#the thing is what if they lived and all held each other in brief but relative safety what then

[nightingale-prompts]

Overworked- DCxDP prompt

The knight led the group of selected heroes into the throne room. Sitting before a crowd of his people was none other than the ghost king.

"Do not test His Majesty, his mood his well this day. Say only what is necessary." The knight warned before stepping aside.

The kind wasn't what Constantine had mentioned. He was young and rather small for the throne he now sits on. The green flaming crown was unmistakable though.

The young man glared at them with intense animosity, his upper lip curled as he held back a reflexive snarl. Sharp canines peeked out just for a moment as he schooled his expression.

"Do you have any idea what you've done?" The kind said drumming his fingers on the armrest of his chair. His black claws each clicking aginst the cold metal.

The group had been briefed on the situation by Constantine after they were summoning to this realm.

The short and sweet was that they were being mandated to appear before the king of the infinite realms for a long list of violations against the order of the universe. The current group contains Bruce, Clark, Wally, Kon, Jason, Hal, Barry, and Damian. Constantine himself will also be there but he already knows that this tribunal will have multiple groups.

The group reamined mostly silent.

"Where you not read your list of crimes?" The boy asked this time.

An attendant scurried through the crowd with a large scroll in hand before the king immediately waved him off tp return to his post.

"No, lets skip the reading. It would take cycles to get through the charges. Let me be brief. You have all been found guilty of charges of resurrection, time traveling, timeline manipulation, Planetary rearranging courtesy of Mr.Kent here, Interdimensional universe travel, and UNIVERSE MELDING! THE LIST GOES ON!" The king became more irate with every charge. "Tell me why I shouldn't banish you to an empty dimension right this instance."

Constantine knew this was all politics at the end of the day. This whole thing could be smoothed over with the right words by the right person.

"We are human." Bruce said firmly before anyone could stop him. Jason held back a groan of agitation.

"...So you are. What does that have to do with anything?" He boy asked.

"Isn't it natural for us to want to live and do whatever we can to keep living?" Bruce responded

Murmurs erupted amongst the crowd of onlookers.

"So what? Do you think you are the exception then? Look around heroes. This room is full of ghosts who would also have done to keep living. My people couldn't avoid death but they accepted it. What can I say to them if I let you go while they paid their price? How fair would that be?" The king condemned.

The murmurs turned into cheers for their king's words. It was unfair. Why do they get to do what they want without repercussions when they died without even getting the option to live?

"If it counts for anything many of us died to protect as many people as possible," Hal said.

"Well, good for you. How much was that sacrifice worth in the face of your resurrection? That probably doesn't feel cheap at all." The king said sarcastically. "I suppose that goes for most of you."

"I have an objection. Resurrection is not a choice if someone chooses to bring us back we don't get a say. By default we shouldn't be charged for it." Jason argued.

The king paused and raised a hand silencing the crowd.

"Hmmm, I suppose you are correct. Fine, I will strike it from the record." The kind relented.

The heroes had finally found an in. If they could argue their charges down they could leave.

"None of use have willingly time traveled. Hell i hated it. Being lost in time was not a chose we made." Wally said as Barry nodded along.

The king bit the inside of his cheek as he pondered the response.

"I suppose I can overlook it."

"Let me just say that any melding of the universe happened as a consequence of our battle with Darkside." Clark said getting rid of their their biggest charge.

"Darkside?" The king narrowed his eyes.

A courtier stepped forward and leaned down to whisper into the boy king's ear.

"I see. He will be added to the ledger for his crimes. His trial will not be as forgiving as yours. You will not be seeing him again." The boy silently signaled to the knight who bowed and exited with a group of others.

The boy sighed and stood up.

"Follow me."

The group was led down a long corridor to an office with stacks of paperwork from floor to ceiling lining the walls.

"Welcome to my personal hell." The king announced.

Constantine whistled at the sheer number of documents scattered across the room.

"Sorry about the whole court thing. I don't really want to do it but I kind of have to. The Observers demand some kind of punishment for violations. Also, you need to understand that your actions are kept track of and you can't escape it. When you break the rule I have to do the paperwork. AND I HATE PAPERWORK. So here is the deal. You guys bring me the people that have done worse than you on this list and I'll call it square. And if you don't I take everyone's souls." The King handed the scroll to Bruce. "I want the Al Ghul clan first."

"Wait but my-" Damian spoke out but was cut off by the King's raised hand to silance him.

"It is irrelevant to me what your personal issues are. Every violator will be judged for their crimes. If they can give me a good plea then they can return. Consider yourself lucky that you're too young for a full sentencing. As for the rest just do what I say and make up for your crimes. This is a mercy so don't complain."

It was clear that the moody young king wasn't going to argue. It was best to keep quiet and before they knew it the group was sent back to earth.

"You have no idea how lucky we got," Constantine said lighting up a cigarette and leaving to get a drink.

[lifesver]

@ultescape said: [ support ] - also reverse... perhaps supporting leland out of the house :/ + @fcused said: [ catch ] - for receiver to catch sender as they stumble or collapse from exhaustion / sickness / injuries + reverse. / concussed retriever after running it down mid on 2hp type beat.

leland makes stumbled, half-blind steps down the dust road in the dark. julie has his arm looped over her shoulder, teeth pressed together tight as she does her best to steer them both toward the de-activated cattle grid up ahead. everyone else had made it past the gates already.

he had fallen behind, and made sure of it.

in that moment, grappling with johnny, growling to julie to run — please, julie, just fucking go — he hadn't cared what would happen to him. he hadn't expected anyone to turn around.

but julie had. julie wouldn't let him get away with something so fucking stupid.

the dark treeline tilts around them. vision bends — has been bending, since johnny nailed him right into the dirt, with a rough hand in his hair, and snarled taunts in his ear. and then he did that a few more times, again, and again, until something snapped, ugly and wrong and white-hot painful, until leland came up gasping on dirt and blood.

but julie had turned around. in a moment, the weight was off his back. in a moment, julie had plunged pointed end of bone into the man's shoulder. enough time to turn the tables, for leland to reverse them, knee dug into the man's ribcage, as he'd cracked knuckles into the jackal's face over and over. until jackal spat up sharp gurgles of blood beneath him. until he stopped taunting. until he kept his friends' names out of his sneering mouth.

rage, shaking, twisting, visceral. wanted him to pay for it. for ever laying a hand on maria, on any of them —

leland, leland. that's enough —

he had made a mess of the guys face, and his own hands, by then. he should have killed him. he would have. he didn't. he let julie drag him up and off the man, pulled him staggering through the rows of sunflowers.

and ruined knuckles are the least of his problems. his nose is probably broken. the sharp, nervy sting of it reached up into his split eyebrow. the jagged blade swipe across his face feels sticky with fresh and drying blood. and beneath that, his temple, the line of his jaw, bruising sickly purple. he guesses he could thank the adrenaline, for how his face had bypassed burning, and ebbed into an uncomfortable numbness, instead.

come on, leland! it's only a little further, come on —

leland is all but on autopilot — whittled down to the emergency services going off single-file in his brain, that tell him to move, to run, to breathe. his sense returns in pieces, registering the sound of the man still sputtering curses in the dirt some distance behind them. that they have to move fast. that maybe the guy wasn't going to be getting up any time soon, but julie had said something — something about the older man in the white shirt, shambling toward the generator.

❝ jules. ❞ he croaks, around his bloody nose, to which she doesn't answer, at first, just hurries them along with a ragged determination. it's just a little further, she repeats. neither of them have the breath to spare.

❝ 'm sorry. ❞ he says, anyway. she knows exactly for what. the sound is thick with the blood spilling freely over his hand. again, she doesn't answer, but her brow worries. there are new mascara tracks, bleeding down her dirtied cheeks.

they pass over the cattle grid. the cattle grid zaps to life on their heels.

then, the lights of that god-awful house are finally fading behind them. he can hear a slurry of voice from up ahead, julie throwing a breathless scream of connie's name.

footsteps quicken toward them. he staggers, misses a step, and julie crumbles off-balance with his weight, too — but this time another pair of hands catch him at the arm. the three of them stabilize. leland blinks against a dizzied rush of ginger hair, and connie's underwater voice next to his ear. his knees wobble, threaten to give, but he refrains from taking them all to the ground with him.

connie's holding his messy face in her hands, trying to get his unfocused eyes on her; leland, leland, hey — and relief flashes in his chest. of course. connie had gotten the gate unlocked. connie, who he had last seen in that slaughterhouse, staring back at him in terror. not unlike now.

❝ hey, ❞ he answers, with a casual gentleness, that rakes against his abused throat. i'm okay, he wants to reassure. jules saved me, but you could probably tell. he settles for an earnest ❝ sorry. 'm late. ❞ his smile is weak, and half-loopy. if he were feeling less like smeared roadkill, maybe he would have a better joke.

more hurried, staggered footsteps approach, and it's sonny, and danny, and ana. eyes squeeze tight, as saltwater wells and stings; thank god. thank fucking god. he can hear their voices, exhausted, indistinct around him, sonny's hands on his shoulders, taking julie's place on his other side. we thought we lost you, man. leland lilts his head, to gently bump against sonny's with a soft laugh. and he squeezes julie's hand, mumbles an equally-soft thank-you-jules, as he transfers her to danny's arms. danny whispers thank-yous of shaking desperation into her hair, too.

everyone, hurt bad. terrified, far from help. but alive.

leland's eyes return to connie; ❝ ... don't worry. not all mine, ❞ he mumbles, in some vague justification to his sorry state. as though a strong ninety-percent of the gore-splatter wasn't, in fact, just his. as if she hadn't probably seen him, seen all of it. seen him back in the slaughter house, too. wild-eyed, wildfire anger.

a hazy ache beats the inside of his skull. something that felt like another apology.

he had worried her. had probably scared her, too.

leland anchors on her blurring features, even as his eyes flutter, and try to blink back rising water. and the night threatens to spin and swoop and darken around him. one hand comes up to cradle her face, threadbare smile still clinging faintly. thumb smears blood on her cheek, by accident, and he laughs, or sobs, and the tears spill anyway, speckle her muddied flannel.

❝ i'm so glad you're okay. ❞

[plussizeficchick]

Am I Living an Illusion? | Suguru/Kenjaku x Chubby! Reader

Summary; You’re not so sure your boyfriend is who he says he is anymore.

Warnings; smut (cunnilingus, P in V) imposter! au? cockwarming (mentioned) (loosely based on the song “runaway runaway” by Mars Argo)

Something was wrong.

Very wrong.

You tried to ignore it at first. The way he didn’t have that slight limp in his walk. How he started adding cream to his coffee instead of just black. The way he suddenly started treating you.

Suguru had always been a frigid lover. He never allowed you to get too close. In fact, you often wondered if you were even in a relationship in the first place. He never held your hand, hardly cuddled with you, and talking to him was like pulling teeth. The only shred of adoration he showed you was when his hands grabbed at the fat of your thighs to fuck into you.

That’s why you know whatever is in front of you, is not your Suguru.

Because your Suguru would never hold you the way this one does, like you’re his reason for breathing, like you’re a goddess among men and he’s trying to keep you for himself. He would never talk to you like this one does, voice so soft and gentle, almost like a whisper. He would never look at you like this one, like you hung the Sun, Moon and all the stars.

And he especially wouldn't plan an elaborate dinner for Valentine's Day.

— —

“I just want to spoil you, sweetheart. I feel we’ve grown apart these last few weeks.” He murmurs in your ear. You’d been trying to come to terms with your feelings for whatever is inhabiting your boyfriend, thus causing a bit of separation.

Anytime you both were in the same room, you made an excuse to leave. It was a bit immature, sure, but you didn’t know how to cope with what you were feeling. Something clearly wasn’t right with your boyfriend, but he was also beginning to act exactly how you’ve been wanting. You weren’t sure what to do, however, after mentioning in passing how much you wanted to participate in the holiday, you didn’t really have much of an excuse to get out of this.

“I- I don’t know, Sugu. It’s been a while.” You deflect. “Didn’t you say you’ve always wanted to do something on this day? I know I’ve been dismissive before, but I want to make up for that now.” He turns you to face him, thumb caressing the softness of your cheek. It’s moments like this that remind you he’s not who he used to be, that he’s something entirely different.

“Suguru” on the other hand was struggling to hold himself back from just wiping everything off the table taking you right there.

How? How did his host go this long without fucking you?

If it was up to him, you’d never leave his cock, reduced to nothing but a cock-drunk cumdump that warms his dick.

Not to say that was a bad thing. He just wants to ravish you, run his tongue along your curves and grip your supple flesh. Sink his teeth into your pouty lips and just take everything you have to offer.

You feel your cheeks heat up under his stare, the intensity in which he’s looking at you causing wetness to pool in your panties. “Well, yes. But I just think-” He shushes your thoughts by pressing a brief peck to your lips. “Ah, ah, ah,” He tuts, moving to pick up a chocolate covered strawberry and putting the delicacy to your lips. “No thinking today, just… feeling.” He says and if you weren’t paying attention, you’d miss the mischievous glint in his eyes.

Your clit pulses at his words, so you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine.

Without breaking eye contact, you lean down slightly and take a bite of delicious fruit in his hand. “Suguru” feels his cock twitch at the sight of the red juice dripping down your chin. He can’t help himself when he reaches out to wipe the juice, sucking the same finger into his mouth, savoring the taste of you.

And you can’t help yourself when you finally reach out and press a searing kiss to his lips, the taste of the strawberry and each other dancing on each of your tongues.

He pulls you into his lap without breaking the kiss, hands immediately finding purchase on your soft waist. He groans at the feel of you grinding down on his clothed cock, desperate for some sort of friction.

He takes pity on you and lifts you up with ease, the action causing you to squeal in surprise, arms wrapping around his neck to anchor yourself. “Do you really think I’d let you get hurt, sweet thing?” He asks earnestly, an almost hurt expression on his face. But it’s quickly wiped away as his hands run up and down your body. “With me around, you’ll never be hurt again.” It was said with such finality that you had no choice but to believe him.

He carries you to your shared bedroom, once cold now full of love. He carefully lays you on your silk sheets, taking his time to undress you, almost like a present for himself.

“Suguru” can hardly contain his appreciation for the sight before him. You were quite literally everything he was looking for in a partner, and he couldn’t believe his luck when he picked a host that had exactly what he needed.

With that thought in mind, he rids himself of his clothes, eager to make a mess of you. “You’re so pretty, baby. You look so good laid out for me like this.” He sighs, running his hands up and down your thighs. You try to squeeze them tight to prevent him from catching sight of your wetness but it’s fruitless; he can practically taste you on his tongue.

He manages to pry your legs apart, the sight of your sticky folds enough to make a grown man weep. He doesn’t hold himself back anymore, immediately diving into your soaked cunt.

You gasp as he sucks your clit into his mouth, tongue laving over the bundle of nerves as you grind into his face. “That’s it, baby. Use me. Use me to get off, you deserve it.” And you know what? You fucking do.

So you do as he says, pressing his face further into your pussy as you get off on his mouth. He’s moaning into you, hands grabbing at whatever he can as you whine and gasp at the overwhelming feeling.

It doesn’t take long before you’re cumming, cunt spasming around his tongue as he uses it to fuck you through your orgasm, your body twitching at the intensity of it.

He presses one final kiss to your clit before pulling away slightly, hands rubbing comforting circles into your skin. He leans up to your face, pressing a deep kiss to your lips before pulling away to look at the softness in your eyes.

“Ready for more?” He asks, pressing sweet pecks to your chubby cheeks. You’re coherent enough to nod in the affirmative, and that’s all “Suguru” needs to get to work, running his hard dick through your soaked folds to lube himself up.

The glide into your cunt is easy, the head of his cock nearly nudging your cervix with every thrust.

He’s beating your poor pussy up, dick slamming into your g-spot and he’s not faring any better. Your moans and the squelch of your pussy is music to his ears, and the way your cunt clenches every time he makes a particularly deep thrust has a shiver running down his spine.

As he nears his orgasm, he realizes he has to feel you cum on his cock. It’s a must.

He reaches up and pinches each of your nipples, licking into your mouth when you open it to moan for him. “Cum for me. Cum on my fucking cock.” He demands, slamming into you in quick succession. All it takes is one, two, three more thrusts and you're spilling all over his cock, drenching him in your release. It’s not long before he’s right behind you, holding you flush against him as he spills his seed deep in your womb.

You’re panting against each other, holding each other as you catch your breaths. It’s a few minutes before “Suguru” pulls away and leaves the room and you’re worried things will go back to the way they were before. But then he comes back with a wet cloth, a bowl of the chocolate strawberries and a bottle of water. He hands you the fruit and water, before running the wet towel through your soaked folds, careful of your sensitivity.

Once he’s finished he tosses the towel onto his nightstand to be dealt with later, then pulling you flush against him as he feeds you more of the strawberries. You sigh in content as you let yourself be cared for.

Once you’ve finished the fruit and drank a good portion of the water, “Suguru” hugs you close to him once again, your back against his front, as he rubs his hand over your plump tummy. You think about this. About the intimacy he provides, the safety you feel with him.

“I know you’re not what you once were Suguru,” You start, and you feel him stiffen behind you. You place your hand over his, intertwining your fingers. “But I don’t care.”

He breathes out.

— —

Taglist: @xogabbiexo @kinq-sleazee @dabilovesme @blkchxrryblyss @tenyaiidasslut @cherries-c0la @bookwormsenpai @bl--ankhaeji @thicksimpx @namjoonswifeyy @nasty-quillz @musicisme333 @unsatisfiedanddisappointed @celi-xxmoon @c0pkiller

[miniimight]

DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

part two

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

© miniimight ! thanks for reading <3

[dyaz-stories]

put your arms around me and i'm home || Cha Hyun-Su x Reader

summary: In the dead of winter, you have to do a run to go get fuel for your generator. Things go wrong, but fortunately, Hyun-Su is here to save you.

word count: 3.7k

warnings & tags: canon-typical violence, gore, monsters, hyun-su and reader get injured, reader briefly thinks hyun-su is dead, monster!hyun-su makes a brief appearance, hyun-su needs a hug and he gets one!, angst, hurt/comfort, season 2 canon compliant.

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A/N: this can be read on its own, but there is another one-shot, if you're interested! for context, this takes place during season 2. reader and hyun-su know each other from high school and reader runs into hyun-su after the events of the first three episodes. reader also doesn't know that he is a monster/neohuman.

You’re not one to get caught off guard, not usually. You’ve always been cautious, measured, far-sighted. It had been an advantage back in high school, and you’re pretty sure it’s what kept you alive thus far.

Yet, in this new world that you never asked to be a part of, unforeseen complications were the norm. You could plan, and plan, and plan ahead, but here you were, freezing in your living room, because the biting cold of the lasting winter meant that you’d run out of fuel for your small generator, and everything else you used to generate electricity wasn’t functioning the way it should.

If you didn’t want to freeze to death, you had to act, and act quick.

You’d already held out a few more days than was reasonable, hoping that the weather would clear and your solar panels would be useful again, or — but you hadn’t dared to voice that thought — that Hyun-Su would come by, and you could ask for his help. He’d offered before, after all, even if he had always kept you at arm’s length whenever you’d returned the favor.

But things were dire now, and you couldn’t wait any longer, so you’re kneeling in your living-room, preparing yourself for a hazardous trip in the outside, shivering as you do. Things are dangerous enough on a good day, but the snow that’s been continuously falling only makes you dread it more. It swallows sounds, means you’ll leave tracks behind you, and you’ll consume twice as much energy just to move around.

The last thing you pack is a map, which you make sure to keep available, though you hope you won’t need it in between breaks.

You’re heading for a four-stories parking lot, where you hope you’ll find fuel in one of the cars, but that’s not the dangerous part. What’s risky is that monsters love these kinds of places, with all their nooks and crannies, all the dark places to hide, and fear already has your heart beating twice as fast as usual before you’ve even opened your door.

Still, you take a steadying breath, haul the backpack over on your shoulders, and exit the house without making a sound.

Everything is quiet outside. Snow is falling gently, and the sight would be heart-warming, if it wasn’t for all the overturned cars, the gaping hole torn into the building opposite from yours by one of those missiles a few months ago, and the worrying fresh footprints going towards the river. The snow also covers the decomposing bodies, and you can only hope that you don’t accidentally step on one as you start walking.

At least it fills your tracks behind you. By the time you’ve reached the other side of the street, which was one once an impossible task due to how bad traffic you used to be, nothing leads back to your door, and you leave with, at least, the reassurance that home will still be here waiting for you when you come back.

If you come back.

There’s comfort in knowing that you’d planned well, this time, to get to the parking lot. You get to your destination with only expected complications. You spot the monsters before they spot you. You have to reroute twice, but that had been accounted for, and you don’t even have to pull out your map. You reach the building right before noon, and after surveying it for a few minutes, you let yourself in before you can chicken out.

In the dark, you make your way to the first floor, where you will be able to have the greyish light of the day, instead of having to use precious batteries for your flashlight.

It’s not long before you’ve picked out the car, a familial minivan with an untouched baby seat in the back. You try not to think about the people it belonged to as you kneel by the side and prepare to siphon the tank. You make quick work of preparing it, with the tanks and hoses you’d brought for that purpose.

Maybe it’s your confidence that’s to blame for what happens next, or maybe it’s another one of these unforeseeable accidents. Either way, you catch movement from the corner of your eye and you jerk your head back as a reflex, but you’re not fast enough and unnaturally long claws dig into your cheek.

You manage not to scream despite the pain, scramble back and away from the van. There, standing on the roof, is a creature. Though it stands on two legs, there is nothing human about it anymore. The side of its face are sagging and drooping like it’s centuries old, covering where you assume its shoulders would be. It brings its claws to its lips, and your realize with horror that your blood is dripping from them.

Bleeding, in this world, might as well be a death sentence. You don’t bother wasting energy in stopping the tears from spilling from your eyes.

“Younnnnng,” the monster screeches. “Give— meeeeee…”

It at least snaps you out of the stupor, and you grab your bat, unwilling to go down without a fight.

But it’s not much of a fight, not when the scent and the noise are waking up all the other creatures hibernating around here.

You swing wildly as the thing, and manage to send it tumbling back. It’s only a short respite though, considering pain is only ever short lived for them, while blood is dripping down your chin and onto the concrete.

You throw your backpack on your shoulders with trembling hands and grab the first cannister that you’ve filled, abandoning the rest behind to start sprinting towards the exit.

You already know you won’t make it. You know you’ll have to run through the pitch dark ground floor, which is no doubt filled with more of those nightmares, and that the chances you’ll make it out on the other side are slim to none.

But you owe it to yourself fight until the very end.

As it stands, you don’t even make it to the downward slope that leads there. There’s the sound of something charging towards you, and then the— the head, it has to be, of a bull-like thing catches you in the ribs, and sends you flying into a car. Your breath is instantly knocked out of you, your vision goes blurry, your head starts reeling. You’re aware of the thing crashing into a concrete pillar. It at least stays there, struggling to pull itself out, but that’s barely any relief, because soon enough the first creature is calling out to you again, stretching out a skeletal arm towards you.

“Younnnnnng… Give meeeee…”

It kicks you in the ribs, and you roll onto your back, only to be met with the horrifying sight of its arm in the air, claws out and ready, preparing to cut your throat open.

You refuse to close your eyes.

And then, just as you think everything lost, someone steps in between you and the monster, blocking its arm with your very own baseball bat. You stare blankly at the large back, the unkept black hair, as the man forces it to step back and kicks it in the chest.

Then Hyun-Su turns around, and holds his hand out towards you.

He looks nothing like what you’re used to. He’s usually so lost, so hesitant, when he comes to you. Now he’s focused, purposeful, and in many ways, he reminds you of the boy you once knew, the captain of the football team who would without fail lead his team to victory.

“Let’s go,” he urges you, and when you weakly take his hand, he pulls you to your feet effortlessly.

You wheeze as the two of you run to hide behind a car. You press your free hand against your ribs, hoping to lessen the pain — it doesn’t work, of course.

“It’s going to find me,” you mumble to Hyun-Su as he keeps an eye on the thing. “It can— It can smell my blood.”

Hyun-Su’s head snaps towards you, and his expression darkens at the sight of the wound on your cheek. He lifts his hand halfway, as if to touch it, then lets it fall down again.

“You should—” Your voice breaks. “You should go. If it can find me… It’s not the only one.”

A strange expression that you can’t quite decipher passes on his face, before he shakes his head firmly.

“I’m not leaving you here.”

The relief you feel when he says those words is immediately overshadowed by embarrassment. You shouldn’t be happy. He needs to go, or he will die here with you, and what would the point be in that?

“What— What are you even doing here? How—”

You don’t know if he doesn’t answer on purpose, or if he hears a sound that takes his attention away from you.

“Can you run?” he asks you, glancing over the car.

Your body’s going to hurt like hell when the adrenaline wears out, but for now you give him a decided nod.

“Do you trust me?”

You should probably take your time to answer him, actually think about the question.

“Yes,” you answer instead, like it’s a reflex.

He exhales quietly, squeezes your hand in his.

“Then run.”

Then he’s pulling with him, running at full speed towards the open wall of the parking lot. Fear spikes through you. Even though you’re only on the first floor, it’s still too high to land comfortably. That fear is completely erased by the sight that greets you, briefly, of monsters stumbling and climbing all over each other to make their way up from the ground floor. There is a whole swarm of them teeming here already, and you can’t think of any other way to make it out alive — frankly, you have a hard time believing that this will work. But you cling to your faith in Hyun-Su like your life depends on it, because it does, and when he yells for you to jump, you do it without question.

While you’re flailing in the air, you feel him pulling you towards him. Strong arms wrap around you, and keep you caged and safe. You hit the ground brutally, rolling on the floor until you land on top of him.

“Fuck,” you mumble, painfully pushing you onto your elbows. “Hyun-Su, are— are you okay?”

The obvious answer to the question is ‘no’, and yet Hyun-Su doesn’t look worse for wear as he sits up, his eyes instead going over your body to make sure you weren’t too badly injured.

If you shiver when his hands run up and down your arms, it isn’t because of the cold.

“Let’s move,” he says, letting go of you all too quickly.

But, by the time you’re both on your feet, monsters attracted by the smell of your blood have started falling from the parking lot. The two of you sprint, but you’re no match for them and you know it. You regain the tiniest hope when you make it past a corner, thinking that maybe, just maybe, the snow will swallow your smell if you hide well enough — and then something wraps around your ankle.

In a second, you’re torn out of Hyun-Su’s grasp, and when you manage to roll onto your back to see who your assailant is, all you can do is let out an inhumane scream.

This particular monster has eight legs, like a spider, and its somewhat human torso  and head is completed by two long mandibles instead of a jaw. You manage to grab a knife from your pocket, but by the time you can cut its— web, you suppose, it’s charging towards you at full speed, and it’s close, too close for you to even get on your feet before—

When it attacks you, the first thing you see is what you first identify as a black wing, before you realize that it’s made out of a complex mix of flesh, bone and other materials that you can’t quite recognize, instead of feathers.

The wing pushes the creature back, and then Hyun-Su’s back is in front of you once more.

It’s his, you realize, brain awfully slow all of sudden. The wing. It’s attached to his shoulder, and all you can do is stare in confusion and horror. It flutters as he turns around to look at you.

You’re not fully in control when you scramble back, whole body shaking — because of the second near-death experience in ten minutes or because you’re terrified, you don’t know. What you do know is how hurt he looks, and how he turns his head the other way to face the monsters that are still coming after the two of you.

“You should run,” he says, low enough that you could miss it. He sounds hollow again. “Don’t turn around.”

You shake your head quietly, try to form some words. They all fail you. You don’t— you have no clue what’s happening. All that you know is that Hyun-Su is a monster and that he’s just used that to save your life.

The wave of monsters reach him just a few seconds later, before you’ve managed to decide anything. He pushes them back with practiced ease, one by one. You hate that you’re just sitting here, unable to move, as he fights for your life, yet your body just refuses to answer to you, even if you’re begging it to react.

Soon, the spider is the last one standing — or rather, the last one who hasn’t yet decided that you’d make a fairly meager lunch, considering how hard it is to get to you. It keeps attacking, and Hyun-Su keeps pushing it back, again, and again, until the creature manages to ensnare him in its web. Hyun-Su writhes, manages to pull his wing free, but it’s clear that he’s now at a disadvantage, and the mandibles click threateningly as the monster gets closer and closer to him.

Finally, your body agrees to react.

You run.

You don’t go very far though. You find the cannister you’d dropped and then you’re rushing back to throw the gasoline at the creature, half emptying it. The monster wasn’t paying attention to you, too busy trying to bite Hyun-Su’s head off, but its head snaps towards you when the liquid reaches it. It lets out a threatening hiss, which you ignore.

Instead, you find the lighter in your pocket.

Aim.

And throw.

The screams start right away, but it drops Hyun-Su, at least, as it tries to escape the fire.

For a second, you think you’ve made it — you’ve both made it, that is. Hyun-Su pulls himself to his feet. The wing flutters again, slowly starts to retreat back into his body to go back to a human arm.

He looks at you, expression unreadable.

And then one of the spider’s limb pierces through his chest. It’s not even calculated this time — just a movement it’s making as it tries to free itself from the flames that are consuming it.

You hear yourself scream. You don’t remember asking your body to move, this time, but you know that a second later you’re reaching Hyun-Su as he falls to his knees, and your arms are around him while you cradle him, pulling his head into your lap. Tears fall down your cheeks and onto his, as one of your hands tries, and fails, to apply pressure to the gaping wound, even if you know there is no point.

“No,” you beg. “No, no, no, no… Please, please, someone, please…”

You don’t know how many times you say it, how long you stay there. Snow starts to cover both his body and yours, and you realize you have a decision to make, if you don’t want to freeze to death. You just can’t bring yourself to do it.

Until Hyun-Su’s lifeless body arches in your arms with a gasp.

When his eyes open, they’re a clear, cold, uncanny blue.

You don’t dare to do anything then — not to let go of him, not to move away, not to break eye contact. It makes no sense, but you’re afraid that the slightest movement would have him gone again.

Slowly, his lips curve into a smirk, an expression you’ve never seen on him before. You’ve seen him smile, bright and sincere, and more recently, soft and subdued. But this amused, flirtatious smirk, that is completely new.

“You’re still here,” he comments, casually getting up, like nothing happen, like he can’t feel pain, like there isn’t a hole in his chest.

Even his voice is different. There’s a drawl to it, light and lazy, like he has all the time in the world.

“Hyun-Su?” you say, unsure of what’s happening. He was dead a minute ago. Then again, now that he’s breathing again, your brain is able to form the thought that he is a monster. An abnormal one, sure, and you don’t know enough to draw any conclusion, but it could be an explanation.

The smirk widens.

“Close enough,” he answers. “Are you scared?”

You’re not sure. You think you’re too emotionally exhausted to be scared.

“Should I be?” you ask. Maybe you shouldn’t trust this version of him to tell you the truth, and yet— All your senses are telling you that this is still Hyun-Su. And you don’t think he’d do anything to hurt you. Ever.

“It would break him if you got hurt,” not-Hyun-Su says, tilting his head. He lifts his index finger to tilt your head up. “I don’t want him broken.”

“Is he—” You interrupt yourself, unsure of what even is happening right now. But before you can start asking for answers, there is something you need to know. “Is Hyun-Su okay right now?”

He scoffs.

“He’s taking a break,” he replies. “He’s worked hard.” A beat while he seems to think about it. “Also, he thinks you hate him now.”

“I could never hate him,” you say, too easily, because it’s just the truth.

“Well, he is a monster,” not-Hyun-Su says with a shrug. He doesn’t seem to mean it as an insult, just stating a fact. You suppose he’s not wrong, and yet…

“The people I loved all turned into monsters,” you whisper quietly. Your mother, before you even made it home. Your best friend, who begged for death so she wouldn’t hurt others. Your father, who disappeared to protect you. You miss them all so much it sometimes feel like your heart’s been ripped out of your chest, and you’d give anything to have them back. So, if there is any way that you can still have Hyun-Su… “As long— as long as he’s not trying to kill me, does it really matter?”

The man watches you with interest, tilting his head to the side. It’s interesting. You haven’t been hurt by this world the way others have. Monsters caused death and destruction, but you watched half-monsters doing their very best to avoid hurting others, not unlike what Hyun-Su is doing right now.

The monster in him wonders what it would take, to destroy that ill-placed trust in others around you. The rest of him… is far too intrigued to give in. He grabs your chin between his thumb and his index finger, pulls your face closer to his.

“Doesn’t it?” he echoes your words. “What if I do hurt you?”

You swallow, call back the images of Hyun-Su easily taking out these monsters earlier. But you can’t forget that he’d been doing it to protect you.

“Y–You won’t,” you reply, even if your stutter betrays your lack of confidence.

It’s a leap of faith, but it seems to amuse him.

“For now,” he says, before his eyes roll into his head and Hyun-Su collapses in your arms.

You stumble back, barely manage to keep him up, before he seems to regain some control over his limbs and starts coughing. Even then, you don’t let go of him. You wrap both of your arms around him, head resting against his shoulder, and keep him there, against you.

Hyun-Su remains still for a while, breathing pained and ragged. The snow is still falling, but his body is warm.

“Are you okay?” he whispers with a hoarse voice.

“I am,” you answer. “Thanks to you.”

He lets out a pained sigh.

“Did he— Did he hurt you?”

You shake your head, barely moving away so you can look at him. He doesn’t look at you, keeps his eyes — black again, you note — fixedly in the other direction.

Like he can’t bear to know which emotion is on your face right now.

“I’m so happy you’re alive,” you say quietly. “I thought— I thought I’d lost you forever.”

Silence.

“Don’t leave me,” you beg, voice so low and broken you don’t think he’d hear if he wasn’t inches from you.

Hyun-Su’s body starts shaking against yours. Finally, finally, he wraps an arm around your waist, burying his head in your neck, and wet tears roll down your collarbone. In the freezing cold weather, they feel burning hot.

“Don’t hate me,” he begs in response, crying in your arms, fingers digging to the fabric of your clothes in a desperate attempt to keep you there, against him — even if there is no need for that right now.

You wish you could tell him that he just saved your life, that he’s been a guiding light in your cold, dark life this past few months, that you love him more than words can say. But that would take too long, and the situation calls for something shorter, more direct, and just as meaningful.

“You’re the only good thing about this world,” you say instead, and he sucks in a sharp breath.

Under the snow, for long minutes, Hyun-Su holds you like he never wants to let go.

When the two of you eventually detach from each other, he keeps your hand in his the whole walk home.

i hope you liked this installment! i'm probably going to write something much softer next, still for this couple (but it's hyun-su so it's still going to be angsty). if you're enjoying this, please let me know your thoughts, reblog or send in an ask. hearing from readers is so motivating and makes me want to keep writing!

next part

[jieas]

—JUST A LITTLE BIT OF TIME TO HEAL THE ACHE!

what wind breaker boys— sakura, suo, kiryu, hiragi, umemiya, togame, endo, takiishi— do when you're sore

content: fluff, all probably occ, rdr is implied to be an athlete + had [unspecified] practice, slightly suggestive? (endo), minor blood mention (takiishi) total wc: 1.2k, each scenario is 100-200

a/n. wrote this since winter season = sports for me and i'm too sore to live (after only two days help me)

sakura haruka doesn't do anything to help alleviate your pain. at first, he just assumes you're being dramatic. you've done it before, complaining about something and then saying it's all fine within the hour.

but when he noticed the way you slightly winced each and every time you moved around, he realized this wasn't like those other times. though he had no clue what to do to help you, was there a right or wrong to it? he could only think of one thing that may help soothe you, food.

was there anything else that could help? probably, but he was already bickering with kotoha. and after tons, and tons, of back and forth with her, he'd somehow managed to convince her to let him take home some omurice.

he's silent as he hands you the bag, one hand jutting it closer to you while the other is clenched in his pocket. his face was beet red as he handed it to you, not admitting the lengths he had to go through to get it. since then, he always got something to eat after your grueling day at practice. even if it didn't relieve the ache you felt, it still made you feel better. just not in the areas that hurt.

suo hayato briefs you on types of anti-inflammatory teas when your muscles sting. there are slices of castella cake for you to enjoy while you try to ignore the constant throb of your thighs from the way you're seated. 

as he lists off various styles of pekoe, already beginning to brew another kind, he watches for any more signs of your discomfort. his glances are short, barely noticeable behind the steam that caresses his features. he's quick to direct his attention back to the small cups in front of him, watching the orange that blooms across the surface of the hot water. 

the rest of the time is spent with you talking about everything you did during practice, taking sips of the infusion every now and then. suo nods along, listening to every word with that familiar smile on his face though there's a flash of something else in his unhidden eye. 

however, it's quickly masked as he pours you more tea, knowing he'll make you as much tea as you need if there's a chance your muscles will ache less.

kiryu mitsuki makes sure to distract you from the discomfort you're experiencing. he teaches you how to play the latest game he has, watching your brows furrow in concentration. 

if you're busy trying to win, you can't focus on the dull throb of your shoulders or neck. and while you're occupied with the game, kiryu has a hot pack held against your nape. he has one hand rubbing the hot pack against your soreness while the other works into your shoulder. 

and if you win, he'll move behind you to give you a proper massage. if you lose, well better luck next time because the hot pack is the best you're gonna get.

hiragi toma and you are both swallowing a stomach tablet or two after you told him your abdomen felt strained. of course it was, your coaches had everyone focus a little too much on working their core that day. 

and though you informed him it would be fine in just a few days, he wasn't buying it. especially not when he could see the discomfort on your face whenever you simply laughed. 

so what if gas-kun 10's weren't for soreness? it was stomach medication and your stomach ached, what else was he supposed to give you? plus, he was already taking some when he found you were overworking your body so he might as well hand you one too, right? 

he'll always end up scolding you later but makes sure you're resting while he does.

umemiya hajime is practically at your beck and call when you say you're sore. especially if your legs are hurting. 

when he finds out you have any kind of pain in your thighs, he's making sure you won't be able to feel it. he's not allowing you to even think about going anywhere by yourself. 

umemiya makes sure to carry you everywhere, and if you need anything, he's bringing it right to you. why wouldn't he? it's not like he wants you to feel the way your legs wobble when you try to stand. 

just know that if your legs ache near umemiya, he's never letting you out of his sight. you won't even be allowed to stand without him right there, either holding you or supporting your weight. he just can't stand to see you struggling to do so.

togame jo doesn't let you lift a finger when you mention you're sore. he doesn't even let you move.

instead, he has you lying on top of him, your face resting by the crook of his neck. his large hands move across your skin, gently massaging any areas you complained about earlier. 

togame focuses on tenderly pawing at your aching back, light enough not to hurt more but just enough pressure that you can feel it. by the time he's done giving you cuddles and a message, you've managed to fall asleep. 

maybe it was the exhaustion from practice or he was just that good of a masseuse, but you refuse to tell him the reason. 

endo yamato runs you a warm bath whenever your muscles ache. but he can never leave it at just a bath. 

the moment you mention the stinging pain throughout your body, he's scooping you up and leading you elsewhere. it would be a sweet gesture if the wasn't lit with candles, a trail of rose petals on the floor, all while he jokes about how you should let him join you. though you're not sure if he really is joking. 

he's careful as he helps you into the tub, his touch tender as he washes your hair for you. of course, you could do it by yourself but why would he let you go through the trouble? just relax in the warm bubbly water and let him do it for you. 

after, he'll dry you off, wrap you up in a fluffy robe, and massage your arms as you lounge in the comfort of a soft bed.

takiishi chika doesn't say a word when you quietly groan as you sit down beside him to watch a movie. he simply glances at you for a moment before his attention is directed back to the actors on screen. 

though when he notices the way your knees tremble the moment you try to stand up, he's deft in pulling you back down. your hiss of pain is met with a hushed mumble from him, unclear if it was an apology or a low-pitched scolding. 

takiishi is quick to drag your legs into his lap, cold hands kneading your slightly swollen knees. you hear him grumbling about how you land on your knees too much during practice. 

you watched the way he squinted when he saw the small crimson splotches from when you accidentally broke the thin skin. there's a noiseless click of his tongue before he focuses back on the movie, hands still rubbing your raw knees. 

the night continues with you both still on the couch, takiishis cold soda cup held on your broken skin in a means to soothe it.

note. going through everything i wrote about all at once, i'm done

[yzzart]

okay okay hear me out: an interview compilation made after y/n and tom are public about their relationship that consists of all the moments they nearly slipped up/did slip up BEFORE they were public that fans didn't pick up on until it was confirmed

almost caught.

pairing: tom blyth x actress!reader.

summary: after you and Tom assumed your relationship, your fans carefully observe every detail of all of your interviews.

word count: 576!

notes: this request got me so much, anon! you guys're so creative and keep requesting!

"Who would you…" — Taking one of the small cards, which contained some questions and questions, the interviewer read it carefully. — "…rather be struck in an elevator with?" — After reading, she moved her eyes to each of you, waiting for the answer.

In a pure coincidence, or irony of fate, you and Tom tilted your heads towards each other; meeting in a look of complicity, with arched eyebrows. — Blyth could see your lips trembling in an attempt to hold a cheeky smile and almost risking laughing along.

Oh, the answer was so obvious and risky but it had to be kept secret, even at a certain point.

"We're talking a trivia quiz today." — The producer, behind the cameras, explained, duly and carefully, to you; pointing to the cell phone that Tom was holding. — And you can play together or you can compete against each other." — She clapped her hands, ending the explanation and leaving the two choices to you.

"Oh, no." — You spoke slowly, resting your hand on your knee and leaning towards Rachel, who was laughing and thinking about what could happen.

"She'll want to compete." — Tom exclaimed, pointing, indiscreetly, the cell phone that was in his hand, towards you and looking at the producer. — "I know you, my darling." — Now, he started to direct his eyes at you accompanied by a confident smile.

"Oh, shut up." — Your hand rested on his arm, slightly pushing him. — "And of course I'm going to compete." — Blyth raised an eyebrow as Rachel and Josh laughed. — "Just to watch you lose."

“Oh my god, Y/N!” — The interviewer's lively and expressive voice caught her attention, shaking the microphone a little frantically. — "Come here!" — She asked and Tom turned towards you, expecting you presence next to him.

Holding onto a part of your long and majestic dress, you directed your steps towards the meeting point where they were. — It was a simple surface, like a small stage, with only two steps to climb; it wasn't risky or complicated. — Tom tilted his hand towards you, wanting to help, and you held it; feeling the coolness, not bothersome, of your rings.

"You look so beautiful." — Tom whispered, and the camera recorded the moment he leaned into your ear, distributing a quick kiss through your hair. — "You always are, actually."

"Look who's talking." — Your brief laughs came into sync. — "Thank you, my love."

"Hi, i'm Tom Blyth!" — The camera centered on your presentation, your hand waved briefly at your along with a soft smile, slightly showing your teeth.

And also, biting your tongue to stop yourself from laughing at the joke that you and Tom had joined in on. — He was the one who suggested it.

"And i'm Y/N." — Tom nodded, shaking it just once, and quickly raised his eyebrows.

"I was going to say the same thing." — The oldest rested his arm against the back of his chair, before looking at the floor at a fictitious point and, quickly, looking at your face. — "Really."

"We have a kind of connection." — You clicked your tongue, pursing your lips, and moving one of your hands pointing at you and Tom. — “A connection indeed.”

"Like, soulmates, right?" — He leaned down, raising his index finger and pointing to his head, then to your; signaling possible telepathy and joking about it.

"Yes!" — Your laughter extended with Tom's, and the interviewer's, and you started to make the same movements, at a certain second getting in sync with him.

[gloryy-vs]

aonung x shy and tiny reader

pls i live for protective aonung 😭😭🙏 they'd be childhood friends and grew up decided that they will be mates eventually

My Mate

characters: ao’nung x na’vi reader

ratings: sfw , fluff

He always had at least one hand on you, or an arm wrapped around your waist. Ao’nung never let you leave his sight. Not much changed between you two since you were younger, he was always looking over you protectively. A running joke between your parents and his was that he was your personal warrior. Ready to spill blood for you when the time comes.

“Ma Ao’nung, come help me add a bead to my songcord. Let’s get matching ones for the Tulkun’s and their return!” You said happily, not noticing that you were interrupting his time with his friends. He didn’t seem to care, a smile creeping on his face while he got up. Ao’nung saw the two seashells in your palm, a soft grey color with a pearly coating.

As usual, he placed a hand on your lower back, turning you around gently as he spoke to his friends. “I’ll be back later. We can go hunting.” They rolled their eyes playfully, making it clear that this was an almost everyday occurrence. You flashed them an apologetic smile, they didn’t hold it against you anyways.

You excitedly explained to your mate about where you found the shells, a bit deeper in the sand, so it took you a while to find one that was similar. “Come! Let’s add them now.” You said happily, practically skipping to your shared Marui with him.

Ao’nung had a big smirk on his face, sitting down first with his legs spread apart. You grabbed your carved box with weaving materials and other beads before sitting between Ao’nungs legs with your back against his chest. You both unwrapped your songcord from your wrists, finding where the latest bead was placed and unknotting the end. He moved his arms to wrap around you, and he placed his head on your shoulder so he could see what he was doing. You loved any kind of physical contact with him, feeling his heart beat, the way his breath tickles your neck just barely.

You wrapped the twine and string around the silvery shell, securing it with a knot at the end. Your attention shifted to how Ao’nungs fingers worked so intricately, tying a knot at the end of his own songcord. He brushed a few stray strands of your hair from your face as you turned around a faced him at an angle. You held your wrist out, wanting him to tie it back for you.

“You always do it just right. Not too tight, not too loose.” In all honesty it’s because you also couldn’t tie it with one hand.

He laughed, already knowing the real reason. His hands were warm against your cooler skin, and his eyes shot ip to look at you while he tied a small bow for your songcord.

“You’re cold. Cmere.” He said, tapping away at your wrist to let you know you can put it down. He wrapped his arms around you, squishing you against him.

Rolling your eyes, you fought for him to let you go. “Cant, breathe!” You said, but he refused to budge.

“You’ll be okay.” Ao’nung said, looking down at you. His eyes stared at all of your feature for a brief moment, taking everything in.

“You’d make a perfect Tsahik.” He said, as if he was lost in thought still staring at you.

Your mouth was agape, a flustered expression covering your face as you looked at the future chief. He ran his fingers through the parts of your hair that weren’t braided, his other hand resting on your hand and caressing your palm softly.

“We should officially mate, before Eywa. I want you to be my Tsahik.” Ao’nung suggested, but the tone in his voice suggested that it was more of a demand.

You stiffened but slowly relaxed, knowing he would be with you each step of the way, even if it was a big responsibility and a important thing he was asking of you. You nodded, and a smile grew on his teal face.

“I must go ask your father permission to court you, come. We don’t have all day.” He said, giddy over the fact everything would be official between you two as soon as you mate.

[barcaatthemoon]

stood up || barcelona x teen!reader ||

you get stood up on your first date, and alexia enlists some help to make you feel better.

there was something special in the air as you got ready for your date. you hadn't told anybody, but it was your very first date. between your teammates and your parents pushing you to focus on school or football, your chances for dating had been slim. at least they had been before you were asked out by the very cute captain of the basketball team, matthias.

matthias was everything that you had been told to look out for in a guy. not only did he look like the literal prince charming, but he was also very sweet. the two of you had run into each other at your school's gym a couple of times, and he had always held the door open for you and carried your bag to your car for you.

everything was going to be perfect tonight, and you just knew it. you were giddy as you rode your bike over to the restuarant. for a brief moment, you felt panic when you didn't see him before realizing that you were early.

it was hours later when you realized that matthias wasn't coming. you tried your hardest not to make a scene as you gathered your things and made your way out of the restaurant. you thought that you were home free whenever you heard a voice call out your name from across the parking lot.

"(y/n)!" alexia shouted. you slowly turned around to see her running towards you excitedly. it could have easily just been an accident running into her, but she was the one who you had texted the location of your date to. "oh, you look so pretty nena. how was your date?"

"i-it was good," you tried to lie. alexia's eyes narrowed for a moment, but she dropped it.

"where is the boy? um, matthew, was it? i would like to meet him," alexia said. that was it, your entire facade came crashing down as you erupted into a fit of tears. alexia held you tightly in her arms, catching just enough to know exactly what to do.

"shh, come on, you shouldn't let that stupid boy ruin your night. did you get anything to eat in there?" you shook your head. "well then, i'll have frido pick up some of that pizza that you like so much and we can have ourselves a slumber party. i know it's hard to believe, but mapi knows a thing or two about being stood up."

"i would have thought she did the standing up," you muttered as alexia led you towards her car.

…

"the party has arrived!" mapi and lucy shouted as they entered alexia's apartment. the woman had never been so fortunate to have a penthouse before befriending the two defenders. she didn't understand their constant need to be rambunctous. frido had arrived about 5 minutes earlier, and with some coaxing, managed to convince you to eat a bit.

"you are so lucky that i love you enough to let these idiots stay," alexia said as she nudged your side. you smiled and wrapped your arms around her in a tight hug. the moment was sweet, and broken up as soon as mapi jumped onto the couch with the two of you. "get off of me, you're too heavy!"

"must be all that muscle," mapi said as she flexed. alexia tried pushing mapi off of her lap, but the woman was a bit too quick. she scrambled fully into your lap and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "you look very beautiful. this boy, matthias, he is the stupidest one in all of spain, maybe even europe. i'd beat him up, but his kind of stupid might rub off."

"thank you for the offer mapi," you laughed. she clapped her hands and cheered as you smiled. it definitely still stung a bit, but you found it very difficult to be upset with your teammates surrounding you.

several more of your teammates flooded into alexia's apartment, filling up the living room completely. if it was any other night, you would have thought it was a party. in a way, it sort of was a party thrown just to cheer you up after your date had stood you up. a party that alexia "no parties during the season" putellas had thrown for you in the middle of the season.

"hey kid, how are you feeling?" alexia asked as things started to die down a bit more. most of the team was laying around anywhere that they could, a handful of the girls having already gone to alexia's guest rooms to sleep.

"better, a lot better. thank you for doing this," you told her. alexia smiled as she reached her hand up for you to take. you did so, knowing that if you didn't, you'd be sharing the couch with bruna, pina, and cata. it wouldn't have been too bad if you didn't already know that pina kicked in her sleep, bruna clung to the closest person she could find like a koala, and cata was horridly restless.

"i am sorry that you got stood up tonight," alexia said as she walked you towards her room. you had slept over before, but this was the first time that you didn't have to bribe alexia to let you watch a movie as you tried to fall asleep. you could hear the opening song of one of your favorite romantic comedies playing on the tv as you entered the room.

"come on." frido patted the spot in the middle of the bed for you to lay down. you excitedly ran over and got comfortable in the spot offered to you. alexia moved a bit slower, but once she was close enough, offered her hand for you to hold as you curled up beside frido. you barely made it 10 minutes into the movie before you were practically dead to the world.

"it's easy to forget how little she is sometimes," alexia said quietly as she glanced down at you. "she looked so hurt earlier, i didn't know what to do."

"you did the right thing, ale. look at her, she had a great night all things considered. this could happen again, and if it does, she'll know to lean on us for support. she wants to be so much like you that it hurts her," frido said. alexia knew that the swedish woman had a point. everybody could see the little things that you tried picking up from alexia since you had joined barcelona. it was flattering, but alexia thought that you'd be better off if you were just yourself in the long run.

[writeroutoftime]

true love's kiss

pairing: azriel x reader

summary: when azriel is hit with a powerful poison what - or who - will be able to save him?

warnings: talks of death, angst

words: 2.8k (buckle up)

a/n: my first azriel story and I'm so excited!! this idea just popped in my head the other day, and I ran with it lol. it was so much fun to write, so I hope you have just as much fun reading it!

(p.s. requests are open if you'd like to send anything in!)

oOoOo

Without warning, your heart began to pump furiously and an uneasy feeling settled over your body. Your muscles tensed up, as if preparing for an attack, and only moments later, you noticed Feyre's glazed over eyes widened in fear. Lunch suddenly postponed, she shot to her feet and ran towards the living room while you, Mor, and Amren quickly trailed behind. 

Before you even stepped foot in the room, your suspicions were confirmed as the scent of blood and fear smacked you in the face. There was a brief space of time in which you mourned for the anguish Feyre would feel over an injured Rhys. However, the image of Rhys and Cass heaving an unconscious Azriel onto the couch suddenly seared itself into your mind. 

"What happened?" you whispered the words over the commotion, though it rang out loud and clear to the Inner Circle despite its wobble. 

"We were ambushed in Windhaven." Cass explained while Rhys reached into the void to call for Madja. "Az's side was struck with a sword, but it must have been laced with poison. One second he was standing behind me, and the next thing I knew, he let out a shout before collapsing almost immediately." 

Tears lined your eyes at the thought, and the pain didn't register when you dropped to the ground beside Azirel, hands hovering over his body. The dark swirl of shadows that nearly obscured him from view parted for you, allowing you access to their master. 

"Oh, Azriel." you breathed out, only distinguishable to you and his shadows. The later wisping gently around your face, brushing a stray tear from your cheek. You leaned into the gesture, wishing it was Azriel's palm against your skin. 

Suddenly, you felt strong arms pull your shoulders away from Azriel as Madja stepped in and took your place, her gaze instantly drawn to his wound. Meanwhile, your family stepped back in fear. Rhys held Feyre tight in his grasp, and Cassian offered you and Mor each a comforting hand.

The only sounds for the next few minutes were Madja's grunts and huffs as she did her best to treat the injury. You couldn't help but cringe into Cass' side as her hands turned a dark-red, tinted from the blood that should have long ago clotted. It felt like an eternity before the healer turned around to face all of you, her face worn. 

"I've done what I can to stabilize him, but the sword that struck our Shadowsinger was indeed laced with a poison I have yet to see. Unfortunately, it still seems to be working his way through his system. I can't say for certain how much time he has, but I will work swiftly to find an answer." she explained solemnly, taking in the pained expressions of you and your friends. "All I do know is whatever the cure ends up being, it needs to be a strong source of magic. I'm sorry I can't offer better news."

Rhys was the first to break through the stunned silence. "Thank you, Madja. C-can we move him somewhere more comfortable?" 

The healer nodded before taking her leave. In her stead, all of you gaped in shock before Rhys and Cass worked together to move Azriel to a bed where they thought he would be more comfortable. Once they got him settled, you pulled a chair up, next to his bed, a stack of thick, dusty books beside you. If there was nothing you could do at the moment, by the cauldron you would at least help Madja research a cure. 

When your focus couldn't get past the first few sentences on a page, you shut the book with a sigh and furiously wiped at your eyes. The tears wouldn't stop, no matter what you did. Carefully, you reached out and interlaced your hand with one of Azriel's, placing a soft kiss against the marred skin. 

"Please, please wake up, Azriel." you whispered into the room. "I don't know what we'd do - what I'd do - without you." you told him, praying to the Mother and anyone else listening to heal your best friend. 

As day bled into night, Rhys and Cass came into the room, trying to relieve you even just for an hour. They tempted you with food, rest, or even just a moment alone, but you refused. How could you leave Azriel alone in his moment of need? Eventually they got the hint, and slowly, the rest of your family began to take up residence in the room alongside you.

oOoOo

"How can there be nothing on this subject?" you shouted, tossing the book to the floor with a loud thump. 

The rest of the Night Court looked up at your outburst, their own eyes red and bleary from the hours and hours of research. It had been three days since Madja first examined Azriel, and even the experienced healer was coming up empty. With every hour that passed, you felt the hope in your soul drain even further.  

"There has to be an answer somewhere." Cass placated, stretching out his wings from where he sat. "Someone has to have used this poison before." 

"That doesn't mean they had to write the antidote down, boy." Amren spoke cooly from her spot, ignoring your pointed glare. 

"What is it, Feyre?" Rhys asked, taking note of her trance like state. She shook her head slightly at her mate before turning her attention to the rest of the group. 

"Well...I was just thinking. Madja said whatever the cure ends up being will have to be powerful, but maybe we've been thinking about this too literally. Maybe it's not an answer that can be found in a book. What has been a powerful motivator for all of us over the years? Was even the answer to end Amarantha's reign?" she asked, the group shuddered at the mention of the name of that devil. "Love." 

You stared at your High Lady, head titled to the side. "Okay, but how is that going to help us now? It's not like any of us don't love Azriel." 

"And it's not exactly a position we can give him." Mor chimed in. 

Feyre reached out a tattooed hand and grasped Rhys' hand. "Or maybe it is." she countered. "I don't know about here in the Night Court, but haven't you ever heard fairytales? True love conquering all with a kiss, and all that?"  

"Do you think it would really work?" you ask, your tone warm and face full of light for the first time in days. 

All eyes fell to Rhys and Ameren for guidance. The two shared a look, silently communicating their opinions on the matter, but it was Rhys who spoke first. "I've never heard of an instance of true love's kiss being the answer, but since when have we been known to do anything traditionally?" he said with a small grin, inspiring a soft chuckle in the room. 

"Well," Cass dragged out. "I would try, but I don't think Az would appreciate me waking him up with a kiss." 

You rolled your eyes at the general, before considering the impact of his words. "Doesn't that leave us with a problem? Azriel hasn't found his mate, so we're still stuck and unable to break though." A small pang shot through you at the idea of Azriel's mated to an unknown female, but you quickly tamped that down. This was a matter of life or death. 

All eyes of the Inner Circle turned to face you. Looks of disbelief, amusement, and even understanding from Rhys, came your way. You caved in on yourself, suddenly feeling your cheeks heat under the scrutiny. This was not the time for their games. 

"What?" 

Mor spoke your name, gently, as her hand reached out to grasp yours. "Do we really need to spell it out?" she asked in your silence. 

"Spell what out?"

Amren, having had enough of the tiptoeing, finally spat it out. "That you're in love with the Shadowsinger, and have been for decades. If anyone in this room has the power to break this curse, it's you." 

A laugh bubbled up and out of your throat at her words, born out of sheer nerves that shot through your body. "N-no, no. I am not in love with Azriel. I mean, yes, I care for him - of course I do! I love him the way I love all of you. I'd do anything to help, but I really don't think this is going to work." you stuttered and stumbled over your words, bashful from the accusation. 

"We've all seen the way you look at each other, y/n." Feyre spoke gently, her eyes soft and she stared at you. "I think you love Azriel a bit differently than the rest of us." 

Her words brought tears to your eyes. Yes, you were in love with your best friend - how cliche. It had been that way for decades, but you never had the courage to speak up and say anything to him. And now, all these feelings were being dredged up in such a tense situation. What if it wasn't enough? What if you weren't enough to save him? 

"Okay, fine, you've caught me." you conceded, throwing your hands up in the air as your voice grew thick and heavy once more. "Is that what you want me to say? That I've been in love with Azriel for years, and it's killed me to just stay by his side as just a friend?" a defensive anger rose in your body as you looked at each member of your family. "But you're forgetting an important piece to this puzzle. Just because I'm in love with Azriel, doesn't mean I'm his true love." 

With that, you ran out of the room, collapsing against the wall in the hallway. You tried to take deep, steady breaths to calm your breathing, but it did little to help the situation. A few minutes later, you heard soft footsteps come up to your side, and Mor pulled you into a giant hug. The two of you stayed in silence for a few moments, grateful for the anchor she acted as in the moment. 

"I know that was a lot to throw on you, and for you to have to admit to us." she spoke, softly and cautiously. "And nobody judges you for how you feel or how you're reacting." 

"I'm so scared." you confessed. "W-what if I try and it doesn't work?" 

Mor looks at you with a gentle smile. "What if you try and it does work?" she countered. "I think you underestimate the extent of Azriel's feelings for you. And, if, Mother forbid, it doesn't work, then we'll figure something else out." 

Her words gave you a sense of comfort and the courage to wipe your tears and walk back towards Az's room. Before you stepped back in, you gave Mor's hand a grateful squeeze then rolled your shoulders back. 

All talking ceased as you walked back in, and you knew your family had to have been discussing what to do if you didn't agree with their plan. But this was Azriel's life on the line, and you would do anything to protect it. Even if that meant having your feelings revealed, or rejected. 

"Okay, let's try this." you told the Inner Circle, calmly and with conviction you tried to convince yourself you had. "But, all of you are waiting outside." 

There were no laughs or jokes at your expense, which surprised you, especially coming from Cassian. Instead, they all nodded their heads and solemnly and filed outside to wait. On his way out, Cassian squeezed your shoulder and nodded. 

"Bring him back to us." he whispered, board line pleading with you to save his brother's life. 

When it was just you and Azriel alone in the room, you took a deep breath and crossed the space until you knelt before his bed. You took the moment to study his features. His hazel eyes, normally full of life and mischief, now were shut off from you. His skin looked more swallow and the rise and fall of his chest seemed to slow with each breath that passed. Even the presence of his shadows seemed dimmer as Azriel's life slowly drained before your eyes. 

With a shaky hand, you reached out to brush away soft tendrils of hair that had fallen into Azriel's face. "Can you hear me, Az?"

The air was heavy as you waited a response that never came. 

"We all miss you so much. I miss you - my best friend. I-I know it's not fair of me to ask, but just keep holding on, keep fighting. Please." you whispered, leaning down to rest your forehead against his body, gathering your courage. "Look, Feyre has this crazy theory about what could save you. It's uh, true love's kiss." 

Again, no response. 

"This was not the way I expected to tell you, not that I thought I'd tell you if I'm being honest. But even though I don't want to jeopardize our friendship, I'd rather have you alive and never speak to me again than gone forever. So, here it goes." you took a deep breath. "I love you Azriel, I think I always have. You are so good and kind, and the kind of male I've dreamed about for years. I-it's okay if you don't feel the same," you forced yourself to say. "but I thought you should know given our situation."

Not sure what else to say, you took one more look at the male in front of you, placed a gentle kiss against his cheek, and then dipped your head down to meet his lips. They were chapped against your own after a few days without enough water. Az's normal smell of cedar and mist was faint, but still there, and comforted you as it surrounded your senses. 

You poured as much love and hope into the kiss as possible before slowly pulling away, falling to sit on your legs. The next few seconds that passed seemed to stretch for hours, waiting for a sign, a movement, anything. Just as you were about to sag and give up hope, a loud gasp sounded next to you and Azriel's frame jolted up. 

"Azriel!" you shouted, watching as the color returned to his face and his eyes darted around the room. 

Those hazel eyes finally landed on your frame, and Azriel quirked a small, albeit, sleepy smile at you. "y/n." he whispered, holding out a hand. 

Wasting no time, you grasped onto the anchor for dear life, and the tears immediately began to pour down your face. "I can't believe you're awake. Oh, I was so scared for you Azriel. How are you feeling? Are you in pain? We have to get Madja and the other's here. I'll go-" you rambled, before being cutting off my Azriel. 

"Hey, hey, calm down." he soothed, pulling you up onto the bed, flush against him. "I feel fine, considering I was just on the brink of death." he chuckled. 

"Don't make jokes like that." you swatted at his chest. "We almost lost you." 

"Yeah, but you saved me." he said, looking down at you in awe. 

Suddenly bashful again, you began to stutter. "Oh, no, I didn't do much. It was all Feyre's idea, and we all were here helping to research." 

"But Rhys and Cass weren't the one's to bring me back with a kiss." he said, and you felt as though your entire body was on fire at Azriel's words. 

"Y-you heard all that?" 

"I did." he nodded, nuzzling his nose against your neck. "And, I can't believe it took us until now to say anything, but I love you, y/n." he admitted, turning your face so you stared into his eyes. 

As the words left Azriel's lips, both of your gasped. This time, however, it wasn't because of a sleeping curse, but because of the taught, golden thread you felt connecting your soul to Azriel's. Your mind swirled with a thousand thoughts, but the loudest one was "mate, mate, mate." 

You stared at the male before you in awe, and Azriel grinned. "My mate. My knight in shining armor." he teased, then leaned down to capture your lips once more. 

This time, the kiss sent butterflies to your stomach and you revealed in the feeling of Azriel's strong arms around your body. His kiss was long and unhurried, as though you had all the time in the world to explore. And as you kissed him back, you found yourself giddy at the thought of the rest of your immortal life with Azriel.

It was only when the doors had been thrown open and the rest of your family came stumbling in did you and Azriel pull apart. The two of you looked at each other, then busted out laughing at the shocked faces of your family. 

"It worked!" 

"You're awake." 

"The two of you are mates?!" 

Their voices all overlapped, and you felt Az sigh against you, hugging you close. Yes, your family was a lot, but they meant well. And now, you could live happily ever after. 

oOoOo

a/n: ahh, I'm pretty impressed by how quickly this went from an idea to a story! kinda feel like I rushed the end, but oh well! hope you enjoyed!

[sebscore]

i live your writing! request for your gen z driver series! reader and the other drivers react to/make fun of rumours about her dating various drivers. thank you!

RUMOUR HAS IT

pairings: f1 grid x driver!reader 

warnings: mentions of cheating (but not actual cheating). swearing. catch the friends reference. 

author's note: I immediately imagined the setting for this, it took me a while to get to it, but I hope this is how you imagined it as well! hope you enjoy it, darling! 

masterlist

• • • • • • •

Some of the young drivers were chilling in their own little corner before the driver's briefing started, catching up with each other after the summer break. 

The conversation was interrupted when Lando walked into the room. ''Oh, there he is! My wonderful husband. The apple of my eye. My honey pie.'' Y/N greeted him, the sarcastic tone accompanied with a fake smile. 

''Honey, you're here already! Did you take the kids to school?'' Lando went along with her small skit, taking the seat next to her. ''What do you mean? I thought you were bringing them? We've abandoned our kids, Lando.'' She continued, dramatically waving her hands around. 

The group watched in amusement, except George who seemed totally confused looking at the two younger drivers. ''What are you guys doing? I can't follow.'' 

''According to some news site, they've been secretly married for like three years and have kids.'' Alex explained to his friend. ''It's the funniest thing.'' 

''You have to read it, George.'' Charles chimed in. 

Pierre handed his phone to the Mercedes driver. ''Here it is,'' the Frenchman grinned, ''enjoy.'' 

George skimmed over the words of the article, already chuckling at the first words. ''A mutual friend of both drivers spilled the beans on their impromptu Vegas wedding and the family they started afterwards.'' He read out loud, bursting out in laughter. ''Who's this friend?'' 

''It's obviously Mr. Gossip Girl over here.'' Y/N pointed at Pierre who jokingly dropped his jaw and placed his hand on his heart. ''How dare you?'' He gasped. 

''Don't act so surprised, you're literally a bigger gossip than I am.'' She retorted, having the entire group agree with her. 

The focus shifted to George as he let out a huge snort which he quickly covered with his hand. ''Oh my god…'' The Brit pointed at something on the small screen. 

''What is it?'' Mick asked, trying to see what he was pointing at. 

George composed himself before speaking. ''They just posted a new article claiming Charles and Y/N are dating, and live together in Monaco.'' He cited, attempting not to burst out in laughter again. 

Pierre grabbed his phone from George's hands, wanting to read it himself. ''Where are they getting this from?'' He scrolled through the report, chuckling as their source was another ''a mutual friend''. 

''You're cheating on me?'' Lando exclaimed, dramatically widening his eyes. ''What about the kids, Y/N? Why would you do this to them?'' 

''Lando, it's not what you think!'' She argued, impersonating the voice of those old movie stars in Hollywood films. 

Y/N could see the McLaren driver clenching his jaw, desperately trying not to break character. ''I see how it is- I'm taking the house and the kids.'' Lando held his hand in front of her face, essentially blocking her from his view. 

''And I'm taking your money, and me and Charles will be spending all of it.'' She bit back, pushing his hand away. 

Lando seemed ready to give a comedic comeback, but was interrupted by a curly-haired German. ''What's all the commotion here?'' Sebastian adjusted the headband on his head, his eyebrows furrowed.

''Y/N cheated on Lando with Charles and now they're getting a divorce- Lando is taking the kids, but Y/N is taking all his money.'' Mick answered his friend, matter-of-factly. 

Sebastian frowned, feeling like he missed a few chapters in the story. ''Oh, uh, good for you, Y/N.'' He walked away from the youngsters, joining Lewis and Valtteri on the other side of the room. 

''Thanks, Seb!'' Y/N amusedly thanked him, ''I can never do anything wrong in his eyes.'' She told the other guys, grinning from ear to ear. 

taglist :: @i0veless @missskid @missthem @rosesintj @evans-dejong @thehistoryone @dreamycloudsworld @formulazeesworld @muushmeg @topguncultleader @the-great-adventures-of-me @love13tter @xcharlottemikaelsonx @kiwisa @starkwlkr @nora_moon @princesselle2111 @valluvsu @thatsadsmallchild @babyyoda89 @milkbreadforlife @fxllfaiiry @hc-dutch @its-ash-not-grey @princessbetsy123-blog @mehrmonga @nyenye @screechingtrashkid @ahnneyong @holybatflapexpert @itsnotgray @beautycinders @scuderialavender @rowansshit @uhhevie @revengze @nylaslife @majx00 @multi-universe21 @jaydensluv @isasalom @gentlemonsterjennie1 @appledashhh @breathinfive @lighttsoutlewis 

@champomiel @ooohmickiyoursofine @koufaxx @flannelforthetoads @mysticfalls01 @ghostcorazon @mango-bear @totally-random-person @youkissedareaderinthedark @phoenix-luv @hamilton-mount @calcaneous @aurora-maria

[schemmentigfs]

Sweetening the Deal.

Summary: Feeling stuck and desperate for a change in life, you meet Melissa Schemmenti, a sophisticated and wealthy woman at a bar. As you talk, a beneficial arrangement is made —you become her sugar baby in exchange for financial support and a life of luxury.

Tags: @italianaidiota @lisaannwaltersbra

Part 2.

It was supposed to be easy. You’d been in these types of arrangements before — usually with someone older, someone with the means to provide. A little fun, some affection, an exchange of care and comfort for the right lifestyle. It was straightforward.

Nothing that serious, just someone to take care of you, spoil you with a luxurious life, and maybe provide some excitement every once in a while. And you’d gotten good at playing the role, keeping the personal stuff at arm’s length and only showing the parts that were needed to make it work. You had your own reasons for this, but when it came down to it, it was all about getting something you needed, and being charming enough to keep it flowing.

You were only twenty-four, yet the strain of trying to make ends meet had already worn on you. You lived in a rundown apartment with leaky pipes and cracked walls, a place that felt more like a shelter than a home. The thin walls meant you could hear every fight between your neighbors, every sound from the street below. It was cheap, sure, but every night you’d lie awake, listening to the hum of the old radiator, wondering how long you could keep going like this.

It wasn’t supposed to be this way. You’d always imagined yourself living with a bit more security by now, maybe even enjoying the occasional luxury. Instead, your days blurred together in a monotony of bills, grocery budgets, and stretching the little you had to last. You’d settled into a job that, while stable, had slowly begun to drain you. The paychecks were barely enough to cover rent, groceries, and the never-ending list of repairs your landlord promised to fix but never did. Each month, it felt like you were just one unexpected expense away from drowning.

The job itself didn’t help. It was the kind that offered no thrill, no satisfaction — just a steady flow of hours clocked in and clocked out, all while your dreams of something more started to gather dust. You’d watch others, people who seemed to glide through life without a care, and wondered what it would feel like to have even a fraction of that ease.

So when someone with money crossed your path, offering more than just their captivating presence, it felt like a window opening, a brief glimpse into a different world. A world where you didn’t have to worry about leaky pipes or thin walls, where you could shed the weight of all those unfulfilled promises and simply live — at least for a little while.

It felt odd to pretend to be interested in someone just for the benefits. Unfortunately there was no out. Since you were a child, you’d known that life was rarely fair. Your mom had made sure of that. She was a single mother, a fiercely determined woman who raised you on her own after a messy divorce. She didn’t sugarcoat things, either; she’d tell you straight-up that the world could be a cruel place, especially for a woman trying to make it alone.

From her, you learned early that being good wasn’t always enough. She taught you resilience, to work hard and keep your expectations realistic, to push forward even when things felt impossible. And, maybe unintentionally, she taught you that sometimes, you had to rely on yourself more than anyone else because no one was going to hand you anything.

Even as a kid, you’d seen the way she struggled, how she’d sacrificed and held herself together. You watched her scrape together everything you had, keeping a brave face for your sake even when the weight of it all clearly pressed down on her. She made it through, but not without that look of fatigue that never seemed to leave her eyes.

So you understood, maybe better than most, that life wasn’t likely to hand you anything easy — and that the only way to get what you wanted was to reach for it. Maybe that’s why you found yourself here now, doing what you needed to do to get by, even if it meant letting someone else take care of you for once.

But then you met Melissa Schemmenti, and everything you thought you understood got turned upside down. And most importantly, your life changed in ways that you never imagined it would.

The first time you’d first spotted her, you weren’t even focused on choosing her as a target.

It was a rainy Friday night when you first saw the mysterious fiery redhead— sitting alone at the bar in a rich neighborhood in Philadelphia. She was sipping on a whiskey neat, her sharp features softened in the dark light, the flicker of the warm candles in the background making her sharp green eyes gleam in a way that almost took your breath away. It wasn’t her beauty that struck you, though. It was the way she seemed untouchable, confident in her own skin, like she didn’t need anyone, but still drew people in with an effortless ease.

You were just finishing a drink, waiting out the weather, when your gaze drifted back to her in the corner of the room.

She looked intense, yet somehow at ease. Her red hair, loose and wild, framed a striking face: strong cheekbones, sharp nose, and expressive green eyes that had a way of flicking around the room, as if daring anyone to get in her way. And yet, there was a warmth there too — a quiet vulnerability hidden in the curve of her mouth, softer than you’d imagined someone with such a sharp, no-nonsense face would carry.

“Interesting,” you whispered to yourself after realizing that no one, not a single man or woman, dared to approach her.

You’d seen people steal glances, some lingering a bit too long, but no one made a move. It was like there was some unspoken rule, as if the invisible space around her held a warning.

It made you even more curious.

For a while, you just watched, mesmerized by the way she sipped her whiskey with a kind of measured focus, her full red lips pressing into the glass like she was enjoying every second of it. The sleeves of her fitted blazer clung to toned arms, and her fingers were adorned with rings, each one sparkling softly in the light. Melissa’s neck was full of golden necklaces. That you assumed it had a Catholic meaning due to her small cross. Her frame was strong, curvy in all the best ways, carrying herself like someone who knew exactly who she was.

She looked like she didn’t need anything from anyone. But there was something in her gaze that suggested she’d be open to the right offer.

“Why isn’t anyone going up to her?” you scoffed, shaking your head and getting up from your seat. Unable to hide your intrigue. “I mean, she’s… well, she’s gorgeous.”

You’d barely taken a few steps toward the bar when Fran, the bartender leaned over, giving you a look that was somewhere between concerned and amused. She was a middle-aged woman with graying hair and a motherly vibe, the kind of person who seemed to know everyone’s business — especially when it came to her regulars.

“You sure about that one, sweet face?” she asked, nodding her head toward Melissa, who was still nursing her drink in the corner. And had ordered a lemon margarita.

You glanced back at the stranger, then back at Fran, frowning slightly in confusion. “What do you mean, Francis?”

The woman chuckled, wiping down the counter with a practiced hand. “Schemmenti doesn’t exactly do things halfway. People say she’s got a temper like a firecracker and a heart just as tough. You’d be surprised at how fast things get messy with her.” She paused, giving you a pointed look. “Not to mention, she doesn’t have the patience for games.”

Intrigued, you raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And why’s that?”

Fran shrugged, but her gaze softened a little. “She’s been through some things, that’s all. Divorces and family issues. Got her walls up pretty high. Not just anyone makes it past them. If you’re thinking of walking up to her, just… be ready for whatever comes with it. She doesn’t like anyone wasting her time.”

You felt a spark of excitement mingle with the nerves, and your frown shifted into something closer to a smile. “Well,” you said slowly. “I guess I like a challenge.”

The middle aged woman shook her head, a knowing smirk on her face. “Suit yourself, sweetheart. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

But despite the warning, you couldn’t shake the pull you felt. If anything, it only made you more determined.

“Yeah. Whatever.”

With that, you picked up your drink and walked over to her, ignoring Fran’s amused shake of the head as she muttered. “Good luck, kid.”

Alright, here goes nothing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the weight of the moment settle over you as you made your way toward her. The atmosphere in the bar seemed to quiet, the soft murmur of conversations fading into the background. Every step felt deliberate, calculated — but your heart was racing nonetheless.

Sliding into the seat next to her, you gave her a bold smile, one you hoped was as confident as she looked. “Can I buy you a drink?”

Melissa didn’t even glance your way. She lifted her glass, taking a slow sip, her gaze still focused across the bar, as if you hadn’t spoken at all. She looked composed and relaxed, her red waves falling around her shoulders, but there was an edge to her silence that made it clear she wasn’t the type to entertain small talk with strangers.

Still, you weren’t one to back down easily. You leaned in just a touch, close enough to catch a faint hint of her perfume. Something dark and warm, with notes of amber.

“So… is there a reason you’re quiet and alone, or do you just enjoy intimidating everyone who looks your way?”

At that, she finally turned to look at you, her gaze sharp and assessing. Those green eyes bore into you, sizing you up without an ounce of pretense. Her expression was unreadable, but there was a spark of curiosity there — maybe even a hint of amusement, though she hid it well.

“You know, it would be inelegant for a pretty lady like you to refuse a drink offer like that.”

That earned you the slightest shift, a flicker of her eyes cutting in your direction. But just as quickly, she looked away once more, taking another deliberate sip from her glass, pointedly ignoring you.

Alright, she was tough. But you’d expected that.

Clearing up your throat, you tried again. “Can I buy you a drink?”

For a moment, Melissa barely looked at you again, her attention fixed on her drink, her elegant fingers tracing the rim of her glass. Then, slowly, she turned those sharp eyes your way, raising a single eyebrow in skepticism. “You think I can’t buy my own drink, sweetheart?”

Caught a little off guard, you chuckled, brushing off her cold response. “Oh, I’m sure you could buy out the whole bar if you wanted. Just thought you might enjoy a little company."

The corner of her mouth quivered in a faint, almost amused smile, though her expression remained guarded. “Is that so? Are you always this forward with strangers, or am I that special?”

You met her gaze, refusing to back down, though you felt the intensity of her stare like a challenge. “I could ask you the same thing. I doubt I’m the first person who’s tried their luck tonight.”

That actually made her laugh — a low, genuine sound that surprised you with its warmth. She finally looked at you fully, leaning back just a bit, her eyes still sharp but now a little more intrigued. “Plenty try. Few get this far,” she said, taking a sip of her drink, studying you over the rim of her glass.

“Guess I’m lucky then,” you replied, matching her gaze. “Or maybe you’re just curious.”

She looked you up and down, a glint of something unreadable in her eyes. “What’s your name, doll?”

“Y/N.“ You introduced yourself, feeling the thrill of her attention settling fully on you.

She offered a hand, her grip firm, fingers warm and soft against your skin. “Melissa,” she said simply, with a smirk that told you she already knew her name alone carried weight.

“Nice to meet you.”

“You too, hon,” she replied softly, almost too sweetly.

The air between you felt different now, charged, as though something had shifted. You couldn’t quite place it, but you knew one thing: she was far more than the icy exterior she wore.

“So,” you started firmly, eager to keep the conversation flowing. “What brings someone like you to a place like this?”

Melissa raised an eyebrow, the corner of her mouth curling into a knowing smile. “You really want to know?” she asked, her voice dropping slightly, the undertone suddenly sharper, almost dangerous.

You nodded, sensing you were getting somewhere.

“Maybe I just enjoy the quiet,” she said, her gaze sliding over to the rest of the bar, her fingers idly tracing the rim of her glass. “Or maybe I like the kind of people who think they can handle me. You know, the ones who think they can get past the walls.”

There it was. That wall. You hadn’t been wrong about it earlier.

You leaned a little closer, the space between you diminishing. “Well, I like a good challenge,” you said, tone lowering slightly as you met her eyes. “And I don’t back down easily.”

The older woman studied you for a long moment, her lips pressing together in contemplation. There was something unspoken in the way she looked at you, like she was trying to figure out if you were just another curiosity or something more.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the space between the two of you suddenly too much. It was as if you were both waiting for the other to make the next move.

Finally, she spoke again, but this time, her voice was quieter, more intimate. “Is that so? Well, I hope you’re not disappointed.”

Without another word, she stood, surprising you for a moment, and you couldn’t help but follow her gaze as she turned her attention to the bartender.

“I’m leaving for now,” she said, her tone dismissive but with a hint of warmth beneath it. “But if you want to keep up, sweetheart, you’ll have to be quicker than that.”

Before you could respond, Melissa leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek — quick, but there was something sensual about the way her lips lingered for just a second longer than you’d expected.

“Melissa? What are you doing?” you prompted nervously. Your body language gave away how much desperate you were.

Her breath brushed against your ear as she whispered. “You better be ready for more than you bargained for.”

And just like that, Melissa Schemmenti was gone, but not before she slid a sleek business card across the counter toward you. “Call me if you think you can be a good girl and handle it,” she said, her eyes meeting yours one last time, a smirk on her lips.

The card was heavy in your hand as you stared at it, wondering what the hell you had just gotten yourself into. But at the same time, you couldn’t deny the shivers racing through you.

Before you could process it all, the bartender's voice cut through the moment, the amusement clear in her tone. “Looks like someone’s in for the ride of their life.”

You didn’t even respond, your focus still entirely on the card in your hand. that redheaded woman had left you breathless, but there was no denying it — you were already hooked.

After Melissa left, you spent the rest of the night at the bar, her business card tucked safely in your pocket, your mind racing. Who was Melissa Schemmenti? That name. “Schemmenti,” lingered, something about it sparking a vague sense of familiarity. It didn’t take long for curiosity to win over. The moment you got home, you grabbed your phone and typed her name into the search bar.

Almost immediately, a series of results popped up — news articles, restaurant reviews, family business profiles. The Schemmentis were, without a doubt, a well-known name in the city. They were a prominent Italian family with a long history of running high-end, family-owned restaurants and food businesses. Each article seemed to mention the family's deeply rooted traditions, their reputation for intense loyalty, and an unyielding commitment to quality that set their establishments apart.

There were photos of various family members attending restaurant openings and charity events. Most of them shared that same unmistakable look: sharp features, intense eyes, a confidence that seemed to radiate through the screen. But none of them held the same aura she had. You kept scrolling, searching, until finally, a photo caught your eye — a candid shot of Melissa herself, standing beside what looked like an older family member at an event. She was dressed elegantly, her green eyes striking even in the low-quality photo. Her signature smirk was there, too, as if she knew more than anyone else around her.

Digging a little deeper, you found hints that the Schemmentis weren’t just known for their restaurants. Whispers and rumors hinted at connections beyond the culinary world. It was all speculation, of course, nothing concrete — but there was talk of ties to old-school family loyalty, the kind that ran a bit deeper than the surface.

You couldn’t help but wonder what that meant for Melissa. She had a presence that felt untouchable, like she existed in a world all her own, one you’d barely scratched the surface of. Still, that made her even more intriguing.

Scrolling through more photos, you spotted one of her in front of the family’s flagship restaurant, a chic Italian bistro that was famous across the city. It looked upscale, all dark wood and gold accents, the kind of place you’d need a reservation months in advance for. The family had a reputation for authenticity, keeping recipes as close to the homeland as possible — a fact that seemed to add to the almost mythical image they cultivated in the food scene.

“Crap,” you sighed softly. “She’s more powerful than I thought.”

You leaned back in your chair, your mind spinning with the informations. Melissa was far more than just the striking woman you’d met at the bar. She was a part of this powerful, well-established family, one that had its hands in nearly every major social event and high-profile gathering in Philadelphia. The more you thought about it, the more you realized just how far removed you were from her world. But that only made you want her more.

You found another link, this one detailing a series of more extravagant gala events the. Subtle shots of Melissa made their way into the article — always in the background, always looking stunning, but always with that same cool, untouchable demeanor. The more you saw, the more you wanted to know.

A part of you wondered if you were getting in way over your head. But the other part — the part that was curious, that wanted to know everything about her — pushed those thoughts aside.

You glanced back at the card, and something in the back of your mind clicked. The business card. It wasn’t just a way to contact her. It was a way into her world. It was a ticket, maybe, to something bigger than you’d ever imagined. If you were going to do this, to pursue whatever this was between you two, you’d have to play it smart. You’d have to prove you were more than just another curious young woman.

With a deep breath, you typed in the number on the card. Your thumb hovered over the send button for a moment, then pressed it. Your heart beat faster than usual. This could be the start of something dangerous, something intoxicating. Or it could fizzle out, like so many other fleeting moments.

But you didn’t think it would. Not with her.

You took a breath, steeling your nerves as you composed the message. It took you a few drafts to strike the right tone, something that wouldn’t come off too eager but still got the point across. Finally, you sent a simple, Hey, it’s me from the bar. Would love to see you again if you’re interested.

A few seconds passed. Then a minute. You began to wonder if you’d misread everything and were ready to chalk it up to a learning experience when your phone buzzed, and her name — “Melissa Schemmenti” — appeared on your screen.

Thought you would never reach. Meet me tomorrow. At seven. La Sirena. Ask for a table under ‘Schemmenti.’ Don’t be late, sweetheart.

Shit.

La Sirena was a well-known Italian restaurant. Upscale, expensive, and not the kind of place you could typically afford. Just seeing her name there made your stomach flutter, excitement mingling with nerves. You quickly typed back an “I’ll be there” and spent the rest of the evening thinking about what you’d wear, what you’d say, and how you’d keep your composure.

On Saturday evening, you arrived at La Sirena early. You wore the nicest outfit you could put together, something classic and understated, hoping it would hold up to the restaurant's sophisticated atmosphere. Walking into the lavish space, you felt a bit out of place, but you kept your head high as you approached the host and asked for the Schemmenti reservation.

“Right this way,” he said with a polite smile, leading you to a private table in a quiet corner of the restaurant. Melissa was already seated, her gaze locked on the menu. When she looked up at you, a slow smile spread across her lips, and you couldn’t help but notice how stunning she looked, her red hair cascading over her shoulders, accentuating the sharpness of her cheekbones and the piercing green of her eyes.

“You made it,” she said, almost surprised as she gestured for you to sit. “And on time, too. I like that.”

You settled into your seat, feeling her eyes on you as you tried to calm your racing heart. “Wouldn’t miss it for anything,” you replied, offering her a face that you hoped masked the mix of awe and nerves.

The redhead frowned, setting her menu down to focus fully on you. “So, tell me, what exactly are you looking for? A young woman doesn’t approach me in a bar without a reason.”

Her directness caught you by suprise, but you appreciated it. Taking a breath, you decided to be just as straightforward. “Honestly? I need some support. Financially,” you admitted, your face softening. “My job barely covers my bills, and… well, I could use a hand.”

Melissa’s expression didn’t change, though her eyes lingered on you for a moment, weighing your words. She leaned back, crossing her legs, her gaze assessing. “And in return, you’d be… what? At my beck and call? Or are you looking for something more traditional?” Her voice was low, almost teasing, but there was an edge of seriousness there.

You swallowed, feeling the intensity of her words. “I’m open to whatever you’re looking for. I want to be someone you enjoy spending time with, whatever that might look like.”

Her smile widened slightly, a glint of amusement flashing in her eyes. “I don’t do traditional. But I do like arrangements that benefit both parties.” She reached for her glass, taking a slow sip as she considered you. “Here’s what I want: someone who can hold a conversation, someone who knows when to keep things discreet. I don’t need drama, and I don’t need clinginess. Think you can handle that?”

You nodded, your own excitement growing at the proposition. “I can handle that. I’m not looking to complicate things — just to be here when you want me.”

She seemed pleased by your answer, nodding slightly. “Good. Then I think we understand each other.” She leaned forward, her eyes sparkling with something you couldn’t quite place. “And let’s get one thing straight, pretty girl. If I want to spoil you, you’ll let me. No protesting. Understood?”

A small smile crept onto your lips, the warmth of her presence making you feel bolder. “Understood, ma’am.”

“That’s a good girl.”

Green eyes softened for a moment, her gaze dropping to your lips. And before you could process what was happening, she leaned across the table, her hand cupping your cheek as she pressed a gentle, lingering kiss to the corner of your mouth. Her lips were soft, her touch featherlight yet intoxicating.

When she pulled back, her voice dropped to a whisper, almost as if she were sharing a secret. “Then it’s a deal.”

Your pulse raced as she sat back, casually reaching into her black purse to pull out an envelope. She slid it across the table toward you, her fingers grazing yours as she did.

“Just a little something to get you started,” she murmured, with a wink that was both playful and possessive. “It has a sum of five thousand dollars inside. It should help you for now, every week I can send you more. If you keep your promise.”

You took the envelope, feeling the weight of it in your hands. The gesture was more than generous, but it was the way she looked at you — with that blend of intensity and control — that made you realize what you were truly getting into. And for the first time in a long time, you felt safe, secure, and undeniably captivated.

As the evening unfolded, you couldn't help but feel the weight of what was happening. There was a sense of excitement, of possibility — but also a sharp, nagging thought that reminded you to tread carefully.

Don’t confuse things.

You couldn’t afford to get attached.

That was the key. This was supposed to be a simple arrangement, something that filled the gaps where your paycheck fell short. You weren't looking for something complicated, something emotional. Not with her. Not with someone like Melissa, who had power, elegance, and control in everything she did. She could snap her fingers, and people would fall in line. She was the kind of woman who played the game and always won.

You knew how this worked — a sugar baby and a sugar mommy. It was transactional, not romantic. You could enjoy the new life, yes, but you couldn’t let yourself get caught up in the emotions. You couldn't fall for her. You couldn’t let yourself start imagining more than what this was.

As the conversation carried on, Melissa’s wicked smirk never faltered, her focus entirely on you as she made her offers and requests while learning more about you. But underneath it all, you kept reminding yourself: No fucking attachments. You couldn’t afford them.

But even as you made that mental note, as you stared at her with those smoldering green eyes and that effortless poise, you felt something shift inside. A part of you that couldn’t quite ignore the magnetic pull she had over you, the allure that was impossible to escape.

Still, you had to stay grounded. This was just a business arrangement. Nothing more, right?

[neighbourscat]

𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 , nicholas alexander chavez

THE ‘SAFE-KEEPING’ PREMIERE. paris , the red carpet

𓈒  ˙ ꪆৎ   ꣹  ۫  𖨂 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 . .. . actor!nicholas c. X superstar!new actress!black!fem!reader || second person ( you, yours, you’re ) + lowercase intended.

+ synopsis. from the moment you and nicholas chavez began working together, he’s been captivated by your presence. at first, it was just your talent and warmth that drew him in, but as the years passed . .. . it became something deeper, something more intimate.

+ cw. brief mentions of sex.

+ nali’s notes; this is very ‘kerry washington + tony goldwyn’ coded. downbad!chavez . .. . you & nicholas are never beating the couple allegations now. ); wordcount :: 3.5k+

+ to be played: skin tight, ravyn lenae & steve lacy.

THE ‘SAFE-KEEPING’ PREMIERE. paris , the red carpet

“how much are you going to miss her?”

“miss her?” the shuddering breath that leaves his nostrils narrowly frees the anxiety coursing through his veins like light itself. tonight was one of the biggest nights of his career and his dearest friend, his co-star, wasn’t in attendance yet. though he wasn’t entirely new to the entertainment industry, it wasn’t until recently that the pressures of hollywood started to weigh heavily. his co-star had been navigating this flashy world since late childhood and had became, without meaning to or fully realizing it, his comfort person. his anchor in the chaos of fame. and over time, being around this co-star became less about their roles in the film and more about simply needing to be near. “well . .. .” he began, shyness and nervousness lifting from his shoulders, “i won’t be missing her-“

the interviewer, with a microphone in her right hand and a miniature notebook in the left, tilted her head ever-so-slightly. a brow starting to raise and lips beginning to part, he got there first: “-because we’re still going to be in each other’s lives.” her expression softened immediately; brows falling, eyes widening, mouth turning up into a sweet smile, hand ( with miniature notebook ) held over her heart.

“is that right?” she asked then, her voice light — her heart still thumping from the cuteness of this man. he gave a firm nod, his anxiety and frustration quickly gave way to adoration and total worship. the interviewer noticed the change in his . .. . everything, at the mention and speaking of his co-star. she noticed the sparkle in his eyes, and maybe if it weren’t too loud, she would be able to hear the way his heart fluttered.

“i guess that, i-uh, would like to believe that she, y’know, wouldn’t want to leave me,” he said with a genuine smile. probably his first of the night. “but truly, uh, i’m not leaving her and i’m not letting her leave me.” the interviewer studied him intently, a knowing smirk creeping onto her face . .. . and as he spoke and spoke — his response shifting from enjoying the company of his co-star to how close they’ve gotten throughout the film project — she hoped the camera crew had been getting all of this.

it took a moment for him to stop himself — hands scrunching into fists at his sides. he lets them ball before opening back up. closing and opening again in nervous energy. he’s said too much. far too much. so much that he couldn’t even remember what he had just said and it’s only been three seconds or four. two maybe. his heart twisted in his chest, his mind only emphasizing two things: embarrassment and cringe.

“you love her?” the interviewer asked him.

and his heart — the one that was twisting in his chest — had skipped a beat. several. “love her?” he repeated, his voice laced with confusion and worry. “that is what you said. after saying it was, ‘an honour of a lifetime to play opposite her’, that you ‘love’ her,” she spoke into her microphone with confidence. she waved it toward him and waited. the camera crew behind her seemed to draw closer and the interviewer could see the tension in his body again, the regret in his eyes.

part of him wondered how she had remembered those bits, for he had been speaking for a while.

he mentally cursed himself for getting so lost in his thoughts. “no,” he breathed — he caught and corrected himself then: “i mean, yes. yeah. i did. i did say that-that i love her. which i do. a lot, but not like .. . y’know? not like that. because, no,” he tried to keep his tone casual and stable.

he paused, managing a small smile, “in a nice, y’know, platonic way. as a friend does-can, i guess. because someone can say that. that they love their friend,” he said quickly, almost too quickly. “ . .. . y’know what i mean . .. .?” his voice faded to a whisper. nothing but a hum.

a long pause.

he blinked up at a camera and then the other, and then his eyes found the interviewer’s again — her mouth moving but no words coming out. he wanted to have a seat. some cold water and a large container of popcorn. he did a poor job at playing that off and he knew that for a fact. just thinking about going home and going onto social media and watching that clip back made him cringe. fuck me.

the interviewer had stopped moving her lips, her microphone close to her chest. there was a shift in the air. a very real, undeniable shift in the air that had everyone turning their heads . .. . in your direction. every human within a fifty-foot radius seemed to be drawn to your presence like a magnet.

and that’s when the temperature had gone up a few uncomfortable notches. the custom-made designer suit he wore constricted; an encircling pressure. and it’s just so tight, that he reaches up and tugs at the collar of the dress-shirt he has underneath. he can’t breathe and he wants to get naked . .. . but he can’t. not right now anyway. because that would be highly inappropriate, and he’s better than that. he has the self-control.

“she looks amazing, right?”

he was holding his breath, daring not to speak as his eyes scanned the flood of bodies, afraid the interviewer would repeat her question or ask something else — something else along the lines of you — and demand his attention from finding you. the deafening loud ringing in his ears finally fell silent when he spotted you . .. . looking like an angel who’s come down to earth to grace the people. the waves of beauty, the elegance, and the warmth you radiated for all the world to see . .. . he had to be beside you. the desire to have you, to touch you and feel you against him . .. . was strong. to put it simply.

your stage name had turned into an incantation, a name that blazed and glittered on the overhead billboard. you winced instantly as the passenger’s door yawned open, being greeted with dazzling flashes from the multitude of various press and entertainment outlets waving their cameras and microphones in your face, the blobs of fans begging you to step over and to sign their notepads and movie posters. pleading and crying for you.

you carefully stepped onto the red carpet and made for the fan bleachers — the low, first-row section. you felt bad for those you couldn’t reach, but still, you waved and smiled and blew many, many kisses.

you touched the hand of a crying teenaged girl — you seized her pink gel pen, drew open her notepad to a blank page and hastily printed over the light blue lines: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. and you grabbed another notebook: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. and a clear phone case: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. and then someone’s right palm: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. and then a ‘safe-keeping’ movie poster: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. and then a poster from your 2019 world tour: 𝙔/𝙉ᡣ𐭩. you printed your name at least twelve more times before being redirected by security to continue the red carpet, find the journalists and photographers.

you shifted your attention and went as told — the anticipatory looks of reporters and bloggers, ready to barrage you with questions of this ‘steamy, hypnotic, scandalous’ thriller movie, working so closely to nicholas alexander chavez, and your future plans in the film industry ( if you’d settle in or if ‘safe-keeping’ is a one-and-done ): you are prepared for it. your brown, full eyes meet theirs.

“before i even get to my list of questions, can i just say . .. you look absolutely stunning in white,” said the interviewer, clear and passionate. you thanked the young woman, tone soft and with a smile — nearby hearts instantly melting. “what’s the story behind this look? why don’t we start there, yeah?”

“um .. . so ..” you stared down at yourself for a moment and then back up to the interviewer, lips barely touching the fuzz of her microphone cover, “it’s actually kind’a cute how this came to be-“ the interviewer started to laugh, ready to hear your story. “-earlier this year, nico ‘nd i were on the phone and he was sending me cat reels-like goin’ crazy; three at a time, right? ‘nd uhm, he sent this one of a black ‘nd white cat latched onto each other,” you told her, fingers teasing along the skin-tight white fabric. “i couldn’t turn him down, so while he thinks we’re dressed as two instagram cats, i take it as yin and yang; the feminine and the masculine, y’know? our characters, ‘eris and drew’, ‘nd how they really balance each other out.”

the interviewer, with a low chuckle, said: “not only is that cute, but you turning this look over into your own idea and symbolism is so great. gives married couple a teeny bit-“ your lips formed into a tight-lipped grin and you stared down at yourself once again. you considered for a moment, yeah, and refocused in a snap. “-i love the tiny detailing in the front there, for sure. and the hair pieces as well, so gorgeous.” again, you thanked the woman — missing all she had said before that. “i’d actually like to speak of ‘eris and drew’ for a bit. i attended the ‘early showing preview release’ yesterday evening, and .. gosh, the world is not ready for this.”

you chuckled, “no?”

“hell-to-the-nah. you and chavez on the big screen just . .. .” the interviewer was struck speechless, remembering last night’s early viewing. “ .. . you two just work. so nicely and so beautifully.” your heart swelled with love and pride. “that on-screen chemistry, the intensity and angst between ‘eris and drew’ throughout that entire film, i mean, i pretty much melted into my seat every-time you two appeared in the same frame. it was .. . unreal. it was totally insane . .. . but, really, i want to ask you, how?” you shifted your weight a bit, mentally putting together an answer. “how did you both get that to work-hmm?”

and the microphone was back inching in front of your lips, “having a good off-screen friendship helped. that, um . .. that made this entire project so much easier.” she could hear the sincerity in your tone, and it only fueled her enthusiasm. “i love nicholas chavez,” came out easily, smoothly, and warmly. “i love him so much, i do. ‘nd uhm, it’s been so much fun. this experience was so refreshing and something that i . .. actually really needed. he’s just so generous. and so gentle, and kind, and committed. so, yeah, it all just . .. . fell into place.”

eagerly, and with amusement in her eyes, “i’ve spoken with a few other news outlets today, those from the early viewing, and all of them mentioned the ‘one’ sex scene. it was incredibly hot and worth it.” inwardly, you sighed lowly. you weren’t sure why you hadn’t expected it to come up. but here you are again; picking through your brain for an appropriate answer. an answer that won’t get the internet going tonight. “you know where i’m going wit’ this, huh?” the interviewer found herself laughing . .. . while you stood there, nothing but a grin on your face. “anyways, talk to me about that bed-chemistry. you must’ve had a process for that, right? to keep it from being and looking so awkward, i’d assume.”

the interviewer waited patiently. you let out a breath and answered, “i mean .. no, there was no specific process for that-“ the interviewer’s shoulders seemed to droop, highly disappointed — she hoped that you hadn’t noticed. “-no specific headspace to jump into. i’m comfortable with nico, he’s comfortable with me, ‘nd yeah, we simply just . .. did what we were told. performed the choreography, and uh, looked good while doin’ it.” you finished with a warm laugh.

“how do you think it was for him? filming such an intimate scene with a global superstar such as yourself?”

you seemed to turn it over in your mind for a moment and she anxiously awaited your response.

“ya’know what? why don’t we ask mr. chavez?” you suggested through mock-laughs — you were done with this interviewer and had to continue on with your night.

“why don’t we, hmm? i need to see you two together again. quickly. where is he? where is our ‘drew’? where is that brilliant man?!” you shrugged with a low hum and looked over your shoulder, opting to entertain the search. no sign of a 6’foot-something mountain of a man with brown waves and a pretty pearly smile. “hey, when i catch him, i’ll drag him over,” you said playfully, already starting to step away.

“i’ll hold you to that!” the interviewer declared.

and amongst the loud demands and shutter clicks ringing out from cameras that captured you, y/n y/l/n, nicholas alexander chavez is squeezing through celebrities, vips, industry professionals, and other influential guests — apologizing as soon as he gets too close or just almost bumps into them — desperately trying to get you. you were in his line of sight, just a few more groups of bodies to excuse himself past and he’d have you.

and once he had the room to lengthen his stride, he did exactly that and reached your side. and all had been okay again. he found comfort and was at ease. “hi . ..” your attention was momentarily distracted as you felt a light kiss placed onto your bare shoulder. you stared up and relaxed when you had looked straight into nicholas’ brown eyes. your mind off of the interviewers and the photographers and instead on the heat coming off of his body.

there was no ignoring the voice in the back of his mind now — the one screaming at him, telling him that there had been something in your eyes. something so deep and similar as to when he looked at you or stood so close to you. something that flickered just below the surface. it had been there, no doubt, but finally he could feel it and he was certain of it. that something.

nicholas broke eye contact; raising his head and catching the interviewer’s gaze — he apologized lowly for interrupting. “no, no, i’d love for you to get in on this as well. y/n took me through her approach taken to composing those two ‘safe-keeping’ scores. her process and how she added even-more texture to your phenomenal characters; giving them wings and magic and all that good stuff, which again . .. . was absolutely beautiful to hear in the trailers. but i had asked her if she would do that again; write original music for a film or a show even, and she said ‘yes’.” nicholas smiled at that. “but then, i asked if she would be interested in starring in another film-ya’ girl here isn’t too keen on the idea. what do you think? would you wanna star in another film with her?” the interviewer lifted his microphone toward nicholas.

and without missing a beat: “yes. a million times yes.” short ‘n sweet. you and the interviewer shared a laugh. “don’t fall for that. that was a ‘for the cameras’ response, ‘kay?” nicholas bristled a little at your words, his eyes narrowing as he looked down at you — his chuckle fake and shaky, the cameras caught that too. “no, but-but seriously,” his voice: calm and easy, “i’d do it-this all over again if i could. the last four years.”

“mhmm,” you hummed, “what would you change?”

nicholas studied your face. “nothing. i wouldn’t change a thing.”

relief watched over nicholas as you smiled to yourself, trying to hide the way your cheeks rose — your hand patting the very center of his abdomen, gentle reassurance and acceptance further calming his nerves. “she’s everything to me,” he mumbled as he bent in to kiss just above cheekbone, his big hand gently resting on your lower back. you laughed with the interviewer again, mindlessly trying to shoo nicholas away. yet, his hand lingered on your backside for a beat longer as you chatted with the interviewer more, his fingers subconsciously tracing small circles on the sleek fabric of your dress.

after two more short questions from the interviewer, you stepped forward — nicholas remaining near, his palm still laid against the small of your back . .. . like he needed you ( which he did ), like if you were to leave his side for even a minute he’d collapse. the fit and contact was perfect and looked too good for the entertainment and gossip blogs.

“what would you tell your 12-year-old self?” the new interviewer asked you and nicholas — and you went first. and as you spoke, gesturing lightly with your hands, lost in your response to your younger self, nicholas moved even closer ( surprisingly, it was possible ) — just enough so that his hip could snap against yours. his hand slipped gently across your waist, his long fingers resting just above the curve of your hip, the touch subtle yet unmistakably intimate.

your breath hitched for the briefest moment, but you didn't stop talking, though there was a flicker of surprise in your eyes. you glanced up at him briefly, a soft smile playing on your lips, as if this touchiness was nothing more of a casual gesture; a friendly show of camaraderie for the cameras. but the way his hand had a mind of its own, massaging your hip in a subtle gesture of . .. . something.

the cameras caught every angle — the tender closeness, nicholas’ eyes so fixed on you with a look that wasn’t for the flashing bulbs but for you alone. his chest rose and fell a little deeper, and though he said nothing, the way his arm snaked around you felt possessive — like a silent claim, just barely testing the waters.

you finished your sentence, the interviewer not at all oblivious to nicholas’ never-once straying gaze. “and what about you nicholas?” nicholas stared down at the microphone, mind completely blank.

what was the question?

and in a soft voice, “what would you tell your 12-year-old self?” without thinking, his shoulders eased and he gave your hip four light pats, thanking you for saving him — as you always did. “well . .. .” nicholas began, giving the question some thought. “y’know, i’d tell him to eat more chicken-“

with a crooked smile on your face, “hmm?”

“eat more chicken,” he said again, his tone lighthearted — his hand riding up and down your side. “more chicken, more energy.” the interviewer’s eyes lit up, “fried, grilled, or baked?”

and you watched the exchange, listening to how the interviewer expressed his love for grilled chicken and then how nicholas spoke so passionately about baked chicken — nicholas had an entire backstory and extra details to support why baked chicken was ‘awesome’. for a few seconds, fried chicken had been the topic of discussion; how when he wasn’t feeling baked, he’d go for fried. and when he hadn’t been feeling baked or fried, he’d go for grilled. but ultimately, as he said, baked was his number one.

and when the interviewer waved you and nicholas along — “sorry,” he murmured, his voice low enough for only you to hear, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “he really got me going there.” you nodded in agreement, sending him a mock-sweet smile, “mhmm. i heard.”

nicholas’ hand tightened on your waist, “what?” deep and velvety. “why’d you say it like ‘that’?” you shook your head in response, biting back a laugh.

— and finally, as the interviews wrapped up, the final flashes from the photographers dimmed, the buzz of the red carpet slowly shifted toward the entrance of the theater. excitement rippled through the crowd as everyone began to make their way inside for the premiere. the energy, so loud and vibrant outside, now became a hum.

nicholas’ hand was touching the small of your back, guiding you through the thickening crowd — your security surrounding. nicholas’ presence was steady beside you ( as he had been your personal bodyguard ), and though you and him didn’t exchange many words, there was a quiet understanding.

the massive theater doors opened, revealing a stunning auditorium bathed in soft golden light, velvet chairs arranged in perfect rows, and the towering screen that would soon captivate everyone. nicholas reached down and took your hand in his — you glanced at how he turned your hand over, shifting and intertwining his fingers with yours. he squeezed gently, letting you know that you wouldn’t be seated away from him.

the seats filled quickly, the low murmur of voices blending into the occasional pop of champagne corks or soft rustle of programs. ushers guided the ‘special’ guests to their reserved spots near the center—prime viewing for the night’s main attraction.

as you sat, you glanced around, taking in the grandeur of the moment, your heart racing just a little. you always felt this way before releasing any creative work into the world — the calm before the storm of emotions that this film would undoubtedly stir in you.

nicholas lowered himself into the seat next to you, his arm brushing against yours as he settled in, the close quarters making it impossible not to feel the warmth radiating between. the lights dimmed gradually, signaling the start of the night, and the room began to fall silent, a collective breath being held.

and as the opening logos appeared on the screen, you leaned back in your chair, your pulse still quick, though now it was hard to tell if it was because of the film or because of nicholas sitting so close. you crossed your hands and held them in your lap. he leaned in slightly, his shoulder gently nudging yours in a quiet, almost unconscious gesture of love.

“you okay?” he asked, his voice low, the intimacy of the moment heightened by the darkening room. you turned your head, catching the soft gleam of his eyes, “yeah, i’m fine,” you said, unfolding your hands. you turned back to the large screen . .. . nicholas not yet staring away, admiring your side-profile.

the opening credits began to roll, casting flickering shadows over everyone’s faces. nicholas didn’t move away, his arm now resting easily on the armrest between, fingers casually brushing the back of your hand as the movie began to unfold. it was soft, unspoken, but the light touch persistent; more than just an accident or friendly gesture.

and here, you feel it completely and clearly. the something — that coursed through his entire being whenever he touched you or spoke to you — was now filling you up. the something you’ve been holding back to maintain a facade of professionalism despite the fact that your heart was consumed by him.

[moondirti]

due to popular demand, a follow up to this featuring: 18+ content, gaz, ballerina!reader, internet stalking, men being gross, another a thinly veiled character study

Kyle is a good man.

Granted, his metric is not attuned to common standards for morality anymore, nor has it been that way since basic. He's sure that if he were to pick any sheltered samaritan off the street to read out his laundry list of transgressions, they'd balk at the fact that their taxes go to keeping him fed. They'd rather their image of the army stay unsullied and ideal. They'd rather keep him at arms length with a thank you for your service and not confront the blood caked beneath his fingernails.

But he can no longer be held to their degree. No longer exists within these spaces. No. Kyle – or Gaz, if one were to go off of what he's called most often nowadays – is a doorstop. A pestle. Something inconspicuous, obscure, that serves the sole function of making life easier for everyone but itself. And he assumes this role with a handful of others who have nothing else to live for, exiled to crowd the back of Foxhounds and kill at a moment's notice. Foul men. Friends.

If someone were to line up every operative on a special forces unit, or better yet collect the likes of the 141 and asses each for their moral standing, Gaz can rest knowing he'd come out on top. He's not yet as far gone as they are; can enjoy a night out or a pretty bird writhing underneath him without wanting to choke her out. Only devoted to his captain, or the others, to the extent that their professional relationship calls for (no matter how much it itches at him to watch Ghost take care of Soap, or to reject Price when he offers him a drink).

Sure, he laughs at their jokes. Might pitch in when they're swapping stories of their filthiest catch, Soap rattling on about the lass who'd stuffed her tongue up his arse, or encourage them to shoot on sight if they spot a potential threat, civilian or otherwise. Yet the difference is this: when he goes home, he can stuff that all away.

Knows not to let it infest the boundaries of the real world. Off deployment, his comrades play pretend at the noncombatant lifestyle, but the guise is ill-fitting. They're too big for their skin. They stretch and tear at the conventions holding them in place, like feral dogs made to heel. Kyle doesn't have to be tamed. He's still functional, familiar with the expectations held of him. Can submit to integrity more easily than most.

Kyle is a good man.

And that's what he tells himself as he returns home, train car completely void of anyone but himself. He's good for having given you up. He's good for not have followed you home. There'd been a brief lapse of judgement, but he's good for doing something about it before things passed the point of no return.

You've lived this far without his protection, he reasons. Yet it doesn't change the unreachable itch, closed away in a supposedly locked box. Gaz. Or, his captain's voice, cigar-smoked and advisory.

But why should you continue like that.

It's hard to fall asleep that night.

He's sick with worry wondering if you ever got home, bile broiling and distending up his throat at the thought of having abandoned you. It's pure concern that compels him to find your socials, really. Kyle is only searching for an update, or recent post, indicating that you're alive.

With nothing to go off of but a face, he searches for dance studios in both Acton Town, your area, and the Kensington, the area where you'd boarded the tube from. He makes a shortlist of the most reputable ones (your attire seemed to imply that you were a seasoned ballerina) and cross-checks them as hosts of upcoming recitals. Two renditions of Swan Lake and a production of Giselle turn up, each with their very own cast lists. Thus begins a tireless search of every name credited.

His heart almost leaps out of his nose when you eventually load into view, then plummets at how easy you'd been to find.

Your vulnerability only sets Kyle's conviction in stone. Bloody good thing he's got your best interests in mind.

Locked twitter, a LinkedIn, and a public Instagram page which sends his blood pressure skyrocketing after checking your follower count. Popular. And of course he can see why. Over a hundred posts chronicling bright smiles and flattering outfits. You mainly use the account to promote your practice, though; feed full of skimpy little outfits, leotards and exposed sternums and impossible poses.

Stop it. He's here for something specific.

Kyle sips in a deep breath, scrolls back to the top of your page, clicks on your most recent post. A casual video of your leg raised on a barre while your friend counts how high above your previous record you're able to stretch. Your skin is sweat-slicked. Your mouth is thrown open in a half-laugh, half-pant. He almost forgets why he clicked on it in the first place, before the timestamp catches his eye.

30 minutes ago.

So, you'd gotten home.

He can go to bed now.

Exit your account. Swipe up on Instagram to clear it from his running apps. If he's extra disciplined, he'd block you. Rob himself of the temptation to tug himself over the photo of you in the splits.

Kyle is a good man because he knows his limits.

(But Kyle now also knows the address of your studio. That, even if he blocks you, it'll take up space in his chest. A ticking-time bomb. A knowledge that'll haunt him whenever he's on the District, Circle, or Piccadilly lines, and the train announces Gloucester Road. A force, a stone in his throat, that'll grow so large it'll force him to stand up and disembark, to walk until he's standing right outside and wait on you to wrap up rehearsal.)

It occurs to him that the point of no return has long since passed.

inclusivity note: i felt the need to say that, while reader is a dancer, her profession is not meant to imply anything about her body type. flexibility and agility are not limited to thin builds, and while the ballet industry can be very toxic, i've seen my fair share of spaces where all figures are embraced and success is determined only by ability!

[yappingwitch]

The art of winning her back

pairing - James Potter x fem!reader

summary - On his quest to capture the heart of his long-time crush, Lily Evans, James must first win her friend (Y/N) over despite their shared history.

warnings - angst, bullying, friends to enemies to lovers, child neglect and death of a parent (briefly), swearing, slowburn, use of (Y/N)

wordcount - 3k

disclaimer - english is my second language. Don't hesitate to correct me!

part 1

You and James had known each other your entire lives, a friendship somewhat foisted upon you by your parents, whose own friendship dates back to their Hogwarts days. That’s at least how James perceived your relationship: imposed upon him by the suffocating weight of your parents' past.

Sure, James was never outright mean to you. He was still your friend, after all. Though he couldn’t help but ridicule your overenthusiastic nature, with your ramblings and frantic waving of your hands whenever you spoke. Often throwing jabs at you, you none the wiser. He disliked you yet still felt some measure of sympathy for you. A charity case, yes - that was what you were to him, with no other friends to guide you and your parents perpetually away at work, leaving you yearning for connection and always acting as if you couldn't function without continually sticking by his side. So he'd accept his fate with a sigh and take your hand whenever you became frightened by the thunder during one of your countless sleepovers or pretended to battle dark wizards with you using sticks, indulging in whatever you devised next. Of course, you never truly noticed it for what it was. To you, he was the brightest spot in your life, the sweetest friend you could ever wish for.

As the years rolled by, you continued to treasure this friendship, even if it sometimes felt like James was dragging his feet. He was your best and only friend, and in your heart, that was more than enough.

Things first changed when he left for Hogwarts. He was off having extraordinary adventures while you were left behind, grappling with a new void in your life, yearning for his return. You clung to the habit of writing to him, pouring out every random thought that crossed your mind in long letters. His replies were always brief and generic, but you didn’t mind, simply grateful to hear from your best friend.

After probably the longest year of your life, only getting to see James during the holidays, summer break finally ended, marking your first year at Hogwarts and reuniting you with James all year aound. You stood on the train platform with his parents, eyes bright with anticipation. Euphemia pressed a kiss on both your cheeks and pulled you into a hug, his dad quickly joining in as well. The two of you departed on your journey to find an empty carriage, eagerly waving at James’s parents from your seats as soon as the train whistle sounded, announcing the train’s departure. You practically melted into his side during the train ride, linking your arm with his and chatting incessantly, only letting go when you dashed off for the trolley that held piles of candy, babbling to the lady as you did.

Just as you settled back down, your pockets now stuffed with all kinds of sweets, one already grasped in your hand, happily munching on it, the compartment door slid open once more. Three boys stood there, relief seemingly washing over their faces as they quickly greeted James, sitting down across from you both. It was then that their gazes shifted to you, immediately recognizing who you were - James must have complained about you at least once a week, and by your appearance, they may finally have understood why.

The trio couldn’t hold back their giggles at the sight: you, with chocolate smeared on your cheek, bouncing with joy, while James looked like he was stuck in a perpetual state of embarrassment, cheeks flushed. Oblivious to his discomfort (as you often were), you rambled on about how excited you were to begin Hogwarts, speaking at a hundred miles per hour, until all the sugar finally sent you into a deep state of sleep. All of them sighed in relief at the moment of peace, despite your continued grip on James’s poor arm. You only loosened it up once you entered Hogwarts castle, too stunned to speak for once or to notice James quietly slipping away. You just wordlessly joined the other first-years at the front of the school while the rest of the students sat down at their designated houses, chatter filling the room.

You'd sight dramatically whenever a name that wasn't yours was called up, growing more and more anxious by the second, already missing James by your side.

“(Y/N) (L/N)!” Professor McGonagall finally called out, her voice ringing through the hall. Finally. You skipped up to the stool, your heart thudding in your chest as McGonagall lowered the hat, blocking part of your vision with its size. You didn’t care, though, only trying to focus on the hat’s words.

“Gryffindor!” exclaimed its gruff voice, your face immediately breaking into the biggest grin - not only because you had made it into the house of bravery but because you were in the same house as James. The Gryffindor table erupted in a roar of applause, customary for new housemates, but one disgruntled figure groaned loudly instead, covering his face in exasperation.

As you approached the table, your voice rang out bright and cheerful. “James! I can’t believe you didn’t save me a seat!” You pouted, but then your expression brightened as you realized he had no clue you’d end up in Gryffindor either, immediately excusing him in your mind. “I can’t wait to tell Dad about this! He’ll be thrilled. Everyone thought I’d end up in Hufflepuff - way to prove them wrong! Not that there’s anything wrong with Hufflepuff, but I always wished for Gryffindor… hm… or maybe Ravenclaw! That'd really show—”

“You’re rambling again,” he interrupted your whirlwind of excitement.

“You’re right! You’re always right! You better save me a seat next time. Although I don't really mind too much; I passed this really nice group of girls on my way to you. I can't wait to make some new friends!” You began pointing somewhere. “Did you see the redheaded girl? I think she's from your year; she's so pretty—”

“Alright…” James said, interrupting your rambling once again, sending a small glare to the black haired boy sitting across from, hearing him cover up a choked laughter with a caugh.

You, none the wiser, flashed him a beaming smile before scampering off to join the girls at the very top of the table, blissfully unaware that this would mark the second real shift in your friendship with James.

It all began with pranks - silly, harmless little acts that felt like a natural progression of your friendship - joint efforts with his new friends. You never minded this side of him because it was how James expressed his affection, so you thought. Whether it was hexing your hair a wild shade of purple or causing you to trip on your way to class, there was always laughter shared between you, and you felt like you were starting to bond not just with James again, but with his friend group. Sometimes James would show remorse afterward a particular nasty prank, mainly when he got caught, and would often beg you to bail him out of detention with McGonagall, and you always obliged.

But as time went on, a growing irritation began to simmer within you. You would never dare admit it, feeling guilt whenever a mean thought flashed through your mind after another prank. After all, James was your best friend.

Once winter break rolled around, you felt nervous for the first time around him, having barely spent one-on-one time together since the day of the sorting. Yet, each day spent together melted away all your worries. James was finally all yours again, and after spending every day together, you remained blissfully unaware of the growing tension between you both. With renewed faith in your friendship, you allowed the Marauders to continue their taunts happily for years to come, quietly awaiting the holidays to begin anew, where everything was like before. You could deal with that.

Or so you thought, until a seemingly ordinary Saturday, your third year at the school almost over, excited to spend summer with James, a prank sent everything spiraling out of control. It was no worse than the others. In fact, it was quite the opposite - it was almost uncharacteristically harmless, but it triggered something deep within you, and your patience finally bubbled over. The anger towards James began to seep out of you, much like ink from a quill that has just exploded in your face. Staring back at you were hours of studying made redundant, your notes stained, ink splatters glaring back instead of your carefully constructed sentences. You looked around the abandoned library helplessly, your mind not registering what had just happened until you heard laughter - his laughter.

The other boys with him soom joining in too, echoing throughout the usually quiet room as they emerged from their hiding place. As their laughter continued, you let out a humorless giggle, still not comprehending the situation, which quickly made them stop theirs. They exchanged silent glances before breaking out in even louder laughter and walking off after being chastised by the librarian.

Oh.

Oh.

Your smile faded as the realisation settled in. They weren’t laughing with you.

They were laughing at you.

Without giving it a second thought, you marched back to the Gryffindor tower, stopping by the bathroom in hopes of salvaging some of your materials, not even attempting to save your notes, as they were a lost cause. Everything felt heavy, almost suffocating. The familiar laughter filled your ears once again as you entered the common room. Raising your gaze from the fixated stare you had on your shoes, you looked at the boys lounging without a care in the world. Their amusement was unmistakably still directed at you, especially when they saw your blouse - a massive wet spot adorning the white fabric along the ink, your pathetic attempt at scrubbing the stains away.

Ignoring the feelings threatening to bubble up, you bolted to the girls' dormitory, shutting the door with a thud. Your eyes burned and your cheeks flushed in humiliation. You angrily chucked your bag to the floor, your now-stained possessions scattering. Looking around, you saw the startled faces of the other girls, which made your face flush even more, and you quickly bent down, trembling hands trying to gather your things.

Then you felt gentle hands steady your own. Looking up, you met Lily Evans’ bright green eyes, filled with concern and her brows furrowed together, a frown gracing her lovely face.

After a moment of silence, seemingly contemplating how to approach what had just occurred, she settled on saying, “I was going to ask if everything’s okay, but I guess that’s redunda.” A gentle smile blossomed on her face.

Without a word, you threw your arms around Lily’s neck, your eyes glazing over. Dorcas and Marlene, who were the only ones with Lily currently in the room, also sprang to attention. As you struggled to hold back your emotions, your gaze met the other girls’ stares, and you felt everything spill over. Tears fell without warning - an unexpected release of pent-up frustration, sadness, and hurt.

You let go of Lily, wiping your eyes with fervor. Silence enveloped the room until you finally calmed down, regaining control of your emotions as swiftly as possible while Lily gently rubbed your back. Marlene also sitting down by your side, while dorcas sat up on her bed.

“Alright, who do I have to beat up?” Dorcas declared, her tone playful yet sincere, breaking through the heaviness that loomed in the room.

That pulled a watery laugh from you, especially seeing Marlene reprimand the girl for her violent tendencies, though a smile was evident on her face, secretly having similar thoughts. Lily quietly giggled at the scene alongside you.

So you shared everything about the pranks (or bullying, as Lily later dubbed it), James, and everything that had weighed down on you.

When you finally finished your rambling, all listening patiently, the room grew quiet once more. You dreaded their reactions - why, you didn’t know - but anxiety filled your body.

Then, without warning, they erupted into a burst of chatter, voices blending together in a comforting chorus until Marlene decided to take the lead, shushing the other two.

“Well… you know… that’s horrible of him… but… you know, we were all aware he’s kind of—”

“He’s a twat,” Dorcas chimed in.

“I’m not a fan of profanity, but for lack of a better term…” Lily added, grinning as she looked at you, easing your worries. Sudden realisation flashing in her eyes as she quickly got out her wand, pointing it at you, ridding you of the stains.

Your eyes glazed over once more, but this time not out of the anger you felt earlier, Marlene and Lily quickly engulfing you. Dorcas joined in aswell, after Marlene dragged her from her spot on the bed, laughter engulfing the room.

You always felt a shift would come after starting Hogwarts, a new stage of life, but nothing could have prepared you for the transformation that awaited you as summer rolled around - a summer without your best friend. Your room, once a cozy sanctuary, suddenly felt juvenile, each item reminding you of a bond that had frayed. You grew quieter, noticing the judgmental looks from your parents - expressions that mirrored James'.

Lily's letters provided solace, each note including snippets of her life - from the latest Muggle songs to inviting you over for movie nights. Her letters, and those from the others, brought vibrancy back into your world, replacing the dullness that had seeped into your days. You spent countless hours running around with Marlene and Dorcas in Diagon Alley, laughing at every trinket you discovered, scouring through every store you could find, and enjoying the thrill of new experiences. You were rediscovering joy that had long been absent, even without realizing it.

While you occasionally saw James, considering your parents and the close proximity of your homes, he didn’t seem to mind the shift in your dynamic - if he even noticed a change outside of your lack of clinginess, you weren't sure.

By the time fourth year arrived, the pranks that had once been a staple of your interactions faded entirely - nothing felt more potent than the harsh words Lily had directed at James, her words carrying a weight you didn't fully comprehend, yet appreciated nonetheless. He appeared to almost forget you existed, and you were okay with that.

At the end of fifth year, you suddenly vanished, even though school still continued for another month. A sorrow engulfed your life once more when your mother passed away unexpectedly during ministry business - classified. The loss struck deeply, leaving you grappling with emotions you weren’t sure how to manage. Your relationship with her had always felt strained, but her absence was a stark reminder that you'd never have the relationship with her you dreamed of.

Back home, you found comfort in the Potters’ company, excluding James, leaning on Euphemia and your Hogwarts friends to help you through your grief. Your father, overwhelmed by sorrow, struggled to connect with you, and not even your shared pain brought you closer. Instead, it pushed him further away, so when you received a letter from your grandmother from France inviting you to stay with her during the next two months, you eagerly accepted.

This was the first summer that you wouldn't see James at all, not that you minded. His lost friendship had become an afterthought at this point as you tried to navigate your new life.

James only got a proper look at you again at the start of his seventh year. Everything had shifted once more, but this time it felt different. James was now Quidditch Captain and Prefect, determined to make this year - his last - his best by finally asking Lily out, having realized his crush on her in year five, which she largely dismissed at first, considering his past behavior. But he could see (and he knew she could too) that her feelings toward him were starting to shift, recognizing his attempts at bettering himself. So he was confident in his plan to ask Lily to the upcoming Celestial Ball, believing he had finally won her over. Everything seemed perfectly set - that was until Soren Howell, a year six chaser on the team, sat down across from him with an uncharacteristic frown adorning his face.

“What’s got you all gloomy, pretty boy?” asked sirius, who sat beside James, with a smirk looking at Soren, ripping a piece of half-eaten bread from his plate and throwing it at him.

Soren’s frown only deepened. “I asked (Y/N) to the ball,” Soren announced, frustration clear in his voice. “But she said no - some other guy beat me to it."

Hold up. “(Y/N)?” James repeated. “(Y/N) (L/N)?” A puzzled look crossed his face.

Soren simply nodded, bitterness still evident as he continued to sulk.

A million questions raced through James's mind, but most importantly: When did you return? He had assumed you'd finish your studies at Beauxbatons, not seeing you at yesterdays sorting ceremony. Well, right after—

“Are you taking the piss?” Sirius chimed in, laughing loudly. “You need to raise your standards, mate.”

Soren looked up from his plate, disbelief washing over him. “I like her,”

This made James start to laugh as well. While he generally left much of the juvenile behavior behind, partly for Lily but also genuinely growing as a person, he couldn't believe you had not one, but two people pining after you on the very first day back - especially someone like Soren, who was, as much as it pained James to admit, quite the handsome fellow.

“You like her? What’s there to like? I mean - ow!”

A hand suddenly shoved James hard on the back of the head, pain radiating through his skull, and the tips of his unruly dark hair now tainted with the soup in front of him. He grunted angrily, turning awkwardly in his seat to glare at the perpetrator - Dorcas.

Before he could even utter “detention” - a privilege of his Prefect position - his gaze shifted to the girl beside her, her arm linked with Dorcas’s, an uninterested expression on her pretty face as she muttered something to Dorcas while tugging on the taller girl’s arm. James rendered speechless, not recognising the beautiful girl hanging onto Dorcas. Once his gaze shifted toward her Gryffindor tie, his confusion only grew - Was she new? He'd surely recognise someone like her, especially with Sirius by his side who probably tried to chat up every pretty girl, heck even pretty boy, in their school.

Dorcas raised an eyebrow at his prolonged pause, following his gaze and realizing the cause. She scoffed, tugging the girl closer to her.

This made him rip his gaze from her, turning it back to Dorcas, his anger returning.

“What’s it to you?” “Talk about her again, and I will castrate you,” Dorcas declared quickly.

“Her?”

Dorcas looked at him in confusion, then nodded her head in your direction; you, in turn, started to tug on her arm again, annoyance now evident on your face.

“(Y/N)?” he uttered dumbly, at the same time as another voice called out to you.

The beautiful redhead walked on your other side, linking her arm with yours as well.

“Why don’t you get goi-” she started, but then saw who Dorcas and you were talking to, frowning at James with clear disappointment and a look he hadn’t seen from her since he started his journey to woo her - that of genuine dislike. Lily quickly dragged you both away without a word, turning back to glare at James once more on the way to their seats at the dinner table.

It was then and there that James realized - if he wanted Lily, he needed to win you over once again. This new you who suddenly had the prettiest eyes and air of confidence around her. This new you who now looked at him with hatred.

[just-dreaming-marvel]

Love That Burns ~ 9

LOVE THAT BURNS MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 2,215ish

Summary: After being at the mansion for 22 years, your world gets turned upside down.

Warnings: person believed to be dead is not dead, passing out, tears

Notes: Y'all it's gonna be angst with brief spurts of fluff for a hot minute. Good luck. Reminder: I DO NOT do taglists. Please don’t ask. Please follow and interact! I appreciate any reblogs, likes, comments, and asks! 

As the years went on, students came and went. The three that you now considered your family each went off to college when it was time. They all ended up back at the mansion eventually, to teach and be official X-Men members. You watched as Scott and Jean fell in love and began a relationship. You watched as Ororo became an amazing teacher. 

Charles watched you carefully throughout the years. He had seen glimpses of what you had gone through, but you never fully opened up to anyone. He was glad that you stayed though, making a positive impact on the students, especially the three that ended up staying on as teachers. Charles watched as you held your dog tags during the hard moments and let your smile free during the good times. He could see that you were healing from your past. It was slow, but it was there.

Winter had decided upon New York, which meant that those in the mansion annoying decided to need your abilities more. It was easier for you to light on the fires in the mansion than for everyone to try and do it themselves. It became another job of yours. Some days you didn’t mind and other days you found it annoying. Today was one of those days you found it annoying. Mostly because Jean was following you around.

“Come on, Y/N,” she pled. “Just one night. One! Scott, Ororo, and I will even come with you.”

“I am not going to singles night at the local bar,” you told her, lighting another fireplace as you walked by. “Besides, you and Scott going is ridiculous.”

“In all the time I’ve known you, which is twenty two years by the way, you’ve never once gone on a date.”

“Don’t want to.”

“You’re almost 71, Y/N, and you barely look at day over thirty! You need to go out and live a little!”

“I have lived, Jean. I’ve also have loved and I’m good to not do it again.”

“Oh, yes, your mysterious long-lost love. You know that I could slip into your mind and find out all about him.”

“No need. He’s dead.”

“Then it’s time to move on!”

“Jean—“

“Just think about it, please? For me?”

“No.”

“Fine. I guess I’ll figure out another way to get you out of this dusty old mansion.”

“I leave the mansion all the time.”

“Not for fun.”

“Missions are fun.”

“Really? Cause I think I remember you complaining about the last one.”

You remained silent, heading to the main common living room to light the large fireplace. Once it was lit, you stared at the flames, making them dance. 

Jean sighed. “I’m sorry, okay? I just want you to be happy. I’m worried about you.”

“I am happy,” you replied, forcing out a small smile.

She gave you an unconvinced look. “Are you? You’ve basically been doing the same thing for twenty-two years. Don’t you want to… I don’t know, change it up?”

“I’m content, Jean.”

“Do you really not want more to your life? Maybe there another chance at love out there, just waiting for you… I just want you to not be alone.”

“I’m not alone.”

“For now.”

“Thanks for this rousing pep talk, Jean. Very helpful.” You turned and headed out.

“Y/N! I’m sorry!”

You were grateful that Jean didn’t follow you. You knew she meant well, but you didn’t want to find another love. You had a great love with James and believed that nothing could compare.

~~~

A few hours later, Charles called you, Scott, Jean and Ororo into his office.

“There’s two mutants that need our help,” Charles stated. “I need two of you to go and retrieve them.”

“I’ll go,” Scott said.

“Me, too,” you offered.

“Actually, Y/N, I need you here,” Charles said.

Your brows furrowed in confusion. “What for?”

“To prepare the lab.”

“The lab?” You weren’t buying it. “What’s going on?”

“I simply need you here.”

“You’re lying.”

“Y/N—“

“What are you keeping from me, Charles?”

“Please just trust me on this. For now.”

“Fine.” You turned and left.

Charles sighed. “This is to protect her,” he explained to the others. “Someone is coming that will ruin the peace she has found here.”

“What do you mean, Professor?” Ororo asked.

“Someone from her past. Someone she believes is dead. I even believed him to be dead until today.”

“I’ll keep an eye out on Y/N,” Jean said.

Charles nodded. “Ororo?”

“I’ll go with Scott,” she responded.

“Thank you. We must work together to be there for Y/N as her life is about to get turned upside down.”

~~~

You felt like you were being sidelined and you hated it. You could handle whatever was coming that Charles felt like you couldn’t. After you had prepared the lab, you waited in the hangar bay for Scott and Ororo to returned. It wasn’t long before Jean joined you.

“I know that you’re babysitting me,” you grumbled, keeping your eyes on the large doors above. “Why?”

“Someone is coming,” Jean stated, like it was that simple. 

Your head snapped towards Jean. “Who?”

“I don’t know. Charles just said that someone was coming. And that he’s from your past.”

Your heart began hammering in your chest. Who could possibly be coming? You jumped as the large hangar doors began opening above you. The jet descended and the ramp opened up. You watched as Ororo led a young woman off of the jet. Scott wasn’t too far behind, pushing a body laid out on the stretcher. As soon as you caught a glimpse of the body, it felt like your lungs stopped working.

He looked mostly the same as twenty-two years ago, except his hair was styled a bit differently and his facial hair was a bit more scruffy looking. You stumbled closer to try and get a better look. Scott stopped the stretcher as he watched you with growing concern.

“James?” You breathed out.

Before you could get any closer—before you could touch him, your body gave out and you collapsed onto the floor.

“Y/N!” Your friends exclaimed.

Jean rushed towards you, checking you over. “She’s unconscious,” she stated. 

“She knows him?” Scott wondered.

Charles rolled into the room. “This is who I was talking about,” he said. “Scott, take Y/N to her room. Jean can handle Logan.”

Scott came over and lifted you, carefully carrying you out of the hangar.

“Do you know who he is to her, Professor?” Jean asked, studying the stranger.

“I do,” he responded. “But it’s not my place and it is not your place to pry in either of their thoughts. All you will find is pain.”

“Pain? Should we be concerned? Should we even be letting this man into the mansion?”

“Logan belongs here, just as the rest of us do. Y/N and Logan will have to deal with their past, in their own ways and time.”

~~~

You woke up in your room, alone. For a brief moment, you forgot what put you there. Then it hit you like a freight train.

James was alive.

Twenty-two years of believing that he was dead was all a lie.

Guilt wracked you. You should have fought harder to leave the school. You should have searched for him.

Had James been searching for you this entire time?

What had he been through?

Sitting up, you got out of bed and headed down the hall. You needed to talk to Charles. He had known something about James this morning and you needed the truth. As you headed down downstairs, you were too caught up in your own mind to notice anything. Suddenly, you rammed into someone, their hands going to your arms to steady you.

“Watch where you’re going, sweetheart.”

You gasped, eyes snapping up to James’ face. “James,” you breathed out.

His brows furrowed in confusion. “James? I think you got me confused with someone else.” His hands dropped from your arms and he began to frantically looked around. Almost like he was hearing something that you weren’t. “I’ve got to go.” He was gone before you could stop him.

You swear your heart could be heard shattering to the floor from miles away. Tears overwhelmed your eyes as your legs threatened to collapse beneath you. Before you could fall, Ororo’s arm was around your waist, keeping you up.

“I’ve got you,” she whispered.

“Please tell me this is a dream,” you begged. “This is a nightmare, right?”

Ororo shook her head, looking at you with concern. “You’re very much awake.”

You couldn’t prevent the sobs from ripping through you. Ororo was quick to pull you completely into her and hold you close. She rubbed a hand up and down your back, trying to calm you.

“What’s going on?” Scott’s voice sounded from behind you.

You pulled away from Ororo, quickly wiping at your face and taking deep breaths.

“I’m fine,” you said, but it was clearly not believable.

“Y/N—“

“Drop it, Scott.”

Scott clenched his jaw, frustrated with you. “The Professor wants us in his office.”

You nodded silently. Jean walked up and could sense the unease. She shot you a smile before she lead you to the Professor’s office with Ororo and Scott leading the way. You could hear James on the other side of the door before Ororo opened it.

“Ah, Logan, I’d like you to meet Ororo Monroe, also called Storm,” Charles introduced as Ororo walked in with Scott right behind her. “This is Scott Summers, also called Cyclops. They saved your life.” Jean led you in with her. “I believe you’ve already met Dr. Jean Grey.” As if this situation couldn’t get any worse, you immediately noticed the way James was checking out Jean. “And this is Y/N L/N, also called Ember.” 

Jean lead you past James—Logan— guiding you to a chair. Your eyes stayed on Logan. He was wearing sweatpants and a zip-up sweatshirt, revealing part of his chest and the dog tags that rested there. Your heart stopped for a moment when you noticed that your engagement ring was hanging next to the dog tags.

“You’re in my school for the gifted,” Charles continued. “For mutants. You’ll be safe here from Magneto.”

“What’s a magneto?” Logan asked. His eyes darted towards you, an uneasiness settles in his stomach. There was something about you. Something he couldn’t quite place.

“A very powerful mutant, who believes a war is brewing between mutants and the rest of humanity. I’ve been following his activities for some time. The man who attacked you is an associate of his called, Sabretooth.”

“Sabretooth?” Logan scoffed. “Storm…” He pointed at her, clicking his tongue. “What do they call you? Wheels?” He laughed. “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” He turned towards the doorway, only for Scott to be in his way. “And Cyclops, right?” He grabbed Scott’s jacket. “You wanna get outta my way?”

“Logan, it’s been almost twenty-two years, hasn’t it?” James paused. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed you tense. “Living from day to day, moving from place to place,” James dropped his grip on Scott, “with no memory of who or what you are.”

Logan turned, “shut up.”

“Give me a chance. I may be able to help you find some answers.”

Logan could hear your heartbeat pick up, like you knew something. He turned, narrowing his eyes at you. You immediately looked like you wanted to be anywhere else. “What do you know?”

“I— I—,” you stammered, trying to gain control of your spiraling thoughts. You stood up. “I’ve got to go.” Logan grabbed your wrist as you pushed past him. You were quick to heat up your skin, causing him to let go.

“Ah!” Logan exclaimed, shaking his hand as it healed from the burns.

“You’re not the only one with gifts,” Charles said with a smirk as you disappeared from Logan’s view.

~~~

Charles led Logan on a tour of the mansion, with you trying to go about your regularly scheduled day. But, for some reason, James—Logan, was always nearby. You could feel his eyes on you when you weren’t looking and you were fairly sure that he could feel your eyes just the same. You were in the stables, trying to get away from Logan, when Charles led him in there.

“I’ll make a deal with you,” Charles told Logan. “Give me 48 hours to find out what Magneto wants with you, and I give you my word that I will use all my power to help you piece together what you’ve lost, and what you’re looking for.”

Logan glanced up at you, briefly making eye contact before you scurried away. “That… girl,” Logan said, pointing to where you were standing. “Who is she?”

Charles gave Logan a kind smile. “Y/N is very much a woman, Logan. Don’t let looks deceive you.”

“Yes, but… there’s something about her. Something… familiar…” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I think I must’ve hit my head too hard.”

“You should rest more. Your abilities may heal you, but that doesn’t mean you don’t need rest.”

“You’ve got 48 hours. Then I want the help you promised.”

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