#there's supposed to be sparkles in the air

[picklebunbun]

summary; You've had relationship problems with Ratio, even through your wedding preparations. You weren't even sure if you wanted to get married and you ultimately chose to leave him at the alter because you couldn't take it anymore

﹒🪼| ౨ৎ˚₊‧ | ↪ ; cw ; this is supposed to make you cry, implied? cheating?mentions of emotional relationship neglect, Dr. Ratio is upset in this one, everyone is invited except those stupid fucking losers (Jade and Sparkle), even idrilla is there

๋࣭ ⭑ Dr. Ratio x GN Reader, Modern AU, you/yours pronouns, you will be referred to spouse, no AGAB, reader doesn't specifically have a dress or suit but will be implied as a 'bride' { they walk down the aisle and wear white },

{ angel's notes 🪽; I know I've been gone for a long time, I just started freshman year and everything has been piling on, I'll try to make more updates with requests. This took way too long }

lıllılı.ıllı.ılılıılıı.lllııılı.

now playing [fish.]

0:26 ———♡——— 3:50

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italics; thinking | bold; yelling

Silence..

You stare at the stained window, you've been meaning to clean it for a while, but just couldn't find the motivation to do so. The candle by your bedside going out, as you stared at the window for what seems to be hours. Completely empty, eyes growing tired as you continue to patiently wait for your fiance ,

mm,,, no,, that word didn't feel quite right

What else are you supposed to call him anyways? You looked down, of course he did it again, he always does this, what's the point of getting married if you don't have enough time for your partner? If this is what commitment looks like,, then I don't want it

It seemed like the educated man was staying home from work, this always happens, what did you expect? It's not like the relationship was supposed to last this long, you weren't even sure if you wanted to get married in the first place, everything just happened too fast, like everything spiraled in one. Why was it in that moment that you felt so sure that this was the path you wanted to choose? Was it how lonely you were? Veritas wasn't a bad lover, but it would've been preferable if he didn't ignore them most of the time, which was because of work. The thing was , you suspected that there was this co-worker, that Ratio often spent time with, had this crush on him. It was this blonde man, with unbelievably beautiful eyes, flamboyant yet extravagant sense of style, he always smelt like a bakery, vanilla with a hint of floral essence. It definitely made you nervous, it was Aventurine, right?

You brought it up with the Greek man, to which he caressed your back and kissed your panic away. It's not like he's a terrible boyf... err.. fiance. He won't cheat, he's not that type of person. He just has a lot going on, that's why he's at work all the time.. but what if it's to see that shorter man, he could be his type, this is so surreal, I can't feel my face, what do I do? What do I do? I just want to go home..

This deep pit in your stomach became more evident as you..

..held him

Told him that you loved him

Kissed him

You put a hand over their mouth, a jittering feeling over-taking you as you felt more sick. Stop deceiving him like this, he's done so much for you, why can't you see that,

This hollow hole rested in your entire being, nothing had any color. In any moment, there could be an intruder and you wouldn't know, just too distracted by your thoughts swallowing them whole. You grasp for your greasy, unkept hair, been meaning to wash it for days but never got to it. Tears swell up as an air bubble gets lodged in the your throat, gasping for air as you try to get over your anxiety attack, neck feeling sore as you continue soaking in your tears. The room was spinning, it set in on how alone everything was, everything was feeling so uncomfortable now, nothing is correct anymore.

"someone help me.."

a meekly voice erupts,

but no one will hear you

The scenery was beautiful, a vibrant orange and purple sunset cascaded over the venue. It was at a ginormous church, freshly polished ivory walls, decorated with gold linings. The roof was painted with cherubs, faint but noticeable. Golden frames make sure to accentuate the oil painting of Mother Mary. An eccentric church, Dr. Ratio would've pegged it to be a catholic institution, to which, as always, he was correct.

Pillars centering towards the pink blossom archway. Herta was there as well, she just wanted to be there to judge everything rather than being emotional support, you looked at Dr. Ratio inspecting everything, he was always so meticulous about these types of buildings. From what you recalled, Veritas used to think that structures with a maximalist style always had something wrong with the actual structure, he always said that they try to hide something behind all the glamour. It was humiliating just looking at him, the priest and betrothed being exchanged glances as Veritas knocked on the girthy, stained glass. It was art of Jesus Christ with two divine servants at his feet, exquisitely crafted. It was just his way to see how thick and secure it was. The whole church must've taken at least 10 years straight to skillfully complete the entire establishment.

You dove your hands in your pockets. The frost biting at your reddening fingertips, fluffy snow covered the car by now, the weather was not suitable for a warm-welcoming wedding, but it was what Veritas wanted, so that is what he got. To be honest, you didn't really do anything for the planning, Ratio just told you to not worry about preparation and to relax, nothing really interesting these days. you can see the glistering, ivory slush on the exterior of the venue. Veritas' co=workers would think that this would be an immensely magnificent place, being tempted to touch everything.

"Veritas, I think the church is fine"

You sigh out, this was getting too awkward for you.

"Hold on, dear"

The woman in purple robes speaks up, talking to you.

"How much did you spend on this alone?"

"You should ask him, he's been the one doing all the planning"

"How come? You didn't want to be involved?"

"Eh,, it's not that, he just didn't want me to help him I guess"

"Did he not trust you?"

"N...no, it's not that, we just fought a lot about it"

"Is it because of the decorations? Did you not want a wedding?"

You feel throw up come up

"No, no, I do want to get married.."

"Are you sure? If I didn't know any better, I would've assumed that you didn't want to get married"

The porcelain soul giggled, and you gave a half-hearted one. You felt your heart sinking as well, remembering that you did indeed have to marry this man, is it too late to back out? That comment made you stare at the floor, nothing on your mind, it took you aback. You felt your muscles getting heavier with each passing second, it didn't help that every minute you spent at this idiotic place was excruciatingly painful.

You felt your nostrils flare from the rapid heating traveling to your face. The major migraine coming through as you re-play the recent scenarios through your head, flying off the handle. How irritating and bothersome,

Can he just hurry up?

Honestly. How long do I have to wait here for?

The church is completely fine!

Why is he being so dramatic!

This is getting so annoying.

JUST HURRY UP

Your fingers tapped the side of your thigh as your jaw clenches, it would've hurt if your weren't acting like a bear with a sore head. The sole of your shoes aggressively drummed against the polished, marble floors. The ache in your brain was getting worse, god, it was insufferable, just like Ratio's tedious need to check everything in place, it's like you can never win! An exasperated groan escaped your lips.

"Veritas, let's go."

"Hold on, [name]"

Seeming to not pay any mind to your tone, since he was basically measuring the elongated, wooden seats, he responded carelessly.

Oh, he's really in it now.

"Let's go."

"In a minute"

Oh my god?!

"Veritas."

"Just wait-"

you grind your teeth as your anger reaches a boiling point

"DAMN IT! RATIO"

His head whips back, pupils shrink as his eyelids widen. Herta looked at you, judgment coursing through her mind, seems like she wasn't all that surprised, but she still let out a little 'yikes'. You crossed your arms against your chest, you were gripping the sides of your arm sleeves, it felt like they were going to rip off. The echo from your shout faded into obscurity, it was the silence that followed after that seemed to be blaring in your ears. The immense space of the Lord’s house was what made your hollering almost deafening, it would be no surprise if outsiders could’ve heard you. Ratio waits for a second before finally getting up, not wanting to aggravate you even further. You see him dust off any soot that remained stuck on his pants, footsteps approach you, indicating that he’s coming closer, he begins to dubiously suggest to exit, whenever you blew a fuse, it was pretty effortless to lash out.

“Alright, then.. let’s go”

"You two can proceed without me, I'll remain here a while longer"

You lumber to the car, Veritas following behind you. Crunchy, thin layers of snow compressed under your foot. Blusterous winds coming at you, gnawing on your nose and cheeks, your thews were getting numb from the frost. Jesus, how do people live in this weather?! While walking, you took the chance to puff on your stinging hands, the numbness leaving your skin. Oh, how you long to place your hand over a fire, pyro flames crackling from the moisture escaping. Ash would be decorated around the fireplace, it give the comforting feeling that you're back home and never have to leave. The heat would engulf you, hugging you as it protects you from the cold. Not even massaging your upper arms would fully reheat you back, Mother Nature was not gentle this season, attacking outsiders vigorously.

Creased brows adorned Veritas' face, a dip was shown between his eyebrows. His crossed arms and the needless stomping of his feet made it apparent that he was getting exacerbated by the previous predicament. The Greek man's upper half was lunging towards the driver's seat. Ratio used to hold the door for you, it was his way of being polite, you would be lying if you didn't have a soft spot for that tiny habit of his, it'd touch your heart. Although, now, he didn't do it,

The audacity..!

Does he know how he already treats me?

And he's the angry one?

Stop throwing a tantrum Ratio.

Ignoring how you behaved wouldn't make you feel better, but you were just so pent up from Veritas' emotional neglect and the constant worrying about that colleague, especially since he's so flirtatious with him.

Agh! It was so distressing just seeing them together,

I just want to wipe that smug look off his face,

worse part is, Ratio invited him to the wedding,

I told him that he makes me uneasy,

I know he's trying to steal Ratio,

why can't he just listen to me?!

You were getting furious again, the way you slammed the car could've made it obvious enough. You two were truly a match made in heaven to be worked up at the same time. Huffing and puffing in your seats while you two look straight ahead, the scorching temperature in your coat along with the feverishness from your wrathful attitude made it unbearable to stay still, it felt like your skin was being pricked with blazing needles. The tension between you two was so thick that you could cut it with a knife, only god knows how this is going to go down.

" What. Was. That."

You mentally sigh,

"How do you mean?"

"The minor altercation you had esteemed with me at the church—might there be a particular rationale for your current discontent, manifesting in such unseemly volumes directed at me?"

"I.. just wanted to go home"

"Are you so pessimistic as to raise your voice in my presence? I think not."

"Ugh.. I don't want to have this conversation with you.."

"You were quite insistent in having vociferously summoned my attention."

"That's because I didn't feel well and wanted to go home!"

"Might you kindly elucidate the matter that troubles you, or shall you indulge in yet another of your temper tantrums?"

"Why are you this agitated about the fact that I asked if we could go?!"

"Screech not asked."

You shriek in rage, you shuffled in your seat as fire boils up to your cheeks. Sweat beads down your forehead from how overwhelmed you were.

"This epitomizes my point, you have retreated like an infant."

"You keep badgering me expecting an answer but sometimes I just don't want to respond because you have this urge to insult me for how I feel!"

"Such a predicament could have been averted had you communicated with me."

"Ratio! You barely have the time to actually listen, it's like I have to beg you to do it! Even when you do, you NEVER listen You're focused on work and not the wedding, which I originally wanted to help with by the way! You're focused on that slutty, blonde co-worker of yours more than your own future spouse, huh?!"

"Aventurine?! Shall we PERSIST in this discourse? I have conveyed to you that there is no intimate relationship between us. What further assurances do you seek? Am I unable to indulge your desires ?!"

"Why are you acting like it's an issue to comfort me?!"

"It's like I constantly have to console you, it never ends with you!"

"Are you kidding me?! Do you know how Aventurine looks at you, oh my Aeons, Veritas! It's like he's eye-fucking you right in front of me!"

"No he doesn't, this is what you do, you blow everything out of proportion, what is happening with you?!"

"Oh, I'm sure you don't know how I feel because you're too busy spending time with that HOMEWRECKER"

"Stop criticizing him with high-school insults , you're acting like a toddler, [Name]!"

"I can't even believe this, you won't ask why I've been changing but you'll immediately point how how I'm complaining about that blonde bimbo?! Do you even care?!"

"Of course I care, but you insulting my dearest friend won't make you feel better"

dearest friend?!

"Really?! Dearest friend?! HAH! Don't make me laugh!"

"Do you want me to brag about you all the time?! Is that what this is?!"

"You sure as hell don't have a problem talking about Aventurine!"

"DEFENDING him is not the same as complimenting"

"All this time we've been arguing, never ONCE have you mentioned how alone I feel, you've just been focused on that whore!"

"Because I don't know what you want me to say, what more can I do, I can't fix your insecurities for you!"

"I'm not asking you to, I just want you to be there for me!"

" There's always something with you, sometimes it's just draining being with you. I just wish for once you could stop dragging everyone down with you, you've become ill, I can't even recognize you! You just spew ignorance just from this conversation!"

...

Your breath hitches, this sense of betrayal hunches over you. Your voice gets caught in your throat, heart pounding as you could hear it thunderously breaking out of your chest. It's like your consciousness was detached from your whole body, you could feel the water works were coming to you. No control over what your brain decides to do, and you feel pain in your hit you square in the gut, no, he was hitting you in the gut. The utter cruelness you had to reach in order to tell your fiance off because they were discussing their feelings was astounding. Oh, how you wish that you could go back to the espresso scented mornings, and shared baths. Why did everything have to turn out this way,

Why did I have to make it this way

Voice shrill as you accidentally let out a tiny cry. You turn your head to view the car window. The sight was not pleasant, it's an eyesore looking at broken down, rusty cars being trapped in snow. Wore down tires stuck to the road from the frost. and beaten-in dents really accentuated how crappy the car is. The ugliest thing by far were the moldy plazas, the signs were growing mysterious brown stains, it looks like it hasn't cleaned in years.

You could feel Veritas' eyes burning in the back o your skull, the worst feeling is knowing that someone's blue in the face by how your coming off, and the most wretched thing about it is that you know that it's most likely entirely your fault.

Hot teardrops run down your cheeks, trying to simultaneously brush them away with your sleeve. It's not like Ratio would reassure you, whenever you end up crying after an argument, he doesn't. He always said how you brought it upon yourself, that you shouldn't have tried to verbally brawl with him if you were going to end up wailing.

I wish I could call mom right now..

"Are you going to call your mother like you always do?"

He deeply exhales at your foolishness,

You look back at him, a glare goes right for him, your eyes were puffy from how your water blobs overpower your eyes' the drainage system. The hell is wrong with this man?

"None of your business."

"That's what you always do anyways I don't even need to ask."

"To hell with you, it must be nice thinking you've won this dispute, everything is just a competition to you, even your own fiance's feelings."

You breathe out a mini "asshole", the ferocity of your anger was shown from how brutally you shut the car door.

..

This was all a mistake

You weren't supposed to marry him yet

but you can't back out now

what a nasty man...

No no no no no no no no no no no nononononononononono...

It's gone

It's completely gone

I lost it

nonononononononononononononononoNONONONONONO

You were pacing around the room, there was this beautiful golden necklace that disappeared, a thick Singaporean necklace which was plated in diamonds. The center of it all was a beautiful... jade or aventurine gem, You prayed to god that it wasn't an aventurine gem. Despite that, it fit with the jewelry nicely, reflective and a stunning little thing. It was a grim couple of weeks, After that squabble with Veritas, you broke down, it was the late night fretting that really got to you. Fly-aways in your hair became worse, and it was getting really tiring to untangle it every time, it feels like you have to battle with it just to keep it mildly tame.

You placed both your hands on your heartbeat, you couldn't believe this, how did you lose such a treasure in such a short amount of seconds. You've checked EVERYWHERE, under the couch placed in the dressing room, the vanity, the bathroom, behind the potted plants, but nothing. Oh, Aeons, this is the worse, you idiot! how did you lose it this quickly!

Damn it, Ratio is not going to let you hear the end of it

Desperately looking for a sign, something to give you a hint to where it is.

Aeons, please help me..

You've been ready for quite a while, but it was just that one piece that was missing..

AND IT WAS THAT STUPID NECKLACE!

You stumble back, your back calf bumping into the stool seat. You're fingers ravels across your whole face. Is it just you, or is the air getting harder to respire in. Heat flashes overtake you as your blood runs cold. You can hear yourself hyperventilating, wheezes escaping your mouth as you attempt to tranquil yourself. It was hard to exhale in general, each time you felt a puff wander up your esophagus, a sharp, sore pain pricks your nerves. Sweat enclose on your whole body from head to toe, your skin feels extremely sticky, smelling your incredibly slicked hair just from the moisture.

Exceedingly shaky hands try to reach for your ice cold water, contrasting with your heating hands. When the frigid glass met your skin, it startled you, causing you to immediately drop your cup on instinct. Fresh water spilling everywhere, covering decoration pieces and the spotless, clear mirror. You internally curse yourself out before you scream it out,

"SHIT!"

This dramatic gasp was hear, it was you. You try to wipe the water on your expensive outfit, but decided against it. Your enchanting outfit was hand-crafted by Tingyun herself, and she clearly stated that your ivory, platinum attire should not get wet as it would ruin the material. Not really remembering anything after that, all that your brain could muster up was the fox lady making operatic gestures on how absolutely "dangerous" it is to drench the clothing with any fluid.

You can not take that possible risk and ruin the matrimony any longer. This day was just splendid, you have nowhere to wipe your soaked hands, you lost your (almost) husband's vital necklace, and now you're sniffling from the fact that you're about to cry. This day was a mess- no.. maybe it was a sign being wedded was not the ideal situation for your destiny.

I just can't take this anymore,

my makeup is going to get ruined

Aventurine is here

I can't find that damn adornment

I spilt water

I'm just a complete mess..

I.. can't do this anymore..

The trickles of a familiar saline liquid fall down your lashes. Restrained sobs flee from your grasp as you try to stay quiet. Your chest rapidly went up and down, hoping to still your breath, but it didn't work-

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK

AAAAHHHHHHH WHAT THE FUCK!

You shout

"AH!-"

"[Name]? It's Topaz!"

"Uhm- and Aventurine.."

You grimaced just by the mention of his name,

"Ack! Whatever, are you okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah, we heard you crying"

As if you'd fucking care!

"em.. uh.. yeah.. I'm.. okay.."

It got muted, everything was serene. It gives you a chance to catch your breath and tranquilize your state of mind. You view your trembling hands that wouldn't settle themselves. Perturbed eyes that got more damaged from the high concentration of salt.

"[Name]."

"Yeah..?"

"Please don't lie to me"

...

"Sorry... You guys can come in"

You swiftly swab away your tears, nose sniffling. Your throat felt sticky with the mucus covering it. This uncontrollable throbbing pain was getting more apparent, it was vague but you could still undoubtedly feel it. The blaring illumination from the vanity mirror was just making it worse. It's like a hangover, maddening and agonizing, you have to wait all day until the bothersome migraine flees away.

The door creaks open, this sudden pain shoots through your ears and brain from the mosquito-like noise. Topaz was wearing this beautiful silk dress, flashy but sophisticated, gleaming gold arches on her dress are placed on her rib area. this exquisitely detailed pendant was connected to a shiny, band on her neck. It was all decorated in a French-style.

Topaz had this uneased expression on her face, she rushed her way towards you. The woman didn't have time to pull up a chair, her friend was in distress, and as a bridesmaid, she was determined to drop everything to aid you. Her manicured hand rests on your cheek, it's soft, and strangely comforting.

Aventurine, on the other hand, was standing near the doorway. He had this floral embroidered waistcoat, it was a dusty pink, damn he looked good. Under the vest, a puffy, Ouji dress shirt fit nicely with the rest of the outfit. It was a pristine, pale color, everything about his attire just screamed polished. Reflective, blonde locks were ornamented with blooming hairpieces.

"What happened? Are you nervous about the wedding? Oh, I'm sure Dr. Ratio will think your absolutely gorgeous-"

"-No.. no.. no, it's just that.. I lost this stupid necklace that Veritas gave me. I can't find it anywhere, and I'm scared that he'll get mad at me.."

Topaz and Aventurine exchanged troubled glances.

"Ah... well.. uhm, I'm sure he won't get mad!"

Easy for you to say!

"He'll only get mad if you don't tell him early on"

Oh, I'm sure you'd know, Aventurine.

"Right! We should tell him now!"

..What

"W.. What?! No!"

"Don't worry it'll be fine! If you tell him right now then you won't have to worry after! I'll be back!"

"Wait! Topaz!"

You reach out to pull her back, but her wrist disappears before you can even touch it. Topaz picks a bit of her dress up so her heels wouldn't trap it, it was a floor-length, dark, barbie pink, it was also provided by Tingyun, for free at that.

There was this mortified look on your face, your eyelids were expansive. The world was crumbling right before you, ready to get faced with Veritas' disastrous fury. Lava would be swarming over you if he found out, Aeons, he'd be so inflamed with you.

My life is so over.

Your heart was going up your esophagus, you can feel it pulsing with all it's power. Your organs can feel the impending doom coming up, your stomach was bubbling, your lungs were rapidly gasping for air, your brain was panicking, all these scenarios were running through your head.

Your head was down, you can't even look at him, you'd just turn into a pitiful goop on the floor, stuck to it for eternity. Aventurine was still in the room, unsure of what to do. He had the idea that you did despise the very existence of him, so he wasn't sure if he should even dab your skin with his velvet glove.

You hear heels clacking

she's coming back, and with Ratio, you presume

Oh no

Are you going to vomit or burp

Either way something's coming up

"Topaz, what was so urgent that you had to rush me over to my future spouse's dressing room"

?

huh.. ?

"It's just something important!"

You can hear a snort come up, it seemed to be Aventurine.

What's so funny, Aventurine.

"What's so funny, Aventurine?"

"Just the new 'sunglasses' you have, they really fit you, Doctor~"

He purrs at Dr. Ratio, what the hell is wrong with him?!

He's basically making ou- wait what? Sunglasses?

You pick your head up

what the?!

There it was, Topaz, on her tippy toes, her hands barely reaching his eyebrows. Her whole body was strained just to cover his eyes. It seemed like Ratio had to bend his knees a bit just so she had an easier time.

"Topaz, please uncover my eyes"

"No can do! You can't see them before the wedding, it's bad luck!"

I think this whole ceremony is an indication of bad luck

You hear Veritas sigh

"What's the problem that was so critical for me to hear"

Topaz gestures for you to say it, her eyes beaming bright, and a supportive smile dousing her lips.

uhm..

"Uh.. uhm.."

"Hm?"

"Uhm.."

...

"I might've lost the necklace you gave me..."

"Dear, I can't hear you if you speak so quietly"

"I.. lost the necklace.."

"What?"

"I lost the.. necklace you gave me..:

"."

...

"Excuse me?"

Ouhhh....

"I.. uhm.."

"What is wrong with you?! Do you just lose everything that I give you?!"

Your head immediately perks up to look at him.

"It was just a-"

"[Name], I give you a necklace ESPECIALLY for YOU to wear. How. Do. You. Lose. It."

"I did have it, you don't have to yell at me!"

"CLEARLY, not since you just somehow lost it, how insolent do you have to be"

"ok, Doctor-"

"Not now, Aventurine."

"You make enough money to buy a second one, It's not like I lost it on purpose!"

"It's not that, it's the fact that you're so FORGETFUL that you just misplace ANYTHING I give you. You have to be more responsible I can't KEEP HOLDING YOUR HAND"

"STOP YELLING AT ME"

The Doctor rips Topaz's hands of his face

"Ratio!-"

"It seems that you didn't lose your phone, what? Are you gonna call your mom again?!"

"Why do you keep bringing her up?!"

"Because, you ALWAYS RUN from your problems"

"I DON'T RUN, YOU'RE JUST NEVER THERE"

"THIS AGAIN, HONESTLY, STOP ACTING LIKE A CHILD"

...

"..."

".. I'm going back, get ready."

"..."

You can hear his formal, polish, black leather shoes tromp on the floor, and even louder was the thunderclap following the door slam. You flinched, now hyper-aware of everything, it's like your lungs were feebly inhaling, hands cupped up as they were placed upon your chest. Little sharp coughs release the ache in your throat walls, a corrosive feeling in your eyes weren't as tormenting as the images of Ratio's expressively wrathful face.

Low sobs were getting muffled from the seclusion of your hands. Your back was hunched, legs pressed together tightly, like sardines. It's like someone punched the air right out of you, making it difficult to breathe through your blubbering, messy breakdown.

"Oh, geez, uhm- here, [Name]"

You could hear Topaz's fancy heels making their way towards you. She lifts your head up and leisurely wipes your tears away with a soft, cotton tissue.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's going to be okay. He's just stressed because it's his big day. Before you know it, everything will end up perfect, this is just a little hiccup, you'll be okay"

"Oh, shoot.. make sure their make-up doesn't get ruined.."

Aventurine makes his way over to you, he dabs your cheeks with his finger to fix your blush.

"You look so beautiful, [Name]"

"Yeah, Ratio will realize how pretty you are"

"Hey, do you think the church would know if a cherub figure was missing?"

"Depends on how big it is"

"It's pretty tiny, it so pretty though, I just want to snatch it up!"

muffled

..

Aeons, they're so annoying

Could you just stop talking

Stop touching my face.

Stop touching my hair.

Stop it,

Stop it, stop it,

StopstopstopstopstopstopstopstOPSTOPSTOPSTOPSTOP IT STOP IT I DON'T LIKE THIS

"CAN YOU JUST LEAVE ME ALONE?!"

The duo's hands abruptly pause. trembling hands reach your face, feeling your wet cheeks, Your whole body was shuddering from the aggravation coursing through your body. You can feel your entire head tottering uncontrollably, hot flashes coming in and out.

"Wh-"

"I just can't,,,- do this anymore!"

You shove their hands away as you rose up from your seat, your leg bulldozing the seat out of the way, almost tripping on the way to the bathroom.

"Wait! Are-"

SLAM

...

Wedding bells ring, piercing through your ears. This church was aged, the bells were still intact, the workers were taking special care of this long-lived building. It was a truly magnificent venue, as elegant as Dr. Ratio, or, at least his tastes. The perfume of the bouquet was infiltrating your nostrils,

EVERYONE was invited, even idrila, which was who Argenti was looking for, anyone could see that rose-headed knight searching around. His armor was getting noisy, irritating the guests. Topaz was a bridesmaid, and Screwllum was the best man, right by the groom's side. Clara was the most excited, other than Ratio, she was a flower girl. Pink, sparkly, blossoming mini-heels, they weren't the cheap princess ones that toddlers usually get for their birthday party, but instead made of the most intricate crystals. Her dress was completely pink with a blinging gemstone tiara to match her curly up-do.

It was a full house, something that made you nervous. You didn't feel your best, or looked your best, this contagious feeling of suspense was pulling you back. Oh no, this isn't what you wanted, this isn't what you should have.

You found the damned necklace, you should be thrilled that you discovered it. You should be cheerful that you're going to finally marry this man.

You should be..

But you're not.

You were devoid of any happiness, the sight of his face makes you sick. Even worse, the sight of him with that enchantress makes you get more ill. Veritas isn't the right one, you should've said something a long time ago.

Your legs unconsciously move back,

You have to walk the aisle

Oh Aeons, the music's starting

You have to stay

No

You have to move, this isn't how you'll live you're life

You don't deserve this anymore

Move

MOVE

All of a sudden, The carnations and roses got launched on the floor, the petals falling off. Such exquisiteness shouldn't merit such treatment, but neither should you. Your back slouched, like someone gagging over a sink, knees buckled. Sweat beading in your forehead, hands vigorously gripping that stupid necklace.

Diamonds falling everywhere, little thuds appearing on the red carpet.

..

Veritas' huffed out some frustration, fixing his collar. Today was supposed to be perfect, but he ruined it by squalling at his fiance. How stupid could he honestly be, it was really just a necklace, not even a valuable heirloom. He had to confess, he was a little tense from the amount of people present. Ratio was never the uneasy one, it was usually you, he just spewed pride, whether it was his intelligence or his body. Even worse, you were most likely disturbed from how he treated you.

He mentally facepalms himself from how idiotic he was being. The Grecian has noticed your deteriorating psychological state, he shouldn't have triggered it any longer.

The man noticed everyone rubbing their arms, he should've turned on the heater. It was terribly frigid, icicles could form inside the church if they wanted to. Normally, Veritas wouldn't even notice how chilly it was, always setting the thermostat 60 or below. You used to reprimand him, complaining about that he lives with another person and how he should stop changing it to a frosty temperature.

However, he was amazingly stubborn, so he continued doing it. In the winter, it was a nuisance to deal with. It was so fatiguing tackling the heavy snow and dense ice off your tires so your car could move, and it was worse coming home to a house that was the same degree as Antarctica.

Silly bickers would arise from it, but no matter how many disputes you two had, it seemed that the scholar would rather that than even consider raising the thermostat. It's not like it was that alone

Every single time, his hardheadedness got the best of him, and he'd only be left with nobody but himself

Dr. Ratio saw how queasy Topaz and Aventurine were. First of all, the blonde man was rubbing his neck and keep messing with his watch, Topaz eyes darted everywhere, she tapped her foot on the ground rapidly.

Huh, it seems like the ceremony was about to begin

Ratio fixed himself up as much as he could.

,,,

It seemed like you were a little late.

.

..

...

Uh..

Everyone immediately looked at the man.

The worst was true to come.

You weren't there.

He looks at Topaz,

She looks back, a petrified look appears on her face,

He looks at Aventurine,

This surprised look appears on his face.

Oh no,

Ratio finally realized

..

You were gone

and so was your mother.

,,

A few gasps were heard, everyone knew what happened

Veritas rushes behind the marble doors, it was extreme in weight, but no match for Ratio

..

All he saw, was a broken necklace and a destroyed bouquet on the floor.

[stuiie]

Happy Halloween - The Color of You

Words: 1084 Warnings: None Authors note: Since we're in the wrong season for TCOY, I put together this little one-shot for you! I’ve been super busy this weekend, so it's a bit short but I hope you’ll enjoy it anyway!

You were late—catastrophically late—and you knew it as you sprinted down the sidewalk, trying your best to ignore the surprised stares from strangers. But it was impossible to avoid their looks with the bright yellow feathers sticking out in every direction. Still, you pressed on, making a heroic dash to Wanda and Natasha’s place, desperately hoping to blend into the Halloween crowd.

The second you burst through the door, you crashed right into Yelena, who took one look at you and exploded with laughter, doubling over as she struggled to catch her breath.

“Oh my god!” she choked, tears already forming at the corners of her eyes. “What… what are you supposed to be? A giant canary? Big Bird’s love child?” She gasped for air, holding her stomach as she shook with laughter.

You looked down, flushed with embarrassment, and tugged at the bright yellow costume. “It’s a duck costume,” you muttered, pulling the hood over your head a little more defensively. “Nat and Wanda wanted me to wear it,” you grumbled, making a small face as Yelena slid to the floor laughing hysterically. “Come on, it’s not that funny!”

“Oh, trust me Ducky, it’s even funnier than you think,” Yelena managed, practically rolling around with laughter. She pointed around the room where, of course, everyone was dressed in sleek, stylish, and effortlessly cool costumes. Even Yelena looked fierce in her assassin’s outfit complete with silver daggers. Meanwhile, you… looked like you’d waddled straight out of a children’s petting zoo, feeling the warm flush of embarrassment rise up your neck.

You were about to protest when you heard familiar footsteps approaching.

“What’s going on out here?” came Wanda’s voice, her tone as smooth and soothing as always. She stepped around the corner, her gorgeous sorceress costume catching the light, and froze the moment her eyes fell on you.

Oh no.

Wanda’s hand flew up to her mouth, her emerald eyes sparkling with amusement. A small smile curved her lips as she called out, “Natasha, you have to come see this!”

Seconds later, Natasha appeared, her dark, glittering assassin attire matching Yelena’s, every inch of her the picture of deadly elegance. When her gaze fell on you, her jaw dropped, then her lips slowly spread into an amused smile as her eyes flickered to Wanda who approached you.

“Look at you, my sweet little duckling. I could just eat you up,” Wanda cooed, stepping closer and brushing a few yellow feathers off your cheek. Her eyes danced with barely contained laughter, but she still softened her voice as if she were speaking to a precious little pet. “Aren’t you just the cutest little thing?”

Yelena was practically in tears now. You nudged her with your oversized webbed foot, trying to fight the rising blush in your cheeks. “It’s not funny,” you hissed, although even you had to admit you probably looked ridiculous.

“Oh, it absolutely is,” Natasha chuckled, stepping closer with a glint in her eye. “You’re literally our little duckling now, all fluffy and bright!” She reached out and gave your cheek a playful pinch, and you batted her hand away with an indignant pout.

“Don’t act so surprised!” you protested, trying to salvage what little dignity you had left. “The note said I was supposed to wear this. It was signed by both of you!”

Natasha raised her eyebrows, exchanging a glance with Wanda, who was now biting her lip so hard she might’ve drawn blood. “Darling, what are you talking about?” Natasha said, inspecting the yellow fuzz with barely contained glee.  “We didn’t send you that costume. But I must say, it’s quite a look on you.” 

Wanda’s hand slid down to her hip as she eyed you, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. “Whoever sent it clearly knew how to pick the perfect look for you, sweetie,” she teased. “But I think we would have remembered if we had chosen something so… memorable.”

You narrowed your eyes, your mind racing through possible suspects. Just then, you heard the sound of heels clicking on the floor behind you, and you turned to find Val, dressed to the nines in a jet-black suit with a snakes for hair like Medusa. Her eyes practically gleamed as she took in the sight of you.

“Ah, there’s the little duckling,” came Val’s smooth, rich voice, laced with dark amusement. She leaned casually against the doorway, taking in your feathered costume with an expression of barely contained delight. Her eyes glinted wickedly, dark and amused, as she folded her arms and smiled. “I’ll be honest, I was betting you’d just wear something cute. But this?” She smirked, gesturing to the yellow fur. “This is adorable.”

You stared at her, feeling the flush creep back into your cheeks as the pieces fell into place. “Val…” you began, your tone a mix of accusation and mortification. She raised a brow, the corner of her mouth curling up even further. “This… this wasn’t your idea, was it?”

“Oh, darling,” Val cooed, tilting her head as her dark eyes sparkled with a wicked delight, “I could never resist such an opportunity. It’s Halloween, after all. And look at you, I just knew the sweet little duckling suit would look absolutely perfect on you. And judging by the reactions, I’d say I was right.”

Natasha chuckled, shaking her head. “Oh, Val, you’re absolutely wicked.”

Wanda leaned close, wrapping an arm around you and whispering with a playful smile, “She may be wicked, but our little duckling looks adorable.” She tapped your nose gently, her expression warm and affectionate. “And now everyone can see how cute you are.”

Mortified yet secretly touched, you let out a resigned sigh and accepted your new role as the group’s beloved duckling. With Wanda and Natasha linking their arms through yours, they led you deeper into the Halloween party, ignoring the amused glances from the other guests.

Across the room, Val raised her glass to you with a amused smirk, her dark eyes gleaming in the dim light. You shook your head with a rueful grin, flicking her off with a smile as she playfully snapped her teeth in response, her grin only widening.

And then, just as you were starting to relax, Natasha pulled you in for a soft, lingering kiss. Your heart fluttered, and you couldn’t help but smile against her lips, feeling the warmth of their affection settle around you like a cozy embrace as Wanda’s fingers trailed down your back.

Maybe being their little duckling wasn’t so bad… at least for one night.

[siriaeve]

Over the years, Nicky had learned that one of the foolproof methods for tracking down a misplaced Joe was to go in the direction of the nearest hubbub. The technique worked this time, too. Nicky rounded a stand of flowering lavender bushes to find Joe surrounded by what seemed like every child in the park, all of them chattering and laughing at once. Joe's beanie was threatening to slip off his head, his shirt sleeves rolled up, and he was fiddling with the frame of a very large kite. It was striped in every colour of the rainbow, and its tail was decorated with clusters of gold and silver paper streamers.

Nicky hadn't expected to find both Joe and a kite, but his husband was a man of many surprises. Since this particular surprise didn't seem to involve blades or fire or a battalion of soldiers—or, to be fair, the sudden acquisition of a dozen goats or a carpenter's workshop or a sloop called the Eileen—Nicky decided to stand back and watch as Joe finished the repairs. It was one of the pleasures of Nicky's long life, to admire Joe in moments like this: lit up from the joy of accomplishing some small thing, fingers deft and eyes bright. He smiled to himself.

The day was windy. When Joe tossed the fixed kite up in the air, the currents caught it almost at once and a great cheer went up from the children. The gilt streamers on the kite's tail sparkled in the sunlight. Nicky found himself tilting his head back to admire it as it soared. Joe stood there a little while, making sure that his repairs held and that the older kids now had a better sense of how to fly the thing without damaging it, before handing around some coins and then jogging back to Nicky. He was followed by a chorus of thank yous and bye, Mr Yusufs.

"Sorry, sorry, it got caught in a tree," Joe said, pressing a kiss to Nicky's cheek. "I had to get it down and help them. No kite left behind."

"Of course," Nicky said, nodding. "And the money?"

"Well, I couldn't let them fly a kite without having an ice cream afterwards," Joe said, tugging his beanie back down properly on his head. A little tuft of dark curls hung down over his forehead regardless. "That wouldn't be right!"

"It would be a terrible violation of tradition," Nicky said solemnly, as if they hadn't broken as many traditions as they had outlasted or invented in their time together. He took Joe's hand in his as they walked away. "And I suppose we cannot violate the other great tradition, either."

"Which one is that?" said Joe.

"The noble repairer of a kite must be rewarded for their work with an ice cream of their own."

Joe dimpled. "A '99?"

"One with two Flakes stuck in it," Nicky promised, and Joe laughed.

And over their heads, the kite soared on: a splash of glorious colour against the noonday sky.

[juniefruit]

☆ Caught in a Web ☆

☆ Spiderman! Jisung x fem! reader 18+

☆ Summary: Peter Jisung Han lived a double life. One, as your best friend since first grade. Second, as New York's one-and-only Spider-Man. For the past few years, his life has been... well, complicated. It only gets more complicated when you see something you weren't supposed to which, surprisingly, had some pleasurable consequences.

☆ Warnings: Kind of silly, monster encounter, friends to lovers, mutual pining, ji and reader are in college, piv, making out, fast progression, for mature audiences ONLY. MDNI.

☆ Word Count: 3.3k

☆ Notes: this has been a wip for soo long I thought about scrapping it. Posting it now to just finally get it out of my drafts. Couldn't decide on whether to keep the smut or not. But hey it's here so: smut readers, enjoy!

Police sirens.

Cars honking. Incessantly. 

Subway cars screeching to a halt under your feet.

Skyscrapers towering above the crown of your head. 

That was New York. Your humble city, the one that never sleeps. You know who also doesn’t sleep? Jisung. Your best friend you met your first year of Uni. Attached at the hip, you could probably complete each other’s sentences– if the other would ever stop talking. 

University was its own battle, but having Jisung around made things that much easier. He lived in the apartment complex across the street, and sometimes you’d see the lights on in his window way past reasonable hours. But his skin was flawless nonetheless- not a dark circle in sight, not even on bad days. You could go on and on about him, his perfect hair, warm eyes, bubbly laugh. You would gush about him to your best friend- but you can’t, because he is that friend. So, you’re stuck screaming into your pillow from his astronomical charms. 

The news anchor’s voice cuts through the air, the TV against your wall flashing with another breaking news headline. When your eyes scan the title, you grin. Spider-man saves dozens in East Manhattan, it reads. With a sparkle in your eyes, you phone Jisung. He never picks up anyway. But you couldn’t stay mad at him, no– not when he flashes you a lopsided smile and promises to buy you dinner as an apology. 

7:53p.m:

You: Yo r u seeing this?? Spiderman’s on the east side!!

Missed Call

Missed Call

Missed Call

You wouldn’t call yourself a Spiderman fanatic– you just give credit where credit’s due. Try telling that to Jisung– In reality, you were enthralled with the masked man. He was just so cool and personable. He swung so gracefully through the city, catching everything from petty criminals to monsters even your nightmares couldn’t conjure up. You could see the outline of all his hard work under that skin-tight exo-suit, too. He handled news reporters like a champ- always knew what to say and how to leave you breathless. Until he swung off into a dark alley, until the next time his presence was needed. 

You had given up on calling Jisung, knowing he was probably gaming or sleeping and couldn’t reach his phone. It was only until the news had moved on to the next headline that you felt the buzz of your phone, which you threw onto the other side of your bed in annoyance. Of course you picked up.

“Hey, y/n! Wanna tell me all about it?” Jisung spoke, almost too enthusiastic for how out of breath he was.

“Uh, yeah! Did you see that spin kick he did? It was mid-air too! And he totally demolished that one—” Jisung zoned you out, back against the brick wall, hand gripping his mask. A drop of sweat rolled down his temple as he caught his breath, silently. “Where even are you?” Your voice raised in annoyance. “And out of breath too?” Jisung looses a breathy laugh. 

“Just went out on a run, cutie. Don’t you worry, I’ll be back soon.” 

You don’t sound too convinced. “Okay… Just don’t get mugged.”

“I’ll try. Still on for lunch tomorrow?” Your heart skips a beat for no particular reason. You agreed and said your goodbyes, but you didn’t sleep until you saw the lights turn on in Jisung’s apartment. The next morning, the crisp air had a slight chill to it, indicating the beginning of fall. Maybe you were imagining it, but everything had that autumn vibe to it. The streets weren’t overly crowded yet, as you waited in line at the coffee shop on the corner. Class was starting in a few minutes. 

“y/n, wait up!” You recognized Jisung’s voice from behind you. He had a scarf wrapped around his neck and shoulders in a warm brown color that suited him well. “Walk with me?” You nodded, sipping your warm drink. It was too early for this, you thought. You enjoyed the comfortable silence, and so did he. Class was okay… But it was always better when Jisung cracked a joke or two about that one kid who always raised his hand, or the typo in the professor’s slideshow. The day trudged along, until you were back in your brick wall apartment, Jisung splayed across your bed while you sat crisscrossed on your side. Occasionally, you mindlessly glanced over at the various band posters on your walls, or the fairy lights above your desk.

“Do you ever think we’ve walked past spiderman, not knowing it was him?” You spoke whatever came to mind. 

“Uh, I don’t know, probably.” Jisung put on his best unamused voice. 

“I hope he’s hot.” You sigh, dreamily. He chokes on air. “What?” You ask, turning to him, faking annoyance.

“That’d be great, yeah.” He laughed at the absurdity of the situation. 

“I mean, look at him! He’s got sooo many muscles!” You gesture to the TV, going through the daily Spiderman-appreciation segment. Jisung rolled his eyes. He really didn’t get the hype. All he wanted was to stop these dumb monsters and go on with his day. Maybe if the news didn’t blow him up so much, he would’ve told you already. But he can’t risk it. 

“I’ve got muscles too, you know.” He didn’t want you to like Spiderman, he wanted you to like him. God forbid he gets a little jealous sometimes, even if he is technically getting jealous of himself. 

“Yeah, but are you spiderman?” You ask, jokingly. 

“Uh-” Jisung stammers. He was never good with confrontation. His heart was beating too fast and his ears were getting red. Breathing was getting difficult.

“That’s what I thought.” You fold your arms in victory. 

“Goodnight, y/n.” Jisung got up from the bed in a hurry, shuffling over to where his shoes were by the door.

“Eh? Did I say something? Whatever it was, I’m really sorry-!” The sound of the door slamming cut you off. You raced over to your bedroom window, and waited until you saw the lights in his apartment turn on. It might’ve been stupid, but you tore a piece of paper out of your notebook, and in big sharpie ink, wrote, ‘sorry :(‘ and taped it to your window before getting ready for bed. 

The next morning, Jisung had to blow off some steam. Quite the overthinker, he was. He didn’t see your message posted on your window, practically jumping into his suit and pulling his mask on, the rising sun set a golden glow across his form as he swung between stone brick walls and fancy office building glass. Leaves were turning various hues of red, orange and yellow. They fell like confetti from the tree branches that lined the streets. Screw my morning class, he thought, he could always pull an all-nighter to catch up. His superhuman energy meant he rarely felt tired. In the corner of his vision, the neighborhood coffee shop caught his eye. He could really go for a bagel. It’s gonna be one hell of a morning for the people in there, he thought as he swung down, and opened the door with a chime. Walking up to the counter clad in his suit and mask, the barista was too busy writing on a cup to acknowledge him, but he could hear the hushed whispers and surprised gasps of the cafe patrons. 

“Welcome in, what can I get for you?” “Lemme get uhh-” 

Jisung got that sudden feeling across his skin, like a wave of electricity. Something was about to happen. 

BANG! 

A loud explosion right outside, some of the window panes cracked. The ground shook in a deep rumble. So much for that bagel. Sprinting outside, A large crack in the asphalt was billowing steam. A little farther down, A heavy creature made of stone and mud was stomping down the road, laughing maniacally. Attempting an ambush, Spiderman launched a web at its back. Almost instantly the web string got stuck in the mud and was enveloped by the creature. Oh. At that, the monster stopped trodding, and slowly turned around. It had a face of assorted rough stones, kind of like a snowman. Jisung sighed. Alright, plan B. 

“Oh my god!” You shrieked at the TV from your quaint living room, watching the fight go down on the live news broadcast. Sat in your comfy pajamas, you had decided to take today easy. Until now. Spiderman was leaping across building walls, launching strike on strike onto the monster. The cameraman was shaky, but you didn’t seem to care, as your eyes trailed every movement of spiderman’s agile maneuvers. All of a sudden you gasped, an idea striking you faster than a lightning bolt. If I leave now, I might have enough time to get there and meet spiderman in person! Frantically running to your closet, you changed into something lightweight and casual. Booking it down the apartment stairs and onto your bike, you recognized the location of the fight because that’s where you and Jisung would always get bagels after your morning class. The thought made you smile. Approaching the scene, you could hear the buzz of commotion. Right as you rounded the corner, you saw it: masses of mud and stone flying everywhere, shattering windows and denting cars. Steam was rolling off the creature, as if the sun was making it dry up. You abandoned your bike and quietly walked closer. They haven’t noticed you yet. That is, until one hit from the creature caught Jisung off guard and he tumbled onto the cement sidewalk, grunting on impact. You gasped in shock, covering your mouth. His mask scraped against the cement, ripping on the side, exposing his left side completely. The more he tried to fix it, the worse it got, until he angrily shoved the mask off with an annoyed look on his face. 

“Happy now?!” He shouted. There were little scapes littering his cheeks from the rubble. The monster grumbled in response. 

“Jisung?” His head whipped around at the sound of your confused voice. 

“Y/n-” Oh shit. Oh, this was bad. Of all people, he thought. “Y/n, get back-!” His voice was strained as the monster launched another attack. He jumped out of the way, closer to you. “Just- run, please!” He exclaimed. You stood there, staring at eachother for a few seconds to confirm that that was really him and that you were really you. Reluctantly, you stepped back before Jisung ran after the monster. Your knees felt weak and you could feel your lungs running out of oxygen. You heard fire truck sirens quickly approaching, and the rest was a blur. 

When you woke, the first thing your brain acknowledged was the plush feeling of your mattress under your fingertips. It didn’t make sense, but it was comfortable. Slowly opening your eyes, you took a deep breath in, mumbling something incoherent. The blinds in the window were only half closed, letting in the warm glow of the setting sun. Confused and tired, you tried picking yourself up, until a voice to your right interrupted your movement.

“Hey, take it easy,” Instead of making you feel giddy like it usually does, Jisung’s gentle voice made something like anxiety swirl in the pit of your stomach. He got up from his seat by your desk, walking over to lean closer. 

“Do you feel okay?” He asked, eyes cautious. You must have been out for a few hours, because the scratches on his face were cleaned up, and his hair was neatly done. His silver drop earrings dangled in the light. 

“No.” The anger was strating to set in. 

“Alright.” He figured it was better for him to be quiet right now.

“Care to explain?” Or not, Jisung thought. Your voice was slightly hoarse, not an ounce of humor in the tone.

“I’m, uh, I’m… Spiderman?” He shrugged his shoulders and smiled nervously. 

“You’re joking,” You don’t sound amused.

“You saw me yourself! You weren’t supposed to, but you did!” His hands waved in the air to defend himself. You groaned, running a hand along your face.

“Do you even know how embarrassing this is for me? I wanna die.” You whined in annoyance. All the times thirsting over him, screaming over him, and he means to tell you they're the same person? You’ve had a crush on two people, but it’s actually one? “You probably think I’m a major loser.” He loosed a breathless laugh at your confession. 

“You know I would never think that.” He spoke with certainty. And you believed him. Mostly. “You’re my best friend. I think you’re, like, the coolest person ever. And hey, I won't lie, you also give me the biggest ego boost when you talk about how much you loooove Spiderman’s muscles.” 

“Shut up!!” You swatted him away, but he didn’t budge. He snickered at your annoyed state. Teasingly, he pushed even closer, making you giggle. Your arms wrestled against his, until he tumbled onto the bed with you. Reluctantly, he let you catch your breath, laying shoulder to shoulder.

“You’re still my best friend, right?” You confessed. Truth be told, this was a huge reveal on Jisung's part. If he had to cut you off for your sake, it wouldn’t be easy, but you’d manage. You understood how troubling life in the spotlight is. He turned towards you, and you could almost feel his breath on your skin. It sent goosebumps up your spine. 

“Yeah, I am. Of course I am.” His voice was just above a whisper, but he spoke with confidence.

“What if the news thinks I’m your girlfriend? You know how they are,” You rolled your eyes at the melodramatic tendencies of American news media. 

“Would that… be so bad?” Jisung braced himself for the worst. He honestly wasn’t prepared for this, but if not now, when? You knew everything about him. Well, you do now. You were the one person he could truly let his guard down around and really be himself. You knew about all his favorite bands, his order at the corner shop, or even the route he takes to class that specifically avoids the news broadcasting station. He liked you. Like, liked you. There was really no other word for it. 

“I’ll never let anything happen to you, y/n. I’ll make sure of it.” 

He looked down at you with a wide, thoughtful gaze. His heart was racing. You finally let your brain catch up to your heart when you leaned in closer. He let you do so, but not moving an inch himself. Frankly, he was petrified. You carefully pressed your lips against his, measuring his reaction. It was only when you pulled away, your eyes scanning his face hesitantly, that he was thrown back down to earth from the euphoria that was you. He chased your lips as his brows furrowed in concentration, his warm palms coming up to cup your cheeks. You let out a hum in surprise, arching into him to feel his upper body against yours. The front of his body felt firm and defined even over the fuzzy sweater.

Jisung quickly became addicted to your body. He moved one palm lower, swiping over your neck and moving your hair out of the way in the process. He moved down; down your shoulder and to your waist. There, he squeezed you, trying to feel you through the barrier that was your sweater. Moving further down and stilling at your hip, he felt the edge of your jeans, wiggling his hand under the sweater to feel your soft lower waist. He let out a heavy exhale at the touch, and he didn’t even realize how big the tent in his jeans had gotten until you squirmed against him. He shifted your position so you were on your back against the bed, his hands exploring your body until they came to rest right under your bra. Jisung sprawled out above you, his sweater clung to his broad shoulders as he tried to regain his breath for the few short seconds his mouth wasn’t on yours. 

“Still wanna see Spiderman’s muscles?” He grinned above you, out of breath. The desire in his eyes was unmistakeable, but with a hint of playfulness too.  

“You’re insufferable.” You huffed, grabbing handfuls of the fluffy blue sweater and pulling it up and off his head. The planes of his chest overwhelmed your vision, his smooth skin driving you wild. His biceps bulged as he pulled your shirt off, his eyes drinking in your figure, scanning up and down. Impatiently, his fingers thread themselves into the belt loops of your jeans, tugging them down. You did the same to him. His hips were grinding against you in waves, like he couldn’t control himself. Your legs spread as far as possible to hold him closer. Jisung could feel the slow, aching throb spread through his dick, hissing through a clenched jaw. Your core felt his bulge, wetness sticking to your folds almost uncomfortably. Your hand glided against your hip until it reached the gusset of your panties to pull them to the side, holding them there. Pushing his boxers down, he finally slid his length through your lower lips, catching against your clit. One of his hands was balanced against your hip, thumb drawing circles against the skin. He leaned down to press a passionate kiss to your lips before his face moved to the side of your face, his deep breaths right by your ear. Pushing into your hole, he took his time adjusting. He moved slowly, shoulders shaking from the anticipation, whining through sealed lips. 

“Sungie, you don’t have to wait-” You whined, squirming slightly. 

“Shh, just let me have this moment,” He comforted you with a hand on your shoulder, his eyes closing from pleasure- Forcing himself to stay still despite the primal itch to just get on with it. The thrum of anticipation felt shockingly good. After a few moments pass, he drags the heavy weight of his cock out of your walls only to sensually thrust back in. Then, it was like the floodgates opened. Jisung gasped, starting to thrust in and out, his pace gradually speeding up. His hips rhythmically lift upwards to hit your lower belly, thighs slapping against your spread cheeks. Your moans kept him grounded, otherwise he feared he would lose himself in euphoria. His voice grew raspy the longer he groaned and moaned. His pace didn’t falter, even while your arms snaked up to wrap around his shoulders, bringing him closer. Your fingers wrapped around that little silver chain he always wears and tugged lightly. His dick reached deeper as he pressed himself against you, body hitting yours in all the right places. Your thighs lifted up to press against his outer hips, your walls squeezing with each push of pleasure from him. 

“I’m, ah, close y/n-”. He hummed, lips pressed against the column of your neck. When your core squeezed around him, he whimpered at the feeling of his impending release.

“You can let go Sungie,” Your palm reassuringly rubbed against his broad back, feeling up the hard working muscles at the same time. His sounds grew higher in pitch until he eventually snapped, his pleasure triggering yours like a domino. For what seemed like hours, the only thing you could perceive was Jisung’s heaving form above you, and the climbing steps of your orgasm that finally crashed down in one fell swoop. Cum and slick gushed out and coated your joined bodies as you caught your breaths. With a hum, you looked over Jisung’s shoulder to realize the muted TV was still on the local news channel. He gave you a short kiss to your spit slicked lips before rolling to the side.

“Jisung?”

“Yeah?”

“Your face is all over the news.”

“Oh shit.”

Check my masterlist for more!

Warning: Everything I post is 100% my original writing & thoughts. This also includes the moodboards at the beginning, that I create. Please do not plagiarize or copy. Tag for inspiration or add-ons. Reblogs are appreciated! <3

[badger-tales]

An Initial Spark//S.B x Reader

A/n: so like i know electronics dont work at hogwarts but i feel like its on brand for sirius to ask for her number despite this!!

Request: @siriuslycaptainofthedawntreader

hiiiii👅 its kinda a long story but a few weeks ago this boy asked for my number and we started talking a lot and i started to like him and mind you he had feelings for me forst and then he started walking me to my classes and he asked me out on a date, but then i confessed to him that i liked him and he told me he loved me but he wanted to focus on school and he said it wasnt a good idea to go on a date and that he should stop walking me to class so that im also focused on school and not him. But then a few days later he started ignoring me and now he’s basically ghosting me😨 anyways that was long but i was wondering if you could write a sirius x femreader fic like that but with a happy ending instead😭🙏 thanksss sorry for ranting

word count: 7.9k

The corridor buzzed with energy as students bustled from one class to the next, filling the air with laughter and bits of conversation that bounced off the stone walls. Sunlight filtered through high, arched windows, casting a warm glow on the weathered floors and illuminating small motes of dust that danced in the golden beams. You knelt by your bag, hurriedly gathering your scattered belongings, tucking a stray parchment inside before the crowd of rushing feet could crumple it beyond recognition.

Lost in thought, your mind drifted over the day’s lessons, half-aware of the chatter and footsteps echoing around you. It wasn’t until a shadow fell over your things that you sensed someone beside you. Straightening, you looked up, and your heart stuttered as you found yourself face-to-face with Sirius Black, his familiar smirk and glinting eyes standing out even among the lively crowd around you.

“Excuse me, I’m looking for… ah, maybe you can help me,” he drawled, voice smooth and laced with a hint of playful mischief. His dark hair fell perfectly into his eyes, which sparkled with an unspoken joke. His posture was relaxed, leaning against the wall as if he had all the time in the world, and for a moment, you were aware of how intensely his presence seemed to fill the space around him.

A flush rose to your cheeks as you scrambled to maintain your composure, feeling the warmth spread over your skin. “Um, hi, Sirius,” you managed, though your voice wavered slightly, betraying the flutter of nerves that his sudden appearance had stirred up.

“Hi yourself,” he replied, tilting his head in that effortless, casual way that made him look both charming and completely at ease. “I seem to have… misplaced my Charms textbook. Thought maybe I could borrow yours?”

You raised an eyebrow, catching the playful glint in his eyes. “Funny, I could’ve sworn I saw you walk out of Charms with it just a few minutes ago,” you replied, a hint of challenge slipping into your voice.

Sirius let out a soft chuckle, momentarily caught but unfazed, and shrugged as though conceding defeat. “Alright, you got me,” he admitted, his grin widening. “But in my defense, it made for a decent excuse to ask for your notes. And, well, maybe your number?”

The words hung in the air, and your heart skipped, stumbling over itself as you processed his request. “My number?” you repeated, trying to keep your voice steady, though you couldn’t ignore the tingling thrill that his attention sent through you.

“Purely for academic purposes, of course,” he added smoothly, his smile widening into something almost roguish. “Think of it as a charitable contribution to the Sirius Black cause.”

You couldn’t hold back a laugh, rolling your eyes at his theatrics but feeling a spark of excitement nonetheless. “Well, I suppose I could help out… just this once,” you replied, suppressing a smile as you scribbled your number onto a scrap of parchment.

As you handed it over, his fingers brushed against yours, the contact lingering for a heartbeat longer than necessary. The warmth of his touch seemed to echo through you, and his eyes locked onto yours, intense and full of unspoken promises.

“Thanks, love,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. The way he looked at you sent a shiver down your spine, an unsteady fluttering settling in your stomach. “I owe you one. Maybe I’ll pay you back with a walk to your next class tomorrow?”

Before you could find your voice to answer, he winked, his grin as sharp as ever, and turned on his heel, disappearing into the crowd with a confidence that left you breathless. You stared down at the parchment still clutched in your hand, your heart racing, a distinct thrill running through you as you realized that this was likely only the beginning.

---

The next morning, true to his word, Sirius was waiting for you outside your classroom, leaning against the stone wall with that casual confidence that seemed so uniquely his. The moment you stepped into the hallway, he straightened, a wide grin spreading across his face as he caught sight of you.

“Thought you’d skip out on me,” he teased, easily falling into step beside you as though you’d been walking together for years. His presence was warm, and you couldn’t help but smile at the effortless way he seemed to make the start of your day feel lighter.

“Oh? And miss the chance to help a fellow student in dire need?” you replied, playing along with his theatrics even as your pulse quickened. There was something undeniably thrilling about how he’d made this little ritual feel like a part of your routine, a part of you.

Over the next few days, Sirius’s presence became a constant, steadying part of your mornings. He’d appear outside your classes with a teasing grin, always ready with a remark that had you laughing or a story so exaggerated you could barely keep up with the twists. Sometimes, he’d surprise you with small, ridiculous gifts—a chocolate frog he’d “found” with a dramatic flair or a silly trinket he claimed to have charmed for luck, though the charm’s effect was often debatable.

One afternoon, as the two of you walked through the sun-dappled hallways, he sidled up closer, hands tucked into his pockets, a mischievous gleam in his eyes.

“So, don’t laugh, but I have a present for you,” he announced, his voice laced with anticipation. He fished something from his pocket and held it out: a small, hand-painted rock with a wonky little star etched into it.

You blinked, trying to suppress a laugh. “A rock?”

“It’s not just any rock,” he replied, feigning a look of wounded pride. “It’s a luck charm. I painted it myself. Guaranteed to bring good fortune—though, full disclosure, the only other person I tested it on was James, and he slipped in the corridor not five minutes later. But I’m confident it’ll work wonders for you.”

Unable to stop yourself, you laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Good to know I’m your second choice for luck charms.”

“Not second,” he corrected, his voice softening, a genuine look flashing in his eyes. “Just the one who matters more.”

For a moment, the air felt charged, the playful back-and-forth quieting into something deeper. And though you could have laughed it off or changed the subject, you found yourself smiling, pocketing the rock as if it were a treasure.

“Well, here’s to good luck,” you said, feeling the warmth of his gaze linger as you continued down the corridor together, a sense of possibility stretching out in front of you.

---

As the days drifted by, Hogwarts took on a new vibrancy, each class and corridor illuminated with a brightness you hadn’t noticed before. What had once been routine now felt touched with a bit of magic, a change you couldn’t quite name but knew came from Sirius’s presence by your side. No matter where you walked together, he had this way of making even the most mundane corners feel alive, as though he’d charmed the very stones of the castle with his laughter. His voice echoed off the walls, turning heads and drawing smiles from students passing by, like his happiness was a spell that wrapped itself around everyone nearby.

You noticed the subtle ways he looked out for you—how he’d steer you away from crowded stretches of hallway, his hand hovering protectively near your back to shield you from the jostling rush of other students. He would linger in conversation even when his friends called for him, as if each moment he spent with you mattered more than the pull of his familiar group. With every passing day, his small gestures made your heart flutter and grounded you all at once, a warm reminder of his steady presence beside you.

And though neither of you had acknowledged the deepening bond between you, there was an unspoken understanding, a quiet certainty that your connection was growing into something more than casual friendship. It was as if the shared silences and glances between you held all the words you hadn’t yet dared to say.

One morning, as you reached the door to your next class, Sirius slowed, his fingers brushing lightly over your shoulder. He hesitated, as though measuring his words.

“Are you free this weekend?” he asked, attempting a casual tone, though you noticed the hint of anticipation flickering in his eyes. “I was thinking we could… I don’t know, go to Hogsmeade or something. Just the two of us.”

Your heart did a small flip, your pulse quickening at the invitation. “That sounds… nice,” you managed, voice softer than you’d intended, barely able to keep the thrill out of your words.

A grin spread across his face, that lopsided smile that made the whole world feel a little brighter. “Great. I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”

With a playful salute, he spun on his heel and strode off down the hall, leaving you leaning against the wall, heart racing, as you tried to process what had just happened. His words echoed in your mind, lingering like the promise of something wonderful waiting just around the corner.

---

The excitement from Sirius’s invitation had carried you through the rest of the day and well into the night. By the next morning, you found yourself glancing at the clock through every class, the anticipation bubbling beneath your calm facade. At meals, you drifted into daydreams of the trip, and even in the library, your mind wandered from the open Charms textbook in front of you.

A chair scraping against the wooden floor jolted you from your thoughts, and you looked up to see Sirius sliding into the seat across from you, an impish smile lighting up his face as he dropped his bag with a casual thud.

“So,” he began, leaning back with a grin, “still up for tomorrow?”

You smiled, nodding as you tried to steady the flutter in your chest. “As long as you don’t get us kicked out of Hogsmeade for any pranks,” you teased, recalling the legendary stories of the Marauders’ escapades.

“Would I do that to you?” he replied, feigning a look of innocence, though the mischievous glint in his eyes told a different story. “But just in case, I’ll behave. Mostly.” Leaning forward, he dropped his voice to a whisper, as though letting you in on a secret. “Besides, I was thinking we could try something a bit different. You know, like an adventure.”

You raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “An adventure? In Hogsmeade?”

“Absolutely,” he said, his grin widening. “Maybe sneak into the Shrieking Shack, or—hear me out—sample every flavor at Honeydukes, no matter how questionable they sound.”

A laugh escaped you, the tension you’d felt about tomorrow melting away under his infectious enthusiasm. “And here I thought you’d suggest something simple, like a Butterbeer at the Three Broomsticks.”

He scoffed playfully, shaking his head. “Now, where’s the fun in that?” He leaned in closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Besides, I want our first… outing to be memorable.” He hesitated, glancing down as though searching for the right words, and when he looked back up, his expression had softened. “It’s not every day I get to spend time with someone I actually want to get to know.”

His words took you by surprise, catching you off guard and stirring an unfamiliar warmth that bloomed across your cheeks. For a moment, gone was the playful Sirius who hid behind jokes and careless grins. In his place was someone else entirely, someone who looked at you with a genuine, unguarded interest, as if he were truly seeing you for the first time. His usual smirk softened, his gaze steady and intent, reaching across the space between you in a way that made your heart skip.

Trying to break the unexpected intensity that hung in the air, you summoned a teasing smile, hoping to lighten the moment. “Just don’t blame me if you regret it after trying the earwax-flavored sweets.”

The corners of his mouth quirked into a grin, and he laughed, the sound low and warm. Reaching across the table, he nudged your hand with his fingers—a fleeting touch, light as a whisper, but enough to send an undeniable thrill up your spine. The casual brush of his hand lingered, sparking a warmth that left you acutely aware of how close he was. “Challenge accepted,” he murmured, his voice carrying a promise, his fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary before retreating.

A comfortable silence settled between you, as if both of you were savoring the unspoken exchange that had passed. His gaze shifted toward the stack of books you’d brought, a playful smile returning as he broke the quiet. “Though it seems like you’re quite the diligent student. Should I be taking notes on my competition?”

Feigning an air of superiority, you raised an eyebrow, allowing a grin to tug at your lips. “Competition? You might want to worry about your own grades before trying to take me on, Black.”

He let out a dramatic gasp, clutching a hand to his chest in a mock display of offense. “Ouch. A hit straight to my academic ego.” Shaking his head in mock disappointment, he continued, “Fine, Miss Overachiever, I’ll leave you to your studying tonight. But tomorrow,” he said, his voice dropping to a playful murmur, “it’s all about the adventure.”

Slowly, he rose from his chair, the lingering anticipation evident in his eyes as he met your gaze. He hesitated just a moment, giving you a look that held a spark of something deeper, something that sent your heart fluttering in your chest. “I’ll meet you at the gates around noon?”

All you could do was nod, watching him as he walked away, his stride confident and easy, leaving you to sit there, trying to process the whirlwind of emotions he’d left in his wake. The anticipation of tomorrow filled your mind with possibilities, your heart racing with the thought of what awaited in Hogsmeade. Whatever lay ahead, you knew it would be unforgettable, thanks to Sirius Black and that irrepressible, infectious spirit of his.

The Hogsmeade adventure with Sirius had been everything you’d dreamed it could be, and then some. From the very first step, he’d taken you into a world that felt crafted just for the two of you, as if every street, every shop, every sound in the village was meant to echo with your laughter. He led you into Honeydukes, his eyes glinting with mischief as he dared you to try the most bizarre, borderline terrifying flavors of sweets, his delighted laughter filling the shop each time you made a face. Then there was the thrilling escapade to the Shrieking Shack, where he’d coaxed you into joining him in a half-frightened, half-excited exploration, his hand clasped around yours as he weaved exaggerated tales about the ghosts that might still linger there. By the time he managed to charm his way into getting an extra Butterbeer “on the house” at the Three Broomsticks, you were both completely swept away, lost in a day where reality seemed to bend around the magic of being together.

The hours had flown by in a blur of laughter, warmth, and fleeting touches, each one sparking something deeper between you. It felt as if the world had shrunk, leaving only the two of you in a shared bubble of adventure and quiet wonder, as if Hogwarts, responsibilities, and worries had melted away, leaving only this single, perfect day.

Now, as you walked along the edge of the Black Lake, the golden light of the setting sun cast a warm glow over the water, painting everything in shades of amber and gold. The air was still, filled only with the gentle sound of the lake’s ripples and the occasional chirp of a bird settling in for the evening. Silence stretched between you, comfortable yet charged, as if both of you were holding your breath, waiting for something unspoken to fill the space.

Sirius stopped, gazing out over the water, his expression softening into something almost vulnerable, his usual grin replaced by a contemplative look. “Today was… amazing,” he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of something deeper, softer, that sent a thrill through you.

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, warmth flooding over you as you nodded. “Yeah,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “It was perfect.”

He turned to you then, and for a moment, you saw the playful, roguish Sirius fade, replaced by someone with a gaze that held something raw, something genuine. His eyes searched yours, his brow furrowing slightly as though grappling with something he wasn’t used to sharing. “There’s… something I wanted to ask you,” he said, running a hand through his hair, a nervous gesture that felt strangely out of place on him. “I mean, I know we joke around, but… this, all of this… it’s been real for me.”

You held your breath, feeling your heart pound with a mix of hope and fear. The words you’d been keeping to yourself for so long hovered on the edge of your tongue, and for a moment, it felt as though the world had stilled, waiting for you to speak. Gathering your courage, you let the truth spill out, voice soft but steady.

“Sirius, I… I really like you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper, feeling as though saying it out loud might shatter the fragile beauty of the moment. “And I don’t mean just as a friend. I’ve felt this way for a while now, and… I thought maybe you felt the same?”

For a single heartbeat, his face lit up with something that looked like relief, his eyes brightening as though he’d been waiting for this. But just as quickly, a shadow fell over his expression, his gaze lowering as he took a small step back. He rubbed the back of his neck, eyes fixed on a distant point over the lake, as though he couldn’t bring himself to look at you.

“I… Merlin, I didn’t expect you to say that,” he murmured, his voice tinged with a weight that made your chest ache. “And it’s not that I don’t feel the same. I do, more than you know.” He glanced at you, a hint of sadness softening his gaze. “But I don’t know if now’s the right time for this.”

A pang of confusion and disappointment washed over you, and you struggled to make sense of his words. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his hands dropping to his sides, his expression torn. “I’m under so much pressure—OWLs, my family’s expectations… everything feels like it’s pressing down on me. I’m barely keeping up with all of it, and the last thing I want is to drag you into that mess.” He took a deep, shaky breath. “And I don’t want to be a distraction for you either.”

His words cut deep, and a subtle ache settled in your chest as you tried to make sense of it. “So… you think I’m a distraction?” you asked quietly, feeling the sting of the implication.

“No,” he said quickly, reaching out, his hand finding yours, his grip warm and grounding as his thumb brushed lightly over your fingers. “That’s not what I mean. You mean… everything to me. And that’s why I can’t mess this up. I don’t want to hurt you if things get too overwhelming.”

Silence fell between you, heavy and bittersweet, only broken by the gentle lapping of the lake against the shore. You held onto his hand, feeling the tension in his fingers, the weight of the struggles he was trying to shield you from. He was pulling away, but you could see the depth of his care in every hesitant word, every anxious glance.

“So what does this mean?” you asked, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. “Are you saying we should just… stop?”

His face softened, and he looked down at your joined hands, his thumb tracing soothing circles over the back of yours. “I think we need to take a step back,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “At least until things settle down a bit. It’s not that I don’t want to be with you. I just don’t want to do this wrong and ruin everything.”

The words stung, but you could see the sincerity in his eyes, the weight of the battle he was fighting within himself. He was trying to protect you, even if it hurt. Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to nod, trying to keep your voice steady despite the sadness that threatened to spill over. “I understand, Sirius. I really do.”

He looked at you with a gratitude so intense it left you breathless. He pulled you into a gentle hug, his arms wrapping around you as if he could somehow make up for the words he couldn’t say. You closed your eyes, allowing yourself to melt into the embrace, memorizing the warmth of him, the way he held you like he didn’t want to let go. The sun dipped lower, casting a golden glow over the lake as you stood there, wrapped in the bittersweet ache of a love shared but postponed.

After a moment, he pulled back, his hand lingering on your cheek as he looked at you, his gaze soft and full of something unspoken. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For understanding.”

With a final, gentle squeeze of your hand, he turned and walked away, leaving you by the lake’s edge, watching his figure grow smaller in the fading light. The ache in your heart was bittersweet, a mix of hope and sadness as you wondered if, someday, when the timing was right, you’d find your way back to each other.

After that bittersweet moment by the Black Lake, you braced yourself, hoping that the distance Sirius had asked for would be something manageable, something you could bear. But nothing could have prepared you for the starkness of the separation, the hollow ache that would fill the spaces he once occupied. The very next morning, as you waited outside Charms, scanning the corridor for that familiar glint of black hair or easy grin, he was nowhere to be found. Instead, you caught a fleeting glimpse of him further down the hall, walking quickly, his head turned resolutely away, as if he couldn’t bear to look back.

At first, you tried to brush it off, convincing yourself that he was just giving you the space he’d promised. Maybe he was keeping his distance for both of your sakes, keeping to the terms of that painful but necessary boundary. But as the days wore on, his absence became harder to ignore, the ache of it settling deeper into your chest with every empty moment. Sirius was no longer waiting by your classes; his presence, once a constant, had faded into something elusive, intangible. And every time you saw him in the Great Hall or the common room, he was engrossed in conversation with James or laughing with Remus and Peter, his expression animated and carefree. It was as though you had become an outsider, watching him from a distance as if those shared moments had been erased, rewritten.

Each encounter—or lack thereof—left a hollowness in your chest, a weight pressing down on you with each passing day. The worst part was his complete avoidance of eye contact; his gaze would skim over you without pause, his expression perfectly blank, as if you were just another face in the crowded halls. It was as if he’d built an invisible wall between you, one that only he seemed capable of seeing, yet it stood there, solid and impenetrable.

One afternoon, you spotted him in the library, hunched over a pile of parchment, his brow furrowed with intense focus. The familiar sight stirred something inside you, a flicker of hope that maybe, just maybe, he missed you too. Heart pounding, you took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you moved toward him, hoping to bridge the gap with even a simple conversation. But just as you approached, he looked up, his expression unreadable, and without a word, he gathered his things and walked away, not sparing you a single glance. The sting of rejection cut through you, sharp and undeniable, and you found yourself rooted to the spot, staring after him, the ache in your chest tightening into something raw.

Days blurred into weeks, and the silence grew heavier, more unbearable, pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. In the common room, laughter and whispers filled the space as the Marauders joked around, their carefree camaraderie a painful reminder of what you’d lost. You’d catch glimpses of Sirius, his smile radiant as ever, his laughter filling the room with a brightness that felt like a distant memory. And yet, every time, it was as if a wall had been erected between you—an invisible barrier that kept you on the outside, a silent observer to a world that had once felt like your own.

Friends began to notice the change, the quietness that had crept into your demeanor, the way your gaze would drift across the room, searching for him in those stolen, unguarded moments. They asked questions, concern in their eyes, but you brushed them off with forced smiles, unwilling to share the ache that had settled so deeply within you.

The absence of his presence left an emptiness that was almost physical, a void you hadn’t anticipated. The laughter, the teasing, the shared secrets that had once filled your days felt like fragments of a dream slipping through your fingers, a haze of memories that were slowly fading, leaving only shadows in their wake. The Sirius who had looked at you with such warmth and openness by the Black Lake felt like a stranger now, unreachable and distant. And as each day passed, you found yourself questioning everything, wondering if those moments had been real or if they’d only existed in your imagination, a fleeting connection that had never truly belonged to you.

---

One evening, as you sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, the soft glow of the flames dancing in front of you, you felt completely adrift. The firelight cast long shadows, flickering across the room, but its warmth did nothing to ease the chill that had settled in your chest. You stared into the flames, watching them shift and twist, as if somehow they might hold the answers to the questions that had been haunting you. The silence from Sirius had grown unbearable, filling each day with a hollowness that gnawed at you, and now, as the fire crackled softly, you let yourself feel the weight of it.

A gentle voice broke through your thoughts, pulling you back to reality. “Hey… are you alright?” Lily’s tone was soft, and when you turned, you found her watching you with a quiet, genuine concern. She sat down beside you, her presence warm and steady, her gaze searching yours as though she could sense the turmoil hidden beneath the surface.

You hesitated, swallowing hard against the lump forming in your throat, not wanting to reveal the extent of the hurt that Sirius’s silence had caused. “I’m fine,” you murmured, but even to your own ears, the words sounded thin, hollow. Your voice wavered, lacking conviction, and you could see that Lily wasn’t convinced either.

She studied you, her expression softening with understanding. “I’ve noticed the way you look at him,” she said gently. “And the way he’s been avoiding you… it’s not fair to you, you know.”

The words struck something deep within you, and a wave of emotion rose, nearly overwhelming you. Until now, you’d kept these feelings tightly guarded, unwilling to admit just how much his absence had hurt, unwilling to acknowledge the sharp ache that had been building with each passing day. But hearing Lily say it out loud, giving voice to the hurt you’d kept hidden, made it all feel painfully real.

“I don’t understand what I did wrong,” you whispered, struggling to keep your voice steady. “We had something… or at least, I thought we did. And now, it’s like I don’t even exist to him.”

Lily’s hand came to rest on your shoulder, her touch gentle and reassuring. “Maybe he’s just scared,” she offered, her tone thoughtful, almost tentative. “Sirius has always been… complicated when it comes to feelings. But if he’s truly pulling away like this, maybe it’s time you confronted him.”

The thought of confronting Sirius sent a shiver down your spine, fear mingling with the ache in your chest. But as much as the idea intimidated you, you knew she was right. This silence, this unbearable emptiness that had crept into your days, couldn’t go on. If he wanted to walk away, you’d let him, but he owed you an explanation. You deserved to know why he had built this invisible wall between you, why he had chosen silence over honesty.

With a deep breath, you nodded, feeling a flicker of determination rise within you. Enough was enough. Every day that passed had left you feeling more invisible, like a ghost haunting the spaces you once shared with him. Lily’s words had stirred something inside you, a need for clarity, for closure. The answers had been denied to you for too long, and it was time to reclaim them, no matter how painful they might be.

Later that night, as the common room emptied, leaving only the dying embers of the fire behind, you watched the shadows play across the walls, gathering the courage you’d need. When the corridors had quieted, and the castle was draped in silence, you finally saw him. Sirius slipped out of the Gryffindor Tower alone, his form silhouetted against the faint candlelight flickering in the hallway. Heart pounding, you followed him at a distance, each step bringing you closer to the answers you both craved and dreaded.

He turned into an empty classroom, the soft glow of a single candle casting shadows across the stone walls. Taking a steadying breath, you stepped inside, the faint echo of the door clicking shut filling the silence. At the sound, he glanced up, surprise flickering across his face as his eyes met yours.

“Y/N,” he began, his voice hesitant, almost cautious, as though he’d been expecting this moment but dreading it all the same. But before he could say another word, you cut him off, your voice stronger than you felt.

“Sirius,” you said, the steadiness in your voice surprising even yourself. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

He let out a sigh, running a hand through his hair in a familiar gesture, though in the dim light, the motion looked somehow more vulnerable, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. “I haven’t been… I mean, I didn’t mean to,” he stammered, his voice faltering, but his gaze drifted to the floor, avoiding yours.

As he struggled for words, you waited, the silence heavy with all the things left unsaid. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the way he wrestled with something just beyond reach, but you stayed quiet, determined to let him speak, to finally hear the truth he’d been keeping from you.

You crossed your arms, steeling yourself, your determination hardening as you looked at him. “Really? Because it’s felt an awful lot like you’ve been avoiding me. Ever since Hogsmeade, ever since I told you how I felt, it’s like I don’t even exist to you.”

Sirius turned away, his jaw clenching, the tension in his posture radiating a silent struggle. For a moment, it seemed like he might not respond at all, that he’d let your words hang unanswered. But finally, he spoke, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the shadows. “I thought… if I kept my distance, it would be easier for both of us.”

“Easier?” The word slipped from your mouth, tasting sharp and bitter. “How is ignoring me, pretending I’m not here, supposed to make anything easier?”

At that, he looked up, his expression raw and conflicted, torn between vulnerability and fear. “Because I don’t want to hurt you, Y/N,” he admitted, his voice rough with emotion. “I know what I’m like—reckless, distracted, and I’m no good with feelings. I thought that if I just… stepped away, you’d move on. Find someone better, someone who isn’t a mess like me.”

The honesty in his words hit you, cutting through the anger and frustration you’d been holding onto, softening it into something closer to understanding. You sighed, letting the tension drain from your shoulders. “Sirius… I never wanted perfect. I just wanted you,” you said, your voice gentler now. “You don’t have to push me away to protect me. I’m stronger than you think, and I’d rather face whatever comes together than be left in the dark like this.”

He took a shaky breath, visibly battling his own insecurities, and for the first time in weeks, he met your gaze fully—his eyes searching, holding a vulnerability that he rarely allowed anyone to see. “But what if I mess this up?” he asked, the words laced with fear. “What if I hurt you?”

You stepped forward, closing the distance between you, reaching for him with a quiet resolve. “Then we’ll deal with it. Together. But I’d rather take that risk than feel like this—like I’m not even worth an explanation.”

His shoulders sagged, the weight of his own fears lifting ever so slightly, carried away by your words. With a hesitant gesture, he reached out, his hand finding yours, his fingers intertwining with yours in a way that felt grounding, solid, as though he were afraid that letting go would mean losing you again.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured, his voice thick with the emotions he’d kept buried. “I thought I was doing the right thing, but… I never stopped thinking about you. Not for a second.”

You squeezed his hand, feeling a warmth begin to fill the empty spaces his silence had left. The tension that had been simmering for so long seemed to dissolve in that moment. “Then let’s not waste any more time,” you whispered, the corners of your mouth lifting in a tentative smile. “I don’t care about the what-ifs. I just want you, here and now.”

A faint, grateful smile appeared on his lips as he pulled you closer, his forehead resting gently against yours. “You’re braver than I am,” he admitted softly, his breath warm against your skin. “But if you’re willing to give me another chance… I’ll do my best not to mess it up.”

Your heart swelled with a mixture of relief and joy, a sense of peace settling over you as you nodded. “I’ll give you as many chances as you need.”

With a quiet, almost reverent sigh, Sirius closed the last of the distance between you, his lips brushing softly against yours, a promise woven into the gentle contact. In that single moment, the hurt and uncertainty faded away, leaving only the warmth of his embrace and the steady beat of his heart beneath your hands. Challenges would come, but for now, you felt ready to face them together.

---

After that night in the empty classroom, something shifted between you and Sirius. The tension and silence that had lingered for so long melted away, replaced by a warmth that was steady, reassuring. True to his word, Sirius had been making an effort—not just in seeking you out, but in being open, present, allowing you to see the sides of him he’d once hidden away. It was like the wall he’d built around himself was crumbling, brick by brick, and every day, you were grateful to see more of the person he truly was.

Today, he’d asked you to meet him at the gates to Hogsmeade, promising this time that he had a “proper plan.” Excitement bubbled up inside you as you spotted him waiting, his face lighting up the instant he saw you, a look of genuine happiness softening his usual mischievous grin.

“There she is,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar playfulness, but his eyes held a softness you hadn’t often seen, a warmth that seemed to linger just for you. Reaching for your hand, he entwined his fingers with yours, his thumb brushing gently against your knuckles in a small, grounding gesture that made your heart flutter.

“Are you going to tell me what you have planned, or is this another one of your mysterious ‘adventures’?” you teased, a smile tugging at your lips as you recalled the wild day you’d shared the last time you’d been here together. 

He chuckled, squeezing your hand. “Well, you’ll just have to wait and see. But this time, I’m fairly certain I won’t be dragging you into any haunted houses… unless you’re into that sort of thing.” He winked, his grin widening as he led you down the bustling street of Hogsmeade, the village alive with laughter and the smell of fresh bread and butterbeer.

The two of you wandered together, hand in hand, and as you walked, you felt an overwhelming sense of rightness, a feeling that no matter where the path led, he would be beside you. Whatever he had planned, you were ready for it.

He chuckled, shaking his head with a playful smile. “No sneaking into the Shrieking Shack this time, I promise.” He led you down a quieter, cobbled street, where the sound of your footsteps was muffled by a light dusting of snow. Finally, he stopped in front of a quaint little tea shop, nestled on the edge of the village with a view of the snowy mountains stretching out in the distance. The shop’s windows were fogged over with warmth, and a gentle light spilled onto the street, inviting you inside.

As you settled into a cozy corner table near a crackling fireplace, Sirius reached across to take your hand again, his fingers warm against yours. The simple gesture felt more meaningful than any grand adventure he could have planned. This wasn’t about mischief or daring; it was just the two of you, here and now. “I wanted today to be… different,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual, almost shy. “I know I can be a lot—always pulling you into trouble. But I thought maybe it’s time we just… enjoyed this.”

Your heart swelled, touched by the thoughtfulness behind his words, the effort he was making to let you in. “I like the trouble,” you replied, giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your smile softening. “But I like this too. Just us.”

When the tea arrived, it filled the air with a comforting, earthy warmth, mingling with the scent of pastries fresh from the oven. You spent hours wrapped in each other’s words, the world outside slipping away as you shared stories, laughter, and the kind of small details that made everything feel closer, warmer. Sirius told you stories of his childhood, tales of pranks pulled with the Marauders, some you’d heard whispered about and others you could hardly believe. His voice softened as he spoke about dreams he harbored and fears he rarely let show, each revelation peeling back another layer of the boy you thought you knew.

And in return, you let him see parts of you that you kept hidden, sharing insecurities, little hopes for the future, the fears that lingered just beneath the surface. You saw his eyes soften with understanding as you spoke, as though he was gathering up each word and tucking it away, determined to hold onto every piece of you.

At one point, he reached into his pocket and pulled out something small and glinting, holding it between his fingers with a sheepish grin. You recognized it immediately—a small stone, the same one he’d given you during his “lucky rock” phase, but now, it bore a new charm, a tiny symbol engraved with care, shimmering faintly. 

“I figured this one should work,” he said with a half-smile, placing it carefully in your hand. His voice softened, carrying a hint of nervousness that made him even more endearing. “Not that you need it. But I wanted you to know I’m trying to… you know, be someone you can count on.”

A lump rose in your throat as you curled your fingers around the stone, the weight of his words settling warmly in your chest. “Sirius, you already are,” you murmured, meeting his gaze.

His hand covered yours, and the intensity in his eyes sent a shiver through you. He looked at you as if he were seeing all of you, as if every vulnerability you’d shared mattered, was worth protecting. “I won’t take that for granted,” he promised, his voice barely a whisper, holding a quiet strength. “Not this time.”

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, casting a gentle amber glow over Hogsmeade, you both wandered back toward the village square. His arm wrapped around your shoulders, keeping the chill at bay, and you leaned into him, savoring the warmth of his presence. The world around you seemed to soften, settling into a peaceful quiet that felt just for the two of you.

Suddenly, he stopped, turning to face you, a rare, vulnerable look in his eyes. “I know I messed up,” he murmured, his voice a little unsteady as he searched your face. “But I want this. I want us. And I’ll keep trying, as long as you’ll let me.”

Without a word, you leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to his lips, your heart brimming with all the unspoken words that had led you to this moment. His hands came to rest on your waist, pulling you close, and for that one heartbeat, everything felt whole, steady, exactly as it should be. When you pulled back, you gave him a soft, reassuring smile, letting him know that you were ready to face whatever came next. “Then let’s keep going.”

A grin broke across his face, lighting up his eyes as he wrapped his arms around you in a tight embrace, as though he never wanted to let go. And in that quiet, golden moment under the setting sun, you knew you’d found something worth holding onto—together, in all its imperfect, beautiful messiness.

The weeks after your Hogsmeade date seemed to slip by in a blur of shared glances, quiet laughter, and fleeting touches. Each stolen moment with Sirius was a reminder of how much had shifted between you. He’d kept his promise, showing up not just physically, but in the countless small ways that truly mattered. He was there, his presence steady and comforting, making you feel seen, valued, and cherished. The Sirius you knew now wasn’t just the mischievous, charismatic prankster; he was someone who opened up, who listened, and who let himself be vulnerable in ways you hadn’t seen before.

One warm afternoon, as the last traces of snow had melted and the grounds of Hogwarts were dotted with tiny clusters of wildflowers, Sirius found you by the lake. A grin broke across his face as he spotted you, his energy so infectious that even before he reached you, your heart lifted. He jogged over, his hair catching the breeze, laughter in his eyes.

“Fancy seeing you here,” he teased, falling into step beside you as the two of you wandered along the water’s edge. The laughter and chatter of other students drifted in the background, but as he leaned in close, it felt as though the world had narrowed down to just the two of you.

You laughed, nudging him playfully. “I feel like you’ve been stalking me lately, Sirius.”

“Not stalking,” he corrected, a hint of playfulness in his tone, though there was a sincerity in his gaze that softened his smile. “Just… appreciating. You’re very hard not to appreciate, you know.”

The warmth that rose to your cheeks only made his grin widen, and he pulled you close, his arm wrapping securely around your shoulders as you walked. Every so often, he’d point out a random cloud shape, inventing an elaborate story for each, or he’d gesture to a bird flying overhead, trying to guess its species with absolutely no accuracy. You couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity of his attempts, marveling at how easily he made everything feel natural, comfortable, like home.

Eventually, the two of you found yourselves on a small hill overlooking the lake, sitting together in the soft grass as you watched the sun begin its slow descent toward the horizon. Golden light reflected off the water, casting a warm glow over the two of you, and in that quiet moment, you felt a sense of peace settle around you.

Sirius looked over at you, his expression thoughtful, almost vulnerable. “You know,” he began, tracing an absentminded pattern in the grass with his finger, “I used to think I didn’t really deserve… this. Someone who’d stick around, I mean. With everything I’ve messed up or broken.”

You reached over, placing your hand gently on his, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingers. “Sirius, we’ve both made mistakes,” you murmured, your voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t deserve happiness.”

He met your gaze, his eyes raw and unguarded, as though he was letting you see every emotion he’d kept hidden. “I didn’t realize how much I needed you until… well, until I almost pushed you away. But you were right. It’s worth facing the messy parts to have this.”

A smile curved your lips as you leaned closer, resting your forehead against his, feeling his breath warm against your skin. “I’m glad we found our way back to each other.”

For a long, quiet moment, neither of you moved, content to simply exist in the closeness you’d both fought so hard to reach. Then, with a mischievous glint in his eye, Sirius pulled back slightly, digging into his pocket. He drew out a small, silver charm bracelet, a single star charm dangling from it. 

“I think it’s time to give you something a little more reliable than that lucky rock,” he said with a grin, but his voice softened as he held the bracelet out to you. “It’s enchanted to always remind you of home,” he explained, his gaze steady on yours. “Wherever you are, you’ll feel like you’re right here, with me.”

A mixture of joy and gratitude swelled in your chest, your fingers trembling slightly as you took the bracelet from him, fastening it carefully around your wrist. “Sirius, it’s perfect. Thank you.”

His eyes softened as he watched you admire the charm, a quiet contentment settling over his features. Then, leaning in, he kissed you, his lips gentle and warm against yours, the softness of the moment filling every corner of your heart. When you pulled back, he wrapped his arm around you, holding you close as the two of you watched the sun dip lower, the world around you painted in shades of gold and rose.

In that moment, with the light bathing you and Sirius by your side, you felt a sense of belonging—a feeling of home—that you knew would stay with you, no matter where life took you. And as you rested your head against his shoulder, you realized that whatever the future held, you were ready to face it together.

[iamgonnagetyouback]

tom riddle x reader where he is going to need a lot of work

It was a rare night off, the corridors of Hogwarts quiet as students retired to their common rooms, yet you and Tom Riddle found yourselves slipping out to the Astronomy Tower. He’d been in the library since lunch, flipping through ancient volumes, and you figured he could use a break. He begrudgingly agreed after you challenged his sense of adventure, muttering something about foolish whims but unable to turn down the gleam in your eyes.

The two of you stood close on the stone balcony, gazing at the stars scattered like fine dust across the velvet sky. A cool breeze stirred the air, the soft hush of it contrasting with the silence between you.

"When you look at the stars, what do you see?" you asked, watching his face from the corner of your eye. A flicker of something amused softened his expression, the faintest of smiles tugging at the corner of his lips.

"Blazing balls of gas,” he replied matter-of-factly. “Why?”

You rolled your eyes, nudging his shoulder with yours. “Tom, it’s supposed to be romantic. Inspiring. Don’t you see anything else up there?”

He tilted his head, feigning curiosity. “What am I meant to see, then?”

“I don’t know,” you teased. “Maybe… galaxies stretching endlessly, a reminder of how small we are in the grand scheme of things. Or… constellations formed by gods who loved each other, stories woven into the sky.”

He raised an eyebrow, a glint of something unreadable in his dark eyes. “And what does that mean to you?”

“Means there’s something up there bigger than us. A sort of beauty you can’t see just by reading books,” you said softly, looking up again at the sparkling canopy. You wondered if he could see it the same way, or if he was too absorbed in ambition to look beyond what was directly in front of him.

He let out a small, contemplative sigh, and you could almost feel him softening beside you, though he tried to maintain his usual composed demeanor. “That’s a rather poetic view, but hardly practical.”

“Not everything needs to be practical,” you murmured. “Not even for you.”

A brief silence stretched between you, and the only sound was the gentle rustling of the night breeze.

“Look here,” you pointed up, aiming to shift his focus. “That’s Orion, the hunter. And over there, the Pleiades.” You traced the patterns with your finger as he followed with his gaze, his face unusually relaxed as he watched you.

"You know, you’re going to need more work than I thought," you said with a chuckle, leaning closer as if to pass on some secret knowledge.

"Am I?" His eyes flickered to you, an amused smirk playing on his lips.

“Mmhm.” You leaned against the stone railing, facing him now. “You know so much about everything, yet when it comes to seeing things differently…” you trailed off, shaking your head with a playful smile.

"Different isn’t always better," he countered, but the smirk softened, his eyes holding yours with a rare spark of intrigue. “But perhaps… it’s worth entertaining your way of thinking. At least for tonight.”

"Just for tonight, hmm?” you replied, pretending to consider it. “I’ll take it.”

He chuckled—a low, rare sound that surprised you, but you couldn’t help but smile back. “If only to satisfy your foolish whims.”

The two of you returned your gaze to the stars, his shoulder brushing yours. And while Tom Riddle might not yet see beauty in constellations or romance in a night sky, there was something warm and unexpectedly soft in his expression tonight—a glimpse of the boy behind the brilliance.

Perhaps, you thought, looking up at the stars, there was more beauty here than he realized.

[kentocalls]

toshinori yagi | emerald

sfw. vague healing quirk. mafia!au (that will get written one day). mentions of: violence, feelings. reader is female & has long hair, also psst @actuallysaiyan

His first instinct is to keep his breathing steady. There’s an unfamiliar weight on his chest, not too heavy but light either. It’s warm, radiating, like a cat if he owned one. But he doesn’t.

As Toshinori Yagi opens his eyes, he first spots an unfamiliar spring green tuft of hair on his chest, it smells familiar. Like candies and apples,  then the sparkle of his diamond ring on your hand that seems to be emiting a sense of calm throughout his upper body.

Aren’t you quirkless? 

Perhaps this is Heaven and despite all his bad deeds he’s blessed with one of his many dreams of you coming true.  Gosh, why hasn’t he held you like this when he was living, why did he spend so much of his time pushing you away?

He knows why, he knows the danger his status brings.

He knows only peril awaits those that stand at his side.

His heart aches still though, if he’s here then, where are you?

It comes back to him like a rush, what Toshinori remembers is the start to a beautiful dinner spoiled and then tables being over turned, fire and guns and your face caked in something awful and red. He had held you into him, kept you from harm right?  But what is he doing here? In this dream land? He has to get up, speak to the ruler of Heavens and get back to you.

This must be a mistake, fuck. Please, he urges his body to move, to lift up. Please he has to get back to you, to that restaurant, to that chaos. He has to get you out of that hellscape, that’s his job, he promised you didn’t he? He’d never leave you alone, he’d never fail to protect you.

Fuck.

“Toshinori?” oh your sweet voice, eyes darting to the spring green hair that moves, revealing your much more paled and blanched eyes. They fill with tears anyway though, the beeping of a heart monitor, the sharpness of hospital lights, the cold air hit him all at once.

So it’s not Heaven, but still close enough since you’re really here with him.

His breathe eases, a hand to the top of your head, your deep emerald hair has faded from that earlier spring green to chartreuse. Is this why he feels peaceful, painless? Is it your hand on his heart causing this? “My…dear wife, I am here, I’m fine.”

This must be awfully uncomfortable for you, hunched over his hospital bed, but one of your hands stays firm on his heart as the other goes to touch his face, it still radiates peace and warmth and your fade fades still, into sea foam. “What…what are you doing?”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m not supposed to use it but y—you and the bullet —the doctors said it they removed it but it was still touch and go and I couldn’t…I couldn’t…risk it if you didn't wake up.”

To think you had a way out, to think you still chose to save him, why would you do such a thing? Why do you cling to such a deceptive and vile man like him? Marriage to him has brought you nothing but loneliness, pain, endangerment.  You had no say in this, he promised to keep you safe and today he has failed it. He doesn't deserve any of your warmth or affections.  Toshinori holds at your wrists, lifting your hands off, the shock evident on your face. He can always tell what you’re thinking and he’s so sorry he keeps choosing to push you away.   

He can’t keep risking your life along with his, you weren’t asked to marry him, you pushed into it.  You aren’t meant for pain and tears and it seems that’s all that’s come to you since the wedding.  That’s all he’s able to give you. (In his eyes, from his skewed view of himself and the world he's trapped you in. Had he known the depth of your kindness, the fullness of your heart, had he known....)

“I’m fine.” But you know he means to say, please don’t strain yourself.

“Go home.” Because he knows you've been here for two days fretting over him, and he won't say you need to rest.

“Have the driver take you—“

“You stubborn man!”  Your hair color returning, the energy flowing in your veins increasing, he smiles at that. So your quirk is related to your hair, so he’ll always know if you push yourself too hard, “You took a bullet for me when you could’ve just flung it away.”

He could have, but to risking miscalculating and have the bullet graze you in any way? Never. Not worth it.

“I can’t die, my wife.”

“Yes, you can, my husband.”  He can, he can if he keeps stupidly taking risks like this.  Stupidly keeps rushing into help his men, his friends, his fraction. If he keeps this strong front up twenty four seven he’s going to—

“You’re upset again, I promise I'm okay.” A soothing hand to your face, you’re conflicted, you want to push away from him, to yell at him some more but also to be in his embrace, because here in this tiny room he’s not Toshinori Yagi, he’s not part of the MHA fraction. He’s not providing protecting and shielding others from big bad men.

Your hair is darker now, a woodland fern he thinks, it’s almost back to the shade that captivated him, that stark dark emerald against your white wedding dress. He thinks this is a good sign, he hopes it is. Your face is less pale, your eyes returning to their original color too. Except, “You’re shaking.”

“I’m cold.”  And angry and frustrated and sad. What if you didn't get the chance to tell him how you really feel? What if things didn't turn out okay?  And yes, what you are wearing is meant for a romantic dinner. (For the confession you so need to make.) You wanted tonight to go so differently, it’s tumbled into such a big mess. You shiver at the low hum of the hospital AC. Suppose you could go buy a warmer attire from the hospital gift shop but that would mean leaving Toshinori and that would mean not being able to use your quirk to make sure he heals.

“Come here, let me hold you.”  It will never stop bringing you joy when he offers moments like this, when you allow yourself to feel the depth of your emotions and move closer to him.

As you crawl onto him, the too small bed, the wires, and mattress protest but Toshinori stubbornly wraps his arms around you, he has to keep you warm too, protect you from the cold. Ensnare you with affection he wants to pour over until all your tears dry.  He knows he shouldn't covet your skin against his but he does. “My stupid, dumb, lovable husband.” His beautiful, adoring, precious wife.

He ignores the last word, “I am, I know. I make you worry.”

For all the violence his hands know, for all the cruelty his arms have dished out, he holds you gentler than a flower, let’s you plant your chest on his, let’s burrow your face in the crook of his collarbones, root your arms around his neck.  He breathes deep, candies and apples and your hair returning to it’s pretty pretty pretty green.

He can tell you’re fighting sleep, can feel your body relaxing and tensing, “Rest, it’s been a long day hasn’t it?”

“It’s late Saturday," so two days have passed, "…and another eight hour surgery…you made me worry so much.”

“I’m sorry, you must be so tired, here let me-“ As he tries to shuffle you off his form and onto the bed, you protest, hold him tighter, channeling all your inner koala and hold on. “Not leaving you, not until the doctor gives the all clear.”

You forget his strength, his own power, his own quirk.

But it feels nice, being fussed over, and in the privacy of this room, in the haze of painkillers and fleeting adrenaline, he lets himself indulge in it. Keeps you on his form, holds you close. “Then you need to rest too. Promise me.”

“You’ll be here? When I wake up, you won’t go…”  Ah, he has a terrible track record of doing that right?

“Rest, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

Later, you’ll explain your quirk and why you don’t tell a soul you have it.

Later, you’ll yell at him more about needing him safe.

Later, you’ll confess the words that were so eager to slip from your tongue at dinner.

Later, right now, all you need is rest. All you need is your husband’s heartbeat.

[veilxstars]

There was a lightness in the air, an unspoken bond forming as they held hands. “Ah, third-place pumpkins do get to bask in the sun,” she replied, agreeing with a laugh. “Perhaps they’re the ones who enjoy the quiet the most, like I do when I’m lost in a good book or practicing a new trick.”

She could sense Annette's excitement, the spark of curiosity igniting between them. “Adventurous... what if we try our luck at the fortune-teller’s tent? I’ve heard the woman who runs - people say she can really reveal the future.” She reveled in the idea of sharing the festival's secrets with someone who appreciated the thrill of discovery.

“After that, we could see if we can snag some cotton candy and find the hidden photo booth they set up this year. It’s supposed to have some effects that make the pictures the pictures look different than they should.” she said, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. There was nothing she wanted to know about her future, but she knew it could be fun.

Annette enjoyed Luciana's company. Her attention hanged on every word, like it was a constant performance, rehearsed and revised all for Annette's amusment. "Third place pumpkins also get to enjoy the sun," She said with a grin, "right along side pumpkins like you." She didn't show any resistance to Luciana's swaying her arm, she actually liked it, releasing any of the base tension that you'd get from holding someones hand. It went from being holding a strangers hand, to just holding a hand.

Annette contemplated her question, typically she tried to fit as much eating and drinking as she can into the first day, but with Luciana by her side it felt like a nice day to experiment with her annual routine. Maybe explore some of the new areas that she saves for closer to the end of the festival. "I'm not sure actually, I usually just enjoy the food and drinks, but I'm feeling pretty adventurous. What about you? If this malt turns out to be worthwhile you may have to show me more of the mysterious side of the festival, it appears I don't know as much as what I once thought." She smirked, still a little perturbed that she never knew of the malt stand password. She hoped Luciana wouldn't mind her proposal of them spending more time together.

[oddlittlestories]

Nothing like a gifset to remind me that I really DON'T like dating men actually

[oreo-creampie]

𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤 𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐭, 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐲

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: quiet nerd!pleasure dom!choso, heavy praise/light degradation, dacryphilia, choso has a size kink, choso’s pov, oral (giving and receiving), knife play/no blood, light pain kink, pussy drunk/obsessed choso, squirting, fingering, light begging, light choking

𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 @vampress7; Hi baby girl I hope you’re doing well, I have an idea: nerdy, loner, and unassuming freak choso who absolutely wrecks reader after class during a study session ((I need this so badly))

‘He is wearing those sweat pants, I keep sneaking glances at his cock, I wanna see it. No need to see it, I'm dying of thirst! He can feed me his cum! I don't really care much for giving blow jobs but something about Choso makes me wanna gobble his cock till he is a whiny mess.’

‘Damn ily but you’re down too bad for a man you haven't even touched.’

‘I cant help it! Have you seen Choso?! I want to hear how he sounds when he cums.’

‘Aren’t yall supposed to study for friday’s exam you can’t fail this one!’

Writen in your text bar; ‘its hard to focus on what he’s saying. Choso’s thick arms in his black muscle t-shirt’

Choso’s cheeks are burning, his ego swelling, nerves churning, and disbelief whispering. Sliding his fingers through his hair, there is no denying you want him.

Glancing down at his cock, perfectly outlined by his thin sweats. His cock is getting warmer, longer, and thicker with each soft pulse. If you want his cock, you can have it any way you’re willing to take it.

You come back holding the fuzzy stripped criminal. “He broke my lamp, got it cleaned up but he’s ground.” You bend over for Jasper to jump to the floor, running away from you with his fluffy tail in the air.

Your shorts rising up your soft ass. “I’d hit ya from the back if I didn't want to see the face you make when you take my fat cock first the first time.” Your beautiful eyes widen, locking onto your phone in his hands.

Grabbing his hard cock, stroking himself through his sweats. You glance down. “Im torn between wanting to fuck that bratty mouth outta ya and eating you out till you’re trembling.” Your mouth looks so sweet and fuckable. You’d look so beautiful sucking his cock with tears running down your face.

“For me to be a good teacher I need to help you focus. If I help you cum will you pay attention more. We can snuggle while we study.” Holding your phone out for you to grab. Quickly discarding it on the coffee table.

His heart beating faster when you get on your knees in front of him. “If you were paying attention to the text then you’d know,” tugging his sweatpants down, “I won't be able to pay attention until I hear what sounds come out of that pretty mouth of yours.”

Moaning when you grab his cock, your hand soft, in your hand his cock has never looked so big before. “You can hear me moaning in your soft cunt. I don't think you understand nnn!” Loudly moaning when you take his cock into your hot wet mouth.

Bobbing your head, taking him deeper with slow strokes soothing the uncomfortable tighteness building in his of his cock. “Honeybun I jerked off to the thought of eating you out before comin’.” Cupping your cheek, jerking hips fucking your soft wet mouth.

“Been slutting you out in my head since ya walked into class.” Choso leans his head back, sliding his fingers through his soft dark hair. “We can do both, Im dying to taste ya sloppy cunt. I'll gag you with my fat cock nnnn oh fuck that’s iiittt! Grabbing a handful of your hair, fucking your soft mouth till spit is dripping down your chin.

Choso is getting off on your beautiful eyes sparkling with tears that trickle down your cheeks. “Are ya gonna be my whore help me take care of my fat cock?” Pulling you off his cock with a soft pop. His too heavy to stand up, hitting his cock.

Grabbing his cock, smacking his tip on your lips. “Wish it stood up, but what can ya do?” He knees wobble when you cup his balls. Lovingly kissing along his cock, easing the ache and tension, with sweet soft pleasure.

Your hand feels so good, his cock softly tingling. Smiling up at him. He can feel his heartbeat in the quickly pulse of his cock. “You’re so perfectly thick and heavy that you hang, nothing wrong with that handsome.” Licking up his cock, swirling your tongue around his fat head. He groans when watches himself slip inside.

Letting go of your hair, slipping his hands beneath your shoulders. Picking you up, you wrap your soft thighs around his waist. He feels strong holding you close, keeping you safe. “Gonna take good care of you, and your sloppy cunt.”

Squeezing your ass, carrying you with one hand. You grab a handful of his hair, and a tingle shoots down his spine when he feels your nails. “Bedroom is the last room on the right.” Taking you down the hall. “Please all I want is you. Wanna be your whore, ruin anyone else for me with your fat cock.” Trailing loving kissing along his jaw, his cheeks burning.

Opening and shutting the door behind himself. “Ill show you how badly I've been needing ya.” Gently setting you down, closing your curtains. Taking his shirt off, dropping it on the floor.

You’re making quick work of taking your shirt and shorts off. Admiring your beautiful body Choso forgets everything he’s doing. You give him one thought when you spread your legs showing him your soft wet cunt.

He needs to make you cum.

Kneeling, grabbing your soft thighs putting them over his shoulder. “So so so beautiful.” Kissing your soft clit, gently sucking, steadily stroking you with his tongue. Making sure his barbell rubs your clit with his swipe.

Nudging a thick finger into your tight cunt. You’re perfectly soft and wet, clenching his finger. Slowly pumping his finger, he’s going to find your g-spot. Clenching his head with your soft thighs. Grabbing his hair tugging, he groans from the sweet pain.

Focusing on your sweet spot. Taking pride in how easily you tremble because of his tongue and finger.

“They say the quiet ones are freaky, what about you? What do you think about when you're touching yourself?” Choso doesn't want to take his face out from between your legs. He’s found heaven, but he can't ignore your question.

Rising up, causing you to fall on your back, your legs over his broad shoulders. His cock hangs, his tip lightly grazing your soft, wet cunt. “Wanna take you to mine, get you high, give you a safe word,” trapping your head in between his hands, “tie you up, drag a knife across your skin, see you squirm, help you cum, hear you cry and beg to be my sweet little whore.”

His cock aches from having you folded up beneath him. “I wouldn’t mind trying some freak shit, get a knife from the kitchen.” Kissing your forehead, cheeks, and soft cunt. Carefully slipping your legs off his shoulders.

Choso is quick to grab a large knife from your kitchen.

Leaning over you, “Safe word is red.” Lining his cock with your soft cunt, rolling his hip. Dragging the knife up your side, gently kissing your soft lips. Groaning, grinding his thick cock on your sloppy cunt.

Squeezing your neck, pinning your hips with his, keeping you from squirming too much. Slipping his tongue past your lips, deepening the kiss. You’re so needy, and desperate, digging your nails into his back.

Loosening his grasp on your neck. “Ya good sweetheart?” Dragging the knife over your soft nipple, pulling his cock away. You’re so sexy, stuffing two thick fingers in your sweet cunt. “You’re getting so sloppy for me.” Curling his fingers, remember where your sweet spot is.

Smirking with pride when you moan, “Chooo please please please!” Gliding the knife down your stomach. Marveling at how you squirm, your cunt getting so tight around his thick fingers.

Your cunt’s lips and puffy clit wet, soft and beautiful. “I’m obsessed with how sexy you are begging’ for me, clenching my fingers.” Pressing the side of the knife to your clit, lightly rubbing your clit.

“I’ve been waiting long enough please please fuck me. Need to feel your fat cock in my cunt!” Choso’s cheeks burn with how you’re looking at him. He wants to remember the look of adoration, lust and pleasure on your beautiful face forever.

Lifting the knife off your clit, kissing her. “I didn’t prep ya enough yet sweetheart.” Dragging the knife along your thigh, adding more pressure than before testing what limits you have.

Stroking your clit with his thumb. “Nnnn oh fuck.” Pumping his fingers faster. - the pain- pleasure-I didn’t think!” You trail off moaning louder, biting your bottom lip, closing your eyes.

Holding the knifes to your neck, “Look at me or I’m stopping, look at whose making your tight little cunt feel so good.” Smiling when you look at him. “That’s it beautiful, lemme see the sweet look into your eyes when you cum. Whose slut are you?”

Rubbing your soft clit faster. “Your’s! All yours my tits, mouth, ass and cunt are all yours.” Dragging the knife down your neck, between your collarbones and swirling around your nipple.

“What are you? Need to hear you say it beautiful.” Messaging your sweet spot at a steady pace. You’re quivering, your cunt squelching, making his cock ache with how hard he is. His pulse quickens, making his head throb.

Swiping your nipple with the knife. “I’m your sexy good lil’ slutttt!!! Nnnn!” You’re squirting on his fingers, fingering your soft, squelching tight cunt. Playing with your puffy clit.

Jerking your hips away, he drags the knife down above your belly. Forcing you to have to keep still, your thick cum trickling from your spasming cunt. “There are so many nasty things I wanna do to you. I’m gonna ruin you, make your cunt crave my cock.” Gliding his fingers out.

Sucking your thick cum off his fingers, groaning from the flavor. Dragging the knife to your sloppy, sensitive cunt, sliding the knife around your sweet cunt. Groaning when your soft cunt clenches around nothing. “Beg for my cock.”

Oreo creampie’s m.list

[luveline]

i have a request for roommate!spencer where he's just miserable that no one remembered his birthday at work but when he gets home his roommate just welcomes him with the most thoughtful gift and a warm hug PLEASE

thank you for requesting! <3 fem!reader

The lights are off. The air conditioning blows a shade too cold. Spencer shrugs off his jacket and acknowledges that, despite his awful, aching day, it’s nice to be home. 

The living room is clean where it hadn’t been this morning when he left. If he had to clean it by himself, he’d die. It must’ve taken a good hour or longer, even the floor shines sparkling clean. 

“Hey?” he asks into the open air, wondering where you are. 

“Spencer!” you yelp from the kitchen, “Hey, what took you so long? It’s almost seven!” 

He sighs to himself with a great dash of self-pity. “I know. Had to stay and finish something. You cleaned?” 

“I had to! Quick, come in here, I need your help with something.” 

He doesn’t want to help, he wants to lay down in bed. Spencer wonders how a normal person, a normal boy, would feel after a day like today. He wonders if Morgan would go home and lay in bed and cry. He wonders if it could ever be possible for everyone to forget Morgan’s birthday. 

Spencer hangs his jacket on the rack and puts his bag by the shoes. He’s tempted to go to bed and pretend he hasn’t heard you, but he supposes he shouldn’t. He’d sort of been hoping you’d text him happy birthday, and but that never happened. He doesn’t think anybody in the world besides his mom knows what day it is today, and Spencer had to remind her, so. 

“Spence,” you say, your smile of a calibre he’s never witnessed, standing in front of the kitchen island with your hands behind your back, “I hope you know I’ve been waiting two whole hours for you to get back. Actually, I’ve been waiting all day, but you can’t be blamed for working. Okay. Are you ready?” 

“Am I ready? What did you want help with?” 

You step to the side, grinning, the sleeves of your nice blouse like big, soft petals around your wrists and against your thighs. “Tada!” you say, guiding his attention to the silver platter on the countertop, a chocolate cake at centre stage and stuck with candles, flames aglow. “I rushed to light them when I heard the door,” you tell him, and he can hear your breathlessness now, your excitement for him evident. “A lot of candles, you’re getting old! Too old for chocolate sprinkle. I should’ve got you something sophisticated.” 

“You got me a cake?” 

“It’s your birthday,” you say happily. “Happy birthday, Spencer. I got you some presents, too, but the cake is the best, it’s from the Leaven. How fancy is that?” 

“Will you sing?” he asks. 

He doesn’t know why he asks. He’s mostly kidding, but you smile shyly and beckon him toward you. “I’ll sing. Come stand over here.” 

You sing him happy birthday, and he blows out his candles, only ten candles altogether but enough to feel like a kid as the heat kisses his chin. 

“Okay, and I got you this,” you say, finally pulling both hands from behind your back, seemingly eager to move the focus from your performance.

It’s a bundle about as thick as an average novel. He knows it’ll be books before he opens it, because you know him, and it’s in your nature to give him your everything. 

He doesn’t look at them. He takes the package blindly and shoves it onto the counter, wrapping you in a hug so hard it makes your back click. “I’m sorry,” he says, but he doesn’t let go. You don’t make him. “Sorry, I just– I–” You’re the only one who remembered. “Thank you for the cake.” 

You hug him not quite as hard, but tight. “Hey, it’s okay. I love you, you’re my best friend ever, you can pop me like a roll of dough any day of the week.” You might be exaggerating. Spencer doesn’t know. “But especially today, you know. You can have anything you want.” 

Spencer should let go. Anything you want, you’d said. He hugs you until he’s sure you’re sick of him, your thumb pressing little circles into his shoulder, his arms tucked up under your armpits and around your back. “Thanks,” you murmur.

“What?” he asks. “For what?” 

“For such a good hug. And being a great roommate. And for not complaining about the candles.” 

“The candles are perfect.” 

You lean back in his arms. “Thank you. Now what do you want first, cake or dinner?” 

Spencer really wants another hug. “Um. Cake?” 

“Good choice, handsome.”

His cheeks are pink by the time he gets a slice, but it’s the best birthday cake he’s ever had.

[d1stalker]

Undercover Flames [Logan Howlett]

Summary: It was supposed to be easy: infiltrate the gala, gather intel, and report back. But when a mission takes a deadly turn, Logan is forced to confront his deepest fears as he races to save the woman who means more to him than life itself.

PART ONE OF TWO (part two here)

Warnings: Angst, kidnapping, canon-level violence, Logan goes feral, graphic descriptions, lot's of fighting, feels

WC: 10.8k - MASTERLIST

------

A black limousine pulls up to the grand entrance of the sprawling estate, its tires crunching on the gravel driveway. The mansion ahead is bathed in golden light, a beacon of opulence against the darkening sky. Inside, Logan’s gaze shifts to the woman beside him, his fellow teammate and the only person who can keep up with his banter. You adjust the diamond necklace around your neck, the gemstones glinting in the dim light. Logan has seen you in countless situations—on missions, during training, in the midst of battle—but tonight, in that floor-length black gown, you look like someone who belongs in this world of wealth and power. You look beautiful.

“Keep your eyes to yourself, Howlett,” you quip, catching him staring. A smirk plays on your lips as you adjust to fix your hair.

Logan grunts, pulling at the collar of his tuxedo. “Never seen you so dolled up before. Didn’t know you had it in ya.”

“I’m full of surprises,” you tease.

The two of you have been dancing around something deeper for years, hidden beneath layers of sarcasm and witty comebacks. But tonight, with both of you playing the roles of a married couple, the lines between reality and pretense are bound to feel thinner than ever.

Logan’s eyes linger on you for a moment longer, his gaze softening as he takes in the way the dress hugs your figure, the way your hair frames your face. You catch the look, and for a split second, the playful atmosphere between you falls away, replaced by a charged silence that neither of you knows how to break.

The driver opens the door, jolting you back to your senses, and Logan steps out, extending a hand to help you out of the car. You take it, your touch sending a familiar shiver down his spine. He holds onto your hand for just a beat longer than necessary, his thumb brushing lightly over your knuckles.

“Ready?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nods, his grip tightening slightly on your hand. “Let’s get this over with.”

As the doors to the mansion swing open, you’re greeted by the sight of a grand ballroom filled with the elite of society. Men in tailored suits and women in sparkling gowns mingle under chandeliers, their laughter and conversations blending into a hum of affluence. Yet beneath the glittering surface, Logan can sense the undercurrent of danger, the same instinct that has kept him alive for over two centuries. The people here aren’t just the wealthy—they’re the orchestrators of a new threat to mutants, a group so powerful that even the X-Men have to tread carefully.

“Stick close to me,” Logan murmurs as you step into the room. “These people are more dangerous than they look.”

You roll your eyes with a smile, your arm looped through his as you make your way through the crowd. “You don’t have to tell me twice. But remember, we’re supposed to be madly in love.”

He lets out a low chuckle, one that only you can hear. “Right. Madly in love.”

His words hang in the air between you, loaded with a meaning neither of you dares to acknowledge.

The two of you move deeper into the ballroom, and you can feel the weight of several eyes on you. It’s no surprise—Logan’s rugged demeanor and your striking appearance make for a captivating combination—nevertheless, you both know better than to let your guard down. This place is a viper’s nest, and any wrong move could cost you your lives.

“There they are,” you whisper, nodding subtly toward a group of older men gathered near the center of the room. “Our targets.”

Logan’s eyes narrow as he focuses on them, recognizing the group from the briefings. “Time to make some friends.”

With practiced ease, you and Logan approach the group, slipping seamlessly into their conversation. You introduce yourselves as a wealthy couple from out of town, interested in investing in the right causes. It doesn’t take long before the men welcome you into their circle, eager to impress and share their twisted ideals.

“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Daniels, was it?” one of the men, a tall, thin figure with silver hair and a sharp jawline, inquires. His eyes are cold and calculating, a predator sizing up his prey. “What brings you to our little gathering tonight?”

“Opportunities,” you reply, a hint of seduction in your tone. “My husband and I are always looking for the right people to align ourselves with. When we heard about your… endeavors, we couldn’t resist.”

Logan wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you closer in a show of possessiveness that feels all too natural. “My wife’s got a keen eye for business,” he adds for extra persuasion, “And we’ve been hearing a lot about your group. Sounds like you’ve got big plans.”

The man’s eyes flick between the two of you, as if his suspicions still linger. “Plans indeed,” he says slowly. “But only for those who share our vision. Tell me, Mr. Daniels, what is it that you despise most?”

“Weakness,” Logan growls, his eyes meeting the man’s without flinching. “In this world, you’re either strong enough to survive, or you’re not. And I don’t have time for the ones who can’t keep up.”

A smile that doesn’t reach his eyes spreads across the man’s face. “I see we understand each other.”

You feel Logan’s hand tighten on your waist, his body tense with barely contained aggression. He’s playing the part, but you know how much he hates being in the company of people like this—people who would kill without remorse, all to maintain some sense of superiority.

“And what about you, Mrs. Daniels?” the older man continues, turning his attention to you. “Do you share your husband’s views?”

You meet his gaze with unwavering confidence, channeling all the poise you have. “Absolutely. There’s no place in this world for those who refuse to evolve. We believe in survival of the fittest.”

That seems to do the trick, the men in the circle nodding approvingly. “Well said, Mrs. Daniels. You two might just be exactly what we need.”

Another man in the group, stockier and with a thick, gray beard, leans in closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “And what do you think of the mutant problem?”

You exchange a brief glance with Logan, knowing that this is the moment of truth. If you say the wrong thing, it could blow your cover, but if you’re too vague, they might not trust you enough to share any details of their plans.

“I think they’ve had their time,” Logan says, false contempt bleeding from his words, “and it’s time someone put them in their place.”

The stocky man’s eyes light up with approval, his grin widening. “Exactly what we like to hear. You see, we’re not just talking about containment anymore.” He pauses, “We’re talking about eradication.”

Your stomach turns at the cold-blooded tone in his voice, but you keep your expression neutral.

“Eradication, you say?”

The silver-haired man nods. “A necessary step. Mutants are a threat to the natural order, and if we don’t act now, they’ll overrun us. But we have a plan—one that will send a message to the world.”

Logan’s jaw clenches, his fists itching to unsheathe his claws and tear through this evil group of people. But he forces himself to stay calm, “Sounds like you’ve got it all figured out,” he manages to get out through gritted teeth.

“We do,” the silver-haired man replies, his eyes gleaming with malice. “And with the right support, we can make it happen. Imagine a world free of mutants, where humanity can thrive without fear.”

You hum in feigned agreement. “Tell us more,” you prompt, leaning in as if genuinely interested. “How do you plan to pull this off?”

Glances are exchanged among the men, a clear sign of their satisfaction with the interest you seem to show.

“It’s quite simple, really,” the stocky man begins. “We’ve been gathering resources and allies from around the world. The most powerful minds, the wealthiest families—all united by a common goal.”

“And once we’ve secured enough support,” the silver-haired man continues, “we’ll make our move. We’ll target key mutant populations, taking them out in a way that will serve as a warning to others. Public displays, executions—whatever it takes to make them fear us.”

You keep your voice steady, despite the chill that runs down your spine, as you reply, “That’s… quite an undertaking.”

The men chuckle, mistaking your hesitation for awe. “It is. But it’s necessary. And with people like you on our side, we’ll be unstoppable.”

Logan smirks. “Count us in.”

The men smile, delighted with what they believe is newfound support. Logan hates every second of it—despises having to play along with these monsters. But he knows you both have to get more intel before you can make a move. The mission has to come first, even if it means playing nice with the enemy.

“Excuse us,” you say smoothly, grabbing Logan’s hand and glancing at him with a look that says it’s time to go. “We need to discuss a few things, but we’ll be in touch.”

The men nod, distracted by their own plotting as you and Logan step away, moving toward one of the less populated hallways. As soon as you’re out of earshot, Logan exhales, the tension in his shoulders easing just slightly.

“I need to tell Scott what we just heard,” you murmur quietly, “They’re planning something big, and we don’t have much time.”

Logan nods, his hand squeezing yours as you walk down the hallway. “I’ll keep watch. Make it quick.”

You find a secluded spot near a corner, pulling out the small communicator you’ve hidden in your purse. Quickly, you begin to relay the crucial information to Scott and Hank back at the X-Mansion, your voice hushed but urgent as you detail the plans you’ve overheard. Logan stands nearby, his senses on high alert, his gaze sweeping the hallway for any sign of trouble.

It’s too quiet.

The hair on the back of his neck stands up, instincts prickling with the sense that something is wrong. He turns to you, about to suggest wrapping things up when he hears it—a faint noise, like the subtle shifting of fabric, imperceptible to anyone without enhanced hearing.

Logan’s eyes dart toward the source of the sound, muscles tensing as he spots movement down the hall. “We’ve got company,” he mutters, just loud enough for you to hear.

You quickly finish your transmission, tucking the communicator back into its spot in your purse. “How many?”

“Too many,” Logan mutters, his claws itching to come out. “We need to move. Now.”

It’s too late. A group of security guards rounds the corner before either of you can make a break for it. Their eyes lock onto you with suspicion, and you can see the realization dawning in their expressions. Logan immediately steps in front of you, his body a solid wall of protection.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” one of the guards says, his hand resting on the weapon at his hip. “Who are you?”

Logan forces a grin, trying to buy some time. “Just lost our way. We were headin’ back to the ballroom.”

The guard’s eyes narrow, evidently not buying it. “I don’t think so. You two don’t seem to belong here.”

Another guard steps forward before Logan has time to respond, pulling out a device that emits a faint, ominous hum. The man waves it over you, and Logan’s heart sinks as the device beeps loudly, flashing red.

“Mutants,” the guard spits, his voice filled with disgust as he steps closer, his hand reaching out to grab you. “We’ve got ourselves some freaks here, boys.”

A wave of panic surges through you, but you shove it down, focusing on the cosmic energy you can feel crackling at your fingertips. Summoning all your strength, you swing a fist, aiming to land a powerful, energy-charged punch straight into the guard’s face.

But just as you make your move, another guard from your other side grabs your wrist mid-swing and your other arm, twisting them behind your back with brutal precision. The cosmic energy fizzles out instantly, your powers rendered useless by the anti-mutant handcuffs that snap around your wrists with a harsh click. The cold metal bites into your skin, and you feel immense fear crawl its way through your body as you realize how vulnerable you are without your powers, or the use of your arms.

“Nice try, sweetheart,” the guard sneers in your ear, his grip on your arm painfully tight as he shoves you forward. “But you’re not going anywhere.”

Logan’s eyes widen in fury as he sees the guard cuff you, his body trembling with the effort to keep his rage in check. “Let her go,” he snarls, his voice dangerously heavy.

The guard only grins, tightening his hold on you. “Or what, freak? You gonna bark? Gonna bite?”

Logan’s claws shoot out with a metallic shink, the sound echoing through the hallway. He takes a step forward, the feral side of him failing to suppress itself as he glares at the guards with deadly intent. “Last warning. Let. Her. Go.”

Instead of backing down, the guards react with eager viciousness. The one holding you shoves you hard against the wall, his leg sticking out to block your own, pinning you in place. Some others step forward, one landing a brutal punch to your stomach, the force of it knocking the wind out of you. The world tilts, and pain explodes in your ribs as another guard’s boot connects with your side.

Logan sees red.

Something primal surges within him, the instinct to protect you overwhelming every other thought. With a roar that shakes the walls, he launches himself at the guards, his claws slicing through the first one with a sickening crunch. Blood splatters across the floor as Logan tears through them with a ferocity that is terrifying to witness.

He moves like a whirlwind of rage, his claws ripping through flesh and bone with savage efficiency. The guards don’t stand a chance against him, but even as he fights, more of them swarm in, trying to overwhelm him with sheer numbers.

“Logan!” you cry out, the fear and pain you feel palpable as you struggle to get free. The guard holding you down slams your head against the wall, and stars burst behind your eyes as the world blurs.

Logan spins around, his eyes wild as he sees you slumped against the wall, blood trickling from your nose, eyes fighting to stay open. The sight of you being beaten, helpless and vulnerable, sends him into a frenzy. He slashes through another guard in his way, his claws dripping with blood as he tries to tear through their ranks.

However, his efforts are futile, the guards are relentless. Their numbers never dwindle, if anything, more and more seem to join the fight. They pile onto him, using their advantage, holding him down to the ground. Logan fights with everything he has, but even he has limits. He can feel the weight of them pressing down on him, can feel his strength waning as they force him to the ground.

“Logan!” you call his name again, breaking through the chaos. He can see you being dragged from the scene, your wrists bound, your eyes locked on his as they pull you farther and farther away.

“NO!” He roars, his voice breaking as he thrashes against the guards holding him down. He has to get to you—he has to save you.

Yet the more he fights, the more they press down, their combined weight and force overwhelming even his enhanced strength. They slam his head against the cold floor, pain exploding through his skull as his vision begins to fade. The last thing he sees before everything goes dark is your terrified face, the way your lips form his name, and the cold, cruel hands dragging you away into the shadows.

And then, nothing.

----

Logan wakes up to the sterile smell of antiseptic and the distant sound of beeping monitors. His head pounds, and every muscle in his body aches as if he’s been through a war—and in some ways, he has. Groaning, he tries to sit up, but a firm hand presses him back down.

“Easy, Logan,” comes Hank’s calm, reassuring voice. “You’ve been out for a while.”

Logan blinks, his vision slowly coming into focus. He’s in the med bay, the familiar white walls and harsh fluorescent lights greeting him. Once he finally comes to his senses, and he remembers the events that transpired the previous night, he realizes none of that matters. The only thing he cares about is you.

“Where is she?” he demands as he struggles against Hank’s hold.

Hank’s expression softens with pity and concern. “She’s… Logan, they took her. We’re doing everything we can to track her down, but—”

Panic jolts through Logan like a bolt of electricity, drowning out the rest of what Hank is saying. His eyes burn as he wrenches himself free from Hank’s grasp, his voice a gruff, dangerous snarl.

“How the hell did you get me out but leave her behind? You’re telling me you saved my sorry ass and couldn’t save her?”

Hank hesitates, his features morphing into a pained look, “It wasn’t like that. We were overwhelmed. There were too many of them, and you—”

“I don’t wanna hear excuses!” Logan cries, his words echoing off the walls as he slams a fist down on the bed. The metal frame groans under the force of his anger.

At that moment, Charles Xavier wheels in, his imposing presence immediately felt within the confines of the small room. He speaks calmly, trying to cut through the fog clouding Logan’s mind. “Logan, we did everything we could. It was hard enough getting just you. We had no choice but to retreat. If we hadn’t, we might have lost you both.”

Logan’s glare could’ve burned holes through steel as he turns to Charles, nostrils flaring.

“I don’t give a damn about me! She’s out there, alone, with those bastards, and I wasn’t there to stop it. I should’ve been able to protect her.”

His fists clench, his knuckles turning white as he struggles to contain the whirlwind of emotions tearing through him. Guilt eats him from the inside out. The thought of you suffering because he wasn’t there to protect you… “You–We…We left her behind,” he mutters, voice cracking.

Charles’s voice is firm but compassionate as he addresses the younger mutant. “You need to rest and regain your strength. When the time comes, you’ll be ready to get her back—but you can’t do that if you’re broken.”

Jaw tightening, Logan leans his body forward, holding his head in his hands. His temper is boiling, he wants to tear everything apart until there is nothing left, but he knows, deep down, that Charles is right. And as much as it kills him, he has to bide his time, to heal and prepare for what is to come.

But that doesn’t make it any easier.

“Hank, get out,” he growls, “Get out before I lose it.”

Hank exchanges a worried glance with Charles before reluctantly nodding. “We’ll find her, Logan. I promise.”

After Hank leaves the room, Logan sinks back onto the bed, his chest heaving with the effort to keep himself from exploding. His eyes bore into Charles’s, who remains, silently offering his support.

“When we find her,” he says, his voice low and full of promise, “there’s no holding back. I’m done waiting, done with all the excuses. She’s mine, and I’m not letting anything or anyone take her away from me again.”

----

The first thing you feel is the cold—icy, unforgiving, and seeping into your bones. Your head pounds, a dull, persistent ache that makes it hard to think, let alone move. When you try to lift your hands, you realize they are restrained, heavy iron chains biting into your wrists and pulling your arms taut above your head.

You jump to your senses, sharp and immediate, as you force your eyes open. The world is a blur at first, everything spinning and distorted. Then, as your vision clears, the reality of your situation hits you like a slap in the face.

You are in a cell. The walls are made of rough stone, the floor damp and filthy. There is barely any light, just a dim bulb hanging from the ceiling, flickering occasionally and casting long shadows that dance across the room. Your dress—the one you’d worn to the gala—is torn, the delicate fabric shredded and hanging off you in tatters. You can see your own blood between the patches that reveal your skin. You feel exposed, vulnerable, and a deep sense of dread settles in your stomach.

You try to pull against the chains, but your limbs are weak, your movements sluggish. They must have drugged you—this realization makes your heart race, fear clawing at your throat. You have no idea how long you’ve been out, no idea where you are or what they plan to do to you.

A sound from the other side of the cell catches your attention—laughter, low and mocking. You turn your head, the movement sending another wave of dizziness through your skull. Two guards stand just outside the bars, their faces twisted in cruel amusement.

“Look who’s finally awake,” one of them sneers with malice. “The mutant bitch.”

The words sting, but you refuse to show it. You force yourself to sit up straighter, meeting his gaze with as much defiance as you can muster. “Where am I?” you demand, your voice hoarse and shaky.

The guard laughs again, louder this time. “You’re in hell, sweetheart. And there’s no way out.”

His companion, a stockier man with a scar running down his cheek, steps forward, his eyes raking over you with a look that makes your skin crawl. “The boss is real interested in you, you know. He’s got plans,” he smiles, “Big plans.”

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your composure. “What do you want with me?”

“Oh, it ain’t about what we want,” the scarred guard replies, a disgusting grin spreading across his face. “It’s about what you can do. For us. You mutants think you’re so special, so powerful. But look at you now—all chained up and helpless.”

He reaches through the bars, grabbing a handful of your hair and yanking your head back. Pain shoots through your scalp, but you bite your lip, refusing to cry out. You won’t give them the satisfaction.

“Let go of me,” you hiss.

The guard’s grin widens as he leans closer, his breath hot and foul against your skin. “Make me, sweetheart. Oh, wait—you can’t.”

He laughs again, muttering to the other guard about how satisfying this is, and you feel a wave of nausea rise in your throat. You can feel the energy within you, your power that usually simmers just beneath the surface, always ready to be called upon. But now, it’s like a distant echo, muted and weak. The chains—they must be suppressing your abilities, keeping you from using your mutation.

“Your little tricks won’t work here,” the first guard taunts, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure. “Those chains are special, made just for freaks like you. No powers, no escape.”

You are trapped, powerless, at the mercy of these men and whoever their leader is. You know you can’t let them see your fear. You can’t let them break you.

“I’ll get out of here,” you say, keeping your voice level despite the terror gnawing at your insides. “And when I do, you’ll regret this.”

The guards exchange a glance, then burst into laughter, the sound grating and harsh in the confined space.

“Big talk for someone who’s all chained up,” the scarred guard says, releasing his grip on your hair with a rough shove that sends you sprawling back against the wall.

“You’re not getting out,” the first guard adds, his tone more serious now. “No one’s coming for you. Your friends probably think you’re dead already. It’s been days.”

For a moment, your resolve falters. What if they are right? What if the team thinks you’re gone, or worse—what if they can’t find you? But then you think of Logan, of the fierce determination in his eyes, the way he’d fought for you before. No, they wouldn’t abandon you. He wouldn’t abandon you.

“They’ll find me,” you say, the conviction in your voice surprising even you.

The guards don’t laugh this time. The scarred one scowls, stepping back from the bars. “Keep dreaming, mutant. You’re ours now.”

With that, they turn and leave, their footsteps echoing down the corridor until they fade into silence. You are alone again, the cell’s walls pressing in from all sides. Yet despite the fear, despite the pain, you hold onto that sliver of hope, that image of Logan and the others coming to your rescue.

You aren’t going to give up. Not now, not ever.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep breath, forcing yourself to focus. The drugs are still in your system, making it hard to concentrate, but you won’t let that stop you. You start to tug at the chains again, testing their strength, trying to find any weakness, any way to break free.

It is agonizing, and with every movement, the metal digs deeper into your skin, drawing blood. But the pain keeps you focused, keeps you from slipping into despair. You have to keep going. You have to believe that Logan will come for you.

And when he does, you will be ready.

----

Weeks pass since that fateful night at the gala, weeks that feel like an eternity to Logan. Each day that you remain missing is another day of excruciating uncertainty, each hour that ticks by another reminder of his failure to protect you. The mansion, usually a place of camaraderie and purpose, has become a suffocating prison where he is forced to wait and hope—two things he has never been good at.

Charles Xavier is relentless in his search, utilizing every resource, every connection, and every ounce of his telepathic abilities to track down the organization that has taken you. The X-Men work tirelessly alongside him, scouring the globe for any trace, any whisper, that could lead them to you. Logan is a constant presence in the war room, his patience worn thin by the endless dead ends and false leads. He’s ready to go after them with nothing but his claws and a vendetta, but Charles insists on a plan, a strategy that won’t just rescue you but will dismantle the threat for good.

Finally, after weeks of frustration and relentless searching, they find something—a lead that could change everything.

Charles is in his study, surrounded by a tangle of maps, files, and reports, his mind stretched to its limits as he sifts through the chaotic swirl of information. Then, in the quiet hours of the night, he finds it—a faint, almost non-existent mental signature, hidden deep within the shadows of his mind. It’s the psychic equivalent of a whisper, a delicate thread that, when tugged, reveals a location: a remote island, far off the coast, where the organization has set up a secret base.

This base, as he quickly pieces together, is where they are holding you, along with other mutants they have captured. It’s heavily fortified, nearly impossible to reach by conventional means, and shielded against most telepathic detection. The mental signature he finds slips through only because it’s so faint, a brief lapse in their otherwise impenetrable defenses.

Charles spends days verifying the information, cross-referencing it with the intelligence they’ve gathered over the weeks. Every detail lines up—this is it. This is where they have taken you, and this is where they will launch their attack.

With the location confirmed, Charles knows he has to get the team together and act. Act fast.

----

Time loses all meaning in the cold, dark cell where you are held captive. The days and nights blur together, an endless cycle of hunger, pain, and hopelessness. The cold stone walls, once foreboding, have become your only companions, and the silence is a constant reminder of how alone you are.

Your dress is taken hours after you awake, replaced with a rough, beige prison uniform that itches against your skin. The fabric is thin, offering little protection against the freezing temperature. Your wrists and ankles ache from the tight cuffs they keep you in most of the time, the metal leaving angry red marks that never seem to fade.

They barely feed you—just enough to keep you alive, but never enough to give you any real strength. The meals are a cruel joke, infrequent and consisting of nothing more than stale bread and murky water that tastes like rust.

What makes it truly unbearable isn’t the food itself; it’s the way you are forced to consume it.

Chained to the wall, your arms shackled above your head, you can’t even feed yourself. Every day, like clockwork, one of the guards enters your cell, a twisted smirk on his face as he carries a small, dented tray of food. He kneels beside you, holding the bread just out of reach, as if daring you to try and grab it.

“Hungry?” he taunts, waving the bread in front of your face. “You look like you could use a bite.”

You glare at him, your stomach growling with hunger, but you refuse to beg. You refuse to give him the satisfaction of seeing how desperate you are. In the end, your body’s needs always win out, and you reluctantly part your lips, letting him shove the stale, crumbling bread into your mouth.

The guard never makes it easy. He pushes the bread in too far, making you gag, or holds it just out of reach, forcing you to strain against your chains, the metal digging painfully into your wrists. When it comes time for the water, he tilts the cup too quickly, spilling most of it down your chin, leaving you with just a few precious drops to quench your thirst.

“Pathetic,” he mutters, wiping the spilled water off your face with the back of his hand in a mockery of kindness. “Can’t even eat without help.”

You swallow the bread, the dry crumbs scraping down your throat, doing your best to keep from choking. The water that follows is barely enough to wash it down, leaving your mouth dry and your hunger only partially sated.

It’s a humiliating, degrading experience, one that leaves you feeling even more powerless than the chains ever could. And that’s exactly what the guards want. Each meal is an exercise in control, a reminder that you are at their mercy, that they hold all the power.

Somehow, that still isn’t the worst of it all.

Guards come daily, sometimes in pairs, sometimes alone, always with that same twisted grin on their faces. You have learned to anticipate their visits, to prepare yourself for the taunts, the jeers, and the beatings that inevitably follow. They seem to take pleasure in your suffering, their laughter echoing off the walls as they deliver blow after blow, leaving you gasping for breath on the cold, hard floor.

Every time they come, they mock you, their voices dripping with contempt. “Where are your precious X-Men now, huh? Guess they forgot about you. Must be nice knowing no one cares enough to come get you.”

You bite your lip, refusing to give them the satisfaction of seeing you break. But inside, the doubt begins to creep in. How long has it been? Weeks, maybe more? Surely they would have found you by now. Surely Logan is out there, tearing the world apart to find you. But as the days drag on and the beatings continue, it becomes harder to hold onto that hope.

One day, after an especially brutal session where they leave you bruised and bleeding on the floor, you find yourself laughing—a bitter, hollow sound that startles even you.

“What’s so funny?” one of the guards sneers, looking down at you with a scowl.

You lift your head, your gaze locking onto his, something defiant sparking in your eyes despite the pain. “Do you guys get off on seeing people in pain? Is this a fetish or something?”

The guard’s expression darkens with disdain, and he steps forward, delivering a swift kick to your side that makes you gasp, the air rushing out of your lungs. “Shut up!” he barks.

You cough, tasting blood on your lips, but you can’t stop the words that tumble out. “Is that all you’ve got?” you rasp, pushing yourself up onto your elbows despite the throbbing in your ribs. “I’m starting to think you’re not very good at this.”

The guard’s face twists into a snarl, and he raises his hand to strike you again, but the other guard grabs his arm, pulling him back. “Enough,” the second guard says, though his voice is more cautious now. “We’re not supposed to kill her. Not yet.”

They leave you there, crumpled on the floor, your body aching. As much as it hurts, as much as the beatings wear you down, you cling to that small act of defiance. They haven’t broken you. Not yet.

----

The tension in the war room is suffocating, the air thick with urgency and dread. The X-Men gather around the long, sleek table, the holographic map of the enemy compound glowing in the center, casting an eerie blue light across their faces. Scott stands at the head of the table, his expression stern as he outlines possible infiltration points, while Jean, Ororo, and Hank listen intently.

Logan sits at the far end, his posture rigid, every muscle in his body coiled tight like a spring ready to snap. He doesn’t want to be here—doesn’t want to waste time with plans and strategies when all he can think about is you. But he knows that going off on his own, especially in his current state, would only end in disaster. So he forces himself to stay, to listen, even though every second feels like a waste.

His hands clench into fists on the table, his knuckles turning white. He can barely focus on Scott’s words, his mind consumed with images of you—frightened, abandoned, injured. The thought makes his blood boil, his claws itching to extend and tear through anything in his path.

“Logan,” Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts. “Are you with us?”

He glances up, meeting her concerned gaze. He knows she can feel his turmoil, his barely restrained anger, and that only makes him more frustrated.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” he snaps.

Ororo shoots him a warning look. “We need to stay focused, Logan. Losing your temper won’t help her.”

Logan grits his teeth, biting back the retort that rises to his lips. He knows she’s right, but that doesn’t make it any easier to control the storm of emotions raging inside him. “Just tell me when we’re movin’,” he growls, his tone laced with impatience. “I’m not sittin’ around any longer while they’ve got her.”

“We all want to find her, Logan,” Scott says, “But we have to do this right. If we go in guns blazing, we could get her killed.”

“And if we wait too long, she’ll be dead anyway.”

“Logan,” Hank interjects, trying to be the voice of reason. “Scott’s right. We have to be smart about this. We’re dealing with people who have resources, power, and a deep-seated hatred for mutants. They’ll be expecting us.”

Jean’s voice cuts through his thoughts again, this time in his mind, her telepathy reaching out to him. Logan, I know how much she means to you. We’re doing everything we can to bring her back. Trust us.

He shoots her a glare, not appreciating the intrusion, but he doesn’t push her away. Jean has always been the one who could reach him, even when he’s at his most stubborn. I’m not lettin’ them keep her from me any longer, Jean, he thinks back, his mental voice raw with emotion.

You won’t, Jean replies, her mental tone firm but soothing. We won’t let that happen. But you need to stay with us, Logan. We’re stronger together.

“What’s the plan?” he asks, breaking his stupor.

Charles exchanges a glance with Scott, who nods and steps forward to explain. “We’ll approach under the cover of night. Ororo will create a storm to mask our presence, and we’ll use the Blackbird to drop in undetected. Jean and I will handle disabling their telepathic defenses so we can get a read on the situation inside. Hank will take out their communications to prevent them from calling for reinforcements.”

“And me?” Logan growls, his eyes locked on the island’s location.

“You’ll be leading the assault,” Scott replies without hesitation. He can sense the violent need rattling within Logan’s bones—craving to avenge you. “Once we’ve neutralized the outer defenses, you and I will go in together. Our primary objective is to get her out—everything else is secondary. We can always go back to finish the job."

Logan’s fists clench at his sides, his claws itching to be released.

“When do we leave?”

“Tonight,” Charles answers from where he sits at the table. “We’ve waited long enough.”

Logan remains by the map while the team disperses and begins to prepare, his eyes fixed on the small island in the middle of the vast ocean. This is it. After weeks of waiting, weeks of imagining the worst, he finally has a chance to make things right.

He can almost feel the cold metal of the anti-mutant handcuffs around your wrists, the bruises on your skin from the guards’ brutality. The thought makes him see red, but beneath the rage is something even more powerful—a fierce determination to see you safe, to get you out of there and back where you belong.

Logan will lead the charge, and God help anyone who stands in his way.

As the team assembles, suited up and ready for the mission, Charles wheels over to Logan, placing a hand on his arm. “We’ll bring her home, Logan. And we’ll make sure this never happens again.”

He nods, the fire in his eyes burning brighter than ever. “We will,” he says, a dangerous growl clawing its way out of his throat, “And when I get my hands on them, they’ll wish they’d never laid a finger on her.”

With that, the team boards the Blackbird, the weight of the mission pressing down on them as they soar into the night. The storm Ororo has summoned rages around them, the skies dark and foreboding, as they approach the island. Every second brings them closer to the moment of reckoning, and Logan’s focus sharpens to a razor’s edge.

“I’m comin’ for ya, darlin’,” he murmurs under his breath, the words a promise to himself as much as to you. “Just hold on.”

----

“Approaching the drop zone,” Ororo’s calm voice comes over the comms, though the storm she controls outside is anything but calm. Lightning splits the sky, momentarily illuminating the jagged cliffs of the remote island below, their destination hidden within the darkness.

Scott cuts through the tension. “Alright, everyone. Remember the plan. Jean, Ororo, and I will handle the outer defenses. Hank, take out their communications. Logan and I will lead the assault inside. Our primary objective is to find her and get her out.”

Logan barely nods, his eyes locked on the ramp as it begins to lower. The cold wind whips through the interior of the Blackbird, carrying with it the scent of the sea and the earth below. And underneath it all, Logan can smell them—guards, weapons, blood.

“Ready?” Scott asks, glancing at Logan.

His response is a rough, feral growl. “Let’s do this.”

With a sharp nod, Scott activates the drop sequence, and Logan is the first out, dropping into the storm with the grace of a true predator. He lands in a crouch, claws out, eyes scanning the perimeter. The island is as fortified as they feared, with high walls, watchtowers, and heavily armed guards patrolling the grounds.

But none of that matters. He has one focus, one goal: finding you.

The rest of the team lands behind him, moving quickly, quietly, and efficiently. Ororo raises her hands to the sky, intensifying the storm, the wind and rain becoming a blinding force that conceals their approach. Lightning arcs overhead, briefly turning night into day, revealing the outlines of guards scrambling to respond to the sudden onslaught.

Scott gives the signal to move in, and the team splits up, each member heading to their designated targets. Jean and Ororo focus on the outer defenses, disorienting the guards with telepathic illusions and powerful gusts of wind. Hank slips into the shadows, his agile form disappearing into the underbrush as he makes his way to the communications hub.

The Wolverine moves like a shadow, traversing the rain-soaked night with deadly silence. He can feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins, every sense heightened as he approaches the main compound. The guards are on high alert, but they are no match for the X-Men. He watches as Jean’s telepathy turns their own weapons against them, as Scott’s optic blasts tear through their defenses.

But as the team advances, the guards regroup, their numbers swelling as they pour out of the compound. They aren’t going down without a fight. Logan spots a heavily armed squad taking position near a turret, their weapons trained on the team. They open fire, a barrage of bullets slicing through the air.

“Jean!” Scott shouts.

Jean extends her hands, a telekinetic shield flaring to life just in time to deflect the incoming fire. The bullets bounce off harmlessly, but the force of the attack makes it clear this isn’t going to be easy. The guards are better prepared than expected, their movements coordinated, their strategy clear: delay the X-Men as long as possible.

Logan growls in frustration, his claws itching to tear through the enemy lines. “We need to move, now!” he snarls, his voice barely audible over the storm.

Ororo nods, her eyes glowing white as she summons a powerful gust of wind, sending the guards sprawling. Scott seizes the moment, firing a series of blasts that take out the turret and send the remaining guards scattering. Still, even as they advance, more guards appear, swarming from every direction.

Hank emerges from the shadows, his blue fur slick with rain as he tackles a group of guards attempting to flank the team. He moves with agility and precision, disarming them with brutal efficiency before disappearing into the darkness once more.

Logan pushes forward, his senses locked on the main compound. Every muscle in his body is taut, ready to react, as he closes in on the entrance. But the resistance only grows fiercer the closer they get. A squad of heavily armored guards appears, their rifles spitting fire as they advance in formation.

“Ororo, cover us!”

Ororo unleashes a torrent of lightning, the bolts crackling through the air and striking the guards with dead-set accuracy. It’s almost like a scene from the gala, the guards coming in endless waves, their numbers never faltering.

Logan’s patience snaps. He shoots forward, his claws slicing through the rain, his cry echoing across the battlefield. He crashes into the line of guards, tearing through their armor as if it were paper. Blood splatters the ground, the metallic scent mixing with the rain as Logan carves a path through the enemy.

Scott and Jean are right behind him, their combined powers devastating the remaining guards. But the compound is heavily fortified, and as Logan bursts through the first door, a new wave of guards meets them head-on.

These are the elite, the best of the best, and they fight with a cold, calculated precision that makes them more dangerous than the others. Jean’s telepathy is their saving grace. She reaches into the minds of the guards, sowing confusion and fear, turning their own thoughts against them. But the strain is visible on her face, the effort of controlling so many minds at once taking its toll.

“Jean, hold on!” Scott calls.

“I’m… trying,” Jean gasps, her voice strained.

Logan knows they can’t keep this up. They have to find you, and they have to do it fast. He slams his claws into another door, splintering it into pieces, only to be met with a hail of gunfire from the guards inside. He ducks, rolling to the side as Scott’s optic blasts provide cover, the two of them working in tandem to clear the room.

“Move!” Scott shouts, and Logan surges forward, his claws tearing through the last of the guards in the corridor.

The air is thick with the smell of blood and gunpowder, but Logan doesn’t care. He can hear it—the faint sound of muffled cries, the rattling of chains. His heart pounds in his chest as he moves forward, faster now, driven by the desperate need to reach you.

Then he sees it: two hulking mercenaries guarding a heavy steel door. They are well-armed, and this time, their eyes hold no uncertainty. These are the final line of defense, the ones meant to stop anyone from getting to you.

They open fire, the bullets ricocheting off the walls, but Logan is too fast, too eager to be reunited with you. He ducks and weaves, his claws gleaming as he closes the distance. With a guttural roar, he leaps at them, his claws slashing through flesh and bone with a sickening crunch. The guards crumple to the ground, lifeless, as Logan stands over them, his chest heaving with exertion.

Without wasting a second, Logan slams his claws into the door, the metal screeching as it gives way under the force of his rage. He rips the door off its hinges, tossing it aside as if it weighs nothing. Inside, the air is heavy with the smell of damp stone and fear. And there, in the dim light of the small cell, he sees you—chained, battered, but alive.

You are slumped against the far wall of a small, dank cell, your wrists bound with the anti-mutant handcuffs, your body bruised and battered. The sight of you, so broken and vulnerable, makes Logan’s heart twist with desperation and longing. All of his fury immediately floods out of his system. He crosses the room in two strides, his claws retracting as he kneels beside you, his hands trembling as he reaches out to touch your face.

“Hey, darlin’,” he whispers, “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

You stir at the sound of his voice, your eyes fluttering open as you try to focus. When you see him, a weak smile tugs at the corners of your lips. “Logan…”

“Shh,” he soothes, his fingers gently brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You’re gonna be okay. I’m gettin’ you outta here.”

He quickly reaches for the handcuffs, his claws slicing through the metal with ease. The moment they fall away, you feel a sudden surge of power within you, like a dam breaking, your abilities rushing back after being suppressed for so long. You slump forward into his arms, too weak to hold yourself up. Logan’s heart breaks at the feel of your frail body against his, but he holds you close, his arms wrapping around you protectively.

“Can you walk?”

You nod, though it’s clear the effort costs you. “I… I think so.”

Logan helps you to your feet, his arm supporting you as you lean heavily against him. Every step is a struggle, but he’s right there with you. Making your way out of the cell, the sounds of battle grow louder, the chaos of the X-Men’s assault reaching its peak.

“We gotta move fast,” Logan mutters tensely, “But I’m not lettin’ go of you. We’re gettin’ outta here together.”

He keeps a firm grip on you, his entire focus on getting you out of this hellhole. The whole island around you is in shambles, the walls of your prison shaking with the force of explosions and the sharp crack of energy blasts. The X-Men are relentless, cutting down the remaining guards with the efficiency of a well-oiled machine. Scott and Hank’s voices echo through the comms, issuing orders and coordinating the team’s movements.

Everything fades into the background—the sounds of battle, the flashes of light, the scent of blood and smoke.

All Logan can concentrate on is the fragile feel of your hand in his, your fingers moving shakily against his rough skin, your breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as you struggle to keep going.

“Stay with me, darlin’,” he rasps, urging you, “We’re almost out. Just hold on a little longer.”

Your fingers tighten around his, as if letting go would mean losing him again. The two of you move as one, your bodies pressed together as you navigate through the debris and destruction. The storm outside mirrors the one within him, but as long as you’re with him, he knows he can weather it.

When the exit finally comes into view, the cold night air hits you both, a stark contrast to the oppressive heat of the compound. The Blackbird is waiting, its ramp lowered, and the sight of it brings a surge of relief so powerful it nearly buckles your knees. But Logan is there, his arm wrapped securely around you, practically carrying you up the ramp.

Finally in the jet, the familiar hum of the engines fills the cabin, a soothing backdrop to the storm raging outside. Neither of you cares about the storm or the battle left behind. The only thing that matters is that you’re together.

Logan guides you to a seat, but instead of sitting beside you, he pulls you into his lap, holding you as close as he can. You don’t resist, your arms wrapping around his neck, clinging to him as if he were the only thing keeping you grounded. In many ways, he is.

Hank approaches, concern etched across his face, but Logan barely glances at him. His focus is entirely on you, his hand brushing your hair back from your face, his thumb gently wiping away the tears that have begun to fall—not from pain, but from the overwhelming relief of being safe, of being with him.

“You’re safe now,” he murmurs, his lips pressing soft, reassuring kisses into your hair. “I’ve got you. I’m not lettin’ you go.”

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, your tears soaking into his shirt as you cling to him. Each touch, every whispered word, acts like a balm to the wounds you have endured. You can feel the tension in his muscles, the way his heart pounds against your chest.

“I knew you’d come… but you guys took a lot longer than I was expecting,” you whisper, trying to bring a hint of your usual humor into your voice, “made me look a little stupid in front of those guards.”

Logan’s arms tighten around you. “I’m here, sweets. I’m right here. And I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

He continues to kiss your hair, his rough, calloused hands gently cradling your face as he wipes away your tears. Neither of you wants to let go, the fear of losing each other again too fresh, too real.

Logan’s lips brush against your temple, a tender, lingering kiss that conveys more than words ever could. “I’ve got you,” he repeats, over and over again. “Nothin’s gonna happen to you again.”

You nod, unable to speak, but your grip on him tightens, your heart finally beginning to calm as you rest in his arms. For the first time since your capture, you feel safe. Truly safe. And it’s all because of him.

----

Returning to the mansion after the rescue is a blur of activity, concern, and overwhelming relief. The moment you touch down, you’re rushed to the med bay, surrounded by familiar faces, each one filled with a mixture of worry and hope.

The sterile white walls of the med bay feel oddly comforting now, compared to the cold, damp cell you were held in. You’re laid gently on a bed, Hank and Jean immediately setting to work, checking your vitals, assessing your injuries. Their voices are calm and reassuring, but you barely hear them. Your mind is still reeling, your body still trembling from the whole ordeal.

Logan never leaves your side. Even as Hank and Jean move around you, speaking in low tones about your condition, he’s there, a grounding force. He holds your hand through it all, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles on your skin. Whenever your eyes flutter open, his are there, locked on yours, filled with a fierce protectiveness that makes your heart ache.

Hank and Jean make sure you’re well-fed, insisting on regular meals to help you regain your strength. Plates of warm, nourishing food are brought to you, and though you have little appetite at first, Logan’s gentle encouragement coaxes you to eat. He sits with you, holding your hand while you slowly nibble at the food, his deep voice murmuring soft words of reassurance and comfort.

“Just a little more, darlin’,” he says, his tone comforting. “You need to get your strength back.”

You nod, taking another bite, the warmth of the food spreading through you, bringing with it a sense of safety and normalcy that you hadn’t felt in what seems like forever.

Nights are the hardest. The darkness brings with it the memories of the cell, the guards, the pain, and the fear. You often wake in a panic, your heart racing, the shadows of the past closing in around you. But every time, Logan is there, pulling you into his arms, whispering reassurances until the terror subsides.

Logan, for his part, is dealing with his own demons. You can see it in the way his jaw tightens when he thinks you aren’t looking, the way his eyes darken when he hears you gasp in pain or when your hand trembles as you reach for something. He’s haunted by what happened, by the fact that he hadn’t been able to protect you from the start. You know he’s carrying a heavy burden of guilt, and it tears at your heart to see him so troubled.

He tries to hide it, of course—tries to be strong for you. However, in the quiet moments, when the mansion is still and the only sound is the soft beep of the heart monitor, he lets his guard down. He sits beside you, his head bowed, his hand holding yours as if afraid you might slip away if he lets go. And in those moments, you can see the depth of his pain, the way it eats at him from the inside.

On one occasion, after a particularly vivid nightmare leaves you shaky and breathless, Logan pulls you into his lap, holding you close as he murmurs words of comfort. As you cry, he holds you tighter, his voice breaking as he whispers, “I’m sorry. I’m so damn sorry.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your heart breaking at the sight of the tears in his eyes. “Logan, it wasn’t your fault,” you say, as many times as you need to, if it means he’ll stop feeling this way. “You saved me. You found me.”

He shakes his head, his grip on you tightening as if trying to anchor himself. “I should have been there sooner. I should have—”

“No,” you interrupt, your hand coming up to cup his cheek, forcing him to meet your gaze. “You did everything you could. You saved me. You brought me home.”

His eyes close at your words, a single tear slipping down his cheek. “I can’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost you.”

“You won’t,” you promise, and you mean it.

----

When you’re finally discharged from the med bay, it feels like a victory—a hard-won battle that leaves you both relieved and eager to reclaim your life. Your strength has returned, slowly but surely, and now, after weeks of healing and recovery, you’re ready to start training again. The thought of moving your body, of pushing your limits, fills you with a renewed sense of purpose.

But there’s one thing you hadn’t counted on—Logan.

Ever since the rescue, he’s been by your side, a constant, unyielding presence. At first, you appreciated it—you truly did—his steady support, his silent vigilance, the way he seemed to always know when you needed a comforting word or a strong arm to lean on. Yet now, as you step back into the training room, ready to test your limits again, his presence is starting to feel more like a shadow you can’t shake.

“Logan,” you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice as you stretch, your muscles still tight from the weeks of inactivity. “You don’t have to watch me like a hawk. I’m fine. Really.”

He doesn’t respond right away, his arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the wall, his sharp eyes never leaving you. The intensity of his gaze is almost suffocating.

“I know. You’re strong,” he finally says, “But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and let you push yourself too hard.”

You sigh, rolling your shoulders as you turn to face him fully. “I’m not made of glass. I need to do this. I need to get back to where I was. The fight isn't finished.”

He pushes off the wall, his expression hardening as he takes a step closer to you. “And I’m not sayin’ you can’t. I just… I don’t want you to go through this alone.”

Something in his voice makes you pause, the frustration fading away as you look at him more closely. There’s a tension in his posture, tension that hadn’t been there before, and the way he’s looking at you—it isn’t just concern. It’s something deeper.

“I’m not alone,” you assure him. “I’ve got the whole team behind me. I’ve got you.”

He holds your gaze for a long moment, letting the moment pass between you, and then he exhales deeply, as if bracing himself for what he’s about to say. “You know, when you were gone… I told Charles I wouldn’t hold back anymore.”

His words catch you off guard, and your brow furrows in confusion. “Hold back?”

Logan takes another step closer, his eyes searching yours as if trying to find the right way to explain.

“I told him that if we found you, if we got you back safe… I wasn’t gonna keep my feelings locked up anymore. I’ve been doin’ it for too long, and when I almost lost you… it made me realize I can’t keep pretending I don’t care as much as I do.”

You know what he’s trying to say. The charged energy between you, all the banter—it was never just friendly. It was more than that—something neither of you had ever acknowledged out loud, but it was there. You’d never been just teammates, and deep down, you both understood that.

He reaches out, taking your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. “I’m in love with you,” he confesses, his voice deep and hoarse, filled with all the emotion he’s kept bottled up for so long. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time, but I was too damn stubborn to admit it. But after what happened, after goin' through all that…”

He lets his voice trail off. Your heart pounds in your chest, the truth of his words resonating deep within you. You’ve always sensed the undercurrent of something more between you two, something that made every shared glance, every sarcastic quip, feel like a promise unfulfilled. Hearing Logan finally admit it, finally put words to what had always been there, makes your breath catch, your mind soar with joy.

“I know,” you confess back, “I think I’ve always known. But I was afraid to push, afraid to break whatever it was we had. I’ve felt it too. I always have.”

Logan’s eyes widen slightly at your confession, relief flooding his features, the hard lines of tension softening as if a great burden has been lifted from his shoulders. For a long, heart-stopping moment, the two of you just stare at each other.

Then, as if pulled together by the same magnetic force, you and Logan surge forward simultaneously. The distance between you vanishes in an instant, and your lips meet in a fierce, passionate kiss that speaks of all the pent-up passion and unspoken words you’d both kept buried for so long.

His hands roam your body with an urgency that borders on desperation, as if he’s making sure this is real—that you’re truly there, in front of him, kissing him. His fingers trace the curve of your back, the line of your shoulders, and then tighten their grip as he pulls you even closer, his touch firm and possessive. Your arms wrap around his neck, holding onto him with just as much need.

The kiss is everything—relief, passion, love—all rolled into one overwhelming, breathtaking moment that makes your head spin and your knees weak.

When you finally break apart, gasping for breath, Logan doesn’t move away. His forehead rests against yours, but the distance between you seems to close even further, if that were possible. His hands grip you tightly, as if you’re the only thing anchoring him to reality. He’s consumed by you, by the feel of your body against his, by the taste of your lips, by the sheer relief that you’re here, safe, and his. His breath is ragged, his heart pounding, and when he opens his eyes, they’re filled with a raw, burning intensity that sends a shiver down your spine.

“God, I don’t want to let you go,” he whispers.

His hands roam your back again, as if reassuring himself that you’re really there, that you’re not some illusion that will slip away the moment he loosens his grip.

You smile softly, though your heart is still racing from the intensity of the moment. “I don’t want you to let go either,” you whisper back. “But… I still need to be independent. I need to be able to stand on my own two feet.”

His gaze tightens a bit, and you can see that he’s torn between the overwhelming urge to protect you and the understanding that you’re right. His eyes search your face, as if trying to reconcile his deep-seated fear with the reality of who you are.

“I just… I don’t know how to give you space,” he admits, “Not after everything that’s happened.”

You smile gently, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “You don’t have to step away,” you reassure him. “But you do have to let me stand beside you, not behind you. We’re in this together,” you kiss him again, “They’re still out there. The mission isn’t over.”

Logan’s hands tighten on your waist for a moment, as if his instincts are against the idea of giving you any distance at all, against the idea of you throwing yourself back into the fight. But then, after a long pause, he slowly, reluctantly nods. “I’ll do my best,” he murmurs. “I can’t promise I won’t want to keep you close… but I’ll try to give you the space you need.”

Your heart warms at his words, recognizing the struggle he’s willing to endure for your sake. “That’s all I’m asking for,” you reply, your voice tender as you lean in for another kiss.

[END OF PART ONE]

-----

A/N: Phew! Part one done, and part two is on the way -- it'll be up by the end of the weekend. Please comment or send me a message if you'd like to be tagged in the next part. Hope you liked the story!

[xo100]

Golf - LN4

*:･ﾟ Summary: In Portugal, Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell, and Max’s girlfriend Pietra go golfing, with Pietra’s single friend (you) tagging along. You struggle with the game, prompting Lando to offer hands-on lessons.

*:･ﾟ Word count: 1298

୨ৎ

The warm Portuguese sun bathed the lush green golf course, casting soft shadows over the rolling hills. The faint scent of freshly cut grass filled the air as the group of four made their way towards the first hole. Lando Norris, Max Fewtrell, his girlfriend Pietra, and Pietra’s friend—a single woman, fresh-faced and smiling despite her clear inexperience with golf—walked together, laughter bubbling up between them as they teased one another.

Pietra nudged Max playfully as he adjusted his glove, “You know you're only here to look pretty while you lose, right?”

Max scoffed. “We’ll see who loses when I sink this birdie.”

Lando laughed, shaking his head as he carried his golf bag. His eyes, however, kept straying to the woman walking beside Pietra—you. You had been quiet at first, observing the banter between the group, but it didn’t take long for you to find your rhythm. Your natural charm had won the guys over quickly, but it was Lando who seemed most intrigued by you.

You were unsure about this whole golfing thing; you’d never played a round in your life. But when Pietra had invited you to join them on this trip, the allure of sunny Portugal and new adventures was impossible to resist. Plus, you weren’t going to lie—spending time around Lando was hardly a bad thing.

After the first few holes, it became obvious that you were, well, not the best golfer. You swung the club a few times, and while your effort was there, the technique... not so much. Your ball either went nowhere, or far off course. Each miss was followed by giggles from Pietra and lighthearted teasing from Max.

“You’ve got this,” Pietra grinned, leaning on Max’s arm, as you tried yet again.

Your swing was way off. The ball barely moved. You cringed, immediately breaking into laughter.

“That’s it,” Lando said with a mischievous smile, stepping forward. “Time for a lesson.” His eyes sparkled with something more than just amusement, his dimpled grin sending a flutter through your stomach.

You raised an eyebrow, but couldn’t stop the smile pulling at your lips. “Oh? You’re going to teach me how to golf?”

“Well, someone’s got to save you from yourself.” He gave you a teasing wink, his accent rolling off his words in a way that made your heart skip. “Max certainly won’t.”

Max snorted, raising his hands. “I’m no teacher. Good luck, mate.”

You shook your head, amused, but when Lando stood next to you, a little closer than necessary, you felt a warmth rise in your cheeks. He placed his hands over yours, adjusting your grip on the club. His touch was firm, but not forceful, guiding rather than instructing.

“First, you need to relax,” Lando said softly, his voice close to your ear. “You’re too tense.”

You swallowed, feeling your pulse quicken at the proximity. His body was warm, his presence so magnetic that you were barely able to focus on his words. You could feel his breath against your skin as he adjusted your arms, moving them into position. He leaned in a little more, close enough that the scent of his cologne filled your senses.

“Like this,” Lando murmured, his hands guiding the motion. He stood behind you, his chest lightly brushing your back, and for a moment, you forgot you were supposed to be learning how to golf.

The rest of the group had quieted, either lost in their own conversation or deliberately giving the two of you space. Pietra, ever the romantic, watched with a knowing smile.

“Okay,” Lando continued, still guiding your movements. “Now, on three, swing. One… two… three.”

Together, you swung, and to your surprise, the ball sailed smoothly across the grass, not far, but far better than any of your previous attempts.

You turned, eyes wide. “I did it!”

Lando grinned down at you, pride in his expression. “See? It’s all in the technique.”

You laughed, a little embarrassed but mostly happy. “I guess I just needed the right teacher.”

He gave you a playful nudge with his elbow. “Or maybe I’m just that good.”

The flirting between you and Lando was subtle, woven into each shared glance and teasing comment. It wasn’t overt, but the tension between you was undeniable. Every time his hand brushed yours as he handed you the club, or when his fingers lingered on your back as he showed you the proper stance, it sent little sparks through your skin.

“Okay, let’s try again,” Lando said, stepping back into position behind you. This time, his touch was more casual, but it still held that underlying tension that made your pulse race.

You swung again, and though the ball didn’t fly as far, it still went in the right direction.

Lando gave a mock sigh. “Guess I’ll have to stick with you for the rest of the day. You’re not ready to be let loose just yet.”

“Is that so?” You shot him a playful look, fully aware of how close he was standing to you. “And here I thought I was getting better.”

“You are,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. “You’re just not ready to leave the pro yet.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at his confidence, but something about the way he looked at you made the laughter die on your lips, replaced by a different kind of awareness.

-

The day went on like that, filled with stolen glances, light touches, and gentle teasing. The others gave you space, Max and Pietra happily absorbed in their own world, but there was a sense that everyone knew something was happening between you and Lando.

As the sun dipped lower in the sky, casting golden hues over the course, the group decided to call it a day. Max and Pietra walked ahead, leaving you and Lando lingering behind, still chatting quietly.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Lando asked, his eyes catching yours as you strolled beside him, golf clubs slung over your shoulders.

You shrugged, smiling. “Not bad at all. But I don’t think I’ll be challenging you to a game anytime soon.”

“Maybe we could practice again,” he suggested, his tone light, but there was a flicker of something deeper in his gaze. “I could give you some more lessons.”

There it was again—the tension, the unspoken something that had been building all day. You felt your heart race, your stomach doing little flips at the idea of spending more time with him. Alone.

“I think I’d like that,” you said, your voice soft as you looked up at him.

Lando’s smile widened, his dimple showing once again. Without thinking, he reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind your ear, his fingers lingering for a second longer than necessary.

Neither of you moved for a moment, the world around you seeming to fade as the connection between you intensified. You weren’t sure who moved first, but suddenly, you were standing even closer, the air between you charged with possibility.

“Lando,” you whispered, unsure of what to say next, your heart beating fast in your chest.

But before you could say more, Max’s voice rang out from ahead. “Oi! You two lovebirds coming or what?”

You both jumped back, laughing at the interruption, though the moment wasn’t lost. Lando’s hand found yours for a brief second, giving it a gentle squeeze before he let go, his eyes promising that this wasn’t the end of whatever was brewing between you.

“Yeah, we’re coming,” Lando called back, a grin on his face.

As you made your way back to the group, your heart felt light, your cheeks warm from more than just the sun. Golf might not have been your game, but Lando—Lando was a whole different story.

୨ৎ

*:･ﾟ Notes; thank you for reading, I hope y’all enjoyed! Also a BIG thank you for all the love on one of my last story; Lazy mornings!

[thewidowsledger]

Good Luck, Babe

© thewidowsledger 2024 - DO NOT REPUBLISH AND PLAGIARISE

Pairings: College Student Natasha Romanoff x College Student Female Reader

Word count: 7.1k

Tags | Warnings: +18, smut, ANGST, jealousy, cheating (we're cheating on Steve with Natasha), Natasha has a penis, top!Natasha, bottom!reader, fingering (r receiving), dirty talk, car sex, mirror sex, hate sex (?), choking, slapping, dacryphilia, blowjob (Natasha receiving), breeding kink only if you dare to squint, Natasha fucking r like a guitar, if I missed something I am going to throw hands

Author's Note: I’ll be back in 3 weeks I guess, I already scheduled some chapters for my fics, one each week. For this week, I serve you this one-shot🤲💗 This is something I wrote when I was supposed to be studying, lol. The title says it all. I did not proofread this one and I decided to remove some parts because I feel like it's getting too long. I hope y’all are doing okay! Enjoy!

Navigation | Masterlist

⧗

“I realize I just wanted to stay home, have a quiet night in.”

“Oh, you intend to be quiet?”

You furrowed your brows at her question, “Yeah, why would I be loud?” You asked innocently, not aware of the redhead's innuendo, your back was facing her as you started to remove the heels you have been wearing.

“Well, if I am going to fuck someone’s girlfriend, I might want to hear her scream my name.”

⧗

You stirred from your sleep in the middle of the night, woken by the gentle sound of Natasha's snore. As you looked up at her, her auburn locks lay scattered, half-veiling her face in peaceful slumber. You gently pulled the strands aside, you admired the way her features were soft and unguarded in sleep as if she didn't drive you into the brink of ecstasy a while ago.

You watched, entranced, as the steady rise and fall of her chest painted a tranquil rhythm, like the gentle lapping of waves against the shore.

Her eyelashes fluttered softly, like fragile butterfly wings beating in the night.

Soft breaths escaped her lips and with each exhale, her warmth wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, enveloping you in comfort and security.

Your fingers traced the marks that marred her otherwise smooth skin. There were long, deep scratches on her back as you clawed to her dear life when she rammed into you, bringing you both to the peak of your own highs.

Unable to resist the urge, you leaned forward and placed a gentle kiss on her lips.

“I love you, Natasha.”

⧗

Natasha was behind the wheel of her convertible and you were riding shotgun. You both planned to get away before the graduation, a secret escape for just the two of you.

Yes, it was a secret escape, just like your clandestine affair. For the past year, you had been meeting secretly, your passionate trysts hidden away from the prying eyes around your campus.

How could one imagine that the epitome of perfection in the eyes of many, from students, professors, and school staff had chosen a band guitarist to share your deepest desires and secrets with?

The fact that you, the student body president of the College of Liberal Arts, the volleyball captain ball, the campus' debate team leader, and the devoted girlfriend of the campus’ student council Steve Rogers has been in an entangled affair with Natasha Romanoff, the school's band guitarist, was kept strictly under wraps.

Only a select few were aware of the tangled web you both were weaving behind the scenes. A few that only you, Natasha and her sister Yelena know about the affair that you’ve been keeping closely a guarded secret.

With your hands held high up in the air, you relished the feeling of the wind whipping through the open top of Natasha's convertible. The rush of air against your skin felt incredibly free and exhilarating.

As you stood there in the open wind, blissfully unaware, Natasha watched you intently, cherishing the unguarded moment between the two of you. Taking in every detail as she glanced at you the way your hair tousled in the breeze, the sparkle in your eyes as you smiled and the way your pink sundress fluttered in the wind. It was in these small moments, when she could watch you in your carefree state, where she could openly watch you and admire your carefree happiness without the need for secrecy or hiding.

Unlike when you were on campus Natasha could only watch you from a distance. Whether it was her playing with the band during a night blast events your campus would trimonthly organize, searching for your familiar face in the crowd, or her sitting in the audience far enough for her not to be seen by you, watching you shine in a debate competition you joined.

Just for once, it's only the two of you, completely unburdened by your secret affair.

“How did your send off go by the way?” Natasha asked, as she put her hands on your lower back.

“As usual, every player, even the new recruits had to spike a ball into me!” you rolled your eyes in the air. You glance at the redhead who is staring admiringly at you, you smile at her, biting your lip when she slowly dragged her hand all the way down to the curve of your ass.

“Two hands on the wheel, Romanoff.”

Natasha chuckled, tearing her right hand away from you, you slumped on the passenger seat as she did so, “And coach just told me that Bishop will be the next captain ball.”

“She's in the same position as you, right?” Natasha asked, now putting a hand over your thighs, unable to resist the temptation to touch you.

“During her residency coach had to train her as an opposite because we had filled the quota for each position. She was originally middle.”

Natasha hummed at your response. Her fingers can't help but stray, tracing patterns on your thighs. Her hands begin to move of their own accord, sneaking higher and higher up your thighs with every pass.

Her touch sends shivers down your spine, your breath hitching in your throat as her fingers make contact with your sensitive skin. You can't help but let out a soft moan, involuntarily arching towards her touch.

“Natasha,” you warned softly.

Her gaze flickers to yours innocently but she doesn't stop, her fingers continuing to trace patterns on your thighs, leaving a trail of heat in their wake, “What’s wrong?” She watches you carefully, her hands pausing in their ministrations as she waits for your response.

“Stop the car,” you demanded and she didn't hesitate. Her eyes flicker to the rear-view mirror, spotting an empty side street just ahead. She swings the car in that direction, pulling over and turning off the engine in record time.

She barely has time to register your movement before you're on her. Your legs straddling her, your body pressed close against hers as you take control of the situation. Her eyes widen in surprise, but then she grins, her hands coming up to grip your hips and pull you closer.

She trails kisses down your neck, softly nipping and sucking at the sensitive skin, careful not to make any marks even though she has been dying to mark you—to make you really hers.

Without warning, she thrusted her fingers deep inside you.

“Oh, Nat!” You cried in pleasure as she drove you higher and higher. Her fingers move faster, her thumb applying more pressure to your clit. She can feel you trembling, your breath coming in ragged gasps.

“I can't believe you didn't wear any panties baby,” she chuckled, “what if someone saw my pussy while you stood there in your seat huh?”

“I-I, I—”

“Close baby?” She smirked on your neck, she added another finger curling in your tight walls that made you gasp and buck harder towards her digits.

“Nat, I’m gon’, I’m gonna…” you trailed off, finally hitting the peak of your orgasm. You chased your own breath when Natasha pulled you into a deep kiss and you let her dominate you again as she pushed her tongue onto yours.

She smirked at you as she pulled away, “You always loved quickies, baby.” She teased, licking her digits that were coated with your arousal.

You hummed, placing your forehead on hers, “Because that's what only we can afford.” You said in a small voice, your breath fanning over her mouth.

“Not now though, we have all the time in the world.” Natasha replied as she stroked your cheek, the pain was evident in her voice as she spoke. You both never really had time alone inside the campus without prying eyes or suspicions of others. The only time you have is this, when you two would plan a night out every month or when Natasha would occasionally do late-night visits where she would sneak into your dorm and the two of you would spend the night making love to each other.

“That’s the thing, Nat. We’re on our way back to the world, the real world,” you kissed her neck all the way up to her jaw and to her lips. You eyed her and kissed her nose before moving away from her lap back to the passenger seat.

The drive to the campus’ dorm complex was quick just like the quickie you had half an hour ago. Natasha pulled the car to a quiet secluded area and got out of her car. “I’ll pick you up tomorrow?” Natasha asked as she opened the passenger door, you stepped out with your training bag that you brought with you.

“Steve will pick me up tomorrow,” you said as you looked at her, you placed a kiss on her cheek, “But I for sure will see you tomorrow, alright?”

You and Natasha had agreed upon certain rules during the course of your…affair and one of those rules was that you would never mention your boyfriend's name when she was present. In this moment, however, you inadvertently forgot about this rule and his name slipped from your lips without a second thought.

Natasha just concealed her jealousy and aching heart but when you softly leaned on her, your head comfortably resting on her shoulder it was quick to soothe her. She then asked, “You don't want me to accompany you upstairs?”

“I might not let you go if I let you come with me.” You confessed but the redhead knew this too. Your eyes, however, betrayed your hidden desires, silently pleading with her to disregard any resistance and come to the dorm with you.

“Baby, don't give me those eyes,” Natasha softly whined.

You chuckled and painfully tore yourself away from your secret lover, “Good night, Nat.”

⧗

It is Tony's tradition to host a party before the school year comes to a close and has become a much-anticipated event in your campus. But this year the party held a somber undertone as it marks the end of the journey for your entire batch. Tomorrow is your graduation day and everyone will finally embark on different paths. So this night will hold a memory for all of you as you hold a bittersweet celebration bidding farewell to school days and the journey you had together.

Your boyfriend, Steve, just picked you up at your dorm and as soon as you arrived at Tony's place, your eyes scanned the room, searching for a glimpse of your secret lover. Despite Steve's firm grip on your hand, your attention was elsewhere, the need of seeing your secret lover making your heart skip a beat. You tried to remain composed, pretending to engage in conversation with Steve.

“I finished my graduation speech, love,” he told you, his voice cutting through the loud party music. Your mind was preoccupied with searching for your secret lover and you only half-listened to his words, caught up in your own thoughts.

“What? Sorry baby,” you apologized, your attention finally shifting to him.

“I said,” he held both of your hands and pulled you closer to him, eager to pull you away from whatever is distracting you, “I just finished my graduation speech,” he whispered to your ear.

You smiled, reaching up to pinch Steve's cheek proudly, “My council president.” Eyes shining with pride and happiness for him—genuinely.

Steve is a quintessential all-rounder; a true gentleman who excelled academically and was a beacon for the students as he is the student council president.

He is a good boyfriend too. He was consistent in picking you up from your classes, walking you back to your dorm. You couldn't help but notice that he possessed a mildly possessive nature, because he seemed to want to keep you shielded, no, away from the outside world because your life just revolves around the campus, gym, organization faculty, and dorm and your boyfriend made sure of that.

Whenever you attended training, tune ups or participated in debates, Steve is always there, observing and sometimes engaging in your activities. He had a subtle ego, where he'd train you, play as your opponent during debates and literally break you, pushing you through your limits because he told you that he wants you to do good, do better—he wants you to win.

He doesn't want losers and he always wins and you knew that the day he won your “yes” when he asked you on a date—he always gets what he wants—he always wins and everytime you let him.

“Stop giving Y/N those blue gooey eyes, Rogers,” Tony's joke broke the moment between you and Steve as he offered drinks. “Lovebirds, drinks?” You cringe at his words, it doesn't feel right to you.

Steve accepted a cup for himself but when you were about to get one for yourself he swiftly interjected, shielding your hand away from the tray declining the offer on your behalf. You gave Tony a strained smile, “I’m good, Tony, thanks.”

How did you even bother to get one when he never lets you drink alcohol or engage in any activities he deemed unsuitable for himself when you were out together? You often felt trapped and restricted, as if you could never truly enjoy yourself when you’re with him. He constantly kept a watchful eye on you, ensuring your compliance to his rules—making you feel constantly monitored and controlled like right now you’re basically trapped and isolated in the corner, his towering body shielding you away from the crowd in the party.

Sure, he is a good boyfriend.

“Stop, fucking in the corner blondie!” You heard his friend Sam shout at the distance and Steve just gave him a finger but still facing you.

Steve is never the one who fucks around, he always maintained decency and in fact—he is a celibate and no one knew actually—just you. It was an agreement to the both of you when your relationship began which you completely agreed and respected but what he didn't know was that you were secretly breaking that agreement by satisfying your desires every night with your secret lover.

And your secret lover, concealed by the presence of others at the party, watched despite Steve's imposing frame blocking her view. She watched as you laughed at his words and planted a kiss on his cheek every now and then. She watched Steve as he wrapped your hands around his neck, you looked happy—too happy she thought, considering she knew the truth about your secret. And the secret in question? Is her.

She clenched her jaw as you placed a final, chaste kiss on Steve's cheek, she almost lost it when your boyfriend tried to attempt to kiss your mouth but you gently stopped him by placing a finger on his lips, keeping him at bay and chuckling slightly as you finally walked away from him and from the crowd of the party.

⧗

You managed to convince Steve that you could make it back to your dorm alone, insisting that you'd see each tomorrow at graduation rites. Steve begrudgingly agreed, though you could tell he really wanted to walk you back as he usually did.

As you walked back to your dorm complex in the chill of the night, the absence of your secret lover weighed heavily on you. You didn't see a glimpse of the redhead tonight, she was nowhere to be seen at the party, leaving you to wonder where she disappeared to.

You took a deep breath before opening the door of your dorm only to be greeted by none other than your secret lover who you have been looking for the whole night.

“Out early in the party huh?”

You bit your lip pretending to not be shocked by her presence, you forgot that she had duplicated your dorm key, “I realize I just wanted to stay home, have a quiet night in.”

“Oh, you intend to be quiet?”

You furrowed your brows at her question, “Yeah, why would I be loud?” You asked innocently, not aware of the redhead's innuendo, your back was facing her as you started to remove the heels you have been wearing.

“Well, if I am going to fuck someone’s girlfriend, I might want to hear her scream my name.” She stepped forward and grabbed your hips, you sucked in a little breath as she inhaled in your neck. “So tell me, will you be loud for me? Y/N? Will you…scream my name?” She husked, her breath warm against your skin.

You turned to her, green orbs dilated as you looked straight at her eyes.

“Don’t I?” You whispered in a very dangerous tone as you ran your thumb against her lips, “always,” you caressed her cheek and traced your fingers along her tense jawline, “scream your name?”

A growl ripped out through her, she immediately grabbed your hips and turned your back on her front. Her lips found your neck and she sucked and bit gently, leaving a faint mark. With a swift movement, you yelped a little as Natasha pulled your left leg up, causing your skimpy dress to roll up even further. Her hand instinctively went up to the back of your thigh, gripping it tightly.

You didn't notice that you were both facing your vanity mirror. Natasha's eyes darkened while yours widened as you looked at your reflection through the mirror. Natasha's right hand sneaks through your panties, finding its way to your core. She begins to rub gentle circles, causing you to gasp and lean back against her.

“Fuck!”

Natasha's left hand grips your thigh with the same precision and strength as when she holds her electric guitar during their gigs. Meanwhile, her right hand continues to strum your core like how she played a wild solo on her guitar.

She was the artist and you were the art.

“Oh yes, yes ah!”

Your moans fill the air, her fingers moving with a skilled rhythm that could make any musician jealous. To her, your moans and the sloppy sound of your pussy are like music to her ears, a symphony of pleasure that she herself is producing. Your moans crescendo, becoming louder and more frequent as she pushes her fingers in and out of you while her thumb continues to strum your clit. Your moans are like a song she is composing right this moment and the only lyrics is her name.

“Natasha!” You moaned out in pleasure.

Her breath hitches as she continues to pleasure you. She leans in close to your ear again, her voice a low purr. “Open your eyes and look in the mirror.”

You hazily opened your eyes, the first thing you saw was her smokey eyes filled with lust, desire, and pleasure. You then dragged your gaze down to her digits disappearing inside your cunt—the sight only brought you closer to the edge.

“C-cum—please let me cum,” you whined, a tear falling down your cheek. You can feel her lips curling into a predatory smile on your neck as she hears your plea. She doesn't respond with words, instead choosing to increase the tempo of her fingers.

“Only if you open those pretty eyes of yours and look at the mirror, detka.”

You squeezed your eyes shut before managing to open them again, looking straight at her through the mirror.

“Come and scream my name.”

“Oh f—fu—Natasha!”

You finally fall over, throwing your head back on her shoulder, a triumphant cry escaping your lips as she feels your body tremble against her. As the waves of pleasure subside, Natasha removes her fingers and you watch her in the mirror as she brings them to her lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied purr. She immediately catches your trembling body, still recovering from your orgasm, she then carries you into a bridal style and gently places you to the bed.

“I love you, Y/N.”

You hummed pulling her by her leather jacket, “Please stay, Natty.”

Natasha watches as your eyes flutter closed, she carefully extracts herself from your embrace, but you cling to her, your grip tightening on her jacket. Natasha pauses, her heart heavy in her chest as she looks down at your sleeping form. She knows she had planned to talk to you tonight, to finally come clean about her feelings, but now that the moment is here, she can't just bring herself to wake you up.

She takes a deep breath, her fingers gently brushing a strand of hair out of your face. She remembers the first time she saw you, how easy it was to slip into her role as a recluse and simply observe. You were the most popular student on campus, an achiever, the captain ball, always surrounded by a group of admirers. It made it all too easy to keep her feelings under wraps. That's why she couldn't believe the moment her sister told her that you wanted to meet her and it ended up with you in her car, begging her to let you come.

It wasn't long before things took a turn. You would find yourself asking her to come to your dorm after your classes were over, even if Natasha’s class isn't, she would immediately have an early out just to go to you only for the two of you to spend the night relentlessly fucking each other until neither of you could move anymore.

One time her sister brought her to your game. And she saw you struggling to keep up with the rest of your team—having a bad day to play. She watched you go to Steve and how he threw you your towel and handed you your tumbler being the supportive boyfriend that everyone thinks he is when he is acting like an entitled self-proclaimed coach just watching you, not even cheering or hyping you up.

And before she knew it, when you walked towards where she sat during the game completely shocked at her presence, she leaned enough for everyone not to notice—she offered to fuck you as a reward if ever you win the game. Only if she knew that you have a game, she would bring everything she thinks you might need, she’ll bring you a jug of water, different colors of kinesiology tape, hell, she would buy you new shoes. But right now motivation is all she can offer because it's too high of a risk if she did all these things.

It was the first time she had seen you play because it was one of your rules, for her not to show up whenever you're in a competition, games, tune ups or in an event organized by you or your organization. You had explained to her that you preferred to keep things hidden, no, low-key, to avoid attracting unwanted attention that could arise from others noticing the two of you. She agreed, not even thinking a bit of it because she wanted you safe as you hold a lot of titles in you. She doesn't want to ruin your image though it breaks her heart not being able to watch you win and be successful in each game or competition.

Would that still be important if after you win it was her you would spend the night with where she’ll see you in all your glory as she makes you feel like a champion once more?

At first, keeping your affair a secret had been easy. It was a necessary precaution, one that she understood and respected. But as time went on, Natasha found herself yearning for more.

Sometimes she wishes she would be the one you’re running to after you won a game. She wanted to be able to cheer you on from the sidelines as you won game after game, competition after competition, events after events. She wanted to be there every time you win and every moment of loss—she’ll be there no matter what.

But that will happen anymore, Natasha could already feel the weight of the unknown future bearing down on her. This was it, the moment she had both been looking forward to and dreading. You two are graduating tomorrow, new chapters, new beginnings and things aren't still settled for the both of you, you never opened up, you never told her where you stood in this…clandestine affair.

And that made her want you more. She yearned to be by your side, proudly and openly. She craved for the day when she didn't have to hide her feelings for you or keep her presence a secret. She hoped for the day when she could stand beside you, not as a shadow, not a secret but as a partner—your lover.

Is that too much to ask for?

⧗

The sun was beating down on the graduates and their families, sweat glistening on their foreheads as they chatted and laughed, snapping pictures and the students—graduates hugged each other tightly, tears streaming down their faces as they said their goodbyes.

Natasha's eyes frantically searched for you. Her heart pounded in her chest as she clutched her trencher, every second feeling like an eternity as she scanned the sea of faces—and there you were standing with Steve and she assumed his family—deep in conversation and laughter.

In the midst of the chaotic crowd around you, both of your gazes met and everything else faded away—it felt like the whole world stopped and it’s just the two of you.

You snapped back to reality as Steve pulled you into a warm embrace and kissed the side of your head, his family looking on with teasing grins. But you couldn't help but feel a twinge of cringe because you knew Natasha was watching all this happen.

“Love, I’ll just go see my friends and Mom.” You said, pulling back from Steve’s suffocating embrace. You gave him a small convincing smile as you tried to get yourself away from the situation.

When he nodded you immediately excused yourself to his family and ran towards the direction where you last saw the redhead. Before you could even go away there was a hand who stopped you from walking-running, you gasped as warm and strong arms pulled you into embrace—not a suffocating one.

“Hey beautiful.”

“Nat.” You sighed, leaning closer to her. Her scent envelopes your senses.

You were suddenly jolted back into reality, and swiftly disentangled yourself from Natasha's embrace. You could see the pain flickering in Natasha's eyes as you retreated hastily. You despised yourself for causing her this, yet you couldn't explain your actions just yet. It wasn't that you didn't care for her—quite the opposite, but the fear of exposure and being not accepted prevented you from being out with her freely.

How you wished you could tell her that.

“Y/N, I need to talk to you.”

“Nat, I need to find mom, we…” you trailed off, unsure on how to tell her, “we’re gonna have lunch with Steve’s family.”

Nat's eyes searched your face, sensing the turmoil within you. She seemed to want to say something but held back, her silent gaze speaking volumes. You didn't miss the flash of disappointment in her eyes and the sorrow etched on her face. You were all too familiar with this. So, you swiftly reassured her, placing a gentle hand against her cheek, silently begging her to focus on you.

“Nat, don't forget our week-long plans,” you reminded her softly, your thumb tenderly caressing her cheek. “I’ll be all yours, just you and me.”

Natasha despised how effortlessly you could coax her, and yet, she surrendered willingly as she always did—her love for you overriding all the resistance. Every time you whispered sweet reassurances and gave a comforting touch, she melted, her resolve crumbling effortlessly.

She could never say no to you.

Just as you were about to lean in to steal a kiss from Natasha, a sharp call of your name pierced through the air.

“Y/N.”

You turned around to see your mother watching the two of you, “Mama…”

How you wished she didn't see you lean in for Natasha and to alleviate the awkwardness, you introduce them both to each other.

Nervously, you began, your voice quivering slightly, “Mom, this is Nat…” you trailed off, unsure on how to introduce your lover because you cannot just introduce her as your lover yet since your mom knew about Steve and ‘friend’ just didn't seem adequate to describe what you shared with Natasha, not if you both know what each other tasted like. The thing between you and Natasha was too complex, too dangerous, too intense to be boxed into a single label.

You looked towards Natasha, offering a strained smile, silently begging her to make a good impression. Your mother was known for being judgmental at times, and the last thing you wanted was for her to disapprove of the person dearest to you.

Natasha took the initiative, greeting your mom, “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Y/L/N,” and she extended a hand. However, your mom's gaze remained fixed, her eyes honed in on the intertwined fingers of your hands with redhead. The subtle gesture didn't escape your mom's keen eyes.

Sensing your mom's penetrating stare, you quickly withdrew your hand from Natasha, creating a bit of distance between the two of you. Your mother seemed lost in thought for a moment before snapping back to reality and reaching out to shake Natasha's hand.

“Congratulations.” She greeted with her unreadable expression and the redhead gave her a warm smile and thanked her.

“Steve and his family are waiting for us.”

You nod, acknowledging your mom's reminder before she started walking away. You turned towards Natasha and you found her looking down, she then handed you a box and whispered, “You should go.”

Despite the aching in your chest, you managed a feeble smile, holding the box she had handed you. It is a necklace with a guitar pendant similar with the electric guitar she's using during her gigs, “It's beautiful.”

No reply came out from the redhead and her silence is making you hard to leave, you longed to remain here—to embrace her. Your heart clenched in your chest as you attempted to suppress the tears threatening to spill, “I'll see you, Nat. Okay?”

Natasha stood there, her eyes fixated on you as you walked away. A soft whisper escaped her lips, lost in the air, wishing that these words are enough to make you stay.

“I love you.”

⧗

Two months had crept by since your graduation day and the affair with Natasha remained a secretive yet constant part of your life. The thrill and passion you shared with her continued to burn brightly, with neither of you daring to mention the status of the affair. The question of what it meant would remain locked away, hidden beneath layers of secrecy.

Not until you kept another secret from your secret lover herself.

“So when are you going to tell me about it?” Natasha's voice was cold as she cut through the silence, her anger barely contained.

You froze under her intense gaze, your body shaking as you fought back tears.

“I...I'm sorry,” you whispered.

Shaking her head, Natasha continued, her eyes flickering with hurt and anger. “Engaged? And you didn’t tell me?”

Your tears finally cascaded down your face as you relived the memories of four days ago, when Steve had proposed to you. How could you say no? He decided to propose to you in front of his parents and your mother. And the sickening weight of expectations and the pressure of you saying yes to him had overwhelmed you causing you to yield without hesitation.

Natasha had learned about the proposal from Steve himself and he had even made a joke about her reuniting with the campus band and playing at your wedding.

It was no secret because you were planning to tell her, of course you are, you were just looking for the right time but when she showed up at your apartment minutes ago, her intoxication evident in her glassy eyes and the strong smell of alcohol that hung heavy got to her, you knew—but you didn't know that it came from your fiance himself.

Natasha's voice cracked in anger and despair, “I did everything you wanted! I followed your rules, your demands. I stayed away when you asked, I played along to keep our…fuck!” She suddenly broke off, a bitter laugh escaping her lips as she wiped the tears trickling down her cheeks. “Relationship isn't even the right word. We're not even a couple, right?”

“Stupid,” she chuckled, “stupid! stupid, stupid!” Natasha unleashed a punch to each word, slamming into the wall next to her. You flinched and fought the urge to soothe her but she turned to you, tears streaming down her face.

“I played along to…” she choked back a sob, “to keep you!” She spat, pointing a finger on you.

Maybe it was too much to ask for.

Her words hit you like a knife to the heart, causing you to physically flinch. Your tears welled up and fell uncontrollably, your whole body quivering with sobs as you struggled to hold yourself together.

“Sorry.”

Your heart was heavy with guilt for causing Natasha so much pain. The single word didn't seem enough to fix the hurt you had done, but it was all you could manage in this moment.

“I just wan…” she breathed, “I just want you to be mine.”

“I am yours, Natasha.” You managed to immediately say between sobs, placing your palm over your chest emphasizing each word.

“Are you?��� Her brows knit together, “with that ring on your finger?”

Natasha approached you and with every inch she advanced, you slowly retreated, your body moving back in response to her encroaching presence. Natasha finally stood close, her body towering over you. You could feel the heat of her breath on your skin, infused with the strong scent of alcohol. Her chest rose and fell with each heavy breath she took.

“Y/N you were never mine to begin with and I had to live up with that.”

You were looking away from her, arms wrapped tightly around yourself in a protective manner. Natasha's fingers gently guided your chin, tilting your head up to meet her eyes. Her touch was electrifying as she slid her fingers down to your arm, causing a shiver to run down your spine.

“I chose to live up with that.”

Her movements were slow and deliberate as she took your engagement ring off your finger and examined it before letting it bounce to the carpet of your bedroom.

“Engaged, hm?” Natasha smirked, the pads of her thumb wiping the tears running down your cheek, “did you let Steve finally fuck you after you said yes to him?”

You breath hitched at the question but you immediately shook your head sideways, her hands slipped at the back of your neck and hissed.

“I am the only one who can make you say yes over and over again.”

“Natasha, y-you’re drunk,” you stuttered, you would never deny the redhead but you feel uncertain and scared around her right now.

She heard you but she didn't care, she then pulled you into a bruising kiss. Her lips were cold and demanding, silencing any further protests. She held the back of your neck tightly, “Shut up.”

She walked you backwards as she kissed you, the kisses becoming sloppy with each step. You felt the edge of the bed against the back of your knees and as she kissed you deeply, you slowly sank down onto the mattress.

“Lie down.”

“Nat, please…we can talk late—” you were cut short when she shoved her forefinger in your mouth. She watched as you squeezed your eyes shut, finally giving up, your lips sucking gently around her finger.

You chased her finger when she removed it out your mouth then your gaze went down as she moved to remove her belt. Her movements were deliberate as she undid the buckle and pulled it from the loops of her pants, causing them to fall open with her boxers.

Natasha's hand wrapped around a fistful of your hair, harshly tugging your head forward and forcing you to kneel in front of her. Your hands instinctively held her the back of her legs for support, her length inches on your faces as if you knew what to do, your hands slowly reached out to touch her. You wrapped your fingers around her shaft, feeling its thickness and hardness, your thumb rubbing the tip with the pre-cum that covered it.

“Open your mouth,” she plainly said, a command rather than a request. Your lips parted slowly and without a second she pushed forward, easing herself into your mouth. Natasha's expression hardened as she gripped your hair, her hips bucking forward aggressively. She thrust into your mouth without remorse, tears welled in your eyes, but she remained unmoved, solely focused on her own pleasure.

She fucked your mouth ruthlessly, her thighs trembling with the force of her movements. Your nose was pressed against her pelvis, your eyes watering from the rough treatment. The only sound was the sloppy wet noises of her thrusting and your muffled cries.

Natasha was one to fight her moans and grunts back, but she was unable to hold them as she unleashed a thick, hot load directly into your mouth. The force of her orgasm sent ropes of cum shooting down your throat, making you choke and gag on the sheer volume.

In a sudden move, Natasha yanked you up by your hair, her cock slipping out of your mouth with an audible pop. She took a step back, leaving you panting and disoriented, your mouth agape, tears falling down your cheek, spit on the side of your lips and her cum inside you mouth. She reached down and yanked your hair again, forcing you to look up at her. She spat into your open mouth, watching as the saliva mingled with her cum.

“Swallow.”

She squeezed your chin, applying pressure until your throat opened up. You looked straight into her eyes, you felt the lump of cum and spit lodge in your mouth, and then you swallowed the liquid sliding down your throat.

Natasha released her hold on your chin and hair, her voice taking on a dismissive tone. “Bed,” she ordered, turning away from you to clean herself up. You scrambled to your feet, quickly making your way to the bed, the sheets cool against your heated skin.

Natasha hovered on top of you, you tried looking into her bloodshot eyes but you couldn't see anything. You couldn't see her. Her eyes didn't sparkle the way it did when you two were making love…is this even making love?

You wanted to make it up to her, you wanted her to use you for what you did to her. For hurting her, it is all that you could do as of now—it’s all that you could offer. But you wanted her to talk to you through it like she always had, but right now she doesn't seem to care about what you need.

Natasha locked her knees on yours, her thighs squeezing tight to keep you pinned in place. She surged forward, burying her face in the crook of your neck. You could smell the alcohol on her breath as she trailed kisses down your body. She then nipped at your skin, her teeth sinking in hard enough to leave bruises. Right now, she didn't care. In fact, she wanted you to be marked, marked by her and not by your stupid fiance.

“N-Nat…Steve might com—” before you could even finish your sentence, Natasha slapped you hard across the face, the sting making your eyes water.

“Don't fucking say his name when you're underneath me,” she snarled and as if losing her patience she harshly pulled you by your thighs towards her. Without giving you a chance to protest, Natasha thrust into your core with a ferocity you hadn't expected. You could feel yourself stretching around her, each movement of her hips sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body.

Natasha folded your thighs towards your chest, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh filling the room. You eyed her, tears ready to fall down as she fucked you with reckless abandon. She was like a different person, all rough edges and sharp angles, her usually composed, sweet, and caring nature replaced by a harsh, uncaring desire. Her usually gentle features were twisted into a snarl, her eyes cold and hard, lacking the warmth and spark that usually dwelled within them.

You couldn't help but wince as she thrust into you again and again, the pain dulling the pleasure, yet you let her continue. Your hands gripped the sheets tightly as you bit back a moan, your mouth agape in a silent scream as she took what she wanted.

You

You tried to claw her back, but she was too quick for you. She wiggled and before you knew it, she had gripped both of your hands on her own, pinning them above your head. She didn't want you to touch her and the realization stung.

She then suckled your tits hard, biting and pulling on them until you cried out in pain and pleasure. The rough treatment and seeing you in pain seemed to turn her on more, and she then continued to abuse your sensitive breasts.

“Say you're mine,” at least just this moment.

“Natasha, I’m yours, I’m yours.” You moaned reassuringly—genuinely and you wanted her to see it, to feel it. “I—I'm yours, I'm you...yours,” you breathe, having a hard time to utter a word as she rammed into you.

Natasha's eyes become glossy again, she shook her head sideways as if she's trying to remove what you just said in her head that is now finally ingrained, she asked you to say it, of course you would say it back, but it sounded real and she hated it.

“You're not,” she slurred, “but I am going to make you.”

Natasha’s grunts grew louder, more primal as she neared her peak. Her face contorted, eyes screwed shut, and her movements became jerky, uncoordinated. She touched your lower abdomen to feel her cock bulging in and out. She was close, so close, and you could do nothing but lie helpless beneath her, tears leaving a trail on your cheeks as she held you down and used your body.

She finally let out a guttural growl, her body spasming as she emptied herself inside of you.

At least in this way she could make you really hers.

You jolted awake from the dream as the sound of your baby's cry made you alarmed. It's an instinct that you developed since you had your baby, whatever sound she made you'll be quick to get or coo her, doesn't matter if you're in the shower, cooking or asleep.

You slowly sat in the bed, wiping the sweat that glistened on your neck. You breathed in and out to calm yourself. It was a dream, just a dream, you're not new to it, it's same dream you always dream. It did happen but it never failed to visit—haunt you even in your sleep.

It was a dream but what you're living right now is a nightmare.

You looked over at Steve's body, deep in slumber beside you, the sight of him only causing a lump to form in your throat. The tears began to well up in your eyes, and you quickly looked away, unable to bear the ache and guilt any longer.

You quietly moved away from the bed, the sound of your baby's cries growing louder with every step you took. Your heart swelled as you reached the crib, carefully picking up your child and cradling her in your arms. You gently shushed your baby, cooing softly as you fixed the red hair that had become mussed during her sleep, her little face scrunched up as she wailed.

“Shh, mommy's here.” You whispered as you blinked rapidly, trying to clear your vision to fight back your own tears.

As if she was actually listening to you, her cries became silent as her small chubby hand reached up, her fingers wrapping around the delicate chain of your necklace. She tugged gently and your heart skipped a beat as she pulled the guitar dangle free, holding it in her tiny grasp.

You gently rocked your baby, cooing soft lullaby as you tried to soothe her back to sleep. But as you looked down at her, her green orbs shimmering with unshed tears was looking innocently straight at you. Your heart shattered at the sight and the tears you'd been holding back began to fall, softly dripping onto your baby's soft skin.

“I love you, little one.”

[solbaby7]

I love your work, and I’ve been creeping on your master list and it’s so good 😭❤️❤️❤️… pls do one with Azriel and AFAB reader who finds out first that they’re true mates but says nothing at all, too scared that he’ll reject her cause he’s in love with Elain and she witnesses the whole necklace gifting/almost kiss between them and runs away, tries to avoid both of them for days and gets sick or injured or something and that’s when Az realizes it too and smut ensues 🫶😭❤️

Since You Have A Lover

pairing : azriel x afab!reader

warnings: angst babe, torture too (oops👀🤣), not proofread, swearing, probs typos, mild smut at the end, testing out the longer fics and then we’re gonna figure out if longer or shorter is better 🫣

thank you for the request bean! i switched it up a little to add some much needed angst but i’m so happy you’ve been enjoying 💗💗

oh and…educate a girl. wtf is afab?👀 respectfully ofc

—

Deep breaths and a lowered gaze is how you make it through family dinners as your stomach lurches uncomfortably.

The feeling never got easier, even after months of enduring the debilitating emotions that ensued from watching your mate love another.

It’s instinctual to be jealous—to compare yourself to Elain when Azriel refused to tear his eyes away. He was supposed to be your equal and yet the longer dinner went on with overhearing their hushed conversation and not-so-sneaky touches under the table; you felt anything but suitable in comparison.

Drowning those thoughts is surprisingly easy, a plethora of wine bottles are scattered about the table and not a single person bats an eye when you snatch one up for yourself. They’re too caught up in each other to realize you’ve slipped away; abandoning the suffocating love that permeated from every direction besides your own.

Fresh air helps a little, the stolen bottle of wine aiding in keeping you warm from the unforgiving nighttime chill. Eventually the cool bite doesn’t send shivers down your spine and you barely even flinch when bare skin meets cold stone, your gaze dipping down to lively town below.

Time moves too quickly as the observer, seconds bleeding into minutes until hours have passed and the bottle has nothing left to offer. There’s a brief moment where your foggy brain contemplates the effort it would take to retrieve another when your solitude is broken.

Two bodies burst through the balcony doors on the furthest side, mostly concealed by trees and flowers but you’d recognize those wings anywhere. A hand smacks over your mouth to conceal any sound, body freezing in place as you witness Azriel press Elain into the wall, his hands cradling the sides of her face lovingly.

A part of you shatters when you catch that sparkle in his eye, the eagerness in his movement to have her closer until her cheeks go flush and thick lashes flutter closed in preparation for the sweet kiss Azriel is sure to grant her.

You’re unable to stomach another moment and neither of them even flinch when you shuffle from your spot and make a bee-line for the exit. Tears cloud your vision, shoulders shaking and steps unsteady as you all but run through the halls, darting up the stairs and colliding right into another body. “Oh,” The startled sound is all but whimpered out of you and red eyes and splotchy cheeks are the first thing Nesta sees as you look up. “Gods, I’m sorry.” You scramble to your feet, retrieving the book she’d dropped in the collision. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t watching here I was going.”

“That’s not like you.”

A weak smile quirks at the corner of your mouth, unbound hair in unruly strands down your shoulders. “I’m not quite myself at the moment.”

Nesta hums in response, slender arms crossing over her chest and the fabrics of her nightgown shifts with the motion. Her gaze is scrutinizing, picking apart the truth from the lies and you’re infinitely grateful that she doesn’t call you out on your state of disarray. “Want me to walk you to your room?”

“No.” You whisper, hastily wiping your cheeks and attempting to smooth down stray hairs and wrinkled silks. “No, I think I’m going to go for a walk instead. I could use the fresh air.”

“It’s three in the morning.”

Nesta's neck cranes, slowly turning on the balls of her feet as you swiftly slip past her and make way for your chambers. Perhaps, it's the defeated slump of your shoulders that catches Lady Death's attention; that emptiness in your eyes that couldn't even be filled by the overflowing tears that stained your cheeks.

She considers waking Cassian--he always was better equipped to handle the emotions of others but you're already gone, disappearing behind the door without even saying goodnight. Something about the interaction forces her to linger, smutty book long forgotten as she waits to see you creep out that same room ten minutes later.

You're dressed to better accommodate the weather now. Thick leathers insulating body heat while subconsciously providing much needed compression--the tight fabric mimics comfort in its attempt to hold together the broken bits of you shoved inside.

Nesta's lips part, a million possible words resting at the tip of her tongue but you're quick to intercept, tone numb and alarmingly empty. "Don't wait up."

--

Being alone was supposed to be relaxing.

Distracting, at the very least.

But, all you could feel was the cool prickle of awareness at the back of your neck the whole time you sat at the edge of the mountains that overlooked the Sidra. Each time you'd slow your breathing and attempt to regulate the unusual beat of your heart with the captivating view of Velaris at night. While most were inside, the homes that resided there were full of life; lights glowing golden through their windows, laughs ebbing through the woodwork and creating a sense of serenity that refuses to wash over you as well.

Eyes narrow, shoulders squaring and fingers twitch for the sharp daggers strapped to your thighs. The thick trees you’d come through seems far less attractive now, branches craning out like grabbing hands with gaps of murky darkness that resembled giant mouths waiting to swallow you up. “Nesta?”

The chuckle that breaks through the clearing is anything but feminine. “Not quite.”

It happens too fast--the hand that smacks over your mouth to mute the startled scream that rips free. You push against the solid wall of a body stationed behind you, attempting to sway his stability in order to break free but a sharp sting in your neck renders you still.

The burn that follows is instant and before you can stop it, the unforgiving darkness becomes all you know.

--

The palpable tension at breakfast is suffocating.

Azriel's seething brood casts angsty shadows along his strong build, creating a visible wall between himself and his High Lord after the stern conversation he was forced into the night before. It runs on repeat in the shadow singers mind, the order given to back off on his affections towards the middle Archeron sister.

It seems cruel. A sick form of punishment that Azriel can't quite wrap his mind around because who was really in charge of the tragectory of his life? Azriel ? Or his High Lord?

The mere thought has his teeth grinding in silent contempt, his gaze flickering around the table before landing on the bare spot directly across from him. His brows furrow, confusion briefly sweeping away the rage as he considers the time--your usual schedule and the words leave his mouth before he can stop them. "Where is she?"

A brief pause, the casual conversation slowing to a halt until Azriel catches a glimpse of something on Nesta's face--a strain of guilt he'd seen a million times on a trillion different faces. "Left earlier this morning." Polished silverware scrapes at fine china, pushing aside food that her body refuses to indulge in. "Said she was going for a walk."

Discontentment settles into Azriel's bones--a feeling he struggles to understand and Nesta's answer only exasperates the unsteady sensation.

"In this weather?" Grey clouds are thick in the sky, shades of slate and granite completely masking the sun as relentless rains pour down from above. "When was this?"

"Around three."

Cassian swears lowly from beside his mate, a sturdy hand resting at her shoulders but the regret lacing his features speaks plenty about the decision to stay quiet for so long. It was too dangerous, especially after the last few meetings Rhys had with Kier in Hewn. Change took time and the Steward and his men were complaining about that change taking too long. Hateful words were thrown in the name of the people of Hewn City and how they had desires too; dreams of a better world for themselves and their children but the High Lord’s better judgement rose question to the other consequences that could arise from giving what they were asking for. "Ness that was nearly eight hours ago."

The screech of Azriel's chair draws attention, a sudden boost of fuel being injected in his veins. "Did she tell you where she was going exactly?"

Nesta’s tone turns into vitriol, a subconscious reaction to the guilt that gnawed at her bones for not seeking for you sooner after finding you in your state. The reminder of tears streaming down your face flashes behind her eyelids; the choppiness of your words through labored breathing. How desperately you’d attempted to wrangle it together just long enough to make it to your room and suddenly the eldest Archeron feels that familiar uselessness creep beneath her skin. “She didn’t leave me a map with a drawn out route—she just said she needed air.”

“While crying?” It wasn’t intentional, Rhysand seeing the flash of memory that Nesta had unknowingly projected; her mental walls caving for just a fraction of a minute before the iron doors had regained their formidable security. “What happened?”

“I don’t know,” Silverware clatters against the table, staining table linen in strawberry jam but no one seems to give a shit when the severity of the situation behinds to settle over the room. Nesta runs a hand against the material of her dress, smoothening out wrinkles and creases in order to avoid all of the eyes settling over her face. “I was just going to the library to read and we bumped into each other. She came from the balcony—I offered to walk her to her room but she just…” A sigh pulls free, jaw setting tightly. “I let her go.”

“Nesta.” Feyre’s slow shake of her head holds enough disappointment to have Nesta’s shoulders squaring on the defensive.

“I’m not some evil bitch, I waited up!” She seethes, the beginnings of those silver flames lapping at the steely grey of her eyes but the fight within isn’t truly directed towards Feyre or anyone else but herself. Because she’d felt the exact moment that you walked from the doors and winnowed away, that she’d made a grave mistake. Nesta’s shoulders sag, fingers bunching unforgivingly into the inky linen cloth until she felt the tips of her nails digging into the polished mahogany underneath. “I waited.”

Azriel’s already out of the room without a word.

He didn’t have a right to shame her because Azriel had a feeling he knew what sent you running.

His teeth grind together when thinking back to the night before when he and Elain had scuffled off onto the balcony at the witching hour; hoping their sins would be shielded by the dark cast of night. Too caught up in one another to consider another already occupying the space.

And, no matter how many times Azriel brushed his fingertips over the soft curve of Elain’s cheeks or vyed for a fleeting touch when passing in the hallways—the kiss he thought he wanted lacked the spark he was sure would flicker to life when lips grazed.

He’d pulled away so abruptly, brows furrowing in a stark line discontentment that was visible to anyone with eyes and then he heard the broken whimper of a gasp.

It’s been too easy to pass it off as Elain and far easier for him to forget about it altogether after Rhysand had found an embarrassed Elain rushing back to her room with flushed cheeks and an unsteady gait. He’d never heard his brother shout so loud, the veins in his neck protruding as he ordered Azriel to never even look her way again. That if a quick fuck in the dead of the night was what he desired then Azriel should wander along the cobblestone streets of Velaris and find himself a suitable pleasure house and pay for it.

The words act as fuel, Azriel’s senses working on overdrive; shadows scrying for information faster than ever before until they’d returned with something he could work with.

Dropped neatly in his palms were the cool steel of your twin blades that never left the secure holsters forever strapped to your thighs.

And they were soaked in your blood.

—

You recognized the suffocating dank smell that tended to fester when stuffed so far beneath the earth—the perfect dungeon.

One you’d been in countless times before, wearing that shadowy mask of indifference when masquerading as the soulless monster that became necessary to survive while in Hewn City. It took decades of assistance by Azriel’s side; an apprentice of sorts when the bounds of your affections had just begun testing its limits—wondering to see just how far you’d go just to be near him.

To get him to notice you. Your mate. Yours. Yours.

All of that seems so foolish now. Insignificant compared to the dire situation you’d found yourself entangled in.

Sharp twinges of pain throb up your neck, aches settling in from the uncomfortable position and it’s a strain when you shift in attempts to take in your surroundings. Fear lurches in your chest when your hands don’t move, restrained by chains that had you hung up like a prized hog after a fresh hunt.

Not good. Not good. Not good. So, not good.

“I always did love that look.” Immediately your spine goes ramrod straight, fingers clenching into fists over the cool bite of the chains as that voice washed over you like a bucket of water. Refreshing on your own terms and a horrible wake up call when it wasn’t. “When panic shifts into realization—truly a sight worth capturing. Especially when attached to such a delicate disposition.”

Delicate?

You’d never once used that word in ordinance to yourself.

Hearing it now, under such circumstances makes your heart lurch, it’s beat untamed against your ribcage and it takes every bit of strength left to smooth that look of utter calm across your features. “Come a little closer, let me show you how sweet I can get.”

The underlying threat is easily palpable and Kier is wise not to follow the bait; aware of the wounded animals ability to put up a considerable fight and he’s too coward to brawl fairly. “As tempting as that is, it won’t be me who plays with you tonight.” Your teeth bare into a snarl, pure promise rumbling from your chest and the sound encourages a chuckle from the male.

He’s not close enough to injure; to swing the brunt of your weight around for a well-timed kick that you knew would disable long enough to figure a way out of these damn restraints. But even with the distance between you, the resemblance between this male and Mor was striking. She’d inherited the shape of his lips, even if the words she spoke were far sweeter than the shit spewed from her predecessor. More similarities are spotted during your scrutinizing evaluation of him; the line of his nose, the shade of his hair, the confident air that oozed from his form—no matter how misplaced it was.

“I’ll kill anyone who dares lay a finger on me.”

“So much fight in you,” Kier all but croons, his eyes raking across your body in a way that was less than savory. “I can’t wait to see how long it lasts.”

Breathe.

Years of training beside the spymaster had prepared you for this very moment and it’s easier to drift back into the memory of just another session; before things had gotten so complicated and he’d just been a friend eager to teach if you were willing to learn. Countless times you’d been in a similar situation—you, waking up tied up to some chair with ropes securing every possible joint in place and Azriel would leave you there as long as it took for you to figure your way out of it.

Allow the thrum of your heart be the beat that keeps you focused.

Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The cell wasn’t very large, four stone walls covered in grime and mildew with just enough space for two grown men to fit semi-comfortably. No windows. One door with a thin slot at the top large enough for two eyes to peer inside. No fire. No light. No warmth. No breeze, just stale, dank air that tasted of iron when your breathed in too deep.

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“What do you want from me?”

Kier inhales a greedy breath, his chest expanding in the ornate armor worn. It glistens even with no light—proving that even with his privileged title, he was never the one who got his hands dirty. “Many things,” He finally confessed, the words airy and nonchalant. He’s too cocky. Too comfortable. “But first, I want you to tell me about the Cursebreakers sisters.” He dares a step closer, arms crossed casually behind his back as a dark look begins to worm its way into his eye. “I want you to tell me everything you know about the Made ones and the power they stole from the Cauldron.”

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

A smile works its way across his face—one so familiar it taints good memories with its stain. “I hoped you’d say that.” Kier walks past, the smell of his cologne burning your nostrils and you couldn’t imagine ever smelling tobacco and ash, bergamot and oakmoss without gagging ever again.

One knock on the thick steel door and slender male with hair like soot and eyes like a raven enters.

Your face remains a blank slate. Even as you take in the rubber material of his apron and the sturdy material of his leather boots. Well used gloves cover his hands and tucked under his left arm is a rawhide holder filled to the brim with all kinds of terrifying treats.

Breathe. Focus on your heart beat. Stay alive.

“Who are you?”

He takes his sweet time answering. Making a show of neatly setting down the holder and undoing the braided leather straps holding it in place. “You can call me the Butcher—everyone else does.”

“How original.” A thick swallow to quell the nerves; to shove away the shake that threatened to disturb your carefully curated cadence. The chains rattle as you shift, the tips of your toes just barely skimming the cool ground beneath you but not quite enough to relieve your wrists of the burden of bearing the entirety of your weight. “Well, Butcher—come make yourself useful and loosen my chains, will you? It’s starting to chafe a bit.”

His head shakes in his denial, barely acknowledging the departing Steward and the heavy thud of the shutting door—a lock sliding into place. “You don’t really want me to do that.” For donning such a threatening title, the Butcher is deceivingly soft-spoken. It sends your nerves into a fritz, triggering your fight or flight and for the first time since your eyes had opened and the darkness had waned; that delicately woven web of control slips from your grasp. “If you’re as stubborn as I think you are,” The sharp ring of metal twangs through the air and in his grasp is a perfectly polished knife a little too curved to be considered a scalpel. “You’ll need something to hold onto. It helps with the pain…for a time.”

Breathe.

“Then let’s just get this over with, shall we?”

Butcher chuckles low under his breath, full lips concealed by an ever fuller beard—the only thing about him that wasn’t perfectly trim and proper. “Not a fan of foreplay?”

Fingers curl around the cool bite of thick chains, your chest rising and falling in a steady pattern as you began to dissociate. An attempt to keep your mind as protected as possible from whatever was to come. “I’m more of a rip-the-bandaid kind of girl.”

Death clings to the pristinely polished rubber of his apron, the creak of his gloves filling the space as worn fingers ready around the hilt of his weapon. “You know,” Inhale through your nose, exhale through your mouth. Disappear off into that numb place deep, deep within your mind. Ignore the bite of the blade poking around already sensitive wounds. “Under entirely different circumstances, I think I might’ve actually liked you.”

The switch flips so fast—too fast for you to catch but it’s impossible to miss the devastating burn that ripples through you as flesh is severed, muscle flayed and so, so much blood spilled.

It’s hard to keep track of how much time passes down here without access to windows and you’re certain that it’s intentional, aiding in the psychological aspect of their torture.

Relax and take in your surroundings. Notice things no one else thinks is important because that could be the one thing that keeps you from an untimely death.

The masculine baritone of Azriel’s teachings repeated like a mantra in your mind until it becomes the only thing distracting you from the sound of your flesh tearing, your blood drip, drip, dripping a misshapen puddle beneath you.

You force yourself to keep conscious, mentally noting anything your eyes are able to latch onto. Insignificant things; ebony hair, umber skin, a brand burned into the middle of Butcher’s left wrist in a symbol half-obscured by his gloves.

There’s a block on your powers, not quite faebane in its most lethal dose but paired with the wards humming against the walls, you knew using magic wouldn’t be an option for you. “Tell me about the Made ones and I can stop.”

“I don’t know anything.”

Just stay alive long enough to get help.

“You live there with them,” Butcher goads, crooked teeth exposed when gritted into that grimace of a sneer. Leather creaks under the playful twist of his wrist, the sharpened blade carving at muscle and obliterating sinew until you swear it reaches bone. “You share drink and food, you fight beside them in battle and you expect us to believe that secrets aren’t shared as well?” Every breath is ragged, a sheen of sweat coating your skin and unruly hair sticks to the curve of your neck. “Tell me what you know before I decide to get a little more creative in my methods.”

“Even if I did know anything, why the hell would I tell you? What would Hewn scum do with such knowledge?”

Your words have nicked a nerve, robbing the Butcher of that soft-spoken charm and replacing it with something more sinister. “You say the same thing to that bastard Illyrian you’re always seen around?”

A brow quirks, furrowing ever so slightly as it became more and more apparent that this was more than some spur of the moment kidnapping. Their questions, the desire to keep you immobile and battered but not enough to render you unconscious—not enough to be fatal. For whatever reason, they needed you alive and judging by the desperation that claws its way to the edges of Butchers voice, his curses and demands falling on deaf ears as your mind runs on overdrive to accumulate all the information you could before it was too late.

Each breath grows more labored, lashes fluttery and thick with exhaustion but just when it feel like too much—when you feel like giving up and succumbing to the sweet oblivion.

The rake of talons brushes against your mental walls. A cautious prod, testing your durability and utter relief washes over you when that feline lilt floods your consciousness. “We’re coming, just stay awake.”

The syllables barely reach your ears, sound faded by the obnoxious ringing that refused to subside—a side affect from all the fucking screaming and shouting. Swears slurring together the longer you snapped at the male before you, knees jerking and wounds barking in agony when the heel of your foot smashes so hard into his nose, his skull caves in; limp body dropping to the floor with a thud.

It’s all the strength you have in you and the death-grip you have around the chains is released all at once. Time moves in slow motion as you dangle there, vision darkening at the edges and that thrum of your heartbeat loud enough to distract you anymore. “Rhys they want— they want…”

So much blood oozes from your wounds, drenching your leathers all the way through and you were definitely feeling the affects. Your vision blurs, lids going lazy with just enough time to hear that voice—Azriel’s voice bellowing your name. “Stay alive.” He mutters over and over and over when he’s finally reached you, adrenaline pumping so high that he breaks the chains from their bolt with nothing more than his bare hands. “Do you hear me? Don’t you dare fucking die on me.”

You swear you try to obey the command, desiring nothing more than to keep Azriel's attention after finally being front and center in it. But it just felt so safe held in his grasp, tucked so close to his chest while he rids you of your restraints and applies pressure to gaping wounds.

All you wanted was one second. If you closed your eyes just for a second to gather your wits then you'd wake up and everything would be okay.

It sounds like a good idea-- so good that you allow the peace to wash over you like a cool tide washing over the shore in the early days of the burning summer; ignoring the desperate shouts from a vignette of voices that fades in the background like the haunting final notes of a song.

—

Confusion crashes at you in unforgiving waves, memories --or were they dreams?-- flash behind your lids with each blink. A dull throb pounds behind your lids, aggravating your mental shields to the point where you feel them wobble with each breath.

"You should stay still." Azriel's saying without giving you time to clear through the dense fog plaguing your mind. Instead, he busies his hands with fussing over your blankets, carefully tucking bare toes and pressing a five finger grip on your sternum when you attempt to rise from the soft cushion of a mattress that certainly did not belong to you. "It took Madja a while to get you all stitched up. Are you in pain? She left ointments and a few tinctures."

He's graceful enough not to mention the owlish blink of your eyes and their befuddled examination of his room until the crackly rasp of your voice cuts through the space; both of you refusing to address the elephant in the room. "My head hurts a little."

"Yeah," Shadows fuss with warm rags, sweeping it over your forehead and dabbing it along your cheeks while others occupy themselves with filling a glass of water to offer. "Rhys will be by later to apologize for that, I'm sure."

Your brows furrow deeply, nose scrunching when you sip your water. "Apologize for what?"

"You were in distress. We thought you were going to--" Azriel abruptly cuts himself off, fingers curling into fists at his sides. "Rhys went in your mind, said that before you'd gone unconscious that you were trying to tell him something that seemed urgent enough to bypass the usual request to wait for permission."

Your heart begins to pick up speed in your chest and suddenly the desire to rise from this bed and run away was becoming horribly intense. Legs shift under the weight of a duvet that didn't belong to you, attempting to hide the way your sore muscles sink into the overwhelming scent of night-chilled mist. "Okay...and what did he see?"

"He saw you get taken," Azriel turns his back to you, expertly avoiding your eyes but the nervous energy buzzing off his skin was unmistakable. "He watched them carve you up and torture you for information about Nesta and Elain." The stabilizing breath he takes shakes his shoulders, the strong line of muscle barely concealed by the tight stretch of his leathers--leathers still stained in the blood of those who'd spilled yours, no doubt. "Rhys said that you didn't say a word. You didn't give them a thing."

"That's good, right?" A pillow is fluffed behind you, shadows doting on every need. "Then, why do you sound so upset?"

"Why do I sound so upset?" Azriel cruelly mocks, his aurate gaze positively smoldering with rage when they land on you. "Because, you almost died! You almost died in my fucking arms before I ever got the chance to—. What the hell were you thinking?"

The beating you'd endured does nothing to quell your fiery spirit, eyes lighting with life and lips running a mile a minute—too fast for your logical brain to keep up with. "I was thinking that they wanted information on your precious, little girlfriend." You all but spit out, childishly pushing away the comfort the duvet from your legs as you attempt to shuffle from Azriel's bed without disturbing the tight wrap of your bandages. Why the hell were you in here anyway? "I was thinking that maybe, it'd be easier for them to fucking butcher me rather than watch what would happen to you if it were Elain there in my place."

Silence stretches along the hardwood floor, cloaking up the length of the walls and muting out the low crackle of the fireplace; its flame gentle and calm in the midst of an emotional storm. "I almost wish you would've let it be her." Azriel fills the void, finally mustering up the courage to face you. "I could've survived that and whatever consequences came along with it because my mate takes precedence above all."

Just like that, all the spitfire you’d prepared in retaliation absolutely dissipates after hearing those two words. “Your mate.”

Azriel doesn’t confirm with words. Instead, he searches inside for the humming gold thread wrapped taut around his ribs, just above his heart and pulls. Fucking yanking at it with all his might and something sparkles in his eye when your body jerks in retaliation.

“You know?”

“How long have you known?”

Your heartbeat hammers against your ribcage, threatening to carve out a hole if that’s what it took to get to its other half. “A while.”

“And you’ve said nothing.” He says, tone sounding almost defeated. “Why wouldn’t you have said anything?”

“Because, Az,” The shadows have seized their tireless caretaking, sliding back into place beside their master as you lose the ability to accept the tender affection. “You wouldn’t have chosen me. Not before Mor and certainly not before Elain.” You’re quick to bristle over that part, not leaving any room for the spymaster to interrupt no matter how expressive his face became. “Besides, the bond is a choice not a burden and that’s what it would’ve been for you if I spoke up about it.” Pure determination is what allows you to bear the brunt of your weight , willing yourself to appear strong in the face of the male who could render you to cinders if he so pleased. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d really like to shower the dungeon smell off of me.”

A childish whine of a noise is ripped from your throat when Azriel huffs out a breath, murmuring something about you being stubborn as hell before carefully picking you up and carrying you to the bathroom. It's embarrassing, a furious blush burning at the apples of your cheeks as he starts the shower, adjusts the temperature and slowly sets you down. "Thank you for that but you don't have to do this. I can handle cleaning myself."

"You can barely stand on solid ground on your own."

"I'll manage."

"I know. What I'm saying is that you don't have to." You nearly faint on the spot when Azriel crouches down in front of you, his hands shaky but sure when unlatching the difficult ties of your fighting leathers. His teeth grit together when the fabric is loosened and carefully worked down your thighs, over your knees and tugged away from your ankles. "Just let me help."

Azriel is nothing short of respectful, you notice. He doesn't sneak salacious peeks at the endless expanse of bare skin that he exposes. Doesn't once mention the tremble of your breath or the way your fingers seem to bite into the flesh of his arms whenever a new article of clothing is removed and dropped to the floor. Even after he's eased you into the shower stream; standing before him, perfectly presented on a soaking wet platter—he keeps his eyes trained on your face.

Shadows thicken over sensual bits, providing a shield between you and the male diligently applying soap to rag. Each drag of the slightly rough material against your skin releases a tension you hadn’t noticed you’d been carrying and all you can do is watch as he rids your skin of the thick film left behind when magic was used to clear away muck.

Eons must past before words are spoken, a this time Azriel is more intentional when he chooses them--more intimate when he relays them. "I'd always hoped for a mate. Ever since I was a boy and my mother told me stories about two halves scouring the world to finally become whole again." You're malleable under his care, pliant when he lifts your arms to scrub underneath and damn-near boneless when he turns you with slippery hands to slowly work the knots from your back. "I had always hoped that one day, I too, would find my equal." Azriel clears his throat, returning back from whatever memory he'd been sucked into but the massage doesn't stop; it only drags lower. "Then so much time had passed and I started to wonder if I couldn't find them because I wasn't being forward enough but that only lead to misplaced affections and unfulfillment."

"Azriel, I'm not sure if I really understand--"

"I felt something for you—something stronger than friendship but I pushed it away. I ignored it and looked elsewhere because I can bare not being as close with Mor and it’s as easy as breathing to never see Elain again but losing you—ruining the peace I feel when I’m with you would’ve broken me.”

Tears well in your eyes, a thickness welling in the back of your throat and your skin burns where his fingers touch, lingering near the dip of your back and just barely curling around the curve of your hips. “Az, you don’t have to say any of this to make me feel better. I just wanted you to be happy. I want you to be happy.”

“Then, please don’t reject it.” His warmth ripples over every inch of you, your neck craning to make room for the forehead he helplessly drops in the crux of your shoulder. The perfect line of his nose drags along the curve of it, inhaling the soothing notes of your scent mixed with his body wash. “Don’t reject me—this is all I’ve ever wanted.” Finally his fingers curl around your hips, the grip gentle but oh, so claiming. “Can’t you feel it? This rightness.”

Raw emotion swims in the amber tones of Azriel’s eyes when you turn in his arms; searching within those rich shades to find any detection of a lie.

Not one reaches your radar.

The line of your vision drops, creeping down his nose until it fixates on the plush pink of his lips. Instinct takes over, offering a gentle nudge until the space between two is eaten up and breath becomes shared as a line was about to be crossed—a prophecy fulfilled.

When Azriel’s lips finally brush against yours, it’s like a coil snaps, unleashing an animal he hadn’t known existed. Sure, he had plenty of experience with childish crushes and boyish infatuation. But this, Cauldron, it nearly takes his breath away with its intensity—the burning desire that rips through his veins like a forrest fire.

One kiss bleeds into two hands desperate to acquaint themselves with your body until all that mattered was you, your spymaster and the sentient shadows protectively surrounding you both. “Azriel,” You all but keen in his ear, chest heaving and hips rolling into the hardness of him pressed against you.

“Mate.”

A whimper cuts through your throat, neck craning to make space for the perfect bruises he was sucking into the skin there. “I want you.”

“You have me,” He promises over the frantic beat of your heart, tongue laving over the soft fat of your breasts. “Even when my bones are rotting in the dirt, I’ll belong to you. My mate. Mine.”

[ghostfacd]

I BET ON LOSING DOGS.

pairing: young!coriolanus snow x fem!reader

PART TWO

summary: you were the epitome of sunshine, and coriolanus? he was like the storm, the rain, and the everything in between.

warnings: SPOILERS from the movie & book, SMUT (protected cause we wrap it before we tap it! p in v), losing virginities to each other, snow (cause he himself needs a warning), toxic relationship, coriolanus is only in it for himself, mentions of losing virginity, you practically giving everything to snow and getting zero in return

author’s note: erm this is kinda long idek where tf i was going with this, first time writing smut on this account LOL so it might be bad. also this isn’t proofread so there might be mistakes, just ignore! as always, reblogs and comments are so greatly appreciated, enjoy reading + kisses 💓

You were the epitome of the sun itself, the sparkle, the light, and most importantly, the brightness. Despite being filthy rich, you were still that sweet sunshine Y/N everyone grown to love, the heir to the Cicero family.

Coriolanus Snow hated that about you. Not only were you everything he was not, but you lived such a lavish and easy lifestyle that it made him sick. Why was he stuck eating cabbage while you were off eating the finest thin slices of meat in the Capitol made by your chefs? It wasn’t fair, it just simply wasn’t.

“Well, Coryo!” Your sickeningly sweet voice fills his ears like a mantra.

He turns around, a smirk plays on his face. “My Y/N.”

Hearing him call you his made your heart flutter. You loop your arm through his, passing through the other academy students who were engrossed in their conversations

“Finally the star pupil.” Arachne Crane says, a glass of posca in her hand. “Lovely shirt you’ve got there. What are these cunning buttons? Tesserae?”

He looked at the shirt, shrugging. “Hm? Are they? Must’ve why they reminded me of the maid’s bathroom.”

You held his hands in yours. You knew of Coriolanus’s home life, how he wasn’t so lucky like you to have a gigantic home filled with lovable parents. His mom had died during childbirth, Coryo mentioning to you once how he was supposed to have a little sister. His father—died in the hands of rebels.

“Have you tried this lamb? It's scandalous.” Felix suddenly spoke up, taking a bite of the food that was currently on his plate.

“Didn’t daddy teach you table manners?.” Festus sneered, watching the other boy in disgust.

“Maybe he would have if he wasn’t so busy running the country.” Felix snapped back

Coriolanus took a deep breath in, already feeling overwhelmed by his classmates arguing.

After the announcement of the assigning of mentor to tributes, you could tell Coriolanus was upset. Although he wouldn’t let anyone see, he was visibly anxious and quite frankly, annoyed.

“I mean, cmon, how could it that I got the worst district?” Coriolanus says, head in his hands. “He hates me. He really does.”

“Who hates you Coryo?”

“Dean Highbottom! Isn’t it obvious?” He cries out, hands flinging into the air. You slightly flinch back, never seeing your boyfriend in such state. “He hates me Y/N. He adores you.”

“He doesn’t adore me,” you say, feeling like you were stepping around eggshells talking to Coriolanus.

“He does!” Coriolanus screams in anger, getting up in a hurry.

“Wait, no Coryo, I’m sorry.”

But your words aren’t enough, they’ll never be for Coriolanus Snow, so he walks out without a second thought.

- - -

The next day, Coriolanus apologizes. It’s a breathy, quick 5 second apology, but you being so you—accepted it without a second thought.

You loved Coriolanus, so it didn’t matter how much he hurt you.

“I’ll make it up to you tonight,” he says, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

You felt quite excited, you and your boyfriend hadn’t exactly gotten to that stage in your relationship, so thinking about sharing an intimate moment with him filled you with giddiness.

His tip had entered carefully through your folds, making you slightly wince as it bullied its way to your walls.

“Coryo..” you breathe out hazily, doe eyes coming to meet his. He sucked in his breath at the sight, never has he felt anything as good as this.

He tries so hard convincing himself he doesn’t love you. That this—it meant nothing to him. He was just here for your money, your possessions as the only daughter of Cryon and Hermione Cicero. But as he felt your nails claw its way into his back, he lets out a slip, a tiny whimper that makes your head foggy.

He spilled into the condom, pulling out with a hiss. Although you told him you were clean, and it was fine if he didn’t wear one, he simply couldn’t risk it. He wasn’t going to accidentally bring in a child into the world, having no intentions of taking care of anyone besides himself—maybe Tigris, and his Grandma’am.

“I love you,” you say quietly as you sat up, watching him discard the plastic into your trash bin.

“I’m hungry, aren’t you?” He says, putting his shirt on. It kinds of pains you at his total ignorance of the intimate words you just shared, but you nod your head.

“I could use some food,” is all you say, putting on your pajamas from earlier. “What’re hungry for Coryo? I’ll ask the chef.”

- - -

Dr. Gaul and Dean Highbottom had allowed all the mentors and their tributes roam the arena for about 15 minutes, letting them think of ways to win the game.

You were talking to Bobbin, a boy from District 7 whom you’ve had become closer with these past few days.

Suddenly, the loud scream of Felix catches your attention and before you knew it, loud bombs filled the air as tall lights fell to the ground near you.

“CORYO!” You scream, coughing loudly at the dust filling your lungs.

“Quick Y/N, we don’t have time!” Sejanus screams, grabbing ahold of your hand.

“But Coryo—”

Meanwhile, a tall pole had crushed Coriolanus’s arms.

Well, he thought, this was it.

This was how he was going to die. His girlfriend and best friend hand in hand as they ran out of the arena, the sickening feeling of betrayal filled his guts.

“What’re you doing?!” One of the tributes screamed at Lucy Gray, who was struggling to get the giant metal off Coriolanus’s arm. “Run while you can you idiot!”

But she doesn’t bother, only focusing on getting Coriolanus out. And she does, successfully, before all went black.

- - -

“Coryo? Oh Coryo!” You say, hugging him softly to ensure you weren’t hurting him.

You had felt so guilty after everything had happened. You should’ve never ran off with Sejanus, Coriolanus was your boyfriend, you should’ve saved him.

“Is Lucy Gray okay?” Is the first thing he croaks out, which makes your heart slightly crack.

“She’s—she’s okay Coryo.” You say, brushing a few blonde curls out of his eyes.

“And where were you?” He says, gaze slowly turning into anger. “I was going to die, Y/N.”

“I know! I was going to—”

He cut you off. “But you didn’t, now did you?”

His bitterness towards you makes you want to cry, tears already forming at your lash line.

“Oh now you’re crying?” It seemed like everything you did seemed of inconvenience to Coriolanus, but he opens his arms, letting you reside in them as you let out a few tears. “Always the crybaby, Y/N.” He says, hand holding your head as you buried your face into his chest.

- - -

Coriolanus Snow never believed in love. Not when he used to look at his mother and father when they were still alive, and not when he found himself a girlfriend, you.

Your relationship was merely another step stone towards success, Coriolanus viewed it. You were the heir of your family, you had countless amounts of money, and you were easily fooled by his advances. To Coriolanus, he had hit the jackpot, regardless of loving you or not.

So why did he feel so weird watching you interact with Sejanus? Sure, he considered the former district 2 boy his best friend, but it was only because Clemensia had been spending time at the hospital. The flu, Dr. Gaul described it; but Snow knew better. He was there when she had gotten bit by the snakes, and to be completely honest, if she hadn’t, he’d probably have dated her instead of you.

Clemensia Dovecote was way more smart, and he knew he wouldn’t fall inlove because they were both after the same thing. Power.

But with you, you were head over heels for Coriolanus. It almost made him sick, if it weren’t for your family name.

He clenched his jaw as he saw you throw your head back, hitting Sejanus’s shoulder as you hysterically laughed at something he had said.

What was so funny? Nothing was funny in the Capitol, not now. Maybe he was bitter, he should’ve never cheated in the games. It was stupid, and now he was getting the punishment of getting sent to 12 as a peacekeeper for 20 years.

Fuck, he really shouldn’t have cheated. And now he couldn’t even use his girlfriend’s family name as a way out.

He really should’ve known better. He knew you loved him, but he didn’t think you’d love him so much so that you begged your father to let you stay in 12 for a while to be with Coriolanus.

If there’s one thing about you—it’s that you’re a Daddy’s girl by heart, and of course, your father had once again served your request with a silver spoon. He hated that about you. He hated it. You got things too damn easily.

“Hi Coryo!” You say, making your way to him. Your beautiful sundress made him gulp, and he wanted nothing more but to snatch you away, pulling it off so he could get inside of you. But he couldn’t—he was in 12, much to his dismay.

“Y/N,” he says, placing his peacekeeper gun to the back. “Talking to the scums?”

“They’re just people from the district,” you say, frowning at his rudeness. “They’re nice, Coryo. Real nice, you’d like some of them.”

Coriolanus scoffs at that. How oblivious and stupid you were. Him, Coriolanus Snow, liking some of the district 12 citizens? What a fucking joke.

“Go along now Y/N, I’ll see you later.”

You nod, giving him a sloppy kiss on the cheek before you left, leaving the other peacekeepers to whistle at Coriolanus who only responds with an eye roll.

When later eventually comes, he was packing away the Jabberjays in their metal cages, Sejanus being right next to him.

“I saw you earlier,” Coriolanus says nonchalantly, “talking to that woman in the window. What are you playing at Sejanus?”

Sejanus scoffs, shaking his head. “They’re gonna escape Corio. Leave the districts. And I’ll be helping them.”

Coriolanus sucks in a breath, “is Y/N all in this too?”

God, he hoped Sejanus said no. But then again, it’d give him an advantage if he had said yes.

“She is,” Sejanus says, continuing to tell Coriolanus of the plan.

Without Sejanus knowing, Coriolanus had tuned the jabberjay so it could record back the whole conversation. When Sejanus finally leaves, Coriolanus sneaks to where the train bringing the birds back to the Capitol stood, placing the jabberjay in it to send it to Dr. Gaul.

If anything, Sejanus was a blocking point in Coriolanus’s way, and getting rid of him and you were like killing two birds with one stone.

- - -

The next day came and you were peacefully talking to one of the younger girls in the district when you’re suddenly pulled away along with Sejanus.

“Hey! What the hell!” You scream, thrashing in the unfamiliar peacekeeper’s hold. “Get off me!”

You and Sejanus struggle, and Coriolanus almost wants to step in and get you out of his fellow peacekeeper’s arms. Almost.

“Coryo! Tell them they’ve been mistaken!” You cry out, locking eyes with your so called lover.

“You two have been charged with treason towards the Capitol.” The peacekeeper says, his cold gaze and strong hold on you makes you let out a whimper.

“Treason?” You say, “there has to be a mistake! Call my father! Call my father!”

“I’m afraid your father can’t get you out of this one, Miss. Cicero.”

He drags you and Sejanus up the main stage of the district. “Everyone! Pay attention! This is what will happen if you are disloyal to the Capitol!”

Another peacekeeper points a gun behind Sejanus’s back as the peacekeeper who was holding you earlier pokes your back with the cold metal. You felt terrified gazes of the citizens of District 12, including Lucy Gray, stare at you.

“CORYO! TELL THEM!” You scream, begging with your eyes. “Coryo, please. Please.”

But Coriolanus Snow stands still in his spot, not budging a thing.

You thought he had loved you—or at least, cared for you. You gave him shelter when he was at his worst, you gave him your virginity, you held him when he cried about how unfair Dean Highbottom was, you let him into your home, and you always were there for him. You practically did everything for Coriolanus Snow. And what did you get? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

“Your Coryo won’t save you.” The peacekeeper snarls, before firing the gun.

Two gunshots go off, and the body of yours and Sejanus fall to the ground in an instant.

Coriolanus Snow almost wants to barf, his eyes closed for a minute before reopening them again.

Had it really been worth it? Ratting you and Sejanus out so he could get home to the Capitol faster?

He thinks so when your family and the Plinths give him their fortune as a thank you for being such a good boyfriend and friend towards their son and daughter.

If only they knew, though. But Coriolanus would never let that happen, because no matter what, Snow lands on top.

And this? It was just the beginning.