#who had that old face and the familiar pain and sadness to have to go only after a couple of days of being around

[trust-the-fox]

These types of shorts would be amazing. But I really feel that there's no threat of Fourteen overshadowing Fifteen - I mean, Tennant has been a fan-favourite and one of the most loved Doctors, but Ncuti Gatwa is just RADIANT. From the moment 15 first popped on the screen it was obvious that this new Doctor was going to be something amazing, energising, AND unforgettable. As long as the writing doesn't let us down completely Fifteen will probably raise a fanbase that rivals even Ten's.

i hope as much as the next guy that fourteen doesn't overshadow ncuti's doctor or his stories, and i also hope fourteen gets rad specials and maybe even appears on the unit spinoff. but there's a part of me that wishes that they'll release like 10 minute web shorts of the doctor trying to do mundane tasks for the first time. like we see a close up of tennant, sonic at the ready, hair spiked to the gods, and he's like "alright. allons-y!" and then we cut to the title card and it's like

[theonottsbxtch]

Stay with Me | LS2

a/n: it’s 4am, i’m sad and in bed so now you have to suffer with me smau + written | logan x ex!reader

fc: pinterest

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yn’s appartment - london 10:46pm

there was a faint knock at yn’s apartment door. for a moment, she found herself paralysed, sat at the kitchen island, knowing exactly who was on the other side. the memory of their public breakup, where tears had flowed freely and hearts had broken visibly, replayed in her mind. part of her wanted to leave him standing there, to make him feel the same abandonment she'd felt. yet, another part of her yearned to open the door and pretend that nothing had ever happened, to fall into the comfort of his arms as if the past four months hadn't been filled with silence and longing.

taking a deep breath, she set her phone down and cautiously approached the door. she hesitated, her heart pounding as she checked the peephole. the sight she glimpsed through the small glass circle made her stomach twist. twisting the lock with trembling fingers, she pulled the door open, and the sight before her took her breath away. logan stood there, a shadow of the man she remembered. his once vibrant, playful eyes were now red and bloodshot, a faded grey hoodie hanging loosely over an old band tee she’d given him. his hair was disheveled, and he looked worn, as though the world had beaten him down.

seeing him like this, so vulnerable and broken, she couldn't stop herself. she stepped forward, her heart aching, and wrapped her arms around him. the familiar scent of him, mixed with a hint of cologne and something distinctly him, flooded her senses. just like the old days, his head dropped onto her shoulder, and she instinctively reached up, running her fingers through his messy blonde hair. ut felt both foreign and familiar, a bittersweet reminder of what they once had.

gently, she pulled him inside, closing and locking the door behind them, her eyes darting around to ensure no one had seen him enter. the last thing she needed was another media frenzy. as logan stepped further into the apartment, he looked around, a ghost haunting a place that had once been his home. the room felt different, colder, as if his absence had sucked the warmth out of it.

"i heard what happened," yn broke the heavy silence, her voice soft. logan turned to face her, his eyes searching hers for something, perhaps forgiveness or understanding. she resisted the urge to close the distance between them again, to hold him and never let go. "i’m sorry."

logan let out a bitter laugh, the sound void of any real humor. "it was bound to happen," he muttered, his voice thick with resignation. the way he said it, as if the way he'd been treated was something he deserved, made her chest tighten.

"it doesn't mean you're not allowed to feel shit about it," she replied, her voice firmer. she hated seeing him like this, so defeated and hopeless.

he looked down at his feet, the once pristine trainers now scuffed and dirty. he fiddled with his phone in his pocket, avoiding her gaze. "i was going to get replaced anyway," he mumbled, as if trying to convince himself that it was true.

she shook her head, frustration slightly bubbling up inside her. "logan, that's not—"

"i came to apologise," he interrupted, finally looking up at her. the vulnerability in his eyes was almost too much to bear. "four months later?" she asked, a mix of disbelief and hurt in her voice. she had waited for so long, clinging to hope, and now he was here, apologising as if that could undo the pain.

he sighed, running a hand through his hair, a gesture she knew all too well. "i..." he struggled for words, his voice breaking slightly. "yeah. i’m sorry it took so long. i just... didn't know how to face you after everything."

as logan stood there, searching yn’s face for any sign of what she was feeling, he suddenly looked away, his shoulders slumping. the weight of everything seemed to press down on him, and he ran a hand through his messy hair, letting out a shaky breath.

"yn," he began, his voice raw and unsteady, "everything in my life has been falling apart. not just with us... but with everything." he looked back at her, his eyes tired. "racing, the friends, my family... it's all gone to shit. and i kept thinking, if i could just hold it together, i could find a way to fix it all."

she felt a pang of sympathy, her frustration momentarily overshadowed by concern. "logan, you don't have to—"

he shook his head, cutting her off. "no, i do. i need you to understand." his voice cracked, and he took a step closer, as if drawn to her by some invisible force. "you were the only one who ever really understood me. the only one who saw me for who i am, not just what I could be or what I failed at. i pushed you away because i was scared, but i always knew you were the one person who got me."

tears welled up in yn’s eyes as she listened to him, her heart aching for the pain he was clearly feeling. she wanted to reach out, to comfort him, but she stayed rooted in place, struggling with her own emotions.

logan’s voice broke as he continued, his words spilling out in a rush. "i know i don't deserve you back. i don't expect you to forgive me or to want me in your life again. but i couldn't live with myself if i didn't tell you... i’m sorry. for everything. for hurting you, for being a coward, for not being the person you deserved."

he looked at her, his expression one of utter defeat. "i’m so, so sorry, yn. i don't know what to do without you. everything feels wrong, and i just... i just wanted you to know that."

before she could respond, logan’s composure crumbled. tears streamed down his face, and he let out a choked sob, his body shaking. the sight of him so broken and vulnerable broke down the last of her defenses. she stepped forward and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him close. he buried his face in her shoulder, his sobs muffled against her.

for a long moment, they stood there, holding each other. yn felt the warmth of his tears soaking into her shirt, and she stroked his back soothingly, her own tears silently falling. the pain and confusion of the past months seemed to dissolve in that moment, replaced by a deep, shared sorrow.

logan clung to her as if she were his lifeline, his cries slowly subsiding into quiet sniffles. he pulled back slightly, just enough to look at her, his eyes red and puffy. "thank you," he whispered, his voice hoarse. "for listening. for being here. even if it's just for now... thank you."

yn nodded, wiping away a tear from his cheek. "you’re welcome," she replied softly. "but, logan... i can't promise anything. i need time to think about everything."

he nodded, a flicker of understanding in his eyes. “i get it," he said, his voice steadying. "take all the time you need. i just... i just needed to tell you. and i hope... i hope you find the happiness you deserve, with or without me."

she looked into his eyes, seeing the raw vulnerability and honesty there. taking a deep breath, she decided to share her own truth. "logan," she began, her voice trembling slightly, “i still love you. even after everything, i still love you. it just... it might take some time for me to figure out if we can really make this work again."

his eyes widened, hope and disbelief mingling in his expression. "you still love me?" he echoed, his voice barely above a whisper.

she nodded, her own tears starting to fall again. "yes, i do. but love alone isn't always enough. we need to rebuild trust, to heal from the past. and that takes time."

logan reached out and gently cupped her face, his thumb brushing away her tears. "i’ll wait," he promised, his voice filled with a newfound determination. "i’ll do whatever it takes to prove that i can be the person you deserve. i don't expect it to be easy, but I'm willing to fight for us."

yn placed her hand over his, closing her eyes for a moment to savor the warmth of his touch. "we’ll see," she said softly, opening her eyes to meet his. "for now, let's just take it one step at a time."

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recharging 🔋

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love wins

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[astermath]

hiya! i’m a really big fan of your stranger things work and I was wondering, if youre comfortable of course, a steve x reader period imagine where reader tried to hide their period from Steve, but he finds out and is super fluffy and sweet about it? thank you!

HAHAH wow i have let this ask stew in my inbox since last year thats CRAZY im so sorry my dear,, i was going through old asks and i rlly like this prompt actually so here u go, i hope u enjoy!!!!

pairing: steve harrington x fem!reader

tags: established relationship, obv mentions of periods / menstruation, reader is referred to as female, steve being dense at first lol, regular sized font below!

wc: 1.4K

notes: while the reader in this fic is female, i am well aware not everyone who has a period is a girl, and not everyone who's a girl has a period!

Steve is one attentive boyfriend.

It’s the early stages of your relationship, the golden era, the honeymoon phase. And while you’re a still a bit nervous about it all, you couldn’t be happier, because he does it all right.

He knows your favourite snacks, what music you like, what makes you laugh, what makes you cry. He’s starting to figure out your ins and outs, and it’s almost crazy how quickly he’s catching on. You have no reason to feel judged by him at any point, he truly is comfort poured into the shape of a person.

So then why are you staring at your phone right now, struggling to dial his number and just tell him why you can’t make it to your date?

It’s not usually this bad, at least it hadn’t been for a while, so why now, of all moments, must you be forsaken to be terrorised by your period?

You bite your lip, laying flat onto your bed, hand over your lower stomach. It's right where the pain is just gnawing at you, just like the guilt is. But you know you’d feel even guiltier if you just stood him up, he doesn’t deserve that. You sit up, a tad slowly to save yourself from another cramp, and swallow your nerves for now.

“I’ll just… Tell him I’m sick. Yeah… Yeah I can do that.” You think to yourself.

The combination of his number had started to feel natural to your fingers now, unlike how anxiously you pressed the buttons the first time, triple checking before finally pressing call. You're triple checking again now, more so because you're not sure you can handle hearing the defeat in his voice when you tell him you can't make it.

The phone barely gets a moment to ring before he picks it up, and his all too familiar sweet voice comes through the device.

"Hey babe, everything okay over there?"

You pause a moment before replying. "How did you know it was me calling?"

"Lover's intuition." He chuckles, and it makes your heart flutter. It's not fair how easy it is for him to do that to you, but you enjoy it nonetheless. "So, what's going on?"

"I, uh..." God, getting the words out is like pulling teeth. But you'd rather die than let him think you just got cold feet about your movie date. "I'm really not feeling too well right now, Steve... I'm-- I'm so sorry, I'm gonna have to cancel for tonight." Your eyes are welling up with tears before he even gets a chance to reply, just imagining his pretty face losing its bright expression when hearing your unfortunate news.

"Oh," damnit, he does sound sad, "that's okay, uhm... Is there anything I can do? What kinda sick is it?"

Shit, he's gonna make you say it, isn't he? You know Steve is a mature guy, he knows about periods, knows how they work, but you've been told to suck it up and get on with it before... A part of you is still disappointed that you just can't.

"U-Uhm... It's more like, a stomach thing, I guess?" It's the best way you can put it for now, hoping it'll put his worries to rest.

"Okay, I see..." You can nearly hear him thinking, the subtle noise of bags being moved and a fridge being opened coming through the phone. "Uh, how aboouuut... I come over to yours, and we just watch a movie at home? I still got a couple of tapes we haven't gotten to, and I can bring some light snacks that won't upset your stomach too much."

The thought of Steve caring for you while you're sick sends a warm feeling through your entire body. God, how does he just keep getting better? But you can't lie to him, right? It's not like you're really sick, unless you count the curse of menstruation as a symptom.

Before you get a chance to explain, he's talking again, and by the ruckus in the background you can only guess he's rushing to grab all his stuff. "I'll be heading out in a bit, I'll stop by the corner store too, stay put for me alright? See ya in a bit!"

You're sure he didn't realize he wasn't letting you talk, but frankly, you probably couldn't even come up with a response on time anyways. Right now, you just have to worry about looking somewhat presentable, and maybe figure out a way to tell him you're not actually sick.

By the time you've brushed your hair and brushed some mascara onto your lashes, you're already hearing the doorbell. You just manage to pull a fresh shirt over your head, before stumbling down the stairs and stopping in front of the door. With a deep, loaded, sigh you open it, to reveal your boyfriend.

Hair messed up, plastic bag in hand, jacket haphazardly thrown on. He clearly rushed to be here, still panting a little, but in your eyes, he's the image of your guardian angel, your saviour in need.

Before either of you know it, you're crying again, your freshly applied mascara now leaving thin black streaks over your cheeks. Your hands go up to cover your face, embarrassed, not even sure why you're sobbing all of a sudden. The feelings just hit you like a freight train, rocking you before you even have a time to rationalize.

Steve's expression falters, the bag he had in hand dropping to the floor in an instant, stepping in closer so he can carefully wrap his arms around you and pull you to his chest. Not too tight, he doesn't want to startle you. He's a bit distraught; he's really only seen you cry at a sad movie scene before, so he's a bit unsure as to what's caught you to be so upset right now.

"I-I'm sorry..." you manage to mutter through your incoherent sobs and sniffs, effectively ruining the front of his shirt in the process.

"Hey, hey..." His big hands go up to your face, gently cupping your wettened cheeks as he looks into your teary eyes. Hell, the image of you is almost enough to make him break too. "What're you sorry for? You can't help it that you're sick, right?"

The reminder of your lie makes you want to break eye contact in shame, but it's hard to force yourself to lose sight of that soft, caring gaze of his.

"I," sniff, "I lied, I'm so sorry Steve, I-- I'm not sick, I just... I have..."

He watches you expectedly, not upset, just curious. You'd surely have your reasons if whatever caused you to cancel is making you this upset.

"I'm... I'm just on my period and it-- it hurts really bad, it's not even usually this bad, and I felt like I was overreacting and I feel so bad and--" Your ramble gets cut short by his chuckle, the same one that nearly caused you to melt over the phone earlier.

"W-Wha... Why are you laughing?" You're not sure if you should be happy or worried, you're already experiencing so much at once, it's hard to pick one emotion to feel.

"Nothing, it's just, well," he picks up the bag he dropped, opening it slightly to show the bars of chocolate, candy and your favorite chips inside. "I had a feeling."

The sight of it makes you snap out of your state of distress, and you can’t help but crack a smile through your tears. “Seriously? How?”

He shrugs, a sheepish smile adorning his face. “I told you, lover’s intuition.” He pulls you back to him and kisses your head. “There’s another bag in the car with chicken soup in case I was wrong.”

You both laugh, just hugging on your doorstep for a moment. You have to let it sink in, that maybe Steve just is that sweet and considerate of a guy.

“D’you wanna go inside, or does standing outside help with cramps?” He pulls back a little, and you fight the urge to poke him in the ribs for his sarcasm. You love it either way.

“Yeah, let’s go inside. We can watch When Harry Met Sally and I can cry my eyes out again. Sound good?”

“Sounds perfect.”

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[candyeager]

𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍'𝐒 𝐍𝐔𝐌𝐁𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐖𝐎

— sanzu haruchiyo x fem!reader

PART ONE 4.9k words

short summary. in which your heartbreak over Mikey pulls you into the dangerous and irresistible orbit of Bonten's Number Two, Haruchiyo Sanzu. warnings. sanzu haruchiyo is his own warning, graphic violence, substance abuse, toxic/manipulative relationships, explicit sexual content, depression & self-destructive behaviour, strong language. tags. female reader insert, bonten au, tsundere!sanzu, ex-boyfriend!mikey, angst with a happy ending, slow burn, heavy pining/yearning.

masterlist

Manjiro Sano once promised you forever. He'd said it so easily back then, like it was a given, something as natural as breathing. You were fifteen, standing by the riverbank after another reckless night, his blonde hair glowing under the streetlights. He had to tilt his head up to meet your eyes then, his expression so open, so sure.

"It's you and me, always."

Now, nearly ten years later, that memory feels like a lifeline in the middle of a storm. You hold onto it so tightly that your knuckles turn white. It's the only thing keeping you grounded as you stand in the shadowed corner of a chapel, watching him slip a ring onto another woman's finger.

The bride is stunning, of course. Her white gown flows around her like something out of a dream, her face set in a serene mask of duty. And Manjiro—Mikey—he looks... distant. Like he's not even there, going through the motions, his face unreadable, hollow. It's a mask you've seen him wear too many times now, a defense mechanism, something to protect the broken parts of him he never lets anyone see.

You sip your wine slowly, the bitter taste doing little to mask the bile rising in your throat. A strange mixture of dark satisfaction and aching sadness twists inside you, an uncomfortable knot of emotions you can't quite unravel. 

He doesn't love her, you remind yourself. He's still yours. He promised.

But the truth is, the wine does little to dull the sharp edge of betrayal. The ceremony feels like a bad dream, one you can't wake up from. 

It's a sham. Just a business arrangement, nothing more. A duty to his late brother Shinichiro, who made a deal with her family long ago, a deal Mikey feels bound to honor. You respect that, you always have. His loyalty is part of what made you fall for him all those years ago.

But it still feels like a knife in your chest, twisted with every vow spoken. You won't question it though. You can't. Because questioning it would mean questioning Shin's memory, and that's something you'll never do. Still, the pain lingers, like a bruise you can't stop pressing on.

As the ceremony ends and the couple walks down the aisle, Mikey's eyes meet yours, even from across the room. For a brief moment, his lips curve into that familiar soft smile, the one that's always been just for you, full of unspoken words and old promises. It's enough to settle your nerves, if only slightly. 

He's still yours, you remind yourself again. This doesn't change anything.

The guests start to shuffle toward the reception hall, but you hang back, feeling the taste of the wine and the weight of the day pressing down on you. The laughter and chatter fades as you step into a quieter hallway, seeking a moment of solitude, a reprieve from the overwhelming noise of celebration.

But you're not alone. A figure leans against the far wall, tall and lean, with faded pink hair that you'd recognize anywhere.

Haruchiyo Sanzu.

Of course, he'd be here. Even though no one from Bonten was supposed to attend, you should've known Sanzu would show up, disregarding protocol like he always does. He's dressed in one of his garish purple suits, the cigarette in his hand burning slowly as he takes a long drag, his katana resting lazily against the wall next to him. The sight of it makes you roll your eyes despite the situation. How he manages to carry that damn thing everywhere without someone calling the cops on him is beyond you.

He doesn't even look at you as you approach, though you know he's aware of your presence. Sanzu's always like that—aloof, unreadable, like he's waiting for something but never telling you what.

Your heels click against the marble floor, the sound too loud in the silence, as you stop in front of him. You cross your arms, defensive. 

You've never liked him. Not since the beginning. And he's never made an effort to hide the fact that he feels the same way about you. His disdain has been obvious for years now—cutting comments, backhanded remarks. Always just subtle enough to avoid Mikey's wrath.

"You shouldn't be here, Number Two," you say, your voice sharp, cutting through the haze of tension.

Sanzu exhales a slow stream of smoke, not bothering to meet your gaze as he taps the ash onto the floor, a flick of his wrist that seems deliberate in its carelessness. 

"Neither should you," he replies, voice lazy, teal eyes flickering toward you briefly before he adds, with a smirk, "Mistress."

The word lands like a punch to the gut. You stiffen, your chest tightening as anger flares hot and fast inside you. You want to snap back, to tell him to fuck off, but you hold it in, forcing yourself to stay composed.

But Sanzu's gaze lingers, his eyes gleaming with that infuriating, predatory amusement, like he's enjoying this far too much. He tilts his head, studying you like you're something amusing, something to poke and prod until it breaks.

"What's the matter? Cat got your tongue? You know, it's almost cute. The way you're still holding out hope. Like he's going to drop everything and come running back to you."

"Shut up," you bite out in response. "You don't know a damn thing about us."

That earns you a smirk, his scarred lips curling further. "Don't I?" He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slowly as if savoring the moment. 

"I know enough. I know he's up there, at the altar, with his wife, while you're out here clinging to whatever scraps he throws you."

You feel your fists tighten at your sides, nails biting into your palms. The urge to slap that smug look off his face is overwhelming, but you know better. You've learned that lesson the hard way. Sanzu isn't just annoying—he's dangerous. And he wouldn't hesitate to turn this entire ceremony into a disaster just to prove a point.

"Fuck you" is all you manage as your voice trembles with barely contained rage.

You see the smile on his lips fades, his eyes narrowing, and for a brief heart-stopping moment, you wonder if you've pushed him too far. But then he laughs, a low, dark sound that sends a shiver down your spine.

"Fuck me, huh?” His voice is almost amused, but there's an edge to it, a warning. “Aren’t you just a pathetic sight, sweetheart? It's high time you realize that fairy tale you're clinging to doesn't mean shit anymore."

You feel your heart hammering in your chest, a mix of anger and something you can't quite place. It's the truth in his words that stings the most, the haunting possibility that he could be be right.

"At least I'm not the one standing out here with a stupid katana looking like a damn fool," you bit out, desperation sharping your words, despite the cold dread settling in your gut.

Sanzu’s eyes flash at your words and he suddenly moves closer—too close—until the space between you vanished. His presence is oppressive, a storm brewing in the narrow hallway. Your pulse races as his teal eyes bore into yours, unflinching and full of unspoken menace.

"Maybe," he murmurs, his voice low, almost a growl. "But you know you're not untouchable, right? Sooner or later, even Mikey won't be able to protect you. Then what?"

You don't answer.

His words are a dagger, each syllable twisting deeper than the last. You want to scream at him, to tell him he was wrong, but the shadow of doubt he planted in your mind refuses to budge.

You hold his gaze, unflinching, until the weight of it became unbearable. Then, without a word, you turn on your heel and walk away, your footsteps echoing in the hollow silence.

But deep down, you wonder if Sanzu's right. And that thought, more than anything, terrifies you.

Manjiro Sano keeps his promises. At least, that's what you've always believed. He said it with conviction when you were fifteen, when his bright blonde hair caught the sunlight and his eyes reflected an unwavering certainty. His promises became your lifeline, a thread that tethered you to him, through the chaos of Tokyo Manji, through Bonten, through all the things that should have torn you apart. You never doubted him.

But now, with a ring on another woman's finger, that belief feels less like truth and more like denial. 

You lie beside him, his arms wrapped loosely around you, his breath steady against your skin. In the quiet darkness, you try to convince yourself that this—you—is still his reality. Not the woman he married out of obligation. Not the business empire he's running. But you, the one he promised forever. The one he swore to love no matter what. 

But there's something cold in his touch tonight. Not the soft warmth you used to know, but a distant, mechanical tenderness. His fingers trace absent patterns on your skin, but they feel foreign now, like they're just going through the motions. He's here, physically, but his mind is far away, lost in a place you can't reach.

"Did something happen?" you ask, keeping your voice light, even as anxiety twists in your stomach. 

He's staring at the ceiling, eyes vacant, as if the weight of the world is pressing down on his chest. The silence is thick, heavy, a barrier between you that wasn't there before. You wish he'd tell you. You wish he'd break through that wall and let you in, but he never does. Not anymore.

He shifts slightly, his eyes meeting yours for just a second. "What do you mean, love?" His voice is soft, casual, but there's something missing. Something that used to be there—a spark, a fire that you could always count on. Now, it's just... hollow.

"You seem distracted," you murmur, choosing your words carefully, even though your heart is screaming to ask more.

Mikey sighs, his chest rising and falling beneath you. He pulls you closer, but the embrace feels almost... polite. Like he's afraid to hold on too tightly. You want to shake him, to tell him to stop being so careful. To hold you like he used to—like he was afraid of losing you. But instead, he just holds you the way someone holds a fragile thing.

"Yeah," he admits, his voice quieter now, as though he's confessing something he doesn't want to. "It's just Bonten stuff."

And that's it. The conversation ends. Your heart clenches at the emptiness of his explanation, at how easily he can sweep your concerns under the rug. 

You know Bonten is complicated—dangerous even—but you've always been kept at a distance from that side of his world. He's never let you close enough to see the true depth of what he's carrying. You've respected his boundaries, trusted him, but now you wonder if that distance is starting to destroy you.

"Oh." The word leaves your lips, but it feels small, insignificant.

The silence returns, thicker than before, wrapping itself around both of you like a suffocating shroud. You stare at him, at the man you once thought you knew so completely, and wonder when he became a stranger.

You want to reach out, to bridge the gap, but fear holds you back. There's a fragility in the air tonight, something that makes you hesitate. If you push too hard, if you ask for too much, you're afraid the entire thing will shatter. Maybe it already has. Maybe that's why his touch feels different now, why his kisses lack the urgency they once had.

You long for the Mikey who would stay up with you until dawn, laughing, his arms tight around you as if you were his whole world. You miss the nights when he couldn't keep his hands off you, when his love felt raw and reckless, a fire that burned brighter than anything else. Now, it's all ashes.

"You don't have to carry it all alone," you whisper, hoping that your words might reach him, might bring him back from wherever he's gone. "I can help. You don't always have to protect me from it."

He doesn't respond right away. For a long moment, there's only the sound of his breathing, deep and rhythmic. When he finally speaks, his voice is distant, almost resigned.

"I know."

But he doesn't mean it. You can hear it in the way he says it—like it's just something he's supposed to say, not something he believes. His walls are still up, and you're on the outside, no matter how close you are in this bed, no matter how many nights you spend together.

You press your cheek against his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart. Once, that sound would have comforted you. Now, it only makes you feel more alone. Even when he's with you, he's somewhere else. And the space between you grows wider every day.

"Mikey..." you try again, but your voice falters. 

You want to tell him you're scared. That you're afraid you're losing him, that this marriage is pulling him further away from you than you can bear. But the words won't come.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, but it feels like a goodbye more than a reassurance. And that scares you most of all.

You close your eyes, trying to drown out the doubts, the fear, the aching emptiness. But it lingers, like a shadow that won't go away. You tell yourself he still loves you. He promised you forever. He's just... distracted. It's Bonten. It's the marriage. It's everything else.

But deep down, you know. You know that the Mikey who promised you forever is slipping further and further away. And no matter how hard you try, you can't seem to pull him back.

Manjiro Sano never lies to you. He never has before, and you never thought he could. You know he keeps secrets sometimes, but it's always to protect you—or so you've convinced yourself. You've clung to this justification, repeating it like a prayer when things feel too uncertain. 

When there's a question he doesn't want to answer, he'll give you a vague response, the kind that leaves you in a haze of ambiguity, and you never push him further. You know better than to force the issue. Sometimes, he'll be blunt and tell you outright that it's none of your concern. But a lie? Never.

At least, he never did until now.

Sitting across from him, in the dim light of your shared apartment, the shadows cast across his face, you notice the subtle shift in his expression. His gaze remains low, unfocused, like he's avoiding you. The way his fingers tap against the armrest of his chair—once steady, now restless—betrays him. The quiet cadence of the room, punctuated by the tension building between you, only makes his discomfort more pronounced. 

You know he's lying, even though the words are barely out of his mouth. It feels like a crack splintering through the foundation of your entire relationship.

It's not that you're good at detecting lies; you've never needed to be, not with him. His cold distance has always been paired with an odd, unwavering honesty, no matter how painful it could be. But this time? This time, he's hiding something. His body language is too off, too tense, like he's barely holding onto his own façade.

You asked a simple question: "Where were you?"

He hasn't been home in a week. It's not unusual—Mikey has never been the type to stick around. You've long since accepted the lonely nights, the excuses of 'business meetings' and 'late-night operations' with Bonten. You'd even accepted the wife. 

But something feels different now, a gnawing unease that claws at the back of your mind. You thought he'd say he was dealing with Bonten's usual mayhem, or perhaps, reluctantly admit that he'd been spending time with her. Anything would've been better than the silence hanging in the air now, thick with unspoken truths.

But you never expected him to lie.

Instead of the rage you thought would surge, an icy dread curls through your chest. Fear. A raw, unsettling fear that digs its nails into you as you realize just how far away he feels. As if he's not just sitting across from you, but miles away, unreachable. The distance between you stretches and stretches, suffocating in its vastness. It's like watching him drift out to sea while you stand, helpless, on the shore.

You need answers. The kind you know Mikey won't give you. So you turn to the only other person who might know what's going on: Haruchiyo Sanzu.

God, you hate him. There's not a day that passes where you don't fantasize about knocking that arrogant smirk off his face. Sanzu embodies everything that repels you—his cruelty, his recklessness, his toxic devotion to Mikey. But one thing you can count on is that Sanzu never spares your feelings. If anything, he takes sadistic pleasure in tearing you down with his cold truths. 

And that's why you're standing here, in front of his door, hand trembling slightly as you press the doorbell. The silence stretches, your heartbeat loud in your ears. You press the button again, your anxiety spiking with each passing second. 

Finally, the door creaks open, and there he is—Sanzu. He leans lazily against the doorframe, like your presence is a personal offense. His disheveled appearance surprises you—hair unkempt, shirt unbuttoned at the top. There's a faint scent of soap, but he looks like he's been in a rush, as if your arrival interrupted something.

His eyes narrow, flashing with irritation. "The fuck you doing here?" His voice is cold, almost bored, like he can't be bothered to care.

"I need to talk to you." You're surprised your voice comes out steady when everything inside you feels like it's spiraling out of control.

Sanzu doesn't even give you the courtesy of a full response. He turns, slamming the door behind him, heading toward the elevator without a second glance. You follow, your pulse quickening. His long strides make it difficult to keep up.

"Where are you going?" you ask, slightly breathless. You hate how small you feel next to him, like you're always scrambling to catch up.

"To work. Where else?" He doesn't even look back as he taps the elevator button impatiently. His eyes flick to you briefly, condescending, before he adds, "Unlike you, I don't have the luxury of doing nothing all day."

The dismissiveness in his tone grates on your nerves. You swallow back the retort, knowing it's not worth the fight. You're not here to argue with Sanzu—you're here for something much more important.

The elevator ride is thick with tension, the air suffocating between you. He stares at the floor numbers as they change, clearly eager to get away from you. You take a deep breath, summoning the courage to say what you came here for.

"I need to ask you about Mikey. About Bonten..." Your words feel heavy in the silence.

Sanzu's head snaps toward you, eyes sharp and piercing. There's a moment of silence, and you feel the weight of his stare, like he's assessing how much to toy with you before answering.

"I warned you," he says, voice dangerously low. "Stop sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Just because you're Mikey's little sidepiece doesn't mean you're part of this world."

Sidepiece. The word hits like a slap, stinging far more than you'd care to admit. But you hold your ground, your voice sharper now as you bite back, "I was asking nicely, wasn't I?"

He lets out a cruel chuckle, his amusement laced with mockery. "Nice? You call that nice? More like whining."

When the elevator doors open, Sanzu strides out, leaving you to catch up once again. You hurry behind him, the cold concrete of the basement parking lot biting through your shoes as you watch him head toward the row of parked bikes.

"Just tell me where Mikey's been," you call out, your voice cracking slightly. The desperation seeps through despite your best efforts to keep it buried. 

Sanzu doesn't even slow down. He throws a leg over his black superbike, adjusting the helmet in his hands. 

His tone is icy as he responds, "Why would I bother telling you anything at all?"

You feel the panic rising, the gnawing insecurity clawing at your chest. You can't let this go. 

"It's his wife, isn't it? Something's going on between them?" The words tumble out before you can stop them, but you know it's true.

Sanzu finally turns to face you, his expression dark, a twisted glint in his eyes. "You really wanna know?" His voice is like a knife, cold and cutting. 

"Married couples fuck and have kids. You didn't think they'd just sit around holding hands, did you?"

Your world tilts. Pregnant. Mikey's wife is pregnant. The words hang in the air, crushing you. Sanzu's bike roars to life, drowning out everything as he speeds away, leaving you standing there, reeling.

Manjiro Sano says he still loves you. He says it so many times, even when you confront him about her pregnancy. You have tears in your eyes, your voice quivering as the words left your lips. His hands, warm and gentle, hold you close—just like always. The softness in his embrace feels too familiar, almost comforting, like you could convince yourself, just for a moment, that nothing has changed. That you could still believe him.

He'd whispers that she might be his wife, but you are the one who had his heart. That his feelings for you haven't shifted, not even after this new life he is bringing into the world. That you still matter.

But something about it never sits right after that day.

It isn't the sex that bothers you. You've made peace with that. He is married, after all, and while it stings, you tell yourself it's just physical. Something they have to do. Something that won't affect your place in his life. Mikey's quiet assurances of love are enough to quell the hurt, at least for a while. He always knows exactly what to say, how to soothe your insecurities without letting them fester.

Until they do.

Each time he doesn't come home, doesn't call, doesn't text—each time he leaves you waiting, that old promise of his love grows weaker. It starts to feel like a distant echo, hollow and fragile. The uncertainty eats you away, the creeping doubt filling the space between your conversations. And then comes the guilt. You couldn't ignore it anymore, couldn't shove it to the back of your mind. She is pregnant with his child. 

And you? 

You are the other woman now. The mistress. The sidepiece. 

You tell yourself to be patient, to wait it out, to trust him. But those same reassurances you cling to begin unraveling with every unanswered phone call. Mikey's silences cut deeper than his words ever could, a painful reminder that you are no longer the center of his world. You are becoming the afterthought.

And today is your ninth anniversary. Nine years.

Nine years since the day the two of you had become inseparable, since the day you thought you'd be each other's forever. And as you get ready, as you slip on your favorite dress and touch up your makeup, you're hit with an overwhelming sense of nostalgia—memories flooding back of how you used to be. How easy it was back then, how natural everything felt when there were no lies between you. 

It takes everything in you to keep your spirits up as you head to his office, imagining the look on his face when you surprise him. Maybe that's what you need—a face-to-face reminder of who you are to him. That spark between you will rekindle, and the distance will melt away.

You hope.

The lobby feels colder than usual, and as you step inside, something feels off. The receptionist greets you with a stiff smile. You've seen her enough times to know that she's never this tense. She doesn't say much, but there's an awkwardness in the air, like she knows something you don't.

Your nerves tighten as you enter the elevator. The ride to the top floor feels longer than usual, the anticipation in your chest growing with each passing second. When the doors open, you step out into the executive lounge, the familiar sight of Bonten's most trusted members lounging around.

Ran is the first to notice you, his lazy smirk never quite reaching his eyes. Kakucho is next, nearly spilling his drink when he spots you.

"You okay there?" you ask with a light laugh, trying to ignore the unease in the pit of your stomach.

Kakucho straightens up, but his eyes dart nervously toward the hallway that leads to Mikey's office. "You here to see Mikey?" he asks, his voice strained.

You nod, offering him a small smile. "Yeah. I thought I'd surprise him." 

Ran's smirk doesn't falter, but there's something about the way he's watching you that makes your skin prickle. 

"Surprise, huh?" he says, his voice cool and detached.

Kakucho shifts uncomfortably, his gaze flickering between you and the hallway again. "Maybe now isn't the best time..." he starts, his voice trailing off as if he doesn't want to finish the thought.

But you brush off the strange tension between them. Kakucho's always been awkward with you, right? 

You make your way down the hall, your heels clicking against the marble floors in rhythm with your racing heart. This is supposed to be a happy moment—your anniversary. You don't want to ruin it by reading too much into their strange behavior.

But then you hear it.

A voice. Her voice.

You freeze mid-step, the sound of her moaning his name sending a violent shock through your system. The world around you blurs, your body moving on autopilot as you edge closer to the door, your hand trembling as you press it against the wood. The crack in the door is just wide enough for you to see.

Mikey is there, his wife's legs draped over his shoulders, his hands on her thighs, his face pressed between her legs.

You can't breathe. 

This is different.

Not the act itself—but the intimacy, the tenderness in how he touches her. He's doing something for her that he's never done for you. Not once, in all your time together, had he ever gone down on you. But here he is, giving her something more, something deeper. And you feel your heart shatter into a million pieces.

You can't stay here.

Your feet carry you backward, your movements slow, cautious. You shut the door as softly as you can, careful not to make a sound. Your entire body feels numb, a sick feeling twisting in your stomach as you stand there, staring at the ground, trying to process what you've just seen. 

Why did he never do that for you?

A rush of shame washes over you, mingling with the rage bubbling in your chest. You'd always told yourself you were enough for him. But now you wonder—were you? Was it all a lie, just something to keep you hanging on, while he gave her all the things you thought were reserved for you?

The world feels like it's tilting around you, the walls closing in as you stand there, numb. The sound of footsteps snaps you back to reality.

"You're here to see Mikey too?" Kakucho's voice filters through the haze.

"Yeah, yeah," comes the lazy reply. 

It's Sanzu, his voice slurred and casual, as if nothing in the world could touch him. He's closer now, and you barely register it, lost in the whirlwind of your own thoughts.

Ran's voice follows, a teasing edge to his tone. "Dude, you're tripping balls."

Sanzu laughs, a sound so careless it makes your skin crawl. "Friday night, what'd you expect?"

Before you can fully process the situation, a rough hand grabs you by the arm and yanks you back. You stumble, whirling around to face him.

Sanzu.

His teal eyes are wild, bloodshot and blown wide from whatever cocktail of drugs he's taken today. You know he's high, as the smell of drugs clinging to him, intoxicating the air around you.

"What the fuck are you up to this time?" he sneers, his voice low and mocking.

You try to pull away, but his grip tightens, his fingers digging painfully into your arm. "S-Sanzu, I—"

He cuts you off, his face uncomfortably close to yours now. "Scared?" he murmurs, his breath hot against your skin. The sick amusement in his voice makes your stomach turn. He's enjoying this—enjoying your fear, your vulnerability.

You try to twist free, but he pulls you closer, his lips curling into a twisted smile. "You should be," he whispers, his voice dripping with malice.

Your heart races, panic clawing at your chest. Sanzu when he's like this—high, unpredictable—is a beast you've learned to fear. He's always been unstable, but now, he's downright terrifying.

Yet, as you stand there, trembling in his grasp, all you can think about is Mikey. The lie he told you. The image of him with her, of how easily he discarded you, flashes through your mind again and again.

I still love you.

The words are poison now, burning through you as Sanzu's grip tightens.

< part one ends >

author's notes. heyy sanzu kinnies <3 i'm so excited to finally share the first part of 'bonten's number two'!! this idea has been brewing in my head for two years lol and i cant wait to see what you think ;) if you enjoyed it, please consider leaving notes! i'd love to hear your thoughts!! thanks for reading guys! you're awesome (๑˃̵ᴗ˂̵)و

taglist. @iluv-ace @reiners-milkbiddies (comment below if you’d like to be added to the taglist!)

© CANDYEAGER. do not copy, repost, modify, or translate my works in any other platforms.

[kykyonthemoon]

Nightmares

When nightmares strike, you are the sole source of warmth that could help him overcome his inner turmoil.

ಇ. Character x Reader/MC

(Caleb, Rafayel, Zayne and Dawnbreaker, Xavier and Glitch!Xavier)

ಇ. Tags: hurt/comfort, angst with a little fluff, emotional hurt, comfort

ಇ. Word count: 3k7

ಇ. Requested anonymously.

ಇ. Masterlist

ಇ. Request

Pic from X

𝑪𝒂𝒍𝒆𝒃

It was a sunny afternoon when he returned to his old house.

That place still had a modest beauty, the kind of beauty that made family members feel sad every time they left. It was so deeply engraved in his mind that with every breath, he knew he was closer and closer to returning home.

There, would be someone always waiting for him.

The door creaked when opened. Caleb walked inside. The familiar smell of food and the sound of cooking in the kitchen were always the things that impressed him the most. He continued in that direction till he noticed a familiar figure sitting at the dining table, back to the aisle.

Caleb grinned and spoke your name. You did not reply. He went forward, putting one hand on your shoulder to turn you around.

Your lifeless eyes glanced up at him.

"Pipsqueak? What's wrong?"

You did not respond. You slowly rose up and entered the kitchen. Why was this place so dark and cold? Caleb failed to recall the house being this vast and gloomy.

"Where are you going? I'm back now, pipsqueak?

You halted. The warm sunlight poured down on him through the window, but where you stood just a few steps away from him, everything was in darkness.

Even you.

“You only came home now…” You spoke, but your voice didn't contain any emotion. You were always the one who ran into his arms when he came home after long journeys away! Why were you being so distant then?

“Pipsqueak…”

Caleb reached out to you. How he wanted to touch you! He wanted to hold you in his arms and if he had to beg your forgiveness for leaving you, he would definitely do so.

He had been gone for too long.

You looked at him. Tears began to fall and your face showed little emotion. Not joy, but resentment. You became distorted and writhed as if fire surrounded your body.

“You've been gone for too long!”

You screamed out in pain. Caleb quickly rushed towards you, but it seemed like a force was holding him back, making him unable to move. Just like that, he could only open his eyes and watch you burn. The kitchen was on fire. The house was on fire. Everything was on fire.

“You've been gone too long, Caleb!” You shouted. Your tears turned into blood as your body burnt in the flames. “You left me alone! You abandoned our home!”

The walls cracked, the windows exploded and debris flew all around, cutting you, cutting him. The ceiling began to collapse. But there was nothing Caleb could do. He just cried.

“Pipsqueak… Please…”

“You… left me… here...”

Your plaintive screams were swallowed by fire. When he finally was able to reach out and touch you, there was nothing left there but a burned corpse.

The fire disappeared. The cozy house in Caleb's memory had become ruins. He clutched your corpse, which was scorched black and was disintegrating into dust. The sobbing inside him turned into a protest against himself.

He left, because he thought it was the best thing for you.

When it all came back, to this place, many years ago, he had caused the house to explode. To you, he had been dead since then. He didn't have time to say goodbye. But he only had to do it to ensure your safety.

In the end, he could not save you. He could not save himself.

Still, you left this world. Still, you turned into ashes. Who did this to you; it was not the matter. Not when you had already died the day he left.

Caleb yelled with anguish. He lost you, he lost his home. The one thing that kept him going was gradually vanishing, soaring with the wind and never returning to him.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨♡୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Pipsqueak!”

Caleb shouted. He opened his eyes to see the familiar bedroom ceiling, which was dimly lit by street lights outside the window and visible through the curtains.

Beside him, you turned over. With your eyes still closed, one hand struck his chest.

“What now?… Waking me up in the middle of the night…” You said in a sleepy voice. Caleb grabbed your hand and turned around to hug you. Only when he felt your warmth and buried his face in the scent of your hair could he calm down.

“It's nothing, pipsqueak…” He whispered. “It was just a nightmare… Sorry for waking you…”

You breathed evenly in a straight position on the bed. Your mouth grumbled something like: "Idiot... You're a grown-up now, and you're still afraid of nightmares..."

Caleb smiled softly. He gave you an even tighter embrace. "Yes. I'm such an idiot. I'm so terrified of nightmares every time I have to leave you."

“But I'm right here. Now will you let me go back to sleep?”

“Just let me hold you a little longer…” He whispered as he put his hand beneath the pillow and softly drew you into his loving arms.

You were real in front of his eyes.

And he had no intention of allowing you to vanish like in that dream again.

𝑹𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒚𝒆𝒍

Waves crashed onto the shore in regular rhythms. The twisted moon overhead sent a feeble light into the sea, engulfing the two little figures standing by it. The water had reached their knees, and the two were leisurely dancing together.

Spinning. Around and around. Magically shimmering water droplets continued to soar high with each stride. You smiled pleasantly at him. That night, you became his bride.

The celebration was over. Only the two of you remained together, from now until eternity. You were so beautiful, so perfect. Your love for him was as pure as your smile.

And he should have felt happy.

He should have, because after all, he had got you and this perfect ending. But was this really the end?

He gazed at you with melancholy eyes. You smiled heartily as you whirled around. Sea water surged up high, bathing your entire body in a vivid crimson color. The entire water surface became the color of blood.

You were still dancing, as if the pungent odor of death gave you delight. You were immersed in blood when he gazed at you. Hatred was the only thing burning in his heart at that time.

You swayed a little farther, then turned towards him. Your arms stretched out as you called affectionately:

“Rafayel! Hurry. Come with me!”

He moved closer. He was strolling through a pool of blood from his own kind. Lemurian blood was dispersed over the waters.

Unbeknownst to you, as you turned your back on Rafayel, one of his hands was wrapped around your waist, the other brandishing a knife.

“I like this place. Can we stay here forever?” You said, as if you didn't care about the blood gushing at your feet.

"Alright." Rafayel replied in a cold voice. “If you like it here, we'll stay.”

You leaned your head back with joy, resting on his chest. You were so little, yet you had a powerful heart. So gorgeous. He only wanted to strangle it, tear it out of your chest, and toss it into the deep sea.

He wanted you to pay the price.

You closed your eyes and hummed the melody he once sang for you. How foolish of him! He had given you everything—his love, his life, his whole kingdom... Everything was ruined by your hands.

Now, he shall take it all back.

Rafayel raised your chin and let you stare at him for a long while. You were smiling still. But he swung the sharp blade high, plunging into your heart.

In your eyes was terror and agony. Tears streamed from the corners of your eyes, but he still held your chin in his palm, making you unable to look away as his other hand forced the hilt of the dagger, deeper into your heart.

“Rafayel… Why… Why?…”

That was all you could say before the vivid red blood from your heart spread to his palm, spilling into the sea and merging with the blood of the Lemurians.

He should have been satisfied. He should have been thrilled since he carried out his vengeance.

But he simply felt broken.

When he tossed your lifeless corpse into the water, it seemed like he had died too that very moment.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

“Rafayel!!!… Stop… I can't… breathe… Rafayel!…”

You pinched Rafayel's cheek hard; he was sleeping on your chest. His weight prevented you from breathing normally. The ache awoke him. White pearls dropped from the corners of his eyes.

“Rafayel?…”

You frowned and watched him slowly rose up, both hands resting on your pillow. When he lowered his head, the radiant pearls continued to rain on your face and the bed.

“Hey… What's wrong?” You lifted your hands to caress his cheeks. “Why are you crying?”

“I… just had a nightmare…”

Rafayel gasped. It must have been a really horrific nightmare to make him this way. He fell asleep, his body was all over you, and then he started weeping. You had never seen him like this, and it concerned you.

"What did you dream about?" Your arms curled around Rafayel's neck, bringing him closer. He hesitated, as if he didn't want you to know, then revealed:

“In my dream, I had to kill the person I loved.”

Silence filled the room. The sky over your head was twinkling with stars. Rafayel's bedroom was filled with the lovely sound of the sea. You rubbed your face into the crook of his neck and murmured:

“I trust Rafayel will never harm me.”

“Are you sure? Even I don't know... The person in the dream... It's not me..."

"That's right." You rubbed his sweaty back. “That person is definitely not you. You know, people say dreams are the opposite of reality. What you saw will not happen.”

Rafayel was calmer, however, you still felt his body trembling in your arms.

“I won't allow that to happen…” He replied. “Having to end the life of the person I love… It is far more painful than being stabbed in the heart by that same person…”

“Rafayel.” You said in a serious tone. You held Rafayel's face with both hands, forcing him to look at you. His hair was tangled, and pearls were no longer pouring from his eyes, but they remained red. “I don't know what will happen in the future, but as long as I still breathe, I will never hurt you.”

Rafayel gazed at you for a time before gently smiling. “That's a promise between the two of us then.”

𝒁𝒂𝒚𝒏𝒆

“Zayne… So cold… I'm… so cold…”

Zayne helped you up, quickly wrapping his thick coat around you. His hands stroked your body repeatedly to keep you warm. But you were growing colder. Your breath slowly escaped your body as the sorrow smothered his heart

“No… Wake up… Don't sleep! Please!… Don't sleep now…”

Zayne's scarred and bloody hand clumsily held on to you. So tight. He wanted to give you all his warmth. But did he even have any warmth left?

“It's useless.”

The voice sounded as if it had just escaped his mind. Zayne turned around. Behind him stood Grim Reaper, another Zayne dressed in a cloak as black as the night. Cold and cruel.

“You know you can't save her.”

"Shut up!" Zayne's shouts resonated across the wind and snow. He would never leave you alone in this cold.

Yet Grim Reaper's voice still echoed:

“You know why she died.”

Trembling, Zayne gradually dropped his gaze to the girl in his arms. In the center of your chest, bright, sharp pieces of ice were developing more and more.

"No… NO!" Zayne screamed. His palm touched the shards, causing them to tear into his skin. Bleeding. “I will save her! I must save her!”

He breathed into your numbed hand. But the more he touched you, the greater the ice formed around your body.

“Give up.” Grim Reaper spoke again. Zayne ignored him, despite the fact that they looked absolutely the same.

Nightmare. He had always been his nightmare. Perhaps in another universe, he was the Grim Reaper. And he felt like he was progressively becoming the Grim Reaper as you left this life, leaving him behind.

“Stay with me, please… Open your eyes and look at me….” Zayne begged over her corpse. His tears turned into drops of ice. They fell onto your body and shattered.

You could no longer hear his cries.

"You cannot save her." Grim Reaper said. He was bending down on one knee beside you, on the other side of Zayne. His hand in the black glove brushed across your frost-covered face, as if he, too, was in grief. "After all, you cannot save yourself."

"Leave!" Zayne yelled in rage and suffering. His embrace of you became more intense, as if he wanted to take you away from Grim Reaper's reach. He grinned with bitterness.

"Remember. You are the one who killed her.”

Zayne shook his head, repeatedly. Everything in front of his eyes drifted away. Grim Reaper also vanished. There were only you and him remaining.

He had murdered you.

You and he promised to get through this together. He would save your dying heart, and you would help him in his escape from the curse of his Evol. It was a curse. He was unable to control it, and there came calamity.

Help you? No, he was not your savior. He was your death.

Zayne heard Grim Reaper's laugh - his own laugh - echoing in his thoughts. Cruel yet full of bitterness.

The snowstorm came, but it could not bury his sin and regrets.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

When you came into Dr. Zayne's office during lunch break, you noticed the temperature was unusually low.

You discovered Zayne asleep on the sofa. His body trembled, he broke out in a cold sweat, and his mouth moved without any word heard. You even caught a tear falling from the corner of his eye.

“Zayne? Are you having a nightmare?” You shook him by the shoulders. His entire body felt freezing. The nearest window was covered in frost. You started to panic. But no matter how you attempted to rouse him up, he failed to hear you.

You had to sit on the sofa, placing his head on your lap. You caressed his hair, patted his shoulders and head while comforting him:

"It's alright. I'm here with you… You will be fine…”

After a while, his quiver stopped. His eyes opened slowly. He found you.

“…”

Zayne's hand reached out towards you and then stopped halfway. He was about to touch you but hesitated. Seeing that, you clasped your hand with his.

"What's wrong? Doctor Zayne is experiencing nightmares from overwork, isn't he?"

You smiled. So gentle. That warm beam seemed to calm him down. Zayne's respiration and pulse rate eventually returned to normal. He replied:

“Yeah… My apologies for causing you to worry again.”

When he recognized your cold hand, he became fully awake. He rapidly gained control of his Evol, and the room warmed up to some extent.

“Are you feeling okay?”

“Yes. Much better now.”

Zayne's eyes were still red. He wanted to sit up, but you kept him in your lap for a while longer.

“Lunch break is still long. You can sleep for a bit longer. I will stay here to watch over your sleep.” You declared out loud, as if you were his little defender.

This made Zayne quite happier. He grinned and replied:

“You are always the one who guides me out of nightmares. No matter how bad it gets, I know you will come to my rescue.”

"That's right. Now you can sleep soundly.”

Zayne slowly closed his eyes. He was unsure if he could sleep again after that nightmare. But having you by his side made him feel more at peace. Your fingers squeezed his hand. Your warmth enveloped him. You were alive and well. He still had time to save you, to save himself.

Knowing that made him feel a lot more assured. When you placed a kiss on his forehead, he was ready to face all of the nightmares to come.

𝑿𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒆𝒓

When Xavier returned to Philos, he did so as a traitor.

He gambled with fate, and lost everything. Honor. Freedom. Love. There was nothing left for him when he returned.

His fleet had crossed countless light years, to innumerable realms out there. But what he was looking for was just an illusion.

And suddenly his entire existence became a curse.

To lose his freedom, to lose the love of his life for eternity. Was that the price to pay for opposing destiny?

In the dark corner of the room, Xavier knelt on the cold stone floor. He could not move, nor speak unless granted permission.

He quietly observed the girl he loved in the garden on the other side of the door. The warm sunshine tenderly casted a lovely aura over your body. Your grin shone brighter than the myriad of flowers in the yard. How many times did Xavier want to approach you, call your name, and touch you? But he could not.

Every time he came close to you, the crimson chain around his neck tightened. It did not murder him, but it was painful and debilitating enough. All he could do was stare at you holding hands with an unknown person. Someone with a physique similar to his.

That man was the King, you were his Queen. And Xavier was nothing but a sinner, a tool to be used, a killing machine. All for you. He would do everything for you, but you were no longer his lover.

You failed to recognize him. You were no longer the same as before. Since the person he truly loved was dead.

She was once a Queen. He had vowed to be the Knight standing beside her. But he left her alone on the cold throne. She died and was reborn, again and again. How many times had his love died before he came back?

The girl in front of him now had no memory of those lives anymore. It was a blessing. For you would no longer have to cry over the treachery you believed he had committed on you.

His only wish was to save you; to save the girl he loved from the spiral of death and rebirth. But when he tried to cut off your chains, he, too, was bound by another curse.

He watched you die and come back in another life. As many times as you sat on that throne, he became a slave at your feet, and as many times as he witnessed your death. He could not do anything else, not even scream and weep.

For, he had been cursed since the day he left you alone.

“Xavier… Save me… I don't want… to die…”

He stared down at your body, which was securely tied to the stone table. Trembling. His Queen begged him. Xavier was shrouded in black. The chain around his neck became tighter.

“Do it, Xavier! Stop wasting time!”

The crowd behind urged him. Xavier's palm clenched on the shiny hilt of his sword.

“No… Xavier… Please!…”

“The sacrifice must be completed! Do not forget your duty as Philos' royalty, Xavier! Do not forget how you betrayed us and what punishment you must endure!”

Xavier closed his eyes tightly. You and him, you could never escape this fate. He raised his sword, once more. He ended your torment, for another life.

Yet, his suffering would never cease.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨ ʚɞ ୧⋆ ˚｡⋆

Xavier awoke with tight agony in his neck and chest. His pillow was drenched from weeping. He heard your frightened voice repeating in his ears:

"Oh dear! You have a high fever!”

Through tears, he watched you climb out of bed. You were going to go fetch him a damp towel and medication. But he pulled you back. He wrapped you securely in his arms.

“X-Xavier? How are you feeling? You scared me?…”

“Sorry… I'm really sorry…”

He continued muttering like that. You began to suspect that his apology was not for waking you up in the middle of the night screaming, or that he was hugging you so tightly that you were suffocating. Was there anything else going on?

"Did you have a nightmare?" You questioned as you wrapped your arms around him, rubbing his neck and back.

Xavier responded with a gentle "yeah". He eased his hold slightly to allow you to breathe. But seeing his condition, you couldn't help but worry.

"You have a fever." You mentioned it again. "Let me get medicine for you…"

“Stay with me!” Xavier spoke, almost like a grumble. It startled you. His arm was draped around your torso, and his other hand gripped your wrist firmly. Xavier dropped his voice, recognizing he was becoming overly emotional: "Please... Just stay here a little longer..."

“Alright… I'm here…” You comforted Xavier. You cared about nothing other than his mental turmoil. But you believed he would feel better, and when he was ready, he would tell you everything.

A moment later, when he had calmed down, Xavier said:

“I'm sorry… I didn't mean to make you sad or worried…”

"It's fine. I just want you to know that I will always be by your side… Besides, we also have Galaxy Kid, Bunbun and these plushies..."

Both Xavier and you gazed at your plushie-filled bed. He grinned faintly, as if he was finally at ease. You added

“We'll get through everything together, okay?”

For a moment, Xavier said nothing. He just tilted his head slightly to look at you closely. His hand caressed your face as if you were a treasure he once lost, then found.

“Of course. We will get through everything together. Definitely…” His voice trailed off as he fell into a hazy condition caused by the fever in the middle of the night. “This time… I won't let you face it… alone…”

[chilschuck]

Can i request for chilchuck react to reader who like to daydream and after he tell the reader he is married, the reader keep spacing out more often out of sadness and they also try to avoid interacting with him much so she can move on. But laios and the other think it's normal since she always avoid interacting with people ( the reader interact with chilchuck more after falling in love with him )

Do you think he will notice? (ಥ﹏ಥ) (ಡ‸ಡ)

`✦ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹ WAHHHH ANON this is such a good concept and made my heart hurt…… i ended up adding some comfort to it because if you’re like me, you need it after reading angst!! :”)))

— OF COURSE: chilchuck x gn!reader.

꒰ warnings: ꒱ sfw + hurt/comfort! might be a lil ooc, lol.

꒰ wc: ꒱ 941

✦ i hope this turned out okay!! i made it shorter than my other drabbles by accident but it felt good to end it where it did. i kind of changed the prompt a lil but only because i wanted to give you guys some love from chil still. (;;;w;;;) i’m honestly worried this turned out bad…. hhhhh. i’m so sorry if it’s not what you wanted. ;;; i still hope you enjoy!!! <333

He knew something was wrong.

It wasn’t difficult to see that you had started avoiding him. Even your gaze refused to meet his own for longer than it had to. Your constant spacing out and stares at the floor said all he needed to hear: you were upset.

It only seemed to get worse when you overheard his talk about reconciling with his wife, any hope you had shattering into a thousand pieces in front of you. From then on, you didn’t smile unless you felt you had to. The thick silence you left in your wake was suffocating, and Chilchuck wasn’t sure how much more he could take.

The other members in the party took it as if you were being your usual spacey self, and didn’t draw any attention to the issue. This only made Chilchuck feel worse; he definitely noticed the change.

You used to hang back with Chilchuck and talk with him constantly, sharing little tidbits about yourselves or chatting mindlessly. Things seemed to come easily when it came to you... Too bad he only realized this now.

The smiles you gave him, the eyes full of affection, the lingering touches… It stung that they were no longer a part of his everyday life. Instead, the sadness that ate at you only bled through to your face, into your actions, and into your silence. It was unfamiliar and unbearable at the same time… Especially with the way you’d closed up further.

Chilchuck wasn’t stupid; he knew you harbored some sort of feelings for him. He wasn’t sure if that made this hurt more than it would otherwise. You were obviously distancing yourself from him, further proving his point that inner party relationships were trouble. Yet, there wasn’t any anger or resentment in his chest towards you. If anything, this was a misunderstanding between the two of you.

Calling your name, he approached you almost apprehensively. The recoil you gave made that familiar sharp pain in his chest reappear. Blurting out an excuse, you made your presence scarce. And just like that, you left him alone again.

Of course he noticed. If anything, he hoped that it was all some sort of miscommunication. Sure, he wanted to reconnect with his estranged wife, but… That’s what they were: estranged childhood sweethearts that grew apart. Along with their love, their relationship changed. Things weren’t something he could fix, and his old flame knew that too. But he hoped more than anything they could sort through their differences and still be at least friends.

Of course you didn’t know. There was no way for you to know, or have known his true intentions. Like everything else he tried to bury deep down, you were fading from his life. Chilchuck couldn’t seem to let this one go, to let you go.

So he chased after you. For once in his life, he decided to not swallow these feelings down. He knew there was only so much he could bury, only so much he’d want to bury. You didn’t deserve that, and he needed you to give him those smiles again. To give him those gazes full of adoration and those tender but fleeting touches…

You didn’t pull your hand out of his immediately. Instead, when he called your name again this time, you turned. Chilchuck swallowed.

“Why are you avoiding me?”

Surely there was a better thing to ask at this moment, but your lip quivered nonetheless. A deep sigh leaving you, your gaze met with the floor again.

“…So it’d stop hurting.” Was all you replied, the weight of those words knocking the air out of him. He opened his mouth to speak, but you raised a hand to silence him.

“This is for the best... I hope you understand.” Your voice used to never sound so broken. It was soft in a way that he’d never heard before. You had truly given up on this, and he can’t say he blames you. He’d have given up on himself, too.

But he can’t let himself fall into that same cycle of self-pity. Not again, he assured himself, reaching up to grab a fist full of your top and pulling you down to meet his eyes. “Let me explain this to you. Please. I… I’m not going back to her because of the reason you think.” Chilchuck hadn’t heard himself this pleading in so long. He felt pitiful, and he suddenly remembered why he doesn’t like being vulnerable.

You couldn’t stop your head from nodding a yes to his request, that spark of hope trying to ignite once again in your chest. Trying to snuff it out, you waited patiently for him to continue.

And so he did. Baring it all to you, he decided this would be another step towards being more open with himself. Maybe you’d see him as pathetic for this, but he tried to piece the words together as congruent as possible. The feelings he had for her distinguished with the years spent apart and even some of the time spent together. This whole time he’s been sure that he just wanted to right the wrongs he did, and move on. Hopefully with you, when all this was over.

Of course you said yes. You listened, and with every word that left him, the flame within you rekindled. You weren’t sure what to say for a moment, besides giving a light laugh in relief. Even Chilchuck exhaled a brisk chuckle, scratching the back of his head in nervous habit. He’s not sure he could ever get used to this whole “telling your true feelings” thing.

But for you, he’d try.

— dividers by @/cafekitsune!! <333

[fandoms--fluff]

Hello i know that i resquest so much but I love your work so can you do more of little Mikaelson baby sister with Hayley where yn is with her and baby hope Hayley treats yn like other daughters because she love her so much that she is sad when yn cry

If I Were Your Mother

Baby Mikaelson sister reader x Hayley Marshall (and everyone else)

Warnings: Mikael being an ass, death?

A/n: This is set during later season 2, we're gonna forget about Jackson and Hayley together. We're gonna pretend that everyone is happy and Klaus and Hayley don't fight about what's best for Hope or try to take her away from each other every other episode and are actually good together.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mikael is back. Davina brought him back from the other side almost a year ago. You've seen Kol and Finn in their new bodies and were completely freaked out by Finn. He had tried to kill you. You wouldn't leave your brothers or Hayley's side no longer than five minutes for almost two weeks.

Mikael had boomed into the abattoir, white oak stake in his hand, ready to kill. He laid his eyes on you the moment you ran into the room where you heard a familiar man's voice yelling. You regretted it as soon as you saw your father. The same father who had been tracking you and your siblings down for the past millennia.

You had thought Nik had already killed him, he told you he had. Did he lie?

Mikael went straight to you. You loudly screamed and tried to vamp speed out of the way, but he was too fast for you. He had caught you in his arms and pressed the stake right at your tiny chest.

As soon as your loud scream pierced the walls of the old building, the room was immediately full of your older siblings; Bekah, Nik, and Lijah, as well as Marcel and Hayley, whom you'd grown really close with since she was pregnant in the early months.

"LET HER GO" Klaus bellowed, his eyes flash a striking amber. His anger is through the roof, no one touches his baby sister and lives, no one. He starts to stalk his way over, followed by Elijah.

"Don't come any closer, boys" Mikael spat at them. You whimpered loudly as tears ran down your reddened cheeks. All you want is your big brothers.

"No" You hit your father's shoulder and tried to pull away from him. All that does is make his grip on you tighten to a painful extent. Even with your vampire healing, it hurts tremendously.

Veins appear under Hayley's eyes, enraged at Mikael for even going near the poor little girl. She uses her hybrid strength and lunges at him. She knocks the white oak stake out of his hands and bites him on the shoulder opposite you. She takes you into her arms and quickly vamps you back over to Marcel before returning to Mikael, along with Elijah, Klaus, and Rebekah.

Your big sister grabbed the stake into her hand and vamped towards where Elijah and Klaus were pinning Mikael down each on one side and Hayley's arm was wrapped tightly around his neck. She shoved the stake right through Mikael's heart. Flames blaze across Mikael's body and clothing. His screams echoed through the whole compound.

They all backed away from the burning corpse of the vampire who hunts vampires, watching as he burned from the inside out.

Marcel had you tucked against his chest, hand on the back of your head so you didn't have to watch the fight going down. You sobbed into his shirt, scared out of your mind. You want, you want Hayley.

She was the one who took you from Mikael. You pull away once Marcel's grip slackens a bit after Mikael burns.

You outstretch your arms towards the hybrid. Hayley quickly comes over to you and brings you into her arms gently. She turns back around to the other three originals, Klaus has a hurt look on his face, clearly wishing you had wanted him.

Hayley feels guilty, mouthing 'I'm sorry' to him. Elijah nods in response to her before looking at his younger brother and Rebekah places a hand on his shoulder.

"She has no means to hurt you, Nik. Don't think about it too much. She loves all of us" Rebekah whispers to him. Klaus takes a deep breath before nodding in response to her. He knows he shouldn't hold it against you, you may be over 1000 years old, but you're 2 years old, with a mind and thoughts that come with it, even as a vampire. And he knows you love him, he shouldn't hold it against you.

He nods to Hayley, a smile twitching at his lips, before turning to the burnt to a crisp corpse.

"Well, we should tend to the trash, shall we, sister?" Klaus smirks towards Rebekah. "We shall" She smirks back to him.

Klaus walks over to your tiny, shaking body in Hayley's arms and places a hand on the back of your head before kissing your forehead. He then goes over to their father, putting his arms behind his back as he brainstorms what to do next.

Rebekah walks over to the two of you next and places a kiss on the crown of your head. "I love you, sweetie" She runs her hand through your soft hair before going over to where Nik and Elijah are.

Hayley walks towards the stairs, nodding at Marcel, to which he nods back before walking off to the room he was in before Mikael showed up.

She bounces you in her arms, trying to soothe and calm you down. "Oh, It's okay, Baby. He's gone. He's gone now" She holds you close. you lean into her warmth and grip your pudgy hands on her shirt.

"No need to cry no more," She says, starting to tear up herself. She walks into her room and opens the door to the nursery. She goes over to the crib where a baby Hope lays, eyes open, looking up at the mobile. And now her eyes land on her Mama and you.

You hear the tiny mewling sounds from Hope, and look up from Hayley's chest to the baby. you let go of her shirt with one hand and reach to Hope.

Hope sits up from where she was lying down, looking up at you. She has loved you from the start, even though she can't talk yet, but knows that love is returned back from you

"You want some time with Hope?" Hayley asks you. You've been obsessed with the baby girl since before she was born, you love her just as much as Hayley and Klaus. You immediately nod your head, "Hopey" you say and let out a grin even with the tear tracks on your face.

Hayley lowers you into the crib with her daughter and watches how you immediately get into a silent conversation with her. You both giggle and play together with the small toys scattered in the crib.

She watches as you both play, a smile on her face. If she could adopt you as her own daughter as well, she would have no second thoughts and do it in one fell swoop. But she knows that your family loves you a great deal.

If she were to be your mother, she would love you so much. She would give you the childhood and life you deserve. She would care for you as a mother like she has been for over a year. There's no way she can express just how much she loves you.

"I love you both so much," She tells you both, watching as you cuddle with each other into the soft blanket. Hope has two pacifiers in her hands. She hands one over to you the best she can and you take it in your tiny from her just as tiny hand.

Hope puts the other in her mouth, just as you put the one she handed you into yours. You both suck on the pacifiers, tiny suckling noises filling the room.

Hayley tries not to physically aww at the action. Both of her babies sucking on soothers. She knows you're older than a normal age of a 'baby', but you're just as a baby as Hope is in her eyes. And the same goes for the eyes of your big siblings.

Klaus walks into the bedroom not long after you and Hope doze off, curled into one another. He looks around the room, "Where's my baby sister?" He asks, worried about you after the event of earlier in the day.

"Shh" she holds a finger up to her lips before nodding down at the dark wooden crib.

He follows her instructions and looks down at the crib, his face softening right away. He watches as his two baby girls sleep, sucking on the pacifiers.

Hayley pulls him into the other room, closing the door so she doesn't wake you two up.

"Is Mikael dealt with? Gone for good?" She asks him. "Yes, he shall not return, never again. the look on her face, I- I froze, he was going to kill her. And it was my fault" His voice wavers.

"Hey, it's not your fault, and nothing happened. That asshole deserves what he got and everything that's coming his way in hell. You're her big brother, Y/n loves you so much" Hayley pulls the elder into a hug.

Klaus stiffens at first before melting into her arms, breathing in her scent. After ten more seconds, he backs away, looking into her eyes, vulnerability shining through them. He covers it back up before his eyebrows scrunch together and a glint in his eyes.

"Was Y/n using a pacifier?" a smile plays on his lips. "Yeah, our daughter thought she would want one and gave one to her.,. Obviously, she was right. I have a feeling they're not going to allow us to separate them for a while" Hayley chuckles lightly.

"I assume that's the same for you with her as well" He crosses his arms, eyebrow raised in amusement.

"Fair enough" Hayley smirks back to him.

You don't leave Hayley and Hope's side for a little while. You love it when you're all having a cuddle session with Hayley or Klaus, or both of them. The pacifier also is starting to seem like a constant. The only one to have a bad word against it is Elijah, saying that you don't need to develop a bad habit of always wanting one. But that's quickly stopped when Rebekah dragged him out of the room and nicely explained how their baby sister using a soother is at the bottom of the list of their concerns.

You love Hayley, Hope, and your siblings to the moon and back.

[sexsylexi]

Reunion with the past

Jason Todd x Reader

The wind howled through the narrow alleyways of Gotham, sending a shiver down your spine as you clutched the crumpled letter in your hand. The edges were frayed from the number of times you’d folded and unfolded it, tracing the sharp, angry handwriting that you could have sworn was a ghost’s. It had to be some kind of sick joke—a cruel prank by some heartless soul who knew just how deeply Jason’s death had scarred you. But as much as your mind screamed for you to dismiss it, something in your heart couldn’t let go.

“Meet me at the old warehouse, midnight.”

There was no signature, just those words scrawled in the same script that had filled countless notes and letters from the boy you once loved—the boy who was supposed to be dead. It felt impossible, but after everything you had seen in Gotham, was it really so unbelievable? Batman had told you Jason was gone. The city had mourned him, and you had spent years trying to heal from the void he left behind. Yet, here you were, standing outside a dilapidated warehouse on the outskirts of the city, the clock inching closer to midnight.

The air was thick with tension, the shadows seeming to stretch out toward you, as if the darkness itself wanted to swallow you whole. You almost turned back, more than once. Your mind raced with thoughts of what this could mean—if it wasn’t Jason, then who was it? And if it was Jason… how? Why?

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the heavy metal door open. The creak echoed through the empty space, amplifying the silence that followed. The interior was dimly lit, only a few sparse bulbs flickering overhead, casting long, ominous shadows across the concrete floor. You scanned the room, your eyes searching for any sign of life, but the warehouse seemed deserted.

For a moment, you felt foolish for even considering this was real. You started to turn back, when a figure stepped out of the shadows.

Your breath caught in your throat as you recognized the silhouette—a tall, broad-shouldered man, clad in black armor with a helmet obscuring his face. It was the Arkham Knight, the villain who had terrorized Gotham. But something about the way he moved, the way he stood… it was familiar in a way that made your heart ache.

“Y/N…” The voice was distorted through the helmet, but you would recognize it anywhere. A voice you had thought you would never hear again. It was deeper now, rougher, but still unmistakably Jason.

“Jason?” Your voice trembled as you took a tentative step forward, every part of you screaming that this couldn’t be real, that it had to be some cruel trick of the mind. “Is it really you?”

He hesitated before lifting his hands to the sides of his helmet. With a mechanical hiss, the helmet unlatched, revealing the face beneath it. The face of the boy you had loved. Only, he wasn’t a boy anymore. His features were sharper, harder, his once-bright blue eyes now clouded with pain and anger. His skin was paler, a faint scar running down his left cheek—a mark of the horrors he had endured.

“Yeah, it’s me.” His voice was low, almost emotionless, as if he was holding everything back. His eyes flickered over you, taking in every detail, and you saw the way his jaw clenched, like he was bracing himself for something.

You stared at him, your heart pounding in your chest. For years, you had imagined what it would be like if you could see him again, if you could just have one more moment with him. But now that he was standing right in front of you, you didn’t know what to say. Your mind was a whirlwind of emotions—relief, disbelief, anger, sadness.

“I thought you were dead,” you finally managed to whisper, your voice barely audible. “We all thought you were dead.”

His expression hardened at your words, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I was,” he said flatly. “At least, the Jason Todd you knew was.”

“What happened to you?” you asked, your voice breaking as you took another step closer, your eyes searching his face for any trace of the boy you once knew.

He looked away, his gaze drifting to the ground. “It doesn’t matter,” he muttered, the cold edge to his voice making your heart sink. “I’m not that person anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you insisted, your voice trembling. “You’re still the person I… I cared about.”

Jason flinched at your words, a flicker of emotion flashing in his eyes before he quickly masked it. “You don’t know what I’ve become,” he said, his tone laced with bitterness. “I’m not the same person, Y/N. I’ve done things… things you can’t even imagine.”

You reached out to him, your hand trembling as you gently touched his cheek. He stiffened at the contact, but didn’t pull away. His skin was cold under your fingertips, and you could feel the tension in his jaw as he clenched his teeth.

“I don’t care,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes. “I don’t care what you’ve done, Jason. I’m just… I’m just glad you’re alive.”

His eyes finally met yours, and for a moment, you saw a flash of vulnerability in them—an echo of the boy you once knew. But it was gone as quickly as it had appeared, replaced by a steely resolve.

“You shouldn’t be,” he said, his voice harsh. “I’m not the person you remember, Y/N. I’m not… I’m not good for you. I’m dangerous. You should stay away from me.”

You shook your head, tears streaming down your cheeks. “I can’t,” you whispered. “I can’t just walk away, Jason. Not after everything we’ve been through. Not after losing you once. I won’t lose you again.”

Jason’s expression twisted with pain, and he closed his eyes, as if trying to block out your words. “You don’t understand,” he muttered, his voice strained. “You don’t know what I’ve done. The things I’ve seen… the things I’ve been through… they changed me. I’m not the same person anymore. I can’t be that person for you.”

“But I still love you,” you whispered, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

Jason’s eyes snapped open, and for a moment, he just stared at you, as if he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His expression was a mixture of shock, disbelief, and something else—something deeper, more painful.

“You… you still love me?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

You nodded, fresh tears spilling down your cheeks. “I never stopped,” you admitted, your voice trembling. “Even after everything… even when I thought you were gone… I never stopped loving you, Jason.”

He looked at you as if he was seeing you for the first time, his eyes searching yours for any sign of deceit. But all he found was the truth—the raw, unfiltered truth of your feelings.

“I don’t deserve that,” he muttered, his voice choked with emotion. “I don’t deserve your love. Not after everything I’ve done.”

“You do,” you insisted, your voice firm despite the tears. “You deserve to be loved, Jason. You deserve to have someone who cares about you… who sees you for who you are, not what you’ve done. And that someone is me.”

Jason shook his head, his eyes filled with pain. “I’m not the same person,” he repeated, his voice breaking. “I’m not the boy you loved. I’m colder, harder… I’m not sure I even know how to feel anymore.”

“You’re still Jason,” you whispered, your hand still resting on his cheek. “You’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’m not going to walk away from you. Not now, not ever.”

For a long moment, he just stared at you, as if he was trying to process your words. Then, slowly, his hand came up to cover yours, his touch hesitant, as if he was afraid he might break you.

“You’re too good for me, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice filled with a mix of awe and sorrow. “You always were.”

You shook your head, a soft smile breaking through your tears. “And you were always worth it,” you replied.

Jason’s expression softened, and for the first time since you’d seen him again, you saw a hint of the old Jason—the boy who had made you laugh, who had been your best friend and so much more. It was fleeting, but it was enough to give you hope.

He let out a shaky breath, his eyes never leaving yours. “I don’t know if I can be that person again,” he admitted, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“You don’t have to be,” you assured him. “I just want you to be you—whoever that is now. I want to be with you, Jason. We can figure it out together.”

Jason closed his eyes, his grip on your hand tightening slightly. You could see the conflict in his expression, the war he was waging within himself. But after a long moment, he opened his eyes again, and there was something different in them—a resolve, a tentative acceptance.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he said quietly. “But… I want to try. For you.”

A sob caught in your throat as you threw your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace.

For a moment, Jason hesitated, his body stiff and unyielding against yours. It was as if he was afraid to let go, afraid to allow himself to feel anything beyond the cold anger and bitterness that had kept him alive all these years. But then, slowly, almost reluctantly, you felt his arms wrap around you, holding you close. It was tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure how to touch you, how to be close to someone in this way again. But then his grip tightened, and you could feel the raw, unspoken emotions in the way he held you—a desperate need, a longing he had buried so deep within himself that he’d almost forgotten it was there.

You buried your face against his chest, feeling the hard armor beneath his clothes, but also the steady beat of his heart. It was real. He was real. The boy you had lost, the boy you had mourned, was back in your arms, and despite everything, despite the coldness and the pain, you knew he needed you as much as you needed him.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his chest. The words were heavy with years of grief, of longing, of nights spent staring at the empty side of your bed, wondering what could have been.

Jason didn’t say anything, but you felt him press his face against your hair, his breath warm against your scalp. For a long time, neither of you moved, simply holding on to each other as if afraid that letting go would shatter the fragile moment. You could feel the weight of his pain, the burden he carried, and it broke your heart all over again. But you also felt something else—a flicker of the boy he once was, hidden beneath the layers of anger and hurt. It wasn’t gone, just buried, and you knew that as long as you were with him, you could help him find that part of himself again.

Eventually, Jason pulled back, though his hands remained on your shoulders as if he was afraid you might disappear if he let go completely. He looked down at you, his expression a mixture of uncertainty and something that looked almost like hope.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, his voice quiet and raw. “I’ve been alone for so long… I don’t even know how to be with someone anymore.”

“We’ll figure it out together,” you said, your voice steady despite the tears that still threatened to fall. “You don’t have to do this alone, Jason. You never did.”

He nodded slightly, his eyes filled with a sadness that made your heart ache. “I wish I’d known that before,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. “I pushed everyone away… I thought that was the only way to survive.”

“It doesn’t have to be like that anymore,” you said gently, reaching up to cup his face in your hands. “You don’t have to push me away, Jason. I’m here, and I’m not going anywhere.”

He closed his eyes, leaning into your touch as if he was savoring the simple, human connection. For a moment, he looked so vulnerable, so lost, that you wanted to take all his pain away, to somehow erase all the terrible things he had been through. But you knew that wasn’t possible. All you could do was be there for him, to help him find his way back, one step at a time.

When he opened his eyes again, there was a determination in them that hadn’t been there before. “I don’t know if I deserve this,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “But I want to try… for you, Y/N. I want to be someone you can love.”

“You already are,” you whispered, your heart swelling with emotion. “You’ve always been that person to me, Jason. No matter what’s happened, no matter how much you’ve changed… you’re still the person I fell in love with. And I’ll love you no matter what.”

He looked at you, his eyes searching yours, and for the first time, you saw the walls he had built around himself begin to crack. It was just a small fissure, but it was enough. Enough to give you hope, enough to make you believe that you could help him heal.

“I don’t know where to start,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Everything feels so… broken.”

“Then we’ll start with the pieces,” you said softly, taking his hand in yours. “We’ll pick them up, one by one, and we’ll put them back together. We’ll make something new, something strong. Together.”

He stared at your joined hands for a long moment, as if he couldn’t quite believe what you were offering him. Then, slowly, he squeezed your hand, his grip firm and reassuring.

“Together,” he repeated, the word a promise, a vow.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spread through you that you hadn’t felt in years. It wasn’t going to be easy—you knew that. The road ahead would be long, and there would be setbacks, challenges, moments of doubt. But you were ready for it. You were ready to fight for him, for the love you shared. Because no matter how much he had changed, no matter how dark his path had become, you knew that the Jason you loved was still there, beneath it all. And you would do whatever it took to bring him back.

As you stood there, in the cold, empty warehouse, holding onto each other as if the world outside didn’t exist, you felt something shift. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there—a change in the air, in the way Jason held you, in the way he looked at you. It was as if, for the first time in a long time, he was beginning to believe that maybe, just maybe, there was a way back from the darkness.

And as you looked into his eyes, you knew that you would be there, every step of the way. You would walk with him through the shadows, through the pain, through whatever lay ahead. Because you had found him again, and you weren’t going to lose him. Not now, not ever.

“Let’s go home,” you whispered, your voice filled with a quiet determination. “Together.”

Jason nodded, a small, almost tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips. It was a start—a fragile, precious beginning. And as you led him out of the warehouse, into the cold night, you knew that no matter what the future held, you would face it together.

Because some things, some loves, were worth fighting for. And Jason Todd was worth every battle, every tear, every moment. You would rebuild, you would heal, and one day, you would both find peace.

Together.

[hypewinter]

After Danny had officially moved in with Clockwork, he decided to do some dimension hoping. That's how he found himself in the DC universe and more importantly, how he met the Teen Titans.

It was meant to be a temporary friendship. He'd tag along with them on a few missions and then move on. But Danny found himself getting attached to this team. They quickly became like a second family to him and against his better judgement ended up joining the Teen Titans full time.

He was there during their many fights with Deathstroke. He helped them with the Judas Contract. He even played a critical role in beating back Trigon. Danny grew up alongside his friends and was more than happy to continue on the team when they reformed as the Titans. Danny truly loved his new life with his new family friends. But then the reset happened.

According to Clockwork, every so often, a reset happens within this universe. Origins get changed. Relationships get redefined. The timeline gets restarted. Everyone within the universe is given a new place. Sometimes even a new purpose. Everyone except for Danny, who was never a part of that world.

His friends had forgotten him. His spot on their team easily replaced by another hero. Danny was devastated. Clockwork had tried to comfort his ward, but Danny brushed him off every time. He assured Clockwork that he would be fine with time. After all, he'd already lost a family before, what was one more? Yet the ancient could see the boy withdraw more and more in on himself with each passing day. He couldn't bear it. So he made a rash decision.

The Titans had been suddenly transported to a weird domain. They found themselves standing before a massive clocktower. A vast expanse of swirling green surrounded them. They didn't even have time to process what was going on before the door in front of them was opening. A young man, around their age, stepped out. There was something familiar about him. No one could quite place it but it felt like they had all seen that stylized hazmat suit before.

The man's toxic green eyes widened in surprise. Then his form flickered into a small version of himself, a look of pain evident on his face. This form felt even more familiar, like the team was being bashed over the head with deja vu. The teen flickered back into a young man and this time, he was angry.

He yelled out for someone by the name of "Clockwork" and it wasn't long until a new figure appeared. He was older than the young man and wore a purple cloak. The Titans could see where he got his name from considering the giant clock in his chest.

The older man- Clockwork- went to speak but was quickly cut off by furious yelling. The young man was accusing him of doing something unnecessary as he pointed at the team. He hissed to send them back. Clockwork's form flickered to that of a baby who looked like he'd been scolded before settling on the form of an old man with a long beard. He wore a face of great sadness as he attempted to explain he was only trying to help but the young man would hear none of it.

The young man - Danny is what the team hears Clockwork refer to him as - repeated that Clockwork must fix his mistake and send the Titans back before turning and leaving without another word. The old man let out a feeble sigh as he watched the other leave. Then he turned back to the Titans.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" he asked.

It had certainly not been what the team was expecting him to ask them but if sitting down for some tea would give them some answers and better yet, get them home, then why not?

[caplanbuckybarnes]

Drinkin’ Problem (Steve Rogers One Shot)

Summary: Steve gets as drunk as he’s able after the loss of you.

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, angst, sad Steve

WC: 754

Read on Ao3!

Drinkin' Problem - Midland

The bar wasn’t much, just a small, dimly lit hole-in-the-wall where nobody asked questions. Steve preferred it that way. It was one of the few places in Brooklyn where he could be alone, even when the place was packed. The regulars had learned to give him his space, and the bartender—an older man with a gruff demeanor—knew better than to make small talk. He just poured Steve’s drink, slid it across the counter, and moved on.

Steve swirled the whiskey in his glass, watching the amber liquid catch the faint light from the jukebox in the corner. It was an old machine, playing country tunes that Steve wasn’t all too familiar with, though they fit the mood. Right now, Drinkin' Problem by Midland was crooning through the speakers, its slow, mournful rhythm syncing perfectly with his thoughts.

They call it a problem, I call it a solution…

The lyrics hit harder than they should have. Steve wasn’t drinking because he liked it. Hell, he could probably go days without touching the stuff if he wanted to. But it wasn’t about the whiskey. It was about *her*.

He took a long, slow sip, feeling the burn of the alcohol as it slid down his throat, dulling the ache in his chest—but just barely. He’d thought he could handle the pain. After all, he’d survived wars, fought gods, and saved the world more times than he could count. But nothing prepared him for this. For the silence. For the emptiness that swallowed him whole when she was gone.

It wasn’t just her. God, she was a wound that had long since scarred over, even if it never fully healed. But this…this was different. She’d been real. Present. Someone he could’ve built a life with. The life he’d been trying to live in the shadows of being Captain America. But she was gone now. Another casualty in a life full of them.

He could still hear her voice in the quiet moments, the way she’d call his name with that soft laugh of hers. The way she’d lean into him when the world felt too big, too heavy. She’d been his anchor, the one person who didn’t see him as just the man out of time or the symbol of freedom, but as Steve. Just Steve.

Now, all he had left were the memories—and the whiskey to help him live with them.

He downed the rest of his drink, feeling the warmth spread through him, numbing the edges of his grief. For a moment, he thought about leaving the bar. Heading back to the empty apartment that waited for him. But what was the point? The silence there was worse than the noise here. At least here, the clinking of glasses and the hum of the jukebox kept him company, even if they couldn’t fill the void she’d left behind.

Another drink appeared in front of him. He didn’t remember asking for it, but the bartender knew his routine by now. He nodded in silent thanks, lifting the glass to his lips. The whiskey went down smoother this time, or maybe he was just getting used to it.

The song switched, but he barely noticed. The world outside felt like a blur, distant and unimportant. His life had always been about the mission, about fighting for something bigger than himself. But now, what was he fighting for? What was left? The world moved on, as it always did, but Steve Rogers was still here, still stuck in his grief, drowning in memories of the life he’d almost had.

The bar began to thin out as the night wore on, but Steve stayed. He wasn’t ready to face the real world yet. Not without her. Maybe not ever.

He lifted his glass once more, staring into the amber liquid like it held the answers he was looking for. It didn’t. But at least it helped him forget, if only for a little while.

“They call it a problem,” he muttered to himself, echoing the song, “but I call it a solution.”

The bartender caught his eye from across the bar, offering a knowing nod before returning to his work. Steve wasn’t sure how much longer he’d stay here tonight. Maybe just one more drink. Maybe not. But tomorrow? Tomorrow he’d be back.

Because the truth was, this wasn’t just about the whiskey. It wasn’t even about forgetting. It was about holding on to what little pieces of her he still had left.

And for now, that was enough.

[bubbles-for-all-of-us]

Pretty like the wind

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n Part six! Right, who thought we would see each other here? In all honesty... I'm just so freaking excited because you all seem to enjoy this series. ✨🤍 Thank you for reading!🤍🫧

warning: lots of past trauma, Illyrian camp kind of trauma, anxiety, kids because some of you said it was a warning, same old things.

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You were struggling to grasp the world around you. Trying to figure out where someone as small and meaningless could slot it. Crack through the broken pieces and allow the roots to form. You hated yourself for it. Hated the feeling that surrounded you. And for the very first time, you found yourself agreeing with every rule that Padme had set in this place. Hating yourself because you opened yourself to the inevitable. Made yourself believe and see things that weren't there. Hated it even more because, in the mix of all of this, you managed to lose the hold of your heart that had been safely locked away.

"Y/N", you blinked a couple of times. Being met with an eager hand flailing right in your face, "Mhm", you muttered. "You weren't listening to me...", Axel fell back on the mattress dramatically. You had slipped back into your room after that balcony fiasco. You couldn't. Simply couldn't look at Azriel now. And what were you thinking? Saying things like that. Kiss me...

You cleared your throat, "I was. I was. The purple looks nice", you nodded. Axel tilted his head to the side, "We figured that an hour ago", the boy frowned. "Ah", you exclaimed. What was he talking about? You had been so lost in your head that you had lost the line of his babbling somewhere along the sugar tree canes. Zofie crawled onto your lap. She was an empathetic child, managing to sense even the smallest dents in others' moods. Her questioning was silent; just her eyes managed to pierce right through you. But you kept your head high, a smile plastered on your lips. A fake one, yet it was better than a wobbling lip. You were about to ask Axel about the Candyland dream when the boy sighed, "You're no fun. Azriel actually listens".

You bite your cheek at that. Your whole body seemed to shut down at the mention of him. But it was infectious. The moment your body realized the familiar sound of his name, it seemed to burst with all the different sensations on its own. "That's rude, Axel; apologize", Zofie bit back, arms crossed over her chest. Her fiery gaze was enough to make Axel's shoulders droop. "I didn't mean it like that," the boy said, moving an inch closer to you. "I know, sweet boy, I'm not mad", you brushed your hands through his messy hair. Letting him snuggle into your side.

And nothing had ever felt more right than having them both wrapped up in your hands. They might not be yours, but you loved them as if they were a part of you. No big gestures were needed. You had found one another and clung to each other ever since. And Mother knows you had taken orphans from camps before. But these two were special. Special beyond anything else. The thought of someone taking them away The thought of having to let go of them so they would have a chance to be a part of a normal family...

"No", Zofie muttered, her tiny fingers paddling at your cheeks. Axel's big brown eyes looked right at you. "I'm okay, I'm sorry", you tried to smile at them. You were always great at hiding your pain and fears from them. But with so many things going on, so many things slipping through your fingers. You had lost the grasp of your shields completely. "You're lying", Axel stated quietly, and all you could do was cup his face. Zofie sent him a worried look. And even if she could power through others' pain, your sadness left her feeling hopeless. So Axel did the only thing that felt right to him in that moment.

"I don't see the necessity to rush", Azriel was talking to a swirling image of Rhys that flouted in his room. But not before he had called his brother a dramatic ass for showing up most extravagantly. "I'd send Cassian, but you and I both know how that ended the last time", Rhys huffed, and quite frankly, Azriel didn't want to recall the time Cassian had way too much fun in Summer. Yes, he was undeniably an amazing warrior, but dang, there was a child in that grown body that seemed to take over his judgment at times. "So, what? You're unlocking my cell door so easily?", Azriel shook his head. Rhys sighed. "You can hate me all you want. But you and I both know you needed to get away from Velaris", Rhys said calmly. Azriel wasn't an idiot; he knew his previous appearances were to monitor him. And even now, there was that inkling of hope in his brother's eyes. Looking for a change, trying to see if Elain was still something Azriel wanted to pursue.

"Look, I need to make sure...", Azriel stated right as his bedroom door burst open and in fell Axel. Yet the boy quickly picked himself up. Just his attention instantly got snagged by Rhys. "Wow, a flouting head... cool", he mussed. Azriel frowned slightly. "Axel, bud, what's going on?", he asked in a softer tone. "Oh, amm...", the boy's gaze darted between the two males. "It's okay. Look at me", the spymaster turned his full attention to the youngling.

And yet, no matter what Azriel was expecting, didn't prepare him for the world that left Axel's lips: "Am... Y/N is not feeling well". And it's as if Azriel's body reacted on its own. The male practically leaped out of his chair, moving to reach for the boy, "What do you mean? Did something happen?". And deep down, from the bitter taste alone, he knew that it was his doing. The conversation on the balcony was so unfair and stupid. He shouldn't have mentioned Rhys like that. Because that wasn't the case at the time. The boy shrugged his shoulders. "Just... come", Axel pleaded, moving to grab Azriel's palm and giving it a little nervous squeeze. And of course, he moved to walk right after the boy. "Yeah, I'll hang here", Rhys muttered, an amused smile on his face, but Azriel only called over his shoulder, "Shut it, Rhys".

Was Azriel worried? Yes. Ever since he saw you practically ran away from him. He was convinced that he had heard your heart-shattering, Azriel saw it in your eyes. That final undoing. That final decline. That was the final straw. Was he once again being selfish? Yes. Because he was mortified. He didn't want to go back; that alone scared him. But then he thought... What if he didn't manage to hold back? What if he wasn't yet all over it? What if he slipped up, and you all got hurt in the process?

Axel gripped his arms firmly and said, "And you will talk, and you will make it better like you always do", only now did Azriel realize that the boy was talking. Myst has been talking the whole way up the stairs. His breathing was uneven. "Hey, hey, slow down", Azriel tugged lightly, but Axel didn't give in. "This is urgent", "I hear you, but you need to slow down", Azriel stated calmly, and Axel finally stilled. His wings were always slouchy, but now they were practically dragging on the floor. The flicker of protectiveness flickered in Spymaster's chest.

"What if they are finally sending us away?", Axel's words were barely a whisper, but they knocked practically all the air out of Azriel's lungs. "What?", was all the male managed to mutter. Axel's eyes were big as if he was not supposed to say anything, as if this was meant to stay a secret. "Y/N has been getting in trouble for keeping us", he sighed after a while, his eyes darting to the floor. Azriel quickly hooked his finger under the boy's chin, "Hold up, Axel, look at me. Like soldier to soldier".

He was sure that he was not supposed to have this conversation with a kid, but... This was a serious thing. They can't be taken away from you. "She's not considered fit to be our caretaker", Axel said, eyes filling up with tears. "She's a summoner or something. She does this thing", the boy waved his tiny hands around, and Azriel just watched him, "And it's easier for them", Axel ended with a sigh. Them. Them? The sanctuary? That rusty lady? Azriel gritted his teeth, reassuringly squeezing Axel's shoulder.

When he stepped into the room you three shared, he was convinced that jumping off this mountain and falling to his death was less painful. Zofie was seated right by your side, her tiny fingers brushing against your cheek every time a new tear fell. You just seemed so small. So broken. Mother above... Azriel had wondered about the kids, but what about you? What was your story? Who said that you weren't a victim too?

"Azriel", that was a sound that Azriel knew he was never going to get tired of. He met Zofie's eyes from across the room. Eyes that were now almost pleading. "Hey, baby Z", Azriel muttered with a wink. Your body instantly shot up, an angry scowl on your face, "What are you doing here?". Azriel had never heard your voice so cranky and low. It ripped at parts of him that it shouldn't.

"Axel, take Zofie to my room; why don't you?", Azriel ruffled the boy's hair, and he instantly stretched his arm out for the girl, who was quick to leap off the bed. "No", you muttered, pushing yourself to get out of bed. "Y/n", Azriel pleaded, his eyes fixed more on the kids as they both hurried to get out. "Who do you think you are?", you were right in front of him now, hands reaching for the door handle, but Azriel blocked it off by standing in the way.

"Come on, let's talk", he said softly, but you only let out a huff. "No", you said, moving to shove him away, but in reality, you should have known better, taking into account that he was at least three times your size. You pulled back angrily. "You might be some big scary thing down there", you pointed at the window where the lights of Velaris could be seen. "But here... I don't care", you nearly whined in frustration. You moved to flick your hands out, the light instantly drenching them, but Azriel was quick to catch your wrists.

"I don't want to fight", he said in a calm, worried tone. You tried to yank your hands from his. Just like you tried to get away from him on the balcony, just this time he didn't buck. "I don't care what you want", you spat through gritted teeth. "You're leaving", and as angry as you tried to appear, the last part made your voice crack, and you instantly bit the inside of your cheek. Azriel let out a sigh before saying, "I never said that".

Your body seized. That same painful feeling of hope rushed through you, but you drowned it out almost immediately. Why wouldn't he? Why would he stay? You watched Azriel until your eyes were burning so much that you couldn't keep your composure any longer. "It's not fair", you muttered, but all you got in return was, "Why didn't you tell me?". You blinked a couple of times in conversation. "What?", you breathed. "That they want to take them away", Azriel's words pierced right through you. Igniting that same anger that was just starting to fade away.

"They won't", you snapped. They might try, but you would go down swinging if you had to. "You're sure?", Azriel bites back for the first time, and it's enough to make you pull away from him once again. "Fuck you", you hissed, "Who do you think you are?". You wished he would yell back instead of just standing there. Looking. Standing and looking. "You came in here after thinking with your dick and just stirred it all up", and you know your words hit the spot just from the way pain flashed in Azriel's eyes, but his face stays stone cold. Unreadable. Unapproachable. "You don't mean it, you're mad", he said in an utterly blank matter, and it only inched you forward. "Oh, I mean it, I so...", but you didn't have words; you don't have words for what you were looking to say. There was nothing. Because none of them were true.

"You...", you point your finger at Azriel. "Yeah, go for it. Pull out another name for me. I don't care what insult you throw at me. You're defending yourself because you're scared", and that's it. Those words were your final undoing. Your lip wobbled. Nails digging so deep into your palms just so you can keep yourself from sobbing. "I can't lose them...", you breathed out and Azriel instantly crossed the distance between you both, pulling you in and tucking your head beneath his chin. "We'll figure this out", "This doesn't involve...", you try to fight back, but Azriel ignores your words. "I've got you, love", he muttered, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. And just like most times when Azriel was near you, a warm flow seeped deeper into your bones, settling into your body. Your hands reached to hold onto his shoulders for support as you let yourself cry.

"You cheated", Axel gasped, making you turn your head back to your bed. Azriel was sprawled on it, with both of the little monsters on either side of him. They had both come back with a handful of sweets in their hands that they snuck in from the kitchen. For comfort, they said it in unison, and as much as you wanted to tell them off, all you had done was smile. Yet the empty feeling in your chest still throbbed.

"How does one cheat while reading a bedtime story?", Azriel let the book rest against his chest. "You read too fast!", "You didn't do voices", both Zofie and Axel said in unison. A deep chuckle slipped past Azriel's lips, "Two very different accusations here". His eyes darted to your frame. You had opted to sit near the fireplace instead of lying with them. "Judge?", he called out playfully to you, the two kids giggling alongside him. But your eyes didn't leave the dancing flame. "Y/N", Azriel called out softly. You turned to them with a hum, but your eyes alone said that now was not the time for games. You couldn't take it. A sharp lash of pain gripped Azriel's chest, making him grit his teeth. But your shoulders sagged in slight relief. As if Azriel had managed to take at least an inch of pain off your shoulders.

"How about we settle down?", the spymaster turned to the kids, quickly pulling the blanket all the way up above their heads, making them both fall into fits of giggles. Giggles that pulled even at the corners of your lips "Will you stay?", Axel asked breathlessly. Azriel stilled for a moment, "I don't think I...", the spymaster muttered quickly. "You're very warm", Zofie beamed, and for that alone, Azriel was willing to drop all of his plans. "Then I can't keep you freezing", his shadows quickly fluttered through Zofie's hair, making the girl squeal at the tickling sensation.

Azriel watched you for what felt like ages. The noise in the room had died down. With both kids asleep, the place felt quiet. Only the crackling of fire remained, accompanied by the light snoring. Azriel had managed to slip from in between the two younglings. As if by second nature they had found one another in between the sheets. Axel's wing draped over Zofie almost immediately. And Azriel had to crack a smile. Illyrian instinct.

"What's on your mind, sweet?", Azriel had walked over to you, both hands on your tense shoulders, as he finally broke the silence. "Sadder or a happier version?", you chuckled coldly. "Sadder", the spymaster muttered, because deep down he knew there wasn't a single happy scenario in your head at this moment. "How horrific it will be for them when you go back", you muttered. Azriel shook his head as a sheen of frustration ran down his face, "Why are you so fixated on it?", "You didn't just ask that", you huffed, turning to him swiftly. Azriel let out another sigh, "Why does every conversation between us end up in an argument now?" There was no anger in his tone. Pure sadness at its best. It hurt him, and even you couldn't ignore it. You looked away quickly, but one of Azriel's shadows brushed against your cheek, turning your head back to the shadowsinger.

He kneeled in front of you, lowering himself to your height. "I'm not throwing this away. I said I'd teach Axel how to fly, and I will", Azriel said firmly, "I want to earn Zofie's love; I can't..", but you quickly cut in, "Don't", you muttered, "Don't make promises like that". Azriel watched you. Watched you because, no matter how much he tried, he knew he would understand the roots of the pain you carried. And then, against his better judgment or just simply because his heart was telling him to, Azriel muttered, "Come to Velaris with me". You let out a surprised gasp, scanning his eyes. "You don't mean it", you whispered, shaking your head, but Azriel only inched closer, "Then I'll prove it to you".

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Taglist: @naturakaashi

[roger-that-cap]

seven summers

bradley bradshaw x fem! reader

this my first fic in what feels like a century for a completely different fandom. i have been gathering up the courage to do this again, and i've been sitting on this for about two months now. take it easy on me y'all i feel like a sixty year old veteran re-enlisting right now and i have NO idea how to reload my weapon

warnings: absolutely none! well theyre a little sad for a minute but nothing that tumblr can't handle

word count: 5.9k

Loud spaces weren’t really in your list of favorite places. You could tolerate bars more than you could do clubs, though, and your best friend took that into consideration when she planned the night out for you two. The music was loud and the people were starting to get rowdy, but at least no one was grinding on you or begging for a dance. That was always when you would wrap it up for the night, shaking your head at even thinking that it was a good idea. 

“Thank you,” you told the bartender, an exceptionally gorgeous older woman who always seemed to have a meddling look on her face. Her hair was lightly waved around her face as she looked you up and down for a second. You thought she was going to say something, but she just nodded at you once with a small smile before you turned away again, facing the crowd of people you were about to delve back into. You were just leaving the bar top with a soda (you were the DD, as always) when you tripped over someone else’s huge shoe. 

“Oh, shit,” a manly voice said as you tripped, and hands caught your arm before you fell over all the way. You looked up and saw a blond man in an achingly familiar navy uniform looking down at you, and your eyes narrowed as his eyes grew wide. “I’m sorry.” 

His uniform nearly brought you to a scene of painful flashbacks. You knew you were bound to run into attractive men in uniforms so close to a base, but there was an air about this man that made you feel like you were almost running right through the mist, right through the shadow of a man that you once knew, and a man that wore that very same uniform as he walked away. 

You loved Alexandra, your friend you met through other friends. The only downside was that she was in the Navy, and that meant that you were almost always surrounded with memories of your ex boyfriend when you were with her. Him and that stupid uniform that stole him away. 

“No worries,” you said after a few seconds, smiling at him. “It’s crowded here.” 

“Oh, nice tattoo,” he said, and your hand immediately went to your collarbone, where the one tattoo you had rested. It was a nicely done tattoo of a honeybee, a mark of your past. Something you probably should have gotten removed, but every time you tried to convince yourself, you gave another reason to not get it removed. Deep down, you knew why you couldn’t go through with it.

“Thank you, I got it a while ago.” That was all you could say as memories flashed in your mind, but you managed to smile. 

“You look really familiar,” he said, and you noticed that he also had an air of confidence to him as well as familiarity. He was an attractive man, almost too perfect. And he had a smile that you knew lured girls in far too often to be completely innocent. 

“I’m kinda new to the area,” you said, shrugging your shoulders. “Maybe we’ve run into each other at the grocery store or something? Or if you’re a frequent flier at the hospital.” That happened a lot. People you had never had as your own patients would sometimes recognize you, especially if they were often there. 

“Yeah, maybe.” He looked you up and down one more time, almost like he was genuinely trying to figure out what his own mind was trying to remind him, before he nodded his head at you with a small smirk and a toothpick between his lips and left just as quickly as he came. And then your friend was taking his place, jabbering on about something as you tried to clear your own head. 

You never wanted to be one of those people that lived in the past, and for the most part, you weren’t. You lived in the moment. You loved to make new memories, find new things to do, and meet new people. You loved meeting new people. However, the problem with meeting new people, especially men, was that there was that one guy from that one specific relationship that you had gotten yourself in that made it feel like everything was all for nothing. 

Bradley Bradshaw. 

You didn’t even know exactly what it was. You had been in plenty of summer flings that were passionate and fun, but you got over them easily enough. You had met so many people, loved and lost, and they all stuck with you in different ways that all felt sweet in one way or another. But Bradley? There was something about him that stayed with you in a different way. The thought of him kept a lingering taste of something distinct on your tongue. 

In a way, he was the biggest waste of time you had ever spent your life on. There were two years that you shared being officially together, but it felt like forever. You should have known he was trouble the second you saw that military-grade mustache, and the confident walk he always had. You should’ve known he would cause you some pain the second his eyes and his smile proved to be a deadly combo. You poured so much love into that man in a short time in the grand scheme of things, and looking back, it was as much of a waste as it was a privilege. 

For a while, you prayed for his return. He had broken your heart right before he left for his deployment, but that didn’t mean that you wanted anything to happen to him. You prayed for a while for him to come back safely and then come right back to you, and then that progressed into you praying to never see him again. You wished for his safety, you always would, but you never wanted to hear anything about him ever again unless it was saying that he landed safely back on US soil. After that, you wanted his name to be gone with the wind and buried with the dust of time. 

Either way, he was in your thoughts forever and always, regardless of how many summers passed or how many people there were after him, how many you had met to pass the time. And as you stood in the middle of the bar with Alexandra, you were frozen in shock as you realized that you probably manifested the very fighter pilot in front of you.  

He had seen you first. He was surrounded by attractive people in uniforms that you knew had to be his friends, and when you caught the eyes of the very blond man that you fell over before pointing at you with the angle of his head, your jaw dropped a bit. The man from earlier looked at you and slapped Bradley on his back, giving a blinding smirk before saying something to him that you couldn’t hear. 

You were sure you looked silly standing there, freezing up the second you recognized him with a pool stick in your hand. You felt all the tension in your body work together to keep you as straight as a board. You blinked when your friend nudged you, completely oblivious to the mini panic attack you were about to have, and you swallowed and looked away like it didn’t nearly hurt you to stop looking at him. 

You felt like you were drowning. 

“You’re not tapping out or anything, right?” Alexandra asked, narrowing her eyes at you. “We’ve barely been here an hour, and you already have that uncomfortable look on your face.” 

“What look?” You managed to murmur, completely aware that he was still looking at you. His gaze felt as familiar as it had back then.

“The one where you’re looking for escape routes,” she teased, even though she was starting to look concerned. “You do it all the time. Hey, are you okay?” 

“Yeah!” You said, way too loud to be normal. “I’m good.”

You prayed he didn’t approach you. He had plenty of distractions on his side of the room, lots of friends to talk to even though it was obvious they were trying to get him to go over to you. You were hoping that he would never come up to you or look your way again, but you were sick to your stomach when you realized that him walking away would mean he didn’t care nearly as much as you did. 

You closed your eyes for a moment as you tried to understand that none of what you were seeing was a dream. 

“Hi!” A woman’s voice from behind you said, and you turned around. You saw a woman in uniform smiling politely at both you and Alex, and you assumed that she knew her, but then her attention was on you. “I’m sorry, I just had to come over and say I love your dress.” 

You were a simple creature, and one of your fatal flaws was that you were exceptionally friendly. That easily, the tension left your body as you spoke to the woman. You smiled kindly at her. “Thank you! I got it at a thrift store, but you can check the back to see where it’s from if you want!” She grinned at you, and then you saw her eyes wander to your hand. 

“Oh, your ring is pretty, too!” The woman said. “When’s the wedding?” She joked, and you laughed. You wanted a big wedding, back then. Back when you could see the groom in your head, imagine the words he would say, and even imagine your first name combined with his last: Bradshaw. But that was nothing now. 

“Thank you! You’re so sweet. It’s from my mom though, she gave it to me a few years ago.” She gave it to you, her big, shiny ring that her first husband had bought her just as a gift. Instead of pawning it, you begged her to have it. It had no sentimental value to you at all. It kind of looked like an engagement ring, but you couldn’t bring yourself to take it off. It warded off men for the most part, and it was a piece of her. 

“Aw, that’s so sweet. I’m Nat! Most people around here call me Phoenix.” 

You grinned at her and shook her hand before telling her your name, and you knew right then that you liked her. She was extroverted, but very polite. Just your type of person. 

“It’s nice to meet you.” 

“You too!” She smiled at you before she continued her walk to the bar, and you didn’t think anything else of the nice girl in uniform.

The next few minutes went without any issues at all, and you felt like you could ignore the situation at hand and have a good rest of the night with Alex before it was time for you guys to head home. 

“Hey.” 

You weren’t hearing his voice. You just weren’t. You made your next shot in the game and ignored him. 

You could feel him get closer to you, so close you could smell his cologne. Your eyes watered when you realized it was the very scent you picked out for him all those years ago. He still wore it. 

You heard a very manly throat clear from beside you, and you realized that he wasn’t going to give it up. “Hi,” he tried again, and you breathed through your nose and finally turned around, looking face to chest at him before you looked up. 

He was smiling down at you. He was smiling down at you as if nothing had happened, and no time had passed. You smiled back at first like muscle memory, but then your face dropped to a frown almost immediately. His smile fell, too. He nodded at your friend in acknowledgement, but she was too busy eyeing him up and trying to decide if he was a threat to you or the night to know that he was being friendly. 

“Bradshaw,” you said, and his frown got deeper when he realized you called him by his last name. He hated that. You weren’t in the Navy and you had been together, you and he always insisted you reserved the rights to using his real name. Not his call sign, not his last name, but the one his parents had given him. “It’s been a while.” 

“Bradley,” he corrected gently, almost like he thought you genuinely forgot, or like you threw out his first name from your personal dictionary. As if you could ever forget a detail about him. That was the blessing and the curse that he left you with. “You look-” he stopped talking for a moment, and you could have sworn that you saw an ocean of fondness in his pretty eyes that shouldn’t have still been there. “You’re still so beautiful.” 

Your words felt caught in your throat. You wanted to tell him that his tan made him look beautiful. You wanted to say that he had filled out so nicely, and that his scars still fit his face perfectly. You remembered kissing them while laying in the summer sun and you remembered kissing them under the tiny Christmas tree you guys had bought together and plugged in. You were both so broke it only had about ten ornaments on it, but that never mattered. Never to the two of you. “You… still have that mustache.” 

“You always liked it,” he said, a small smile coming back into his expression, but you didn’t give one back. 

“So you’ve kept it growing in hopes to run into me?” 

“Maybe I have,” he answered, and you blinked at him. He had always had a flirty personality. 

You just blinked. “Uh, yeah. That’s nice.” Was it? It was opening every old wound you had ever had. Every wound that was partially healed by another person’s fleeting kisses was being torn right back open by one sighting of Bradley Bradshaw. 

“It’s- it’s amazing to see you, how have you been?” 

You were becoming more and more confused. How in the hell was he being so chipper? Maybe chipper wasn’t the word, he was being polite. Or, maybe it was that he wasn’t falling apart like you were. How? How was he managing politeness when you were hardly breathing? The thought that he would walk away from the conversation like it never happened made you irritable and defensive at the same time. “Why do you care?” 

His brows furrowed, and he was looking at you as if you were saying all the wrong things. “Because I care how you’ve been.” 

“Why?”

He took a look at your friend, who was still staring him down. “Uh, can we talk for a second?” He asked, and you pursed your lips together. 

“No, she’s good right here,” Alexandra said, and you gave her a small smile. 

“No, it’s okay, he’s fine. He’s big, but he’s harmless.” You saw his chest puff up in just the slightest at the mention of his physique, and you rolled your eyes. “We can step outside, but I’m not going home with you.” 

“Okay!” He said, a little too loud for the setting, and you fought back a smile at how excited he was just to talk. You squashed the fondness down. “Okay, uh, come with me.” 

The second your foot hit the gravel outside, his fingers were touching yours. The touch was innocent, but you still yanked your hand away. He backed away understandingly. “Force of habit, sorry.” 

And it was. You remembered his little quirks. You were always pretty independent, and he had always been touchy and protective, so the compromise back then was that he would lay off while you were inside of a building, but he would hold your hand and guide you all he wanted to the second you walked outside. 

“I- uh, I wanted to talk about us.” 

“The past?” You said, crossing your arms. 

“We’ve known each other for a long time,” he said slowly, like he was just then realizing he was treading on very thin ice. 

“We knew each other,” you corrected, fully aware of your friend piecing the situation together by the expression on her face, and you gave her a look that held promises of filling her in. 

“Don’t be like that,” he said, coming a little closer, and you felt your eyes burn when you smelled his familiar scent even more. Your tradition of buying men cologne that matched their personalities had died after Bradley. It was something you didn’t really understand why you did it yourself, but it was fun, and Bradley loved it. He was the fourth guy you had done it with, and he was the last. It just didn’t feel right with anyone else, and it was simply something else you kissed goodbye when you and Bradley went your separate ways. 

“I’m not being any certain way.” 

“I would definitely say that we know each other,” he said, a short chuckle dying on his lips, and you could hear the hurt in his voice.  “We were together nearly every day for two years. We’d sit on the river and on the beach and talk about everything for hours. We road-tripped cross-country. I remember everything you ever told me back home, and I remember the last summer we had together like it was yesterday.” 

You looked back up at him with eyes that you knew had to be full of sadness. “That was four summers ago.” 

You saw it set in with him how much time really had gone by. You watched his eyes widen and his lips poke outwards as he breathed out. “Wow.” 

Had time really not passed for him as slowly as it did to you? 

All you could do was swallow and turn your head away from the breeze. “Yeah.” 

“Do you have a boyfriend now?” 

Part of you was so thrown by his question and his lack of tact, especially because he had been such a good flirt back then. Maybe time had changed him. “I’m married.” 

Immediately, he shook his head with a small smile. “You’re not.” 

You narrowed your eyes at him, even though you were enjoying the back and forth. It felt so familiar. “How would you know that?” 

“That was the first thing I checked before I came over,” he admitted, and you cocked your head at him. “I looked at your finger and saw the ring before you even noticed me. And then I asked Phoenix to go over to you and make sure it was what I thought it was, and I was right.” 

You gasped. You should have known that that stupid nickname was a damn callsign, the glaring beacon of a person that meant that they were a pilot. And pilots were… they were hard to love. 

“I knew that if I came over to you, there would be no way I could hold my tongue from trying to win you back, so I had to make sure you weren’t married first, at least. But I’m not even sure that would’ve stopped me,” he muttered under his breath, and you rolled your eyes. 

You were still a little bitter over him sending one of his friends to talk to you, and how well he knew you. He knew you never would have responded to a random man the same way you did Phoenix. “How do you know I don’t have a boyfriend?”

“I’m praying.” And then he sighed. “I don’t have anyone either.” 

You would have laughed in his face if you weren’t so gutted. “I find that hard to believe.”

“What do you mean?”

“Considering you broke it off so you could run around and meet other girls, I would be very shocked if you didn’t have one with a ring on her finger by now.” 

His eyes widened to a size that was almost comical. “What?” 

You rolled your eyes at him. “Before you deployed. You know, when you broke up with me so that you could go talk freely with other women.” 

His facial expression was so shocked that you almost bought it. He looked genuinely thrown in a loop by your words. “I didn’t break up with you to meet other people, Bee.” 

You nearly caught whiplash at hearing your old nickname pouring like straight up honey from his mouth. No one called you that in a long time, mostly because ‘Bee’ was reserved for Bradley after a day he met you in freshman year of college, and you did an entire presentation on conservation of bees with passion that none of the other students had in their slideshows. It was what had drawn him to you in the first place.

 “That’s what it felt like.” It still felt like that, four years later. 

“No, no,” he said, shaking his head slowly. You hated how handsome he looked even when he was confused.  But he had no right to look confused. “That’s not what happened at all.” 

Your tone said it all for you as you crossed your arms. “Um, that’s what I remember, Bradshaw.” 

He ignored what you called him, but you saw it in his eyes that it still bothered him. “I cut it off because I felt awful that you were going to be forced to wait for me,” he said, taking a step closer, and you saw his sad brown eyes begging you to listen. “We were still so young, you were even younger than me. It wasn’t fair for me to ask you to keep waiting for me, especially because I kept going on dangerous deployments.” 

His words were bouncing around in your head. You calculated what he was saying, narrowing your eyes and trying to make sense of how it was changing your entire perspective of what happened, second by second. 

“Are you fucking stupid?” You blurted, but he wasn’t surprised. In fact, he looked relieved. You never really made a habit of swearing, not even while arguing, but when you rarely let a word slip, it meant that you cared a lot. 

Bradley wasn’t quite sure which way you cared and if it was in a good way or a bad way, but he was determined to change the passion to a way that would benefit the both of you. 

“If you want me to be,” he rasped, and you narrowed your eyes at him. 

“Did you just say you didn’t want me to wait for you?” 

He blinked. “Yeah. You were what, twenty three? Your whole life was ahead of you. It wasn’t fair for you to have to wait for me to come home when you… you’re full of so much life. You had just gotten your dream job at the hospital, and you were so happy. If you were to stick it out with me gone, you would just have to decide between your job and me anyway when I got home. I ended up getting stationed somewhere else not too long after I came back home, just like I knew I would.” 

“Bradley, I told you I wanted to travel, anyway. That job was not my forever job.” 

“But-”

“I was prepared to wait for- for forever.” It was his turn to look shocked. “I really would have, Bradley. You just never even gave me the chance to. You pulled the rug out underneath me. You didn’t even ask me.” 

He ran a hand over his face as the weight of the decision he made for the both of you settled heavy on his chest. “Oh, god.” 

“I assumed you were deploying and you wanted to meet new people. I mean, I know that a lot of… you guys are cheaters. The stereotypes are true a lot of the time. I just figured you were sparing me from the cheating and cutting it off before it could get to that point.” 

“Oh, god, no.” He shook his head. “You- thought I was cheating on you?” 

“Well- what else was I supposed to think?” 

“I would never,” he said, using his hands to make a broad “no” gesture. “You’ve always been it for me, ever since we met. There couldn’t have been anyone else, and there hasn’t been this whole time.” 

You tried to mask the way you were falling into a puddle at his feet. “You’re so dumb.” 

“Is it dumb of me to think you’ll hear me out a little more?” 

You rolled your eyes at him, but your skin felt like it was on fire being so close to him again. “You’re plenty dumb, Rooster.” 

“You never called me Rooster.” 

“Well, I don’t know Bradley anymore.” 

“I- why are you saying that?” He asked, and his face grew even more distraught. “You do know me. Nothing’s changed. Nothing is different at all besides the time. I still- there’s nothing that has changed about the way I feel for you.” 

“What do you want me to say?” You couldn’t confess your love to him again. You loved him, a part of you always would, but you couldn’t handle him coming out of the blue and telling you everything you had secretly been wishing he would say to you for years. He was coming in like a dream. It was far too good to be true. “We got lost in translation four years ago and there's nothing we can do about it. Unless you and your pilot friends have been smart enough to build a time machine.” 

“I would build a thousand time machines if it meant that I could change what I did, I was stupid. I was so stupid.” He stepped closer. “But I never stopped loving you. Not even once.” 

A tear ran down your face, and that’s when you knew it was time to go find Alexandra again. “I-I gotta go, Bradley.” Before you could even turn around all the way, he took you by your hips and turned you back around, both pairs of your eyes wide mirrors of the other. 

“I have been haunted by the thought of you for four years now,” he said, voice as soft and gentle as the breeze, but the grip he had on your hips was so desperate it almost made you sob. “I haven’t even- I’ve tried, but there hasn’t been anyone else. Not emotionally. Not even close, Bee.” 

You couldn’t say the exact same. You tried and succeeded for a time, but they were never complete fixes. Just when you thought you were happy with someone else and free of the clutches of Bradley Bradshaw, he snuck right back. He ripped that rug out from under you every time without fail without even being present. That was your problem with each “relationship”, you were looking for a remedy and closure for a relationship that the next person had no idea about and no obligation to make better. 

But you had definitely been haunted by the lack of Bradley Bradshaw. He was there all the time with you in your mind, whether you wanted him or not. 

“This,” you said, shaking your head, and judging by the look on his face, he knew he was losing you. “This is a lot.” 

“Wait, don’t walk away. I just got you back.” 

“I’m not back, Bradley.” 

“You’re back in front of me,” he said, and you stopped turning away from him. “That’s all I could ask for. Even if you want nothing else to do with me ever again, I just want to stand here and look at you for one more minute. Please.” 

You put your hands over your face the second you felt your eyes start to burn and overflow with tears. You could feel his energy before you even felt his true touch, and the second you felt his arms around you, you broke down. 

“I thought- I thought you were so nervous a few days before you left because you were going to propose to me.” 

You couldn’t believe the words that were leaving your mouth. You had been so humiliated about jumping to conclusions that you hadn’t even told Alexandra about that part. You never planned on telling anyone that was the reason why you were so hurt, especially not the man who caused you all that pain. It had been sitting heavy on your chest, the humiliation and the sadness alike, for all four summers. You never planned on letting it loose. 

But you had already said it. 

“You boys get married so fast, and honestly, I was ready. I thought you were nervous because you were going to ask me to marry you, not because you were breaking up with me.”

 “Oh.” 

“It gutted me so bad when you broke it off. I thought it was going to be the opposite- I thought we were going to start our lives together and then you just…” you looked down at the ground as you tried to swallow back down the memory, even though everything was coming back so strong. “It was gone, that fast. And I realized I loved you a lot more than you ever loved me, obviously.” 

“That's not even close to being true,” he said, shaking his head rapidly. “You can ask any of the guys I shipped out with. I was fucking miserable the whole time. And I know you don’t know the new guys I’m with, but this new squad even knows that there’s nobody else. You’re the one that got away.” 

“You let me go,” you corrected, and he smiled sadly. 

“Because I loved you.” 

“That’s so fucking dumb,” you said, but you couldn’t stop yourself from getting closer to him. “That’s for fairytales, stupid.”

You felt yourself leaning into him, and he was letting you. His body language was inviting you in. You could see it in his eyes and you could feel his hands trembling as he moved them from your waist to hover over your back, like he was ready to pull you into him the second you gave in. You knew it was only a matter of time before you did give in, and the longer you felt his hands hover over you like you were stained glass, the more you craved his familiar, burning touch. You felt the pull to him like you were magnets. Like he was the sun and you were Icarus. You were the moth to his enticing flame, but he had always seen you as a butterfly. You were terrified to get burned for the second time, and fall from grace all over again. 

“That one pilot said he recognized me,” you blurted, and you felt his eyes on you even though you couldn’t look at him. “I’ve never met him before, have I?” You might have. You used to know a lot of his old friends. He shook his head. “How did he know me?” 

Without hesitation, his answer came. “I have pictures of you in my cockpit.” 

That was what threw you.  “What?”

“Most pilots keep photos of important people in their cockpit. It reminds them to fly safer. In the worst cases, it’s so that they can see a glimpse of family before they go down.” 

Your heart was soaring so high that it was breaking with the pressure of it. “You have a picture of me in there?” 

He had absolutely no shame about it as he nodded his head firmly. “Yeah, I have pictures of you. In my cockpit and in my locker.” Were you his screensaver, too? You didn’t know. 

But you were in his locker. It made your heart flutter and it sent you right back to highschool. “More than one?” 

“I have so many that my squad recognized you without me even saying anything. Hangman was the one who told me you were here.” 

“Oh.” 

He kicked the rocks underneath his foot, and then he was squinting back down at you. “You thought- you thought I was going to ask you to marry me?” 

Just like that, your soaring, cracking heart plummeted again. “You don’t have to rub it in, Bradley.” 

“No, it’s not that at all. I just- you would’ve said yes?” 

“Of course I would have said yes, stupid.” You ignored how his eyes lit up and turned your body away with crossed arms. He was always so expressive, even when he didn’t want to be. “But that was a long time ago.” 

“Not too long,” he rushed, and you shook your head. 

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, especially because it was mostly to get the tears away. “It was a while ago, Bradley.” 

“There’s no amount of time apart that would make me not want to be with you, Bee.” 

Your head swiveled to him upon hearing your nickname from him again. “It- it doesn’t just work like that, dude.” 

“Why not?” 

“We were stupid back then. We lived off of blind faith and a whole lot of hopes. It doesn’t work that way anymore.”

“We make our own rules, that’s the glory of being adults.” He took your hands and you faced him, and the hope in his expression nearly floored you. “Who said we can’t pick up where we left off?” 

You scoffed, even though you weren’t even close to laughing. “You’re crazy.” 

“Crazy about you, but you’ve always known that,” he said with a smile. “You’ve always known how to work with it, too.” 

For a moment, you felt a glimmer of hope and you felt the whisper of a smile come onto your face. And then you crashed again, and he must have seen it all over your face because his own smile went away and was replaced by concern. Before he could even ask what happened that fast, you threw your face into his chest and wrapped your arms around him. 

He held you back just as quickly, and you knew he had been waiting for you. He smelled like home and he even felt like it, and when you opened your eyes all you could see was that stupid, loud Hawaiian print. 

“I-if we do this again you- I can’t handle it if you leave me again. I couldn’t take it. Please, Bradley.” 

“Don’t you even worry about that,” he said firmly, holding you so close that it felt like the two of you were physically molding together. “If you give me the chance, I want a shot at forever.” 

You pulled your wet face away from his shirt and looked up at him as your heart raced in your chest. “Huh?” 

He stared down at you for a moment, and you could see in his ever-expressive eyes that he was thinking about saying something to you that was about to change everything. “I fully intend to become your husband when we’re ready, if you let me. Just the way you wanted, and the way I’ve always dreamed about. I’m not going anywhere.” 

The logical part of you knew that he was being ridiculous. Bradley was nothing if not overzealous, nothing if not reaching for goals that were just short of being unattainable. He was the version of Icarus that always managed to get back to earth safely by the skin of his teeth. He always put the cart before the horse, but somehow he always managed to get there. 

So, you knew he was being serious. As crazy as he sounded, he was. 

“Do you really mean that?” You didn’t have to ask that question. In fact, the words felt like acid on your tongue, but your heart pressed you to ask it anyway. 

“Nothing could get me to leave you again, especially not my own stupidity.” He was holding you even tighter. “I promise.” 

You were going to hold him to that with the same intensity that he held you with. 

*****

oh boy.

so this one i’ve been sitting on forever and i’m tired of looking at it, but i have nothing but love for this fic that is pulling me out of a writing slump. i wrote it out of pure love for rooster though so i felt like i had to share it!! also- this comes from two main things;

two songs (“7 summers” and “ ‘98 braves” by morgan wallen) and then me being dumb enough to get involved with a military man of my own. he’s been gone for a while so i’m manifesting he comes back soon. anyone who is thinking about getting with a person- especially man- in the military (i can only speak for the united states military bc that’s where i’m from), you better be tough. i know they look good. i know they have this energy to them- trust me i’ve been obsessed since i was like 15. way before top gun maverick. but if you’re gonna be stupid, you better be tough 💀💀💀 and if you need any guidance to being stupid, i’m always here!!!

if you’re new here thanks for stopping by and checking it out! if you’re from an old fandom of mine but read it anyways i love you so much, it means a lot. 💕💕💕

[r0-boat]

TW: MENTION OF LOSING A LIMB/GORE MENTION please be advised.

Hello! I have a prompt where, the reader pushes there lover (warden Ingo, cyllene, laventon, adaman SEPARATE) away from an Alpha Pokemon attack and then get seriously injured (like losing a limb or something) and them crying and telling us off on how we could have died or grieving our death.

(both surviving and dying endings please)

Oh yes delicious angst! 👀

Cw: almost losing a limb/losing a limb, reader death, mourning, depression, angst no happy end.

Reader becoming severely injured or dying saving them.

Warden Ingo

(Close call)

Ingo carried you, blood staining his coat and your outfit. He carried you going as fast as he humanly could down until the nearest doctor, anyone who could help—screaming for help, keeping you warm, and losing more blood in any way he could. When you finally wake up, Ingo is out of breath and on the verge of tears. He holds you close, tight, and protective. He couldn't get mad at you. He could never be mad. He was just relieved you were all right. However I would be lying if I said he wouldn't be a little more protective from now on.

(reader dead)

He stared at a shaky palm, remembering the way you went slack in his arms, bags under his eyes from sleepless nights filled with new and old nightmares. The painful feeling of losing something was so painful; however, what scared him more was that this feeling was familiar to him. The emptiness inside him was only doubled after. He can't even look at himself anymore because whatever stares back is your smiling face and deja vu. Even though he knows he must take care of himself, he has to admit it's hard even to bring himself to eat these days without looking over to your smiling face how he misses you're warmth in his arms. Now, all he feels is the cold, howling wind of Coronet Heights. Once again that loneliness fills him in this time; it will be there till his grave. Ingo cannot love again for he can not feel that love again.

Cyllene

(close call)

Survivors guilt, as you lie there on the ground losing blood at an alarming rate. She's frozen. She's almost in denial as other survey members rush to your limb body. Cyllene finally snaps out of it all. Her panic hits her all at once, barking orders to get you back to camp.

Unfortunately Pesselle running low on supplies and with time running out she wasn't sure she would be able to save you. Upon hearing this Revelation something inside her stoked a fire Cyllene took it upon herself to go out and find every single ingredients she needed helping her nurse you back to health, of course you being unconscious from blood loss for a few days you had no idea all you woke up to was an angry rant from a very very pissed captain.

(Death)

After all she did, she couldn't save you. Sadness and rage bubble into one, gritting her teeth, nails scratching at the cold ground; she wants to scream. Damn it why wasn't it her? Damn, it should have been her! The job of the Galaxy Core was to protect people and she couldn't even protect the one person she cared most. She needed to get stronger she needed to be more so this would never happen again. And that's why her heart grows three times colder that day.

Laventon

(close call)

Laventon drag you outside of Camp to look at some Pokemon well he asks you to ready your pokeballs for a catch, but he doesn't notice the alpha Garchomp that had their eyes on you. Everything was a blur then helplessly sitting still as the rest of Team Galaxy tried everything to use your Pokemon to fight the alpha back off as they get you back to safety. If only he could throw a Pokeball if he were good at raising Pokemon. Laventon felt like a burden to you here he was having you risk his life to do his work any friendly wake up he's on the verge of tears holding you closely his hands shaking the sinking feeling of uselessness does not leave.

(Death)

He drowns himself in his work. It is the only way to make him forget about his constant nightmares of that day. He still loves Pokemon. He does not blame Pokemon for taking your life, but he recognizes more than anyone else that Pokemon are as dangerous as they are fascinating. It'll be a while since he touches one without his heart beating with anxiety. He barely eats. He sleeps. All he does is work on his Pokedex. He has to finish it for your sake, or else all the dangerous work you did, the work you died for, will be for nothing, and when he finally finishes, it will say, "With the help of my beloved, thank you. I will miss you."

Adaman

(close call)

If it wasn't for Leafeon who growled at the large Pokemon making sure it didn't take a step closer as his human brother held you in his arms, blood staining his fingers. Leafeon successfully holding back the Pokemon that threatened your life walks over to Adaman whining as he looks your arm giving him a worried look. Adaman knows the natural remedies around these parts you are too far from the settlement and the village to take care of you so he does all that he can using leafeon's aromatherapy to soothe you as he begins to use natural herbs and revenues to calm the bleeding as much as he can while ripping apart his own clothes for makeshift bandages rumoring through your bag for anything he could use anything at all to help.

Upon waking up, Adaman almost tackles you, holding you close to his body, careful not to hurt you. He squeezes you gently. "You're an idiot..." he whispers, his hand shaking, his voice breaking. "don't you ever scare me like that again."

(death)

If only he was faster and in denial at the fact that your time has ended. If only he hadn't wasted his time, he could have gotten you to the settlement, and you would have been here. He felt like a failure, not only a failure of a friend but a failure of the leader of Diamond Clan. If he couldn't keep one person he loved alive, how could he keep his entire Clan alive? Time is truly short. However, some people, if unlucky, can be even shorter. He'll spend all his days morning into training, getting stronger in your name until he has passed out on the ground. He knows that he's just wasting his time and that no amount of tears will bring you back. He did not deserve you; you did not serve your time being robbed. The Lord Sinnoh is so cruel.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Villain who actually used to be sinister and obnoxious is now an AMNESIAC lil softie😩😩😩

For whatever reason, the villain blocked the hero's hit perfectly. Not only that, but when the hero went in for a kick, the villain managed to throw them off balance. Before the hero could fall to the ground, the villain caught them, arm around the hero's waist, pulling them closer than decency allowed.

The villain's eyes widened and a gasp escaped them. Despite the hero's blush, they tried to look grumpy and annoyed - as so often - but the villain could tell it was just for show. What a night. They were exhausted and confused.

"Sorry," the villain whispered. "I almost hit you."

They pulled themselves up and with them the hero.

"No, it's fine, it's good." As soon as possible, the hero took a step back and the villain still felt the warmth of their waist on their fingertips. Was it possible to yearn for someone they had forgotten? Or maybe it was the other way around. Maybe they hadn't forgotten the hero at all. They remembered parts of them, not the whole picture but the most beautiful pieces, it seemed.

"I'm sorry if I-"

"Your muscle memory seems to be pretty good. I think you learnt how to fight at a very young age. Which is...sad." The hero looked at them and their face softened. Suddenly, the villain felt a familiar pain in their chest. Something was hitting close to home. "But you're not as aggressive as before. We need to work on that."

"I appreciate that you want to help me, really. But I think I don't want to be violent," the villain said. The hero touched their own chin, thinking intensively. That was familiar too.

"I've told you a lot of people want you dead," the hero said slowly. "Killing you would turn the whole city upside down. Every criminal tries to be on top of the whole network."

"Can't I just, I dunno, retire?"

"If you want criminals to take over and burn everything down to prove that they are the one on top of the food chain...sure." The hero took in a deep breath. "It's hard to admit but I need you. This city needs you. You keep things organized. You cause damage, yes, but if it wasn't you, it would be five different criminals at five different locations and I don't have the time nor the energy for that."

"Seems like I was a big deal before they fried my brain," the villain said. From what they had been told, they had been a horrible human being. They didn't really miss not remembering.

But there was one thing they wished they hadn't forgotten.

One person.

"You have no idea," the hero whispered. They were quiet for a moment but the villain was sensing that their annoyed and grumpy mask was slipping from their face. "Sometimes it feels pretty lonely. We used to talk about that every now and then."

"We used to talk?" the villain asked, even though they knew they hadn't always tried to murder the hero. Trying to remember was like going through mist and when they had seen the hero for the first time again, it had felt like a warm light in the middle of all the thick fog was calling them.

The hero smiled.

"Most of the time you tried to make me join you. You loved taking me hostage."

"That doesn't sound like a good thing." The villain was disgusted at their own actions. What on earth had driven them to such drastic measures? It was like the villain from the past was someone else.

"...no, of course it wasn't a good thing. It was...different." The hero cleared their throat. "Talking to you was refreshing in a sense. I don't know, it is hard to explain. Our relationship was difficult."

"Like a love-hate-thing?" The hero looked at them but didn't say anything. That was enough of an answer for the villain and acid started to burn their throat. So, the hero had liked them and now they seemed annoyed by them.

What if the hero had liked their old version more? The villain that was violent and aggressive? What if the hero wouldn't like how they were now? What if the hero absolutely loathed them now because they weren't the right villain?

"I was taught not to show any emotions to my enemies. I think that has made me quite bitter but you challenged that. I was angry at you and I hated you a lot of the time. But in your soft moments I loved your voice. I loved your thoughts. I loved when you were kind to me. When you decided to saved me before death could take me. I loved it when you talked to me and argued with me without being an asshole. And those mixed feelings for you conflicted me."

And now? The villain's heart was beating in their chest, loud enough, they swore, for the hero to hear.

"Of course, I knew you wouldn't understand it. You were doing this for your own benefits. You were a strategist, after all. It is more complicated now for me. You're someone I like a little too much."

"You've been waiting to get that off your chest, haven't you?" The hero looked at the ground and back at the villain. Their ears were red and they closed their hands into fists over and over again. They closed their eyes, swallowed.

"I know training can get tiresome and-"

"I remember talking to you. You're pretty much the only thing I remember. Little details. What you look like. What you smell like. Honestly, I thought we were married when I saw you for the first time after waking up." The hero's blush stretched over their cheeks. "Maybe you can give me some more tips? Punches and kicks, I mean."

"Y-yeah of course." The villain smiled softly.

[cosmicanakin]

𝐓𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄 | prologue.

adult content | minors do not interact.

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. james kelly x female reader.

𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒. returning home to new orlean's help your mother with funeral arrangements and grieve the loss of your sister, lauren. you find solace in your niece and nephew - her kids.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒). angst┆death of a loved one┆grief┆emotional distress.

kari's corner ⟢ ݁⋆ this is basically an introduction for the series! but don't worry james will make his appearance very soon <3

the sky was overcast and dreary as you looked out the window of the plane, matching how heavily your heart felt in your chest. you had gotten the frantic call from your mom just a day ago, unintelligible sobs coming through the speaker as you struggled to make out what she was trying to say. once you had managed to calm her down enough, the words still rang in your head — your older sister lauren was dead.

shot down in the middle of the street on her way to work, a senseless act of violence that had ripped another loved one from your life. you and lauren had always been close growing up, her taking on more of a motherly role for you after your dad passed when you were young. the news had devastated you, a raw ache settling deep in your bones that only growing distance from new orleans could numb. but now you were returning, having to face the painful reality you had tried to escape for so long.

the cab pulled up outside the familiar green house you had spent your childhood in. everything looked the same yet felt wholly foreign now. you paid the driver and got out, dragging your suitcase behind you as you walked slowly up the weathered wooden steps of the porch. you could hear noise from inside — no doubt your mom was surrounded by friends and family offering their condolences. steeling yourself, you rang the bell and waited.

the door swung open to reveal your mom, her usual brightness dimmed by tired eyes puffy from tears. "oh honey," she breathed, pulling you into a tight embrace. you hugged her back just as fiercely, both of you finding solace in the comfort of family. after a few moments, she pulled away, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue. "come in, sweetie. everyone's been expecting you."

you nodded, following her inside. the living room was filled with more people than you could count, all turning to offer you sad smiles or hugs as you made your way through. your mom led you to the kitchen, putting on a pot of coffee. "i'm just so glad you're here. it helps to have you for lauren's children."

at the mention of them, a fresh wave of grief crashed over you. aiden and lily, your beloved nephew and niece, who had just lost their mother in the worst way. "how are they doing?" you asked gently.

your mom sighed. "as well as can be expected i suppose. aiden tries to be strong for lily but i know he's hurting inside. they're upstairs if you want to go see them."

you nodded, giving her shoulder a squeeze before heading to the steps. you climbed slowly, dreading the pain you knew seeing them would bring but needing to be there all the same. stopping outside lauren's childhood bedroom, now occupied by her kids, you took a steadying breath before knocking lightly.

"come in!" came aiden's voice.

you opened the door to find them sitting side by side on the bed, coloring books and crayons scattered around. lily's eyes lit up when she saw you. "auntie!"

you managed a small smile for her sake, coming over to sit on lily's side and pulling them both into a hug. "i'm so sorry i couldn't be here sooner."

aiden just nodded, ever the serious eight year old. but lily clung to you, always the more openly affectionate of the two. "mommy's in heaven with grandpa now, right?"

a lump formed in your throat at her innocent question. "yeah sweetheart, she is. and i know she'd want you both to know how much she loves you."

you talked with them for a while, trying your best to comfort the grieving children as they grieved the mother they would never see growing up. eventually, though their growing tiredness became evident, and you put them both to bed with soft kisses to their foreheads before retreating back downstairs.

the crowd had dispersed some by then, leaving your mom washing dishes in the kitchen. you moved to help her dry. "how are the kids holding up, really?" she asked cautiously.

you sighed. "well they're alright? i guess. aiden seems to be shouldering a lot though, trying not to show how sad he truly is. and lily... she just misses her mommy." your voice broke on the last words.

your mom pulled you into her side, rubbing your back comfortingly. "they have you now though. and i know your sister would be grateful to have you here for them."

you nodded mutely, not trusting yourself to speak. the weight of responsibility for lauren's kids now rested heavily on your shoulders. you couldn't imagine their pain at such a tender age, having the stability and love of their mother ripped away. but you were determined to be there for them, to honor your sister's memory by helping to raise them the best you could.

the following week, preparations blurred by in a haze of funeral arrangements and grieving relatives. you focused your energy on aiden and lily, keeping them entertained and trying to give them as much normalcy as possible through the sadness. the service was a sombre affair, tears falling freely as lauren's casket was lowered into the ground beside your father's plot.

after, you helped your mom host the gathering back at the house. old friends regaled stories of lauren through watery smiles, no doubt wondering how someone so full of life could be taken so prematurely. as the crowd dispersed in the evening, a heavy tiredness settled over you. all you wanted was rest to escape the grief for a while.

"why don't you go on and get some sleep, hon. i've got things handled down here," your mom insisted, ever perceptive of your drained state.

you gave her a grateful hug. "thanks, mom. i love you." you head upstairs and collapse onto the bed with a tired sigh. the soft mattress enveloped you in comfort, lulling your mind towards sleep.

just then there was a soft knock on your bedroom door. "come in," you called quietly.

the door opened to reveal your niece lily, clutching her favorite stuffed animal tightly. her eyes were filled with tears as she looked up at you. "i had a bad dream, auntie. can i be with you?"

you gave her a gentle smile and opened your arms. "of course sweet girl. come here."

lily hurried over and climbed into bed next to you. you wrapped her in your embrace, rubbing her back soothingly until her tears subsided. "it's okay, you're safe now. i'll be right here all night to keep the bad dreams away."

eventually, her trembling slowed as exhaustion overtook her small body once more. you placed a soft kiss to her forehead, watching as she drifted into peaceful slumber curled up against your side. finding comfort in caring for lauren's children helped dull some of the aches in your own heart. for now, sleep was what you both needed most. and so with lily's quiet breaths filling the silence, you closed your eyes and surrendered to rest at last.

𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐒 — comment or send an ask to be put on the taglist.

﹙ @starlitblair @emotionallybruisedx @anakin-pilled @spcncershasting @freezerbride95 ◞ ⟡ ݁.﹒ ﹚

[pookalicious-hq]

defense ... suna rintarou x miya!reader

| 0.1: sidelines| prev | next | master list |

synopsis : being part of the miya family had its ups and downs. will volleyball be the thing that help her overcome the thoughts overwhelming her ind or will a certain foxed-eyed middle blocker offer solace. tags:coming of age, angsty, underlying themes of depression, mommy issues, childhood friends to lovers, manager!reader word count: 4100~

Atsumu couldn't pinpoint the moment his sister's muffled cries turned into whispers in the night. The sound had become so familiar that it blended with the rhythm of the house—background noise that everyone pretended not to notice. But tonight, like every night, the cries clawed at him. He told himself it was her injury. She was frustrated, she was hurting. But wasn’t it all supposed to heal by now? He had dealt with his own injuries, but they had never held him back this long.

He could barely recall the last time he had tried to address it. How dramatic could she have been? Her injury had been attended to, and her pain should have dissipated by now. His own injuries had always been fleeting, temporary. Why couldn’t hers be the same? The clock ticked relentlessly in the background, a constant reminder of the time that passed and the growing distance between them.

The house, once filled with the bustling noise of family life, now seemed eerily quiet, save for the occasional, muffled sob. Atsumu felt a strange disquiet that gnawed at him. It wasn’t just irritation; there was something more profound and unsettling, a discomfort born from his inability to understand or help. He wished he knew how to address the aching silence that followed her cries—a silence that seemed to grow heavier with each passing day. The thought lingered in the back of his mind: what if her cries stopped? What if, one day, the silence became permanent? That terrified him more than the sound itself.

At the breakfast table, (Y/n) would show up with a smile, genuinely appearing content or perhaps just pretending to be. Her efforts to blend in were so convincing that everyone around the table chose to ignore the reality of her struggles. They ate in silence, the weight of unspoken concern hanging heavily in the air.

Despite the silence, Atsumu couldn’t escape the unsettling feeling that gnawed at him. He’d seen (Y/n) around school, putting on a welcoming face, interacting with her friends, and even sharing smiles. To everyone else, she appeared to be managing just fine. But Atsumu was baffled. How could she seem so happy and so sad at the same time? It was a dichotomy he couldn’t wrap his head around. He wondered if she was faking one of these personas and, if so, which one it was.

But that Monday morning was different. As he watched her enter the guidance counsellor's office, he saw a side of her he rarely did—one devoid of the smiles and friendliness she showed to others. Instead, her expression was a frigid slate of indifference, and then within a second, it had been wiped from her face. Maybe he didn’t know who his sister was after all.

She sat as the very image of calm—back straight, posture perfect, with eyes that held a polite, distant light. A faint smile teased at the corners of her lips, a front that convinced everyone around her, lulling them to believe the perfect image that was Miya (Y/n). But underneath the neatly pressed pleats of her skirt, her fingers dug into her palms, nails biting against skin as she struggled to keep her irritation at bay.

“Well then… Miya-san, how have your classes been?”

Just get to the point, you old fuck.

“They’re going well,” (Y/n) responded smoothly, her voice not betraying an ounce of the annoyance swirling beneath her skin. She had grasped the strings of placating authority figures, of giving them what they wanted without ever truly giving them anything in return. Her face, still locked in that carefully curated smile, remained uncracked—only her hands, clenched tight beneath the table, betrayed the storm brewing within.

Internally, her mind raced. Do you care? Or are you just saying this because you have to? She stared at the counsellor, wishing he could just cut through the pleasantries and get on with it. His insignificance was overwhelming, his voice buzzing like an insect in her ear—just noise, barely scraping at the edges of her attention. At least anger or sorrow were tangible emotions, but this? This was nothing. He wasn’t worth her effort.

Her knee throbbed, a dull reminder of the injury that sidelined her, and with it came the wave of inadequacy that gnawed at her, sharper than the pain itself. The ache was constant, but not nearly as irritating as the sense of being stuck. I should be out there, she thought bitterly, not sitting here listening to this.

"...but such a shame about your ankle. I hear you were quite the player, setter if I remember correctly..."

Libero, she mentally corrected him, but what did it matter now? Her title, her position—reduced to a footnote in this man’s trivial recounting of her achievements. The sting of the past tense hit her harder than she expected. Were. I was. I'm not anything now.

Her chest tightened as the word echoed in her thoughts. She clenched her fists tighter, forcing herself to maintain that well-practiced smile, though inside, her thoughts spiralled into a storm of frustration and bitterness. Though, to the fox-slanted eyes peaking through the window, (Y/n) was sitting just fine.

Their words began to blur together, becoming white noise. I’m not a has-been, she thought, forcing herself to blink away the burning in her eyes. She didn’t need their pity; she needed them to stop pretending they understood what it felt like to lose everything she’d worked for. Every breath felt heavier, the walls closing in as her identity slipped further from her grasp. She wasn’t a player anymore. Not now. Maybe never again. Was this all anyone saw when they looked at her? A faded memory of what she once was?

"...with that said, we’ve decided—"

She blinked, snapping back to attention, barely registering his words until— what?

"...you’ll take on the role of manager for the boys’ volleyball team this year."

Finally, her smile had cracked. The violence of her gaze was enough to tear through the unassuming counsellor’s presence, and he had every right to let his features turn slightly distressed. In (Y/n)’s mind, she had been reduced to someone who would sit on the bench, filling up water bottles and managing paperwork. Manager. The word burned her from the inside out.

Is this all they see me as now? A shadow, an afterthought. Her knee throbbed in sync with the bitterness pooling in her chest. I’m just a placeholder. Not a player, just someone to sit and watch. She was being benched in life.

She imagined herself, day after day, on the sidelines. Invisible. Useless. No longer in the game, but orbiting around it, bound to a role that meant nothing in the grand scheme of things. Is this what my worth comes down to now? 

Her smile faltered, lips twitching as she forced it back into place. She couldn’t let anyone see how much this stung, how small it made her feel. Her voice remained calm, though it felt like a betrayal of her own feelings. “Of course. I’d be happy to help.”

The words brought an unpleasant tinge to her mouth, lips fighting the indecency to turn sour. 

(Y/n) was done. She excused herself from the meeting with all the pleasantries that were expected of her, but every step felt heavier than the last as she made her way out of the office. She gripped the strap of her bag tightly, the false calm she had worn during the meeting threatening to crack for real this time.

As she stepped into the hallway, her gaze flickered up and locked on to a familiar face lounging against the wall—Suna. He was staring at his phone, earphones in, completely absorbed in whatever had his attention. She almost sighed in what would be relief. At least Suna never demanded anything from her; he never cared to dig into her emotions or ask how she was doing. He was just there, a quiet constant. She never needed more.

“Hey.” He finally looked up, tugging one earbud out as she approached.

“Hey,” she echoed back, her voice flat but not unkind. It was a weird comfort, their indifference.

“Meeting over?”

“Yeah. They made me the manager of the boys’ volleyball team,” she said, her tone dry and bitter. Her disdain wasn’t at the fact that it was the boys' team, though she dreaded spending more time with Atsumu, more so it wasn’t her team.

He raised an eyebrow. “Seriously?”

She let out a frustrated scoff. “Apparently.”

Suna shrugged, leaning back a little against the wall. “Could be worse. At least you’ll be around the game.”

Around it, (Y/n) thought. Not in it. But she didn’t say it out loud.

“Yeah, guess so.”

Suna didn’t press further. He didn’t offer some pointless pep talk or try to make her feel better. He just fell into step beside her as they started walking, the silence between them filled with the soft tap of their footsteps down the hallway. She mindlessly steered him in the direction of their last period, his gaze locked onto the manga he was glued to. 

As (Y/n) walked down the empty hallway, her thoughts fixated on the paper clutched in her hand. The muffled murmurs of her classmates reached her ears, their whispers a constant reminder of her inadequacy. Faces blurred into anonymity as she focused on the notes she had been given.

She felt the weight of the paper in her hand, the same weight as the expectations that seemed to rest on her shoulders. If only they knew how insignificant she felt—her dream of being on the court, making a difference, replaced by the mundane tasks of a manager. Her mind swirled with frustration and a lingering ache of inadequacy. She pushed through the crowd of faceless students, their whispers barely registering as she tried to focus on what lay ahead: her new role, the upcoming practices, and the challenge of fitting into a world that felt increasingly distant.

(Y/n) walked into the classroom, the low murmur of students filling the air. The walls, adorned with bright posters and educational charts, seemed a stark contrast to the turmoil she felt inside. Her gaze swept over the room, noting the familiar faces and the cliques that had formed over the past few weeks.

She found her seat with Suna, who had already spaced out, and slid into her chair with practiced ease. As she set her bag down, she caught a glimpse of Atsumu and Osamu chatting animatedly in the back of the room. A pang of envy twisted in her chest. They seemed so at ease, so effortlessly part of this world she felt increasingly detached from. They brought a flicker of something—perhaps longing or resentment—before she quickly crushed the budding thought.

Suna glanced up from his manga, looking at her demeanour. She returned it with a small hum, trying to keep her emotions in check. Her mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about the upcoming responsibilities, the new role she had to embrace, and the uncertainty of what lay ahead. The sense of being an outsider, of not fully belonging, loomed large, but she pushed it aside.

The bell rang, slicing through her thoughts and signalling the start of class. Ever so slightly, her expression shifted. The smile she wore was content, almost too at ease, as if it were a shield against the world. It was a smile that spoke of someone ready, ready to blend in and push through. As the teacher began the lesson, (Y/n)’s focus shifted to the front of the room, her outward demeanour now perfectly aligned with the expectations of her peers. The classroom felt distant, a stage she was no longer a part of but merely watching from the sidelines. The clamour of student life seemed to mock her, a reminder of the normalcy she was missing. Her brothers’ voices, though cheerful and light, carried an undertone of something she couldn’t quite place—perhaps a hint of irritation or pity. It was hard to tell through the haze of her own frustration.

She opened her notebook, the pages a blank canvas for her attention to drift. Despite her best efforts, her mind kept wandering back to the meeting. The notes from the counsellor seemed to mock her, the paper a tangible reminder of her current situation. She found herself staring at the clock, counting down the minutes until the class would end.

now playing: suzie save your love by allie x and mitski

While change was considered distressing, (Y/n) found solace in her routines.

Spin, smack. Dribble twice. Spin, smack. Dribble once. Toss. Hold your breath. Hit. Exhale.

If only she could feel the vibrant leather beneath her fingertips, it might wash away a fraction of her worries. Instead, a heap of pepperminted volleyballs lay scattered across the hardwood floor, just feet away from where she stood outside the gym doors. Her fingers twitched, drawn to the balls with a magnetic pull, aching to reconnect with the only thing she learned to understand.

It’d be dramatic to describe the last fifteen minutes as torture, but the pit in her stomach was akin to envy.

She had passed the girls' gym on her way here, and the sounds of squeaking shoes, laughter, and the thud of volleyballs against hands and the floor had stung worse than expected. Including Kokoro’s bright, familiar laugh that echoed through the halls as her teammates cheered her on. (Y/n) could see her best friend moving effortlessly, like she was born to play.

Her stomach twisted. She wanted to be out there too, running drills, perfecting every move, being part of something. But all she could do was watch from the sidelines, tethered by the weight of her injury and the cast that felt like a reminder of everything she’d lost—for now. Her eyes lingered on her friends, on the game she loved, feeling the ache of longing settle deep in her chest. Everyone else had a chance to play right now. Everyone but her.

Everyone including fucking Atsumu. He didn’t deserve to play the sport she loved with all her mind, body, and soul. Inequity wasn’t even the start of all the reasons she dreaded being his manager.

She exhaled sharply, trying to push the frustration down, but it clung to her chest. The thought of being so close to the game without playing it—it was like standing outside in the rain, looking through a window at the warmth inside. She was cut off from it, left to watch while others thrived-- improved.

She hadn't wanted this, hadn't asked to be stuck on the sidelines. And being tied to Atsumu’s team of all people only deepened the sting. It felt wrong, unfair. Of course, Atsumu could still play. Of course, he got to live his dream uninterrupted while hers hung in the balance.

The familiar sound of shoes squeaking against the court came from the boys' gym now, pulling her back. Without thinking, her feet carried her closer to the door, where the muffled noises of practice seeped through the gap. The gym smelled faintly of sweat and polished floors. She could hear the low hum of voices, and then the distinct, rhythmic thud of a ball being passed back and forth.

She peeked through the small window on the door, watching as the boys warmed up. Atsumu was laughing, of course, tossing a ball back and forth with Osamu. Her jaw clenched instinctively at the sight. It wasn't just envy—there was a deep frustration building in her chest, swirling with an ugly tinge of resentment.

As (Y/n) shifted her weight from one leg to the other, trying to ignore the constant pull of the court, she caught a glimpse of the middle-aged man on the sidelines. He couldn't have been more than two inches taller than her, with a sturdy frame and a well-worn whistle around his neck. That had to be Coach Yumiko—the name scrawled across the top of the sheet she'd gotten from the counsellor.

She hadn’t expected to deal with him until tomorrow, the end of the week, when she was supposed to start her duties as a manager. For now, she wasn’t officially tied to the team and had been content waiting outside the gym, pretending she wasn’t silently critiquing every drill Atsumu ran.

But just as she considered sneaking away to avoid the inevitable, Coach Yumiko glanced toward the door and spotted her. His eyes locked onto her figure, and before she could duck out of sight, he was making his way over.

"Miya-san," he called out, walking up to her with unexpected energy contrasting the everpresnt frown on his features. "I wasn’t expecting you until tomorrow, but perfect— thank you for your enthusiasm, it’s highly appreceatied."

She blinked, caught off guard. “Uh…?”

“I could really use an extra hand. Asami’s out, and I wasn’t expecting you to jump in so soon, but I like the initiative.” 

Sota Asami, the third-year manager she had to coordinate with. The name wasn’t foreign to her as it littered every other hall she passed. Posters gave life to a gentle girl, her eyes light and dark as night, numerous achievements listed beside her glowing smile. Asami’s reputation as the school's poster girl—thanks to her father’s position as the vice principal—loomed over the page, a stark contrast to (Y/n)'s own feelings of displacement. The prospect of being just another face in the background, navigating the role of manager instead of playing, gnawed at her sense of worth.

He clapped his hands together, and what she assumed was his smile took over his features. “You can help with some of the drills and keep an eye on the players. Think of it as an early start.”

She opened her mouth, searching for an excuse, but the words got tangled in her throat. She wasn’t ready to be back—not like this. Being the injured manager wasn't where she belonged. She wanted to return to the spotlight, but this wasn’t the way. The weight of the hefty brace around her leg felt like a chain dragging her down, keeping her on the sidelines when she should be in the thick of the action.

Yumiko, oblivious to her inner turmoil, gestured toward the gym doors with a slight nod. “It’ll be good for you to get to know the boys.”

Lovely.

(Y/n) forced a tight smile, one that didn't quite reach her eyes, and found herself trailing behind him, her gaze fixed forward. She wasn’t interested in engaging with anyone she didn’t have to. The sound of shoes squeaking on the hardwood floor and the faint echoes of a ball being spiked came from behind the door, and her chest tightened. That should be me out there.

They reached the doors, and Yumiko pushed one open. The sudden burst of noise—the laughter, the ball bouncing, the distant whistle of someone calling out—hit her like a wave. It wasn’t just the noise; it was everything she was missing, everything she couldn’t do right now. The gap between where she was and where she wanted to be felt wider than ever.

Yumiko stepped in, leading the way across the court toward the area where he kept his practice supplies: clipboards, towels, and bags full of equipment. The team was in the middle of their warm-ups, scattered across the gym like she used to be—alive, thriving, in the game. Her fingers twitched at her side, aching to hold a volleyball, to feel the rush of competition. But instead, all she could do was walk behind Yumiko, like a shadow, unnoticed.

Or so she thought.

She caught a flicker of movement from the corner of her eye. Suna was standing in a circle with her brothers, one leg crossed over the other as he watched the court with his usual indifference. But when his eyes landed on her, his expression shifted ever so slightly. His brows raised in a silent question at her appearance. Her stomach stirred with exasperation. She rolled her eyes in return, showing a fraction of disdain she felt at the moment. Why does he have to notice me like this? Not as a libero, not as someone in control, but as this—an injured outsider forced into a role she didn’t want. She didn’t need his quiet attention, especially not now. 

But why did that even matter? Whatever...

Her jaw clenched as she kept walking, pushing aside the urge to scream in irritation. She wasn’t in the mood for this—not for his raised brows or Yumiko’s well-meaning, but clueless attempt to integrate her into the team. She just wanted to be seen for who she really was, not what this injury had reduced her to.

Just get through this, she told herself, the knot tightening in her chest. Smile if you have to. Say as little as possible. Get in, get out.

Her knee throbbed in sync with the ache of being benched from life itself, the weight of the cast only adding to the burden.

Before she could dwell on it any longer, Atsumu’s unavoidable voice boomed from across the gym. “Whaddya doin’ in my gym, (n/n)?” His words were loud, and animated, but genuinely confused as he made his way toward her, clearly not expecting her presence.

(Y/n) blinked, a scowl tugging at her lips. Your gym? Really?

Osamu appeared right behind him, rolling his eyes at his twin. “It ain’t yer gym, dumbass,” he spat, the usual dry sarcasm dripping from his voice as he sent his brother a side-eye.

Atsumu ignored him, his gaze fixed on his stepsister. “No, seriously. What’re ya doin’ here?” His accusing tone had increased tenfold now, but as his eyes darted toward the brace on her leg, she could tell the question wasn’t entirely casual.

She bit back a sigh, her words sharper than she intended. “Just filling in while I’m stuck like this.” She gestured vaguely to the brace, trying to brush off the awkwardness of it all. She didn’t need this attention, not from him, not from anyone. Especially not right now.

Atsumu’s brows furrowed, as if he was going to say something more, but Osamu gave him a light shove. “Don’t be weird, ‘Tsumu. Let her be, yer annoying enough as it is”

(Y/n) let out a small huff in agreement, but the discomfort in her chest lingered. She hated this—hated being seen like this by anyone, but especially by them. The last thing she needed was to be treated like she was fragile.

“God, it’s a headache when the three of you are together,” Suna muttered, his voice as flat as ever as he walked past them. He shot her a quick look before lazily turning his attention back to the court, clearly uninterested in whatever sibling dynamic was playing out.

(Y/n) managed to smile at his comment, but it didn’t ease the knot in her chest. She was still stuck here, on the outside looking in.

Yumiko, having returned with a clipboard in hand, clapped loudly to catch their attention. “Alright, boys, enough chit-chat. Let’s get back to work!”

The sound of sneakers squeaking across the floor filled the gym as the team scattered, huddling into their respective groups. Atsumu and Osamu jogged back to their positions, Atsumu throwing a grin over his shoulder. “Catch ya later, (n/n). Don’t miss us too much.”

She rolled her eyes, more out of habit than irritation. She wasn’t in the mood to play along with his teasing. Not today. As much as she loved volleyball, as much as she loved her brothers… this wasn’t where she wanted to be. She should be on the court, not hovering at the edges of it.

Yumiko nudged her slightly, drawing her back into the moment. “Come on, you can help me set up the drills. It’ll be a good distraction.”

Distraction. Right.

(Y/n) nodded stiffly, not trusting herself to speak. She followed him toward the sidelines, watching as the players fell into their rhythm—jumps, sets, spikes. It all moved so naturally for them, while she felt stuck, frozen in place. Her hands fidgeted by her sides, aching to feel the ball, the adrenaline, the rush of being in the game.

But that wasn’t for her anymore. At least not now.

She took a deep breath, forcing herself to focus on what was in front of her. This was her new role, at least for the time being. She could either wallow in frustration or find a way to adapt.

As the whistle blew and the practice began in full force, (Y/n) steeled herself. She might be on the sidelines, but that didn’t mean she was out of the game entirely. Not yet.

a/n: mwah

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