#the more something is forced down my throat

[ozzgin]

Have you ever wanted to date your very own Dostoyevsky-inspired protagonist? content: gender neutral reader, obsessive and violent behavior, utterly miserable yandere

Yandere!Soldier never wanted to join the military, you see. He's an intellectual, a philosopher whose cards were dealt by a cruel hand. He had no choice but to find something to do, a guaranteed ticket out of poverty. His family came from a crumbling village, another source of great frustration; ragged imbeciles with no dreams or ambitions. They lived to survive, nothing more, nothing less. He was the outsider.

Yandere!Soldier hated every minute of his training. Oh, the misery of having to share a room with violent brutes. They didn't care to discuss Julien Sorel's struggles within the French aristocracy in Stendhal's The Red and the Black. How could they understand? If only they had a glimpse into the harsh truth of life, they wouldn't display such moronic smiles on their faces.

Yandere!Soldier was an inveterate nihilist. That, of course, until he met you. Perhaps life wasn't so pointless, after all. It was a mere coincidence, an accidental encounter. His fatalism had eaten him from inside out, and he was looking for an excuse to end it all. If you rejected his approach, he would've found the nearest bridge. That was his plan. Except, well, you went along with it. God, and what bright eyes you had, looking up at him without any hint of disgust. He could see his own sunken face in their reflection.

Yandere!Soldier frequently smells of alcohol. The strong, handmade kind that he keeps stashed in large water jugs. You've been offered a glass once, but it turned your stomach upside down and burned your throat. Moreover, he's a heavy smoker, especially if you're not there to keep him company. You always marvel at the abrupt difference in conduit, his deep frown turning into a genuine smile whenever you're nearby.

Yandere!Soldier has many bouts of utter despair and crippling jealousy. What are you doing with a plebeian like him? Condemned to follow the orders of highly ranked pigs, drowning in debt, and without anything to offer. He's a pathetic, pitiful miser. Surely that grin of yours is a nothing but a mockery, a bone thrown to a tramp. His grip around your throat tightens. "My bad," he croaks, "I must've...I wasn't paying attention. Forgive me."

Yandere!Soldier is determined to conquer the world. He'll crawl his way up on all fours if he has to. His newfound willpower is all thanks to you, and only you. You've now become a vital part of his existence, the mechanism that keeps his gears spinning properly. He could never let you go. He'll prove to you just how worthy he is of your blessing, of your warmth, of your innocence.

Yandere!Soldier is in a particularly good mood. He lifts you up and spins you around, overwhelmed by rapture. He's going to make it. He just knows it, deep in his heart, that he's not like everyone else. Indeed, me may very well be a Napoleon of his times, forced to do with scraps. No matter: if he wasn't given the fortune, he'll snatch it with his own claws. And you - you better be at his side once all of this ends, and he's mauled his way to the top. A great man needs a great partner, and for him, there's no one else but you.

"Let me be clear, this is just a placeholder," he says, sliding the ring further down your finger. "It's rather cheap, and not too stylish, but it will do for now. It's a symbol, you see, a mere reminder that you're mine. Don't ever remove it."

[All Yandere Stories]

[nsharks]

bleeding blue | apocalypse au

part twenty-seven —other parts

pairing: Simon “Ghost” Riley x fem!reader words: 3.2k tags: death. blood. cannibalism mention. zombies of course. AFAB reader. single dad ghost. there will be sex!!! SEX. enemies to lovers. summary: After losing your companions, you run into a skull-masked man and his daughter. They are your last hope for survival.

It is difficult to tell who lifts the mask.

You think you start it, then he finishes it with a shove up to his nose. 

Your mouth claims his, ivy to stone.

His lips part for your tongue as your arms loop around his shoulders. His fingers dig in your scalp, sharp enough to draw a hiss, while his other arm yanks you closer by the waist, heat searing against your bare skin. It's not a kiss—too unruly for that. His tongue grazes your chin; you taste the edge of his nose. The world narrows to the harsh sound of your breathing, the scrape of your teeth, a tangible truth:

You want him, too. 

He pulls back with one great heave of breath just after the tear on your lip is reopened. A strand of pink-tinted saliva connects you. His eyes search your face, hesitation flickering in his gaze. “You didn’t answer my question.”

“I clearly just did.”

His jaw tightens. “I need words. Tell me you understand what you—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off, voice trembling with a mix of frustration and need. “Don’t act like I can’t make my own decisions. Like I can’t handle you.” Rising on your toes, you bite his lip, hard enough to draw a matching drop of blood. “I’ve handled you before—Simon."

A shudder wrenches his shoulders.

Your words rip a growl from his throat, snapping the last of his restraint.

His kiss devours you, raw and unforgiving, until everything else fades to red. Not blood, but something else, something you’ve kept hidden for longer than you care to admit. It burns in your chest—the terrifying realization that you might break if you don’t have him here and now.

His grip on your hair shifts to your thigh, lifting you with ease. Tree bark bites into your spine. You trail kisses down his jaw to the hollow below his ear. Your ankles lock around his waist, dragging up his shirt. The metal buckle of his belt presses where you ache, the friction drawing a sharp gasp. Even through the layers, he feels impossibly thick.

He forces your neck to the side, mouth sucking down your throat to your collarbone with urgent deliberation, as if he wants to memorize every inch but realizes neither of you possess the patience for it. He licks, then bites, the pain making your hips angle in upward seeking. Your reaction pulls a smirk from him. His teeth and tongue glide lower, and he hikes your damp bra up to expose your breasts.

"Fucking hell." A guttural exhale before hand and mouth devours them.

Thought evaporates.

Your chest turns sheen with spit.

You thrash against the tree, your nipple caught between his teeth. He teases it with a graze, then sinks in.

Heat punches the pit of your stomach with a ferocity that makes you cry out.

You claw at the back of his mask. "I need...I need—more."

He groans, low, staving the bite mark with his tongue. This time when he rolls the other nipple between teeth, it is in combination with two fingers slipping under your underwear. The muscles in your thigh jerk. A rough finger grinds circles into your clit, and another glides through the wet seam of you. It is impossible not to fight for more. Delirious with greed, you cant your hips down to slip his middle finger inside. 

He takes the hint and works a second finger into you. Your legs tighten around him in unending tremors that must make keeping his arm between your bodies uncomfortable, his wrist straining to reach you. Arousal leaks steadily onto his hand. You turn less vocal now that you're close, vision failing you, and he tongues at the shell of your ear with a growl.

"I'm not going to fuck you until you cum."

"I'm—"

Strong fingertips curl into the sensitive pad within you, coaxing an orgasm much stronger than the one you gave yourself. It beats through your blood in hot bursts, robbing you of the ability to keep your head up. You lean onto his shoulder, feeling it flex as he fucks his fingers once, twice, then three more times before drawing them out. Through the haze, you hear the drag of his tongue over them and then a soft wet release.

"You will give me more of that."

A flush consumes your face. Your lips part to speak; you can't—

"What happened to my mouthy girl?" he taunts in a murmur.

His tone snaps the world into focus. "She's here."

"I thought she could handle me."

You lift your head to narrow your gaze at his, despising the tick in his brow. "You are insufferable."

"Ah. There she is. I was worried I lost her."

The striking awareness that you are almost naked, while he is fully clothed head-to-toe, suddenly irritates you. You curl your fingers around the fabric bunched by his ear. "Take this off. I've already seen you. It's pointless now."

"You'll have to take it off yourself."

You’re about to move when he pins your wrist to the tree, then the other. A silent challenge. You squirm, but it only drags the belt across your sensitive cunt, making you hiss. You've been here before—restrained by him. But this time, his weakness is clear, a heavy, undeniable pressure pressing against you.

You nudge your nose against his and kiss the taste of yourself from his mouth with slow, ribbing strokes of your tongue. The change in pace makes him sigh into you. You give a swirl of your hips, grinding into him, staggering his breath. When he attempts to press again, seeking relief between the join of hip and thigh, you still your movements. He growls, squeezing your wrists. 

In his next try, you unlock your ankle and jab a knee into his ribs. 

He flinches, but doesn't loosen his grip, laughing softly. "A valiant attempt," he mutters.

"Shut up," you mumble, breath huffing out of you.

"Was that your entire plan?"

"I'm not fucking you until it's off, you know."

"Make more of an effort, then."

You drag your tongue over your lip, offering another flex of your hips that he meets with a twitch in his throat. You squeeze your thighs around his torso, anchoring yourself. "You are needy for this, too, Simon. Don't act like I am the only one." Your voice is hoarse; unrecognizable. You rock your hips steadily, latching your lips to the space above his collarbones. "I bet I could make you cum, just like this. You won't even need to be inside me."

With your panties bunched to the side, your arousal glides over him, staining his jeans. It is an experiment, really, but the thundering of his heart confirms your claim. He matches your movements with firm presses at the base of his clothed-cock. You taste the pulse in his vein beneath your tongue, swirling and nibbling, a smoldering heat blossoming in your stomach once more.

"I touched myself thinking about you," you whisper into his skin, ego swelling when his breath stills, then rushes out from his nose. "My fingers didn't feel nearly as good as yours." You purposely moan, almost a whine. Impossibly, he feels harder. Swelling towards release. His skin feels hotter. You nose the underside of his jaw. "You're going to cum soon, aren't you? I can tell. I haven't even taken off any of your clothes yet and you're going to cum. How does it feel to be weak for me?"

His jowls flex from your words and his hips buck with a mindlessness that makes you smile. The heat between you is obliterating. It almost crumbles your vengeance. But when he digs his nails into your wrists with a slight tremble, ashen lashes fluttering, you seize the moment just before he finishes. 

You bite the skin where his throat meets his jaw, just as you kick his ribs again. His eyes snap open, his hold faltering. He stumbles back, and you grapple his shoulders, forcing him to the ground. You fall on top of him, knees bracketing his hips, fingers moving swiftly to tear off the mask.

For a few seconds, you merely stare at each other, like a deer gazing at a hunter.

Face to face, truly, for the first time.

His face, flushed red, is even more handsome like this—rugged and scarred, bared at your mercy beneath you. It makes your heart falter over a beat. His hands drag down the notches of your spine, slow and deliberate, never breaking eye contact. Because you’re paying such close attention, you catch it—a sweeping glint in his gaze. Admiration, maybe. Or just lust.

You swallow thickly and give a tug to his shirt.

He rips it over his head.

A body mapped with scars that run deeper than your own.

You finish yanking the damp bra off.

Your underwear is next.

When you're both bare, exposed and raw, jeans bunched awkwardly at his ankles, the game ends. Neither of you are willing to play anymore. His fingers tighten around your hips as you grip his cock, heavy and slick with the evidence of the edge he was pulled from. You drag the fat head of him through your folds, just once, before lining him up with your hole and sinking down.

Pain flares. Either because it has been years since you've been stretched like this, or because he is just that thick. You hiss through your teeth and pause halfway down, scratching over the hard plane of his chest in search of relief. You feel him deep already, uncomfortably so, and his touch softens over your skin despite the veins sticking out in his neck.

"Take it slow."

"I can handle it."

"It's alright if you can't," his voice softens over the gravel in it.

"I can."

Stubbornly, you take another centimeter, then another, before slamming all the way down, the full length of him breaking through the last layer of resistance until you are fully seated. The press of his fingers into your ass is as rough as the exhale that follows. You feel him twitch within you, his balls heavy and tight, but he allows you the time to adjust, slowly rocking your hips until the discomfort teeters toward pleasure.

He is so big that the tip of him reaches a crevice between your inner wall and cervix. When your pace quickens, the pressure of his pubic bone on your clit makes your body quake with one fierce tremor. You fail to keep yourself upright, the jolt of it bringing your face to his neck. Strong arms flex around you, hands bracing your shoulder blades, to keep you anchored against his chest as his hips cant up to drive him—somehow—deeper. He is in you and around you. All at once. Every inch of grey rot living in you is replaced with damning hunger for him. You swirl and grind and bite his neck, breaking capillaries. 

"That's it, yeah." The raw grit in his voice makes your muscles clench around the base of him. "Take what you need." 

When his firm, neatly corded muscles begin to quiver, his movements lose their precision. He is trying to hold back from the ledge you left him on. His hand tangles in your hair, yanking you back from his neck, and his teeth sink into the tender skin below your ear as a distraction. His breaths come hot and quick, cooling the sweat slicking your skin.

You feel like a conglomerate of broken pieces about to be shattered, every carefully stitched seam straining, ready to snap. Your eyes roll back. Your toes flex and curl. You are so close—

Without warning, and all too soon, he lifts you off. 

"Fuck—"

His cock bobs between your bodies, liquid heat frothing over your stomach in pulses. His eyes are screwed shut, lips parted to let out a noisy rush of air, all of the hardened lines on his face unwoven in the wake of pleasure. You hover over him, blades of grass indented into your knees, watching with silent fascination despite the frustrated fizzle of your own approaching orgasm. When his eyes reopen, they are glazed and unfocused, yet somehow he had more wherewithal to remember pulling out than you did.

Then, he flips you over with a heaving push, cock still hard. You are neatly caged by the sprawl of his muscle, reminded that he easily could've overtaken you before if he wanted to.

"I can go again." It sounds as if he has to dig the words out with great effort, still breathless. 

You reach between your bodies to keep his slippery cock at bay near your thigh. "We can't. It wouldn't be safe after you just—just came."

His lashes flutter in resignation, a firm nod as he dips his head to your collarbones. He rests it there for a moment, likely ignoring the ache in his cock that vies for more attention, and you stare down at the flexing brawn of his back, at the firm swell of his ass. Then he kisses your sternum, over your heart, and sucks his way down the soft curve of your abdomen, gentle, chapped lips against faded bruises.  

When he reaches the raw flesh between your thighs, he lifts your legs and urges your feet on his back. His nose nudges your clit, inhaling deeply the scent of where you'd just been joined, and your breath hitches in anticipation. 

He kisses you here, a curious circle of his tongue around your clit that mimics his finger, before sliding through the slippery seam. When you fist his hair and dig your heels into his shoulders, his gentleness ceases. He closes his entire mouth on you, working furiously to reignite the heat from your spine, which arches off the ground in desperation, driving your puffy cunt harder against the pad of muscle. You grind your hips in combination with pulling on his hair, keeping his tongue right where you need it. It strokes your hole, pushing in and out.

"That's so good, Ghost. So good. I'm—"

You cum hard on his tongue, free hand fisting the grass. It is less of a precipice that you fall off of, and more a crashing wave, like the one you nearly drowned in, but this time you let it sweep you, searing white through the backs of your eyelids. He keeps his tongue there to catch the leakage with an obscenely wet sound you barely hear over the ringing in your ears. By the time it fades, you feel wrecked, spit out on the shore, your mind blank. The wave recedes. 

You hear a soft grunt and then his forehead drops on your sticky belly. The tremor in his shoulders indicates his own release, which he emptied in the grass.

You lay together like this for minutes.

Fingers mindless against his scalp.

Staring at the sky.

Awareness slowly seeps in as the sound of fluttering birds and the quiet ripples over the creak. 

The hum of life returns around you. You'd almost forgotten where you were or how you got here. How long has it been? Your fingers slacken in his hair as you gaze around, the silent trees your only witness, and the sun beginning to dip toward the horizon. The understanding sinks in that you are both absent, and returning together at dark would—

The thought is tucked away when strong arms lift you up, scooping under the crook of your knees.

He is able to walk steadily even when you aren't certain you could.

He carries the mess of your body to the water. The peaceful warmth of it converges over you, highlighting the soreness that you were able to ignore in the throes of it all. Wordlessly, and with a thoughtful crease between his brow, he holds you up with one arm while scrubbing your stomach with the other, rinsing off his essence. It is not an uncomfortable silence, just a thick one, only broken by little drips of water as he cleans you with more intent than you did the first time.

You try to piece together everything in your mind, but the thoughts slip through your fingers like the water. You don’t know what he’s thinking or feeling—a stark contrast to the clarity you found in the heat of him only minutes ago. His body has always been the more decipherable part of him, but now even the stiffness in his shoulders feels like a cipher you can’t crack.

When he leans down and presses a chaste kiss to your damp hair, it doesn’t feel affectionate, exactly. It’s not distant, either—just tender in a way you’re not sure how to interpret. The gnawing questions fill your brain: When was the last time he did this with someone? How many more times will you do it together? Not just once, he said. But what does that mean?

Why do you feel hesitant to ask, even though you were just brindled with confidence while riding his cock?

You try to wipe his own stomach but he brushes your fingers away and does it himself, nodding his chin toward your clothes. "Get dressed. You'll go first."

"Huh?"

"They think I am scouting up ahead right now. I'll be back later."

"Oh," you say, not able to conjure a meaningful response.

He raises an eyebrow at you but offers nothing else except a gentle thumbing over hair that sticks to your cheek. You follow his directions, returning to the grassy bank while the cool air prickles your wet skin. You feel his heavy stare as he watches you towel off, trying to ignore the obvious marks on your hips, stomach, ass, and collarbones. They taunt you with a blush to your cheeks. Luckily, when you slip on the oversized shirt, the majority of them are concealed, your hair finishing the job of covering your neck.

You've no idea what hour it could be when you return, feigning nonchalance, but the setting sun means Ghost won't be out there much longer. In his absence, you feel colder than the temperature truly is. The deep ache that ebbs and flows with each step proves him right. There is no going back after this. No—you will still be able to feel him, like a phantom, even when the soreness between your legs fades. What you are meant to do about that fact is something you can sort through later when you have the state of mind for it. 

Will you ever have the state of mind for it?

You push the voice away and keep your gaze lowered as you approach Nereida, returning the borrowed soaps. The others are gathered around the fire—Kyle eating, Blue and Ari laughing about something, while Price hunches over the map, finalizing tomorrow’s route.

"Was it relaxing?" she asks.

"Hm?"

You blink, bringing your gaze to her, and only now realizing that it is still rather droopy and blurred, the look in her eyes barely in focus as she tilts her head. "Your bath," she clarifies.

"Oh. Mhm." You nod, forcing a small smile. "Yeah, it was just what I needed. I'm actually, um, rather tired now. I think I will sleep early."

She drags her eyes over you, causing your weight to shift, before she returns the smile. "Sounds like a good idea. Long day tomorrow. You should eat first, though."

"Right," you concede, tongue to cheek.

Ghost returns in the midst of you shoveling beans into your mouth, knees tucked to your chest in front of the flames, and his silence as usual. He reports to Price about the clear motorway, his voice clinical, but you catch the subtle roughness beneath it—something no one else would notice, the only detectable trace of what you shared. What you told Nereida wasn't a lie, you feel robbed of energy, and can hardly muster the strength to tie your dried hair in two braids before tucking yourself in a sleeping bag, staring dazedly at the oncoming stars. 

[kirammanswifey]

arcane characters breaking up with you x fem reader

characters: viktor, jinx, vi, caitlyn, jayce, ekko, silco, mel and sevika.

writer's note: gosh i loovee drama i'ts so spicy and fun! btw i cried a lot with ekko's... anyways request are open, darlings ;)

reconciliation link:

alternative sad final link:

Viktor

The laboratory was shrouded in a deep silence, the kind of silence that feels heavy, as if the air itself was dense, pressing down on your chest. The light from the screens flickered in the darkness, casting shadows that moved with the rhythm of the science Viktor had created. He was there, motionless in front of the table covered in blueprints, his head lowered, as if struggling with something he couldn’t share.

You stood there for a moment, watching him in silence, waiting for him to break the silence, but something in his posture told you he wouldn’t. The distance between you felt greater than you could bear, and the knot in your stomach grew heavier with each passing second. Finally, you couldn’t take it any longer.

“Viktor…” Your voice trembled, but you forced it to sound strong. Every word felt like a challenge to your own fear. “What’s going on?”

He didn’t look at you, but his shoulders tensed. The sigh that escaped his lips was full of something you couldn’t recognize. It wasn’t frustration, nor exhaustion. It was something worse, something you already feared.

“You don’t understand, do you?” he finally said, his voice low but clear. “I can’t stop now. This is bigger than us. I can’t lose what I’ve been building. The machine… the transformation… It’s the only way to save myself, to save us.”

A cold shiver ran down your spine. It couldn’t be. You were sure you must have misheard, but the words kept echoing in your head like a drumbeat. It wasn’t just about science. It wasn’t just his obsession. Viktor was pushing you away. And the pain, the pain was unbearable.

You stepped forward, your heart pounding in your throat. How could he do this to you?

“Is that all I am to you?” Your voice was a whisper, but the venom of desperation was there, cutting through your words. “An obstacle? Something you have to leave behind? All this time, everything I’ve done for you… And this is what I get?”

Finally, Viktor looked at you. But it wasn’t the look you expected. His eyes, so cold, so distant, weren’t the eyes of the person you had known. It wasn’t the Viktor you had protected, the one you had loved. It was someone else, someone who no longer saw in you what they once did.

“I do love you, you know?” he said, his voice broken, as if the words were becoming harder and harder to say. “I love you more than you can imagine, but this… this is bigger than us. This is the future, and I can’t risk losing it because… because of something as small as my own feelings.”

The words came out of his mouth as though they were the only thing left inside him. And you, standing there in front of him, felt the ground crumbling beneath your feet. The pain, the betrayal, cut through you like blades.

“And what about us, Viktor?” you said, unable to stop the mix of anger and sadness in your voice. “What about everything we’ve shared? Everything we’ve been through together? Doesn’t that mean anything? Nothing to you?”

He took a step back, each word he spoke a wall being built between you two. With each word, you felt smaller, more invisible. As if he had already made his choice.

“I can’t go on. I can’t be the person you need. If I stay… if I stay with you, all of this… everything I’ve built, everything I am, will crumble. I can’t be that person anymore.”

The pain overwhelmed you in an instant. A silent sob began to rise, but you didn’t let it escape. The knot in your throat tightened, but the words couldn’t come out anymore. You felt empty, as if the air you were breathing was the same air that had killed everything that once meant something to you.

“Then, goodbye, Viktor.” Your words were a broken whisper. “I can’t wait for you to choose between me and your obsessions. I won’t stay here, watching you lose yourself in something you don’t even know what it is.”

Viktor didn’t say anything more. There was no attempt to stop you, no plea, not even a look of regret. Just the sound of his breathing, shallow, as if something inside him was breaking too, but it was too late.

The door slammed shut behind you, the sound of the wood ringing in your ears. And Viktor, inside, remained alone with his experiments, his machines, and the man who had decided that everything else had to go.

Jinx

You approached her softly, as you always did, trying to calm her, trying to make her focus on you again. But you knew this wasn’t the same Jinx who used to laugh and be unpredictable. Something in her gaze told you she had gotten lost, that her thoughts were no longer hers, that the chaos in her mind had taken control.

Suddenly, Jinx stopped moving. She stood still, staring into the void, and everything around her grew quieter. Then, she began to murmur, as if speaking to herself, but her words weren’t clear. You grew concerned, stepping closer, but that was when her body reacted violently, out of control.

You didn’t understand what was happening until you felt the sting of a blow. You hadn’t seen it coming, but the pain hit you instantly. In that moment, fear took over, and your body trembled as you tried to comprehend the magnitude of what had just happened. Jinx looked at you, but her eyes weren’t focused on you. She was trapped, lost in a hallucination.

The voices started. “Kill her! She’s going to betray you, Jinx! Kill her before she leaves you!” The voice was cruel, disdainful, so cold. And then, another voice, softer but equally terrifying: “She hates you. She doesn’t want you, Jinx. Let her go before you do it again!”

You froze, watching the confusion in her eyes, the terror on her face. This wasn’t her. This wasn’t the Jinx you knew. She was caught in an internal struggle, a battle that you couldn’t fight for her.

You stepped closer to her, despite the blood dripping from your nose and your trembling hands. Jinx was crouched down, her eyes lost in an empty space, her hands covering her face as if she could hide the pain and chaos she had just caused. But you knew you couldn’t run from this. You couldn’t leave her now. Not after everything you’d been through together. And not after the promise you made to her.

“Sweets,” you whispered, so softly that you weren’t even sure she could hear you. “Please, look at me.”

Tears kept falling from her eyes, but she didn’t see you. Jinx didn’t see you. And the blow she had struck you moments ago seemed like a distant memory compared to what was happening now: the emptiness she was feeling. The war in her head.

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry…” she whispered, her voice broken, shattered. “I didn’t want… I didn’t want to hurt you. I can’t… I can’t do it again. I… I hurt you.”

You knelt in front of her, searching for her eyes, feeling the knot in your throat. But she wouldn’t look at you. She was trapped. And you knew what that meant.

“Wake up, babe,” you said firmly, taking her hands. “I promised you. I won’t leave you. Not now, not ever.”

The voices in her mind began to rumble, like an overwhelming wave, growing louder, rougher. “She’s going to kill you! Kill her before it’s too late! It’s best for her! Do it now!”

“No… no,” Jinx said, covering her ears as if she could silence them. “No… I’ll hurt you… I don’t want to lose you! I swear I don’t want to hurt you, but I’m a monster!”

You stood up, forcing Jinx to look at you, taking her by the shoulders. “You’re not a monster. You’re not, Jinx. I promised you I wouldn’t leave you. I promised!”

But Jinx started sobbing, with a desperation so deep it hurt to see her like this. “You… you don’t understand. I’m the cause of all this. I’m the worst for you… It’s going to hurt so much if I stay close. You’re going to die! I’m the reason why you…”

“No!” you interrupted, gripping her hands tightly. “Don’t say that. I’m not leaving. I need you. You’re the only one who… who has understood me. Don’t leave me. I promised I’d be by your side.”

Jinx pulled away from you with a sigh, her face filled with guilt and desperation. “You deserve something better, something… more. You don’t have to stay. You don’t have to put up with my madness, you don’t have to stay for me.”

“I don’t want to be with anyone else!” you shouted, desperate. “You’re what I want. You’re what I’ve always wanted. Don’t leave me!”

But Jinx walked away, her steps wavering but firm. “I can’t… I don’t want to be the cause of your death, the cause of… the worst. You’ve given me everything, you’ve given me more than I deserve, but… you could be happy without me. I’m a burden, a curse. And… and I don’t want to lose you more. I don’t want to kill you.”

The voices in her mind grew more intense, more cruel: “Do it! Let her go, Jinx! She’s better off without you.”

“Wait!” you screamed, your eyes filled with tears. “You’re not a burden! I love you, Jinx, I love you! I promised I wouldn’t leave you alone, and I won’t leave you now!”

But Jinx’s words were clear, heartbreaking. “You… you’d be happy without me. I’m the reason for all the pain, for everything that’s made you suffer. And if I stay… I’ll hurt you, I’ll always do it.”

Jinx took a step back, her heart breaking inside, while you kept holding on to her. “I’m leaving. Because… because if I stay close, I’ll do the same thing as always. And you… don’t deserve that.”

“No,” you whispered, your voice broken but determined. “I need you. I need you, Jinx.”

But she was already so lost in her own mind that she couldn’t hear you.

She looked at you for a long moment, her eyes filled with guilt and sadness, and with a painful sigh, she turned away. “I’m sorry… I swear. I’m so sorry.” And in that instant, she left you behind.

Vi

When you enter the house, the sound of Vi limping towards you makes you take a step forward. You stay still, observing her wounds: a black eye, swollen lips, blood still dripping from a cut on her arm.

"Vi," you begin, anger taking over you, "You can't keep doing this! I can't see you like this! For a few damn coins? I can pay for everything you need, whatever you want, you don't have to do this!"

Vi shoots you a glaring look, her breath heavy from the effort, but her pride intact. "What do you know, huh? What the hell do you know about sacrifice? About fighting to survive, about having no other option but to fuck yourself over to get more than scraps?"

"You don't have to fight, Vi. You don't have to risk your life like this, for a few damn coins. I can give you whatever you want!" you shout, tears threatening to spill, the helplessness making your voice tremble. "I don't want you to hurt yourself for pride! I want you, and you're killing me seeing you like this!"

Vi takes a step back, her look as hard as stone. "I don't need anything from you! No money, no help! I can take care of myself, do you hear me? I'm not your damn fragile doll, I'm not your entertainment! I'm not your fucking fun."

"It's not that! It's not fun, I care about you, Vi! I can't stand seeing you destroy yourself over something so stupid!" Your breathing grows more ragged, your heart pounding hard in your chest. "I don't want you to keep destroying yourself for pride!"

Vi laughs bitterly, her tone cruel. "You think you're the only one who knows what it is to suffer? You think just because you're some princess from Piltover you can judge me for what I do, for what I am? You've never had to fight for anything in your life! You were born in a fucking silk bed, surrounded by luxuries, and you don't know what it's like to live in the shit, in the mud of Zaun."

The poison in her words hits you like a slap. "Why do you judge me like that when you know it's not true? I've told you, I want to help you, get you out of this shitty life that's consuming you."

Vi takes another step back, her eyes full of disdain. "And what, now you want to make me your project? Your experiment? A poor girl from Zaun who can throw her whole world away just so you can feel better about yourself? Is that what you want? To have a 'girl from the slums' story? I bet you'd get bored of me! Of me and what I am!"

Your words choke in your throat, the truth of her accusations ripping through the air between you. Vi keeps staring harshly, stepping back again. "I'm not what you need, and that's it. I don't want you to be my savior, I don't want to be your fucking project. I'm not going to stay here, waiting for you to cure me, to turn me into something I'm not."

"Vi..." you whisper, tears now falling uncontrollably from your face. "Why... why are you doing this to me?"

"Because we don't have to be together. If I stay with you, I'll just kill you too." Vi takes one last step back, and her voice softens, but not enough to stop the damage. "I don't want to be your fun anymore, I don't want to be your damn experiment. I want you to be happy, to live your life. Far from me."

The silence says it all. Vi turns around, and before you can say anything else, she leaves, leaving you alone in the cold space, with only your tears and her broken words remaining.

Caitlyn

The light in the cell is dim, the coldness of the place surrounds you as you stand there, completely in shock. The shackles on your wrists are a brutal reminder of what just happened. You can't believe it. Caitlyn, the woman who showed you love, the one you thought would never hurt you, has left you here, between these cold and dark walls.

The door creaks open, and there she is, Caitlyn. Her face, usually full of compassion and determination, is now empty, almost indifferent. You watch her approach, and for a moment, you hope she'll come to free you, that she'll tell you it was all a misunderstanding. But no.

"Why?" you manage to say, your voice broken with pain. "Cait... do you really think I could betray you?"

She doesn't answer immediately. She just looks at you with eyes full of conflict, her face serious, even cold. The tension in the air is palpable, and you can see the internal struggle in her. Finally, she sighs, and her words come out of her mouth like a sentence.

"I don't know," she replies coldly. "You're under suspicion now. I can't let you escape."

The weight of her words falls on you like a stone. Your heart stops for a moment, and a lump in your throat prevents you from speaking. You can't believe what you've just heard. The woman who swore to protect you, the one who shared your bed and your laughter, now accuses you of being a traitor.

"But... I just wanted to bring peace, Caitlyn," you whisper, feeling how despair is consuming you. "How can you think I would do something like that? I didn't want to hurt anyone. I just wanted..." The words break in your throat, and the anguish in your chest is unbearable. "Do you really think I'll be capable of lying to you and cause a revolution?"

Caitlyn closes her eyes for a moment, as if she’s searching for answers she can’t find. "I can't risk it, I can't let what you did go unanswered," she says, her voice harder now. "My duty is to Piltover, to justice. I can't be weak."

You step closer to her, hands outstretched, tears overflowing from your eyes. "Caitlyn, please, don't do this to me... I'm not the traitor you think I am. I love you. We promised we'll always have each other's back. Don't you remember that?"

She takes a step back, and her expression hardens even more. "I'm sorry," she says with a broken voice, but her eyes show no regret. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this. I can't let you remain free, not after everything you've put into doubt."

And before you can say anything else, Caitlyn turns her back to you, her footsteps moving away. "I'll keep you in the cell until everything is resolved," she says without turning. "But I can't trust you now."

The door slams shut with a metallic noise, and the sound of the locks clicking into place is all you hear. You fall to your knees, the anguish overtaking you. All you wanted was to be with her, to do the right thing, but now you're here, a prisoner of a justice you don't understand. The betrayal hurts, not because it was done to you, but because the person you love most has now turned their back on you.

Jayce

The conversation had started calmly, like all the others. But something had changed. The tension in the air grew as the words left your lips, and you could see the discomfort on Jayce's face.

"Jayce, enough," you say, your words full of frustration. "I know you want to do great things, but not at the cost of everything else. You can't keep sacrificing everything for your ambition."

He looks at you, surprise and annoyance mixing in his eyes. "I don't understand what you mean," he replies, his tone tense. "Do you think I'm doing this just for myself? I'm fighting for a better future for everyone."

"You don't see it, Jayce!" you shout, unable to contain the emotion choking you. "You've forgotten about the people who really matter to you. Everything you do is for power, for control, for your image. There's no place for me in your life, no space for what we are."

Jayce crosses his arms, his gaze harder than ever. "Is that what you think? That everything I do makes no sense? I'm trying to save Piltover, build something bigger than us. And what do you want? For me to give you more time to be by your side? For everything to revolve around you?"

The pain pierces your chest like a dagger. "It was never about that, Jayce," you say with a broken voice. "I always wanted to be by your side, support you in what you do. But I feel like a shadow. Like you can never see me, like my life, my dreams, everything I am, isn't enough."

He takes a step back, and the distance between the two of you seems to grow with every word that leaves his mouth. "You don't understand," he says coldly, his eyes now so distant. "What I do is bigger than anything I could offer you. If you can't understand that, if you can't meet me at my level, then maybe we're not what we thought we were."

"What are you saying?" you ask, feeling your heart flip. "Are you telling me that everything we've been doesn't matter? That I'm not enough for you?"

Jayce takes a deep breath, as if trying to calm his own thoughts before speaking. "It's not that. But I'm tired of you asking me to put you above everything I'm trying to build. If that means losing you, then..." his voice cracks for a second, but he recovers quickly. "Then it's what I have to do."

An emptiness opens in your stomach, and the world seems to crumble around you. "So you're leaving me. Just like that, as if I never meant anything to you." You look at him with disappointment.

Jayce lowers his gaze, avoiding your eyes, and his words hit like a blow. "I don't want you dragging me backward. You have to understand, I can't do this anymore."

Tears well up in your eyes, but you don't let them fall. "If that's what you want, Jayce, if that's what you really think is best for you, then goodbye. I hope you don't lose yourself on your way to perfection."

And in that moment, the words between you become empty. Jayce turns around, without even looking at you one more time, and walks away without saying another word. You stand there, in the middle of the place you once considered your refuge, while the echo of his indifference lingers in your ears.

Ekko

The house is silent, but the air is thick with tension. Ekko's gaze, which usually radiated passion and energy, now seems empty, lost in thoughts that don't include you. You watch him from the door, the knot in your throat preventing you from speaking.

"Ekko," you manage to say, your voice almost breaking, "I can't take it anymore."

He looks at you, seeming surprised, but he doesn't approach. The silence stretches between you two, as if you both know what's coming but neither of you wants to say it.

"What can't you take anymore?" his voice is low, as if he's too exhausted to argue. "What do you want me to do, huh? I'm doing what I have to do for Zaun, for everyone here. I can't just stop. I can't anymore."

"Can't stop? Are you really saying that?" Anger begins to take control, and helplessness mixes with pain. "Ekko, I've been watching you disappear more and more into your missions, your plans, everything that keeps you busy in Zaun. And I... what am I to you? A nuisance? A distraction?"

Ekko takes a step back, the exhaustion on his face becoming more evident. "It's not that, but..." He falls silent for a moment, as if words aren't enough to explain how he feels. "I can't keep living in two worlds, in two realities, and you know it. Zaun needs all of me, and you... you don't understand what that means. I can't be the Zaun guy and be your boyfriend at the same time."

"So, all of this was a mistake?" you ask, desperation about to drown you. "Everything we shared? Everything we built? Doesn't that matter? Does Zaun matter more?"

"Yes, sometimes it matters more," Ekko replies, his voice cold, but his gaze betrays him. "You... you're part of my life, I know. But I have to be objective and realistic, and no matter how much I love you, right now, you can't be a priority in my life. I can't be who you want me to be anymore. I can't be the guy who fights for you and for Zaun at the same time. I need to be one or the other, and Zaun needs me now."

"And I need you too," you say, the pain in your words, "but you don't see it anymore, do you? I'm not enough, I'm not what you need. I feel used and stupid," you said angrily, kicking a chair.

Ekko looks at you, his gaze wavering, as if there's an internal struggle he can't win. "Believe me, no one wants this to work more than I do, baby, but I... I'm not capable of giving you what you want, and neither are you to me."

The silence stretches into what feels like an eternity. You approach him, desperation overtaking you. "Ekko, please. Think about it one more time, we can't leave things like this. You've taught me to fight. Isn't it worth fighting for this?"

"Sometimes there are battles that aren't worth fighting because you know you'll never win them," he said, his words burning like acid in his throat. He kissed your forehead and stepped away from your personal space. "I'm sorry..." he murmured, and for a moment, he seemed tempted to hug you, but he didn't. "I'm sorry. But this is what's best for both of us."

The words destroy both of you.

Reality hits you like a bucket of cold water in the middle of winter. Everything you'd feared, everything you'd known deep in your heart, is happening. Ekko is pulling away, and even though you understand, you can't accept that the love you shared is no longer enough to keep him.

"Is this for real?" you ask, tears falling uncontrollably. "Is this what you're giving me? A cold goodbye because Zaun is more important than me?"

"Zaun needs a leader," Ekko replies, his voice broken but resolute. "And I need to be that leader. I can't be what you need, not now."

You stand there, feeling how the void between you grows larger, as Ekko turns and walks away, taking with him the last hope of what once was.

Silco

The rain hit the windows of Silco's office with force, the sound almost deafening as you leaned against the wall, breathing irregularly. You had been rescued again, once more on the brink of death, another attempt on your life, and once again, Silco was there to save you. But something in his gaze, cold, distant, made you fear the worst. You didn’t understand what was happening, but something had changed. Something in him.

“This is over,” he said after a long pause.

“What do you mean by that?” Your voice trembled.

Silco looked at you, his eyes filled with something you couldn’t read, something darker than the usual shadow he carried. He took a step toward you, but his presence was no longer comforting. His gaze remained fixed, as if he was deliberately pushing you away from him.

“It’s for the best,” his tone was low, almost hesitant, but the coldness in his words made you freeze. “I can't keep exposing you to this. You don't belong in this world. I can’t risk you anymore.”

“What are you saying?” Your words barely came out, drowned by the pain of his cold resolve. “Silco… you don’t have the right to decide for me. I choose to stay, I choose to remain here by your side.”

He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head as he took another step back. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice deeper than ever. “I don’t want to protect you anymore. You’re a burden, a burden I can’t carry any longer. I’m tired of you.”

The blow was like a stab to the chest. You couldn’t believe what you had just heard. “What? You’re tired of me?” Your words came out choked, unable to grasp the cruelty he had just expressed.

“The rumors are true,” he said with a harshness that froze the air between you both. “I’ve only seen you as a little distraction. A good pet. A weakness. Nothing more. I had fun, yes, but that’s over. I’ve found something better.”

“No… that can’t be…” you said, but when you saw the coldness in his eyes, something inside you shattered.

Silco didn’t respond immediately. His gaze remained fixed on you, and for a moment, everything felt like a lie. Then, with a cruel indifference, he said, “You were never my equal. You were just a pastime, something I could have for myself. Something no one else could have. But you're replaceable. We all are.”

“That’s not true,” you whispered, struggling against the knot in your throat. “How can you say that?”

“I’m getting tired of repeating myself. I don’t want you in my life anymore. You’re no longer useful to me, you only bring me problems,” his voice was now firm, unyielding. “So go. I don’t need any more weaknesses in my life.”

The words were like a sentence. Everything you had ever felt for him, everything you had believed you shared, crumbled in that moment. There was nothing left. With your heart shattered, you took a deep breath and, without another word, turned away.

As you walked toward the door, the echo of your footsteps filled the empty office. Silco watched you, but did nothing to stop you. There was nothing left to say.

When the door closed behind you, silence filled the room. Silco stood there, in the darkness, his fists clenched, the pain in his chest stronger than any wound he had ever suffered before. For the first time in years, a single tear ran down his face. But no one saw it. He was alone, and that was all he deserved.

Mel

Mel's bedroom was silent, illuminated only by the faint light of the early morning hours. The bed, still messy, bore witness to a night of passion, but also to something much deeper that had been growing between the two of you. The sheets, tangled together, seemed to reflect the tension that now filled the space. The room, which had once been a warm refuge, was now soaked in a thick, suffocating atmosphere.

You sat on the edge of the bed, watching how Mel lay with her back to you, her face hidden in the pillow, breathing irregularly, as if she were still searching for something she couldn’t find. It wasn’t physical exhaustion that was affecting her, but something much deeper.

"Mel..." you said, your voice low but filled with an anguish you couldn’t control. “What’s happening between us?”

She didn’t move at first, as if she hadn’t heard you, but the weight of your words finally reached her. She turned over, and when her eyes met yours, something in her gaze made you fear the worst. It wasn’t the look of the woman you loved. It was something much more distant, something you couldn’t understand.

"I'm sorry... I can't keep doing this," she said, her voice, though soft, tinged with a hardness you couldn’t ignore. "I can't keep dragging you into this."

"What do you mean?" you asked, unable to comprehend what she had just said. "I won’t let you push me away. I won’t allow it."

Mel sighed and sat up, her eyes reflecting an exhaustion that seemed to surpass the physical. "It’s not about that... I don’t want to keep exposing you to all of this," she said, pressing her lips together with a determination that hurt. "I’m putting you in danger. It’s not fair to you."

"I don’t care," you replied, moving closer to her, your words heavy with desperation. "I don’t care what happens. All I want is to be with you."

But Mel didn’t give in, and instead of softening, her expression hardened even more. "You don’t understand, do you? I... I’m not enough for you. I can’t be what you need. I can’t keep being this, being... who I am."

"And what are you, Mel?" you asked, pain clear in your voice. "Ambessa’s daughter? The woman who lives under her shadow, trying to be someone she’ll never be? You’re not just that. You’re not. You’re... you’re the woman I want, the woman I love. But you keep running from it."

Mel, hearing your words, took a step back, as if an invisible force had pushed her away. The look in her eyes was painful, as if your words had struck her to the core. "You don’t get it. You don’t know what it’s like to be Ambessa’s daughter," she said, her voice cracked with frustration. "You don’t know what it’s like to do everything for her, for her approval."

"No I don't," you replied, unable to hold back the heat of your own truth. "But what I know is what it’s like to try to be what others want. To try to please someone who’ll never see you for what you truly are. And still, you stay there, looking for something you can’t even define."

Mel fell silent, her face paling with each of your words, but you wouldn’t stop. Not after everything you’d tried. "I’m telling you, I don’t care what you do. I don’t care if you have to live under her shadow forever. I just want to be with you. But you... you can’t see that you’re losing what matters most. What you have left. What we could be."

"It’s just that I can’t... I can’t give it all up for you," she whispered, her gaze lost, almost disoriented. "I’m not enough for you. I can’t be."

"Why do you keep saying that?" you said, your voice breaking. "Why do you keep seeking her approval? You don’t have to be her perfect daughter, Mel. You have to be you. But you keep seeking her love, and you’ll never find it. It will never be enough for her. And as long as you stay there, you keep losing yourself."

She closed her eyes, as if your words pierced her, but she didn’t say anything more. The silence between you two became unbearable, and finally, Mel looked down, tears welling up in her eyes. "I’m telling you, I can’t keep going with you," she murmured, and this time it wasn’t a doubt, it was a statement.

You stayed there, frozen, unable to move a muscle. "What?" you whispered, unable to believe what she had just said.

"What I’m saying is that... I can’t keep being what you need. I can’t be happy like this. I can’t keep fighting for something I don’t have."

You couldn’t believe it, the words slipped from your mouth, but they didn’t find the right form to come out. "But, Mel, you don’t have to be what they want. You don’t have to live under her shadow. Why don’t you see it? I don’t want you for what you are to others, I want you for what you are to me."

Mel looked at you then, and for a moment, you thought everything could be resolved. But the look in her eyes wasn’t the same anymore. It was empty, sad, as if she had given up everything she once was. "I can’t stay here, I can’t keep doing this," she murmured, and with those words, she turned away, walking away from you.

Your heart shattered, but it wasn’t the pain that stopped you. It was the anguish of knowing that, despite everything you shared, she would never be able to leave that shadow, that need to please her mother.

And as she walked away, the words echoed in your mind over and over again: "I’ll never be enough. I’m not enough for her. I’m not enough for you."

Sevika

You find yourself with Sevika in her usual spot, where the world seems to stand still, surrounded by ruins and rubble. The atmosphere is thick with silence, but there's something in her eyes you can't ignore. There's tension in the air, as if a conflict is about to erupt.

"Sevika," you call, your heart racing. "We need to talk."

She turns toward you slowly, and her eyes seem colder than you've ever seen them. "I know," she replies, her voice deep and cutting. "I've been waiting for you."

You approach, but Sevika's gaze feels so distant, so detached from you. Something is wrong, and you know it. You can't stop the doubts from forming in your mind.

"Why have you been pulling away from me?" you ask, the knot in your throat growing tighter. "What's happening between us?"

Sevika crosses her arms, her posture more defiant than ever. "Don't you know? I told you, remember? I'm no good for you. I'm not what you need."

You furrow your brow, confused. "What are you talking about? I've never asked you to be anything else. I accept you as you are. I love you, Sevika."

She takes a step back, distancing herself from you, as if your closeness burns her. "That's what you don't understand. You think this is love, but what you're seeing isn't it. What you see in me is just an illusion. I'm just using you to get what I need: a little comfort, a distraction from the damn chaos of this city. But I don't want you to keep deceiving yourself. I'm not someone you can save, and I don't want you wasting your time with me."

Your words catch in your throat. "No... don't say that. I'm not deceiving myself, Sevika. I want to be by your side, through thick and thin. Why are you saying all of this?"

Sevika laughs, but it's not a laugh that gives you peace. It's cold, bitter, as if she's laughing at a cruel joke. "Because you're weak. And I don't want to drag you into this shitty world anymore. I don't want you to be another victim of what I am. And the worst part is, you don't even get it. You're a dreamer, an idealist, but there's no room for that here. There's no room for love in Zaun, there's only pain. And you won't be able to handle it."

"I don't want to leave you. I can't leave you," you respond, moving closer, but Sevika takes another step back, her face hardened by an internal battle. "I can't live with the thought of you pushing me away."

"Well, that's what's going to happen," she says, her voice so cold it echoes through the emptiness of the factory. "I'm leaving you because I can never be what you expect. I'll drag you into the darkness, I'll sink you even deeper than you already are. And that, that would ruin you. I have nothing left to offer you."

You're frozen, the pain piercing through your chest. "No... don't do this, Sevika. Please. Don't leave me alone."

"I left you the moment I accepted this damn world," Sevika says, and you can see a single tear silently roll down her face. "The only thing I offer you is more suffering, and that's the last thing I want for you. Forget me. And go, before I end up destroying you."

"No! I won't leave you!" you shout, but the desperation in your voice is futile. Sevika looks at you, but there's no warmth in her eyes anymore, only emptiness. "You're going to be happy without me. I'm not the person you need."

Before you can say anything else, Sevika turns around, walking toward the exit of the factory, leaving you alone in that dark, cold corner. The last image of her, her figure fading into the darkness, breaks you completely. You know that what she just told you isn't a lie, and that maybe, just maybe, she was right.

But what destroys you more is that you love her so much, and you can't bear the thought of losing her forever.

[rubiehart]

LOOK AFTER YOU…

pairing: jj maybank x bsf!reader

summary: an alternative universe to my own bsf!reader, where her parents aren’t supportive of her and jj’s relationship and the consequences of that.

warnings: graphic description of injuries, mentions of physical, mental and verbal abuse, underage use of tobacco, hurt/comfort.

a/n: literally came up with this in ten minutes and binge wrote it in an hour, wasn’t even initially gonna be based on any song but this one just fit so well so why no lol. i guess this is kinda the start of my comeback for the new year, hope you all love ♡︎

♪ Look After You - The Fray ♪

Honestly, JJ didn’t know how he ended up dating the girl who’d been his best friend since elementary school, how sharing beds after a long day of surfing in middle school turned into them smushed up against each other only three years later, limbs tangled and breath mingling, completely drunk off of each other, completely enamoured by the other like it was the first glimpse.

He knew she was a bitch sometimes, he knew she was sweet sometimes, but only ever around him and when they’d completely stripped each other of every wall they’d put up, emotions raw and throat’s even more so from whatever had gone on with their own parents in the place they were supposed to call home. Neither of them knew the meaning until that night.

That one night that changed the entire rest of their lives, for better or worse? Neither of them knew. The night when they both separately hit rock bottom. Absolutely nothing to lose, now. The lowest of the low. Hell.

She’d just been kicked out by her parents for good, and it really was official this time. Something stupid she’d done with JJ that really wasn’t as serious as they were making it seem, but it seemed to be the straw that broke the camel’s back, the final push that made them force all their walls up against JJ, but they were a team, two halves of a whole, so in her eyes, if they were denying JJ they were also denying her, and she didn’t have time or the energy to deal with people like that, so she up and left that night. Sending JJ a quick text before shoving her dying phone in the pocket of her battered shorts and setting off to where she knew he’d go to first.

Unbeknownst to her, JJ’s situation was similar, something simmering on a low heat in Luke’s body for a few days previous, a few too many pills popped and he was ready to burst, and who better to take it out on that his sixteen year old son? No one, supposedly. This is how JJ ends up shoving open the door to the wooden lodge he’s supposed to call home, body aching as he forces himself down the steps, stumbling on an already bruised leg, until he reaches the edge of the lawn of the Maybank residence. The last thing he hears is the raw, blood curdling yell of his father, ‘Run and pray I don’t find ya, boy!’, the blood rushing in his ears and the soft beating of his combat boots against the dead grass, a baffling contrast to the absolute war in his mind.

His bruised legs carry him all the way across the island, the only thing in his mind is her, and it’s the only thing keeping him on his feet, head spinning, as he continually tells himself, ‘Just a little longer, J’, ‘A little longer than you can take a break.’ He doesn’t let himself stop until he gets there, lungs gasping for a breath of fresh air as the wind rushes past his ears, legs aching and stinging but he fights it until the image he’d been imagining comes into view through the weeds of the marsh. The lighthouse.

He’d found her on the rocky island, as expected slumped against the rocky wall of the structure, red and white painted chipped to hell. She was wearing an oversized black tank top, assumably his, the usual pair of denim shorts, and some beat up sneakers, hair falling in front of her eyes, cigarette already burning between her lips.

It’s late, the moonlight bathes her body, forearms resting on her knees, friendship bracelets dangling from her wrists and brushing against the grazed skin of her legs. He wordlessly slumps down next to her, groaning softly as his beaten body hits the rocky floor, a streak of white hot pain passing through his chest.

She obviously senses his presence, it’s completely un-ignorable. She makes brief eye contact with him in the pale light, a warm glow casted over her face from the flame at the end of the cigarette, highlighting the tear marks down her freckled cheeks, now dried and assumably sticky in the soft wind of the late night.

She doesn’t say anything, doesn’t need to, and neither does he.

That’s one thing that was so special about them, even before they’d gotten together and were just best friends with insane sexual tension, they could always read the other’s mind without sharing any words, could read each other fluently with just looks and body language.

The toe of her beat up sneaker digs into the rocks scattering the floor, and he watches her from the corner of him eye, chest still heaving, her head falls back against the concrete wall of the lighthouse, exhaling into the cold night as she passes off the burning stick to him. He notices how her fingernails are painted shimmery purple, or were, now they’re all chipped and her fingernails are bitten.

He accepts the cigarette, the familiar bitter tobacco and smoke slip past his chapped lips, gash on the lower corner re opening as he inhales. He couldn’t care less in this moment as they both sit wordlessly in the moonlight. She could practically feel the tension in his shoulders and the inevitable tightness in his chest, maybe this cigarette wasn’t the best thing for him right now, but everyone’s got their way of dealing, so she keeps her mouth shut for once.

He glances at her through his peripheral, pulling his legs up into a similar position to her, arms aching as he rests his forearms against his bloody knees. His hooded eyes frail over her tear stained cheeks. She’s tough. Tougher than anybody he’d ever met. He knew not to push her to talk. She’d talk when she was ready, and he wasn’t exactly eager to tell her about what went on tonight, either.

Her softer fingers brush his calloused ones when he passes it back, taking a drag and holding it in her lungs, letting it burn, because in this moment she wants to hurt, the pain is almost a comfort.

She exhales, smoke clouding his image of her for a second as she passes it back off to him, the orange glow lighting him up for once as her lips part to speak.

It’s raspy, like she’d been screaming, or crying, or both. He assumes both because he knows how it is in her house, much like she knows how it is in his. The precise reason why she doesn’t question the cuts on his cheekbones, or the grazes on his knees and elbows, and knows that there’s bound to be a ton more all over his body, concealed by his threadbare shirt and cargo shorts, curtesy of his deadbeat father.

“Got thrown out.”

Her voice pierces the bitterly cold wind that blows, blowing his sweaty, blonde tresses every which way, he lifts a hand to cover the end of the cigarette, blocking it from the strong gusts, the silver of his rings glinting in the orange glow.

He nods once, taking a hit as he takes in the information, he’s not all that suprised though, it was only a matter of time, he knows they’d been waiting for anything to happen to get rid of her for good.

“Same here.”

He says with a soft chuckle, but the smile doesn’t reach his eyes and she doesn’t wonder why. He doesn’t want her to know the extent of it though, he doesn’t want her to know how bad it gets. Doesn’t want her to worry.

A small smile graces her lips, the skin stretching tight from the cold, licking over her lips once as she glances at him. She doesn’t even know why, she’s got absolutely nothing to smile about, sixteen, homeless, not even a dollar to her name, but just a glance at him smiling lifts a weight off of her, like maybe things weren’t going to be so bad.

She takes the cigarette back from him, mock forcefully, a ghost of a smirk still lingering as she takes another drag, shorter this time, sucking and blowing before speaking again, forearms adjusting on her grazed knees with a silent hiss, teeth gritted.

“What for?”

He lets out a bitter scoff, staring at his shoes so he doesn’t have to meet her eyes. The moonlight is making her look a fallen angel, all soft and pretty but still a little rough around the edges, just like him. He shrugs like he doesn’t know, pretending like he doesn’t know she can read him like a book.

“Same old bullshit.” He mumbles around the cig, taking a second drag since she’d passed it back, like he was trying to drown out the memory. She scoffs, mirroring his own reaction. Two halves of a whole. She can’t stop her eyes from wandering to his side profile, illuminated by the soft amber glow of the flame, highlighting the slope of his angular nose, the chisel of his cheekbones, already blooming with black and purple splotches, but he’s beautiful to her nonetheless.

She forces her eyes away and nods. “Same.” Picking at the chipped polish along her nails as she glares out at the horizon, the waves lapping ever so quietly at the rocky shore, the light from the lookout flickering dully above their heads.

He huffs softly, shaking his head, passing back the cigarette with trembling fingers.

Of course that was the reason, on her end anyway, and without her explicitly stating it he knows what her ‘same old bullshit’ is. He had pretty much known from the start that her parents wouldn’t be supportive of their relationship. He was a troublemaker, a bad kid, the kind of boy parents warned their daughters about.

He looks up at her, fiddling with his fingers between the gap in his bent knees, blonde hair flopping over his sweat slicked forehead, tickling at the gash above his eyebrow. He studies her profile as the glow of the cigarette lights her up. Even with her hair messy and her eyes red rimmed and her eyeliner smeared down her cheeks, she’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

A comfortable silence falls over the two of them, the gravity of the situation hitting them both at different speeds. Two homeless, empty pocketed sixteen year olds, only their love for each other keeping them above water. Dodging whirlpools and massive swells with just each other to stay afloat. She digs the toe of her sneaker into scatter of rocks again, the soft clink of them the only thing heard other than the soft lapping of waves and their breathing, which had now synced.

He keeps his eyes on her, studying her and taking in every single detail in the moonlight. He can see every single freckle on her skin, every single eyelash. She’s perfect. Gorgeous. An angel amongst a sea of demons. He leans in closer, gently knocking his knee against hers.

“We’re gonna be okay, yeah?”

He mutters under his breath, so close she can feel the warmth radiating off of him.

She turns her head, hair falling infront of her black rimmed eyes, framing her blood rushed cheeks in the moonlight, nursing the fading cigarette between her fingers. She nods once, it’s small but it’s there, and it’s all the reassurance that he needs that they’re gonna be okay.

She leans a little more into his touch so they stay close, shoulders occasionally brushing and knees pressed together.

“Yeah.” She breathes out, a small smile making its way onto her lips.

He’s tempted to reach for her hand, to tangle his fingers in hers, to hold her as tight as possible for as long as possible, because she’s all he has left, and he’s afraid if he doesn’t hold her close, she’ll disappear like every other ounce of hope in his life.

But he doesn’t know if she’s okay with being touched right now. He knows she can be sensitive sometimes when she’s like this, closed off and thinking. So he keeps his hands to himself, not wanting to overstep. Instead, he just lets himself lean into her a little more, head tilted a little to the side to give her more than enough space if she wants to lean her head against his shoulder like she does sometimes. He’s making it clear that if she needs him, he’s here. Always.

Then, almost as if reading his mind, her hands finds his, soft skin brushing callouses along his pinkie finger, it’s hesitant but it’s not accidental as their fingers intertwine. She doesn’t look at him but he doesn’t need her to to know what she’s thinking. She stubs out the cigarette with her other hand, the ash hissing softly against the concrete wall behind her head before she flicks the butt into the rocks. Waves lap against the shore, sea foam clotting and sticking and forming pretty consolations, her thumb brushes over his bruised knuckles thoughtfully, but it’s natural and unpracticed.

He lets out a shaky exhale as her delicate fingers wrap around his. They’re smaller than his, more nimble, and yet they’re strong. Stronger than normal, like she’s solidifying every word she’s conveying through his simple touch. That this is real. Once that contact is made he feels like he can breathe again. Her skin feels electric against, sending sparks up his arm and signals to his brain that stop him feeling the dull, everlasting ache all over his body, that thrums low but never truly leaves for good. But this feels right. It feels good.

The winds starting to pick up a little now, she has no idea what time it is and neither does he, but it’s a distant worry. She’s got a little niggling at the back of her brain that there’s a storm incoming, but she’s not sure when or where’d she’d heard it, every memory from the past few days blending into one, where she can’t pinpoint any individual words or emotions.

She lets her eyelids flutter closed, head laying down softly onto JJ’s shoulder, incase there was a nasty bruise underneath the worn cotton, he wouldn’t have told her even if there was. She breathes steadily, breathing in the lingering scent of him on the warm skin of his neck: sea water, sweat and a hint of the old spice cologne he’d stolen from his dad in ninth grade, and then kept stealing bottles whenever it’d run out.

She squeezed his hand in hers: once, twice, three times. A silent ‘I love you’. Neither of them had ever been any good with words, but they didn’t need to be.

She doesn’t know whats going to happen and she doesn’t know what they’re going to do after tonight, when they wake up tomorrow morning in the abandoned lighthouse with less than a dollar to their shared name. But she doesn’t let the thought cloud her memory too long, because with JJ by her side it’s hard to worry about things that aren’t facing you yet, it’s easy to just live in the moment with him.

With her head leaning against his shoulder, breath from her nose tickling his skin, he takes the time to study her for the billionth time that night. Taking in the slope of her nose, her jawline, her eyelashes. His heart does all sorts of crazy things in his chest, things he’d never felt before her. But it’s not from fear, or uncertainty, or anything of the sort. Instead, it’s from love. From adoration. From everything he feels for her.

“I love you.”

He whispers, just loud enough for her to hear him over the wind.

Her eyelashes flutter open, kissing at her eyebrows, fingers still interlocked with his as she zones in on him, he notices the way her eyes are glazed over with tears.

It had always been harder for her to say those three words, even though she’d come from a more conventional family than JJ, his full of physical abuse, hers was full of mental and verbal abuse, the pushing down of her feelings to avoid manipulation is second nature to her. Usually.

But now with JJ, she lets out a soft exhale through her nose, pressing it against the side of his neck, breathing him in as she whispers, hot breath ticking the sensitive skin.

“I love you too.”

He can feel his cheeks heat up when her hot breath brushes against his skin. He doesn’t know why it makes him so flustered, because by this point he should be used to her touch, her quiet little declarations of love. He’s spent countless nights wrapped around her, his arms holding her to his chest like she’s his lifeline.

And yet, when she whispers that she loves him, his heart races in his chest. His fingers squeeze around hers so tight it’s bound to bruise. He doesn’t need to say anything back and she doesn’t expect it, he conveys everything he wants to say through the way his breath hitches and his heartbeat quickens under her ear.

Her eyes flick up to his profile after a minute or so, eyes roaming all over his features from this new angle, pressing her cheek against his shoulder, watching him fiddle with his rings on his fingers, twisting at them, pulling them off and putting them on again. She breaks through his quiet thoughts with a soft question, that he misses because it’s caught in the whisper of the wind.

“Hm?” He mumbles, hand reaching down to find hers again, squeezing it reassuringly as he looks down, hooded eyes completely captivated by her.

“Does it hurt?” She repeats softly, no irritation in her tone like normal when she has to repeat herself to him. He’s confused for a second, eyebrows furrowing until he realises she’s talking about the series of bruises across his cheekbone, her wide eyes lingering on the skin. It’s only then he remembers he was even hurt in the first place, and the low thrum of pain comes back all over his body, wound above his eyebrow stinging when a gust of wind blows.

She squeezes his hand again softly, not forcing him to speak if he doesn’t want to, being patient with him. His gaze stays on her, and he’s coming up with a lie, telling her he’s fine and not to worry about him. But the words get caught in his throat at the worry in her soft gaze. He doesn’t want to lie, not to her.

“Like hell.”

He mutters, bringing his free hand up to his eyeline, the one that’s not gripping hers. He stares down at his bruised knuckles, some starting to scab, others not, starting to turn an ugly shade or reddish purple.

“Yeah?” She replies softly, she seems to have thawed off a little, anger not so red hot, scalding in her fingertips. Not so angry at the world. Her free hand comes up to softly brush against the blossom of purple along his cheekbone, and his jaw ticks under her touch, refraining from flinching away from her. She notices, though, and tears spring to the corners of her eyes, tear ducts working overtime tonight, it seemed.

He lets out a shaky exhale, it’s covered by the wind but she doesn’t miss the quiver of his lips. Her gentle touch feels electric against his skin. He doesn’t want to flinch, but it hurts. It hurts.

Her touch is soft and delicate, tracing over the bruise with a feather light touch. His skin is heated and tender, and any contact makes the thrumming under his skin stronger. But at the same time, it feels good, because she’s touching him. Loving him.

His eyes dart up to meet hers, searching them for any sign of fear. Or disgust.

There’s nothing even close reflected in her eyes. They’re soft, softer than he’s ever seen them. That hard exterior she puts up is broken through as she looks at him, beaten and bruised. It makes her heart physically ache in her chest.

“You wanna talk about it?”

She whispers softly, he hears her through the soft gust that comes in, blowing his hair out of his face a little, exposing the gash across his temple. He’s so tuned into her right now, overanalysing every movement she makes, every word, every breath.

He lets out a soft scoff, shaking his head. The last thing he wants to talk about is his piece-of-shit dad. Talking about the events of tonight wouldn’t change a single thing, and it’s just gonna make her worry.

“There’s nothin’ to talk about.”

He mutters under his breath, avoiding her gaze. He knows she’s trying to be sweet, and care for him but he doesn’t want her to pity him. He doesn’t want her to think he’s weak.

She notices his walls coming back up, him pulling away from her a little, if not physically definitely internally. She doesn’t force anything, just nods softly, blinking back the tears in her eyes and slips her hand from his cheek, slumping back against the concrete wall with a soft sigh, knees and shoulders brushing.

The last thing she wants to do it push, make him cramp up and close himself off like he did sometimes.

The part of him that wants to lean back into her touch, to be held and loved and cared for after being beat to a pulp wars with the part of him that doesn’t want her pity.

He settles for somewhere in the middle, their thighs pressing together and shoulders brushing. He’s still avoiding her eyes, staring down at his bruised knuckles, biting back the tears that lodge his throat.

Her gaze stays on him for a long time, even if he’s refusing to reciprocate her longing gaze. She doesn’t mind, she just quietly watches, admires.

He feels her gaze on him and he can’t fight it anymore, he never could. His eyes flick to hers, fiddling with the rings on his thick fingers, forearms rested on his knees.

She’s giving him this look that makes him want to melt, like she sees right through him, for everything he is and everything he will be and the only emotion in her moonlit eyes is love.

“Do you..” She trails off, the wind picking up a little around them, the waves splatter against the rocks, sea foam clinging to the pebbles only a few meters away and JJ’s eyes flick from the shore, and then to her. He knows what she’s trying to ask, or along the lines of her question.

His heart’s doing that fluttering thing again, like a caged bird. He doesn’t need to be told what she’s asking, because he can read it in her eyes. He knows she’s not asking out of pity, or even out of lust. Just a pure, unconditional adoration. A need to hold the boy she loves. A need to be as close to him as possible. He knows there’s no point in denying her, and he doesn’t want to, anyway.

He nods shakily, letting his eyes flutter shut, pleading with him himself internally to not break, not yet.

“What do you need?”

She whispers softly, fingers itching to touch him, to comfort him, but she wants to touch him however he wants to be, and she don’t want to push anything.

He wants her. Needs her. He wants to run his fingers through her hair, feel her heart beating against his, breathe in the scent of her skin. And it’s not out of lustful desire, it’s out of a deep-down desperate need to feel safe. To feel wanted. He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he lets out a shaky breath. His eyes flick open, the saddest look she’d ever seen gracing his features, and she can tell he’s about to break.

“C’mere.”

He mutters under his breath, voice scratchy and quiet as he reaches his arms out for her, wincing softly at the stretch of the skin of his chest, littered with purple and blues.

She doesn’t wait to crawl into his lap, slowly, listening intently to every little gasp he makes to make sure she’s not putting any pressure on his major bruises, if they weren’t outside on a rocky beach, slumped against a wall, she’d be the one holding him, but sometimes sacrifices have to be made, and right now JJ needs her, no matter how.

Her chest is pressed against his, strong arms wrapped around her back and keeping her as close as possible to him. He’s holding her tighter than he should, afraid she might slip away if he loosens his grip.

His hands find her hips, snaking under the loose material of the tank top and digging affectionally into the warm skin there. The feeling of her finally being against him is driving him crazy, but in a good way, caged between the wall and her.

He lets out a shuddering breath, burying his face in the crook of her neck, his nose nuzzling at her soft skin.

“You’re okay.” She whispers, resting one hand at the back of his head, fingers carding through the hair at the nape of his neck gently, pressing her lips to his crown. She feels his shoulders begin to shake and the meltdown that he’d been holding back from all night crashing down and overtaking him now.

You know all you can do is be present, and reassure him. “Everything’s gonna be okay..”

He feels the dam inside of him break, like the floodgates had finally opened, and before he knows what he’s doing, hot tears are springing to his eyes.

She’s saying all the right things. She’s touching him like no one’s touched him. And it’s too much. Too much to handle. He buries himself against her chest, his arms wrapping around her torso to hold her close. He lets out another shuddering breath, a soft crying shortly following, and it’s guttural and soul shattering as he shakes against her.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you. ‘M not goin’ anywhere.” She mumbles into his sweaty hair, blonde tresses tickling at her chin, leaving kisses anywhere she can reach, hands carding through his hair, offering the maximum amount of comfort she can in his arms.

“You’re okay, baby.”

Her calling him ‘baby’ isn’t something he realised has such an effect on him until now, and the way her voice is so soft, so sweet and caring, has him melting against her.

Her touch and her words are like a balm on his frayed nerves, extinguishing the fire burning under his skin.

“I love you, I love you, I love you.”

He chokes out, like a mantra, into the warm crook of her neck, over and over again, soaking the skin with his tears.

“I love you more.”

She whispers against his head, leaning sitting up a little straighter against him for a sec, but he’s pulling her down just as quick, pressing a soft kiss to her collarbone as he cries.

“Hey, listen for a sec.” She mumbles, and waits for him to nod against her before continuing, fingernails scraping deliciously against his scalp as she speaks, her words attempting to calm him down from his spiral.

“‘Member what we said? After we figure all this shit out.. gonna get a house t’gether and get married, yeah? You listenin’?”

He nods shakily as she holds him, her hands brushing his sweaty hair at his temples, her kisses along his forehead keeping him grounded to reality. He swallows hard at her words about the future, his heart seizing up in his chest. But he nods again, desperately needing to hear more. He needs to hear about their future together, because it’s the only thing keeping him together right now, when he feels like nothing’s going right, his only way out is her.

“Yeah-yeah, ‘m listenin’.” He murmurs against her hot skin, his hands gripping her hips a little tighter, making sure she was really still there, and this wasn’t some hallucination.

“Good, keep breathin’. And y’know what else? Gonna have so many babies together, yeah? All of our little mini us’s runnin’ ‘round. We’re gonna be so happy, J. Soon as we get outta this mess.”

The very thought of having kids with her has him choking up again.

He can picture it all so clearly, the cozy fish shack by the marsh, a whole football team of kiddos, the little girls beautiful like their mama, getting dressed up all pretty, the rowdy boys the spitting image of JJ, with unruly blonde hair as big blue eyes, tackling and wrestling with each other on the grass outside whilst he tries to teach them to fish.

He can’t help but grip her tighter at the imagery flashing through his clouded mind, ringed fingers digging into her hips.

“Lotsa babies. Lotsa babies. Our babies. Promise?”

She nods with a soft smile, eyes reflecting the same expression as his when his eyes meet hers, glazed over and filled with an emotion unlabelled. Her thumbs swipe at his under eyes, wiping away the hot tears, careful to avoid any gashes or bruises.

“Promise. But none o’ that’s gonna happen if you don’t make it through tonight, baby. You gotta breathe for me.”

Of course she’s exaggerating, and it’s in a hope to bring a little light to the emotional rollercoaster he’s going through right now, and she’s on the same ride internally, but she needs to be strong, for him.

He lets out a shaky exhale, his chest heaving against hers as he forces his body to breathe.

In, and out, In, and out, In, and out-

He wants that life. With her. A life with her in a homey beach shack, a physical place he can call home, instead of the girl he’s holding in his arms.

In, and out, In, and out, In, and out.

But the only way he’s going to get that life is by surviving, together and by getting through tonight, together.

He slowly nods, squeezing her hips again.

“M breathin’.. ‘M breathin’..”

She nods tearfully, sniffling and swiping at her own eyes before he can see them. “Good.. that’s good..” She mumbles in praise, hands still holding his face and stroking at his cheeks with her thumbs gently. “Can you look at me a sec?” She’s careful to keep her touch featherlight over any bruises.

He nods shakily, slowly lifting his tired eyes to look at her, the day weighing heavy on his shoulders and now he’d really let everything out, he was exhausted. His cheeks are still tear stained and his chest heaving. He slowly brings a hand up, cupping the side of her face so he can run his thumb along her tear stained jaw.

“Lookin’.” He mumbles, breath hitching.

“You breathin’ properly now?” She mumbles, jaw moving under his calloused palm as she eyes him sweetly, eyes reflecting all the love he feels for her in this moment.

He lets out a shaky exhale, his eyes slowly raking over her face, taking in all her features like he’d never seen them before, and he’s lost count of how many times he’s got lost in her tonight.

She’s beautiful, he thinks to himself. Stunning in an effortless way, always has been. Like she woke up this morning and was effortlessly gorgeous.

His hand is still on her face, his thumb brushing against her skin.

“Yeah.. yeah baby, ‘m breathin’ normal. You’re makin’ it all messed up ‘gain, though.”

He mumbles, breathing a little heavily out of his nose and it tickles at her skin, a soft smile makes its way onto her face at the look in his eyes, completely enamoured by her.

She lets a breath of laughter slip from her nose, it’s soft and sweet and his eyes visibly soften at the sound, ears perking up.

“You’re so handsome, J.” She mumbles, thumb never stopping it’s comforting ministrations against the damp skin of his cheek.

Her touch on his skin makes him shiver, his mind and body always being so receptive to her. He wants to hide his face when he calls her handsome. He doesn’t think he’s handsome. Hot, sure, he’s been called that many a time. Pretty, meh, makes his heart flutter a little when you mumble it against his ear in bed, but he’d never admit it. But handsome? He’s not handsome.

He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing in his throat as he averts his gaze.

“Don’t. ‘M not handsome..” He mutters under his breath.

Her heart breaks a little at his immediate denial of the compliment.

“You are, J.” She mumbles, hand coming under his jaw to lift his gaze back to hers.

“You are, JJ.” She reassures him again, making sure he really knows it, believes it.

“‘n our babies are gonna be too.”

His heart is doing the fluttering thing again, his stomach flip flopping inside of him as he meets her gaze.

Babies, plural.

Oh, Jesus.

The thought of having little babies running around looking like the perfect mix of the both of you has him reeling. He’s always had a hard time picturing his future, but mostly the father part, after everything he’s been through he could never see it for himself. But with her, the image never seemed so impossible.

He lets out a shaky breath, a tear slipping down his rosy cheek, fingers squeezing at her hip again.

“You think so?”

“I know so.” She smiles, thumb stroking over a larger bruise at his temple.

“‘N I know things are hard right now, but we’re gonna get through this rough patch together, yeah? We can sleep here, at the lighthouse, we’ll get jobs, then eventually buy a house, get married..” She speaks softly, the wind picking up a little and making her cheeks cold and frost bitten. They’re sixteen and homeless, but all they need is each other.

That night they hold each other closer than ever before, knocking out on the old mattress up in the look out tower, limbs tangled together and content just for the night. JJ had calmed down now, stripped down to just his underwear, her too, pressed up against his good side in bed, head rested against his shoulder as she sleeps soundly, for the first time in what feels like forever.

JJ eventually manages to fall asleep, too, her previous words on his mind all through his slumber, dreaming of Maybank family fishing days, and the beautiful house that he would raise his babies in, the love of his life by his side, dreaming of a future where he wasn’t ashamed of his last name, and everyone he loved dearly shared it with him.

[little-jana]

"The Vest"

Pairing: Spencer Reid x f!reader

Genre: fluff, heated, fade to black smut, 18+, no explicit s*x

Warnings: later season spencer, kissing, teasing, touching, fade to black smut, reader having the hots for Spence in uniform, use of Y/N

Words: 3.4k

Summary: The Vest, that's it. We all get it.

a/n: more gifs at the end that describe the vibe...

The team had just landed in yet another city to investigate the latest case. I’d been with the BAU for a while now, and while I had come to appreciate the work we did, I couldn’t help but find myself distracted by Spencer Reid.

The thing is, Spencer had changed. Gone was the shy, awkward genius that I had first met. In his place was a man—older, more confident, a quiet authority that radiated from him. His looks had matured too, his features sharpened. And damn, he was looking good. I tried to tell myself it was just the stress of the job or the exhaustion from another case, but there was no denying the attraction I felt whenever Spencer was near.

Today was no different. The team had split up to canvass the area, and I was assigned to work alongside Spencer as we checked out a local business that may have been connected to the suspect. When I met him outside the building, my breath hitched in my throat.

He was wearing the FBI tactical vest—something he rarely wore in the past—but today it fit him like it had been made for him. It was snug around his broad shoulders, the dark fabric accentuating the lean muscles in his arms. I couldn't tear my eyes away from the way the vest hugged his chest, the way the fabric stretched with every movement, making him look more... powerful.

The tension was almost palpable as we walked through the door. I could barely focus on the task at hand, my mind fixated on him—on the way he walked, on the way his jaw clenched when he was focused, on the slight tension in his posture that only made him look more... commanding.

"You good?" Spencer asked, his voice pulling me from my thoughts.

I blinked, realizing I had been staring at him longer than was socially acceptable. "Uh, yeah. Just... tired," I stammered, shaking my head as if to clear the thoughts swirling in my head.

He raised an eyebrow, the faintest smirk curling at the corners of his lips. "Tired, huh? Well, we’ve only been on the job for an hour," he teased, though I noticed a certain edge to his tone that I hadn’t heard before.

I forced a smile, looking down to hide the heat creeping up my neck. "Just... lots to think about."

The air between us felt charged now, and I couldn’t shake the feeling that Spencer was... noticing me in a way he hadn’t before. It was subtle, but it was there. And that only made me feel more flustered.

---

By the end of the day, the team had gathered back in the hotel to go over the case details. I was trying my hardest not to make eye contact with Spencer, but I could feel his presence in the room like a force pulling at me. He wasn’t the same as he used to be. His confidence had shifted the dynamic between us, and now it was almost impossible to ignore.

As we all gathered around the table, discussing the evidence, it wasn’t lost on me that Spencer’s vest was still on. I could barely focus on anything else, but as I tried to make mental notes of the details, I felt a shift in the energy around me. Morgan leaned over to whisper something in Hotch’s ear, then shot me a glance. I couldn’t help but feel the heat in my face as I realized they had noticed the way I was looking at Spencer.

"Someone's got a thing for Dr. Reid," Morgan teased quietly, just loud enough for me to hear. I felt my cheeks flush instantly.

I glanced around, hoping nobody else had caught the exchange, but my eyes met JJ’s, and she was smirking knowingly. There was no hiding it now.

I leaned forward, trying to change the subject, but Derek was relentless. "Come on, Y/N, don’t try to pretend you’re not totally into him." His grin widened as Spencer looked up, clearly unaware of the direction the conversation was taking.

"Stop it," I muttered under my breath, my face burning.

But Morgan wasn’t backing down. "I see the way you look at him when he wears that vest," he added, his voice too loud. "It’s like you’re ready to pounce."

I wanted to melt into the floor, but Spencer, ever the oblivious genius, was still talking shop with Hotch, not noticing a thing. I could feel the heat of embarrassment flooding through me, but all I could do was give Morgan a pleading look.

JJ finally intervened, trying to be the peacemaker. "Okay, okay, let’s not make her too uncomfortable." She shot me an apologetic smile, but I could see the twinkle of amusement in her eyes.

I rubbed my temples, trying to focus on the case instead of my rapidly escalating heart rate. The last thing I wanted was for anyone to know how badly I was crushing on Spencer Reid. I was doing just fine pretending it was nothing more than friendly admiration.

---

Later that night, after everyone had retreated to their rooms, I couldn’t shake the teasing comments. I was trying to wind down, but the images of Spencer in that vest kept flashing in my mind. The way it fit him, how it made him look so... so strong. I let out a frustrated sigh and ran a hand through my hair.

Just as I was about to lie down, there was a knock at my door. My heart skipped a beat, and I stood up quickly, hoping it wasn’t one of the guys looking to hassle me some more. When I opened the door, however, it wasn’t Morgan or JJ—it was Spencer.

He looked at me with a slight smile on his lips, though there was something different about it this time. More knowing. He was standing in the doorway, still in his FBI vest, his eyes locking onto mine with an intensity I hadn’t expected.

"May I come in?" he asked quietly.

I nodded wordlessly, stepping back to allow him in. I could feel the tension in the room almost immediately.

Spencer closed the door behind him and turned to face me. He was watching me carefully, his eyes scanning my face like he was trying to piece something together.

"Look," he started, his voice calm but carrying an edge. "I know what’s been going on. And I know you’re not exactly great at hiding it."

I swallowed, feeling heat rush to my cheeks. "What are you talking about?" I managed to say, though I was sure I wasn’t fooling anyone.

Spencer smiled, but it wasn’t the teasing smile from before—it was softer, almost like he was... amused. "The way you look at me," he said, taking a step closer. "The way you can’t seem to focus when I’m around."

My breath hitched in my throat, and I froze, not knowing how to respond.

"I just wanted to say," he continued, his voice lowering, "that I’ve noticed. And I have to admit, I’ve been kind of hoping you would."

I stared at him, not sure if I was hearing things right. "You—what?"

"I’ve been feeling it too," he said, his tone dropping lower, more intense. "This... tension. It’s been building for weeks. And it’s kind of driving me crazy."

Before I could fully process his words, Spencer stepped forward, closing the distance between us. His lips brushed against my ear as he spoke again, his breath hot against my skin. "I know this is crazy, but I can’t pretend anymore."

And then, in one swift motion, he kissed me. His lips were hot and insistent, and I was lost. Completely and utterly lost. His hands slid to my waist, pulling me against him as the kiss deepened, everything else fading away. The teasing, the awkwardness, the unspoken words—all of it snapped away in an instant.

It was a kiss that told me everything I needed to know. The months of tension, the unspoken attraction—it was all spilling out in that one kiss.

When we finally pulled apart, breathless and trembling, Spencer’s eyes searched mine. "So," he said softly, "I think it’s safe to say that we’re both on the same page now, right?"

I couldn’t even form words. All I could do was nod, pulling him back to me for another kiss.

"Spencer," I whispered, my voice barely audible, the air between us charged with more energy than I could handle. My mind raced, but my body wasn’t listening—it only knew that I wanted him close.

"You’ve been running through my mind all night," he admitted, his voice soft but steady, full of that quiet confidence I hadn’t seen from him until recently.

My lips parted in surprise, but before I could say a word, he closed the distance again, his hand gently cupping my face. He deepened the kiss, his lips warm and urgent against mine, and it was as if a dam had broken. The kiss was no longer gentle; it was desperate, hungry—a release of weeks, months, maybe even years of unspoken tension. He pulled me toward him, one arm sliding around my waist, the other threading through my hair, gently pulling my head back to give him better access.

I melted against him, my fingers instinctively curling into the fabric of his FBI vest. The way he was holding me—so firm, so confident—sent a surge of heat straight to my core. The kiss grew deeper, our lips clashing and moving in sync as if we were both finally, irrevocably, giving in to what had been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

Spencer pulled back just slightly, his forehead resting against mine, our breaths mingling, both of us a little too out of control now.

"I’ve wanted this for so long," he murmured against my lips, his voice hoarse, as if the confession was as much of a surprise to him as it was to me. He sounded almost desperate, like he had been holding this back for far too long and couldn’t keep the floodgates closed any longer.

My chest tightened as I looked into his eyes—his pupils dilated, his lips slightly swollen from our kiss. "So have I," I breathed, my voice shaky, but confident in the truth of my words. There was no doubt in my mind anymore; this connection between us was undeniable.

Without another word, he kissed me again—this time slower, deeper, as though savoring the moment. His hands slid down to my hips, tugging me closer, pressing our bodies together. I gasped at the sudden intensity of it all—the heat, the urgency, the way he was holding me as if he was afraid I might slip away.

I ran my hands up his chest, brushing the fabric of his vest before moving higher, my fingers tangling in his hair. Spencer shuddered at the touch, pulling me even closer until there was no space between us, until it felt like we were two parts of the same whole. The heat between us was nearly unbearable, but I didn’t want him to stop. I didn’t want any of this to end.

Spencer broke the kiss, though, his breath ragged as he looked down at me with a mixture of awe and need. "Are you sure we should continue this? Say no. But do it now" he asked, his voice quiet but full of the kind of intensity that made my heart race even faster. "Or else I won't be able to control myself."

I looked up at him, my chest rising and falling with each rapid breath, my mind clouded with desire. But there was no hesitation in me now. I knew what I wanted.

"I’m sure," I whispered, pulling him back to me, kissing him fiercely this time.

And that’s when the floodgates really opened.

We found our way to the bed, the world outside the hotel room forgotten. The only thing that mattered in this moment was the heat between us, the desperate, thrilling need to touch and be touched, to finally give in to the attraction that had been building between us for months.

Spencer’s hands were everywhere—gliding over my back, cupping my face, tugging at my clothes with an urgency I could feel deep in my bones. I didn’t want to rush, but at the same time, I didn’t want to wait any longer. I needed him. Needed this connection, needed to feel the way he made me burn with desire.

"God, you’re beautiful," he murmured, his voice rough as he kissed a trail down my neck, sending shivers through my body. His touch was both gentle and possessive, like he wanted to explore every inch of me. The way he said the words—like he truly meant it—had my heart racing all over again.

I reached up, threading my fingers through his hair, pulling him back to me, claiming his lips in a kiss that was all hunger and heat. He groaned into the kiss, one of his hands sliding down my side, tracing the curve of my waist, his fingers brushing against the fabric of my clothes.

I didn’t want any barriers between us. Not now.

Pulling away from his lips for a brief moment, I met his eyes, my heart hammering in my chest. "Spencer," I whispered, my voice trembling, but full of need. "I want you. Now."

He froze for a moment, his eyes searching mine, "Are you sure?"

But there was no need for words now. The intensity in my gaze told him everything he needed to know.

With a quiet sigh, he nodded and kissed me again, this time with a new fervor, as if the weight of the world had been lifted. And as we gave ourselves to each other, there was no going back. No hesitation. Just the raw, beautiful connection between two people who had wanted this for far too long.

---

When the morning light filtered through the blinds, I woke up wrapped in Spencer’s arms, his chest rising and falling with each slow breath. My head rested on his shoulder, my body still pressed against his, the faintest of smiles tugging at my lips as I thought back on the night before.

It wasn’t just about the physical connection we’d shared—it was something deeper, something that had been waiting to blossom between us for months, maybe even longer. Spencer and I had crossed a threshold, one that neither of us could ever go back from, and that thought made my heart swell.

His fingers gently brushed against my back as he stirred, and when he finally looked down at me, his eyes were filled with something soft—something intimate that made my pulse quicken in a completely different way than before.

"Morning," he whispered, his voice still thick with sleep, but the warmth in it made my heart skip a beat.

I smiled up at him, my hand sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath my palm. "Morning," I replied softly, my voice still heavy from the night.

And then, without a word, Spencer kissed me again, slow and gentle, his lips tracing the outline of mine like he had all the time in the world. And in that moment, I knew we both had all the time in the world.

a/n: Bonus gifs:

[phossiii]

｡𖦹°‧⭑ monsters: chapter three

synopsis: phosphorus helps you with your little problem. and a brawl starts up in the kitchen.

cw: reader is a monster, mature themes, violence, profanity, innuendos, phosphorus is phosphorus, nsfw, very spicy chapter, phosphorus has a dick, a tongue, and is able to kiss.

a/n: again, so sorry for the delay. the entire fuckin' draft deleted and i had to rewrite everything.

Without hesitation, Phosphorus hooked his hand on the back of your neck, pulling you into a kiss.

Eagerly, you accepted it, shifting your thighs on either side of him to sit further on his lap, pressing yourself flush against his crotch.

His hands tightly gripped your ass and thighs as they slid under the hem of your shorts, his tongue swirling with with yours as you softly moaned into his mouth, hands tightly grasping his shoulders.

Your sounds nearly had him reeling, forcing the man to bite back his groan.

'Jesus Christ...'

He couldn't believe this was happening.

You... showing up at his door, all hot and bothered, demanding he fuck you right?

It was like something out of a cheesy porno.

But who was he to complain?

He had a hot demon woman shoving her tongue down his throat.

Who could ask for more?

With a cocky chuckle, he roughly flipped you both over, pouncing on you and sucking harsh circles across your neck and chest, forcing you to arch your back into his touch.

"You should be thankin' me, doll face. I'm movin' around my schedule for this," he murmured into your flesh, keeping up his rhythm.

"I'll be sure to send you a thank you basket," you scoffed, breathless, as you hooked your fingers under the hem of your shirt.

With your back off the mattress, you did away with your tank top and shorts, tossing them to the far corner.

His non-existent eyes ticked up to meet yours as he traced a finger over your stomach, cockily.

"If you are, might I suggest banana nut muffins?" he chuckled. "Pretty fitting for our situation."

Slowly, his hands reached up to grope your tits, roughly molding and massaging them as his teeth trailed down your navel, smoothly moving to your thighs in an attempt to drag your panties down your legs.

You moaned at the feeling of his fingers pinching your nipples, skin buzzing with electricity and anticipation.

"Phos, fuck," you exhaled, breath hitching at a particularly sharp pinch.

After a moment of pause, he finally got your panties off, dragging them off your feet before dropping them to the floor, taking the opportunity to pry your thighs open.

The sight he was met with nearly made his glow-stick shoot straight up.

'Scwing.'

Before him sat your sobbing, wet cunt, sitting patient and pretty just for him.

"So... everything is red..." he smirked, leaning in and pressing teasing kisses into your lips, forcing sparks of pleasure to explode in your body. "Called it."

He looked up at you from between your thighs, the intensity of his gaze sending a shiver down your spin.

But before you could say anything, his tongue slithered out his mouth to toy with your clit, stealing away any possible hope of coherent thought.

"N-N...Oh, fuck, yes!" you moaned, tilting your head back in ecstasy.

He chuckled, the fan of his breath making your cunt throb.

"Never took you for a screamer..."

Without warning, he yanked you closer by your ankles, relishing your mousy yelp of surprise.

"What happened to all that mouth, doll face?"

"Phos, please," you whined. "Just shut the fuck up and use your mouth for something useful."

"Someone's eager..."

"So help me God, I will go down the hall and find Fla—"

He practically dove into your pussy at the mention of the general, slurping at your juices and sucking at your clit like a man on a mission.

He alternated between swirling his tongue around your entrance and teasing your sensitive button, his hands pinning your thighs as far apart as they would go.

You nearly lost it, body on autopilot as your mouth let loose with whatever sounds it felt like.

"God, yes, yes, yes!" you moaned. "Right there, Phos, fuck, right there!"

His hot tongue, tinged with a faint sting from his powers as it lapped at your core, making a mess of your pussy.

"Right there?" he teasingly asked. "Not right here, doll?"

Suddenly, you felt his finger begin to probe you, slowly slipping inside and aiming upward to rub against that certain spongy spot.

"C'mon... I'm waitin for your orders..." he chuckled, his tongue still working its magic on your clit.

Your eyes rolled back like you were possessed, your thighs harshly clamping around his head, desperate to keep him where he was.

"Fuck," you whined, fingertips singing the sheets. "How the fuck are you so good at this? You're a goddamn skeleton..."

Smirking into you, he continued his ministrations, gliding his finger in and out as he lapped at your heat, quickly bringing you to your peak.

"Shit!" you gasped, loudly. "Phos, m'gunna-gunna come!"

At the same time, he looked up at you, and you looked down at him, the alluring green of his fire pulling you into a small trance.

Phosphorus held your gaze as he practically shoved you over the edge, forcing you release with an almost pornographic moan, and cum all over his mouth.

But he didn't stop

He made it a point to continue eating you out, making your orgasm last far longer than it should.

Your words became slurred as jumbled as you begged him to stop.

"P-Phos!" you whimpered. "Please... oh, fuck, please! I-I can't... oh, I can't..."

Fortunately for you, he finally stopped, standing between your thighs as his chin and mouth glistened with your cum.

"Tastes like..." he pulled his finger out of you, holding it up to pause as his tongue dragged across his bottom lip. "Brimstone?"

You rolled your eyes, sitting up and cupping his face between your hands before mashing your lips passionately with his.

With a chuckle, Phosphorus wrapped his arms around you, pulling your body flush against him for only a moment, before he flipped you around and shoved you stomach first back onto the bed.

Faster than humanly possible, he tugged off his hoodie, dropping his pants and boxers as he got you into position.

On your knees.

Face down.

Ass up.

"Alright," he started, voicing dipping an octave. "You got your fill... S'my turn now."

SMACK!

His hand came down to smack your ass cheek, his power giving it a little extra bite.

The sharp sensation made you gasp, your toes curling at the intoxicating mix of pain and pleasure.

"Naughty girl," he grinned, free hand mindlessly toying with your pointed tail. "You're really gettin' off on this, arentcha? That desperate for my cock?"

"Fuck you," you spat, half-heartedly.

"If you insist..."

Planting another smack on your ass, he positioned his dick, and, in one swift motion, filled you to the hilt.

"Oh, fuck," he moaned while you let out another sharp gasp, tightly gripping the sheets under you.

But rather than let himself adjust, he moved right into it, pistoning his hips into your jiggly, soft ass.

"Fuck, Phos, sh-shit!" you cried, shoving your face in the mattress to muffle your noise. "W-Wait! D-Don't... oh, fuck!...don't go so fast! Ohh, my God!"

Phosphorus cackled at your pathetic stammering and babbling in between your moans and gasps as he drove himself into you again and again, his grip on your hips increasing in heat as his fingers dug into the fleshy parts of your ass.

"Not a chance, doll," he puffed.

He paused mid-stroke to hike his leg up on the bed before continuing to drive his cock into you, making your jaw fall slack at the new angle.

And he continued at his breakneck pace, moaning about how hot you looked as his hand left your hip to rub your clit, the other giving your ass yet another harsh smack.

You felt your second orgasm rising, your pussy tightening around his dick while that knot in your core began to tighten, signaling your end.

"Yes!" you cried out. "Fuck, right there! Right fuckin there!"

Leaning down, he pressed his face into your ear, rutting into you like a wild animal.

You gripped the sheets for dear life, holding on tightly and moaning into the mattress as your heated nails dragged down the fabric, your noises pulling rough grunts of pleasure from his irradiated lips.

"You like me," Phosphorus panted into your ear. "You can shout and scowl all you want... you like me."

"Phos, please!" you begged. "M'so close!"

"So am I," he groaned. "But no one's coming 'til you tell me what I wanna hear."

He leaned back to get a good look at you, eyes transfixed on your body as his hands kneaded your ass.

"Admit you like me."

You looked back at him with horror.

Did you want to cum?

Yes.

Did you want him to win?

Hell. No.

"F-Fuck off!" you shouted, delirious.

With a cocky smirk, Phosphorus slowed down, making his thrusts shallow and slow.

"You wanna try that again?"

The devious twinkle in his eye was pretty much invisible, but you could practically hear it in his voice.

He was teasing you.

And you didn't have the patience.

"Goddammit!" you sobbed. "I like you! You're not...fuck... you're not terrible to be around! Now fuckin' let me cum!"

A wide, gigawatt smile crossed Phosphorus's face, your admission the highlight of his day.

"See? Was that so hard?" he chuckled.

Tightening his grip, he sped up his thrusts, putting his whole back into it as his cock drilled your wet cunt over and over and over and over again until—

"Cummin'" you whimpered. "M'gunna cum!"

His lips parted as he panted and groaned, the feeling of you squeezing around him almost too much.

Leaning down, he wrapped a hand around your throat, forcing you to look up so he could meet your lips with a sloppy, moan-filled, open-mouthed kiss.

Instantly, you came all over his cock, his kiss swallowing your gasps of release as your body tensed and writhed in his grasp.

With a few thrusts and feral grunt, he quickly pulled himself out of you, emptying himself all over your back and ass.

You don't say a word, and you don't even move.

You couldn't.

At the moment, your body was too exhausted to do anything but lay there and take it.

Once he was done, Phosphorus sighed with relief, muscles loosening as another light chuckle left his lips.

He released your cock, soft and coated in your mixed cum, and tilted his head up to look at the ceiling.

"Alright... back to business."

As he shuffled around behind you, putting his clothes back on—according to your pointed ears—you continued to lay in your position, staring into space as the gravity of your situation finally began to sink in.

Phosphorus, easily the most annoying person you had ever met, had just given you the best fuck of your life.

You practically shuddered at the thought, your tail falling limply at the realization

'I should've looked for Flag...'

"M-Miss? Are you feeling well?" one of the female cooks asked, concerned, and quite fearful, as you downed another round of whiskey.

With a groan, you slammed the empty glass down on the island, puffing a tiny fireball from the side of your mouth with a huff.

That was your tenth bottle.

And you were approaching your eleventh as your tail moved to grab the neck of a new one.

'Hope that witch never comes. I could get used to good booze like this.'

"Yes," you sighed, crossing your arms over your chest as your tail poured another glass, not in the mood for conversation. "I am feeling well."

"Are you sure of this?" a man chimed in, utterly baffled. "In all my years, I have never seen someone drink so much and still stand."

Hell, he had never seen someone drink so much and still be alive.

But then again, most of the staff barely knew what to expect when it came to the creatures protecting their princess.

You had shuffled into the kitchen a few minutes ago, asking for a bottle of their strongest, and, naturally, they obliged, seeing as you were an honored guest.

But that didn't mean they couldn't have their own worries.

With another sigh, you took a sip of your drink, looking over the rim and away from the man, wistfully.

"People like me don't get drunk."

Just then, your pointed ears flicked up, the faint sound of splintering wood bounding off the walls as you lowered your glass.

'The hell?'

Slowly, but surely, it began to get louder, your eyes shooting wide as the ceiling gave way, dropping Flag and Phosphorus right on the kitchen island.

With screams and shouts of terror, the chefs and cooks ran out the room, the fallen wood setting a section of the room on fire.

But you ignored them, more concerned with the flaming skeleton lying in front of you.

"The hell are you doing? You're scaring away my tap," you cocked a brow, annoyed.

"Someone's up and at 'em. Last I saw, you were face down in my mattress," he teased, cockily, as he sat up, grabbing his chin and snapping his neck back into place.

He did it so nonchalant, sending a rippling warmth right through your stomach, and forcing your eyes to widen slightly.

'Damn...'

That is... until you finally process what he said.

"Asshole!"

"Mattress?" Flag cocked a brow, confused, as he turned to you.

Swiftly, his eyes scanned over your form, taking note of the numerous hickeys littering your chest and neck, as well as the slight wildness of your hair and the drooping strap of your tank top.

'No. Fucking. Way.'

"Are you fuckin' kidding me?!" he exclaimed, looking between you both incredulously.

"Think that's bad, you should see her ass," Phosphorus grinned, proudly reminiscing on the hand print he'd left on your reddened ass cheek.

You jerked, about to cuss him out when you suddenly caught sight of the detonator sitting in a teacup, just waiting to be grabbed.

'Oh, shit.'

Without hesitation, your tail dropped your glass and snatched it up, much to Flag's surprise.

"No!"

"Phos! How do I disarm this shit?!" you frantically asked, running up the wall and plopping down on the ceiling as Flag reached for a cast-iron skillet to throw at you.

Quickly, Phosphorus grabbed him by the wrist, stopping his hand and earning a harsh, pained wince.

"Just press buttons—Ungh!" the skeleton was cut off as Flag kicked him in the chest, sending him flying off the island and giving him the opening he needed to hit you in the head with the pan.

"Fuck!" you spat as you fell from the ceiling, dropping the detonator as you clutched your head. "Bitch!"

Jumping off the counter, Flag ran to grab it, but Phosphorus pulled himself up just in time to hit him in the back with a small spurt of fire, sending the man flying into the stove and right into the hot pots.

"Ah! Fuck!" he cursed, quickly shoving an oven mitt over his burned right hand.

As Phosphorus picked up the detonator with a wicked chuckle, you launched yourself forward, grabbing onto a hanging light fixture and swinging toward the general as he charged your new partner in crime.

Roughly, you tackled him into a table, completely breaking it in half as you attempted to pin him down.

Despite the fact that you were fighting, you didn't really want to hurt the man.

As boy scout-ish as he was, Flag had been nothing but nice to you, and seemed to be a genuinely kind and honest man.

If you could help it, you would try to neutralize the threat without maiming the poor guy.

Though, just as you got a good hold, Flag used his feet to push you off at the chest and stand up, nearly launching you across the room.

But you anticipated and used your tail to grab him by the neck in mid-air, swinging yourself back around to tackle him from behind, sending him crashing into the island.

"Any progress over there?!" you asked, annoyed, as you grabbed the general by the back of his head, pushing his face into the counter top.

"Nope. Nothin' yet," Phosphorus denied, examining the small device as if it was an alien thing.

"Well, could you hurry it—Shit!"

Before you could finish, Flag threw your bottle of whiskey in your face, smashing the glass against your horns and forcing you to stumble backward.

As you frantically tried to clear your vision, he ran toward Phosphorus, using his momentum to smash the skeleton's skull against a cabinet.

Instantly, Phosphorus whipped around and backhanded him away, charging in for a kick—which Flag dodged by a hair.

But without missing a beat, the general grabbed him by the waist, suplexing and sending the skeleton flying across the room, the detonator landing right in the middle.

Quickly, both men scrambled to their feet, Phosphorus charging at full speed before Flag shoulder-checked him into a glass china display.

Finally able to see, you rushed back into the fight, using the island as a springboard to forward flip over before sending your tail to grab the device.

Much to your surprise, though, Flag used both hands to grab you by your thigh in mid-air, swirling around before tossing you into the shelves across the room.

But while his back was turned, Phosphorus launched a heated punch, though the general was able to weave out the way and send two harsh strikes to his face and chest, finishing it all off with a kick to the face before he finally grabbed the detonator.

"Shit..." you groaned, bracing yourself for the pain.

"Richard?" Princess Ilana chimed, concerned, from her spot in the doorway.

Pausing a moment, Flag turned to her, seeming to regain his composure before returning to you two.

"Phoshporus! (y/n)! You think Waller would give me the only remote?" he exclaimed, severely annoyed, as he turned to the irradiated skeleton. "You'd be hopping around like a Mexican jumping bean for days, if you escaped."

Quickly, he whipped around to you.

"And you'd become a threat to national security."

You face fell slightly at the reminder, forcing you to look off to the side.

Letting his shoulders drop, Flag looked between you both, sincerely.

"I'm not here to torture you. We're supposed to be on the same damn team."

With a harsh sigh, he turned away, storming out the kitchen with Ilana in tow, leaving you and Phosphorus to sit there, dumbfounded.

Neither of you had any idea that he was so benevolent.

Quietly, you both pulled yourselves to your feet, heading for the door and walking out into the hallway in sync.

Together, you moved in silence, until, of course, Phosphorus broke the tension.

"So... still need help with your problem?"

"Not in a million years."

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: MDNI, angst, bickering, mention of toxic relationship, aftermath of a toxic relationship, arguments, tension

I step carefully through the wreckage of my apartment, trying to see what’s salvageable so I could have a few things to live out of, staying with the triplets. Most of my things are either smashed, torn, or covered in a fine layer of dirt and glass shards. Ethan didn’t just take his belongings, he left destruction in his wake.

I sigh, kneeling down to inspect what’s left. A lot of it can be replaced, I tell myself. Furniture, dishes, even the picture frames, it’s all just stuff. But as I rummage through the mess, a sinking feeling sets in. Something’s missing.

My heart races as I scan the countertop near the bathroom. I dig through drawers, lift pillows off the bed, and even check the edge of the shower where I remember setting it.

“My locket..” I whisper.

The small, gold locket my grandfather gave me before he passed. Engraved with his writing, something I felt always brought me good luck. I only take it off to shower, but this morning, in the rush of everything, I forgot to put it back on after. Now, it’s gone.

I stand still, gripping the edge of the sink. Of all the things Ethan could have taken or destroyed, why this? I close my eyes, trying to steady myself, but the loss feels heavier than the rest of the chaos combined.

“Y/n?” Nick’s voice snaps me back to reality.

“I’m almost done” I call back, my voice cracking slightly.

“We’ll wait in the car, take your time.” Nick says, as the three of them leave my apartment.

I grab my suitcase, throwing in whatever clothes and keepsakes I can save. My heart aches as I step over broken memories, knowing I’ll never feel at home here again.

As I walk out of the apartment, I take one last glance at the space that used to be mine. Now it’s just a reminder of what I’ve lost, and what I need to leave behind.

Outside, I see the triplets waiting in Chris’s car. Chris is leaning against the driver’s door, scrolling on his phone. Matt is in the passenger seat, looking like he couldn’t care less about the situation. Nick spots me and jogs over, taking the suitcase from my hand without saying a word.

“You okay?” Nick asks softly.

I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Let’s just get out of here.”

Chris looks up as Nick loads my suitcase into the trunk. “You sure you’ve got everything?”

“Yeah..” I reply, forcing a weak smile, wanting to grab the empty space on my chest where my locket would’ve lay, knowing the one thing I promised to never lose, is now gone.

Matt lets out an exaggerated sigh as I climb into the backseat. “Thank god, I’m still starving.”

The drive to their house is tense. Chris hums along to the radio, Nick tries to lighten the mood by cracking a few jokes, and Matt stays silent, occasionally scrolling on his phone. I stare out the window, trying to focus on anything but the knot of anxiety tightening in my chest.

This wasn’t how things were supposed to go. But for now, I had no choice but to figure out how to move forward.

We pull into the garage of the triplets’ house, a place I’ve been to more times than I can count. Between my friendship with Nick and working with Chris, this house isn’t unfamiliar territory. The three story house is a place full of energy, chaos, and, right now, tension.

Chris parks the car, and I step out, clutching my suitcase in one hand. Nick is already out of the car and at the door, holding it open for me like the good friend he is, while Matt trails behind us, dragging his feet like he’s walking to his own execution.

“You know where everything is” Nick says as he ushers me inside.

I step inside, suitcase in hand, the stairs creaking slightly as I lug my suitcase up to the main living area. Chris floated off into his bedroom on the way in, and Matt made comfort for himself on the couch. From there, I follow Nick up the next flight to the top level of the house. My new “room” is just outside Nick’s.

The podcast room, or what used to be the podcast room, is a tiny square area tucked at the end of the top of the stairs. The artificial walls are still standing, flimsy and paper thin, painted in mismatched shades of white, pink, and turquoise. It’s like stepping into a DIY project someone abandoned halfway through. The floor is covered in black and white checkered lino, glaringly out of place against the rest of the house.

“It’s not the Ritz” Nick says, scratching the back of his neck, “but we can make it work. I’ll help you get set up.”

“No it’s fine, I appreciate it” I reply, offering a small smile. “You’re saving my ass right now.”

I drop my suitcase on the floor and glance around. The space is.. A space. Let’s go with that. It doesn’t have a door, just an open entrance directly leading to the stairs, and Nick’s bedroom door opposite me, but I can’t exactly complain. I knew this was a temporary solution.

Nick gestures to the far corner. “We can fit a bed over there, maybe a little shelf or something for your stuff. I’ll start looking for furniture now.”

“Thanks, Nick.”

He grins. “What are best friends for?”

I glance at the walls, noticing faint pencil marks where posters and soundproofing foam used to be. The room is oddly quiet, considering how thin walls are, I know on a day to day basis they aren’t much of a barrier, but they’ll give me some semblance of privacy.

I roll my suitcase over to the corner and I unzip it, beginning to pull out my toiletries, placing them on the floor beside me as I try to figure out the best way to organize everything. Toothbrush, toothpaste, skincare stuff, my shampoo and conditioner.

“Uh, Nick?” I call out, glancing over my shoulder at him. “I’m not really sure where to put my toiletries. Using your bathroom would mean I’d be going in and out of your room all the time, and that could get pretty inconvenient.. especially if you’re asleep or something.”

Nick tilts his head, considering. “Yeah, that might get a little awkward. You could always use Matt’s bathroom, I mean it’s not in his room, and everyone uses it anyway.”

I freeze for a second, side eyeing Nick. “Matt’s bathroom?”

“Yeah” Nick says, as if it’s the simplest solution in the world. “It’s easier, and you won’t have to tiptoe around me.”

I glance down at the stairs knowing Matt’s down there, already dreading how this conversation is going to go. As if on cue, Matt’s voice echoes from somewhere below. “Wait what?”

Nick leans over the railing. “I said Y/n could use your bathroom since it’s easier. It’s not a big deal.”

Matt appears at the bottom of the stairs, his expression a mix of disbelief and irritation. “Why does it have to be my bathroom? You’ve got one. Chris has one.”

“Because it’s not in anyone’s bedroom” Nick explains to him. “And it’s right down the stairs.”

Matt runs a hand through his hair, clearly annoyed.

I sigh, standing at the top of the stairs, crossing my arms. “Look, I’ll keep my stuff out of the way, and I won’t use it when you’re in there. It’s not like I’m going to live in your bathroom.”

Matt narrows his eyes, muttering under his breath, “Feels like it.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “Stop being dramatic. It’s not like she’s going to redecorate your shower.”

I shoot Matt a pointed look. “Believe me, this is just as awkward for me as it is for you. But I’m not exactly drowning in options right now.”

Matt throws his hands up. “Fine. But if my stuff goes missing or gets moved, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Nick rolls his eyes. “You’ll survive, Matt. Trust me.”

Matt mutters something under his breath before heading back to sit on the couch. I turn to Nick, who just shrugs with a lopsided smile.

“Don’t worry about him” Nick says. “He’ll get over it. Eventually.”

I sigh, rubbing my temples. “Yeah, let’s hope that happens sooner rather than later.”

Deciding that keeping my toiletries in my little makeshift room for now is the safest bet, I arrange them neatly in the corner. I’ll just grab what I need when I need it and take them down to Matt’s bathroom individually. No reason to make this situation worse, or give Matt another excuse to complain.

Nick, still leaning against the doorframe of his own room, looks up from his phone. “I just checked some spots online for a bed. Macy’s has a decent one we can go pick up today.”

Matt, who’s clearly eavesdropping from the couch below, calls out, “I’m not driving. Ask Chris.”

“You’re so helpful, Matt. Seriously.” Nick yells down the stairs.

I sigh, standing up. “It’s fine, I’ll go ask Chris.”

Leaving Nick and Matt to bicker, I head down the stairs to the bottom floor of the house where Chris’s room is. His door is slightly ajar, so I knock lightly. “Chris?”

No response. I push the door open a little more, peeking inside. Chris is sprawled out on his bed, fast asleep, with one arm draped over his eyes. His phone is charging on the nightstand, and a half empty bottle of pepsi sits next to it.

For a moment, I debated whether I should wake him up. I decided against it since I’ve just moved into the place, the last thing I want to do is make demands or step on anyone's toes. 

I turn on my heel to walk back up the stairs, Nick and Matt still bickering in the distance, I hesitate at the bottom, my hand gripping the banister tightly as I hear Matt's voice. His tone is sharp, laced with irritation.

“I just don’t get why she has to live here” he hisses, clearly unaware that I’m within earshot. “Like, does she not have any other friends?”

My stomach twists at his words, and my steps slow, barely making a sound.

“She does, Matt.” Nick retorts, his voice firm. “But she’s also my best friend, and I’m sure Chris would consider her one of his too. This will also make things easier for them both for work purposes. Like you’re the only one with an issue here.”

I stay frozen in place, torn between storming up there and pretending I didn’t hear a thing.

“Yeah” Matt scoffs, his voice dripping with sarcasm, “and I bet Chris only gave her the job because he wants to smash.”

His comment lands like a punch to the gut, my heart sinking. I stand there, gripping the railing, trying to push away the sting of his words.

Nick lets out a frustrated sigh. “Seriously, Matt? That’s low, even for you. Chris gave her the job because she’s good at it, and you know it. Maybe if you actually got to know her instead of acting like an ass all the time, you’d see that too.”

There’s a brief silence, and I think about heading back to Chris’s room to avoid hearing any more, but my feet feel glued to the spot.

Matt’s voice cuts through the pause. “Whatever, man. Just don’t expect me to be all buddy buddy with her. She’s your friend, not mine.”

I take a deep breath, swallowing the lump in my throat. I’ve always known Matt and I didn’t get along, but hearing him talk about me like that feels different.

Determined not to let them see how much it affected me, I make my way up the stairs, forcing my steps to sound casual. As I approach, Nick glances over his shoulder at me, his expression softening into something apologetic. Matt doesn’t even look my way, his jaw set and his arms crossed.

“Chris is asleep” I say, keeping my voice calm. “I didn’t want to wake him.”

Nick sighs, pushing himself up from where he was leaning against the wall. “Alright, guess that leaves us with Plan B.”

Matt immediately looks skeptical. “What’s Plan B?”

“You.” Nick says as if that was a stupid thing to ask.

Matt groans, his head tipping back dramatically. “Are you serious? Why do I have to do it?”

“Because you’re here, you have a car, and Chris is asleep” Nick counters, folding his arms. “Stop being difficult and help.”

Matt looks between the two of us, his jaw tightening. “Fine” he finally says, his tone clipped. “But if I’m driving, you both owe me food, since I never got it earlier..”

Nick smirks. “Deal.”

“And I’m not spending hours out here either, I’ve places to be later.” Matt says firmly, as he grabs his keys.

Nick, already halfway down the stairs, doesn’t even look back. "Relax, Matt. Looking for bedding isn’t going to make you miss your date later."

I glance at Matt, who scowls, his expression hardening even further. "Good. Because I’m not ditching plans to play chauffeur."

“Yeah, yeah, we get it” Nick says with a dismissive wave as we step outside toward the car.

I follow behind, trying to suppress my irritation at Matt’s attitude, silently wishing this entire situation didn’t feel so awkward, and I didn’t overhear that conversation.

As we climb in to the car, I silently promise myself I’ll try to stay out of Matt’s way as much as possible. If only it were that easy.

a/n: my sleep pattern is FUCKED so parts might be all over the place

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[rikiislvr]

unavailable . 2 - nishimura riki

pairing: afab!reader x nishimura riki

summary: fresh out a relationship with a heavy heart, niki seeks comfort in his best friend, not knowing you were falling for him

warnings: cussing

ps. read part 1 if you’d like! :)

the next morning, you woke up first, looking down, you seen niki laid against your arm, dried tears stained his face, you couldn’t help but feel horrible for him.

you were knocked out of your thoughts from the sound of his phone buzzing on your nightstand, you reach over just incase it was his parents,

but no… it was ivy.

- 3 unread messages -

vy <3 : niki? it’s morning now.. can you reply?

vy <3 : i’m sry i ended things that way, i meant to do it sooner!

vy <3: pls can u call me?

you couldn’t help but scoff at the messages, you cared about ivy, but you would’ve never expected for her to do what she did, you were hoping there was a truly valid reason on why she ended things off 5 months into the relationship…

you look down as you felt niki shuffle in his sleep, his eyes fluttering open, he blinked softly before looking up at you,

“was that my phone going on?” he mumbled, you nod and handed him his phone, he read the screen and sighed, putting his phone down on the bed and laying his head back down on your arm.

“don’t force yourself to reply. it’s bullshit ki..” you reassure, he nods, “i just don’t know why.. she wouldn’t tell me when i asked.” he sighs, “what actually happened?” you say.

he sat up, making you sit up too, his pushed his hair back before clearing his throat, “we were walking in the empty park after we got dinner.. it was going fine, she was smiling and… i was laughing. we were holding hands. suddenly a change in her energy was shown..”

you tilt your head,

“she suddenly stopped walking and.. told me she didn’t wanna hurt me but.. she couldn’t do this relationship anymore. i tried to ask for more of an explanation but she let go of my hand and ran home..” he sighs.

you couldn’t help but shake your head, niki felt tears forming in his eyes again, “don’t cry ki… i’m so sorry.” you frowned, “how about we do something today? get your mind off things?” you try,

he nods slowly, wiping his eyes, you sighed again, you couldn’t handle seeing him this way, you quickly got up, “alright. you have to sneak out my window, go home and get cleaned up and come back, we’ll go do something fun okay!” you smiled, trying to break the sad barrier.

he chuckled at your consideration, he nods and got up, you helped him out your window before turning to your bathroom to get ready.

-

you were waiting for niki to ring the doorbell downstairs, wearing a white skirt and a pretty pink sweater, you grabbed your bag before you heard the doorbell,

you quickly ran downstairs to see your mom opened the door already,

“niki! it’s nice to see you, i’m assuming you’re here for y/n?” she says, niki nods, your mom steps aside as you walk up to him, “hey,” you smile, “hi.” he replied,

your mom chuckled before closing the door, “okay so, where are we going?” niki cleared his throat. “sh! let me surprise you, you’re gonna have to put this on when we get somewhat close.” you pull out a bandana to cover his eyes.

he chuckled and rubbed his neck, “alright then.” he nods.

-

on the bus, you two got a couple of weird stares due to him having on a bandana, but you brushed it off and dragged him off the bus when the stop arrived.

“i just tripped over so many people’s feet..” niki groaned as the bus took off, you two stood outside your favorite childhood spot.

it was a pretty park, a nice trail with so many flowers, and of course, the bench you two always sat on to do everything.

you lead him over to the bench, it still had the painted hand marks on the seats.

one pink hand mark, and one blue hand mark, you smiled to yourself. you two haven’t been here since highschool started, due to how much you’ve been busy.

“y/nnn.. take this off of me nowww.” he groaned again, you chuckled, “go on.” you smile,

he removed the bandana with ease, blinking to adjust to the world again, his eyes drifted around the familiar surroundings, and down at the bench. he smiled softly.

“gosh. we haven’t been here in so long.” he says softly, you nod, he aligned his hand to his old hand mark, which didn’t fit since his hands grew a lot from when you two were young.

you giggled and aligned your hand to your smaller hand print too, “damn, we’ve grown haven’t we.”

“i’m shocked no one’s painted over it or.. scraped it off.” he chuckled and sat down on his side, you sat beside him, “they better not! or we’ll just redo it.” you shrug,

niki chuckled to himself, he looked around, you couldn’t help but stare at him, the wind blew his bangs away from his eyes, giving you a better access to his full face, you couldn’t help but smile.

you felt so bad.

his heart was pure gold. it hurt to see him like this, you knew he was trying to put a smile on around you but, deep down you knew his heart was breaking..

him and ivy have been dating since freshmen year, you guys are seniors now.. so you can only imagine how bad this must be on him.

suddenly he looked down, and before you knew it.. he burst into tears.

your heart breaks.. literally.

“oh.. ki.” you frown and pull him in your arms, he sobbed softly in your shoulder, you closed your eyes at the sounds of his crying.

“i’m sorry..” you whisper, suddenly he lifts his head back up, looking at you with teary eyes, tears streaming down his face.

you instantly wiped the tears from his cheeks, sucking in your lips in guilt. “i should’ve waited until i got you out huh?” you chuckled awkwardly.

“no..” he shook his head, “i’m glad you did actually.. i feel…” he cut himself off..

“i feel complete being back here again.” he smiled, you smiled back at him, “ki?” you call, he raised an eyebrow softly,

“you know i’m always here for you? even if we grow up and.. meet other people. you’ll always hold your spot in my heart.” you reassure, he smiled softly and shifted himself,

he laid his head on your shoulder as you two stare out to the flowers.

he didn’t say anything, but you didn’t need him too.

you look down at him, you admired his face, his faint freckles, the way his hair laid on his forehead so nicely.

for some odd reason.. you felt your heart flutter, you quickly looked away..

no.. you can’t catch feelings for your literal best friend, especially when he’s fresh out a relationship. he needs a shoulder to lean on, not a new problem.

you cleared your throat, “should we go get ice cream? that always cheered us up.” you say, he nods and stood up slowly, lending his hand out for you.

you hesitate, niki noticed and tilts his head slightly, you clear your throat again and grab his hand before lifting yourself up.

“lead the way” you say, he nods slowly and you two began to walk in a comfortable silence.

you thought to yourself.. get yourself together.

now’s not the time.

a/n: so do i keep continuing this ooorrrrr lmk !

taglist : @certified-ni-ki-lover @noblub-4ulolz @yourmyst4r @vixialuvs @ni-ki-ismyluv @judeduartewannabe @soobs-things @en-chantedtomeetyou @definitelynotherr @heyniki @wntersm @geniejunn @pkjay @baevsxii @k1ttylvr @geniejunn @pkjay @chaevibes @jiyeons-closet @bananna-12

[familiarscars]

Drive You Insane | Noah Sebastian 02

adult content | minors do NOT interact.

⋆ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. Noah Sebastian X psychiatrist!Reader.

⋆ 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. A mysterious new patient arrives at the Grimshade sanatorium and you have been tasked with taking care of his case.

⋆ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). disturbing environment, violence, unconventional treatments, manipulation, questionable relationships, explicit sex and profanity.

It's okay to not agree with the characters' attitudes during the fic. It's good to remember that the story is fiction from the author's sick mind and of course they will make dubious decisions according to my fantasies. Nothing is done to be compared to reality.

"How are things over there?" Your mother’s cheerful voice echoed from the other end of the line, and you gripped the phone tighter.

By your estimate, you had only ten minutes left on your phone card, and she was known for talking without taking a breath.

“Why didn’t you call me earlier? I was worried!”

“Uh… yeah… everything’s fine, really.” You answered, biting your lower lip as you noticed the sky beginning to darken.

If it rained, you’d be in trouble on the long walk back to the sanatorium. Like the considerate coworker he was, Dr. Rune didn’t even bother offering to accompany you.

“I don’t believe you.”

“I didn’t call earlier because the signal’s bad here. I have to come all the way to town to use the phone, but there’s nothing to worry about, Mom. Everything’s fine, I promise!” You were never the type to struggle with lying, and your mother was easy to convince.

“I heard on TV that that rich murderer who killed his girlfriend is there. Is that true?”

The mention of Noah made your throat go dry. Your heart was still racing from the restless dream you’d had the night before.

“Yes, it’s true, Mom. It looks like I’ll be assigned to take care of him.”

“Aunt Becky says he’s handsome.” She chuckled—a raspy, broken sound, the product of years of smoking. “But the devil was handsome too, wasn’t he?”

The devil was handsome too...

“If there’s a chance to pass this case on to someone else, I’d prefer it. You just graduated, and handling something like this could be tough. And…”

“Mom, I’ve got to go now…” You cut her off before the speech started sounding too much like Dr. Rune’s. “We’ll talk in two days.”

“But…”

“Kisses! Love you!”

You slammed the receiver down with a bit more force than necessary. The store clerk gave you a stern look, and, to make up for it, you bought a few items you might need in the coming days: toiletries, extra socks, water, and cleaning supplies for your room.

Your day’s agenda was full. Two patients to see before the afternoon, when you’d have your first session with Noah. The previous night had been long, spent analyzing every detail of his case, searching for the best approach to start a conversation with someone who hadn’t spoken a single word in so long.

On the way back to the sanatorium, your mind was a whirlwind. Staring out the window, you couldn’t shake thoughts of the dream. It was disturbing how real it had felt: his touch tracing your body, the shadow his height cast around you, the physical discomfort that blurred the line between imagination and reality. Even now, in the back seat of the car, your body reacted involuntarily, legs tensing. As hard as it was, you had to push those clouds from your senses before it became impossible to face him directly.

At lunch, you picked up a tray of pasta, meatballs, juice, and an apple, determinedly walking past the chatter of other staff members you hadn’t met yet. Notebook tucked under your arm, you were ready to spend the meal studying.

Your first patient of the day, after returning from town, was a teenage girl accused of killing her own brother. Madeleine Skelter, fifteen, had been sentenced to a sanatorium due to her unstable mental state during the trial. She lost her mother at ten, and not long after, her father remarried. Madeleine gained a younger brother, but as time passed, strange events plagued the family. The boy was often injured, and the wounds worsened each week.

The family, desperate for answers, fired staff and grew suspicious of friends before the blame finally fell on the stepmother, who was diagnosed with postpartum depression.

Cracks formed like fragile glass in their home. When Madeleine was caught smothering her brother with a pillow, she was ready to frame her stepmother so she could have her father to herself. She’d admitted her plan: to remove everyone in her father’s life until it was just the two of them—"happy" at last.

She played the role of his wife, cooked for him, washed his clothes, and obsessed over appearing adult, despite his clear rejection of her behavior.

Madeleine showed no remorse, only weeping over her father, who had erased her existence from his life. He and his wife moved abroad and started anew.

Narcissistic and arrogant, she nearly drained your social battery in 45 minutes.

“Hey!” A familiar voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you looked up, setting your pen down and leaving the apple on your plate. Dr. Rune, all smiles, waved as he approached. You quickly adjusted your posture and tucked your hair behind your ear.

“Hello!”

“Eating alone? Oh no! Come on, sit with us at my table. I’ll introduce you to some friends!”

Deeply uncomfortable with his insistence, you reluctantly stood, gathering your things as he helped carry what he could. Together, you walked to the table.

“Everyone, this is the new psychiatrist at Hidden I told you about!” Travis introduced you, and the three people at the table smiled warmly, urging you to sit. “These are Jake, Sloan, and Charlote.”

“Welcome!” they all said in unison, and you smiled your thanks.

“So, you’re the one handling the handsome psychopath?” The youngest woman, dressed in a green nurse’s uniform, leaned in, her eyes narrowing. “Your hair smells nice.”

“Sloan, don’t scare her!” Travis scolded. “It’s bad enough she has to sleep on that information.”

Maybe Travis was annoying.

Or maybe not—he was annoying.

“Actually, I slept perfectly well with that information, Dr. Rune,” you said calmly, finishing the last bite of apple. “This place is full of killers. Noah isn’t that special. Maybe you’re the one a bit too excited.”

He blushed instantly as the others laughed.

“She’s right,” said Charlote Walker, her name embroidered on her coat. “He’s not the first famous nutcase we’ve dealt with.”

“Sure, he’s not that important,” Travis added, “but I like to remind the newbies not to get their hopes up. When we graduate, we think we can save the world. Unlike our other patients, this one won’t last long before they fry him in the chair.”

An awkward silence fell as everyone processed his words. All eyes turned to him as he nonchalantly scraped the last bit of grape jelly from his cup. His pristine white coat contrasted with the partially unbuttoned dress shirt underneath, revealing a glimpse of toned muscle.

"Then I’ll volunteer to be the last bitch he sleeps with." Charlote sneered to break the tense atmosphere, and everyone laughed. You didn’t find it funny at all but forced a laugh to blend in.

"Tonight, we’re having a little party just for the staff at the tavern, to take a break from this hellhole. We expect you there!" Sloan insisted, pulling a pen from her uniform pocket and grabbing your notebook to jot down an address and a phone number.

You loved parties, but you had no idea this kind of thing happened here, and you weren’t prepared for it. You hadn’t brought any clothes, no heels, and you suddenly felt so bare that embarrassment took over.

"We don’t take no for an answer if you even think about trying!" she warned, placing the notebook back in its place.

"I’ll think about it…" You nodded, pressing your lips together.

The conversation at the table was lively. Everyone, including Travis, talked excitedly about the much-anticipated party and how they desperately needed an escape valve to release the accumulated tension. You wanted to join in, to immerse yourself in the buzz of excitement, but your eyes remained glued to the clock on the wall. With each passing tick of the hands, the voices around you seemed to drift further away, becoming a distant echo. Your hands began to sweat, a persistent reminder that his arrival was drawing near.

Your office was modest, containing only the bare essentials: a desk and two chairs — one for you, one for the patient. You had taken care to remove anything that could attract his attention or pose any kind of risk. On the desk sat only a notebook, a bottle of water, and a pen — simple, safe items. The air carried a faint hint of lavender from the room spray you had purchased in town. It was a subtle fragrance you liked — present without being overpowering.

When you glanced at your wristwatch, exactly 4:00 p.m., a sharp metallic sound echoed from outside. The door was shoved open with force, and a guard pushed the man, shackled hand and foot, into the room. Noah wore a sleeveless shirt that revealed his tattooed arms. Despite his clean appearance — his hair slicked back and still damp from a shower — he scanned the room with an indifferent gaze, visibly bothered by the scent lingering in the air.

Then, his eyes landed on you.

He drew in a deep breath and stepped backward, a reaction you hadn’t anticipated. For a moment, confusion flickered within you until you realized Noah was trying to retreat toward the guard, as if seeking escape. You frowned and instinctively checked your reflection in your phone’s screen, discreetly sniffing your underarms. Was there something wrong with you?

"None of that!" The guard shoved him firmly into the room, forcing him to remain still.

"Thank you, sir," you said as you observed Noah’s shoulders tense. "We’ll see you in forty minutes when the session ends."

"I can’t leave you alone with him," the guard protested.

"I doubt your presence will make him feel comfortable. I’ll take full responsibility," you replied with conviction. Reluctantly, the guard sighed and closed the door behind him. "Now there’s nowhere to run. Just you and me."

Slowly, Noah turned, casting furtive glances your way. His face was a mask of disdain. He seemed to survey every inch of the room as if enveloped in filth or surrounded by a foul stench. His expression, haughty and nearly intolerable, remained as he dropped into the chair across from you with a show of complete disregard.

"Well, it’s only fair to start at the beginning, right? Noah, I’m Dr. —"

He let out a sigh of boredom, rolling his eyes. The soft light from the window cast shadows on the intricate tattoos that adorned his neck, each design hinting at stories hidden beneath his skin.

"I’m genuinely willing to treat you like a human being, okay?" you said firmly, slicing through the uncomfortable silence he cultivated. The irritation inside you grew, fueled by the way he examined the room with contempt, as if he were superior to everything and everyone around him. "That’s already quite different from how my colleagues see you. To them, you’re just patient 268!"

Your eyes locked on his, trying to pierce the wall of apathy he had erected.

"If you’re not interested in being treated that way, I can adjust my approach," you continued, your tone blunt and unwavering. "That doesn’t bother me. But I much prefer respecting people, regardless of who they are!"

A faint twitch at the corner of his mouth hinted at a reaction, but he simply stared at you with that same defiant gaze.

"We’ll take it slow. It’s up to you whether you speak or remain silent, but I’ll still be here doing my job, even if it’s just sitting quietly with you." You spoke calmly, keeping your tone composed. "Can you tell me how you’re feeling today?"

Nothing. Not a single response. He remained as still as a statue, though far from lifeless. It was the way he held himself that unsettled you — a predator behind a mask of indifference.

You paused, then tried again.

"What do you remember from the night you were found?"

His eyes sharpened, locking onto you. There was no emotion, but a sharp, undeniable presence seemed to tighten the air between you. He didn’t answer, but the slightest lift at the corner of his mouth betrayed a sardonic smile — anything but kind.

Heat crept up your neck as you felt yourself under his dissecting gaze rather than the other way around. His eyes roamed over your fingers gripping the pen, the rhythm of your breath, the way your legs crossed. His attention was so intense that it set your pulse racing, a reaction you struggled to mask as you shifted in your chair.

"Noah." Your voice was steady, but your skin burned with a growing tension. "Are you really not going to tell me how you feel? About what happened that night?"

Silence. His smile remained, smug and unkind.

Leaning forward, you caught a trace of his scent — metallic, sharp, clean. Threatening in its subtlety, much like the man himself.

"Did she mean anything to you?" Your words sliced through the thickening air. "Did you love her?"

His smile didn’t waver. But his eyes… they shifted — a flicker of recognition. Love stirred something within him, though what exactly, you couldn’t tell.

The weight of expectation hung heavy between you. The tension stretched thin, a thread about to snap.

"And anger?" Your voice softened, almost a whisper. "Did you hate her? For what she did to you? For how she made you feel?"

Nothing again. Just silence. But the measured way he breathed — slower, deeper — gave away the internal battle.

Noah remained a statue of control, but his hands betrayed a subtle shift. His fingers flexed against the chair’s armrest, as though suppressing the urge to crush something — or someone.

You caught every movement. The whitening of his knuckles. The tightening of his jaw beneath that treacherous smirk. He was playing a dangerous game. But you weren’t about to back down.

It was time to change the rules.

"You like testing limits, don’t you?" you tilted your head, keeping your voice neutral. "You know, staring at me won’t give me answers. Words will."

His smile widened a little more, but he remained silent.

Switching tactics, you opened a folder beside you and pulled out a faded photograph, sliding it across the table. The image depicted a family in a Victorian mansion—parents formally dressed, children posed as if part of a meticulously staged play. Noah’s face was younger, but the intensity in his eyes was the same.

"This is your family," you said, your tone almost casual. "What was it like growing up as the heir to Blackridge Island?"

The smile vanished. The change was swift, a transformation that made your skin prickle. His jaw tightened slightly, his gaze flicking to the photo as though it burned him. For the first time, you saw something different in his expression.

The silence thickened, becoming almost tangible. Without the smile, Noah shifted from a predator in check to a raw, visceral presence. The weight of his stare was now a blade, slicing slowly through the professional armor you’d carefully constructed.

"Families have power, don’t they?" His voice was low, almost confessional, as he leaned slightly forward. "They shape, bind, and sometimes… break."

The tension in his jaw became more pronounced, muscles clenching with barely contained restraint. His eyes, once cold and calculating, seemed caught in a dark, inescapable past. Yet, he remained silent.

Frustration, mingled with something you refused to name, tightened your chest. He was so close—like a storm ready to break—and yet, unreachable. His energy vibrated through the air, an electric current affecting you more than it should.

Your fingers lightly touched the edge of the photo on the table.

"What do you see when you look at them?" The question came as a challenge. "Guilt? Hatred? Or do you miss them?"

Still, no response.

When Noah finally tore his eyes from the photograph, his gaze landed back on you with renewed intensity. He wasn’t distant anymore. A shift had occurred.

The way he looked at you now was deliberate, methodical, as though peeling away each layer of your defenses. His eyes weren’t just cold—they were precise. They roamed your face, trailed down your neck, and observed the way you bit your lower lip, trying to mask your growing discomfort.

Your body reacted before you could stop it, vivid fragments of last night’s dream flashing unbidden through your mind. A sharp heat traveled down your spine—not fear, but something far deeper and infinitely less welcome.

You crossed your legs as if the gesture could shield the vulnerability he had begun to uncover.

"Anything else you’d like to share, Noah?" You forced a professional tone, struggling to regain control.

He tilted his head slowly, like a predator studying prey. Still silent. The smile was gone for good, but his gaze wielded more power than words ever could.

Then, a small, almost hypnotic gesture: his thumb grazed his jawline, a deliberate, slow movement, as his eyes remained fixed on yours.

The room seemed smaller. The air, heavier. Your breath shortened. He wasn’t just looking. He was unraveling you.

You tried to focus on your notepad, but your hand faltered for a split second.

"Very well, Noah," you said, aiming for finality but sounding far too fragile. "That’s all for today. In honor of your silence, I’ll match it until the session ends."

He didn’t blink. He didn’t move. He stayed there—an immovable shadow, a living mirror reflecting truths you didn’t want to confront. Your fingers trembled slightly as you gathered the folder.

After what felt like hours of an unspoken battle, the guard stormed into the room, his brusque manner shattering the tension and drawing Noah’s attention. Forty minutes of unwavering focus, those uniquely brown eyes never leaving yours, came to an abrupt end. As he was led away, he glanced back once more. The knot in your stomach tightened painfully.

You were lucky.

You were very lucky.

No, it wasn’t luck. It was your meddling mother, who had insisted on slipping a dress into your suitcase, saying you needed to be prepared for anything. The red fabric hugged your body, the deep neckline accentuating your curves, and thin straps framing your shoulders. Its rich hue contrasted with your dark lipstick and smoky eyes. Waves in your hair, heels that weren’t too high.

Not bad.

You hadn’t intended to stay long at the tavern. These people were strangers, after all, and you barely knew them. But it would suffice for a night of socializing.

Sloan walked with you, laughing at the difficulty of navigating gravel paths in heels. The tavern lay hidden within the woods—a place where shadows and secrets thrived.

The tavern exuded a rugged nostalgia, a place the years had worn down but could never truly erase. The low ceiling, with dark wooden beams, loomed heavily overhead. Lanterns cast flickering shadows on walls adorned with faded photographs of Grimshade’s founders, broken bottles’ scars from forgotten nights, and a glass-eyed stag staring into nothingness. The air smelled of spilled beer, smoke, and the syrupy sweetness of warm cider.

Your friends were already tipsy, and a server handed you your first drink. The first sip burned like gunpowder down your throat but left a lingering sweetness.

The floor creaked beneath your feet as you moved, feeling the violin’s pulse guiding the clumsy dance steps of drunken revelers. At the bar, glasses clinked, calloused hands gestured wildly, telling stories taller than truth.

In the corner, Travis caught your eye immediately. He looked different—freed from the confines of the asylum’s sterile environment. Dark jeans, a light shirt with sleeves rolled to his elbows, revealing strong forearms. His smile came before his words.

"You look… stunning." His voice was soft, almost swallowed by the music.

You smiled, heat blooming in your cheeks, but kept your tone light.

"And you’re wearing something other than a uniform. Impressive." You hesitated, trying not to admit how attractive he looked.

He laughed, a sound that rumbled deep in his chest, as natural as breathing. Before you could pull back, he offered his hand.

"Shall we dance?"

You hesitated. But when your fingers touched his—warm and sure—the music made refusal impossible.

Your steps were tentative at first, but familiarity grew quickly. Travis held your hand firmly, guiding your movements with effortless ease. The lively rhythm swept you both along with the crowd, but it wasn’t the sound that stole your breath—it was the way he looked at you, with a fascination so palpable that it made you wonder if the alcohol was already bubbling in your veins.

No. No. No.

You couldn’t be hallucinating about another man at a moment like this. Shaking your head gently, you banished the thought, focusing instead on the dance and the alcohol’s numbing embrace.

Much later, as the night cooled, he walked you home. The moon hung low, and laughter echoed faintly in the distance, carried by the soft breeze.

"I wanted to apologize for how I’ve acted since you arrived…" He began, his voice tinged with awkwardness. Without his glasses, his casual demeanor and clear eyes stood out, glowing silver in the moonlight.

"There’s no need to apologize."

"This job… it means a lot to me, and I’ve been overprotective ever since I became head psychiatrist," he admitted. "A ridiculous trait for someone so obsessed with perfection."

"I don’t think it’s ridiculous… Obsession usually stems from something deeper."

"Are you analyzing me, doctor?" His eyes narrowed playfully as he spun you around, wringing a laugh from your lips.

"There’s a lot of pressure for someone your age. I understand more than you might think."

"My father didn’t believe I’d amount to much, and he thought moving to Grimshade was a mistake," Travis paused, the memory darkening his expression. "He said I was wasting my degree."

"Well, he must be disappointed because you’ve become an excellent doctor, Dr. Rune." You winked, and he smiled shyly.

At the door of the bedroom, Travis stopped. For a moment, you both simply stood there, breaths mingling in the cool air. He seemed even more irresistible with his golden hair damp from sweat and his shirt unbuttoned, revealing his chest. You bit your lower lip as you noticed him watching you too — his gaze fixed on your neckline.

Then, tired of waiting, while your body burned with his nearness, you closed the distance and kissed him.

It was a kiss without space for hesitation or second-guessing. Intense. The taste of alcohol made the softness of his tongue even sweeter. He pulled you by the waist, your back lightly hitting the door as your lips devoured his, urgent and hungry.

The heat of his body pressed against yours was a spark, igniting every sense. Your fingers tangled in his hair, kisses becoming messier, deeper. You stumbled together inside, bodies entwined, the door slamming shut behind you and drowning out the rest of the world.

You pushed him onto the bed, confusion and desire flickering across his face before he surrendered. Straddling his lap, his hands grasped your hips, guiding you closer until your noses touched, a deliberate, tantalizing graze. His grip tightened on your hips, drawing you against his growing arousal as your fingers clutched his nape, your breaths mingling, igniting another fierce kiss.

Your hands buried in his hair, pulling gently as you savored his lips, your tongues tangled. The earlier tension dissolved, now knotted into a feverish desire binding your bodies together. You pressed against him, unbuttoning his shirt with urgency before tossing your own dress aside. His palm cupped your breast over your bra, and his hardness throbbed beneath his pants, teased by the slow roll of your hips.

A chill coiled in your stomach as the kiss deepened, a nagging feeling like a mistake — or worse — something you’d never felt before. You forced the thought away, focusing on the taste of his lips, gripping his neck and sighing when his fingers trailed from your thighs to your chest, a delicate, maddening caress.

Then a jolt struck you. Your eyes snapped open mid-kiss. There, outside the window, perched on a tree branch, a dark figure watched you both. Its expression was unreadable, moonlight illuminating only the edge of a long, lean silhouette, cloaked in black with fists clenched on its thighs — a silent, seething witness.

It was him.

Before you, as if conjured by some cruel magic, the golden strands between your fingers darkened, the musky scent of cologne shifted, and your hands roamed patterns on pale skin. You blinked, but the illusion remained — Noah, not Travis, was touching you, stripping you, and the pulse of his hardness against you made you gasp, slick with a memory too vivid to be dismissed.

A wicked smirk curved phantom lips. Teeth too perfect, too familiar, played tricks on your mind. You surrendered to your delusion, consumed by the fire he brought with him.

Grinding your wet heat against the rigid length beneath you, craving him inside for the first time, you freed him from his pants, rolled on a condom from the nightstand, and sank down all at once. A moan escaped your lips, loud, unrestrained. Eyes squeezed shut, you tilted your head back, moving with slow, rolling hips that matched his hoarse groan.

"Oh, my God," he rasped, breath hitching as his mouth trailed down your chest, teasing the piercing at your nipple.

You ignored him, lost in sordid thoughts.

You glanced back to the window. The shadow hadn’t moved. His head tilted, watching you ride another man, but the truth scorched your soul — it was him you wanted beneath you.

Pleasure tightened your chest, the raw thrill of being watched fueling your forbidden lust. Fingers traced your spine as your body arched, the sensation of him swelling deeper within making your moans crack like a roar. You stifled a cry — his name poised on your tongue.

What the hell was happening? You were ignoring the man inside you to provoke the devil outside? And you reveled in it?

Screw it.

It was Noah you craved, and in secret corners of your heart, you let yourself admit it. He was your sin, your destruction, and you yearned to drink deeply of his damnation.

You couldn’t look away from that tree, from his heaving chest, from the rage or the hunger. The climax hit you hard, molten embers bursting within.

As Travis flipped you beneath him, driving deep, your nails clawed the sheets, shutting out the infernal thoughts.

But the second wave of pleasure scorched hotter than before. Together, you shattered into shared groans, your bodies collapsing, breathless and undone.

You stared at the ceiling, biting your lip, his weight beside you. The window was empty now.

And you’d never know if it had been a trick of the mind — or a glimpse of a dark truth you weren’t ready to face.

[lovlidollie]

⭑ 3. HONEY AND MILK ; barry

series masterlist | previous | next

━━ CW ; kidnapping , threats of getting pimped out .

cigarette burns on my collar, i don’t think i like this life that we’re living / surviving on honey and milk, you don’t give me much more to make sure that i’m breathing ━━ honey and milk , flower face

the little basement was dark, save for the spluttering glow of the lone lightbulb having above you. you sit curled up on the tattered mattress, knees drawn up to your chest and thin blanket wrapped tightly around your frail shoulders, aimlessly fiddling with the loose threads. the silence was heavy — oppressive — broken only by the distant hum of the fridge upstairs and the faint drip of a leaky pipe.

you hear his boots first, the harsh thud-thud-thud down the rickety stairs instantly drawing your attention. when the door creaks open, your head snaps up instantly, eyes squinting in the sudden light spilling into the cramped space.

“still kickin’, bunny?” barry’s voice drawls, lazy and low as he reaches the bottom, cigarette perched between his lips.

you nod quickly, clutching the blanket like a lifeline. “‘m okay,” you whisper uncertainly, like you’re afraid of saying something wrong. “yeah?” he takes a long drag, the ember flaring as his dark eyes scan the room. “been eatin’? drinkin’? don’t need y’droppin’ dead on me.”

you hesitate before nodding slowly, voice softer this time. “um, had some of the crackers.. and a bit of water.” barry exhales a puff of smoke right into your face, smirking when you start to cough. “good, good. don’t wan’ y’wastin’ away, what kind of man’d i be then, huh?” you don’t answer, heart thumping painfully in your chest at his proximity.

“y’lookin’ after my place, right? he asks lightly, but you hear the underlying warning. “yes,” you blurt out immediately, “cleaned up — jus’ like you said. didn’t touch anything i wasn’t supposed to, i promise.”

barry crouches down in front of you, stained hand coming up to caress your soft cheek. his touch is rough and unwelcome and the stench of him invades all your senses — sweat and motor oil and cheap beer. it makes your stomach clench and turn on itself, makes your nose twitch and eyes water. “y’know bunny, you really oughta be grateful. not everyone’d take such good care of you. world’s a mean place for such a lil’ thing like you, it’d eat ya alive don’t y’think?”

you press your wobbly lips together, blinking away salty tears. his grip on your face tightens painfully, dirty fingernails digging into your skin. “answer me,” he says sharply, cigarette dangling dangerously close to your face. “ain’t i done right by you?”

“y-yeah,” you tremble like a leaf as you force out the words, trying not to gag at his breath. barry nods slowly, smirk curling into something darker. “you’d be a real hit with the sorta folks i deal with. but no—” he lets out a humourless laugh, shaking his head and standing up. “gotta keep y’all to m’self.”

“could be sharin’ you around, makin’ somethin’ real sweet outta all that innocence y’got.” his words send cold terror through your body, a reaction so visceral you feel bile rising up your scratchy throat and goosebumps flooding your skin. you hear the threat loud and clear. “nah,” barry continues, carelessly flicking ash over your head. “too fuckin’ pretty f’that. too soft. wouldn’t last a minute out there without me, ‘n i guess i like havin’ somethin’ pretty t’come home to.”

the tears finally slip down your face, the warmth a stark contrast to the frigid air. you shove a hand over your mouth, trying to stop the sobs from escaping; you knew better than to be a nuisance. barry laughs bitterly as he turns around, shuffling over the steps once again. “listen, uhh. you keep y’mouth shut, yeah? gonna get us in trouble if you keep up all that cryin’ shit. don’t wan’ anyone sniffin’ around here. ‘n don’t you give me a reason to come back down here tonight. won’t end well, bun. won’t end well at all.”

[uluvjay]

Rules are Rules- A. Xhekaj

Arber Xhekaj x fem! Reader

In which the rules state, if you wear a cowboys hat you have to ride him..

Warnings?; SMUT, unprotected sex (a big no no), penetrative sex, p in v, grinding, cursing, slightly possessive arber, pet names, slight degradation.., good ole smut, sorry if I missed any errors!

Arber watched you from across the bar, the way your hips swayed to the music that blared through the speakers.

Your little jean shorts far too short for his liking but he was a secure man and his woman wore what she wanted.

You could feel his eyes burning into your back-more specifically your ass making you move your hips even slower.

“He’s been watching since we started dancing.” Your friend spoke up a tiny smirk on her face.

“I know.” You shrugged smirk mirroring her’s as you turned your back to her, ass rubbing against her front as you locked eyes with Arber.

His head shook at your antics setting his glass down on the bar he stood, his large frame causing heads to turn as he made his way to you.

You bit your lip as you caught the look in his eyes, they were dark and serious but you could see the lust hiding deep down.

Your friends body was pulled away into the arms of her boyfriend just as Arber reached you, his own hands wrapping around your waist to pull you close before they shamelessly landed on your ass.

“Every man here has been watching you move your body like that.” He mumbled into your hair.

“So have you.” You teased.

“Yeah but you’re mine, I can watch and touch all I want.”

He tried to hide his smirk at the way you took in a sharp breath body unconsciously moving closer to his as your eyes locked in a strong stare.

“Maybe we need to let everyone know that” he continued.

“I can think of a few ways” you teased.

“Yeah?”

“Mhm” you nodded not giving him a chance to think before your hand was reaching for the black cowboy hat on his head.

“Y/n-“ he tried but was cut off by your teasing tone watching as you placed the hat on your head.

“-what’s that rule again? If you wear the hat you ride the cowboy?” You raised a brow attempting to step back but his strong hands held you in place.

“Yeah..something like that.” Arber breathed, his heart racing at the sight of you wearing his hat and how good you looked.

“Well then what are you waiting for? Take me home cowboy.”

-

Arber had your body pressed against the front door the second it shut, his hand resting on the base of your throat as his lips locked with yours in a desperate kiss.

He was anything but gentle as his lips assaulted yours, teeth nipping your bottom lip pulling a whimper from your throat.

You moaned when he forced your thighs apart with his knee, his own denim covered thigh coming to rest between them.

Your hands fisted his dark locks and pulled hard, smirking into the kiss when he grunted at the sharp pain.

His free hand moved down to your shorts making quick work of the button, moving back slightly he tugged them down your thighs.

You gasped when his thigh returned to its spot, a wet spot instantly forming on the expensive denim as you grounded your hips down on him.

“That little stunt get you this wet baby?” He smirked.

You couldn’t speak, the burn of your lace thong and denim of his jeans as you continued to move against him taking up your thoughts-it hurt so good.

“Where’d my little slut from the bar go? Huh? You were the one rushing home and look at you now desperate and needy.” He spat his large hands wrapping around your hips pushing you down harder on his thigh.

“Arber” you breathed the pleasure in your lower stomach building quickly.

He smirked down at you, knowing how easy it was for him to gain control over you it didn’t matter what show you put on-Once his hands were on you, you were a puddle of lust and need.

He watched as your hips humped his thigh faster and faster chasing your climax and right as he saw your thighs starting to shake he pulled away.

Your eyes flew open at the loss of contact, angry and frustrated at the denied orgasm you spat his name.

“What the fuck??” You growled.

“If you’re coming, it’s gonna be with you on top of me.” Arber answered not missing the small whimper you released at his words.

He pulled you towards the master bedroom stripping you completely before pushing you onto the bed before removing his own clothes, keeping the black cowboy hat on.

You watched as he climbed into the bed his strong back resting against the wooden headboard as he got comfortable.

“What are you waiting for? Giddy up cowgirl.” He smirked.

“Arber-

“-Don’t tell me you’re backing out baby, rules are rules sweetheart and you got yourself in this position. So get your ass uphere.”

He watched in amusement as you puffed out a breath of frustration, cursing him under your breath.

Nonetheless your body came crawling up the bed as you straddled his lap not forgetting to take the hat from his head to place on your own.

You both shared a twin moan as his cock came in contact with your cunt, sliding down slowly as you took all of this thick length.

“Fuck” you breathed as the familiar burn of pleasure came from between your legs, you puffy clit from riding his thigh not helping the sensitivity.

After a short moment to adjust you began rocking your hips back and forth finding a steady rhythm before you quickly changed to bouncing.

Arber’s head dropped back against the headboard, pleasure filling his body as your cunt hugged his cock tightly.

“So good baby, always feel so good for me.” He cooed reaching his thick hands up to cup your breasts.

You cried out he pinched your nipples between his fingers, pulling slightly before he switched back to rubbing them.

The moan that broke from your throat as he shifted forward to wrap his lips around them was downright pornographic, his cock shifting deeper inside you hitting that sweet spot inside you just right.

“Shit Arber, s’ so good” you panted chest heaving as his lips left wet kisses all around teeth nipping at the skin before he returned to your breasts.

He growled as your nails dug into the skin of his shoulders hips now moving faster as you desperately chased your high.

The sound of skin slapping filled the large room, the headboard beginning to bang against the wall behind it as the bed shook.

Arber couldn’t help himself as his hands moved behind your back gripping your ass in both hands he began to move you on his cock.

Leaning back he added the help of his hips, thrusting into you at a fast and hard pace had a squeal falling from you.

“I-I’m getting close.” You sobbed, tears of pleasure spilling over your waterline causing your makeup to run. Arber loved it, something about watching your mascara and eyeliner run always turned him on.

“Yeah? Go ahead baby, come for me like a good girl” he encouraged.

By this point it was him doing all the work, your body to overcome by pleasure as your eyes started to roll back and toes curl.

A strong hand came to the back of your neck, pulling your lips down to his Arber locked them in a hot kiss.

He could taste the saltiness of your tears as you moaned into his mouth, he knew by the way your pussy had a death grip around him that you were close.

It only took a few more thrusts before you fell flat against his chest body shaking as your orgasm wrecked your body, legs shaking and cunt spasming around Arber.

Your orgasm is what pulled Arber over the edge himself, he cursed loudly as he fucked into you as he came.

You whimpered at the warm feeling of him filling you up, thank goodness for birth control you thought.

He collapsed against the bed after you he finished fucking you through your shared high, both of your chests heaving as you laid there motionless.

You hadn’t even realized you still had his hat on until he pulled it from your head and tossed it to the other side of the bed.

He lifted your head to peck your lips softly, “Did so good for me baby” he praised kissing you one more time before pulling out of you and standing up.

You watched his frame walk into the attached bathroom, the sound of running water soon meeting your ears.

He came back a few moments later to gather you in his arms taking you into the bathroom he sat you in the bubble bath.

You wished he could get in with you but you tried it once and it was quickly apparent his large frame did not fit in the small tub.

However he did sit on his knees as he cleaned you up, kissing the side of your head he stepped away to climb into the shower opposite of the tub.

You watched him shower allowing the warm water to sooth your muscles and soreness that would no doubt be between your legs in the morning.

Once you were both cleaned off he picked you up from the bath and dried you off, pulling your fluffy robe over your body he guided you to your side of the his and hers sinks.

He got your makeup wipes and cleaned your face before turning you around, brushing and braiding your wet hair for you.

One thing about Arber is that he’s a pro at aftercare, it’s something he takes very seriously especially since he get can a little rough in bed at times.

He dressed the both of you before you climbed into bed together he pulled you close, kissing the top of your head as you rested it against his chest.

“Did you enjoy yourself tonight?” He asked softly.

“Yeah, it was good getting out feels like forever since the last time we did.” You smiled.

It wasn’t his fault, the season had been busy with traveling and back to back games and with your own job thrown in there just wasn’t much time for anything else.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself.” He smiled.

You kissed his bare chest in reply turning to allow sleep to over take your tired body but right as you were on the edge of sleep a thought struck your mind.

“Can I ride you in your cowboy hat more often? It was hot.”

“Go to bed Y/n” he growled pinching your hip causing a giggle to break free from you.

-

[nanahachi3]

Shower | Jeno

I am sleep deprived and I just posted it so please excuse any mistake

Synopsis: In which a showering with your boyfriend can turn into something more.

Warning: making out, blow Job, shower sex , cum eating.

y/n stripped down her clothes, standing naked in front of Jeno, who slowly removed his shirt. "Shall I start the water?" he asked, looking at her and winking.

She rolled her eyes at that. "Go ahead", She replied as he walked over and plugged in the sink with the showerhead. He took off his pants and stepped inside the shower with her and started the water.

The temperature felt good against her cold skin and she let out a small sigh of satisfaction.

They stood close to each other and stared into the spray of water. They didn't know how long they stood there. They didn't say much, and neither needed to; they just enjoyed the company of each other until it started getting uncomfortable.

"Jeno, I can feel something poking me from down", she whispered.

Jeno could feel himself getting hard he grunted "You are the one making it hard now take care of it"

 

The heat that rose in his chest was unexpected. He hadn't been thinking clearly, "What do you mean by that? What do you want me to do!" She mumbled, looking at his length, which stood clear and hard.

"Suck it" he growled as he reached for her breast with both of his hands cupping her soft ones. y/n let out an audible gasp at his sudden gesture and then he squeezed and pulled her nipple. She let out a moan that made him hard even more.

He then moved lower, took her other nipple between his lips, and suckled it gently.

"Do you like that? Do you want to continue?" He asked as he continued licking her nipples. y/n whimpered as he sucked on her nipples harder.

He then placed kisses all over her breasts and stomach, moving downwards.

"Baby, I will eat you up later. First, suck my dick", he growled. His hands found their way between her legs as they roamed across her folds searching for her centre. y/n moaned loudly at the feel of his strong fingers exploring every inch of her vagina.

Jeno stopped momentarily and looked at her face. He then resumed stroking her pussy, rubbing and squeezing.

She moaned "Do you want me to give you a blow job?"

"Yes,", he breathed out, and then his fingers returned to work stroking y/n's core.

y/n leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes letting go of every coherent thought as Jeno thrust his fingers into her with increasing speed and force. Soon she lost herself to the pleasure she had never experienced before.

She pulled away and lowered herself gently touching his erection in the process. His groan told her that it was exactly what she wanted. The sound of the water hitting her and the soap suds splashing everywhere seemed to fade away leaving just her and Jeno alone.

"Baby... you are making me hard", Jeno spoke as she slowly moved her hand down to his member.

"How do I suck it!" She whispered moaning softly.

"Fuck me, baby!" He commanded and she gladly obliged. He began to pump into her mouth taking her in deep and faster with each movement. It felt heavenly and she couldn't help but moan as she continued her movements. She pulled away a little and looked up at him.

"Lick it"

She nodded vigorously "Yes"

"Good girl"

y/n felt the tip of his dick hit her throat making her gulp. She lapped at it quickly, enjoying the taste and feeling its warmth as she tried to swallow him down deeper. He groaned again.

 

"More!" Jeno ordered.

Without questioning why she began to move her hand rapidly back and forth, licking every inch of his shaft, she sucked on him as he pounded harder into her mouth. Jeno's hands dug into the back of her head as he continued thrusting his cock into her open mouth.

y/n knew that she was driving him crazy, she could see the sweat dripping from his forehead and the bulge of the tip of his penis.

Jeno groaned deeply as he came into her mouth. She swallowed as much as possible, savouring every drop of cum in her mouth. He collapsed onto her shoulders panting heavily.

"More" he grumbled.

She took his shaft once again in her mouth and moved in slow circles sucking on him.

She moaned with pleasure as he pulled out of her mouth again and slammed his fist into the shower wall beside her.

"Shit...that was..." he trailed off, unable to speak the last word.

y/n didn't wait for him to finish.

She licked his balls slowly moving down to his cock and then swirling her tongue on his engorged sac.

She lifted her face to look at him only to find the man watching her with his mouth slightly agape. He was completely blown away.

"Go, baby! You're too good!"

He exclaimed.

y/n hummed with delight at his praise. Her cheeks blushed as her fingers played with his member.

He reached down and grasped her chin pulling her up to look into his face. 

He leaned in, kissing her with fervour.

"Your lips taste so good" he moaned.

[phonebeenmimiced]

Nightmare

(As the title states, he has a nightmare I had based on a dream where it will get its own post. Also some foreshadowing✨️)

Peeps: @myluckymoon @star-seeking-stray @aredeemantagonist @tilskkarishma @yumereblogs

February 18, 2025.

No. Not this again.

A 32 year old man has been reported for cause of death 53 government agents, at the port on a Tuesday afternoon, 1:30pm. Reporters say the suspect was wearing a dark cloak and a hood during the time of the incident. While his face remains unknown, the damage he caused isn't. It's reported that the suspect used explosives during the incident, costing at least 15 thousand in property damage. Some people say that this was a active terrorist attack. Detectives are still on the case and hunt about this man.

It wasn't meant to turn out this way. I wanted to be left alone, but they were after me. I was protecting myself! I'm already dead to them, there's no need to hunt me down! I didn't do anything this time, I swear!

Updated report states that the Armed Detective Agency is taking on the case-

DAMN IT! This is bad, real bad. 53 armed ordinary soldiers I can solo in a fight with ease. The Armed Detective Agency on the other hand, oh I'm so fucken screwed. I have to flee. I don't think I can stand a chance to win against them. I have to flee-

The suspect has been caught on February 22, at 10pm. Attempting to flee from Japan via boat. The suspect was former soldier and terrorist, André Gide. We have report that he will not be given a fair trial due to his record and will be contained in a underground facility.

I can't move. My eyes snapped open, my breathing been hitched, breathing heavily and rapidly as my heart rate skyrockets. I can barley see a thing, everything feels like a blur. Like a drug. All I can hear is the rapid beating of the heart monitor. The sound of doctors shuffling around and murmuring, but I can't see any of them. I can't move.

Even if I tried, this invisible force is holding me down. My arms feel weak, my legs are numb, I can't escape this one. Not even my own ability can save me. The inevitable is arriving.

For once fear sweeps back into my life, shaking my body and overloading my brain with questions and thoughts. I'm scared and I can't do anything about it. I want this all to stop. I want it to stop. I can't handle this.

Cold, scared, hopeless, that's all I can feel right now. They took my clothes, my identity, my reputation, my pride. All of it ripped away and burned. Unrepairable to ever build again.

Just let me die. They could have killed me, all I wanted was death, but they gave me something worse than death. Something much more cruel.

It like a scene from a sci fi movie. The sound of the shuffling got quicker and more chaotic. Wires were being wrapped around my arms and torso. Some sort of plastic pipe being shoved down my throat, along with a oxygen mask strapped to my face.

One moment I'm laying on some operating table, the next moment I'm stuck in some tube, water or some sort of liquid slowly rising from my feet. It slowly got higher, reaching my ankles to my waist, then to neck point before I'm fully submerged in the cold liquid. At first all I could feel was panic. I can't tell if this is truly death or not. I felt lost and confused.

Until a beam of drowsiness hits me. My body going limped and my eyes becoming heavy. Starting to float in the tube while slumber takes me captive.

This is the end for me. Or so my nightmare would say as I snap awake in my own bed. At first I uses to be very scared of this dream. Waking up and breathing heavily. It scared me before, but with how frequent it's becoming, I can't help but feel a little numb to it.

Was this really a nightmare or a prophecy yet to happen?

[hrizantemy]

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth of the River House as Feyre paced the sitting room, her mind a whirlwind of emotions. The Inner Circle sat scattered across the plush sofas and chairs, their expressions ranging from curious to downright skeptical as she relayed the news. Feyre’s hands twisted together, a nervous habit she hadn’t indulged in for years, but Nesta had that effect on her.

“She accepted?” Amren finally broke the silence, her silver eyes narrowing as she leaned back in her seat, swirling a glass of blood-red wine. “Nesta Archeron, the Queen of Isolation herself, is coming to Solstice?”

Feyre nodded, her lips twitching into a tentative smile. “Not only is she coming, but she asked if she could bring someone.” She hesitated before adding, “I told her yes, of course. I didn’t want to make her feel… unwelcome.”

Rhysand, sprawled lazily in an armchair with an air of casual authority, arched a dark brow. “And you didn’t think to ask who this someone might be?”

Feyre shot him a look. “I was too stunned she said yes at all. I wasn’t about to interrogate her, Rhys.”

Cassian, who had been unusually quiet, sat forward on the couch, resting his elbows on his knees. His hazel eyes glimmered with a mix of hope and trepidation. “She’s bringing someone? Like… a friend? Or…” He trailed off, his jaw tightening.

“Maybe she’s found someone she actually likes,” Mor interjected with a sharp smile, though her tone carried an edge of disbelief. “That would be a Solstice miracle.”

Azriel remained silent, his shadowed gaze flicking between Feyre and Cassian, but his jaw clenched slightly, as if bracing for something unpleasant.

“It doesn’t matter who she’s bringing,” Feyre said, her voice firmer now. “What matters is that she’s coming. She’s choosing to be here. After everything…” Her throat tightened briefly, but she pushed on. “This is a step forward. For all of us.”

Amren snorted softly, setting her glass down with a delicate clink. “Or it’s just Nesta being unpredictable as always. Who knows what her angle is?”

“She doesn’t need an angle,” Feyre snapped, surprising herself with the force of her own words. “She’s my sister. I invited her because I want her here, not because I expect anything from her.”

Rhysand reached out, brushing a calming hand along her arm, his violet eyes softening. “No one is saying otherwise, Feyre. But you can’t deny it’s… unexpected.”

“It’s more than unexpected,” Mor muttered, crossing her legs and leaning back against the cushions. “It’s suspicious.”

Cassian’s gaze darkened, and he turned to Mor, his voice low. “She doesn’t owe us anything, Mor. Least of all your approval.”

An awkward silence fell over the room, and Feyre took a deep breath, centering herself. “Whatever her reasons, she’s coming. And we’re going to welcome her, like family should.” She glanced at each of them, daring them to challenge her. “That includes whoever she chooses to bring.”

The conversation drifted into quieter speculation after that, but Feyre remained by the fire, staring into the flickering flames, trying to suppress the nervous flutter in her chest. Nesta was coming. For the first time in years, her sister was coming back into their orbit—not for an argument, not out of obligation, but because she’d chosen to.

She clung to that sliver of hope like a lifeline, unwilling to let it slip away.

The silence that filled the room after Feyre’s announcement felt heavy, as if each member of the Inner Circle was lost in their own tangled web of thoughts about Nesta. It had been nearly a year since the last Solstice, when everything had come to a head, and the aftermath had left deep, jagged rifts between them all.

Nesta had stormed out that night—her words sharp, her tone colder than the snow that blanketed Velaris. In the weeks that followed, she’d stopped opening the tabs she’d once so freely placed on Rhysand’s account, a quiet but unmistakable declaration of her independence. The refusal had stung Feyre, though she couldn’t quite put into words why. Perhaps it was the finality of it, the way it marked a line between them that Nesta had no interest in crossing again.

“She’s changed,” Feyre said softly, breaking the silence. “You all know it.”

“She stopped drinking herself into oblivion, sure,” Cassian muttered, his voice low, his hazel eyes shadowed. “But it’s not like she kept us in the loop about anything else. She just… left.”

“She distanced herself,” Mor corrected, her voice clipped. “Not that it was a huge loss. She’s barely spoken to any of us since.”

Feyre flinched at the bitterness in Mor’s tone but didn’t argue. Mor wasn’t wrong. After Nesta had left the Inner Circle’s orbit, she hadn’t looked back. Letters had been the only form of communication—and even those had been sparse and stilted, only coming when someone else initiated the conversation. Feyre had written her often, clinging to the hope that Nesta would eventually reply with more than perfunctory sentences. Occasionally, she did. But it wasn’t the same.

“She moved out of that awful apartment,” Feyre said, a tinge of relief in her voice. “She found a job, started to rebuild… on her terms.”

“Good for her,” Amren said dryly, though her gaze flicked toward Cassian, as if gauging his reaction. “But the cost was cutting all of us off. You’d think one of her priorities might have been mending those bridges.”

“It’s not that simple,” Feyre said, her voice sharper now. “You all know how things were before. Nesta didn’t feel welcome. She didn’t feel… wanted.”

“Because she didn’t let anyone in,” Mor snapped. “She shut us out long before we gave up trying.”

“That doesn’t mean we were right to stop,” Feyre shot back.

Cassian stood abruptly, running a hand through his hair. “Enough.” His voice was gruff, strained. “Nesta did what she had to do. Maybe it wasn’t pretty, and maybe it wasn’t what any of us wanted, but she’s alive. She’s trying. And that’s more than most of us can say for her a year ago.”

Feyre’s heart ached at the truth of those words. She remembered the haunted, hollow look in Nesta’s eyes during her lowest moments, the nights Feyre had spent wondering if her sister would simply vanish into the void of her own despair.

Now, though, there was something different. In the rare moments Feyre had seen her, Nesta seemed more at ease, steadier. She no longer carried the same brittle anger like a shield. Still, the distance between them had grown into a chasm, and Feyre didn’t know how to bridge it.

“She’s coming to Solstice,” Feyre said again, more firmly this time. “She’s taking a step toward us. We owe it to her—and to ourselves—to meet her halfway.”

The room fell silent again, but this time it felt less oppressive, as if the weight of Nesta’s absence was finally beginning to lift. Even if it was just a sliver of light breaking through the cracks, Feyre clung to it.

The silence that followed Feyre’s words was as heavy as it was unyielding. No one argued, no one even shifted in their seats. It was the kind of silence that pressed down on Feyre’s chest, filling the room with the unspoken weight of everything left unresolved between Nesta and the Inner Circle.

Elain, ever the peacekeeper, appeared at just the right moment, her soft steps barely making a sound as she entered the sitting room. She carried a tray of cookies, their golden edges gleaming, the faint scent of cinnamon and cloves trailing after her. Her warm, practiced smile faltered as she glanced around the room and noticed the tension.

“Elain,” Feyre started, but before she could say more, there was a sharp, deliberate knock at the door.

The sound cut through the quiet like a blade, startling everyone. Elain froze mid-step, her eyes flicking to Feyre, the tray trembling ever so slightly in her hands.

No one moved at first. They all seemed rooted in place, as if reluctant to acknowledge what the knock meant. Feyre felt her pulse quicken. Nesta had arrived—and early, no less.

“I’ll get it,” Feyre said, her voice firmer than she felt as she stood, smoothing her hands down her sweater.

No one stopped her, though she could feel their eyes on her as she crossed the room. Rhysand leaned back in his chair, his face unreadable, while Cassian stared at the floor, his jaw tight. Azriel’s shadows curled faintly at his shoulders, and Mor crossed her arms, her expression blank but tense. Even Amren tilted her head slightly, as if listening for some hidden truth in the knock.

Feyre opened the door, her breath catching when she saw Nesta standing there. She looked different—not in the obvious ways, but in the subtleties: her posture straighter, her face calm, but without the guarded steel that had once made her seem untouchable.

“Nesta,” Feyre said softly, relief blooming in her chest. Her eyes flicked to the person standing just behind her sister, bundled in a heavy coat with a hood shadowing their face. “And you must be…?”

Nesta stepped inside without answering immediately, her gaze sweeping across the room before settling on Feyre. “Thank you for inviting me.” Her voice was steady, though her fingers tightened around the strap of the bag slung over her shoulder. She turned slightly, gesturing to the figure at her side. “This is Taryn.”

The hooded figure stepped forward and lowered their hood, revealing a sharp-featured, dark-haired woman with piercing eyes. She inclined her head in a polite nod, though her expression was unreadable.

Feyre managed a smile, even as the weight of the room shifted behind her. “Welcome,” she said, stepping aside to let them in.

The room’s tension grew as Nesta and Taryn entered, the warmth of the fire seemingly unable to dispel the chill that followed them. Feyre glanced back at the others, her resolve firm. This was going to work. It had to.

Feyre stepped aside, watching as Nesta and the woman—Taryn—stepped into the house. The warmth of the firelight illuminated them both, and it was then Feyre noticed the bags slung over their shoulders. Nesta’s was a small, simple satchel, while Taryn carried a larger bag that looked heavier.

Her gaze flicked to the bags, curiosity stirring. “Are those…” Feyre hesitated, not sure how to phrase it without sounding too eager. “Are those presents?”

Nesta’s stormy blue eyes met hers, unreadable for a moment. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, she answered, “Yes.”

Feyre’s breath hitched in surprise. Nesta—Nesta, who had barely even attended Solstice last year and had left before the sun had fully set—had brought gifts. Feyre swallowed the lump rising in her throat and tried to smile, though her chest felt tight with emotion.

“Let me take your coats,” she said, her voice soft.

Nesta and Taryn obliged, shrugging out of their heavy winter cloaks and handing them to Feyre. For a moment, Feyre’s hand brushed against Nesta’s, and it struck her how steady her sister felt—no tremble, no hesitation. A quiet strength radiated from her, and Feyre’s heart ached with both pride and longing for the bond they’d once shared.

As Nesta handed her bag to Taryn to carry into the sitting room, Feyre couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Did you pick them out yourself?”

Nesta’s lips twitched, a faint flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Of course I did.”

The answer was so matter-of-fact, so… Nesta, that Feyre couldn’t help the quiet laugh that escaped her. “Well,” she said, stepping back to allow them further inside, “I’m sure everyone will be thrilled.”

From behind her, the room had gone silent again, the Inner Circle still frozen in a mix of shock and discomfort. But Feyre pushed aside the tension and turned to lead the way. For now, she would focus on this small miracle: Nesta was here, and she had brought gifts. Perhaps that meant there was hope after all.

As Feyre turned to lead Nesta and Taryn further into the room, it was Elain who finally broke the silence. Her soft, melodic voice cut through the awkward tension with surprising ease.

“It’s wonderful you came, Nesta,” Elain said, setting down the tray of cookies on the low table in the center of the sitting room. Her warm, genuine smile brightened the room in a way that only Elain could.

Nesta’s gaze flicked to her younger sister, and though her expression didn’t change, Feyre noticed the faintest softening in her sharp features.

Elain’s eyes moved to Taryn, taking in the woman with polite curiosity. “And you even brought a friend,” she added, her tone light and welcoming.

Taryn, standing quietly beside Nesta, inclined her head. “Taryn,” she introduced herself simply, her voice cool but not unfriendly.

Elain’s smile widened, and she gestured toward the chairs by the fire. “It’s lovely to meet you, Taryn. Please, both of you, make yourselves comfortable. I’ll get more tea.”

Nesta gave Elain a small, almost reluctant nod of thanks before stepping further into the room. Taryn followed closely, her movements deliberate and composed, as though she were ready to leave at any moment if the atmosphere soured.

Feyre’s chest tightened as she glanced between them, grateful for Elain’s efforts to ease the tension but painfully aware of how stiff and silent the rest of the Inner Circle remained. It was a fragile moment, one that could shatter with a single wrong word, but Feyre clung to the hope that Elain’s warmth might be enough to hold it together.

Elain paused in the doorway before disappearing to fetch tea, her gentle voice trailing behind her. “It really is wonderful to have you here, Nesta. Both of you.”

For a fleeting second, Feyre thought she saw something flicker in Nesta’s eyes—gratitude, perhaps, or maybe just relief. It was hard to tell, but Feyre held onto that moment like a lifeline. Small steps, she reminded herself. Small steps forward.

Feyre led Nesta and Taryn into the sitting room, the warmth of the fire contrasting sharply with the tension that hung in the air. The silence from the others was deafening, broken only by the crackling of the hearth. Still, Feyre kept her posture steady, determined to ease them into this fragile reunion.

“Here,” Feyre said gently, gesturing to the open space near the large, decorated table where the others had already placed their gifts. Nesta and Taryn followed her lead, setting their bags down with quiet precision.

As they straightened, Feyre’s gaze flicked to Nesta. She looked… different. Better. Healthier. The sharpness in her face had softened, replaced by a glow that hadn’t been there the last time Feyre had seen her. Her cheeks were fuller, her skin had a healthy flush, and her silver-blue eyes were clear, unclouded by the weight she used to carry. Even the way she stood—back straight, shoulders square—spoke of someone who had found stability.

Feyre felt a pang of emotion, a mixture of pride and longing, as she realized how much more beautiful Nesta looked like this. Not just in her appearance, but in the way she carried herself: calm, composed, and whole.

Her gaze shifted to Taryn, and Feyre took a moment to really look at the woman. Taryn was striking, her sharp features framed by dark hair that shimmered in the firelight. Her deep green eyes, cool and assessing, seemed to take in everything around her at once. She exuded a quiet confidence, one that balanced Nesta’s steadiness in an unexpected but complementary way. Feyre couldn’t help but think the two of them made an impressive pair, both polished and self-assured in ways that only added to their beauty.

Nesta and Taryn chose seats at the edge of the circle, slightly removed from the Inner Circle but still within reach. Feyre noticed the way Nesta’s hand lingered on the arm of her chair for a fraction of a second before she sat down, her gaze flicking toward Cassian and then away just as quickly.

Feyre settled herself in a nearby seat, her heart beating faster as she tried to catch Rhysand’s eye, silently willing him to say something to break the quiet. But her mate remained impassive, his violet eyes watchful as he leaned back in his chair.

Nesta folded her hands in her lap, her expression unreadable but calm. Taryn mirrored her, her gaze sweeping across the room, lingering briefly on each face before settling on the fire. Feyre couldn’t help but feel a twinge of nervousness as she realized how starkly Taryn’s composed demeanor contrasted with the awkwardness in the room.

Still, Feyre clung to the image of her sister as she was now—healthy, whole, and undeniably beautiful. Maybe, just maybe, this Solstice would be different.

Feyre perched on the edge of her chair, her fingers curling around the warm mug of tea Elain had handed her moments before. The silence stretched, oppressive and stifling, as everyone seemed content to avoid being the first to speak. Nesta sat still, her back straight and her gaze unwavering as she looked toward the fire, while Taryn leaned back in her chair with an air of quiet observation, her eyes flicking between each member of the Inner Circle.

Clearing her throat softly, Feyre decided to try. Someone had to break the silence. “So,” she began, forcing a smile that felt a little too tight. “How have you been, Nesta?”

Nesta’s gaze flicked to her, cool and composed. “I’ve been well,” she replied evenly, her voice calm but offering no further detail.

“Good, good,” Feyre said, trying to keep her tone light. “You look—healthy. Happy.”

Nesta’s lips twitched, but it wasn’t quite a smile. “Thank you.”

The tension thickened as Feyre searched for something else to say. She glanced at Taryn, hoping to bring her into the conversation. “And you, Taryn? How did you two meet?”

Taryn raised an eyebrow, a faint smile playing on her lips. “We crossed paths in Velaris,” she said simply. Her tone was polite but distant, as if she were carefully choosing her words.

“Oh, that’s nice,” Feyre said quickly, nodding. “Are you from Velaris originally?”

“No,” Taryn replied, and though her voice remained pleasant, there was a finality to it that made it clear she didn’t intend to elaborate.

Feyre felt the weight of everyone’s eyes on her, their silence only amplifying her own discomfort. She glanced toward Elain, who was now quietly rearranging the tray of cookies on the table, clearly avoiding getting involved. Mor crossed her legs, the sound of her heel tapping faintly against the floor the only indication of her impatience.

Cassian’s chair creaked as he shifted, his jaw tight, though he still hadn’t said a word. Azriel’s shadows swirled lazily at his shoulders, his unreadable gaze fixed on the fire. Even Rhysand, who could usually ease any room with a well-placed quip, sat quietly, his violet eyes unreadable.

“Well,” Feyre said, forcing another smile and gesturing vaguely toward the tray of cookies. “Elain baked those herself. They’re—ah, delicious.”

Nesta glanced at the cookies but made no move to take one. “I’m sure they are,” she said evenly, though her tone didn’t quite reach warmth.

Feyre felt the flush rise to her cheeks, the silence stretching again as her attempt at conversation fizzled out. She glanced at Rhys, silently pleading for him to step in, but he merely raised a brow, clearly leaving it to her to navigate this minefield.

She swallowed hard, forcing herself to stay calm. Small steps, she reminded herself. Even if those steps felt more like stumbling in the dark.

Amren, ever the one to speak her mind, eyed Nesta with her usual calculating gaze. The tension in the room thickened as she leaned forward slightly, her sharp voice cutting through the quiet. “Well, well, Nesta,” she said, her tone laced with that usual dryness. “You look… well, you don’t look like you’ve spent your nights in taverns anymore. How interesting.”

Feyre’s heart sank, the words landing like a slap. She braced herself for the usual reaction, but to her surprise, Nesta didn’t flinch. She didn’t even respond. Her face remained calm, her gaze steady, but there was a quiet strength in her silence.

It was Azriel who broke the tension, a soft snort escaping him as he leaned back in his chair, his shadows swirling lazily around him. Feyre blinked in surprise as his lips curled upward in a rare, almost amused expression. It wasn’t often that Azriel openly showed his thoughts on something, but there it was—his appreciation for Nesta’s quiet defiance.

Nesta, for her part, seemed unfazed. She simply continued to sit there, her posture regal and her gaze fixed ahead, as if Amren’s words hadn’t even touched her. Feyre couldn’t help but feel a flicker of pride in her chest at her sister’s unshakable composure.

It was then that Nesta’s eyes flicked to Taryn, and for a fleeting moment, Feyre caught a glimpse of something soft in her sister’s expression. There was an unmistakable look of pride on Nesta’s face as she glanced at the woman beside her—an unspoken recognition that, whatever her past had been, she had something now. Something real.

Taryn’s lips curled slightly at the corner, and though she didn’t speak, the look she exchanged with Nesta said everything. There was a quiet understanding between them, something unspoken, but palpable in the air around them. Feyre watched, still processing Amren’s comment and Azriel’s rare amusement, as Nesta and Taryn settled into the room with a grace that surprised even her.

Amren, sensing that the moment had passed without provoking the reaction she’d hoped for, sat back in her chair, her eyes narrowing slightly. She seemed to begrudgingly accept the shift in the dynamic, her attention drifting away from Nesta to the others, though her earlier comment still hung in the air.

But for the first time in a long while, Feyre didn’t feel the need to fill the silence. Instead, she watched her sister—strong, unbowed, and silently proud—and felt a deep sense of admiration for the woman Nesta had become.

The silence stretched for another few moments before Elain, ever the one to soften the tension, gave a small, polite cough. “Well,” she said, her voice light and a little too bright, “dinner is just about ready.”

Everyone seemed to take that as a cue, rising to their feet as though the movement could dissolve the discomfort that still lingered in the room. Feyre felt a quiet sigh of relief as the group slowly shuffled toward the table, the tension ebbing just slightly, though the undercurrent of awkwardness remained.

Nesta and Taryn, however, were the last to rise. They moved with an easy grace, and Feyre couldn’t help but notice the quiet but deliberate way they settled into their seats. Nesta was all composed elegance, her posture straight as she placed her napkin across her lap with careful precision, while Taryn followed suit beside her. Feyre briefly exchanged a glance with her sisters before joining the others at the table, settling into the seats already taken by Cassian, Rhysand, Azriel, and Amren.

As the dinner began, a soft hum of conversation started among the Inner Circle. It was hesitant at first, filled with polite exchanges and the kind of superficial pleasantries that came with shared history, but it slowly grew more natural. Feyre felt a weight lift from her chest as she tried to relax into the evening, though her eyes kept drifting to Nesta.

Cassian, unusually quiet, kept his gaze trained on his plate more than the conversation at hand, but Feyre caught him looking up several times, his gaze snapping toward Nesta as she spoke with Taryn. She was laughing softly at something Taryn said, her eyes warm, her posture relaxed. The sight of Nesta, at ease and so far removed from the bitter, closed-off woman she’d been, made Feyre’s heart swell with a mixture of pride and sorrow.

The tension that had been there earlier, the weight of the past, seemed to lift as Nesta filled her plate. She ate with a steady, measured grace, occasionally glancing around at the others. Her laughter rang clear when Taryn made a remark about something mundane, her smile radiant and full of life, her earlier silence forgotten. For the first time in a long while, Nesta was enjoying herself, and Feyre couldn’t help but feel a flutter of hope.

As Feyre continued to watch, her gaze flickered back to Cassian. He had his jaw clenched, but she could see the way his eyes lingered on Nesta—sometimes soft, sometimes intense. It was hard to miss the way his stare seemed to follow her every movement, but Nesta remained absorbed in conversation with Taryn, unaware of the attention.

Feyre’s heart twisted slightly at the sight. She knew what Cassian’s feelings for Nesta had been, and maybe still were. But Nesta… Nesta was a different person now. Stronger, freer. Feyre couldn’t help but wonder if the quiet longing in Cassian’s eyes would ever fade, or if it was something that would always linger between them, even in moments like this, where the distance between them seemed insurmountable.

As the meal continued, conversation flowed more easily, but beneath the surface, there was a quiet undercurrent of curiosity. Feyre could feel it, though no one spoke it aloud. All of them were watching, their eyes flicking between Nesta and Taryn, as they shared glances, smiles, and occasional whispered jokes. There was something undeniably close between the two women, an intimacy that spoke volumes without a word being said.

It was Cassian who seemed the most restrained, his silence betraying the thoughts he was no doubt keeping to himself. His gaze occasionally shifted to Nesta, then to Taryn, but it was hard to read his expression, his usual confident demeanor replaced with something more guarded. Amren, always quick to pick up on things, narrowed her eyes, but she didn’t comment. Instead, her attention seemed to shift between Nesta and Taryn, as though she was piecing together her own theories.

Rhysand kept his usual smile in place, but Feyre could see the flicker of curiosity behind his eyes. It was there, hidden beneath layers of casual conversation—everyone was silently guessing. Was it something new? A fleeting connection? Or was there more to their relationship than they could see at a glance?

But Feyre couldn’t shake the surprise that lingered in the back of her mind. She had always known Nesta to be… well, Nesta. She had never shown much interest in romantic relationships, not in the way Feyre had, and certainly not in women. Feyre had always chalked it up to her sister’s trauma, her walls so high that she never seemed to let anyone in. So when she saw the way Nesta and Taryn interacted, the small, shared glances and the subtle, tender touches, it was both startling and fascinating.

She had never imagined Nesta in that light—at least, not with another woman. She couldn’t help but feel a small spark of curiosity flicker in her chest. How long had this been going on? When had it started? And more than that, Feyre realized she had never once asked her sister about her heart—what she wanted or who she cared for. She had been so focused on Nesta’s bitterness and the distance between them, she had never taken the time to think beyond the surface, to ask what truly mattered to Nesta.

There was a fleeting moment, as Nesta laughed softly at something Taryn said, that Feyre caught a glimpse of something more than just friendship in their connection. The warmth, the comfort, the quiet joy that seemed to radiate from the two of them—it was unmistakable.

Feyre’s mind raced with questions she had never thought to ask, but in the same breath, she didn’t want to pry. Nesta had always been fiercely independent, and Feyre had learned the hard way that pushing too hard could create distance. But seeing her sister so happy, so at ease in Taryn’s presence, made Feyre wonder if maybe there was something she had missed.

She turned her attention back to her plate, trying to focus on the food in front of her, but her thoughts kept drifting back to Nesta and Taryn. She was surprised, yes, but she couldn’t deny that she felt a strange sense of relief. It was good, wasn’t it? To see Nesta with someone who seemed to make her feel at home.

The moment stretched on, the air thick with curiosity and silent observation, when suddenly, Morrigan’s voice broke through the quiet, sharp and cutting as always. Her eyes, glinting with mischief—or perhaps something more—settled on Nesta as she leaned slightly forward in her chair.

“So,” Morrigan said, her tone casual but laced with an undercurrent of something Feyre couldn’t quite place. “How long has this been going on between you two?”

It wasn’t an innocent question. The way Morrigan phrased it, with that familiar edge in her voice, made it clear it was meant as a jab—a test. Feyre’s heart stuttered as she glanced at her sister, expecting a reaction, waiting for something, anything, to break the carefully constructed calm.

Nesta didn’t flinch, though, her expression a picture of composed indifference. But Feyre could see the subtle shift in her posture—a tightening of her shoulders, the slight narrowing of her eyes. Nesta’s fingers gripped the edge of her plate just a little tighter. Taryn, who had been casually leaning toward Nesta, faltered, her smile dropping for a brief moment, but she quickly recovered, her own gaze hardening.

Feyre’s chest tightened as the silence stretched, heavy and charged. It was clear Morrigan’s question had hit its mark. It wasn’t just an innocent inquiry; it was a challenge, one that was meant to make Nesta squirm, to put her on the spot in front of everyone.

Azriel, seated across from Nesta, let out a soft, almost imperceptible breath—one that Feyre recognized as his way of showing his disapproval. Cassian, on the other hand, stiffened, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing. It was clear that this was a familiar dynamic, one that Morrigan often employed to get a rise out of people.

But Nesta’s response was nothing short of a revelation. With the same quiet confidence she’d shown earlier, she turned to Morrigan, her eyes icy and unfazed. “I don’t see how that’s any of your business.”

The words were soft, but they carried weight. There was no anger in her tone, no sharpness—just a calm, deliberate dismissal of Morrigan’s jibe. Feyre could almost feel the ripple of tension that passed through the room at her sister’s response.

Morrigan, momentarily stunned by Nesta’s unflinching composure, blinked, but her lips curled into a thin smile, her gaze flicking between Nesta and Taryn. “Of course,” she said, almost mockingly, her voice still laced with the same biting humor. “I suppose it’s not my place to know.”

But it was clear to everyone that the barb had been thrown, and while Morrigan tried to brush it off, the atmosphere had shifted again—this time, away from curiosity and into something more uncomfortable. Feyre felt a slight burn of anger for her sister, for the way Morrigan had tried to undermine her so casually, but she couldn’t help but admire the way Nesta had held her ground.

The rest of the table seemed to sense it too. A few exchanged glances—some sympathetic, some cautious—but the tension didn’t break entirely. Morrigan, for all her wit and sharpness, had not expected Nesta to be so resolute, so untouchable.

Rhysand, who had been silently watching the exchange with a practiced calm, finally spoke up, his voice smooth and warm. He glanced at Nesta, his usual charismatic smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“It’s good to have you here, Nesta,” he said, his tone light but sincere. “Either way, it’s been… too quiet without you around.”

There was a pause, and then he added, more softly, “I know Feyre and Elain have missed having you here. You may not have seen it, but it’s true.”

Feyre’s heart stirred at his words, a small flicker of guilt flashing through her. She hadn’t realized how much her absence had weighed on the family until now—until Rhysand so easily voiced what had been left unsaid for so long.

Nesta didn’t respond immediately, but when she did, she raised an eyebrow in that way she always did when she was about to make a point. Her lips curled into a faint, knowing smile.

“Well,” she said, her voice steady, “I’ve invited both Feyre and Elain out to restaurants and taverns a few times. But it’s not like they ever accepted.”

There was no malice in her words, only a cool, unbothered truth that hung in the air. Feyre’s eyes widened, the surprise evident on her face, while Elain’s cheeks flushed a shade of pink that made Feyre feel the heat of embarrassment on her own face.

Feyre had never known—had never considered—that Nesta had tried to reach out like that. She thought back to the years of strained silence between them, to the countless nights Nesta had spent behind closed doors, away from the family.

But now, Nesta had put herself out there, offering something she hadn’t before, and Feyre had never even known. The realization stung more than Feyre had expected, but it also made her feel a tiny flicker of hope. Perhaps this was the beginning of something—something that would bring them all closer.

Feyre opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, Nesta continued, her voice steady and unapologetic.

“I don’t do this often, you know,” she added, her gaze flickering between the three of them. “It’s not my style to chase people. But you all kept saying you wanted me around, so I thought I’d make an effort.”

Feyre was silent for a moment, unsure how to respond. She hadn’t realized how much effort it had taken for Nesta to come back, to reconnect. Nesta had always been the one to keep everyone at arm’s length, and yet here she was, still trying.

“Thank you,” Feyre said softly, her voice filled with an emotion she hadn’t expected. “I’m glad you did.”

Nesta’s expression softened for just a moment, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared. She gave a small shrug, as though the acknowledgment didn’t mean much to her, but to Feyre, it was everything.

Nesta sighed softly to herself, the weight of the evening settling deeper into her chest. She had been trying to navigate this new territory with her family, trying to find the right balance between distance and connection, but it was more difficult than she had imagined. She could feel the stares—casual, curious, like they were all waiting for something to happen.

Feyre, always the one to sense when things were off, cleared her throat and smiled brightly. “How about we have dessert while we open presents?” she suggested, her tone light, trying to shift the mood. “It’ll be fun.”

The others seemed eager for the distraction, nodding in agreement as they moved away from the dinner table and toward the living area where the presents were gathered. The air, though, still hung heavy with the unspoken, as if everyone was quietly waiting for the moment to pass.

Feyre picked up the first present, holding it carefully as she read the name on the tag. Her brow furrowed for a moment, and then she looked up with a small, surprised smile. “This one’s from Nesta,” she said, her voice soft but clear, holding the gift out as she looked around. The silence stretched for a beat, the atmosphere thick with an odd tension.

Nesta met her gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing across her features. She was sitting back a little, arms folded loosely across her chest, watching the scene unfold without offering much of a reaction.

Feyre carefully untied the ribbon, peeling back the paper, and inside was a set of paintbrushes and oils. The wooden box was elegant in its simplicity, polished to a smooth finish. The paints looked high-quality, and the brushes—sleek and professional—spoke volumes about Nesta’s taste. Feyre’s heart skipped a beat as she realized what the gift meant. She hadn’t expected something so thoughtful.

“I—” Feyre paused, a lump forming in her throat. “Thank you,” she said, her voice unsteady, but genuine. The room seemed to hold its breath as Nesta nodded, watching her closely.

The rest of the Inner Circle looked between each other, their gazes shifting from Nesta to Feyre, but no one spoke right away. It wasn’t the gift that made them hesitant, it was the quiet undercurrent of something else—the words that went unspoken between them, the history that still hung in the air. But Nesta didn’t seem bothered by the silence; she simply sat back, looking more relaxed than she had in a long time, her attention now drifting toward Taryn, who was seated beside her.

The tension in the room remained thick, and the presents continued to be passed around, but it wasn’t lost on Feyre how everyone was exchanging small, tentative glances. It was clear that there was still much to navigate, much to rebuild, but this moment—this simple, thoughtful gift—felt like a bridge. Something solid in the midst of all the uncertainty.

Feyre opened the next gift, the room shifting with small, awkward comments and light-hearted jabs as everyone tried to break the silence. But for Feyre, as she gently ran her fingers over the brush handles, a quiet thought lingered in her mind: maybe things weren’t as broken as they seemed. Maybe this, however uncomfortable, was still progress.

As the presents continued to circulate, Feyre couldn’t help but feel the tension in the air, a soft, lingering undercurrent of discomfort. She was watching her family, taking in the moments of awkwardness, the careful smiles, and the small exchanges, when Cassian and Morrigan suddenly swapped gifts. Feyre’s eyes widened as Morrigan unwrapped a set of elegant, dark lace lingerie, holding it up with a smirk that said everything about the playful jab she’d likely intended. Cassian, in turn, was holding up a similarly risqué gift—soft, red silk underwear that made even Feyre blush a little.

She had expected the moment to be awkward, maybe even uncomfortable, but as she glanced over at Nesta and Taryn, sitting beside one another, she was surprised to see them smiling softly at each other. It wasn’t a fleeting glance, either—there was a warmth between them, a quiet understanding that Feyre hadn’t seen in Nesta before.

Taryn leaned in slightly toward Nesta, her lips brushing her ear as she whispered something too soft for anyone else to hear. Nesta’s eyes widened for a split second, then softened, and to Feyre’s complete surprise, she giggled. A full, unguarded laugh—something Feyre hadn’t heard from her sister in a long time, something that made her heart flutter with the unfamiliar joy of seeing Nesta so at ease.

It was a sound that didn’t fit with the version of Nesta Feyre had grown used to. The older sister who had kept so much inside, the one who rarely allowed herself to be vulnerable, much less to show any outward softness. Nesta’s laugh seemed to cut through the room’s awkwardness, drawing a few curious glances from the others as they tried to figure out what had made her so lighthearted.

Feyre blinked, unsure of what to make of it. She glanced quickly at Taryn, who had a small, knowing smile on her lips, as if pleased by the effect she’d had on Nesta. But it wasn’t just the laugh that caught Feyre off guard—it was the connection between the two women, something new and subtle that Feyre hadn’t expected to see.

She quickly turned her gaze away, pretending to focus on the next gift being opened, but she couldn’t stop the lingering thoughts that followed her. Could it be that Nesta was truly finding herself in this new chapter?

As Feyre watched Nesta and Taryn, something shifted in her chest, an unexpected sadness that wasn’t entirely about Feyre herself, but about the years that had slipped away, the things left unsaid, and the distance that had quietly built between them. Seeing Nesta laugh, something so genuine and full of life, reminded Feyre of the parts of her sister she had longed to see emerge again, but hadn’t. It made her realize how much time had passed without them truly connecting, without really knowing who Nesta had become during all those long months of silence.

It wasn’t that Feyre was angry or resentful about the way Nesta had distanced herself, or about the woman who had clearly made her so happy. No, it wasn’t Taryn who caused the sadness, nor was it about the complicated emotions that came with watching someone you loved grow into something you hadn’t anticipated. Feyre was happy for Nesta, truly, in a way that surprised her. She was glad her sister had found a space where she could laugh freely, where she could be something more than the woman who had been crushed by grief and trauma.

But Feyre couldn’t ignore the deep ache in her chest as she watched. How had she let it go so long without truly seeing her sister, without trying harder to understand her? Nesta had changed, she had grown, and Feyre felt as if she had been standing at the edge, waiting for her sister to come back—but Nesta had already found herself elsewhere. It hurt, in a way that Feyre didn’t know how to articulate.

Her smile, though warm, was tinged with something more bittersweet now. As Nesta and Taryn exchanged whispers, as they shared something that felt so uniquely theirs, Feyre realized she was no longer the person her sister turned to for comfort. It was Taryn, not her. And for all the love she had for Nesta, for all the good intentions she had in trying to bring her back, Feyre felt the quiet sting of being left behind.

This wasn’t something Feyre blamed anyone for—least of all Nesta. It was just a quiet realization of how much time had passed, how much had shifted, and how those changes were irreversible. She had always thought they would grow together, in their own ways, but that hope had begun to feel more distant. Feyre sighed softly, quickly pushing the emotion down, not wanting to let it steal the joy of the evening.

Elain cleared her throat, breaking the soft silence that had fallen over the room. Her eyes darted to the pile of presents before her, and she carefully picked up one that seemed different from the others. It wasn’t a box, but a carefully wrapped bundle, and she held it out toward Nesta, her hands slightly trembling as if unsure of the reaction she’d receive.

“Here, Nesta,” Elain said, her voice a little quieter than usual, but warm, full of hope.

Feyre watched, her heart tightening as Elain offered the gift. It was a book set, wrapped in delicate paper with a satin ribbon, the kind of gift that showed thoughtfulness. Elain had always been the one who poured herself into nurturing those around her, even when it came to Nesta, despite the distance that had grown between them. Feyre could see how much Elain was hoping for a good reaction—how much she wanted to rebuild that connection with Nesta, even if it was just through something small like this.

For a moment, there was a stillness in the room, everyone waiting, perhaps holding their breath to see how Nesta would respond. And then, slowly, Nesta took the gift from Elain’s hands. She smiled faintly, her eyes scanning the wrapping before she carefully set it down to untie the ribbon.

When she finally unwrapped it, Nesta’s eyes flickered over the book set—classic novels, well-loved and already known to her, perhaps something Elain had thought she’d enjoy. But Nesta didn’t seem surprised. She didn’t seem disappointed either, though there was a moment’s pause before she looked back at Elain.

“I already have this,” Nesta said, her tone soft but steady. “But thank you, Elain.”

Nesta’s smile lingered, something faintly warm in her eyes as she looked at Elain. “I appreciate it,” she said quietly, her voice softer than usual, her words more sincere than Feyre had heard in a long while.

As the conversation moved on, Feyre felt a sudden weight settle in her chest. She glanced over at the pile of presents, and her gaze drifted to Nesta. Elain’s gift had been the only one for her, the only thing that had been offered to Nesta. The realization hit Feyre like a cold wave—she hadn’t gotten Nesta anything. She hadn’t even thought to, caught up in everything else, in the tension of the evening, in the strange, quiet joy of having her sister back in their lives.

The sting of guilt gnawed at her, because she should have thought of something. She should have found something personal, something meaningful to give to Nesta, especially after everything they had been through. But no, Elain was the only one who had considered it.

Feyre glanced down at her own hands, feeling suddenly empty and unprepared. How had she missed it? Had she truly been so focused on the idea of Nesta returning, on making things right between them, that she had forgotten the simple act of giving? She should have gotten something for Nesta, something that showed she remembered, that she cared. Something that wasn’t just a grand gesture or a fleeting hope but something small and thoughtful.

Her heart squeezed in her chest as she looked at Nesta. She could see the way her sister was holding herself, the careful way she smiled, even as she tried to mask any discomfort. Nesta hadn’t expected anything. Feyre had assumed that Nesta wouldn’t care, that she would be indifferent to the gifts or the evening, but that wasn’t true. Nesta had accepted the invitation. She had come. She had brought someone with her. And here was Feyre, not even having thought to give her something—anything—to mark the occasion, to show that she still cared, even after everything.

For the briefest moment, Feyre felt her face flush with embarrassment. She was the one who had wanted this night to go well, to have her family together again, but now it felt like she had failed Nesta in the smallest, most basic way.

She looked over at Elain, who was still smiling, still holding onto that soft relief, as if her gift had been the bridge between them. Feyre felt the weight of her failure in the silence that followed. No one had commented on the fact that Elain’s gift was the only one, but Feyre knew. She knew, and it stung more than she could explain.

Her gaze flickered over to the pile of presents once more, and her stomach dropped as the pieces slowly clicked together.

They had all received gifts from Nesta. Each one of them.

Cassian had his new set of armor polish, perfectly chosen for the items he’d always used to maintain his gear. Mor had a sleek, beautifully crafted dagger—one that Feyre knew would be the perfect match for her. Even Azriel had a dark cloak, lined with silver threads that shimmered faintly under the light, a gift she knew Azriel would never admit to appreciating but would wear nonetheless.

And yet, Feyre hadn’t reciprocated. She hadn’t thought to give Nesta anything, while Nesta had clearly put effort into their gifts, had thought about each of them, chosen something personal.

Feyre opened her mouth to speak, to try and bridge the awkward silence that seemed to have settled again, when Taryn unexpectedly reached for an envelope tucked inside her bag. She handed it over to Nesta with a soft, knowing smile, and Nesta took it, her fingers lingering on the edges of the paper for just a second longer than necessary.

Feyre watched as Nesta carefully opened the envelope, her brow furrowing slightly as she pulled out a pair of tickets. The moment her eyes scanned them, they widened in shock, her voice barely a whisper as she read the name aloud. “The ballet?”

Taryn nodded, her smile warm, and Feyre caught a glimmer of something—pride, maybe—beneath her calm exterior.

Nesta, still holding the tickets in her hands, blinked in disbelief. “But they sold out months ago,” she said, shaking her head in amazement. “I—I didn’t think there was any way to get in. How… how did you manage this?”

Taryn’s smile softened even more, and Feyre could see the connection between them, an ease that was new, and yet, not so new after all. Taryn had a way of making Nesta look like she was finally settling into something she hadn’t quite realized she was missing—something that wasn’t just companionship but a deeper understanding, a way of making the world feel just a little more expansive for Nesta.

“I have my ways,” Taryn replied simply, a wink accompanying her words.

For a moment, Nesta was speechless, the tickets held so tightly in her hands that Feyre thought they might tear. But then Nesta’s lips curled into a genuine, wide smile—the kind Feyre hadn’t seen on her sister’s face in years. It was a look of pure, unguarded joy, a moment of surprise and gratitude.

“Thank you,” Nesta said softly, her voice almost cracking. Feyre had to swallow down the tightness in her own throat as she watched her sister. That small, simple act of kindness from Taryn—something Feyre hadn’t seen in their family for so long—seemed to break something open in Nesta.

Taryn gave a soft shrug, as if to say it was nothing, but Feyre couldn’t help but notice the way Nesta’s expression shifted, how her posture softened just slightly. The tension that had clung to her earlier seemed to ease just a little, like a small crack in the armor she wore so tightly around herself.

She hadn’t realized just how much it must have hurt—how much it must have meant to Nesta—that this was a piece of her past, a part of herself, that she had quietly kept hidden. Feyre remembered the long-ago days when Nesta had danced, her movements graceful, her face full of joy. But those memories had faded, overshadowed by everything that had happened since.

And now, seeing Nesta hold those tickets, the spark of something old and forgotten in her eyes, Feyre couldn’t help but wonder how long it had been since her sister had allowed herself something purely for her own enjoyment. Something that wasn’t just about surviving the weight of the world.

It hit Feyre with a sharp clarity—when Nesta had said she’d frequented the taverns, not for the men or the drinks, but for the music, they’d all thought she was lying. They had assumed it was just another excuse, another way for her to hide, to make her actions seem less painful or desperate. But Feyre realized now how wrong they’d been, how little they had truly understood. Nesta hadn’t been lying. She had been searching for something beautiful, something that resonated with her heart—the music, the rhythm, the feeling of moving to a beat that wasn’t born of their cruel, tumultuous world.

The guilt gnawed at Feyre. They had brushed it off as just another thing Nesta claimed, another part of her that seemed too difficult to believe. But it wasn’t. Nesta had always loved dancing, always had a soul that craved something more than the darkness of the taverns. Feyre had dismissed it, had dismissed her, not even bothering to see the layers that had made Nesta who she was, the complexities that lay beneath the surface.

Now, as she watched Nesta sit with Taryn, the gift of the ballet tickets between them, Feyre couldn’t help but wonder how much of Nesta’s soul had been buried in the years she spent trying to survive—how much of it she had given up to the harshness of their world, to the expectations and the hurt. Feyre had never asked her about the music. She had never asked Nesta to tell her what she had really been seeking when she wandered into those taverns.

And now, Feyre had to confront the reality that they had failed to see it, failed to see Nesta’s pain and the things she longed for, things that didn’t involve anyone else but her.

Her heart clenched painfully, and she couldn’t shake the thought that she, too, had been a part of that failure. They had all let Nesta be alone in her struggle, thinking her needs and desires were just more of her façade. They hadn’t even considered that she might be trying to reclaim a part of herself, trying to find something to hold on to that wasn’t all wrapped up in the past they had shared. It was only now, watching her with Taryn, that Feyre could see the weight of her sister’s quiet longing.

The sudden awareness of this made Feyre feel smaller, more guilty. She had thought that Nesta was lost, that the anger and the bitterness she displayed were all that was left. But Nesta had always been more than that. She had always been more than the broken pieces they had ignored for so long.

As the present exchange began to wind down, Feyre thought the tension might finally start to lift. She watched as the last few gifts were passed around, each one drawing out more smiles, more laughter, a moment of connection that hadn’t been there before. But then, Cassian stood, that teasing grin of his slowly spreading across his face as he held up a small, delicate box in front of Nesta.

“This one,” Cassian said with a playful tone, “is for you as well.”

Nesta’s eyes flicked to the box, her brow furrowing slightly, but she didn’t say anything. Feyre noticed the way her sister’s posture stiffened, a subtle shift that didn’t go unnoticed. Cassian, ever the opportunist, didn’t seem to care as he leaned in slightly, his voice dropping into a mockingly sweet tone.

“Open it, sweetheart,” he teased.

For a second, it felt like the entire room froze. Nesta’s face, usually so controlled, shifted ever so slightly—an uncomfortable twinge in her features, a small narrowing of her eyes that Feyre recognized all too well. She didn’t want to take the box, but she did, her fingers grasping it with hesitant care. The room waited in almost a silence as Nesta slowly opened the small lid.

Feyre could feel her heart thud in her chest, and for the first time, she understood that something was off. The joy, the warmth that had started to blanket the evening, vanished in an instant. Nesta’s eyes dropped to the contents of the box, and when she saw the ring inside, the air around them seemed to thickest.

The room was silent. Feyre’s throat tightened as she realized what was in the box—a simple, silver ring. But not just any ring. It was the same one Cassian had tried to give Nesta the last Solstice. The same ring she had rejected with a sharpness that had left Cassian wounded and the rest of them uncomfortable. Feyre had known it was a painful memory for both of them, but seeing it again now, in the present, felt somehow worse than it had before. It was a ghost of their past, a reminder of the rift between them.

Nesta’s face was unreadable, but Feyre could see the flicker of something—maybe confusion, maybe dread—in her sister’s eyes. It was clear Nesta hadn’t expected this. It was clear she hadn’t wanted this. She took the ring from the box slowly, her fingers brushing over the smooth metal as she exhaled quietly, but her lips were pressed tightly together.

Cassian stood, grinning like the fool he was, his eyes glinting with that mischievous gleam he usually wore. “What’s the matter, Nesta? Not even a thank you?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly testing the waters, his voice lighthearted but carrying a hint of challenge.

Feyre couldn’t help the surge of discomfort that rushed through her. She wanted to say something, to stop Cassian before he made it worse, but she found herself frozen in place. She had been so focused on the fragile balance of the evening, on how much progress Nesta had made in such a short time, that she hadn’t anticipated this moment—this reminder of the tension that still lingered beneath the surface between her sister and Cassian.

Nesta, to everyone’s surprise, didn’t respond immediately. She looked at the ring in her hand, a flicker of something crossing her face, and then she slowly, carefully, set it back in the box. She closed the lid with deliberate slowness, her gaze lifting to Cassian’s with a quiet intensity. For a moment, the room felt as though it was holding its breath.

“No, thank you,” Nesta said softly, her voice steady but firm. “But this isn’t something I need. Not now.”

Cassian’s grin faltered, the teasing edge gone. Feyre could see the frustration building behind his eyes, but he didn’t push. Instead, he gave a small, resigned shrug, as though he was used to this—used to the unspoken rejection that hung between them like an invisible thread.

Taryn, still sitting beside Nesta, placed a gentle hand on her arm, an unspoken show of support, and Nesta looked at her, offering a small, almost imperceptible smile in return.

Feyre couldn’t quite pinpoint what it was, but something about the moment made her chest tighten with sorrow. It was as if, despite all the progress, the chasm between Nesta and Cassian still remained. And it wasn’t just a matter of pride or refusal. It was something deeper—something neither of them had fully reckoned with.

Cassian’s face darkened as Nesta handed the ring back with such finality. The playful grin he had worn moments earlier disappeared, replaced by a look of quiet hurt, the kind that only those close to him could read. He stared at the box, his fingers flexing, as if he were trying to force the weight of the situation into something lighter, but it wasn’t working. His chest rose and fell with a deep breath, but there was no hiding the hurt that lingered behind his eyes. He quickly tried to mask it with a shrug, but it was clear that Nesta’s rejection had cut deeper than he had let on.

Morrigan, ever the one to speak her mind, let out a sharp scoff. She leaned back in her chair, her arms folding over her chest as she gave a pointed look toward Nesta. “Well, that was just charming,” she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm. “Could’ve at least been polite about it, don’t you think?”

Feyre’s heart sank. She had hoped the evening might stay civil, that they could all enjoy the rare peace they had with Nesta’s return. But Morrigan’s comment tore through the fragile air of the gathering, cutting it like a knife. Feyre glanced at Nesta, who didn’t flinch at the jab, but instead, her eyes hardened—sharp, unwavering. It was clear that Morrigan’s words meant nothing to her now.

Nesta remained silent, her jaw tightening, but her gaze never wavered from Morrigan. There was no anger in her eyes—only a steady resolve, as if she had long since stopped caring about what people thought of her. Cassian, still standing, looked away quickly, clearly not wanting anyone to see the rawness in his expression.

Morrigan, of course, didn’t care. She tilted her head slightly, studying the tension in the room like it was an entertaining spectacle. “I just don’t get it,” Morrigan continued, her voice dripping with condescension. “What’s the point of playing hard to get if you aren’t even willing to try? Doesn’t seem like you’re putting in much effort, Nesta.”

Nesta’s glare cut through the room like a blade, her icy stare locking onto Morrigan as the words fell from her lips. There was no hint of hesitation, no softness in her tone—just the cold, biting clarity that always seemed to come when Nesta was pushed to her limit. “Do I really need to spell it out for you?” she said, her voice calm but dangerous, each word deliberate. “I’m in a relationship. A real one. And I don’t owe anyone, least of all Cassian, anything. I don’t need to return his feelings just because he’s decided that I should.”

The silence in the room thickened as Nesta’s words hung in the air, but Morrigan, ever the provocateur, wasn’t about to back down. She leaned forward, her gaze sharp and unapologetic. “He’s your mate, Nesta,” Morrigan said, her voice dripping with something Feyre couldn’t quite place—whether it was disdain or just sheer annoyance at being defied. “You can’t just dismiss that. You don’t get to throw away a bond like that.”

Cassian’s expression twisted, and for a moment, Feyre thought she saw a flash of something—resentment, hurt, maybe even shame—as he looked between Morrigan and Nesta. But it was quickly replaced by a blankness, as if he had shut himself off from the conversation entirely.

Nesta didn’t flinch at Morrigan’s words. If anything, the corner of her lips twitched ever so slightly, almost as though she were amused by Morrigan’s inability to grasp what she had said. “Maybe I don’t want to be defined by that bond, Morrigan,” Nesta replied, her voice low but firm. “Maybe I don’t want to be tied to someone just because fate decided it for me. You think that’s easy? That it’s something I just want to accept and move on with?”

The tension in the room crackled like a storm, and Feyre could feel her heart pounding in her chest. She didn’t want to intervene, but she also knew that whatever was happening between Nesta and Morrigan had to be addressed—before it turned into something that would break apart what little progress they had made.

Morrigan narrowed her eyes, clearly unfazed by Nesta’s words. “That’s your choice, I suppose,” she said, her tone laced with something Feyre couldn’t quite place—frustration, maybe, or disbelief. “But you’re not going to convince anyone here that what you’re doing is right, Nesta. Especially when he’s your mate.”

For the first time, Feyre noticed the look in Cassian’s eyes—a mixture of hurt and something else that was harder to define. It was the look of a man who had been told, once again, that he wasn’t enough, despite the bond that should have connected them. Despite everything he had done, everything he had tried.

Nesta’s expression softened for a fraction of a second, but it was quickly replaced by the same implacable distance that had become her armor. She didn’t look at Cassian; her gaze was focused solely on Morrigan as she delivered the final blow. “You can think whatever you want, Morrigan,” Nesta said, the edge of finality in her voice unmistakable.

Feyre, feeling the weight of the moment, quickly pushed herself to her feet, her voice trembling slightly as she tried to interject. “Please, can we just—” she began, but Nesta stood before her, cutting her off with the sharpness of a blade.

“I think we’ve overstayed our welcome,” Nesta said, her voice flat and resolute, with no hint of the warmth that had been there when they’d first sat down. She didn’t look at anyone else, her gaze fixed straight ahead, as though she had made up her mind the moment Morrigan’s words hit her ears. “Taryn and I are leaving.”

The room was frozen in place for a moment, everyone watching as Nesta turned away without waiting for any further response. Taryn followed quietly behind her, picking up her bag, her expression unreadable. Feyre’s heart sank as she watched them both move towards the door. It had all unraveled so quickly.

Feyre, unable to stop herself, moved to follow. She felt a desperate need to fix things, to somehow make everything right, but she knew, deep down, that the damage was already done. “Nesta, please,” Feyre called softly as she reached her. “I’m sorry. Morrigan—she didn’t mean to make it worse, but she didn’t understand. I know, Cassian is your mate, and we all respect your choice, truly. But isn’t this something we should… maybe talk about? Please?”

Nesta stopped, turning to face Feyre, her expression still unreadable, though there was a glimmer of something behind her eyes—something Feyre couldn’t quite decipher. For a moment, they simply stood there, the weight of Feyre’s words hanging in the air between them. Nesta was silent for a long time, and when she finally spoke, her words cut through the tension like a cold wind.

“Is Elain talking to Lucien while flirting with Azriel?” Nesta asked, her voice low, but the challenge in it clear. Her eyes flicked over to Elain, who was still at the table, looking as surprised as anyone else. The comment was so pointed, so unexpected, that Feyre froze for a moment, unsure how to respond.

Feyre’s face flushed hot with a sudden rush of embarrassment. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she glanced over at Elain, who was equally flustered, her cheeks pink with the unmistakable hint of a blush. It was so obvious now—Elain’s soft laughter, her teasing looks at Azriel, and the way she seemed to be drawn to him more and more lately. Feyre couldn’t help the sudden, awkward shift in her own expression as she shot a quick look at Azriel, who had gone entirely still, his gaze focused on nothing in particular.

“Oh,” Feyre stammered, her face now burning. “I—well, that’s not exactly—” She trailed off, unsure of what to say. There was no denying it now. “I mean, she’s not… It’s not like that,” she finally managed, but even as the words left her mouth, she knew how it sounded—like she was trying to cover something up.

Nesta’s lips quirked into a half-smile, though it was more bemusement than anything else. “You don’t have to lie, Feyre,” she said quietly, a note of something almost sympathetic in her tone. “It’s obvious.”

Feyre felt her stomach twist. She had always been so attuned to the unspoken moments between her sisters, but this—this moment of embarrassment, of Nesta cutting through the tension with something so sharp—was entirely new.

“I’m sorry,” Feyre repeated, her voice small. “It’s just… It’s been a long night. I didn’t mean for it to go this way.”

Nesta, however, didn’t seem to hold any ill will. She nodded once, her expression hardening again, like she was already shutting herself off from any further emotional entanglements. “We’ll be going now,” she said softly, but the finality in her voice made it clear that there was no room for discussion.

Feyre, her heart aching with the weight of the evening’s tension, took a tentative step toward Nesta, her voice soft and sincere. “I would love to have you again, Nesta. Please, don’t be a stranger,” she said, her words carrying a warmth, a hope she desperately wanted to believe in.

Nesta paused as she reached for the door, her back still turned to Feyre. The dim light of the room flickered in the silence that stretched between them, and for a moment, Feyre thought Nesta might not respond at all. But then she heard her voice, low and steady, yet touched with something unspoken.

“We have a house now,” Nesta said, her tone even but undeniably firm. “Taryn and I. Every weekend, we’re at the taverns.” She finally turned to face Feyre, her expression unreadable but not unfriendly. “You’re welcome to stop by if you want. They’ve got live shows playing, and we always have a couple of drinks.”

Feyre swallowed, her breath catching as the words sank in. She had expected something else, perhaps a refusal, perhaps a coldness, but this… this was something different. It wasn’t an invitation with open arms, but it wasn’t a door slammed shut either. It was a line drawn, an offer made, but with distance—a distance Feyre knew she had no right to cross easily.

“I’ll… I’ll keep that in mind,” Feyre said, her voice softer than she intended, filled with a sadness she couldn’t quite suppress. “I hope you know you’re always welcome here too, Nesta.”

Nesta nodded once, her gaze flickering briefly to Taryn, who stood by the door, ready to leave. “Thank you, Feyre,” she said, the words surprisingly calm, though there was a finality to them.

As Nesta moved toward the door, Taryn paused, her gaze shifting from the retreating figure of her friend to Feyre. There was a quiet intensity in her eyes, a calm that carried with it a sense of finality. She took a breath before she spoke, her voice carrying a weight that made Feyre stop in her tracks.

“She’s inviting you. It’s up to you and Elain to decide if you want to be a part of her life, not the other way around.”

With those final words, Taryn gave a small nod, the strength in her gaze undiminished. She turned toward the door to join Nesta, but before leaving, she looked back at Feyre once more.

“She’s trying, but if you keep waiting for her to come to you, you’ll lose her.”

The door closed softly behind them, leaving Feyre standing in the quiet, the sting of Taryn’s words echoing in the silence.

Feyre stood frozen, her mind racing as Taryn’s words replayed in her head. She felt a heavy, suffocating shame settle in her chest, a tightness that constricted her lungs. Her feet felt rooted to the floor, but the sting of truth washed over her like a wave, forcing her to turn back toward the room.

Taryn had been right. All of it—every single word.

The realization hit Feyre like a gut punch, and her face flushed with the heat of guilt. She had expected so much from Nesta—her loyalty, her presence, her willingness to return to them—without ever stopping to think what it cost her.

She hadn’t been fair.

[hermesserpent-stuff]

@honey-minded-hivemind

bro. this au got me crying. ahhhh I blame u and the last two songs of epic for this addition to the red eyed kitten au

Remy slips down a hall and springs upwards. He hides in a closet, panting as he tries to catch his breath. Sabretooth is insane. The man keeps on insisting that he is his child. Remy is not his child. He has a papa. And papais not a fuzz butt.

But the feral had gotten Remy off the drugs and out of restraints. Remy had been biding his time and now had taken a chance to escape. He whimpers as he touches his arm. He had cut it when a mutant had shot projectiles. He rips off a bit of pant leg and then he wraps up his arm. He hears movement beyond the door and shifts a bit. There. A vent cover. He pops off the screws and enters the vent after hiding the entrance with a box. 

He starts crawling. His brain starts whirring, clearer than it had been in days.

He knows about Sabretooth from the stories whispered by the Guild in the dark of night and in the twilight hours of dawn. A killer whose claws and teeth always found their mark. A feral that pursued his prey endlessly. The thieves never wanted to get his attention. They wanted to avoid mercenaries in general. And deadly mercenaries like Sabretooth were avoided twice over. The stories of Sabretooth come from the time before the mutants started their campaign of taking people. 

He takes a breath and hisses a little as he pulls on his wound awkwardly. He quiets as he hears something move nearby the nearest vent cover. He stays deadly still till the footsteps leave.

Remy runs into a dead end. Shoot. His body hurts, aching. He used to be able to crawl for so long… but being tied down to a bed and drugged had not helped his physical state. Neither had Sabretooth holding him in his arms. It had only been luck that let Remy wriggle out while the man slept. Remy tenses as a roar echoes through the vents, rattling them violently. Alright. He needs to get out of the vents. He crawls out and falls out from the ceiling with a yelp. Dust and grim coats his skin and hair. He coughs bitterly and shivers. Remy is out of strength. He needs to rest again. This room… is some sort of bedroom. He drags himself under the bed and curls into a tight ball. He coughs some more, dust thick on his tongue. 

He catches a few hours sleep and then he is woken by the sound of footsteps.

“Oh! Like! Eww!! There's dirt all over my floor.”

Remy cringes away from the sound of a voice and more footsteps. The covers that had hidden the under part of the bed lift and a face peaks underneath. Remy stares back at the girl with wide terrified eyes. His empathic abilities are going nuts, and his fear soaks the air around him. Her eyes soften.

“Hey. Hey. I won't hurt you.”

“Non. Lies.”

He whimpers and pushes backwards. His back hits a wall. The girl shushes and whispers. 

“Hey. Im Kitty. It's like, really nice to meet you, you know. This is my bedroom. I guess you left the dirt here, huh? I don't like dirt, but I can deal with this. Just a bit of vacuuming.”

She chatters on and on, making no more moves towards him. Remy slowly relaxes and then coughs some more.

“Oh! Its dusty under there. Of course! Lemme go get a cup of water.”

She bounces up and out. Then she is back. She leaves the water at the edge of the bed.

“So where was I? Oh yeah! I was telling you about Logan interrupting my date. Anyways. Hes so over protective-”

Remy tries to keep up but finds himself soothed by her cadence and calm. He coughs a little more and finds that he does want the water. He had not drank anything on his own… in forever. All of it had been ivs or forced down his throat. He crawls out, keeping distance between himself and Kitty. Then he drinks. The motions are familiar and clunky, like trying to use his bo-staff after weeks of a broken arm. He swallows it all down and she looks at him.

“Would you like to use my shower? We look the same size, so I could lend you some clothes.”

He flinches a little at the idea and curls up tight.

“Or not. No pressure you know. No problem!”

She's so… cheery. So so cheery for some one stuck in this place. He notes that she is not wearing one of the metal bands. Is… she must be one of them. But… there is no grabbing and hurting. He stays calm with a breath. He swallows more water.

Hes not gonna get away with her here. Maybe he should take adventadge of nice things before being taken back to the monster. 

“Bath?”

He says and then coughs again. His throat is raw from crying and screaming.

“Sure! Let me grab some spare clothes from my closet.”

He stays seated and shivering as she glances at him every once in a while while flicking through hangers. 

“Oh this will like totally make your eyes pop.”

“Dont like my eyes.”

He mutters and she pauses. 

“But theyre so pretty?”

“Dangerous.”

He corrects while staring at the bottom of the glass in his hands. If it were not for his stupid eyes his family would not have had to deal with so many issues and hiding him. He sobs dryly as he thinks of his brother and starts shaking and crying.

“Hey, hey. Its okay. You're safe here! I promise. Its all okay! Lets get you that bath, huh? Come on. Getting warm and clean will help you feel better!!”

She wipes his face with a rag. He leans into the touch a little.

“Will you let me help you up?”

He nods, giving up a little. She helps him into the bathroom and then fills the tub with warm water. She points out where everything is and then leaves him alone with the bath and the fresh set of clothing. 

--

Remy shivers as he looks at the water that is coated with filth. He dries his hair and sits on the toilet. Exhaustion hits him and his eyes start to flutter closed. 

He shakes off the feeling and slips on the new clothes, including the oversized black sweater.

A knock comes from the door.

“You good?”

He shifts over to the door, shakily opening it.

“Whoa man! Im not sure you should be standing. Lets get you seated. Here.”

She tucks him into the bed and he shivers.

“Shh. You're okay. You're safe.”

“Want… want Henri.”

He hiccups and hides his face, so tired. She starts petting his wet hair. He passes out. 

He wakes up to the sound of a growl. Terror hits his heart.

“Creed! Stop! He's scared. We’re supposed to help mutants! Not kill them with fear!”

Kitty complains. Remy shifts backwards and presses his back into the wall.

“Get out of my way cub.”

Sabretooth snarls and-

He's gonna hurt her! No! She had been nice to him. Remy springs and tackles Sabretooth with a growl. 

“Non! Non!”

He bites and tears. Sabretooth flips and pins him. Remy pants and tears stain his face again.

“Don’t. Don't hurt.”

He begs.

“Not gonna hurt you cub.”

Sabretooth croons. Remy shakes his head.

“Dont hurt her. S'il te plaît.”

Remy pants, air not quite going down into his lungs and staying. Sabretooth pauses and then noses at his head.

“Shh. shhh. No one is getting hurt. You’re a shivering cub.”

Sabretooth scoops him up and holds him close to his chest. Remy shakes. A sandpaper tongue starts moving through his hair.

“Wait! Is this, you know, Gambit?”

Right. The only name he had given them. It seems like forever since he had heard his real name. Remy curls up tighter. 

“Yeah. this is my cub. Gambit.”

A nose presses into his nose and nussles into him. Remy hiccups and tears bubble out again. Fear and longing swirl out. Sabretooth croons and just. Keeps. Touching. Him!! He shakes. 

“Hey. Mr. Creed? I got an idea. To calm him down? I know you just got him back but, it looks like holding him is making him more scared. Lets get him back to is room and Ill explain.”

“We have to knock him out.”

A new voice comes and then ice enters Remy’s veins.

--

Remy finds his brain mushing as he tries to move. Oh. sedatives. He shivers and notes that there is a blanket around him, instead of the arms that he had been waking up to lately. He blinks slowly and tilts his head to the side. Huh. He is sitting in a mound on blankets, a new bracelet on his other arm. Cold emanates from it. Drugs. He sits up a little. He blinks slowly. He is surrounded by pillows and blankets, in some sort of nest. Sabretooth is curled up at his side. The killer looks like a cat curled up like that. Remy presses backwards into the wall. He wraps his arms around himself and simply sits there shaking. He wants to go home. He misses feeling safe. He misses being able to think clearly.

“Hey. Cub.”

Sabretooth looks at him through his half closed eyes. Remy whimpers.

“Wanna go home.”

Sabretooth sighs, and rearranges the pillows, pushing more towards Remy. Remy flinches and Sabretooth pauses.

“Cub… you are home.”

“You- I! Non! I want home! I want my papa!! I want my Henri! I want my home!”

Remy warbles out and sees Sabretooth flinch. Remy presses his arms tighter to his chest.

“Gambit…”

“If you say you are my papa, why did my brother Henri have to save me from the streets? If you are my papa, why were you never there? If you were my papa, why do you let them hurt me? My papa would never let anyone hurt me. Papa always kept me safe when I made things more dangerous for him. My papa actually loves me! You dont!!”

He sobs, fisting his hands in the borrowed jacket. He turns his head away. Sabretooth lets out a soft chirp and then Remy feels a blanket tucked around him. He opens his eyes as Sabretooth shifts back. The man sits and crosses his legs. He stares at Remy with such heartbreaking longing. 

“I looked for you. I've been looking for you, cub. For so so long. I did everything I could to find you. 

I went on one mission when you were so small. Oh. you used to fit in the crook of my elbow, so tiny and fragile. You were such a small pup. But she always assured me that you were not too tiny, despite all my fears. I had such fears, but such hope. You were so fierce when you gripped my fingers and laughed at my fangs. 

I left for my job. Just to get enough money to be able to stay home and not have to leave for a long time. To be able to provide for the two that I loved so much. But when I came home-!”

Sabretooth chokes. His hand stretches out and then falls, not touching Remy. 

“When I came home, everything was torn to shreds. The door broken, the walls blacked with fire and smoke, and my mate… bloody and dead. And my cub. You… My bright ruby eyed cub that was so small and had yet to take your first steps, you were gone!! I searched. I hunted! I looked!! I spent years trying to get you back!

I thought of you at sunset when the sky reflected the colors of your hair and the sun turned as red as your eyes. I thought of you when the wind blew through chimes and I heard the phantom echo of your laugh. I thought of you when I would try to sleep, hoping, dreaming, begging that you were alright. That I was just one step away from finding you.”

Remy twitches as he can feel the genuine sorrow swirling off the man that looks like he wants nothing more than to grab him and hold him close. But… this time Sabretooth is holding himself back.

“I dreamed of seeing you. To feel your heart beat against my ear, to see you smile and laugh. I missed so much. I missed first words and steps and all the lessons I could have taught you.

All Ive ever wanted- All Ive ever needed was to find you! Dont tell me that I dont love you. Gambit. I love you more than anything. Ive been searching. Searching. Searching for you. My red eyed kitten.”

Remy blinks at the love that slams into him and wraps tightly and warmly. Creed inches closer and presses his forehead to Remy’s knee.

“Im sorry for missing so much. For going out and losing you.”

“I-...”

Remy gasps against the huge emotions that coil around him and press into him. Then he hiccups.

“Sabre’ooth. I dont know you. How can I… How can you-”

Remy coughs and then looks to the ceiling.

“I dont know you. You cant be my father if I dont know you… Its… Ive never blamed anyone for how my life ended up. I had it rough for a while, but then I had a family. One that found me. Took care of me. That knew me and let me know them. How… How can there be love with no… time? No knowledge? How can you love this much? You dont know me.”

It confuses, scares and… the small part of him that had wondered… it has a flicker of betrayal, warming slightly at this display. It is different than simply being grabbed and held and toldthat he is someones son. This is an explanation. A reason. And the love is so much more clearly on display now. Remy swallows. Sabretooth breaths, staying where he is. 

“I knew you when you were so small. I know your scent like my own. I… I would fight storms for you. Steal the moon and stars for you. I would take on the world for you, die for you. Let me love you cub.”

Remy hesitates. He then gently touches Sabretooth’s head. Then man looks into his eyes and Remy finds tears dribbling from his eyes.

“I dont want storms to be fought, or for the stars and moon to be stolen. I dont want you to take on the world or to die. I want my family. I want my brother who held me during nightmares and showed me how not to be afraid of the sun. I want my papa who sung to me when cuts were stinging and burning and who showed me how to laugh without tensing for fear of harm. I want them back. I wanna go back.”

Remy is tired. And hurting. And just wants comfort. Sabretooth sits up slowly and then Remy falls into him. His empathy draws him to the one source of positive emotion in the room. Sabretooth and his love. His mind laps it up as he curls his arms around the man, hating himself for this weakness, this desperation for something other than despair.

“Oh… my little cub.”

And Remy falls asleep.

[kirain]

A second chapter to this fanfic.

Trigger Warning: This fic depicts a semi visceral scene of r4p3 and suicide.

Anya's fingers fumbled with the caps of the painkillers, one after the other, their plastic clicks sweeping through the sterile, suffocating quiet of the room. Once all were opened, she dumped a handful of capsules into her palm; a kaleidoscope of colours bright against her pale complexion. Ironic, she thought, that death came in such cheerful packages. As she braced herself for the bland taste she knew they'd leave on her tongue, her stomach churned, a sharp ache gnawing at her from within.

"Enough," she said, rubbing the spot absently. "You won't change my mind."

Exhausted, she collapsed into her chair, her back turned to the rusted frame of the gurney behind her. As her knee bumped the desk, the bottles clattered softly, a sound too lyrical for the weight they carried. For a while, she simply stared at the pills in her hand, taking note of her calm demeanour. She wasn't scared or shaking. She'd never been more sure, more confident of anything in her life.

It was gratifying. Peaceful.

Slowly, she brought the pills to her lips, until a thin, mewling cry pierced the silence. Her hand froze mid-air, and she turned to see Curly, his lone eye shimmering under the red fluorescent light. It stared at her, unblinking, like an anchor pulling her back from the edge.

"Captain..." she murmured.

For a long moment, neither moved. Then, forcing a smile, Anya stood, her legs trembling but determined. Gathering the bottles, she carried them to the gurney and placed them carefully beside Curly's bandaged head.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, brushing her matted hair behind her ear. "I was so caught up in myself for once... I forgot you were here." A soft, bitter chuckle escaped her throat. "Jimmy was right. I'm not a very good doctor after all."

Curly moaned weakly, his voice a rasping medley of pain and longing. His eye followed her hands as she arranged the bottles in a neat row, the ingredients blurred, though he knew them by heart.

"Do you want to come with me?" she asked, her voice cracking.

He moaned again, the sound low and mournful. Gently, Anya cupped his head and tilted it upwards, her fingers cool against his fragile, burning skin.

"It would've been kinder to do this before..." Her gaze wandered to the stumps where his feet and hands used to be. "Before all of this. Keeping you alive... maybe it was cruel."

As she touched the handful of pills to his teeth, Curly let out a louder, more desperate groan, his body twitching. He tried to turn his head, his intent clear despite his limited movement.

"You..." Anya paused, staring down at him. "You want to live?"

Curly whimpered, his chest heaving. His eye twinkled with something she hadn't yet seen—defiance, hope, or perhaps nothing more than a naïve refusal to let go.

"Why?" she asked, her voice breaking. "You're in constant pain. I see it. I hear it."

Her hand hovered under his chin, his eye darting back and forth from the pills to her face. He tried so hard, aiming to knock them loose. And then she understood. Tears welled in her eyes as she watched his pitiful flails, frustration surging through an expression she could no longer see.

"Stop!"

Curly, tall and imposing, pinned her against the wall, his fingers wrapping around her slender wrist until her grip waned and the capsules spilled to the floor, their gelatin casings scratching against the scuffed linoleum. The regret, the sorrow in his sky blue eyes as he pulled her into a tender hug made her heart skip a beat.

"Stop..." he begged, his blond locks tickling her cheek. "I promise, Jimmy won't get away with it. I'll lock him in the cryo-pods until we reach the colony. Then he'll be court-martialled and incarcerated for the rest of his life." His arms were a comfort, warm and inviting. "I'll keep you safe."

Anya laughed, gently laying his head back against the gurney, his dressings reeking of blood and pus.

"You can't save me," she choked. "Maybe... maybe you could have, once, but not now."

Curly sobbed at her words, his chest rising and falling in shallow gasps. His eye glistened, flicking about, as if trying to form an apology, but Anya shook her head.

"I hear you crying when... when he's with you," she admitted, her voice hollow. "I cried the same way when he came to my room."

Curly's dry eye dampened, his gaze snapping, pleading.

"I can't leave you with him," she muttered. "Despite everything, you don't deserve it. So please—"

Open your mouth and swallow!

Anya retched, lurching forward, bile rising in her throat. Her mind spun as Jimmy's shadow loomed over her, his demands vile, his pungent stench stinging her nostrils. Cigarettes and sweat—so common, always close. Hands that never should have touched her, a phantom pressure she never should have felt, forced its way inside.

I hope this hurts.

Agony.

When Anya woke, it was to the sounds of someone else's suffering. Time felt unreal, stretched and distorted. She wasn't sure how long the memory had consumed her, but as her vision cleared, reality struck her like a whip. Her free hand, much to her horror, was pushing against Curly's arm, holding her upright. His pain was unbearable as he squirmed beneath her.

"Oh my gosh!" she yelled, immediately jerking back. "Sorry! I'm so sorry!"

Curly snivelled, his forgiveness apparent, though the anguish lingered, laced through every nerve and disfigured muscle.

"I... I can't... can't make you," she wheezed. "Even if it's a mercy... I can't." She caught her breath, her hand drifting to her stomach. "But I can't have this baby either. I don't want to. Maybe that makes me selfish, but I... I can't stand having any part of him inside me a second longer." She chuckled, the sound devoid of happiness. "And what if it's a girl? Can you imagine anything worse? In a world like this... who would protect her?"

Curly gagged, an impossible tear squeezing through his scorched, dehydrated puncta.

"And I'm sure you know no one is coming to save us," she continued. "It's just us here, stranded on some moon, with no supplies, doomed to disappear."

Suddenly, the distant echo of the utility wing's doors sliding open reverberated through the vents, but Anya didn't flinch.

"I'm going," she said. "What do you want to do?"

Again she offered Curly the pills, but he somehow managed to turn his head, his decision as final as hers. For a moment, she stared at him, bewildered, before a faint, broken smile crept across her face.

"Right," she mumbled, her voice barely audible. "A responsible captain always goes down with his ship. That's what you used to say."

With no hesitation, she threw her head back and shoved the pills into her mouth. The vulgar taste flooded her senses, but she welcomed it, her throat straining to force them down while Curly wailed in protest. His feeble limbs thrashed against the mattress, another tear seeping from his ravaged glands before soaking into the fabric of his bandages. By the time she reached the second bottle, his body was spent, panting and sore, the fight in him fading with the consequences of his failures.

"Farewell..." Anya whispered, her vision already staring to blur.

Her hand found Curly's shoulder, giving him a soothing touch of comfort—the last he ever felt. Then, she sank to the floor, her head slumping against the gurney. The room soon filled with the harrowing sounds of ragged coughs and violent spasms, while Curly lay helpless, his eye fixed on the cork board across from him.

All he could do was listen.