#that he couldn’t part from his friends. he didn’t want to

[quarterlifekitty]

Weaknesses part 5: complexes

Note: this is jokes!! Please don’t take my cartoon pathologizing too seriously!

cw: some daddy kink level stuff

Gaz has a soft spot for girls who suffer from oldest sister syndrome. Girls that are a little world weary and too grown up at too young an age from caring for others while not having people to rely on. He just loves how pleasantly surprised you are literally every time he does something helpful that you didn’t ask him to do. Doing the dishes. Spackling that hole from the picture you took down. Refilling the air in the tires. Bleaching the bathtub. Very small things— but you’re so used to being the only one who can stay on top of things. Literally the high he gets from telling you to sit down and relax is unparalleled.

Soap is, quite frankly, into girls who grew up thinking they were ugly. It’s a terribly selfish, but he likes telling you all of the dirty things he thinks of doing to you, how he feels like someone’s knocked him upside the head when you enter a room in a new outfit, how he has to take a cold shower every time you’re going out to some event and he gets to see you dressed up. Honestly, he has to take the cold showers pretty regularly. Seeing how you’re flustered, and you don’t 100% believe the things he says— so he has to put in the time to make you believe him. You’re the kind of girl boys would dare each other to ask out in middle school, and now Soap has the absolute pleasure of convincing you that sometimes you make him so turned on that he thinks he’s about to throw up.

Ghost likes outcast girls. He likes how you eye him with a little bit of suspicion when he chooses to hang around you. He sort of gets this idea in his head that he’s the only one that can handle your eccentricities— handle you. That other people are afraid to approach you but he’s not afraid of anything. That his interest in you is because honestly, he has a much more refined palate than any of the shitheads you’re surrounded by. And you know what? He likes the idea of you as a couple being the scary, freak ass couple. Two lone wolves becoming mates.

Price likes former gifted students. He loves that you’re talented and quick, yes, but he also can’t help but get excited by all of that pressure that’s on you— that you put on yourself. He gets to be the one that relieves it. He’s the one that gets to lavish you in praise, and he’s also the one who gets to pin you down and force you to take it easy for a little while. He loves gently handling any mistakes or missteps, rationally perceived or otherwise. Because he can tell no one’s ever bothered to treat you so gently, have they, sweetheart? They’ve just been content to push you to your limits and have you run yourself ragged because you’re special. You are, he won’t deny it— but you’re also a little thing that hasn’t seen enough nurturing, in his eyes.

König loves so called “high maintenance” girls. Girls with high standards who know what they want, who have gone through some partners that couldn’t take the heat. He gets a very unique sense of control out of it— knowing all of your rules, rituals, likes, dislikes. Like Ghost, he likes thinking of himself as the only person who knows how to handle you— that everyone before him has just been unworthy of you. That he is strong where others have been weak. And you know what? It’s not rotten work. Not to him. Not if it’s you. He’s just built different.

Nikolai… I’m just going to say it. He likes girls with daddy issues. He kinda throws his whole self into relationships at times, and he likes it when he can be your everything. Your love, your friend, your hero, your source of approval from an older man. And he loves a brat. Because he knows you only act that way because someone didn’t pay attention to his special girl in the past. You’re testing him— daring him, unsheathing your claws to see if he’ll flinch and he never will. He’ll endure it all and chip at your defenses until you’re the soft, satisfied, sweet girl he knows you really want to be. Lavishing you with praise and attention, bragging about you to anyone who will listen. He wants you to have a complete breakdown because you’ve been holding it all in and putting up walls for so long that you don’t even know how to cope with being in the arms of someone who will always catch you when you fall.

[gay-dorito-dust]

I gotchu pookie bear. What about showing Viktor a cute little gadget we made for him from using spare parts while he works?

You know those long distance touch bracelets for relationships/friends? Yeah them and those long distance touch lamps are what the stars are in this fic, touch them twice and the other star will receive said touch.

You were quiet -more quiet then usual at least- as you were hunched over your workbench in the lab and biting your bottom lip in concentration as you looked over the very thing that had been preoccupying your mind for the past few weeks, maybe a month? You weren’t quite sure to the passage of time as you spend countless nights burning the midnight oil, making sure the star shaped trinket basic functions were still working.

It wasn’t much in comparison to the gadgets Viktor had made that you could see scattered across the lab, one was always within your line of sight, each one of them holding a purpose higher then the one you were making; but yours wasn’t made to serve a higher purpose, just one where you could give to Viktor as a way to say thank you for everything and helping you find your passion for creating things.

Not only that but also by being kind and willing enough to teach you the basics of wielding, guiding your hands with his soft, knowledgeable voice and understanding that this wasn’t as easy to you as it was to him whenever you made a mistake. Viktor truly was a one of a kind person and you couldn’t help but be thankful to have met him and have him bless you life in more ways then one. So much so that it had lead to you to this very moment, the trinket you held within your hand was small, no bigger then the palm of your hand and all five of it’s points dug into your skin the tighter you held it.

You then relaxed your grip on it as you looked it over, making sure there was nothing you’ve left unchecked and even tapped the middle of the start twice, which emitted a soft blue light that throbbed like a heart beat, something that had caught Viktor’s eye as he raises a brow.

‘What you working on over there my dear?’ He asks intrigued of the sleek metal star that rested in your cautious hands.

‘Something that I’ve been working on for a while.’ You replied as you rubbed a hand against your eyes, trying to rub away the feeling of exhaustion from the lack of sleep you’ve had as a feeling of doubt began to grow within you, making you second guess enter you should show Viktor your work. However your need to show him that his guidance payed off outweighed the hesitance as you moved closer to him and showed him the gunmetal grey star.

‘I’ve noticed that you’ve been cooping yourself within the laboratory for a while,’ Viktor says as he remembers the times where he’s came into the lab, only to see that you were already there either working hard on your personal project, or fast asleep against your workbench in the most uncomfortable position. Viktor knew he couldn’t say much as he was very much the same with his own projects, but seeing you unable to keep your eyes open as it was obvious to him that you prioritised the project above your own health, why? He didn’t know but he wanted to see what was so important that you’d forget basic human needs. ‘Mind showing me what it does?’ He then asks.

You then wordlessly tapped the star twice and the soft blue glow came back, throbbing like a heart beat, twinkles of blue disperse like a ripple in a ocean or like blinking stars before fading back to gunmetal grey. ‘It’s something that I’ve made so that two people may communicate with one another.’ You said as you put the star in front of Viktor before pulling out a matching sleek gunmetal star trinket of your own, showing him how it also glowed the soft blue of his star, before tapping it twice with your finger as a soft red glow rippled across the surface of the star; responding back as Viktor’s star received it’s message.

‘Fascinating.’ Viktor says softly as he picks up the star you’ve given him, running his thumb across it as the blue glow followed in its wake, causing your star to have a matching blue streak dart across it’s surface like a shooting star. Viktor then looks at you with pride in his amber eyes, smiling softly. ‘This was what you were working so hard on? Such a unique creation birthed from the mind of an equally unique person.’

‘Well I did have an amazing person to teach me the basics of welding and help me discover a whole new way to show my thanks to him.’ You said as you shrugged your shoulders, tapping your star twice and watching as Viktor smiled softly as his star throbbed with a soft red light. ‘He taught me a lot and I wanted to make him something special to commentate it.’ You add and Viktor grabs your hand, intertwining your fingers as he squeezed it in reassurance.

‘It’s for me?’ Viktor asks.

You smiled. ‘For us really, to make sure the other hasn’t died by overworking themselves.’ You joked as you squeezed his hand back, happy to see him happy as he continues to admire the metal star and your efforts that went into making it. It made all those sleepless nights and gruelling days all the more worth it as he places the star next to his notebooks, within his immediate line of sight on his workbench. ‘We do share that common trait of pushing ourselves beyond our limits,’ Viktor chuckles before tapping the star twice, your star responding in kind nearby, ‘but I’ll be sure to use this should I think you’re unnecessarily staying overtime in the lab like you have been as of late.’ He adds as he gives you a playful but knowing look.

You raised your free hand in surrender while the other hand caressed the back of his. ‘I had to make sure they worked you can’t fault me for that surely and besides you’re no exception either mr hexcore. It’s as though you live and breathe the laboratory.’ You defended yourself and Viktor made a face that told you that he conceded, knowing that you were right, but still he wasn’t one to let you get away with such self destructive behaviours similar to his own. He feared that he might’ve rubbed off on you a little too much, but gazing back at the star made his heart warm at the thought of you working so hard on something for him and only him.

‘While I cannot fault you by any means, however that rule also applies to you as well.’ Viktor begins as he lets go of your hand and begins to tinker with his own little project, not like you didn’t mind as you always loved watching Viktor work, it relaxed it weirdly enough but you guessed that was all apart of Viktor’s due diligence to always keep his hands busy and working. ‘You’ve made something extraordinary my dear and I praise your mind and ability to make something to bring people together when they’re miles apart; truly an extraordinary thing that not even I could’ve thought of. You should be proud because I am.’ He finishes.

Your heart fluttered in your chest as you smiled giddily to yourself at his praise. ‘I am proud and I’m glad to have made you proud too.’ You said softly.

‘You always make me proud regardless and will continue to make me proud tomorrow, the day after that and so on.’ Viktor reassures, his eyes never once looking away from his work but you knew the small smile gracing his lips were for you. ‘You never cease to amaze me as you shine brighter, like a star.’ He adds and all felt right in that moment as a comfortable silence befell you both as you just existed within the company of the other in harmony.

…

However all that felt like a far away dream now as you sat in the very lab that once warmed you, now leaving you cold and more alone then ever. Viktor’s gadgets looked upon you form their shelves as you attempted to make yourself small within your old chair, metal star in hand as you tapped it twice, watching with lifeless eyes as the star throbbed a soft red light and waited.

And waited.

And waited even more for a response, for a reaction, anything to prove that what you had witnessed was a lie and a horrible dream that you’ll wake up from. Nothing came back to you, the soft blue light didn’t respond to your call and you were left staring at the metal star -that looks about as hopeless as you- before you dropped it to the floor while burning your head into your knees as you silently sobbed into the fabric of your jeans.

Viktor was gone. He had been for a long while and you -in a fit of denial- didn’t want to admit to yourself that you had lost the most amazing, brilliant, most beautiful man you’ve ever met in your entire life. He was a once in a lifetime, the brightest star in the sky that you looked towards for guidance and reassurance but he’s gone now.

You were left alone with everything that he’s ever touched, which all looked lifeless now that he was gone, never to touch a wielding tool ever again. You closed your eyes tighter, completely ignoring the star on the floor as it throbbed twice with a soft blue light, arcane runes scattering across its surface; assumably letting you know that someone was there to respond, even miles away from you.

[allurilove]

Yandere Ghost x you #2.

Rated 18 + — mature short content !

Includes: A continuation of very pretty and needy yandere ghost x gender neutral reader, not an established relationship— he's just delusional, one-sided pining, and he marks his territory.

Part one here !! ★ [tysm for 3k+ followers!]

Yandere ghost had slipped on a makeshift wedding ring onto your finger. He had spent days on it before hand. He made sure that it was perfect for his new beloved, and he created it out of the items he found around the house. He got the base of the ring pretty easily. In fact, he accidentally stepped onto it when he approached you in the kitchen. This invention that was bestowed onto him, apparently had been around for decades. It was called a "twist tie," and it was malleable enough for him to bend it into a circle. The ghost then found a gem stuck inside a welded trap, and after pulling it out with his teeth, and slamming it onto the counter a couple of times, the white diamond popped out. It was not too small or too big, but sparkly enough to look pretty underneath the lights. He didn't want to scare you away once you had noticed the jewelry— and the sudden stake of claim he had on you — so a white lie had to be told. To you, that ring meant a friendship between the living and the dead. To him, it meant that his soul would forever loyally be yours.

Yandere ghost appreciated the little moments of domestic bliss he had experienced with you. You came back home after a night out with your friends, and smelled like air freshener and puke. Your clothes were different from what he was used to seeing, oddly shiny, and skimpier. You snored a lot as well, your jaw lax as you heavily breathed in and out. The man next to you could see some sheen sweat on your neck, and he had an inkling that you had exerted yourself. Yandere ghosts tongue lolled out, worming its way over to your sticky skin. He tasted the salt after gently sucking, and left behind a lingering sensation. He liked to pretend that you two were honeymoon lovers-finally resting together on the bed after a lovely celebration of tying the knot. The ghost imagined that the smile on your face was because of your happy mood, and that once you had woken up from your slumber, you'll give him a big ol' kiss because that's what married couples do. You made him breakfast in the morning—even if he didn’t eat— because you didn’t want him to feel left out. After a wonderful meal, you graciously let him in the bathroom with you.

Yandere ghost had an excuse for almost everything— he was a bit of a guilt tripper. A reminder of his oh so tragic murder and the generation difference between you and him —he never understood your meme references— was enough for him to get a front row experience to you showering. Yandere ghost was lonely the moment you had previously tried to close the doors on him, but thanks to his pouty words, he can watch you rub the soap between the crevices of your intimates. The man looks at you lovingly. His body is hovering right above the closed toilet seat, his elbows resting on his knees, and his face would be in his hands. He listened to the songs you would hum, and you occasionally popped your head out of the curtain to check in on him. Yandere ghost was so pale that he nearly blended in with the steam if it wasn’t for his delicate yellow eyes.

Yandere ghost had you stuck in a trance with his titillating gaze. You couldn’t remember how he managed to slip into the shower with you, nor could you remember a rejection leaving past your lips. His slender finger caressed your warm skin, and gently tapped by your heart. “…your soul,” you heard the man whisper. The water made his silk robe stick to his body, the contours of his muscles on display. He then gestured to his still heart, looking down at you with lidded eyes, “Mine?” Yandere ghost formed his possessive nature into a softer, romantic question. Into a plead for your companionship, soul, mind and being. For a moment, you forgot you were fully nude. His eyes are locked to your face, taking in the sight of your blushed cheeks, and the gorgeous framing of your damp hair. The eye contact continued as his finger finds its way to your chest, caressing your beating heart before teasing your nipple.

“…pointy…” the man marveled to himself. His two fingers starting to pinch and slightly pull as he waits for your answer. Your soul. He wanted it. And he’s starting to think the trance wasn’t working. Though, he’s starting to think that you need more coaxing.

Maybe you needed a taste of him before fully committing for life. He slowly undoes his robe, letting it fall onto the floor with the rest of the forgotten items—like the soap you dropped. He then grabbed onto your hand, and placed it by his v-line. “…me…pointy…” yandere ghost hints at his growing cock. It’s pretty just like him, milky white with purple veins running down the shaft, and a light pink head glistening from the water.

You’re his soulmate, the only person til the end of times, who can see him like this. “…for you,” he offered himself to you, shifting his eyes down to your legs before subtly biting his lips.

“Please, love?”

Allure: It’s so cool to see my tumblr grow! I remember posting my first fic on a random whim and now here I am 😭 Thanks to all the people for sticking around and enjoying my yandere fics.

[cece693]

Ok but like imagine both Billy and Stu with a big tiddy goth! male! reader as their roommate lol

Reader looks intimidating but is actually really nice lol

Looks Can Be Deceiving (Stu and Billy x M! Reader)

Hi! So I'm not really that well informed on the big tiddy slang (English is not my first language) but after a quick google search I think I got the idea????? If not, then I apologize, but I hope you enjoy this :)

tags: oblivious reader, realistic billy and stu (I think), pre-relationship, open ended, might be a part 2 coming

Billy Loomis and Stu Macher weren’t exactly looking for a new friend, let alone a roommate. They’d been fine on their own, thriving in the chaos of their twisted little partnership. But when the college housing office placed them in a three-bedroom rental with some random guy, they couldn’t exactly say no. Rent was cheap, the landlord didn’t ask questions, and besides, how bad could it be?

The first time they saw you, though, they realized this arrangement was going to be…interesting.

You were standing in the living room when they arrived, setting up a bookshelf filled with horror novels and occult knickknacks. At first glance, you looked like something straight out of one of their favorite slasher films—towering, dressed in all black, tattoos peeking out from under your sleeves, with silver jewelry glinting against your pale skin. Your undercut only made you look more dangerous. Stu, never one to keep his thoughts to himself, leaned close to Billy and whispered, “Dude, do you think he’s in, like, a death cult or something?”

Billy didn’t answer, but his sharp eyes lingered on you as you turned to greet them. “Hey,” you said, your voice deep and smooth. “I made brownies. Want some?”

Stu’s jaw dropped. Billy just narrowed his eyes. And just like that, their expectations were shattered.

Over the next few days, it became clear that you weren’t at all what they expected. Despite your intimidating looks, you were ridiculously nice—almost unnervingly so. You always smiled when you saw them, greeted them with “Good morning” even if they ignored you, and even asked if they wanted anything from the grocery store before you went out. When you weren’t at class or work, you were usually in the kitchen, baking cookies or meal-prepping while blasting Bauhaus or The Cure from a tiny speaker.

Stu was instantly smitten. He started following you around like a puppy, throwing his long arms around your shoulders and declaring you his “best goth buddy.” He loved pushing your buttons just to see you scowl—like the time he “borrowed” one of your necklaces and pretended he lost it, only to give it back with an over-the-top apology. “Don’t worry,” he said, grinning up at you. “I’ll make it up to you. Wanna watch a movie? I’ll even let you pick.”

Billy, on the other hand, was harder to read. He spent a lot of time watching you from across the room, his dark eyes following your every move. You caught him staring more than once, but he always looked away before you could say anything. Unlike Stu, who was all loud jokes and obvious flirting, Billy was subtle. He’d make sarcastic comments about your goth aesthetic, only to quietly leave a new horror novel on your desk after you mentioned liking the author. He never admitted it, but you had a feeling he stayed up with you that one night you were stressed about your midterms just because he didn’t want you to be alone.

Stu and Billy’s affections, however, reached a dangerous new peak the day they stumbled into your room at the worst—or best, depending on how you looked at it—possible moment. It started innocently enough, or at least as innocently as things ever got with those two. Stu had been whining about needing help finding a charger, and Billy, clearly annoyed, suggested he ask you. Of course, "asking" wasn’t Stu’s style.

“C’mon, Big Guy!” Stu called as he shoved your door open, Billy trailing behind him. “You seen my—oh my god.”

You froze mid-motion, one arm reaching for the fresh shirt you were about to pull on, the other holding a towel you were using to dry your hair. Time seemed to stop as both of them stood there in the doorway, their eyes glued to your bare chest. No shirt. No barriers. Just you, all soft curves and broad muscle, your big tits on full display.

“Holy shit,” Stu breathed, his voice tinged with awe. His jaw practically hit the floor as he stared, unblinking. “Are you kidding me? Those things are, like, illegal.”

Billy, meanwhile, was much quieter, but no less affected. His dark eyes drank you in, his usual mask of control slipping for a moment as his gaze flicked downward, then back to your face. He swallowed hard, shifting his weight like he was trying to keep himself from stepping closer. His voice, when he finally spoke, was lower than usual. “We didn’t know you were changing.”

“No shit,” you snapped, snatching the shirt and pulling it over your head as quickly as possible. “You ever heard of knocking?”

Stu groaned, flopping dramatically against the doorframe. “Aw, don’t cover up! I was just starting to enjoy the view!”

Billy shot him a glare but didn’t argue. He was still staring at you, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. “You’re...built,” he said, his tone almost grudging, like the words were being dragged out of him against his will.

“Thanks, I guess?” you muttered, tugging the hem of your shirt down and crossing your arms over your chest. You could still feel their eyes on you, and it made your skin prickle with a mix of embarrassment and something you couldn’t quite name.

Stu leaned closer, his grin widening. “Dude, do you, like, know how big those are? Like, for real? You could probably drown someone with ‘em. You want to try it out?”

“Stu,” you growled, your patience wearing thin. “Get. Out.”

Billy finally stepped in, grabbing Stu by the back of his shirt and dragging him toward the door. “Come on, idiot. Let's leave him alone.”

“But Billy!” Stu whined, digging his heels in. “I wasn’t done appreciating the—”

The door slammed shut before he could finish, leaving you standing there in stunned silence. You could hear them bickering in the hallway, Stu’s voice loud and animated as always.

“I’m just saying, those are a work of art! It’s like the Mona Lisa, but, you know, better.” “You’re an idiot,” Billy muttered, but his voice was tight, like he was holding something back.

From the moment Billy and Stu got an eyeful of your assets, the dynamic in the house spiraled into utter chaos. You’d barely noticed it at first, chalking up their constant presence to boredom or a newfound interest in hanging out. But as weeks went on, their antics became harder to ignore. The snarky comments, the heated glares exchanged when you weren’t looking, the way they tripped over themselves trying to one-up each other—it was enough to make even the most oblivious person suspicious.

But not you.

Whether it was the gym incident, the pancake debacle, or the never-ending movie night arguments, you remained blissfully unaware of the brewing storm. You were too focused on your studies, your workouts, and making sure the house didn’t descend into complete disorder to notice the increasingly absurd lengths Billy and Stu were going to for your attention.

It all came to a head one particularly tense evening. You’d gone out to grab groceries, leaving Billy and Stu alone in the house. The moment the door closed behind you, the gloves came off.

“Just admit it,” Stu said, pacing the living room like a caged animal. “You’re obsessed with him.”

Billy leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression icy. “Says the guy who’s practically glued to his side 24/7.”

Stu spun around, pointing an accusing finger at him. “You’re just mad because he actually laughs at my jokes. When’s the last time he smiled at you?”

Billy’s jaw clenched. “Maybe he doesn’t need a fucking circus act to enjoy someone’s company.”

“Oh, right,” Stu sneered, throwing up his hands. “Because brooding in the corner like some wannabe vampire is so charming.”

“Better than acting like a hyperactive toddler,” Billy shot back, his voice dangerously low.

The argument escalated quickly, voices rising as they hurled insults back and forth. At one point, Stu picked up a couch pillow and launched it at Billy’s head, narrowly missing. Billy retaliated by shoving Stu into the wall, and for a moment, it seemed like things were about to get physical.

But then you walked in.

“Hey, guys—what the hell is going on!?” you asked, staring at the scene in front of you: Stu pinned against the wall, Billy’s hand fisted in his shirt, both of them glaring daggers at each other. They froze, turning to look at you like two kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar.

“Uh…nothing!” Stu said quickly, plastering on his trademark grin. “Just some light wrestling. Y’know, for fun.”

Billy let go of Stu and stepped back, brushing imaginary dust off his shirt. “Yeah. Just messing around.”

You raised an eyebrow but decided not to press the issue. “Okay...well, I got pizza. It'll be in the kitchen.”

As you disappeared into the other room, the tension between them simmered, but neither of them made another move. Not yet, anyway. It wasn't until later that night, after you'd gone to bed, that Billy and Stu returned to their conversation.

“This has to stop,” Billy hissed, his voice low and cold.

Stu crossed his arms, still bristling from their earlier fight. “You think I don’t know that? But what’s your solution, huh? Scare him off so neither of us gets him? Not happening, Billy Boy.”

Billy was silent for a long moment, his jaw working as he mulled over his options. He hated the idea of sharing you—hated it almost as much as he hated the thought of Stu winning. But the alternative was losing you completely, and that wasn’t something he was willing to risk. “Fine.”

Stu blinked, caught off guard. “Fine what?”

“We share him,” Billy ground out, his teeth clenched.

Stu stared at him, and then a slow grin spread across his face. “Well, well, well. Didn’t think you had it in you to play nice.”

“Don’t push it,” Billy warned, his voice sharp. “This doesn’t mean I like you. It just means I like him more.”

Stu snickered. “Whatever you say, buddy. But hey, at least now we’re on the same team, right?”

Billy didn’t answer, turning on his heel and stalking off. Stu watched him go, still grinning to himself.

From that day forward, things…changed.

You didn’t notice the difference at first. If anything, Billy and Stu seemed to get along better, their bickering replaced with an odd sort of pact. They started spending more time together, which you figured was just a natural byproduct of living in close quarters. What you didn’t realize was that they were coordinating their efforts.

Stu would distract you with jokes and games while Billy silently took note of what you liked, using that information to his advantage later. Billy would lure you into long, intense conversations about movies and books, giving Stu time to swoop in with grand gestures—like the time he surprised you with a ridiculously elaborate cake “just because.”

If you were confused by their sudden teamwork, you didn’t show it. You just kept being your usual, oblivious self, completely unaware of the quiet, unspoken truce between them—or the way they both watched you like wolves circling their prey.

It wasn’t perfect. Billy still bristled every time Stu got a little too handsy with you, and Stu couldn’t resist making snide comments whenever Billy monopolized your time. But for the most part, they made it work. Because at the end of the day, they both wanted the same thing.

You.

And if sharing was the only way to keep you close, then so be it.

For now.

[starkeyslibrary]

FALLING OUT OF FRAME | Part 4

pairing: you x drew starkey

authors note: first off, I want to apologize for the delay in getting Part 4 to you. the flu hit me hard, and while I’m feeling better now, I’m still not 100%. Today’s been one of the better days, so I’m happy to finally share this with you! also, for all the new readers joining this series (welcome!), a quick note about the taglist: If you’d like to be added, please send me a message instead of commenting under posts. my notifications can get a little wild sometimes, and I don’t want to miss anyone’s request. Enjoy!

It had been a couple of days since the paparazzi had caught you. The pictures of you crying alone in the street made their rounds through the tabloids. Headlines blared across every news outlet: “Y/N Heartbroken: Tears on the Streets After Split with Drew Starkey”. You couldn’t escape them – everywhere you went, there were reminders of how vulnerable you had been, how much you were hurting. You had tried to fight it, tried to keep up a front. But the pictures, the emotional rawness, had taken a toll.

Your phone buzzed incessantly with notifications, and Drew’s name popped up more than you cared to count. The text messages, the calls, the voicemails – he was reaching out, desperate to fix what he had broken. You could feel the weight of his messages pressing down on you, each one pulling at the strings of your broken heart.

Drew’s text:

“I’m so sorry, Y/N. Please let me see you.”

“I didn’t mean this to happen. I miss you so much.”

“Can we please talk? I hate seeing you like this.”

You stared at the screen, your fingers hovering over the keys, but you couldn't bring yourself to reply. Every time you thought about responding, all you could see was that night – his absence, his lies, the way he had been with Odessa, and the emotional toll it was taking on you. The tears had fallen freely and now, in the cold light of day, they felt like a public spectacle. And that hurt.

Your friends were your saving grace during this time. Madelyn had taken you in the moment she found out about the photos. You spent long nights at her apartment, binge-watching shows and talking about everything and nothing. It was a distraction you needed, but even then, your thoughts kept circling back to Drew.

Madelyn was a good friend, she knew how to give space when you needed it but also to push you when you were being too hard on yourself. “Y/N, you can’t keep torturing yourself like this,” she told you one evening, as you both sat together on her couch, a glass of wine in hand. “I know it’s hard, but you have to stop looking at those pictures and thinking that’s all there is to your story. You deserve so much more than to be defined by what happened with Drew.”

“I know,” you sighed, resting your head against the back of the couch. “But it’s hard, Madelyn. It’s not just about the photos or the press. It’s everything. I thought we were more than that. I thought… I thought it was real.”

Madelyn’s expression softened, and she leaned in, taking your hand. “I know you did. And I think, deep down, Drew did too. But right now, you need to figure out what you want. Not what he wants. Not what the press wants. You need to decide what’s best for you.”

But even as your friends gave their support, you couldn’t escape the pull of Drew’s attempts to contact you. His phone calls became a constant. Every time your phone buzzed, your stomach twisted in knots. You hated that he was the one making you feel like this, that he still had the ability to drag you back into his world with just a message.

Finally, on one particularly sleepless night, the phone rang again. Drew’s name flashed across the screen.

You didn’t answer it.

Minutes later, another text from him:

“Please I can’t stand this. I’ve seen the pictures. I know you’re hurt. But I need you to know, I never wanted to hurt you. Us. I’m sorry for everything. Can we please meet and talk? I love you please don’t forget that.”

You stared at the message, feeling that familiar ache in your chest. Part of you wanted to believe him, wanted to give him the chance to fix this, to explain himself. But another part of you – the stronger, more resilient part – was terrified of falling for the same lies, the same empty promises.

You knew what you had to do. You couldn’t keep letting him pull you back into this mess.

__

The next day, you went to work, keeping your head down, avoiding any attention. But it was impossible to escape the ever-present eyes of the public. Every glance at your phone, every time you stepped outside, you could feel the weight of the scrutiny. The paparazzi had followed you more than once, snapping pictures of you walking alone, trying to find solace in your routine.

But no matter where you went, there was always someone watching. Always someone commenting. The paparazzi caught it all – the lonely moments and the sadness in your eyes. It felt like you were trapped in a never ending cycle of being seen,  but not truly known.

It wasn’t long before Madelyn called you again. Her voice was gentle, but you could hear the concern behind it. “Y/N, Drew wants to meet. He’s asking if you can at least hear him out. He says he’s messed up. He is not asking for forgiveness, just a chance to explain.”

You stood by the window, staring out at the city, the weight of her words sinking in. You had to make a choice. You couldn’t keep going back and forth between holding on and letting go.

But could you trust him again?

The uncertainty gnawed at you, and all you could do was take a deep breath and say “Tell him… I’m not ready. Not yet.”

Madelyn didn’t argue. She knew this was something you had to figure out on your own.

You spent the next few days doing everything you could to put distance between yourself and the mess that had become your relationship with Drew. You kept working, you spent time with friends, and you tried – really tried not to think about him. But you couldn’t escape the feeling that something was missing, that your world felt incomplete without him in it.

But then you realized: You had to be okay without him first. You couldn’t keep trying to piece yourself together with someone who had already shown they weren’t ready to treat you the way you deserved.

And so, you decided that you needed to move on. You deserved better than being stuck in a limbo. You deserved love that was real, not based on a public imagine, not tainted by lies and half-truths.

This was your time to find yourself again. And maybe, just maybe, Drew wasn’t a part of that future.

TAGLIST: @princesspeach124 @idiotussupremus @eitaababe @13tter @drewsephrry @drewstarkeyzwhore @cooper8224 @maybankslover @elyseesarchive @ietss @esquivelbianca @josephandrewstarkey @willowpains @wtfdudesblog @purplerose291 @rafegf-real @matthewswifeyy @fangirl-magic @snowtargaryen @slut-era @leather-n-velvet

[short-honey-badger]

Doll 2

Pairings: Shanks x Female Reader

Summary: Shanks can't stop thinking about you and how you'll fit in with the crew

Warnings: late night thoughts and mentions of abuse

Doll Masterlist

Later that night, while Shanks lay in the room he'd rented, the redhead couldn't stop thinking about you. Even while pleasantly buzzed still from earlier, his mind was a whirlwind of thought, and as much as it disgusted him to consider, he did want to know what kind of slave you were. The Celestial Dragons were known to keep all kinds of races, from Fishman to Giants. Labor, entertainment, pleasure.

Shanks hoped that you hadn't been part of the latter. You didn't seem like it, didn't have the innate sultry look that Shanks had seen before, but that didn't mean you couldn't hide it from him. He could go ask you, demand you tell him since he was the one who decided to bring you on board, but the thought of doing that left an awful taste in his mouth. Shanks wanted you to trust him. He wanted to be your friend.

You hadn't told him much about your past, only the little bit that you’d been willing to share with him so far, but Shanks wanted you to feel safe enough that you would want to share everything with him eventually. He wanted to see you smile more, wanted to see you relax and feel at home with him and the rest of his crew. You wanted to know everything, so Shanks would make sure you got what you wanted.

A knock on his door tore the captain from his thoughts, and he jumped from the bed to open the door. You stood on the other side, a contrite expression on your face. His own schools into one of concern and lean against the doorway.

“Everything okay, Doll?” He asks quietly and has a hard time not reaching out to cup her face when you bite your lip and avoid his eyes. He waits patiently for you, not willing to rush you into anything that you might not be read for.

“I just wanted to say thank you. I didn’t earlier, and it’s been bothering me,” you ramble and then fall silent. You don’t want your new captain to rescind his offer to join him, but you’ve been instructed to say please and thank you since you could remember, even if whatever you’d been sent to do ended in punishment.

Shanks softens even more at your admission. He can see the old fear lingering in your eyes, and it makes rage boil in his chest that you’ve been subject to such treatment that a simple thank you made you so nervous. He doesn’t fight the urge this time to reach out to cup your face in his hand, his lips turning up in a sad smile.

“Sweetheart. You don’t have to thank me for something like this. Don’t think you have to treat me and mine like you had to treat those bastards. I don’t own you, Doll. You own yourself.”

He watches in mild panic as tears form in your eyes, and then he has a chest full of sobbing woman. He wraps his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer to try and provide some form of comfort. Shanks isn’t the best at this, but for you? He’d try his damndest. He dips his head and presses a kiss to the top of your head and listens as your sobs begin to slow down into quiet sniffles.

You grimace as you pull away and look at his shirt from where your face had been pressed, “I’m sorry, I got you all nasty.”

Shanks laughs and shakes his head. You were adorable like this, and he couldn’t get enough of it, “Darling. I promise you that this shirt has had worse than some snot and tears on it.”

The look of disgust that paints your face is all worth the confession, and Shanks only laughs harder when you pull away and wipe your face. You crinkle your nose and eye him with a now skeptical look, “When was the last time you washed that shirt?”

Shanks aims an innocent look, lips pursed as he shrugs a shoulder. You scoff and cross your arms, but your fear from earlier seems to be gone, so the redhead is happy.

“Maybe it is a good thing I’m coming along. A crew full of men probably needs a woman’s touch,” You quip, and Shanks can’t help but silently agree. He won’t lie and say that the laundry doesn’t get piled up on occasion. Or the dishes despite Lucky Roux keeping the kitchen orderly. He’s guilty himself for letting his quarters get a little too messy. But he didn’t bring you along so that you could be their maid.

“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, _,” Shanks murmurs, tone dropping the playful tilt as he catches her chin in his hand, “I’m not bringing you with us for that.”

His heart thuds in his chest at the smile that you send him. You slowly reach up and wrap your fingers around his wrist, squeezing softly before letting your hand fall back to your side. It makes you feel good that Shanks is taking your comfort in mind, but you wouldn’t be a burden on his ship.

“I know that, but I don’t think I could physically just sit around and do nothing. I’ve worked… my whole life, Shanks, and I don’t want to be just another mouth to feed. I want to be helpful,” you say and shrug a little helplessly. The only break you’ve ever had was in the last month of your escape, but even then, you were constantly looking over your shoulder, wondering if this would be the day that someone recognized you and dragged you back to Marie Geois. The guilt of leaving the other slaves behind still ate at you, and you wished that you could have been able to take them with you.

“Then we’ll figure it out as we go, Doll,” Shanks promises and strokes his thumb along your jaw like he had earlier before he drops his hand. He doesn’t want you to think that he wants you for anything other than your company. Not that you’re not beautiful, but Shanks doesn’t want you to think he expected something like that from you. Not unless you wanted it.

You blush at th efeeling of the rough pad of his finger against your skin. You didn’t like it when people touched you, but you found that dislike absent when Shanks did it. It felt natural and kept you grounded in a way you didn’t expect. You flick your eyes up, catching his own and send him a small smile, “Thank you again, Shanks.”

The redhead meets it with a grin of his own. A yawn suddenly catches you off guard, and you cover your mouth with a hand, eyes squinting as you look away from him. Shanks snickers at the way your nose scrunches up and steps back into his room.

“Go catch some sleep, Doll. We’ll stay here a couple more days to resupply, and then we’ll be on our way,” Shanks yawns himself halfway through, his words coming out slow and choppy before they even out. He smirks when his antics make you laugh, and then he is watching you turn on your heel and lope down the hall, “Night, Doll.”

“Night, Shanks,” you call softly back, and then you disappear around the corner. Shanks sighs once you are gone. Mind stuffed even more with thoughts about you as he shuts the door and lays back down. He rubs a hand down his face and rolls to his side, vowing to figure out the details in the morning.

[muletia]

[tfp] obsessed!ratchet x human!reader

summary: when his emotions turned overwhelming, ratchet tried to hate you instead, to protect both of you. despite his efforts, he cannot stop caring about you

cw: angst, obsessive thoughts, emotional manipulation, mentions of jealousy and possessiveness, ratchet is kinda toxic in this (but he gets better i promise)

word count: 1250

At first, he tried to hate you. To push you away, to make you despise him just as much as he tried to despise you. To turn passion into hatred, to move to the opposite end of the spectrum, yet still burn with the same fervor, the same intensity. Hatred was, after all, easier to manage than love—easier to understand, easier to explain, and easier to back up with facts. Love was an unknown, raising millions of questions he could never answer. Hatred hurt less. And although both passions were fierce in their own right, Ratchet could swear that the first one was far less damaging.

At first, he tried to be cold. Indifferent toward you, mean, and grumpy. He would throw comments at you that he could have easily kept behind his denta because he knew they would hit a nerve and wound you to some extent. He wanted you to leave him alone, to grow disillusioned with him. To stop interacting, to stop looking, to stop being a part of his daily life.

Another warm relationship was a luxury he couldn’t afford. Ratchet was tired. Tired of war, tired of being a medic, tired of patching up his friends only for them to return with fresh, bleeding wounds—or not return at all. Every mech and femme he grew close to either died or suffered, and he had to watch. Watch as the light faded from their optics, as energon poured from their wounds, as they lost limbs. You weren’t a Cybertronian, but would associating with him not weave a similar fate for you? One filled with pain and suffering? If the war didn’t harm you, his feelings surely would—what difference would it make? And your death was something he could not survive.

That’s why he wanted to prevent it. To break the vicious cycle, to stop the machinery of torment. To give himself no hope of a happy ending because he knew it was never meant for him. He couldn’t afford to think of himself. Ratchet was harsh, unfeeling. He made sure that every word he said struck like an icicle, that it hurt. Yet he wasn’t sure who was suffering more. The last thing he wanted was to cause you pain, but in this situation, he saw no other way. In a sense, he was saving you from catastrophe, from a collision that would destroy you both. He preferred to deliver the blow when his feelings were just budding, before his infatuation grew into something unmanageable. At least then, you’d both have a chance to recover.

But he found himself checking on you. Ensuring you were all right, even though he had just done so moments ago. He found himself having needs that terrified him because he was never supposed to feel them. Even with a carefully laid plan, with his rigidly set values, Ratchet’s thoughts circled taboo. He contemplated touch, intimacy. Happiness that wasn’t meant for him.

He often wondered if you understood why he had to be the way he was; what kind of clay the war had molded him from. If he explained the details, would you grasp his intentions? Understand that he couldn’t afford the luxury of love? He only hoped you didn’t think it was your fault, that you had made some mistake, even though he gave you no reason to think otherwise. And that hurt more than any sharp remark he ever hurled your way.

It was a pity that by the time he acted, it was already too late. You had cast your spell, enchanted him and his processor. You haunted him during the day, in dreams, when you visited your alien friends, and when you were at home. You appeared in his thoughts when he least expected it, yet when he needed it most. At first, sporadically—when you hadn’t visited them for a while, when he began to miss the sound of your chatter near his workstation. When the lack of your presence started to bother him. Then, you appeared more frequently, and fleeting memories turned into fantasies and daydreams. He stopped thinking he’d like you to sit with him and started longing. Intensely, fervently.

Still, he believed his plan would work. That he could end the relationship he had nurtured for so many months. But you had entirely different plans. Consciously or not, you dismantled the calculated, artificial hatred, tearing down the walls he had begun to build around himself.

The first time you touched him to draw his attention, Ratchet was convinced his knees would buckle under his weight. Suddenly, new colors entered his field of vision, and where you touched him, an explosion of sparks erupted, an electricity incomparable to merely being in your presence. The touch was more vivid. Raw and intimate, and so incredibly powerful that it broke him. It pierced through his defenses, reached so deep that Ratchet abandoned his plan. He stopped trying to change your relationship at an unnatural pace and in a dishonest way. Oh, what a fool he had been, what a burden to both you and himself.

Mending the fractured relationship didn’t happen quickly, nor was it easy, but it gave him time to loosen the collar and allow himself to enjoy your company. Your presence brought comfort and peace. Even when you disagreed, when arguments grew heated, Ratchet clung to those shared moments. He wouldn’t trade them for anything in the world and would fight to keep them going. He grew jealous when you claimed you wouldn’t speak to him again, though he knew it wasn’t true. He knew, but he couldn’t stop himself from pulling you into his servos whenever you started talking to someone else. He wasn’t proud, but seeing you in your rightful place, close to him, made everything feel right again. Everything returned to normal.

“I owe you my sincerest apologies,” he once said to Optimus, choosing a day when the base was nearly empty, save for him, his friend, and the two humans who had changed their lives. Whether for better or worse was yet to be determined.

“You have done nothing that could cause me harm,” Optimus replied.

“But I did not understand,” he said. “That has changed somewhat recently.”

The medic’s gaze anchored on you, dispelling any doubt in the leader’s mind. Optimus began to pity his friend.

“Will it ever improve? Will this torment ever bear anything good?” Ratchet asked.

Optimus fell silent for a moment. “I am unable to provide an answer to that. However, I am certain that surrender is not the correct course of action, and you must not pursue it, for it would destroy the benevolence you have labored so long to cultivate. [Name] holds you in great regard; I would urge you to keep this in mind.”

For Ratchet, it was already too late for retreat, though he had lost the battle with himself. You had entwined yourself too deeply in his spark, taken a permanent place in his processor. He failed to keep his feelings in check, and they took over, spreading everywhere.

He started with hatred, using it as a familiar form of self-defense. Now, when you come to him with the tiniest scratch on your finger, Ratchet is ready to wage a war for you, blinded by his feelings. Ready to protect you at all costs, dedicating every free moment solely to you. He was finished, undone, but the fact that his demise would likely come through you no longer mattered to him.

[marauder-misprint]

Charms

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4

Sirius Black x Fem!Slytherin!reader

1.5k words

cw: fluff

After lunch, you had a free period. You had gotten comfortable in a bay window with a book and it didn’t take long for one of Hogwarts’ strays to find you. You had started with just absentmindedly petting it, but then it curled up in your lap and fell asleep. You both loved and hated how content it looked snoozing away. You groaned when the bells chimed to signal the end of the period. You couldn’t move, not with a sleeping cat in your lap. How could you disturb its rest? 

You sigh. At least it’s only Charms. You accept your position and continue to read. You’re certain that Pandora or Dorcas will take notes when they notice you’re not there. If worse comes to worst, you could see if Evan or anyone else has notes. Or you could have Dorcas ask Marlene for Lily’s notes. Staying with the cat seemed more acceptable with each person you added to the list of possibly having notes. For all you know, Professor Flitwick could be reviewing a spell you’ve already mastered and you’d be bored out of your mind anyways. Yes, staying here and letting the small creature remain unbothered was okay. 

Sirius, who had gotten better at sneaking glances at you during the classes you shared, notices right away when you aren’t in your seat next to Pandora when Charms starts. As much as he wants to point it out to his friends and get their opinions on where you might be, he doesn’t. If he did, he’d endure more teasing about “still being intrigued” by you. He was. He just doesn’t want to deal with his friends right now. 

Despite knowing you aren’t there, Sirius continues to glance toward Pandora throughout the class. He also looks at the door. He’s hoping you’ll walk in with some excuse for being late, but you never do. Sirius has never found it so difficult to pay attention in class. He really hopes that his friends don’t notice him scanning the room and ask him what he’s looking for. Still intrigued. He wasn’t sure if this intrigue was developing into something more. Interest. More than interest. He felt a need to get to know you better. To get you to like him. You were a dog person after all. You should like him. 

After class, rather than heading straight to his next lesson, he looks around the corridors a bit. He’s looking for you, but if anyone dared to ask, he would claim to be looking for a dropped quill or something. Is a quill a believable thing to be searching for? If he dropped an ink pot, that would break. Maybe a misplaced textbook? He’s still thinking of possible excuses for what he was looking for when he spots the real thing: you. Your hair seems to glow in the sunlight from the window where you’re sitting, book in hand and cat in lap. Of course you had an animal with you.

“Ah, there you are!” Sirius exclaims, strolling toward you. “You missed Charms!”

You tilt your head, looking up at the voice. 

“Have you come to give me your notes?”

“Do I look like I take notes?”

“No, but looks can be deceiving.”

A crooked smile appears on his face. 

“And how do I look, darling?” He strikes a pose, earning an eye roll from you.

“Like a pompous arse who doesn’t have notes to offer me?”

“Hmm, not the answer I was going for.”

You snort a laugh, which slightly disturbs the cat still sleeping in your lap but it adjusts and falls right back asleep.

“What do you want to hear? Oh, Sirius, you’re so dreamy and fit and charming and dashing,” you say in your falsetto.

Sirius laughs and leans against the wall near your feet. 

“Yeah, something like that.”

“Then go find your fan club. They’ll tell you that.”

You turn back to your book, hoping he’ll leave. He doesn’t.

“Are you not in my fan club?” he asks, tapping your shoe with his finger. 

“No. Never have been,” you say. Your eyes are glued to the pages of your book. 

“It’s always accepting new members.”

You look up at Sirius with an annoyed look, which softens quickly when you see Regulus approaching from behind him. 

“Reggie!” you call with a wave.

Sirius spins around, coming face to face with his brother.

“Sirius,” Regulus greets his brother coldly. His tone warms when he looks back to you. “I have bad news for you.”

You groan. “It’s formal?”

He nods and Sirius looks confused.

“What’s formal?”

“You’re still coming, right?” Regulus asks you, his eyes pleading you to say yes. “Please?”

“Yes, I’m still coming,” you say and his face lights up. “But! You’re coming dress shopping with me.”

His face falls. “Why?”

“Because I’m not taking Dorcas or Pandora.”

“What do you need a dress for?” Sirius asks. 

His interest in whatever his brother has invited you to is growing. What event was Regulus taking you to that you needed to wear a dress? He was amused that you would be dragging his brother shopping for said event. That unnerving feeling that he had in his stomach a few days ago outside returned as he thought of you twirling in a dress in front of Regulus for his opinion. 

Regulus shot Sirius an annoyed look, as if saying it wasn’t any of his business. 

“Just a Slug Club thing,” you say, waving your hand dismissively at Sirius. “So, Reg, we’ll go to Hogsmeade this weekend, yeah?”

Sirius didn’t wait for Regulus’ answer. He left you two with his mind spinning on how he could be invited to this Slub Club thing. Who did he know that was in Slug Club and would likely not already have a date picked out? 

“Yeah, this weekend works,” Regulus says. He pauses as he turns to see how far away Sirius had gone. “Why was he here?”

You shrug. “Don’t know. Thought he was maybe going to offer me notes for Charms, but no.”

“You were here all period, weren’t you?” he asks, eying the sleeping cat.

“Little thing is just so comfortable. You can’t blame me!”

“You’re unbelievable sometimes, you know that, right?”

“It was just Charms!” you exclaim. 

“And you skipped it.”

“Yes, I did.”

“What do you have next?”

“Transfiguration…”

Regulus gives you a small smile before he scoops up the cat. It chirps with wide eyes at the sudden movement. He gently places it on the ground and it runs away. 

“Come on,” he says, grabbing your hands. “Let’s get you to Transfiguration.”

“But!”

“No buts! As your friend, I can’t let you skip classes all day because a cat was sleeping.”

“Regulus,” you whine.

“I won’t hear it,” he says definitively. “You’ll thank me later.”

“Doubtful,” you grumble but now that you’re standing, you let Regulus lead you to your next class. 

---

It hits Sirius after dinner when he’s in the Gryffindor Common Room. Lily is in Slug Club. Despite all of James’ attempts, she is very single and likely needs a date to the party. She could be his way in. He was fairly certain he hadn’t seen her buddying up to any guy recently. He approaches the table where she’s sitting with Mary and Marlene. He puts a genuine smile, hoping it helps his cause.  

“Evans! You know how we’re best friends, yeah?” 

“Words never used to describe us, but go on,” Lily laughs as she looks up from her homework. 

“I’ve decided that I’ll be your date to Slughorn’s party.”

She looks at him with a confused expression.

“You’ve decided?”

“Yes.” 

“And you want to go to that?”

“Yes.” 

“Do I want to know why? Usually people not in Slug Club are more than glad not to go,” she says.

He presses his hands on the table and leans forward. “I just need to be there.”

“Need to, huh? Would you behave?”

“Yes!”

“I don’t believe you, Black.”

“What would I even do?”

“I don’t know. Prank Severus or something stupid.”

“I thought you didn’t like him anymore,” Sirius says, his brows scrunching together in confusion.

“I don’t,” Lily says pointedly. “But that doesn’t mean I want my guest at Slughorn’s party to be causing a scene. It’s my image on the line.”

“I promise I’ll be on my very best behavior.” SIrius looks around the common room. “I swear it on Remus’ books, James’ broom, Peter’s wizards’ chess and my hair.”

“You almost have to say yes now,” Mary says with a giggle. “He swore on his hair and I want to see what happens when he fucks it up.”

“I won’t!” he asserts. 

“I suppose it saves me from actually asking someone… Alright, Black. You can come.” She pauses and looks Sirius up and down. “You know you have to dress up, right?”

He nods and smiles at her. “That’s part of why I need to go.”

Lily exchanges glances with Marlene and Mary as Sirius returns to where his friends are gathered near the fire. 

“You’ll have to give us a play-by-play. Black needing to go to Sluggy’s party?” Marlene tells Lily. 

“Do you have any idea what that’s about?” Mary asks.

Lily shakes her head with a sigh. “No… I just hope I don’t regret it.”

tags: @2dloveshp, @yearninglustfully, @made-for-oliverwood, @ilovejamespottersomuch, @hisparentsgallerryy, @itsseaberri, @corawithfanfiction, @devilslittlehelper, @jllyunn, @barnes70stark

[lieslab]

Broken hearts club

꘎���━━━━━♡꘎ ꘎♡━━━━━♡꘎

Pairing: Bang Chan X gn reader

Summary: Unexpectedly, you find yourself face-to-face with the leader of a gang, but you'd never imagine how your relationship would end.

Genre: Angst with no happy ending

Word Count: 3.8K

Trigger warning: Mentions of homelessness and insecurities/struggles surrounding it, fear of love, gun violence, casual crime, and murder.

A/N: I'm going to tell you now that if you struggle with feeling unlovable, you might want to skip this one. I have big feelings and this was like an hour long vent write for me. Please remember that it's fiction and this Chan does not exist (thank fuck)

_ _ _

It was like the home you never had. Two years ago, Bang Chan found you filthy and half-dazed in an alleyway. You were just trying to survive on the streets. Life isn’t kind to the homeless. When your dignity is stripped as you dive into dumpsters for food, you start to feel less like a human and more like a testing specimen. 

The world kept spinning, families enjoyed their time indoors, but not you. You were left out in the cold like an abandoned dog. Without a house, without a home, without a family, and without love. The world conspired against you, it always had, and you were certain it’d be this way until the end of time. 

Your clothes hadn’t been washed in days. You were one quarter short from being able to wash your clothes at the laundromat. You had enough to dry them, but washing them cost a whole quarter more; just another cruel way that the world laughed at you. The stench that radiated off you was a mixture between sour milk and sweaty socks. 

You used to have an extra pair of socks to warm your hands. They were stolen by another homeless person when your back was turned. You thought the two of you were friends, but you forgot that when people are where you are, it’s survival of the fittest. Not everyone is genuine when you hit rock bottom. Humans will do what they can to survive. 

You pulled the socks from your feet and used them to warm your hands. They hadn’t been washed and they were soaked in your old sweat and skin cells, but desperate times called for desperate measures. When you kicked off your shoes for a moment of rest, the scent of decay filled the air. 

On that night, your body was burning up at the slightest touch. The Texas heat had nothing compared to what your body was going through. The weather was chillier, your cheeks were red from bitter winds, your nose was frozen to the touch, but your body was on fire. 

A fever engulfed you and there was nothing you could do besides ride it out. Pharmacies didn’t care if you were homeless. Corporate greed had no compassion for the starving and the crippled. If you couldn’t afford to wash your clothes, you certainly couldn’t afford a bottle of cheap over-the-counter medicine. 

You didn’t mean to stumble into Chan that night. You were certain you were going to die. Actually, you craved the sweet release of death. Without deodorant, you could smell yourself. Your hair had been saturated with grease for two days. 

Every part of you felt filthy and worn. You felt disgusting and awful. You knew you needed to shower, but you were so delirious, you couldn’t even distinguish left from right. The gym was on the opposite side of town, your head was heavy, and your legs were on fire. Trying to make it would be a certain death wish. So, you stumbled forward instead. 

Chan was supposed to be keeping an eye out for some guy he had been watching. His gang was well-known around town. They ran the streets and were on top of everything. Cops stayed silent about their crimes. Chan’s group was a bunch of vigilantes, they played both sides. 

As long as the cops could run traffic stops and do the most of their jobs without concern, Chan and his heathens were let off the hook. All it took was one call and they’d be off into the dead of night again; disappearing into the sound of faint sirens, barking dogs, and the orange warmth beneath streetlights. 

You didn’t have a choice when you stumbled into Chan. It was merely an accident, but his reflexes were fast. His gun swung and before you knew it, you were pistol whipped. The cold metal felt glorious for a moment and then you free fell. Unforgiving concrete, blurred vision, and the incriminating stare of a stranger above. God’s abandonment tasted like salted sweat and iron. 

Blood oozed from the gash in your forehead. Chan didn’t have time to ask your name or gather any identifying details. Your eyes rolled back into your head and that was that. Sounds stopped, the earth kept spinning, and your soul was silenced. 

You expected the devil to greet you when you woke up, instead you were met by a man wearing a pleather jacket. Black eyeliner rimmed beneath his eyes and an eyebrow piercing sat above his left eyebrow. A stern gaze, messy black hair, and a death sentence. 

You were sure this was the grim reaper. He looked like heaven and hell combined. Along his cheek, a scar had healed, but the spot where stitches stretched skin together hadn’t. If you narrowed your eyes, you could still make out the exact spot where each stitch stretched honey-soaked skin together. 

Your fear tapered out the moment he handed a water bottle in your direction. The plastic sides dripped with condensation. It cooled your overheating body the moment you took it. Maybe this wasn’t your enemy, but your long-lost savior instead. 

He was too serious. Too serious all the time and you hated him for it. You grew to love him and his seven other goons. He was good at what he did. Always directing, always pushing and pulling, always carrying the gang. Dealing with enemy antics while fighting the stupidity and occasional incognitiveness forged in his own group. 

They weren’t perfect, they had their issues, but they had Chan. They had a leader and a fighter. A whirlwind of chaos, power, and strict determination. They had a lot of things as a group, but they didn’t have you. You fit right in once your fever broke. 

Your quick banter, sarcasm, and wit gave them a reality check. Even the best witted ones were out-smarted by you. After a shower, some new clothes, and a full meal, you felt like a person again. Chan and his crew became your family, but families don’t always stay together. 

~ ~ 

“What the hell is this?” A manila folder flung your way. It landed on the table in front of you with a harsh thud. You had been studying the layout of a mansion for the next mission when you felt the first fissure. 

Chan’s words pulled you from your planning and you glanced up at him. “What is this?” You pushed open the folder to find a thick stack of papers. 

“That’s what I want you to tell me.” 

You didn’t like the accusatory tone in his voice. Laced with venom, he was a copperhead waiting to strike. Every hair on the back of your neck stood up. Something was wrong, but you couldn’t place it just yet. 

Paper after paper you flipped through. Photocopies of text messages, emails from your email address, and photos of security camera footage of you with different people. They weren't just anyone, they were rival gang members. Rival gang members were strictly off limits. Any act of breaching Chan’s gang’s trust was an act of treason. If you wanted to sign your own death sentence, it was the perfect way to go. 

“I’m only going to ask you one more time.” His arms folded across his chest. “What the hell are these?” 

“Photocopies and security camera footage.” 

His nostrils flared and his eyes rolled. He stepped forward and tipped over you. The scent of some unknown spicy cologne with hints of vanilla and amber hit you. His hand smacked the wooden table, beneath it was a photo of you in a hoodie. A rival member stood across the way staring at you. He was identified by the obvious dark tattoo on his forearm. 

“You know there’s a rat.” 

Of course, you did. Someone had been leaking plans to someone. Information oozed out and missions were compromised. Compromised missions meant distrust and disorganization. How easy it was for a gang to slip up and have a member go missing, get injured, or be killed. 

It hurt like hell, his words, the way he said them with no mercy. That fever of yours was two years ago. Two years of learning his ways and what made him tick. The way he touched his ear when nervous. The constant bouncing of his leg as he spoke about new missions; the proof that he was eager to get started. You swore you knew everything about him, but he couldn’t say the same about you. 

He hesitated bringing you in. His gang was perfect, but he remembered how cruel the world could be. He saw the defeat in your eyes. The way you strolled along the side of abandoned factories and drug yourself along, trying to get just another step. He pitied you back then and clearly, it was all just a stupid mistake. 

“I know what this looks like, but I swear to God, this isn’t what it seems. This-” You picked up a photo of you and a different rival gang member. “This isn’t me. I mean, it is, but it’s not. You really think I’d rat you out?” 

“Well, it’s someone!” He snapped angrily. “It’s someone and look at this shit!” His arms waved in distress. “It’s clearly you!” 

“They have to be fake. I’d know if I was a rat. Listen,” you pushed yourself from the stool you sat upon, “I’ll prove it. These emails and texts, they can be disproven. Stay here and I’ll be right back.” 

You rushed out of the room before he could stop you. You had holed yourself in the small study. You always did that when you were studying for a mission. It was quiet and you liked to sink into that oversized leather chair beneath the books. 

The scent of weathered paper and worn leather. You sat there so much, the leather creased from where it had been worn. The secrets of the shelves watched over you. The lamp on the window beside you had been thrifted before you were a member. Despite that, you were the one who always used it the most. 

You came back with your laptop and your phone. You placed them on the oak desk and unlocked them. Your hands gestured to the objects. “Go ahead and look at them, you won’t find anything.” 

He stared at you, but you were adamant. “Come on,” you waved him closer. “Go ahead and look.” 

With a sigh, he dropped himself on the stool you had been sitting on. Blueprints were meticulous and you liked to keep your stuff straight. When you weren’t in that leather chair, you were on this stool studying things out and trying to make puzzle pieces fit together. 

Tension kept brewing and your stomach churned. You weren’t the rat, you knew that, but Chan didn’t. You’d never have it in you to turn your back on this group. This was the family you never had. The love you always craved, it had been found here. Within the past two years, you felt enough love to last a lifetime. 

You flipped through the papers. The text messages were fake and someone was good at impersonating you. From the text messages to the emojis, it was all spot on. The more you dove into the photos, the more you doubted yourself. There weren't any mistakes anywhere. Even the photos of you with rival members were photoshopped together seamlessly. Whoever did this, they were good. Better than good, they were damn great. 

The sound of your laptop shutting pulled your head up. Your eyes met Chan’s with desperation, but his dark eyes gave away nothing. He still looked the way he did two years ago, so broadening and mysterious. 

The only difference? You now knew the man behind the persona. You knew how he loved without him saying it. It was the way he passed food to you first and let you eat before him. It was hidden in the reminders he gave the members to buckle their seatbelts. It was found in the way he reassuringly checked for fevers, when members were sick, by gently using the back of his hand; the same exact way he checked yours two years ago. 

“Did you forget that text messages and emails can easily be erased?” 

“But why would I rat you out? The group? Why would I go against everything I love?” 

He scoffed and shook his head. You stepped closer to him. “Please, you have to believe me! Chan, I don’t even know these people!” 

“How did they get your email?” 

“I-I-” You stuttered trying to find the words. “I don’t know!” 

“Because you’re the rat. You gave out your email and yo-” 

“Stop saying that! I know how bad this looks, okay? I understand it!” You desperately flipped through the papers trying to find one small mistake to prove your innocence. “You have to believe that this isn’t me. Please, Chan, please.” 

“How am I supposed to do that?” 

“Because you trust me.” 

“I used to trust you.”

It was so much worse than the betrayal of the homeless lady you befriended. You asked her to watch your stuff and she took off with your socks. You had been working up a friendship for two weeks and you disappeared into a store to use the restroom. When you came back she was gone. 

You only knew her for two weeks, but how different two weeks was from two years. Two years of building up your own grit and determination. Building up a foundation of a body, fighting for the muscle you lost when starving on the streets, gaining back your dignity when the world ripped it away. 

“Don’t say that,” your voice cracked. You blinked rapidly, trying to hold back your tears. “You do, you trust me. You trust me because I’m one of your members.” 

His gaze went back to the papers strewn along the desk behind you. He’d never show you how he truly felt. Deep down, he was devastated. He wanted to scream and grip you. He wanted to tug you into his grasp. He wanted to show you the love and admiration that he had neglected giving you these past two years, but instead he stood still, the evidence was too damning. 

“Prove to me you’re innocent,” he finally uttered. His heart fluttered with hope. A silent prayer was recounted from years ago. The memories of pews and biblical artifacts were dusty, but it was there. A basic prayer from Sunday School, one that was easy enough to remember, a five year old could quote it. 

“I don’t know how. I-I showed you my electronics, those are the only ones I own. I don’t know what more you could possibly want from me. You can search my room. You can do anything, just please, please, please believe me.” 

You didn’t want to admit it, but this was no longer a matter of Chan’s integrity and the gang’s security. This was a matter of life and death. You were no longer fighting for your innocence, you were fighting sudden death. 

He made the rules so crystal clear two years ago. A major fuck up and you were gone. Something so quick and easy, a bullet to the forehead. Brains pulverized, neurons ripped apart, the soul slipped away so easily. A single gunshot stood between traitors; a one way ticket from this life into the next. 

“Prove it,” he tried again. He wanted you to beg. To get down on your knees and weep. To repent for your sins and admit it all. He would find a way to forgive you, no matter how much the truth hurt, but you didn’t. 

You couldn’t. How could you? How could you possibly explain that none of this was real? The screenshots, the security footage, someone clearly wanted you gone. You didn’t understand why Chan believed it so easily, maybe he was the one who wanted you gone. Why wasn’t he fighting for you?

“Chan?” You finally whispered. The reality of your situation was settling in. He never responded, but you spoke anyway. “Can you just…can you tell the guys that I love them?” 

Betrayal clamped down. It was a confession in his eyes. The sting of a bee, the teeth of a cobra, a shot of gin mixed with rejection. After everything you had been through with the gang, he didn’t expect it to feel like this. 

Those eyes used to hold warmth now and then. In the sunlight, they lit up like pools of chocolate. You saw those eyes at bonfires during the summer. It was the oozing chocolate between roasted marshmallows and graham crackers. You saw them in the dirt smeared along your jeans after you ducked, dived, and dodged your way through each dangerous mission. 

It was a rarity, but it was special, your own personal Halley’s Comet. It was replaced with resentment and bitterness now. An anger had been uncapped and no matter what you professed and claimed, it couldn’t stop it. 

“That’s all you have to say after everything we’ve been through?” His hand reached back behind his back. You knew what was coming. “You wanna die? I’ll fucking kill you myself!” 

That black pistol was always loaded. His reflexes had been quick since you knew him. It was the same pistol that knocked you out two years back. You never had a chance to dive then and you never had a chance now. 

“Fuck you and fuck your love! You’re nothing, but a liar and a goddamn traitor and yet, you want me to lie to them? To tell them you loved them after you put them in danger? You put us all in danger!” 

“I-” You couldn’t get the words out. They lodged in your throat and you didn’t know how to force them out. You didn’t want it to end up like this.

“Fuck you, your love, and everything about you! Die knowing that no one will ever fucking love you and you’re dead to me.” 

Bang! 

The memories of the past two years flashed before your eyes. The fear building up in your gut on each harrowing mission you went on. The board games you played around the dining room table. They used to end with someone getting mad and throwing the board. You all collapsed in a heap of laughter at the pettiest members. It changed every time. 

You used to find comfort within Chan. Every time you struggled, you’d find him and explain your problems. He wouldn’t offer hugs or sympathy, but he leant a listening ear. He wouldn’t pity you, he’d just listen. Sometimes you never wanted advice, you just wanted proof that you weren’t alone, a gentle and familiar reminder that you were loved. 

Your body fell through the air and your brain stopped, but not in the way you wanted it to. Chan’s back turned to you, you didn’t realize it, you couldn’t. Not when you were like this. 

The carpet was as hard and unforgiving as the pavement was two years ago. Warmth soaked your chest and you could still see. You tried to breathe, but there was no air left to take. In his fit of anger, Chan didn’t shoot you in the head, but he hit your heart instead. 

The bullet lined directly with the center of your heart and his bullets never missed their target. One more cruel reminder from the world that you were unlovable. People didn’t throw pity when you were surviving on the street, instead, it was accusing glares, as if you were nothing, but a pesky vermin. 

It was your biggest insecurity, feeling unloved. How could you after everything that happened in your life? No family and no friends. The only family you had was this gang and now it was all unraveling and slipping through your fingers. It was falling apart and it left you bleeding on the floor. 

A gasp mixed with a squeak. Chan’s eyes squeezed shut. His fingers were still wrapped around the gun. He didn’t dare turn around to face you and admit what he did. He couldn’t. Deep down, he loved you. You flickered a spark that he thought died out years ago.

He was never one for being a coward, but something changed. You startled him and woke up something that was supposed to lay dead. The feelings for you weren’t supposed to wither and squirm this much. Rat or not, maybe it was just easier to accuse you of something and kill you before a flicker grew into a roaring flame. 

Letting you in was a mistake. Building up a friendship, striking up feelings of something more, it was a pile of kindle that was always meant to burn. He’d always be a monster and you were just a person. Too innocent, too vulnerable, too sweet for someone with his past. 

Your vision clouded as a tear slipped down your cheek. The person you loved most put you here, but you still couldn’t hate him. In fact, maybe you were grateful deep down. You were a bird with a broken wing and never meant to fly. It was better that an animal got to you rather than wither and rot away in the elements. 

The door to the study burst opened. One of the guys rushed inside. You heard him speak, but you couldn’t distinguish who it was. Blood was seeping out so quick and you were growing weaker. 

“What the hell did you do?” 

“What the fuck?” 

“Someone help them!” 

Footsteps rushed towards you. Warm hands touched your chest, but it was too late. Your limbs were weak. They never got to see the last bits of light fade from your eyes. They fluttered shut just before the door burst open. 

“Wake up! Just wake up! Please” 

“Call the doctor!” 

“What did you do? What did you do? What did you do?” 

Someone sobbed. Salted tears mixed with the blood on your shirt. Desperate fingers pushed down to stop the bleeding, but it’d never be enough. Love surrounded you, but you didn’t get to see it for the last time, before your heart stopped. 

Across the way, Chan’s bottom lip quivered. He dropped the gun and it landed with a clatter. Despite the sob that fell from the leader’s chest, they couldn’t find it within themselves to approach him. He collapsed in defeat and curled his hands around his head. The one person he truly loved and cherished, he took them out himself. Your blood on his hands would never be washed away. He thought it’d be easy to take you out, but now, his members would never look at him the same way. 

Eight hearts around the room beating and the final one still bleeding.

| ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ | ♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡ |

Taglist: @lina-linny @straykidsstanforeverandever @seungnishi @stellasays45

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[fungateshortcakes]

Come as you are

Pairing: oldman!Logan x chubbyfem!Reader

Summary: You have developed a crush on the man that has offered you safety and friendship all these months ago. But how could he ever love someone like you?

Wordcount: 1.6k

Warnings/tags: english is not my first language, slight angst, fluff, age gap, body image issues, insecurities, self loathing, happy ending, very self indulging

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

The air in the smelting plant was heavy with the silence that stretched throughout. The only sound came from the slow crackle of the fire, its light casting soft, flickering shadows onto the walls. You sat at the edge of the old, worn down couch, picking at a loose thread on your sweater, trying to focus on anything but the man across the room.

Logan was drinking his fifth coffee of the night while reading through some newspapers, his movements methodical while he turned a page, his soft groan cutting through the silence as his reading glasses slipped lower on his nose. You’d always found him fascinating to watch—so gentle with the things he handled, except for when he handled himself. The way his brows knitted together as he read, deepening the shadow of a wrinkle between them. There were so many mundane things he did that drew you to him.

It was part of why you had fallen for him in the first place.

But you would never tell him that.

You sighed quietly, your fingers curling into your lap. Logan had been your friend for a few months now, ever since he helped you out of a scrape you didn’t want to think too much about. He had offered you safety, companionship, and a kind of loyalty you’d never known from anyone else. And you?

You had given him nothing.

Sure, you helped around the home, if you could call it that, cooked dinner for him and Charles, patched his clothes when they tore, patched him when he got into another fight at his job—but you couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t enough. That you weren’t enough. Never enough.

It wasn’t just the way your body didn’t fit society’s definition of “perfect" and that your clothes could only hide so much. You had made your peace with being chubby long ago. Or at least, you thought you had. But sitting here, watching a man like Logan chiseled, hardened, and impossibly strong, you couldn’t help but feel painfully out of place.

And then there was the age gap.

You were in your early twenties. He was... what? Pushing 200? Sure, he didn’t look it. His is healing factor had frozen him in what seemed to be his late 50s, but the years between you loomed like a canyon you would never be able to cross.

Why would someone like him ever look at someone like you?

“Somethin’ on your mind?” his voice startled you, rough and low, breaking through the haze of your never ending, self deprecating thoughts. You looked up to find him watching you, his glasses sitting on the table, his dark eyes sharp and focused just on you. “No,” you said, too quickly for his liking, shaking your head. “I’m fine.”

His brow furrowed deeply, a look you had come to know too well on him “Ya don’t look fine.” He states matter of factly. You tried to laugh it off, but it came out forced. “I’m just tired.” Logan didn’t buy it.

“Bullshit,” he said bluntly, leaning forward in his chair. “You’ve been quiet all day. You're never quiet. What’s goin’ on?” Yeah, you never shut up. You were quite the chatterbox around him because you felt so at ease, as if you wouldn’t be judged. Now you thought maybe that was something that annoyed him about you. The constant talking and noise because of you, not a silent moment because you were never able to read the room and shut up. You frowned, turning away from him. “Nothing,” you insisted, standing up abruptly. “I’m going to bed.”

You didn’t make it two steps before he shot up from his seat, striding over to you and catching your wrist in his large, rugged hand. He didn’t grip hard, Logan never touched you with anything but the gentlest care, but it stopped you in your tracks with a gasp.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his tone softer now. You hesitated, your chest tight with the weight of all the things you had been holding back for so long “Logan, just... drop it, okay?” you pleaded, trying to get your hand out of his grasp. “No.” he stood, his hand still around your wrist, his eyes searching yours. “You don’t get to shut me out like that.”

Your resolve started to crack, but you weren't about to let him win, so you forcefully ripped your arm awas from his grip “Why do you even care?” you sputtered out, your voice starting to feel raw. His brow furrowed even more, his chest heaving with your rejection “What kind of question is that?”

“Because you shouldn’t!” you snapped, throwing your hands in the air. “I’m nothing to you, Logan. Just some stupid kid who’s too young, too... too fat—” you weren't able to finish your sentence as Logans hands shot up to hold you by your shoulders, not letting you go “Don’t.” His voice was sharp, cutting through your words like a blade. You froze, the lump in your throat threatening to choke you. You swallowed thickly, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” he rasped lowly, his tone softening again but no less firm. You bit your lip harshly, a distressed sound ripping from your throat “Why not?” you whispered, tears stinging your eyes. “It’s the truth.”

Logan stepped closer, his rough hands gentle on your body, his expression unreadable but his gaze unwavering. “You really think that?”

You nodded, shrugging his hands off you despite needing the warmth, wrapping your arms around yourself. “Why wouldn’t I? I mean, look at you, Logan. You’re... you’re everything. And I’m just... me.” you sniffled, avoiding his eyes. He exhaled heavily, his hand coming up to rake through his grey hair. “You think I care about any of that? About numbers or size or—”

“Yes!” you cut him off, your voice trembling. “Because you could have anyone, Logan. Someone more mature. Someone prettier, someone better!.” you nearly yelled, but undeniably got chocked up on your tears. He stared at you for a long moment, his jaw tight, his hands clenching at his sides. Then, without a word, he closed the space between you, making you press yourself against the wall.

“Listen to me,” he said, his voice low but steady, his tired eyes piercing “You think I care about how old you are? About how much curves you've got? Hell, sugar, you’re the only good thing I have left in my life, and you’re standing here actin’ like you’re not enough?”

You blinked up at him, your heart pounding in your chest. “Logan—” you started breathlessly, but he lifted a warning finger at you. “No,” he said, cutting you off. “You don’t get to tell me what I want. And what I want is you. All of you. Just as you are.” Tears spilled over your round cheeks before you could stop them, and Logan’s hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs firmly brushing them away.

His hands held your face as if it was a precious artifact made out of porcelain, one that would shatter if handled too carelessly “I know I’m not good at this,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours. “Hell, I’ve screwed up more times than I can count. But I know what I feel. And I feel it for you.”

Your breath hitched and he tilted your chin up ever so gently to meet his eyes, his gaze locked on yours. “Tell me I’m wrong,” he said quietly. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

You couldn’t.

Instead, you threw your arms around him, burying your face in his broad chest as the dam finally broke. Logan held you tight, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other wrapped firmly around your plush waist. He was so warm and he smelled so good. Like home. This was home. “You’re it for me, sugar” he whispered into your hair, his salt and pepper beard scratching your temple “Don’t ever doubt that.”

When you finally pulled back, your eyes met his, and for the first time in what felt like forever you let yourself believe it. “You mean it?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan’s lips quirked into a small, rare smile. “I don’t say things I don’t mean.” you didn’t respond, not with words. Instead, you leaned in slowly, giving Logan every chance to pull away, though you knew he wouldn’t. Not after that. He met you halfway, your lips brushing softly at first, tentative and sweet.

The kiss deepened, a tender exploration that spoke of all the moments you hadn’t been brave enough to share until now. Logan hadn't thought he would ever feel like his younger self again, kissing a pretty lady while his heart threatened to burst out of his chest. His broad hands smoothed over the soft curves that were your hips, trying to map your body like he had wanted for so long.

When you finally seperated, just a breath apart, you were suddenly lifted up into the air. You shrieked, clinging to Logan while he held you up by your thick thighs effortlessly. He smirked smuggly at you, a rare sight, and you pouted. "Just because I am dying doesn't mean I can't handle a girl like you, sugar" he drawled and carried you back over to the couch. He let himself fall onto the worn down cushions with you on top of him, your weight comforting on him. You were no light feather and he appreciated that. He could actually feel you on top of him, actually had something to grab you by.

Upon his mention that he was actively dying because of the adamantium lacing his bones, a heavy feeling settled in your stomach and your smile dropped. He noticed and gave your cheek a kiss "Hey. Don't worry. I'll be here for as long as you'll have me" and when he leaned down to kiss you again, it was slow and steady and full of promises you knew he’d never break.

~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~☆~

I really hope you liked this short fic and maybe can relate to it as well!

Characters like Logan are always paired with the skinny, dolled up, feminine, conventionally attractive woman and that kind of makes me feel like (if someone like Logan existed) i wouldn’t have a chance because i am fat. I already think that, but still!

We need more representation because we are people like everyone else and deserve to live in peace just like everyone else.

I know it's hard to believe- but you are beautiful and worthy, no matter your size. I still have to believe that myself, but I will get there someday🎀

[writingblogsandothers]

The Chosen One

Part 7

Writer's Note: Don't forget to submit your answer for our poll Sending all the love, as per X

Word Count: 2.2k

Warnings: Mild Taunting/Teasing // Mild Fear // Mild violence // Mild kissing // Mild indications of sleeping together (nothing overly descriptive)

Use of She/Her/Lady - Female Pronouns

Readers over the age of 18 only please

Part 1 // Part 2 // Part 3 // Part 4 // Part 5 // Part 6

Aurelia sat back, upright in her seat. She didn’t know where to look or how to help her brothers. She looked to Geta who was discussing who his odds were on with Acacius. Lucilla looked down at her to see her distress. She rose from her chair before Caracalla stood, making her take her former position.

Looking at him with sheer disgust, Aurelia began to open her mouth – it was quickly quashed.

“People of Rome! Welcome to the games which I have so graciously planned and orchestrated for your entertainment. These are in celebration of my dear brother, and my new sister. Isn’t she marvellous? Congratulate them!” The crowd erupted into great cheers to which Geta stood and waved. He looked down at his wife as though to usher her to her feet, but he could see the look of total devastation pour over her features.

“Aurelia, stand for your subjects.” He demanded through gritted teeth, ignoring her issue for now. She stood slowly to her feet when the crowd roared louder, “I think they like you, dear one.” Geta told her. She simply nodded but couldn’t take her eyes off her brothers who were below, with their heads bowed.

“Romans, we have much to see today. Your gladiators have so graciously entered this arena for our entertainment and well, we must be entertained! Today, we will see the elite shine through. Guards – draft in Macrinus’ gladiators, others may reside back to their quarters. NOW!” the guards took action at Caracalla’s demand and Aurelia sighed a breath of relief when she saw that her brothers were not part of Macrinus’ crowd. Geta looked down at her with a degree of disgust and curiosity, ‘What has gotten into her today?’ he thought to himself.

“RELEASE THE LIONS!”

Everyone in the Royal balcony sat to watch the carnage unfold. The two brothers laughed and giggled as the Colosseum arena lit up red with destruction. Three of Macrinus’ gladiators were already mauled, “Not so muscular now, are they Macrinus?” Caracalla jibed to his new ‘friend’. “My dear Emperor, no they are not. There is one but, he’s special. Watch him prevail.” And sure enough, he was the gladiator to lead the remainder of his crowd to victory. Aurelia couldn’t help but shed a tear for the injured and dead, animals and people alike. Why must the games be so cruel? Was it the games, or the organiser?

“Fetch me this gladiator, I would like to thank him for the show he put on for my wife and I.” Geta shouted over his shoulder to Macrinus. He nodded, “As you wish, my Lord.” He made his way to the enclosure for fighters, and everyone else stayed put. Aurelia turned over her shoulder to see a concerned Lucilla staring at her. She stiffened her upper lip, in a bid to tell her to do the same. With that, Aurelia sobered up and put on a frosty front.

Once the games were over for the day, Geta took his wife on a walk across the gardens. “What was the matter with you earlier? You really were gunning to embarrass me, Aurelia! I think it might serve you well to remember who you are married to and who you serve!” he screamed at her.

Aurelia took a step away from him, not caring for consequences. “Embarrass you? I think you might want to have a word with your brother in regard to embarrassing people, Geta. Not only embarrassing, but humiliation and darn right torture!”

“You need to get over this soft patch you have, even for these gladiators. They wanted this life. They chose it. They-”

“MY BROTHERS ARE IN THERE GETA! MY OWN FLESH AND BLOOD ARE THERE. I know them, they did not choose this life. They have been hand selected – summonsed. So please don’t stand there and patronise me and try to tell me they wanted this life. None of them did.”

Geta was shocked at her outburst, for both not knowing she had seen her brothers in the arena, as well as the way she spoke to him. “Your brother did this. He has done this to spite me, for whatever reason. I have been nothing but kind and accepting of him and his vile ways, yet he has done not only me, but my family a grave injustice.”

“Aurelia, please. Have you heard yourself?”

“Geta. Why would you taunt someone with “Surprise!” if you didn’t know nothing about the people below you?” as she mocked Caracalla’s child-like ways.

Geta took a step back to take all in what he heard. How was he to resolve this problem? He knew if he pardoned the two brothers that he would be seen as weak and cowardly and would also enrage his brother further. Whereas he knew the reality if nothing was done, those men were done for, and his wife would resent him forever.

“So, what are you going to do about it?” Aurelia asked him dead-toned, with a tear-stained face.

Geta looked up to her slowly. It broke his cold heart to see her look so desperate, yet at this time, he couldn’t show weakness by caressing her to comfort.

“I will equip them with the best training and armour until I can find a resolution. We have to be careful Aurelia, my brother, he doesn’t like when things don’t go his way.”

Aurelia walked up to Geta and grabbed him by the loose fabric at his chest, “Your call. But let me assure you, if there’s so much as a hair touched on either of my brothers heads – your brother’s head will be served on a cold, silver platter.” She let go of his garment and stormed back to her quarters, leaving Geta in a state of disarray. Firstly, how dare she speak to him like that, he was the Emperor?! On the other hand, something deep down within him, halfway liked the fiery side to his wife. Decisions, decisions.

***

A knock came to Aurelia’s door to which Alba rose to answer. It was Lucilla. Alba welcomed her in, and Aurelia ran to her arms. She saw Lucilla as not only a friend, but almost like a mother figure to her within the palace.

“My dear child, what is the matter? I saw you so upset earlier at the games, is it just the carnage you do not enjoy?”

Aurelia sobbed into her shoulder, grabbing her tighter. Lucilla dismissed Alba for a moment, while she brought Aurelia to the sofa in front of her. The two ladies sat while Lucilla took Aurelia’s hands into hers. She breathed in deeply to compose herself.

“It is Caracalla. He drafted in my two brothers to join the gladiators for the games. He took great glee in telling me this was his ‘surprise’. I can’t let anything happen to them Lucilla. It would kill my parents, truly. They already lost me – losing the boys would be too much to face.”

Lucilla sighed deeply, she knew only too well how menacing the Emperors were, but Caracalla has taken it to another level – for someone who had done nothing to him, only show grace.

“Sweet girl, do not fear. I will tell Marcus everything, he will see to it sorted. He will free them back to their rightful home.”

“No Lucilla, you mustn’t! Geta said it would only enrage him further to do such a thing. I fear he would go outside the palace walls and hurt my parents, or destroy their home, or something I truly don’t know what he is capable of.”

Lucilla nodded in response. She knew what Geta had said was right, surprised by the sudden sense of empathy which he suddenly had.

“Do not fret. We will see to ensure that they are looked after. No harm will come to them. I will see to arrange a meeting with Marcus and Geta. We need to protect them without Caracalla knowing.”

Another loud knock came from the door, Alba entered the room once more, “My Lady, may I enter to answer the door?”

“Alba, of course, please come in.”

Alba made her way to the door where the Emperor stood outside. She bowed as he entered and he swiftly made his way over to his wife.

“Lucilla.” He nodded in her direction.

“Emperor.” She curtsied in his direction.

“Aurelia, do you wish to come with me to meet Macrinus’ gladiators?” he stared at his wife intently, “I think it would serve you well to keep up appearances if we are to win Caracalla round.” Lucilla looked to the girl to nod in agreement with Geta.

“Okay, but one condition.”

“Anything.”

“Meet with Marcus Acacius. Work with him to protect my brothers discreetly.”

He looked to his wife, narrowed his eyes, “Aurelia, I am a man of my word. Marcus and I have discussed already. They have been placed into their own cell and have been guarded with the best of armour and weaponry. For now, it will suffice.”

Aurelia thanked him quietly, “Lucilla, would you like to join us? Marcus is already down there.” Geta asked. Lucilla nodded, and they made their way toward Caracalla’s quarter.

***

Upon entering, they saw Marcus Acacius speaking with Macrinus, and Caracalla with Dondus along with his usual entourage. He rose from his seat, “Sister, Sister!” He kissed either side of her cheek, “How lovely to see you here! What did you think of your surprise? Wasn’t it grand?”

Aurelia fought every single fibre of her being from taking this short little pathetic man down to the ground and showing how she would fare in the arena, but instead she curtly smiled at him, “Oh yes Emperor, it was most grand. Thank you.” He stood back to admire her, taking her in from her flowing locks to the white sandals on her feet. “Good, good. I am glad you enjoyed dear Sister.” There was a short silence that followed, and Aurelia stared as equally as intently at Caracalla. Geta looked behind him to make sure she was okay. “Come, come. I want you to meet Macrinus. OH MACRINUS!” He took Aurelia by the hand and ushered her over to where Geta stood and presented her to Macrinus.

“Empress, pleasure to meet you again.”

“As it is you, Macrinus. So, tell me… how do you get these gladiators in such great performant shape?”

Macrinus lets a hearty laugh from his stomach, taking Aurelia by the arm to approach the balcony from Caracalla’s living quarters where it was visible to see the gladiators gathered in the courtyard.

Geta watches on. He was perplexed how his wife could put on such face when he knew the trials and tribulations she was currently going through. She really was something to behold.

***

“My, my Empress I must say, the palace is very admirable. I can see why you would have settled in so quickly.” Macrinus states as he tries to suss Aurelia out.

“Yes, it is nothing short of impressive. I have a lot to thank Emperor Geta for, he truly is magnificent.” She bums her husband up, in a bid to try and establish where his loyalties lay.

“You are lucky Empress indeed. He is a great man.” She noticed the way he turned away to observe the landscape as he said that. Something with this man did not sit right with her, so she decided to pry a bit more.

“Macrinus, do tell how you got to such powers. You have established quite the name for yourself here around the palace. Emperor Caracalla seems to hold you with great regard.”

He ushered his hand for Aurelia to sit, as he did the same, “I came from nothing. I have worked very hard to build this empire for myself, and I like to have nice things Aurelia – that really motivates me.” Aurelia nods in response for him to continue, “Seeing the way I used to live compared to now, it can really change a man.”

“I know how you mean.” Aurelia agrees to appease him, when secretly she didn’t like where this conversation was headed. He was about to continue when Caracalla interrupted, “Sister, forgive us, we have to leave. I must present Macrinus to the Senate – they are going to love him!”

“Please be on your way, thank you. I trust I shall be seeing you around Macrinus?” Aurelia asks.

Macrinus turns on his heels, “Indeed you will, Empress. Good day.” He curtsied toward her and followed Caracalla out into the halls.

Geta walked over to take her face in his hands, stroking her cheek gently with his thumb. Leaning down, he placed a soft kiss on her lips. “Come darling, let us dine and settle for the evening.”

She took him by the arm and followed him into the hall, turning her back to watch the warm pink hue of the sunset over her shoulder. She only hoped for a better day tomorrow.

Part 8

[therealcocoshady]

Love Game - Part 3

A/N : After MONTHS of waiting… here is Love Game pt3 ! For those of you who weren’t there, you can find the first 2 chapters in the Masterlist (pinned post on my blog !).

If it weren’t for Denaun and his wisdom, you would have told Marshall to go to hell. Or rather, you would have sent him there yourself. After all, you weren’t exactly short on ideas how to kill him. You went over them in great detail as you vented to Denaun about his friend’s audacity. This lack of trust and complete disregard for the friendship you’d shared was enough for you to consider raising that baby on your own, but your best friend advised you against it. « We both know you’d come to regret your decision, Y/N » he said calmly over dinner, trying to level with you. You looked at him, crossing your arms, frankly pissed that he was siding with Marshall. « Oh, so you think it’s ok that he called me a slut?! Me, the mother of his child ?!» you asked with a glare. Denaun shook his head again, not backing down. « I’m not saying it’s ok. What I’m saying is : you’re a great mom and you want what’s best for this baby. And you do want them to know their father, don’t you? ». His tone was extremely calm, and he was annoyingly good at making valid points that didn’t go your way. « Well, if he thinks I’m such a whore, I don’t see why he would want to co-parent anyway » you mumbled.

It was clear that you were hurt, and that the few weeks that had passed since the confrontation hadn’t done anything to soften the blow. Denaun seemed to understand it, as he took your hand and looked not your eyes. « You have every reason to be mad. Hell, if you need me to say it out loud, I will : he’s an asshole. But you know as much as I do that, once he has proof that you’re carrying his baby, he will be a good father for this child. And your little one deserves to grow up, knowing who their dad is. It’s all about the baby». You looked down and nodded. As much as you wanted to make a point and prove that, if need be, you’d be an excellent single mom. But ultimately, he was right : it wasn’t about you. It was about the little one. You grabbed his hand and gave him a smile, full of gratitude. « Thank you, Nauny. I don’t know about the dad, but the baby is very lucky to have you as an uncle ». He gave your hand a gentle squeeze and looked into your eyes with the utmost seriousness. « I’ll always be there for you, Y/N. Both of you ».

You weren’t sure whether it was the hormones or just a regular emotional reaction to his kindness, but you couldn’t help the tears from welling in your eyes. « I don’t know what I would do without you, Nauny » you sighed. « You know… Sometimes, I wish you were the father ». He stared at you, staying silent for a couple of seconds. « Yeah, well… I’m not the one you took home that night » he sighed. You nodded, rolling your eyes. « That’ll teach me. No more fucking around with friends » you hummed before taking another bite of your burger, rather oblivious to the look of despair on your friend’s face.

A week later, the results came in : as predicted, the baby was, indeed, Marshall’s. To be fair, you had absolutely no doubt whatsoever regarding the matter. If they’d been any different, you would have been quick to fly to the Vatican and ask for an audience with the Pope so that your name was officially added to the Bible. You weren’t exactly fond of the idea of talking to Marshall directly so you arranged for the results to be sent to him in the mail, not even bothering with a letter or note. After all, the results spoke for themselves and all that was left was for him to eat his words. That same day, he called you and, though you debated for a quick second, you ended up taking the call. « Hey. It’s me. I, um…. I got the results » he said. « Right » you said in a tone that was as neutral as you could muster. « Are you… Are you free on Friday? We should talk. » he hummed rather awkwardly. « There’s nothing special to say for now, Marshall » you replied. « That baby isn’t due for another 22 weeks. Somehow, I don’t think there’s much for you to do, right now». You heard him let out a loud sigh on the other end of the line, and you could tell he was trying really hard not to go off on you. « We’re going to be parents. Both of us. Together. I think it’s actually important that we have a talk. So that we can… Prepare » he explained. You stayed silent for a couple of seconds, debating whether or not you were in the mood to do the right thing. But ultimately, the rational part of you brain, in which Denaun’s words were still echoing, ended up winning. « As you wish. My place. Friday. 6PM. Don’t be late ».

When Friday came around, you were thankful that Denaun had agreed to be with you. Somehow, you figured that the mention of you murdering Marshall was what convinced him, rather than the excuse of you needing emotional support. You knew your friend wasn’t keen on being caught in the middle of you and your baby daddy but, as much as you wished there was a way you could spare him, he was the person closest to you, the only one you confided in. When Marshall walked into your apartment and saw Denaun, he immediately froze. As far as you knew, they were on good terms, but he clearly wasn’t expecting him there. He quickly dapped him and looked at you with a confused frown. « You asked him here? » he asked in disbelief. You had promised Denaun that you’d be on your best behavior but you couldn’t help but clap back. « Well, unlike some people, Denaun has been here from the start. I trust him when it comes to the important decisions » you replied coldly. You could see Denaun stare at you disapprovingly, silently telling you off. Marshall sighed and shrugged. « Well, since we’re getting straight to the point… I have paperwork for us to go over » he said.

Your eyes opened a little wider. Paperwork. Seriously ? You gestured for him to sit on the couch and waited, as he handed you a small stack of paper. The first form was a non-disclosure agreement. As soon as you saw the title, you handed it back to him, absolutely refusing to have anything to do with it. « First you doubt my honesty and now what ? You decide to keep the baby a secret ?! » you exclaimed before turning to Denaun. « I gave it a try, Nauny. I really did. But if you think I’m going to-» you began yelling before Marshall interrupted you. « Will you just shut up and fucking read before you start screaming? » he asked in exasperation before continuing. « It’s not about keeping the baby a secret. I mean, of course, I want them to have privacy but I’m not going to hide the fact that they’re mine ! Who do you think I am ? Drake ?! It’s just standard procedure, so that nothing about our relationship as co-parents ends up in the media. My lawyers insisted ». You glared at him and took another look at the NDA. « Of course. You questioned my honesty in the first place. Why wouldn’t you think I’m after money ? » you scoffed. He stared at you in silence and rolled his eyes. « Again. Lawyers. Not me. Not that you care » he sighed, before glancing at Denaun. « I don’t know how or even why you put up with her. She’s fucking crazy » he mumbled. Your friend crossed his arms and looked at the two of you. « Stop. Both of you. You’re acting like children. You’re grown-ass adults, about to have a kid together, have some shame ! Marshall, you better show Y/N some respect. She’s carrying your baby ! And you, Y/N, you need to stop painting him as a villain. You guys obviously liked each other enough to mess around in the first place. So how about you show some of that appreciation when it comes to dealing with the consequences ?! » he thundered.

Both you and Marshall stared at him in silence, obviously not used to any outburst coming from Denaun. You stared down, while Marshall glanced sideways. « Now, I’m going to let you handle this as grownups and future parents. If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen. And I better not hear any yelling » he threatened before leaving the room. The silence remained for a couple of minutes, before Marshall let out a sigh. « Look, it’s just… I told Paul about the baby, alright ? And he figured that paperwork might help figure out things. If it’s any comfort, it also states I’m not allowed to slander you or mention you in any track. And the rest… it’s just formalities. Like ensuring my name is on the birth certificate, making sure I have a legal right to see the baby, and that I give you child support » he calmly explained. You looked at him and nodded. « Alright » you said as you started to peruse the forms. « Denaun’s right, you know ? We need to act like… adults » he hummed, to which you nodded. « I know. It’s just not easy when the other co-parent pisses you off » you quietly replied. « But I suppose we’ll need to get used to it ». He let out a chuckle and leaned back in the couch as you read the forms. « Yeah, I guess ». When you finished going through the paperwork, you looked at him and sighed. « So… that’s what you wanted to do ? Paperwork? » you asked. « Mostly. I also wanted to know how you were doing. If the baby’s ok, or if you need something » he said. You hummed quietly, wondering if it your interactions would always have the same clinical and official undertone from now on. « Let’s see… Still nauseous but it’s definitely better. Craving for Italian, lately, if that’s of any interest. And, um… I have another ultrasound coming up. Other than that, that’s pretty much it » you reviewed. He thoughtfully nodded, as if he were making some mental note, though you weren’t too sure how that might concern him directly.

You made small talk for a bit and ended up calling Denaun back to the living room. As he walked in, he stared at both you and Marshall with a stern look on his face, much like a parent willing to make sure their kids had behaved as directed. « Everything alright? » he asked in an inquisitive tone. Both of you glanced at each other and nodded. « Yeah we’re good », Marshall assured him. « I should probably get going. Do you want to come by the studio later ? I’ve got beats ». Your friend looked at you and scratched the back of his head. « I would have loved to, man, but we made reservations for that Italian place Y/N is obsessed with, these days » he replied apologetically. Marshall paused for a second and hummed. « Right. Well… see you around, Y/N. And uh… you’ll call me if you need anything, right? ». You nodded and gave him a tentative smile. « I mean, sure. But unless you’re willing to hold my hair when I puke, I don’t think there’s much for you to do, you know? » you replied. He stared at you intently, his eyes going from your face to your belly, and shrugged. « Well, yeah, but… I don’t know. Like… if you have updates ? » he asked awkwardly.

The whole thing seemed haphazard. If a stranger were to walk in the room, they wouldn’t have been able to tell you and Marshall had ever been so… intimate. In that moment, it felt like you were two strangers learning to communicate. You but your lip, the realization being rather painful. After all, before all of this, he had been one of your favorite people on earth. Why he had turned his back on you this way, you weren’t too sure… but now, you didn’t have much choice, and you needed to do your best to mend things. Even though it felt like you weren’t at fault. You gave him a smile before grabbing an envelope from your handbag. « I don’t know if you… uh… I can show you the latest ultrasound if you’d like? » you offered. At your words, his eyes opened a little wider and he blinked even faster than usual. « Yeah. Ok. » he nodded. He got closer and you showed him the closest thing you had to a picture of your baby. You tentatively pointed the shadows on it. « So, here, there’s the head. And over there, that’s an arm » you explained. He seemed kind of fascinated by it, much to your surprise. « That’s really crazy » he whispered. You could see a smile form on Denaun’s face as he encouraged you, while Marshall was focused on the picture. « Do you want to keep it? » you offered. « Can I? » Marshall asked. « Yeah, sure. I have copies ». He grabbed the picture from your hand and carefully placed it in his pocket, before staring at you. « Thanks, Y/N » he said in a solemn tone. He leaned forward and, for a second, you almost thought he was going to hug you or kiss your cheek. But instead, he patted your shoulder in a way that made you wonder if he had actually ever interacted with a human being before. You even noticed Denaun raising an eyebrow. He went to dap Denaun and, before he left, you had to ask an important question.

« Uh, Marshall ? » you called as he stepped in the hallway. « Yeah? » he asked. « You… you said you were going to legally acknowledge the baby as yours, right? » you questioned nervously, to which he nodded, as if the answer was evident. « I mean, yeah. I think it’s what’s best » he replied, visibly wondering where this was getting. You thoughtfully hummed and bit your lip. « So…don’t you think we should tell the other guys in the group as well? ».

[lightlycareless]

I was reading your scorned ex husband stories and they made me so sad(especially the second one) then I started thinking about the twin au and like what if the twins parent trap them in a different divorced au? Lol. Naoya is still a dick obviously for splitting up twins(seriously who would do that??) but maybe not completely irredeemable for Y/N to forgive him 🥺 Hehe this is just something silly I thought up and wanted to share

Hellooooooo

Heheh this got me watching the movie again, right in the nostalgia. It had been so long since I last saw it that I actually didn't remember most of it, but I do think however: how the hell did they think that was a good idea 🤣 gee, talk about parent of the year.

Anyways, some liberties were taken to make the story work, though the premise is essentially the same.

Also, these are the works anon is referring to :) Ex-husband 1 & Ex-husband 2. Now onto the warnings:

Warnings: none major. Naoya is an a_hole, as always. Naomi and Naori are adorable, but poor kids seriously :'(.

Happy reading!!

If Naoya does this, you effectively hate him from that point forward.

It is non-negotiable, you never want to see him ever again, especially after the cruel words he used to justify the separation of his children:

“I only ever cared about Naori anyways.”

You made it your life-long purpose to keep Naomi from someone as despicable as her father—though it hurt you to do so, for it also meant you’d be away from your beloved son; just 2 years into his life… you barely got to make any memories with him before he was stripped away from your arms.

But such was the divorce agreement: the two would keep one child, and out of their lives.

Naoya remains in Kyoto with his son at the Zen’in estate, while you move back to Tokyo, close to your family but distant enough to have your own apartment. Just the two of you, the little home you always wanted.

In an unexpected turn of events, Naomi and Naori would go on completely unaware of each other until enrolling in the same elementary school.

It was almost undetectable at the beginning since Naomi now had your last name—but once teachers and students alike began to realize their physical similarities, it became impossible to ignore.

“No… we don’t look alike.” Naori would quietly complain. Out of the two, he was the least enthusiastic about this advancement, doing his best to avoid the limelight due to his reserved nature.

However, that wouldn’t mean anything to Naomi: ever the bubble one, she was nothing but to have a new best friend that looked just like her!

“We’re almost like twins!” she gasped—same hair color, eyes, height… how could they not? “I’ve always wanted a baby brother too.”

“Well, I don’t! And I could be older too, you know? Besides, why would I want a sister that’s weak and ugly…?”

Intended to hurt her, Naomi only laughed at his words, for it would take much more than that to bring her down—one could even say that the two were reflections of their respective parents in that matter: the only contrast between the two, as a matter of fact.

“That’s not true!” she happily refuted, taking hold of his hand and heading to the playground. “Now, come on! I want to go on the swings, and I need someone to push me!”

Though Naori was greatly unwilling at first, he’d soon warm up to her, mainly because she was part of the few, if not the only, kid that didn’t bother him because of his shyness; always rushing to the rescue whenever bullies began to swarm him, as well as reassure him there was nothing wrong with being the way he was.

And if that wasn’t enough, the food Naomi began to share with him (courtesy of you, after much insistence from her part) effectively validated their friendship.

“When will you ever bring him over?” you tease, it’s the happiest you’d ever seen your daughter! And for that, you couldn’t help but feel glad and obligated to repay the favor.

“I don’t know, mama. Nori-kun tells me his papa can be quite strict.”

You chuckle.

“Well, I’m sure I can convince him next time the parents have a meeting at school.”

“His papa doesn’t go to school.” Naomi frowns, her words making you sad for the poor child. “Says he’s too busy.”

“Oh, that’s awful. Well, what about the mama?”

“He doesn’t have one.”

Your heart longs to comfort him.

If they only knew…

And as time went on and their friendship flourished even more, so did their interests for one another; beyond those of their favorite colors and toys, and more into… personal grounds.

Matters that had always quietly hurt Naori one way or the other since he could remember; more so since you had been nothing but sweet and kind to a figuratively unknown kid, which highlighted the fact he never had that one thing he always wished for.

What he might never have, since his father has long given up on it, considering the way he coldly changes the subject, or completely ignores it. Naori simply… doesn’t talk about it.

Until now.

“Why don’t you have a dad?” He dares to ask; it’s no secret that the one to pick him up at school is one of his father’s many subordinates, always changing, not enough to be interesting to the other parents outside of how rich (or a jerk) he must be to have employees pick up his child.

Compared to you, always spoken of fondly for the following reasons:

If it was Valentine’s Day, you’d send Naomi with a big box of candies so she could share with all the class.

Halloween was the same, even hosting small gatherings if the children wished to celebrate in a safe environment.

If it was a classmate’s birthday, you always made sure to send them a personal gift or attend their birthday party. Your gifts might’ve put some parents to shame from time to time, but it didn’t matter, you kind of grew to be some kind of celebrity thus a few always tried to be on your good side—or Naomi’s, so to speak.

Naomi’s birthday… well, some fought to be on the guest list.

In other words,you were an amazing for both kids and parents alike, enough to inspire Naori to daydream about what it would be to have a loving mother like you—to always be at the door once it was time to leave, patiently waiting for the moment your daughter would come into view and subsequently pick her up into a tight, warm hug, followed by a kiss and wide smile as you urged Naomi to tell you all about her day.

Or more importantly, wonder if you were open to adopting him.

“Oh… that—I… don’t know!” Naomi responds truthfully. “Mama never talks about him.”

“Have you asked her?”

“Once or twice, but all she says is that I should focus on my studies!

…

But I can see how sad she gets whenever I mention him.” She continues. “Mama isn’t very good at hiding “adult talk” and neither is my auntie, so I always get to hear how lonely she is when they talk about him! … and how she should try dating other people, or whatever that means, so she wouldn’t feel like that anymore.”

“I think is when you marry someone.” Naori tries to explain, Naomi scowls out of disgust.

She doesn’t like the idea of sharing her mama with someone else, grows somewhat jealous too.

Well, maybe if it was Uncle Nanami, he’s always been nice to her and her mama. Not Geto because she plans on marrying him herself.

And she supposes her papa too… but how could someone you love make you sad?

“I don’t want her marrying anyone.” Naomi shakes her head. “She’s happy with me!”

“But don’t you wonder about your dad?” he asks. “What did he look like? How did he meet your mom?”

Or how they fell in love?

Naturally. Because just as Naori, and even after you tried your hardest to distract her from it… she too longed to have a father. Someone to play with her after finishing all her homework, put her over his shoulders and let her see the world from his height, or protect her from the monsters that lived inside the closet…

There must be an answer to both of their mysteries—people don’t simply disappear.

And such, is how they assigned themselves a new mission; a task of the upmost importance, requiring all their attention and care if they wish to uncover why they only have one parent—and who was such peculiar character.

Anything that could hint such solution is a chance they’d take, however…

To Naomi, this endeavor proved quite fruitless, for any indication of your past relationship was effectively ripped from the evidence. Quite literally: thousands and thousands of pictures cut in half, neatly removing the person that accompanied her mother—whom she assumed to be her father. And that’s without mentioning your consistent disapproval of the matter. Naomi was right where she began.

This lack of advancement both frustrated her and placed more pressure onto Naori’s efforts, which shockingly, turned to be quite more than what they bargained for. Getting results neither could’ve imagined, not even in their wildest dreams…

“Naomi-chan… I’m not sure if you’re ready to see this.” Naori would caution as he placed down a large wooden box before her, filled with his findings.

“Why? Why not, Naori-kun?” she frets, surely it couldn’t be anything too outrageous.

…Could it?

Yes, it could. And it was.

Because beyond the astonishing realization that all the pictures Naori brought were in virtually perfect shape…

The fact they both recognize the people in the photo, Naomi’s mother, wearing that same bright eyed, wide smile look on her face whenever particularly excited. Happy—alongside Naori’s father, with his usual dyed hair, ear piercings, and striking eyes…

Holding two newborn babies—named Naomi and Naori such as the inscription in the back stated, alongside their birth time and date (Naomi is older, at last is known) …

Is what truly shocked them.

…

…

…

You. Naoya.

Naomi and Naori.

Mama and papa.

A family, for all intents and purposes.

What everyone around them proclaimed: siblings.

Naomi and Naori were siblings. Twins.

“Does that mean we—”

Naori nods. If it hadn’t been obvious enough by now.

Nonetheless, as thrilling as this discovery was, for it essentially made their respective dreams come true… another question arose. One that undoubtedly could not proceed unanswered.

“Why aren’t our parents together?”

Or most importantly:

“How can we get them back together?”

“But what if they don’t want to?” Naori frets.

“I told you already! Mama looks very happy wit him, and auntie says she’s very lonely too… besides, if they get back together that means we’ll finally be a happy family! And isn’t that what you wanted?”

Naori presses his lips together, nodding.

“I want a happy family too. I’ve always wanted a papa to play with!” Naomi continues.

“And a mom to hug…” Naori adds. “What do we do?”

First…

Get them together, face to face. In other words, talk. It’s how adults always preached problems got solved.

Since you had given Naomi the impression you’re not interested in anything pertaining to Naori’s dad, she had to get creative. Force you into a position where you wouldn’t be able to ignore her as you’ve done before—and one where Naoya would inevitably have to go to school too.

It had to be a convincing excuse, and since the two were children in need of dire solutions, their innocent minds led them to the most extreme resolution yet.

“I need you to punch me.” Naomi says, determined.

“Why?!” he gasps.

“Because I need to get hurt for mama to come, and if you’re the one in trouble they’ll have to call your papa, and then, the two will be here, just as we planned!”

“Can’t we do something less dangerous…?” Naori doesn’t like the idea of getting in trouble with his strict dad, as if he weren’t insufferable enough…

“No, Naori. It must be this!”

“But I don’t want to punch you…”

“Come on, we have to do it to have a family!!” she insists. “Or do you not want mama to make you food every day? To hug you too??”

He swallows.

“I do.”

“Then do it!”

And… he does. After taking a deep breath, clenching his fist and hitting Naomi in what she could only describe the weakest punch she could’ve ever anticipated. Surely, not enough to make this case convincing.

“Naori! You have to hit harder than that!”

“I—I tried!” he cries.

“No, you didn’t!” she cries back. “You didn’t even try!”

“Ye—yes I did!” Naori frowns. “It’s not my fault I’m not as strong as you!”

“Yeah, right! You’re a boy, you’re supposed to hit harder!” Naomi adds, smirking soon after an idea crosses her mind. “… Then I guess you don’t really want a mama.”

“I do want a mom…”

“No, it’s fine. I should’ve known not to trust you with something so important anyways—” she says, words that brush each and every one of Naori’s insecurities. “You’re just as weak as everyone else says…”

With a frown on his face, and a sour tightness in his chest, little Naori quickly clenched his fist and prepared himself to prove her wrong once and for all. Show that he wanted this just as much as she did—if not more.

Naomi was trying her best to get a rise out of Naori, everything necessary to motivate a genuine hit out of him and get their plan in motion—she never meant any of those words, intended to apologize after all was said and done, though she doubted it would matter once they got what they sought after.

But it was almost comical how it happened, how he miscalculated his steps, how far his hand had to travel to hit Naomi, and how he ended up doing far more than necessary: but convincingly so, in the end. Tripping over her and sending the two tumbling down, loudly hitting the ground in such a motion that had them scraping their skin, and of course, tears following suit.

“Maaaaaaa, I want my mamaaaaa.” Naomi intuitively cried, tightly holding onto the teacher as the two were sent to the infirmary.

Naori didn’t cry much for his father, he rarely did considering his prominent absence, but just one look at his teary face and trembling lip, and it was obvious whom he sought for comfort—the same one the school somehow convinced to come along and deal with this unfortunate incident.

As well as the supposed altercation that made way for all this to happen in the first place.

“No, what do you mean a fight??” You’re the first to arrive, demanding a believable explanation from the teacher. “That’s not—that doesn’t sound like my daughter!”

“I know, I thought the same… but that’s what the kids are saying.” She explains. “That Naomi-chan was inciting Naori-kun to punch her, and that she was even saying awful things to get him to do that. I don’t know what they were doing, if they were playing a game or… I don’t know; all of it is so weird—I’m sorry.”

You sigh.

“It’s fine. There’s no need to stress when it’s already happened.” You explain. “Is the parent of the child here already?”

“Should be soon, but I don’t know if he’s actually coming, Naori’s dad isn’t quite… present.”

You frown at the name.

“Naori? Wasn’t he Naomi’s best friend?”

She nods.

“It just makes everything even more unbelievable… really, what’s gotten to them?”

You hope to figure such when speaking to the poor child your daughter allegedly antagonized, after apologizing for such behavior of course. Which you’d have to deal with after returning home—Naomi… seriously, what could’ve possibly gone through her mind to incite such act? Was she being bullied? Did Naori suddenly decide he no longer wanted to be friends with her?

And why did his name appear to be so… familiar?

You’d figure it out soon enough when entering the infirmary, quickly scanning across the room for your daughter—only to freeze upon locking into Naoya’s; a much smaller, softer version of them, that is.

“Mamaaaaa!!” Naomi quickly cries when seeing you walk past the door, rushing to your side and hugging you tightly, the adrenaline of the whole succession still vivid in her mind. “Mama, it—it hurts a lot!”

Comforting her ought to be your utmost priority, but at the sight of your estranged child, the baby you were forcibly stripped away from… you couldn’t think of anything else but pinching yourself to see if this was a dream—if he was truly there, before you: flesh and bone. After so many years of distance…!

And naturally, hug him. Keep him so, so close to you and never let go; to make up for all the time you’ve spent apart and the things you never got to do because of his undeserving, cruel father…

Who stomped past the door soon after, equally freezing when seeing his estranged child, and ex-wife after 5 years of imposed silence. Startled, as if he hadn’t been the deciding factor behind it all.

Or perhaps, the reason why Naori enrolled in this school in the first place.

“Y/N.”

“Naoya.”

Looks like there’s much to catch up to.

Obviously, part 2 is needed. Essentially where Naoya will disclose more of what the hell was going on in his mind when pulling that stunt, as well as some angst. I have to. hahaha

Anyways, I hope you enjoyed this little thing I wrote; I do love it when we indulge into domestic au... but not at the expense of the kids 😭😭😭 think of the children!!! lol.

Well, 0nce again, thank you so much for sending in this ask!! Now take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[insidekatmind]

Between Friends and Feelings- Pope Heyward and JJ Mayback (love triangle)

The light of the sunset reflected on the waves of the sea, creating games of golden and blue light, while the cool wind gently brushed your skin. It was a quiet evening, a little different from usual, but you knew something was about to happen. The sun was slowly setting behind the hills, and you were sitting on the beach, your legs crossed in the warm sand, trying to relax. But something in the air felt different, and you knew it. Things were changing.

JJ and Pope had always been a part of your life. There had never been a time when one of them wasn’t by your side, though lately, their behavior toward you had changed. While once they were happy being just friends, now there seemed to be a silent competition between them. You couldn’t ignore it, even though you tried not to think about it too much.

"You like watching the sunset, right?" JJ said, breaking your thoughts. You turned and saw him approaching, his mischievous smile still present, but there was something different in his eyes, an intensity you couldn’t ignore.

"Yeah, it’s my favorite spot. I told you it would be nice to watch the sunset together, didn’t I?" you replied, trying to sound natural. But the truth was, his gaze was unsettling, as if he wanted to say something to you that you weren’t ready to understand yet.

Not long after, Pope arrived, and you immediately noticed that his posture was more tense than usual. His eyes, always calm and observant, weren’t quite the same. He was looking at you differently, as if he was searching for something you couldn’t define.

"You're here watching the sea too?" Pope asked, his tone calm but with a hint of nervousness that didn’t escape you. "I thought you’d prefer being in the city, with the music and the crowd."

"Even though I like having fun, sometimes it’s nice to be alone, you know?" you replied, trying to keep your composure.

The two of them sat down next to you, but the atmosphere had shifted. It wasn’t the usual company of friends sharing laughs and stories. There was an underlying tension that you couldn’t ignore, and you couldn’t figure out where it was coming from. Then JJ spoke again.

"You know, there’s something special about you," he said, his voice lower, as if he wanted to tell you something he had been holding back. "I’m not saying this just because we’re friends, but really, you’re unique. I don’t understand how anyone could not notice."

Your heart beat faster. It wasn’t the first time he had said it, but this time he seemed more serious, more sincere. The way he was looking at you made you uneasy, but at the same time, it made you feel an energy you couldn’t explain.

Pope took a deep breath, as if trying to decide whether or not to say something. "Yeah, but sometimes I think it’s easier to see all of this when you’re not so focused on yourself. Sometimes I think people don’t really see you," he said, looking you in the eyes with a certain intensity.

"I know you care about me, Pope," you replied, trying to understand what he was getting at. "But I don’t see how this fits into... everything else."

"It’s just hard not to notice you," he said, in a soft voice. "And I feel like you’ve always been more than just a friend to me. But maybe that’s just my head making me think that..."

His gaze was sincere, but also filled with something unspoken. His admiration for you was clear, but the fact that he hadn’t been able to tell you exactly what he was feeling made you uneasy.

JJ, seeing the uncertainty in your eyes, spoke up immediately. "Don’t worry too much, Y/N," he said, trying to calm you down. "I don’t want to make you nervous. It’s just that... sometimes I think we should be more honest with ourselves, with what we feel. We can’t always hide behind jokes and laughter."

And right then, the silence that had settled between you all became heavy. You knew there was a tension none of you three seemed able to face. Your mind raced, trying to understand what was really happening. You had always cared for JJ and Pope, but now you felt like something more was emerging.

The sunset was now fading, but the dying light only heightened the confusion you felt. The two boys were there, next to you, but their gazes on you were too intense. You didn’t know how to respond.

"Y/N..." Pope whispered, moving closer slowly. "I don’t want to lose you as a friend, but there’s something I can’t ignore anymore. I..."

JJ interrupted him, laughing nervously. "Pope, not now, come on," he said, but his smile didn’t seem as spontaneous. "We need to be honest with her, right? We can’t keep hiding what we feel."

Their eyes met for a moment, and you realized words weren’t necessary anymore. The tension between them, and your uncertainty, had reached a breaking point. Everything that had gone unsaid between you was finally coming to the surface.

[uselesseaweedbrain]

Supercorptober - 14. Chill

Lena had knocked on Kara’s door, begging for help, and Kara had opened. Lena had stayed, and Kara had listened.

They had made a plan, to corner Lex and Leviathan - it would work, this time, and then maybe they could, too.

Lena had toiled in her hidden laboratory, away from Lex’s prying eyes, and she had built herself an armour - nano-bots, the swarm enveloping her in a full body-suit that rivalled (eclipsed) the Lexo-suit.

When Kara and the Super-friends confronted Lex, Lena was there, clad in her armour. 

When Nia’s gun sputtered, Lena was there.

When the Kryptonite fell out of its chamber, and Kara’s veins filled with green, Lena was there.

Lena was there, too, as Alex stood, loaded it in her own gun, aimed, and fired at Lex.

Lena was there as her brother got hit and Kara got up, Kryptonite still pulsing in her veins. 

Lena was there when Lex got up, unharmed but no longer immortal; and smirked.

Lex, who had been shot, and utterly beaten, was smirking, one arm hidden behind his back.

Lena knew her brother better than anyone. He was hiding something, another trick up his sleeve, something they hadn’t seen coming-

Lena didn’t blink.

Lena didn't blink, but somehow she missed it - the moment Kara stepped in front of her.

Supergirl was just there, suddenly, without warning, a shield and a buffer, between Lena and whatever Lex had planned.

But then again- hadn’t Kara always done that?

Oh.

Realisation hit Lena like a knife in the chest.

No. No, no, no- 

"Goodbye, Supergirl.” Lex’s smile widened. “Good riddance!”

Lex pressed his thumb against the side of his latest toy.

Lena lifted her arm to fire.

Too late.

The Phantom Zone Projector whirred to life, Lena’s laser still captive in her suit.

Time slowed to a stop as the Projector cast an eerie azure light on them all, pointing directly at Kara, everyone else frozen still-

Lena wanted to scream, to move, to push Kara out of the way- but none of her members were responding, and all she could do was watch, in slow-motion, as the chill and the blue retreated and sucked Kara away with them.

Not Kara, not her, not Kara, please-

The superhero was already becoming translucent, intangible and out of reach, soon forever lost to the world, soon prisoner of her worst nightmare-

And Lena couldn’t move.

Not her, not again-

It should have been me.

“Kara!” Lena yelled; all that came out was a murmur, her vocal chords numb.

Still, Kara heard. Kara turned, her muscles struggling as she fought to resist the pull, a resolute smile painted across her lips-

I love you, she mouthed. The sound didn’t reach; the words did.

Assuredly, this wasn’t real- Time wouldn’t have stopped just for them, just for Lena, and Kara wouldn’t have fought just to say that, and, most importantly- Kara didn’t love her.

But if this was real- 

Lena wasn’t taking any chances.

“Take me with you”, she demanded, because they couldn’t end like this, wouldn’t, when they hadn’t even started.

Lena could see Kara’s neck muscles, taut with tension, her jaw clenched and her tendons strained, yet Kara managed a slight shake of the head and the beginning of her signature smile before she turned back, visibly trembling from exhaustion-

“Kara!” Lena screamed. Her voice worked this time, golden tendrils in her throat and a pulsing light in her veins.

Lena reached out, and the gold stretched out as if to hold Kara back, wrapping around her hand like an intangible lifeline.

Too late, again.

Time had resumed, and the portal had closed, severing all ties between Kara and Earth forever - all of them, but the golden string still tied around Lena’s finger.

***********************************************************************************************

Ever since, Lena had worked relentlessly to bring Kara back, barely sleeping, stopping only on the verge of exhaustion.

The Super-friends thought it was her guilt, prompting her, and it assuredly played a part, but-

There was this stubborn pull on her index finger, this golden string that no one else could see-

And ever since Kara had been sucked through to the Phantom Zone, Lena could hear her in her head.

Hear her in snippets, hear her beg for mercy, hear her yell her name, and Alex’s, and others’, in a desperate cry. 

Hear Kara talk to her directly, sometimes.

It should have been impossible. It was driving Lena crazy, crazier- 

It's cold, Lena. So cold. I didn't think I would ever be back here.

And sometimes Lena would catch herself answering back, because- if she couldn't soothe Kara, the real one- maybe she could at least make do with the imaginary voice in her head. 

You'll be okay, Kara. I promise. I'll bring you back, whatever it takes. I'll bring you back.

I believe you, imaginary Kara would say. 

Why? Lena would ask, foolishly - wasn’t she just talking to herself?

I’ve always believed in you, Lena.

How could it be exactly Kara's voice? Exactly Supergirl's shade of hope?

Lena didn’t know, couldn’t explain it, but if every Luthor was destined to go mad, Lena decided - Kara’s voice damning her was a mercy.

***********************************************************************************************

There were dreams, too, or- nightmares. 

Lena had had nightmares through the years, Lillian's cold smiles, Lionel's drunk tantrums, Lex going mad, Eve's betrayal, Adam's death, Kara wearing Lex's smile as she came clean, her mother dying-

She'd had nightmares through the years, but none like these. None where the emotions felt foreign but all the same familiar, none where she was extraordinarily affected yet not at all in control.

None where she watched herself die.

Lena feared many things - hubris, madness, abandonment -, but death wasn't one of them.

Yet there was a new voice in her head, and a new pull on her finger, and a newfound terror in her heart as she watched herself from the eyes of another, dying, over, and over, and over again. 

Lena had never cared about her own safety before. This time, though, unexplainably, watching herself die was like being skewered through the heart-

She just wanted to make it stop.

She saw her own lifeless body on the floors of CatCo, saw herself be carried in strong arms, saw Alex try to revive her, felt her own (was it her own?) despair and fear as the-one-who-was-her-but-wasn’t blowed gently on her limp body to lower her temperature.

She saw herself again, be thrown against the ground by Metallo, felt green creep into her (not hers, but then why did she feel the burn so clearly?) veins, her helpless, agonising body too weak to move.

"Don't hurt her!”, she-who-wasn’t-she screamed - her voice foreign, yet all too familiar. Kara. Why do I have Kara’s voice?

Lena saw herself in situations that seemed invented, too- she gazed at herself in a Metallo suit, her heart beating green and her face expressionless as she - as Lena - blasted the-body-she-shared-with-dream-Kara  with concentrated Kryptonite. 

"I'm sorry", their body said in Kara’s voice again, still gazing at unforgiving green, but they didn't fight, didn't try to get up, relief and pain overwhelming them before unconsciousness took over.

She saw herself with blonde children with green eyes, high cheekbones, running on the shore of a planet that was decidedly not Earth, saw a statue of herself in a lab coat on the main plaza - Lena Luthor, saviour of Argo, the plaque read.

Saw the planet erupt into flames and their world dissolve into nothingness and heard Kara’s voice-

Not again, please, not again- Rao- not them- not Lena, not them-

And then Lena inescapably woke up with a gasp, a scream stuck in her throat and her heart beating into overdrive-

A voice in her head calling her name.

Lena? Lena! Lena, please tell me you’re alive, please tell me this wasn’t real, Lena-

I’m here, she’d inevitably answer. This wasn’t real, Kara. It was just a nightmare.

This wasn’t real. This was just a nightmare, Kara, I promise. And Lena would repeat these words like a mantra, on a loop, forever, if it meant imaginary Kara would believe them.

Eventually, imaginary Kara did, the ache in Lena’s chest subsiding - and the throbbing on her index finger fading away.

***********************************************************************************************

It took Lena a while to figure out that the dreams weren’t hers, the fears weren’t hers, the voice in her head wasn’t hers.

Regardless, the realisation hadn’t helped.

Lena didn’t understand and didn’t want to try, lest she discovered that there was nothing to understand but obsession, guilt, and her slow descent into madness. 

So Lena doubled down on the science, working restlessly until she finalised the Q-wave detector and called Alex to her side. 

“Alex. I think I found a way to bring her home.” 

Hope filled Lena’s voice as she exposed her strategy to Alex, minutely explaining every detail with more enthusiasm than she’d shown in months. Her plan could work. It could work - it was the only tangible plan they’d had in weeks, and Lena was ecstatic. 

“There’s just one thing,” she finished. “I am going to need a piece of Kara to bring her back. Something to trace her, to identify her, to calibrate the Q-wave detector.”

Wordlessly, Alex handed her the crystal she’d been toying with for weeks.

Lena gawked.

“This crystal contains Kara’s digital signature. I want you to use it to find her.”

Alex’s hand was still hanging in the air as Lena shook her head in disbelief.

“I’m hopeful I can find her, but, there are no guarantees, Alex, and, if I use it- you’ll lose the recording forever-“

Alex presses it into her palm, and Lena gapes at the certainty in the agent’s gaze.

“I trust you, Lena.”

Of course she does, Kara’s voice echoes. I did, too. Even if I was terrible at showing it.

***********************************************************************************************

Lena’s success had been short-lived, Alex tearing her heart - both their hearts - to shreds before Lena could even celebrate.

Because the city was in danger. Because “Kara would have picked others before herself“. Because Alex wouldn’t do that to her sister, letting thousands die to save her. 

But Lena wasn’t Kara, Lena wasn’t Alex, Lena was selfish and she would-

The device flew out of her hand and into Alex’s, the agent’s guilty eyes her only apology.

I’m sorry, Kara, I’m so sorry, she took it, and now- 

Lena’s despair must have seeped through the cracks because imaginary Kara’s elusive voice answered immediately.

It’s okay, Lena. It’s okay. You did the right thing, you both did the right thing. 

But you- you’re still stuck there, Kara! While we’re saving thousands of people we’re letting you suffer in this horrible place-

I’ll be okay, Lena. Just- please, don’t leave me. Don’t leave me again.

Lena doesn’t have any idea how she could be leaving a voice in her head behind, but even if she could-

I wouldn’t dream of it.

***********************************************************************************************

Alex had saved the city, with Lena’s creation and Kara’s last hope.

“There’s always another way, Lena. Kara taught us that”, she’d lectured - Lena had scoffed at the empty reassurance and raged at the denial, resentment burning like acid in her throat at the utilitarian choice, because- 

Lena had looked for seven weeks, and- 

There was no other way.

***********************************************************************************************

Imaginary Kara had been almost silent since then, her voice growing weaker in Lena’s head, and it felt like she was giving up, but she couldn’t give up. Lena wouldn’t let her.

Except that Lena and Brainy, together, had not come up with anything new in days. 

“It’s not working, Lena! It’s not working! We’ll never find a way to localise her, because science cannot make miracles, and we just burnt our last trace of Kara so we could save people who will never even be grateful to her! We don’t have anything- anything, you hear me, nothing linking us to her, and- it hurts, it hurts so much, Lena, I miss her, I miss her-”

Brainy’s tirade ended in a desperate cry, echoed by the tears on Lena’s cheeks and the agonising cramping of her lungs.

Lena didn’t believe in magic. She didn’t believe in magic, but Kara’s voice rung out in her head and Kara’s pain squeezed her heart in her chest and a golden string was wrapped around her finger-

You really don’t believe in magic? Imaginary Kara chose this precise moment to pipe up, curious and alert for the first time in days.

Lena’s relief was palpable, her reply instantaneous. 

I believe in you.

Lena could feel imaginary Kara smile at her answer; in her head, from another dimension. Impossible. Crazy. 

But in the end- what did Lena have to lose?

“Brainy, do you believe in magic?”

Brainy wiped away his tears, taking a moment to compose himself before answering. 

“Do you think it might help?”

“I- You think it’s real?”

Brainy nodded. “It is. Magic has been referenced and studied and wielded by dozens of thousands of civilisations along the years. Humans seem to have unfortunately forgotten it, but it certainly exists. Magic permeates the very air around us - however, only a select few individuals are blessed with the ability to perceive it, and manipulate it at will. I believe Earthlings call them witches.”

“I think a link was created between Kara and I before the portal closed. And- if it’s real- do you think we could use it to find her?”

“What kind of link?”

Lena extended her right hand for observation. Brainy simply frowned.

“Why are you showing me your hand?”

“Around my pointer finger, there’s- never mind. It’s probably stupid.”

“Tell me, Lena.”

Lena took in a deep breath, her eyes lifting daringly to look straight at Brainy.

“There’s a golden string tied around my pointer finger. And I think it may lead to Kara."

Brainy cocked his head, a curious glint in his still wet eyes and the beginning of a smile on his lips.

“In that case- I have something that just might work.”

A few seconds later, Brainy was whipping out a leather-bound grimoire that looked like it had transcended millennia.

“Is this a magic book?”

Brainy smirked. “What better tool for a witch?”

***********************************************************************************************

It took a few hours for Lena to wrap her head around the notion of witches - the shock lessened by Kara’s voice in her head, providing trivia about the first line of witches on Krypton.

After, Lena had to dedicate a few days to complete her reading of the book, filled with various amounts of dramatic statements and warnings, interspersed with what seemed like truly valuable information.

Lena pointedly ignored the flowery language and the cautionary injunctions, focusing instead on the information the book held on magic control, magic manipulation, and the art of finding. 

The first step was obvious, described unambiguously in the first pages of the book: Lena needed to learn to access her magic.

Clear as the process may be - whichever instructions Lena followed, whatever many hours of meditation she subjected herself to- nothing seemed to work.

I’m sorry, Kara. I’m so sorry, I’m stuck, and I can’t- it won’t come- I can’t control it.

You don’t have to. Just- have you tried trusting yourself? Letting it come to you?

I- But what if it blows up? What if I can’t control it? What if I go crazy and my powers go rogue?

You won’t. They won’t. These powers are part of you, Lena. They won’t betray you. I know I- An immaterial self-deprecating laugh. I know I did, but- you never deserved it. You deserved to be trusted and loved and cherished and I’m sorry, Lena, I am so sorry, but this was always my fault. My own fears, my own insecurities, my own shortcomings. Your powers are a part of you, and they are good, and kind, like you. I know I have no right to ask this of you anymore, but- trust yourself for me?

***********************************************************************************************

When golden smoke finally materialised and shimmered over Lena’s hands, she didn’t dare breathe for a handful of seconds, afraid the illusion would dissipate and take their delusional hope with it.

The smoke persisted.

“I did it”, Lena whispered, her voice tainted with disbelief.

I did it, Kara. I did it! I did it. I will bring you home.

“I did it!”, Lena yelled out loud, in relief and exhilaration, her own voice startling in the emptiness of the Tower.

She hadn’t noticed how late it had gotten, the hands of the clock ticking dangerously close to three A.M.. 

Alex had long given up on trying to coax her into going home at a decent hour.

As a matter of fact, Lena’s nightly stays had gotten so frequent that J’onn had set up an actual bed in the Tower for her after she’d fallen asleep at her desk one too many times, and woken up with agonising neck pain.

I did it, Kara, Lena repeated in her head.

Never doubted you, Kara’s voice answered, quietly, but with such conviction that Lena felt her chest grow a little fuller.

Lena didn’t know when she’d started believing that the voice in her head was really Kara (maybe she always had). 

Lena didn’t know, either, when what she would have dismissed as empty reassurances had  once again become her primary source of comfort.

***********************************************************************************************

The location spell, facilitated with the string still stubbornly tied to Lena’s pointer finger, only took her the better part of the night.

When the sun rose, waking Lena from her accidental slumber, and Alex came in, bearing coffee and her signature worried frown, she was met with a radiant smile and the mark of the leather’s carvings on Lena’s cheek.

“I did it, Alex. I found her.”

Alex quirked a sceptical brow, an incredulous look on her face. Lena just raised her hand in response, palm open.

There,  inscribed in golden light, dancing on the inside on her palm, was a set of four unstable coordinates.

Alex traced them with her finger, a disbelieving smile painted across her lips. “You did it, Lena”,  she murmured. “You really did it.”

***********************************************************************************************

Boarding J’onn’s ship and guiding it to Kara turned out a surprisingly easy task, the coordinates acting like a beacon, the golden thread like a compass. 

The sunlight grenades that Lena had designed but never gotten to make - finished by Brainy a few days after the witch discovery - illuminated the ghastly plane in vibrant yellow as Kara regained the power of flight, and rose majestically to the space-ship.

Lena watched in amazement - her best friend returning to her - the thread around her finger thrumming as Kara got closer.

Alex was the first to be hugged, Kara’s head burying in her collarbone. Then came J’onn, his fatherly embrace drawing tears, then Brainy, oddly in tune with his emotions, then Nia, the long lost daughter, then-

Only Lena was left.

She hadn’t noticed she was crying until she felt wetness on her cheeks. Imaginary Kara was silent, the phantom pain in Lena’s chest soothed somewhat, and Kara- Kara was looking at her.

Lena felt the tug again - in her chest, this time - and she complied, putting one foot in front of the other until-

Kara must have felt the tug, too, but she remained still, only opening her arms. Lena’s choice. It was always Lena’s choice, with Kara. Maybe it would be with Supergirl, too.

Lena took the final step, Kara’s arms closed around her, and the tug relented, something ancient and powerful singing in Lena’s veins as she melted into Kara’s embrace.

She could feel her body light up at Kara’s contact, indescribable warmth coursing over her skin as she revelled at the presence of her best friend.

Kara had closed her eyes contentedly, Lena’s head buried in her collarbones, so none of them saw- but the others stared in amazement as impalpable gold swirled around them like a consecration.

Gold was still settling when Kara opened her eyes.

“Oh”, she said, and Lena reluctantly lifted her head from the crook of Kara’s neck, particles of light dancing and shimmering around her.

“Oh”, Lena echoed in turn.

Her cheeks burnt at the involuntary display, and Lena promptly hid her blush by dropping her head against Kara’s shoulder.

I was just happy to see you, I think.

A wet chuckle, then:

“It’s only because you’re on the team that I’m here.”

I was so happy to see you, too.

Lena sniffled, and tried to silence imaginary Kara - You’re not real, she thought. You’re not real, and Kara is back, so let me-

Real Kara broke their embrace, her hands finding Lena’s like opposite magnets, her tantalising gaze fixated on Lena-

You think I’m not real? 

Well-

“Wow, talk about out-staging us, Lena.” Alex’s voice cut them — Lena and her lively imaginary friend — off; and Lena felt, more than saw, Kara’s hands slide out of hers at the interruption. 

“The gold was a bit much, don’t you think?”, Alex teased, a knowing smirk on her lips.

For the second time in a handful of seconds, Lena felt blood rush to her face. 

Luckily, Alex didn’t dwell on the subject, apologising to Kara instead for Kelly’s absence.

***********************************************************************************************

The rest of the afternoon passed in a whirlwind of emotional reunions and necessary catch-ups.

Lena assisted to most of it, electing to take the backseat as a silent observer. 

Because the Super-friends were a family, to which Lena didn’t belong. 

Kara had hugged her, sure, but they had so many unresolved tensions, so many grievances, so many wounds, that- Lena wasn’t sure she would ever be part of Kara’s family again (had she ever been part of it in the first place?).

It happened once, then twice, then a dozen times- Kara searching for Lena’s eyes across the room, the intensity of her gaze enough for the insistent tug on Lena’s finger to let up for a moment.

And then, as Lena was about to leave, making eye contact with Kara, who was in a deep discussion with Nia about her growth as Dreamer:

Meet me at my apartment, in an hour?

Kara hadn’t spoken but Lena had heard her, clear as day, Kara’s eyes bearing the silent question like an unspoken challenge.

Kara’s gaze is still on her, so Lena nods imperceptibly.

I’ll be there, she thinks, and she can swear that she sees real-Kara smile. 

***********************************************************************************************

You’re just a figment of my imagination. You’re not real. 

Lena is waiting in front of Kara’s apartment. She’s ten minutes in advance - not wanting to take chances with imaginary-Kara’s demands. Sue her.

You’re not real, you’re not real, you’re not real-

“What if I am, Lena?”

It’s real-Kara’s voice, spoken out loud in the open air of the corridor, that startles Lena out of her thoughts.

“Kara! You scared me!”

Kara smiles slightly, brushing past Lena as she makes her way to her door, unlocks it, pushes it open.

“Sorry,” she shrugs sheepishly.

Only after the door closes behind them do Kara’s words finally reach Lena’s brain.

“Did you- Kara, what did you just say?”

What if I am real? Imaginary Kara answers, and Kara simply watches, silent, one expectant eyebrow raised.

“But you- you’re not- you can’t be-“

“I am. And I can hear you, too.”

Lena only notices her hands are shaking when Kara takes them into hers, her voice soft, so soft, as she inquires:

“Alex told me how you found me. How you crafted the spell. Don’t you have to believe in magic for your powers to work? Didn’t you have to believe that it was real for you to rescue me?”

“Yes, but then- all the dreams- the conversations-“

“They were real, for me. The nightmares- that’s what the Phantom Zone does to its prisoners. Torture them with their deepest fears, forever. But I was supposed to go through that alone, Lena, and somehow- I could feel you there with me. So. I wanted to say that I’m sorry. I’m so sorry you had to go through that, too, because of me. Rao knows you didn’t deserve any of it.”

Neither did you.

Kara’s throat bobs and Lena steps closer, burrowing herself in Kara’s arms, her own arms sealing their hold on her ex-best friend as if she’s liable to disappear any second.

Did it help? Lena thinks. Being bound to me?

“Yes,” Kara whispers. “So much. I- I don’t think I would have survived without you. Not the second time around. Having your voice in my head, being able to hear it, it tethered me to reality, to you-”

Kara’s voice breaks.

You have no idea in how many ways you saved me.

“You saved me, first,” Lena murmurs, her nose pressed against Kara’s neck, her lips almost brushing Kara’s skin.

I love you, too, she thinks, too chicken to say it out loud; but if Kara’s smile against her collarbone is any indication, Kara heard. I’m sorry I didn’t say it back.

S’okay. I didn’t deserve it.

Lena has heard imaginary-Kara being self-deprecating before, but this is real-Kara, and-

Lena breaks the hug to look Kara in the eyes, tone serious and focused as she states:

“You did deserve it. You deserve the world, Kara, but I- didn’t see any of it until you were ripped away, and sent on your own to this God-awful place-”

I wasn’t on my own. I had you.

Lena’s breath is a shudder.

You always have me, Kara. 

For how long?

However long you want me.

Lena thinks whatever spell ties them together must have suddenly stopped working. Seconds elapse like an unstoppable flow, yet Kara doesn’t answer, gives no indication that she’s heard besides the barely noticeable tremors of her shoulders against Lena’s - is Lena imagining them?

Lena’s hold tightens on Kara and Kara’s trembling must be real, because her voice is unsteady, and so small, when she says:

“I’ve always wanted you, Lena. I don’t think I could ever stop.”

“I’ve always wanted you, too.” Lena confesses in Kara’s ear, and Lena feels the dam break in her own chest as Kara’s tremors morph into sobs; big, ugly, irrepressible ones.

Lena is holding her, so Kara can break. After all- Lena has always been so good at putting the pieces of her back together.

************************************************************************

Edit:

NSFW ending here!!!!!!

[koiiiji]

Pls feed starving wootwoot fics pls 🥹😭😭😭🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️

soft and charming

tw ; cheating, manipulation, Eugene being obsessive

summary ; Eugene considered himself as a smart guy. definitely higher then just above average. but what he never understood is women and their logical decisions. how in the hell girl like you could ever choose an absolute garbage person like your current boyfriend? Eugene could never justify this decision.

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Eugene had always considered himself a smart guy — definitely sharper than just average. he had a keen sense of logic, a well-organized mind, and a way of seeing things most others didn’t. but when it came to women? he could never quite make sense of them. they were a puzzle wrapped in contradictions, and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t quite figure them out.

take you, for example. you were sweet, a little naive perhaps, but full of life. Eugene watched you from the sidelines sometimes, fascinated by your presence. you were the kind of girl who always wore that genuine smile, effortlessly charming everyone around you. you talked to him, to his friends, you sang little melodies when you were happy, and you were kind — always willing to listen, to laugh, to support. Eugene was captivated.

it was like you were too good for this world, too pure to be caught in the mess of people like that guy you called your boyfriend.

that pig.

Eugene hated him. he couldn’t stand how that sorry excuse for a man treated you. the way he threw his hands over you as if you were just another one of his miserable, low-life buddies. the dirty comments, the vulgar jokes, the way he slapped you on the back like you were some sort of plaything. it made Eugene’s blood boil.

you deserved better.

but what you did? you just laughed. that soft, innocent giggle that made Eugene’s chest tighten. you didn’t know, did you? that you were worth so much more than him. that your boyfriend didn’t deserve the kindness you gave so freely. but you didn’t know any better. Eugene couldn’t blame you for that. after all, you were a sweet, airy thing who lived in a world of sunshine and dreams. you hadn’t seen the darkness yet.

but it wasn’t just your boyfriend that irked him. it was the way you’d speak about him during lunch breaks, with that naive excitement. “oh, he sent me a message!” you’d gush, as if it was the grandest gesture in the world. Eugene knew the truth. that dry message — actually answer for your message — was nothing more than the bare minimum. and yet, you were so happy about it. that’s when Eugene realized : you were still a little girl when it came to boys. you didn’t know how to read the signs, how to know when someone was just using you. he’d seen it all before — guys like that.

but he was different. you didn’t know the full story, of course. Eugene kept his personal life separate from his school persona. you only knew him as the sweet, nerdy guy who always was target of bullying, along with his friend and younger brother. what you didn’t know was that Eugene had his own "business" outside of school — business he kept under wraps. he made sure you never got mixed up in it. he didn’t want to corrupt that innocent part of you, that part that made him feel like he had to protect you from everything ugly in the world.

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Eugene leaned against the wall of the quiet alley, his phone in hand. a wry smirk tugged at his lips as he scrolled through the photos one of his Workers had sent him. there it was : clear, undeniable evidence of your boyfriend’s infidelity. a cozy snapshot of him locking lips with some girl at a nightclub, his hands wandering where they shouldn’t. Eugene had orchestrated the whole thing, of course. it wasn’t difficult — guys like him were predictable, ruled by their impulses. all it took was the right bait, a little nudge, and the rest unfolded like clockwork.

what followed was just as planned. the carefully timed "leak" of the photos to the right people ensured the news spread like wildfire through school. by lunchtime, it was all anyone could talk about. and you? poor, sweet you. you hadn’t been spared the whispers, the pitying glances, the thinly veiled gossip.

it worked. of course, it worked. his plans always works.

Eugene tucked his phone into his pocket and walked into the courtyard where he knew he’d find you. there you were, sitting on the edge of a bench, your shoulders trembling as you clutched your phone in your hands. your usual glow — the light he adored — was dimmed, your eyes puffy and red. you looked fragile.

good. vulnerability suited you. vulnerability needed protection.

taking a deep breath, Eugene softened his expression into one of pure concern as he approached. “hey…” his voice was gentle, soothing. “are you okay?”

you looked up, startled, and for a second, Eugene’s heart clenched at the sight of the tears streaming down your face. it wasn’t guilt — he didn’t regret what he’d done. but seeing you hurt, even for a moment, sparked an ache in his chest. still, this was necessary. a temporary pain to save you from something far worse.

“he… cheated on me,” you choked out, your voice cracking. “i can’t believe he —” another sob wracked your body, and you clamped a hand over your mouth as if to stifle it.

Eugene was by your side in an instant, sliding his blazer off and draping it over your trembling shoulders. “what?” he said, feigning shock, his brows furrowing. “are you serious? how did you find out?”

your hand shook as you showed him the photos someone had sent you. he recognized them immediately, of course, but his reaction was flawless. his lips parted in disbelief, his eyes narrowing as if in anger. “i… i don’t even know what to say. that… jerk. how could he do this to you?”

you sniffled, curling into his blazer like it was the only shield you had against the world. “i thought he loved me. i thought i mattered to him…”

Eugene clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening as he forced the perfect amount of restrained rage into his voice. “he’s an idiot. you gave him everything, and he threw it all away. he doesn’t deserve you.”

your tears flowed freely now, and Eugene leaned closer, wrapping an arm around you. he felt you collapse into his side, your fingers clutching at his shirt like a lifeline. “i feel so stupid,” you whispered. “how did i not see it?”

“no,” Eugene said firmly. he tilted your chin up with gentle fingers so you had to meet his eyes. “you’re not stupid. you trusted him, and he betrayed you. that says everything about him and nothing about you.”

your lips trembled, and Eugene took the opportunity to pull you back into his chest, letting your tears soak into his shirt. his heart swelled. this was where you belonged, where you were safe. with him. not with someone who saw you as an accessory, a conquest. someone who could never appreciate the light in you the way he did.

as you cried, Eugene rubbed soothing circles on your back, whispering soft reassurances. “it’s okay,” he murmured. “i’m here. you’re not alone in this. i’ve got you.”

and he did. he’d always have you, even if you didn’t realize it yet. this was just the beginning. the world was cruel, but Eugene? Eugene would protect you from it. he’d make sure you never had to face it alone.

of course, you’d never know the part he played in your heartbreak. you didn’t need to. all you needed to know was that Eugene was there for you now, just as he always would be. and when the time came, you’d see what he already knew : that he was the one who truly cared for you. the only one who ever really would.

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