#bun is staring into the void

[shirozen]

Staring into darkness

[admiringlove]

[16:12] . . .

“suguru, how are you so good at this?” you ask, lifting your fingers to your hair, fluffing it out slightly, strands falling like silk over your shoulders. your voice is light but tinged with awe. not just at the haircut, though you pretend that’s all it is. “is this why your hair always looks so perfect?”

you glance up at your reflection, and then past it, to the boy in the doorway.

he leans there, the way he always does, like he belongs in every doorway you’ve ever stood in. one ankle crossed over the other, arms folded across his chest like he’s waiting for a confession, or an apology, or both. the scissors are still in his hands, glinting faintly in the soft bathroom light, the metal edge catching against his thumb. his hair is tied up messily, a loose bun at the back of his head, wisps curling at his temples.

he watches you. god, he watches you.

you hate the way it feels like being studied, dissected. like you’re a particularly interesting shade of pity. like he’s letting you think you’re invisible when really, he sees everything.

and still, he’s beautiful. unbearably beautiful. the kind of beauty that’s casual and cruel, because he doesn’t try. because he doesn’t care. and something about that makes your stomach twist in knots. something about that makes you feel twelve years old again—barefoot and lovesick and entirely disposable.

“i cut my own hair,” he says with a shrug, as if that explains everything. as if that isn’t sorcery in and of itself. “saves money.”

you roll your eyes, lips curling into a smile despite yourself. “gojo literally pays for everything. for fun. make him pay for your haircuts.”

he huffs a laugh—dryly short, like the idea barely interests him. “it’s not about the money,” he says, and his voice dips, quiet and easy, “it’s... calming. i do it when i see split ends. once a month. sometimes more. depends on how much i hate myself that week.”

you blink at him in the mirror. the way he says it, it’s not even self-deprecating. it’s just fact. a throwaway sentence, something offered to the void like trash. you turn to face him now, folding your hands in front of you, suddenly sheepish. “would it be selfish if i asked you to cut mine again sometime?”

he tilts his head slightly, and for a moment, you think he’s going to say something gentle. something kind. he doesn’t.

“depends,” he says instead. “i want to get paid this time.”

you laugh, relieved, even if it stings a little. “i’m asking you so i can save money, dummy. all i can afford to pay you in is... i don’t know. a burger. a milkshake, maybe. candy. vending machine soda. something sad and cheap.”

he watches you for a second too long. his eyes drift to your mouth. then back to your eyes.

“well,” he murmurs, pushing off the doorway now. he takes a single step toward you, and your breath catches, involuntarily. “you pay me all the time already. you just don’t notice.”

you blink. “what?”

“you stare at me,” he says. not cruelly. not mockingly. but definitely not kindly. “all the time. in class. in the dorms. at lunch. when you think i’m not looking. you do it like it’s involuntary. like you can’t help it.”

he’s closer now. close enough to see the way your pulse stutters in your neck. close enough that you wonder if he can hear it.

“you think i don’t notice?” he asks, quietly. “you think i don’t feel it every time you look at me like that? like you want to fold yourself into my ribcage and live there?”

your mouth opens. but no words come out. his voice softens. not gentle. just lower. like he’s indulging a game only one of you knew you were playing.

“it’s a kind of currency, isn’t it?” he says, stepping around you now, back to the mirror, running a hand through your hair as if admiring his own work. “your wanting. it’s worth something. at least to me.”

you can’t breathe. you try to speak, but his fingers brush your neck, and you freeze.

“besides,” he adds, with the faintest smirk tugging at his mouth. “i think it’s cute. the way you try to hide it.”

you don’t reply. can’t. not when your face is burning and your knees feel loose and your chest is caving in. he catches your reflection in the mirror, meets your gaze with that same unreadable expression. as if he’s amused. as if he’s done nothing wrong.

“that’s…” your voice falters. the rest gets caught somewhere between your chest and your throat, where things go when they’re too humiliating to say out loud. “not funny.”

you step back. just enough. just far enough that you’re no longer breathing the same air. you don’t look at him. you can’t. you walk out of the bathroom like someone fleeing a crime scene—not with panic, but with urgency. with shame. because how are you supposed to look at him now? after that? after he said it so casually, as if it meant nothing. as if the thing that’s been gnawing away at your stomach for a year and half, quietly ruining you from the inside out, is just an observation to him. something to be catalogued. something to be named and teased.

it pricks. like a needle. over and over again. you’re not even bleeding, but it hurts anyway. like a bruise blooming beneath the skin where no one else can see it.

you blink fast. the tears burn your eyes in that stupid, stinging way. your throat is dry and your mouth tastes like metal. you move across the room, pretending to look for your water bottle—like you don’t know exactly where it is. of course you do. it’s always in the mini-fridge. you put it there. but you can’t stand still. you can’t just… exist in the same space as him right now, not when your heart is skidding sideways inside your chest, dragging your dignity down with it.

behind you, he moves too. back to the goddamn doorway. as if it’s his. as if he belongs here. he leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression unreadable. the bathroom door clicks shut behind him. you hear it. he’s left the scissors on the counter.

good, you think. let them rust.

you don’t look at him. you can’t. because you know what’s waiting for you if you do. that face. that face with its perfectly shaped eyes and annoyingly symmetrical bone structure. that nose like something out of a vintage perfume ad, and the lips that are thin, cruel, honeyed with sweetness he doesn’t mean. they make everything worse. they always have.

you want to spit. you want to scream. you want to touch him. you do none of those things.

“i wasn’t trying to be funny,” suguru says, calm, quiet, as if he’s just narrating the weather. “i was just telling you what i noticed about you.”

you laugh, but there’s no humor in it. just ache. just exhaustion. you’re tired of hearing your name in his mouth like it’s disposable. like you’re disposable. you keep your back to him.

“that i’m pathetically staring at you all the time and can’t look away?” you snap. “yeah. thanks. really thoughtful of you.”

your voice cracks a little on the last word. you pretend it doesn’t. you crouch down on the floor beside your bed, sifting through a pile of plushies like they might hold an answer. your hands shake just a little. you hate that he can probably see that too. he sees everything.

and you know how you look right now. disheveled. embarrassed. wearing a threadbare t-shirt that hangs off your shoulder, a pair of sleep shorts that reveal too much of your thighs. you’re too soft. too warm. too obvious.

you glance at him once, just once, through your lashes, and immediately regret it.

he’s standing there like some dark-humored painting of a boy who doesn’t realize he’s become the object of worship. white t-shirt clinging slightly to his chest, his shoulders, his arms. those jeans—faded and worn like he’s had them for years. white socks. bare ankles. his hair is still tied up in that loose bun that makes you ache in your chest.

“you like me,” suguru says. just like that. not a question, not even a tease, just a fact laid out bare and brutal between you. “it’s cute.”

your head snaps up. your eyes find his, slow and narrowing. cute? that’s what he calls it? this thing—this raw, relentless thing inside you that burns every time he walks into a room, that flays you open when he so much as breathes in your direction—is cute?

you want to laugh. you want to slap him. you want to cry.

“you can’t seriously think cute is the word you should be using right now,” you say, voice low, clipped. biting at the edges like it might split if you raise it even a little.

he shrugs. soft. unbothered. almost tender. “maybe not. maybe it’s not the right word.”

you wait. he shifts slightly where he stands, arms still crossed over his chest, head tilted just the slightest. always watching. always fucking watching. “what i meant is, i like it when you look at me like that.”

“of course you fucking do,” you snap, sharper now, the words tripping over themselves as they rush out of your mouth like they’ve been waiting years for a window. “you’re an attention whore. you love being stared at, don’t you? makes you feel important. flattered. worshipped. like some fucking shrine boy collecting incense and offerings for doing the bare minimum.”

his lips twitch. half a smile. something more pained. more real.

“and god,” you add, voice cracking a little now, “it makes me hate you. it makes me hate you, because you know. you’ve always known. you see everything. you notice everything. you clocked it before i even did, and you let me. you let me keep orbiting you like a fucking moon and you never said anything. you entertained it. entertained me. like i’m some sideshow you check in on once in a while, even though you’ll never feel the same way, because i’m just—”

“bold of you to assume i don’t,” he interrupts.

and it’s like someone hits pause on the world. your body goes still. your jaw slackens a little. you blink. the room isn’t quiet, not really—the fridge is humming, someone’s laughing in the hallway, the ceiling fan creaks faintly—but all of it fades into static behind the sound of your own pulse. loud. insistent.

you look at him. really look. there’s a crease between his brows. faint, but there. like he’s holding something back. like he’s uncertain too. there’s a small dip in the middle of his bottom lip, just a little darker where he must’ve bit down on it earlier. there’s a freckle near his temple you’d never seen before. he looks soft, somehow. realer than he ever has.

your throat bobs. your heart feels like it’s sitting just under your tongue, too big for your mouth, and you taste the iron of it.

he doesn’t look away. doesn’t smile either. he just says it.

“i mean,” suguru says, his voice steady in that unnervingly unbothered way he always speaks, as if nothing could ever shake him, not even this, “probably not as much as you like me. but i’m getting there. slowly. but i’m getting there.”

you just stare at him.

then, finally, you breathe, barely. “you… what?”

he doesn’t flinch. he never flinches. instead, he just shrugs, all nonchalance, all maddening grace. “yeah. why else would i come provide free labor for you? i don’t even cut satoru’s hair. and that bastard practically begs.”

you open your mouth, then close it. then open it again. it feels dry. your tongue feels like it's been pasted to the roof of your mouth with glue. your head hurts. your throat aches. your heart won’t stop.

“that’s not…” you start, and then stop. your hand drags across your face, over the bridge of your nose, like that’ll help. “shoko cut my hair last time. she fucked it up a bit, but friends cut each others’ hair all the time. it’s not weird. it’s normal. you being picky is different.”

“where is this conversation going?” he chuckles. not cruelly. not unkindly. but still, like he’s watching you spin out a little and enjoying the view. “i just told you i like you back, and now we’re talking about hair.”

you wish you could crawl out of your own skin. “suguru,” you whisper, and your voice is shaking, and your chest hurts. “i swear to god, if this is a joke… if satoru is outside with a camera or a fucking... voice recorder or whatever, if this is one of your jokes, i’m never speaking to you again. you could die for all i care.”

his eyes narrow, not with anger, but with something worse. disappointment. like you’ve insulted his integrity. like you’ve wounded something you didn’t know was tender.

“i’m mean,” he says, “but i’m not cruel.”

and then he moves. a single step. easy. unhurried. like it means nothing. like it means everything.

“and seriously,” he murmurs, suddenly so close it’s unbearable, “how’d you mess this up already? i just styled it.”

his hand lifts—deliberately gentle, tender—and untucks a small curl from behind your ear. it’s the most intimate thing anyone’s done to you in weeks. maybe months. maybe ever. his fingertips trail over your temple as if he’s handling something fragile. like you’re not real. like he’s afraid you’ll vanish the moment he touches you too hard. and then he’s fluffing your bangs, adjusting them with a care that undoes you entirely.

you don’t breathe. not properly. your lungs seize. your shoulders shake. because this is the kind of touch you’ve imagined a thousand times but never dared believe. not from him. not from geto suguru.

and then his hand drifts to your cheek, and it settles there, warm and sure, and something in you cracks. you shut your eyes.

and the tears—god, the tears—they just fall. not dramatic. not theatrical. just quiet. inevitable. warm rivers down the sides of your face, soft as surrender. you don’t sob. you don’t choke. you just leak, because what else is your body supposed to do when something you’ve wanted this badly, this completely, wants you back?

“you’re crying?” suguru says, and he sounds panicked for the first time, his cool shattering at the edges. “shit. i’m sorry. do i... do i get a tissue? i think there’s a handkerchief in the bathroom—”

“no,” you breathe, voice trembling. “it’s… it’s okay.”

and when you look at him—finally look at him—he’s wearing the softest expression you’ve ever seen on him. there’s a crease between his brows, a line beside his mouth, and for once he looks unsure, like he’s not certain what to do with you. like he’s not used to being gentle with things that break open so easily.

you think, this can’t be real.

because in what world does suguru look at you like you’re the thing he’s been holding himself back from? in what world does his hand cradle your jaw like it’s his own heart?

the world goes quiet. the fridge hums somewhere far away, but you don’t hear it. the fan stutters above you, but you don’t feel the breeze. you don’t speak. you don’t dare. you’re afraid to ruin it. afraid if you move, if you say a word, he’ll blink and disappear, and you’ll wake up in a cold dorm with hair that’s still too long and a heart that’s still breaking.

so you stand there, and let him hold you like this. like you're real and he wants you. like you’re something worth reaching for.

© all works belong to admiringlove on tumblr. plagiarism is strictly prohibited.

[officialaemondtargaryen]

Never Gonna Be Alone - Part Four

Summary: When a friend from college contacts you about renting out your spare bedroom to her brother, you aren't really sure what to expect.

Pairing: Modern!Aegon Targaryen x Reader

Word Count: ~ 4.0k

Author's Note: Sorry I kind of forgot about this one. I'll try and get updates out more quickly. This one is for the anon who asked for an update. Probably would have continued forgetting about this if it weren't for you! Here's to hoping the next update takes less than six months!

Warnings for the entire series: language, drug & alcohol use, sex, possible angst, pining & yearning, miscommunication, bit of a slow burn, and a lot of fluff, plus me attempting to be a comedian.

Masterlist | Playlist

Aegon was right, the wall was empty. 

It had been since the day you first moved in. Blank. Beige. Unbothered. Not unlike your love life. It was something that you had become so accustomed to that you didn’t notice just how empty it really was, having passed by it a thousand times without a second glance. You were blind to the void that it represented until suddenly– there it was. Filled, but not just with color, or thread and gold beads, but with him. 

Two weeks had passed since you both stumbled home from Helaena’s art show; laughing, drunk, and starving with bags of Jade Garden and snacks from the Freedom Mart up the street.

And he couldn’t wait to hang it for you. He’d insisted on doing it that night, despite your protests, and said that it absolutely could not wait. He had pushed up his sleeves and dug out your dad’s old hand-me-down toolbox that the old man had sworn you would need someday. You watched from the couch, barefoot and grinning with a box of Lo Mein, as he “eyeballed it”. 

“There,” he said, stepping back to survey his work. “That wall’s been starin’ at me for weeks.”

Now it stares at you.

It should have meant nothing– but to you, it meant everything. 

It meant that somewhere between splitting joints and the last crab rangoon, between the inside jokes and the butterflies, you had begun living in a future that didn’t belong to you. You’d begun daydreaming about forever, when in reality, you were living inside of a bubble– stretching thinner everyday, its walls shimmering and fragile. Deep down, you knew that at any moment, the needle would drop and this whole thing would burst. 

And then what?

You’d spiral, obviously. Pack your shit into the same busted suitcases you moved in with, toss your books and your yarn into recycled boxes, and move across the country– never to be seen or heard from again. Leave him the apartment filled with your embarrassment and that goddamned painting.

Was it dramatic? Definitely. Were you still picturing him running after you in the airport and begging you to stay? Absolutely. But none of that mattered– not yet anyway. Because for now, the bubble was still intact. And despite your inner turmoil, you were going to be totally, perfectly, 100% fine. 

Probably.

You were sitting on the kitchen counter, cereal bowl in hand, staring at the singular green coffee mug in the sink when someone knocked on the door. You didn’t move at first, too busy staring down that mug as if it were about to grow arms and legs and jump out at you. The knock came again, louder this time, followed by a muffled voice: “Knock, knock!”

You blinked out of your daze, setting your bowl aside with a soft clink against the countertop, and dragged yourself towards the door in the pajamas you hadn’t bothered to change out of yet. When you peeked through the peephole, you instantly recognized the silvery space buns and oversized sunglasses. 

“Wasn’t expecting you!” You smiled as you opened the door. 

“Hi,” she chirped, as bright as the midday sun itself, holding up your worn copy of Conversations With Friends. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop this off. You were right, it wasn’t as good as Normal People, but I still couldn’t put it down.” 

“Told you,” You smiled, taking the book from her hands and stepped aside to let her in. She waltzed into your apartment like she owned the place, but that was how Helaena walked into every room; effortless and cool with her Doc Martens and cute dresses. “Aegon went out for a run.” 

“S’okay,” she hummed and crossed the room to where her artwork hung on the wall. “This looks really great here. Catches the light from the window perfectly.”

You glanced at it too, the golden threads gleaming in the morning sun. “Yeah,” a small smile pulled at your lips. “He was adamant we needed something for that wall.”

There was a pause.

“We?” Helaena echoed, one perfectly arched brow lifting as she tilted her head towards you. Her voice wasn’t accusatory, but amused. Amused and curious in a way that made your stomach flutter with dread, like you’d been caught doing something you shouldn’t have.

“I– uh, by ‘we’ I mean ‘the apartment,’ obviously,” you said quickly, already regretting how fast the explanation left your mouth. You tried to backpedal, make it sound casual, redirect. “Like, as a whole. Collectively. The apartment needed something. You know, Feng Shui or whatever.”

“Feng Shui? You sound just like him.” She said with a smirk. 

You could feel her watching you from the side as you tried very hard not to squirm. When you turned to her in protest, it was almost as if you could see the lightbulb clicking on over her head– like she’d just put two and two together and didn’t even need to check the math. 

“You like him.” Her tone, as always, was sincere. 

She wasn’t being judgmental or catty. Hell, she didn’t even seem all that surprised. She said it in a way that someone would say something obvious like, “the sky is blue”. And that, of course, made it all the more worse for you, because if Helaena had noticed within five minutes of being in your apartment, then you were being way more obvious than intended.

And if she could tell, chances were that Aegon could, too. 

Great. Just great. 

Your stomach flipped– annoyingly, involuntarily– and you laughed, too quickly. “What? No.”

Helaena didn’t press. She just tilted her head slightly, a knowing curve at the corner of her mouth as she turned her attention back to the painting with her arms folded over her chest. 

You sighed in immediate defeat, “It’s that obvious?”

She smiled, but didn’t look at you, “It’s not not obvious.” 

And just like that, the floor threatened to swallow you whole. 

If Helaena, someone you’d only just begun to know outside the shared orbit of her brother, could figure it out so quickly, what were the chances he hadn’t? What were the odds that ‘Mr-I-Notice-Everything’ was somehow completely oblivious to this one thing? The lingering looks? Your feet brushing against his under the coffee table? You could already feel your cheeks heating, your mind spiraling through every interaction you’d had in the past two weeks, combing for any moment that might’ve cracked the facade. 

She must’ve sensed you slipping too far into your own head, because her tone shifted. “Just… be careful,” she said as she pulled her sunglasses back down over her eyes and grabbed her bag. “When I said he was messy, what did you think I meant?”

You shrug, “I don’t know, that he doesn’t pick up after himself?”

She snorted a laugh and crossed the living room towards the front door. “No, I meant that he’s a slut.”

You exhale, shoulders dropping in disappointment.

“I’m just being honest,” she said softly as she pulled the door open. “He crashed on my couch for a month before he moved in here and brought home a different girl every weekend.”

“That hasn’t happened here, thank God,” you mumbled more to yourself than to her.

Helaena leaned her shoulder against the doorframe, her expression unreadable behind her sunglasses, but you could still feel the weight of her gaze. “I’m not trying to scare you off,” she added, adjusting the strap on her shoulder. “I just think you should know what you’re walking into.”

“And what is that, exactly?” You ask as she steps out onto the front stoop.

She turned to you and shrugged, the corner of her mouth twisting into something between a smile and a wince and took a deep breath, “I don’t know. Best case? It’s great. Worst case?” She hesitated, weighing her words. “You sleep together, it gets weird, and then… you never talk again.”

You huffed a quiet laugh, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “That’s optimistic.”

“Hey, fifty-fifty odds aren’t the worst,” she said, stepping down onto the sidewalk, sunlight catching in the silver strands of her hair. “And for what it’s worth, I do hope you’re the exception.”

You nodded, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Thanks, I think.”

“Good luck, girly!” she called over her shoulder as she started down the block, then turned back, walking backwards a few steps. “Tell him to call me, yeah?”

The door clicked shut behind you and the apartment was quiet, leaving you alone with your thoughts, once again. You pressed your head against the door and sighed, telling yourself over and over again that you were okay. That everything was fine. It was just the proximity and hormones and the slow death of your better judgement, that’s all.

You peeled yourself away from the door slowly and turned to face the living room; your shoes next to his in the foyer, his XBox controller sitting on top of your most recent read on the coffee table, his hoodie hanging next to your raincoat– the arms seemingly entangled. Everything about this place had started to feel like him and the air was suddenly too thin.

Truth be told, you should just go ahead and start packing now. Move to Portland. Change your name. Dye your hair some vibrant shade of magenta. Open a bookstore. Thrift a whole new wardrobe. Become mysterious. 

Maybe get a cat. 

You’d never have to hear the name Aegon ever again. 

Instead, you sank back into your bed with the weight of all your delusions, curled up so tightly in your duvet that it may have just been the only thing holding you together. You opened your laptop and queued up Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind, wishing that you could do some erasing of your own. But, you didn’t even make it to Charles River before you fell asleep. 

By the time you woke up, your laptop was dead and the sky outside your window was tinged with the dusky colors of an early sunset. You blinked the sleep from your eyes and fumble for your phone only to see that you had been out for over five hours. Shit. Apparently your body needed a rest after quietly crumbling beneath the emotional weight of your one-sided situationship. 

You stretched beneath the covers, your limbs stiff and brain foggy. and the ache in your chest blooming fresh all over again now that you were conscious. 

Aegon was in the living room. You could hear the faint sound of the evening news on the TV. 

For a moment, you contemplated staying in the warmth of your bed. The thought of stepping out into that shared space made your stomach twist. Or maybe it was because you hadn’t eaten anything all day. Hard to tell. The line between physical and emotional hunger had started to blur a while ago.

What if she told him? 

Of course she told him– she's his sister. She probably didn’t even make it to the end of the block before she had texted him. Regardless, it didn’t really matter, you’d have to face him eventually. As much as you wanted to, you couldn’t hide in your room forever. Besides, you’d already stress-napped through most of the day. The least you could do was pull up your big girl panties and face your problems head on. 

The living room was washed in the bluish light of the TV, flickering softly against the walls. The voice of a news anchor droned in the background, dry and detached, “…no official comment from Otto Hightower or other members of the TargCo executive board…”

“Hey,” Aegon says softly as you step into view. He reaches forward for the remote and flips the channel. “You’re alive.” 

“Barely,” you croak, voice still thick with residual exhaustion. “Sorry I missed movie night.”

“You didn’t,” he smiles softly. “The night is still young, it’s only half past seven.”

“Feels like midnight,” you told him as you shuffled towards the kitchen to find something to eat. 

“You were out cold,” he calls after you and there’s a smirk in his tone. “I checked to make sure you were still breathin’ at one point after you didn’t answer when I said I was orderin’ pizza. Guess you’ll just have to make do with pineapple.” 

You padded into the kitchen, still blinking sleep from your eyes, bare feet cold on the tile floor. On the counter, there’s a half-eaten box of Hawaiian-style pizza. It’s still warm– the top propped open like an invitation. He even left the garlic sauce for you. You reached for a slice, folding it lazily as you leaned back against the counter, chewing slowly as your body tries to catch up with the time. 

“Thank you,” you told him quietly as you finally join him on the couch.

“Don’t take this personally, but I could not stand for another nigh’ of leftovers,” he laughs softly while clicking through different movie titles. 

“What?” You stretch into the cushions, trying to get comfortable. “You’re telling me four straight nights of spaghetti was too much?” 

He smirked in response and suddenly the room had gone quiet again. It was the type of quiet that wasn’t uncomfortable but said too much– like you both could hear what wasn’t being said and it made you that much more aware of the three inches of cushion between you. He finally lands on a title and tilts the remote towards the screen, quirking an eyebrow at you like a silent question mark. You shrug and nod and it’s settled. You shifted your weight, folding your legs underneath you, then unfurling them just as quickly. Still not comfortable, but not wanting to draw any attention to yourself. You reached behind you for one of the throw pillows and placed it against the arm of the couch, leaning slightly into it. That didn’t feel right either. Too stiff. Too far away. You adjust again, cursing yourself for being all elbows and uncertainty. 

His eyes tear away from the TV to check on you, but you’re too busy reaching for another pillow to notice, until you turn and meet his eyes. You were immediately embarrassed, but without a word, you prop the pillow against his side and let yourself ease into him, like it was the only soft place left in the room. He didn’t flinch. Didn’t stiffen. Didn’t try to reclaim the space. 

“Better?” he asked, barely looking away from the screen, but you caught the flicker of a smile tugging at his lips. You settle into place and nod your head, not trusting your voice to be steady enough to say it outloud. “Good,” he replies casually. 

But your heart was anything but casual. 

You try to force your attention back to the movie, but the heat from his side is seeping into your skin, spreading like a wildfire beneath your ribs. You were closer than you should be, every breath feels like borrowing air from him. You wonder if he’s thinking about it too, but you don’t have the courage to look up at him, as if  you’d even be able to tell. He was always so nonchalant, like nothing in the world bothered him. 

Maybe he was just being polite, or maybe he was just comfortable. Maybe this meant nothing. 

It didn’t feel like nothing. 

Your fingers curl tighter around the edge of the pillow, knuckles whitening. Can he feel that same tug? The gravity of something unspoken pulling at the corners of the room. The weight of all the words you’re holding back; thick and heavy like the late summer air outside of the window. His arm rests loosely against the back of the sofa, and you can’t help but think about what it would feel like draped along your frame. 

No, bad idea. Get up. Go back to bed. 

But you don’t move. You can’t. 

The sounds of the movie have become white noise as you spiral– quietly, inwardly– in the space between his silence and your imagination, convincing yourself that it meant something just because he didn’t pull away. Because he’s still here, close and solid. Now all that you can do is focus on his breathing, counting each breath as if you're memorizing the way that he works. 

Your eyes flutter shut, just for a second. Just to rest them. You’ll open them again in a minute. You will. 

But the moment stretches as exhaustion creeps in. 

At some point– maybe two heartbeats later, maybe twenty– you feel it. The faintest shift. The gentle weight of his arm lowering, slow and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll scare you. It rests across your side; warm and tentative. Not demanding. Not possessive. Just there. 

Like it was always supposed to be. 

When you wake up, the room is dark. “Are you still watching?” on the television screen. It’s early. The sun hasn’t quite peeked over the horizon. Everything is quiet in a sacred kind of way that only exists right before the world remembers it’s supposed to be awake. 

You stretch, groaning slightly as you shift your weight, and that’s when you feel it. 

Aegon. 

Pressed against your back, one arm slung lazily around your waist like it belongs there. His hand twitches against your stomach and everything in your body tenses at once; freezing as you feel him stir beside you. You try your hardest to steady your breathing, but your pulse is betraying you, and you’re sure he can hear it. It’s pounding loud enough to wake the whole city block. 

You’re not ready for this moment to end, for when it has to become something else. 

He shifts again, just barely, and his nose brushes the back of your shoulder. Then, in the softest murmur he says, “hey.”

“Hey,” your voice catches on the exhale. 

You don’t turn to look at him. You can’t. Your face will give you away instantly, if it hasn’t already– that blushing, wide-eyed, heart-pounding you that’s currently screaming into her pillow somewhere in the back of your brain. 

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” he admits. 

“It’s okay,” you whisper, afraid that you’ll choke on the tension. “Neither did I.” 

He hums in response, settling back into the comfort that was this moment. His arm is still draped over you and you take a moment to remind yourself of that.

Somehow, it felt like a confession.

Taglist

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[beckyninja]

Rude Awakening

Pairing: Roboute Guilliman x FemReader

Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI

Description: The Reader sends a long awaited message to her home world, only to receive a very unexpected reply.

Plot, lore, and spice in this one folks! (Also, please excuse the very cliched name I decided to use for the Reader's home world.)

This is a continuation of my Guilliman/Reader series. To read the previous parts, check out my Masterlist.

“Transmitting in one minute, Lady Heir.”

Guilliman watched you sit even straighter than before, if that were possible. You’d changed out of the light, flowing dresses he’d grown accustomed to seeing you in these past months, and back into the corseted gown you’d worn upon your first meeting. Your hair was pulled back into a severe bun, your hands tightly clasped on your lap.

Every sinew in your body radiated tension. He resisted the near overpowering urge to go to your side.

“No, Roboute. If I’m to be seen to be acting independently, in the interests of my world, I can’t sit in your shadow.” You’d leaned against him in the Thunderhawk during the flight to your ship, “No matter how I might wish to.”

When he made it clear he intended to be present for the event, and therefore his Ultramarine guards as well, Captain Takahashi suggested they move the whole operation to the spacecraft hangar. Glancing around, Guilliman understood why.

It had been ages since he’d existed in a space not built with giants in mind. Even the towering ceilings of this hangar seemed somehow claustrophobic after the sheer massiveness of The Macragge’s Honor. And that was not the only difference.

Not a candle in sight.

The air still smelled of fuel and chemicals, but the cloying aroma of incense was absent. Captain Takahashi must have driven her cleaning crew hard, for every surface gleamed clean and starkly bright under the artificial lighting.

It all looked so… new. Even the crew, standing at attention in their clean uniforms.

He heard his Ultramarines shifting in their armor and couldn’t blame them for their unease. The differences in culture and technology between your people and the Imperium had never been so obvious. The clash to come….

Guilliman’s gaze returned to you.

You feel it too, the mounting pressure. If we are to avoid bloodshed, you must walk a razor’s edge.

Again, the urge to go to you. His jaw clenched.

***

Your heart felt as though it was about to beat its way out of your chest. 

Strange, how quickly emotions could change. In the days since confessing your family’s sordid history to Roboute, you’d felt… lighter. Unafraid, for the first time in years. 

When he held you, all your grandmother’s torments and scheming seemed insignificant. You were untouchable. Safe.

The folly of such thoughts crashed upon you as you stared at the transmitter. An entire world’s fate rested on your words, on a diplomatic mission no one thought would succeed. 

A diplomatic mission some had done their best to ensure would not succeed. 

Will Grandmother listen to reason? Will the Grand Council? The Military? The Church? 

You squeezed your eyes shut, fighting a rising tide of panic.

Am I leading my people down the path to annihilation?

“Connection established.” The technician’s voice sounded loud in the silence. “Transmitting in ten…”

Light guide me. Protect me against the chaos of the Void.

“...eight…”

Reveal my path and grant me wisdom to protect my people.

“...six…”

Illuminate the minds of those I speak to, that they may see the Truth.

“...four…”

I can’t do this! I can’t!

“...two…”

Your eyes flashed to Roboute. His burning blue gaze met your own. Strength. Courage. Love.

“Transmitting now.”

You lifted your chin and breathed deep. “Honored Matriarch, Grand Council, People of TerraNova, I speak to you today of a new dawn for our people. Six standard months ago, I set out upon a diplomatic mission to propose an alliance with the Imperium of Man.”

Calm settled over you with each word. “I am overjoyed to report the complete success of my mission. Roboute Guilliman, Lord Regent of the Imperium, has accepted our proposal. He has agreed to ensure our continued autonomy in exchange for technology and resources.”

And now for the bombshell.

“To seal this alliance, I have agreed to take the Lord Regent’s hand in marriage.”

***

“... I await your response so that a meeting between the Lord Regent and our beloved Matriarch may be arranged. May the Light, and the Lord of Light, bless the joining of our people. Thank you.”

Guilliman felt pride swell within him as the technician cut the transmission. He strode forward, boots thundering on the metal flooring. 

“You were magnificent, my dear.”

You looked up at him, face pale. “I pray it was enough.”

He reached out a hand, gently taking your tiny fingers in his own, and helped you to your feet. You swayed slightly.

Captain Takahashi appeared at your side, a glass in her hand. “Drink, Lady Heir. You did well.”

Guilliman made eye contact with the Captain as you drank.

She nodded. “I mean it, my Lord. Our leaders will be hard pressed to deny the logic of such a statement.”

He placed a steadying hand on your shoulders. “I have seen diplomats with lifetimes of experience fail to make so compelling an argument.”

“From anyone else,” you murmured, “I’d call that flattery.”

“I am not accustomed to praising the unworthy.”

“I know.” You smiled, face regaining some color, “Still, Void take me! I’m glad that’s over.”

Guilliman chuckled slightly. “How long before we can expect a response?”

Captain Takahashi shook her head. “Hard to say. The message should have been received almost instantaneously, but our leaders will need time to formulate a reply.” She hesitated. “Though, the Matriarch is known for her decisiveness.”

His armored hand tightened on your shoulder at the mention of your grandmother. “I am… eager to meet this woman.”

He sensed your tension returning. “Let us return to The Macragge’s Honor, my dear. We can-”

“Captain!” A shout from the technician drew everyone’s attention. “Incoming communication!”

Captain Takahashi strode to the console. “A recorded transmission?”

“Negative, Ma’am. Live.”

“Oh, Light….” Guilliman watched you wilt once more.

He pulled you against him. “From your homeworld, Captain?”

“We’re too far for a live message.” The Captain’s eyes remained fixed on the screens in front of her. “No. This originates from one of our naval vessels.”

“Lord Guilliman.” Sicarius spoke for the first time since entering this ship. “Transmission from The Macragge’s Honor. Long range scanners have picked up contacts exiting the Warp.”

He faced the Ultramarine. “Details.”

“Five ships of similar make to this one. One significantly larger. Numerous smaller vessels. All approaching rapidly.”

From the scowl on Sicarius’s face, Guilliman knew he expected an ambush. “Have we received any attempts at communication?”

“Negative, my Lord.”

“Captain?” The technician looked toward Captain Takahashi. “Do I answer?”

“Yes.”

Guilliman looked down at you in surprise. You reached up and placed your hand over his gauntlet on your shoulder, your expression determined.

“I will answer, Captain Takahashi. Put it on screen.”

A moment of silence, save for the persistent beeping of the console. “Very well, Lady Heir.”

You tried to pull away from his grasp. “Roboute-”

“No.” He walked with you, hand remaining on your shoulder. “This time, we stand together.”

***

You leaned back against Roboute, partly annoyed, partly grateful. In truth, you felt drained. A mere moments ago you’d wanted nothing more than to return to your quarters on the Imperial ship. Quarters that had rapidly begun to feel like “home”. 

No time for further thought before a figure appeared on screen. It was not who you expected.

The angular face. Hair that curled to his shoulders in defiance of every military regulation. Eyes that never seemed to rest in one place for more than a moment. All familiar, except for the red scar bisecting one cheek.

“Victor?!” 

“Hello, cousin. And, ah…,” his eyes moved behind and above you, “Lord Guilliman, I presume?”

The lack of decorum brought a flush of shame to your cheeks. You felt Roboute’s hands tighten ever so slightly on your shoulders.

“Lord Regent, may I introduce Prince Victor, son of-”

“Another prince, who was the son of a Patriarch, who was the husband of our beloved Matriarch, and so on and so forth. Second in line to the throne of TerraNova. Lord of the Fleet, etc.” Your cousin waved his hand dismissively. “Very pretty, very inconsequential titles.”

Void damn him! He hasn’t changed.  

“Victor, this is-”

“Quite possibly the most powerful man in the galaxy, yes I know.” He grinned, the expression twisted by the scar on his cheek. “And your intended! Congratulations, by the way.”

“An unexpected pleasure, Prince.” 

Roboute had once explained his multiple organs to you. Now, you felt him expand his third lung, giving his already deep voice an inhuman resonance that sent shivers across your skin.

Even through the screen, your cousin couldn’t remain unaffected. You felt a tiny thrill of satisfaction at seeing his cocky smile quiver.

“Unexpected for me as well… my lord. My fleet’s interception of my lovely cousin’s message necessitated this intrusion, I’m afraid.”

You stiffened. “The message? Did it-”

“Don’t fret, my dear. I’m sure our beloved Matriarch is frothing at the mouth as we speak. Unfortunately, she no longer has the power to act one way or the other.”

Dread pooled in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, that she’s currently a prisoner in her own palace, cousin. Courtesy of the only other living member of our dynasty.” 

“Conrad?” The magnitude of the disaster struck you hard. “Oh, Light.”

“Clear the deck!” Captain Takahashi snapped.

You heard the retreating of many feet, and glanced up toward Roboute. He stared at the screen, mouth set in a grim line. The Ultramarines likewise remained.

“Victor, perhaps a more private-”

“What’s the point, sweet cousin? Your fiance and his…ah…warriors may as well know what kind of mess they’re about to sail into.” 

***

Guilliman could see why you disliked your family.

The nonchalant mockery dripping from every word this boy said, set his teeth on edge. He showed no regard for the devastation his little speech wrought on you, never once used your proper title. And something in the way he looked at you….

“So, there has been a coup.” He didn’t bother to hide the growl in his voice.

“Indeed.” The boy avoided his gaze. “Grandmother and what’s left of her personal forces are holed up in the capital whilst Conrad, bookish little Conrad, and his army lay siege.”

Guilliman felt you sag against him. “The Military?”

“Apparently they think he’ll be easier to control that dear old Granny, or me, for that matter. And they thought you were dead until a few minutes ago. So they’ve made him their figurehead.” He shrugged. “I don’t really even blame Connie, locked away in that monastery for so many years, he never did learn how to think for himself.”

“The Grand Council?”

“Ran off to the Eastern Continent. Putting up a decent fight, actually.”

You seemed to gather yourself. “So there’s still hope. Wait. They thought I was dead?”

“Oh, yes. Grandmother seemed certain of it. Was almost ready to announce it to the people.” A grating laugh. “I can only imagine her expression when your message came through. I know it shocked the Void out of me.”

Guilliman spoke again. “You called yourself ‘Master of the Fleet’. This implies you have control of your world’s naval forces.”

“Those personally loyal to me, yes.”

“Your mercenaries?” You shook your head. “Victor, they’ll turn on you as soon as you can no longer pay them.”

The boy’s expression turned dark. “They’re loyal, little cousin. Ever since I saved their asses from Grandmother’s order of execution. You can count on that.”

Guilliman didn’t care for his tone. “What are your intentions here, prince?”

He ignored him, darting eyes settling on you. “You need to come home, cousin. Immediately. With me. The people are confused and divided.”

“We need to present a united front.” You nodded slowly.

Guilliman tightened his grip on your shoulders.

“You always were the smartest of us.” Your cousin smirked. “I’ll send a transport immediately.”

Captain Takahashi joined the conversation. “I will gladly transport the Lady Heir on board this ship, my prince.”

“Ah, the ever loyal Captain! You know we all thought you dead too? I appreciate the offer. But we both know my Predator is faster than your little cruiser. And speed is paramount.” He waved a hand. “You can follow along at your own pace.”

“A third option.” Guilliman tried to make eye contact with the prince, but his gaze kept sliding away. “The Lady remains aboard my flagship, and we follow you to your homeworld.”

“Cousin, would you like to explain to your fiance why that won’t work?”

You gave him an apologetic look. “For me to arrive with an Imperial fleet-”

The boy interrupted once again. “It would certainly look like a conquering horde, now wouldn’t it? Unless, of course, that’s your intention.”

“Victor!”

He leered. “It would be clever. Take advantage of our weakened, divided state and swoop in to add us to your collection of worlds. Your marriage to my cousin would give you just enough legitimacy to preserve your image. Assuming, of course, that you Imperials care about such things.”

“I gave my word to the Lady that this would be an alliance, not a conquest.” Guilliman managed to catch the boy’s direct gaze and hold it. “I intend to keep my word.”

He paled and, once again, his eyes darted away. “Well, well. How noble.”

Your hand reached up and grasped one of the gauntlet’s on your shoulders. “Do not make such an insinuation again, cousin.”

A corner of Guilliman’s mouth tipped up at the indignation in your voice.

“Still,” you murmured, “an Imperial fleet, much less the flagship of the Lord Regent, arriving at this time could cause widespread panic.”

And undermine any hope of peaceful compliance.

He never desired unnecessary bloodshed, not even in the days of the Great Crusade. The idea of attacking your homeworld appealed to him even less. Still, to send you alone into the hands of this arrogant princeling… into a war zone….

“Should she agree to this, the future Lady of Ultramar will be accompanied by an Ultramarine guard.”

An astounded murmur from the Ultramarines behind him. Your head snapped up, mouth opening in shock.

The boy remained silent for a moment, blinking. “I…ah… of course. Of course! You want to protect your investment. I understand.” He made a show of peering at the Ultramarines. “I suppose we’ll make them fit somehow.”

You turned back to the screen. “Give me one standard day, Victor. Then send your transport.”

“Agreed. It will be ever so nice to see you in person again, cousin. I’m sure we’ll get this mess sorted in no time.”

The transmission ended.

You pressed your face into your hands. “Void damn it all. Just when things were going so well.”

Guilliman looked down at you. Sometimes he forgot how young and inexperienced you were. You’d learn soon enough.

Nothing ever goes to plan.

***

You stood in the midst of your quarters aboard The Macragge’s Honor, and tried desperately not to weep. 

A fool. I’m a damned fool.

You thought back over the last months. All your life, you’d heard horror stories of the Imperium. Its cruelties. Its fanaticism. How ironic that the best moments of your life so far had been spent here, onboard its flagship.

With him. 

You’d told yourself it could last forever. That all would be well.

Damn you, Conrad. Why? Why now?

You bent to pick a piece of clothing off the floor, only for your corset to tighten further around your chest. Sudden rage filled you.

“Off, get off!”

It had taken two attendants to help you put the thing on. Tears of frustration filled your eyes as you clawed at the hooks and laces to no avail. 

“Void damn it!” 

Behind you, the door hissed open. You recognized the presence even before he spoke.

“Are you all right, my love?”

You didn’t dare turn around, face burning with embarrassment. “I’m sorry, Roboute. I just… I can’t….” You sniffled like a child.

“Let me.”

“You don’t have to- ah!”

A wrench and the sound of tearing fabric. The corset fell away. You gasped, catching it against your breasts. Your mind went blank.

A thud behind you made the floor shake. Then, hot breath on your bare back. The heat seemed to spread across your skin, burning away the rage and frustration, until only longing remained.

“Roboute….”

Lips pressed against the back of your bare shoulders. Impossibly large hands circled your hips, holding you immobile. 

“It seems our marriage will be delayed.” His deep voice resonated within you. “But, by the Throne, I will have this.”

You could only whimper in reply as the lips traced across your shoulders, your neck, and down your spine. The hands on your hips slid upward until they met the corset you still clutched to your chest.

Light forgive me.

You let the piece of clothing drop to the floor, and gasped as the hands covered your breasts. 

“So soft.” He rumbled.

No one had ever touched you like this. You whined as he began to squeeze and knead, calloused skin against your nipples sending shocks of pleasure through your body. Liquid warmth pooled between your legs.

You felt yourself yanked back into a hard chest, only then realizing he’d sunk to his knees. His forehead came to rest on your shoulder. One hand continued to play with your chest, while the other spread down over your belly.

“Tell me to stop.”

“No.”

I want this.

He groaned, and the hand on your belly moved lower, fingers dipping beneath the waist of your skirt and underclothes. You suddenly found it hard to breathe.

“I heard you last night.” He rasped. “I heard you touching yourself, calling my name as you climaxed.”

“Oh, Light!” You should feel ashamed, but his words only stoked the fire within.

“I almost went to you. Throne, I have wanted to go to you every night since the first. Now you are leaving me, and I cannot….” A deep, gasping breath. “I cannot hold back anymore.”

You moaned his name.

“Show me how to bring you pleasure.”

You reached one hand behind you, carding your fingers into blond hair, feeling the massive demigod shiver at your touch. With the other hand, you guided his hand lower, until his fingers met your wet center.

Both of you hissed at the sensation.

“L-like this….”

Spreading your legs a little wider, you pushed his fingers until they brushed against your nub. Your back arched at the sudden sting of pleasure.

He caught on quickly, beginning to rub circles. You ground against his hand, revelling in the wantonness of your actions. Enough with decorum. Enough with following the rules. You wanted him.

You wanted your husband.

“Roboute, faster!” 

He obeyed. And you writhed, no longer recognizing the sounds that came out of your mouth. You heard only his deep, panting breaths against your shoulder. You felt only his fingers against you. Nothing else mattered.

As you leaned back against him, you felt something hard against your rear. You’d felt it before, when he held you down atop his desk. Without hesitation, you rubbed against it, and he let out a strangled growl.

“Yessss….”

His hips began to move. Even as he rubbed you, his massive hand also pressed you back against him. You felt him hard and hot through his tunic. And big. So big. It should have frightened you.

Instead you felt the tension inside you grow tighter. 

“Roboute, I… I…!”

“Give it to me.” He snarled. “Only to me.”

The tension snapped. You opened your mouth, but no words came. Your vision went white. 

Hot and wet and so so good…!

The sudden sting of teeth in your shoulder. A muffled roar. Scalding liquid against your lower back.

And then all was soft, melting warmth. You went limp, and he caught you against him. You felt the swelling of his chest, the thunder of his double heartbeat.

“My love…mine….” He turned your boneless body until you looked up into his sweat-streaked face. “Forgive me.”

You snuggled into his chest. “There’s nothing to forgive, my husband.”

He shuddered at your words. “My beautiful little wife.”

For a moment you stayed there, keeping the outside world at bay.

“Just a little while longer, Roboute.” You whispered. “And then I’ll never leave you again.”

***

Guilliman remembered your words as he watched the transport depart. In the end, only one of his Ultramarines had gone with you. The ship your cousin sent simply couldn’t fit any more.

He hadn’t been surprised when Tarchus volunteered for the duty. He believed, in his own way, the Ultramarine had grown rather fond of you in the past few weeks. And the man was capable. He’d keep you safe.

Still, what I would not give to be the one at her side.

The previous night with you in his arms had been an indescribable joy. Whatever the Ecclesiarchy might have to say on the matter, you were bound to him now. Even if he hadn’t had you fully. Not yet.

He had plans for that. Some customs he couldn’t quite bring himself to disregard. Such as the matter of a ring.

“Roboute, it’s beautiful!” You’d gasped as he slipped the gold and sapphire band on your finger.

“And long overdue. It belonged to my mother, one of the few things I have left of her.”

Your eyes had widened. “Are you sure-?

“I am.” He’d smiled down at you. “She would have liked you, I think.”

“I’ll treasure it.”

“I have added one thing.”

He’d shown you the device embedded inside the band. “Captain Takahashi graciously gave me this. I intend to take my fleet to the asteroid belt her star maps show lies just beyond your system. If you need me, press the largest gem in the ring. A beacon will activate.”

He’d grasped your chin, ensuring you looked into his eyes. “And I will come for you.”

He would, he vowed. Even if he had to carry you off like the barbarian warlord your people thought him to be.

“My Lord,” one of the baseline crew suddenly spoke up, “something’s happening.”

His eyes never left the departing transport. “Yes?”

“One of their fighters seems to be malfunctioning. It is moving erratically.”

“More power to the forward void shields.” Captain Sicarius barked.

A tiny ship, smaller than a Thunderhawk, appeared in the corner of Guilliman’s eye. It twisted and bucked as if the pilot had gone mad. And yet….

The crewman continued. “If it keeps its current course, it will not impact any Imperial ships, my lord.”

A horrible revelation flashed through Guilliman’s mind. “Fire on that ship!”

“My lord?”

“Now!” He lunged toward the hangar opening, as if he could reach out and strike the ship down himself. “NOW.”

He heard the crewmen frantically issuing vox orders, and yet knew they wouldn’t matter. It was too late.

The fighter screamed toward your transport.

“No.”

Your pilot must have seen the threat. He jerked the ship away, but the fighter followed.

“NO.”

Impact.

Guilliman dropped to his knees as all the light left in his life went out.

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As always, comment if you'd liked to be added to the Taglist.

[ellesthots]

Fateful Beginnings

I. “the club within the club”

read on AO3 🦇 taglist 📣

parts: next

plot: Bruce Wayne is an angsty mess and you get thrown right into his tornado when you accidentally discover his secret identity.

pairing: battinson!bruce wayne x fem!reader

cw: 18+ MATURE! NSFW! canon-typical violence, slow burn, enemies to lovers, angst (with a happy ending!), fluff, hurt/comfort, forced proximity, eventual smut, mutual pining, dual POV, Bruce Wayne needs a hug, mental health issues (psychosis, suicidality), substance use, blackmail (or is it?), serious health issues, grief, brief mention of sa (does not occur), gaslighting, torture

words: 2.4k

a/n: this is my first fic i’ve posted to tumblr and ao3, very excited to see how people like it ✨ same user on ao3 :) comments and reblogs are so appreciated! 💖 'the batman' and 'the penguin' are canon in this fic <3 i'll do warnings at the front ends of chapters when there's potential for the penguin spoilers, and for any of the more intense cw!

"I haven't turned in the assignment yet, I'm so sorry," you fumbled with your book and it slipped forward on the desk. Already a week late, the assignment was to write a piece on happenings around the city—the city was used loosely, because it was school policy to not require students in the field for assignments. You never lingered on what might have caused the rule to be enforced.

Dr. Vry was usually the picture of impatience, but not now. Though you couldn’t see the ‘journalistic prodigy’ frame she placed you in, she had a soft spot for you. Late work, stained sweatpants and haphazardly-stapled papers didn’t exactly scream talented, but you wouldn’t complain with your grade hanging in the balance. While you’d done well in the intro courses, more complex material left you struggling. She would say it was all in your head.

You’d never been great at people, though you’d tried—even going so far as to major in them. Four years of sociology had left you still tripping over yourself. You’d wanted to pivot with your last few credits, but were unaware how much grief taking journalism electives would cause. 

"You’re overthinking it." The professor gently shook her head, her salt and pepper hair unmoving in the slick bun. "I'll extend it until the end of next week. After that it's out of my hands!" 

With that (and a thousand thanks), you hurried out of class with your book squeezed tightly to your chest. Thank god, you thought. Can’t fail my last term.

Evening rain pounded your tiny apartment window as you nibbled at leftover takeout. The Family Meal was a steal you were too broke to ignore, even if the chow mein became a bit chewy for your tastes at day three. With your free hand you texted Mar, but knew she was out clubbing. How the hell she’d managed an early graduation with her social life was beyond you. How you’d landed in her orbit when you transferred, and that she’d accepted you as a friend, was an even greater mystery. 

Less of a mystery after endless nights sharing said Family Meal amidst midnight reruns, but nevertheless.

You stared at your dry phone for a few seconds, letting your mind numb against the backdrop of the ever-present monsoon of Gotham. Companionship was a dream long forgotten; the sting of loneliness here was too great, and since you planned to leave the second that degree slipped into your hands, it was no use forging new connections. 

Mar had snuck her way into a crack in the first few months of your arrival. Back when you thought you might find something here; back before you were proven wrong, and you’d given up on this godforsaken city. Leaving everything behind hadn’t filled the void, but you couldn’t accept that it might’ve deepened it. 

Mar didn't usually respond but tonight, she did.

Get your ass to the club! I miss you.

You chuckled a little at the idea of getting all ready to be sweaty in a room full of strangers. 

No thanks, have fun!

Within a second she’d disliked your message and sent another: You'll find more inspo here than in your studio. I'm sending a taxi, be ready in 10

You groaned and threw the phone down. It nearly fell off the couch entirely, forcing a wince. Ugh. A club? On a Friday? 

Men in Gotham were nasty, taking every opportunity to get something from a woman. Plastered across downtown were blistered posters with a faded number to report drink tampering. You should have expected as much with the city's reputation, but coming from a small town left you naive with hope many didn’t deserve. 

The day's exhaustion had worn your resolve and the longer you thought about her text, the closer you were to giving in. More inspiration... she might be right. Stifling a sigh, you glanced around your empty walls and noted the waning light outside. 

Fine, only for an hour.

You reluctantly walked to your closet to pick your outfit, bemoaning the night ahead. 

Fifteen minutes later, you found yourself shivering under your apartment patio in a dark mini dress. Mascara and gloss had been the only options, because you’d thought your driver might actually be on time. 

Staring out at flashing headlights threatened a migraine, so you whipped out your phone and logged onto Scypher, a Gotham-area social platform. Mar teased that you were an adrenaline junkie with how often you stalked the ‘Crime’ tab, occasionally grabbing your phone “to see if the loading screen burned in yet”.

Pretty empty. Some car vandalisms, a fire likely caused by some teens with too much time on their hands. Hmm. As unease pricked your skin, you reminded yourself that this was good, this was great. Wouldn’t want to go out during a crime surge. 

You looked up as you heard a tire tempt the curb. The driver called your name, and you slunk into the backseat. The leather was cold, rough, and generally uninviting. Classic Gotham.

The drive was quick, passing clubs practically on every corner. When he pulled up to one of the most elite clubs in the city, cold flashed through you. “I’m sorry, my friend must have given you the wrong directions—”

"It’s correct." He was stern, and when you started taking out cash, he waved a dismissive hand toward you. "Your friend already paid." 

Flustered, and frankly confused he hadn't sneakily accepted double payment, you staggered out. He barely waited for the door to shut before slamming the gas. Mar would get an earful.

The line wasn't too long, so you fell into step behind a few people laughing hysterically. On instinct, your eyes dropped first to their hands—empty—then their pockets—green. Tinfoil. Right. Dropheads. Harmless, but annoying in their glassy-eyed, inconsiderate bliss. Why couldn’t they popularize a drug that made you quiet and subdued, not screeching outside apartment buildings in the middle of the night?

You paused, the harsh reflection of your frown in an oil-slicked puddle challenging your cynicism. At least they were happy, too busy enjoying themselves to notice the stranger scowling behind. What would that be like to be completely out of your own mind? 

God, it seemed like a fucking vacation.

The line moved fast so you didn't have time to find an excuse to leave. You held out your card to the burly, tall bouncer who gave you a once-over and a smirk. Sexual harassment this time, or being denied entry for an out of state ID? No one moved to this city. No one but you. 

He handed your things back, and held out a hand for the club fee. Shit. A nervous look over his shoulder displayed a menacingly-Sharpie’d sign requiring $50 entry, and you managed three crumpled twenties from the bottom of your bag. He smiled, yanking open the rusty door for you. “No change.”

Well, guess I'm eating ramen this week.

Your ears began ringing the second you entered the club, glass-shatteringly loud speakers shoving the bass into your organs. People were packed in like sardines, and before you could even muster a thought you were grabbed fast from behind.

"Y/n!!!" Mar wrapped you in a hug while you tried to steady yourself. 

"Shit, Mar,"

"You look SO good! Fuck yeah!" She smiled and smacked your ass as she led you towards the stairs. You hadn't gotten much of a look, but her eyes looked bleary, inflamed. Not damning enough to call out, not with the beams of red stage lights flooding the dance floor.

"I met some guys that got us a lounge!" 

She was giggling, but you pulled away. You'd already been sufficiently creeped on by the bouncer, and longed for the sweet relief of your bed. "I thought this was a girl's night,"

"C'mon babe, relax!" A green hunk of tinfoil fell from her pocket when she whipped around. When you yanked your hand back, frustrated, she peeked over her shoulder like a guilty dog. It made you soften, but not by much. 

"MAR." You bent down to pick up the litter just as a man came up behind. One press of his hips to your torso made you recoil at the intrusion, and you spun around to shove him away. 

“Don’t fucking touch me!” A bit of his drink spilled on your side, and you grit your teeth. By this time Mar had stepped up, always a willing wingman. 

"Hey, don't fuck with a woman like that, bitch!"

BAMBAMBAMBAM. 

Impossibly loud, impossibly close popping noises whipped through the crowd like gunshots. All hell broke loose. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. They were. It was. Fuck.

You grabbed the railing to pull your shaky legs to the exit when body after body rammed into you, leaving you stuck. Suddenly a kid again, ducking to your knees under the desk, shoving your hands over your head during drills. Crouched now, you wondered what the fuck a hand would do against a bullet. A cool wave of helplessness traveled your spine as someone’s knee knocked your skull against the stairwell in their escape.

The gunshots inched closer, closer, egging on your heart rate, curdling your thoughts sour. I shouldn’t have come. I don’t want to die. I shouldn’t be here. I should’ve stayed. What the fuck am I doing? Where is she? Is she dead? I’m going to fucking die, I’m going to fucking die.

You drew a shaky breath that was too loud for comfort, and forced your mind to clear for just a few seconds. What was the easiest place to hit? Images of autoplayed video after autoplayed video swirled your thoughts, trying desperately to parse which position those that survived all those mass shootings had been laying in. What had all those survivors said? What the hell had kept them alive? Luck? Silence? Luck and silence.

A rapid increase in gunfire made you shriek despite your survival instincts. One would fly through the railing, you just knew it. You knew it, you knew it, you knew, why hadn’t you stayed in bed, you’d never shit on your apartment again, you’d live and breathe and die there, no, you’d die right here, right fucking here—

Silence. 

Sweat beaded your entire body as it electrified with adrenaline; you squeezed your eyes shut, shoving yourself against the side of the stairwell in an attempt to make your body as compact as possible. The rough concrete texture burrowed into your arm as you jammed harder, harder, harder… I could be dead with just one bullet.

Before more morbid thoughts could form, you yelped as you felt your body being lifted and slung over someone's shoulder. Something was hard and slick against your stomach, and the world whizzed around you when you dared look around. The arm that held you was so strong you couldn’t slip out if you tried. Relief coated you as the chill of Gotham’s night air hit your cheeks. 

Short-lived was the relief, as a new panic settled in alongside it. Though you were fully removed from the chaos, the man wasn’t letting you go. 

An elbow was the first thing you tried, but it nearly had you choking on tears as it scraped against unforgiving material. Were they armored? 

You tensed your abs and fought to roll out of his grip. Nothing. Nothing but a grunt from the man holding you, but you couldn’t even begin to isolate the voice while your ears rang with tinnitus. 

So you shouted and wriggled, screaming “Let me GO!” until the cows came home. Or until he let you down, whichever came first.

"Stop fighting." A low, gravelly voice spoke hot against your ear, punctuated by a hard flop of your ribs digging into the edge of his shoulder. Bruises were evidence of struggle, something this dipshit probably wasn’t thinking about. You heaved a breath in preparation of another flop, but it wasn’t needed. 

Without warning the man released his grasp and you slid off, landing squarely in a puddle. If this was an EMT, they needed more training and identifiable clothing. Black on black made him hard to focus on, but the shock of a pale jaw knocked the wind right out of you. 

The Batman. 

“Oh, uh,” the tornado of panic relaxed ever so slightly, and a sliver of shame crept in. “Sorry.” You felt bad for thinking of all the ways to immobilize him, from a kick in the crotch to digging your nails into his eyeballs. 

He stood there long enough for reality to seep in. One, that you were safe, and two, that you hadn’t been. You’d finally found yourself in the crossfire and unless a dozen people died, it wouldn’t even make the news. Maybe you needed to leave before graduation.

“Turn around.”

Batman’s sharp tone burst through your reverie, and you spun around instantaneously. His word was good as gospel. In your year and a half here, a few of your classmates had spoken of being saved one time or another. “He never sticks around. Gone as quick as he comes. Thank god for him.” It was instinctual to trust him, like reaching for water on a hot day.

And his voice brooked no argument. 

The back of your head lit up in flaming pain. The edges of his gloves caught on some hair strands, and you gasped. “You need stitches.” 

A screen lit up on his arm when he stepped back. Your vision blurred at the edges, eyes watering from the pain. "Victim with head wound on Feller and Kelley." 

Head wound. Better than a fucking bullet to the chest. Never before had you swooned over the thought of a needle snaking through your scalp. You sighed out a thank you, half-wondering if he planned to carry you to whomever he’d called. You couldn’t tell for sure, vision much too hazy, but he might’ve nodded. 

In a blink, the masked man was halfway down the alley. Just when he turned out of view, police lights illuminated the space, flashing off the balmy brick. You swallowed hard, letting the shock wash through you. Part of a fucking shooting. Saved by the Batman.

And you hadn't gotten a good look at him.

[kiryoutann]

Before reading, please check series masterlist to read the warning(s), disclaimer, and to make sure you’re on the right chapter. Minors do NOT interact.

If you enjoy this, you can buy me a Ko-fi :) Likes, reblogs, and comments are greatly appreciated!

The decision to start your busy day with a 20-ounce coffee from the local coffee shop instead of your usual brew bites you in the ass as you hunch over in one of the bathroom stalls ten minutes before rehearsal begins. It exacerbates the already twisting sensation of your period cramps, sending a cold sweat down your temples. But it’s not like you have a choice—it’s only a week until the big performance, and you really need that extra boost to get through the day.

Knowing hands reach into the duffel bag at your feet, searching for the familiar edges of your phone. Pulling it out, the screen comes to life, unimportant notifications displayed. The clock revealed you only had five minutes left before you needed to leave.

You open the text app, not expecting anything really—you always know if he’s texted or not. The last few messages between you had all been initiated by you – a thank you, a hopeful “Hope you’re doing okay.” But his replies remained void, the "delivered" text staring back at you, mocking your attempts to reach out.

Switching to the “Find My” app, you searched for your other device. The last known location, before the device probably ran out of battery, was somewhere outside of London—a different city. A simple Google search reveals it to be a street lined with pubs and apartments, and his consistent coordinates say that’s where he lived.

This means you’ll have to wait a little longer for him.

Without further thought, you put your phone away, shouldering your duffel bag then. The reflection in the mirror greets you as you exit the stall, following your movements as you neatly arrange the loose strands of hair that had escaped your bun.

Just as you are about to turn away, the sound of a stall door clicking open catches your attention. Through the mirror, you meet Claudine's gaze, her lips automatically pulling into a smirk.

“Well, well, if it isn’t the ‘Miss Robot Queen’ herself,” she drawled as she sidled up next to you to wash her hands. You watched her, biting the inside of your cheek like you always do when you’re holding back words stuck in your throat. “How’s practice going, hm? The show’s in a week, you know.”

Shame crept up on you, threatening to consume you before suddenly giving way to something new—something that shifted inside you. The sensation was foreign—a burn that seemed to emanate from the center of your chest, radiating outwards. Your knuckles paled as you clenched your fists. The words turned sour, irritating your tonsils and—

You felt the urge to spit them out. At Claudine.

The woman carelessly tossed her paper towel into the bin. Looking in the mirror again, looking at you. “Break a leg, prima ballerina.” She blew you a mocking kiss, then walked towards the door to leave the bathroom.

“If it’s true what you said,”

Your voice echoed through the four walls, stopping Claudine in her tracks. Turning to face her, she did the same but looking quite shocked, for reasons unknown.

“If it’s true what you said, that I’m just a ‘robot ballerina’… then what does that make you?”

How uncharacteristic of those words to come out of your mouth. Claudine could hardly believe it—she continued to furrow her brows in disbelief as she tried to make sense of it all. A flicker of uncertainty crossing her features as she processed your bold sentence. Were you expecting silence instead, Claudine? Like before?

And then, there it is—hurt laid bare beneath just one thin layer of her skin, her insecurities swimming to the surface. For someone who constantly underestimated you, she was a fragile one. If the roles were reversed, she wouldn't have survived for nearly as long as you had.

Claudine tried to gather her composure, playing the tough girl, but her efforts were derailed as her breath began to stutter. “D-Do you think you’re all that now? Just because you got the role, you think you can talk to me like that?” Listen to that; even your voice is shaking.

“Do you always think you’re all that? Is that why you act the way you do?”

There was a crack in Claudine’s scoff. She pulled her lips into what she attempted to be a mocking smile, but the single tear that fell acted as a contrast. Hastily, she wiped it away, taking a heaving breath.

"Don't you know?" she started. “They made me your alternate. So if something happens to you, I'll be the one dancing as the Swan Queen.”

Everything went abruptly silent.

Alternate? What did she mean by ‘alternate’? You knew what an alternate was—you knew there was always an alternate. But why Claudine? Why did it have to be Claudine? It felt like a betrayal, but you also knew it was part of the norm. But they could have chosen someone else—Mary, Sophia, or anyone else who wasn’t Claudine. All this time, she had been waiting, hoping for you to falter, to fail—just so she could swoop in and claim the role that you had worked so hard for.

If anything happens to you, she’ll be the Swan Queen.

If anything happens to you.

“There won’t be anything happening,” you say, voice full of conviction as if the future is already guaranteed. “I can make sure of that.”

Without waiting for a reply, you snatched up your things and walked past her. The door slams behind you, drawing the curious gazes of other dancers who lined the walls. You lengthened your strides to reach the rehearsal room.

You push open the door, greeted by the familiar sound of the piano and the director’s voice guiding the corps de ballet. Henri notices the new arrival, turning his gaze to you.

“Ah, here’s our Swan Queen!” He exclaims, clapping his hands to gain everyone’s attention. “Let’s take our places!”

Swallowing hard, you try to calm your pounding heart. The other dancers start running to take their places, tutus swaying like water lilies. The pianist turns the sheet music to the front page. You take a deep breath before approaching.

Yes, you thought to yourself.

I am the Swan Queen.

The dark, dramatic notes of Black Swan Coda fill the air as you launch into the 32 fouettés. You continue to stretch your extension, fixing your eyes on one spot to anchor your spinning. The burn in your calf muscles intensifies, but you must keep going.

As the music comes to a close, you end the sequence with a finishing pose. The rehearsal crew erupts into thunderous applause, but you barely register any of that as you collapse to the floor, body succumbing to the cramps. You let out a hiss of pain, your fingers digging into the taut muscle.

“Are you alright?” Henri’s French-accented voice rings out as he approaches you.

You nod, brushing him off with a wave of your hand. “Just cramps.”

Henri regarded you for a moment, a faint frown on his forehead, before nodding slightly. “Okay, you take a break then. The rest of you, let’s take 10 and we’ll continue!”

The rest of the crew dispersed to their respective breaks, leaving the once bustling rehearsal room in a comfortable silence. You gently massaged your calves, trying to loosen the tense muscles underneath. Turning to the empty seats, you thought of the plush velvet version of it—the one in the grand hall where you would perform. In your mind, you had imagined those seats occupied by an eager audience, the balconies filled with those who had been fans of this kind of spectacle since their youth.

In the audience, there will be the dancers’ families and lovers—which means yours too. You’re sure your mother won’t be there, but Simon will be, just as he promised.

Making your way to where your duffel bag is, you sit down right next to the mirror. You reach for your water bottle, gulping it, closing your eyes as the cool liquid washes down your parched throat.

Untying the ribbons of your pointe shoes, you couldn’t help but hiss as the satin brushed against your skin. The relentless hours of practice, classes, and rehearsals revealed results you thought you’d grown accustomed to over the years—peeling skin, friction blisters on your pinky toes, the once-fresh Band-Aid now worn.

Rummaging through your duffel bag, you retrieve the burn pads, carefully peeling off the adhesive backing and applying them around the worst one. The cool, soothing sensation against your skin was a welcome relief; the throbbing ache numbed. You grab the duct tape, wrapping it around to secure everything in place while also effectively substituting for toe pads. Satisfied, you slipped back into your pointe.

Rehearsal resumed in ten, just as Henri promised.

And you’re home by eight.

The door closed with a heavy thud behind you, the familiar sound of mud crunching under your shoes as you stepped out onto the wet streets. But your attention was focused solely on the lifeless notification of your cellphone; your fingers scrolled through your unanswered messages.

Still nothing from Simon.

You type another text: “Simon, it's been weeks. I'm starting to get worried. Are you okay?” and hit send. Both frustration and worry start to color your brain. Is he busy? Didn't he read your messages? Or is he ignoring you on purpose? But everything is fine even after he drops you off—no arguments, nothing. Did he lose his phone, then? Is he in trouble, trapped, or being held hostage—

Stop. You've watched too many movies.

But now that you think about it—about the possibilities of why he hasn’t responded to any of your messages or even given any sign that he’s alive—your chest tightens.

Where are you, Simon?

The sound of raucous laughter from a group of men nearby causes you to shove your phone back into your coat pocket. Quickening your pace, you make your way down the familiar route to the subway. You went down the stairs with the sound of your boots stomping. The rumble of the approaching train echoed through the station, and you stepped onto the car, sinking into an empty seat.

Leaning your head back against the cool window, you feel the weight of exhaustion settle over you. Your calves ache, and your shoulders pop as you roll them. You know better than to close your eyes from fear of missing your stop, but everything feels heavy.

Where are you, Simon?

Lately, the days have been a blur, like a hazy dream you're not really a part of. When tomorrow turns into today, you go on with your routine based only on muscle memory that's been forged over the years.

Learning from your mistakes, you go back to your usual brew – two teaspoons of instant coffee. Sitting at the dining table, you gather your wits, letting your body adjust to the morning chill. Once you’ve reached the bottom of your cup, you stand up, make a beeline to the bathroom, and turn on the shower. Stepping out, you slip into your tights before sitting on your yoga mat and starting to stretch.

You bent forward, fingertips brushing the floor as you stretched your hamstrings. Holding the pose, you focus on your breathing rhythm, feeling the expansion of your lungs and the gentle pull in your spine before releasing and transitioning into the next movement.

Taking a deep breath, you raise your arms high, feeling the tension in your waist and—ding!

You quickly snatch your phone, hoping, praying, that it was finally Simon. But as you stared at the screen, your hopes were dashed; it was from a fast food restaurant promoting their latest deal. Not a message from Simon. Your chat room is still the same as you left it yesterday, the day before that, and the weeks that preceded it. No message from Simon, again. The same absence greeted you. Again.

The big performance is just a matter of days away. On that day, all the hard work, the fruits of your practices, all the blood, sweat, and tears that dripped will be unveiled on the prestigious opera stage that you've always dreamed of dancing on as a prima ballerina. You have grown out of the corps—in this Swan Lake, you will be Odette. You will be Odile. Her 32 fouettés will be yours. But—

But, why?

Simon didn’t reply to your text. Is he not coming? Does that promise mean nothing to him? Was it just one he knew he would break, but he gave it to you anyway because it was the least he could do to a woman he just had sex with?

No, why would you think of him that way? You berate the voice in your head. He always comes back in the end, so stop saying that about him.

The need to satisfy the nagging uncertainty inside you was overwhelming, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you typed out a new message. It didn't matter if it ended up sitting unread among the pile of unseen messages. The important thing was it was out there, that you had sent it. He would read it once he was done with whatever occupied his time.

As you hit send, the whoosh! sound of the message being sent is heard. Just as you’re about to put your phone back down and continue stretching, a small icon pops up next to the green chat bubble. A red exclamation mark in a circle.

“Not Delivered” is displayed underneath.

Your eyes darted frantically to the top of the screen, taking in the full signal bars and the indication that your service was working properly. So what happened? Why isn't it delivered? The questions swim around like restless organisms at the forefront of your mind. Gluing your eyes to the screen until it hurts, you keep waiting, hoping, praying that the status would change. But that dreaded exclamation mark remains, mocking you, taunting you with its presence.

Why? Why wasn’t it going through? Had something happened to Simon? Was he okay?

You tried to rationalize it. If it's not from you, it's definitely from his side then. Maybe he had wandered into an area with poor reception, or he had traveled somewhere with spotty service. Yes, that had to be it. Isn't that what military wives are always complaining about?

Despite knowing that wasn’t how it worked, you persisted. It was always easy to turn away from reality. Not the first time you’d settled for the comfort of a ruse.

Putting your phone aside, you demanded your focus return to your stretching routine. You tried to push the "Not Delivered" notification to the back of your mind where you could avoid facing it. But a girl in love could only do so much—to pretend it wasn’t forming a hole in your skull, questions forcing their way in despite the lack of answers.

Hours later, you find yourself back in the same rehearsal room, with the same Black Swan coda playing in the background. Your muscles burned with the strain of the same 32 fouettés, but you kept going, kept pushing yourself because that’s all you knew.

Because you are the Swan Queen.

You are the Swan Queen, and yet you’re slipping away. Your body moved through the steps, but your mind was a million miles away. In the background, Henri’s voice is almost drowned out by the orchestra—but the second time, he screams louder. Both fall on deaf ears. He screams about how you’ve fallen into the same old hole—

But you're not sure which one he means: your soulless dancing—the robot ballerina making her comeback once again—or your bad habit of tightening your grip on something you can’t keep?

Each spin, each leap, each extension of your limbs should be proof of how far you’ve come. But this? This looks like a restart—Henri lets out a ragged breath.

The piano stops playing. The whole room is silent.

You know you should be worried—your heart should be pounding in dread of what he has in store. Henry is going to orchestrate public humiliation against you in front of your fellow dancers and crew members, but then again, you can’t find it in yourself to blame him. In fact, he has every right to be. He has risked so much for this play, only to have the prima ballerina he personally chose to dethrone him into the abyss.

Without a word, Henri waved his hand, and the crew knew to immediately clear the room. They shuffled out, some in relief for the sudden short break, some casting curious glances over their shoulders, probably eager to witness your downfall.

But you felt nothing. Just this dull, numb sensation that almost made you unable to feel your own heartbeat. Even when you knew you should be scared of Henri’s berating or even the threat that he would replace you with someone else, you felt nothing.

Henri stepped closer, his brows furrowed in anger. “Qu'est-ce qui ne va pas? C'était quoi ce bordel?!” What’s wrong? What the fuck was that?! he demanded, the French coming out thick and heavy. “You were doing so well! The play is tomorrow and you’re falling apart!” He threw his hands up in exasperation, fingers tangling through his salt-and-pepper hair.

“GET YOUR SHIT TOGETHER!! We can’t afford to lose, not now! Not when we’re so close!”

Something inside you suddenly snapped into focus. Your eyes widened as a realization fell.

So close. After all this time—all that you two went through—you couldn't afford to lose him now. Not when you two are so close to being together, to finally have a chance. You couldn't afford to lose him now.

After the disastrous rehearsal, you waste no time. You are already on your phone, searching for Simon's name before pressing the call button. With heart pounding in anticipation, you waited, but it wasn't a long wait until a voice answered.

A voice that wasn't Simon's.

“We’re sorry; the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

Instantly, the numbness lifted before it all crashed. Your heart plummeted to the pit of your stomach, and you felt something acidic creeping up your throat, threatening to choke you. Hands trembling, you lowered the phone, staring at the screen in disbelief. This couldn’t be happening. There had to be some mistake.

You quickly dialed the number again, praying it was just an error—a temporary disconnection that you’ve been having problems with since this morning.

“We’re sorry; the number you are trying to reach is no longer in service.”

The world around you seemed to tilt and sway. Pain coursed through the back of your neck, making its home in the nape of your neck. Taking ragged breaths, your mind raced as you tried to make sense of it all.

What happened?

The ache reaches the back of your head, and you reach up to grasp the tight bun that contained your hair. Your rough grip undoing the pins in one pull. You grab a fistful of your strands and yank, hoping to relieve the tension.

What happened? You keep asking yourself. The unanswered message, the failed one.. And now, the number was out of service? Your heart pounded in fear, a thousand scenarios playing through your mind. What happened?

Did something happen to him?

Was he on deployment, and the worst had happened?

Had he been hurt, or worse?

Simon has been an enigma since the moment you met. But not this, don’t let this be. Please, I need you to be okay. I can’t lose you, not now, please.

Crouching on the side of a London street, you don’t even notice the headlights of the cars that blind you. To the casual observer, it would look like you had become enamored with the stone pavement beneath your feet. But in reality, you’re just trying to slow down time, to find your footing once again, to stop the torrent of thoughts racing through your head.

But time waits for no one, as they say. And before you knew it, tomorrow turned into today, just as it had before. Now, on the big day, standing on the stage, you stare at that lonely, empty chair that had been reserved for your special audience.

Simon Riley.

The Swan Queen dances, but looks more like a ghost trapped in a body operating solely on muscle memory. The leaps, the extensions, even the infamous Black Swan 32 fouettes—they all feel mechanical. As if danced by…

A soulless ballerina.

But it doesn’t matter, right? Not when someone has made a promise to see you perform, only for them to not show up. Even when the show is over (and you survived Henri’s berating, saying that it can’t go on like this—“we’re replacing you.”), all you find is your failure.

Your failure in finding him.

Your failure in—

(Why did you let that man walk away?)

No, you insisted, he didn't walk away. Something must've happened to him—something that was keeping him away from me. He wouldn't... he wouldn't have just disappeared, not when he knew how much I needed him, not when we're so perfect for each other.

Not when he promised you.

But you also know that promises are the easiest to break. Besides, this wasn't the first time, was it? Something similar happened a long time ago.

Where are you, Simon?

Where. Are. You?

Here you are.

Surrounded by unfamiliar buildings in an even more unfamiliar city. A city outside of London. The location coordinates were given by your other phone before the battery died.

A city where Simon is likely to be.

Realistically speaking, this is a shot in the dark. A wild guess you've made based on the screenshot of the "Find Me" app and the address you googled. There’s no guarantee that he lives in one of those buildings like you assumed—there’s no guarantee that by setting foot here, you’ll meet him.

However, a girl in love is nothing but hopeful. Too hopeful, sometimes. And you cling to that like a lifeline—praying there will be a clue leading you to him.

As you emerge from the train station, the fresh air greets your face, a welcome change from the stuffy confines of the underground. Glancing down at your phone, you re-read the address, eyes following the arrow on the map that gauges the distance between your current position and your destination. You start walking, navigating the unfamiliar sidewalks.

You sweep your gaze across the faces of the passerby, heart beating in hope—in desperation to find a familiar face, to catch a glimpse of Simon among the sea of strangers.

The outcome proved to be consistent with the weeks that preceded it—nothing. Doubts begin to take root, seeking an abode within you to poison your thoughts. Maybe this is all just a stupid chase—one that won't yield anything no matter how deep you dig.

Then, your eyes land on the quaint little café—the very same one you had seen on Google. It’s striking enough, perfect for a guidepost that could lead you to the address you’ve been searching for. With renewed determination, you know you must keep going.

You pushed through the café’s door, deciding to get your caffeine fix before continuing your mission. The aroma of freshly brewed java enveloped you, accompanied by the busy voice of the barista behind the counter. You entered the queue, sweeping your eyes over the menu board despite knowing you were only loyal to one type of drink.

“What can I get for you today?” the barista asked as soon as it was your turn.

“A large caramel macchiato, with an extra shot of espresso, please.”

The barista nodded, tapping away at the cash register. He stated your total, and you quickly fished out a few bills from your wallet and placed them on the counter. After mumbling a thank you, you stepped aside to let the next customer order.

You sat at an empty table, drumming your foot anxiously and biting your lips as you waited for your order. The jittery feeling in your stomach grew more intense with each passing second. You continued glancing down at your phone, at this point expecting nothing, but doing it for the sake of acting busy.

Taking a deep breath, you try to still the trembling in your hands. You turned your gaze to the window—

And your heart nearly stopped.

There, parked on the street, was the very car you’d been in multiple times. It was the car Simon drove to the countryside when you went to Sabrina’s wedding. The same car that drove you home before he disappeared into thin air.

You pause for a moment but don’t take your eyes off it—a lurking fear that if you do, it will evaporate like a daydream. But the car is still there. Real. You feel your palms begin to sweat.

What started as a wild guess—a wild, aimless chase—now seemed to be bearing fruit. Simon’s car was parked right there, which means there’s a good chance he’s somewhere around here. Even if he isn’t, then at the very least, this is a neighborhood he frequents—a high-probability location to find him.

You can almost see him now. The black woven polypropylene mask he often wears, beneath it a smile he tries to hide but the wrinkles at the corners of his eyes always give it away. Maybe he's clad in the leather jacket he usually wears. Is he upstairs in one of the apartments, just out of sight? Does he really live around here?

If you do bump into him, will he suspect you—see through your lies? Or will he think it’s a coincidence—a meeting planned by the universe? Signs that you were truly meant for him.

Signs that you’re perfect for each other. Soulmates.

A voice called your name, snapping you back to reality. You realized it was the barista; you quickly got up and collected your drink with a grateful nod. Looking back out the window, the car was still there. Waiting for you.

What had started as a simple to-go order quickly transformed into a leisurely sip as you found yourself sitting at a table outside. You settled in, trying to blend in without seeming suspicious with the other patrons—some reading, others tapping away on their laptops, and a few chatting with their friends over their coffee and baked goods.

Time and again, your gaze drifts back to the car. You study it intently, as if looking for a difference—for it to reveal secrets to you. Perhaps Simon would emerge from one of the buildings, or he might even stroll to this café. Is he a regular here too?

The temptation to survey the area grows stronger with each passing second. But you resist the urge, knowing full well that such a bold move could backfire. What would you say if you ran into Simon? Coincidence is one thing, but running into him in his own apartment?

Hours ticked by. The patrons around you came and went; you stayed, your body still angled at that car. You finished your coffee but refused to give up your post. Despite your waiting, there was still no sign of Simon.

The sky was getting darker, probably close to dinner time—you confirmed this after checking the time on your phone. A rational part of you knew that you should leave, at least to get something to eat instead of subsisting solely on caffeine. But you denied yourself. What if he shows up when I leave?

If you leave now, you might lose your chance—the scattered clues and breadcrumbs you’ve been trying to scavenge for the past few weeks. All of this would be nothing again, and what are you supposed to do if that were the case?

The barista pushes open the door of the cafe, collecting the empty cups from the table across from you. He turns, then pauses. Something about you brings pity into his expression, and he offers if you’d like him to bring you something to eat. You accept the offer, order a plate of Danish pastry, and pay and tip.

Another two hours of waiting, and the hope in you begins to fade. You sank deeper into your chair, staring at the empty cup of your second coffee that had gone cold. Maybe you should just call it a night. There's a hotel just a few blocks away—you can settle in there, get some rest, and pray the phantom himself will make his long-awaited appearance the next day.

You begin to gather your things, making sure everything is in your bag. Standing up, you tighten your coat, preparing to leave.

A movement caught your eye.

Across the street—right in front of the building where the car was parked, a movement made you stop in your tracks. You waited for confirmation.

A tall, familiar shadow emerged, and your breath caught. The car lights flickered—the figure is unlocking it and preparing to get in. Your heart throbs both in excitement and trepidation. And then, just as another car passed by, its headlights illuminated the man’s face.

Simon looks exactly the same as he had the last time you saw him.

As if he had never been away, never disappeared. As if he had gotten up in the morning, gone about his day, and fallen asleep peacefully at night, and all of this anguish and turmoil was one-sided-

Simon’s car engine roared to life. Before you could process it, it started to drive away. You quickly hailed the nearest taxi, hastily climbing inside. The driver was about to open his mouth, but you beat him to it by pointing at the car in front and commanding, "Follow that car!" He didn’t ask any questions. The cab pulled out onto the street, just two cars behind Simon’s.

And so, here you are, sitting alone in a tucked-away booth of a pub, lacking friends when everybody else meets theirs. You retrieved your compact powder, discreetly aiming it toward where Simon was seated at the bar, probably ordering his usual drink. Sweeping a quick glance around, you wonder if this is the place he haunted while vanishing from your presence.

When the bartender returned with his order, you watched them exchange a few words—a short conversation, typical Simon. The bartender left him to serve another, and Simon enjoyed the quiet alone time with a sip of the amber-brown liquid.

Simon was… well, the same. You didn’t expect these times to change a man like him, but watching his unaltered demeanor—lost in his own world, focused only on his own business—felt like a soothing balm on your longing. He was wearing the same leather jacket, but you couldn’t help but notice that his hair seemed shorter—he had recently gotten a trim.

Everything about him seemed so… unchanged, so constant, that it was almost jarring when he suddenly shifted his head and gazed at someone you hadn’t noticed before.

“’Ello, there. Mind if I sit with you?”

It was a blonde woman, lips drawn into a flirtatious smile. Your throat tightened, your heart began to race as you heard Simon’s response.

“’Course not.”

The woman beamed. Your breath hitched, yet the woman beamed, sliding onto the barstool next to him with her shoulders open—her body language inviting him in, as if whispering to him to come closer, closer, closer—and he will find a fruit sweeter, riper than—

You.

The two of them exchanged a conversation too quiet for you to hear. You pressed your spine against your booth chair, straining your ears to catch even the slightest snippet of their conversation. Simon’s words barely reached your ears, but you managed to hear his response to whatever the woman said.

“’s my usual spot.”

The woman nodded, curving her smile wider. “Well, lucky for me, then,” she purred, voice dripping with suggestive tone. “My girls ditched me, so I was hopin’ to find someone to keep me company.”

You hear him snort. From the side profile, you can see Simon smiling at her words—and it burns your chest. He raises his glass, taking a long pull of his whiskey as if he’s preparing to entertain her more. Stop. Take your eyes off her. Don’t look at her like that. Don’t look at her at all.

“’s that so?” he replied, tone laced with a hint of amusement and something else. “An' you thought I'd be the right person to come to, did you?”

“Well, I certainly ‘oped so,” she said. “You’re not married, are you?”

Simon shakes his head. “’M not married.”

She leans in a bit closer, and your fingers turn pale around your compact powder. “An’ not with anyone? Anythin’?”

Like the woman, you still your breath waiting for his answer. Perhaps he will say yes and reject her proposition entirely. Or at the very least, he will consider you to be a near-answer before responding. The air you’re holding in begins to choke you like a boa constrictor, causing your eyes to water and your lower eyelids to moisten.

Far from your expectations, Simon finds his answer quickly and without hesitation, “Nope.”

Everything in you shrinks into what it once was—nothingness. You feel yourself slowly unraveling, like a thread being pulled apart. The world around you is blurred—Simon’s reflection in the mirror of your compact powder blurred. You take a shaky breath, brow furrowed as you burn holes in the stranger you now despise so much. The liquid smooth you brought to this city has been turned into a scalding, caustic torrent, burning mercilessly even to its master.

When you came back to reality, they were both already standing, Simon closing the tab and making his way towards the backdoor with her. You turned your head, watching them disappear behind the old wood.

With all that's been presented before you, it should be enough for you to get up and walk away—to spare yourself from another twist of the knife. Somewhere within, a voice seems to whisper that you don’t need this—that you have suffered so much, that you don’t need to do this to satisfy whatever found amusement in your own heartache. That you can walk away, let him slip away if necessary.

(Why did you let that man walk away?)

But you are nothing if not obsessive. The urge to uncover the truth, to confirm everything even at the cost of your own destruction. You will push your sanity to the brink where you will find the end.

Summoning what little courage is left, you stand up and begin retracing their invisible footprints, making your way towards the backdoor. As you pushed it open, you were greeted by the sight of a dark, empty alley, with your ragged breath as the only sound.

But when you reached the other end of the alley, the silence faded away as hushed whispers and soft sounds filled the air. Alarms went off in the back of your head—it only meant one thing—but you ignored it. Instead, you slowed your steps, hiding behind the crumbling brick wall, and peeked around the corner.

There they were. Simon and the woman, locked in a deep, passionate kiss. His body pressed against hers as she wrapped her legs around his waist in a way that made your stomach churn. The hands you knew so well cupped her jaw like he did to you as he dragged his lips down her exposed neck. Just like he did to you.

A strangled sound escaped your mouth; you covered it to prevent another. You felt your eyes burning, yet you couldn’t tear your gaze away from the show. Spare me, your heart begged, yet you let your ears continue to listen to them.

The sound of a zipper being lowered cuts through the air. Simon lifted her dress, and you watched in morbid fascination as he snapped his hips forward. She lets out a loud moan. Your head throbbed, the pulsing pain matching the rapid beating of your heart. The burn inside you was almost unbearable, and you felt your breath shortening, vision blurring as you grew lightheaded.

You couldn’t bear to watch anymore. With shaking limbs, you walk away from them. The acid reaches your throat—the next second, you're hunched over, vomiting onto the cold, hard concrete.

And suddenly, everything feels like a fever dream—a repetitive loop that leaves you feeling both light and heavy. You exist, but you don't really exist; you're breathing, but you're not really breathing. The cobblestones stare back at you, their edges thickened, spreading like black blood. Beside them, your hands are shaking, and when you turn them over, you realize they’ve always been this way—open, fingers stretched to their maximum.

Like they're grasping for something out of reach.

Here you are.

Surrounded by unfamiliar buildings in an even more unfamiliar city. Yet, the hollowing abyss within you is anything but a stranger. In truth, it's probably all you've truly known throughout your entire life before you dared to believe you could become something beyond this yawning emptiness—the chasm where every ounce of love and all the things you've held dear have been mercilessly flushed away.

When you sob again, you choke. Gravel scrapes your skin as you kneel down,  resembling a devout soul pleading to the heavens. It isn't devotion that drives your supplications, but rather fear—and perhaps that's why your fervid entreaties never find an answer.

“Why did you let that man walk away?”

Change the prophecy, change the prophecy, you beg. Make him love me, let him love me.

(But, is it his love you truly seek, or simply the proof that it brings?

Or is it a bit of both?)

Surrounded by unfamiliar buildings in an even more unfamiliar city, you taste the saltiness of your own tears on your lips. Release me. Release me from this pain—from this curse. Make him love me. Prove me right, prove her wrong. All these demands, and yet, the voracious pain continues to spread like an all-consuming malady.

It gave you an open eye.

How pathetic you must’ve looked—like a crumpled, wretched thing, curled on the dirty sidewalk while Simon was still there in the alley, digging his fingers into the hips of another woman. You could almost feel it—the phantom of his touch, the sounds he used to make. You knew he would kiss her just as he had kissed you—he would make her feel good, the way he had always made you feel.

And you knew—you just knew—that she would fall for him, just as you had.

But this time, he would love her back.

Because she wasn’t you.

@strawberrygato @aprosiacperson @chipsbuttercream @arrozyfrijoles23 @pastel-devil-06 @rroseskull

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[mrsparkjimin18]

can you handle it?

🔞pairing: Tae x Reader X JK

🔞genre: Girls Night Out AU, Strangers to lovers, pure unadulterated smut, porn with little plot, threesome, party bus sex, playboys Tae and JK

🔞rating: M

🔞wordcount: 3909

⚠️chapter warnings: extremely descriptive and graphic smut scene

summary: A night out with the girls was meant to be simple fun—until a chance encounter turns the heat up. Drinks, dancing, a flirtation that goes too far… Now, the only question left is: Can You Handle It?

Being single for the last seven months has put your life into perspective; it’s pretty boring. You thought throwing yourself into your work would fill that void of loneliness, but so far you have been very wrong. 

You haven't been out with the girls in a while and the idea of a party bus sounds like the perfect Friday night. Your BFF insists the male-to-female ratio is always lit on this booze tour and she promises nobody's going home alone.

"Who says I wanna take anybody home?” you sneer, becoming instantly defensive. “Don’t assume I’m in need of a dick appointment just because I’ve been single for almost a year.”

“Nobody’s saying you have to start a whole new relationship. You just need to get yours before you explode from the stress,” she reminds her in the sweet yet patronizing tone of a best friend who doesn’t hold back.

“I get mine!” You exclaim dramatically.

“Your vibrator doesn’t count bitch. Get ready. Bus will be there in forty-five minutes.” 

She hangs up before you can protest further and you race to get ready. You take a quick shower and then decide to throw on the cute hot pink dress you purchased as a pick-me-up – you know, the one you thought you’d wear to get over him, but never did. Then you slip into your stilettos, apply light makeup and throw your hair into a messy bun.

You inspect yourself in the mirror, deciding it's good enough for a night out with the girls, since you have no intention of hooking up with anyone. You just want to live for tonight; with great music, good company, and lots of drinks. Your thought process is interrupted by a notification letting you know the bus is arriving, and you take a few deep breaths before rushing with restraint to the door.

There’s already a decent number of riders when you board, though not a single guy appeals to your taste; which is fine since you’re not interested in hooking up. But within a few stops you find yourself needing to reinforce this mantra of self imposed celibacy, when two insanely good-looking men step onto the bus and instantly catch your eye. 

You wonder if they're brothers. Both are tall and broad-shouldered, with chiseled jaws, deep brown eyes, and black hair that looks casually mussed yet perfectly coiffed at the same time. Your breath hitches as they choose to sit right across from you.

Your BFF raises an approving mischievous eyebrow in your direction that you return with a quick sneering glare. However, you’re already beginning to feel shy and exposed as both of the tantalizing men seem to eye your dangerously bare legs, making you feel as if maybe you should have dressed down for the night.

The tour stops at a few smaller pubs, giving just enough time for a couple shots and a little mingling. But you're unable to control the urge, constantly finding yourself scanning the room for the two guys from the bus. Each time you find them they seem to be staring in your direction, as if sizing you up. When you finally arrive at the last stop - one of the hottest night clubs in the area - some of the riders go their separate ways while the rest of the party heads inside to continue the night's festivities.

Bottles cover the table in the VIP, shots are passed around, and eventually the party heads to the dance floor. Your favorite song plays and your body moves to the familiar rhythm without thought. You close your eyes, letting the music flow through you - relaxing you - making you forget.

Before you know it, the two men you’ve been playing I spy with all night have you sandwiched, their hands on your hips, your bodies now moving in unison to the beat you were alone in a moment ago.

"I'm Taehyung, this is my friend, Jungkook. We noticed you noticing us,” One says confidently from where he dances behind you. “Is there something we can help you with?” he asks, pulling your body against his and letting his lips brush your ear as he speaks. 

His friend, Jungkook, notices your pupils flare in response to Taehyung's question and he moves closer, pressing his body to yours. The pressure of them against you feels so right, as if it was fate calling your name, convincing you this is what you need. 

You instantly feel your body relax between them. Melding with them as you continue to move to the music. All thoughts of your earlier mantra dissolving under their touch. Taehyung loosens his grip on your waist, and soon his hands are exploring; roaming your body, sliding across sections of bare skin not hidden by your dress, seeking to know you through touch. All the while you stare into Jungkook’s smiling, excited eyes as his friend continues his tour of your body. His expression tells you you’re beautiful, you’re sexy, you’re desired. His hungry penetrating gaze and Tae’s roaming hands transform you into the goddess you always knew was within, awaiting release.

You’re so intent on his eyes, you don’t notice Jungkook’s hand leaving your waist to join the expedition, and the sudden feel of his curious fingers trailing up your inner leg, stopping just short of your already quivering slit, makes your knees buckle. His eyes light up with increased excitement. He leans forward taking a nibble of your ear, inching his fingers into your lonely passage, opening you, releasing your essence. They move inside you as if joining in on the dance. You let out an audible sigh as he exits.

"Already wet and we haven’t even begun the fun yet," he teases, holding up his slick glistened fingers for Tae to see.

Your inner goddess shrinks back a bit in embarrassment as you quickly look around at the throng of people dancing near you. “Stop that,” you giggle nervously as you grab Jungkook’s wrist in an attempt to lower his hand from view. But he’s too strong and you have little success in moving him even an inch.

“Don’t get shy now, baby,” he purrs as he brings his wet fingers to your lips, your hand still gripping his wrist. Then his lips follow, kissing you over his fingers, your tongues meet, exploring each other’s mouths, savoring your taste.

One of Taehyung’s exploring hands slips quietly beneath the hem of your dress. He cups the supple curve of your ass, squeezing once before slowly descending in search of the treasure below. Two of his long slender fingers slide eagerly into your now quivering walls and you feel the heat of his breath on your neck as his tongue lingers up behind your ear, his lips planting a warm kiss. 

"She's definitely ready," he growls, tasting your sweet nectar.

Grinding against you, it becomes evident they feel the same. Slick dripping down your thigh, you return the favor, palming both of their cocks, feeling them harden from your touch.

"You guys want to get out of here? We can go to my place.” The desperation in your request was fairly obvious.

"Be patient princess, we've got time," Jungkook utters, moaning at the tender grip you have on his stiff member.

His lips meet your neck and he nibbles and sucks, marking you, claiming you as theirs. You feel his bulging cock twitch in your hand when you lay your head back onto Taehyung’s chest, inviting him to mark the other side of your neck.

Just as he finishes leaving his second mark, the song ends. You lead them off the dance floor towards the VIP and they follow like obedient servants, making you feel powerful and seductive - a feeling you haven’t felt in a long time. Your inner Goddess beams with pride. 

They untuck their shirts as you enter the VIP, attempting to hide their arousal. But you know what awaits you beneath those layers of fabric. You felt the promise of what they have to offer and you can’t wait to claim your rewards.

In the VIP more rounds of shots are poured, the flirting and teasing continues, and everyone is drunk and oblivious to the private party taking place right in front of them. Welcoming kisses from their soft lips, deliberate caresses of your inner thighs, your body aching for more. 

As the night lingers on guests begin leaving, opting for a rideshare rather than the party bus. Your BFF is still on the dance floor with the man she decided she was going home with tonight, and upon noticing you’re still at the club she dashes over to the VIP.

“Give the driver your address, because I *hiccup* going home with Miguel! He knows how to Tango *hiccup* perfectly in this!” She quickly scurries back to him and they exit the club, his hand cupped on her round ass as they walk out.

You jot down your address on a napkin, Taehyung grabs it from you, slipping it into his pocket, having heard the conversation between you and your friend.

"Looks like it's just us, are you ready, baby?" Taehyung asks with his deep, seductive voice. The sheer tone sends chills through every orifice on your body, causing your skin to shiver and fill with goosebumps. Jungkook places his large hand on the small of your back, leading you to the exit. 

“Take the longest route to this address,” Taehyung insists, handing the driver the napkin and a hundred dollar bill, before following you and Jungkook into the private back section of the party bus.

Just as they had earlier, you sit across from them, teasingly spreading your legs, revealing your exposed core. Moaning as you dip two fingers into your warm core and pull them out, sucking and releasing them with a pop. 

Taehung eyeballs you while palming himself, nodding at Jungkook to give you what you’re clearly in need of. Standing up, Jungkook pulls his shirt over his head, unbuttoning and allowing his pants to fall to his feet, his hard cock standing at attention for you. He slowly crouches into a kneel in front of your parted thighs, his fingers linger over your slit, your whole body quivering with desire.

The sensation of his warm tongue feasting on your clit numbs all your other senses. A slow burn starts in the pit of your stomach, surging slowly through your veins with every suck, swirl and lick.  He plunges his tongue inside your succulent, tight walls as your euphoric orgasm comes to a peak. Fingers gripping his hair holding his head in place, your core grinding against his face accelerating your high.

"K-Kook I'm cumming!" The elevated tone in your voice summons Taehyung's lips to your mouth, muffling your moans, his tongue exploring your mouth, entangling with yours.

When you finish, Jungkook stands, wiping your slick from his chin before settling back on the velvet bench seat across from you. Watching him lustfully as he strokes his hard cock. Taehyung stands over you, large cock in hand ready to stretch your walls to the point of no return.

Before he has a chance, Jungkook calls him over, inaudibly whispering into Tae’s ear. They both look you over, sneering and smirking, mischievous grins on their faces.

“We’re keeping secrets now?,” you inquire playful, yet pouty.

“He said, ‘I don’t think she’s ready for what we’re gonna give her,’ so the question is can you handle it?” Taehyung questioned, his dark, hooded eyes filled with lust, ready to pound into you, filling you with his large cock.

Maybe it’s the alcohol you drank tonight, maybe it’s the lack of sexual release in the last 8 months, but the words that leave your mouth next surprise all of you.

“I’m ready to take whatever you’re going to give me,” your finger pointing daringly at Taehyung, which he obviously takes as a challenge.

“Come sit on it then,” Tae commands while using both hands to stroke his massive shaft.

You stand up, hiking your dress to your waist and walk over to him, straddling his thick thighs as you position him at your entrance. Slowly guiding him into you, walls stretching more than they ever have around his girthy cock. You feel him in your stomach, wanting to tap out, but refusing to lose a challenge.

He feels your hesitation once he’s buried deep inside of you, his large hands grip your hips, lifting you up and down, coaxing your hips to roll. Wrapping his arms around your waist, he pulls you close as he lays down on the bench seat, giving himself better leverage from the bottom. 

The sudden feel of a finger teasing the outer rim of your other hole surprises you, however, your body is aroused with ecstasy and you let yourself relax into it. 

That is, until you notice Jungkook stand and slowly make his way to you, throbbing cock in hand and a sly grin on his perfect face, fully aware Taehyung is only readying you for what’s to come.

He leans down and kisses you more softly than you expect, letting you feel the curve of his playful grin against your trembling lips before sliding down to your neck, trailing kisses along your nape as he moves behind you and out of view, only the feel of him mapping out his conquest betraying his location. 

Tae grabs your chin, forcing you to open your eyes, the fingers of his other hand still prodding and prepping that yet to be opened portal of pleasure. 

"Look at me, baby," he purrs, "focus on me."

You nod in acquiescence, almost forgetting the looming figure at your back as your hungry eyes lock on his and you continue your rhythmic hip slide up and down his enormous shaft.

Jungkook’s grinning lips and hot tongue disappear suddenly from your back, his hand bearing down gently until your face is mere inches from Taehyungs. 

Tae smiles at you with hooded, amused eyes. 

"Ready, baby?" He asks in a sultry whisper.

You don't have time to answer. All you can do is gasp for breath as you feel Jungkooks swollen head against your opening, rubbing against it, fighting Taes finger for room to enter.

Your entire being becomes filled by them both. You're consumed by the pressure of their hard cocks moving in unison, stretching and stimulating every nerve ending, forcing a deep moan to escape past your pressed lips.

Jungkook’s moans soon harmonize with yours, and Taehyung’s mouth forms a boxy smile of satisfaction at the sound. “I think he likes it as much as you,” he teases from below. But the only response you can manage is another groan as his hands slide to your ass, gripping each cheek and spreading them to allow Jungkook deeper access. 

“I do love a tight ass.” Jungkook growls into your ear, pressing you down, pinning you between their sweaty bodies as you struggle to keep your hips in motion, craving more of the sensation of their cocks moving against each other through your walls.

“Harder,” you cry out, finally able to form a word.

Tae, his hands still spreading your ass open, thrusts up and pulls you forward until he’s buried deep inside, almost forcing Jungkook out of you from within. Your mouth opens in a silent scream of desperation and your hands frantically grab at Jungkook’s solid thighs to keep him in place. 

Tae can’t take his eyes off your gaping mouth, and without notice he slides carefully out of you and from beneath you, leaving you with a hollow feeling until Jungkook’s arm slides around your waist from behind, lifting you, never exiting his conquered domain as he shifts to sit on the bench. He bites softly at your shoulders and back as he pulls each of your legs over his knees and spreads his legs wide, exposing your now empty throbbing pussy to Taehyung.

You stare at Tae standing before you, his glistening cock heavy in his hand as his thumb slides back and forth over the slick, fat head. The sight, along with the feel of Jungkook filling you up is more than you can bear and you reach down to slide your own fingers into the hot wetness between your legs to fill some of the emptiness, but the look in Tae’s eyes says he has other plans.

His accomplice sees his intent and quickly grabs your arms up over your head, holding them together by the wrists with just one large hand while the other hand runs over your breasts, lightly pinching and flicking your hardened nipples. His body never stops moving beneath you as he continues your rhythm. He laughs softly as you unconsciously attempt to pull a hand free to touch yourself with, desperate to relieve the building pressure. 

“You can’t be done yet, beautiful,” Jungkook instructs in your ear, his tongue running along its sensitive edges, making your eyes shut and your head loll back in pleasurable despair. “My friend hasn’t gotten what he really wants yet.”

You feel Taehyung move closer, hovering just outside of your entrance but not allowing contact, the heat of him radiating into you as if he was still inside. You squeeze your eyes closed tighter, enjoying the anticipation of what's to come, but then snap them back open, suddenly desperate to see his gorgeous face as he slides back into you. His boxy, mischievous smile returns as your eyes meet his.

“Please,” you suddenly beg, the plea surprising even you. His smile grows, and just as suddenly he plunges back into you, the friction of their cocks once again sliding against each other through that thin wall, sending shock waves of bliss through your body, and then he is gone again.

Before you can moan a complaint, Jungkook releases your arms and in one swift motion lowers you both to the floor, his pace and depth intensifying. You reach up greedily with one hand and lead Tae’s dripping cock to your ready mouth. Your lips stretch and your jaw aches pleasurably as you take in his girth. He groans loudly for the first time, the sound spurring you on as you take him in deeper than you’ve ever taken a man before.

You can feel the wetness drip from your aching, needy pussy; the taste of Tae and the depth of Jungkook taking you to new levels of ecstasy. You brace your knees and the palm of one hand hard into the rough carpet, ignoring the sting of pain as layers of skin were stripped away.

Jungkook’s hand slides around, three fingers immediately entering you, filling that void you so desperately needed filled. You regretfully release Tae, leaning back into Jungkook as an earth shattering orgasm begins to build within your body, allowing him better access to your opening. Tae quickly covers your open moaning mouth with his as his hand joins Junkook in its mission to push you over the edge. 

You bounce and writhe against the increasing hardness of Jungkook’s cock in your ass and the pressure of his fingers inside of you. You moan into Tae’s devouring mouth and shudder under the weight of his fingers rapidly rubbing your already swollen clit.

The first orgasm had been a mere fraction of what rocketed through your body this time, and both of them grip you tightly as you convulse under their continued attack. At its crescendo you feel Jungkook pull out of both of your holes, pulling you back against him as the warmth of his load spreads between your pressed bodies. Tae slides between your spread legs, forcing them wider, and reinserts himself into your overstimulated swollen cunt. 

Thrusting wildly, his stroke becomes uncontrolled, unpredictable, penetrating deep within your walls. Your orgasm that you thought was over returns with renewed vigor, repeaking, surpassing the crescendo and tumbling you into oblivion.

“Don’t fight it,” Jungkook instructs from behind where he holds you steady, one arm around your waist to anchor you, the other kneading your breasts and pinching your nipples.

Just when you thought you had reached your pleasure limit, Taehyung abruptly pulls out, his cum spurting hot and sticky against your inner thighs, the sweat from his brow dripping onto your breasts as he leans over you catching his breath.

You sag in Jungkook’s arms, unable to move, your muscles spent from the exertion. You can feel the pinging sensation of your nerve endings as they continue to fire off between your legs, like a post orgasm firework display. 

For a long time the three of you lay, spent and exhausted, naked sweaty bodies tangled together, only the sound of your heavy breathing and the hum of the bus breaking the silence. You feel… satiated. You feel euphoric. Your inner goddess is dancing.

Finally Tae stands and reaches out a hand to help you up. As you rise he pulls you to him, kissing you slowly and softly, lingering against your full lips. Jungkook rises behind you and begins to wipe away the mess he left on your back. Tae pulls away and looks into your eyes, his smile affectionately amused.

“There’s a restroom in the back,” he says casually as he releases you and takes a small towel from Jungkook. He pats his sweaty brow and you can only nod in response before sweeping your hot pink dress up off the floor and heading to the small airplane sized bathroom.

When you return they’re both dressed and lounging comfortably, drinks in hand, talking leisurely about nothing at all. And although you’ve all gotten to know one another extremely well tonight, you stand there in an awkward silence, waiting for one of them to notice you.

Tae turns to you first, his smile still amused yet kind at the same time. He approaches you and tucks a strand of hair behind your ear. 

“You look pretty with your hair down,” he whispers, before kissing you lightly on the cheek.

“I like it up,” Jungkook chimes in, “easier to grab onto.” He winks at you from where he still sits and then finishes his drink in one gulp.

You blush, but whether it's because of Tae’s sultry gentleness or Jungkook’s sexy cockiness is yet to be determined.

Jungkook stands and heads toward the door, and only then do you realize the bus is no longer moving. You follow him out, Tae close behind, and the three of you stand looking expectantly at each other on the sidewalk as the bus pulls away.

You can’t let the night end like this. You don’t want the night to end like this. No matter how many times you claimed you had no intention of taking anyone home, you couldn’t have imagined this scenario. There was no way you were letting it end here.

You grab both of their hands and lead them through the front door of your building. Upon entering the apartment, your dress drops to the floor and you head to the shower.

As soon as Tae and Jungkook hear the water running they make their way to you, undressing hastily to join. No words were exchanged as they ran their soapy hands over your body, washing away the remnants of passion, taking special care of the sensitive areas. 

After drying off, they join you in bed, one on each side of you, holding you protectively as you all drift off to sleep together

[sturnboos]

[🍓] CAUGHT RED HANDED

Characters: caregiver!chris x little!reader

Summary: chris was supposed to be watching you but got too caught up in his game.. you find nicks hair dye…

“Alright, we’ll be back in a few hours,” Matt called over his shoulder, keys jingling. “I just gave her lunch, check on her every thirty minutes.”

Chris, was downstairs in his bedroom hyper fixating on the game royal kingdom. He waved a dismissive hand in the air. “Relax. She’s watching Bluey. She’s chill. I got this.”

The front door slammed shut with a loud click. Nick followed Matt out to the car, muttering something about the upcoming Space Camp meeting.

Inside you were curled into the corner of the couch wrapped in a fuzzy blanket that practically swallowed you whole. your plate of cheese and crackers sat beside you, one cracker clutched in your small sticky hand. your eyes were glued to Bluey on the screen, legs swinging slightly in rhythm with the theme song, and your beloved stuffed bunny was tucked under arm.

Chris checked on you after his first round of royal kingdom. you were still in the same spot, drooling slightly and giggling at Bandit pretending to be a robot. So far, so good. A little later, he brought you a juice box. “You doin’ good, princess?” he asked, kneeling beside the couch. you nodded, clutching the straw in both hands. “doggies.” He smiled. “Yeah, Bluey the dog.”

And then… time just slipped away. Chris got way too into the game. That is, until his phone buzzed a notification from Matt.

Matt: On our way home, how’s she going?

Chris blinked. Then sat bolt upright. “Oh no.”

Panic surged. He picked his phone, nearly tripping over in his rush. “princess?!!” he yelled, already sprinting out of the room. The living room was empty. The TV was still on, but the couch was abandoned. Juice box upside down on the floor. You and 'Bun-Bun' were missing.

Chris’s stomach dropped.

He bolted into the kitchen. “Baby?? You hungry again? Please tell me you didn’t climb into the cabinets—” Nope. He checked the backyard door. Locked. Thank god. “where are you baby girl?!” Then he saw it. A smear. One little handprint in… red? Just on the hallway wall, at your height.

Chris’s heart rate spiked as he followed the trail of Red blotches, His mind was already racing. “Please don’t be blood please don’t be blood please don’t be—” He reached the upstairs landing. The bathroom light in Nick’s room was on. He ran. And stopped cold. It looked like a horror movie.

The white tiles of the bathroom were streaked and splattered in red. The counter had pools of crimson liquid, the sink was full of red suds, and the mirror had little finger smudges all over it. Standing right in the middle of the chaos… you. Hands coated in red, cheeks streaked, shirt soaked, and proudly cradling your bunny plush, now dyed red.“What happened?!”

She turned around, face lighting up. “I made Bun-Bun pwetty, Chwis!”

Chris stood in the doorway, frozen. “Oh. My. God.” He stepped in, immediately slipping slightly on the wet tile. “Shit—careful—what the hell?! This is Nick’s dye! Oh, they are so gonna kill me.” You looked up at him with innocence. Chris dragged a hand down his face, trying not to scream into the void. “that’s $40 Arctic Fox dye! Why did he even leave this out?!”

He grabbed a towel and started trying to clean the sink, the counter, the floor, anything. “Okay, okay, we just have to clean this up before they get back. We’ve got, what, twenty minutes? That’s—fine. That’s enough. We can do this. This is fine.”

He looked back at you, your now finger painting a heart on the side of the tub with the dye.

“Oh god…I’m so dead.”

His phone buzzed again. Another message.

Nick: Tell her I say hi btw :)

Chris stared at the screen, then looked at the red crime scene around him. He slowly texted back:

Chris: Uhhhh. She says hi. And also maybe destroyed your bathroom. Do not panic when you get home.

He turned back to you, now patting the red bunny dry with a hand towel.

Chris took a deep breath. “Okay. Look. You need a bath. A real one. I need to bleach this floor. We’re gonna clean you up first, and then—actually, no, I’m gonna cry first, then bleach.”

You held up Bun-Bun proudly. “He’s a strawberry now!”

Chris blinked. “Cool. I’m a corpse now.”

Chris had just finished towel-drying your hair (now slightly pink at the tips), when he heard the car pull into the driveway. Chris did a last frantic sweep with a wet rag across the bathroom tiles. Still a faded red.

Too late.

The front door opened downstairs, followed by Matt’s voice “We’re back! Nick said he—wait, what’s that smell”

Nick’s voice rang out louder, sharper
“Why does it smell like chemicals in here!?”

Chris poked his head out the bathroom door just as the heavy stomps of socked feet thundered up the stairs. He winced. “Heyyyy guys… Welcome home… don’t freak out…”

Nick reached the top first. He looked at Chris, looked past him into the bathroom and screamed. “WHAT. THE—WHY IS MY BATHROOM BLEEDING?!” he yelled, clutching his chest like he was seconds from cardiac arrest. Matt appeared a moment later, wide-eyed, holding a half-unpacked folder of space camp brochures. “Oh my god. Did someone die?”

Chris held up both hands in surrender. “Nobody’s dead! It’s just hair dye. Just… a lot of hair dye. That she found.”

Nick’s eyes whipped over to you, who had now waddled into the hallway still wrapped in a towel, cheeks pink, little toes squeaking on the floor.
She held up Bun-Bun. “made Bun-Bun a strawbwerry!” Nick’s mouth opened. Closed. Opened again. “You… turned him into a fruit?!” You blinked up at him. “He pwetty now.”

Matt, trying very hard not to laugh, pressed a hand over his mouth.

Chris groaned and sank against the wall. “I swear, I was checking on her. Like… at first. And then I got into the game and she was so quiet—”

“That’s never a good sign, Chris!” Nick snapped. “Quiet equals chaos!”

Chris looked like he might burst into flames. “Okay. Look. I’ll pay for the dye. I’ll pay for the towels. I’ll bleach the floors, I don’t care. Just please don’t kill me.”

Matt finally lost it, turning around and full-on cackling as he leaned against the doorframe. “I leave Chris in charge one time and we come back to a toddlers stuffed animal murder scene?.”

Nick crossed his arms. “This is worse than the time you let her eat glitter glue.”

“it said it was edible!” Chris cried.

“Yeah If a portion is accidentally swallowed not the whole bottle Chris!”

Meanwhile, You had begun waddling back down the hallway, Bun-Bun tucked in one arm, the towel trailing behind You like a royal cape.

Nick stared after her in disbelief. “She’s walking away like she didn’t just commit property damage…. Where you going princess!!?”

“D-doggies” you reply simply going back to watch more bluey.

Matt clapped a hand on Chris’s back. “Well. I think you learned something today.” Chris looked dead inside. “That I’m never babysitting again?”

“No,” Matt grinned. “That our princess is cute as hell but also a walking tornado.”

Nick peeked back into the bathroom and groaned. “My bathtub looks like someone dipped it in fruit punch”

Chris stood, hands raised. “I’ll clean it. I’ll clean all of it. Just… promise me one thing.”

Nick narrowed his eyes. “What?”

“Move the hair products out of reach”

Downstairs, the Bluey theme song started up again.“Do you hear that?” Chris whispered. “That’s the sound of war returning.”

Tags: @blushsturns @riasturns @iloveduckssm @chrissbxby @sturnobessed @kayskreativeideas @tits4matt @mattsfavho @sturniolobananas1 @courta13 @alexisa78 @chrisissos3xy @sturnobessed @mattschelseaa @norahsturns @dolliraez @jibitzlesscrocs @oopsiedaisydeer @gemzyy @mattschelseaa @hesvoid34 @phone4pills @spaghettislut1 @sturnslux3 @phone4pills @owenstar @luvsturns @nickssidewitch @ariieeesworld @babyt0matoes @sugarraez

[lumberrobot]

Holiday Havoc

pham hanni x fem!reader

notes: took another break from writing so this will be my peace offering hdiowhd; happy new year guys!

warning/s: none

genre: fluff

The snow blanketed the sprawling university campus like a soft quilt, muting the usual bustle of student life. Under the warm glow of fairy lights strung across dorm windows, Y/N sat at her small wooden desk, chin resting on her palm as she stared out at the wintry scene. Her room was quiet except for the occasional crackle of the radiator and the muffled footsteps of students in the hallway.

Her desk was cluttered with notes and open textbooks, but her focus had long since drifted. A steaming cup of tea sat untouched, the rich scent of chamomile mingling faintly with the woody aroma of her favorite cinnamon candle. She reached out, absentmindedly twirling the edge of the worn scarf she always draped over her chair. It had been a gift from Hanni.

Pinned to her corkboard was a picture of them from one of their summer adventures. Y/N had been mid-laugh, caught off guard by one of Hanni’s jokes, while Hanni grinned like she owned the world. The golden hour sunlight had bathed the scene, casting everything in a warm, nostalgic glow. That photo was her anchor. That picture had been her lifeline. On long nights like this, when the homesickness clawed too hard and her classes seemed like an insurmountable mountain, it reminded her of what awaited her back home.

Her phone vibrated, pulling her from her reverie. She grabbed it eagerly, her heart lifting at the sight of Hanni’s name. A FaceTime call. Without hesitation, she swiped to accept.

“Hey!” Y/N greeted, a wide smile breaking across her face.

The screen flickered, and Hanni appeared, her hair pulled up in a messy bun, a faint flush of pink on her cheeks. She was nestled in her bed back home, the familiar lavender walls of her room in the background.

“Y/N!” Hanni’s voice was bright and full of warmth, though her brow furrowed slightly. “You look like you haven’t been sleeping. Have you been pulling all-nighters again?”

“Who, me?” Y/N feigned innocence, glancing at the pile of notes and textbooks strewn across her desk. “Never.”

Hanni raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “Liar.”

“Gee, thanks,” Y/N retorted, rolling her eyes. “You look cozy, though. Rub it in, why don’t you.”

They laughed, the sound filling the void of silence that had hung heavy in Y/N’s room just moments ago. It was like a salve, soothing the ache in her chest.

“How’s life back home?” Y/N asked, leaning back in her chair.

“Quiet,” Hanni admitted, her gaze softening. “It’s not the same without you here. My little cousins were at the house earlier, and they were asking when you’d be back. I think they miss having you around to team up against me in Monopoly.”

“They’re smart kids,” Y/N quipped, a fond smile tugging at her lips.

“Smarter than you, maybe,” Hanni shot back, her grin widening.

Y/N chuckled, though the mention of home made her heart twist. “I miss them too. And you.”

Hanni’s teasing smile faltered, replaced by something gentler. “I miss you more.”

For a moment, neither of them spoke. Hanni’s eyes lingered on Y/N as she absentmindedly fiddled with the pen in her hand, her face lit by the warm glow of her desk lamp.

“God, you’re so….” Hanni trailed off, her cheeks tinting pink.

Y/N looked up, confused. “What?”

“Nothing!” Hanni blurted out, her voice a pitch higher. “Anyway, what’s the plan for the holidays? Are you going to stay there?”

Y/N hesitated, her thoughts racing. She couldn’t spoil the surprise. “Yeah, probably. Flights are expensive, you know?”

Hanni pouted. “That sucks. It’s not the same without you.”

Y/N bit her lip, guilt gnawing at her. “It’ll go by fast,” she offered weakly.

“I hope so,” Hanni murmured, her gaze dropping to her hands.

They fell into an easy rhythm, the call stretching on as they talked about everything and nothing. Hanni told her about the new café that opened down the street, the one they had always joked about visiting together. She described the neighborhood Christmas decorations, which sounded more elaborate than ever this year.

Y/N found herself laughing at Hanni’s animated retelling of a failed baking experiment. “I swear, I followed the recipe! But instead of cookies, I ended up with… bricks.”

“Sounds like user error,” Y/N teased, earning a dramatic gasp from Hanni.

“Oh, you’re so lucky I’m not there to throw one of those ‘bricks’ at you,” Hanni threatened, though her laugh gave her away.

There were quiet moments too, where Hanni would simply watch Y/N as she flipped through her notes or sipped her tea. Y/N felt her gaze but didn’t call her out on it. It felt… nice. Comfortable.

“I should let you sleep,” Hanni said finally, though she didn’t sound eager to end the call.

“Yeah,” Y/N agreed, but neither of them moved to hang up.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” Hanni said softly.

“Goodnight, Hanni.”

Even after the call ended, Y/N stared at the screen for a moment before snapping out of it. She grabbed her laptop and opened a travel booking website.

=====

Later that evening, Hanni’s phone buzzed with a message, the vibration breaking the cozy silence in her room. She had been wrapped up in her favorite blanket, sipping hot cocoa, and binge-watching a show she and Y/N used to watch together.

She picked up her phone, her brows furrowing when she saw the text from Y/N’s roommate.

“Y/N's acting pretty suspicious,” the message read.

Hanni frowned, quickly typing back. “What do you mean?”

There was a short pause before the reply came through.

“I think she’s planning something," the roommate wrote. "She’s been extra secretive lately.”

Hanni’s heart skipped a beat. Her fingers hovered over the keyboard. “Secretive?” she typed back, trying to sound casual, though her mind was already racing.

“Yeah, but she won’t tell me anything. Maybe it’s something for you?”

Hanni stared at the message, a blush creeping up her cheeks. The thought of Y/N planning something, something for her, made her heart ache in the best way.

“She’s been homesick, hasn’t she?” Hanni typed trying to change the topic.

“Super homesick,” the roommate replied. “She talks about you all the time, by the way. Like, all the time.”

Hanni’s cheeks burned. “She does not.”

“Okay, sure,” the roommate texted back, followed by a winking emoji. “Anyway, you’re really flying out here to surprise her?”

“Yeah,” Hanni replied, her heart pounding. “I just… I need to see her.”

“She’s gonna lose her mind,” the roommate assured her. “Let me know your flight details!”

=====

A few days later, Y/N stood on Hanni’s front porch, her breath visible in the frosty air as she stared nervously at the door. She adjusted the scarf around her neck, trying to calm the nervous flutter in her stomach. The scarf was hers, yes, but it carried faint traces of Hanni’s perfume from the last time they had been together.

Her hands trembled—not from the cold, but from the weight of the moment. She had played this scenario out in her mind a thousand times during the long plane ride, but now that she was here, she wasn’t sure how Hanni would react. Still, there was no turning back now.

She knocked twice, the sound echoing in the quiet street. The door opened moments later to reveal Hanni’s mom, her expression shifting from mild confusion to delighted surprise.

“Y/N? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Hi, Mrs. Pham,” Y/N said sheepishly, a nervous smile tugging at her lips. “I wanted to surprise Hanni.”

Hanni’s mom chuckled, stepping aside to let her in. “Sweetheart, she’s not here. She flew out this morning. Said something about how she couldn’t wait any longer to see you.”

Y/N froze, the words hanging in the air like a punchline she hadn’t been expecting.

“Wait. What?”

“She left this morning,” Hanni’s mom repeated with a laugh. “She was so excited, practically bouncing out the door.”

For a moment, Y/N stood there, processing. Then she burst out laughing, the sound so genuine and heartfelt that Hanni’s mom couldn’t help but join in.

“Of course she did,” Y/N muttered under her breath, shaking her head.

Hanni’s mom smiled, warmth in her eyes. “You two are something else. Come in and warm up while I try calling her. Maybe we can figure out where she is.”

=====

Hours later, after a chaotic string of messages, missed calls, and another round of teasing, Y/N and Hanni finally coordinated their plans. Hanni had to rebook her flight, a process that involved groaning at hold music and glaring at her phone whenever the airline placed her on hold. Meanwhile, Y/N paced in Hanni’s living room, chatting with her on video call.

“You’re such a dork,” Y/N teased, her voice laced with affection.

Hanni, lounging at her gate with a cup of overpriced airport coffee, smirked. “Says the girl who flew across the world without checking if I’d be here. Bold move, Y/N.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the smile tugging at her lips. “I didn’t think you’d have the audacity to fly off when you knew I wasn't coming. You couldn’t even wait a couple of days?”

Hanni laughed softly, the sound warming Y/N through the screen. “I guess we’re just two impatient idiots.”

“Maybe,” Y/N replied, grinning. “But at least we’re idiots together.”

The hours crawled by, but they stayed on the call, filling the time with stories, laughter, and the occasional silence that spoke volumes on its own. Hanni kept the camera angled to show the departures board, and every time an announcement came through, Y/N held her breath, half-afraid something else would delay their reunion.

When Hanni’s flight finally landed back home, Y/N was already at the airport, her heart pounding as she scanned the crowd for a familiar figure. The world seemed to blur around her, the muffled hum of conversations and the steady rhythm of announcements fading into the background.

Then she saw her.

Hanni stepped out from the arrival gate, her eyes darting through the sea of travelers. When their gazes locked, everything else fell away.

Y/N dropped her bag in an instant, her breath catching in her throat. She took a hesitant step forward, her chest tightening with a mix of anticipation and overwhelming relief.

Hanni’s suitcase clattered to the ground, forgotten, as she broke into a full sprint. Her boots echoed against the tiled floor, drawing curious glances, but she didn’t care. All that mattered was the person standing at the edge of the crowd, waiting for her.

“Y/N!”

The moment they collided, Y/N’s arms came around Hanni, pulling her close as if she might vanish again if she let go. Hanni wrapped herself tightly around Y/N’s neck, burying her face into the crook of her shoulder.

“I missed you,” Hanni whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

Y/N closed her eyes, feeling the steady rhythm of Hanni’s heartbeat against her chest. She tightened her hold, her own voice trembling as she replied, “I missed you more.”

They stood there, locked in each other’s arms, as the world moved on around them. Travelers hurried by, some casting amused glances their way, but neither of them noticed. In that moment, nothing else mattered—no frantic messages, no missed flights, no long weeks spent apart.

Hanni finally pulled back just enough to look at Y/N, her hands still clutching the back of her coat. Her eyes glistened, a smile tugging at her lips. “You didn’t have to fly all this way, you know.”

Y/N brushed a stray strand of hair from Hanni’s face, her thumb grazing her cheek. “I couldn’t wait anymore, Hanni. I needed to see you.”

Hanni’s smile widened, her cheeks turning pink—not from the cold, but from the overwhelming joy bubbling up inside her. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” Y/N shot back, her voice light but her gaze soft and steady.

Hanni laughed, “Yeah, I really do.”

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, everything felt right again.

=====

The rest of the holidays unfolded like a dream, a blur of warmth, laughter, and fleeting moments that Y/N and Hanni wished they could stretch into forever.

One afternoon, they found themselves in the kitchen with Hanni’s younger cousins, determined to bake cookies despite the chaos that came with having little hands eager to “help.” The counters were a mess of spilled flour, scattered chocolate chips, and sticky bowls of batter. Y/N, with a determined expression, tried to keep things under control, but Hanni had other plans.

“Hold still,” Hanni said, her voice suspiciously sweet as she dusted her hands off on her apron. Before Y/N could react, Hanni swiped a handful of flour and smeared it across her nose.

Y/N gasped, her eyes narrowing as she turned to face her. “Oh, you’re asking for it now.”

Grabbing a fistful of flour, Y/N retaliated, throwing it at Hanni’s face. A cloud of white exploded in the air, and the younger cousins squealed with laughter, quickly joining in on the fun.

Within minutes, the kitchen descended into total mayhem. Flour filled the air like snow, sticking to their hair and clothes. Y/N managed to corner Hanni, smearing batter onto her cheek triumphantly. Hanni shrieked, laughing so hard she had to brace herself against the counter to keep from doubling over.

By the time they were done, they were a mess—faces dusted white, aprons streaked with chocolate, and cheeks flushed from laughter. Hanni’s mom walked in, stopping short at the sight of the disaster. She shook her head with a sigh, but her fond smile betrayed her true feelings. “I leave you two alone for an hour, and this is what happens?”

“Totally worth it,” Hanni quipped, nudging Y/N, who grinned back, her eyes sparkling.

The teasing didn’t stop in the kitchen. During one family dinner, Y/N’s family, always quick to tease, took every opportunity to comment on their closeness.

“So, when’s the wedding?” one of Y/N’s aunts asked, her voice brimming with mischief. The question earned a chorus of laughter from the table.

Hanni, caught mid-drink, nearly choked on her water, coughing as her cheeks flushed a deep pink. Y/N wasn’t much better, her face turning bright red as she stammered, “We’re just friends!”

“Sure,” her aunt replied with a knowing smile, raising her eyebrows.

Even the younger kids got in on the teasing, whispering loudly about how “cool” it would be if Hanni became part of the family. “Imagine Hanni at all the family reunions!” one of them exclaimed, making both Y/N and Hanni groan.

Despite their embarrassment, neither could deny the warmth of being surrounded by such a loving, if slightly meddlesome, family.

=====

One evening, they headed to the ice skating rink. The frosty air bit at their cheeks as they laced up their skates, their breath forming little puffs in the cold. Y/N looked warily at the ice, her grip on the railing tight.

“I told you I can’t skate,” she said, her tone a mix of panic and exasperation as her legs wobbled.

“You’re doing fine!” Hanni laughed, gliding effortlessly beside her. “Come on, trust me.”

Hanni extended a hand, her smile so reassuring that Y/N hesitated only for a moment before taking it. Slowly, Hanni guided her away from the safety of the edge.

“You’re a liar. This is not fine!” Y/N yelped as her feet slid uncontrollably.

Hanni grinned. “Just relax! You—”

Before she could finish, Y/N’s skate caught, and she toppled forward, dragging Hanni down with her. They landed in an ungraceful heap, a tangle of limbs and muffled exclamations. For a moment, they just lay there, stunned by the impact.

Then Hanni started laughing—a deep, unrestrained laugh that echoed across the rink. Y/N propped herself up on her elbows, glaring half-heartedly before the ridiculousness of the situation got to her. She joined in, their laughter mingling as snowflakes drifted down around them.

“You’re terrible at this,” Y/N said between giggles.

“And you’re terrible at listening,” Hanni shot back, still grinning.

As they lay on the ice, the cool surface biting through their jackets, Y/N groaned jokingly. “This is your fault.”

“My fault? You’re the one who panicked!” Hanni shot back, but her words were punctuated with laughter.

When Y/N finally dared to look over, she found Hanni staring at her, cheeks pink from the cold—or maybe something else. Y/N felt her own face heat up as she quickly glanced away, pretending to focus on getting up.

Hanni sat up, brushing snow off her coat, her grin softening as she reached out a hand to help Y/N. “Come on, let’s try again.”

Y/N hesitated, the lingering blush on her cheeks betraying her nerves. “If I fall again, I’m taking you down with me.”

“Deal,” Hanni said, her voice warm and teasing as she pulled Y/N to her feet.

They spent the rest of the session cautiously skating around the rink, Hanni holding Y/N’s hand tightly, her touch sending a pleasant warmth through the cold air. Their laughter echoed, mingling with the faint music playing in the background.

Later that night, they curled up on the couch for a movie marathon, their hair still damp from hot showers. The glow of the TV illuminated the room as the two lounged in a pile of blankets. Hanni had picked an old rom-com, one she’d seen a dozen times, but the familiarity of it made the moment feel even cozier.

Y/N’s head eventually found its way to Hanni’s shoulder, her breaths evening out as she drifted off. Hanni glanced down, her heart swelling at the sight of Y/N’s peaceful expression. Her arm began to tingle with the first signs of numbness, but she didn’t dare move.

Instead, she leaned her head lightly against Y/N’s, a small smile playing on her lips. In that quiet moment, with the world outside blanketed in snow and the soft hum of the TV in the background, Hanni felt an overwhelming sense of contentment.

Her chest felt impossibly full, like her heart might burst from all the emotions swirling inside her. She didn’t need anything else—just this, just Y/N, and the perfect simplicity of being together.

Unbeknownst to them, Hanni’s mom stood in the doorway, her phone poised as she captured the moment. Snap after snap, she immortalized the sight of her daughter and Y/N, cocooned in blankets and lost in their own little world.

======

On New Year’s Eve, the streets were alive with the buzz of celebration, waiting for the clock to strike midnight. Laughter and chatter spilled from houses, and the crisp night air carried the faint scent of sparklers and roasting chestnuts. Yet, amidst the revelry, Y/N and Hanni found themselves drawn to a quieter place—their old playground.

It looked almost the same as it had in their childhood, the swings slightly rusted, the paint on the jungle gym peeling. The creaking of the swings echoed softly in the stillness, a nostalgic lullaby that brought a bittersweet warmth to Y/N’s chest.

They settled onto the swings side by side, the cold metal chains biting against their hands. Above them, the sky exploded with bursts of sparkles, the stars painting the night in vivid hues of gold. The light reflected in Hanni’s eyes, making them shine.

Y/N’s swing swayed gently, her legs scuffing against the ground as she gripped the chains. Her heart was pounding, each beat louder than the creaks from the swings. A thousand unsaid words swirled in her mind, but every time she tried to form them into sentences, her courage wavered.

Hanni sat on the swing beside her, her boots dragging lazily through the gravel. She tilted her head back to watch the stars, her profile glowing in the light of the moon. She looked ethereal, Y/N thought, like a scene straight out of a dream.

But this wasn’t a dream.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around the chains, her palms slightly damp despite the chill. She felt the weight of all the unsaid words between them pressing against her chest, threatening to spill out. This wasn’t the first time she’d thought about it—about crossing that fragile line between friendship and something more. But tonight, under the canopy of a million stars, it felt like the right moment.

Hanni, oblivious to the storm in Y/N’s chest, leaned back slightly on her swing, her smile soft and content as she gazed at the sky. “This is nice,” she murmured, her voice carrying a hint of nostalgia.

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, her voice quieter than she intended. She glanced at Hanni, taking in the way the cool breeze tousled her hair, the way her scarf framed her face. The sight made Y/N’s heart ache in the best possible way.

“Hanni,” she said finally, her voice trembling as she broke the silence.

Hanni turned to her, her expression curious. “Hmm?”

Y/N hesitated, the weight of her emotions threatening to swallow her words. But as a firework lit up the sky, illuminating Hanni’s face in a wash of gold, she realized there was no better moment than this.

“I…” Y/N took a shaky breath, her hands tightening on the chains. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

The words hung in the air, vulnerable and raw, like the last leaf clinging to a winter branch.

The words hung in the air between them, fragile yet electric.

For a moment, time seemed to stop.

Hanni’s eyes widened slightly, her breath hitching. For a moment, she didn’t say anything, and Y/N felt her pulse quicken, fear mingling with hope. But then Hanni’s lips curved into the faintest smile, her cheeks flushed a delicate pink, but her gaze never wavered. Instead, her eyes softened, and a small, almost shy smile curved her lips.

“Then kiss me,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the distant crackle of fireworks.

Y/N felt a wave of warmth rush through her, chasing away the winter chill. Slowly, she leaned in, her heart hammering as the distance between them melted away. The world seemed to blur, the fireworks fading into the background as their lips met.

The kiss was soft, tentative at first, as if they were both afraid to break the spell. But as the seconds passed, it deepened, filled with the unspoken feelings they had both carried for so long. It was warm, sweet, and everything Y/N had imagined—and so much more.

Y/N’s hands slipped from the chains, finding their way to Hanni’s cheeks. Hanni’s fingers curled around Y/N’s scarf, pulling her closer as if afraid to let go.

When they finally pulled away, the sound of fireworks returned, louder and brighter than before. Hanni rested her forehead against Y/N’s, their breaths mingling as they tried to steady their racing hearts.

“Welcome home,” Hanni said softly, her voice tinged with quiet certainty.

Y/N’s lips curved into a smile, her eyes closing as she let the moment wash over her. For the first time in what felt like forever, she felt at peace—like she was exactly where she was meant to be.

They stayed like that for a while, the swings swaying gently under them. Above, the sky exploded in a cascade of golds and reds, ushering in the new year. But neither of them paid much attention. In that quiet corner of the world, under the glow of fireworks and starlight, everything they needed was right there in each other.

Around them, the world continued to celebrate, but for Y/N and Hanni, the night had become something far more intimate. For the first time in a long while, Y/N felt like she was exactly where she was meant to be—in Hanni’s arms, with the promise of a new year stretching out before them, bright and full of possibilities.

Eventually, Y/N broke the silence with a soft laugh. “So… was that everything you expected?”

Hanni grinned, her eyes sparkling mischievously. “Better. Definitely better.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers brushing against Hanni’s. “Happy New Year, Hanni.”

“Happy New Year, Y/N,” Hanni replied, her smile softening. “I have a feeling it’s going to be a good one.”

[shirozen]

Clearing the mind with food

[lazylattedgleam]

Okay guys! Thoughts part 4! My brain won’t let me sleep hence I shall write, forgive me if I make any spelling errors though, I might get drowsy :’)

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Thinking of Sylus x NON!MC Reader.

Ok ok ok so let’s start!

🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀🥀

(Credits: All pictures are from Pinterest, Freekip)

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The night came by quite like the usual, the sky was clear, it was eerie everywhere except the “clovers” Banquet Hall where the ‘finest’ of Protocores Auction was being held. “So-called”, he knew their true value, they were worthless, yet the place was jam-packed with wannabes, who wanted nothing but to just flaunt their money and ‘elegance’, if one could even call it that…It looked more of a pity party for the spoiled rather than an Auction, people were mingling too much yet too little, nothing was right.

Then why was he there, one might ask…well it’s simple he was a nocturnal and he had nothing fun to do…so why not come in guise at an ‘Auction’ which merely stood firm ground to it’s name. His roams the velvety carpet with the strong presence and aura that he possessed, turning heads here and there. As if any of that ever came close to bother him. He’s already met the love of his life—no his love in every timeline and universe. But boohoo she couldn’t recognise him yet, so yeah maybe give her time?

He eyes the Protocores displayed, in hues of brilliant ruby, emerald, amber, lapis lazuli, and amethyst, claiming they costed millions and millions, the most precious, and valuable…

He breathed out a husky laugh to himself, he swore he saw atleast majority of them on display at a flea market selling what-not.

He wants to leave but he doesn’t, again, Onichynus is too boring tonight, Luke and Keiran are having too many “teenage tid-bits”, as he’d always call them…plus Mephisto’s battery was drained, so he couldn’t even stalk his dearest…

“Going once!

Going twice!

Sold!”

He sits at the back of the Banquet at an empty stand-alone chair, why was that even there? He didn’t know, it was out of place. His eyes wander, filled with void and boredom…

_____________

It was a complete waste of his time, even embracing boredom was better than whatever that was. So he left.

He didn’t brink his motorbike tonight, he wanted to walk, maybe even all night and sleep asleep by a manhole the next day…Weird ideas roamed his mind none that made any sense…

So he walks he walks he walks…when was the last time the N109 zone seemed so peaceful?

He comes at an opening into a wider part of the street through a lane, the moon illuminating it’s presence vividly…he knows the place, he knows the moon…but he doesn’t know the person in the far background…

Covered in a Rosewood strapless long dress upto her bare ankles, glimmering with white gemstones around her waist and bust. It had no neckline, the top end of the dress looped around her breasts secure, her neck had a band, the same colour of her dress, and a black and white choker-belted-neck piece, fastening itself, the locket had the “spades” symbol carved and settled inside of it…her hair fastened up into a bun neatly. Her hands contained silvery bangles, their ends fixed a thin long chain strands, a “red heart” at the end of each, which came upto her upper arm…

She had her phone secured to the jaws of a selfie stick, that had a “red diamond” symbol as it’s shutter button, as she pressed record, dancing around in the empty streets like a madwoman…the camera even captured him, but she didn’t care or budge, as she danced and swayed around flawlessly to whatever music was being played by her brain…

The sky suddenly emitted a crimson glow upon her form and the surroundings…he glanced up at the blood moon, he swore he’d never seen before…He kept staring, he couldn’t fathom why.

As he remembers…the curse of the blood moon which falls upon two souls, dejected by Fate, binding them together for their whole life that they shall continue to live on…

But wasn’t he tied to MC by Fate, for all his lifetimes to come and go? What game was Fate playing with him? He wanted MC with all his heart, yet he stumbles upon this unfaithful night…he searches for indicators and clues for the cause of this “brief interruption, this slight malfunction” that crashed upon his life…yet he found none…

The sky suddenly seemed to rift apart and everything became static and hazy…the world lagged…was this a glitch in the cosmos? Did space and time rift apart causing an anomaly…

Most importantly…who is she? And why does she look so regal, what veil of illusion had she casted, that he, the leader of Onichynus, one of the most notorious mafia group of the N109 zone…Sylus Qin, couldn’t even spare a glance away?

She turned to gaze at him for a fraction of a second…yet the gaze felt as if it had lasted eons…she held constellations in her eyes…

Why did she seem like she was one with the cosmos…no as if the cosmos itself was bereft of any meaning-value-principle without her…

….like she was a vision to behold, appearing whenever a new universe gets created…

Who was she and why was she so divine, that he felt like mediocrity in her vicinity…

He needed to know—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

—xxxxx—xxxxx—xxxx—errorerrorerrorerror

Inspo song:

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Aaaaaand yep that’s that! I hope you like it! As for always thank you again for checking out my posts! Much love! :D <3

[musicforastylesrestaurant]

In The Stars.

masterlist || ask me anything <3

my blurb masterlist is here x

in which, harry is remembering you, his beloved wife, mother of his child, that passed away, this is him grieving, remembering the lives that the two of you shared together and will always share together, no matter the circumstances.

word count - 2.8k

warnings: mentioned of death, mentions of breast cancer.

April, 2010.

❛ Sunday mornings were your favorite

I used to meet you down on Woods Creek Road

You did your hair up like you were famous

Even though it's only church where we were goin’ ❜

As Harry strolled down Woods Creek Road on a Sunday morning in the summer of 2010, the sun cast a warm glow over the quaint street.

His heart raced with anticipation as he made his way to meet his girlfriend, who awaited him at their usual meeting spot on the corner.

The two of you were meeting up just like the two of you did every Sunday morning before heading to church and meeting up with your families. It was a little ritual that would forever be engraved in your hearts.

You stood there, radiant in a pretty light pink summer dress, your hair elegantly styled up in a bun, giving you an air of effortless grace. Even though you were just headed to church, you always carried yourself as if you were destined for the spotlight.

As Harry approached, he couldn't help but admire how stunning you looked, a sense of pride swelling within him for being the one lucky enough to call you his own. Your eyes met, and a smile lit up your face, sending a rush of warmth through Harry's veins.

"Hey pretty girl," Harry greeted you, his voice filled with affection as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"Hey, H," you replied, your voice soft and filled with love. "You look handsome today."

Harry chuckled, a hint of pink coloring his cheeks at your compliment. "Thanks, pretty. You always look beautiful."

Together, hand in hand, you made your way to church, the sound of birds chirping and the rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze accompanying your steps.

As the duo walked hand in hand towards the church, he couldn't help but admire her beauty once again.

"You know it's only church that we're going," Harry teased with a playful grin, nudging her gently.

She laughed, a melodic sound that echoed through the quiet street.

"I wore this dress to look good for you," she replied, her eyes sparkling with affection.

Harry's heart swelled with love for her.

"And you always do," he said earnestly, pulling her closer. "Y’could be wearing a paper bag and you'd still look pretty."

She blushed at his words, leaning into him. "You're too sweet, H."

They continued their stroll, their conversation peppered with laughter and affectionate glances,

February, 2024.

❛ Now, Sunday mornings, I just sleep in

It's like I buried my faith with you

I'm screamin' at a God I don't know if I believe in

'Cause I don't know what else I can do ❜

In the dimly lit room, Harry lay tangled in the sheets of what used to be their shared bed. The curtains were drawn tightly shut, blocking out the world beyond, as if he hadn't felt the warmth of the sun in ages.

His once vibrant eyes were hollow, filled with a pain that seemed to consume him.

Sunday mornings had lost their luster, their meaning stripped away along with the love he had lost. He no longer had the will to rise from bed, to face a world that felt empty and devoid of purpose without her by his side.

Staring at the photo of a toddler on his bedside table, being held by his darling wife was a painful reminder of what once was, whilst the toddler slept in there room next door, you were no where to be found.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. He had buried his faith along with her, his heart screaming out to a God he no longer knew if he believed in.

Tears welled up in his eyes, his chest constricting with the weight of his sorrow. He longed for her presence, for the warmth of her touch, but she was gone, leaving behind a void that seemed impossible to fill.

In the silence of the room, Harry found himself grappling with a pain so profound, he didn't know what else to do but scream into the void, hoping for some semblance of solace in a world that had turned its back on him.

Harry felt a wave of anguish wash over him. With trembling hands, he reached out and grabbed the photo of his wife, holding it close to his chest as tears streamed down his face.

"Why did y’take her?" he screamed into the empty room, his voice cracking with pain. "It should ‘ave been me!"

His cries echoed off the walls, a raw expression of the agony that consumed him. He clutched the photo tightly, as if holding onto it could somehow bring her back to him, could somehow ease the unbearable pain of her absence.

But she was gone, and Harry was left alone in a world that seemed intent on tearing him apart.

January, 2024.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever ❜

"H," you whispered, your voice barely above a hoarse whisper, "I want to see her grow up. I want to see her graduate, get married, have children of her own."

You were referring to your and harrys freshly turned two year old daughter Grace Anne Styles, she was everything to the two of you, with her fathers curly hair and signature green eyes, her personality was all you, kind, caring and nurturing.

The sterile scent of the hospital mingled with the faint whir of machines monitoring your vital signs, creating an atmosphere heavy with uncertainty.

Six months ago, when you were diagnosed with breast cancer, Harry had clung to hope like a lifeline, determined to fight alongside you every step of the way. But as each day passed, that hope dwindled, replaced by a gnawing fear of what the future held.

You lay in the bed, your once vibrant spirit now dimmed by the relentless assault of the disease. Cancer had robbed you of your strength, leaving you fragile and frail. Your hair, once a cascade of curls that framed your face with warmth, had been replaced by a bald scalp, a stark reminder of the battle you fought with every breath.

Even your wedding rings, symbols of the love you and Harry shared, no longer fit your slender fingers, so he wore them on a chain around his neck, keeping them close to his heart.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he reached out to take your hand in his.

"You will, pretty girl," he said softly, his voice filled with determination. "Y’going to get better, I know it."

But deep down, Harry couldn't shake the sinking feeling in his chest, the fear that he might lose you before you had the chance to see your dreams fulfilled.

So, as you drifted off to sleep, he sat by your bedside, his heart heavy with the weight of impending loss.

"I don't want to say goodbye," he whispered into the darkness, his voice barely above a whisper. "Because this one means forever."

He brushed a tear from his cheek as he watched over you, vowing to cherish every precious moment they had left together, unwilling to let go of the love that had defined their lives.

April, 2024.

❛ And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers❜

As Harry sat in the garden with Grace nestled in his lap, the night enveloped them in its quiet embrace. The stars twinkled overhead, their distant light casting a soft glow over the garden, while the faint crackle of embers from the nearby fire pit added to the ambiance. But despite the beauty of the night, Harry couldn't shake the overwhelming sense of loneliness that washed over him.

All day little Grace had asked about seeing mummy so who was harry to deny her of that?

"Look, Daddy! Look at all the stars!" Grace exclaimed, her small finger pointing up at the shimmering sky.

Harry forced a smile, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"They're beautiful, aren't they, sweet girl?" he replied, his voice tinged with sadness.

"Yeah, but I still can't see Mommy," Grace said, her voice filled with longing. "When is she coming?"

“I’m not sure sweet girl,” Harry's heart shattered at her words, the pain of your loss echoing in his chest.

"I know you miss her, sweet girl," he said softly, pulling her closer. "I miss her too, but she’s always going to be up there isn’t she? up in the stars watching over me and you.”

"I want to see her," Grace insisted, her bottom lip trembling.

Harry's eyes welled up with tears as he looked down at his daughter, her innocent face filled with confusion and sorrow.

"I know, sweet girl," he murmured, his voice choked with emotion. "I wish I could bring her back for you."

"Why can't you, Daddy?" Grace asked, her voice tinged with frustration.

Harry's heart clenched at her words, the weight of his grief pressing down on him like a lead weight.

"Because she's in the stars now, sweetheart," he explained gently, his voice trembling.

Grace's eyes filled with tears as she buried her face in Harry's chest, her small body shaking with sobs.

"I want Mommy," she cried, her voice muffled against his shirt.

Harry held her tightly, his own tears mingling with hers as he struggled to find the words to comfort her.

"I know, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "I want mommy too."

February, 2024.

❛ Oh, it hurts so hard

For a million different reasons

You took the best of my heart

And left the rest in pieces ❜

As Harry sat in front of the photo of the two of you on your wedding day, the memories came flooding back like a tidal wave crashing over him.

The room felt empty, the silence deafening, as he clutched the half-drunk bottle of wine in his hands. With Grace sleeping at his mom's house for the night, he was left alone with his thoughts, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like a ton of bricks.

"Oh, it hurts so hard," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the stillness of the room.

He traced the outline of your face in the photo, his fingertips lingering on the curve of your smile, the sparkle in your eyes. The love they shared had been pure and unconditional, a bond that seemed unbreakable. But now, with you gone, Harry felt like a ship lost at sea, adrift in a vast ocean of loneliness and despair.

"You took the best of my heart," he murmured, his voice thick with tears,

And he didn’t want to admit that the rest was left in puzzle pieces.

Tears streamed down his face as he poured himself another glass of wine, the bitter taste doing little to dull the ache in his heart. He felt like he was suffocating, drowning in a sea of memories that threatened to swallow him whole.

"Why did y’have to go?" Harry whispered, his voice filled with anguish as he stared at the photo, as if willing it to provide him with answers. "We were supposed to grow old together, to watch Grace grow up, to share a lifetime of memories."

But the photo remained silent, a frozen moment in time that offered no solace, no comfort in the face of his pain. And as Harry sat alone in the darkness, he realized that no amount of wine could dull the ache of your absence, no words could bring you back to him.

"I miss you, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice breaking with emotion. "More than words can say."

June, 2024.

❛ Diggin' through your old birthday letters

A crumpled 20 still in the box

I don't think that I could ever find a way to spend it

Even if it's the last 20 that I've got, oh ❜

the weight of your absence felt heavier than ever. Today was Grace's third birthday, a day meant to be filled with joy and celebration, but instead, it served as a painful reminder of the life you should have been there to share.

With trembling hands, Harry sifted through the stack of cards, each one a precious memento of the love you poured into every aspect of your daughter's life. He ran his fingers over the familiar handwriting, his heart breaking with each heartfelt message penned by your hand.

But then, something caught his eye at the bottom of the box—a crumpled £20 note. Harry's breath caught in his throat as he unfolded the worn bill, his fingers trembling as he realized its significance. It was the last £20 that you had given him, tucked away as a surprise in one of Grace's birthday cards.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he stared at the crumpled note, his heart aching with the weight of your absence. He had never been able to bring himself to spend it, holding onto it like a lifeline to the memories of the life they had shared together.

"Mommy got y’something special," Harry said softly, his voice thick with emotion, as he called Grace into the room. "This card is from her."

Grace's eyes widened with excitement as she took the card from Harry's outstretched hand, her fingers tracing the familiar handwriting.

"From Mommy?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder as Harry also handed her the crumpled £20.

"What are you going to spend the money on, sweet girl?" Harry asked gently, his voice tinged with sadness as he looked into his daughter's innocent eyes.

Grace's brows furrowed slightly as she considered her father's question. After a moment of thoughtful silence, she looked up at Harry with a determined expression.

"M’going to buy some happiness," she replied softly, her voice filled with sincerity. "So that you can be happy, Daddy."

Harry's breath caught in his throat as he gazed at his daughter, her words piercing through the veil of his grief like a ray of sunlight breaking through storm clouds. Tears welled up in his eyes as he reached out to pull Grace into a tight embrace.

"Oh, sweet girl," he whispered, his voice choked with emotion. "Y’already make me happier than I ever thought possible."

February, 2025.

❛ I'm still holdin' on to everything that's dead and gone

I don't wanna say goodbye, 'cause this one means forever

And now you're in the stars and six-feet's never felt so far

Here I am alone between the heavens and the embers ❜

The anniversary of your death was a cruel reminder of the void that now existed in his life, a void that could never be filled. He set down the bouquet of flowers he had brought, their vibrant colors stark against the somber backdrop of the cemetery.

"M’still holding on to everything that's dead and gone," Harry whispered, his voice barely above a hoarse whisper, as if afraid to disturb the silence of the graveyard.

Tears welled up in Harry's eyes as he sat down beside your grave, the cold earth beneath him a painful reminder of the finality of death. He traced the letters of your name etched into the headstone, his fingers trembling with grief.

"And now you're in the stars, and six-feet's never felt so far," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. "Y’should be here, by m’side and we should be living life like we were supposed to be doing, I shouldn’t be visiting your gave, s’too unfair."

"I brought you y’favorite flowers," he said softly, his voice choked with emotion. "I hope you like them."

He paused, as if waiting for a response that would never come. The silence of the cemetery enveloped him like a shroud, amplifying the ache in his heart.

"I wish you were here," he whispered, his voice barely above a whisper. "I wish we could have just one more day together."

Tears streamed down Harry's face as he poured out his heart to you, his words a mix of sorrow and longing.

"Grace is growing up so fast," he continued, his voice trembling with emotion. "She's so much like you, y’know? Sometimes it feels like you're still here, watching over us."

He reached out to touch the cold marble of your headstone, his fingers tracing the letters of your name.

"I miss you every day," he confessed, his voice breaking with grief. "I don't know how to live without you."

As Harry spoke, memories flooded his mind, each one a bittersweet reminder of the love you had shared.

"Do y’remember our first date?" he asked softly, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "I was so nervous, but you made me feel like everything was going to be okay."

He wiped away his tears, his heart heavy with the weight of your absence.

"I wish I could turn back time," he whispered, his voice filled with regret. "I wish I could tell y’how much I love you one more time."

And then, with a heavy heart, Harry pressed a kiss to your grave, his lips lingering on the cold stone as if seeking solace in its unforgiving surface.

"Goodbye, pretty girl," he whispered, his voice barely audible above the gentle rustle of the wind.

“Until we meet again.”

[alecrysalia]

pls rant your taco headcanons 🥺 i love your content

OH MY GOSH I STARTED SQUEALING AND FLAPPING MY HANDSD ASDHJBSADGHVSADBHJ this is my first ask EVER THANK YOU SO MUCH WAHH

HEADCANNONS!! (some are humanoid versions shabdd)

-from living in the forest for a while, her hair kinda got very tangled and long, and it was SUPER annoying to deal with everyday so she'd just tie it back in a sloppy bun or pony-tail to keep it out of her face until microphone comes along, sees that taco is struggling with her hair and offers to cut it for her. eventually she says yes after her hair gets snagged or caught on something, or keeps falling in her face, so mic cuts it to her shoulders and stylizes it a bit. -after microphone left, and while mepad was still asleep, taco took off the headphones but let out a hiss when her hair got snagged on the headphones, and angrily ripped the headphones off her hair. she grabbed the scissors microphone left behind and chopped off her hair so it was around chin-length instead, a messy, unruly birds nest on her head. -you guys know how taco can hide anything in her shell right?? in the human version Mephone4 coded her with an infinite pocket space for her clothes. so take a normal pair of pants right? put it on anyone, it's fine, but as soon as taco puts it on its this endless infinite void of space within the pockets. if she stuffed a lot of things inside the pockets but ends up taking off the clothing WITH said-items still inside, the clothes will rumble for a moment before everything comes exploding out like some cartoon scene and its the funniest thing ever in my opinion -at first taco genuinely just saw microphone as a stepping-stool, as stated in the show when taco let her know that it was an alliance and nothing more, but over time of them hanging out she genuinely cared for her and grew attached. she tried to show she was useful and didn't want microphone to leave, so she did everything she could to help her win. it wasn't really about getting 50% of mic's winnings at that point honestly -mepad has heaters in his body, and would cuddle taco while she slept to keep her warm during the night. this is cannon i was the 7th blade of grass. -while taco was kidnapping Mepad, during the scene of Knife and Microphone talking, knife just stares at this tiny 4'9 woman just throw a 6'5 android over her shoulder after doing the pg-13 equivalent of using chloroform. he's just staring blankly and not even reacting. shock. -after she got revived in ep15, and mepad teleported them away after resigning, she has a panic attack in the forest because she literally just died and mepad grabs a hold of her hands trying to calm her down. it's then and there she recieves the first hug ever in a very long time, and she definitely breaks down crying from the warmth a hug provides. also like- it's mepad- that man would give THE best hugs. (in the gijinka design he has arms, for the object thing he'd just press his screen to her back and turn on the heaters to try and comfort her.) -when she's nervous or anxious, her hands will start trembling, and she'll either brush her knuckles together or clasp her hands together behind her back. -she's built up a strong immunity to the poisonous berries or plants in the forest, but not to sicknesses, so if she's in the mansion or hotel (au where it exists,) and being around a bunch of other people and possible sicknesses, she'd be hit HARD with fevers or colds whenever someone else is sick. -she's partially blind in her right eye -once her and mic make up, microphone fixes her choppy hair up a bit -taco cannot handle compliments as she literally never gets them. so if someone says something somewhat even encouraging or nice about her, she'll mentally shut down and freak out and not know how to respond. -she'll sometimes just chill on microphone's head (or shoulders for human ver.) and sometimes even fall asleep.

I had to keep trying to post this because it wouldnt work and surprise surprise theres a word limit i didnt know about. i deleted half of the hcs SOBBINGG

[mpregstory]

So this is kind of odd but I wrote this long time ago. It‘s not perfect but i guess I just post it before deleting it from my void of unposted stuff haha. Hope u enjoy this 10-Chapter-Thing I wrote in I guess 2022 XD I think The Experiment sounds like a legit title but this is nothing Big u know…despite the length…

Chapter 1: The Experiment

Noah sat nervously on the examination table, staring at the sterile white light of the clinic lamp above him. Elias stood next to him, his hand tightly wrapped around his. Despite the coolness of the room, Noah could feel how warm Elias' skin was - a sign that he was also tense, even if he didn't want to admit it.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Elias asked quietly, leaning closer to him.

Noah took a deep breath. "Yes. I mean, it's crazy, but... if we can be part of something so revolutionary, why not?"

Elias grinned. "So you want to make history?"

"Sounds better than just getting old boringly."

Before Elias could reply, the door opened and a woman in a white coat entered. She was middle-aged, her gray hair tied in a strict bun, but her brown eyes seemed friendly and curious.

"Noah, Elias - welcome. My name is Dr. Laurent, and I will be supervising the procedure for you."

She sat down on the stool and flipped through a digital file on her tablet. "As you know, we are on the threshold of a new era in reproductive medicine. You both volunteered for this experiment, and I must stress that this is a unique and previously untested method. We know that the human body is amazingly adaptable - but pregnancy in a male body is a completely new territory."

Noah nodded. They had already gone through countless explanations and completed numerous tests to make sure that he was even a candidate for the experiment.

"We have developed the process to mimic the natural pregnancy of a female body as best as possible," Dr. Laurent continued. "The implanted uterine structure and the hormonal adjustment allow the embryo to implant and grow. But how exactly a birth will proceed... we don't know for sure."

Elias frowned. "Aren't there any simulations or theories?"

Dr. Laurent sighed and leaned back. "There are hypotheses. Some scientists suggest that the body will find a natural way to deliver the child - whether through some kind of modified birth or through surgery, we don't know. The research is still in its early stages."

Noah exchanged a look with Elias. That sounded risky, but also intriguing.

"So... I'm going to have the baby naturally?" he asked hesitantly.

"Not necessarily," Dr. Laurent replied. "But there are signs that the body is preparing itself for when the time comes. You will be under constant observation - if complications arise, we can intervene at any time."

Noah swallowed. He wasn't afraid of change - he was even excited. But the idea of ​​not knowing how his body would ultimately handle the birth made him think.

"And if something goes wrong?" Elias asked suddenly.

Dr. Laurent gave him an encouraging smile. "We have the best team possible by your side. And you two aren't going to go through this alone."

Elias' grip on Noah's hand tightened. He hesitated for a moment, then sighed and shook his head. "I can't believe we're actually doing this."

Noah grinned. "Too late to turn back?"

Elias laughed softly. "I should have known you were going to embark on a scientific adventure."

Dr. Laurent handed Noah a consent form. "When you're ready, sign here."

Noah picked up the pen. His heart beat faster as he signed his name.

"Welcome to the future, Mr. Carter."

Chapter 2: First Changes

Noah stood in front of the bathroom mirror and examined his own reflection. His skin was pale, his eyes slightly red - no wonder, considering he had been feeling like a walking stomach bug for days.

He leaned his hands on the sink and took a deep breath. His stomach rumbled again and a sudden gag reflex shot up his throat. Without thinking, he turned around and vomited into the toilet.

"Wow, that didn't sound healthy."

Elias leaned in the doorway, wearing only a pair of shorts, and looked at him with a worried expression.

Noah groaned and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. "Don't say anything. I'm aware of how pathetic that looked just now."

Elias came closer, knelt next to him and stroked his back soothingly. "Morning sickness? Or just a reaction to your body not knowing what the hell is going on here?"

"Both?" Noah leaned against the cool bathroom wall and sighed. "I mean, I knew this could happen. You explained it to me, but... it feels damn real."

Elias chuckled. "Because it is real."

"Yeah, thanks for the scientific clarification, Dr. Elias."

Elias grinned. "Hey, I find it fascinating. I mean, your body... is adapting to a whole new kind of existence."

Noah rolled his eyes. "I adapt by throwing up every five minutes. Great evolution."

Elias shrugged. "At least now we know it works."

Noah snorted. "I would have preferred confirmation via email rather than vomiting."

Elias helped him to his feet. "Do you think you can get something down? I can make you some tea."

Noah grimaced. "I don't know. Everything smells funny right now. Like you've sprayed the whole apartment with a perfume made from old socks and rotten fruit."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Charming."

"I'm just telling you how it is."

Elias watched him thoughtfully, then gently pulled him out of the bathroom. "Okay, then we'll come up with a new plan. You sit on the sofa, take a deep breath, and I'll test what you can eat without it causing a catastrophe."

"I don't want to eat anything."

"You don't want to lie on the floor and moan again."

Noah sighed, but collapsed onto the couch. His gaze wandered to his stomach - there was nothing there yet, but he knew that something was changing deep inside him. He had agreed to take part in this experiment, but reality hit him with a vengeance.

Elias came back with a glass of water and sat down next to him. "You know, I read that pregnant people sometimes develop strange cravings. Maybe you just need to find out what works."

Noah looked at him skeptically. "This is the moment when you suggest a completely absurd food combination, right?"

Elias grinned. "Peanut butter and cucumbers?"

Noah shuddered. "Oh God, no."

"Then I'll try something normal."

While Elias went into the kitchen, Noah leaned back and put a hand on his stomach. It was strange - so far away and yet so close. He had no idea what was to come, but one thing was certain: He was in the middle of it.

And there was no turning back.

Chapter 3: Limitless everyday life

"Noah, can you help me for a minute?"

Elias' voice rang through the apartment as Noah was lifting a heavy shopping bag out of the trunk. He sighed in annoyance. "You could come over and lend a hand!" he called back.

Elias appeared in the doorway, his arms crossed, an amused smile on his lips. "You're pregnant."

Noah rolled his eyes and pulled the heavy bag out of the car anyway. "So? I'm not made of glass. I can probably still carry a damn shopping bag."

Elias sighed and finally came to his aid. "I'm just saying. I have no idea if that's a good thing. We don't even know what strain your body can take."

"Exactly," said Noah, putting his hands on his hips. "We don't know. So we'll just carry on as before."

Elias shook his head with a grin and took the bag from him. "You're impossible."

"And you're exaggerating."

Inside, they put the groceries away while music played in the background. Noah moved to the beats, hummed along and gave Elias a challenging look. "Bet I can still beat you in a dance battle?"

Elias laughed. "You're four months pregnant and want to dance?"

"Why not?" Noah shrugged. "I'm fine. I feel fit. And as long as nothing feels strange, I see no reason to do anything differently."

Elias raised an eyebrow. "Aha. And that pulling in your back the other day? Or how you said the other day that your stomach felt strange?"

Noah waved it off. "Normal things. I'm not sick, Eli."

"No, but you're pregnant. A pregnancy like no other. I'm just saying, maybe you should take it easy."

Noah rolled his eyes. "I take it easy when I'm tired. And as long as I'm not, I enjoy my life."

Elias shook his head, but he knew he couldn't fight Noah's stubbornness. And deep down, he was impressed. Noah didn't let anything slow him down - not even an experimental pregnancy.

The next day, Noah went to the gym with him. Nothing extreme, but a little exercise didn't hurt. He didn't want to feel like an experiment, but like a normal person. While Elias was on the treadmill, Noah did light exercises with weights. The other people around him didn't know about his situation - and he preferred that.

But when he stood up again after a squat, he felt a strange pulling sensation in his stomach. Not painful, but intense. He winced and pressed a hand against his lower abdomen.

Elias noticed immediately. "Hey, is everything OK?"

Noah forced a smile. "Yeah, sure. Just... maybe a little too much."

Elias crossed his arms. "Oh, don't tell me."

Noah sighed and plopped down on a bench. "Okay, maybe I was wrong."

Elias grinned triumphantly. "That's what I wanted to hear."

Noah leaned his head back and looked at the ceiling. He didn't want to be wrapped in cotton wool, but he had to admit that his body might not be as invulnerable as he had hoped.

Maybe it was time to slow down a little bit.

Just a little bit.

Chapter 4: An Unexpected Incident

Noah stood in front of the mirror in their hotel room bathroom and turned to the side. His belly was now clearly visible. In the last few weeks, his body had changed, faster than he had expected. It was strange - fascinating on the one hand, but also made him feel a little alien in his own skin.

"You stare at yourself like you're a scientific miracle."

Noah flinched when Elias appeared in the doorway behind him. He was wearing only loose shorts and a crumpled T-shirt, his hair was tousled from sleep.

"So am I," Noah murmured, stroking his round belly.

Elias stepped closer and placed his hands gently on Noah's hips. "Yes, but you're just you."

Noah sighed and leaned against him slightly. "I don't know. It feels... surreal. I've been wondering what it would be like for so long, and now I'm in the middle of it."

Elias kissed him gently on the shoulder. "So? Do you regret it?"

Noah shook his head. "No. I don't think so. But I feel like I don't know what my body will do next."

"Then let it do what it has to do. We'll get through this."

Noah smiled slightly and turned to him. "I hope you're right."

The vacation had actually been a spontaneous idea. They had told themselves that there was nothing that spoke against it - Noah was feeling well and the doctors had not imposed any restrictions on them. So they had decided to go to the seaside, to simply enjoy a few days before the next big phase began.

They walked along the promenade, the sun was high in the sky, the sound of the waves accompanied their steps. Noah was wearing a light shirt that didn't hide his belly, but didn't show it off either. Elias had his hand in his as they strolled through small shops.

"Okay, I'm hungry," Noah suddenly announced.

Elias laughed. "Again? You just ate something two hours ago."

"Yes, but the baby, or whatever it is now, wants more."

Elias grinned and pulled him to a small café on the side of the road. "Then let's feed the science project."

They sat down at a table overlooking the sea and Noah ordered a huge portion of pasta and a fruit juice. Elias watched him with a grin.

"You know, if you weren't so thin, people would think you had twins or something."

Noah snorted. "God forbid. One experiment is enough for me."

Elias laughed and took a sip of his coffee.

But in the middle of eating, Noah suddenly stopped. His face twisted and he put a hand on his stomach.

Elias noticed it immediately. "Hey, what's wrong?"

Noah blinked as if he had to collect himself first. "I... I don't know. It feels different. Not bad, just... strange."

Elias frowned. "How strange?"

Noah hesitated, then laughed quietly. "Forget it. Maybe I just ate too quickly."

But deep down he knew it was more. Something was changing. And he had no idea what it meant.

Chapter 5: Vacation

The sun was high in the sky when Noah and Elias woke up early in the morning in their rented vacation apartment on the coast. The room, bright and friendly, offered a view of the endless blue of the sea - a promise of freedom and relaxation that both of them equally expected.

Noah lay in bed for a moment, feeling the warm, familiar pressure of his growing belly, which reminded him of the incredible experiment they had taken part in. Despite all the uncertainty and the doctors' warnings, he felt fit and alive - and today this vacation was to be a celebration of carefree joy.

"Wake up, my heart," Elias whispered as he gently touched Noah's shoulder. "The sun is calling us - and today there is no room for worries."

Noah smiled sleepily and sat up. "I actually wanted to lie down for a few more minutes... but you're right. Today is to be a day full of adventures."

After a short, leisurely breakfast on the small terrace, enjoying fresh orange juice and homemade yoghurt, they headed for the beach. The promenade was filled with the hum of holidaymakers, the sound of the waves and the quiet laughter of people. Everywhere there was an atmosphere of lightness and curiosity that lay like an invisible blanket over the day.

Elias suggested renting a small boat to experience the coast from the water. Noah, who still felt the urge for thrills despite his experimental state, nodded enthusiastically. In the boat, surrounded by salty sea air and the rhythm of the gentle waves, Noah felt free - even if his body now betrayed something completely different.

"You know," Elias began as they sat on the bow and looked at the horizon, "I find it incredible how you don't let yourself be restricted. Your energy is contagious."

Noah put a hand on his stomach and laughed quietly. "It's crazy, isn't it? A few doctors, a groundbreaking experiment – ​​and now I'm living this dream. I mean, who would have thought that a man could be pregnant and have so much fun while doing it?"

The two of them enjoyed this special moment without thinking about the risks that lurked somewhere in the background. Everyday life had already taught them that sometimes you just have to embrace life and let it surprise you.

Later that day they returned to a small beach café, where they sat in the shade of an old palm tree. While Noah sipped a freshly squeezed fruit juice, Elias studied his partner's slightly bulging belly with fascination.

"Sometimes I think your belly has more adventures than both of us put together," Elias teased with a smile.

Noah shook his head and grinned. "Maybe he's developing his own plan – completely independent of me."

The conversation was accompanied by quiet, friendly glances from the café visitors, who curiously observed the unusual but harmonious couple dynamic. For Noah, this vacation was not only a break from everyday life, but also proof that one does not have to be limited by social norms. The researchers had many questions, but here, amid the sound of the sea and the warm embrace of the sun, it did not matter if his body functioned differently - the main thing was that he felt alive.

During the afternoon they walked along the beach, collecting shells and letting their thoughts wander. Noah kept feeling the gentle, constant pulsing in his stomach - a mysterious signal that both warned and fascinated him. Elias watched him lovingly, always ready to support him if things took an unexpected turn.

"I don't know if I ever learned to accept my limits," Noah confessed as they reached a small bay and sat down on a rock. "But today, right here, I feel stronger than ever before - as if I and this belly were one."

Elias took his hand and squeezed it gently. "We have chosen this adventure, and no matter what happens, we are in it together. Maybe we don't yet know how the birth will ultimately go - but we know that we have each other."

In that moment, under the azure sky and with the sound of the sea in our ears, everything seemed possible. The future lay unwritten before them - and despite all the uncertainty, today was a promise: a promise to celebrate life in all its facets, courageously and without regrets.

Chapter 6: First signs?

On a warm afternoon, as the holiday took on its peaceful rhythm, Noah and Elias sat relaxed in the shade of a large palm tree. The sun painted golden stripes on the sand roof, and the gentle sound of the waves conveyed a deceptive calm. But something else was brewing inside Noah.

While Elias was engrossed in a conversation with the café owner, Noah suddenly felt a strange pulling in his stomach. It was not a stabbing pain, but more of a pressing, pulsating feeling, as if something was moving that he could not control. He instinctively placed a hand on the growing curve and tried to concentrate on the calming sound of the sea.

"Everything okay?" asked Elias when he returned to Noah and saw the questioning look in his eyes.

"Yes, yes..." murmured Noah and forced himself to smile, although he hesitated inside. "Probably just one of those stupid muscle contractions, you know, because everything is so unfamiliar."

Elias studied him for a while, and although he tried to appear calm, a certain fascination flashed in his eyes. "I find it amazing how your body reacts to the experiment. Every day brings something new - and you bear it all so confidently."

Noah laughed briefly, but the laughter quickly faded as the pulling in his stomach became more intense. He felt an unpleasant pressure building up that took his breath away. At the same time, doubt and worry arose in his mind: Was this the beginning of something that he had only heard in the doctors' explanatory words? The researchers had emphasized that the process of giving birth in a male body was a blank slate.

"Eli, maybe..." Noah began, but he stopped when another wave of pain shot through his abdomen.

Elias took his hand and squeezed it gently. "Tell me, you look a little pale. Maybe we should retreat into the shade for a moment?"

Noah nodded hesitantly. They went to a secluded spot under an old tree whose wide branches offered a cool refuge. As they sat there, Noah tried to breathe deeply and interpret the emerging symptoms. He remembered the doctors' numerous explanations: that the body often sends unusual signals when it prepares for birth - a process that was completely new and unpredictable in this experimental pregnancy.

"I don't know if I'm reading too much into it," Noah finally whispered and looked at Elias, who returned his gaze attentively.

Elias smiled reassuringly. "Sometimes our bodies play tricks on us. But you have to listen to yourself. Maybe it's just an early contraction or an indication that something is changing."

At that moment, Noah realized that Elias's fascination lay not only in reassuring words, but also in the way he looked at the growing belly - as if it were a living work of art, a miracle that connected them both in unexpected ways.

"You may be worrying too much," Elias said gently, stroking Noah's hand. "Remember that we are going through this adventure together. Whether it is just a temporary inconvenience or the beginning of something completely new - we are staying together."

Noah sighed deeply, and although he was still plagued by uncertainty inside, he gave Elias a grateful smile. In the hours that followed, they tried to carry on with their daily routine - a walk on the beach, a quick trip to a nearby café - but Noah's symptoms became more and more present. An occasional stabbing pain, a sudden feeling of pressure that made him pause. Again and again he felt his body signaling to him that he needed to be more attentive.

Despite the increasing signs, Noah initially maintained his relaxed attitude. He did not want to think about an imminent birth, as uncertain as the situation was. Elias, on the other hand, was alternately fascinated and worried. Again and again he tried to downplay the symptoms, with a wink and loving comments, while at the same time he could not ignore the possibility of real change.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun slowly set in a spectacular display of colors, Noah again felt an intense pain that almost made him sink to the ground. This time it was obvious: the first contractions had started. Between amazement, concern and a pinch of defiance, Noah knew that their journey into unknown waters had only just begun.

"Elias... I think this is more than just a muscle cramp," he murmured, while Elias immediately went on alert.

Elias looked into Noah's eyes, which now showed the vague realization that something inevitable was about to happen. "We'll stay together no matter what happens," he said quietly as he took Noah in his arms.

In that moment, accompanied by the last rays of the sun and the gentle sound of the sea, they realized that they had to embrace the unknown - as a couple, as a team, as pioneers in a new world of reproductive medicine.

Chapter 7: Birth Begins

As dusk fell and the sky glowed a soft orange, Noah suddenly felt a wave of intense pain that nearly knocked him off his feet. In the middle of a peaceful walk on the beach, a new, overwhelming contraction shot through his body. Elias, who was always by Noah's side, noticed the change immediately - Noah's face turned pale and a cold sweat beaded on his forehead.

"Noah, this is different than before," Elias whispered, gently grabbing his shoulder. "We have to get to safety." The words sounded urgent amid the sound of the waves and the approaching night.

They quickly found refuge in a small, unoccupied tent that was being used as emergency accommodation by some tourists. Elias helped Noah lie down on a makeshift bed while he frantically pulled out his phone to call for medical help - but in this remote coastal town the signal was weak and times were uncertain.

With a trembling voice and pain in his eyes, Noah looked up at Elias. "Eli, I think it's time." He put a hand to his growing belly as another violent wave of pain hit him. The contractions became faster, more intense, and gave him little time to breathe.

Elias knelt by his side, squeezed his hand and spoke in a calm, firm voice: "Breathe, my love. We can do this - I'm with you." Despite his own fear rising within him, Elias focused only on Noah. He had no experience of childbirth, and the thought that their experiment was now taking on a completely unknown reality made his heart beat faster. But at that moment, his only job was to support Noah.

The minutes stretched on endlessly as Noah vacillated between intense pain and a strange sense of wonder. "It feels so... strange, yet incredible," he groaned as another wave of pain rolled over him. Elias gently wiped the sweat from his brow and murmured quiet words of encouragement, trying to hide his own fear.

Reality hit them both: The doctors had warned against the experiment - giving birth in a male body was uncharted territory. Every pain, every movement was new and inexplicable. As Noah struggled with the successive contractions, Elias' initial fascination was quickly replaced by concern. "Noah, this is more than just a contraction," he said, his voice trembling as the contractions came at ever shorter intervals.

With each beat of his heart, Noah realized that this was the moment they had let themselves in for, albeit unprepared. Between pain and the fleeting feeling of a miracle beginning, he felt his body preparing for an inevitable, mysterious change.

Elias placed his hand tenderly on Noah's belly and whispered: "We'll stay together, no matter what happens." In that silent, almost magical hour, as the last rays of day faded into night, the inevitable began: the birth had begun and would change their lives forever.

Chapter 8: Panic and Reality

Darkness had fallen like a heavy curtain over the beach as the situation reached its climax in the small, improvised shelter. The loud, erratic waves of the sea formed an ominous backdrop as Noah trembled amidst the ongoing contractions. His face was twisted with pain and fear, and each new wave seemed to sap his strength.

Elias sat close to him, his hand tightly wrapped around Noah's as he tried to keep the rising panic at bay. But his eyes reflected deep concern - the first hint of real fear of the unknown. "Noah, I... I don't know if we can do this," he whispered, staring unceasingly at his cell phone. The emergency call attempt in this remote coastal town only brought back a weak signal.

Noah was breathing heavily, his body seemed to rebel against every resistance. "I don't want to die here, Eli... but I feel like it's about to happen," he murmured, as another violent contraction almost took his breath away. His voice wavered between pain and an almost incredulous amazement - the awareness that he was part of a scientific miracle that was now taking shape in painful, real moments.

The minutes stretched on in agony. Elias tried to stay calm, even though his heart was pounding wildly in his chest. "We have to accept reality," he said in a firm but fragile voice. "The experiment has led us into a situation that we could never fully understand. Now we have to make the best of it - together."

A particularly intense jolt of pain made Noah squint. At that moment, the pent-up panic inside him erupted. "Eli, I'm so scared. I don't know if my body can take this." Between the groans, he struggled to think clearly.

Elias squeezed his hand even tighter and replied, "I'm here. We're together - we've always said that. I won't leave you alone, no matter how wild it gets." His words were a weak anchor in the midst of the raging storm that was taking place inside Noah's body.

Meanwhile, Elias tried desperately to reach further help over the crackling phone. But the unreliable connection in this remote corner kept leaving him with the bitter realization that they were on their own. "The reception is catastrophic. But we have to keep trying," he muttered as he made another emergency call.

Outside, the sea raged in the night, as if the forces of nature themselves wanted to dictate the rhythm of birth. Every thunder of the waves seemed to intensify the pain in Noah's stomach, and the reality of the moment became more and more inexorable. "It feels like everything - the experiment, our hopes, even our entire vacation - is condensed into this one, painful moment," Noah thought, trying to cling to Elias' words.

Elias, clearly torn inside, saw in Noah's eyes a shift between pure panic and a hint of acceptance. He whispered: "Breathe, Noah. Focus on me. We can do this - we just have to hold on until help comes."

The last seconds seemed to last an eternity. Between the successive contractions and the incessant sound of the sea, one thing was certain: the birth, as unpredictable and frightening as it was, could no longer be postponed. Reality had intervened in all its brutal form, and the two of them had to face the inevitable - alone, but together.

Amidst the chaos, as another wave of intense pain washed over Noah, he closed his eyes for a brief moment, as if gathering strength within himself. Elias' voice, now almost pleading, sounded: "I am here. Hold on, my love. We will get through this together - come, breathe with me."

The night seemed to hold its breath as reality manifested itself in every fiber of its being. The unknown that once existed only in scientific theories was now tangible - a moment of fear, pain and unwavering love. And in that moment, as panic merged with brutal reality, it became clear that what had started as an experiment had now become a fight for life, love and the miracle of birth.

Chapter 9: Birth by the Sea

The stars sparkled in the cloudless night sky as Noah's contractions began in relentless succession. The makeshift shelter offered little shelter, and the incessant sound of the sea was the only music in this overwhelming moment. Elias knelt by Noah's side, holding his hand tightly and whispering soothing words as each new jolt of pain stretched time into endless seconds.

On the deserted beach, accompanied by the gentle play of the waves and the occasional call of a lone seagull, Noah fought against the overwhelming pain. His body - until now the scene of a scientific miracle - now revealed its raw, unfiltered nature. With each breath he was drawn deeper into the maelstrom of birth, while Elias tried tirelessly to support and comfort him.

"Breathe, my love, I'm here," Elias murmured as he squeezed Noah's shaking hand. Those words were more than just a promise - they were their shared anchor in the midst of the chaotic storm.

Then, as the fiercest contraction rolled over him, the unbelievable happened: a loud, piercing scream filled the night - and almost instantly a second scream followed. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as Noah realized that not one, but two little lives were finding their way into this world at the same time.

Exhausted and overwhelmed by a mixture of pain, amazement and indescribable joy, Noah looked at Elias with wide eyes. "Twins..." he breathed in disbelief as he felt the pulsing in his belly more clearly - a double miracle that exceeded all his expectations.

Elias approached, his heart beating at a rapid pace, and he gently stroked Noah's sweat and damp skin. "Welcome, you little miracles," he whispered, trying to push his own fear into the background and concentrate fully on Noah and the two newborns.

The pain of birth slowly gave way to a deep, almost indescribable relief. On that remote night by the sea, far from modern medicine and the usual rules, they had experienced something together that overshadowed all previous ideas of birth. The interplay of pain, the force of nature and love had brought forth two new lives - a triumph that echoed in the gentle, endless waves of the sea.

When the first faint rays of dawn touched the horizon, Noah and Elias lay tightly embraced, the tiny bodies of the twins tenderly held in Noah's arms. In that peaceful moment, surrounded by the vastness of the sea and the silence of the early morning hours, they knew that together they would overcome any challenge, no matter how unforeseeable – because they had experienced not just one miracle, but two.

Chapter 10: A Miracle

As the first rays of morning light bathed the horizon in soft shades of pink and gold, Noah and Elias sat on the beach, tightly embraced, the twins in Noah's arms. The chaotic night in which the unimaginable had happened was now behind them - but the impressions and questions it carried with it were burned deep into their hearts.

Exhausted and overwhelmed by a feeling that was simultaneously gratitude, amazement and a slight restlessness, Noah looked at the tiny, sleeping faces of his children. Amidst the roaring sea and the gentle sound of the waves, everything seemed to stand still for a moment.

"I can hardly believe it," Noah whispered softly as he carefully sang to one of the children, "that we have experienced not just one miracle, but two."

Elias, whose hand was tightly wrapped around Noah's, nodded in agreement. His eyes reflected the same mixture of relief and new hope - but also the burden of unexpected questions. How would the world react to this groundbreaking experience? What new opportunities and challenges would the experiment open up for the future? And above all: How should they, as a young family, dare to take the next step?

The memories of the fear-filled night when they fought the unknown alone and without immediate help became a silent promise. A promise to always be there for each other - in good times and in difficult times.

"We have made history," Noah said finally, his voice firm and at the same time gentle as he looked at his children. "Perhaps many more questions will come our way, but one thing I know for sure: we will answer them together."

Elias laid his head on Noah's shoulder and added: "Hand in hand, just as we always were. This adventure has shown us that love and trust are stronger than any uncertainty."

With the gentle crackle of the first rays of sun and the soothing sound of the sea as a melody in their hearts, they looked to the future - ready to take on any challenge that life would still have in store for them. In that moment, they were not only witnesses to a scientific breakthrough, but architects of a new world in which wonder and questions go hand in hand.

The End?

[celesteficdreamland]

GAMBLING ROULETTE

[BNHA Various x Female!Transported Reader] You wake up in a sterile white room, your body aching, your mind blank, and yet... not empty.

The faces around you are unfamiliar, and yet your heart races like it’s met them before. A woman with a syringe for a cane heals you with a kiss. A tired-looking man binds you with his scarf and stares with eyes that feel like they’ve seen right through you before. And a dominatrix in a skin-tight suit calls herself a “pro hero” while laughing like she already knows you.

You don’t know where you are. You don’t know how you got here. But something deep inside you whispers: You’ve seen this somewhere before.

Body engulf in the void and strange text appearing about someone's life.

There’s a strange name in your head that is shrouded in deep mystery, and powers in your hands you don’t remember ever learning to use. But when the mattress beneath you starts to burn without fire, you begin to realize—this isn’t just a dream. You’re not just lost.

You’re remembering something you’ve never known. And someone, or something... wants you to forget it all. It doesn’t matter, you’re going to trust your instincts, take the chance, and gamble with everything you’ve got!

Word Count: 4395 words.

CH1, CH2

Warnings: Mention of character deaths, Suicidal thoughts, Adult theme-ish (alcohol, smoking, gambling and sexuality tension), Quirk discrimination, Racism, Bullying in future chapters etc.

“アホのトリアウナカ”

"It’s all your fault!!!" A loud scream that impacts with pure hatred

You jolt up wide awake. Your vision was blurry for a couple of seconds, you blink and shut your eyes to rub against your hand, when you start to open your eyes again. You start to see things clearly; you look at your surroundings, and it took you a second to realize, what seems to be an infirmary room.

 You glance to your side to see some medical posters and an extra bed near the window. Warm sunlight illumining through the infirmary room.

 Across the room, there was a poster. You look at what seems to be a poster of a person with blond hair with two spikes that looks like a rabbit, has a ton of muscles in his body and most of all the person in the poster was wearing a costume that has a cape. ‘He looks like a child wearing that superhero costume and He probably used steroids for his muscles.’  You thought the colors on the costume of the man child consist of red, some patterns of white, a blue colored suit that attached to the whole outfit, on his waist, there was a yellow belt, on his hands, he wore gloves that looks like gold and also the boots.

‘This person looks oddly familiar, but I can’t remember, everything that is in my head it’s all a blu-‘ You were cut off from your thoughts by an extreme pain rushing to your right-side waist. "grhmm!!! " You grunt loudly from the pain it feels like you were kicked, stabbed and got hit by a huge truck.

You look down to see that your lower body minus your breast, were all wrapped around with bondages. You also wear what appears to be hospital clothes that patients usually wear if they were ill or probably after patching up a wound, yet in your case, the bondages and the immense pain right now towards your right-side waist, you guess that something must have happened to you, still, you can’t remember a single thing.

You put your hands on your waist to soothe the pain, but it was not technically working. Although you were in pain, you can hear the door open? No slide to the side, you can hear multiple footsteps coming closer.

"My, my you’re actually awake and now causing quite a fuss." An old women’s voice spoke from the right side, examining you as squirm.

 You glance to the side to find a short elderly woman with a large syringe that is designed to be a cane. Her hair color is gray with a hairstyle of a bun that also has a syringe on her hair that is poking diagonally out of it to the left. She wears a pink helmet that covers around the side of her head and a purple-tinted visor accompanying the helmet that joins over her eyes.

You look down to see she was wearing a classic doctor’s lab coat, a dress that has a design of yellow and red vest-like designs on either side, two yellow buttons, a belt with a pink capital R-shaped buckle and she even wears two pink boots.

"Just hold on now young one, once I activate my quirk the pain will substantially go away." She said. She came closer to you, she puckered up her lips that seemingly looking like she was ready to kiss you. You were about to ask her for some painkillers until you watched her lips stretch heading towards your bondage waist. You could feel the pain slowly fading with each second.

You begin to stop grunting from the pain, a smooch sound can be heard in the room. You look to the old lady, her lips retracted back in place, why do you get the feeling like this isn’t normal. You suddenly felt exhausted as if you run a marathon while carrying heavy weights tied is also tied around your limbs. You breathe heavily.

The old lady notices your posture and heavy breathing. "My quirk is actually a healing ability, I can heal anyone to those who are injured, but there is a drawback to my quirk. You see it extracts the stamina in order to heal the wound, unfortunately, if I exceed in taking much more stamina to the victim then, they would surely subside. "

You widen your eyes; the fact is that the old lady’s power would kill you if she would have continued healing you, yet in exchange for taking away your stamina.

"Thank you." You mumbled, still trying to recover from the dissipation of your stamina. After a few minutes, you finally speak about one question that’s been lingering in your mind.

"Who are you?" You asked, referring to the elderly nurse.

The elderly doctor perked up at your question "I am the Youthful Heroine: Recovery Girl." She gently said.

"You know the hero Recovery Girl is actually a support kind of hero, she mostly heals her allies so that they could recover from the damage taken from a villain or accidents, her real name is Chiyo Shuzenji. The healing process, however, is not without its cost. It requires stamina from the receiver's part in order to work, leaving said receiver very exhausted after the process is completed if an injury is, or injuries are, serious enough."

"If the amount of stamina someone has is less than what is needed to heal their injuries, the process could lead to their death. In other scenarios like Sir Nighteye for example, cannot use her quirk on him because he had suffered a serious amount of injuries on his body, her quirk will be unable to save them from death." There was a hint of sadness in her tone.

"Did you know that her height is 115cm which is 3'9¼ I guess old age had hit her hard to shrink that is?" A peal of faint laughter was heard, trying to change the conversation atmosphere.

 "Well, her blood type is b, while her birthday is on April 4 and most of all her quirk is ‘heal’ but I had already given you a hint at the beginning. Her quirk type is an emitter and her quirk range is based on physical contact. She’s one of those caring and very compassionate type of character, but she also has a drawback which is her censorious toward others, if they did not reach their potential and expectation. Oh, and she even hit people with her syringe cane, you can expect that her varieties in medical knowledge are one of a kind."

"Ssshhhh!" The female’s voice hushed then slowly started to turn into whispers. "She knows All might’s secrets about his identity and his conditions."

After Recovery Girl or also known as Chiyo Shuzenji introduced herself, everything around you turned into a white void, your whole surrounding of what was once an infirmary room with people are now replaced with white. You begin to blink and questioned yourself about what’s going on with yourself.

"Eepp!" You yelp from the being suddenly wrapped with strips of fabrics. You look at the culprit who entangled you.

A scruffy man, who hasn’t shaved was the one binding you with what appears to be his scarf. His hair is standing up, his eyes are pure glowing red, and most of all glaring directly at you.

"What the heck!? Why am I being wrapped up?" You questioned to the scruffy man while struggling to get free.

"You were using your quirk." He responded to your question.

"My quirk like that hero over there?" You said while eying Recovery Girl.

"Are you really not aware of using your quirk?" A low and seductive voice asked. You look over to the person who was not sure in whether you are telling the truth. A curvaceous woman whose clothes are skin tight, has a red mask that does no little to conceal her face and she wore handcuffs on each wrist.

She has sky blue eyes and She had very long thick spiky dark purple hair that the longest one reaches down below her waist.

She also wore translucent, black, thigh-high garter stockings, which were attached to a burgundy utility belt decorated with gold studs around her hips, a matching pentagonal buckle in its center, and black knee boots. To sum it all up, she looks like one of those porno dominatrices.

"Ara-ara." You blush from the woman’s outfit. The woman stands there waiting on what you’re going to say. You calm down and look at the poster of a blond superhero while refusing to look at the erotic women.

"Are you an exhibitionist?" You asked, while still avoiding eye contact. the next thing you know, the erotic woman was laughing at your question. You, Recovery Girl, and the man with the red eyes, all looked at the erotic woman who’s right now laughing hilariously at your question.

"Sorry I-I just can’t help myself!!" She laughs for a few minutes, before properly composing herself. "To answer your question." She reaches out behind her belt and took out a whip, then she started to give a little action, before finally posing in a seductive way. You also notice her nails are painted.

"I am the R-Rated Hero: Midnight, it is a pleasure to meet you." She introduced her hero name in a flirty tone.

"Dang, to be honest, she’s overly exposed that’s why there are some fans who took an extreme dislike toward the R-Rated Pro Hero: Midnight because she was extremely sexualized but some fans don’t care and tried to defend the hero and the manga author." The voice said with amusement.

"Her blood type is A and her height is 175cm which would be ‘5’9’. Every male in My Hero Academia always has their cheeks red because of her design hero costume and don’t get me started on her old hero costume from vigilante it was just pure nudity with a trench coat."

"I mean I for once totally get it and all, but I do love drama, especially on how fans react to some offending comments."

"What kind of hero you might say she is? Well… She’s the type of hero that can knock you out with her quirk Somnambulist. She gives off a fragrance of a colored violet mist from her body to spread in an area where there are many opponents or taking down a powerful villain, but her quirk is more effective against male opponents gaining her more advantage against the villains that are male. Although if she were to be against a female villain or opponent, then her quirk against them will be less effective against women."

"Her quirk type is an emitter and her quirk range just only reaches for about a medium-range."

"Her weapons of choice in battle are her whips of love which she of course is an expert on handling that type of weapon and it is suitable for her dominatrix theme. The R-Rated Pro Hero also wields a pair of hand fans to spread her sleep-inducing fragrance widely across or around her surroundings."

"The R-Rated Pro Hero: Midnight her real name is Nemuri Kayama. She’s one of the faculty members at U.A. High School, who teach modern hero art history. Her personality can be different in some situations sometimes she can be playful and flirtatious, other times she can be serious and volatile if someone mentions her age or if someone keeps on interrupting, while also being annoying she will go berserk." The voice said with mischief.

"Like one time when in one of those interviews with Mt. Lady she keeps on pestering Midnight about how she keeps on showing off about her sexiness, how she only talks about her costume’s sexiness in hero work which her whole demeanor change once she talks about her age. I guess there is a saying to all of this sexiness can make other women jealous." The voice said while bursting with laughter. 

There it is again the moment they introduced themselves the whole area around you begins to turn into white and sooner or later some voice starts to give you their bio. Once the whole information talk is done the white surroundings slowly fades.

You blink your eyes and begin to think about another piece of information from Nemuri Kayama or otherwise known as Midnight.

You shift your gaze at the scruffy male while ignoring Midnight’s introduction. "Could you please untie me with your scarf now?" You said defeatedly

Maybe after all this commotion is done a long nice nap will be good. Still feeling tired from Recovery Girl’s quirk.

"You activated your quirk, take a look at the mattress that you are sitting on." He said sternly.

You look down to see the blanket, you widen your eyes the blanket look like they were burned, although there was no sign of burning nor there was no sign of smoke. You can see the edges of the blanket have a color of dark black on the right side, while there was pure bright white color on the left side of the blanket.

"I didn’t even know that I even activated my quirk." You were stunned to see your quirk ruined the blanket and along with the mattress itself. "What happened." You look up for answers from the scruffy man.

The three heroes are now curious about you, they also take note that you are a foreigner

"You don’t know that your quirk was destroying the mattress?" He questioned.

"No, not really, I don’t even remember using my quirk and I even don’t remember myself." Your voice laced with fear while looking at the blanket. You can feel the bindings around your body started to become loose. You look up to see the scruffy man’s hair going down while his scarf retracted back around his neck. His eyes are not red anymore instead they’re black.

Now that you have a good look at the man, he is slender and tall, pale-skinned with untidy black hair that reaches to his shoulders, his hair partially hangs in front of his face and his half-opened black eyes looking like he often has fatigued.

He wears a loose-fitting black getup that consists of a long-sleeved shirt and matching pants that tuck into his boots and he also wear’s a utility belt around his waist.

"Can I ask you something?" You look at the scruffy man, then to the blanket.                       

"Where exactly am I?" You asked while playing with the outer fabric of the blanket.

"You’re in UA one of the top elite schools." Recovery Girl said. "It’s an academy that helps educate and teaches young students to become a hero." She explained.

"UA is also known for being one of the best heroics education in Japan and is currently number one in Japan." Midnight stated.

"So, UA is just a facility where students learned to become heroes and just like three of you Recovery Girl, Midnight, and..." You trailed off, you look at the scruffy man asking for his hero name and probably interested in his real name and his quirk.

"Erasure Hero: Eraser Head." The scruffy man grumbles.

"Shota Aizawa is otherwise known as The Erasure Hero: Eraser Head a Pro hero who’s also the homeroom teacher for class 1-A. Aizawa is a very firm and reserved man who has opinions and expectations to his students, he is known for being responsible for

expelling the previous Class 1-A, but then re-enrolling them back again to teach them a lesson."

"He’s tough on his students, constantly pushing them to the edge of their limit and making them go through a lot of intense training. He equally told the truth about the unpleasant parts of Heroism. He is also known for lying to his students in order to manipulate them into giving their best." The voice murmurs.

 "He always comes out cold and uncaring to his students even though on the inside he cares for them, he's also willing to protect them from danger, like the USJ arc incident where all the villains prepared to trap the students and harming them. He also shows belief in his student, for example, Katsuki Bakugo, where he believes that he can change for the better, he let himself be captured by Momo Yaoyorozu so, that he could boost her confidence and he’s a great guardian to little Eri very attentive when it comes to her" The voice squeal.

"Aizawa founds joy in tricking his students or being impressed by one of his students, he often grins when those two situations accurately happen. His Height is 183cm which is ‘6'0’ and his blood type is B. Have I ever told you that when he ties his hair into a low bun he turns into a total hunk and the fan girls are all swooning over him!!" The voice tone suddenly turned into a high pitch.

"His loud and eccentric best friend is Hizashi Yamada also known as Voice Hero: Present Mic, although there was a third best friend that both of them once had Oboro Shirakumo. The three of them were once inseparable until the day of his death, both still mourn for his death, it was a tragedy, but hey they’re just anime characters they’re not even real, it’s just the manga author steering up some drama for both of their characters." The voice ends her explanation with a laugh, you can tell that she cares for both characters.

"Anyway, let’s talk about the most exciting part and that is his quirk. His quirk is erasure and no it does not involve with erasers. His quirk can cancel out other quirks with his sights on them, making anyone vulnerable to those that rely on their abilities. Although Aizawa can disrupt the villains' quirk, he can’t cancel out some mutant quirks because some quirks are one with the user itself, such as someone’s quirk developing their whole body by iron, when they were born or when they manifest their quirk. Meaning they can’t be canceled out."

"His quirk requires him to see the enemy in his sight, if the villain is hiding from their surroundings without being seen by his quirk, then his ability would be unaffected, due to the fact that he needs to see the enemy in his sights."

"His quirk Erasure has its drawbacks, he suffers from dry eye syndrome; you see his eyes become dry the more time he uses his quirk, which limits the amount of time he can keep it active. So, he carries his eyedrops with him to keep his eyes moisturize."

"You might say that ‘if his quirk is used to see his opponents then why not avoid his line of sights’ -well, you can’t tell whether whom he activates his quirk on someone or anyone. Because he wears his golden goggles to prevent his enemies from determining whose Quirk has been erased."

"His hero weapon is his capturing weapon which is a cloth made from steel wire alloy woven with carbon nanofibers wrap around his neck like a scarf, he wields his capturing tool to immobilize his enemy and for capturing them."

"He also has caltrops, those spiky metal jackstones version. He used his caltrops to stop Shoto Todoroki from landing safely on the ground if he was going to escape from his restraints."

You were now back from the infirmary room; you now know the scruffy man or Shota Aizawa about his quirk and his information. A pro hero who’s a homeroom teacher for class 1-A. You kind of felt bad about how his past friend Oboro died.

Something is wrong here. You have a feeling that you’re not supposed to be here. You recall on what the voice said with all those anime characters, episodes, manga authors, and most of all not real. There must be more behind her words but what?

You look at the three heroes, you were now confused if they are not real then, how in the world would Recovery Girl healed you, how can they physically touch you, and worst what’s happening to your body? Is it because you now have a quirk, if so, how?

More and more questions popping out of your head, so many questions, yet no answers. You don’t even remember who you are.

"Are you all right dearie?" Recovery Girl placed her hand on your shoulder, "It seems you got a lot going on in your mind." She gave you a worried look.

You calm down, you push your troubling thoughts away, and worry about your problems later.

"I’m fine now, thank you." You replied. While playing with the bedsheets

"Do you mind telling us about your name? "Recovery Girl said. Her voice is sweet and calm, trying to make you feel safe.

"[Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N] [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N], [Y/N]!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"  Multiple voices screeched in your head, each different voice ranging from different emotions. Each time they speak, their voices would become louder and louder all the way to the end.

You hold your head trying to soothe the pain from multiple voices. After a couple of minutes, you started to regain yourself.

Those voices were repeating a person’s name, maybe those voices were referring to you but you can’t remember nor the voices were referring your last name of some sort. [Y/N] perhaps that was your first name.

"Is something wrong?" Recovery Girl said with a worried tone.

Slowly your headache begins to fade, all eyes were on you, Aizawa taking a stand preparing to use his quirk on you, and Midnight’s hand was on her thin cloth ready to rip away her fabric to use her sleeping pheromones.

"Sorry about that, I just have a headache that’s all." You smiled trying to tell them that you were all right. "My name is [Y- [Y/N]." That’s right you’re in Japan were everyone introduced themselves using their last name instead of their first name.

"[Y/N] is that your name" She asked,

You give her a nod confirming her question.

"Don’t you have a last name" She asked. You shook your head " I’m sorry I can’t remember what my last name is."

"Well, there’s no need to worry about that, what about where you came from? You look like a foreigner?" Midnight asked, although this time without her being in a seductive manner, right now she asked with curiosity.

You tried to remember, but there was nothing that comes into your mind, you can’t remember your past. Your smile slowly turned into a frown.

You look at Midnight "I don’t remember my past." You whispered, with the room being silent, they can hear your voice clearly.

All three heroes give a look to each other. "I’ll be right back I’m just going to fetch some water; you must be thirsty right?" You nod at her offer, Recovery Girl then, left the room to get water.

You look at the other two heroes expecting them to give you more questions, but they didn’t. both the heroes were silent and you can read the atmosphere of the room.

"You two are heroes, right?" You awkwardly asked even though they are heroes. You mentally facepalm yourself for asking such a stupid questioned.

"We are not heroes; we are Pro heroes!!" Midnight said in a cheerful tone. "We are more experienced than regular heroes, we cover more groundworks in patrolling, teaching the inexperienced heroes about combat and safety. Also, we are higher rank than most heroes." Midnight explained.

"We even battle out villains and defeat them, then sending them to prison. Momentarily the police will also provide aid to the heroes" Aizawa yawned.

You take a moment to think. Standing right in front of you are well-versed heroes, who take on a lot of missions, beat all their opponents, and are more versatile with their quirks.

"You defeated villains and always safe the day, right? What would happen if there was to be an uprising of villains?" You asked while you try to ignore the mild headache.

The two heroes were taken aback by your questioned.

"Well, that won’t happen, because all heroes will rise up, defending and countering against those who would destroy the peace. So, rest assured honey, heroes will surely save the day." Midnight said, allowing you to know that heroes will rise and protect the civilians from danger.

Midnight was going to talk about more heroism to you until Recovery Girl came back into the room with a glass of water that she was holding. She walks towards the drawer and places the water on top.

She goes to her drawer and takes out a bottle filled with pills. She takes out the cap and took one pill, she then walks toward you carrying both water and the pill in both of her hands.

"Here, swallow this aspirant, it will help soothe your headache." Recovery Girl gently said.

She holds out the pill and glass of water in front of you, you slowly took the pill from her, but also giving your thanks in the process. You swallowed the aspirant and drink the water to assist the flow of the pill, also you were thirsty from the dryness of your throat.

You gave Recovery Girl the empty glass and she place the glass on top of the drawer. Your headache was slowly disappearing with each minute. As of now, you feel relief that you could probably relax in the pool or go sit on a bench at the park. You softly lay your back down on the bed.

It seems now that your body is craving to go to sleep. I mean sure with your body drained out by Recovery Girl’s quirk ‘heal’ that heals a person in exchange for their stamina being drained in the process. You needed to sleep; you look up to see the three heroes conversing with each other but it was all gibberish to you.

Your eyes are dangerously on the verge of closing themselves, you take one more glance at the pro heroes before going to bed. With all that what’s happening can be worried about later on, right now a lolling slumber is calling out to you.

END NOTES:

This is just the prologue to the series I’m currently working on. Don’t worry, though, I’ll make sure to keep the story engaging, with plenty of interactions between Y/N and the other characters from the anime.

I'll also include some Hero Gossip, Villain Gossip, and Classroom Gossip to provide more insight into the characters' situations and backgrounds or something.

I will also be updating some love interests for our readers in future story.

Note: I do not own any of the images used. All credit goes to their respective creators.

Thank you for reading, and stay tuned!

[thecapricunt1616]

Kinktober Day 6 🎃

𝐁𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 (𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐮𝐭): “The- the letter- the letter you sent me, ‘I’m too broken to love you anymore’ ‘you need someone who can love you how you love me’ ‘find something better’ “ you repeat, tears brimming your eyes and he crinkles his brows in that way you missed so much. He shook his head quickly 

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: Eeee! Welcome to day 6 of Kinktoberrrrr! Thank you so much for all of the heartwarming love on the fics so far! If you'd like to see my schedule/masterlist for this celebration click right 🎃here🎃; & if you'd like to also check out my masterlist for Promptober 2024 click right 🦇here🦇. & If you'd like to be added to the taglist for either celebration, comment on the according masterlist & I will add you!I kind of hate this one but fuck it lol! 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭:1.2k 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Angst, Implied Smut, Swearing, No use of y/n 𝐃𝐢𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐂𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬: @/𝐒𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐝𝐢𝐤𝐚-𝐆𝐫𝐚𝐩𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐬

You sighed deeply as you unlocked the door to your new apartment, conveniently the box you were holding full of new pottery samples you’d made fell off your hip to the floor and crashed with an awful cracking glass noise. 

“FUCK!” You shouted in frustration, looking at the tiny broken pieces spilling out of the cracks in the box. The door next to yours cracked open. 

“What the fuck how many times have I said I work until fuckin 3 in the-“ he stops when he meets your eyes. 

“Bunny” he said softly. You felt equally as frozen, staring at him wide eyed and gawked. 

“B-bear?” You stuttered out. 

Your first love. 

“What the fuck ‘re you doin’ here, Bun?” He breathed, the most confused he’d ever sounded. 

“Uh- um- what are you doing-“

“I live here?” He said defensively and your cheeks feel a rush of heat. “Fuck- I-I’ll call the landlord first thing M’sorry- I-I’ll cancel this I’ll get an air bnb when he gives me my security back- I’m so sorry- I won’t bother you p-please I’m- I didn’t follow you- I’m not- I’m not what you think I am” you unlocked your door with shaking hands and quickly open it. 

“See? Empty! Wasn’t a plan! Gonna move out asap” you pick up the lease agreement from the counter, ripping it in half. “Null and void- I promise Carmy, I promise” you assured, walking forward and gently nudging him out the door where he followed you. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” He breathed, grabbing your wrist as you went to shove him back into the hall again. You stilled, shocked. 

“What are you talking about?” You asked, resting your hands by your sides, panting at the stressed enraged feeling that had bubbled inside of you seeing him again. He had send you a letter, a long, painful, letter- in short about how he can’t ever heal the pain of being rejected by his father so viscerally, He couldn’t ever get passed Mikey’s death- and that means someone like you who was so kind and understanding didn’t deserve someone like him who ‘couldn’t love you properly in his brokenness’. 

It absolutely crushed you to receive it, you cried, and cried, reading it night after night, wishing he would call you and change his mind. 

That never happened though, and in his letter he specifically asked you to never call, or try to reach out- because it would be better for you, and your biggest fear was him now thinking that you followed him, after learning that he was back in Chicago- even though you just were learning now that he was back. 

“What - what fuckin letter - what are you talking about?” He asked genuinely confused and you shake your head, putting your hands up in confusion 

“The- the letter- the letter you sent me, ‘I’m too broken to love you anymore’ ‘you need someone who can love you how you love me’ ‘find something better’ “ you repeat, tears brimming your eyes and he crinkles his brows in that way you missed so much. He shook his head quickly 

“No. No. I- I never sent that-“ he muttered “I- I never sent that. I - I left that in my desk- at home-“ he swallowed thickly. “When did you get that?” He stepped forward and you took a step back, shaking your head and swallowing, nearly breathless as tears fall down your cheeks. 

“I- I got it when you moved - like 3 weeks after you left me. And you didn’t fucking say anything like- like we meant nothing. And that’s when I knew. You really didn’t fucking care” you sniffled, quickly wiping your tears and anger growing. 

“Bunny- I never would have sent it. It was just- it was just in case. I couldn’t fucking bring myself to do it” he took another step forward “you have to believe me, bun” he said softly. You shook your head again and push past him, rushing to the kitchen to get a glass of water before you threw up. You had grieved, you had been angry, you had fucked random people to simply get over him. And here he was, standing in your apartment, telling you that he never meant it. 

“Who sent it?” You asked after you downed half a glass, slightly panting from stress and gulping down so much at once. 

“I don’t fucking know- I- I left it, in my fucking desk right next to my school shit- my yearbook…it- it had all the shit, it was addressed it had a stamp- I just couldn’t fucking do it. It had to have been mom.” He came over, gently touching your arm and you flinch away, knowing if you let him touch you, that you would break. 

“Why did you never call?” You asked, voice weak and quiet. 

“I thought you wouldn’t pick up- I- I wasn’t thinking when I left, I thought you’d fucking hate me.” He reached out and touched your arm. “Y’gotta believe me, Squish” he said and your lip began to quiver. 

“You stopped loving me when you left, Bear” You whisper and he shook his head, pushing your hair back from your shoulder. 

“Nothing could ever make that happen.” He gently wiped your tears “I’m so fucking sorry I hurt you” he said softly. You shut your eyes, taking a deep quivering breath, taking in the scent of his new unfamiliar cologne and the same American spirits that come in the yellow pack. 

“You don’t wear 4711 anymore” you looked up at him with teary eyes and he swallowed thickly. 

“Can’t uh….I can’t. Not anymore, yeah.” He cleared his throat, stroking your jaw with his thumb. “I’m sorry- you gotta believe I’m sorry” he said softly and you wrap your hand around his, curling your fingers around his palm and you sniffled 

“Is what you said true, you never stopped?” You whispered and he looked down at you for a long moment before leaning in, resting his forehead on yours 

“Let me show you” he muttered before bringing his lips to yours. You practically melted into him, the feeling of his lips on yours again after so long sending sparks of lust and joy and love shooting through your chest. You could barely hold back the moan that fell from your throat at the feeling.

You couldn’t stop yourself from wrapping your arms around the back of his neck and giving in, once he touched you again, it felt like you never wanted him to let go. The kiss got more heated, more hot, more needy. When you finally disconnected your lips to breathe, he got straight to work kissing down your neck with fevor, nipping and sucking at the skin.

“Please baby - let me show you - I missed you so fuckin much” he breathed into your neck, rucking up your fall sweater and running his calloused hands over your ribs and hips, squeezing the flesh of your love handles - you couldn’t help but whine. You were torn, he could up and leave again- he could tell you right after the entire thing was a mistake, that he really never wanted to see you again, but if this was your only chance to get a proper goodbye, you would take it. 

“Fine…Show me how sorry you are” 

Fin

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