The weight of it all was etched into your face, exhaustion hanging over you like a dark cloud. Your bright eyes, full of life and love, had dimmed. The smile that had once been hers was gone, replaced by a coldness that froze her out. And with every desperate plea, every attempt to reach you, she realized she was only making it worse. You weren’t healing. You couldn’t, not with her constantly in your space, constantly pulling at the wounds she’d caused.

By the second year, Natasha finally saw it. You needed space, needed time to mend, and she wasn’t helping at all. So, she stopped. Stopped the flowers, the late-night phone calls, the messages begging for you to forgive her, telling you she loved you. She stopped trying to push her way back into your life because it was only making things harder for you.

She watched from a distance instead, in silence.

But despite the distance she put between you both, she couldn’t stop loving you. She could never. It was something she couldn’t turn off, no matter how hard she tried. Even when she forced herself to stay away, her heart still ached for you in a way that nothing else could heal. You were everywhere—in the way her daughters smiled, in the moments when she was alone with her thoughts. She’d think of you when she’d go to the grocery store, remembering all the food you liked and didn’t like. She’d think of you at night when she’s in bed, always moving closer to your side of the bed, imagining you were still there with her. And even though she knew she had to let you go for your own sake, a part of her would always be tethered to you. It didn’t matter how much time passed. She could never stop loving you, no matter how much it hurt.

It’s been three years now. Three long, heavy years since the divorce. But in the wake of it, as the dust settled and the hurt slowly gave way to something manageable, a routine. One that neither of you ever explicitly discussed, maybe just briefly, but one that simply came to be, like a truce.

And Natasha hadn’t been with anyone since then. She hadn’t even entertained the idea. There were no late-night flings, no fleeting attempts to fill the void. Because how could she? How could anyone compare to the life she had built with you, even though it had crumbled? It had been such a stupid mistake on her part when it happened, and she promised herself she wouldn’t let that happen again, even if you didn’t want her anymore. She couldn’t bring herself to be with anyone else, and deep down, she knew it was because part of her was still yours.

Nina and Lily, your two little girls, were the threads that still tied you and Natasha together. Nina, with her wild curls and mischievous grin, only four but already full of curiosity and energy, was in preschool. Lily, more thoughtful, quieter but with an infectious laugh, had just started first grade. They were young, their lives filled with playdates, scribbled drawings, and the occasional scraped knee. They didn’t fully understand why Mommy and Mama lived in different houses now, why they didn’t all sit together at the table for dinner anymore. But they adjusted in their own way.

Natasha would pick them up from school most afternoons when she can. You’d drop them off in the mornings, coffee in hand, always on the way to work. You were working now. You didn’t really work that much when you were pregnant with the girls and Natasha always insisted on taking care of you. On weekends when Natasha didn’t have a mission or some urgent task pulling her away, she’d have them over at her place. They’d spend Saturday nights watching movies or baking cookies, or playing games until they were all too tired to continue. And then Sunday morning, she would make them pancakes, the same way you used to. It was a rhythm that worked, one that kept things steady for Nina and Lily, even when things between you and Natasha remained unresolved.

Every time Natasha saw them, it tugged at her heart. The way Lily looked at her with those wide, innocent eyes, so full of trust. The way Nina giggled when Natasha spun her around, her tiny hands reaching up to her mother like nothing had ever changed. They were growing so fast, right in front of her, and yet Natasha couldn’t help but feel like time was slipping through her fingers. Three years had gone by in the blink of an eye, and even though things were better—smoother—between the two of you now, that gnawing regret never fully left her.

But for the girls, she stayed strong. She showed up, she stuck to the routine. It was the least she could do, even if, when the weekends were over and she dropped them back at your place, she found herself lingering just a second too long, watching as you took their small hands and guided them back inside. Wondering if, somehow, it could have all been different.

The sun hung low in the sky as Natasha drove through familiar streets, the scent of fast food wafting through the car, mingling with the laughter of her daughters in the backseat. The afternoon light cast a golden glow on the girls’ faces, illuminating Nina’s bright eyes and Lily’s gentle smile as they excitedly talked about their day.

But as the laughter filled the car, Nina’s innocent question pierced through the cheerful atmosphere, shattering the fragile bubble they had created.

“Mama, why don’t you sleep at home with us anymore?”

The question hung in the air and Natasha’s heart dropped, the warmth evaporating in an instant. She gripped the steering wheel tighter, forcing a smile that felt painfully strained. Silence enveloped them, thick with heavy emotions and memories she wished she could shield her daughters from. She glanced in the rearview mirror, catching a glimpse of Nina’s expectant gaze, a small frown tugging at her lips as she awaited an answer.

“Um, well…” Natasha began, her voice faltering. “You know, Mama has… a lot of work to do. Sometimes it’s just easier for me to sleep at my own place.”

Even as she spoke, the lie twisted in her stomach, sharp and uncomfortable. She could see the flicker of disappointment in Nina’s eyes, a reflection of the confusion and sadness that still lingered between the lines of their new normal.

Lily, sensing the shift in the mood, chimed in, “We can share a bed, Mama!”

Natasha smiled softly, fighting back the flood of emotions threatening to overwhelm her. “Thank you, baby, but… this is how things are for now.”

Her heart clenched at Lily’s innocent declaration, each word a dagger piercing deeper into her already heavy heart. The car felt suddenly suffocating, filled with the echoes of memories and unresolved feelings. The gentle hum of the car faded into the background, and all she could hear was the soft thrum of her daughters’ voices and the relentless reminder of the pain they were all carrying.

“My bed is big enough!” Lily insisted again, her eyes wide with hope. “And I think Mommy misses you, too. Sometimes, I see her crying at night.”

Natasha’s breath caught in her throat. The image of you, alone in the dark, tears glistening on your cheeks, tore through her defenses, a reminder of the consequences of her choices. Guilt washed over her, crashing down with a force that made it hard to breathe.

“Sweetheart,” Natasha said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she fought to maintain her composure, “It’s okay for Mommy to be sad sometimes, you know? We all feel sad sometimes.”

“But I don’t want her to be sad,” Lily replied, her voice small and earnest. “We could go to Auntie Wanda’s cabin and have ice cream parties and movie nights like before!”

The wistfulness in Lily’s tone echoed Natasha’s own desires, the aching wish to turn back the clock and reclaim the happiness they had once shared. But Natasha knew that life was never that simple.

“I know, baby,” she said, her voice thick with emotion. “And I want that too. We just… have to be patient.”

Lily frowned, her small brows knitting together in confusion. “Do you still love mommy?”

The question hung in the air. Her heart raced, and she glanced at her daughters in the rearview mirror, the truth of her feelings spilling over like an unguarded secret.

“Of course I do,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper, but she didn’t hesitate.

Nina chimed in, her conviction unwavering. “Maybe if we all hug and give her lots of kisses, she won’t be sad anymore!”

She wanted to laugh at the sheer innocence of their logic, but it only deepened the ache in her chest. “I don’t think it’s that simple, baby.”

Lily tilted her head, her expression earnest and unwavering. “But, we’re a family, and families love each other.”

Natasha only smiled.

As they continued down the road, the fading sunlight cast warm shadows in the car, but the weight of their words settled heavily in Natasha’s chest. Lily fell silent soon after, her small face pensive as she stared out the window, the world outside a blur of colors. Natasha’s heart ached for her, wishing desperately that she could turn back time, wishing that the nights spent apart didn’t feel like an insurmountable distance.

As she pulled up to your house, the familiar flutter of anxiety danced in her stomach. She could hear the muffled giggles of her girls in the backseat, their excitement palpable as they chattered more about their day. But as she stepped out of the car and approached the front door, her heart began to race for a different reason entirely.

When you opened the door, Natasha felt the air shift around her. There you stood, framed in the soft glow of the entryway light, and her breath caught in her throat. You were breathtaking, wearing an elegant black dress that hugged your figure in all the right places. The fabric glimmered subtly as you moved, catching the light with each breath. Your hair was fixed neatly by your shoulders, and your makeup was flawlessly applied.

For a moment, Natasha was transported back to the nights when the two of you would dress up for special occasions, the thrill of anticipation sparking between you. But now, that thrill was laced with an ache that felt as sharp as it was familiar.

“Hi, mommy!” Lily squealed, bursting with energy as she darted past you into the house, closely followed by Nina, who gave you a quick hug before joining her sister.

“Hey, girls,” you greeted them softly, your voice warm but tinged with an undercurrent of something unspoken. You stepped back to allow them inside, your gaze flickering to Natasha, who stood momentarily rooted to the spot, taking in the sight of you.

Without breaking eye contact, you rushed over to the mirror that hung just inside the entryway, your movements quick and graceful as you fumbled with your earrings. Natasha’s heart ached at the sight, realizing how beautifully you carried yourself, even through the chaos of their past. She walked inside hesitantly, closing the front door behind her, swallowing the lump in her throat as she slowly walked further in.

“Wow, Mommy! You look so pretty!” Nina beamed.

“Thank you, honey,” you replied with a soft smile, your voice brightening as you turned your attention to the girls.

Natasha lingered by the wall, unsure of what to do with her hands as the girls raced off into the living room, their laughter filling the house with warmth. She listened when you asked the girls quick questions about their day at school, but all she could focus on was you. She stood there, still as a statue, her fingers brushing nervously over the seam of her jacket, as her eyes found you again.

You moved gracefully through the hallway, your dress shimmering faintly with each step. She felt a pang in her chest, something akin to longing but deeper, more raw. She hadn’t seen you like this in so long—dressed up, glowing, completely at ease in your skin. Her breath hitched slightly, catching on the memories that rose unbidden in her mind, of nights when she’d watch you just like this, mesmerized by the smallest of movements. You never failed to amaze her every time.

But now, it feels different. There was a distance between you that wasn’t just physical, and Natasha could feel it more sharply than ever. Yet, despite the distance, she found herself rooted in place, unable to tear her gaze away. She shifted her weight from one foot to the other, feeling awkward and out of place, like a visitor in what was once her home.

You hadn’t said much since opening the door, offering a quiet greeting before slipping back into the rhythm of your routine. But it didn’t matter. Natasha’s thoughts were too loud to be drowned out by small talk anyway. All she could think about was how beautiful you looked, how effortless you made everything seem. The curve of your neck as you bent slightly to adjust your earring, the way your lips pressed together in concentration—it all made her feel like a stranger witnessing something intimate, something she no longer had the right to witness. For a moment, her fingers twitched with the impulse to reach out, to touch you, to feel the warmth of your skin under her palm. But she held herself back, knowing that her place in your life now was nothing like it used to be. Instead, she remained where she was, standing awkwardly by the wall, her heart heavy with unspoken words and feelings she didn’t know how to express anymore.

You must have felt her staring, because you glanced up at her briefly from where you stood by the mirror. The moment your eyes met, Natasha felt a surge of emotion that almost knocked the wind out of her—regret, longing, admiration—all tangled together. She swallowed hard, but couldn’t find the words to say anything. What could she say, anyway? Nothing would change the fact that she was the reason things were the way they were.

And yet, she couldn’t help but think of how beautiful you were. How beautiful you’d always been. How you’d managed to slip right out of her fingers.

Natasha’s hands twitched at her sides, the yearning almost unbearable as she watched you. The way your dress hugged your frame, the soft curve of your neck as you finished adjusting your earrings—it stirred something deep inside her, a longing so fierce it nearly took her breath away. She wanted to reach out, to close the distance between you and wrap you in her arms. She wanted to hold you like she used to, when everything was easier, when you were hers and there was no wall of hurt between you.

But now, it feels impossible. Every time she considered moving closer, something stopped her—the guilt, the regret, the knowledge that she no longer had the right to that kind of intimacy with you. Not after everything. Not after the way things had ended, fractured by her own mistakes.

Still, the desire was overwhelming, almost painful. She couldn’t help it—her eyes followed the way your fingers brushed against your collarbone as you fixed a stray hair, and her heart ached with the thought of reaching out, of pulling you against her, of whispering that she was sorry, that she had never stopped loving you. God, she wanted to hold you so badly. Just for a moment. Just to feel that connection again, to remind herself that once, not too long ago, you had been hers.

But instead, then she saw you struggling with the clasp of your necklace.

Her hesitation was palpable as she took a small step forward, closing the gap between you. Her heart pounded in her chest, every movement deliberate and slow, like she was afraid that even the air between you was fragile. She saw you fumble with the clasp of your necklace, your fingers shaking ever so slightly in your rush. Her own hands twitched, the need to help overwhelming her, but she hesitated for a beat longer. She wasn’t sure she had the right to step into your space, to touch you again, even for something as simple as this.

But when you let out a frustrated huff, she took a breath and moved closer, her presence soft but undeniable as she stood just behind you. Gently, her fingers brushed against your skin, so light you might not have even felt it at first. Carefully, she took the delicate chain from your hands and closed the clasp at the back of your neck.

Her touch lingered just a second too long. She couldn’t help it. The warmth of your skin under her fingers, the proximity, the way your scent filled her senses—it was all too much and not enough at the same time. The faint scent of your perfume washed over her, and it hit her all at once. You smelled exactly the way she remembered, like something warm and comforting, but with an edge that made her dizzy. It was intoxicating. She glanced up for just a moment, catching your reflection in the mirror, but her eyes dropped quickly, too scared to meet yours. She didn’t trust herself to look into your eyes and not say everything she was feeling. It felt like a betrayal of her own heart to be this close to you, yet still so far away. Her hands fell back to her sides, clenched into soft fists, fighting the urge to keep touching you. She stepped back, quietly swallowing the ache that seemed to settle in her chest.

“You look beautiful,” Natasha breathes, almost afraid to say the words, but it came out before she could even think about it.

“Thank you,” you said quickly, your voice barely more than a whisper, the quiet words hanging in the air.

She froze for a split second, the simple phrase sending an unexpected ripple through her. It was such a small thing—a polite acknowledgement, nothing more—but to her, it felt loaded with everything that had been left unsaid for years. Then, she forced a small smile, though you couldn’t see it, her eyes still fixed downward as she stepped back from you.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, her voice just as soft, though it felt like a lie. She wasn’t welcome. Not anymore.

She watched as you turned back to the mirror, adjusting your hair slightly and smoothing the fabric of your dress. You looked beautiful—breathtaking, really—but all she could focus on was the sadness in your quiet thank you. She opened her mouth as if to say something more, but no words came. Instead, Natasha let the silence speak for her, the tension between you heavy and unresolved, much like everything that had been left behind.

“Who’s the lucky guy?” Natasha asked, trying to keep her voice light, though it came out more strained than she intended.

The words had been on the tip of her tongue the moment she saw you in that dress, but she hated herself for asking, for making it sound so casual when the question felt like it was burning her from the inside.

You released a small huff, something resembling a smile flickering at the corners of your mouth, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. You could see the way her jaw clenched in the mirror.

“It’s just a work thing,” you muttered, turning slightly in the mirror as if to busy yourself with something else, but Natasha could tell it was an attempt to deflect the conversation. You had always done that—shrugged things off when they felt too heavy, too personal.

But Natasha wasn’t stupid. She knew it wasn’t just a work thing. She could feel it in her gut, the way you said it so softly, so dismissively. And yet, she didn’t push. Couldn’t. Instead, she let out a quiet laugh, though there was no humor in it.

“Well, you look really nice,” she added, her voice a bit more gentle now, her eyes softening as they roamed over you once more. She hated how small her words felt, like she was grasping for something, anything, to make sense of the distance between you.

You didn’t say anything at first, just nodded, almost absentmindedly, still adjusting the clasp of your earrings. Natasha stood there, helpless, her hands twitching at her sides as she watched you prepare to leave for an evening that didn’t involve her anymore. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this—this ache of wanting you, this regret that sat like a stone in her chest.

You glanced at her, your eyes flickering with indecision before they darted to the clock on the wall.

“Shit, I forgot to text the babysitter,” you muttered, already pulling out your phone. You were halfway through typing the message when Natasha’s voice cut through the quiet tension of the room.

“I can watch them,” she offered quickly, almost too quickly, like she had been waiting for the opportunity. There was a soft urgency in her tone, something that made your fingers pause over the screen.

You hesitated, looking at her fully now, your gaze searching her face. She stood there, trying to appear nonchalant, but you could see the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her eyes flickered between you and the door, as if bracing herself for your response. It wasn’t the first time she had offered, but something about tonight—about her standing there, in your home, so close yet feeling so far away—made you hesitate.

“Natasha, it’s so last minute, and you’re probably busy—“

“I’m not busy.”

There was silence.

“Are you sure?” you said, your voice trailing off. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust her with the kids, in fact, you trusted her with the girls more than anyone.

“Of course. I promise, I’ll make sure they’re asleep by the time you get back,” Natasha said softly, taking a small step closer, as if to bridge the gap between you.

You lingered for a moment longer, the phone still in your hand, thumb hovering over the screen. Natasha stood there, waiting, her gaze steady but gentle, almost like she was afraid to breathe too loudly in case you changed your mind. There was a hesitation in the air, thick with all the memories and tension that seemed to live between the two of you now.

Finally, you sighed, the tension in your shoulders easing just slightly. “Okay,” you murmured, the word coming out soft but resigned. “But only if you’re sure.”

Natasha nodded immediately, as if there had never been a question. “I’m sure.”

You watched her for a moment, still not quite as sure as she was, but there was something about the way she looked at you that made you relent. Maybe it was the familiarity of her presence, or the way she always seemed so certain when it came to the girls. You wanted to believe it would be fine, that it wouldn’t hurt to let her help, just this once.

“Alright,” you said again, this time a little firmer. You tucked your phone away, glancing toward the living room where the girls’ voices echoed softly in the distance. “I might be back late, though.”

“I can handle it,” Natasha reassured you with a small smile, though there was a flicker of something in her eyes. Relief, maybe. “You go have fun.”

You nodded, still hesitant but knowing that you had little choice now. With one last glance at her, you grabbed your purse from the table and walked toward the door, feeling Natasha’s eyes on you the whole way. Just before you left, you stopped, hand on the doorknob, and turned to look at her one more time.

“Okay,” you said quietly. Natasha didn’t respond right away, just gave you a small nod, her eyes soft, watching you like she was still trying to figure out if this was real.

Your phone buzzed with a sudden chime, the noise breaking through the quiet air between you and Natasha. You flinched just slightly, caught off guard, but Natasha’s eyes never left you. That unwavering stare, intense and full of something you couldn’t quite place—regret, longing, maybe both—lingered as you glanced down at your phone.

“Oh, that’s… my coworker. She’s here to pick me up…” you said softly, reading the message on the screen.

You didn’t look up immediately, feeling the weight of Natasha’s gaze settle over you like a thick blanket, almost suffocating. There was another beat of silence, her expression barely changing, though something flickered in her eyes at the word “she.” It was so subtle, you almost missed it. Her lips pressed together in a thin line, but she didn’t say anything. Instead, she just nodded once, stiffly, her face carefully neutral, though you could feel the tension in the air shift.

You turned toward the door again, suddenly aware of how small the space between the two of you felt. The air was heavy, like it held all the words neither of you had said over the years. You hesitated, hand on the knob, the weight of the moment pressing down on you, making it hard to breathe.

Natasha’s voice, soft but strained, reached you before you could turn the handle. “Be safe tonight.”

You froze, the words hitting you in a way you hadn’t expected. They were simple, but coming from her, you knew they meant so much more.

As you stepped out of the house and closed the door behind you, the cool evening air hit your skin, and for a moment, you paused on the front steps. You could hear the muffled sounds of the girls laughing inside, and the thought of leaving them for some work party made your heart twist.

Truth be told, you didn’t even want to go. The idea of mingling, making small talk, pretending everything was fine—it felt exhausting before it even started. But your coworkers had been persistent, insisting you needed to get out more, that it would be good for you. They meant well, of course. They saw the toll the divorce had taken on you, how the weight of it had settled into your bones, leaving you quieter, more withdrawn. And though you tried to hide it, the loneliness was written all over your face. They probably thought this was what you needed—a night of distraction, a chance to be someone other than the person who had been left shattered after everything fell apart. But standing there, under the dim glow of the porch light, you felt a tug in your chest, a sense of dread thinking about the night ahead.

Natasha lingered in your thoughts as always, the way she had silently helped you with your necklace, the soft brush of her fingers against your skin sending shivers down your spine. You hated to admit it, but you missed her soft touches, her gentle smile, the way she would look at you like you held her world in your hands. The more you thought about it, you realized that it never really went away. And that look in her eyes, the one she always tried to hide but never quite could—it haunted you now as you made your way toward the car waiting at the curb.

With a sigh, you slipped into the passenger seat, greeting your friend with a faint smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. As the car pulled away, you found yourself staring out the window, thinking not about the party or the people waiting for you there, but about the house you had just left—the home you used to share with Natasha, the life you once had before everything fell apart. Maybe tonight would be a distraction, or maybe it would just be another reminder of everything you’d lost. Either way, it felt like one more step away from her, and that hurt more than you wanted to admit.

You were grateful for your friends—those who always wanted to help you after what happened.

Wanda was the one who helped you through most of it.

In the beginning, when everything felt like it was crumbling beneath you, Wanda had been there. She’d been the first to know what had happened with Natasha—the first to see the hurt blooming in your eyes, the way your voice cracked when you spoke, even when you tried so hard to sound strong. When she’d found out, Wanda was so angry, her fury simmering just beneath her skin. Word traveled quickly at the compound; someone must’ve overheard. But you’d heard, too, about how she’d cornered Natasha, her voice cold and sharp, her words unforgiving.

“Why did you do it?” Wanda had demanded of Natasha, her tone somewhere between outrage and heartbreak, and the confrontation left Natasha speechless, stripped of the practiced poise that she carried like armor. You never wanted to know all of what was said, but the rumors filled in the gaps; Wanda’s words were scathing, a fierce defense of the person Natasha had hurt most. She was protective, fiercely loyal, and in that moment, you felt the strength of a bond you hadn’t fully appreciated until you needed it most.

And it wasn’t just the initial shock, either—Wanda stayed. She kept you afloat on the days when the hurt felt too deep, kept you from slipping further into the void of your own heartbreak. She had this way of knowing when the silence was too heavy, when you needed to be pulled from the edge of your own emotions. She never let you wallow, and yet she didn’t rush you to move on either; she’d bring you back, her voice gentle, but firm, reminding you that you were stronger than this pain, that you’d heal, that you still had so much left to give to the world.

When the decision for a divorce finally weighed heavy on you, Wanda was the first person you told. The words had come out choked, but clear, and though she didn’t say much at first, her hand had reached for yours, holding it tightly as you tried to steady yourself. She kept asking if you were sure, her eyes steady, searching yours for any trace of doubt or hesitation. She knew you loved Natasha. And she knew Natasha was madly in love with you. But she wanted you to be certain, not out of judgment, but out of a desire to protect you, to make sure you weren’t making a decision you’d regret. She knew the depths of your love for Natasha and how much this was costing you; she wanted you to find peace in your choice, even if that peace felt miles away.

She had always been quietly supportive, even when things between you and Natasha fell apart. She never pried, never asked too many questions, but she had a way of knowing when you needed someone. You knew it was hard being your friend and Natasha’s friend.

But a few weeks ago, when she helped you pick out the dress you were wearing tonight, you could tell she was trying to lift your spirits, offering a distraction with her usual good-natured humor. She had pulled you into a few boutiques, tossing dresses over the fitting room door while she waited for your approval. When you finally stepped out in the sleek black dress you were wearing now, Wanda gave you that look—her eyes bright with approval, a grin spreading across her face.

“You’re going to knock them dead,” she had said with a playful wink, her tone light, but there was something else in her voice too, something softer.

You hadn’t said much in response then, brushing off the compliment with a smile. You hadn’t really felt like going to the party, but Wanda was insistent that it would be good for you, to dress up, to get out.

And despite your silence on the matter, you knew she supported you and Natasha—always had. She never quite explained why, but you could sense it. Maybe she believed in second chances, or maybe she saw something in the two of you that you couldn’t see anymore. Even though she hadn’t talked about it much, you could feel her quiet faith in your relationship, like she was holding onto a hope you’d long since let go of. It was comforting, in a way, knowing that someone still believed in you and Natasha, even when you weren’t sure if you believed in it yourself anymore.

And from time to time, Wanda had a gentle way of bringing up her old cabin in the countryside, each suggestion delivered so casually that you might’ve let it slip past if it hadn’t been for the significance lingering just underneath her words.

She didn’t live there anymore, now that her and Vision moved to New Jersey a lot recently with the twins. But every Thanksgiving, with her permission, the cabin had been your haven—a place where the world’s noise faded, replaced by the simple sounds of fire crackling, the murmur of conversations that stretched late into the night, and the delighted laughter of the girls as they played under the trees. It was as if the cabin held its own magic, a place suspended in time, where warmth radiated from more than just the fireplace, and you could almost believe in the simplicity of those happy moments lasting forever.

The girls loved it there especially—they loved the air, the trees, the comfort of a cozy cabin, playing music on Wanda’s old record player, or drinking hot chocolate Natasha loved to make for them. One winter, you spent the weekend there with them and Lily had just learned how to build a snowman with Natasha. Nina was still a little too young, but she found joy in trying to run around, catching the falling snowflakes with her tongue. You got nothing but good memories from going there.

The first time Wanda mentioned going back, it felt impossible to picture without Natasha. Even imagining it brought a sense of loss so heavy it threatened to shatter the memory entirely. The cabin without her was like watching the film reel of your life with half the scenes missing—disjointed, fractured, unable to find the comfort it once held. When you’d tried to explain, Wanda had only nodded, a knowing look softening her face as if she understood the unspoken things that weighed down your words. But over the months, she kept mentioning it, in small ways, like a quiet refrain.

“Then bring Natasha,” she’d said last, her voice so gentle it almost blended with the room. Her gaze, steady and unwavering, had landed on you with a quiet faith that made you feel exposed.

You’d wanted to respond, to give voice to the reasons why it felt impossible, to explain the ache that lingered too deeply to ignore. But the words had caught in your throat, your thoughts tangled in memories that had once been warm but now held the sting of something fractured. So you’d only managed a soft smile, allowing the silence to stretch between you as you turned the conversation away, knowing Wanda would understand.

And yet, her words stayed with you, lingering long after, wrapped in a fragile hope that you hadn’t dared to touch. Wanda believed in something you weren’t sure you could reach for, a belief that the cabin could be a bridge, a place where memories could be revisited, reconnected—maybe even healed.

The idea stayed with you, filling your mind, daring you to wonder if, perhaps, she was right.

It was late by the time you finally unlocked the front door, the echo of the party still buzzing faintly in your head, softened by a light haze from the few drinks you’d had. The house was dark and still as you slipped inside.

As you moved further in, adjusting your eyes to the dim light, you saw them.

Natasha was stretched out on the couch, her body softened in the shadows, and there, tangled in her arms, lay your two little girls. Nina and Lily were nestled close, their small bodies curled and sprawled across her, their hands loosely gripping her shirt, their faces pressed into her chest as if she were their entire world. Natasha’s head was tilted back, her breathing deep and steady, the sort of calm that only came when everything around her was right, if only for that fleeting moment.

You paused there in the doorway, just watching them, a warmth settling in your chest, bittersweet and familiar. This was the woman you’d once called home. And maybe she’d made mistakes—mistakes that fractured everything between you, mistakes that left bruises you weren’t sure would ever fade. But seeing her now, surrounded by the soft rise and fall of the girls’ breathing, you were reminded that she’d never once faltered as their mother.

For a long moment, you just stood there, absorbing the scene, the beauty of it, the softness that was so rare in Natasha, brought out only by the girls resting so peacefully against her. A part of you ached, the part that remembered when that was your world, too—the intimacy, the trust, the feeling that this was where you belonged. But now, standing alone in front of her, you knew it was different.

“Natasha…”

The name leaves your lips in a choked whisper, so quiet you barely hear it yourself. It’s both a word and a breath, carrying years of ache, of longing, of memories buried beneath the hurt. She stirs softly at the sound, her eyes blinking open, unfocused in the dimness, but immediately careful, instinctively cradling Nina and Lily closer to her, her instincts as a mother overriding everything else. She lifts her head, and in the low light, her eyes meet yours—surprised, still a bit hazy with sleep, yet touched by something tender, something deeply aware.

A faint smile tugs at your lips, almost without your permission. You nod toward the girls, your voice so soft it hardly disturbs the quiet of the room.

“We should get them to bed,” you murmur, the words gentle, careful, as though you’re trying not to disrupt a delicate peace.

Natasha gives a barely perceptible nod, her eyes lingering on you for a moment longer than necessary, as though she’s searching for something. Then, she looks down at the girls, her features softening into something achingly vulnerable. She shifts, moving slowly so as not to disturb Lily, her hands moving with the practiced care of someone who’s done this a hundred times over but who never takes it for granted.

You step forward, slipping your arms beneath Nina, feeling the gentle weight of her small body settle against you as you carefully lift her, your heart swelling with that instinctive protectiveness you’d felt since the day she was born. Natasha mirrors you, tenderly sliding her arms under Lily, her movements so gentle it’s as though she’s afraid to wake her from whatever dream she’s lost in. Together, you make your way down the hallway, your footsteps muffled on floor.

Natasha trails a few steps behind you, her gaze lingering on the small bundle in your arms. There’s something undeniably tender in the way she holds Lily close, quiet in every step as if even her footfalls could shatter the peace that’s settled over the house. She watches as you cradle Nina with the same delicate care, and she can’t help but feel a pang of something—nostalgia, perhaps, or maybe it’s something deeper, something achingly familiar and distant at the same time.

You reach the doorway to their shared bedroom, and you both instinctively pause, a silent agreement hanging between you as you ease open the door just enough to slip inside. The room is softly lit by a nightlight in the corner casting a warm, gentle glow. You move first, bending to lay Nina down into her bed, brushing a stray lock of hair from her forehead as she settles into her pillow, the smallest smile flickering across her sleeping face.

Natasha steps forward, carrying Lily with the same care, lowering her slowly, as if she was releasing something precious. She smooths the blankets over Lily’s small form, her hand lingering on her daughter’s shoulder for a brief moment, her thumb brushing in a gentle, protective arc.

You both stand back, side by side, your eyes on the two little figures in the bed, their steady breaths filling the silence between you.

You turn first, giving the room one last look before stepping into the hallway, leaving the door just a crack open. Natasha lingers, her gaze falling on the spot where you had stood only moments before. She doesn’t follow immediately, instead letting herself absorb of the room, the weight of it pressing on her chest.

Then, Natasha’s feet shuffle lightly on the carpet, her shoulders tight, her movements more careful than usual. She takes a breath, then steps into the hallway, spotting you just ahead, walking back down the dimly lit corridor, your shoulders softly sloped in a way she recognizes well. Her pulse stutters, a swell of unvoiced words caught in her throat as she trails behind, her eyes fixed on your silhouette.

You pause, turning slowly, the faintest glint of something heavy in your eyes. Natasha freezes, almost holding her breath as you look up at her, gaze wavering, like you’re fighting with words you’re not sure you should say. She knows this look well enough to brace herself, the feeling of dread curling in her stomach. Her shoulders stiffen, instinctively preparing for the worst as the silence stretches, each second laced with something unspeakable.

“I… wanted to talk to you about something,” you say gently, almost catching her by surprise.

Natasha’s shoulders drop a fraction, her breath catching at your words. She hadn’t expected that, not tonight. Her gaze flickers, uncertain but hopeful, as she steps closer, nodding her head eagerly.

“Okay,” Natasha murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. She’s trying to appear calm, but there’s a tension in her eyes, a cautious vulnerability that betrays her. She searches your face for any hint, any sign of what you’re about to say.

“Lily’s birthday is coming up,” you say softly, your gaze finally lifting to meet Natasha’s, even if just for a moment.

Natasha nods slowly, trying to read between the lines, unsure of what you’re really thinking. She remembers every birthday, every milestone, how you used to plan together, side by side, laughing over cake designs and decorations.

“Lily keeps asking…” you start, your voice so quiet Natasha has to strain to hear. She watches you, noting the way you hesitate, choosing your words with care. “If we could go back to Wanda’s cabin. You know the girls like it there…”

The suggestion hangs heavy between you. Her mind floods with memories of those trips—Wanda’s warm cabin, the girls’ laughter, the four of you bundled in sweaters, sharing cozy meals and evening walks in the crisp, autumn air. Those times felt like forever in the best way possible, like nothing could disturb the harmony you’d built together.

“Yeah… yeah, they love it,” Natasha murmurs, her voice catching. Her eyes are distant, clouded with thoughts she isn’t sure she’s allowed to express. The idea of returning feels almost like opening a door she thought you’d closed for good. Still, the prospect brings a bittersweet hope, like maybe a piece of the life she lost could be revived, if only for several days.

You shift uncomfortably, glancing away as though admitting this feels too vulnerable, as if voicing it aloud might betray too much of what you’re holding back.

Your words come out soft, almost as if they’d slipped through a crack in your resolve. “It’d be weird to go without you… For them, I mean.”

The admission lingers, tentative, like an echo that neither of you expected. Natasha stands there, motionless, her gaze locked on you, and you can feel the weight of her eyes on you. She doesn’t respond, perhaps because she doesn’t know how to, or maybe because there’s nothing she could say that would sound right after everything that happened.

You keep your eyes on the floor—this reluctant honesty shared after years of trying to keep a cautious distance. There’s a tenderness in the air, one that feels unfamiliar now, something you haven’t allowed yourself to acknowledge since the divorce. Natasha doesn’t move, and for a moment, you wonder if she’ll reach for you, break the wall of silence. But she just stays there, rooted, like she’s afraid that any movement might shatter the understanding you’ve found yourselves in.

“Maybe, we could… all go,” Natasha offers finally, her voice hushed. “If that’s what you want.”

You glance up, catching her eyes for the first time in what feels like ages. There’s a weight there, a heaviness she carries, lingering regret woven into her eyes. You break the gaze quickly, focusing on a spot on the wall behind her, holding onto the barrier you’ve had to build to keep yourself steady.

“It’s what Lily wants.”

Natasha’s lips press into a thin line, nodding slowly, her fingers fidgeting by her sides. The truth is plain between you: this isn’t really about what either of you want. It’s about the tiny person who’s still dreaming down the hall, in her own perfect, unbroken world where her family feels whole. And somehow, even after everything, you both want to keep it that way for her. The idea of doing this trip together feels as precarious as it does bittersweet. But the image of Lily’s face when she sees you all together, the way she lights up at the mention of Wanda’s cabin, that’s enough to ease the ache.

Natasha leaves late that night, a soft click of the door echoing in the house after she’s gone. You’re left in the quiet, the weight of the decision settling slowly over you. You’d both agreed—two nights, maybe three—just enough time for the girls to enjoy their favorite place, to breathe in the crisp air and marvel at the autumn leaves.

You exhale, leaning against the counter, the thought of those days stirring up a mix of emotions you’ve worked so hard to bury. There’s excitement for the girls, the way their faces will light up at seeing Wanda’s cabin again. You can almost picture Nina and Lily scrambling around the place, giggling and squealing, thrilled at the rare chance to have both their parents there together, even if things have changed.

As you glance down the hall where they’re still sleeping, you wonder what it will feel like to play at something close to normal, if only for a few days. For Lily, for Nina—you would try to make it work.

A few weeks later, Natasha arrives in her old grey Lada Niva. You could hear the familiar rumble of the engine before you even see the car pull up. You’d almost forgotten the way it sounds—the low, steady hum that used to fill the spaces between you two, back when things were simpler. The car, a relic from another time, was a piece of Natasha that never changed, a constant that the girls had grown to love just as much as she did. It had been years since you’d last ridden in it, since those family road trips that now felt like distant memories you barely dared to touch.

Nina and Lily don’t hold back, rushing to the door as Natasha parks, their excited squeals echoing as they shout, “Mama!” and clamber down the front steps.

You watch as she steps out, smiling with that familiar, easy warmth that once felt like home. She crouches to their level, her arms opening as they run to her, and you can’t help but feel the smallest tug at your heart as she lifts them both in a swift, effortless motion, twirling them around like old times. Her laughter, soft and genuine, floats over to you as you linger in the doorway, a faint, bittersweet ache stirring within you.

She looks up from the girls, her gaze meeting yours, and you catch the flicker of something in her eyes—maybe nostalgia, maybe uncertainty, or maybe something else entirely. You clear your throat, trying to shake off the unease, then grab the bags by the door. You brace yourself for the weight of them, but as you take a step forward, Natasha’s shadow moves alongside you, close enough that you feel her presence before you hear her voice.

“Hey, let me,” she murmurs, her voice soft and warm.

Before you can protest, her hands reach for the bags, fingers grazing yours for the briefest second. It’s a touch so light that it leaves a ghostly warmth lingering on your skin, but it’s enough to catch you off guard, your breath hitching as she gently eases the bags out of your hands.

You watch as she walks over to the car, her movements steady and familiar, the ease with which she lifts the weight somehow comforting and unsettling all at once. Her shoulders are relaxed, yet there’s a focus in the way she sets the bags in the trunk. She turns back to you, a faint smile pulling at her lips, and for a fleeting second, the past seems to slip into the present.

You tear your gaze away to walk over and open the passenger door and slide in, the scent of old leather and faint traces of Natasha’s cologne unmistakable. It’s strange, slipping back into this space, sitting beside her again like this, feeling the past brushing close but staying just out of reach.

The drive was quiet for the most part, other than the sound of the girls’ favorite songs playing on the car radio. Natasha’s hands grip the steering wheel with ease, and her driving is as steady as it always was. Outside the window, the trees blur by, softened by late autumn light, and you lose yourself in the landscape.

Every now and then, Natasha’s gaze strays from the road to linger on you. She catches herself, tries to refocus, but her eyes drift back almost instinctively, drawn to the way you sit, wrapped in your own thoughts. Her hand hovers just slightly above her thigh, muscles tensing with the urge to reach out and place it on yours, an instinct that feels so ingrained it’s almost muscle memory. But she pulls back, fingers flexing as they return to the wheel. She remembers all the times she’d reach over without thinking, her palm resting against your thigh.

And as she glances at you once more, her chest tightens, that feeling of missing you growing stronger each and every day.

“There’s more trees now,” Natasha mutters, driving along the dirt path, getting closer towards the destination.

The cabin sits quietly in the woods, nestled under a canopy of tall pines. It’s quiet and private—the next house probably miles away. The air is cool and crisp, smelling faintly of woodsmoke, and when you text Wanda to let her know you’ve arrived, her reply is short, almost comforting in a way, telling you to enjoy yourselves with a tiny smiley face at the end. She doesn’t need to say much; she knows what this place means. She knows it has its own kind of healing, as subtle as the wind rustling through the trees.

When you get out of the car, you unload your things, the girls’ things, and settle in to the cabin.

The girls are thrilled to be here. They take to the cabin with the kind of joy only children can muster, filling the space with giggles that spill out through open windows. They chase each other around the clearing, calling for Natasha to play along, and she does, jumping into their games with an ease that’s somehow both comforting and bittersweet. She’s gentle with them, her patience surprising in moments when the girls demand more and more of her. She spins them in her arms, laughs with them, gets them to try new tricks—whatever they ask, she does. She’s always been a good mother. You’ve never doubted that.

You find yourself watching from the porch, hands wrapped around a mug that’s gone cold, rooted in place by the weight of memories. Sometimes you slip inside, needing the familiar rhythm of chopping and stirring, needing to focus on something simple, something that grounds you. The scents of rosemary and garlic fill the kitchen, and it’s strange, but this simple act of cooking feels like a kind of armor. It’s something you can control, even if you feel like everything else is slipping from your grasp.

Natasha catches your eye sometimes, her glance lingering in a way that almost feels hesitant, as if she’s waiting for you to join them. But you stay back, listening to the sounds of their laughter from a distance. You’ve built walls around yourself, fragile as they are, and the thought of letting them down, even for a moment, feels terrifying. You want to be a part of this, to let yourself fall into the warmth of your family again, but something holds you back. So you stay where you are, like an outsider in your own life.

The first night the girls are already settled into their beds, sleeping peacefully and Natasha is in the living room, moving quietly, tugging a thin sheet over the lumpy couch cushions and fluffing a pillow that barely holds its shape. Her movements are careful, almost too careful. From the shadowed hallway, you watch her in silence. You know how stiff her back gets, how this couch does her no favors, and how, come morning, the sun will stream straight through the window to warm her face uncomfortably awake. You sigh, a little louder than you mean to, and Natasha glances up but doesn’t see you there, just lingering in the shadows, uncertain.

Finally, you take a breath and step into the dim light of the living room, your voice quiet as you say, “The bed is big enough for both of us, you know. You could sleep there. If you want.” You try to keep your tone casual, as if you haven’t thought this over a hundred times, and shrug lightly. “But you don’t have to. It’s just… an option.”

She stands still, her hand pausing over the pillow, eyes glancing to the floor. Of course she wanted to. But she looks at you, hesitant, as if searching for any hint that this offer is anything more than what you said it was. There’s a flicker of uncertainty in her gaze, something softened by a yearning she’s trying too hard to hide from you.

Without waiting for her response, you turn and walk away, not looking back, not wanting to see the indecision flickering across her face.

For a moment, the silence stretches and fills the empty room behind you. You hear the softest rustle as she stands there, still unsure, before her footsteps follow yours into the bedroom, cautious and quiet. The bed creaks as she settles on her side, keeping a respectful distance, her breaths slow and steady. She doesn’t say a word, but you feel her presence, steady and comforting, like a familiar warmth close enough to touch yet lingering just out of reach.

Natasha lies stiffly on the edge of the bed, her back turned but senses tuned to every breath you take beside her. The proximity—it feels like an exquisite kind of torture, and she’s aware that it’s probably worse than any discomfort the couch could have offered. But somehow, she welcomes it, aches for it, even as she tells herself to keep her distance, to keep her composure.

She can feel the warmth radiating from you, close enough that the tiniest shift would bring her shoulder against yours, but she keeps herself still, staring into the dark, wide awake. Her mind refuses to settle; memories tumble through her thoughts, fragments of laughter, the easy warmth you used to share. She finds herself painfully aware of the rise and fall of your breathing, the gentle way your face looks when you’re asleep, and she almost can’t contain herself.

She knows she won’t sleep tonight. How could she, lying here in the same bed, close enough to touch you, yet worlds apart?

But eventually, as the night wears on, she does.

It’s your breathing that does it, she realizes, grounding her, washing over her like a lullaby. The sound is soft but constant, and she closes her eyes, letting it surround her, allowing herself, just this once, to be comforted by it. Her hand twitches, wanting to reach out, to rest beside yours on the sheets, but she holds backinstead.

And, in time, Natasha drifts off, lulled by the gentle rhythm of you beside her, more at ease than she’s been in years.

The next night, you help Lily and Nina bake a cake.

The kitchen is a mess. Flour dusts the countertops, the floor, even speckles across your cheeks and Lily’s small hands. Nina stands on her tiptoes on a kitchen stool, eyeing the mixing bowl with such intense concentration that you can’t help but smile. It’s chaotic and loud, with squeals of laughter whenever a dollop of batter splatters onto someone’s arm. Lily is at the helm, her little hands wielding a wooden spoon as if it’s a magic wand.

“Mommy, I want the sprinkles!” she exclaims, reaching for a bright container of them before you even have a chance to measure them out.

But you don’t stop her; it’s her night, and this mess is hers to make. Every year she insists on making her own birthday cake, decorating it however she pleases, and every year it’s as beautifully haphazard as she is. You watch her, feeling the warmth of her enthusiasm, her innocence.

Natasha watches from the doorway, leaning against the frame, a soft smile on her lips. She takes in the scene quietly, hoping that it’d never go away—the joy, the laughter, the way Nina’s eyes light up as she carefully mixes ingredients, the concentration on Lily’s face as she decorates her cake, and then, you… God, you looked so beautiful. The mother of her children. The person she once called her wife. When you glance over, you catch Natasha’s gaze, and there’s a tenderness there as she smiles lightly at you, knowing exactly where her place is. So, she doesn’t move. She watches.

Eventually, the cake is baked, golden and imperfect, with sprinkles scattered unevenly over thick layers of frosting. It’s more of an abstract work of art than anything, but Lily beams with pride, her little hands sticky with icing as she admires her creation.

When it’s finally time to sing, she stands on a chair, practically glowing as everyone joins in, voices soft and full of love. Everybody sings. The light of the candle flickers across the girls’ faces as Natasha’s voice blends in with yours, and for a moment, everything feels… whole. You catch her eye again, and she looks at you with something unreadable—hope, maybe.

But you look away and her smile falls.

Then, Wanda visits on the last day.

Her visit catches you off guard, appearing just as you’re gathering up the last odds and ends in the cabin. She breezes in with that familiar smile, warmth radiating from her as if she’d been here all along, making herself at home in the easy way she always does. It’s been a couple weeks since you last saw her, yet here she is, greeting the girls with the kind of affection that only Wanda has, her laugh bright and contagious as she swoops them up one by one. You can’t help but smile as they cling to her, their giggles filling the cabin as they chatter on about every little detail of the weekend, as if they hadn’t seen her in ages.

Then, somewhere between the hugs and the laughter, Wanda’s eyes meet yours, a glimmer of something mischievous sparking in them.

Before you know it, she’s suggested ice cream, casually slipping the offer into the air, barely giving you a moment to consider before Nina and Lily’s eyes light up with excitement, their voices blending into one constant, pleading hum of “Please, Mommy, please!”

You hesitate, glancing around at the half-packed bags and open suitcases scattered on the floor. There’s still so much to do, and the sky outside has that heavy look to it, the kind that promises to come down hard if given the chance. You shoot Wanda a skeptical look, but she just waves it off, her voice light and certain.

“Oh, I’ll just take them real quick,” she says, already holding out her hands as Nina grabs one, Lily the other.

You glance once more at the ominous clouds hanging low in the sky. They should wait, you think, but you’ve already seen the way their faces light up at the mention of ice cream, and you can’t bring yourself to say no, not when they’re this happy.

So you sigh, pulling each of them close for a quick hug, whispering your usual cautions, “Be careful, okay? And Wanda, please… it looks like it’s about to rain.”

With a final nod, you watch as they pile out the door, their voices fading into the thick silence left in their wake. And suddenly, it’s just you and Natasha, an entire cabin somehow feeling smaller without the girls. She clears her throat softly, moving to help with a stray pile of blankets, and you follow.

The silence between you stretches on and you find yourself too aware of every sound she makes, the soft rustling of fabric, the soft padding of her steps across the creaky wooden floor. You don’t dare look at her, not directly, focusing instead on the small tasks in front of you: folding the blankets with slow, methodical care, stacking up dishes in silence, packing up the girls’ scattered toys one by one. But out of the corner of your eye, you can see Natasha’s glances, her fingers moving with a touch too gentle, as if each item in her hands were something precious, something irreplaceable.

When she reaches over, her hand brushing yours as she passes a blanket, you freeze for the briefest second, your heart pounding in a way you wish you could ignore. It’s strange, this small gesture—nothing more than a graze of skin, but it feels heavy.

After a moment, Natasha clears her throat, shifting her gaze to the window where the sky darkens further.

“Looks like a storm’s coming,” she murmurs, more to herself than to you, but her voice is close, familiar in a way that aches, that reminds you of nights spent together, whispering in the dark.

And you want to say something, to fill the silence with something else, but the words won’t come out.

Instead, you both go back to packing in silence, And as you reach for another item, you catch her eyes on you again, lingering a second longer than necessary, something soft and unreadable passing through them before she looks away.

When the last bag is zipped and the blankets are folded neatly on the couch, the sky finally breaks open with a relentless downpour. Raindrops hammer against the cabin roof. You glance out the window, watching as the world outside the cabin turns hazy and blurred, colors melting together in streaks. It’s coming down harder than you expected, the kind of rain that turns roads to rivers, and any hope of a quick drive to meet Wanda and the girls seems to vanish.

Natasha stands beside you, her gaze following yours out the window. There’s something calming in the way she stands there, shoulders relaxed, as if she were rooted to the spot, waiting without a rush. She doesn’t offer any suggestion about the rain or attempt to fill the silence, and somehow, that makes it harder to ignore her presence.

Thunder rumbles somewhere in the distance, low and resonant, like a warning. You watch as Natasha crosses her arms, her fingers tapping lightly against her sleeve as if in thought, and you can tell she’s trying to gauge the storm, trying to calculate how long you’ll be stuck here together.

Natasha looks over at you, an almost apologetic look flickering across her face. “I’ll go check on the car real quick,” she murmurs, her voice low enough to blend with the rain. “I know we probably shouldn’t go anywhere right now, but it’s old, and it never does well sitting in rain like this.”

You only nod, saying nothing, watching her pull on a jacket and tug the hood over her head before slipping out the front door. The rain swallows her figure instantly, and you see her trudge through the mud, her boots sinking slightly with every step.

Through the window, you can just barely make out the shape of Natasha as she reaches the car, her hand brushing over its rain-streaked surface with a soft touch, like she’s apologizing to it for what she’s about to ask of it. The headlights flicker as she tries to turn it over, but the engine groans before settling into silence again. Another turn of the key yields the same result, the rumble followed by a spluttering cough as the car refuses to cooperate, sinking ever deeper into the mud.

You watch as Natasha leans back in the driver’s seat, her shoulders slumping in quiet resignation. She presses her forehead against the steering wheel for a moment, as if gathering herself, then takes a deep breath and steps out. She gives the car a gentle, almost defeated pat on the hood, the look of someone who knows they’ve tried all they can. When she glances back toward the cabin, her gaze lifts to find you through the window.

She walks back, her steps slow, head slightly bowed against the storm. When she reaches the porch, Natasha shakes out her hood, droplets splashing across the wooden boards, and stands for a moment, hesitating as if she doesn’t want to be the bearer of more bad news. But there’s a strange, almost gentle softness in her gaze as she finally meets your eyes.

“It’s stuck,” she says quietly, tugging the hood down. “The mud’s got it pretty good, and… I don’t think we’re going anywhere tonight.”

You nod, trying to ignore the small part of you that almost feels relief at her words. You watch the rainwater drip down from her jacket, forming a small puddle at her feet, and the cabin’s warmth surrounds you both, soft and heavy. Natasha only watches you as you pull your phone out to text Wanda. You fumble with your phone, tapping the screen to try and coax a single bar of signal to life. Nothing. The little icon taunts you with its emptiness, a dead end in the storm.

“Damn it,” you mutter under your breath, low enough that it almost feels like an afterthought, something you wish would disappear into the sounds of the rain.

Natasha’s voice, gentle and steady, breaks through. “I’m sure the girls are fine with Wanda…”

You look at her. Her gaze is fixed on you, softened by a faint worry lingering at the corners of her eyes. There’s a sincerity you see in her irises. You look away, down to your phone as though it might somehow find a way to work.

The silence settles in again, heavier this time. Natasha shifts on her feet, uncertain, as if waiting for something from you—a response, an assurance, anything to break the tension she can feel thickening in the air. But instead, you simply pocket your phone, shoulders tense as you press your lips together in thought, a part of you unwilling to trust that everything is okay. You don’t respond, your mind too wrapped up in worry, feeling that gnawing pit in your stomach that refuses to ease, the sense that something is just… out of reach, outside of your control.

The rain comes down in sheets, a constant drumming against the windows and the roof, filling the air with a steady hum. But inside, the silence between you and Natasha is deafening, thicker than the rain, pressing down on you in a way that makes it hard to breathe. Each passing second feels heavier, and you can feel yourself starting to unravel under the weight of it. It’s suffocating, somehow.

You glance down, trying to keep your breathing steady, but there’s something clawing at you from the inside, a mix of panic and… something else. The feeling of being here alone with her, the person you loved so much and lost so painfully, is almost too much to bear. You press your lips together, trying to ignore the way your chest tightens, the way your hands start to tremble just a little. It’s as if everything’s closing in on you, the walls, the quiet, the memories. You sense Natasha watching you, catching the small signs you’re trying to hide. Her gaze is warm, careful, as if she’s afraid that one wrong move could make everything fall apart. She shifts, almost reaching out, her hand hesitating in the space between you, as if she’s weighing whether she has the right to offer any comfort.

A shaky breath escapes you, breaking the silence, and you almost regret it instantly. It’s like you’ve let down a barrier, and Natasha’s expression softens, her eyes filled with something that’s so familiar it hurts. The ache inside you grows stronger, and you find yourself wanting to say something, anything, but the words stick in your throat. You can feel the weight of all that’s unsaid between you—the hurt, the love, the quiet grief of two people who once had everything and lost it.

For a second, you catch her eye, and you’re pulled right back to those moments when it was just the two of you, when you didn’t need words to understand each other. You have to look away, not ready to face the full force of it.

You take a shaky step backward, feeling your chest tighten as you distance yourself from Natasha, as though putting even a few inches between you could somehow ease the ache clawing inside you.

“I… I can’t be here,” you murmur, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice, raw and low.

You glance toward the rain-soaked windows, almost desperate for escape, the downpour outside strangely inviting, anything to cut through the weight of this moment. You’re one step from turning toward the door when you feel Natasha’s fingers close gently around your wrist, her hold soft but unyielding.

“I won’t let you go out in this rain,” she says, her voice steady, a quiet determination threading through her tone. She’s close now, closer than she’s been in so long, and the warmth of her hand against your skin, even through the fabric of your sleeve, sends a shiver down your spine.

You look down at her hand, your eyes tracing the lines of her fingers where they touch you, and for a moment, you feel yourself waver, caught between the urge to pull away and the desire to stay. It’s almost as if her touch could melt away everything you’re carrying, all the years, the heartbreak, the carefully rebuilt walls. But you don’t move, and she doesn’t let go.

“Please,” she whispers, her thumb brushing gently along your wrist. It’s the barest touch, but it’s enough to keep you grounded, to make you feel like maybe, just maybe, you don’t have to face this alone.

There’s a beat of silence, and then Natasha’s hand falls away from your wrist, fingers slipping into emptiness as if she’s retreating into herself. Her gaze drops, the slightest flinch crossing her face, a flash of something broken that she quickly tries to bury.

“I can go make you some tea,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper, gentler than you’ve heard in a long time. It’s a soft offering that she knows has always brought you comfort.

But you turn away, steeling yourself. “I don’t need it,” you reply, sharper than you mean to, the words laced with bitterness you can’t hide.

Natasha hesitates, her hand hovering in the air like she wants to reach for you, to do something, anything, to take the pain from your eyes. “It’ll help—” she begins softly.

“I don’t need anything from you,” you cut her off, voice splintering, more forceful this time, a fierce edge to the words that lands heavy in the space between you.

Natasha stares, caught off guard, and her expression shifts, something fragile crossing her face that she can’t quite hide. She opens her mouth, but no words come, her voice lodged somewhere too deep to reach. She doesn’t fight back, doesn’t press you. Instead, she just watches, taking in every tremor, every piece of you she’s shattered.

And that’s when you feel it—everything inside you begins to unravel, as if a dam has broken. Your voice drops to a whisper, your gaze falling to the floor, and your hands start to shake as you choke out, “I don’t… I don’t need you.”

The words come softer, barely audible, and you realize it’s as much for yourself as it is for her.

But then your voice cracks, your resolve slipping, and the truth of it cuts into you like glass. The tears come, quiet at first, slipping down your cheeks as you try to hold it together, but the pain is too much. You can’t stop the sobs that rise, each one sharper than the last, as the weight of it all threatens to swallow you whole.

Natasha’s heart twists painfully as she watches you, each quiet sob striking her deeper than any wound she’s ever endured. She hates seeing you like this, hates that she’s the reason for it. Every tear, every tremor, is a reminder of the ways she’s failed you. There’s a pain that fills her, clawing at her chest as she stands there, watching you break in front of her, knowing there’s nothing she can do to piece you back together.

Her hands itch to reach out, to pull you close, to soothe you the way she used to. But the distance between you feels unbridgeable. She can only stand there, fists clenching at her sides as she tries to steady herself, feeling utterly powerless. Regret presses down on her, heavy and unrelenting, mingling with a love she never stopped feeling and a longing that never seems to fade.

Every part of her wants to close the gap, to say something that might ease the pain she’s caused, but all she can manage is a quiet, broken whisper.

“I’m so sorry,” she murmurs, her voice cracking, barely audible over the sound of your quiet sobs.

It’s the same apology she’s given a hundred times, one that feels worn out, hoping it will somehow be enough to mend what’s been broken. But even as the words leave her lips, she knows they don’t carry the weight they used to.

Your hands reach up to push her weakly. It only takes three pushes until Natasha feels the cool wall of the cabin press against her back as your hands meet her chest, each shove more desperate than the last. She doesn’t resist, doesn’t move to stop you, just lets you push her—lets you release everything that’s been simmering inside. The look in her eyes is pained but unwavering, as if she knows she deserves every bit of anger, every ounce of resentment, that you hurl at her.

When your voice breaks on those words, “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you,” it feels like something inside her is splintering.

She’s faced countless enemies, stared down dangers most people couldn’t imagine, but nothing has ever gutted her like hearing you say those words. Her chest aches in a way she can’t describe; it’s a hollow, consuming pain that only comes from hurting someone you love.

“I hate you,” you say again.

Natasha swallows, her own eyes shining with unshed tears as she reaches out instinctively, hesitantly, as if she might still be able to comfort you, though she knows it’s selfish. Her fingers brush your arms, just barely, but she stops, feeling unworthy to touch you, even if every fiber of her being wants to hold you.

“I know,” she whispers, her voice low, raw. “I know. I hate myself too.” Her words come out fractured, like she’s fighting to keep them steady.

You press against Natasha with the last bit of strength you have left, hands shoving her even as your body begins to crumble under the weight of all you’ve been holding back. Your knees weaken, unsteady as a wave of exhaustion overtakes you, and you feel yourself start to slip. And Natasha, still pressed against the wall, doesn’t hesitate. She reaches for you, arms encircling you in one swift, instinctive movement, pulling you close against her as though she’s been waiting for this—for any chance to hold you again.

You struggle at first, fists pressing weakly against her chest as you try to push her away, to break free from the comfort that only stings in its familiarity. But Natasha’s grip is firm, and steady, that doesn’t falter as you fight against her. She doesn’t say a word, doesn’t loosen her hold; she just holds you close, pressing you to her, heart hammering beneath your cheek.

Eventually, the exhaustion wins. All of your fight slips away. A ragged sob escapes your lips, and then another, and before you know it, you’re crying fully, the sound muffled against the warmth of Natasha’s neck. She lets her cheek rest against the top of your head, her hand moving to stroke your back in small, soothing circles, each touch tender and careful, as if she’s afraid of breaking what little is left of you.

“I’m here,” she whispers into your hair, her voice barely a breath, soft and unwavering. “I’m right here.”

She repeats it, holding you even closer, feeling each of your sobs shake through her. For the first time in a long time, Natasha feels you, feels you surrender in her arms, and it breaks her as much as it mends her.

Eventually, your sobs subside, fading into shallow, uneven breaths. You can feel Natasha’s steady heartbeat beneath your palm, and the room settles into a stillness as heavy as the rain outside. Slowly, hesitantly, you lift your head, pulling back just enough to see her face. And in that close space between you, you realize she’s been crying too. Silent tears slip down her cheeks, glistening under the dim light, eyes raw and vulnerable in a way that you’ve almost forgotten.

You take her in, every detail of her face, so familiar yet somehow achingly new. Her lips part, a trembling breath barely filling the space between you, and there’s something almost fragile in her gaze, like she’s as uncertain of this as you are.

Neither of you speaks.

And before you can second-guess it, before you can pull yourself back, your lips meet hers. The touch is gentle, neither of you moving too quickly, afraid to shatter whatever understanding has settled between you. Natasha’s hand moves slowly, coming up to cradle the side of your face, her thumb grazing your cheek so that nearly undoes you.

The kiss deepens, the two of you leaning into each other, guiding each other towards the couch just behind you. You straddle her, settling yourself on her lap, feeling the heat radiating from her body, and it’s intoxicating. Your hands tangle in her hair, drawing her closer, as your lips press against each other. You feel her tongue in your mouth, moaning against your lips and for the first time in years, she remembers the taste of you. She wanted more. More. More. More—

And Natasha snaps back to reality.

“I can’t do this,” she gasps, pulling away, her breath uneven, a pained look etched across her face.

You freeze, disbelief washing over you like a cold tide. “What?” you whisper, the weight of her words crashing into you.

It’s as if the ground has fallen out beneath your feet. The warmth you felt disappeared, replaced by an uncomfortable chill that seeps into your bones. You feel it all over again. You feel unwanted. And you wanted to get away from her, as fast as you could.

But Natasha’s grip tightens around your hips, anchoring you in place. “No, no, please,” she pleads. “Please don’t go.”

Her voice breaks and stops your movements. Instead of pushing away, you find yourself drawn back into her orbit. Natasha pulls you closer, resting her forehead against your shoulder, and you feel the warmth of her tears soak into the fabric of your shirt. You sit there in silence, letting Natasha cry against you.

You remember the warmth of her laughter, the way her eyes would light up when she saw you, how her touch used to feel like home. You sigh, feeling the ache in your chest as Natasha clings to you. It feels strange, foreign even, to see her like this, to feel her emotions pouring out when she’s usually so guarded, so composed. You gently run your fingers through her red hair, each stroke an attempt to calm her down just as it always did. It’s rare to see Natasha like this, and the sight of her tears pulls at something deep within you, something that refuses to let go of the memories you once shared.

Her breath is warm against your neck as she whispers, “It’s not that I don’t want you…” Her voice trembles, soft and almost hesitant. “I always want you… but I want you to be sure. I want you to want me too… not now… not when we’re still fighting like this.”

The words settle heavily between you. Her confession is raw and earnest, a glimpse into the heart she so rarely lets anyone see. The warmth of her touch and the depth of her gaze make you feel as though you’re standing on the edge of something vast and uncertain. You could so easily fall back into her arms but the walls that the two of you have built—brick by painful brick—are still there.

“I know,” you murmur, your voice barely more than a breath, trying to find the right words to bridge the space between you.

You want to tell her that you’re here, that part of you has always been here, waiting. But you’re afraid too, afraid of what wanting her again could mean, afraid of the heartbreak that might be waiting if things were to fall apart once more. You pause, resting your cheek against her head, feeling the soft tickle of her hair against your skin.

“I know,” you say again, softer this time, as if to convince yourself as much as her.

Natasha’s eyes drift shut, and she lets out a long, unsteady sigh as she pulls you closer, absorbing the feeling of your warmth, the familiar weight of you against her. It’s been years since she’s held you like this, years since she’s felt your skin. Every inch of her aches with the realization of how much she’s missed this—missed you.

She lets her fingers trace gentle circles on your back, each touch cautious, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away the second she lets go. Memories flood her mind of the times when the two of you were unbreakable, your worlds wrapped around each other. All of it feels so close, so painfully real, like she could reach out and grasp it, yet impossibly far away. She’s overwhelmed, but she doesn’t want to move, doesn’t want to let go.

She listens to the rain, feels you underneath her fingertips, the scent of your skin filling her nose. She dreamed of holding you like this everyday for the past three years. And now that she had it, she wanted it forever.

“Where did we go wrong?” you whispered, almost too quiet for her to hear.

The question catches Natasha off-guard, lingers in the air between you, and she can barely bring herself to breathe, almost afraid that any movement might shatter this moment. She holds you a little tighter, as if she could somehow shield you from the pain in your voice.

She feels the weight of all the memories, the years you’ve shared, pressing down on her. She nuzzles closer, her face tucked into the curve of your neck, feeling the warmth of your skin against hers, a feeling she’d almost forgotten. She’s surprised you haven’t pulled away yet, as if the tenderness still feels too familiar, too natural.

“It’s my fault,” Natasha whispers, barely louder than the rain outside, her voice breaking around the edges. Her heart races, and she doesn’t dare to look at you, afraid of the hurt she knows she’ll see in your eyes.

You let out a heavy sigh, your gaze drifting somewhere past her, lost in thought. “You don’t think… I gave you a reason to… to find someone else?”

She’s stunned into silence, the realization settling over her that maybe, somehow, you’ve been carrying this blame, wondering if you were part of the reason she’d broken the life you built together. She blinks, swallowing hard as she tries to find the words, a flicker of panic rising in her chest.

“No,” she says firmly, her voice steady yet soft, almost pleading. She shifts, pulling back just enough to look at you, her hand gently brushing your cheek. “No, it was never because of you.”

But you’re still looking at her, and your voice trembles, barely holding back the pain.

“Don’t lie to me, Natasha.”

“I can’t,” she says.

Your eyes harden and you pull back slightly to look at her face, “The truth. You owe me that.”

She didn’t want to say it. Her heart twists, and she hesitates, closing her eyes as she forces herself to say the words she’s been too afraid to admit—even to herself.

“I thought… I thought you didn’t love me anymore.” Her voice wavers, her fingers tightening their hold on you as if afraid that letting go would mean losing you all over again.

The silence between you is thick and heavy, your breaths filling the quiet space as you absorb her words. She feels the guilt clawing at her, as if she’s baring every part of herself, hoping that you can see the truth buried within her confession. She never wanted to hurt you. She never wanted to push you away. But somewhere along the way, she’d lost sight of what mattered most, and she’d convinced herself it was too late, that the love you’d once shared had slipped through her fingers.

The word slips out, barely audible, cracked and raw. “Why?”

The question hangs in the air. Natasha feels it wrap around her heart. She forces herself to look at you, even though the sight of that single tear tracing its way down your cheek makes her want to look away. She knows this answer; she’s carried it silently, wordlessly, and now it seems so inevitable that you’d finally ask her.

She tries to swallow, her voice almost too thick to form the words. “You… you stopped touching me.”

It’s such a small statement, so simple, yet it feels too big, too complicated, as if it holds every untold truth between you.

She falters, looking down at her hands, gathering herself before she tries to explain.

“I don’t mean… just sex,” she says softly, her head shaking almost in shame, as if she doesn’t trust you to believe her. “It was all the little things. We used to be close, you know? I liked touching you, even if it was just brushing my hand against yours… feeling you next to me in bed. I liked—”

She pauses, her voice catching as she tries to summon the tenderness that’s still tucked away somewhere in the past.

“I liked holding you at night. I liked standing close to you when you cook. I liked that you liked holding my hands no matter how rough they were. And I loved how you’d kiss me before I left the house, or the way you’d kiss me again as soon as I came back…”

She trails off, the words fading into the silence. The silence presses down between you. It’s all so achingly clear at this moment. You sit there, absorbing her words, the hurt spreading through you in waves as she continues.

“And then… somewhere along the line, we just stopped,” she breathes into your neck. “We barely talked anymore. And when I tried to initiate anything… you’d pull away from me.”

Natasha’s voice is quiet, barely more than a whisper. But the way she says it hits you with a kind of clarity that feels like a wound reopening. She’s talking about something ordinary, something so small and routine that you can hardly believe it could be the reason for so much hurt. Yet now, hearing her say it, you realize how much those tiny moments meant. The gentle touches, the kisses, the reassurances you’d once given each other like breathing… how you pulled away from her… it was all fading even before you saw it happening.

She sits there, barely daring to breathe, looking at you with eyes that hold more regret than she’s ever known how to express. There’s a subtle twitch in her fingers, as if she wants to pull you even closer, to bridge that space between you that now feels so painfully wide.

The words spill out hesitantly, each one trembling with the weight of something you’ve kept hidden, maybe even from yourself. “I think… things changed for us after Nina was born.”

The realization feels sharp, pressing against you. You’re not blaming Nina—she’s so innocent, so undeserving of even a hint of this pain—but it’s like tracing back a long path through a dark wood, seeing the moments where you veered off course, where insecurities took root without you realizing it.

Natasha’s gaze is soft as she looks at you, her thumb grazing over your waist in small, comforting circles, coaxing you to keep talking.

“Why?” she asks gently, like she’s holding space for you.

You hesitate, feeling the words catch in your throat, but you force yourself to continue. “I don’t know… I… I’m the one who pulled away first.”

Natasha’s fingers pause on your waist, her focus fully on you, willing you to keep going. Her voice is a low murmur, soft but insistent, “Why did you pull away?”

The question cracks something open inside you, and you feel your lips start to quiver, your chest tightening with the ache of it all. You’re on the edge of sobbing again, but you push forward, knowing you can’t stop now. “Because I changed after Nina was born.”

Natasha’s brows knit together as she searches your face. “What do you mean?”

You take a shaky breath, looking down for a moment, as if saying it out loud will finally make it real, and will confirm what you’ve been so afraid to confront.

“My… my body changed.” Your voice is barely a whisper, fragile and almost embarrassed, but it’s there, raw and painfully honest.

A light bulb flickers on in Natasha’s mind as she processes your words.

“Did you think I had an issue with your body after Nina was born?” she asks quietly, her voice laced with both offense and confusion. She wants to understand, to dig deeper into your emotions. “Did you think I wouldn’t want you if your body changed?”

You shake your head, tears slipping down your cheeks like the rain outside, each drop echoing the chaos inside.

“No, I…” You struggle for the right words, each syllable weighed down with shame. “I don’t know. It was so stupid… Y-You’re always in shape, Natasha. Everyone you know and work with… they’re all perfect and strong and beautiful. And you’d come home and I’d be struggling to lose the weight I gained when I was pregnant. I’d have baby food in my hair. The times I didn’t get to shower early enough because taking care of the girls could get so hectic sometimes… and you would come home to that… and I thought…”

Your voice trails off, the weight of your thoughts pressing heavily on your chest. Natasha’s expression shifts as she absorbs your words, her brows furrowing in a way that reveals how deeply your pain affects her. She shakes her head, protesting against the image you’ve painted of yourself.

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, (Y/n). Always,” she says softly, wiping away your tears with her thumbs, her touch gentle yet firm, as if she could erase the hurt with the warmth of her hands. “I don’t look at you and think anything else other than how breathtaking you are. You carried and gave birth to both of our beautiful girls. That alone means everything to me. You didn’t have to pull away from me.”

“I… I pulled away… because I thought you wouldn’t want me anymore…” you confess, each word punctuated by the quiet sobs that escape you, an avalanche of emotions finally breaking free.

“I always want you,” Natasha sighs, a tear slipping down her cheek, mirroring your own pain. She murmurs, her voice thick with regret. “I wish I knew… I should’ve asked. I should’ve…”

Her words tumbled out in a rush. You see the depth of her sorrow, the realization that she could have made a difference if only she had reached out, if only she had known. As you cry silently, Natasha takes your hands in hers, cradling them like fragile treasures.

“I should’ve told you,” you say, watching as she soothed her fingers gently over your hands.

“No,” she interjects, her tone firm but gentle. “I should’ve known. I should’ve clued in on what was going on a long time ago.”

Natasha looks at you softly, memories flood her mind—images of that one night, a night she’d tried to forget but couldn’t escape. The feeling of abandonment gnawed at her as she replayed the moments leading up to her decision to leave. She remembers the heavy weight of despair that had settled in her chest, suffocating and relentless, making it impossible to breathe. She had convinced herself that if she went out, if she got drunk enough, maybe the pain of feeling unwanted would fade away.

But it only deepened.

In her haze, she had followed a woman into bed, desperately trying to imagine the warmth of your body in place of hers, the softness of your laughter, your gentle voice reassuring her that everything was okay, that you loved her. Natasha had thought that perhaps, just for a moment, she could replace the feeling of loneliness with something that resembled closeness. But the alcohol only made her feel more lost, more empty. And when the fog of the night began to lift, reality crashed down on her like a tidal wave.

Then, the devastation that followed was unbearable, the realization that she was lying next to someone who wasn’t you was a betrayal of its own. She had stumbled back to her car, tears streaming down her face as she cried against the steering wheel, the home you shared just miles away, reminding her of everything she had thrown away in that one moment of weakness.

“I wish I didn’t leave that night. I should’ve stayed with you,” Natasha murmurs, the regret thick in her voice.

She looks down, fingers fidgeting restlessly against your waist. The memory of that night, the night she let her pain turn her into someone she didn’t recognize, stings like an open wound.

In her mind, it replays over and over with cruel clarity: the empty bed she left behind, the bitter taste of jealousy and self-doubt that drove her out the door, and the alcohol she turned to, hoping it would numb the ache. But it only made things worse.

She remembers how her vision blurred, and in the hazy, dimly lit room, she’d let herself believe she was somewhere else—back home, with you, as if she could trick herself into feeling loved. She imagined your skin. She imagined your lips. She imagined your hands. She imagined your voice. She imagined it all to be you. She wanted it so badly to be you. That the woman she was with became an illusion that she’d desperately wanted to be real.

But it wasn’t. It was a lie she told herself, a lie that shattered the instant she sobered up. And when she told you the truth, when she saw the pain in your eyes, she knew the weight of what she’d done.

Her voice breaks as she continues, “I thought… that if I could just close my eyes and pretend, I’d feel close to you again.”

She risks a glance up, searching your face for something—understanding, forgiveness, anything to soften the truth of what she’s saying.

“All I could think about was you,” she whispers, her gaze dropping to where your hands rest between you. “Even when I was trying so hard to forget. It was only you. It’s always only been you.”

There’s a silence, a moment where her words settle, and she braces herself, unsure if her honesty will bring you closer or push you further away.

“I’m so sorry, (Y/n),” Natasha’s voice is barely above a whisper as she leans forward, resting her forehead against your shoulder, her hands slipping down to your hips, holding you gently but firmly against her lap. “I hate myself for hurting you as much as I did. And if I could go back and undo everything, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

There’s a tremor in her voice, a rawness in her apology that cuts through the walls you’d built, walls that once felt impenetrable, necessary. Now, they softened, melting under her words, her touches.

You sit there, not moving, not quite sure where to go with the ache that’s lodged itself in your chest. Natasha’s breath is warm against your neck, steady yet trembling with the emotion she can no longer contain. Her arms wrap tighter, as if she’s afraid you’ll slip away if she lets go. She presses her lips to your shoulder, a hesitant kiss, soft and laden with the weight of every unsaid apology, every moment she should’ve been there instead of elsewhere.

You feel your own heart twisting, caught between confusion and forgiveness, between the impulse to push her away and the urge to hold her closer, to let yourself be vulnerable just one more time. Natasha’s fingers flex against your hips, grounding herself in the reality of you here, with her, despite everything.

“I think… we were both lost, Natasha,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper, fingers threading gently through her red hair. Her hair is soft between your fingers, and somehow that simple act—the feel of her—grounds you both in the present.

Natasha tilts her head slightly, resting into your touch, as though she was seeking forgiveness in every gentle movement of your hand. Her eyes are closed, and you watch as her face softens, a flicker of relief and remorse still etched deep in her features.

“I was just… struggling… trying to hold everything together and forgetting… forgetting we were supposed to hold each other up.” Your voice cracks, but you push on, feeling Natasha’s grip on your waist tighten. “And you were hurting too. I didn’t even see it.”

Her eyes open then, green and full of something you can’t quite name. “I wish I had been stronger for the both of us… for you,” she murmurs, her hand lifting to brush a stray tear from your cheek. Her touch is warm, delicate, as if she’s afraid to break you any more than she already has.

You shake your head, your hand still buried in her hair. Your thumb strokes softly against her scalp, and her hand comes to cover yours, pressing it gently against her. Natasha opens her eyes to meet yours, and in that gaze, a flicker of hope ignites, mingled with uncertainty.

“What do you want us to do?” she asks softly and you hesitate, the words catching in your throat.

“I don’t know how to forgive you yet,” you admit, and the honesty feels fragile. The confession hangs in the air, but it’s not a rejection. It’s an acknowledgment of the hurt that has settled deep in both of you.

“I don’t think I’ll ever forgive myself for it,” Natasha replies, nodding her head in agreement, her voice thick with regret.

“But I… maybe we could try. It won’t be easy,” you say, a spark of resolve rising within you. “But I want us to try. Not just for you and me… but for the girls too.”

The thought of Lily and Nina grounds you, their innocent laughter echoing in your mind, reminding you of the love between you and Natasha not only affects the two of you, but the lives of your beautiful little girls as well. And they motivate you to be better, to be stronger in a lot of ways, no matter how scary something could be.

Natasha blinks, taken aback by your words. She searches your eyes, searching for some sign of betrayal, some hint that this is just another cruel twist of fate, but all she finds is sincerity—a desperate wish for something more. To move forward. A possibility.

You take a shaky breath. The anger and bitterness that had clouded your heart for so long begin to dissipate, and you realize that the facade you had built to protect yourself was crumbling. You had pretended to hate her kb because it felt easier than confronting the truth—that all you wanted was her love, her touch, her presence beside you.

“You said you hate me,” Natasha murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper, as her gaze drifts to your lips.

You take a moment to gather your thoughts. “I always told myself that I did. I thought I did.”

A silence stretches between you, thick with unsaid feelings and the echoes of past grievances. Natasha watches you intently, her emerald eyes searching for understanding, desperate to catch every part of your emotions.

“And even though I felt like I wanted to,” you continue, your voice trembling as the truth rises to the surface, “I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you, Natasha.”

Her breath catches in her throat. She tilts her head slightly, allowing a small smile to break through the sorrow etched on her features.

“You love me,” she repeats, her voice barely more than a murmur, eyes searching yours.

You take a steadying breath, feeling the weight of her gaze, the way it’s unraveling parts of you that you thought you’d locked away.

“Don’t act surprised,” you reply, sighing softly, almost chastising her for even doubting it. But there’s a hint of resignation in your voice, as if loving her has become an undeniable part of you, something you’ve both fought against and clung to.

Natasha’s expression shifts, and you see something like both relief and remorse in her eyes. She reaches up, her fingers brushing lightly against your cheek, lingering there as if grounding herself in this moment, in the truth of it.

“I didn’t know if you still did… if you still could.” Her voice is low, raw, carrying the weight of all her insecurities, the missteps and miscommunications that led you both here.

You hold her gaze, letting her see the depth of what you feel, all the love and pain tangled together, and you shake your head slightly.

“Loving you was never the problem, Natasha. I just… I didn’t know if I could keep doing it when I was… so angry with you.”

The admission aches as it leaves your lips, but it’s the truth. For all the love you feel, there’s been just as much pain, and it’s taken its toll on both of you.

Natasha nods, her thumb brushing against your cheek as if she’s memorizing every detail of it.

“Are you sure you still want to try with me?” she asks quietly. She’s looking at you with those green eyes that have seen so much, eyes that hold both love and a flicker of fear, as if she’s afraid of the answer.

You take a moment, feeling the gravity of her question settle in your chest. You nod slowly, your heart pounding against the silence that envelops you.

“I… I don’t know if I’m ready for us to be together soon…” The words feel thick on your tongue, but they’re the truth. You can’t rush this—too much has happened for that. “But, I still want to try.”

Natasha’s expression shifts slightly, the blink of pain that crosses her face making your heart ache in response. She nods, processing your words with the understanding that comes from a deep love.

“I just need time,” you add, hoping to offer her some reassurance amidst the uncertainty. “Maybe, we can take it slow?”

A small smile breaks through the tension, and in that moment, it feels like the world around you lights up just a bit. It’s not much, but it’s everything Natasha needs right now.

“However slow you want to go,” she replies, her voice softer and her hands gentle against your waist. “Whenever you’re ready. I’ll wait however long you need me to.”

The sincerity in her voice wraps around you like a warm blanket, easing some of the tightness in your chest. You can see the depth of her commitment in her eyes, a willingness to do whatever it takes to bridge the distance that formed between the two of you.

You lean into her slightly and whisper, “Thank you.”

Natasha looks at you, her gaze filled with a depth of emotion that makes your heart flutter. It’s as if she’s seeing you for the first time, not just as the woman she loves but as the most beautiful woman she has ever laid eyes on. The way her eyes soften, the way her lips curl into a smile—it’s overwhelming. There’s a longing there, an undeniable desire that urges her to close the distance, to lean in and kiss you. She wanted to kiss you so badly.

But she holds herself back, restraint crossing her features as she fights against it. Instead, she smiles gently, looking up at you. It’s a smile that says she’ll wait for you, no matter how long it takes. The warmth of her touch spreads. You feel a surge of gratitude. Her fingers press softly into your sides, holding you there without demanding anything more than what you’re ready to give.

Her gaze softens as she watches you, studying your face like it’s something she’s memorizing all over again, tracing every detail with her eyes. A small, almost hesitant smile plays at her lips, just the faintest upward curve, afraid to let the moment slip away.

It was quiet. Too quiet.

You watch as Natasha turns her head towards the window, her eyes shifting away from you.

“Where did the rain go?” she murmurs, almost to herself, her voice low.

You follow her gaze to the window, watching as raindrops cling to the glass in silent, scattered trails.

“The sun’s out,” you murmur, shifting off Natasha’s lap. Her hands linger for a second longer than they should, fingers brushing against you as you slip away and rise to your feet.

Natasha watches you cross the room, her gaze following each step, each small movement. You move towards the window, your hand brushing against the glass as you peer outside. The world looks untouched, as if the storm never even happened, with the sun spilling over the trees and grass, drying the last remnants of raindrops clinging to the leaves. In the distance, you catch sight of Wanda’s car pulling into the drive, her headlights cutting through the last threads of mist hanging low over the ground.

“It’s like it didn’t even rain,” you say softly, almost to yourself, the words carrying an odd, quiet wonder.

Natasha moves closely behind you. She’s close enough that you feel her there but she doesn’t reach out.

The car door clicks open, and you watch as your daughters jump out, their laughter filling the morning air as they spot you and Natasha in the window. They wave eagerly, little hands in the air, faces bright with excitement. You walk over to the front door and push the screen door open, stepping out onto the porch and watching Wanda step out of the car with a knowing look. Her expression is unreadable, that sly, familiar grin playing at her lips as she lingers by the driver’s side, watching the scene with a certain satisfaction.

Natasha’s smile widens as she looks at the girls, softening into something that feels almost like relief, her eyes lighting up as Nina comes running, arms wide, straight toward her.

“How’d you guys survive the rain?” you call out, a trace of teasing in your voice as the girls run up to you and Natasha, their laughter still bubbling over.

Nina giggles, wrapping herself around Natasha’s leg, as though she’s missed her all these hours.

“It didn’t rain, Mommy!” she laughs, her head tilting back, eyes sparkling with innocence.

The words take a moment to sink in. It didn’t rain. You exchange a look with Natasha, and suddenly it all starts to fall into place. Wanda’s magic. The quiet, unexpected downpour. The way the time seemed to disappear for hours, leaving you and Natasha stranded in the cabin with nothing but your hurt and your words to fill the silence. You feel the realization settle in, glancing between Natasha and Wanda.

You step closer, crossing your arms with a faint smirk and meeting Wanda’s eyes directly.

“Really?” you say, raising an eyebrow.

Wanda only shrugs, her mouth quirking in that mischievous, all-too-familiar smile. “Seemed like you two could use a little time to talk.”

She says it lightly, like a friend with good intentions, and yet there’s something so deliberate in her tone that you know she planned this from the start.

You let out a quiet sigh, shaking your head as you turn away, slipping back through the doorway to collect the bags still waiting by the cabin’s door. You can feel Natasha’s gaze on you as you move inside, her eyes following you like she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she looks away. But there’s a softness in her eyes now, a sort of peace that hadn’t been there before, like the air between you both is just a little lighter after the night you shared.

Behind you, Natasha stands on the porch, her hands resting loosely by her sides. She watches as the girls eagerly chatter, running toward her before she crouches down with a smile.

“Hey, girls,” she says gently, smoothing back a stray curl from Lily’s forehead. “Why don’t you go help Mommy with your things?”

Nina and Lily grin, nodding excitedly before they dart inside, their footsteps echoing across the cabin floor as they rush to your side, each one eagerly grabbing a piece of luggage and heading toward the car.

Wanda steps up to Natasha’s side, her heels crunching softly on the gravel as she gives a knowing smile. She glances at Natasha, eyes curious, then leans in close enough that her voice falls to a gentle whisper. “So… how did it go?”

Natasha takes a slow, steady breath, her eyes lingering on the doorway where you disappeared moments ago.

“We talked…” she says softly, the words holding a weight Wanda understands without needing more.

“That’s something,” she murmurs, glancing back toward the cabin as though she can see the space between you both healing, bit by bit.

Natasha looks down, a small, hopeful smile tugging at the corners of her lips. Her voice is soft, barely more than a whisper, but the weight of those words lingers in the air between them.

“She said she wants to try,” she murmurs, closing her eyes as a heavy, relieved sigh slips past her lips. Her shoulders relax, and for the first time in what feels like forever, there’s a spark of hope flickering inside her—a chance to start over, a chance to make things right.

Wanda watches her closely, her expression warm and understanding as she nods. She knows the journey won’t be easy, that there are pieces to pick up and trust to rebuild, but seeing Natasha standing here, her face softened with hope, Wanda knows it’s a start.

Natasha opens her eyes slowly, her gaze distant as if she’s looking past the porch, past the quiet woods stretching around them. Her mind is with you, picturing the way you held let her hold you, the way you’d let her in, even if only a little. It had been so long since she felt that closeness, and the thought alone fills her with a warmth she hadn’t dared let herself feel.

“She wants to try…” Natasha repeats softly, as though saying it aloud might make it more real, solid, something she can hold onto. A soft smile pulls at the corners of her mouth, and she looks over at Wanda, her green eyes shining.

Wanda gives her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

“It’s a start,” she says gently, her voice steady but tinged with that familiar note of caution. She meets her gaze, her eyes filled with both support and a warning Natasha knows is true. “You know it won’t be easy.”

Natasha nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line. She knows. Every cell in her body knows. Her mistakes, the distance she let grow between you, the ache that took root in the spaces where love and trust used to be—but knowing it won’t be easy hasn’t made her want it any less.

She stares out toward the driveway, where you’re helping the girls settle in, the sunlight glinting in your hair as you laugh at something Nina says. It’s a sound she’s missed so deeply, it aches, and yet here it is, real and alive, a reminder of what’s still here, what’s still possible.

“I know,” Natasha murmurs, her gaze locked on you, as if watching you can give her strength. “I know it’ll take time, and… there’s a lot to make up for. But, I want it more than anything.”

“That’s all that matters, Natasha,” Wanda says. “But if you break her heart again, I don’t think I’ll be willing to help with that next time around.”

She smiles and nods in response, the determination in her eyes stronger now. She glances back toward the car just as you emerge, the girls trotting behind you, chattering happily as they throw their bags in, their laughter floating across the grass.

Natasha’s heart swells as she watches you, watches her family together, a sense of purpose settling over her as she realizes just how much she wants to make this right. She knows it won’t be easy, knows that there will be days filled with doubt and pain, but for now, for this moment, she has a sliver of hope.

And for Natasha, that’s more than enough.

note: would you forgive her ?

navigation | n.r masterlist

#bellaveux writes!#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha romanoff fanfic #natasha romanoff #marvel x reader #mcu x reader #avengers x reader #black widow x reader #fanfiction

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imxnotxhere · 1 year ago

Text

Azriel Fic Recs

** Updated 03/07/2024 **

A collection of amazing fics I think everyone should read. Also an appreciation for the writers that carry this fandom on their back.

One Shots:

@azrielhours

soft spot - smut, fluff - "Azriel is very particular about his lovers; typically hard-hearted women chosen so they don’t develop an emotional attachment. Reader is one of these lovers, except she’s the sweetest and cheeriest on his roster. This causes Az to begin breaking his rules about intimacy, especially when she unwittingly ends up at his home for work one evening and spends the night."

take care - fluff - "There Was only One Bed trope, reader and Az stay at an Inn overnight, they take care of each other."

i want you to rest - fluff - 10/10 comfort fic - "Reader has a nightmare while on a mission w the boys. Azriel comes to the rescue, brings her to his room to comfort her. She doesn’t want to sleep so he stays with her through the night."

lessons on relief - smut - "Azriel is the last of the boys to lose his virginity"

tight enough - fluff - "Reader needs help tightening her corset and no one's around to help but Azriel."

captured - fluff - "The camera has been invented and Azriel takes up a hobby of capturing reader, proving how pretty she can be."

@tadpolesonalgae

unchained - smut

stockholm syndrome - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings before reading!

birthday girl - fluff

dreamy - smut

@azsazz

the caress of murder and moonlight - smut, rhys x azriel x reader - "Rhysand and Azriel are having a secret meeting out in the woods. Upon hearing your scream, the race to save you, and you thank them in the only way you know how."

after hours - smut, modern au, office au - "You and Az work in the same office and you've been crushing on each other for quite some time. Late at the office one night, he decides to do something about it."

body and soul - vamp!az au, smut - recommend checking the other parts

dirty work - smut

leisurely - fluff

@azrielbrainrot

i'll be here - fluff - "You feel a little out of place at a celebration in the House of Wind and a certain Shadowsinger comes to the rescue."

such a perfect place to start - fluff - "Something happens that has you questioning the nature of your relationship with the shadowsinger."

maybe we could be the start of something - fluff, modern au, band au - Your friends invite you to a bar and you could never imagine who you'd meet there."

darling i'd wait for you even if you didn't ask me to - fluff, modern au, band au - "You have a really bad day and Azriel is there to help you through it."

you take me higher - smut - "What happens when you run into Azriel at a bar after a long mission?"

loose lips and big feelings - fluff - "Azriel gets a little drunk and you take care of him."

the right time - fluff - "Azriel wakes up with a massive hangover and the girl of his dreams sitting in his kitchen."

when prayers fall on deaf ears - angst - "For the first time in his life, Azriel is not ready to accept death."

all over my skin - smut - "You find yourself in an empty room between the High Lord and the Shadowsinger."

sweet somethings - fluff - "You help Azriel put on a necklace and almost get lost in his eyes."

@serpentandlily

no going back- angst - "Azriel has been your mate, your husband, your love for centuries. But a certain Archeron sister has him questioning your relationship after all this time. You soon find out that there are simply things that can not be unsaid or undone. And sometimes, there are things you can’t come back from."

the shadowsinger's secret - "After years spent trying to befriend the shadowsinger to no avail, you are finally ready to give up after accidentally overhearing him speak poorly of you. But when a gossip session exposes a life-changing secret, you realize you can’t let go of Azriel just yet."

birds of a feather - angst - "Azriel had been your closest friend, made from the very same things as you—birds of a feather, as they say. But you were not the girl he chose to fall in love with. So all you could do was love your mate in the shadows until the day you died."

we should stick together - angst - "Azriel deals with the aftermath of losing his mate."

@illyrianbitch

death and his reaper - angst - "After suffering a devastating injury in battle, Azriel finds himself on the brink of life and death where he meets you, The Mother's reaper."

winner - "You and Azriel are both sore losers. But when you cheat in a game of cards, winning takes on a whole new meaning."

@fever-fluff

take my hand - angst, fluff - "Azriel really wants to hold your hand, but he's afraid that he'll hold it too tight."

@florencemtrash

he feels safe with you - "Azriel's sleeping habits begin to worry you, but after a conversation with Cassian, you realize you've misinterpreted the entire situation."

@utterlyazriel

let me keep you company - "You're studying in Velaris and a certain Shadowsinger catches your eyes in more than one way. It takes a while to realise the shadow keeping you company means more than you expect."

@prythianpages

i've been waiting for you - "Azriel finally meets the one he's been longing for. His mate."

be safe - fluff - "You are on your way to Day Court when Azriel stops you. After the two of you fall victim to Cassian's and Mor's teasing, Azriel realizes why he can't just let you go."

@leafsandstarlight

forced revelations - fluff - "While on a mission with Azriel, reader is tricked by a creature into revealing that her feelings for the Shadowsinger go beyond mere friendship."

bad idea, right? - smut - "You stopped sleeping together months ago, but when Azriel invites you back to his place after seeing you at Rita's you just know you're going to fall right back into his bed."

@writingcroissant

just a little crush - fluff - "Everyone secretly longs for Azriel, but Azriel only longs for her."

hands - smut - "Azriel has really nice hands. And he knows how to use them, too."

@safetypinxtales

lonely with you - angst, fluff - "it seems like everyone's found their mates, except you. On a sleepless night you turn to your friend, in hopes that being alone, together, will feel slightly less lonely."

@acourtofmenandthirst

love you in the dark - angst (really heavy on the angst)

@milswrites

somewhere only we know - angst - "Azriel comes to visit you for the first time in a while."

sweetened dreams - smut - "Having access to the people of Velaris' dreams was a gift you did not take for granted. Having access to your mate's heated dreams? Absolutely delicious."

@azrielscrown

innocence - smut, fluff

@gothicbabydollz

azriel x archeron!sister!reader - smut

@honeybeefae

desperate times - smut - "While tending to Elain's garden you come across a mysterious flower with an even more mysterious pollen. As the effects of it start to hit you, you have to fend for yourself to get the edge off...or do you?"

@writingsbychlo

be yours - fluff - "you ask azriel how it's possible he's still single."

@lalacliffthorne

idiot - smut - "a fight gets out of hand, and suddenly, everything´s turned upside down"

Series:

@azsazz

cupid's chokehold - fluff, angst - this is such an interesting concept - "You are a Cupid, a nearly extinct creature of Prythian. When you get caught trying to shoot Elain with your arrow, well, it's a little hard to explain what you're trying to do."

@illyrianbitch

an education in malice - smut - "With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin."

@azrielbrainrot

moonlit shadows - "When tasked to find the once famed Temple of the Moon Goddess, Azriel only expected to find old, forgotten ruins if anything at all. He could have never imagined that not only would he find a temple but also someone who would change his life forever."

@pellucid-constellations

i laugh like me again, she laughs like you - angst - "Azriel would give anything to hold you one more time."

of oblivious minds - fluff - "You're positive Azriel is in love with Elain. It seems so obvious. But Cassian is laughing at you and suddenly nothing makes quite so much sense anymore."

@utterlyazriel

how long have i searched for you? an eternity my love - fluff - "azriel finds his mate in the most inopportune time and he convinces himself you haven't sought him out for good reason. he couldn't be more wrong."

@tadpolesonalgae

i can't bring myself to hate you - angst, smut (only one chapter for now at least) - this fic is my roman empire, literally obsessed with this. prepare for the pain and to kind of want to hit azriel over the head

eat you up - smut, dark!az - please check the warnings at the beginning! if you're ever in a mood for dark!az this is the perfect remedy (stockholm syndrome is a sort of epilogue? for this)

teeth and talons - smut, demon!az - "you’re accused of witchcraft and sacrificed to the shadow creatures, only to be saved by their ruler who’s suspiciously in sudden need of a bride…"

@leafsandstarlight

inadvertently yours - "As Eris Vanserra’s most trusted spy, you‘ve found yourself spending a surprising amount of time with the Night Court’s Spymaster. When your rendezvous with Azriel is discovered by High Lord Beron, the only way to protect the alliance is to pretend that you and Azriel are madly in love."

annual visit - fluff, smut - human reader, modern(?) au - "Each year on Halloween, Azriel visits the mortal lands with his friends to partake in the human debauchery that occurs. When he meets reader at a local bar, he can't take his eyes off her no matter how hard he tries."

@acourtofwhatthefuck

bluebird - fluff, angst

studious part 2 - smut

@lalacliffthorne

bat boys roommates - fluff, modern roommates au

Drabbles:

@gothicbabydollz

az spitting in your mouth - smut

@princess-tulip-writes

az pleasuring his mate with truthteller - smut

@fieldofdaisiies

azriel... - fluff, smut

azriel's hands - fluff, smut

@grandlinedreams

drabble - fluff, suggestive

#azriel x reader #azriel smut #azriel x you #azriel fic #azriel fic rec #azriel #acotar

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iamgonnagetyouback · 24 days ago

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lorenzo berkshire x oblivous bsf!reader who doesn't realize enzo's feelings for her

You and Lorenzo Berkshire had been inseparable since before either of you could remember. You shared everything: birthday parties, first days of school, scraped knees, and secret hideouts. Growing up in each other’s orbits meant that your lives were entwined so tightly that the idea of "you" and "Lorenzo" felt like one singular entity. There was no "you" without him.

Your earliest memories were filled with laughter—his soft giggles as you raced through the fields behind your house, his shy grin when you baked cookies together for the first time (though he burnt them terribly). As kids, you held hands without a second thought, sneaking into each other's homes when it rained, building forts out of blankets and pillows while you dreamed about the day you'd finally go to Hogwarts. The night before your first train ride, Lorenzo had shyly handed you a daisy he'd picked from his backyard.

"To remember me by," he mumbled, cheeks pink.

"As if I could forget," you'd teased, but the flower stayed pressed between the pages of your favourite book.

Then, Hogwarts happened, and you made new friends, got sorted into different houses (he ended up in Slytherin, you in Hufflepuff), but you still found each other between classes. The teasing continued, the inside jokes and pranks. You became his safe space when the weight of his duties pressed on him too hard, and he was your companion in every late-night gossip session.

There were still times when you thought there was something different. Like the time during a lazy summer day at the lake when he draped his jacket over your shoulders, even though the sun was shining brightly, or the way he hesitated just a moment too long before pulling his hand back after helping you up from a fall. You never thought too deeply about it, brushing it off as part of your long-standing friendship.

Year five arrived, and the two of you were as close as ever. Still, there were moments that felt... different, though you couldn't quite place why. He'd brush your shoulder when he passed you in the hall, or his gaze lingered just a little too long during meals. You laughed it off—because what could possibly change between you and Lorenzo? Best friends forever, right?

One night, in the Common Room, you were discussing upcoming exams when he turned to you, his voice lower than usual.

"Do you think..." he hesitated. "Do you think people can just stay the same forever? Like... always be what they are?"

You blinked, caught off guard by the question. "I mean... I guess? If they want to be. Why?"

Lorenzo only gave you a small smile, one that didn't quite reach his eyes. "No reason," he murmured before changing the subject.

In year six, things shifted subtly again. He started walking closer to you, his hand occasionally brushing against yours as you strolled through the halls. There were times when his laughter seemed softer, more reserved when he was alone with you. You didn’t notice, not in the way he hoped. It wasn’t obvious enough to break the oblivion that surrounded you, and maybe that was for the best.

It wasn’t until the holiday party that year that everything came crashing down.

Aurora, your best friend from Ravenclaw, had nowhere to go for the holidays. You couldn't leave her alone, so you invited her along to Blaise's annual party, excited to introduce her to the Slytherins you’d grown close with. Lorenzo had helped organize everything, naturally, and you spent the first half of the evening by his side, laughing with him as usual.

You introduced Aurora to everyone—Pansy, Draco, Astoria, Daphne, Theodore—and lastly, Lorenzo.

“This is Aurora,” you said, motioning to your friend with a grin. “She’s an absolute sweetheart. I think you two will get along well.”

Lorenzo’s eyes flicked from you to Aurora, offering her one of his rare, warm smiles. “Nice to meet you.”

You missed the way Aurora’s cheeks flushed instantly at the sound of his voice. But Pansy didn't.

The evening wore on, the room buzzing with laughter and chatter, and eventually, the group began to scatter into smaller conversations. Aurora pulled you aside near the punch table, her face unusually tense.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, concerned by the sudden shift in her mood.

She hesitated, glancing nervously at where Lorenzo stood talking to Blaise. “I… I think I like Enzo.”

Her words hit you like a blow to the chest. You stared at her, the warmth of the room suddenly feeling suffocating. "What?"

“I think I like him," she repeated, biting her lip. "I don’t know how it happened, but… there’s something about him. The way he talks, how kind he is. He’s just so—”

You didn’t hear the rest of her sentence. Everything blurred, and for a reason you couldn’t quite grasp, it hurt. A lot. You wanted to tell her she was mistaken, that it didn’t make sense, that Lorenzo wasn’t supposed to be liked like that—at least not by someone else.

But what could you say? She was your best friend too, and she deserved happiness. So, you forced a smile, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “I didn’t know. I mean, he is… he’s great, isn’t he?”

Aurora nodded, her expression soft. “Yeah. I hope it’s okay that I told you.”

“Of course it is.”

But it wasn’t. Not really.

The next morning found you sprawled across your bed in the Hufflepuff dormitory, staring blankly at the ceiling. The sun had already risen, casting beams of light through the window, but you hadn’t moved much since getting back from the party. The thoughts from the night before still circled in your mind, refusing to let go.

Your dormmate, clearly concerned by your uncharacteristic silence, glanced over at you as she packed her books. “You good?” she asked, hesitating by the door.

You gave her a half-hearted wave, plastering a smile on your face. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”

She eyed you for a second longer before shrugging. “Alright, well, don’t forget about class later.”

As soon as the door clicked shut, you let out a long sigh. Alone again.

Your mind wandered back to the party. Aurora. Lorenzo. You couldn’t shake the way her eyes had lit up when she talked about him. How she had looked at him like he was the most fascinating person in the room. But why did it bother you so much? It didn’t make any sense.

Would they even look good together?

You sat up a bit, propping yourself on your elbows as you thought about it. Aurora was so petite compared to Lorenzo. The height difference wasn’t even cute—he’d have to bend down just to talk to her, and that would be awkward, right? And they were complete opposites. Lorenzo was calm, reserved, always thinking before he spoke. Aurora was bubbly, spontaneous, the type of person who filled every room with laughter. Opposites attract, sure… but them?

You groaned and flopped back onto your bed, hands covering your face. "What would their ship name even be?" you muttered to yourself. "Aurozo? Lorora? No, that sounds terrible."

But then your mind wandered further, picking at the insecurities you hadn’t let rise to the surface last night. Aurora was amazing, after all. She was sweet and smart, always knowing the right thing to say. She was pretty—okay, not just pretty, she was beautiful—and witty, always ready with a clever comeback. And then there was her personality, so warm and inviting that even the most standoffish people were drawn to her. She was perfect, really.

Too perfect.

You sat up and slapped your forehead, hard enough that the sound echoed in the empty room. “Talking to yourself now? Really?” you whisper-yelled, feeling the embarrassment creep up your neck. “That’s a new low.”

You lay back down, arms draped over your eyes as you tried to push the thoughts away. But no matter how hard you tried to brush them off, the uncomfortable tightness in your chest refused to leave.

It didn’t make sense.

Why did it bother you this much?

After classes that day, you were packing up your books when you spotted Aurora walking towards you, her usual bright smile lighting up her face. There was something different about her today though—something nervous and a bit fidgety. She stopped just in front of your desk, twirling a strand of her hair between her fingers.

"Hey," she said softly, biting her lip as if she was about to ask something big.

You tilted your head, sensing her hesitance. "Hey, everything okay?"

She took a deep breath, then let it out in a rush. "Can you… set me up with Enzo?"

Her words felt like a punch in the gut, but you masked it with a cheerful smile. After all, what kind of friend would you be if you didn't help her? She liked him—really liked him. And wasn’t it your job to make sure your friends were happy?

“Of course,” you heard yourself say, even though the knot in your stomach tightened. “I’ll help. Enzo’s great, and I’m sure you two would… get along.”

Aurora’s face lit up instantly, and she clasped your hands in excitement. “Thank you! I just… I didn’t want to approach him out of nowhere. I figured since you guys are best friends, maybe you could, you know, talk me up?”

You nodded. “Yeah, no problem. I’ll drop your name.”

For the next week, you became Aurora’s biggest advocate when it came to Enzo. You wove her into nearly every conversation the two of you had, even when he clearly tried to steer things elsewhere.

“Did you know Aurora’s favorite flowers are tulips?” you blurted one afternoon while the two of you were studying in the library. Lorenzo looked up from his notes, blinking in confusion.

“Oh. No, I didn’t.”

“Yeah, she’s got great taste. She’s really into plants in general, actually. She’s been thinking about starting a garden.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow, clearly not following your sudden shift in topic, but he nodded politely. “That’s nice.”

You grinned, determined to keep the conversation going. “She’s super thoughtful too. Last year, she handmade Christmas gifts for all her friends. You should’ve seen the scarf she made me. Perfect colors.”

“Mhm.” Lorenzo hummed, leaning closer to his parchment, probably thinking you’d drop it.

But you didn’t.

The next day, when you met up with him for lunch, you brought her up again, like clockwork. “Aurora’s so smart. She absolutely aced her Potions essay the other day. I bet she could help you if you’re stuck on anything.”

“I’m actually doing okay in Potions,” he replied, glancing at you with a flicker of confusion. “But thanks.”

“You should ask her about it sometime though,” you continued, smiling brightly. “She’s great at explaining things. I mean, I’ve learned so much just from talking with her.”

Lorenzo hesitated for a moment, his eyes scanning your face as though searching for something. “You’ve been talking about Aurora a lot lately.”

You shrugged, brushing it off. “She’s amazing! You two would really get along if you gave it a chance.”

He didn’t say anything, just gave a small nod and looked down at his plate, clearly wanting to change the topic. But the next time he showed even the smallest interest in anything you said about Aurora, you latched onto it.

During a conversation later that week, Lorenzo mentioned that tulips were actually nice flowers. That tiny comment was all it took for you to believe he was finally taking an interest in her.

“See? I told you! You and Aurora have so much in common. She’d totally love to talk flowers with you.”

His eyes flickered with something, a mix of frustration and confusion, but he didn’t argue. He nodded instead, a sigh escaping his lips. “Yeah… maybe.”

You beamed, completely oblivious to his hesitation. “I knew it! You’re going to be great together.”

For some reason, the idea of them getting closer felt like an itch you couldn’t scratch, but you kept pushing through it. This was what you wanted, right? To see your best friends happy. So why did you feel like you were slowly unravelling the more you pushed them together?

You sat in the courtyard, absentmindedly fiddling with the hem of your robe. The cool autumn breeze swept through the trees, but you hardly noticed. Your mind was still preoccupied with everything Aurora had said, her excitement about Enzo, and how you’d promised to help set them up. But why did it feel so… wrong?

Aurora had stopped by just minutes ago, her face bright as she asked, "How's it going with Enzo?" You had forced a smile, nodding, “It’s going great,” before watching her bounce away, completely unaware of the growing knot in your stomach.

Moments later, Pansy dropped down next to you with a dramatic sigh, her usual smirk plastered across her face. "Why the long face, sunshine?" she asked, bumping your shoulder lightly.

You mumbled, "It's nothing," but Pansy wasn’t one to be easily fooled.

She leaned closer, eyes narrowing suspiciously. “Nothing? Or Miss Perfect just dropped by to say something stupid?” The nickname made you cringe, a flash of guilt creeping up. Aurora was your friend, and yet… every time Pansy called her that, it sparked an irritation you couldn’t quite explain.

“She was just asking about Enzo,” you muttered, hoping Pansy would let it drop.

“Oh?” Pansy raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “What about him?”

You sighed, lowering your gaze to the ground as you mumbled, “She wants me to set her up with him.”

There was a brief pause, and then suddenly Pansy burst out laughing. Like full-on, holding-her-stomach, can’t-breathe laughing.

You blinked at her, bewildered. “What’s so funny?”

Pansy wiped a tear from her eye and shook her head, still chuckling. “That’s so dumb. Aurora and Enzo? Together? Yeah, no. That’s never going to work.”

“Why not?” you asked, though the question felt hollow. Part of you had already started wondering the same thing.

Pansy smirked, tilting her head at you as if you were missing something incredibly obvious. “Even in an alternate universe where that might happen, it wouldn’t matter. Because Enzo likes you.”

Your brain screeched to a halt. You blinked, once, twice, before squeaking out, “Enzo what now?”

Pansy gave you a look that was part amused, part exasperated. “You heard me. Enzo likes you.”

You stared at her, not quite believing your ears. “What do you mean Enzo likes me?”

With a dramatic sigh, Pansy leaned back, crossing her arms. “You know, like when someone admires the other person and is practically whipped for them? That kind of like.”

“I know what like means, Pans,” you muttered, feeling your heart race. “But Enzo doesn’t like me.”

Pansy rolled her eyes. “And the sky isn’t blue.”

You shook your head, still in denial. This had to be a joke, right? Lorenzo liking you? He couldn’t. He never showed any signs. Or… had he? You suddenly thought back to the subtle moments—his lingering looks, the way he always seemed to be there when you needed him, the small touches, the quiet smiles. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

Suddenly, excitement bubbled up inside you. “Wait, are you serious?” you asked, your voice rising with hope. “Enzo really likes me?”

Pansy raised an eyebrow. “Yeah, obviously.”

You stood up, pacing as your mind raced. “But I can’t! What about Aurora?”

Pansy let out a loud groan, sitting up straighter. “What about Ravenclaw?” she asked, rolling her eyes again.

You stopped in your tracks, spinning to face her. “She likes him, Pans. I can’t just—”

“Oh, please,” Pansy cut you off, waving her hand dismissively. “I just saw her flirting with some Hufflepuff a few minutes ago.”

You froze. “What?”

Pansy smirked, clearly enjoying your confusion. “Yeah. So maybe she doesn’t like him as much as you thought.”

Your heart was pounding as you made your way to the common room later that afternoon, determined to confront Enzo. You found him sitting with Theo, the two of them quietly talking. When you approached, both looked up, and Lorenzo’s eyes immediately softened at the sight of you.

Without hesitation, you blurted, “You like me?”

Lorenzo’s eyes widened in surprise, then a slow smile spread across his face as he leaned back in his chair. “Took you long enough to notice.”

Theo snickered beside him, giving you a knowing look. “That was so obvious,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head.

You stood there, frozen, as your brain tried to catch up with what was happening. Lorenzo—your best friend, the person who had been with you through everything—liked you. He had liked you this whole time, and you hadn’t even noticed.

Lorenzo stood up, walking over to you. “I didn’t want to push you,” he said softly, his voice gentle and reassuring. “I didn’t want to make things weird between us. But yeah, I like you. A lot more than just friends.”

Your heart fluttered at his words, and you found yourself grinning despite the whirlwind of emotions spinning inside you. “I… I didn’t know.”

He smiled, reaching out to brush a strand of hair behind your ear. “I figured,” he teased lightly, “but I was okay waiting until you did.”

A soft laugh escaped your lips, and you shook your head in disbelief. “I’m an idiot, aren’t I?”

Lorenzo chuckled, his eyes filled with warmth as he looked at you. “Not an idiot. Just a little oblivious.”

Before you could say anything else, Theo groaned loudly from his seat. “Finally. Do you know how long I’ve had to hear him talk about you? It’s exhausting.”

You both laughed, and as you looked up at Lorenzo, everything just… clicked. You weren’t sure why you hadn’t noticed before, but now, standing in front of him, everything made sense.

ughh it took me so long to write but i did it!! my first enzo fic! hope you guys like it

#lorenzo berkshire x reader #lorenzo berkshire #enzo berkshire x reader #enzo berkshire #enzo berkshire fluff #enzo berkshire angst #lorenzo berkshire fluff #lorenzo berkshire angst

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azsazz · 3 months ago

Text

Over Ice

Hockey!Rhysand x Reader

Summary: Anon Req: I think we could really have fun with the different courts and Illyrian values on a thematic basis but ALSO if the reader is in something very artsy and hasn’t really been into sports and then she’s walking around Campus and BOOM right smack dab into Broody McBrooder!! She THEN finds out he’s the tutor for one of her hardest courses (personally Psych would be a good one) and they become super duper close with him and the team!!! She decides to wear Cass’ jersey to make him mad and when he finally gets a hold of her after the game: *cue innocent shrug* he asked me to!

Warnings: None.

Word Count: 3032

Notes: While I work on a plot for an azzy hockey x figure skater au, please enjoy a rhys hockey au 🤪

This was originally an Az idea but I thought it fit better for Rhys bby so here we are. I feel like I've forgotten how to write and this is shit (dont judge me im going thru smthin rn)

_________________________________________

A giant FU stares up at you.

Well, actually, it’s only an F, but it may as well be the former with the way it’s circled in thick, red ink.

Three. Fucking. Times.

Tears sting the back of your eyes but you refuse to let them fall. It never feels good, failing, and even if you’d gotten a C+ like you hoped, you would’ve still beaten yourself up over the grade because plain and simple: that’s who you are.

Two months ago, at the beginning of the semester, psychology had seemed like a breeze. The lectures were easy to listen to and intriguing, and you had no trouble following along with the professors’ slideshows as you took detailed notes of everything on the screen. Your assigned readings were completed in a similar state, though they weren’t graded but included important information you’d find on the tests.

Somewhere along the line, your grade slipped, and you don’t remember if it had been between studying for Biology or reveling in your newfound freedom away from your parents, partying and enjoying a true college experience with your roommates.

Whatever happened, the repercussions are hitting you right in the face, the taunting letter you have never seen before on any of your assignments throughout all your years of learning.

If your parents saw this, they would bring the entire house down with their scolding.

It’s not like you didn’t try. You studied, even if the word is a loose term for what material you used. Things started piling up this month, with it being a new semester and all. You didn’t schedule out the time to focus on psychology when the classes you were really interested in—Introduction to Nutrition and Kinesiology—took first and second place for your attention. Plus, with the number of social events your best friends—who are also conveniently your roommates—invited you too, it was almost impossible to say no. Friends are a vital part of the college experience and you were in desperate need of some fun after having spent the summer lounging at home with your parents.

You found a psych support group that met at the library once a week to study together. It wasn’t anything like you thought it would be, a bunch of clueless students with grades similar to yours. All they seemed to want to do with your precious time was bitch and moan about the professor instead of actually trying to conquer the areas of study for the upcoming test.

And now the consequences of your actions have made themselves known.

Grumbling, you shove the test into your binder before shutting it with a snap that does nothing to ease your frustration. A few students still trail from the room, though most bolted right after being released. Some linger at the bottom of the lecture hall where the professor sits, answering their questions.

You have about a million-and-one of your own but you’re too worked up about your grade to go down there and hash it out with Mr. Hybern. His peppery colored hair is perfectly coiffed on this terrible day, his beard trimmed close to his jowls. His gleaming, golden skin makes you think that maybe he’d spent his weekend grading tests out in the sun, and you have half a mind to stomp your way down the stairs and demand a second review of your test.

It wouldn’t solve your irritation, and it would certainly be embarrassing if in fact your F is correct.

Placing your binder, notebook, and pens back into your bag, you zip it, sling it over your shoulder, and make your way to the exit, holding your chin high because if there’s one thing you’re not going to do, is cry over your terrible, awful grade in public.

The waterworks will just have to wait until you’re locked in your private bedroom in your shared dorm.

There is good news. It’s Friday, which means you can snag the pint of your favorite ice cream that your roommates won’t dare touch because ‘no ice cream that’s worth it should have fruit in it, that’s like asking for a steak on your spaghetti.’ You have no idea what Mor—one of your roommates—was on about when she brought up the awful comparison, and in reply all you’d done is scooped out a chunk of cherries embedded into the creamy, pink goodness and stuffed it into your mouth.

With it being the weekend, you can also wallow well into the night without having to worry about hiding your puffy eyes in the morning. You’ll have all day tomorrow to figure out a plan of action, once you allow yourself the time to properly grieve and process…and maybe have a drink or two.

You shoulder through the heavy lecture hall door with your head down, hiding the red stain to your cheeks. So, maybe you’re not going to hold you head high as you trail back to your dorm, but you will not cry.

The door swings open and you barely catch the noise of surprise before you’re barreling into something that’s akin to a brick wall. Your breath leaves your body in a whoosh and your balance slips out from under you, arms flailing as you fall.

You squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact, but it never comes.

Slowly, mortified because you know exactly what’s cushioned your fall, you peek your eyes open, carefully meeting a sapphire gaze that surely would take your breath away should you have any left.

This close, you can see the perfection of his angular features: a long, straight nose, high cheekbones under the dusting of pink that caresses his own face. His lashes are dark as charcoal, the same color of his hair that looks as soft as silk.

Whatever it is that has you entranced by his beauty, the sentiment seems to be mutual. Those bright eyes trace across your features, carefully drinking you in. You don’t know if you’re thankful that your face is already as red as the marker on your test or if you want him to see the way your cheeks go molten.

There’s a warmth against your hips that you don’t notice until he speaks, his hands that have a solid grip around you, keeping you steady to his chest. His whispered breath brushes across your lips. “By all means,” he teases softly, “Take your time.”

“Oh, my Gods, I am so sorry,” you squeak, rolling off his chest. You can hear his chuckling as you scramble to climb to your feet, but your knees are so weak at the sight—and touch—of the most handsome man you’ve ever seen lifting gracefully to his feet, holding a hand down to help you up.

You try not to notice just how big his hand is in yours, and for the second time today, you fail.

“Don’t worry about it, darling,” he says, displaying an easy grin that makes your heart stutter in your chest. The door opens with a loud click and the both of you startle. His hand comes down warmly on your spine, ushering you out of the way of the student that’s beaming grin falters into apology at the idea of almost running you down, already on the phone with someone and gushing over their test result.

It’s hard to reign in your glare.

The student’s conversation seems to jolt the man out of his stupor. He blinks, shaking his head as if to rid him of a spell you might have cast on him, or maybe he’s testing to see if he has a concussion from the fall.

When he returns his attention to you, it takes everything in your power not to melt into a puddle beneath that gaze.

“Is Mr. H still passing out tests?” he asks, and you swallow the sourness that accompanies the name of your professor. You and he are not on good terms right now, not that this boy knows that.

“Yeah,” you answer, remembering you saw him sitting on his throne (desk chair) with his loyal citizens (students) kissing his feet (talking through their tests). “I think so.” Then, because you’re pretty sure you would remember a face like his if he were in your lecture, you ask, “Are you in this class?”

“No,” he answers with a scoff that tells you he breezed by this class. “I took Psych 101 freshman year, but I have Professor Hybern again for Cognitive Psychology and I need to turn in my paper early.”

Turning in a paper early? What is he, some kind of genius?

“Oh,” you answer lamely, “Cool.”

His answering grin cracks open the casing of the butterflies you didn’t know were living in your stomach, taking off in a flurry of emotion.

He shrugs like he couldn’t really care less about any of it, but to you, the fact that he’s managed to pass Psych 101 at all is an impressive feat, though you don’t know why he’d sign up for even more torture. “Sure. Look, I’ve got to run, but are you sure you’re okay?”

It’s nice of him to ask if you’re okay when he’s the one who had his back painted to the floor only moments ago. “Yeah, I’m fine, but I should be the one asking you that. Are you okay?”

His laughter is rich and warm, and you want to melt into it. Before you have the chance to make even more a fool of yourself in front of this handsome stranger, he answers. “I’ve been checked harder, darling. You have a nice day now.”

“Thanks, you too,” your words trail off as he catches the door on its next outswing, ducking inside without waiting for your response.

Jeeze, he must really be in a rush, then.

It’s when you exit the doors to the psychology building that you curse yourself. You should’ve gotten his number, his name at least. You could’ve invited him over for something more distracting and yummier than the ice cream you’d planned on demolishing.

At least you have something better to think about tonight than your test.

With a heavy sigh, you allow your backpack to fall off your shoulder. Now that you’ve arrived back to your dorm, you’re suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever.

The walk home from class had been nice, your time spent thinking about the boy you’d run into. The broadness of his shoulders you didn’t seem to notice until he turned away, stretching wide beneath his tight t-shirt. The bulge of his biceps beneath said t-shirt, flexing as he pulled the door open for himself. The shape of his ass in those snug jeans.

The sight of that is what had your eyes nearly popping from your head. What’s he doing that gives him such a bubblicious ass? Squats? Lunges? You can do those. You choose not to, but if there’s a guarantee that you’d have an ass like that, you’d start right this second.

Tucking your lip into your mouth in concentration, you plant your hands on your hips, making your way to the refrigerator that your ice cream is housed in, lunging your way there.

It’s not that far, the communal space in your shared dorm is small, but your heartrate is elevated by the time you’re two lunges away from your prize: your ice cream.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Mother!” You shout as the voice of your roommate breaks your concentration. Your knees wobble and your thighs shake, unable to hold you up from the burst of exertion you used. You clearly need to get into the gym more, another thing to add to your already busy schedule. “You scared me!”

Mor rolls her chocolate-brown eyes, sliding into one of the stools at your counter. It’s not built for it, the laminate countertop doesn’t hang over the island far enough for your legs to fit, but you and your roommates thought they were cute, nonetheless. You can suffer having to hunch over your knees to reach your cereal bowls in the mornings in favor of having more space for company to sit.

When you haul yourself off the ground, you take in your roommate. She’s wearing some kind of jersey, one you’ve never even seen in her wardrobe before, and you probably spend more time in there than her because she has every item of clothing you could ever imagine. The top she’s wearing now totally clashes with everything that screams Mor: silk scarves, tight bodice tops, leather pants, and what she has on now isn’t even red, a color that’s a staple in her closet.

“Well, if you were paying attention,” she scolds playfully, flipping open the compact in her hand, checking her makeup in the tiny mirror. She makes a few faces that would make you chuckle if you didn’t notice how she looks like she’s ready to go out, and that means she’s going to try to drag you with. “You would’ve heard me walk into the room. I am wearing heels, you know.”

Of course you know. Mor doesn’t do sneakers, only when it’s five in the morning and the sun is still sleeping, the perfect time for working out where nobody will catch her. Maybe I should join her, you think, mind wandering back to that boy’s butt.

“Why are your cheeks all red?” She asks, planting her palms on the counter and leaning towards you, eyes narrowed in inquisition.

“Nothing,” you wave her off, reaching for the door to the freezer. It’s the last thing between you and the cherry chunk ice cream calling your name.

Before you can open it more than an inch, it slams closed, Mor’s sharp, bright red fingernails splayed out to stop you.

Damnit, how does she move so silently?

“What do you think you’re doing?” You question each other at the same time, biting back your smiles at the mistake.

She answers first. “Why do you look like you’re about to get the ice cream, put your pajamas on, and wallow in bed all night?”

“Because that’s exactly what I’m going to do,” you cross your arms over your chest defiantly. “So, if you’ll excuse me…” You trail off, hoping she’ll step away and leave you to your peace.

She doesn’t. That’s not Mor.

“I had a rough day!”

“You say that every day,” she whines, stomping her heel-clad foot. “Don’t you even want to know what I’m inviting you to tonight?”

“From the look of your clothes, no, I don’t want to know what you’re doing tonight, Mor, and no, I don’t want to join you, either.”

Your roommate scrunches her nose, tipping it towards the ceiling. “I’ll have you know that this outfit is cute.”

“Yeah, if the definition of cute changed to ‘not pleasing or appealing to look at.’”

“You take that back,” Mor shouts, full naming you.

As your lips part in apology, because that was rude of you, your other roommate pads out of her room. Her reading glasses are perched up on her nose, blue eyes round and wide, and it always looks like she’s looking around the room in wonder. She has a blanket thrown over her shoulders and looks every bit of cozy you wish you were.

“Gwyn,” you sigh in relief at the sight of her. “Please, help.”

“I already said no,” she offers you a sympathetic wince. “I don’t think there’s any getting you out of the hockey game, sorry babe.”

Now it’s your jaw that falls to the floor. No, it falls through the floor and about five more floors down, hitting the lobby with a crack that echoes through the building.

You whirl on Mor. “Hockey game? Since when have you been interested in hockey?”

“Since my cousin got named team captain this year,” she says smugly, and you don’t know why she’s acting vain, it just means that he’s captain of the douchebags now, even you know that. Mor turns, showing off the back of her jersey. The number one stands out like a beacon, and you brush her blonde hair over her shoulder to read the smaller patches spelling out what is in fact, her family name.

Cunningham.

“Think of all the parties we’ll get into,” she says over her shoulder, and she does have a point there. The athletes at your college are a group of students that you don’t ever interact with, nor do you care. Mor is all about connections though, and if she wants to go to the hockey game, then it looks like you’re going with her.

You wonder what excuse Gwyn used to get out of it. She looks mighty comfy right now, slinking over the plop down on the couch and turn on a movie.

“Why do we have to go to the game? Can’t we just go to the parties?” You ask, grasping for anything to get out of this. You don’t want to go sit in the cold arena and watch a bunch of guys wearing full-body padding slide up and down the ice. Why couldn’t her cousin have been on the baseball team? They have nice, tight uniforms.

“Because,” Mor emphasizes with a glare, spinning to face you once more to give you the full effect of her irritation. “I’m a good cousin, and if we don’t attend the games, we’re going to be blacklisted from the parties,” she grumbles, the fight leaving her a little bit. “I’ve already argued about it with Rhys, I don’t want to have to argue with you too.”

It’s with your sigh that Mor brightens. “Fine. I’ll come with you, but I’m not going to be happy about it. And don’t expect me to cheer.”

Her squeal pierces the sound barrier. What the fuck have you gotten yourself into?

Mor grabs your hand, dragging you towards the empty single room that’s left in your dorm. She uses it as an extension of her closet until someone else gets placed with you. So far, you’ve been lucky, living here since freshman year, just the three of you. “Great! I got you a shirt!”

_________________________________________

Over Ice Taglist:

#rhys x reader #rhysand/reader #rhysand x reader #rhysand #acotar #azsazz #acomaf #acowar #acotar au #rhysand hockey au #over ice

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b14augrana · 3 months ago

Text

Ad Astra Per Aspera

Everything is still inconclusive

Alexia Putellas x teen!reader

pt. 4 masterlist

Warnings: this story contains depictions of alcoholism, adultery, and familial issues. read at your own discretion.

A/N: part 3 is here! i was flat out of ideas for a good week or so but i’m actually really happy with this chapter and how much i managed to write. i hope you enjoy 🫶🏼

Vicky invited you to her home to talk.

“Just around this corner,” she said, pointing to a street. She was sitting in the passenger seat of your car while your siblings sat in the backseat. Vicky still lived with her parents, as you expected, because she was still too young to buy a place of her own. It was a nice house, situated in a neighbourhood just a few minutes outside the city centre, and once you had parked your car, you hesitated for a moment.

“Are you sure your mum isn’t going to mind? It’s late, we can always talk tomorrow,” you spoke, looking at her for a moment. She shook her head, opening her door and responding as she unbuckled her seatbelt. “She’s fine with it, don’t worry. Let’s go inside.”

You unbuckled your own seatbelt and stepped out of the car, your siblings doing the same. Magdalene clutched your shirt gently while the other two boys walked behind you.

The front door of Vicky’s house had little stained glass details that you admired for the short moment that you stayed outside. The door swung open when Vicky knocked on it gently, and behind it was a woman that bore a striking resemblance to the girl beside you.

“Mamá, this is (Y/N),” Vicky said, gesturing to you. You smiled shyly, and the woman returned it with a much wider smile. “Bona nit! Please, come in, it’s freezing out there,” she replied, ushering you and your siblings inside. She was right, it was chilly outside, and the warmth of the López household was nice.

“Can I get you anything?” she asked, looking over her shoulder as she directed you to the living room. You shook your head, but she insisted on making you a cup of tea, and the appeal of a warm beverage was too much to resist. After a few minutes, she brought two cups of tea out to the living room for you and Vicky, then placed them on the coffee table. “Graciés, Mrs. López,” you spoke.

You sat down on the couch, the warm mug of tea in your hand as you faced the girl. “So, what do you need to talk about?” Vicky asked, and you took a deep breath before telling her.

“Something happened, Vicky. My neighbour heard some noises from my house and thought one of us was getting hurt, so she called the police and–”

You paused for a moment, pinching the bridge of your nose as prepared to tell the rest of the story. It was like reliving it all over again; the currents of fear that overwhelmed you, the unsettling atmosphere of the interrogation room, all of it.

“They told me that they’re going to place my siblings in a foster home unless I become their legal guardian — which I can’t do in time — or find someone I know to foster them. They suggested my father but…” you shrugged, hoping that Vicky would catch on, and by the understanding look on her face, she did.

“I don’t know what to do– who do I even ask?”

You didn’t want to cry, but you knew it was inevitable. You had spent the day processing probably the worst news of your life, without shedding a tear. You deserved to cry. One tear quivered in your waterline before you blinked, and it was gone.

“Why are they getting taken away?” she asked.

“Social welfare thinks they’re unsafe as long as they’re under my mum’s care because she’s got a drinking problem and my dad is out of the picture. I’m not their legal guardian so I don’t have much of a say. Can’t really afford a lawyer yet either,” you explained.

Vicky paused for a moment, staring at the coffee table as she was deep in thought, and then she spoke.

“(Y/N), I know you two don’t have the best relationship, but I think you should ask Alexia.”

You almost spat out your tea in her face, and it showed in your suddenly very wide eyes. Vicky was quick to place her mug down and raise her hands in defence.

“Wait, wait! Before you say no, just remember that she is your captain,” she explained, justifying herself.

“Dios mío, that’s got to be the stupidest shit I’ve heard all week,” you mumbled, putting your head in your hands.

Vicky frowned, pushing you gently to grab your attention again. “I know she doesn’t treat you very well, but she can help you.”

You tapped your nail against the mug, considering the option. You had a very strained relationship with Alexia, and honestly, you highly doubted that she’d want to foster and risk compromising her career for something as stupid as a few kids that weren’t even hers.

“I don’t think so. She won’t have time,” was your final verdict. You didn't perceive Alexia as the type of person interested in motherhood… but, there was one thing.

All your siblings loved football just as much as you. It'd be easy for Alexia to relate to them, because they were like her; their eyes lit up at every beginning of a conversation relating to football, they were immersed in the world of FC Barcelona and always present for your matches and celebrations. They fought to wear their blaugrana jerseys to school and blaugrana scarves in the summer.

Your hand found itself fumbling with the charm bracelet on your other wrist, the initials ‘M’, ‘D�� and ‘L’ dangling from the delicate chain. Alexia would've loved your siblings, because they were the Barça-loving, unconditionally supportive children that she imagined when she thought of having kids.

“Don’t mention it to anyone, please.” Your voice was quiet, because Magdalene had fallen asleep beside you, curled up into a ball with her head resting on a cushion. The boys were just barely awake on the other side of the couch, closing their eyes for a quick moment before opening them again in an attempt to stay awake.

Vicky nodded, but that was it. Not many words were said afterwards, until her mother asked whether you’d like to stay the night. Too tired to disagree, you mumbled a little ‘please’, and she directed you to the guest bedroom.

The three of them slept on the bed that night. You made yourself a bed on the floor, out of cushions from the living room in which you put your Barça sweater over it as a makeshift pillowcase to ease the rough feeling of the original material on your cheek, and Vicky lent you a few spare blankets.

Magdalene wanted to try sleeping on the floor with you, but after a while you felt her leave your side and get into bed with her brothers.

She was little, they all were, but their presence was bigger than life itself, and laying there with Magda tucked in your arms reminded you of what it used to be like before. When you used to keep the abandoned shopping carts close so you could put all three of them inside at night and ride down the streets to the local restaurant, then you’d treat them to a big serving of their favourite foods and the night would end with you receiving three big hugs from the tiniest humans.

Life was simple before.

You called alcohol ‘big drink’ when you were young, because only big people could drink it. You didn’t know why, but soon your Mami started getting upset more and more, after she had some big drink. It only took a few lash outs for you to get caught in the crossfire and vow to never become like Mami.

You’ve tried it a couple times here and there, and it tasted like shit. You couldn’t understand your mother for choosing that bitter concoction over happiness but soon, you figured out that when all else failed for her, it was her happiness. Her kids were seen as secondary, if you were lucky.

A light suddenly illuminated the room, and that’s when you realised your phone was buzzing. A number flashed across the screen, but you stayed idle, not reaching for it. You watched the contact disappear before a text appeared, and you read it through slightly squinted eyes still trying to adjust to the light.

+34 ### ### #####

→ We’ve gotten a hold of your father and he has agreed to attend a meeting at 9 a.m. Please call or text back immediately if you’re available.

You should’ve responded. Instead, you stared at the message until the screen went black again, and even then you kept staring in the same direction until there was nothing. The next time you opened them, it was morning, and you were facing the bottom of the bed.

Magda, Dani, and Enzo were still asleep. Peering just above the mattress, you could see them piled on top of each other as they slept.

The ‘bed’ you made on the floor felt more comfortable than ever, making you reluctant to move. With a tap on the screen, your phone lit up and revealed the time to be just past 8:30.

Your hand flopped back down and you stared at the ceiling. Everything was perfect for a couple seconds, as you forgot about the need for the day to proceed and only recognised the serenity of being in that room right now, with the people you loved most.

Everything was perfect.

“We’ll wait five more minutes and if she isn’t here by then, you’re free to leave, señor.”

The man only gave a small nod in reply, otherwise his attention was almost entirely fixed on the little sliver of blue sky that was visible from the tiny window.

Five minutes flew by. The talks of getting ready to leave started up, but they were short lived when everyone was stunned back into their seats by the door suddenly swinging open. It clicked shut as a chair scraped across the floor.

“Sorry, traffic was bad,” you mumbled, folding your arms across your chest.

“How nice of you to join us, Miss (Y/L/N),” the social worker said, and it sounded like she was feigning politeness. You acknowledged her words with a quiet hum.

“Señor, since you are the only other legal guardian of Magdalene, Dani, and Lorenzo, we’ve sought you out as a possible option for a full time caregiver of the children,” she spoke, clasping her hands together and placing them on the table.

Your father pursed his lips, nodding along with her words, “I see.”

“I still don’t think this is a good idea, and I’m saying this before you waste more of our time,” you interrupted, pointedly refusing to even look at him.

“Why not? I’m their father, (Y/N), and I’m also yours, so–”

“You didn’t want them then, so I doubt you’d want them now. Don’t say you’ll take care of them to make yourself look good and then mistreat them because they’re not on par with your other kids,” you hissed, finally meeting his gaze with a stone cold glare.

The social worker across the table didn’t intervene, though she initially jolted forwards with the intention. She settled back into her chair and observed, looking to discover the true nature of your adamance to not let your father take your siblings.

Regret flashed across his face, and it was obvious; you noticed it in the downwards twitch of his lips and the shameful lowering of his gaze as you spoke.

“They’re still my children. It’s my job as their father to look after them,” he responded.

“So where were you all these years, when Mamá was drinking her body weight in alcohol? You left us! You are not their father and you haven’t been ever since you left us.” Your fist hit the table, the noise echoing through the room. The grimace on your face was only the surface level of the disgust you felt in that very moment.

“‘My job as their father…’ my fucking ass. I was more of a father to them than you, at 16 years old! I did your job better than you before I was even 18, and you have the nerve to come here and say that they’re still your children?”

His head was hung in shame as you chided him, and he still had nothing to say.

“I knew this was a bad idea, I knew it,” you almost yelled, jumping up from your chair. It skidded along the ground with a screech, and your fingers pressed at your temples.

You hated him so much, but standing there and yelling at him made you realise how much you missed him while he was still your father, before the cheating and abandonment. “You ruined Mamá’s life by putting your own needs before us, and I hope you’re proud. Have as many new kids with your new wife as you want, but you only destroy everything you touch.”

You hoped your words reflected the years of pain and torment he had inflicted on your family. You lost not one but two parents, because your mother loved him so much and he only took advantage of it while it benefited him before he decided it wasn’t enough.

There wasn’t a single word or phrase that could convey the inexplicable feelings you felt just then. He’d have to search for it in the flushed apples of your cheeks, your glossy bloodshot scleras, and tightly furled fists tensed up at your sides.

“(Y/N), mi carita…” he started, standing up. You took a big step back, your hand finding the door knob with a steady grip.

“Just leave and don’t come back. I don’t want to see you ever again, never ever!”

With those words, you were 13 again, standing behind the corner and listening to your mum say the exact same thing to your dad.

Back then, when you two argued, you couldn’t hold his gaze without crying, but now you were. He was nothing in your eyes if not the smallest man who’s ever lived. You made sure to give him your most withering glare so he knew that there was no point.

In his eyes, you were probably the furthest you had ever been from his daughter. The loving and energetic girl he watched grow up, was now eye-to-eye with him in a police station, refusing to allow him any entry into his kids’ lives.

“Don’t give them false hope,” you sneered, wrenching the door open before deliberately slamming it behind you.

Maybe, just maybe, Alexia wasn’t such a bad idea. Yes, she was passionate about football and didn’t take it very well when people didn’t display the same amount of passion for the sport as she did, but that only meant that when she loved something, she loved it hard and with all her being. She could love your siblings. She could love them more than anyone, even their own blood.

You sought to get out of the police station and away from it as a whole, so as you stormed out of the building and sunk into the driver’s seat of your car, you had no specific place in mind.

You ended up at the Barceloneta beach. There weren’t many other places you could think to go to; the pitch was out of the question, because wherever there was a ball and a goal, there was Alexia. Your house was a huge memorabilia museum for the past, and you couldn’t show up to Vicky’s house out of the blue.

The beach was pretty, and you always loved going there. Nothing could spoil that for you.

Just the horizon and ebbing tide for company while you watched the sun slowly descend — it was what you needed.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Part of you didn’t want to pull it out in case it turned out to be someone you didn’t like wasting your time, but you pulled it out anyways. Thankfully, it was only Vicky.

She sent you a photo from earlier that morning, and it featured all three of your siblings fast asleep on the guest bed while you slept on the floor in your comfy cluster of blankets. She followed the photo up with two laughing faces, and then two more messages.

Vicky

→ 🤣🤣

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Hermanos y hermanas

‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ‎ ↳ Come sleep over again (Y/N)!!! My Mamá found the Uno cards 😉

You smiled at the photo and saved it to your camera roll before you considered Vicky’s request. You took a moment, but eventually you responded.

(Y/N)

→ vale vale 🥲 i’m picking la hermanos y hermana right now and then i’ll come straight to your house. graciés vicky ❤️

You watched the sun set further during the drive to the schools, and then again while you drove to Vicky’s. This time, you parked in the driveway, and you didn’t feel dreadful entering her house.

You rang the doorbell and the four of you waited patiently. Mrs. López was quick to rush to the door and open it.

“Hi, I hope we’re not bothering y–” you started, but you were cut off.

“(Y/N), mío querido! Come in, come in, you’re not a bother at all. You’re always welcome in our home,” she said, embracing you tightly with a warm smile.

Vicky appeared from the living room, shuffling a deck of cards in her hands. “Who wants to play Uno?” she asked, waving the cards in her hand and immediately receiving a positive reaction from your siblings, who bolted towards her eagerly.

You followed them, because though you knew they were getting taken to their foster home tomorrow and being stripped away from you, you wanted to enjoy the night and play Uno with your siblings.

Nothing’s for sure but right now. You couldn’t waste this moment.

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xprakzif · 2 months ago

Text

LOVE YOU GOODBYE,

matt x fem!reader

summary: when matt’s career gets in the way of his relationship, his girlfriend simply cannot take it anymore. what better way to say goodbye than this?

warnings:: MDNI//SMUT, car sex, overstimulation, raw intercourse, kissing, angst, no happy ending.

“just one more time?”

the chilly breeze of the night rushed in causing both bodies to shiver. her short mini dress with lack of sleeves or a jacket only worsened the setting. the hair around her shoulders wasn’t doing her any favors by warming her up.

her tear stained cheeks illuminated by the street lamps occasionally flickering with him standing in front of her. so majestic yet full of shit, how could he stand there so beautifully after breaking her heart?

“face it, matt. i understand this is your job, i get that and i know you have to do this. you have to go hang out with other girls, you have to film and stream all the time, i know! but even when there’s time you don’t bother..” her heart pounding against her chest feeling like she was slowly sinking. she didn’t mean to come off this way. but it gets tiring after a while.

“i don’t know what you want me to do..” he didn’t even look her way, still looking out into the crowd of bodies that filled his shared home.

“yet you throw a party? shit, this is the closest thing i get to-“

“it wasn’t even my idea, y/n! you swear you get me but you don’t, ‘cause if you did, you’d know i don’t even want any of this! it was chris’s idea to invite some people over—shit, it’s not even a party for real. you always do this.. i’m just as tired as you are, alright?” his sudden outburst snapped a few heart strings, she felt herself breaking down quicker by the second.

the booming voices made her racing heart only beat faster. maybe she’s the problem. maybe her leaving would solve his worries, cut back the stress he’s dealing with.

“okay..” she whispered, face heating up as her eyes burned with tears. she continuously swallowed the nerves in her throat but nothing could stop the pain in her heart right now.

she moved through the room trying to find an escape, an exit. haven’t even noticed she let loose and sobbed, ruining her eye makeup.

finally reaching the front door, she stepped out trying to slam the door behind her, but something was in the way.

“cmon, y/n..” matt took ahold of her arm, which she ripped out of his grip to walk off.

from an outsiders point of view, it’d look like he was chasing her. her heels clicking against the cement as she made her way to her car parked a bit far from their house.

“please- wait!”

getting to her car, she finally spun around,

“no, matt! i’m done- with you, with us.. i’m sorry.” she managed to get out. he took in her figure underneath the glooming street lamp. it looked like a scene from a movie.

“what..?”

“i’m sorry.. i don’t wanna be in the way of your career anymore–please don’t convince me otherwise..”

he stood shut, a part of him knew she was right.

he felt his heart tense up as if it were being squeezed. thought they were both going through such heartbreak, neither of them could help but admire the other.

after all, she was his–or atleast used to be. it wasn’t unlikely for him to lust over her, now just wasn’t the right time.

both of them couldn’t deny how sexually frustrated they were. she was right, matt hadn’t spent enough time with her. neither of them were disloyal, so the days added on and on.

he couldn’t help but realize her beauty, even with eyeliner and mascara running down her stained cheeks. if anything it only made her more exquisite.

him standing there, dark purple bags under his eyes from the lack of rest he had gotten these past weeks, his bright blue eyes looking up and down her body. she felt the need as much as he did.

his slow steps toward her made her head spin. he placed a delicate hand to her cheek, caressing it while he looked into her eyes.

“just.. one more time?” he whispered. “as a goodbye..”

there was no need for context when they both knew what that meant. she grabbed the back of his neck, drawing him closer to smash his lips onto hers.

the world around them paused, no care for the party that was going on just a few houses away.

struggling by reaching in her purse, she searched with her hand for her car key unlocking it in the process. the lights flashing for a second took matt’s attention to pull open the backseat door; pushing their bodies onto the cushioning of the seats.

she laid on her back, matt crawling on top of her after closing the door. it was such a cramp space but neither seemed to care too much.

he reconnected their lips to move in synchrony, their hands roaming each others body.

“matt-” she whispered breathlessly, tugging at his hair.

his touch grazed over the thin fabric of her mini dress, trailing down to grip onto her hips. the opposite hand pulling up the material over her waist, revealing her lacey panties.

her hands began unbuckling his belt and undoing his baggy jeans. somehow, he’d shifted them so she was now straddling his lap.

he trailed his hands down to her hips, once again holding onto them while they moved with rhythm, grinding onto his crotch.

“fuckkk– y/n..” he dragged out.

the car filled with heavy breathing and the smacking sound of lips, causing the windows to fog. matt was sat up, back against he car door. she felt the stiffness in his pants through her panties that were damp and sticky.

breaking the kiss, she reached down to tug the fabric down her legs; it was difficult in such an awkward position, but her eagerness made it happen.

he watched her with gleaming eyes as if she were a display of art in a museum. pulling down his jeans, including his boxers, he freed his hardened cock that sprung up.

she aligned her entrance with his length, sinking down slowly; she gasped. he sucked in air between his teeth, seething at the feeling of her tightness gripping around him.

she was swallowing him whole as her hips dove lower to collect him fully into her.

“keep going— that’s it-ahh, take it all..” he groaned and she was fully sat with him deep inside her.

she began rolling her hips forward, reconnecting their lips in the process. the kiss was sloppy. her mouth opening constantly to let out breathless moans from bouncing on his cock.

it sounded like they just ran a marathon with the amount of heavy breathing. he tried his best to buck his hips upward to feel her deeper inside.

“fuck!–so deep—nngh- need to–”

he took everything in his power to thrust deeper and harder with a quickened pace to bring her closer.

she threw her head back with pleasure, clenching around his base as her orgasm washed over her.

“matt–ma– ah–“ she stammered out while she stiffened up with trembling thighs, digging her nails into his shoulders.

he wasn’t far behind her. groaning while slamming up into her, she was caught in a trance by the overstimulation.

“ohmy– nngh—fuckkk, i love y-you–i lov–” he echoed into the car, shooting white ropes of his seed into her painting her slimy walls.

there was a ring of a bubbly, white substance around his cock, a mix of both of there liquids.

they panted trying to come down from their highs. she felt a pang in her chest; the sudden realization hit and hit hard.

this was it. the last dance.

she started to remove her self from him,

“wai-wait. don’t leave yet.” he helped her off, “it’s late, y/n. just stay the night, please.”

she thought for a minute. he was right, though they weren’t aware of the current time, it was late. she thought about the dangers of driving so late on a friday night,

“alright.. fine”

after fixing themselves up, they found their way back to the house. the ‘get together’ the boys were hosting had already died down. no one noticed them slip into matt’s room.

“here,” he handed her one of his larger shirts, "wouldn’t want you sleeping in that..”

“thanks..” she accepted the offer, still feeling hurt with the tension from someone she was once so comfortable with.

she changed, slipped under the covers, and took a deep breath.

he got in right behind her, they were faced away from eachother, she thought.

“y/n?” he whispered, clear enough for her to hear.

“hmm?”

“i love you..” he watched her body expanded with every breath she took. he was facing her the entire time.

“i-i love you too..” she whispered, her voice steady but her eyes brimmed with tears.

the night fell silent. both bodies drifting to sleep after losing energy from their previous actions.

it came morning time quickly, matt shifted in his spot as the sunlight peeked through the curtains.

he recalled being with her last night, joy awakening him. he rolled over to the other empty side of the bed.

empty? this can’t be right, she was here..

he felt like he remembered a bad dream from last night. quickly grabbing his phone to call his girlfriend.

the line rang once.

“you have reached the voicemail box of—“ rang too loud in matt’s ears, he quickly shut it off. his heart began to race.

baby? •!Not Delivered

his mind soon flooded with the memories they shared, then it got to last night.

that wasn’t a dream after all.

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bloatedandalone04 · 1 year ago

Text

The Only Reason

➪the one where leon finally gives you some much needed closure after four months of feeling nothing but regret from what he did.

Warnings: angst, fluff, making out, swearing, mentions of cheating, cheating, toxic relationships, mentions of a bad past, mentions of weight loss, all the ada slander in the world because i actually cannot stand her, mentions of unwanted sexual attention (from ada to leon), unwanted intimacy (from ada to leon), eating disorders (implied)

Word Count: 5.2k | Part 1

Do not repost this anywhere, reblogs are fine ♡

The loud music and thumping of the walls were the last thing on Leon’s mind as he scanned every single room of the house. Chris decided to throw a housewarming party for Claire at her new place, and of course Leon was invited.

Leon refused the initial invitation, but quickly changed his mind when Chris told him that you would be there. It seemed as though the brunet had long since grown sick of his friend’s moping and knew he had to do something about it.

Pretty much everyone that Leon knew was here, yet he couldn’t seem to find you. The house wasn’t big, and it didn’t have very many rooms, but it seemed like it was still impossible to locate you. Not that he even had a right to.

If he does manage to find you, what would he even say? “I’m sorry for everything, and for letting you leave without trying to fight for you. Also, I don’t blame you for ignoring my calls and not texting me back, I deserve that.”

He couldn’t remember the last time he sounded that desperate. Back when he was a dumb twenty one year old, he supposed.

Leon has been here for over an hour now, and he still hasn’t seen you once. He was beginning to think that Chris lied to him just to get him out of the house he used to share with you. While he wouldn’t put it past him, Leon wanted to give Chris the benefit of the doubt and believe that he had good intentions when he invited him to this thing.

Nearly giving up on his search, Leon heads back to the kitchen, where Jill hands him a bottle of beer. She leans against the counter and he does the same, his eyes still expertly scanning the room, just in case. “Hey, Kennedy,” she greets as she sips on her own beer. “Haven’t seen you in a while. Been busy with work?”

Leon shrugs, his face almost emotionless. “Yeah,” he lied. Of course he had been going to work and successfully completing missions, but he hadn’t left the house outside of that. Work usually took up a good portion of his time, and the rest of it was spent thinking about how badly he fucked things up with you.

It wasn’t even worth it. Ada.

He hadn’t seen her since he broke off their little agreement a month before he confessed to you, despite her texting him and asking to meet up so he can fuck her in exchange for information he thought was worth more than you.

It really wasn’t.

He’s been ignoring her texts for months now, just like how you’ve been ignoring his.

Leon had never blocked someone’s number ever in his life, but Ada was about to be the first if she didn’t take the hint and leave him the fuck alone.

As much as he wanted to put all the blame on her, he knew it was half his own fault, as well. He couldn’t believe he had gone back to Ada Wong when he had you, his entire world, waiting for him at home.

He knew he would never forgive himself, even if you somehow managed to move on and forgive him for the worst mistake he had ever made in his twenty nine years of living.

Four months.

It’s been four months and he was still beating himself up for what he did to you.

“Yeah, Chris and I are looking into this new virus that is spreading down in Oxford. The cases have been going up daily, might be something you can help out with,” she offered, leaning closer to him so he could hear her better over the loud music. “You’re more experienced with viruses than anyone else I know.”

Leon gave her a tight lipped smile. “Sure, Jill,” he replied. “Whatever you need.”

“Great,” she says as she finishes off her beer. “You staying long? I never took you as the party type.”

He really wasn’t. He hadn’t been to a party since he was nineteen. Even the frat parties he was invited to were boring, so he never had the urge to go to anymore after the age of twenty. Until now, because he was told that you would be here.

And he wanted to see you so badly.

“I’m not, really,” he agreed and brought the bottle up to his mouth. “I just thought someone I know would be here-”

He wasn’t able to take a sip of the alcohol before his eyes landed on you as soon as you entered the room.

All words had died on his tongue and the bottle was raised half way before his hand froze.

You looked beautiful. Your cute white dress fit you well and showed off the concerning amount of weight you had lost. He hadn’t seen you that small since the beginning of your relationship, back when you didn’t know how to take care of yourself and listen to your body’s warnings.

Leon felt his heart constrict at the thought of you going back to your old ways of ignoring the signs your body tried giving you. You were barely getting by when he met you, and you hadn’t gone completely back to that since leaving him, if your makeup and pretty hair were anything to go by.

You hadn’t given up on yourself entirely, and that gave him enough hope that you would be okay. Even if he was given the chance to talk to you and explain things, he knew you weren’t completely broken like you were when you first started dating, and that you would be fine if you decided to never forgive him.

Looking as shy as ever, you inch further into the room, seeming to have not noticed Leon yet as you ventured over to the bottles of booze that had been set out on the counter. “Oh, shit, is that Y/n?” Jill asked as she squinted in your direction. “I didn’t know she was coming, but that pretty much explains why you’re here. Are you okay?”

Leon watched as you browsed through the drink options, dropping his arm back to his side and not caring about the beer that splashed onto his hand at the quick movement. He didn’t take his eyes off you as he slowly shook his head, a quiet “No,” leaving his mouth afterwards.

Jill looked between the two of you, unsure of what to say. “Do you want to move to another room?”

Leon shook his head again. “No. You said it yourself, Jill. This is why I’m here,” he muttered and watched as a younger guy moved to stand next to you. He helped you pour a large amount of vodka mixed with ginger ale into a cup, and he quickly recognized the guy as one of the new agents Claire had befriended named Kegan.

Kegan stepped closer to you and Leon could instantly tell that you were uncomfortable. He knew you like the back of his hand and could tell when you got nervous or anxious, like how you are right now.

Leon stood up straight and placed the untouched bottle of beer behind him on the counter before making his way across the kitchen.

Within four strides he is behind you and towering over Kegan, who noticed Leon long before you did. “Kennedy? Leon Kennedy is actually at a party? Wow, never thought I’d see the day,”

Leon glared at him and it was then when you realized who was standing behind you. “You don’t know me,” Leon stated as you turned to face him, but he just kept his eyes on Kegan. Leon had quite the reputation at work, and he was well known as the guy who is more than capable of completing any mission, no matter how tough it may be.

That being said, his superiority often annoyed the new guys as they tried to live up to the high expectations and standards of Leon Kennedy.

“And you don’t know her, but I do, and I know she wants you to leave her alone but is far too nice to actually say that to you, so I’ll do it for her,” Leon continued and felt his heart skip a beat at the quiet gasp that left your lips.

Kegan looked between you and Leon, and more specifically the protective look in his eyes, before backing away with his hands up. “My bad, man,” he shrugged. “Didn’t realize she was with you.”

He disappeared in the crowd as you turned completely to face your ex. “You didn’t need to do that,” you muttered and Leon could feel his face heat up at the fact that you were actually talking to him. You wore an annoyed look, but still, you’re talking to him. “I could’ve done that myself.”

Leon forced a grin to form on his lips. “But I bet you’re glad I did it, instead,” when you just shook your head and began to leave the kitchen, Leon stepped in front of you, refraining from grabbing your hand like he so desperately wanted to. “Wait, please.”

“What, Leon?” You asked and you sounded so exhausted, it made his heart physically break a bit. “What could you possibly have to say to me right now?”

“Everything,” he answered instantly. “I want to say everything I didn’t say the day you left. Please, give me a chance.”

You narrow your eyes and cross your arms. “It’s been months, Leon,”

“Four,” he confirmed, watching the brief shock that flashed across your face. “And I’ve thought about you everyday for every one.”

You give him a conflicted look that is quickly followed by a sigh. “There is nothing you can say that will fix what happened, just so you know,”

Leon nodded and held his hand out to you, surprise filling him when you actually took it. “I just need you to know that it wasn’t your fault, and that it’s all on me,” he promised as he led you towards the front door, missing Chris’ look of relief as he passed him.

While he didn’t know the full story of what his friend did to you, he knew Ada had been involved in the reason you were no longer together. Chris was never a fan of Ada and how she treated Leon whenever the two crossed paths, and he was sure the blond felt the same way after being her little pet for years. He was sure the two of you would end up getting married, so he could not fathom how the fuck Leon had let Ada get in the way of what you and he had.

All in all, he was sick of Leon’s bad moods, and wanted his friend to go back to normal. Well, as normal as Leon Kennedy could be.

Leon led you out onto the front porch, and with one look from him, the two guys who were standing out there quickly scampered back into the house. Once you were alone, he turned back to face you with guilty eyes, his mouth opening and closing as he tried to figure out what to say to you.

He had wanted the chance to talk to you again for months, and now that you are actually here in front of him he was blanking.

But he wouldn’t let his inability to form a proper sentence be what cost him his once chance at explaining to you why he did what he did.

An apology would be a good place to start, right?

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he finally allowed himself to look into your guarded eyes. You looked at him as if he were a stranger, and he supposed he kind of is now. The person you both thought he was would’ve never done what he did to you, no matter how important those fucking files were. “I’m a fucking idiot.”

You nod and lean back against the railing, crossing your arms as you stare at him with a soft glare. “I’m really glad we agree on that,”

He knew he deserved that. He deserved worse, actually, but you were simply too kind to completely go off on him, and he simply never deserved you in the first place. “That’s fair, you’re being hostile,” he mumbled and felt his skin begin to heat up under his dark leather jacket. “I know I have no right to even be talking to you right now, but I just need you to know that what I did with Ada was the worst thing I have ever done, and I’ve done a lot of bad shit in my life. None of them cost me you, though, so they’re not very high on that list.”

You tense up at the name you’ve hated since the second you heard it, and the mention of her sent your insecurities right back to the front of your mind. “Yeah, well,” you trail off, kicking a stone that was on the porch away from you as you avoid his stare. “I hope she was worth it, because I haven’t been able to wrap my head around the fact that Ada fucking Wong is the reason the best relationship I had ever been in ended.”

“She wasn’t worth it,” he said instantly, taking a cautious step towards you. “She was never worth it, even back when I was a stupid twenty one year old and trying to start my career. She never cared, and I wasn’t smart enough to see that. I’m not smart at all. If I had half a brain I would’ve never gone back to her ever again.”

You shake your head. “You can say that now, but it doesn’t change anything,” you mumbled. “You cheated on me with the one person I’ve been worried about since day one. You promised me that she was in your past, and that you were over her. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe that. Guess we’re both fucking dumb.”

“No,” he said sternly. “You’re the smartest person I’ve ever met. Ada hasn’t had control over my heart for a long time now, it’s always been you. I haven’t stopped thinking about you since the day we met, and that was years ago. I know I fucked up, but I’ve never stopped believing that you’re it for me. I don’t want anyone else, and that was clear after I met you.”

Your lip was quivering just slightly and you blinked back tears, trying to stick to your promise of never crying over the man in front of you ever again. You weren’t sure how much longer you could keep that promise if you were to continue to talk to him. “Then why did you do it? Why did you ruin what we had?” You regretfully ask and quickly add, “And I want the truth, not some bullshit story you always seem to come up with. Be honest with me, Leon.”

Leon really felt pathetic at this point as he felt his heart jump a bit at the fact that you said his name. He missed you so much, he missed hearing your voice, and he missed the way his name sounded when it came out of your mouth.

He knew his answer wouldn’t satisfy you at all, but he said it anyway, “It was just about work,”

“Oh, don’t give me that,” you say angrily, wiping under your eyes before he could see your tears. “Don’t waste anymore of my time, Leon. I refuse to spend another second with you if you’re just going to lie to me. You’ve done that enough.”

Leon shut up after that, shifting from one foot to the other and beginning to feel anxious. He shouldn’t feel this way around you. He had known you for four years and been with you for three, he should feel comfortable around you, but he supposed he lost that right, too.

At his lack of words, you turn away and are about to head back inside when he grabs your wrist and pulls you away from the door. “Y/n, wait,” he begs, blue eyes clouding over with desperation as he stares hopelessly down at you. “I can’t tell you how sorry I am. There are no words that could ever describe it. I hate that I hurt you and I hate that I fucked up the best thing I had going for me. You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me.”

You fell silent as your eyes flickered from his lips then back to his eyes.

What if….for just one more night…what if.

“I should’ve never let you walk out that day without explaining to you that it was all my fault, just like how I should’ve never let Ada come anywhere near me. But I’m weak,” he was saying all the words he should have said to you the day he confessed that he had been seeing Ada. God, even her name made a feeling of disgust creep into his bones. “I’ve always been weak when it comes to you and my job and everything. I’m not cut out for this kind of thing, but you made me feel like I was. I can’t believe I took that for granted.”

Your eyes burned once again and you moved to lean back against the railing when he inched closer.

“You’re everything to me, sweetheart,” he sounded so genuine, you almost thought you could believe him. He placed his hands on the railing behind you and leaned down so his face was close to yours. “You always will be. She is, by far, the biggest mistake of my life and I promise that I haven’t seen her since. I can’t stand even thinking about her-”

He wasn’t able to finish that sentence as you leaned in and pressed your mouth to his.

Just one more night.

You just needed one more night with him, one where you could pretend you were still happy and still in love. One where you were still oblivious to the affair he was having with his ex…or whatever the fuck they were.

Just one more night to fuck him out of your system, then you’ll never have to see him again after this.

Leon got lost in the feeling of having your lips on his for the first time in months. His hands immediately grip your waist and his body presses right up against your own.

He missed you more than anything else in the entire world. Every single inch of you, he craved it everyday. He was so fucking angry with himself for how he destroyed your relationship and for how he hurt you after he swore he wouldn’t. After he swore he was different.

Really, he wasn’t far off from the assholes you had given your heart to in the past, even though he tried so hard to be.

His fingers bunch up the fabric of your dress and he wanted to take you right there, right against the railing of his friend’s new porch, but you deserved more than that. He wanted to give you more than that.

Your hands slide up to tangle in his hair and he never thought he’d ever get to feel your soft yet firm touch again. He couldn’t help but melt into it.

Your lower back pressed against the cool metal and the contrast of it had you gasping against his mouth.

Leon groaned at your quiet sound of pleasure and couldn’t deny how it went straight to his dick. Sometimes he really hated being a man who had no control over that part of his body. “Missed that sound,” he mumbled against your mouth. “Missed everything about you, pretty girl.”

You moan into his mouth and he swallows it like the greedy man he is. “Take me home, Leon,”

It was like a switch had been flipped. He pulled away but kept his hands on your hips. Now that he had gotten a taste of you again, he never wanted to let you go. But he needed to focus on why he sought you out tonight. “I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he trails off, noting the brief look of embarrassment that flashed in your eyes. “I don’t want you to think that this is all I wanted out of-”

“I want it, Leon,” you cut him off, pulling him closer by his jacket. “I want you. I know you don’t want me anymore, but-”

He shook his head and pressed another kiss to your lips, against his better judgment. “I do still want you, baby,” he promised. “I want you, always.”

You bite down on your lip and don’t miss the way his eyes flicker downwards when you do so. “Then take me home,” you pressed, watching as he seems to have an inner battle with himself.

You weren’t sure what result you wanted out of this; him agreeing and getting you off one last time, or him rejecting you of what he so gladly took from Ada.

Either way would provide you with some closure, you’d hope.

A few more seconds pass before he’s moving away and taking your hand. He leads you to his car and drives the familiar road to the house you lived in with him not too long ago.

As he guided you through the very door you walked out of the day he told you what he did, he gave you a conflicted look as he said, “Just so you know, this isn’t all I want from you. I meant everything I said before,”

You give him a blank look as you move closer to him. “I don’t care,”

Leon looked like he was in agony as you grabbed his jacket and pulled it from his body. “Don’t say that,” he begged. “Please.”

You don’t say anything else as you pull on his hands and walk backwards until your knees hit the edge of the couch. Sitting on the armrest, you run your fingers down his toned chest and try to remember that this will be a one time thing. He wasn’t yours and this wouldn’t be like all the other times you and he had been intimate.

“I don’t want to talk anymore,” you whisper, grabbing his wrist and guiding his hand to your chest. “So please, don’t say anything else.”

Leon could only nod, regret filling him at what he knew he made run through your head. You thought this was all he wanted, when in reality he just wanted you back.

He leaned down and gently grabbed either side of your face as he kissed you deeply, pushing you back against the very couch you broke up with him on four fucking months ago.

It was too much, but he couldn’t stop. He was too afraid you’d leave him forever if he did. He really was fucking weak when it came to you. He was selfish.

He wanted you back so badly, his brain couldn’t keep up with his body. His lips were placing kisses desperately to your mouth as he felt your legs wrap around his waist.

Leon wasn’t sure if he would ever be able to function again if you were to never talk to him after this. He didn’t even want to think about it.

But it seemed as if you were doing the opposite.

He kissed along your neck for a few seconds before hearing a sharp intake from you that was followed by the push of your hands against his shoulders. “Wait,” you nearly gasp, sitting up when he instantly pulls away from you, proving to you that he is at least a little better than your past boyfriends. They would have ignored you and continued touching you until they got what they wanted.

Leon stood back and put a bit of distance between the two of you, his eyes guilty and his heart on his sleeve. “I’m sorry,” he says and you just shake your head, straightening your dress back out.

“No, I initiated this. I’m sorry, I don’t know what got into me,” you apologize and stand up. “I should go. This was a mistake.”

Leon felt his heart break as you quickly stood up and made your way to the door. He got flashbacks to the day you left him, and he knew he wasn’t prepared to see you walk out that door for the second time.

Maybe he didn’t have to.

You passed by the counter and abruptly stopped, your eyes fixated on something on the granite. Leon held his breath as he watched you move towards the island, your hand reaching out to grab his keys. “Leon,” you gasped quietly, your fingers gently moving something on the chain. He knew what was on it. The ring haunted him every time he used his keys, and that was the exact reason why he attached it to the chain in the first place.

He stayed still when you turned to look back at him, his keys held tightly in your hand.

“You kept it?” You asked in a hoarse voice. You would recognize that ring anywhere, even after only seeing it one time. You couldn’t believe he kept it instead of selling it, and you were heartbroken to discover that he saw it every day whenever he entered or left his house.

Your question offended him, but he’d never show it. “Of course I kept it,” and yet another flashback flickered in his head.

You weren’t sure you wanted the answer, but you asked, anyway, “Why?”

Leon hardly moved as he answered, “As a reminder,”

And it was the truth.

And then you broke your promise as the first of many tears began to fall.

You wished you never met him. Never said yes when he asked you out on a date, said no when he asked you to move in. You wished you didn’t agree to come to that stupid housewarming party, because now you felt lost all over again.

Setting the keys loudly on the counter, you turn to face him fully. “Why?” You asked, your voice angry and shaky as you tried to keep your cool. “Why did you do it? I loved you more than anything else. You saved my life, Leon. Why didn’t that mean anything to you?”

Leon felt his own eyes burn as he stepped away from the couch but made no move to walk over to you. “It means the world to me, Y/n,” he promised, his heart begging his body to take you into his arms, but he held back. “So do you.”

Your lower lip trembled as you moved to stand in front of him. “Why?” You ask again, much quieter this time around. You reach up and push on his chest just slightly, knowing damn well it wouldn’t faze him one bit. And it didn’t. “Why did you go to her?”

Leon refrained from taking your hands that were still on his chest in his. “Because she had something I needed,” he regretfully answered.

Your brows furrow and he knew he accidentally offended you with his poor choice of words. “What, I wasn’t good enough? Didn’t put out enough for you?”

“No,” he said immediately, going against his better judgment again and wrapping his fingers around your wrists. “You’re more than enough for me. You always have been and you will be forever. The thought of doing that with her made me sick and I hate myself for it, but it was the only way she would give me the information I needed for my job.”

Your eyes softened a bit but your whole body was still guarded. “Your job you can’t tell me anything about?”

“Yes,” he whispered, his face twisting up in agony when more tears fell from your eyes. “That’s the only reason I went to her. She had something I needed, but if I ever had to do it all over again, I’d tell her to fuck off and I’d get it some other way. I can’t stand the fact that I hurt you like that.”

You tried to process his words, but you didn’t know what to think anymore.

You believed him, and it was clear he felt awful about all that came out of his encounters with Ada. But you also weren’t sure what he wanted out of this encounter with you. Yeah, it appeared he wanted to fix things, but who’s to say he won’t shatter your heart again?

You couldn’t take much more. You knew that.

“It was just for work?” You asked quietly, avoiding his eyes as he pressed your hand flat against his chest. “You’re not in love with her?”

“No,” he said quickly, shaking his head to further get the point across. “No. I don’t love her, not anymore. Maybe I never did. She never made me feel the things you did and still do. My heart was never hers. It’s yours. Even after tonight, I’ll still be yours, even if you aren’t mine.”

Your eyes were begging for a break, but the tears kept coming. “My heart is yours, Leon. It’s yours to break,” you whisper. “And you did.”

He couldn’t stop himself from taking you into his arms. He wrapped you up and let out a sigh of relief when you let him, and even held onto his waist. “I’m so fucking sorry,” he says, kissing the side of your head. “So fucking sorry. I swear, I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I’d use my last breath for you, baby. You’re my entire world. You’re everything.”

“Leon,” you beg, bunching his shirt up in your fists. “Don’t do this to me again. Don’t hurt me again, I-....I can’t take it.”

“I won’t,” he promised, cradling the back of your head in his hand as if you were the most frail and fragile thing in the world. “I love you so much. It’s you who I want for the rest of my life. I never doubted that. I never want you to doubt that.”

You nod and press your head to his chest. “It’s going to take some time,” you begin, your voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe a lot of time-”

“I’ll wait forever for you,” he swore, leaning back and pressing a kiss to your forehead. He was shaking now, disbelief filling his entire being at the fact that you were letting him hold you like this again.

You look over at his keys before meeting his eyes again. “I won’t forget about what you did, Leon,” you murmur, watching the guilt seep back into his blue orbs. “But I’m willing to forgive….I just need time.”

Leon nodded, wrapping you back up in his arms. “I’ll give you all the time you need, I promise,” he rasps. “Just don’t leave me again.”

He had no right asking you that, but he also had no control over his words at this point.

But you just pressed your lips to the side of his neck. “Don’t give me another reason to,”

#leon #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #leon re #re4 leon #leon smut #leon kennedy angst #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy imagines #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #leon s kennedy smut #leon s kennedy imagine #leon s kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil 4 #resident evil 2 remake #resident evil x reader #angst

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lorelune · 2 months ago

Text

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop.

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof.

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder. March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.)

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab.

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe.

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh.

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck.

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass.

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good.

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally.

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months.

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one.

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on.

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are.

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile.

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later.

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground.

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall.

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng.

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place.

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

...

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you,

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care.

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable.

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully.

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer.

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie).

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high.

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick.

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening.

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound.

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers.

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine.

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit.

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch.

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks.

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired. Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes.

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs.

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher.

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft.

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful.

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily.

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings.

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince.

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you.

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal.

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you.

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth.

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more.

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life.

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows.

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this.

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow.

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want.

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites.

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm.

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs.

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot.

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts.

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage.

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly.

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you.

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains.

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there.

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient.

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning.

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet.

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod.

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs.

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates.

[one new message]

blade: did you get home

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die.

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me.

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow.

#lore writes #blade x reader #ren x reader #hsr x reader #thank you to bitti for giving me so much juice to work with!!!#thank you to my early 20s and my time in the local music scene to reach about the most toxic men you can imagine <3 #ENJOY LOVES <3

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i-love-ptv · 2 months ago

Text

You Know Me..𐙚⭑

Pairing: Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Based on the prompt: “no, i’m not going to give you a bite because i know you’re not going to like it. then you’re going to ask me how the hell i like it, and i don’t want to listen to that right now.”

Wc: 915

No warnings! Just fluff tbh! :]

An: This is a random blurb I made today at 6am lololol

buttttt NEW CHARACTER UNLOCKED!!! It’s fall, and i’m missing stranger things rn 😣

ALSO!! I don’t know who made the prompt, since I got it from Pinterest, but if y’all know, tell me!!

Not proofread, i’m tired

feedback is ALWAYS appreciated mls <333

You truly think that you’re being discreet. Taking subtle glances at your boyfriend, and more specifically, what he’s eating.

Steve’s mom has this special tuna casserole recipe, and she made it on the off-chance she’s actually home.

Just looking at it makes your stomach turn a bit, it takes you back to the dinner you had at Steve’s house when he first introduced you to his parents.

You can’t remember what his mother made, but what you do remember is how after Steve dropped you off at your house with a kiss, you were in and out of the bathroom all night.

You blame it on the fact that you may have a sensitive stomach, it’s not uncommon!

But, a part of you felt bad, she put her time and effort into making a meal for you. She doesn’t even really do that for Steve himself.

So you couldn’t just reject it, besides, your mother always told you to ‘try everything first!’.

So now, that’s exactly what you were going to do.

Steve had only come back to your shared home with one plate, so you had to think strategically.

Maybe you could distract him, tell him something’s wrong with the bathroom sink. Yeah! That’ll work!

“No, I’m not going to give you a bite because I know you’re not going to like it. Then you’re going to ask me how the hell I like it, and I don’t want to listen to that right now.” Steve’s sentence catches you off guard.

You whip your head towards him, staring at him like a deer in headlights.

“..What do’ya mean, honey?”

“No, don’t give me that look. Baby, I know you, and I know you aren’t the biggest fan of my mom’s cooking. I’m not either.”

You jump up at this, nearly falling off the couch, which makes Steve grab your waist with his free hand. He tries to get you to sit back down, rather than kneel on the couch.

“What? I love your mom’s food!” You practically yelled, your voice picking up in pitch.

Steve gives you a look, in both disbelief and amusement.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to lie to me. D’you remember the 4th of July?”

You cringe at the memory of that day.

Steve’s family, meaning his parents, two aunts, an uncle, his grand-parents, and like four cousins - two of which, were kids - had came together for the 4th of July.

Steve, of course, invited you. He figured it would be better for him to bring you so you could meet his family, and so that he didn’t have to be alone.

The company was great, you loved talking and getting to know everyone, especially his grandmother.

But when it was time to eat, you were a bit….Hesitant, to say the least.

Steve’s dad worked the grill, and to be honest, you didn’t think it was going to be all that good, but it was!

But your dinner was spoiled by Steve’s mom’s watery macaroni and cheese, her oddly sweet potato salad, and her rock-hard rolls of bread.

But you refused to cause a scene, so you shoved all your thoughts down, and ate.

…Which resulted in you barking at Steve, telling him to drive home faster so you could use the bathroom.

You shiver at the thought of how you spent the rest of the night, in and out of the bathroom.

“Yeah, but, I think it was cause I ate too much!” You stammer, before continuing. “I’m all good now, though! Let me try some!”

You try to reach over to the plate, which is being tilted away from you by Steve’s right hand.

Your hands are resting on the brunette’s shoulders, while your body leans in the direction of the food.

“Baby, please. You don’t have to eat my mom’s cooking, I know it’s not good. Please save us both the trouble.” Steve sighs, you know he’s not mad at you.

He’s actually anything but.

He admires how you’re pushing down your feelings, only to uplift his and his mother’s. But he doesn’t want you to think that you’re required to do so.

After another 5-ish minutes of you blabbering on about how you ‘want to try her hard work’ and Steve arguing back, you slouch back onto the couch with a huff.

“I know y’wanna be nice, baby. But you don’t have to.” Steve softy coos, while rubbing your stomach.

“I know I don’t have to, but I want to Steve.”

Steve hums at you, and moves your legs from his lap as he stands up.

You track his body, as he walks into the kitchen, scrapes his plate, then sits it in the sink.

Steve goes back to the couch, picks you up, and then lays you on top of him once he’s comfortable laying down. He puts a blanket onto the two of you, and then rubs your back.

Steve leaves a firm, but sweet kiss on your forehead. “My sweet girl, always so nice to everyone, huh?”

You giggle softly, your eyes growing heavy at the feeling of him drawing shapes on your back.

The last thing you remember is him briefly reaching over you, and using the tv remote to turn down the volume.

Steve doesn’t know how he got so lucky with you, but he’ll spend the rest of his life thanking any, and every god for you.

And you’ll never be able to lie to him.

Cause he knows you.

────♡────

#lee’s writing! ₍ᐢ. ̫.ᐢ₎#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem #joe keery #joe keery x reader #stranger things #stranger things fic #stranger things fanfiction #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #Spotify

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soulessjourney · 9 months ago

Note

Hello love I have a request that I would love you to write!

Cassian or Azriel I am not picky and Y/N

Y/n gets into an argument with Cassian and or Azriel about how they are not attentive, and they’re for them anymore and says that if things don’t change they’re leaving. Things do not change and it is the night that the inner circle goes into Hewn city. at the gala, Eris ask Y/N to dance. And one of the boys is really brooding just standing in a corner just watching YN and Eris dance and then is the part where Taylor goes. “I can see you staring honey like he’s just your understudy like you get your knuckles, bloody for me” I want their eyes to connect from across the dance floor. That would be great. then I am giving you full creative freedom with the undertones of exile by Taylor Swift. give me all the angst you can give the more the better.

I absolutely love this idea! I hope that I live up to your expectations and provided enough angst to feed that burning hunger of yours! Also apologies that it has taken me so long, in all honesty I kept forgetting what I was writing and I wanted it to be PERFECT.

Exile

Paring: Azriel x Reader

Word count: 4k

Summary: Azriel starts to distance himself from you. Fed up with his disappearing acts, you confront him, only for it to end in driving you away entirely.

Warnings: Angst (and lots of it), Fighting, Language, Hurt and comfort (from Mor)

If there was one thing Azriel was known for, it was his dedication to his work and his undying loyalty to Rhysand. He was also your mate, someone who meant the entire world to you. You had met Azriel about two hundred years ago when you started your bakery. He came in after watching you struggle with carrying the large bags of flour, extending a helping hand. Since then, he started coming daily to see what new goods you were cooking up, and that's when he asked you on your first date.

The first date was a bit awkward as he shied away, speaking in such a hushed tone that you had to repeatedly ask him to repeat himself. Despite Azriel's strength, you loved his shy side. There was something so docile and soft about it, and you were the only one who truly got to see that side of him.

When the bond snapped into place, both of you were fighting over who would mix the flour, ending with both of you covered from head to toe. It was when he heard your infectious laugh that he felt it, and it was obvious when you gave him that loving gaze he was drawn to. Your eyes were so soft, and your smile was wide. So, that evening, you made him his favorite treat and offered it to him, which soon led to Azriel making sure Rhysand got it through Cassian’s head that you two were not to be bothered for a few weeks.

Those were the moments you missed more than anything. You missed curling up with Azriel as you read the same book, often sharing your reactions. You missed hiding from him to scare him, only to fail the moment his shadows shot out to greet you after a long day. You missed your mate, and your happy memories felt like a fever dream. He was starting to become a distant memory, and part of you wasn’t even sure if you wanted to put up a fight.

You couldn't recall the last time you had spent more than a few moments with him. Lately, he had been staying at the House of Wind to be closer to Rhysand, ready for any last-minute missions that might arise. Initially, you didn't mind, considering Rhysand's frequent missions, especially when Feyre was pregnant and needed his support. However, what began to trouble you was that he never invited you to join him, nor did he visit your shared home to see you.

Then you heard about the time he started spending with Elain. You weren't bothered by her, as you couldn't blame her for shutting everyone out. Her entire life had been stripped away in a matter of moments, and now she was essentially immortal, with a mate forced upon her. However, understanding also brought weariness. You could sense that she had developed feelings for your mate, and Azriel, being who he is, most likely was unaware of the affection she held towards him. Strangely, this knowledge made you want to be around him more, but you didn't know how to navigate the situation.

Azriel had been a significant presence in your life, and the sensation of him slipping away was something you loathed. At some point, he had closed off the bond, making it nearly impossible to reach out to him through it. Running your hands over your face, you attempted to dispel the exhaustion before deciding to visit the House of Wind to ensure Azriel was at least alive.

Your arrival at the House of Wind did not go unnoticed. Cassian, upon spotting you ascending to the training area, made your presence known. "Y/N! You're here. We've been wondering when you would show up. We were starting to think you didn't like us," he teased, capturing everyone's attention.

Clearing your throat, you offered him a small smile as the breeze tousled your hair. "Yeah, things have been hectic at the bakery. Have you seen Azriel? It's been hard to find him lately," you inquired, noticing Cassian's expression contorting into one of pure confusion.

"What do you mean? He said he was with you this morning," Cassian replied, scrutinizing your every move. Dread began to fill your body as the realization that Azriel had even been deceiving the others dawned on you.

Forcefully laughing, you scratched the back of your head, clearing your throat. "No, he was! By 'lately,' I meant during the day since he's usually all over because of the missions Rhys keeps assigning him," you explained, even your forced smile fading as Cassian's gaze filled with concern and pity.

"Y/N, Rhys hasn't assigned him anything for a while, not after what happened with Feyre and your injury. Rhys wanted him to be around you more because of that close call. Are you telling me you haven't seen him?" Cassian inquired, raising a brow and challenging you to lie. By now, the entire area had cleared out except for Nesta, who stood in the background watching you and Cassian, her jaw tense. She knew something, and you would extract it from her if necessary.

"No, I haven't. I mean, he comes home once in a blue moon, but then he just sleeps in the guest room, and he's gone by the time I wake up," you admitted, your shoulders sagging. "I really miss him, Cass. The nightmares are starting to return. He's not avoiding me because he blames himself for what happened, right?" Just a few months ago, Azriel had angered someone, resulting in a dagger being firmly lodged in your side. Recalling that moment, you realized Azriel wasn't present when Cassian and Feyre found you on the floor of the bakery's kitchen that morning.

You heard Nesta curse before she joined Cassian's side. "I spoke to the idiot already, and I thought I got through to him. He's with Elain in the garden. I saw them just before training started, and considering how often they spend time there, he should still be there," she divulged, her expression shifting from anger to guilt. You wanted to be furious, but part of you couldn't muster the anger towards her. Nesta had tried her best to handle the situation discreetly, but with her knowing, you wondered just how long Azriel had been sneaking around with Elain while deceiving the rest of his family.

You hadn’t heard anything else Nesta had said as your feet carried you through the house. Just as you turned the corner, you collided with a solid chest, causing you to stumble back. Looking up, you sucked in a deep breath as your eyes locked with a pair of hazel ones. "Azriel," you breathed, reaching out towards him. Your hand fell to your side when he pulled away from you. "I've missed you. You're never around anymore," your voice thick with emotion as you struggled to say anything beyond the standard 'I miss you'.

Azriel glanced over your shoulder, his expression hardening. "You're not supposed to be here. Why are you here?" His eyes eventually met yours as a scoff escaped your mouth. You hadn’t seen your mate for the past few weeks, and that’s what he had to say to you? That you weren’t supposed to be there, trying to ensure he was alive?

"You're joking, right? Azriel, I haven’t seen you for weeks, and that’s all you have to say? A hello would’ve been nice at least," you snapped, crossing your arms. Rolling his eyes, he turned on his heel and began to walk away. "No, you don’t get to walk away from me, Azriel. That’s not fair. You don’t get to pull a disappearing act without some sort of explanation. You don’t get to lie to your family and expect not to get caught," you snapped, following after him. As the two of you entered the dining area, you missed the others sitting at the table, their conversations cut short as you stomped after Azriel.

Azriel stopped and spun towards you, his wings flaring slightly. "My gods, Y/N, can’t you just get off my back? I’m not going to be there every single second of the day with you. You need to learn how to live without me for once in your life." Any sound that filled the room suddenly fell silent as you took a step back, feeling as though he had slapped you.

"Oh, shit." Looking around, you came face to face with your family, all silent as they watched you. Nesta was glaring daggers at Azriel, while Cassian and Rhysand were positioned to intervene if things went south. Mor and Feyre looked at you, their faces filled with guilt. Then there was Elain, sitting there with the audacity to appear clueless about what was happening. Your entire family was there to witness the potential downfall of your relationship with Azriel. Great.

"What's your issue, Y/N? Why are you on my case today? I haven’t done anything to deserve this nagging. Gods, it’s like after you healed, you became an overbearing mess," Nesta slammed her hands down on the table and stood, prompting Cassian to grab hold of her to prevent her from lunging at Azriel across the room.

A dry laugh escaped you as you narrowed your eyes. “Overbearing? Azriel, you haven’t been around in weeks! You can’t even stand to be in the same room as me. And overbearing? Day to day, I have to deal with the people you anger, and I constantly fear for my life because of your job. I took a damn dagger to the side and almost died because of your job. I’m sorry if accepting you for who you are and your job is overbearing. I’m sorry that worrying for you is just so awful. You’ve changed, Azriel, and I don’t know if it’s because of the damn elephant in the room or if you’ve simply given up. I’m tired of dealing with the nightmares alone, and I want you back by my side when I wake up screaming because I constantly feel that dagger ripping me apart.” Tears streamed down your face as you looked around.

Rhysand had slowly made his way towards you with Mor by his side, the two members of this family, besides Cassian, whom you trusted with your life. Glaring down at the ground, you looked up at Azriel, your face void of any emotion. “If you can’t clean up your act, I’m done.” Azriel froze as a flood of fear slammed into you. He slipped, and you could tell the moment he slammed those walls back up.

“Clean up my act? You’re the one to talk. It’s like ever since you woke up, you became afraid of the world all over again. You shouldn’t need us to walk you to work and back. You shouldn’t need us hanging around the store all day just because you’re scared of someone showing up. I can’t stand to have a mate who is so fearful of the world.” You dropped your shoulders in defeat at his words. It was true; after what happened, you had been terrified of being in that shop, fearing they would come back and finish the job.

Rhysand was next to you in a second, followed by Mor, who caught you as your knees gave out. “That is no way to speak to your mate, Azriel,” Rhysand spat. “You sat around moping because you wanted one. The Mother blesses you with one, and this is how you thank her? Seriously?” Rhysand crossed his arms, the room noticeably darkening.

“Well, maybe she made a mistake. Maybe Y/N isn’t supposed to be my mate. We have nothing in common, meanwhile, Elain and I do.” The moment the words left his mouth, your head snapped in Elain’s direction as you clenched your jaw.

Looking back at Azriel, you shook your head. “I mean it, Azriel. If you can’t clean up your act, I’m done. Don’t bother looking for me until you figure out your mess. I’m done,” you spat, winnowing from your very spot into your room. Grabbing a duffel bag, you began to cram things into it just as you heard footsteps sprinting down the hall towards your door, and the echoes of voices calling out to the owner of those steps.

As Azriel threw open the door, you looked at him as he reached out for you, his mouth opening to say something. Before you could hear what he had to say, you disappeared, leaving him standing in the middle of your room.

---

It had been a month since you chose to seclude yourself in Mor's guest bedroom. As the door slowly opened, light flooded into the dark room, and Mor stepped inside. Sitting on the bed, she gently rubbed your back to draw your attention. "Hey there, sweetheart. It's time to get you out of this room. Velaris has started to notice your absence now that the bakery is closed," she said softly, sensing your reluctance. "He still asks about you, but he's also spending more time with her. Rhys has tried talking sense into him, Cassian kicked his ass, and the girls have been giving him the cold shoulder. I'm sorry, my love, but perhaps attending the Gala in Hewn City would do you good," she suggested, brushing your hair away from your face gently.

You nodded and turned onto your side to look at her, a small frown forming on your lips. Mor's gaze softened as she sighed softly. "Come, I want to show you something," she said, gently pulling you out of bed. Standing up, you followed her out of the room toward another one just down the hall. Mor pushed the door open, revealing a mannequin adorned with a stunning deep purple gown featuring delicate beadwork climbing the bodice. The main skirts bore the design of a tree and leaves, with the beads on the skirt representing flowers. It was the most beautiful gown you had ever seen.

"I had it made for you to wear tonight. You deserve to look and feel beautiful. Azriel is taking you for granted. With your beauty and eyes that could bring a man to his knees, this dress is perfect for you," Mor whispered from behind you, resting her hands on your shoulders gently.

A wide smile graced your lips for the first time in a month as you turned to face Mor. "Thank you, Mor. Truly, it means a lot to me that you did this," your words were soft and heartfelt. A sense of brokenness lingered within you, the result of Azriel's neglect over the past month, compounded by the knowledge of his time spent with Elain. Mor guided you to the bathroom, where she helped you into the tub and began to wet and wash your hair.

"You know, we’re all upset with him for treating you like this. Yes, Elain needed help before, but even Nesta started to reprimand him for spending too much time with her. I remember when he first came home after meeting you. He was covered in flowers and had the biggest grin on his face. He couldn't stop talking about you, and Cassian often had to beg him to stop. But then, after one of his missions went awry and you got hurt, everything changed. He refused to see you, or even go near that part of the house. And then he kissed Elain. I thought Nesta was going to tear him to shreds. After that, he began lying to us about spending time with you, even after Rhysand practically forced him out of the garden." Mor's words pierced through you, mentioning the kiss shattered your fragile emotional state.

A wave of despair washed over you. Shoulders slumping, you gazed down at the water surrounding your bare form. "Do you think he still loves me?" you asked, your voice trembling with uncertainty. Mor took a deep breath, visibly caught off guard by your question. She hummed softly as she poured water over your head, grappling for the right words.

"I'm sure he does. Azriel is complex, we all know that. For centuries, he's prayed to The Mother for a mate. I heard him whispering a prayer every night until he met you. Then it turned into begging her to ensure your safety. Azriel tends to shut down and push away those closest to him when he's struggling to cope. He avoided Rhysand when he returned from Amarantha's clutches. His treatment of you isn't fair, but I genuinely don't know how to reach him anymore." Mor cleared her throat, rising to her feet. "I'll leave you to dry off and get into a robe. When you're ready, come downstairs, and I'll help you dress and do your hair," she offered with a comforting smile, squeezing your shoulder before exiting the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts.

It didn’t take long for you to exit the tub once the water turned cold. After drying off your body, you slipped on a black silk robe and began to towel dry your hair. As you made your way towards the stairs, you made a mental note to find a way to thank Mor for everything she had done for you. Nearing the bottom of the steps, you froze upon hearing Mor engaged in a conversation with someone. Peeking around the corner, you spotted Azriel standing with his back to you in the middle of the living room, while Mor stared at him with an intense gaze. “She thinks you don’t love her, Azriel. You’ve pushed her to the brink of giving up,” she snapped, causing him to tense at her words.

Azriel ran his fingers through his hair, his mouth opening and closing as he struggled to find the right words to say. “I do, I just... I don’t know. I haven’t seen her for a month, and I’m starting to go crazy, Mor. I don’t know what to do about it anymore, and it feels like everything I say comes out wrong,” he confessed. You noticed his shadows lurking in the room, beginning to slither their way towards you.

“And what about the kiss, Azriel? You kissed Elain while your own mate was at home, thinking you were off on some mission Rhysand assigned to you,” Mor jabbed a finger into his shoulder. “You gave up, and she kept pushing. This is your doing, and you need to figure it out. She was serious when she told you to clean up your act. Right now, you’re showing her you’ll never change, not after you hadn’t even bothered to come see her for a month knowing she was here. You pushed her aside for Elain. It’s time you finally accept the consequences of your actions, Azriel. If you lose her for good, that’ll be on you.” Before Azriel could respond, he tensed and turned towards you, his eyes widening.

Allowing your gaze to fall into a blank expression, you looked at Mor. “I’m ready,” your voice came out as a whisper, and Mor nodded, shoving past Azriel. You both made your way back up the stairs, leaving Azriel standing alone in the middle of the room. Once again, you were just out of his reach, and once again, he was on the verge of losing you for good.

---

The gala was breathtaking. Witnessing the courts gathering together always brought you immense joy. Tamlin made his way towards you, a wide smile on his face. “Y/N! It’s good to see you again. We've been missing your baked goods dearly,” he grinned, prompting a laugh from you. Born in the Spring court, you had grown close to Tamlin, and it was there that you honed your baking skills while growing up. When the time came for you to seek a new path, Tamlin had let you go, assuring you that you would always have a home to return to.

When Azriel pulled his disappearing acts, leaving you alone with your thoughts, you often debated returning to Spring, where you knew you had a family who would welcome you with open arms. “Thank you, Tamlin. If I'm ever permitted, I’ll be sure to bring you some of my cookies that you drooled over,” you teased, brushing a curl away from your shoulder.

Tamlin looked around, a questioning look flashing across his face. “Where’s your mate? The last time you and I talked, he was glued to your side.” Your eyes dulled slightly as you shrugged. You hadn’t seen Azriel all evening, though you knew he was here as you were constantly followed by a shadow.

Before you could respond, Eris made his appearance, as fashionable as ever. “Y/N, you truly outdid yourself this time. You look absolutely breathtaking in that dress. Shall we have a dance?” Without waiting for your answer, Eris grabbed your hand and led you towards the dance floor, where bodies swirled in a mesmerizing pattern. You and Eris fell into an easy rhythm as he looked down at you. “Sorry to drag you away from Tamlin, but I couldn’t help but notice how sad you looked. Is it because of your mate?” His eyes bore into yours as you sucked in a deep breath.

“It would be a mistake to lie to you,” you grumbled, earning a laugh of agreement from him. “Azriel and I haven’t talked for a good while. He’s been busy with other things,” you mumbled, avoiding eye contact. As you both spun, you caught sight of him standing in the corner of the room, watching you. Your eyes hardened as they locked onto his.

Eris cleared his throat, pulling your attention back to him. “You know, if you need a break from your home, you can stay in my court. We obviously have the room, and I can make sure you get the space you need to think. As much as Morrigan hates me, she’s worried about you to the point where she asked me for help.” Studying his gaze, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was being genuine.

Looking towards Azriel again, you studied him, your eyes narrowing as Elain walked up to him, handing him a glass. Biting back your tears, you let your walls down, throwing every ounce of anger, betrayal, sadness, and fear at him. You watched as he stumbled back slightly, his hand flying up over his chest, his eyes locking onto yours. You watched as Elain reached out to him, running her hand over his arm as she tried to check on him. Eris stopped moving as he stood next to you, watching the interaction between the both of them. “Just say the word, and I can take you away from here,” he whispered.

You waited for him to brush off Elain, but he didn’t. He let her hand rest on his cheek as he kept his eyes on yours, his eyes widening. “He doesn’t care about me anymore, Eris. Take me to your court,” you said, looking up at Eris, who only nodded. You didn’t miss how he glanced at Rhysand and the others, giving them a small nod. You didn’t miss how their shoulders sagged in defeat once they realized you were leaving. You didn’t miss how the crowd began to part as Azriel raced towards you, dropping to his knees in front of you. You watched as his body shook with sobs, how he begged you to stay, begged you to stay by his side. “Where were you when I begged The Mother to bring you back to me? Where were you when I was dying on the kitchen floor of my own bakery after taking a knife for you? Where were you when I woke up screaming for you? Go back to Elain, Azriel. You made your decision.” With that, you turned to Eris, giving him a small nod. With that, the both of you walked away, leaving Azriel on the ground sobbing into his hands before he disappeared from your sight as the crowd closed behind you.

588 notes · View notes

jjungkookislife · 8 months ago

Text

For Peep's Sake

♡ pairing: hfth!jungkook x f. reader

♡ genre: established relationship, easter au, college au, smut [18+]

♡ summary: Easter weekend takes you back to the Jeons for a weekend of fun.

♡ wc: 4.1k

♡ warnings: alcohol use/mention, food mention, dirty talk, oral sex (f. giving and receiving), panties used as a gag, cum swallowing, quickie, unprotected sex in a car, spanking, creampie, shower sex, mention of cockblocking, roughhousing

♡ date: March 31, 2024

║ part one ║ part two ║ series masterlist ║

Spring break was wonderful with your boyfriend and friends.

You hung out by the pool, did body shots off of your boyfriend’s ridiculously hot abs, and spent some much-needed girl time with Grandmother Jeon and Park.

Getting back into the school routine had been tough and just as you were getting used to it, Easter rolled around.

“I am not getting in the car with him!” Jungkook stomped his foot, his arms were crossed over his chest and his glower was deliciously hot.

“Oh, come on!” Jimin rolls his eyes. “We always carpool. It’s tradition.”

“Yeah,” Seokjin chimes in. “I even have an egg-stra special playlist.”

Jungkook frowns as he turns to look at you. “What do you think, babe?”

You hate being put on the spot but Jungkook would rather spend that time with you without Seokjin barking out lyrics he doesn’t know and you can only imagine what Easter-related songs he could have found. Besides, Jungkook wanted to have his car this time around. He wanted to show you more of his town.

With Grandmother Jeon possibly stopping by, he knew the chances of riding around on his motorcycle were slim to none; though he had promised you a ride around the block whenever the opportunity struck.

“Seokjinnie,” you pout and Jungkook turns around to hide his snickering. You were laying it on thick.

Your tone draws everyone’s attention, and Seokjin immediately softens.

“Just this once can we ride separately? Next time I’ll make you a playlist,” you smile and Seokjin nods, easily agreeing. Being the only girl in the friend group had its perks.

“You heard her,” Seokjin chirps. “Let’s get on the road!”

Jungkook smirks when you wrap your arms around his waist.

“Good girl,” He praises as he takes your hand to bring it to his lips for a kiss. “Let’s get going, my love.”

“Where are you going?” Jungkook asks Jimin as you stand on the porch with your bag. Jungkook had been digging in his pocket for his house key when he spotted Jimin joining you on the porch.

“Mama Jeon probably has sweets and treats, where else would I be going?” Jimin asks with a raised brow.

“Uh, maybe your own house with your mom?” Jungkook retorts as he unlocks the door and calls out for his mother.

“Yeah, but Mama Jeon always has something for me. I’m her favorite,” Jimin grins as he waltzes into the home and to the kitchen to hug Jungkook’s mother.

Jungkook sighs as he kicks off his shoes and places them on the shoe rack by the door. You do the same before taking your luggage to the living room.

The walls are covered in Easter decor, from rabbits to eggs, to carrots galore. You smile as you take the room in, spying a photo of you and Jungkook on the mantel.

“Jimin!” Aera gushes as she hugs him tight. She sits him in a chair and places a plate of bunny-shaped cookies in front of him with a glass of milk.

“Mom, we’re here,” Jungkook announces as his mother hugs him. He takes the opportunity to flip Jimin off behind his mother’s back.

Jimin cackles as he reaches for a cookie, dunking it in his milk before biting it.

Aera releases Jungkook before she wraps her arms around you. “Oh, I’m so glad you could join us, sweetheart! I’ve missed you both so much!”

“Thank you for inviting me,” you say but she waves you off.

“You’re always welcome in our home whether Jungkook is here or not. We love you so much,” Aera hugs you again before she ushers you into a chair with brownie bites covered in pink frosting. Jungkook is the last to get a plate of cookies and milk, muttering about how he used to be the most babied.

You giggle, kissing his cheek before catching up with his mother while Jimin eats one of your brownie bites.

“I know you guys will only be here until Monday but Grandmother Jeon called just a while ago to announce her stay. You’ll have to share Jungkook’s room again. I hope that’s okay?”

“Sure,” Jungkook nods.

“I mean, the two of you practically live together anyway,” Jimin announces as he takes one last bite of his cookie.

You and Jungkook nearly snap your necks turning to look at him. Your death glares make Jimin blush before he scrambles out of his seat and heads for the door.

“See ya!”

Aera clears her throat and takes the dishes to the dishwasher.

“We’re gonna settle in,” Jungkook informs her as he takes your dishes to the dishwasher as you haul ass out of the kitchen.

You grab your bag and Jungkook’s as you head for the stairs.

Moments later, Jungkook is at your side taking the bags from you.

“Remind me to crack a rotten egg over Jimin’s head on Sunday,” Jungkook mutters as he leads you to his bedroom.

“I’m sure we can get the guys to help,” you say as you grab a change of clothes to shower before getting into bed.

Jungkook joins you after his shower, cuddling into your side.

“We can’t hide in here until dinner, Darling,” Jungkook whispers as you bury your face in his chest.

“Why not?” you pout as you cling to him, running your fingers through his hair.

“Because Grandmother Jeon will be here soon and she’ll want to see us,” Jungkook reminds you as he kisses your neck.

“But it’s okay,” you murmur as he sucks on your neck, making you moan as your eyes shut and he gets out of your arms to settle between your legs.

“Is it?” he whispers as he grabs your hips, tugging you to him.

“Koo!” you gasp as he kisses you deeply.

Your hands tug on his hair, moaning as he kisses his way down your jaw to your neck until he settles for the top of your breasts.

“I wish I could bury my cock inside you, Darling. Fuck you until you’re crying for more,” he muses as he leans back, smiling.

You’re left speechless and horny.

Your eyes are unfocused as you try to breathe normally.

Jungkook chuckles as he climbs off you, adjusting himself before going to the bathroom to splash cold water on his face.

You giggle as you stare at the ceiling.

You could never have enough of him.

“Where are my babies?” Grandmother Jeon asks as she steps through the front door with Luna in tow.

You and Jungkook leave the kitchen with his parents.

“Grandmother Jeon!” you greet as she hugs you first. Jungkook shakes his head as he pulls into the hug before you’re released.

Jungkook scoops Luna off the floor and holds her. He kisses the top of her head before she’s handed to you.

“Hi pretty girl,” you coo as Jungkook and his father grab Grandmother Jeon’s bags.

“The airport is the worst,” Grandmother Jeon frowns as she’s led to the living room couch. “The number of people trying to pet Luna while I’m trying to get her to potty is ridiculous. One man asked if she bit and then shoved his hand in her mouth. We were both so shocked! Who does that?!”

“Wow!” you exclaim as you set Luna on her lap.

“You know you can move in,” Aera tells her as she sits on the other end of the couch.

Grandmother Jeon waves her offer away. “You know I live for the fast life.”

Aera nods. “The offer stands.”

“Thank you, dear. You always were my favorite,” Grandmother Jeon informs her as she pets Luna.

“Shall we have dinner?” Jungkook’s dad asks as he comes downstairs with your boyfriend behind him.

The next afternoon, you wake up in Jungkook’s arms. You struggle to get free, giggling when he groans and searches for you but you’re too busy kissing your way down his rock-hard abs.

“Fuck,” Jungkook curses as your mouth wraps around his hard cock. “Darling!”

“Shh,” you hush him as you poke your head from under the covers, and your hand strokes his spit-slicked cock. “Gotta be quiet, baby. Or I’ll have to stop.”

“No, don’t stop,” he whines, his hips thrusting into your hand.

You pause, removing your hand and ignoring the whimper of your boyfriend. You take your panties off, stuffing them in his mouth to keep him quiet.

Jungkook groans, nearly cumming over himself as he tastes your arousal.

“Gotta keep quiet for me, baby. Can you do that? Can you be a good boy for me?” you ask, unsure where the courage came from but Jungkook was an absolute puddle for you.

“Yes, baby. I’ll be good. I swear,” he whimpers through the lace as you wrap your hand around him. You stroke him slowly as you get under the covers, your hot mouth welcoming him in.

He curses when your lips wrap around him, tonguing his slit to hear his muffled cries. Your hand moves between your thighs, rubbing your clit as you bob up and down on his fat cock, stuffing you full.

Jungkook curses losing himself to the pleasure as you feel him hit the back of your throat. He chokes on your panties, tears running down his pretty face as you hold it there for a while before swallowing.

Jungkook is sobbing as you swallow the load in your mouth, crying when you pop back up and swallow.

“Good morning,” you grin as you take your panties out of his mouth and wipe his tears away.

After you suck the soul of your boyfriend, you end up spending the day with Jungkook at Jimin’s place.

“So we’re heading to the Jeons’ tomorrow like always?” Namjoon asks for confirmation.

The Jeons always held the biggest Easter bash on the block. It was a yearly tradition.

“Yup, Dad’s grilling,” Jungkook confirms. “Gotta bring your eggs for the hunt though.”

“Duh,” Seokjin rolls his eyes.

“Not the flour-filled ones, you dick. Mom banned those,” Jungkook huffs.

Seokjin frowns.

“Anyway,” Jungkook rises from his seat. “We have dinner plans so we’ll see y’all tomorrow.”

Jungkook doesn’t allow anyone to say anything as he leads you out of Jimin’s home. He takes you to his car, giggling when you ask where you’re going.

“A family favorite,” he answers.

The drive to wherever is quick. Jungkook parks his car under the broken streetlight.

“Where are we?” You ask as you look around and see the orange neon lights and the boy beside a rocket who must be the restaurant mascot.

“Starbright,” Jungkook answers as he points to the large sparkling sign. “My parents came here before they met and continued to come here when they met and then brought me and my brother.”

“Koo,” you smile softly as you take your hand in his. You couldn’t be more in love with him if you tried. You knew he was your forever, there was nobody else who could ever compare to him.

Emotions overwhelm you as you climb onto his lap.

Jungkook is in awe as you easily find the lever on the side of his seat to make it slide back to give you more room.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” you whisper as you cup his face, settling on his lap before you kiss him. His hands grip your hips tightly as you grind on him while your tongue threads with his, tugging on his hair as you deepen the kiss.

Part of you wonders if Hoseok knew this would happen when he picked out your skirt and top. You didn’t care as Jungkook bunched your skirt at your hips, gripping your thighs as his fingers rubbed over the wet lace.

“Fuck, love,” Jungkook can’t control himself, losing it when he feels how wet you are for him.

“Please,” you whimper, not sure what exactly you’re begging for as Jungkook pushes your panties aside, his fingers rubbing your clit as you smash your lips against his.

Your hands are greedy as you unbutton his pants, tugging them down his thighs in the tight confines of his car. You tug his boxers down next, grinning when his hard cock smacks against his belly button.

“Fuck,” your mouth waters at the sight, nearly drooling as you take it in.

Jungkook chuckles. “This wasn’t what I had planned for dinner, but who am I to deny you?”

You smile as you wrap your hand around his length, lining him up at your entrance before sinking on him, nearly screaming his name for the whole block to hear.

Jungkook laughs, his hands gripping your hair to pull your face into his neck. You moan into his skin, eyes shut as his thick cock fills you deeply.

Jungkook groans when you rock your hips. You’ve grown needy and hungry just being on his lap.

He’s wearing your favorite cologne and it smells heavenly. You kiss his neck, leaving a tiny mark behind as his hands move down to your hips and then your ass. His hands are full as he helps you bounce up and down on him.

The car’s windows fog up, rocking with each thrust he gives you.

“Won’t last long,” you warn him with heavy breaths as you take his lobe between your teeth and pull.

Jungkook’s eyes flutter shut as fireworks explode behind them.

“Koo!” You whimper, nearly sobbing as he smacks your ass.

“That’s it, Darling. Be good for me and cum. Cream my cock, like you’ve been wanting to all day,” Jungkook encourages.

“Jungkook!” You gasp as you bury your face in his neck, kissing the little mole that drives you insane.

“Don’t think I didn’t notice how you kept looking at me with the guys. Staring at my hands, my lips, my cock,” Jungkook smirks as you clench around his dick. He curses as you cry out his name, creaming around him just like he wanted you to.

He follows soon after, grunting as he fucks you through his orgasm, filling you with thick shots of cum before he pulls out and fixes your panties.

“Can you be good for me, baby, and keep that inside you until we get home?” Jungkook asks as you both catch your breath.

“I can try,” you giggle as you climb off him and tug your skirt back down. You both fix your clothing, rolling the windows down as the cool spring air cools the both of you down and gets rid of the just fucked smell.

Jungkook exits the car first after rolling the windows back up. He jogs around to get to your door and help you out as your wobbly legs make him giggle.

“Oops,” he grins cutely as you take his hand and he shuts the car door.

“You’re splitting a chocolate milkshake with me for that,” you tease as he leads you toward the restaurant door.

Once you step inside, the retro decor makes you grin. There are red glittery booths with white tabletops. A jukebox sits in the corner blasting an old song you’ve heard your parents play when you were younger.

The menu above the counter is stained yellow with age and the cashier smiles at Jungkook widely.

“Welcome back, Little Jeon!”

Jungkook grins as he leads you forward and his smile disarms you as he proudly introduces you to the staff.

You hope you’ll be able to come by often with Jungkook at your side.

“No,” you whine when Jungkook kisses you awake the next morning.

You’d spent most of the night wrapped up in each other. He ate you out as a reward for keeping his cum inside all the way home and then you went down on him in your shared shower followed by another romp bent over the bathroom counter in the middle of your skincare routine.

Your thighs ached and your body begged you for more sleep but Jungkook’s kisses were just too good to ignore.

“I let you sleep as long as possible, Darling,” Jungkook whispers as he sits up in bed.

You grumble before sitting up, your eyes still closed and your hair messy.

“Koo,” you huff, hoping he’ll take pity on you and let you sleep another hour or two.

“We’ll miss breakfast,” Jungkook tempts you. “Seojun and Saraí made a lot of delicious stuff for today.”

“I’m up,” you groan as you rub your eyes. Jungkook helps you out of bed, grabbing the outfit Hoseok picked for you today.

It’s a beautiful light blue dress that reaches your knees with shorts underneath so you can roughhouse with the boys during the egg hunt. Hoseok allowed you to pick your shoes for this outfit, so you slide on your low-top canvas sneakers and quickly pull your hair into a ponytail.

Your makeup is minimal since you’ll be running around for the hunt and you can hear the ruckus from downstairs announcing the arrival of your friends and their families.

Luna barks echo throughout the house, and when you finally reach the first floor with Jungkook at your side, you're all smiles.

Grandmother Jeon grins as she spots you and Jungkook. Beside her is a large box filled with Easter baskets.

“There you are!” Minji exclaims as Luna sits on her lap, barking before Aera takes her to the backyard with everyone until only you, Minji, Jungkook, and your friends are left in the living room.

“Seojun and Saraí already got their baskets and Jimin got his basket from Sujin,” Minji explains as everyone turns to Jimin, who has already bitten the ears off a chocolate bunny. He smiles sheepishly as everyone turns back to Minji.

“Seokjin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Namjoon Taehyung,” Minji calls the eldest to her side. They each receive a basket with their name written on the front, stuffed full of chocolate and plastic Easter eggs.

They thank Minji profusely as they take their baskets and run out to the backyard to open the eggs and see what Minji has gifted them.

“And here you go,” Minji hands you a blue basket with your name embroidered on the front and Jungkook receives a purple basket with his name embroidered on the front and a cotton bunny tail on the back.

“Thank you, Minji,” you say as you run around the couch to hand her a basket you and Jungkook worked on before arriving at the Jeons.

“Ooh, for me?” Minji smiles as she takes the basket, opening the card the two of you got her. She thanks you again as Jungkook helps her out of her seat and leads her to the backyard.

Jungkook’s backyard is ridiculously huge. Tables line up one side of the patio with food and decorations. Three piñatas sit against the wall by the back door and Luna runs around chasing Jimin and Namjoon.

After lunch, you’re all instructed to head inside so the eggs can be hidden in the yard. Special eggs are hidden for Luna, so Jungkook’s dad, Dae, will chase her around the yard with her basket.

You sit on Jungkook’s lap while your friends ready their Easter baskets.

Jimin smirks as he places a few eggs in his Easter basket he’d hidden earlier in the day.

Seokjin eyes him warily, making a mental note to steer clear of him once the hunt begins.

Jungkook places his hand on your thigh, ignoring the idle chatter of his friends. “We could go upstairs while everybody is busy.”

“Don’t even think about it!” Hoseok exclaims as he sits down beside the two of you with a wide grin.

“We’re all here to have fun,” Taehyung adds as he squeezes between Jungkook and Hoseok on the couch.

“Up you go,” Seokjin helps you off Jungkook’s lap with a wicked grin. He drapes his arm over your shoulder as Namjoon takes a seat on your boyfriend.

“You guys go above and beyond to cockblock us,” Jungkook mutters as he shoves Namjoon off his lap and Yoongi cackles from his seat as he sips his drink.

Jimin is working on two flutes of champagne and Taehyung bites the ears off a chocolate rabbit before tearing open a chocolate egg.

“You’re gonna throw up by the end of the hunt,” Seokjin tells him as he takes the chocolate away.

“I’ve only had a few,” Taehyung pouts but before Seokjin can say anything else, Aera opens the door to the backyard.

“All right, kids! Get to hunting!” Aera shuts the door with a smile as you grab your baskets and head for the front door.

Unsurprisingly, Taehyung and Seokjin’s broad shoulders get stuck in the doorway in their rush to be first. Like the time at Jungkook’s place, Namjoon and Hoseok crawl between their legs to get outside first while Jimin uses Seokjin and Tae’s backs to jump over them.

Yoongi grabs his drink before he squeezes between the two almost-lovers, and heads for the egg hunt without spilling his drink.

“Oh, for Peep’s sake!” Jungkook sighs heavily as he lifts Seokjin out of the way, leaving Taehyung to run into the backyard while you pause to kiss Jungkook’s cheek and run outside with your basket.

A few moments later, Jungkook is at your side with his basket.

Namjoon and Jimin are already rolling around on the grass fighting for a green plastic egg, while Dae follows a barking Luna around with a filled basket and a second for backup.

Taehyung has stolen the eggs from Jimin’s basket, cackling as he heads for Seokjin. You watch from afar as Tae cracks an egg filled with flour on Seokjin’s head and laughs as he runs away.

“Don’t you dare!” Hoseok growls as Taehyung heads for him but changes direction to aim for Jungkook. You run in the opposite direction, catching up to Yoongi as he finishes his drink and crawls along the grass into some bushes to grab a handful of colorful eggs.

“These are mine!” Yoongi hisses as you approach. You flip him off and run alongside Luna and Dae.

“I’d look over there by the rose bushes,” Dae hints before Luna nudges him with her head to go in the opposite direction.

You take Dae’s advice and head for the rose bushes, mindful of thorns as you pull out a giant pink egg and toss it in the basket with the others.

Jungkook catches up to you, his hand on your waist as you pause to rest. Chaos is still unfolding in the backyard as Jimin tackles Hoseok to the ground and Seokjin has Namjoon and Taehyung in headlocks.

“Wow! Easter gets competitive around here, huh?” you ask as you watch in awe as Hoseok gets the upper hand and cracks a flour egg on Jimin’s head.

Sarai and Seojun chat with Aera and Grandmother Jeon, their baskets filled with eggs and treats.

You look down at your basket, noting you can squeeze in a few more eggs before calling it quits.

“It does,” Jungkook finally answers as he inspects your basket. “Looks like you did pretty well for your first Jeon Easter.”

“I got quite the haul, babe,” you grin as you lift your basket proudly for him to inspect.

“I’d keep that pink egg close,” Jungkook warns as he laces his fingers with yours. “Let’s go!”

You don’t get to ask why as Namjoon, Seokjin, Jimin, Taehyung, and Yoongi are charging towards you.

“Shit!” you screech as you try to keep up with Jungkook.

“Get to Grandmother Jeon,” He instructs as he lets go of your hand and runs toward your friends. You take off, arriving moments later as Minji makes you sit beside her while Jungkook wrestles Seokjin to the ground and all your friends fall on top of the two, baskets soon forgotten.

“Ooh, you got the pink egg. Open it,” Minji encourages as she takes the egg from your basket. You open it as instructed and see a check for $500 sitting inside. Minji takes the check, signs it, fills out your name, and hands it back to you.

“There you go.”

Aera rises from her seat, as she announces the hunt is over.

Dae and Luna sit near Minji, opening eggs to reveal dog treats of different flavors.

You pocket the check and head to Jungkook, cracking eggs filled with confetti on all their heads as you chase each other around the yard until you’re too tired to continue.

The eight of you lay in a circle on the grass, watching the clouds roll by in the afternoon sky. It’s been a wonderful weekend and you’re sad to see it end but you know there will be more ahead with all of them.

Jungkook rolls on his side to look at you, a smile on his lips. “I love you. Thank you for coming home with me, Darling.”

You lace your fingers with him, gently kissing his lips. “I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.”

#jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x reader insert #jungkook y/n #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #hfth!jungkook #hfth!drabbles #hfth drabbles #fic: hfth

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dallaji · 1 year ago

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Save some room for us.

♡ bada lee x reader / NSFW❗

SUMMARY: This could’ve been a perfect night: it was your first time being invited to a sorority house party and you were promised alcohol, decent music and good company. So naturally, because nothing is ever truly perfect, your ex-situationship had to be a part of said sorority.

WORD COUNT: 7k

CW: ex-fwb, university setting, lengthy smut (like 50% ratio), both bada and reader are switches, relationship is the epitome of "its complicated", bada is a mess but please forgive her, author has never used a dating app before, kinda angsty?? hopeful ending though!!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this was inspired by this post by @moonsvrse but it honestly spiralled so um, i'm so sorry if it's not what you hoped it'd be (╥﹏╥).

————— ୨୧ —————

It was almost comedic, honestly.

When Minah had invited you to her sorority’s house party with a hopeful glimmer in her eyes, you had said yes without a second thought. It wasn’t your scene at all, but you and Minah shared a Sociolinguistics class that became considerably less boring once you sat down next to each other.

Usually a Saturday night was spent with your two roommates, eating at the cheap fast food joint around the corner of your shared dorm: you were always back in the comfort of your own room before the clock struck 11pm. For the sake of experience you decided, why not. Maybe you’ll finally get a taste of that wild university life.

Now, at 11:05pm, you were crammed into a sorority house with at least 150 other people: the bottom of your sneakers sticky after stepping in an unidentified puddle on the floor, speakers blaring whatever Spotify selected for the RapCaviar playlist that week, and a bottle of lukewarm beer in your hand. It was fine, though. Minah had introduced you to some of her friends who you had hit it off with quite effortlessly. One girl called Lusher couldn’t stop gushing over your outfit, though by this point she had knocked back quite a few drinks.

You were having a good time.

But it became comedic once you headed to the kitchen with the group of girls to grab more drinks and were faced with a ghost from a not-so-distant past.

Bada Lee was leaning over the kitchen counter, smiling sweetly at a girl chattering animatedly in front of her. She looked just as attractive as you remembered her. Perhaps even more so.

Naturally, your first ever house party had to be hosted by a sorority she was seemingly a part of.

Really. It was straight out of a comedy skit.

Bada and you had met on a dating app about a year ago: you saw a picture of a girl standing tall in a dance studio while donned in a sweater, jogger and Jordans, and you had instinctively swiped right. You don’t know what Bada had thought of your low effort selfie - posing inside a coffee shop - but it must’ve impressed her somehow. You were matched by the end of the day.

“fuck marry kill: han so hee, bruce wayne, me” had been her introductory line. And despite your answer (you had, in fact, answered that you would kill Bada), you did end up fucking after spending your first date at a dim sum restaurant.

This was, coincidentally, right after she had confessed she wasn’t interested in anything serious right now. She had still wanted to meet you however. You were, in her words, “too pretty not to take out”.

You didn’t have a lot of time to mull over the initial disappointment, because she was fingers deep in you later that same day; lips attached to your neck and a rogue hand fondling your breast. Regrettably, the sex had been ridiculously good.

Chin up, though! It wouldn’t be the last time.

The second “date” was spent watching a schlocky horror flick in her small dorm, before you ate her out on the couch until she was shaking and panting underneath you; bad movie and takeout pizza long forgotten. What you had initially disregarded as an incredible one-night stand became a biweekly hookup for the 5 months that followed.

The both of you had set rules in place, though these were mostly driven by Bada: this was just sex. She didn’t have the time or the “emotional bandwidth” for anything serious.

The problem was that the lines got blurred pretty quickly. After a month you had begun meeting up without the pretense of sex hanging in the air. You would rent some more schlocky horror movies together and actually watch them, popcorn propped up in your laps. She would wait up for you after class to go grab some coffee, even if her own schedule was mismatched. You had cooked chicken noodle soup in a pinch at her dorm when she was down with the flu. She would slip her arms around your waist from behind and call you her “baby” in the softest voice.

And yet, the rules were simple. There were no strings attached to this arrangement, and you would be reminded in subtle ways. While you knew how she liked her eggs in the morning and that she’d much rather spend her time on watching terrible TLC reality shows than studying for her finals, you had no clue who her friends were or what hometown she grew up in. Sometimes your text messages would go unread for days at a time, but she would still post on Instagram. Bada’s Tinder profile picture would change every now and then, despite her continuously finding her way back into your bed.

But it had been fine. The rules were simple, and it never really drove you to heartbreak levels of sadness. At the very worst you had been annoyed by her flakiness, but you enjoyed her company too much to ever mention it.

That was until you woke up one day to find yourself blocked on Instagram, her account set to private without a clarification or even a final goodbye. You had sent exactly one text asking if everything was alright, but it never went through. Her Tinder profile stopped updating. The message was more than clear, and you were not one to chase someone down. You were much too prideful for that.

A few days after being locked out of her life, your roommate (who had taken it upon herself to keep tabs on your past situationship) showed you a picture of Bada wrapped around a girl who was everything you were not: where she looked soft, you were sharp edges; where she was exuberant, you were placid. And then everything clicked. She had met someone who made her want to go steady, and that person was resoundingly not you.

You met your roommate’s eyes with such a forced indifference, it almost felt defiant: “Good for her.” You had mumbled, unpausing the TLC reality show Bada and you used to watch together.

Thus, exactly as she had bulldozed into your life, she had promptly disappeared. You, too, stopped using Tinder. When your friends asked about your dating life, you would shrug and say you didn’t have the time for it. But truthfully, the pit in your stomach became a permanent fixture whenever the topic arose.

You carried on with your life; there were no “stuffing yourself with chocolate” or “locking yourself in your bedroom sobbing”, but the hurt you felt was akin to pulling back when a candlelight grew bigger under the palm of your hand. You felt slighted and confused, frustrated that she never felt an explanation was warranted. But perhaps this was your problem: putting expectations on a woman like Bada, who had never done the same for you. The rules had been simple, after all.

It had been 7 months since then, and you had genuinely not thought of the girl in a long time. Yet there you stood, frozen in the doorframe as Minah and her friends rushed into the kitchen. The way Bada was looking at the girl in front of her almost reminded you of the way she looked at you on that faithful first date. The girl in question, however, looked nothing like the girlfriend she had introduced to the world months prior.

You were normal about it.

So normal that you had traced your steps back unnoticed and hid around the corner with your back pressed against the wall. A guy you didn’t know gawked at you like you were a safety risk, but you were too busy trying to think of an escape plan to really pay attention.

“Bada! We were looking for you earlier— Wait, Minah, where’d your friend go?” You heard Lusher’s voice question.

“Oh? I swear she was just behind me.”

“Friend?” The familiarity of Bada’s voice made your stomach churn. You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.

“Yeah! Don’t think you know her, she’s in my Sociolinguistics class— Seriously, where’d she run off to?”

“Sociolinguistics, you said?”

You couldn’t listen to it any more: you downed your beer with a grimace, left the bottle on a nearby table and then pushed through the partygoers. The living room was currently packed with people dancing, playing beer pong or lazing on and around the couch. It was busy enough to drown yourself in the crowd and thus slip away from Minah’s searching eyes.

You found a free spot on the carpet in front of the television and sat down unceremoniously, legs crossed as the partygoers around you did not spare you a single glance; way more focused on things you weren’t doing. Like having fun, for example.

You suddenly became much more conscious of how loud the music was. It was absolutely going to leave your ears ringing once you were back in the safety of your own bed.

Fishing your phone out of your pocket, you sent your roommate a tentative text asking if she was still awake and could come pick you up. You would give it half an hour, you told yourself. If she didn’t get back to you beforehand, you were honest to god willing enough to call an Uber.

You kept track of your surroundings, dropping your head whenever you noticed Minah or her friends move around the room. You could’ve sworn they were calling for your name. Luckily no one else in the sorority house knew you, so your cover wasn’t blown.

It took 20 minutes.

You had been scrolling through your Instagram feed when a beer bottle was shoved under your nose. Flinching, as if you were snapped out of a trance, you looked up only to meet the eyes of the one person you had been trying to avoid.

Bada had come to sit next to you on the floor while you weren’t paying attention, and held out the drink with a soft smile. There was a point in time where you were obsessed with that smile, but right now it was ticking you off.

“Hey there.” She sounded painfully nonchalant as if she were greeting an old friend, voice loud enough to be audible over the music. You suppose she was, if you were to have a habit of making out with people you considered old friends.

You felt like a cornered animal; your brain urging you to just get up, walk away and call an Uber, but your body remained frozen in place. You took the beer from her hand with little acknowledgment, breaking your shared eye contact, and took an immediate swig from the bottle.

“Hi.” You muttered bitterly, staring straight ahead.

“Never pegged you as a sorority girl,” She was still looking at you, smile unmoving as she brought her own drink to her lips, “Minah invited you?”

“Yup.” You popped the ‘P’, turning the bottle in your hand to keep your eyes occupied. “Could say the same for you.”

“I moved out of my dorm at the start of the semester. This place is much bigger, so the sorority formalities are only a small sacrifice.” Bada laughed good-naturedly, as her head tilted to the side to get a better look at you, wordlessly encouraging you to meet her halfway.

You kept your eyes on your drink, fighting the urge to ask her what the hell she could even want from you. “Cool.”

“How have you been?”

Was she really going through all the steps of small talk 101?

“Fine, what about you?” You took another swig from the bottle.

“Okay,” Bada replied vaguely, but the amiable smile did not leave her face, “What is it you did again- Political science?”

You tightened the grip on your bottle and scoffed, tongue digging in the hollow of your cheek. She knew damn well that you had a major in Anthropology. The smart thing to do would be to get up and leave, but you liked having a retort ready: something Bada had said she loved about you in the past.

“What is it that you did? Computer science?” You looked up at Bada, who was very much a Dance major.

For the first time Bada’s smile faltered. Perhaps it was something about the look in your eyes or the combativeness in your body language, but it was enough to downturn the corners of her mouth. She put down her drink. “Sorry, I thought—” She began, suddenly unsure of what to say, “I was joking.”

“I don’t know what you think.” You retorted plainly. The words, which were clearly not only meant for the current conversation you were having, hung in the air like a dark cloud. “Look, I didn’t know you were going to be here. So before you get the wrong idea—”

“I’m sorry.” Bada blurted, but her eyes were no longer scanning your face and rather seemed much more preoccupied with the sleeves of her hoodie, slender fingers picking at the fabric.

“You already said that.” You sighed, not letting up. You didn’t like the sudden rigidity in her posture, but it was hard not to feel like your anger was well founded.

“I know you wouldn’t know I would be here. It’s not like I…” She glanced up at the ceiling and gestured vaguely with her hands. “It’s not like you would’ve had a way of finding out.”

You arched an eyebrow, quietly waiting for her to continue.

Bada pressed her lips together in a fine line, worrying the skin between her teeth as she pondered her next words carefully. “I’m sorry for the way I left things.” Finally, she turned to look at you, her eyes intense and pleading. For a second your mouth went dry, vaguely registering how close she was. You wanted to scoot away, but her stare was begging you to hear her out. “A lot was happening— A lot has happened. I was a complete coward, and so immature, I- I’ve regretted it since.”

“You could’ve unblocked me any time.” You spoke slowly.

“I could’ve.” Bada agreed, scanning your face. “Maybe I’m still a coward. But then I saw you just now and…” Her lips parted as she mulled over her next words: “I don’t know. I just needed to talk to you.”

The bottle of beer was becoming lukewarm in your hold. You didn’t like seeing this Bada: guilt and shame written all over her face and shrunken into herself. It seemed completely unnatural to the girl you had come to know for those 5 months, who did everything but make herself smaller. You desperately wanted to tell her everything was okay, but you knew you would regret leaving things unsaid. Even now, when you think back to the moment where you found yourself locked out of all her accounts, you could feel your heart plummeting down your chest so vividly; as if you were experiencing it all over again.

“You didn’t owe me a lot,” You admitted, attempting to hide the quiver in your voice, feeling silly as soon as the words had left you, “but you could’ve said something. Anything.”

“Yes.” Her voice was almost a whisper, eyes downcast. “I want to tell you everything that was going through my mind at the time but, maybe not now.”

“Maybe not now.” You concurred. Not because you weren’t near desperate to know, but rather the timing didn’t feel right. You almost felt like she had to fight for the right to tell you what had happened. She should have to fight for your listening ear.

“You have actually been doing good?” Your eyes met again, and something about the way she spoke sounded hopeful; prodding.

“I’ve been good.” You replied, unsure of how to navigate the conversation any further.

You had half expected her to get up and leave with that, perhaps deem this closure enough to go on with her night, but she stayed put. Bada took another sip of her beer, the way her shoulders sagged an indication of how uneasy she felt. Yet she stayed put. You took this moment to take her in with a more discerning eye: her hair loose and dyed in streaks as opposed to the blonde head of hair you had met her with. She was in an oversized t-shirt and baggy pants, bright tech sneakers carrying over the colors of her outfit. Just as she had been in the past, she was your polar opposite. You were all sleek lines, minimalism and soft colors, your belted loose-fitting dress pants not fitting the energy of the party whatsoever.

Then, you noticed something colorful on her forearm.

“Is that a breakup tattoo?” You blurted dryly, eyes glued to the intricate wave drawn on her skin.

Bada chuckled, holding out her arm with a smile. “Something like that.”

“Never pegged you as the type.” You parroted the drawl of the same words she had used earlier, and Bada shook her head with a disbelieving grin. “When’d you get it?”

Her grin wavered, slowly morphing into something more calculating as she tilted her head to lock eyes with you once more: “About 7 months ago, give or take.”

————— ୨୧ —————

You barely noticed the doorknob pressing into your lower back as Bada held you down by your hips, your lips locked in a hungry kiss as the muffled sounds of the party downstairs thumped underneath you. Your fingers carded through her hair as she pushed her tongue past with a deep, shaky inhale through her nostrils. One of her hands came up to cradle the side of your face, deepening the kiss with the urgency of a starved person zeroing in on their last meal: if they wavered, it may be frisked away from under their nose.

The kiss was all spit and heavy breathing, mouths gliding together fluidly as if you had choreographed this in the past. Bada hummed approvingly into your mouth as your hands found the hem of her shirt and pulled upwards, eager to feel her bare skin again. She broke the kiss with a wet noise, albeit apprehensively, and let you tug the fabric off, leaving her in a mere sports bra. Your hands smoothed along her waist, reacquainting yourself as she licked into your mouth again without hesitation, now both hands cradling your face as if she was marveling at a treasure.

A particularly eager suck on your tongue made you moan against her lips, and Bada parted the kiss with a smug grin, half-lidded eyes scanning your features in amazement. “Your turn.” She whispered, gaze back on your saliva-slicked lips.

Before she could kiss you again, you crossed your arms over your stomach and pulled your sweater over your head, revealing a non-padded lace bra; the sheer fabric leaving little to the imagination. Something about the look in Bada’s eyes deepened as you both kicked your shoes off in a hurry, and she made immediate work of your belt: tugging at it roughly, your hips pulled forward by the force she exerted, before unhooking the clasp and throwing the garment on the pile of clothes left in your shared wake.

She planted one hand next to your head, against the wooden door, as the other one clutched onto your waist with a burning touch, effectively keeping you in place. Her parted lips attached themselves to the crook of your neck and she let her tongue swirl against the patch of skin, drawing a quivery exhale from you. Baring your neck further, you allowed her to mark you up without a second thought, and she seemed to take that job very seriously.

“You haven’t changed.” Bada noted against your skin, her breath skirting along your earlobe. Something about the tone of her voice sounded delighted at the fact, and you felt your lower stomach warm up impossibly more.

She kissed her way to your collarbones, your skin shivering at the sensation and letting your hands find purchase atop her shoulders. You let your head fall back against the door with a quiet ‘thud’, back arching when she sucked another hickey right above your cleavage. Then, her hands came up to your chest, squeezing your breasts together and watching the way your cleavage deepened. She bent over and licked up a stripe along the slit, tongue digging into the crease. You pushed your chest out instinctively, sucking in your lower lip.

Bada locked eyes with you as she brought her lips to one of your breasts, letting her tongue lap across the lace fabric covering your nipples. Your hand came up to tuck her hair behind her ear, your movements delicate as she licked at your other nipple, forcing them to stiffen under the heat of her tongue. Her soft hums reverberated against your skin, her thumbs digging right below the hem of your bra and skirting along your underbreasts.

Impatiently you brought your hand up to your back and unclasped your bra. Bada moved away, watching the fabric drop to the floor with a bemused expression, but her hands immediately pressed over your breasts in a possessive manner, kneading the flesh before locking your lips once again. Teeth clashed together, the desperation in both your ministrations making the kiss so uncoordinated you were both left panting. She nudged her hips against yours, writhing against you as your name left her lips.

Your fingers meaningfully hooked underneath the straps of her sports bra. “Your turn.” You mimicked her request from earlier, and she obeyed with a pompous grin.

But as usual, she had to one up you with a burning defiance in her eyes: she hooked her thumbs into her pants and tugged them off, underwear following suit. Eager hands grabbed onto your hips again as she rotated your positions; your back facing the bed.

“Try to keep up.” She whispered hotly against your mouth, the two of you immediately turning into a mess of limbs and unfocused kisses as she steadily walked you towards her bed.

The back of your knees hit the edge of her mattress, and you toppled backwards, barely able to register your new position before nimble fingers began unbuttoning your dress pants. Resting on your forearms, you raised your hips to give her easy access and soon enough she pulled off your final garments with haste; leaving the both of you completely bare.

You scooted backwards as Bada climbed on top of you, your arms instinctively wrapping around her waist as she leaned down to kiss your lips, her ass resting in your lap. You had no time to feel skittish about the state you were in, much too familiar with the scenario as Bada’s well acquainted touch found its way to your breasts again, rolling your nipples between her fingers. You missed this, but you would never admit that to her.

Suddenly, she parted the kiss to instead look down at you contemplatively. You tilted your head, a snarky response on the tip of your tongue before the palm of her hand pressed down right above your chest, halting your actions. Her eyes scanned along your figure ravenously, and you, too, took her in: she was somehow both lean and soft, her hair falling over her shoulders like a curtain, strong thighs keeping your hips in place. She was beautiful.

“Do you trust me?” She asked, forefinger tilting your chin upwards.

“No.” You replied honestly, not breaking eye contact.

She grinned wider, finding tremendous joy in your words before she climbed off of you. Leaning over her bed, she began rummaging through her bedside table drawer as you sat up, watching her curiously. You heard a clanging noise when she pulled something silvery out, hiding it behind her back before you could properly register what it was.

“Turn around for me.” She requested, and because you were all bark and no bite, you obeyed.

As soon as your back was facing her, you felt her gentle touch grab a hold of both your wrists, crossing them against your lower back. You felt the cold press of something sharp close around them and lock into place, and heat pooled in your lower stomach, immediately recognizing what she was doing.

You looked down at the handcuffs wrapped around your wrists over your shoulder before meeting Bada’s smug grin and blown pupils: as if her wildest dreams had just come true. She looked like she was ready to devour you.

“How many girls wore this before me?” You asked.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” She responded blithely, letting your fingers tangle together affectionately as she pressed a sweet kiss on your bare shoulder.

“Maybe I would.”

“Why does it matter if none of them look even half as good as you do?” She gave the cuffs a playful tug, nuzzling the back of your neck fondly before moving to lie down flat on her back; a hand pressed on your shoulder signaling you to stay put.

“And how many girls have you told the same thing?” You wondered loudly, unable to hide your own smile when Bada laughed at your words.

“Seems I have a lot to make up to you.” Her hands grabbed onto your hips and she began pulling you backwards. “Get on top of me, baby.”

Once again you obeyed because, well, she did have a lot to make up to you. And the way she called you 'baby' had you dripping.

Through her guiding motions, you scooted back on your knees until they were pressing down on either side of her head; Bada’s hands immediately came up to smooth along your curves until she cupped your ass, watching the jiggle as if she was hypnotized. Her eager touch almost made you purr, and you instinctively straightened your back to move all your weight to your legs, opening up for her as your arms were inebriated by the tight hold of Bada’s handcuffs.

“Good girl.” She crooned. And then, her hand came down to slap your ass.

You let out a surprised gasp but didn’t move. Bada hummed from beneath you, appreciating your responsiveness and letting her nails scrape along the back of your thighs, feeling you shiver under her touch.

“Unfair that you’re still so pretty from this angle.” Bada mumbled, mostly to herself. She placed her palms on your asscheecks and parted them, and you bent forward ever-so-slightly out of instinct, sinking deeper into the mattress.

Bada cooed and before you realized it, her hand was on you. Her slender fingers dragged along your glossy folds and coated your heat with your own wetness. You sucked in your lower lip, effectively muffling a surprised moan, but leaned into her touch all the same. Then, she blew cold air against you, gloating over the shiver that ran down your spine.

“So pretty.” She reaffirmed, bringing her fingers to her lips and licking them clean, her other hand spreading your folds.

You almost expected her to ask you to start begging: she had always relished in breaking down your rebellious defenses until you would desperately beg her for more. This time, however, she seemed just as keen as you - if not more - to get her hands on you. Saliva-covered fingers pressed back against your folds and she began drawing circles across them with a maddeningly soft pressure. A shaky exhale left you, hands curling into fists at your lower back as you slowly began grinding your hips against her touch, hoping to find more friction.

“That’s it.” She muttered, adding more pressure to her ministrations and beckoning you closer and closer, her other hand squeezing your ass.

With a particularly deep rub, you moaned her name and sank lower, the strain of holding yourself up while she was driving you mad almost unbearable. Bada groaned underneath your weight, basking in the way your hips gyrated with your heat so close to her face and she rewarded you by caressing her thumb along your entrance; circling it with more force as soon as she heard you keen. You felt heat course up your spine, immediately chasing her thumb through the grinding motions of your hips.

Bada, who had already found your most sensitive spot, giggled; prodding at your entrance with a forced carefulness she damn well knew you didn’t need. With a high-pitched whine, as the circling of her fingers against your clit sped up, you arched your back, wrists tugging at your handcuffs in frustration as she continued teasing you.

Finally, her thumb pressed into you, the circling of her wrist against you not pausing and you moaned, pushing your hips out impossibly further until Bada had to give your ass another forceful squeeze, urging you to stay put. She fingered you with delight and you felt yourself drip under her care, but what really made you twitch dangerously was the feel of her parted lips moving along your hip. She dug her teeth into your skin and slapped your ass once more, your body flinching inadvertently causing you to sink down on her finger with more force.

You knew you looked like a desperate mess, mindlessly chasing down whatever she was willing to give to you, but it didn’t stop you from whining out her name, your lower stomach clenching.

“You better not be close already, baby.” You were surprised by how out of breath and wrecked she sounded while you hadn’t even gotten to properly touch her yet. You once again tugged at the handcuffs and you heard her tut. “So impatient.”

She removed her thumb and you almost cussed at her, but were quickly shut up when both hands moved to your hips in a vice grip, pulling you directly onto her open mouth. A moan got stuck in your throat and you almost faltered, nearly falling forward but forcing your legs to keep you upright.

Bada began swirling her tongue along your folds as if she was parched, hands keeping your cheeks spread as she groaned hungrily against you. Bobbing her head up and down, she lapped at you, tongue digging into your folds before giving your clit a sharp suck; over and over again.

“Bada…” You moaned, head dropping and only having half a mind to wonder if anyone downstairs could hear you. You realized you kind of didn’t care when Bada was making the kind of noises underneath as if you were doing her a favor.

You had stopped moving your hips, too stunned from pleasure to even consider it, until Bada began forcing you to do so; tight grip on your hips as she lightly bounced you up and down against her mouth. You began rocking back, cursing softly when Bada slurped under you, drinking at the wetness she continuously drew out of you.

You then noticed Bada had spread her legs with a hum, her own hips gyrating against nothing as she ate you out. She was getting off to this, and you felt yourself go all the more insane with want. She was so wet and you wanted to touch her so badly, but your shoulders started to strain through the position you were locked into.

“Bada,” You started, but another eager suck made you cut yourself off with a moan. “Let me—”

She caught her breath against you, chest heaving, still insufferable enough to find the energy to say: “Be my guest.”

She dug right back in, this time her tongue prodding against your entrance, purposefully leaving you a despairing mess in your handcuffs.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction of begging for a release from your confines so you dropped forward, face down and ass up, forcing Bada to sit up a little higher to keep her lips pressed against you. You heard her curse.

You didn’t waste any time teasing her, instead immediately closing your lips around her glistening folds. There was no need to toy with her, because her thighs twitched as soon as your lips met her heat, and you felt her moans vibrate against you. You sucked harshly on a bundle of nerves before collecting spit in your mouth and coating her with it, slurping around her breathlessly. Her thighs spread apart even further and you felt her lips falter against you, overcome with pleasure as she began grinding her hips up into your mouth.

Soon you realized she was much closer than you had anticipated because she began sucking on your clit even harder, in complete and utter desperation, before digging her tongue into your entrance, nails pressing crescent marks into your asscheeks. You ground back against her mouth as you tried to keep a steady pressure on her, licking her with fast but deep strokes. You felt a familiar pressure tighten in your stomach and became involuntarily more erratic, muttering soft ‘uh-huh’’s to encourage her to keep going at the exact pace she was using on you.

Bada whined against you, the muscles in her upper thighs tightening next to your head. “So close—” She gasped, and you closed your lips around her clit and began sucking. Simultaneously, she dug her tongue impossibly deeper into your entrance.

That’s what did you in: a moan got stuck in your throat as you felt your full body quiver at the orgasm that rippled through you. Bada let out a guttural moan underneath you, her thighs clenching around your head and toes curling as she shook incessantly. Rocking your hips back against her in a daze, she continued to suck on you through your orgasm as you lapped at her clit, soon enough the both of you shivering against each other from oversensitivity.

Panting, you dropped yourself next to her, your legs and shoulders straining from exertion. You were about to ask her to get the handcuffs off of you, until she crawled on top of you.

She was completely flushed, bangs sticking to her forehead, nipples perked and chest heaving as she pinned you down against her pillows, your wrists still pressed into your lower back.

“Not done.” Bada managed to gasp out as she swept down for a needy kiss, your tongues meeting messily through parted lips. You did not know where she was gathering the energy from, but her hands were back on your hips to slide you further down the bed.

She threw her right leg over yours and you immediately realized what she was trying to do. “Can you still cum like this?” She wondered coyly, angling her hips against yours before pulling your own leg up, hooking your heel over her shoulder.

Her hold on you was burning, almost having the potential to leave bruises behind, and you didn’t even know how you felt yourself getting wet all over again. The handcuffs were digging painfully into your lower back but you didn’t care, your lips parted in anticipation as Bada stared you down with such a deep longing it made your stomach coil. She twisted her head and pressed a kiss to your ankle, never breaking eye contact with you, before grinding her hips against you in a tentative manner; her folds gliding flush against yours.

You bit down on your lower lip as you felt her wetness grind against you, a quiet whimper slipping past and the smile on Bada’s face widened, eyes turning into crescent moons despite her own excitement.

Yeah, you could still cum like this, and she knew it.

She began working up a pace against you, first slow and deep, and then letting it build up to something faster. The way your mounds met each other had your eyes rolling back, soft moans falling from your lips as your hips ground against each other. Never once did her eyes leave you and you almost felt drunk off her attention, eyes falling shut as she hummed in pleasure.

The bed shook, headrest slamming against the wall over and over again with the quickening of her pace. Bada brought a hand to your breast, kneading it into her palm as she spoke lowly, her own eyes half-lidded in exhilaration: “Can anyone else fuck you this good?”

Your lips parted in a gasp, your desire so intense you didn’t even know what you wanted to say. You wanted to say something snarky, but the urge to burst into tears and tell her ‘only you can’ closed around your throat like an invisible hand. Bada’s head fell back as both of your hips moved impossible faster; her tongue dragging messily along your ankle in a complete daze as you panted her name.

“Answer me.” She gasped, the hand that was previously preoccupied with your breast coming up to grab a tight hold of your chin. And as if to prove her point, she began fucking you. Hard and deep, your body shaking with every thrust.

Your brain was short-circuiting and you shook your head, eyes shut tight. “N- no…”

Then, her hand moved to your throat squeezing lightly, but possessively. “Say it.”

Feeling her hips falter, you panicked and cried underneath her: “No one can fuck me this good!”

Bada hummed approvingly, picking up the pace again and sliding her hand to the back of your neck. “That’s my baby.” She leaned down, your leg still hooked over her shoulder and stretching along with her movements, yet the pace at which she fucked into you never wavered. “Stick your tongue out.”.

Disoriented, you arched your neck and obeyed, her own tongue gliding against yours in such a filthy manner you became lightheaded. Then, she closed her lips around the wet muscle with a moan, before meeting your mouth in a full kiss that was more exchanging saliva than anything else.

She parted and moved back, her hips pausing momentarily as she looked to where your vaginas met. Before you could object at her lack of movement, she lowered her head and slowly let her spit dribble from her lips and fall onto your folds. Immediately, she picked up the pace again, watching the way the added lubrication made the two of you slide together even easier. You couldn’t keep your eyes off of her.

Bada met your gaze with a wolfish grin and immediately switched gears to an unforgiving pace, the sound of wetness and skin slapping together filling the room as you couldn’t even register the music that was still playing downstairs. You felt the pressure in your upper thighs build up again at a dizzyingly fast pace, and cursed under your breath.

“Please…” You gasped as you threw your head back, unsure what you were begging for but writhing your hips against hers so frantically the message should be anything but unclear.

“Am I gonna make you come again, baby?” Bada panted, slamming herself harder against you.

You nodded, feverishly: “I’m gonna- I need—” But the words died on your lips as your lower stomach folded dangerously. You needed to come. You needed Bada to make you come.

A palm flattened between your breasts as Bada leaned down on you impossibly harder, keeping you in place as her thrusts took your breath away. Without your body giving you another warning, you orgasmed a second time with Bada’s name in your mouth, legs spasming in her hold as she forcibly held you down; taking in every second of the ecstasy that overtook you with such a warmth in her gaze you almost felt yourself overcome with the urge to burst into tears again.

“So beautiful…” She whispered. “That’s it.” Her hands caressed up and down your thighs, whispering praises into the air to will the heaving of your chest away, feeling your heartbeat under the palm of her hand.

Finally, Bada dropped herself onto the bed next to you entirely out of breath with a self-satisfied grin, officially having spent the last bit of energy that was left in her. You watched her catch her breath with a fond gaze, wanting to reach out and hold her but being held back by the jingle of the handcuffs.

Bada snapped out of her stupor, almost appearing flustered for leaving you in such a state, and helped you sit up with a soft encouragement, promptly freeing you from your handcuffs. You felt a sharp strain in your shoulders as you shook them loose, a little dumbfounded when you noticed the red marks around your wrists.

Bada had noticed it as well and gently grabbed a hold of your hands, thumbs caressing along the bruises with a touch so careful it seemed she thought you would shatter. Slowly, she brought your wrists higher and began pressing delicate kisses against them.

“Sorry…” She said, sheepishly, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to scold her. Instead, you looked back at her with a dazed expression, heart constricting in your chest. You hadn’t seen this level of gentleness from her before.

Leaning over her bed, Bada grabbed an unopened bottle of water and uncapped it before handing it to you. You accepted it wordlessly, her actions making you aware of how parched your mouth felt.

Taking big gulps, you hoped to ease away the tension building up in your chest. Perhaps it was due to your post-orgasm state, but you felt anxiety spike up your heart rate as your head flooded with all kinds of thoughts. Was this a one-off? Was she going to ghost you again? Momentarily you felt like an idiot for even landing yourself in such a position, but before you could climb out of bed Bada flipped her blanket open.

“Tired?” She asked, picking up on how quiet you had become but assuming it was due to exhaustion.

You nodded timidly and crawled under the blanket with her, Bada slotting herself against you like a missing puzzle piece. Her fingers found the bruise at your lower back, where the handcuffs had been scraping against, and drew soothing circles against the skin. She mumbled something about having ointment for bruises, but the both of you were too slumped to get out of bed.

You nestled back against her despite the way your head yelled at you to take your leave, much too enthralled with the way her arm curled around your waist protectively. Bada giggled when she felt you snuggle closer and pressed a soft kiss to your neck, inhaling your scent with a hum.

The music downstairs had stopped and the house seemed quiet, the last guests likely having left ages ago, so all you could focus on was Bada’s soft breathing which slowed down by the minute. Your own eyelids began to feel droopy, too, and right before the both of you fell asleep, you felt her hold on you tighten.

————— ୨୧ —————

Your eyes snapped open, heart hammering in your chest as you became aware of your surroundings. Bada’s arms were still around you, loosely, as she slept soundly next to you. It was still dark outside but you saw the early beginnings of sunrise setting in the distant sky, signaling it was the very early morning. As your hands came up to rub your eyes, you became aware of the ache in your wrists and mentally cursed yourself.

This was easily the most irresponsible thing you’ve ever done: letting yourself be lured right back into Bada’s bed after she had passed you off like you meant nothing. You couldn’t believe how naive you had been; how enchanted you were by her every time. Staying here was setting yourself up for heartbreak, when she would inevitably ask you why you were still at the sorority.

You needed to leave.

Images of the night you had spent together flashed in front of your eyes, and you felt your lower stomach heat up.

You needed a lobotomy.

Slowly you grabbed a hold of Bada’s arm curled around your waist, the girl still sleeping serenely and entirely unaware of your panicked state, and moved it off of you. You paid close attention to her breathing, which remained even, and then deemed it safe enough to crawl out of bed. Your legs were wobbly once you stood, the strain caused by the position you had underneath her from the night before hitting you like a truck. You winced, groggily looking around as your eyes got used to the darkness and trying to navigate where your clothes had gone.

Before you could move to the other corner of the room, you felt a hand curl around your forearm. You gasped in surprise, whipping your head around to find Bada peering up at you through sleepy eyes. Your chest constricted painfully.

“Where ‘r you going?” She slurred, waking up slowly as the grip on your arm tightened.

“I…” You began, but the words got stuck in your throat once you saw the realization fall over her face. She frowned.

“Please don’t go,” Bada pleaded, voice much clearer this time though still hoarse with sleep, “Stay the night.”

“Bada, I don’t know if that’s a good idea…”

“Please,” She repeated, and she sounded so heartbroken you could die. “Let’s start over.”

You gazed back at her in wonder, trying to search her face for more clarity but all you found was too much. The look in her eyes was so vulnerable, so desperate.

She gave your arm a tug and whispered: “We can start over. Please get back in bed.”

You carefully moved your arm out of her grip, but she let go easily: not because she wanted to, but because she understood it wasn’t fair to hold you hostage. She wasn’t crying, but the way she looked up at you made you wish she was.

“I just- I’m going to use the bathroom.” You mumbled and immediately willed yourself to look away. You couldn’t take it anymore.

Your throat closed up painfully as you walked to the other side of the room and bent over to pick up your clothes. As you pulled your underwear on, you felt Bada’s prodding eyes in your back. With the rest of your clothes in your arms, you walked over to the door without sparing her a single glance, unlocked it and stepped out into the hallway. You clenched your jaw to hold back the tears from falling. The room remained quiet.

You found the bathroom right across Bada’s bedroom, and sat down on the shut toilet seat with your hands in your hair. You knew that you weren’t being totally unreasonable— so why did you feel like the worst, most cruel person in the world?

With a deep, shaky sigh you pulled your phone out of the pocket of your dress pants: it was 5:30am on the dot. Your roommate hadn’t responded to your text message yet, indicating that she had been fast asleep the entire time.

As you searched for an Uber in the area willing to drive this early, your phone dinged with a familiar notification.

Tinder.

You forgot you still had that installed.

You tapped the notification bubble and a familiar chat room opened up; one of Bada’s mirror selfies staring back at you at the top of the screen.

Today 5:36am fuck marry kill: kim tae ri, dick grayson, me

A breathless laugh escaped you.

Suddenly, you were filled with a clarity, thinking of the wave tattooed on her forearm.

You were willing to take the plunge.

Slowly, you stood up, leaving your clothes behind on the bathroom floor and headed back into Bada’s room. She was wide awake, face lit up by her phone screen as she looked up at you in apparent shock and gratitude.

You crawled back in bed, Bada’s arms curling back around your waist.

#bada lee x reader #swf2 #bada lee #street woman fighter 2 #bada lee smut #dalla!writes #i guess bada reads dc comics now idk

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starryevermore · 6 months ago

Text

i will go to lunar valleys in my mind ✧ tamlin & azriel

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: tamlin x archeron!fem!reader; azriel x archeron!sister

summary: to azriel, you are the most brilliant star shining in the night sky.

word count: 7,954

warnings?: angst with a happy ending, pining, not proofread

PART ONE

Azriel stared at the cream invitation. It had landed in front of him just moments earlier, but he had already read it a few dozen times. The words were seared into his mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lord Tamlin and High Lady Y/N. High Lady. You were Spring’s High Lady. There was no way, he knew, that you could, would, ever return to Velaris when you had a court to run. He had been invited to your coronation, too, months ago. But in the year since you left for Spring, he never visited. Despite Feyre and Rhys’s insistence that you missed him, and Lucien’s chastising him for never going, and even Elain’s quiet disapproval, he knew better than to make the journey. He meant what he said to Rhys all that time ago.

If he went to Spring, he would bring you straight back home.

Because he had built you a home. Azriel knew how you never felt truly at home in any of Rhys’s homes—not the Town House, not the House of Wind, and not the River House. The House of Wind was the most comfortable to you, because it offered the most solitary, but it was not your home. One night, you had told him of your dream home. A quaint cottage in the woods, close enough to the city to go when you pleased but far enough to still be calm. A nice personal library, a cozy kitchen. A big fireplace that you could curl up with a nice book. Azriel committed those details to memory and spent many months making your dream home come a reality. He intended for it to be a mating gift, for when the bond finally snapped for you.

It only collected dust.

He sat there now, at the dining table he had spent weeks picking out. His shadows flitted about, hissing at him to go to Spring. To get you before you were tied to Tamlin forever. Azriel would not. He couldn’t force you to sacrifice your happiness for his sake. You had to be happy. That was why you never returned to Velaris. You were happy in perfect Spring with your perfect mate. To bring you back here would only taint you.

“You are not going,” Rhysand said. Azriel didn’t look up from the invitation to know his High Lord had winnowed into the room. Rhys had found out about the house a few weeks after you left, concerned when Azriel hadn’t reported for any missions.

“I haven’t gone there in a year. Why would I go now?”

“I thought the same when I was going to let Feyre live her life with Tamlin. And then she called down the bond, and I was whisking her away without any thought of the consequences.” Rhysand leaned over the table, pushing down on the invitation so that Azriel would look up at him. “She is happy with him. She looks alive when she is with him.”

“And she looked dead with me?”

It was a cheap shot, and Azriel knew it. But he couldn’t shake the sinking feeling that he wasn’t right for you. That the Mother had made a mistake. There were so many poorly-matched mates, and he was certain this was the case when the bond snapped for him. If you were content with Tamlin, then that meant you didn’t feel the same hole in your soul that Azriel did.

His High Lord let out a sigh. “You know that’s not what I mean, brother. You remember how she looked when we forced them apart. She is finally happy again, and I won’t let anyone jeopardize it. Feyre won’t allow it.”

Azriel shoved Rhysand’s hand off the invitation. He stared at the date. It was six months away. A long time to be sending announcements for a mating ceremony, but it was surely to be a huge event for the High Lord and Lady of Spring. He imagined it would be the biggest event of the year. His teeth ground together. That should be you and him.

He dropped the invitation and rose from his seat. Shadows swirled around him as he stalked out of the house. Ignoring Rhysand’s calls behind him, Azriel took off into the air. He couldn’t stand this anymore.

“They didn’t come,” you whispered, head leaning against Tamlin’s chest. His arms wound around you. You felt him press a kiss to the top of your head. Your face crumpled. Letting out a shuddering breath, you said, “I shouldn’t be surprised. They haven’t come here in months, but I thought…I thought they would come.”

A finger tilted your chin up so you would look up at your mate. Tamlin’s eyes were soft. “If they’re the ones who decide to burn bridges, it is not your fault.”

“I know, but…” You sighed. You looked out the large window overlooking the gardens. Despite the blanket of night covering the grounds, you could see the beautiful, blossoming rose bush Tamlin had planted earlier that month. A tradition, he’d said. “I hoped something would have changed.”

Tamlin leaned his cheek on the top of your head. His steady breathing was the only thing keeping your from sinking to the floor. “I know it hurts, but it’s their loss. You are an amazing female, my love. I could never understand why they’d want to throw that all away, but that is their mistake to make.”

You wiggled out of his arms and stepped closer to the window. Your hand pressed against the cold glass. “I don’t understand what changed. I thought things were going well. Feyre stopped glaring at you to your face—”

“What?”

“—she still glared behind your back, but it was an improvement. Rhysand didn’t make comments wishing for your death. Even Nesta held her tongue. The only one who never came around was Azriel, which hurts because I thought him my friend. But for them to all decide I’m not worth the trouble anymore? It feels like they carved out my heart and stomped on it.”

Tamlin was silent for a long moment. You could feel his eyes looking you over, searching for any sign that you were about to waste away like Feyre had. Down the bond, you feel his love and comfort. But…there was something else there. Pain, anguish. Were you hurting Tamlin somehow? Were you making him doubt your love for him by talking about this? You looked over your shoulder at him.

“There is still cake from the celebration. I’ll go get a couple slices from the kitchen, and some wine. Does that sound alright?”

You nodded. Tamlin smiled and left the room. You looked back out the window. Part of you was tempted to push the window open, scale down the wall, and run through the gardens until the pain of the loss of your family was only a dull ache. The other part of you just wanted to be held by your mate.

You loved Tamlin. You really, truly did. But, in recent months, you felt like there was something missing. When the high of getting to know him, accepting the bond, and becoming High Lady of Spring finally died down, you were left with a hole in your chest. Small, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking, but enough to make you question everything.

Had you been wrong to come here?

Something tugged in your chest. Ordinarily, you would have thought it would be Tamlin. He always was so quick to send you comfort through the bond, but this felt different. Colder, but a comforting sort of cold. The kind of cold of a fan being waved on you during a sweltering summer day. The cold of a drink after hours of laborous work. The cold of a shadow slithering around your hand, pulling you out of harm’s way. The cold of Azriel’s hands on your burning face as you sobbed at being forcibly separated from your mate.

It tugged harder. It felt closer to snapping. But to what? You had a mate. You had Tamlin. What other sort of snapping could there be?

Your hands tugged at your hair. You had been so sure months ago. Why were you spiraling now? What had changed? It was more than your family, your sisters, not showing up to your mating ceremony. No, this was something deeper. Something that you had been ignoring for too long. Something that was starting to boil over. Tears began to streak down your face. A scream of frustration fell out as your hand smacked against the pane.

The temperature in the room dropped.

“Are you hurt?”

Everything went still. Slowly, you peeled yourself off the window. No. He couldn’t be here. Not after all this time. He hadn’t deigned to see you in over a year. You had sent invitations and letters, and they had all gone unanswered. Even when you told Feyre to pass him along the message that you missed him, you never got a response. Yes, you had left without a goodbye. But did that mean you deserved to be ignored?

Perhaps he truly only saw you as the latest object of his affections. Perhaps you never were anything close to a friend of his.

A hand stroked your hair. You sucked in a breath. “I swear, if he’s hurt you, I will snuff out this Cauldron-forsaken court’s light before he can even blink.”

You scoffed. Slowly you turned, your eyes narrowing at him. “That’s rich. If you care so much about my well-being, where were you the last year? Did Feyre send you here to tell me that she’s throwing in the towel? That she’s decided I’m not worth the effort? That she’s forbidden everyone else from coming to Spring, too?”

Azriel blinked. “What?”

“I mean, it was rich for her to not come today. It would make sense for Rhysand not to come if she didn’t. But for everyone else to not make an appearance? Even Lucien wasn’t here, and he’s Tamlin’s best friend! No one has been here in months! I can only assume the High Lady ordered gave orders to stay away.” You shook your head. “You must only be here to finally clue me in, so I’ll stop littering their desks with silly little invitations.”

He took a step closer to you. You wished you had the space to back away. Shadows wrapped around your ankles. He reached out to hold your face, but you jerked away. It was impossible to miss the hurt in his hazel eyes. And—why did your chest ache? “I’m afraid I’m the reason no one made an appearance.”

Pain struck through you. Azriel? Did he truly think so little of you because you chose your mate? You once overheard a fight he had with Rhysand—heard him say that it was only fair that he had a sister. With Feyre, Nesta, and Elain all happily taken, that had left you. Did he convince them all to hate you because you chose Tamlin over him?

You pushed him away. “How dare you,” you hissed.

“It’s not what you think—”

“Oh, I’m sure it’s much worse. You couldn’t have Mor, but that was fine because at least it was because she prefers females. You couldn’t have Elain. That was fine, because there was another Archeron sister waiting in the wings, praying to be picked. But then you couldn’t have me, and you had to poison everyone against me.” You gave him your harshest glare. “Why couldn’t you have pined after someone else? I hear Gwyn is single. Why didn’t you go after her? Why did you have to stoop so fucking low?”

“I didn’t!” he shouted. His voice echoed off the walls. You were sure Tamlin could hear him, but you didn’t care. Not when it felt like your chest was caving in.

“I thought you were my friend, Azriel. I may not have always treated you the best, and I apologize for that. But I know when I’m only being picked because I’m the last option available. I deserve better than that, and you know it. Of everyone, you should know that. What did I do to deserve such cruelty?”

“Nothing!” He ran his fingers through his hair. His shadows swirled around in a flurry. Was he about to set them out to attack you? Get rid of you as a final fuck you? “They weren’t here because I am going crazy without you!”

“Excuse me?!”

“You’re my fucking mate, Y/N!”

Any words you were ready to spit out dried out in your mouth. What? That couldn’t be possible. You had a mate already. You had Tamlin. And yet…There was still that tugging in your chest. Familiar, but not.

“I have known since Nyx’s birth. I wanted to wait until it snapped for you, but it didn’t. It snapped for fucking Tamlin. As cruel as it is, I was grateful that Feyre and Rhys took you from him. At least it gave me a chance to make you see me. But then I came back from that mission and you were gone.” Azriel took a tentative step towards you again. You made no effort, this time, to push him away. “It fucking killed me to know you were gone. No one saw me for a month afterwards. I started to come around, eventually, but it was never the same without you there. I didn’t come here, to Spring, because if I did, I would have stolen you away again, because I cannot live without you. Then, six months ago, I received the invitation to your mating ceremony, and I lost it. Disappeared. Everyone has been on the hunt for me, to make sure I didn’t cause a war between our courts.”

You stared at him, unblinking. The ache in your chest only grew stronger. Could he be right? Could he truly be your mate? But what would that make Tamlin? Was it possible to be mistaken over who your mate was? Was it possible to have two mates? You wanted to cry—for you, and for Azriel.

“I apologize for what my actions have done.”

“Why are you here now?” you asked. He said nothing, so you continued, “You stayed away this long. Why are you here now?”

Azriel let out a breath. “I had to see if you were happy. I…I imagine the mating ceremony has already been consummated, which would complicate things, but…If there was any chance, any at all, that I could be your knight in shining armor, I had to take it. If you were, I would leave you be. Let you live out your life as Spring’s High Lady and never again interfere. So, I have to ask, are you happy?”

That tug in your chest finally snapped. All at once, everything Azriel felt came crashing through. The full extent of his pain, the anguish raging through his body. The glimmer of hope as he stared down at you, waiting for your answer. Your hand reached out without you thinking, touching his chest. You could almost see the golden thread binding you to him.

“Yes,” you said.

You watched the rise and fall of his chest, the gleam of his siphon bouncing off at you. “But?”

“I feel a hole in my soul.”

A smile tugged at his lips. “Yeah?”

“One, that I’m beginning to realize, is shaped like an Illyrian.”

The smile grew. He reached out, cupping your face in his large hands. Azriel’s thumbs swiped over your cheeks. You hadn’t realized you’d been crying. Leaning against his palm, a smile began to cross your face. Azriel leaned in, nose brushing against yours, until his lips connected with yours.

A gasp escaped you at the contact. It was…electric. Unlike anything you experienced with Tamlin, save for the intensity of it all. If Tamlin was the innocent joy, Azriel was the passionate fervor. You had experienced the frenzy with Tamlin, but you were sure it would pale in comparison to Azriel. You could feel the full weight of his emotions through the bond—the lust, the adoration, the desire for more.

A chord struck in you. If you could feel all of this with Azriel, then Tamlin could—

Tamlin’s snarl ripped through the room.

He fought to keep a lid on his barely-constrained anger. Whenever Tamlin felt such explosive anger, he had a tendency to hurt those he cared about. You deserved better than that. And, even if your relationship with Feyre had become strained, he was sure she would make good on her threat anyways. But, Mother, how else was he supposed to react when that Cauldron damned Shadowsinger was kissing his mate?

Tamlin had suspected for a long time that Azriel harbored feelings for you. When you came to the ball, Azriel clung to you like a leech. Always hovering, always watching you. And when Azriel would leave you, those damned shadows of his would always linger. Even when Tamlin finally got a moment alone with you, the Shadowsinger burst in the room as if thought Tamlin was about to hurt you—pulled you out of his arms, tried to keep you from him. He knew there was a reason Azriel hadn’t visited once—hadn’t even sent word to you—in the last year. He just never thought the Illyrian would have the audacity to whisk you away hours after your mating ceremony.

It must be a Night Court tradition.

You pushed Azriel away—too gentle for Tamlin’s liking—and stepped toward him. Your eyes were wide, apologetic. You reached out for him, urged him to wrap his arms around you. He did, but not once did he look away from Azriel. He didn’t trust that the Illyrian brute wouldn’t stab him in the back at the first opportunity. Especially not with Truth-Teller strapped to his waist.

“I can explain, Tam,” you said, cheek pressed against his chest.

Tamlin smoothed a hand over your hair. He tugged on the bond, let you know that he was not upset with you. He could never be upset with you. “You are not to blame, my love.”

“Of course I am. I wanted Az to kiss me.”

A growl rumbled deep in his chest before he could stop it. Okay, perhaps he could be upset with you a little. Though, he supposed he couldn’t fault you entirely for harboring feelings for the Shadowsinger. You had told Tamlin once that, although you were suspicious about Azriel’s motivations at times, he had been something of a friend. The only one, save for your sisters, that you could call a friend. When you’re that lonely, it’s easy to fall for the one person who’s kind to you. But that didn’t mean Tamlin had to like it.

“He’s my mate, too, Tam.”

He pulled away. He searched your eyes for anything sign of deceit, for any sign of manipulation. Tamlin found none. He looked back at Azriel, who still stood far away, watching you carefully. It looked like he was ready to yank you away from Tamlin at the first sign of distress. Night Court folk always held grudges.

This was…unexpected. If Tamlin didn’t trust you, he might have thought you were trying to deceive him. Triads had existed a long time ago, when Prythian was in its infancy. There was a time where there were more males than females. People believed that the Mother would allow the female multiple mates in an effort to stop the fighting over the few, precious females that existed. Of course, all of this was speculative—a work of fiction. No one had seen a triad in millennia. No one was sure they’d ever existed at all.

Yet, when Tamlin pressed his nose to your hair, he didn’t just smell your scent mixed with his. There was something different, less familiar. It was faint. Barely noticeable unless he searched for it. A mating bond, in its infancy. As he turned his gaze to Azriel, he knew who it belonged to.

“What do you want?” Tamlin near-growled at Azriel, still cradling you against his chest.

“For her to be happy,” Azriel said. “I was going to let her go, never reveal the bond. I was going to let her live a life with you, but I had to make sure she was happy before I gave her up forever.”

Tamlin wanted to say that you were happy. That you had all you needed here. And, yes, you were happy. You loved the Spring Court. If Tamlin thought you beautiful at the ball, it paled in comparison to the way you seemed to come alive in Spring. But he couldn’t deny that, in recent months, as the Inner Circle stopped coming, as it became clear that Azriel would never visit, that something inside of you was dying.

And he had heard the tail end of your conversation with Azriel before he kissed you. You wanted Azriel as a mate. Tamlin knew better than to deny you of that. He never again wanted to see you as lifeless as you had been when he brought you home from the Night Court.

“She’s High Lady,” he said, “she cannot be whisked away from here.”

“I understand,” Azriel said. “Perhaps, though, she could spend a few months with me, in the Night Court? Most of her year will be spent here, ruling by your side. I only ask for some time.”

You turned your head to look at Azriel. Your brows pinched together. “You would do that?”

“I would rather only have a part of you than none at all.”

Tamlin looked down at you. He hated the idea of you being taken away to the Night Court. It reminded him too much of how Rhysand had grabbed you and winnowed you away—of how Night’s High Lord had done the same to Feyre years prior. The nasty, jealous part of him roared at the thought of you going. But when he looked at your hope-filled eyes, he knew he wouldn’t deny you.

To Azriel, he said, “Give us the month to get our affairs in order.”

Azriel nodded. It was done.

“Be careful with her,” Tamlin hissed.

Azriel rolled his eyes as he picked you up. One hand cradled the back of your head, the other hooked under your legs. Your arms looped around his neck. Though winnowing you would be easier, quicker, Azriel dreamed of flying you to the home he built for you.

“She is not a doll so easily broken.”

You scratched at the back of his neck. Azriel’s knees nearly buckled. Though you intended the action to be a means of chastising him, he only thought about how nice it would feel to have those pretty polished nails of yours rake down his back. “Play nice. Both of you,” you said.

Tamlin stepped over to you. He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead. “If you change your mind,” he said, “let me know. I’ll bring you home.”

Azriel stepped away before you could kiss Tamlin on the mouth. It was petty of him, to be sure. But he didn’t like the implication that you would not feel at home with him. What did Tamlin know? He wasn’t there for you when you came out of the Cauldron. When you were only a shell, sat at a piano all hours of the day, the melody of your pain echoing through Velaris. Tamlin was not there to hold you as you cried, begging for the pain to end. Tamlin never begged Rhysand to go into your mind, to give you pleasant dreams, so that even if you only experienced peace in your sleep, at least you got to feel it.

Tamlin might have taken you from the Night Court. He may have made you his High Lady. And he may love you, but he didn’t know you hurt like Azriel did. He did not make the same promise Azriel did to never let you be hurt again. He did not know that, as Azriel was returning from that mission, he was planning to ask if you wished for him to take you to Spring. He was going to give you the choice that he and the rest of the Inner Circle so terribly deprived you of. Azriel had only been angry when you were gone because he never got to tell you goodbye, never got the chance to see you one last time before sending you off for your fairytale ending. But then, after the Inner Circle’s first visit, Feyre told him you looked like an entirely different person.

Tamlin might love you, but he wouldn’t sacrifice his happiness to let you be with another male.

“Are you sure you don’t need anything else?” Azriel asked you.

The week before, Tamlin had sent your clothes, some books, and sheet music ahead. Azriel took special care to set up your room. It was the master bedroom, of course. Azriel relegated himself to a smaller guest room. Even if you were going with him to see if you truly wanted the bond with him, he was not going to force you to share a room with him.

“I’m sure,” you said. You turned to Tamlin and nodded your head at him, urging him closer. Reluctantly, Azriel did not step away this time. He could deny Tamlin all he wanted, but he wouldn’t do that to you. The High Lord leaned down and kissed you softly. “I’m write you, Tam.”

Tamlin smiled. “I eagerly await your letters.”

After bidding him another farewell kiss, you let Azriel take to the skies. Although Azriel was not fond of his Illyrian heritage—the culture and its males, save for his brothers, disgusted him—he would never tire of flying. He didn’t think it could ever get any better, but that was before he had you in arms, clinging tightly to him while he flew over all of Prythian.

A laugh, a beautifully loud laugh, escaped you as he pushed himself faster and faster. He shot you a wicked grin and a wink before shooting straight up, turning over backwards, before righting himself on course again. The laugh turned to a scream. Your nails dug into the back of his neck.

“What?” he teased. “Don’t like going upside down?”

“You’re rotten,” you said, but you smiled up at him anyways. He liked your smile. You smiled with your whole face. Pretty dimples, crinkled corners of your eyes. Even your eyes themselves seemed to twinkle.

“Yeah? I think you’ll find I’m the rottenest of the bunch.”

“Not so rotten if you’re my mate, though.”

Azriel prayed you couldn’t see how red his face was turning. If you did, you didn’t say anything. Only further settled in his arms, watching the clouds as you passed them by.

Though Azriel preferred flying fast, loved the thrill of it all, he found himself wishing he had savored this moment a little longer as he landed outside of the home he built for you. He sat you gently on the ground, a hand on the small of your back as you steadied yourself.

“I thought we would go to the River House or the House of Wind,” you said.

He couldn’t tell if you were disappointed or not. You only stared up at the cobblestoned cottage, the wisteria growing along the walls. You eyed the window boxes filled with your favorite flowers. Azriel opened his mouth, ready to offer to take you elsewhere, when you turned your gaze to him.

“What is this place? How have I never known about it?”

“It was supposed to be a mating gift,” Azriel said. He couldn’t look at you, afraid for how you might react, so he stared up at the cottage. “You told me, once, about your dream home. I can only hope that this compares.”

“When did you build it?”

“I started it the day after I found out we were mates,” Azriel said. And because he knew you were going to ask when that was, he continued, “The day Nyx was born—when you were crying because you were so scared about losing half your family and I just held you. That’s when I knew.”

You said nothing for a long moment. Azriel swallowed a lump in his throat, praying to the Mother he hadn’t scared you away. That you wouldn’t ask to be taken back to Spring, this entire thing be damned. You didn’t do that, though.

No, you stood up on your tiptoes and pressed a kiss to the corner of his mouth instead. “Thank you, Az.”

Shadows flitted around the kitchen, grabbing the ingredients you wanted and bringing them to you. Azriel often chided you for turning his shadows, the very things he used to spy and torture and kill, into little pets, but he loved it all the same. There was something he liked about you exposing the darkest parts of him to the light. Besides, it was his fault for leaving the shadows behind with you while he went to the market.

You placed the tray in the oven, giggling as the shadows pulled you away to shut the door on their own, another group of shadows fiddling with the knobs so that it was at the right temperature. As the brownies baked, you took to cleaning up the mess you made. Humming a tune, you began to collect the dishes, swaying your hips as you took them over to the sink.

In the month since you had returned to the Night Court, you quite enjoyed spending time with Azriel. His plan to sleep in the guest room did not last long, for you found yourself so enamored with him that you practically dragged him into your bed. That was the first time his shadows allied themselves with you. A part of you, now, dreaded the idea of having to leave him behind when you returned to Spring. Tamlin and Azriel did not get on well, but you were certain they could at least learn to tolerate each other if they spent time with each other.

You dried off your hands, gazing out the window over the sink. Somewhere beyond there were the rest of your family. Though Azriel had reacquainted himself with the Inner Circle, apologized for causing as much trouble as he had, he had not revealed that you were in the Night Court. He glamoured his scent so that they could not pick up on how your own scent mixed in. You wondered how Tamlin might have responded to their inquiries to visit you in Spring, but Azriel didn’t say much besides Feyre worried she had offended you.

Good, you mused. She should be worried. She had made you grieve your relationship with her. She made you sick as you contemplated where you went wrong. She made you feel like you lost your entire family by choosing your mate. If she sat in worry, she deserved it.

A shadow tugged on your wrist, alerting you to the fact that the brownies were finished. The shadows didn’t allow you to take the tray out yourself, but did let you begin to cut them and place one on a plate for Azriel. You bit your lip, trying to contain your smile.

Tomorrow, you were to return to Spring. But tonight, you would accept the bond with Azriel.

You hadn’t said a word to the shadows about your plan, yet they buzzed around the cottage as they readied for the romantic evening to come. Petals littering the floor, candles lit up around the room, a romantic song playing over the symphonium. You almost thought the shadows wished to seduce your mate more than you did.

One tugged on your wrist as the door opened. You did hold back your smile this time as Azriel walked into kitchen, setting the bags down on the counter.

“Welcome home,” you said, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him in for a kiss.

Azriel smiled against your lips. “What did I do to deserve such a warm welcome?” He pulled away for a moment, sniffing at the air. “Have you been baking?”

“Brownies,” you confirmed. You twisted out of the arms and took the plate that the shadows hovered over to you. “For you.”

He stared down at the plate, then looked up at you. “I couldn’t—” he said.

You picked up the brownie and brought it up to his lips. “I insist. I have been blessed by the Mother with two wonderful mates, and I intend to have you both fully.”

Thunder rumbled in the sky as Azriel sank his teeth into the treat, never taking his eyes off of you. You swiped your thumb at the corner of his mouth, collecting the crumbs, and licked them off. A growl ripped through his chest as Azriel tugged you against him.

“I suppose that’s why the cottage looks like something straight of Nesta’s romance novels?”

“You can thank your shadows for that. They did that all on their own.”

“You truly have reduced them to busybodies like all the rest,” he said, though his voice didn’t hold an ounce of malice. Azriel kissed you softly. “I suppose I should thank them, though, because I fully intend to ravish you tonight.”

“Oh, I hope that’s a promise you intend to keep.”

Thunder rumbled again. The scene outside turned darker as storm clouds began to roll in. You were prepared to ignore it all when a flash of lightning made you jump out of your skin. The front door slammed open, the wood hitting the wall so hard you were almost certain it splintered. Azriel’s hold on you tightened.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood up straight. You peered over to the foyer, blood running cold as you took in the appearance of Night’s High Lord, your sister just a half step behind him.

“I didn’t think you were so foolish to steal away Spring’s High Lady, brother,” Rhysand said.

“I was not stolen,” you snapped. “I came here willingly. Tamlin knows exactly where I am, and that I shall be returning to Spring by morning.”

Your sister said your name softly, stepping around her mate and toward you. “You’re already leaving?” she asked.

“I have been here a month. That is plenty long to be away from Spring and my other mate.”

Feyre’s eyes flicked to Azriel, then to the tray of brownies abandoned on the counter. “You know.”

“No thanks to you,” you said. “How long were you going to let me cry over Azriel not coming to visit before you told me it wasn’t because he hated me?”

“You know I couldn’t tell you. I hated learning about my own mating bond from the Suriel. I didn’t—I couldn’t let you live through that same pain.”

“No, you just let me think my only friend hated me. You let me think you all hated me, because you were too busy trying to find him before my mating ceremony to respond to any of my letters.”

Rhysand’s eyes narrowed at you. “We couldn’t have told you anything. We hardly understand how a triad works. How could we have explained it to you without sounding like we descended into lunacy?”

“You could have said anything!” you protested. “Feyre, you could have told me anything short of the truth. There was a threat to the Night Court, or perhaps that there were some diplomacy issues you needed to tend to. But, no, you rather that I cried to Tamlin every night, prayed that you would send some sort of sign that our relationship was not beyond repair.”

Feyre took a step toward you. Rhysand reached for her wrist, to stop her from nearing you, but she shook him off. “And I will regret that for the rest of my days. You know I have never wanted to hurt you.”

“But you have. You are my sister, Feyre, but you treated me like I was no one to you. Tell me, were my letters to all the others ignored under your orders, too?”

Her glance away from you told you everything you needed to know.

“I spent my mating ceremony, what should have been the happiest day of my life, grieving the loss of my family. I will never get that day back again.” You grabbed for Azriel’s hand, lacing your fingers through his, squeezing tight. “Don’t expect an invitation to the next.”

Feyre’s eyes snapped to yours. Silver lined them. “Please—”

“I would like to return to Spring, now, please,” you said to Azriel. “It seems I have outgrown Night.”

Without a word, Azriel winnowed you away.

Tamlin stared at your back as you slept. You had been quiet ever since you returned from the Night Court. Tamlin understood—Azriel had explained how Feyre and Rhysand came to the cottage as you were accepting the mating bond with Azriel. He recalled the fury in your eyes as you stated that Azriel would remain in the Spring Court until the frenzy subsided. He didn’t see you much over the following weeks, so he couldn’t speak much to your state then. But when Azriel, rather regretfully, announced he would be returning to Night to deal with the fallout, you began to withdraw. Tamlin was left with the aftermath. And like Feyre before you, he wasn’t quite sure how to make things better.

Unlike Feyre, he was going to do whatever he could to help you. He would not let you waste away, fade away into nothing.

Tamlin kissed your bare shoulder then slipped out of the bed. If you noticed, you did not move. He continued on to his study, ignoring the curious looks of the servants still lingering in the halls, and settled at his desk. He procured a sheet of paper and a pen, and began to write.

Azriel, he began, I apologize for my abruptness, but I must ask that you return to Spring expeditiously. While I understand that the Night Court is your home, Y/N has not been faring well without both of her mates. You do not need to forsake your home, but any time that you could spend here would be appreciated. Yours truly, Tamlin.

He sent the letter off. Tamlin remained at his desk, waiting for a reply. But one did not have to wait for long as shadows began to soon flood the room. In the past, the sight of the shadows would have made Tamlin’s skin crawl. It was no secret the depths the Spymaster would go to, to extract information from his targets, and those very shadows were just another in his arsenal. But their arrival was signal enough that Azriel had arrived, and that was enough for the weight on Tamlin’s shoulders to lift ever so slightly.

“Where is she?”

Tamlin rose to his feet. “Sleeping. She doesn’t know I asked for you to come.”

Azriel nodded. A few of the shadows abandoned the study in search of you. The shadows, generally, still disturbed Tamlin. In the month you and Tamlin got your affairs in order, those damned little things scarcely left your side. He was certain they even hissed at him for daring to be near you. Slowly, though, they began to grow on him as they came to the collective understanding that both parties were looking out for your best interests.

“How have things fared in the Night Court?” Tamlin asked.

“Feyre is distraught,” Azriel said. He turned his gaze to the ceiling, as if trying to stop them from rolling right out of his head. “Rhys has been insisting I bring Y/N back so they can talk things through. He does not take kindly to my own insistence that, if Feyre wished for things to get better, she should be the one to make the first move.”

Tamlin snorted. “And here I thought you were just a loyal dog.”

Azriel flashed a smirk. “Oh, I am. Just not to him.”

Good, Tamlin thought. If there was anyone who deserved his loyalty, it would be you. Kind, sweet you. Tamlin once thought your family was loyal—they certainly seemed to think they were looking out for your best interests when they took you from the Spring Court. And they had been so diligent about visiting you before. Every month at the start of the month, he would receive a letter asking permission to visit. The Inner Circle always arrived before he could accept. That was, until the invitation to the mating ceremony was sent out. Despite both you and Tamlin sending inquiries and invitations, not a single one ever responded. When they failed to show up at the mating ceremony, Tamlin decided then that he would never forgive them.

“How long do you intend to stay?” Tamlin said. Azriel brought nothing with him, save for the clothes on his back and the weapons strapped to his waist.

“As long as you’ll allow it. I tendered my resignation this morning,” Azriel said. “I’ll begin the search for a home here in the morning.”

“Don’t bother,” Tamlin said. Azriel looked stricken. His brows pinched together, mouth settling into a frown. Realizing his error, Tamlin corrected, “You can have a home here if you like. Your own room, or you can share ours. We might have to get a bigger bed, given your wingspan, but it would be no trouble.”

Azriel’s wings twitched. “You would do that?”

“You are her mate as much as I am. You may be willing to settle for only a piece of her life, but I would be remiss if I stopped you from having all of her.” Tamlin waved his hand, urging Azriel to follow him. “I have some more comfortable clothes you can change into. We should both rest.”

“Tamlin—” Azriel said. Tamlin paused. “Thank you.”

“There is nothing to thank me for. Will you need to return to the Night Court for your things, or will you be purchasing replacements?”

As they walked down the hall, the servants even more confused than before, Azriel said, “My shadows will retrieve the necessities. There won’t be much. I intend to have a fresh start here.”

“I suppose it’s a good thing Spring is all about rebirth then.”

“Yeah, I suppose it is.”

Tamlin watched as Azriel smiled when they reached the bedroom. He slipped inside, so silent that Tamlin could’ve been convinced that he was alone if he didn’t see the Shadowsinger with his own two eyes. Tamlin lingered in the doorframe as Azriel approached your side of the bed and knelt down. He pressed a kiss to your forehead, murmured a quiet I love you.

Your eyes fluttered open. You blinked slowly as you took in Azriel’s appearance. “You’re supposed to be in Night,” you whispered.

“I believe I’m right where I’m supposed to be.”

You turned your head slightly, brows pinching together when you didn’t see Tamlin laying beside you. “Does Tam know?”

“Who do you think invited me?”

A sleepy smile twitched on your lips. “When do you leave again?”

“Whenever you decide to push me away.” Azriel kissed you. “And not a second sooner.”

Feyre stared at the cream invitation. It had landed on Rhysand’s desk just moments earlier, but she had already read it a dozen times. The words were seared into her mind. You are cordially invited to the mating ceremony of High Lady Y/N and Azriel. But the part she found herself reading over and over again, trying to make sure it wasn’t a figment of her imagination were— P.S. I would greatly appreciate your attendance. You are my sister, and I miss you being a part of my life.

If she went to Spring, she would have her sister again she so terribly pushed away.

Because she had missed you. It had broken her heart to know you had come to Night to be with Azriel yet never came to see them. She couldn’t blame you, of course. You had been right. Feyre should have said something to you. It wasn’t fair for her to keep you completely in the dark. She hated when others had done it to her in the past. Why did she ever think she could do the same to you? Yet, even in the months afterward, she wasn’t sure what to say to you.

She still didn’t.

Feyre sat in the River House, at Rhysand’s desk, glancing between the invitation and the RSVP she was going to send in response. Rhysand stood behind her. When the invitation arrived, he said that the decision was fully hers. That he would support whatever choice to make. To stay in Night and continue to allow the relationship to strain, or to go and begin the mending process. But was there anything left to mend? You were happy in Spring with both of your mates. To go there now would be to ruin the life you’ve built for yourself.

“Do you want to go?” Rhys asked after several moments of Feyre holding the pen in an ironclad grip.

“I haven’t seen her in months. I haven’t been to Spring in over a year. I wouldn't know where to begin.”

“Because you miss her, and she misses you. Don’t torture yourself with thoughts of maybes and what ifs. You know Y/N wouldn’t have sent the invitation if she didn’t want you there,” Rhysand said. He pointed to the postscript, tapping his finger on it. “It’s a peace offering.”

“I hurt her.”

For as long as Feyre could remember, she had been trying to protect her family. For a long time, it was all she knew. Things changed, of course, when she came to Prythian and her sisters all became High Fae. But the base desire, to ensure their safety and security, still resided deep inside her. It was why she had been so scared when you said Tamlin was your mate. It was why she panicked when Rhysand said Azriel had disappeared after being invited to your mating ceremony with Tamlin. Yet, in both instances, she had been the one to cause your pain. What if that was all she could do now? Maybe she was better off, maybe you were better off, if she stayed away.

Rhys let out a sigh. “You did, but she’s giving you a chance. Isn’t that what you’ve wanted all this time?”

“It is.”

“Then, I think you already know the answer.”

Feyre pressed the pen to the paper. She slowly wrote her response, worried that if she moved too fast, she would write the wrong thing. But, Cauldron, it didn’t feel write to just write a letter to you. If you were truly inviting her back into your life, if you truly were trying to mend the relationship, you deserved more.

She dropped the pen and rose from her seat. Rhysand followed her and she stalked out of the office. Ignoring her mate’s questions behind her, she went to the living room where the rest of the Inner Circle waited for Feyre and Rhys. Everyone stared at her when she arrived. She couldn’t take this uncertainty anymore.

“Well?” Nesta asked, breaking the silence. “Are we breaking this ridiculous stalemate together, or will I be going to Spring alone?”

“Together,” Feyre said. “We’ll go together, now. I’m sure they won’t mind a surprise visit.”

Nesta flashed a rare smile. “Good, because Elain and I would have dragged you there kicking and screaming.”

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