#so she tries. she tries to talk him out of it. for him to run away. her small. small act of defiance against her purpose

[dark-night-hero]

Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other. part2

Imagine the way you laugh, the way you tilt your head back, the way your hand find his like it was your instinct. It was the kind if laugh that he was been longing to hear after all those mission that has been keeping him away from you. And now he is right here by your side, staring into your smile that hadn't changed. How he love to be with you like this.

Imagine the way the two of you were sitting right next to each other at the cinema. The way your head was on his shoulder, his fingers tracing idle patterns against your hands as he tries to put his attention in the movie you have been talking all over the phone for the past few weeks, fully knowing he would end up looking at you anyway. Nonetheless, it was a quiet moment, he was at peace. You've always been his home and peace.

Imagine the way this phone vibrated halfway the movie, Caleb was about to ignore it. Pips would not bother his time with you, she learned not to after the last time. He knew he made a promise to be there for her but at the same time, he knows where his priority lies, you. He was about to ignore it, the buzzing of his phone that was been going on for quite sometime now. But then what he saw was unfamiliar, unregistered phone number. It wasn't a mission, not even pips let alone his friends. It was a threat. Not just to him, but to you.

"It's MC." He lied. And fuck, the way he wanted to take it back so bad the moment he saw the way your face shifted, the way the light in your eyes flicker. The glimpse of disappointment in your eyes. Hurt. He knew he had hurt you once again. But then you look away, hiding it from him. You've always been so understanding, even when you don't understand, you tried. You always did. And so he couldn't take it back, it was the easiest way to say something that would have taken him so long to explain.

"Please Caleb. Just after the movie. Can't we have this moment?" You said. Almost, he almost folds. He wanted to say yes. Every part of him was screaming at him, wanting to say yes. To stay right here, to ignore the message and turn off his phone. But he couldn't do that, not when threat was around. Not when he could potentially put you in danger just by staying right beside you. He couldn't do that. He was panicking, he felt like he was running out of time. He felt like every minute with you would only put you in danger. He needs to put an end to this, fast.

Imagine the way the unexpected happened. The way you grab his hand and look at him, hoping, eyes looking for answer to your question. "Why, because you'll choose her?" His heart dropped. He should have told you back then. It wasn't her. That it was you. That he was leaving to protect you. But then he froze. He froze like a coward, something he shouldn't be. He haven't been a coward for a long time, not until they manage to get out of that hell he and MC have been through when they were a child. But here he was, right in front of you acting like one. All because he was afraid to lose you. And you let him go.

Imagine the way he should have stayed. He should have told you. He should have been faster. He should have called earlier. But he wasn't fast enough. The moment he turned onto your corner street was just enough time for him to see your-his home light up the night sky. It was the loud sound of the explosion that split him in half. The way he couldn't even hear the sound of his own voice screaming for your name. He just remember the ringing sound, the smoke, the fire. It felt like he had died once again. And maybe he did, right with you.

Imagine the way he did not even flinch when it was reported as a gas leak. An accident. What a lie. He knew better than anyone that was a fucking lie. It was meant for him. You were just where he lived. Where he loved. And they knew that.

Imagine he woke up at night, cold sweat running down his neck, tears running down his cheeks. He lost you again, this time within reach. It was haunting him. Your smile, your laugh, your eyes. You died thinking he had chosen her. You died thinking he had walked out on you, on us again.

Imagine the truth was just he was trying to save you. In the end, he failed. He tried to be gentle, even in the midst of panic. But in the end, you're gone. All because he thought he had it under control. All because he thought he still had time.

Imagine in the end he reach out for his phone, dialed your number but it doesn't ring anymore, but he pretend it does. Just so he can hear your voice again.

Imagine he could heard that grief is love with nowhere to go. But strangely, his goes everywhere. It burns in his chest, spills out of his hand and sits in every second he was alive without you. He did not just lose you. He killed you. And there is no coming back out of that.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: Penge piso, pambili ng lollipop.

: goodnight- oh wait, i need to tag 🥹😭 edit: I can't tag?!

[sugary-strawberry-shortcake]

Blossom Reverse (Yandere Batfamily x Neglected! Poison Ivy’s Daughter! Reader)

Chapter 7

A/N: this chapter is one of my favorite ones! (After the next one hehe)

There was no time to run, in inhumane quick seconds her older brother was already in front of her.

His hand closed around her wrist.

Too tight. Too sudden.

“Damian—what—”

She barely had time to speak before he was dragging her through the crowd. Past the students. Past her friends. No one dared to stop him.

Because when Damian Wayne was angry—

The whole school moved.

⸻

Her legs stumbled beneath her, but his grip never faltered.

He was taller now.

So much taller than when they first met as children and he had a few centimeters on her.

And stronger—God, he was so much stronger than her.

She wasn’t like them.

She wasn’t trained. She wasn’t built for war. Her muscles were soft. Her limbs delicate. Her bones felt like they could snap in his grip.

She didn’t fight him.

Because she knew she’d lose.

The classroom door slammed shut behind them. The echo cracked like a whip through the walls.

And then he turned.

No space between them.

Nowhere to run.

His eyes—green and burning—locked onto hers.

“What the hell were you doing with Silas?”

His voice was low. Controlled. But only just.

Her mouth opened—closed.

He didn’t give her time.

“Why were you talking to scum like him? Why did he give you a forged signature? What the fuck do you need that for, Y/N?”.

He moved towards her, she stepped back.

Her back hit the desk behind her.

Her breath caught.

“I—I don’t—why do you care?”

It came out smaller than she wanted.

“Why do you even care, Damian?” she said again, louder this time. “It’s not your business.”

Wrong answer.

His jaw clenched.

His hands slammed against the desk on either side of her—not touching her, but trapping her all the same.

“You lied,” he hissed. “You’ve been lying for weeks.”

“You’ve been sneaking around—slipping out—avoiding us—me—why?!”

She flinched.

“I wasn’t sneaking. I was just—”

“Just what?” he snapped.

“You think you can walk around Gotham meeting with scum like him and not have me find out?”

His face was inches from hers now.

“You think I’d let you get away with that? No consequences?”

Her breath hitched.

His presence—his voice—his rage—

It sent her spiraling back.

_______

She remembered the way the walls echoed that day.

It had rained all morning. The clouds outside were grey and mean, and she’d been humming to herself as she carried the folded towel Alfred asked her to deliver.

“Give it to Master Damian. He’s training again,” Alfred had said gently. “And maybe don’t linger, sweetheart. He’s… tense.”

Tense.

That was Alfred’s polite word for furious.

She’d only been ten.

Still small. Still hopeful.

She remembered knocking on the door. The sharp thwack of a practice sword hitting the mat inside. Her voice, gentle, soft:

“Damian? Alfred said I should bring this—”

The door wasn’t locked. She stepped in.

And there he was.

Sweating. Breathing hard. A katana strapped at his back, another laid out on the floor beside him.

He didn’t look at her.

Not right away.

“I said go away,” he snapped after a moment.

She shifted, awkwardly.

“I—I just wanted to say hi.”

His eyes finally cut to hers.

Dark. Furious.

Sharp in a way that made her breath catch.

“You don’t belong here.”

She blinked.

He stepped forward.

“Every Wayne in this house pulls their weight,” he sneered. “They train. They fight. They bleed.”

“You?” His gaze flicked down her arms. “You’re nothing but a flower girl with your hands in the dirt.”

“I—I try my best,” she said, voice wobbling.

“And your best is pathetic.”

He was angry.

She could see it. Feel it.

She didn’t understand why—only that it had nothing to do with her. But still, he aimed all of it at her.

“Father won’t let me on patrol,” he snapped. “Because of you. Because of your whining, and your softness, and your weakness.”

“I didn’t do anything—”

“Exactly,” he cut in. “You never do anything.”

She tried to stay kind.

Tried to smile, even as her heart beat too fast.

“You’re not that much older than me,” she whispered. “You act like you’re above everyone, but you’re still just a kid too—”

That did it.

His pride cracked.

In one fast, practiced movement, he grabbed his training blade.

The blunted edge hit her hard across the side, sending her stumbling into the wall.

The towel dropped from her hands.

Her lip split open when she hit the floor.

She cried out—more in fear than pain.

Her hands scrambled across the wood to get up.

But when she looked up, he was there—

Katana drawn. Held at the ready.

Pointed down.

At her.

Her breath stopped.

“Don’t ever challenge me,” he hissed. “Don’t talk back. Don’t pretend you’re like us.”

He crouched slightly, blade tilted low, the warning in his voice like ice:

“If I wanted to, I could end you in two seconds flat.”

“You are nothing.”

Tears blurred her vision.

She didn’t speak.

She didn’t move.

She just stared.

The door opened.

“Damian—”

It was Dick.

She turned to him—eyes wide, bleeding, trembling.

But his face was tight. Disappointed.

And not at Damian.

“Y/N,” he said. “What did you do to set him off?”

The words sank into her chest like needles.

She didn’t answer.

She couldn’t.

Not with her hands shaking. Not with blood in her mouth.

Dick’s tone was clipped.

“Just… go to your room. I’ll talk to him.”

She went.

She didn’t cry.

Not until she got to her bed.

After that, she never stepped into the training hall again.

She smiled at Damian when she had to. Laughed when he mocked her. Pretended to love when he threw barbed insults.

But she never forgot.

Never forgot the steel at her throat.

Never forgot the moment when Dick looked at her bleeding and asked what she did wrong.

His face blurred for a second—just for a second—beneath the pressure behind her eyes.

She saw him again. Ten years old. Eyes sharp, hands cold. Sword drawn.

“I could end you.”

⸻

And in the present, as his voice cracked through the quiet:

“Y/N?”

She flinched.

Her body curled slightly in, hands trembling at her sides.

She didn’t answer.

Damian froze.

His mind, always honed to precision, staggered.

Because he saw it.

He saw the terror in her doe eyes.

Not just fear. Not just nerves.

Memories.

She was remembering something.

And he knew what it was.

His breath caught in his chest.

He stepped back, just slightly. Just enough to give her air.

“…I’m not going to hurt you,” he said. Stiff. Quiet. Forcing each word through teeth clenched too tight.

“I—I’m not…” He broke off, brows drawn. Frustrated. At her. At himself.

He didn’t know how to talk to her like this.

She was so small. So fragile.

And suddenly he hated how close he’d gotten. Hated how she looked like a cornered animal.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he muttered.

Still, she said nothing.

Just looked away.

Then her voice came, so soft it barely reached him.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“What?”

Her eyes met his again—quiet now. Tired.

“It’s nothing that’ll matter to you anyway.”

“None of you really care. Not really. You don‘t have to pretend.”

That—

That hit.

Like a blade under his ribs.

He straightened, breathing sharp.

“Don’t say that.”

She turned her head.

“I’ll tell Father,” he snapped—because the anger returned, too fast, to cover the panic. “Let’s see what he thinks about you sneaking around with filth like Silas.”

Her mouth parted slightly. Eyes flashing with something between hurt and dread.

He didn’t wait.

He needed to get out before he said more. Before he—

Before he grabbed her again just to hold her still and make her understand she couldn’t leave him. That she shouldn’t treat him, her older brother, her only biological one, like this.

He turned and walked out.

Left her standing in silence.

⸻

He didn’t remember his mother’s voice anymore.

He remembered her commands. The pain of training. The scent of steel. The drills. The pride. The loneliness.

But not her voice.

Not her warmth.

If she’d ever had any.

When he arrived at the manor—ten years old—he expected command.

Control.

He didn’t expect a flower.

She’d toddled into the hall, eight years old. Hair tied up in crooked braids, clutching a stuffed elephant plush.

She saw his sword. And smiled.

“Hi,” she’d said softly. “I’m Y/N. I think we’re the same. You’re my brother, right?”

He’d pointed his blade at her throat.

Alfred had yanked it away before it could lower.

He didn’t like her.

She was weak. Quiet. Too soft.

But he noticed—

She never stopped trying.

Every day she brought him something.

Sliced fruit. Badly drawn pictures. Stories from school he didn’t care about.

Every day, she smiled at him like he wasn’t terrifying.

It irritated him.

And it comforted him.

And it made him feel like maybe he had something no one else did.

He told himself it was his duty to push her away.

To harden her.

To protect her.

Even if it meant bruising her.

Even if it meant making her fear him.

Because if she feared him…

She’d never fear anyone else.

And now she was pulling away anyway.

And it was his fault.

But he would not let her go.

_____

Y/N

She could feel her heart in her throat.

Every step out of that school hallway felt like walking a wire—one mistake, one look back, and everything would collapse.

She told her teacher she had a doctor’s appointment. She smiled. Sweet. Harmless.

She slipped the sealed envelope into her friend’s bags with shaking fingers. The letter was filled with made up stories and lies.

Not that any of that existed.

But her friends believed in her. That was enough.

“Hey, tell us what the doctor says, okay?”

“Don’t disappear for too long, sweetheart!”

She smiled at them.

Promised she wouldn’t.

And then she left the building.

She didn’t cry.

Not yet.

⸻

The bus rattled against cracked Gotham streets.

Every bump felt like thunder beneath her.

Every face she passed might be the last she’d ever see.

She walked the last block to the manor.

She knew the schedule by heart.

Bruce—at Wayne Tower.

Tim—buried in tech and investor calls.

Dick—off in Bludhaven, probably chasing down a gang.

Jason— being in unknown places and engaging in questionable activities.

Alfred—Thursday was his shopping day.

She would be alone.

She let herself in with the key in her pocket.

Moved up the stairs like a stranger.

Her room waited like a mausoleum.

⸻

Everything was ready.

A single small suitcase.

A backpack with her burner phone, some cash, and a carefully folded jacket.

A box tucked inside with the few valuable things she took—not stolen. Nothing she thought they’d notice. But things she could sell.

Her real phone—the one tied to Bruce’s servers—sat on her desk, screen dark.

Let them track it.

Let them think she was still inside this house until it was too late.

She picked up her elephant plush.

Old.

Faded in one ear.

The stitching behind the button eye was loose.

She remembered it in flashes—not when she received it, but always having it.

Twirling its trunk in her tiny fingers. Holding it during storms. Smuggling it in her backpack the day she died.

She clutched it close for a second.

Just one.

Then slipped it into the bag.

The walls around her were white now. The flowers she’d once grown across her ceiling were long since removed. The drawings were in a box at the back of the closet.

But still—the vines lived.

Quietly. Patiently.

Like they’d been waiting for her to say goodbye.

She reached out her hand.

Let her powers bloom quietly through her fingertips.

One by one, the plants in her room turned. Twisted. Curled inward—bloomed once. Bright. Final.

And then went still.

She didn’t want them to wilt.

Not alone.

Not without her.

She took a deep breath.

Zipped her bag.

And turned to leave.

Then—

A soft sound.

“Woof.”

She froze.

Slowly turned.

Titus.

Damian’s dog.

Massive. Silent.

Sitting just inside the doorway.

Watching her.

Her breath caught.

“Titus…”

He padded forward.

Rubbed against her leg.

She dropped to her knees, instantly crying.

He was the only one—

The only one besides Alfred who had ever come when she cried.

He’d curled up with her under the covers when no one noticed she skipped dinner. He’d followed her to the garden. Let her braid ribbons into his collar.

And now—

Now he was here, staring at her like he knew.

She buried her face in his warm body.

Whispered into it:

“I’m sorry, Titus. I can’t stay.”

“They’ll survive without me. They always did. They will be happier, you will too then.”

The tears came.

She let them.

Just for a minute.

Then she stood.

Kissed the top of his furry head.

“Don’t tell him,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Don’t let him find me.”

She walked past him.

Down the stairs.

Out the side door.

And into the wind.

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[athenalvss]

SHE JUST WANTS TO F**K ME ALL THE TIME ▬▬ ( Dick grayson )

tw: sex, nothing too explicit cause I'm afraid of success

summary: Dick loved sex, and thought no one could surpass how high his sex drive is, until he started a relationship with you and you are all the time trying to get him to fuck you.

pairing: dick grayson x fem reader

open request ‐ dick grayson masterlist

"I tried to leave the house but she won't let me out."

"Again? "

The morning had been a bit rough for Dick, he'd woken up to your ass moving painfully on his cock, leaving him ready for their usual morning fuck.

Dick is shirtless, sweaty, his hair a mess, and the sheets still stuck to his back. He shakes his head, chuckling as you try to drag him back toward you by the waistband of his boxers.

Your fingers play with the elastic, and your eyes are begging for one more round. “It’s your fault,” you murmur, leaving wet kisses on his abdomen. “You shouldn’t look like this right after we finish. You tempt me all the time.”

He lets out a hoarse laugh and drops back onto the bed, propped up on his elbows. "You're literally draining me."

"You're more than fit, Nightwing. You can handle another one."

"You think so?" In a second, his expression changes. Dick grabs you by the wrists, twists your body with ridiculous ease, and leaves you beneath him, one knee between your legs and your arms pinned above your head.

"You know normal people only get one round?" he mutters playfully.

He slides his mouth down your neck, to your collarbone. He sucks right where you know he'll leave a mark. His hands release your wrists, but only to run his rough hands all over your naked body, stroking that impatient, dripping pussy of yours.

"That's it," he whispers against your ear. "You're going to make me late again, you know?"

You don't answer. You just moan under his touch, and that brings out a cocky smile from him. He knew the answer. He always does.

His fingers sink into you without warning, moving with a delicious rhythm that forces your back to arch. But he gives you no respite.

"Did you want another round, gorgeous?" he asks, his lips brushing against yours, barely touching you. "Then you're going to earn it."

Before you can say anything, he's already sliding down. He spreads your legs with ease and begins to eat you out with a mixture of hunger and devotion that leaves you breathless. His tongue works as if it has a damn mission. And in part, it does: to leave you so trembling that you can't drag him back down for hours.

Your hands tangle in his hair, tugging unintentionally as your body writhes beneath his mouth.

"Dick... please..."

"Please, what?" he asks in a husky voice, his lips wet, his eyes shining with perversion. "Did you want another one? I'll give it to you. But I'll ruin you first."

▬★

"She wants me at the party, she wants me at the mall"

Dick Grayson always looks impeccable, but there was no better version than Dick Grayson in a tailored black suit, his blue tie, charming smile, and his usual confident posture. He's an expert at moving through high society without losing that mischievous air that distinguishes him. And, as always, he has the attention of every woman in the room.

You just watch him from a distance, drink in hand, dressed in that dress he'd picked out for you once. The one that left him spellbound, so he couldn't take his eyes off your chest. And every movement you made made Dick want to forget about the gala, about Bruce, about all of Gotham.

Since he looked so good in that white shirt that perfectly covered his hard-working body, the one you slept in every night, you should definitely make him wear more suits.

You approached him through the crowd, Dick interrupts his conversation kindly once he sees you closer.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, in the sweetest tone you could muster, not letting on any malice you had in mind.

Dick nods immediately, and reflexively follows you without asking any questions.

You lead him down one of the hall's side corridors, to a quiet area, away from the hustle and bustle and prying eyes. The light is soft, golden. The sound of the music barely reaches you. Dick crosses his arms, curious.

“What's up?” he asks with a smile. “Are you bored without me?”

You chuckled softly and shook your head, taking a step closer. Your eyes were brighter than ever, with that mischievous reflex you usually had when you wanted to tell him something in secret. You fiddled with the fabric of your own dress, lowering your gaze slightly, as if you were embarrassed by what you were about to say.

“It’s just… I don’t know if I should say this now,” you whisper, biting your lip.

Dick leans in slightly, intrigued. “Tell me what, swet heart?” He runs his hand gently through your hair, gently tucking a strand behind your ear.

You looked up, looked at him with those good-girl eyes he knew so well. And you let go, softly, sweetly, as if you were saying "I love you" for the first time.

“I want to suck your cock.”

The silence is immediate.

Dick blinks. Once. Twice. The air suddenly feels thick. He stands there, staring at her, processing the sentence. Because it wasn't just what you said. It was how she said it. So cute, so damn sweet.

“You…” he begins, a nervous laugh escaping him. “You can’t say that like that, not here. Not with that voice.”

You tilted your head, pretending not to understand. “What did I do wrong?”

“What did you do wrong?” he repeats, his eyes darting around, as if he were already deciding which wall to use. “Do you know what you do to me when you talk like that?”

You shake your head with completely feigned innocence. “What if I just… walk you to your car? Just a second. Just to… distract you, you look a little overwhelmed,” you say, running a finger along his tie.

Dick closes his eyes for a moment, as if it takes all his willpower not to drag her down that hallway right now. “You’re going to be the death of me. You know that, right?”

Dick didn't respond immediately. Instead, he took your hand firmly, and without looking back, led you through one of the side doors that led to the building's private parking lot. No one saw them. No one dared to stop him.

The car was just steps away. One of Bruce's. Tinted windows, total luxury… and, above all, privacy.

He opened the back door without a word, and before you could even mock his urgency, he'd helped you in carefully, without wrinkling your dress too much. He closed it behind him and stared at you, still kneeling in the seat, breathing heavily.

“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you,” he murmured, unable to stop staring at your mouth.

You, with the same innocent sweetness as before, leaned towards him, brought your hands to the knot of his blue tie and slowly loosened it.

“I have a couple of ideas, but we need more space.”

Your fingers moved down his white shirt, unbuttoning the first button, then the second… but Dick was barely breathing. His gaze burned, fixed on you, somewhere between exhaustion and on the verge of collapse.

Slowly, you knelt between the seats, your smile as soft as it was dangerous.

“Is this okay?” you asked in a low voice, unbuckling his belt with a skill only someone who knew him so well could possess.

Dick let out a stifled laugh, closing his eyes as he leaned his head back against the seat. "Now you're worried about that?"

You looked at him once more, as if seeking confirmation that he really wanted this. He looked back at you, completely lost in you.

And then you did it .

Slowly, as if you were tasting a sweet treat for the first time. Caressing him with your lips, with your tongue, with that tenderness and adoration that only you knew how to turn into torture.

Dick placed one hand against the fogged-up glass of the car, the other on the back of your neck, not pressing you, just holding you, as if he needed to hold on to something real to keep from losing control.

Your every move was measured, precise, delicate, and devastating at the same time. You knew him so well that you knew exactly when to speed up, when to play, when to stop for a second and look down on him, with that angelic face that had already earned its place in heaven...

▬▬★

"She just wants to fuck me all the time"

The sound of gloves hitting, the creaking of mats, and the rhythmic panting of labored breaths filled the space. you were in the middle of a sparring session. you and Dick, face to face on the mat, exchanging measured but intense blows.

He was focused, sweaty, his black T-shirt clinging to his body, his arm muscles flexing with every movement. Every kick, every spin, made him look even more irresistible. There was no way to hide it: you were distracted. Very distracted.

The roll of his hips as he kicked. The way he panted. The deep sound of his voice as he gave orders. Your mind wasn't on the practice. It was on his body above yours.

At one point, he takes a few steps back to give you space. He cranes his neck, wipes the sweat with the back of his forearm, and looks at you.

"Your turn. come on"

His voice snaps you out of your trance, but it's too late. You're horny. Too horny to be honest.

You stand, hiding it as best you can, but as soon as you get close, he notices. Dick always notices. Your dilated pupils. Your breathing. The way you lower your gaze directly to his neck.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Are you okay?”

"Perfect" you lie.

"Then fight," he smiles, giving you the first soft blow with his glove, as a provocation.

But as soon as you're in front of him, you give in to temptation. Your hand doesn't go to the glove. It goes to the collar of his shirt. You get closer than necessary. Your lips brush his ear. "You're all sweaty... it smells so good..."

Dick lets out a grunt and in a second he has you cornered against the mat wall, his forearm blocking your way. "Are you horny? Here, while we're training? such a needy whore" he whispers, his voice tense and dark.

"It's not my fault you're so fucking sexy when you give orders."

He looks you for a few seconds, assessing. Then he shakes his head, a crooked smile crossing his face."You're impossible."

He quickly spins you around, pressing your body against the wall, his hard crotch already resting against your ass. His hand moves straight down to your crotch inside your leggings, and when he feels how wet you are, he lets out an exasperated sigh. "Jesus Christ… You’re soaked."

Dick already had his hand inside your leggings when you reacted with a sly smile.

"I'm not going to let you win that easily," you whisper to him, just before turning around abruptly.

He didn't expect it.

You hook him with a swift kick to the thigh and take advantage of his slightest distraction to pull on his arm, knocking him off balance. You both fall to the mat with a thud, but you remain on top, with your knees on either side of his hips.

Dick snorts, clearly surprised, and looks at you with a mixture of pride and annoyance. "Are you playing, or do you want to fight for real?"

"this is my foreplay " you say, with a mischievous smile. You lean over him, placing one hand firmly on his chest while the other goes straight to his waist. He doesn't even move. He just watches you, his eyes narrowed.

"Don't even think about it… "

But you don't let him finish. With a swift movement, you push your hips down, positioning yourself right over his erection through his clothes. The moan he lets out isn't from pain. It's pure instinct.

"What are you doing?" he growls, grabbing your hips. "This is a workout, not an invitation to fuck me with my clothes on."

“Then take me down,” you challenge, starting to move slowly, pressing your core against his member with a friction that draws a low sigh from you.

He grits his teeth. His hands tighten around your waist, as if he's struggling between pushing you off him and pushing you closer. "You're a fucking temptation," he says, his voice deep and husky. "A fucking distraction with legs."

"You're too weak," you tease. "Look at you, you can't even concentrate."

He flips you over with a ferocious snarl, trapping you underneath him in the blink of an eye, his body pressing yours into the mats.

But just as he's about to rip your leggings off...

"Richard." Bruce's dry voice comes back through the cave's speaker.

The silence falls. Dick rests his forehead against your collarbone. He says nothing.

"Five minutes until you are dressed and out."

[ilovejb]

hi I saw your requests were open!! Could you write hurt/comfort for lewis pullman? maybe they met as costars doing top gun maverick and with his recent fame people don’t like her so she comforts her? Thank you!

| A little too much |

Pairings : Lewis Pullman x female!reader

Summary : When the world refuses to see her worth, she learns to hold her head high—with a little help from the one person who always believed in her.

Warnings : Online harassment (mentions of hate comments, cyberbullying) Insecurity/self-worth struggles,hurt/comfort themes. Use of y/n. Fluffy ending though don’t worry !!

Authors note : Writing this was hard because every time I thought of Lewis Pullman I blacked out for 3–5 business days.

You hadn’t expected Top Gun: Maverick to change your life.

You were cast as Lieutenant Emily “Echo” Reynolds—one of the new recruits in the Top Gun program. Small role. One that barely skimmed the surface of the final cut, but enough to land you a seat at the premieres, a few lines of dialogue, and a credit you’d clung to in the years after like it meant more than it did. You’d done your job. Clean, professional. Not memorable, not Oscar-worthy—but you’d shown up, hit your marks, delivered your lines.

And you’d met Lewis.

He was warm. Funny. Kind in the way not many actors were, especially the ones with last names like Pullman and eyes that saw more than they let on. You didn’t expect him to talk to you much. You weren’t Glen or Miles or Monica—you weren’t the inner circle.

But he did. He talked to you. At lunch, on set, at wrap parties. You shared trailers when the sun was too hot and shade was a luxury. He shared chips with you once when you forgot to eat. You didn’t call it fate. You weren’t that romantic.

But two months later, when he called you to ask if you wanted to get dinner when you were both back in L.A.—you started to think maybe something bigger had been at play.

Now, two years later, he was famous. Not “Top Gun” famous. Not “I think I recognize him” famous. But everywhere. Talk shows, GQ spreads, Dior campaigns, dramatic indie films and tentpole blockbusters alike.

And you? You were his girlfriend.

Only… no one seemed to like that.

At first, it was little things. Tweets that said “How did she bag Lewis Pullman??” or “Y/N wasn’t even a main character lol she’s just riding the Top Gun clout.”

Then came the Instagram DMs. Pages with profile pictures of teenage girls or anonymous blank circles.

“You’re literally just a nobody.”

“He could do SO much better.”

“Why would someone as sweet as Lewis date someone as average as you?”

“Hope you know he’s going to cheat eventually. You’re just the practice run.”

“You must be amazing in bed to keep him around. Because it’s definitely not the face.”

You tried not to read them. You turned off comments. You blocked. Reported. Ignored.

But they kept coming.

And one day, one of them found your old audition tape.

They posted it to Twitter. The caption said: “Y’all remember when Lewis Pullman had to act with THIS?”

The video had 72K likes in 6 hours.

You called your agent crying. She told you to stay off socials.

You told Lewis nothing.

Because he had enough to deal with.

Because he was finally getting the recognition he deserved.

Because you didn’t want to be that girlfriend—the one who couldn’t take the heat.

You kept your mouth shut. Even when the hate turned from cruel to cutting.

Even when it bled into Reddit threads and fan forums.

“I bet she’s using him for clout.”

“She’s so mid.”

“He could date an actual actress, not some glorified extra.”

“Y/N? Seriously?”

“God, she’s just not pretty enough for him.”

You looked in the mirror and saw it too.

You weren’t model-thin. Your jawline wasn’t sharp. You had soft cheeks and skin that broke out when you were stressed. Your hair was never the perfect amount of messy and styled. Your outfits were practical, not paparazzi-worthy. You didn’t know how to pose at events. You smiled too wide. You stood with your legs too close together. You said dumb things in interviews and forgot to look into the right camera.

You were a mess.

And now, the whole internet saw it too.

The worst part?

Lewis had no idea.

You were quiet when he came home that night. His keys jingled in the bowl by the door. You were curled up on the couch, hoodie pulled over your knees, blue light from your phone casting shadows under your eyes.

He dropped a kiss on your head like he always did and then paused.

“You okay?” he asked gently, brushing your hair behind your ear.

You flinched before you could stop yourself. “Yeah,” you lied, trying to smile. “Just tired.”

Lewis looked at you like he didn’t believe you. “Long day?”

You nodded, swallowing hard. “You could say that.”

He sat beside you, slinging an arm around your shoulder. You stiffened again. You hated it. You hated that his warmth, the thing you used to crave, felt like acid now—like a spotlight. Like everyone could see you didn’t deserve it.

He squeezed your arm. “Babe.”

You blinked too hard, and your phone slipped from your hands. He caught a glimpse of the screen before it fell face-down onto the carpet. You moved fast to grab it.

Too late.

“Y/N,” he said softly.

You didn’t look at him.

He reached down, picked up the phone. You reached for it, but he held it out of reach. “Hey, what’s—” He opened the app. Froze. Read one comment. Then another.

You felt your stomach drop. “Lewis—”

“Is this why you’ve been quiet all week?” His voice was sharp. Not angry. But something close. Something wounded.

You turned away.

He stared at the screen, scrolling through DM after DM. “Jesus.”

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you whispered.

Lewis looked at you like you’d said the most absurd thing in the world. “You didn’t want to bother me? Y/N, people are harassing you.”

“They’re just stupid fans,” you said quickly, eyes stinging. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is a big deal. Why the hell didn’t you tell me?”

You didn’t know how to explain that. That some part of you felt like you deserved it. Like all those people were just saying what everyone else was thinking.

You bit your lip. “I didn’t want to make it about me. Your career is exploding. I didn’t want to get in the way.”

Lewis sat back like the words physically knocked the wind out of him. “You think this isn’t about us?”

You stayed silent.

He threw the phone onto the couch and turned fully to you. His voice was low now. Hurt. “Y/N, you were the best thing to come out of that set for me. You still are. The fact that you’re hurting and I didn’t know? That’s what makes me sick.”

Your eyes brimmed over, the tears hot and fast.

“And I don’t care what anyone on the internet says,” he continued, voice cracking a little. “They don’t know you. They don’t know what it was like to see you in costume, chewing gum between takes and mouthing everyone else’s lines because you were so damn prepared. They don’t know how you pulled me aside after I forgot my cue and whispered the right one like it was a secret. Or how you stood next to me at the wrap party and let me vent about how nervous I was to live up to my dad’s name.”

You blinked hard.

“They don’t know how you came to my mom’s birthday party even though you were terrified of meeting my family, and won over every single person in the room because you’re funny and real and kind.”

“Lewis—”

“They don’t know how you fall asleep with your mouth open and then wake up embarrassed and cover it like it makes you unlovable.” He shook his head, voice soft now. “They don’t know what I know.”

You were crying full now. Hands shaking. Voice cracked. “It just—it got in my head.”

“I know.” He reached for you, arms wrapping tight around your frame. “I know, baby. I’m so sorry I didn’t see it.”

You clung to him like you were drowning. He held you tighter.

And for the first time in weeks, you felt like maybe—just maybe—you could breathe.

You didn’t leave the house for five days.

Not for coffee. Not for groceries. Not for air.

You canceled your lunch with your old Top Gun castmates—the few who still remembered you. You ignored text after text from your friends, all of them asking if you were okay in that soft, guilt-laced way people use when they’ve just realized how long it’s been since they checked in.

You stayed in Lewis’s oversized hoodie, the one with the tiny burn hole on the sleeve from when he tried to make you crème brûlée at 2 a.m. and nearly torched the entire kitchen.

It still smelled like him. Like cinnamon and cedar and that stupid overpriced hair gel he swore he didn’t use.

You hated that it comforted you.

Lewis didn’t push you to leave. Not once.

He cooked breakfast without asking if you wanted it. Left little Post-it notes on your mirror—drink water / you are loved / they’re wrong about you. He took every interview request and promo obligation and moved it. Cleared the week. For you.

And still, you barely spoke.

You couldn’t. Because talking meant thinking, and thinking meant reliving, and reliving meant scrolling.

You knew better. You knew not to check the tags. Not to search your name. Not to read the comments on his latest GQ cover where you were only mentioned in passing but still managed to become a target.

“She’s dragging him down.”

“PR relationship. Has to be.”

“Can someone please explain to me how Lewis Pullman went from rising star to babysitting his insecure little groupie of a girlfriend?”

“Her eyes are dead in every photo. It’s giving boring.”

“She’s so lucky he doesn’t have better taste.”

You wanted to disappear. To melt into the hardwood floor and never be seen again. You wondered if there was a way to shrink yourself small enough to fit into his pocket and never come out.

On day six, you finally said something.

“I think I want to delete everything.”

Lewis was on the couch reading a script. He looked up slowly.

“Everything?”

You nodded. “Instagram. Twitter. My website. My reels. All of it.”

He set the script down. “Babe, are you sure?”

You tried to smile. Failed. “I don’t think I’m strong enough to keep it.”

He didn’t speak for a moment. Then, he reached across the coffee table, his fingers wrapping around yours.

“You are. You’re the strongest person I know.”

He paused. “But if it’s breaking you right now, we’ll take it down.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

You breathed for the first time in days. He squeezed your hand.

You deleted it all.

One by one.

Photos from set. Gone.

Thirst traps that never made you feel sexy. Gone.

The tweet where you made a dumb joke about Tom Cruise being shorter than expected. Gone.

You cried when it was over.

Lewis didn’t say I told you so. He just wrapped you in a blanket and held you so long your leg fell asleep.

And then it got worse.

Paparazzi photos surfaced. Ones from a month ago, outside a gas station, when you’d worn your pajama bottoms in public and hadn’t realized someone was watching. You were with Lewis. He was holding your hand.

The headline read: “New It Boy Lewis Pullman Settling Down with Mediocre Nobody?”

The article wasn’t even subtle.

“She’s forgettable at best, unprofessional at worst.”

“No major roles since Maverick, which frankly wasn’t a major role to begin with.”

“Sources say Lewis’s team isn’t thrilled about the relationship.”

“She’s been described as clingy, emotionally volatile, and embarrassingly jealous.”

Your ears rang. Your chest caved in.

There weren’t any sources. That was the worst part. They just made it up. Invented a version of you the world could hate, and then handed you over to the wolves.

When Lewis found you, you were shaking.

“I’m not clingy,” you said as he walked in.

His face twisted in confusion. “What?”

“I’m not. I give you space. I don’t make everything about me. I let you work. I don’t even go to half the premieres with you because I know people will talk.”

His heart dropped to his knees. “Hey, hey—where is this coming from?”

You turned your phone toward him. Let him see the headline. The photos. The bolded words you couldn’t unread.

He paled. Sat beside you in silence.

You wiped at your eyes. “Do you think they’re right?”

Lewis’s mouth parted. “What—what the hell kind of question is that?”

“Do you regret this?” Your voice cracked. “Being with me?”

Something in him shattered.

He reached for your face, thumbs brushing tears from your cheeks like it would change the world.

“No,” he whispered. “God, no. You are the only thing that keeps me grounded. Do you know what fame feels like most days? It feels like everyone wants a piece of me except the people who actually see me. But you—you see me. You always have.”

You wanted to believe it. You really did.

But the internet was louder. The world was louder.

And you were so, so tired.

“I just don’t want to make your life harder.”

He leaned forward, forehead pressed to yours. “You make my life worth it.”

And for a minute, the noise faded.

The next day, Lewis went live on Instagram. He almost never did that. His fans were used to curated posts and PR campaigns. But this wasn’t that.

It was his living room. No filter. No lighting. Just him.

He looked into the camera, tired and soft and real.

“I’m only gonna say this once,” he began. “Because I don’t want to give hate more airtime than it deserves.”

Your heart stopped.

“If you think it’s okay to attack my girlfriend for existing, for loving me, for not meeting some standard you made up in your head—then you can go ahead and unfollow me right now.”

You froze.

“She’s brilliant. And kind. And stronger than anyone I know. She’s been dealing with so much of your bullshit while still showing up every day, still taking care of me, still making me laugh even when she’s hurting. And if you can’t respect her, then you don’t respect me.”

He paused. Let the silence hang like a gavel.

“I don’t care if I lose followers. I care if I lose her.”

Then he ended the stream.

Your phone blew up. DMs of love. Comments from strangers. Messages from co-stars who hadn’t texted in months. Your name trending—for the right reason, this time.

But none of it mattered.

What mattered was Lewis. Who came into the room ten minutes later, unsure if he’d overstepped, scared he’d made it worse.

And you? You ran into his arms like you hadn’t already collapsed there a thousand times before.

You buried your face in his chest and whispered, “Thank you.”

He kissed your temple. “Always.”

The audition wasn’t even supposed to happen.

Your agent called last minute. Some massive director was looking to cast the lead in a dark psychological drama—“female-led, intense, emotionally layered.” The kind of role people gave awards for.

The kind of role no one thought of you for.

You almost didn’t go.

But Lewis sat you down that morning, cupped your face in his hands, and said, “This is yours. Whether they see it or not, you show them.”

So you went.

No makeup. Just messy hair, a threadbare sweater, and the kind of performance that burned like salt in an open wound.

They didn’t even finish the auditions.

You got a call two hours later.

“You booked it,” your agent said, stunned. “They’re not even seeing anyone else.”

The press rollout was immediate. It was the most buzz you’d had since Top Gun, and even then, you’d barely been a footnote. This was different.

You weren’t Lewis’s girlfriend this time.

You weren’t the girl from the background.

You were the headline.

“Breakout Star Lands Role in Cannes-Contending Thriller”

“Underdog No More: Her Rise Is Our Revenge”

“Internet Favorite to Industry Force—She’s Just Getting Started”

Your name trended. But this time, there was no pit in your stomach. No acid in your throat. The hate still existed, sure—it always would—but it was drowned out by something bigger now.

Respect.

You were finally being seen.

Lewis surprised you with champagne and takeout the night the news dropped. You walked in to find candles, confetti, and a massive “YOU DID IT” banner sloppily taped to the ceiling. It was crooked. The tape peeled on one side. You cried anyway.

He grabbed your face and kissed you so hard your knees went weak.

“You knew this would happen,” you whispered.

He grinned. “No. I hoped. But you made it happen.”

You laughed into his neck, your fingers curling into his hoodie like you were anchoring yourself to the moment. Because for once, you weren’t drowning.

You were floating.

The filming process was brutal—in the best way.

Sixteen-hour days. Crying scenes that left your throat raw. Close-ups where your only job was to break. And you did. Over and over again. In front of cameras. In front of strangers.

You gave everything.

And people noticed.

The director—usually stone-faced and impossible to impress—started calling you “The Hurricane.” Not because you were chaotic, but because you destroyed expectations. Wiped the floor with them.

Critics got early footage and lost their minds.

“Where has she been hiding?”

“A performance that breaks you and rebuilds you in the same breath.”

“She carries the entire film on her back—and doesn’t flinch once.”

Even your old castmates reached out. The ones who’d forgotten your name at wrap parties. The ones who’d watched your rise without clapping. Suddenly, they remembered.

“I always knew you had it in you,” one texted.

You didn’t respond. But you screenshotted it. Just to remember how far you’d come.

Awards buzz came faster than you expected.

There were whispers. Rumors. One anonymous source told Variety, “She’s not just a contender—she’s the frontrunner.”

You got invited to every premiere. Every party. Designers who once ignored your stylist now begged to dress you. And you? You walked the carpets with Lewis on your arm, head high, smiling like a woman who’d been broken, stitched herself back together, and still managed to glow.

He was so proud.

He told you every day. In the quiet. In the chaos. In bed at 3 a.m. when you couldn’t sleep because the world finally liked you and somehow that scared you even more.

“Don’t let them tell you who you are,” he said, tracing circles on your back. “You’ve always been this. Even when they couldn’t see it.”

You turned toward him, eyes full, voice soft. “Thank you for waiting for them to catch up.”

He kissed you like an answer.

Then came the premiere.

Red carpet. Paparazzi. Flashbulbs so bright you could barely see.

You wore custom Chanel. Something sharp and soft all at once. Like you. Lewis stood beside you, dapper and wide-eyed like he’d just met you for the first time and couldn’t believe his luck.

The interviewers swarmed.

“Is it surreal seeing her success after everything she’s been through?” one asked Lewis.

He smiled—proud and unbothered. “She’s always been this good. The rest of you were just slow.”

You laughed. He winked.

Another reporter turned to you.

“What would you say to the people who doubted you?”

You paused. Let the camera linger. Let the world lean in.

“I’d say thank you,” you said. “Because it forced me to believe in myself louder than they disbelieved. And now—”

You looked at Lewis. Then back at the camera. “Now I get to prove them wrong by just existing.”

The internet exploded.

The clip went viral within an hour. Your follower count doubled. Fans made edits of you, side by side with scenes from Top Gun, then your new film, then candids of you and Lewis looking like the literal blueprint for “power couple energy.”

Your DMs flooded.

Not just with praise.

With apologies.

From strangers who’d left hate comments.

From girls who’d once written Twitter threads about how “mid” you were.

From influencers who now called you an “inspiration.”

You didn’t respond to any of them.

Because you didn’t need to.

You had nothing to prove anymore.

That night, back at your place, you kicked off your heels and collapsed into the couch. Lewis brought you a glass of wine and sat beside you like he always had. Not as your fan. Not as your shadow. But as your home.

“You did it,” he whispered.

You looked over at him. Exhausted. Radiant. Changed.

“We did.”

He smiled.

You set the wine down and crawled into his lap, arms around his neck.

“Hey,” you said softly.

“Yeah?”

You leaned your forehead against his. “Thank you for never treating me like I was hard to love.”

He exhaled. Shaky. Like he’d been holding that breath for months.

“You were the easiest thing I’ve ever done,” he said. “Loving you.”

And maybe it wasn’t loud. Maybe it wasn’t cinematic or sparkly or viral.

But in that moment—pressed against him, wrapped in his hoodie, laughter tangled between kisses—it was everything.

You weren’t too much anymore.

You were just enough.

[girlfromflor]

alpha!kyle has been a current thought in my head, so i wrote about him coming back home after a long mission.

it's his fourth day home since his last mission ended.

kyle has you tucked close to him, under the covers inside the big nest you made for yourselves. he's still smells a bit like tiredness, the exhaustion from the battlefield clinging to his muscles but it's almost imperceptible now.

your sweet, honey-like scent mingles with his and into the fabric enveloping you. there's a low, constant purr rumbling in your chest, scratching an itch on kyle’s mind that he waited so long to get rid of.

he's home. safe and sound with his omega so close to him, happy and purring at his presence. the notion makes his own chest vibrate with a purr as an answer, the growl of it making clear how his alpha scrapes the edges of his consciousness.

it's probably early in the morning, kyle doesn't look for his watch nor his phone, instead just basking in the dim, morning light seeping through the window – which is opened only a bit, the cold wind from outside making the fabric of the curtain swing ever-so-slightly.

despite the breeze, he's warm where he lays with you. the heavy weight of faux fur fabric working well on keeping your naked bodies' warmth secured inside the blanket fort you call a nest. you've been naked ever since he came home – his clothes smelling like blood and gunpowder, alpha stressed and tired, growling grumpily at the thought of fabrics keeping your skins from touching each other.

you haven't fucked nor have you indulged in any type of sexual activity, it didn't felt quite right yet. instead he just stripped off his clothes, dragging you around the house so you both can, in this very order: get cleaned up in a quick shower, eat something light and settle on the big nest you have in the corner of the living room, napping on the cushions that cover the floor inside it.

he knows you're awake and you're aware he's too, but none of you say a word. it's peaceful like this. the calm, quiet atmosphere working the remaining of his stress away, giving you time to fully push away the sleepy haze that has been pulling at you, until you move from his arms to stare up at his beautiful face.

his eyes are closed, eyelids shut very lightly. his lips pressed to one another, but they part as soon as he takes in your shifting scent – which is reacting to his relaxed, laid back expression –, nose twitching to take it in better. he grumbles, one hand brushing down your side to hold your hip as the other runs its fingers to your hair.

his eyes are sharp and lidded when he opens them to stare at you, making a shiver run down your spine. you've never been so close to having him bared to his soul in front of you, alpha so present it makes his scent almost fresh out of the woods. it brings your omega from where she was resting far inside your mind, her claws scratching softly around your head, urging you to sleep so she can step in.

it's been like this for four days. it's always rough for him, coming down from mission-mode, but this time kyle's inner alpha seems ready to fight for control, begging for your omega to comfort him at all costs. you both allowed it to happen the first day – and the second –, having to hold back on it by the morning of the third day. you couldn’t risk going feral together, not without someone to watch over you two.

kyle seems to read you mind, your bond doing most of the talking as you bask in the silence, the room quiet except for the – now almost inaudible – purr coming from deep within your chests. his voice is low and hoarse when he speaks, a groan following as he cleans his throat and tries again.

"could ask john to come over, honey..." he mumbles on his thick accent, holding you while he watches your reaction. "he could watch us next time, mhm? he's a good alpha, he'd take care of us..."

"mhm..." your hum of agreement is barely an answer, the grunt coming from him making it clear that he wants you to elaborate. "if you trust him, than it's fine by me, love."

kyle hums then, pleased with your answer. his adorable omega, relying on him whilst taking care of his once exhausted body, helping him work through the tiredness and out of the alert mode he had to depend on so much over the last few weeks – giving him enough support so he could recover from weeks of soldier-like routine on a hostile environment in only a couple of days.

he truly does love you a lot and maybe it's time he shows it to you, rewarding you for been so good to him.

[thelovelywriteress]

➷BABYSITTING YOUR BOSS𓂃 ࣪˖ ཐིཋྀ

─Dante Sparda x Reader

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉୨♡୧﹉﹉﹉﹉﹉

┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ୨♡୧ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈ ┈

⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣⌣

You looked at a younger version of Dante, who was whistling, then at Lady, who give you a knowing nod. You once again looked at a younger version of Dante, who was smiling at you, then at Trish, who also give you a knowing nod.

"No way!"

You protest quickly. Why the hell you gotta waste your night taking care of Dante, especially kid Dante. That guy acts like kid in his normal body too, you can't imagine how annoying his kid version would be.

"Oh come on, he is your boss. See it as another of your task." Lady tried to convince you as Trish agree on her point.

"Yeah the tasks I already don't get paid for and now this."

"(Name)! (Name)! Do you hate me?" Little Dante grip your leg and give a puppy eyes much to your dismay.

"What the hell in the way is he talking?" You once again question the ladies in annoyance. Lady look bit nervous, much to your confusion but Trish quickly explain situation to you,"He do have his memories but just say except that he is all child. From body to mind."

"So you don't even me to take care of Dante but in fact babysit a literally child Dante?" You remark to show your frustrations but Trish simply nodded like finally happy you were understanding the situation.

"I-I will go!" Lady hurriedly left the scene which was concerning,"Is she alright?" You enquired but Trish simply shrugged,"Maybe she remembered something like I did that I still gotta enjoy the night." And with a wink she was also vanished from Devil May Cry.

Everyone left you and now it was just you and kid Dante who was gripping your leg like he is afraid you would left him.

You sighed. As much as you wanted to straight up beat your boss for not paying you on time and even then having audacity to ask you on dinner, you still weren't this cold to let out your angry on a child.

"Do you remember the time, when I ask for my salary but you said you didn't had any but next moment you were asking me to go out with you to eat that you will even pay for whole thing."

You asked through you didn't know why. You doubt anything you said will help your angry on normal Dante.

"Yeah because if I gave you money, you could have go to eat with someone else." Kid Dante said with a smile like he just solve hardest question of math while you just sighed. Yeah he is definitely not saying anything senseful but again you doubt normal Dante would say much different too if not same.

"Let's go." You called him in dead voice already feeling like some miserable single mother who had no money to handle the child.

You cautionsly hold Dante's hand, your maternal instinct taking over. All way the home, you were pulling him away from people on road and even at some point just hold him in your arms to make things easier for you.

"Here." You open and push the Dante inside before closing door behind. As his little eyes scanned the area and run inside to explore more of the place he is staying at.

You saw him looking around but once his eyes fall on you, looking at him from sidelines, Dante chorused your name as he run towards you but you get out his way before he would latch on you, causing him to hit with the table and making the things on it fall down.

"Ouch." He rubbed his head through he also get worried that now you will scold him which wouldn't be new but he didn't like it when his body was small.

Uncharacteristically you didn't throw him a glare or any words just stare down at him, like just casual stare. Totally unaffected, bored stare.

"Sit at the table." You order and pick up the fallen things before going through the fridge much to Dante's suprise but he assumed you were only being like this because of how he looked.

You heat up whatever you supposed would fill their stomach and brought to them. Dante complaint about wanting Pizza but you told him to just eat whatever was in front of it.

Dante took a spoon and just put the hot food in his mouth, not realising it was way more hot than one needed while eating,"You didn't burn your tongue?" You asked with concern. Dante has a demon had great resistance but that moment, he quickly poked out his tongue and start fanning it.

You pass him the water before getting closer to him and taking and blowing on spoon and putting it near his mouth. Meanwhile Dante on inside was giggling. One would who would have feed him to dogs days ago is now feeding him food.

After the dinner you were once again at table staring at the young boy which made him feel little conscious.

"Aren't you a cute boy?" Your unexpected words scared him as you continue with your face resting on your palm,"Can't believe this cute face will belong to an annoying pest in few years?" Dante pout at your words but you didn't mind his reaction, in your eyes he was just a child─nothing.

"Okk now time to sleep." You pulled him but Dante resisted throwing a fit.

"I don't wanna sleep! I don't wanna sleep! I don't wanna sleep!" He moved his hand like a bird's wing as you let out an annoyed growl,"Tell me what can I do to make you sleep?" And that's what Dante was waiting to hear.

"I wanna you to pat my head!" He grinned with excitement as you tilted your head in confusion.

"You are now a cat?" You questioned as you watch Dante's satisfied reaction to you playing with his hair.

Next he wanted to ride on your back and commanded you to go there and do this and that, which was most hated part of this night.

Then he wanted to dance with you which with you guys height difference means you holding him in your arm and just moving in circles on your own which made you nauseous.

"Now I want to marry you." He stated as for a moment there was silence, he was scared that you catch on your act of finally snapped but which to his suprised you let out a tired ok.

Of course he was still extra. Not only did he ask you to provide two rings (which you get from the snacks) but also wanted you to wear something on your head as veil.

"(Name) I liked you. I know you think that I can't be serious and all that flirting of mine have no meaning but let me tell you that I do want to be with you. You may act so cold and annoyed at times but I still remember in my depressive times you once never left my side, ensuring I eat and stay alive and even after delaying in your salary you still never stop coming. So let me have a chance to show you how much a gentleman I would be for you." He wholeheartedly confessed as you let out a weary 'yes, yes I get it' and ask him to just put the ring which he happily did and happily let you put yours on his finger too.

"Just sleep now." You fall on your back, feeling more exhausted then ever as Dante give you puppy eyes before his last demand.

"Can I sleep with you?"

"Why?"

"I feel scared in this new place."

"You won't make a noise?

"Nope."

"Do whatever you want."

Dante latch to your arm through you find it awkward and uncomfortable at start, you eventually doze off too.

In the morning you felt a hand pushing you into a chest as you felt difficulty to breath and eventually your eyes started to flutter open.

"THE HELL?" You let a scream that definitely wake neighbours but not the Dante who has turn into his usual self again and his hugging you like some stuff toy.

Blood run to your face as you viciously pushed him off you,"Ahh (Name) such a nice morning. I wanna have a kiss." He puckered his lips, probably thinking he was still child and you would agree but you punch him instead, waking him completely.

"Way to wake your husband." He groaned as you throw him a glare to which he simply showed his finger with the ring you put night before. As you felt like this whole universe haad taken revenge from you as Dante simply throw you a chessy grin,"Now you can't refuse me to go out to eat with him."

You stare at him, blood boling to your cheeks thinking how many hours did you let him hug you,"DANTE YOUR SO DEAD!" You pounce on him.

"No way each of you lie to me." You groaned, showing your disappointed at the trio through out of three only Lady took the accountability.

"Well he did turn into kid during fighting a monster to get the money you are always asking for so I don't see what was the problem with you taking him." Trish said not even sparing you the glance as her focus was on her nails on which she was putting paint.

"There is problem and one of them is you lied about his mental age too! He was just acting like kid." Once again only Lady apologized and other two keep on doing their own stuff.

"Atleast we know you will be a good mother." Dante joked before putting another pizza in his mouth as you shot him a glare.

"What did you say?"

"Remember we are married."

"Dante you are officially dead!"

Even a devil may want to enjoy night with his crush even if he had to deceive her.

[satorena]

.𖥔˚. he asks if you believe in soul ties. you laughed, but your heart whispered yes before your mouth could catch it. 1.6k wc.

the second time wasn’t supposed to mean anything.

not to you, anyway.

it was late night. not romantic nor dramatic— simply late. one of those hazy nights, with slumped muscles and fried brains from one “one more round?” too many, where breathing next to the right person felt like an exhale. one that ended with tangled limbs, throaty moans and soiled sheets.

it wasn’t anything like fireworks. it was something deeper, quieter, like fleeting warmth left in a hoodie after someone else wore it.

sitting at the edge of the bed, half-wrapped in comforters that reeked of your unison, you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. he traces shapes at the column of your bare spine, lightly dragging his fingernail from the dimples in your lower back up to the middle of your shoulder blades. he revels in the way a soft gasp crawls out your chest and momentarily draws your attention away from your screen and back onto him.

she smelled of his pillow now. fuckkk, he’s so cooked.

“you ever think about soul ties?”

he blurts out before he can help it. he doubts he’d be able to hold it back even if he tried. his voice is gravelly, thick with the sleep he hadn’t drifted into yet, and it broke the silence a dropped glass.

you turn around, eyebrows raised in amusement, “seriously?”

he swallows thickly, “yeah.”

your lips part, caught somewhere between a laugh and a breath, and gojo engraves the sound in the deepest parts of his memory. “you’re asking me about soul ties. . . right now?”

somewhere in the midst of his question and your reflection, his hand finds yours, and thumbs at the smooth skin enveloping your knuckles, “you make it sound like it’s weirder than it is,” he mutters, suddenly second guessing every molecule of sincerity that led him to voice it out loud.

“it is,” you answer, smiling so gently that any inch of doubt that had surfaced is immediately dismissed. he’d kill for you. he’d watch the world burn for you. “we’ve had sex twice. and i’ve known you. . . what? three weeks?”

“and a half,” he corrects you, like it makes it any less ridiculous.

you fully turn toward him, pulling the covers over your kiss bitten, love marked chest, phone now entirely forgotten. the light from the bedside lamp catches the slope of your cheekbone, the curve of your smirk, “okay, i’ll bite. why’d you ask?”

he runs his hand— not the one you started subconsciously squeezing at— over his face and inhales sharply, “because i don’t feel normal after this.”

your head tilts and your eyes widen curiously. cutely. god help him.

“i mean—” he gestures vaguely between the both of you, still sprawled under his sheets, your joint hands flailing around. “after you. this. us.”

“and you think that’s because of a soul tie?”

“i think,” he starts carefully, “that there’s something here. and it feels too familiar for how new it is. and i don’t know if that’s chemistry or karma or. . . if it’s just because you look at me like you already know all my secrets.”

you snort, an ugly but honest sound that’s so authentically you. it makes his heart skip a beat and jump starts a nasty flock of butterflies in the depths of his stomach, “you’re really going full poet on me, huh?”

“don’t make fun of me,” he pouts, laughing despite of himself.

“i’m not,” you assure him, voice incredibly soft, pressing your palm into his. his fingertips hover over yours almost comically, but in a way that makes him want to keep you in his pocket and shield you from this cruel world. for now, he settles with flexing his fingers to lock yours into his, “i just didn’t peg you for the type.”

he hums, “what type?”

“the type to sleep with a girl twice and start talking about the metaphysical ramifications of it.”

he rolls onto his side, propping himself up on his elbow, “you ever felt something like this before?”

you hesitate.

and that was enough to make his chest ache in places he hadn’t even known were tender. you look down at your joint hands laying in your lap and curl your fingers around his index. there aren’t any languages in this universe that could translate how deeply he feels for you.

“i think i’ve felt parts of this,” you speak after a beat. there’s vulnerability laced into yours words, “little echoes in other people. but never the whole thing at once.”

his heart does something stupid at that. “so you feel it too?”

the trail of your eyes from your lap to his face is as slow as your growing smile. “maybe.”

“you’re gonna make me work for it, aren’t you?” he isn’t complaining. he wouldn’t want it any other way.

you shrug in faux nonchalance, eyes glinting. “you’re the one bringing up soul ties. that’s big talk.”

“i know it sounds crazy,” gojo falls back onto his mattress and stares at the ceiling. “i just. . . you kissed me, and something in my brain short-circuited. like something ancient woke up.”

“oh my god,” you laugh, clutching his blankets tighter to your frame. the grip on his hand also tightens, “you’re so serious right now.”

“i am!” he agrees, unashamed and prideful. “i’ve never had sex and immediately wondered what kind of spiritual fallout i was gonna have to process.”

you stare at him, wide-eyed and amused. he likes that look on you, amongst others. “you make it sound like i cursed you.”

“maybe you did,” he mutters, focused. “would definitely explain that magical ass pussy; consider me bewitched.”

he expects the gentle swat at his shoulder and the honeyed giggle that follows suit. he is not one of god’s strongest soldiers— you make him so weak in the knees. he is but a fool for you, entirely smitten and fully submitted.

there’s a sudden pause. and then, “satoru,” if you say his name like that one more time, “you think sex means that much?”

“not always. but with you. . .” he looks at you, really looks. “it doesn’t feel. . . casual. even when we’re trying to pretend it is.”

you slowly nod, your gaze distant like you were trying to read a thought off the inside of your eyelids. “i know what you mean.”

he waits.

“i’m not usually sentimental,” you admit through a shaky breath. he squeezes your hand as silent support. “but something about you makes me want to be.”

gojo sits up then, long legs crossed, blanket now pooling around his hips. he lets out a huff that blows at dampened fringes on his forehead. “you scare me.”

you blink, “why?”

“because i don’t think i’d know how to unfeel this if i needed to.”

your expression cracks open just a little. subtle but not. it isn’t shock. not even tenderness, but something between recognition and surrender.

he shifts, brushing your knee with the back of scarred knuckles. “i’m not asking you for anything. i just wanted to know if you believe in it.”

you stare up at him for a while, and this time your gaze was unguarded.

“i think soul ties exist,” you mumble quietly. “but not always forever. sometimes they’re just for the right moment. a lesson, maybe. a wake-up call. a connection you needed when you were drifting.”

he thumbs at your ring finger. “and us?”

you take a deep breath. his heart drums wildly against his chest. oddly enough, it’s the calmest he’s felt in a while

“i don’t know yet,” you admit easily. your eyes focus on the way he imagines the sight of a heavy rock sitting atop the digit. “but if i’m tied to you. . . i don’t feel like running.”

uncharacteristically, that shuts him up. he feels a weird sentiment claw at his throat and hold him snuggly. his shoulders drop a little, as if your words loosened something around his ribs.

you both sit in stillness for a moment.

then, you shift closer, resting your chin on his shoulder. he wastes no time to tilt his head towards you, the warmth of your breath fanning his cupid’s bow. with a little smile, you start, “you know what’s funny?”

“what?” he’s a little breathless. you’re too beautiful for your own good.

“you were nervous to ask me that question,” your hand cups at his jaw and lazily traces the softest of stubbles peeking through pores. “but i’ve been scared to admit that you’re the first person in a long time who makes me want to stay after.”

he doesn’t hide his surprise.

“i always leave,” this time, it comes out hushed. the scrape of your nails at his neck feels good. “always. first night, second night— it doesn’t matter. i leave before it means something.”

he needs to know. “and now?”

you shrug, “i’m still here, aren’t i?”

a grin breaks out across his face, crooked and too full of affection. he tilts forward and lands a sweet kiss on your lips. he parts away with the softest of smacks but the goofiest smile, “soul tie confirmed.”

a girly laugh erupts from your stomach, and you nudge him playfully on his shoulder. “don’t get cocky.”

how could he not? when you look at him like you need him even half as badly as he needs you? he’s already leaning in again, “no promises,” and seals it with another kiss. he presses his body weight onto yours and traps you in between his mattress and himself, dizzying off the taste of your tongue in his mouth.

he feels your hearts interlinked through your chests. and even if neither of you said it out loud, he’s positive you felt it as well— that invisible thread, woven quietly between skin and spirit, tugging like a soft yes.

incredibly self-indulgent. my man my man my mannn

[ldydeath]

Take Me, I'm Yours | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: You and your daughter surprise your best friend while he’s on tour. Word Count: 2.1k Warnings: Fluff, but other than that nothing! Author’s Note: I am not good with writing kids, but this was requested and it was a really cute idea so I thought I’d try it out. Hopefully you like it.  Please ignore any typos, too. I didn’t proofread this because I’m lazy these days. 

You couldn’t remember the last time you’d seen Jiyong. Between being a single mother, your work schedule, and his tour there wasn’t a lot of time for best friend time. He had been trying to get you to come out to a show but the timing hadn’t worked out. He understood of course, but he missed you. 

This weekend though, with a little help you’d been able to secure two VIP tickets. Jiyong had no idea and you were excited to surprise him. Yu-na, your daughter was also excited, she loved her uncle Ji. Considering she was only three, she wasn’t the best secret keeper and you’d had to dodge Jiyong’s calls for the past week. Hopefully this would pay off in the long run. 

Just as you’d left the security checkpoint your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, seeing a FaceTime request from Jiyong. You hit decline and proceeded to put Yu-na’s shoes back on.  Once you were situated at your gate, you pulled your phone back out. 

Working late, can’t FaceTime. You ok? 

Yeah. Just settled into the hotel hoping we could talk. No biggie. I’ll call you after the show tomorrow. 

Break a leg, Ji. 🖤

Not funny considering.

It means good luck. Don’t actually break your leg. We don’t need you being more whiny and annoying than you already are. 

I hate you. 

I know. Gotta go. 

Jiyong frowned as he read your text, it wasn’t like you to ignore a FaceTime or rush him off the phone. Something was up. Maybe you had a date and just didn’t want to tell him. He had always been your harshest critic when it came to the guys you dated. But he had to look out for you and Yo-na now, so it was only fair he found all their weaknesses and brought them to light before you or her got too attached. 

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

Jiyong sat in his dressing room, putting the final touches on his sound check look. This was probably his favorite part of the shows, getting to be more dressed down and relaxed before putting on a show. He just wasn’t really feeling it tonight. He’d tried to call you as was his pre show ritual at this point and had gone straight to voicemail.

He reluctantly made his say to the stage, trying his best to cheer up before his music started. He knew the fans would bring the energy but he didn’t want to feel too off. The music hit and he let out a sigh, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders before making his way out. 

You had somehow managed to get front row barricade for sound check, something you were sure you wouldn’t have for the show itself. That was fine, as long as Yu-na got to see him up close even for just twenty minutes. 

“G-dada!” Yu-na squealed as the lights went down and the music started. 

“Dragon.” You corrected with a laugh as you placed her on your shoulders. 

It would’ve been a dick move if you’d been taller but your short frame and her shorter body wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. You grinned when you saw your best friend take the stage, the suit he was wearing looked really good on him and your heart skipped a beat as he started up the chorus of Bonamana. 

Jiyong walked around the stage, his eyes cast down as he sang to the crowd. His hand coming up to scratch his head through his hat. As the music came to a stop he heard a faint scream of ‘Dad’ and just as he was about to correct whatever fan was calling him that he heard it again, louder. He knew that voice. 

“G-dada!” Yu-na yelled, her hands clapping together excitedly. 

Jiyong’s head whipped around until he found you both. A grin spreading across his face when his eyes met yours. He waved at Yu-na before making his way down the stage. You were here. Both of his girls were here. He stopped in front of you as the next song started up and he smirked at you before he carefully took your daughter from your arms. 

He carried her around as he finished up sound check and then pointed you out to Jaeho before waving goodbye to the crowd and heading backstage, Yu-na still in his arms. Jaeho came and got you a few seconds later. 

“You can’t just kidnap my daughter, Ji!” You yelled as you entered his sitting room. 

“It’s not kidnapping if you’re still here.” Jiyong held Yu-na closer to him, afraid you’d take her away. “Can’t believe you’re here.” 

“Yeah well. I tried to go to Seoul but it sold out in five minutes, this was the best I could do.” You shrugged, a smirk on your lips. “I missed you.” 

“Yeah, you too.” It came out nonchalant, but he had really missed you. 

Ever since your work had transferred you to the New York office, you didn’t get to talk as much. Only saw each other on the lame holidays. It was stupid. If he had it his way you two would be together, Yu-na would be his daughter and you’d be set for life. Never having to go to New York unless you wanted to. 

“Give me my daughter so we can go fight for good seats again.” You held your arms out and Jiyong shook his head. 

“No.” 

“Don’t you have to get ready?” He glared at you, handing Yu-na back to you after he placed a kiss on her cheek. 

“You’ll watch from the box. You’re not holding her for three hours. I’ll have one of the staff escort you up.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Ji.” 

“Yes I do.” He rolled his eyes. He knew how crazy the front row got and he wouldn’t be able to put on a good show if he was worried about you the whole time. “And then you both come back here right after.” 

“Okay, calm down grandma.” You teased, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “I’ll see you after. Don’t do anything stupid.” 

Jiyong snorted, the grin staying on his face as you left the room.  Once you were in the suite, you put Yu-na down letting her run around the semi-empty space. You were in the close friends and family box and the only people in there had been his family, which worked out great because Yu-na had a friend, and so did you. 

You spent the next hour catching up with Jiyong’s family before the opening of Power had started up. You’d of course seen the show through crappy live feeds in Korea but nothing compared to being there in person. Ji had a way of commanding the stage and even if he was still struggling to turn on G-Dragon he was still hot as hell on that stage.

You shook those thoughts from your head, you didn’t have time to think of him that way. He’d been your best friend your whole life, you couldn’t complicate that. It was already weird enough that Yu-na was calling him dad. You’d tried to laugh it off when his mom had heard it, saying dragon was hard to say. But she knew. She’d always known, had wanted you two to end up together years ago. 

The way he cared for your daughter like she was his really should be enough to make you want to tell him how you felt. But in your eyes, just because he loved your daughter didn’t mean he loved you or wanted to be with you. 

The family sat in the box after the show was over, giving Jiyong time to change to greet his fans before you were escorted backstage. Handing a now sleeping Yu-na to Jiyong’s mom, you walked off, finding your way to the send off crowd, you had paid for these tickets after all, and filtered in with the crowd just as Ji made his way out. 

You couldn’t help but laugh as he avoided shaking hands with fans, staying just out of reach as they continued to yell for more. He spotted you, realizing you were alone and raised a brow. You gestured she was asleep and he nodded as he made his way over to you. 

“So, what did you think?” He smirked. 

“Hm. Could’ve been better.” He laughed, shaking his head. 

“Move over by Jaeho.” You nodded as he walked off to thank the crowd, giving you time to make your way to the exit.

Jaeho smiled at you and moved aside to let you stand just inside the roped off area. Everyone was paying too much attention to Jiyong to notice you. As he turned the corner his hand found yours, entwining your fingers together as he led you backstage. 

“What did you really think?” You rolled your eyes before turning your head slightly to face him. 

“You were amazing. You’re always amazing.” Jiyong smirked and you nudged his side. Leave it to him to fish for compliments after being cheered and praised for the last three hours. 

You two entered the room and Jiyong let go of your hand, walking up to your sleeping daughter. He rolled his shoulders before carefully taking him from his mom. His assistant had already packed up his things, Jaeho taking them from her before leading the group outside.

“Where are you staying?” Jiyong whispered, trying not to wake up Yu-na. 

“Oh, some motel down the street.” You saw the look he gave you and sighed. “That was all that was left.” 

“Yeah, you’re staying with me. Give Tiger your room key and he’ll go get your things.” 

There was no sense in arguing with him, once his mind was made up that was it. You sighed and fished around in your bag for the key, handing it to Jaeho. He nodded after you told him the name of the place and the room number. Thankfully you hadn’t had a chance to unpack before you’d headed to the venue. 

Jiyong led you to his room once you were safely back at his hotel. His family was staying in the same hotel in a suite on a different floor. It was nice seeing him travel around the world with his parents this time around. He was a different Jiyong than the one you’d seen on tour all those years ago. He held Yu-na, refusing to let her go until she had a bed of her own to sleep in. The sight of him holding your daughter while he fought sleep himself warmed your heart. You weren’t sure how you’d gotten so lucky to have a best friend like him. He had been your biggest support system when Yu-na’s dad had left you both, there were many a nights you weren’t sure you’d make it through, but he’d always been there.

“Do you ever think about how this could’ve been us?” His voice was low, and you shrugged. 

“In a way it kind of is.” There was a slight knock at the door before Jaeho opened it up, bags in hand. 

You stood up to retrieve the items, thanking him for his help. He nodded and left the room.  Jiyong handed you Yu-na and you excused yourself to get her changed and ready for bed. Once she was safely asleep in the other room you plopped yourself down next to your best friend. Your eyes closed as you leaned your head back on the couch.

“It’s not the same.” 

“Hm?”

“I’m in your life as your friend, but I’ve always wanted more.” You opened your eyes, turning your head to look at him.

“Ji, you know we can’t.” You sighed.

“Why not?” 

“Because of Yu-na.”

“She calls me Dad.”  You sat up fully, your eyes locked on his.

“Exactly. And if we broke up we wouldn’t have you anymore. She would never understand why you aren’t around.”  

“Are you serious right now?” You nodded. His hand moved, cupping your cheek and you resisted the urge to lean into his touch. “If I had you I’d never let you go.” 

“Ji-”

“I’m serious. I want this with you. I’ve always wanted this with you. I love you. I love Yu-na like she was my own daughter. Let’s try.” 

You nodded and that was all Jiyong needed before his mouth was on yours. The kiss was full of desperation, your hand gripping his shirt tightly, like if you let go this might’ve all been a dream. Jiyong’s hand stayed on your face, cupping your cheek gently as he poured years of love into the kiss.

He’d meant every word of what he’d said. Now that he had you, he was never going to let you go. He pulled back slightly, your foreheads resting together, a small smile on his face. Your eyes fluttered open, your lips slightly parted as you caught your breath. 

“Say it back.” He whispered, causing you to laugh.

“I love you too.”

tag list: @wcnderlnds @infinetlyforgotten @berfgrimm @aizshallnotbefound @loveesiren @gdinthehouseee @tulentiy @petersasteria @ttturnitup @flymetothexmoon @mashtatosworld @alosss-blog @sooyasya @dprvivi @mirahyun @breakmeoff @1950schick @sherrayyyyy @bettelaboure @allthoughtsmindfull @sylviavf @jiraiyathehokage

[13tinysocks]

My Dead Girlfriend

High School Reunions are never great. Mark fucked you over and you fucked his evil clones, which makes things a whole lot more awkward. Oh, and the death and cannibalism part. Doesn't matter though, none of it was meant to last. 

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

We playin' fast n' loose with canon. Wanna know what happened with Eve and Angstrom? Read da comic, baybe.

[Part one]  [Ao3] [20]

21 *  The Asshole [9.9k]

"I never thought that I should start praying, 

I'd rather take a more murderous step."

Forensic Sweetheart - Go Hang

        Mark flew back, the lens over his left eye shattering with the force. Teeth vibrating in his mouth as his momentum slowed. He dodged Lensless's next lunge only because he had to be careful with you glued to his side. It wasn't that you were wiggling around- he actually liked that- but it made fighting clunky.

        Mark's fighting was slowed with thoughts of Eve. Stuck alone powerless with Angstrom after going through months of space-induced separation that put their relationship on the rocks- more than it had been following what the media joyously called The Invincible War. He really hoped some of those journalists had shitty home lives. 

       When Mark was home, which was rare, you were a constant point of contention between him and Eve. Despite being gone and presumed dead, she was still angry on your behalf. Forced Cecil to show her the tapes of you facing off with the Marks and Angstrom Levy. She admitted that what you said to that girl you killed was messed up but still- she didn't let Mark sway her opinion that what he did was shitty. 

        Despite his worry, he dodged Lensless. Punched Scars into a dune. Held his own because these last few months he'd been put through the ringer. It'd all been hell but it'd made him stronger, better. 

        Scars scowled as Mark blunted another blow. "You gonna fuck around all day or are we gonna kill him sometime soon?"

        Lensless took a stupidly long moment to realize Scars was talking to him. 

       "Oh! Sure, one sec!" He dropped out of the sky like a bullet and set you down on a dune. You were loopy with blood loss, from being in the sun, and from being flown around like some doll.

       Lensless knelt by your feet, trying to get you to look at him, "I'm gonna do something real quick and it's gonna hurt really, really bad but just know it's for your own good, okay?" He tilted his head like he was waiting for you to answer, god you hated this guy. He wrapped one hand  around your ankle, and rested the other on your thigh. "Can't have you running away and getting lost on me!"

        He barely had to move. 

        The pain was white hot, immediate. Your whole body jerked, which only made it worse. You let out a scream so curdling it made your throat taste blood-raw. You blinked through tears, the visual was no better. Your kneecap was awkwardly swerved to the side under the solider pants. 

        "I know." You could hardly hear Lenless's coo over your own screaming, the adrenaline rushing through your body, "I know, poor baby." 

        You tied hands reached for your knee to set it back in place. Your fingers barely brushed the fabric before a pulse of agony made your leg involuntarily twitch and your vision blur. You tried scrambling back, wanting to get away from him but you couldn't bend the knee. You were forced to move back on three limbs, dragging the fourth through the sand.

        Lensless watched you like you were an ant under a magnifying glass. A particularly loud, "Shithead," from Scars got his brain back into gear.

        "Oop! Gotta go!" You didn't see him move but you felt the second dislocation soon as he did it. You were left hunched over your thighs, crying into the gag. Both your knees swollen, caps facing in the wrong direction. You hardly hear his, "Love you, bye," as he took off. 

        The sun beat down your back. Air so hot and dry it evaporates the tears off your cheeks as fast as they come. The battle rages on, two on one, you can't tell who's winning. You have to sway it. Have to get the fuck away from them.

        You straightened, trying to best the pain thrumming through your legs. You wriggled your arms, trying to get the cloth to loosen but it doesn't budge. You attempt breaking it against your chest with no luck, somehow realizing despite your pain addled brain that there was no way you’d be able to break Viltrumite cloth. You settled for hooking your arms behind your head, pushing back against the restraints in an effort to dislodge them. You pushed. Scars caught Mark, holding him in place for Lensless's attack. You pushed. Mark is punched in the dick. You pushed. Mark is punted into the sand. 

        You feel the cloth shift, give. With some more pushing and wriggling, the bindings started to loosen. You're so relieved you let out a cry. Legs throbbing like they never had before. Misery pounding in every slight shift of your body. 

        You don't know how long you’d been sitting there, how long it’d been since Lensless dislocated both of your knees. The only thing you knew was that it was not looking good for Mark. He was getting shown just how much Scars and Lensless had gone through- how it'd made them stronger too.

        Blood flowed hotly back into your hands. Indents throb on your wrists but there was no time to admire them. You clawed at the gag and the thick lump of its knot tied at the base of your skull. Tracking who was who, who was where, while you dry swallowed nothing. Wondering if you'd be strong enough to kill them all. You hoped you were. 

       The gag fell into the sand. Stretched and bloodied. You pin it as hairdryer breeze comes. It's the last of Gray, you can't find it in yourself to let it go. You breathe in, gathering power. 

        "Hey!" Your throat stings. None of them pay you any mind. Too far, too engrossed in killing each other. "Hey!"

        Lensless turns, catches your eye, solidifying himself as the first victim.

        You know just what to do for him, "Break your legs!"

        He does it almost as fast as he did yours. Except instead of dislocating knees, he lifted up his shins one at a time, snapping them in the middle. The bone shot up and out of the skin. He winced through the haze of control yet went on to the other, broken in the same spot. He hovered, swaying in the air until the last dregs of control slipped away. To which he said, "You've got a mean sense of humor b-" 

         Mark knocked into him from behind. Sending him deep into the dunes. Scars isn't far behind him, arm raised, ready to lop his head from his shoulders. Mark dodges and despite Scars aggression, never goes for the kill. Only aiming to block and knock out while Scars slings taunts. 

        "You know- I thought you were the gay one at first."

        "The what?" 

        "Doesn't matter. Cuz I figured it out." He feinted left, Mark fell for it going right just to run into a kick that sent him into the dunes. Sending sand skyward and shaking the ground, making the hill you sat atop shift. You slip down the dune, unable to stop yourself slowly sliding closer to Mark. Laid in the sand, and Scars hovering over him. "You're that loser she's obsessed with." He laughed nastily, "Can't see why though." He leaned down, getting in Mark's freshly bloodied face. "You're pathetic." He reeled his foot back, ready to send it through the bottom of Mark's jaw.

        He'd lost. 

        "Wait!" You try lacing the words with power but it's like a lighter that won't spark. 

        Scars looked at you anyway, smirking. "You want the honors yourself?" You do, he can see it on your face. "Well, ya should'a thought about that before letting the others fuck y-"

        "Fly into space!" It's the first thing you can think of. Thankfully, it works, sending Scars up, up, and away. 

        Mark leans up onto his elbows, starting to hover over the sand. "What the fuck is going on?"

        You wiped the roll of blood coming down your lip. "Lord of The Flies bullshit. Get us the fuck out of here before he comes back." You look to the still dune where Lensless lay moaning in the sand. "Or he gets up. They'll kill you." 

        You didn't have to tell Mark twice. He regathered himself quickly before swooping toward you and scooping you up under the arms. If you were Eve, still his girlfriend, he'd hold you like a glass artifact. But you're not. You get the 'generic criminal about to be dropped in a cell' hold. Your legs dangle painfully as the dunes pass below. 

        "What happened to you?" Mark's breath wafted over your head, looking down at you, trying to be inconspicuous. You'd let Markus do the same thing, didn't mind but with him it was worse than a gas station creeper. 

        "Since when do you care?” You snapped as you pointed, "Go that way." 

        He follows your direction. "Where are we going?"

        "To the others."

        Mark's eyes took in the surroundings. Not an oasis in sight. He'd been here less than ten minutes and his back was already slick with sweat. "There's more of them?” He thought they'd all be dead. Was surprised to see two of them alive- more surprised to see you alive.

        "Guess you wouldn't know since you let me go alone." You say bitter.

        "Look (Y/n), I-"

        A hot wave of wind rushed by. Making you both wobble in the current. Gone soon as it came with Markus and Seb turning right around the second they realized they'd passed you by.

        Markus rushed in close. Assessing as he gets closer- he doesn't recognize this variant, not for a moment. Not until Mark looked at him and his mouth fell open. Memories pass between them. Their fight in Japan. Markus breaking Eve's leg. Mark being so scared for her, he thought he'd puke as he rushed her to help. Markus remembered watching him retreat, thinking what a coward he was. He dislikes him even more now, knowing what he'd let happen to you. He wants to wring his neck for holding you so carelessly. Mark wants to return the favor he gave to Eve. 

        They are frozen in the air, tension zapping between them.

        Seb breaks the silence, flying up over all over you. "The fuck's going on!?"

        Markus's voice was ice cold, "Give her to me." He doesn't know what's happening exactly but he can see you're hurt. Sees blood leaking down your chest, soaking your tank top. Can see the way Mark is treating you like a stray cat. He didn't deserve to live, let alone breathe your air.

        Mark shifted back a degree. Not knowing if this guy was still bad news. Confused, scared, almost getting his head bashed in left him suspicious of other people. "I don't think-"

        "Just do it, asshole." You say under him. Already reaching out for Markus. 

        Mark looked down at you, stunned. He knew you weren't on good terms but this was downright confusing. This guy got you trapped here. This guy murdered hundreds of thousands of people. 

       "No." He said, because this was all too crazy. "We're not doing that."

        "You gonna make him kick your ass for her, dude?" Seb said. "Gonna feel like a real hero when she gets fucked up in crossfire?" Markus wouldn't attack for that very reason but he let Mark believe he would. 

        Mark frowned. "You're really okay with this?"

        "Yeah." You snip, "He won't treat me like shit." You should be afraid of retaliation but you know he wouldn't drop you. He's too hero, too pussy. 

        Mark held you tentatively out. "If you say so." You were gone from his hold before he could finish.

        Markus readjusted you carefully in his arms, fully supporting your body instead of letting you dangle. Voice going soft as you hissed in pain, "I know, I'm sorry. We'll fix it when this is over. Just hold on."

        Watching himself be so gentle with you was a confusing sight. One Mark didn't have time to process because the situation hit you all at once. 

         You said, "We have to go to the hole Maskless found me in. Gray's still in there, he-"

        "We know." Markus said. "The others are searching for him now."

        You wondered how he knew but now wasn't the time for questions. "Then let's go!" 

          He didn't move. Goggled eyes set on you. Mark nervously checked around, still no sign of Scars or Lensless. Having no idea how hard you were fighting to keep Scars controlled. No idea how scared you were to see Lensless again. You knew you should've killed them but a selfish animal part of you wanted to do them all in long and painful. You didn't have the reserves left for that, so you settled for incapacitating in the moment.

        "No." Markus said, "You're hurt. We should get you back to camp." Seeing your inflamed knees made him want to kill.

        "No." You say, "I need to know if Gray's okay." Maybe it was the time spent building that shitty storage box, maybe it was him coming in your mouth, maybe it was his fucked up stories or how he looked at you or his stupid skirt- but you cared about him the tinniest bit now. Your grip tightened around the cloth.

        Markus's jaw hardened. Eyeing Mark and his bleeding nose and hunched posture. "That's the first place they'll look." 

        "Then we kill them there."  You say. You're not the only one who wanted them dead. Not the only person who deserved a slice of that cake.

        His brows furrowed at the idea. You could get hurt. But Markus knew you were the revenge-taking type. He knew you were only tolerating Mark's presence so long as danger was present. When it passed, that'd be a different story. He also couldn’t bring himself to say no to you and your tear-reddened eyes. 

       More than anything he wanted to kill the person, "Who hurt you?" He eyed your still bleeding neck, teeth marks sunken into your pink flesh.

       He had two guesses who, though he hoped you'd say Mark so he could hurt the fucker right here, right now. Kill him after he found out how he got here.

        "Look, this is touchin' n' all but are we gonna get movin?" Seb said, antsy staying still so long.

        Mark didn't care about that. He only cared about, "Seriously, what the fuck is happening?"

        Markus glared as he started to move again. Such an unnecessary use of vulgarity. So useless.

        "I already told you." You sneered. At least you were both on the same page.

        "Obviously we're going to help our bro, asshole." Seb dog-piled, not liking Mark and how he fought dirty, slinging Markus around by the cape when they first fought. Not liking the few times you talked about him- Seb was a tool, sure but Mark was a next level douche. 

        "Are we not worried about those guys back there? You said where we’re going is the first place they’ll check?” Mark looked behind him to find no tails.

        You bristled. "Maybe you're cool with abandoning people, but I'm not." 

        He had nothing to say to that, feeling like he was back at home with Eve. Mark kept his mouth shut the rest of the short flight. Stopping dead over the canyon of a cave in. Sand still slipped down the new incline to fill in the gaps. 

        Markus moved past him. Lost in thought. Thinking that; This is about to be it. This is the big brawl where we all team up then devolve into killing each other. I have to be ready. I have to be smart. I have to be the last one alive for her sake. 

        He's pulled out of his thoughts by Maskless bursting up from the sand. Holding Gray by the armpits. Sand shedding off both of them in sheets. Mohawk isn't far behind. Protecting Gray's guts the best he could by awkwardly hugging him around the middle.

        Mohawk came down to the cave as soon as he'd woken up in the black of space, horrified by the collapse and no you. He flew back to camp as fast as he could, told the others before rushing back to the cave. He dove into the wreckage, Maskless not far behind. They were expecting a body recovery mission, not a rescue. He'd been yelling at Gray when he found him, asking where you were but Gray wasn't there enough to respond, only bat his eyes and stare at them blankly. Maskless jumped in, started dragging him up. Gray winced as his gore got caught around a boulder. Empathy wasn't something Mohawk felt, not really. He killed for work and leisure like any other Viltrumite emperor would, but seeing his own face twisted in pain like that- made something inside him ache. Gray being gored kinda sorta was Mohawk’s fault and the guy didn't deserve to die. So he stuffed Gray back up the best he could because if he was going to kill himself- it wouldn't be some stupid accident. He was a man of purpose.

        Now he was in the sun. Realization that you were dead or worse deep in his bones, he had no idea where else you could be.

        You watched Mohawk's back as he talked with Maskless. The both of them trying to find the best way to keep Gray's insides inside. Mohawk was bleeding from the ears and flying like a newbie but he was fine. Whereas Gray has nearly gone gray with bloodloss. Head lolling back against Maskless's shoulder. Eyes fluttering under the harsh sun. The cave hadn't claimed another after all.

        "You're okay." Not really but still, alive was good. The scrap of cloth fell out of your hand. Who needs a token when you have the real thing, living in the flesh?

        Your voice made heads turn. 

        Mohawk was so lost in relief, he let Gray go. Let guts slip loose and be Maskless's problem while he rushed to you and Markus. 

       "You're okay!" He parroted before he stopped, seeing your knees, the indents in your wrists and cheeks, the bleeding wound in your shoulder. "Well-" He wanted to hug you but Markus didn't look in the mood to share. 

        "They're coming, we have to prepare.” Markus said. Mohawk knew in the pit of his stomach who they were. Knew they were the reason you looked so awful.

        "Good." He sneered, eyes flicking up and over to Seb as he said it. 

        "Yo, cape guy, you should like- give that to him." Seb pointed at Gray.

        "Good idea." Except Markus's hands were full. So were Maskless. Gray wasn't well-enough yet to fly on his own, especially this high up. The next best person he trusted with you was definitely not Seb so... He held you out to Mohawk, "Be gentle with her. Give her back if they show up."

        "I'm right here, you know."

        "I know, my love."

        Mark made a sound, not of disgust, just pure shock. All of these versions of himself were too much. The cherry on top was the guy dressed like Dad of all people calling you his love. Mohawk noticed him then. Eyes went cat-in-the-dark wide. 

        "You." His muscles rolled under his suit. Every fiber of his being told him to kill because he recognized him as the same guy that turned you into an ice queen. Suppose he should thank Mark for not churning out a goody-two-shoes but still- man's gotta defend his girl's honor or whatever. "I'm gonna-"

        "Mark." Markus snapped. They both looked at him. Markus still held you out to Mohawk. The only one of the two he thought worthy of that name. 

        Mohawk's hackles fell. He gave Mark one last nasty sneer before rushing to Markus, hooking his arms under Markus' for an even handoff. 

         "Come'ere." He said pulling you into his chest. "Mark's got'cha."

        That name said above this place, around that man, after the last time you'd moaned it, stung. You try not to let it show in the cringe you make.

        "Talking in third person now, are ya?" You scanned the horizon but saw nothing. Your connection on Scars had gone loose in the flight. You were so preoccupied with the pain you couldn't pinpoint the exact moment of his escape. That meant he was coming, and soon.

        "Picked it up in the few minutes I went batshit crazy thinkin' you were dead." Mohawk tried to smile but couldn't. His grip on you firm but careful not to bruise. He almost lost you again. Let you be taken, hurt. 

        You sense the brooding boiling under his surface. "Takes a lot more than that to kill me."

        Mohawk has nothing to say for once because he knows you're wrong. Can remember the feel of your guts in his fingers. Saying it out loud felt like a bad omen.

        Mark watched you two, thinking of Eve. Thinking of what you'd tried to do to him. Wondering how any version of him could treat you with such reverence past the age of seventeen.

        The desert is still while Markus approached Gray, tearing off his cape at the neck. 

        "This will be uncomfortable." He said as he started to wrap the cape around Gray's torso. Gray nodded, lips pressed together as him and Maskless maneuvered him. 

        Maybe, Markus thought to himself as he wound the red cloth, maybe this isn't the big brawl where we kill each other. Because they were working together, surviving together. They were more than strangers now, the lot of them. Except Gray was the only person, besides you, Markus thought was worth letting live. The others could live a little longer, help keep you alive until all they were good for was meat. 

        In the end, Gray was wrapped up tighter than a birthday present. Guts not where they were quite supposed to be inside him, but at least they were inside him. Alone in the dark where they could work with the agent fourteen you'd given him. It worked quick. Sealed the blood vessels, stopped a lot of the flow. You'd saved his life.

        "Thank you, my friend," Gray says.

        Markus nodded. "Anytime."   

        ***

        His head rose, fell, rose, fell. Sleep a heavy chain shackled to his ankle, always dragging him down. He's been fighting a loosing battle these past few hours to stay awake. If Phantom could just hold onto consciousness long enough, he could save you from those animals.

        It's in one of these moments he's awake- struggling to stay so-  he heard it, even from his prison. The hurried yelling of his own voice (before Dad beat it out of him) telling the others something had happened. At first, he could not surmise as to what had gone down. Mohawk's words were blurred by distance and how fast he was talking. His head dipped, consciousness going under as it so often did- his body and mind low on energy. 

        Then he heard "(Y/n)," followed by "attacked," and all the wounded sleepiness was torn from his body. He heard them leave, blasting off in two groups in different directions. He couldn't know which direction would lead to you. Before he could follow anyone, he had to get up and out of this scorching rock.

        Phantom hadn't risen on his own in weeks (before Mohawk defiled you in front of him), always being dragged or carried or thrown. He floated up, the feeling familiar but off. His balance wobbling, He leaned hard to one side, his limbed side, which felt so much heavier than his other. Though the limbs were gone, he felt the ghosts of them, throwing themselves out for balance. 

        He made his way out of the rock and into the scorching sun. The others hadn't bothered to tie him down. They knew he wouldn't leave, so long as he got the chance to see you. They assumed he wouldn't pull anything, that he'd roll over and die but that was never the plan.

        His plan was tucked secure inside the waistbelt he still wore. Most of the contents ignored, taken, or destroyed by Scars and Lensless. Luckily, they thought the ringer wasn't of note. They let him keep it. But he’d been tied down with layers upon layers bent rebar when he was well enough to function but still weak with beatings. When they released him, his arm was already gone, torn from the bone, too delirious with pain. From that point on he was either tortured or unconscious when they were around- but no he'd been biding time in his waking moments, thinking of when would be best to use it again, thinking of how he'd take you away. 

        He thought of it often when he was being carved up for fresh meat. Thought of it as he heard the distress signal beeping inside his cast aside mask- knowing for days something had gone horribly wrong. The beeping went on until Scars got annoyed by the noise and crushed the lenses of his mask. He heard it in waking nightmares. Heard it now under the perpetual summer sun.

        He was flying low and as terrible as a baby bird. Wondering where you were. Wondering if he could find you in time. Wondering if-

        They flew by fast and into the distance. Two dots moving so quick they kicked up a vicious dust storm behind them. 

        Dread hit him in the gut at the sight of them, even from so far, knowing they hadn't seen him. Dread because he knew that they knew where you were, and they were going to beat him there. Phantom sped up much as he could. Flying often into dunes, only to drag himself back up, fighting pain and the carnal pull of unconsciousness. He stayed awake and mostly upright for you.

        ***

        Everyone but you can hear them coming, a collective rigidity passed through the group. And though Mohawk doesn't want to let you go, he knows you're better off in Markus's hands- who he shoves you into. He'd failed to protect you once. He promised he wouldn't fail again. 

        Markus moved both you and Gray down and away. He set you down while letting Gray hover weakly out of his hold. Gray was pale, shivering but he stayed upright, hovering inches over the ground. Neither of them left your side, your own personal sentries. 

        "Are you sure you can fight?" Markus said, watching the sandstorm grow closer.

        Gray rose his fists, knuckles cracking. "I can defend."

        Markus nodded to himself, "Good man."

        The others weren't so team oriented. Scattered far from each other, waiting for the fight as individuals. The perfect opening that Scars and Lensless were hoping for. In the weeks they'd spent alone together, they'd passed topic after topic together. Mostly violent ones. Neither of them willing to show their belly to the other. They talked how they'd kill the others if they ever saw them again. What they'd do to who and how. They only lost because they hadn't had a plan for that pussy, hadn't considered that you'd escape. They wouldn't lose this time. Talked shop while they flew, absolutely sure that you'd be back here trying to dig up that useless loser. 

        Lo and behold, you were. You all were. 

        Fine by them. Six birds, two stones. Seven if they counted Phantom but they didn't, they were sure he was dead by now or maybe an apparition after all. 

        They were nearly attached at the hip as they came close, splitting apart at the last second. Attention followed one or the other, distracting the group from the sandstorm before it came down. A wall of tan darkness that got into mouths and dug into eyes. 

        Shouts echoed through the storm. You covered your face in your hands. Heart thrumming, terrified they'd get at you again, that you wouldn't have the power to fend them off. 

        "We're right here," Markus said, still beside you. Through the protection of his lenses, he saw Gray still in place. Wounded and weak, but determined to stay by your side. For that, he respected him more than he already did.

        They waited for attack to come but it never did.

        Everyone waited in their collective pockets of blindness. Quiet. 

        Seb was never one for watching and waiting. "Where are they!?" He spun his head this way and that. Searching. His mask fluttering hard against his face. Lenses thankfully blocking out most of the sand. 

        His only warning was the snap of Scars' cape behind him before his fists came down. In their time together making plans that'd likely never come to fruition, Scars and Lensless also occupied themselves by voting who was the weakest link. There was much debate on who would be the biggest problem but it was nearly unanimous who they thought the weakest- still living that is. Seb was at the top of that list.

       So it was no surprise to Scars that Seb folded like paper over his knee. Or that he was planning to run, as Lensless smacked him down as soon as he shot into the air. Seb hurdled to the ground unable to stop himself from being punted up again by Scars. Lensless cackled, raising up his arms to shoot him back down. He was more of a kicking kind of guy but you'd erased that possibility. God, if he thought about it too much he'd be hard all over again. Fighting with a boner was great and all, but awfully inconvenient.

        Seb tried stopping himself but the momentum Scars punched into him was too much. How was the starving freak still stronger than him- he didn't understand. Worse, he was going to die without fucking you again. Lame.

        Lensless grinned, balled hands over head, ready for impact. 

        "No," a shout made him turn his head just in time to see Maskless burst up from below, "you don't!" 

        Lensless was fast but not gay-fast. Maskless had him by the broken shins, shooting new pain up his legs. He screamed in delight as Maskless tossed him to the sandy wind. Seb finally spun to a stop. Seeing Scars coming for him, completely ignoring Maskless who was waiting for a fight. 

        Maskless tore after Scar's yellow-flapping tail. Not one to wait for things to happen, Seb surged forward, fist raised. He caught Maskless's eye as him and Scars grew closer. A plan passed between them. 

        Scars was on him now, reeling back a gut-punch. Seb threw his fist forward the same moment Maskless did. Their fists shoved into the front and back of his head so hard it made Scars go still. 

      Seb laughed, "That's it?" Because honestly, how could a guy that weak have him on the ropes?

        Scars started to move. Chest hitching with growing laughter. Seb rolled his fist back to find Scars staring at him. Both lenses smashed out now but not a drop of blood squeezed out of him from their joint attack. "What the fuck?"

        "Guess we were wrong about you." Scars sounded like he was congratulating Seb but Seb didn't know what for. Scars spun around lightning-fast to drive a fist into Maskless's solar plexus, "you're the weakest!" The impact sent him spiraling back into the hazy air. Scars shot off, leaving Seb spinning in his tail wind. Dizzy and confused by the time he stopped. Looking for where he'd gone but only seeing dust. 

        Maskless hit the ground only to bounce back up, ready to fight, though his eyes burned. Scars came out of the dust swinging. Sent him back into the sand, fists pummeling, not letting up. Part of him wondered where Lensless was, part of him didn't care.

        Lensless was entangled in a new fight with Mohawk who'd followed his shadow as it was thrown. Mohawk growled as he missed another grab, "Stop running!"

        Lensless cackled, behind him now, "But it's so fun!"        

        Mohawk spun, fist out, only to punch the air. A fingerless glove tapped his shoulder. He spun around into a headbutt.

        Markus watched the chaos through dark lenses. Able to make out silhouettes but no more detail than that. He heard every impact of fist, every pained grunt as Maskless and Scars pummeled each other into the dunes. He moved not a muscle to help. His station was here, by your side with Gray standing guard. Doing the very same thing he shamed Mark for except he had no world to defend. Only you.

        Sand burned at your raw skin. Your ears strained to hear who was where, but you had no idea. Giving orders without knowing who to direct them to was a dangerous business. You didn't know if it'd help or hurt. So you waited for the sand to subside or be given any clear obvious sign to attack but none presented itself. 

        Maskless remembered the taste of blood being forced to the back of his throat. Cartilage shoved flat into his face. Tears unwillingly streaming. But they weren't Maskless's. 

        He'd turned the fight around. The punch he threw with Seb only weak because of the awkward angle. Maskless took Scars punches like an MMA champ. Lord knows his own father hit him enough, hit him harder. He still wasn't strong as dad, never would be but still- the sun reflected through the sandstorm, turning yellow to red. He saw his Dad beneath him. Cape and all as the fists came down. One after the other.

He thought he'd become stronger since that bloody, awful day but Dad always managed to prove him wrong. 

        Dad tried and fails to blunt the attack. Maskless feels the stasifying crunch of something breaking in his face. This must've been how Dad had felt. Vicious in such a strange way. Still, he didn't stop. Thinking of what he said all those years ago on the bloody, awful day, "I'm gonna stop you. I'm gonna make you pay." 

        Dad made him eat those words and his own teeth as they were knocked to the back of his throat. He was forced to stand in his cape-flapping shadow. Forced to listen to the man who killed his boyfriend. Now he was the one on top, the one winning, finally taking the revenge William deserved.

        Dad blindly threw a punch, tried to dislodge Maskless from straddling his waist. Maskless didn't budge. Feeling a teenage smugness in his power. He thought he should end it. Kill the fucker. Let William finally rest in peace. Death came for Scars in a fist flying for his face.

        Death never came. "Stop!" 

        A vice grip stopped his fist at the last second. Maskelss looked up to find a better, more just version of himself defending Dad of all people.

        "You're gonna kill him!" Mark knew he was stating the obvious, but the obvious was a safe option when in a stuation this stupid and insane and implausible. 

        Dad was hurt enough, Maskless could delay his death a minute. 

        "That's the-"  Maskless pulled his fists in, reeling Mark close for a headbutt, "-point!"

        Mark fell back, stopping himself a few feet away. Maskless glared, still sat atop a seemingly unconscious Scars. Mark spoke, hoping to make Maskless back down. "You don't have to do this." He just wanted to go home. Just wanted to rest in Eve's soft, sweet arms even if they were in a bad place. He needed her, not this insanity.

        Maskless blinked sand out his eyes, and saw Scars for what he really was. Then he looked at Mark through the storm's haze and saw a pig-bellied loser who whined at the sight of violence. He regretted a whole lot of things in life, but he didn't regret who he had become- Maskless wasn’t weak and obnoxiously moral, unwilling to do what needed to be done. Obviously holding back despite the situation. He was better than that. 

        He was so stunned by Mark's words he neglected the danger that was waking below him. 

       "(Y/n) was right." Maskless sneered, "You are a pussy."

        Mark ogled at him, mouth open. So thrown off he didn't think to move when he saws Scars shift.

        When the fist came through Maskless's chest, it glistened red just like Dad's gloves. Maskless looked down, meeting Scars eye, crinkled with delight. His jaw worked but no sound came out. He took some solace, knowing at least Dad hadn't killed him. Sucks he didn't get to avenge William but he'd always been forgiving. He'd just hug Mark and rub his back and tell him he tried his best and that's what mattered. It didn't, not really, humanity was fucked because he was weak but he'd melt into William anyway. Except he knew he wouldn't. He knew William was with the angels and he could feel the ground opening up hotly under his knees.

        Scars pulled his bloodied hand back. Maskless fell forward. Scars dislodged himself quickly, letting Maskless fall onto his face without a sound. Exposed heart beating out thick spurts of blood into the sand. Slower and slower until the pumps were twitches and the twitches were stillness. 

       "Thanks for the assist." Scars said. 

        Seb heard it, didn't see it, but he felt the shift in the air. He found them standing yards apart. Mark doing nothing. Scars with a bloody arm. His friend dead in the sand. Red blooming on his back, the same shade as Rex's shitty old band tee-shirts. He saw Rex lying there instead of Maskless for a moment, impaled on a pink spike of solid air. Gasping as his left lung collapsed. That ginger bitch got away. Rex bled out in his arms saying something Seb had never repeated. He'd been thinking of talking to Maskless, maybe you too, about it these past few weeks. Finally opening up to someone who could really understand and now he was dead and Mark was doing nothing. 

        "You let it happen." He said. 

        Mark turned his head, still taking no action as Scars stuck bloodied fingers into his mouth and sucked. "No, I just-"

        Seb's voice cracked when he spat, "Fuck you, asshole," as he lunged for Scars. 

        He didn't make it. Smashed into the sand by Lensless hopping on his back. Mohawk lost him, spinning around in the sand, screaming, "Fight me, pussy!” into the wind.

        Scars converged on Seb. Stomach growling, thinking of the flesh feast he'd have tonight. Mark finally moved, screaming, "Stop!" Nobody did. He threw Lensless off Seb, went to grab Scars,"I said-"

        "Stop!"

        Phantom was close now. At the end of the lifting storm. Close enough to hear your command and freeze up. He barely stayed upright in your hold but at least he knew it wasn't too late. He waited for the control to pass.

       Blood shot out both your nostrils in a near pressurized blast. You hunched forward, groaning, but holding on for dear life. You had no idea what was going on but it sounded bad- like your friend was in trouble bad. 

        Your hold didn't stay long. It was weak with pain and overuse but it was a new record. 

        Scars broke free first, accustomed to your powers being used on him in self-defense. He should've re-gagged you first but he always had been over exciteable in a fight. 

       "Don't think I forgot about you!" He licked his lips, tasting your fear as he hurdled closer, closer, clos-

        He was smacked down into the sand, "Stay away from my wife."

        Scars recovered fast. Happy to see Lensless hopping on Markus. The man was an idiot but one that followed him like a lost puppy. In another life, they would've made good friends and a better team. Here, they were wolves in the same small pack. 

        Scars leapt for you. Face pounding and bleeding. There was something so satisfying about shoving his hand through Maskless's chest that he wanted to do it again. This fight seemed climatic enough, like the last of something. He knew he was either going to die or come out on top. If he was going to die, he wanted to take you with him- to be the one to kill you this time. And if he lived? He'd do what he did to your body the first time- eat it. Force you to be part of him forever in a sort of flesh marriage. In a way, he was more married to you than Markus was. 

          Lensless's fingers slipped under Markus's mask, shoving thumbs into his eyes. Blinding him from the incoming danger heading your way, saying, "Let's match!"

        Markus flung him off his back only to see Scars nearly on top of you. He was fast but Gray was closer. Catching Scars reaching hand, stopping his momentum outright. Scars snarled, "You should be dead."

        "So should you." Gray did it again, the dishonorable knee to the balls that had Scars crumpling. He reeled his leg back, feeling his gore shifting under the cape before he kicked forward. Launching Scars backward. He would've killed him if he hadn't felt so weak, so stupid with panic from earlier. He looked back at you to make sure, "You're okay?"

        You stare up at him with wide, terrified eyes, "I think so." You saw it on Scars face. He was honest to God trying to kill you. Gray just saved your life, no bones about it. Him and Markus stay put beside you, scared if they're not within ten feet from you, one of those freaks would actually get to you. 

        Lensless rushed for the three of you but was sniped to the ground by Mohawk. The two of them landed in a dusty tussle. Lensless laughing all the way, sand digging into his exposed flesh and bone. 

        Mohawk snarled, punching him in the mouth, "Stop being so happy while I'm trying to kill you!"

        "No!" Lensless laughed.

        Scars rushed down, ready to put a hole in Mohawk and keep his one ally alive. A blue-yellow blur tackled him from the side, pistoned punches to his face fast as Seb could. "Still think I'm weak!?" 

        Scars laughed in Seb's face. "No shit!" His arm came up, ready to pierce. 

        Seb wasn't fast enough but Mark was, grabbing him and getting him out of the way before another person died on his watch. He was nowhere near far enough away as he'd like from Scars when Seb shoved him off. "I don't need your help, asshole."

        "I just saved your life!" 

        "Yeah," Seb looked down, the dust was no longer a wall but specs floating in the sun. He saw all the exposed broken ribs Scars broke inside his friend. "But not his."

        "I'm sorry?" Mark was but a part of him said not to be. That version of himself flattened cities. Killed thousands. He didn't deserve his grief, yet here he was, feeling awful just the same.

        Seb sneered at him. "You think that fixes shit?" He flew down before Mark could respond.

        Scars threw Mohawk off Lensless's bloodied face. Lensless was left behind as the two of them locked in a brawl that sprawled through the dunes. Lensless followed for backup but Seb threw himself onto his back. Two separate prize fights unfolded in the air. 

        You watched from below, lips hot with blood. "You gotta help them." You say to your guards.        

        "No." Gray grunted, feeling his insides shifting and slithering wrongly with every little twitch of muscle. He needed to lay down, recover, but he wouldn't give into need like some human-raised piglet.

        You watched as Mark inserted himself between Mohawk and Scars. "Stop! This isn't helping!"

        "Neither are you." Mohawk moved around him and cracked Scars head to the side with a punch. He went in for another but Mark grabbed his wrist.

        "Listen to me! I think I know how to get out of here. I can help you, just work with me!" Angstrom was intent on revenge. Angstrom would bring him back to his own universe just to gloat that he'd killed Eve. Mark felt like he was going to vomit at the thought.

        "Been there." Mohawk ripped his arm back only to shove his forearm in Mark's throat, sending him gasping backwards, "Done that!" Mohawk had lost all hope for escape. To him, everything out of Mark's mouth was hot gas.

        Mohawk was back on Scars. Without his lackey to give support, they were almost evenly matched- Mohawk just edging him out. Fine by him. He'd be disappointed if Scars talked all that game and had nothing to back it up with. They went pummeling each other back and forth until they were both sweaty, blood pouring from blunt-force cuts in their heads, rolling in the sand, scratching and biting at each other. Mohawk ended up on top. Standing over Scars, kicking and stomping at it. Enjoying the darkening of his boots with every blow.

        Mark was stuck between stopping that murder and the next. Lensless doing something similar to Seb, except he was playing with him. Letting Seb get some space between them just to invade it again. 

        You turn to Markus, pointing at Seb. "Help him." Markus stayed put. You say again, remnants of power mucking the side of your throat. "Help him!" Your vision blurred.

         Markus didn't budge, "You know you can't control me." You turn to Gray but reconsider. What if you sent him to his death? 

        You look up to Mark, yelling, "Help him!" Again the lighter won't catch. Your head pounds.

        He doesn't know which him. Can't tell who's the least evil and most reasonable. He figured probably the guy almost getting murdered twice in a row. Actually, about to be murdered. Mohawk was just about done playing with his food. It was high time he bashed Scars face in.

        Mark grabbed his arms again. "No!"

        Your voice shocked him into stillness, "Let him." 

        Mohawk watched you a moment. Eyes set hatefully on Mark who was slipping fast out of your weakening grip. "And when he's done? I'm siccing him on you next." God, Mohawk loved you. Mark didn't know what to say. Hadn't you wanted him to save this guy?

        "Don't," Markus said, "We need to know how he got here."

        You threw your arms out. "You see any obvious portals around? You see any rescue coming? He was dumped here to die like the rest of us!" Your eyes meet Mohawk's, "Kill him, save Seb, then kill Mark for me, yeah?"

        "Could go without that guy." Mohawk said, watching Seb zip out of Lenless's claws just to be caught again. He was a weakling, he should take his time with Scars and let Seb get killed. Plus, that was one less set of hungry eyes on you. 

        "I'll suck your dick." You don't care who hears. You just don't want another person you care about dead.

        He chuckles before giving you the obligatory, "Yes ma'am!" Mohawk tore his hands free and shot his knuckles forward. Kill shot coming hot for Scars teeth.

        He intended to do it, really he did- but that noise made him go steel-beam straight one moment, collapsing with his hands uselessly clawing over his ears the next. The sound pierced through his body, rattled his bones, especially those small specialized ones so important to Viltrumite ears. 

        They went down like flies. Leaving you the only one partially upright. You and the man cresting over the dune. Barely upright himself. The thing about being tortured and eaten alive, it hardens a person. There was nothing worse than feeling the muscles being pulled off your own living bone. Feeling your tendons slowly being pulled from your insides. The ringer blaring in his hand made him ache, but it was nowhere near as bad as everything else. He couldn't ignore it completely, no, his flight was even more unbalanced than before but he could still move unlike the others. All twitching and screaming, too weak and crazed to fight the sound off.

        "(Y/n)." Blue eyes mist when they spot you sat there so perfect. Knees swollen under your pants and strangely you're not getting up to run. He knows you're hurt but also knew this was a good thing for him. Makes everything that much easier. He gets faster the closer to you he gets, like you're both magnets. "You're here... You're okay... You're-" You almost don't hear him over the noise. Near deafening by the time he's feet away. 

        You spit out power, "Turn that off. Get away from me." But there's nothing left. You scramble backwards into Gray's fallen body. "Get up!" You tell him in a desperate panic but you know he can't. You pull out the only defense you have, the taser from so long ago. You let the prongs fly free and connect with his chest but just like that first night, it does nothing.

        Phantom reaches out for you, smiling soft. 

        Green light falls over you. Both your heads turn to a familiar portal. Neon and pulsing. You never thought you'd see one again. Never thought-

        Phantom doesn't think. Just grabs you hard and rips through the portal with all his remaining strength. You're useless against him. Feeling the portal envelop you with warping light. Watching as the others' heads raise, faces distorting and then you are gone.

        The awful screeching stopped as soon as Phantom went through the portal. The Mark's that can rise, do, not believing their eyes. Markus wasted no time. Grabbing Gray, the only person worth saving and shot for the portal. Mohawk on his tail. Lensless went for Scars bloodied in the sand, on Mohawk's heels, dragging his only friend along. Mark rushed after them, only stopping to grab Seb, groaning bloody in the sand. He wouldn't leave someone behind, he thought as he looked back on the desert, dunes stretching endless to the horizon.

        Maskless didn't move as the portal closed. Meat already cooking under the sun.

        ***

        You collapsed onto the ground, gasping as you recognize Mark's living room. The gasp ending in a whimper as something inside you was squeezed too tight in Phantom's excited hold. Something that made every breath ache, made your insides pulse. Phantom was laid on top of you, heaving with exhaustion, making the pain worse. The screeching stopped, device shorting out as it crossed dimensions a second time. Both of your bodies warmed by the now-gone sun. You lifted your head to find the bay window. It was dark outside. Across the street you could see the neighbors lights, above that you see stars. You could cry.

        But you don't.

        Angstrom Levy stood over you. Eve Wilkins by his side, looking at you like you were an alien. She bent down, rolling Phantom off of you, much to your ribs relief. She winced at his state but goes to help you up, holding out her hands.

        You don't take her hands, legs useless behind you, propped painfully up on your elbows. Blood pulsing hot from your neck. All you can do is scowl at her sweet, concerned smile. She who took your place in Mark's life. She who got to be a hero and good person while you were never given the opportunity.

        You slapped her freshly manicured hands away. You hated how pretty she was. Hated how her skin was aglow with health and wasn't blistered and peeling from sun damage. "Don’t fucking touch me."

        Her face fell. She looked sad. You were so much different than she was expecting. Wrecked, angry, ruined. If only she could've found you years ago, maybe things would be different. 

        The open portal warbled as Markus and Gray came through. Markus took quick stock of the situation. The traitor Angstrom, the hero girl he killed months ago, Phantom half-conscious, a familiar living room, you laying in its center. He tossed Gray to the couch and converged on Angstrom, hand shooting out. A swarm of drones held him back. 

        "I surrender!" Was the last thing Markus thought he'd hear. 

        But he didn't care, needed to get control of the situation. "You-"

        Mohawk shot out of the portal, slamming Angstrom into the wall. The plaster wall cracked behind the man. "You backstabbing fuck! You left us there to die!"

        Mohawk's head was jumbled like everyone else's. All he wanted to do was hurt Angstrom for stranding him. Stranding you. You all could've died out there. Hell, you'd come close so many times, all because Angstrom was a coward. For that, he'd die.

        Markus slapped at the drones, "If you kill him, we can't get back to our dimensions."

        He was infuriatingly right. Still. Mohawk gave Angstrom a well-earned gut shot that made him double forward and heave. A small swarm of drones pushed him back toward Markus toward the portal. Animal panic thrummed in his blood at being back there- alone, without you. But Angstrom doesn't push him through. He holds the portal firm, wiping blood off his lip as Lensless drags Scars through. He unceremoniously dropped his ally to the floor and lunged for Angstrom. There weren't enough drones left to hold him back. One fist screwed into Angstrom's cheek, the other jabbed at his engorged brain. 

        "Stop!" Eve shrieked, "Stop! He surrenders!"

         Surprisingly, Lensless paused. Eyeing her suspiciously. "Haven't I killed you before?" He went right back to beating Angstrom. On one hand, Angstrom betrayed him, on the other, Lensless hadn't had nearly enough bloodshed. Hadn't properly gotten started.

        He was pried off Angstrom by Mark. The last through the portal, Seb slung onto his back. Mark tossed Lensless aside into the drone wall. Let Seb slide down onto the floor, groaning and half-conscious. Squaring nose to nose with Angstrom. “You surrender?"

        "Yes." Angstrom heaved, looking from Mark to Mark trying to catch their eyes and make his conviction known. "I see it now. I... I've done you and this dimension a great wrong." Mark sneered. Knuckles cracking but making no move to strike. "I was bombarded with lifetimes of memories. In so many universes, you are dangerous, ruthless, evil- it says something about your nature. It should concern you."

        Lensless tried to fly forward, yelling, "I am!" Markus held him back by the ankle. Only hearing out Angstrom's blabbering because he had an idea where this might be going.

        "But I know now you're not one of them." Angstrom's eyes flickered to the portal. "Still. No one deserves to be out there. Where are the others?"

        "Dead." You said from the floor. The drones parted slightly so he could see your face. You, just a regular human caught in the middle of this. So normal in so many dimensions. The others here deserved a little suffering, sure, but you? At his silence you spit, "We ate them, motherfucker." Jesus, what had he done?

        "I'm..." He blinked back tears. He'd strayed so far from his righteous path. Ruined things. "I know it counts for nothing, but I'm sorry." He looked back to Mark, "I accept whatever punishment I've earned and..." He held out his hand. Mark flinched back but no mouth of green opened beneath his feet. The door to the desert closed and another reopened. "Number One, it's only fitting you return to your world first." 

        Mohawk bristled.

        He thought he could look sad and that'd fix things? He thought he could walk back all those promises of other dimensions for him to conquer? Send him back with nothing?  No. No, Mohawk didn't think so. He swooped down, grabbed you first then moved fast, shattering the drones, grabbing the other person that deserved to suffer more than Angstrom Levy. Mark Grayson. It was his stupid ass that started this in the first place. Him who ruined your life, who made you so resistant to Mohawk. He'd suffer for everything. 

        He rushed through the portal, not thinking entirely straight. Knowing as soon as he passed through, he should've grabbed Angstrom Levy but the deed was done. He was over inter-dimensional takeover. He just wanted you and the chance to bond over torturing Mark to death.

        Angstrom was so shocked that he didn't immediately shut the portal. Eve turned on him, "Get him back!" 

        Phantom half-crawled, half-wormed his way to the portal. Slowly disappearing into the green. A dog after your scent. 

        Gray and Markus shared a look. Then they were going through the portal together. Lensless left forgotten on the floor.         Angstrom wasn't fast enough to close the portal, to stop what was happening. Lensless grabbed him by the cape in one hand, holding up Scars pulpy face in the other. He rushed for the portal. Seb only managed to grab onto his boot in the nick of time, because no way in hell was he going to be stranded here. As soon as Angstrom was through the portal, it collapsed in on itself. Leaving Eve alone with a horde of drones.

[son-of-lunadeyis]

various riptide headcanons that keep me up at night

chip can't smoke weed very often because sometimes it makes the air smell of a late night card game in the back alley of a bar on skullslice with reuben and his friends while they were all high as fuck, back when reuben was his brother first and leader second.

despite the fact that gillion hopes knows he'll never have to use them, he has contingency plans on how to take down/out any of the crew members at any given time. there's a few things from his training that gillion can't seem to unlearn and that's one of them. some days he struggles to look his cocaptains in the eye as his mind runs through the fastest way to kill them despite how hard he tries to stop thinking about it.

when jayson started getting distant, jay found herself having intrusive thoughts of hurting herself and acting out in order to get his attention. these stopped shortly after ava's death, and jay can't help but wonder if it's because not even that got his attention.

may tried to use her mom voice on chip once before they left to go back to canella and he instantly started crying. he made her promise not to tell jay and she just hugged him until he let go.

furthermore when ollie's mom slapped the two in the forest, gillion didn't say anything but he could feel the way chip shook as he gripped his hand.

jay has a small doll hidden on the ship somewhere that she picked up at a market during a supply run because it looks like the one her father shot and when she's having a hard time she'll just go sit with it

chip frequently struggles with derealization and thinks it's normal but people don't like to talk about it, as well as his frequent PTSD symptoms

a few days after chip got his heart ripped out, he still had some now-dead tissue that began to fall apart in his throat so he would have coughing fits that made him wretch and dry heave until black viscera came out. he did his best to hide this from the others.

[mxtantrights]

WORLDS AWAY II

a/n: okay wasn't expecting that many of you to actually see and like the first part. stick with me here while I put some stuff together for these two love birds. I'm gonna warn you, it's gonna be angsty.

It was like everything was happening so fast but not fast enough. Azriel took in everything with his eyes. How Lucien swiped the meaningless stuff from the table with is arm. Rhys winnowed away to get Madja himself. Mor took your hand into hers and talked to you, begged you to just hold on, as Cassian grabbed a clean napkin to press to your neck.

Nesta grabbed another bunch of napkins to place pressure on your chest. Feyre took care to dab at the wound on your head.

Azriel stood there as still as a statue. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know what his hands should do, or what he should say.

He watched your eyes open. He watched you look around the room, at all the people that surrounded you. How you weakly groaned and tried to move away from them.

Until you saw him. Your eyes locked with his and in that moment it was like time moved normally.

Azriel stepped up to your body on the table. He watched as you visibly stopped tensing and your eyes went wide.

"It's okay. You're gonna be okay." he spoke.

You nodded your head at his words, a couple of tears then came out of your eyes. They painted streaks down your face. His hand, as if on instinct, came out and brushed them away.

-------

Everything felt like pain. Blinking. Breathing. Trying to move your head, trying to move anything. But you couldn't help it. You didn't know where you were, or who was with you.

You didn't feel safe.

That's why you sit up in bed, which doesn't belong to you, and look around the room. The room isn't filled with anything identifiable or homely.

It's bare.

A horrible thought crosses your mind. That you were taken to some place without your knowledge. Someone did something to you The last thing you remember is being held down by a captor and their thick blade cutting you open.

No. Not that's not the last thing you remember.

Him.

The winged fae. The one you saved some time ago. He looked at you.

The sound of the door opening makes you look over to it. You see an older woman walk in. As she does, your cat Felix walks in behind her. You let out a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

"You're awake. Good."

-------

Azriel didn't know what to think. A mate? A human mate? It's not like these things were impossible. Feyre and Rhysand come to mind. They both felt the pull before they even knew what it was and before Feyre was made into fae.

But this?

He feels undeserving of this, of you. He's getting ahead of himself anyways. He's just happy you're alive. Healing.

"I met her a while ago. In the woods near The Wall."

Azriel turns around at the sound of a male voice. Standing there, at the edge of the training mat, is Lucien.

"When I met her she was nowhere near The Wall." Azriel says.

"She said she moved. Not sure why. I relocated her within Spring." Lucien offers.

Azriel nods, "What happened? How did she end up like that?"

"She had taken in one of those Children of the Blessed."

Azriel huffs. A fanatic had let their followings lead them to hurting another person. It's not unusual but he didn't like it. He didn't like it at all.

"When I got there, the lunatic was gone. Left her there to bleed out." Lucien continues.

Azriel shakes his head at that. It's been eating him up since he saw you so close to death. Maybe his run in with you had caused this. Maybe he had brought death to your doorstep.

"She's asking for you." Lucien says.

-------

A series of knocks comes from the door. You're not sure who it is. You know who you want it to be. You're just not sure if he'll show up. He hadn't visited these past two days.

You asked for him. Maybe you shouldn't have.

"Come in."

The door opens slowly. And in walks a person you weren't expecting to see. A person you don't know. A tall man with wings, but he's not the one you saved.

"Quite the first impression you made. I'm Cassian." he says.

You laugh lamely, then you introduce yourself, "Can't say I wanna do it again."

He moves further into the room now. He takes note of Felix laying on the corner of the bed.

"He's been looking for you. Since you saved his life." he says.

Without having to ask you know who he's talking about. Who else could it be? But if what he's saying is true, why isn't he here? Why do you not even know his name?

"Why?"

He takes a while to answer. Which throws you odd for a moment there. It's a simple question. Unless he had ulterior motives.

"It'd be best if he explains."

-------

Azriel feels pathetic. Absolutely and utterly pathetic. He's been in combat. He's killed people. And yet he cannot work up the courage to go into your room.

Every time he tries something stops him. His shadows even whisper for him to go. But he goes slack. His hands shake. He feels clammy and his breathing quickens.

He's pathetic!

Azriel turns around, away from your door, and is about to walk away.

Until he hears a door open. His heart skips a beat. He stops in his tracks. He can feel his shadows swirling around him, uncontrollably.

When he doesn't hear anything, he slowly turns around. His eyes find yours. He could fall to his knees right here and now. He gulps and clears his throat.

"Hello." he says in more of a whisper.

You gape at him. You look up at him with your wide eyes. The bandages that cover your wounds make his skin crawl. You were perfectly fine before you met him.

There's a beat of silence and then you say it.

Your name.

And then he does it. He actually falls to his knees. There are two hard knocks on the floor. You watch him as he does, your head moving downward to follow him.

He hangs his head, "I'm so sorry."

"Me too. I wish you had visited me sooner." you speak.

He looks up at you confused. That is not what he was expecting you to say. At his confusion you chuckle lightly. When you do you reach for your chest and hold it, a wince leaving you.

"What's your name?" you ask.

"Azriel."

You hold out your hand for him to take. Like an angel from a story. He takes your hand in his and feels the warmth and that spark again.

-------

The two of you sit in silence on the balcony for a while. It had been like this since he finally spoke to you. It was like there was nothing to say to each other.

But there was.

You wanted to ask about him. You wanted to know about him, and what brought him to your doorstep on the edge of death.

And it's not like he was avoiding you. He found you almost twice a day and sat with you. But never said anything. Never. It was odd to say the least.

You weren't planning on taking up residence here, so you would have to get a move on sometime soon. Majda is coming over later this week to check your wound again before giving you the all clear.

You look over at him. He's sitting with his legs crossed and looking over the view from the house.

"I'm leaving soon." you say.

At that he turns to you. A bit of surprise in his eyes. Not a good surprise but a bad one.

"Oh."

"I don't really fit in here, and I can see your friends overcompensating for me." you explain a bit to him.

He nods his head, "I understand."

"But I would like to see you." you add on.

He goes still at that.

"What?" he asks.

"I would like to see you, Azriel. Outside of this place."

He clears his throat. His eyes darting around and around. He can hear you stifle a laugh, to his benefit he supposes. He sits up and reaches for the metal railing of the balcony.

"I'm the reason you for hurt. You know that, don't you?" he asks.

You shake your head, "No, that child of the blessed or whomever is why I got hurt. And if I could go back in time I'd still help you."

Azriel scoffs, "Even with that scar on your neck now?"

"Even with the scar. I don't care." you answer poorly.

"You should. I only bring disaster and pain."

You think to yourself maybe this is why he doesn't talk to you when he sits here. All that rattles in his head is self deprecation. You don't like hearing it one bit.

"What if you come and see me?" you ask.

Azriel looks at you then. Like you had stumbled upon something new, unheard of. You didn't want to make him uncomfortable or put him on the spot. You had save his life and it seems like he feels indebted to you.

You wish you could tell him that saving his life wasn't a transactional experience. That you didn't need anything from him for it. So maybe the best way to do that is to give him the decision.

Without wasting another second you shrug off the knitted cardigan off your body. You hold it out for him to take. He looks down at the piece of fabric, unmoving.

"You can use it to find me." you speak.

He looks up at you, "Are you sure?"

"Whenever your'e ready to find me Azriel. I'll be there."

-------

The cabin is pretty big. Bigger than what your'e used to. But you couldn't turn down the offer from Rhys. You half heartedly expect that there is more to it.

With the way they all looked at you as you left a few days ago. It felt weird. Like they knew something that you didn't. Something that had to do with you and Azriel, who curiously didn't see you off.

It did sting. He was the only one of them that you sort of knew. The only one you had a real connection with. But you guessed that he didn't feel the need to say goodbye to you. So you tried to push it down deep inside of you and no let it consume you.

Which is why you're decorating the cabin. Lucien dropped off all of your things from the other place. The place where you almost died. He did a good job at cleaning up things too.

Well, almost. An old blanket had a bit of blood on it. You hold it up to inspect it a bit more.

Before you can harp on it for too long, Felix comes in-between your legs. You look down at him with a smile.

"I'll be fine. Just thinking." you say.

Felix moves from your legs and over to the door. You think to yourself he may want to get some fresh air. You walk over to the door and open it so that he can run free for a bit.

What you weren't expecting was the basket. Sitting on the porch of the cabin is a huge wicker basket. Filled with things. You kneel down and look it over. Candles. A blanket. Some clothes. Trinkets. House stuff.

A letter.

Your fingers pluck the paper from the basket. No name. You turn it over to the back to be sure of it. Then you open the folded letter to unveil very neat handwriting.

Your name is at the top.

It's been a few days since you left. I am sorry for not saying goodbye with the others. I wanted to but I felt wrong doing so. I still feel at fault for your being hurt and on death's doorstep.

I know you won't hear it, but I am sorry again. You can't begin to understand how much.

The basket is supposed to be filled with things you need. Although I admit I didn't partake in much of the buying and had help from some of the inner circle.

If any of it displeases you, please throw it away. I thought it would be a gesture of something. I'm not sure what.

I realize now what you were trying to do when you gave me your sweater. I do want to see you. But there are things I need to figure out before I do. I wish to have more answers than questions for you.

But I promise I will come visit you.

Hope to see you soon,

Azriel

You bring your hand up to your mouth in a gasp. The letter is sweet and really thoughtful. You're glad that he doesn't feel like you pushed him into anything he didn't want to do.

With bated breath you get stand up straight again. Felix coming between your legs once more.

"You knew I had something waiting for me on my doorstep, didn't you?" you ask.

The cat just looks up at you, unimpressed.

-------

The nightmare isn't too bad. Not that you think. Even trying to recall it is difficult. When your eyes were closed you could swear the images were vivid and real.

But as you start to wake, your mind reveals the truth to you.

There is no unknown person your house trying to kill you. There is just silence. You sit up a bit out of breath and look around. The darkness of the room doesn't help to ease your mind.

But you can see Felix at the edge of your bed. If he is sleeping, then everything is okay. He could sense danger from a mile away and would let you know.

It's why you think that Child of the Blessed didn't do any worse damage. Felix had remained at your side through the whole visit and launched at them when they attacked you.

You reach up to touch the wound on your neck. Not yet a scar but somehow not fresh anymore. Funny. Every morning you wake up and you feel it weighing on you.

It isn't morning yet. The dark blue sky and the moonlight that peeks out of the window tells you as much. So you put your head back down on your pillow and shut your eyes again.

What you don't know is that there is no need to worry about your safety. In addition to Felix that sleeps at your feet, facing the bedroom door, there is another living thing keeping you company.

Azriel stood guard on your front door. Dress in his usual black leathers and his arms crossed over his chest. His eyes focused on anything in the distance that could be coming your way. And his ears focused on your breathing that evens out as you fall back to sleep.

For now, this is what he'll take. Being separated from you by two doors. You not knowing that he's here. Even though he does want to see you. He wants it badly.

But his guilt eats at him most nights. He thinks this is why he's able to feel your nightmares in the pit of his belly. They wake him with a jolt and he comes over to watch over your cabin for a few hours. Ever since you left.

One day he'll have the courage to tell you he's here. One day.

Not tonight.

[wanderlettesz]

The Price of Loving

yandere cheater x reader

After you discover your fiancé cheating on you with his assistant, rage takes over and you kill her right in front of him. Arrested and imprisoned for the crime, he visits you frequently, wanting to rebuild what he destroyed.

Tw/Tags. yandere, cheating, toxic relationship, kidnapping, obsessive, non-consensual touching, degradation, homicide, blood, manipulation, captivity, bondage, force feeding, death (not the reader), angst, suggesting content. Pronouns are not used, but the reader is implied to be a woman. Let me know if I missed any.

Word Count: 11664

The room was silent, the only sound being that of the clock.

“What do you feel when you think about crime?”

Silence.

“Do you regret what you did? 

Silence. You know there's no point in answering.

The psychologist forces a small smile “If you don't want to talk again today, that's fine. We'll wait until you're ready.” She writes something in her notebook and closes it “You're free to go.”

You don't bother saying goodbye and leave the room, the policemen who were at the door waiting for you to leave escort you in silence to your cell. At every cell you passed you felt eyes staring at you, and you made sure to return their gaze. When you arrived, you were brutally pushed inside, the brute action made you clench your teeth, and you held back so as not to say anything.

You sit down and breathe, trying to calm down. You've been here for a week now, but with James coming here every day, it feels like an eternity.

"James..."

You mutter bitterly, his name leaving a bitter taste in your mouth. Your eyes wander to the other side of the room, where the thousands of gifts he brought are scattered across the table without any care.

______________________________________________________________

The smell of alcohol and antiseptics invades your nostrils as you walk through the hospital corridors to your fiancé's room. You were carrying a box of sweets in a good mood, you worked hard to cook all this after all.

Your hands got burnt in the process, but if that's enough to show him that you love him, there's no need to worry about it.

You hesitate for a second, but decide not to knock. As you turn the handle and push open the door, you freeze at the scene. You regret not knocking sooner.

A blazer is lying on the floor, next to a woman's jacket. The table where a woman is sitting is a complete mess. You look around the scene in shock, until you finally see the faces of the couple in front of you.

Your fiancé and his assistant.

James quickly turns away from the woman and towards you. He seems completely oblivious to the woman in front of him “Darling, you've come to visit me!” a smile appears on his face as he walks over to you 

How dare he look happy after the scene you've just witnessed?

Noticing your presence, the assistant tries to leave discreetly, her steps hurried but contained. You don't think, your gaze sweeps the room and settles on the first object within reach, a chair.

The impulse takes over you, and before you can even think, you’ve already lifted it and struck her with the first blow. The sound of the impact and the screams echo around you, and you keep going. You hit her again and again until you realize the screams have stopped.

It was enough to alert nearby staff and patients. Some watched the scene with horror etched across their faces, while others were already running toward where you were.

You turned to your fiancé. His face was a mix of fear and shock, but there was something else. A glint in his eyes, a small smile on his lips.

He looked pleased.

"You... killed her? Because of me?" his voice came out low, almost in awe. "If I had known you were…"

You didn’t let him finish. You raised the chair again and lunged forward, ready to strike. But before you could hit him, you were restrained by nurses who rushed in and pinned you down.

On the ground, trapped under arms and surrounded by shouts, as the nurses rushed to check the woman's body, you realized what you had done.

There’s no going back now. ______________________________________________________________

You clench your fists as that memory flashes through your mind again, and you quickly look away from the table. There's no point in thinking about it anymore. Instead, you fix your gaze on the hallway clock.

5:48 p.m. James usually arrives around this time. Maybe he’s running late. Or maybe, just maybe, he finally gave up trying to convince you not to kill him with your own hands. You hope it’s the latter. But your hopes die the moment you hear that sticky, annoyingly cheerful voice.

“Thank God you’re awake... You usually tend to doze off around this time.” He appears from the corner where you were looking at the clock. “Sorry I’m late, darling, the hospital was packed today.”

You ignore him and turn your back, not even bothering to answer. He has always hated the silent treatment. If you're lucky, he'll give up and walk away. But you know that would be a miracle.

"I thought we were past this…” His annoyance is obvious, even though he tries to mask it with sadness. "I noticed you even had one of the chocolates I brought yesterday. That has to mean you're starting to forgive me.”

What? You didn’t touch any of the things he brought, but you decide not to care about that now. "I told the guards not to let you in," you say directly, completely ignoring the absurd thing he just said before. "Why are you here?”

"You should know that won’t stop me." "I guess not." You turn toward James, not hiding your unhappiness at seeing him. "So? What did you come here for?”

"Can’t I visit my own fiancée anymore?" he said, showing the gifts. "Look, I picked your favorite flowers and chose the best chocolates for you..."

You don’t pay attention to his words. Hearing him speak used to be something you loved, but now it only provokes irritation.

As you struggled to push away any thought that reminded you of his presence, the cell door creaked open with a dry squeak, and a guard let him in. Your eyes first went to the gifts he carefully placed on your table, adding them to the others he had brought before. When you finally mustered the courage to face him, his arms were already around you.

“What…” You immediately raise your hands to push him away, but he interrupts you by hugging you tighter and bringing his lips close to your ear.

“You don’t want to make a scene here in front of everyone, do you?” His warm breath tickles your skin, sending an uncomfortable shiver down your spine. If you want to get out of here and as far away from him as possible, you better be discreet for now.

Noticing your attempt to hold back, he rested his head on your shoulder, prolonging the moment longer than tolerable. When he finally pulled away, he smiled with that same irritating smile as always.

"Aren’t you afraid I’ll break your face?”

“You wouldn’t do that.”

You definitely would, but not here.

He settled on the edge of your bed and motioned for you to sit beside him. “I have something to talk to you about.”

When you didn’t follow, he took your hand and gently pulled you to his side, his expression now serious as he lowered his voice. “Look, about everything that happened…”

“What is wrong with you?" Your hand pulls away from his in a sharp motion.

He doesn’t react right away. He just lowers his eyes, as if searching for words on the floor. For a brief second, he looks hurt, but says nothing.

"You think you can just come back here and try to fix everything?" Your indignation is clear. Your stomach turns just having him this close. His scent, the sound of his breathing, everything about him feels really annoying right now.

He takes a deep breath, and when he finally speaks, his voice is low, almost cautious. "I know, I know what I did... But could you at least listen to what I have to say?"

That sparks something inside you. Your heart races, like you’ve just been punched. You stand up abruptly, the bed creaking under the sudden movement.

"Listen?!" your voice rises instantly, firm and uncontrolled. Your whole body is tense, you’re really holding yourself back from exploding. "Do you even know what you’re talking about?! You cheated on me, for fuck’s sake! There’s no excuse for that!" Your breathing is already heavy. 

He stands up too, maybe out of impulse or maybe out of fear of losing control of the situation. He tries to take a step toward you, his hands slightly raised as if trying to calm you. "Darling, please, calm down, I just want to…”

"Get the fuck out of my cell." You cut him off, looking him straight in the eyes. "I don’t want to hear what you have to say, none of your excuses. I’d rather rot in prison than be free because of you!”

He freezes for a moment, as if unsure whether he should insist or leave. But you don’t look away. The air between you is heavy. Your argument has drawn several curious looks, and one disapproving glance from a guard.

James knew that if he pushed any further, he’d lose any chance of speaking to you again.

He leaves the cell in silence, without looking back. But just before crossing the door, you still catch his final whisper,barely audible.

"I’m going to get you out of here."

Your eyes widen for a second before you pull yourself together. 

"And when that happens, I’ll kill you."

He says nothing else and walks out in silence.

Your body is still trembling with anger, and you throw yourself onto the bed, one arm resting over your eyes. You try to calm your breathing, taking deep, slow breaths.

You tried once, then twice, three times…Each attempt only seemed to make the irritation worse. You can’t understand how he still manages to affect you so deeply, even after everything that happened. You keep trying for the rest of the night.

______________________________________________________________

The next morning, you wake up in a bad mood, your body stiff in an uncomfortable position and your shoulders aching, without remembering exactly when you fell asleep. But it wasn’t the discomfort that woke you, it was a different sound.

You turned your head slightly to the side and looked out of the corner of your eye. You saw a hand reaching through the bars of the neighboring cell, trying to grab a box of chocolates James had left on the table against the wall opposite your bed.

You watched the woman’s pathetic attempt to be quiet. She seemed to be struggling. Her hand barely touched the box, and when she did, all she managed to do was push it farther away.

The scowl that was already on her face deepened. With an annoyed sigh, she pulled her hand back. Just as she was about to try again, she looked in your direction, probably to check if you were still asleep.

Your eyes met and she quickly withdrew her arm, freezing. You stared at each other for a few seconds before she gave you a mischievous smile. "These chocolates have been here for days…! You’re not going to eat them, are you? It’s better if someone does before they rot and make the whole place stink!”

Despite the confident tone, you noticed the nervousness she was trying to hide.

You look away and stare at the ceiling. "You can take it. I wasn’t going to eat it anyway."

The woman stayed silent for a moment. She didn’t seem to believe you truly didn’t care. "...Really? I mean... alright then! Don’t mind me grabbing it!"

She reached out again, this time more eagerly, and finally managed to grab the box.

With a satisfied smile, she pulled it into her cell and opened the box, unwrapping a chocolate. "I was so hungry! Yesterday, when your boyfriend was…”

"Ex” you correct her.

"...Ex-boyfriend was here, I couldn’t grab any and spent the whole night starving. You and he are terrifying when you’re angry, so I didn’t want to risk it." She tossed the chocolate in the air and caught it in her mouth, chewing happily.

You got up from the bed and sat up, your gaze falling to the floor. “...Did you see what happened yesterday?”

"You should be asking who didn’t see it." She grabbed another chocolate. "You two were loud. I don’t know how he still has permission to visit you and bring all this good stuff!"

"Good stuff..." you repeat bitterly as you start getting up to get ready.

The woman you were talking to glanced quickly at the clock and realized she also needed to hurry. Neither of you wanted to attract the attention of the guards.

______________________________________________________________

After pricking your fingers several times, you finally finish sewing the hand of the small amigurumi you've been working on since you got there. Carefully, you hold it up to your eyes, examining each stitch closely.

It's not perfect, but... it's good enough. You hope some child will like it.

Then, the sound of the bell echoes through the hallway. It’s time for outdoor break. You put your materials away, hand the amigurumi to the woman in charge of the workshop, and head toward the yard.

Outside, you sit on a bench, watching the other inmates also taking advantage of the fresh air, some chatting, others in silence. They don’t mind your presence and ignore you.

Your eyes fall to your hands, thousands of tiny wounds scattered across them.

"Wow, that looks painful..." The same woman from before is leaning over your shoulder, eyeing your hands with curiosity.

"You again?" you turn your face away, annoyed. She turns to face you, her smile widening with amusement.

Ignoring your comment, she sits beside you. "Didn't know you were the crochet type. Doesn't suit you at all, especially making stuffed animals.”

“It’s not like I... like it. It’s just the least awful job around here.” You lower your hands to your lap.

“Doesn’t look that way to me…”

She decides to drop the subject and, in a casual motion, throws an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer. Then, she slips a hand inside her bra and pulls out a chocolate wrapped in luxurious packaging.

“Check this out.” She places the candy between you two. “I don’t like owing favors, so I brought you a chocolate from the boss’s office. This is one of the most expensive in the world! Look at this fancy wrapping…” Her fingers point out tiny details in the packaging that no one would notice without trying.

When you make no move to take the chocolate, she grabs your hand and places it in your palm. “Impressive, right? I’m paying my debt to you for those other chocolates. Feel honored.”

You don’t really care about that, but she looks so proud that you don’t have the heart to ruin her moment.

"Thanks, I guess. You didn’t owe me anything, but... I appreciate the gift." You tuck the chocolate into a pocket or fold of your clothes.

She watches your face closely, looking for any sign of sarcasm. Finding none, she nods, satisfied.

"You’re not what I expected, [Name]." She crosses her legs and props her elbow on one knee, resting her face in her hand. "When I read your file, I thought you were just another one who messed up their life over someone stupid. But you seem… alright, even after everything.”

"Prying into other people’s lives is a huge invasion of privacy."

"Yeah, maybe. But criminal records are public reading in here. You should see what they say about me." She makes a playful face. "I’ve heard so many stories I don’t even know what I actually did anymore.”

“Anyway, it’s none of your business.” You stand up and start walking back, wanting to end the conversation.

She jumps up from the bench almost instantly, quickening her pace to catch up with you. “Hey! I’m trying to get close to you. Everyone here has an ally, and you need one too!”

“Why would I need one?” you snap back without looking at her. “If I just don’t mess with anyone, no one will mess with me.”

"That’s not how things work in a place like this.” She steps in and stops right in front of you, forcing you to halt, then reaches out her hand. “My name’s Sasha. If you become my ally in here, I promise I’ll watch your back. So? What do you say?”

You stare at her hand without moving. The offer doesn’t make much sense to you, but you feel that if you refuse, she’ll keep pushing, maybe even more than before. Before touching her hand, you hesitate.

“And what do you get out of this?” You pull your hand back and cross your arms suspiciously. “I don’t see what use I’d be to you, and it’s pretty clear you’re not doing this out of kindness.”

“What if I’m just being nice?” 

“Yeah, right” you say, turning your back and starting to walk away.

She starts walking beside you again, talking non-stop. The walk back is full of her trying to convince you to accept the offer. You begin to think she’s insisting just so she doesn’t seem lonely.

______________________________________________________________

When you came back, you expected to see James waiting in front of your cell, but he didn’t show up.

He didn’t show up that night. Nor the next day. Nor the week after. In fact, months passed without any sign of him.

You still can’t really believe it, even though the answers are right in front of you. Has he finally decided to leave you alone?

During that time, Sasha tried to get closer to you. For some reason, she was always around and greeted you in a good mood. Even though she was loud, she didn’t annoy you like before. She was kind of nice to have around and always brought you gifts. You shared a bit about your life with her, and she shared hers.

She told you that before she got arrested, she was trying to pursue a career as an actress. She went to auditions, took acting classes, and even performed in an amateur play. You found it curious that someone like her ended up in prison.

When you asked why, she said she was arrested for theft, explaining that it was hard to afford the cost of classes and she saw no other way out. One day, you happened to see a small badge with the name of a theater. She quickly hid it and didn’t explain further. She looked embarrassed, so you decided not to press her about it.

It was 3:00 AM when you woke up to loud noises, hurried footsteps, gunshots, and other sounds you couldn’t quite make out.

Already alert, you immediately got up. Your heart raced as you tried to understand what was happening. The sound of footsteps and gunfire echoed down the entire corridor, mixed with screams and confused voices.

You moved closer to the bars of your cell, trying to see beyond the darkness. The faint light from flickering lamps showed figures running past, some shouting, others trying to shield themselves from whatever was going on.

Sasha appeared on the other side of the bars, her voice standing out amid the intense noise filling the corridor. "There you are! Are you hurt?” she asked with concern.

In her hands, she held a small key which she quickly inserted into your cell lock. You heard the click of the door unlocking and decided to ask, even though you already had an idea

"Sasha, what the fuck is going on?!"

She glanced quickly to the sides before answering "It's a riot. We don't have much time, let's get out of here."

As soon as the door swung wide open, she grabbed your wrist tightly and pulled you out, not giving you a chance to hesitate. The corridors were absolute chaos, bodies scattered on the floor, prisoners freeing each other, and police officers trying, in vain, to contain the riot.

You ran alongside Sasha, trying to keep up the pace, but every step was a challenge. The smell of blood and burning smoke in your nostrils was unbearable.

Suddenly, there was an explosion at the end of the corridor. Your body reacted instinctively; you turned your head back and saw a huge hole in the wall next to the door.

A crowd of prisoners was fleeing in panic, trampling everything in their path. The sharp sound of gunshots made your heart jump, and you quickly looked forward. Sasha was looking over her shoulder, clearly annoyed. "For God’s sake..." she muttered to herself before looking at you. "Pick up the pace, and don’t run in a straight line." She tightened her grip on your wrist and rushed ahead.

You tried to keep up, but you couldn’t. If it was already hard to dodge the bodies on the floor, now it felt impossible. Even after grabbing her with both hands, you and Sasha struggled to stay together, the panicked crowd made it nearly impossible.

And then it got worse. You felt a sharp pain in your thigh. It was like your leg had been torn apart from the inside, followed by a burning sensation that made you gasp.

The sound of the gunshot still echoed in your ears when your fingers slipped from Sasha’s. In the blink of an eye, she vanished into the crowd.

"Shit..." you hissed through clenched teeth. 

You stumbled until you managed to get out of the escape route and leaned against a wall, trying to think of what to do. The pain was overwhelming, you knew you wouldn't be able to run like that.

While you were struggling to come up with a solution, you felt a hand slide around your waist, and before you could react, you were yanked back with brutal force.

A damp cloth covered your nose and mouth. Your body fought on reflex, but stopped the moment a familiar voice whispered in your ear.

"I told you I’d get you out of here."

______________________________________________________________ You woke up with your face pressed against something warm and firm. Slowly, your senses began to return, and as you looked up, you found yourself face-to-face with James’s peaceful, sleeping face. What the fuck? When you tried to push him away, you realized something strange, your hands were cuffed behind your back. Looking down, you saw that your thigh was carefully bandaged. At least your feet were free.

You expected to be in your old home, the place where you lived before everything fell apart, but the room around you was completely different. It looked... tropical. Warm golden light filtered through the windows, the air smelled faintly of sea salt, and from outside came the soft, rhythmic sound of waves crashing.

With effort and several tries, you managed to get to your feet and take a better look around. This place was definitely not an ordinary house. The walls were made of light wood, decorated with fine fabrics and clay-potted plants. A steady breeze flowed through the room, making the white curtains sway gently. Outside, you could hear birds and the distant sound of the sea.

“Did you like it? I decorated it just for you.” You turned your head. James was still lying on the bed, silently watching you. His gaze was fixed, like he was waiting for a specific reaction.

“Where did you bring me?!” you snapped, unable to hide the anger and confusion in your voice.

He stood up slowly and walked to the middle of the room. He stopped and opened his arms with a satisfied smile on his face. "How can you be mad after everything I did just for you?" He started rambling about the decorations, mentioning where he had stored your police training books, your clothes, and your personal belongings.

You kept your gaze steady as you waited for an explanation. The anger inside you grew, mixed with fear and disbelief.

He sighed and then returned to the bed, sitting on the edge.

"It was your dream to live in a house by the beach." he said, trying to make you understand what he had done for you. "That's why I worked so hard to bring you here."

"Bring me here?!" you said, incredulous. "You literally kidnapped me and handcuffed me!"

He went silent for a moment, then admitted, looking away, "…Well, I didn’t see another way to get you here."

You felt a knot in your throat. He continued, his voice lower now, almost as if trying to justify himself, "And you didn’t seem emotionally stable enough to have a conversation with me."

You grit your teeth, the feeling of helplessness starting to weigh on you.

“So you thought you had the right to decide everything for me?” you ask, trying to control the tremor in your voice. “I’ve told you, it’s over! It’s finished, done, gone!” You hope your firm words finally get through to him.

His smile falters and he stands up, walking toward the door.

“Now you’re going to leave and just let me here?”

He opens the door and looks back over his shoulder. “I’ll be back soon, darling. Wait for me.” He closes the door behind him with a smile.

There’s no way you’re going to just stand here waiting for him.

The pain in your thigh is unbearable, but that won’t stop you. You drag your legs slowly to the edge of the bed and, after a lot of effort, manage to touch your feet to the floor. Every movement makes the pain worse, your body trembles, and you’re almost regretting what you’re trying to do.

But your pride speaks louder. You refuse to obey him. He must think you’re helpless now that you’re hurt. Even with that thought, you’re still hesitating.

You hesitate just long enough for him to come back.

"...I thought I told you to wait for me.” he said, clearly not pleased. "You won’t be able to walk without my help.”

"I don’t need you, I can walk on my own…" The tremor in your voice is obvious, even you’re not sure you believe it.

“Then walk.”

“...What?”

"Walk." He repeats, leaning his back against the wall by the door. "You said you don’t need me, so I want you to come to me without my help.”

The room fell silent. You felt your breathing quicken. The weight of the situation fully settled on your shoulders. Your thigh throbbed, each pulse of pain sharper than the last. You looked down at the floor, then at the distance to the door. It was just over two meters, but to your injured body, it felt like a battlefield.

"I'm waiting, or have you already given up?"

He stepped away from the wall and started walking toward you. You quickly raised your hand, signaling for him to stop.

"I can do it..." you whispered to yourself, trying to believe your own words. You took a deep breath, gathering courage. With great care, you placed your uninjured leg on the floor. But even this simple movement pulled the muscles in your injured thigh, sending a sharp pain through your body like an electric shock. A trembling sigh escaped your lips.

James watched silently, but you noticed impatience growing on his face. Not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing you give up, you decided to push through it.

You regretted it. Deeply.

Your body gave out immediately, overwhelmed by immense pain. Your leg failed, and before you could react, you were already on the floor. The sound of the fall echoed through the room, your head hitting the floor hard, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs.

But nothing hurt more than your thigh. The sudden movement from the fall made the injured muscles contract, and the pain tore through you as if the wound had opened again. Your body trembled and tears welled up in your eyes. You could barely breathe.

You clenched your teeth as you heard his loud laughter echo right in front of you. The sadness that had consumed you seconds before quickly merged with anger and, even worse, humiliation.

“You look like a worm writhing…” he mocked between laughs, barely able to contain himself.

When the laughter finally started to fade, you mustered the courage to lift your face. But it was in vain. The weight of his shoe was already pressing down on your head, forcing you back to the floor.

“Stay down.” he murmured, his voice hard and cruel. “It suits you better.”

His harsh tone caught you by surprise, he had never spoken to you like that before. A chill ran down your spine, but you tried to keep your voice steady, even though the tremor betrayed your insecurity.

“Is that the first thing you do when you see your girlfriend in pain? What a great boyfriend you are…” Your own words disgusted you, but it was better to keep him entertained for now.

He fell silent, and you couldn’t guess what expression was on his face at that moment. Without warning, he lifted his foot off your head, and you took the chance to slightly raise your head. Just as you hesitated to look at him, you felt the weight of his shoe press against your chin, gently lifting your face with a disturbing tenderness.

“You’re right” he said, his voice carrying a false tone of remorse. “But on second thought... a snake suits you better, don’t you think? I say that as a compliment.”

You shot him a sharp look, as if you could cut him with your eyes. But he simply ignored it, as if your contempt didn’t affect him in the slightest.

Without warning, he bent down and picked you up in a bridal carry, with unexpected gentleness. The contrast between his cruel words and soft gesture left you confused.

“Let’s go” he murmured, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips. “The kitchen awaits.”

As he carried you toward the kitchen, you started to take in the rooms you passed through. He had really decorated everything exactly the way you told him.

______________________________________________________________ “So... what are your life goals? Or better yet, what are your dreams?” James asked, resting his elbow on the table as he watched you with interest.

“Dreams...” You paused for a moment, fork halfway to your mouth, and glanced out the window. The question seemed simple, but it struck deep. After a few seconds of thought, you cleared your throat softly. “I guess I’d like to live in a house by the beach. The sound of the waves relaxes me... The sand is nice too.”

James nodded thoughtfully and took a sip of his drink. “I totally get that. But you’ve got to be careful too. My mom used to go to the beach every weekend but never used sunscreen. She’d get all burnt, and guess who had to take care of her afterward?” He rolled his eyes slightly, but the gentle smile at the corner of his mouth betrayed the affection behind the memory.

“You really have a way of taking care of others...” You commented, a slightly softer tone in your voice. “I think our goals connect somehow. I can’t stand injustice, so I want to become a police officer after finishing college.” You extended the study book that was next to your plate. He took it carefully, flipping through some pages with interest, his eyes scanning the words.

“Now that you mention it...” He closed the book slowly, turning his gaze back to you. “You’re right, I have a dream similar to yours, but instead of living by the beach, I want to have a wedding there.”

“Oh, I’ve already been to one.” Your expression remained neutral, but your eyes clearly lit up at the subject. “My aunt got married on the beach. It was very beautiful. I think I’d like to do the same...”

The conversation went on. You were calm, sitting in your home, eating a simple meal made right there. There was no tension in the air. Just his presence there, talking to you, was enough to make you feel at ease. You felt safe and relaxed, as if you didn’t have to worry about anything else.

At that moment, you believed you had found the right person, someone who understood you.

______________________________________________________________ You shake your head, trying to push the bad memories away. Thinking about the promises he made wouldn’t change anything now. When you become aware of your surroundings again, James is placing you sitting in the kitchen chair.

The kitchen was spacious and incredibly tidy. The light wooden furniture matched the tropical style of the house, and all the utensils were neatly arranged, as if they had never been used. On the marble countertop, some fresh fruits and ingredients were already prepared.

“Breakfast isn’t ready yet, I just came back because I thought you might be feeling lonely in there.”

James turned his back, grabbing a knife to continue cutting whatever it was. The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the board filled the silence. “So you want me to just sit here watching you cook?” you ask, breaking the silence.

He didn’t stop cutting, nor did he turn to you. “You used to do that before, liked watching me cook…”

You furrowed your brow. Did he notice that? You didn’t even know he paid attention to such details. But then the memory of everything he did to you came rushing back, and that little moment of distraction dissolved into the bitterness of reality.

You watch his movements, the way he handles the knife naturally. The sweet smell of herbs began to spread as the tea finished brewing, filling the air with an almost comforting aroma. Emphasis on almost.

James washed his hands and carefully dried them on a white linen cloth folded over the sink. Unhurried, he grabbed a tray he had prepared on the counter and turned toward you.

On the tray, fruits cut into small pieces were arranged in separate bowls, strawberries, bananas, kiwi slices. Next to them, little pots with condensed milk, chocolate syrup, and fresh cream completed the presentation. You studied the tray before commenting, “This isn’t the healthiest breakfast for someone who’s still recovering.”

“Responsible as always, darling” a nostalgic smile appeared on his face. “I know, but I think you also need to regain some of your mood.”

He pulled a chair next to you and sat down, placing the tray in front of himself. Your gaze showed confusion as you realized he positioned it in front of him, not you.

Without saying a word, he grabbed a fork, speared a piece of strawberry, and dipped it into the melted chocolate.

“Let’s do it like we used to.” He raised the fork slowly to your lips. “Don’t you miss when I used to feed you?”

You immediately turned your head to the side. “No way.”

“Don’t be like that.”

He tried again to bring the fork closer, persistent, but you turned to the other side. The little standoff went on for a few moments, almost like a silent game between you two. Only when he realized he wouldn’t win the game did he sigh, defeated.

“All right, all right. How about we make a deal?”

“A de...” You barely finished the word before he took advantage of your distraction and shoved the fork into your mouth. He let out a low chuckle but stopped as soon as he noticed the deadly look you shot back at him. It was clear he recognized the boundary he had nearly crossed.

“If you sit on my lap, I’ll let you feed yourself.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And what makes you think I’ll accept that?”

“Well...” He tilted his head slightly, still wearing that strange smile on his lips. “I’m giving you a choice.”

You quickly weighed the options. None of them were good, just the lesser evil. Letting him feed you would put you in a infantilized, helpless position. But accepting to sit on his lap… well, you could pretend you were just trying to make everything more bearable. Besides, by taking the fork yourself, you could keep a minimum of autonomy. An illusion, perhaps, but enough for now.

You took a deep breath, suppressing the pride and frustration boiling inside your chest “I’ll sit on your lap if you let me eat by myself.” His eyes lit up as if he had just received a gift. He nodded enthusiastically, a wide smile spreading across his face. “As you wish, darling.”

Without waiting any longer, he stood up and carefully lifted you. Then, he settled you onto his lap with surprising gentleness, adjusting your position so that both of you were facing the table where the breakfast tray rested.

You kept your face neutral, focusing only on the food in front of you and picked up the fork. Your first thought was to turn around and stab him, but you could feel his eyes on you, sharp and watchful like a hawk. You let the idea go and began eating in silence. As you chewed, he leaned in and began pressing his lips against random spots on your back. Each kiss sent a shiver down your spine, and you gripped the fork so tightly your knuckles turned white.

When you raised the fork to spear the last piece of fruit, James tried to take the utensil from your hand. You resisted. He then wrapped his hand around yours and gently guided it back toward the plate.

“I thought we had a deal.”

“I’m not feeding you” he said calmly. “I’m just guiding you.” Instinctively, your head tilted slightly upward as the fork approached your mouth. James didn’t seem interested in continuing the game, he held your chin firmly, though not aggressively, forcing it downward. You refused to open your lips, so he let go of your chin, pinched your nose gently and patiently, and waited.

A few seconds later, the discomfort overpowered your stubbornness. You opened your mouth to breathe, and he took the opportunity to place the piece of fruit between your lips.

“There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

You knew he wouldn’t take well the answer you had in mind, so you held it back, biting your lower lip hard to keep the words from slipping out. He didn’t insist, he simply lifted you gently from his lap and placed you back in your own chair.

“I’m going to do the dishes. Once I’m done, I want to show you your new home.”

You didn’t argue. Getting to know the area might be useful. The more you learned about the place, the better your chances of escaping.

______________________________________________________________ James took you through every room in the house, pointing out details of the decor, personal items he had brought to please you, and speaking with enthusiasm about everything he had prepared.

It was only later, when you looked toward the horizon and saw the sea stretching as far as the eye could see, that you understood the full weight of the situation. You weren’t just on a beach, you were on an island.

That made everything worse.

Still, a spark of hope ignited. There were guards scattered throughout the property. Their presence made escaping more dangerous, yes, but it could also be the key. If you could just get close to one of them… maybe you could ask for help.

The tour lasted the entire day, and even when you tried to hide your exhaustion, James noticed. He decided the tour would have to continue the next day. Now, you’re in the bedroom’s spacious bathroom, where the jacuzzi softly warms the water with gentle steam.

You're sitting in the center of the tub, the water enveloping your body, while James sits behind you on the edge. You insisted on bathing alone, wanting to preserve some sense of independence, but he refused to risk you getting hurt or something unexpected happening.

In the end, you reached a compromise: he would help wash your hair, but you wouldn’t take your clothes off. James agreed without protest and removed your restraints. At the moment, his hands are gliding slowly through your hair, massaging and washing it gently, while you lather your body from the front. "Be careful not to get your bandage wet. Even with the protection I put on it, it’s better not to take any chances."

You nodded silently. To someone who didn’t know him well, his tone might have seemed harsh, maybe even cold, but you knew it was the same clinical tone he always used with patients.

"I'm done. Can you hand me the handheld shower?"

"Aren’t you going to wash your back?" he asked, already leaning in. Before you could answer, James reached for the soap on the soap dish where you had left it. Without hesitation, he slid his hands under your wet shirt, gliding the soap across your back in slow, deliberate motions.

He leaned in, pressing your back against his, and whispered against your ear “Just relax, let me take care of you for a moment.”

Your body shivered involuntarily, but you didn’t resist. After so many arguments throughout the day, you simply didn’t have the strength to fight anymore.

“Aren’t you tired too? You spent the whole day carrying me around.”

Your attempt to push him away with logic sounded more like concern, and you realized it too late. Behind you, you felt the smile forming on his lips. “I’ll never be too tired to take care of my darling.”

If you ignored the fact that it was him there with you, it would’ve been a perfect moment. The warm water, the circular motions on your back, the silence that filled the bathroom, it was almost comforting. At least you were getting clean, even if fully clothed.

You thought he was done when he returned the soap to the dish, but then his hands came back to your shoulders, now with a gentle massage. You didn’t protest, just closed your eyes and tried to disconnect from reality. Pretend it’s not him, [Name].

His fingers softened their movements once he noticed your body was finally giving in. You took a deep breath, trying to take what you could from that strange moment of calm.

“Feeling any better? You were tense all day.”

“I think so…”

“Good.” After a few minutes in silence, James removed his hands from your body and picked up the handheld shower. The warm water ran gently, washing away the foam from your skin. When the last trace of soap was gone, he reached for the edge of the tub and opened the drain, letting the water slowly begin to empty.

Turning his back to you, he gave you privacy to remove your clothes. When you told him it was okay to turn around, he came back, wrapped your back with a soft towel, and helped you sit on a dry chair.

Unfortunately, you weren’t very lucky with clothes. He allowed you to put on your underwear, but insisted on helping you into the nightgown. You didn’t really understand why, if he had let you bathe fully clothed earlier, why not give you privacy now? But you figured it was probably because it would be faster with his help.

Once you were dressed, he picked you up and carried you to bed. You were already feeling quite drowsy. He pulled one of the soft blankets up to your shoulders.

“You can sleep now, darling. Once I’m done, I’ll come lie down with you.” He returned to the bathroom, likely to take his own shower.

Your gaze fixed on the bedroom ceiling, mind already turning over what to do the next day. Maybe it would be a good idea to start looking for places to hide things that could help you escape.

Your thoughts didn’t get much further than that, you drifted off to sleep.

______________________________________________________________

After some time, you woke up to the gentle touch of a hand caressing your cheek. Your eyes opened slowly, still heavy with sleep, and you turned your face toward the touch, finding James watching you with a tender expression.

“Sorry… I didn’t mean to wake you.” he said in a low voice, one that sounded genuinely regretful.

You remained silent for a moment, just observing him. He was shirtless, a few drops of water still trickling down his chest, likely from his damp hair after the shower.

“Don’t do that again” your voice came out more sleepy than firm as you pulled your face away from his hand and turned your back to him. The pain in your thigh was still there, but no longer intense enough to keep you from sleeping on your back.

You expected him to respect your space and leave you alone, but he didn’t. James came up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist, pulling you gently close to his body.

“You seemed to be enjoying yourself in the bath… How about we continue that?” he whispered, his hands sliding along your body.

The irritation that erupted inside you made you open your eyes, fully awake. “I don’t want to.” you said firmly.

But he didn’t back off. His hand began to roam your thighs. “You can go to sleep while I help you relax. I know you’re exhausted.”

You reacted quickly, grabbing his wrist and pulling it away “I said I DON’T want to!”

With his other hand, he grabbed your wrist that was holding his and squeezed hard until you were forced to let go. “Let me go, you’re hurting me!”

He was silent for a moment, then asked with a voice mixed with confusion and irritation “Why are you acting like this?”

“Acting like what…” you started to say, but didn’t get to finish. In a swift move, he pulled you, turning your body onto your back and climbing on top of you. Your hands were now pinned under his, firmly held against the mattress.

“Why are you acting like this?! You never cared about this before!” His voice was explosive, filled with rage. He seemed on the verge of losing control, tired of your resistance after a whole day.

“I didn’t care when we were together, but now we’re not.” You try to pull away from his grip “How many times do I have to explain this to you?! You destroyed everything when you cheated on me!”

“I’m trying to fix it! I really am!” His voice now trembled, and his eyes dropped to his collarbone, avoiding your gaze. “I know what I did was wrong, I just… I just thought…”

“Thought what?!” Your voice came out firm. It was like suddenly he was the victim in the story.

“I thought you didn’t love me…” he continued, his voice softer. “I knew how you were, but I thought I could change you. I thought that, by being with me, you’d be more affectionate.”

Your eyes widened and you felt them start to water, had he never seen your efforts?

“So… you never saw what I did for you?”

“I thought you were doing those little gestures because you felt sorry for me. I didn’t think it meant you were changing…”

You looked away and stayed silent, swallowing the pain of his indifference toward everything you had given. The silence caught his attention, and he leaned in, trying to see your face.

“That’s why I went after someone else! I just wanted to be loved. I thought what I was getting from you… wasn’t love.”

“You’re a horrible person.” The firmness in your words before completely vanished, and the tears you’d been holding back started to fall.

“Just like you, [Name].” The coldness in his voice surprised you, and you turned your gaze toward him.

“Tell me… Who was there when you were bullying at school, huh? Who cleaned up the mess you left behind? Who took care of the people you hurt just to make sure no one reported you?”

“I… I know. I know I was a horrible person, but…”

“You weren’t, you are!” he growled, tightening his grip on your wrists even more. “And that’s why only I can understand you.”

“You’re wrong! I’m not like that anymore!” you rebelled again, your eyes burning with anger and fear. “Unlike you, I’m trying to change! I really am!”

"Change?" he leaned in until your faces were almost touching. "You murdered someone just a few months ago… Do you really think you’re going to become a police officer after that? Do you think anyone’s going to forgive you?"

As much as you try to fight it, deep down you know he’s right. You swore you would change. Promised yourself you’d become someone better, someone worthy of forgiveness.

But the guilt that haunts you can’t silence one thought, that woman… She deserved what happened. Just like the man currently on top of you does too.

"But… I forgive you." His voice came out soft, almost compassionate, as he released your wrists. You pulled them back toward your body, shielding them like you were trying to erase the marks of his touch.

"You killed her because of me… I know I’ll never be able to repay what you did for me, but I want to spend the rest of my life devoted to you."

He wiped away the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen, then sealed your lips with a gentle kiss.

His words echoed in your mind, and even though you didn’t want to admit it…You knew he was right.

Deep down, the truth was already clear to you.

______________________________________________________________

Months went by, and you admit it wasn’t as bad as you thought it would be. Now that your thigh has fully healed, you’re able to walk around the house with ease. After so many renovations, the place no longer feels like a simple home, it’s practically become a mansion.

James allows you to walk around the island as well. That filled you with hope at first, you even believed you might find other people there. But, over time, you realized that the only figures crossing your path were always the same men, guards. Guards at the gates, guards along the trails, guards watching from afar. Guards everywhere.

He seems determined to make all your dreams come true. He’s always speaking with enthusiasm about the things you once said you wanted, going out of his way to recreate scenes he claims were meaningful to you. And truthfully, many of them are. But none of it feels real to you, not when it's all happening because of the wrong person.

The only demand James imposes is that you spend time with him every day. He works from home most of the time, but on certain days, he needs to leave for the office. It’s during those intervals that you’ve had your best chances to explore the house and the island, still within the limits he set, of course.

Communicating with the guards has been a challenge from the beginning. Most of them wouldn’t even look in your direction. They were always on high alert, eyes scanning the surroundings as if they were being watched constantly, as if someone could threaten them with just a glance.

After trying for a long time, you finally managed to get a few words out of one of them. He worked at the main entrance of the house and seemed to be more than just a watchman, he acted like a personal bodyguard. On the island, he was only known as “T.”

You couldn’t speak freely. All communication had to be done through notes, since, according to him, all the guards were required to wear embedded earpieces in their uniforms, monitored at all times.

T told you he was there because of a personal debt to James. Years ago, James had saved his son’s life, and ever since then, he felt obligated to repay that gesture with loyalty.

At first, you thought it would be nearly impossible to make him see your situation for what it was. But, to your surprise, T understood everything faster than you expected. The truth is, he already suspected. He already felt that something was deeply wrong with that place. As grateful as he was, he still knew how to tell right from wrong. With T’s help, the two of you came up with a plan where every detail was carefully calculated. You knew that if it failed, you wouldn’t get another chance.

After all that time waiting, the day finally arrived.

At that moment, you were sitting on James’s lap while he worked. In the past few days, he’d been dedicating himself to work late into the night, and because of that, you had to adapt your own routine, sleeping during the day and living like a true night owl.

Of course, you complained, but James simply said it was temporary and that he wanted you to get used to it. Though it had been difficult at first, the new routine ended up creating unexpected opportunities, now you were able to hide the items you'd been gathering for your escape much more easily.

Your fingers moved delicately as you worked on a new amigurumi, inspired by a character you’d recently seen on television. It had once been a hobby you practiced out of obligation in prison, but it had since become a way to relax.

When James discovered your new hobby, he was so delighted that he dedicated an entire room for you to work in. Whenever he could, he’d join you, eager to learn. Since you didn’t have much patience for teaching, he tried to learn on his own, watching you closely. You even felt a bit sorry for all the puncture wounds on his hands and eventually decided to help him. You had a feeling he did it on purpose.

Your thoughts were interrupted when you felt a head rest gently on your shoulder.

“This character is cute… I didn’t know you liked them.”

You shrugged, eyes still focused on the precise stitching. “Their look got stuck in my head, so I decided to use the inspiration.”

He stayed quiet for a moment, watching you as your fingers danced between yarn and needle. Only when he noticed the hours slipping by did he finally move.

“I’m going to make something for us to eat, darling. Want to join me?”

“Wouldn’t that be breakfast? It’s nearly sunrise.”

“You could call it that.”

“Not now” you replied after pretending to think for a moment. With care, your fingers adjusted a loose strand of the amigurumi’s hair. “I want to finish this first.”

You stood slowly and walked over to the bed with the doll in hand, your eyes never leaving it for even a second.

“As you wish.” He walked to the door, but before leaving, he cast one last glance over his shoulder. “There's something for you in the wardrobe. Please try it on.” That caught your attention and made you lift your head, but he was already gone. Fortunately, this has been happening often in recent days. He’d been leaving more frequently, which although strange had opened the window you needed to finally start planning an escape with T.

You opened the wardrobe and found a luxurious golden box. Carefully, you pulled it out and placed it on the bed. As you opened it, your heart sank.

No… this couldn’t be what you were thinking.

You took out the elegant dress and examined it closely. Yes, it was exactly what you feared.

The fancy wedding dress looked like it had been tailored specifically for you. So that’s why he had been going out so much. The flowers, the decorations, the candles… He was planning a beach wedding.

A small note fell from the dress

“Tonight will be a special night. I hope you liked it.”

You felt challenged, as if the day you were planning to be the best of your life was, in fact, going to be his.

Even if every part of you wanted to tear the dress apart with your bare hands, you knew you had to wear it. If James came back and noticed you hadn't put it on yet, he’d insist on helping you.

You headed to the bathroom and tried on the dress. It was truly beautiful… You didn’t expect it to look that good on you.

Wearing something he had picked especially for you made your skin crawl, but you couldn’t bring yourself to leave it behind now. Better to take it with you and sell it to some rich woman, you’d need a place to stay after all.

Just as you were about to take the dress off, James appeared in the doorway. Seeing the opened box on the bed, he said "Having trouble, darling? I’m almost done, I’ll be back to help you in a minute."

Almost done?! You glanced at the clock. 05:34

You’d spent more time on this than you intended, it was better not to waste another second. T had probably already left the hammer hidden by the window, just as planned. You walked over, and there it was. You picked it up and examined it carefully, it was heavy and solid, strong enough to do real damage, no doubt about it.

You felt guilty for not telling T this part of the plan. But if everything went the way it was supposed to, you wouldn’t be here when he found out the truth.

Cautiously, you peeked through the bedroom door. In the kitchen, James stood with his back to you, focused on stirring something on the stove.

Your heart pounded.

What if he turns around now?

Your eyes stayed fixed on his neck, more precisely the base of it.

Medulla oblongata.

If you hit the right spot, it would be an instant death. At least, that’s what one of his medical books said.

You inhaled deeply, trying to steady the anxiety tightening your chest. Your eyes didn’t stray for a second, waiting for the moment his guard would drop.

Finally, you decide to act. You begin walking slowly toward him from behind, both hands hidden behind your back, gripping the hammer tightly. With your other hand, you discreetly lift the hem of the dress to avoid making any noise on the floor.

He remains unaware, but as you get close enough, you notice a slight shiver running down his shoulders, he must have sensed your presence “Darling, you…” he begins to say, turning slowly, but you don’t let him finish.

In one swift motion, you raise the hammer and strike the base of his neck. The sound of the impact makes your entire body tremble. You take a step back, fear and adrenaline flooding every sense. Your eyes squeeze shut in a desperate attempt to shield yourself from the horror of what you’ve just done, but the heavy thud of his body hitting the ground forces you to open them again. James lies motionless.

You did it. You struck the medulla oblongata.

Even so, the tight knot in your throat refuses to loosen. You know he won’t wake up, but the anxiety doesn’t go away.

You step back from the body slowly, knowing now is the time to run to find T. The sooner you get off this island, the better.

You walk to the door and cast one last glance at the fallen body.

“I promised I’d kill you when I got out of prison, didn’t I?” you murmur before running out of the house.

You struggle to run through the island’s forest. Branches snag at your dress, as if the island itself is trying to stop you from leaving. The ground is wet, covered in slippery leaves, and raindrops feel like blades against your skin. T had told you he secured a boat for you to get out of here, but the trail he left for you to follow seems to be dissolving in the rain.

Just keep running, [Name].

After a few minutes, something red catches your eye, caught on a branch. It’s the ribbon T promised to use to mark the path. You pick up your pace, heart pounding.

When you reach the shore, you see the boat. T is there, soaked, trying to get the engine to start. He turns around with a smile on his face.

“You made it!” he says, placing his hands on your shoulders as you catch your breath. “The forest and the rain really didn’t go easy on you. Are you okay?”

You glance down at the countless cuts covering your skin. The pain is just starting to pulse now, as if adrenaline had put your nerves to sleep.

“Yeah, yeah, just some scratches,” you try to ease his worry. “So, how are things?”

“All according to plan” he replies, opening a compartment at the bottom of the boat. “Food, clothes, gas…”

You nod at each item he points out.

“You better hurry, we don’t know when James will wake up.”

“…Yeah, I better go.” you say as you step in, more worried about leaving before he discovers the truth.

T helps you get settled. When everything is ready, you turn to him, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude.

“I… I really want to thank you. I couldn’t have escaped without your help.”

He hands you the last bag of food and pats your shoulder. “Don’t worry, it’s the right thing to do. I hope you…” Before he finishes, you hear a gunshot.

T chokes, his gaze blurring. Suddenly, blood spills from his mouth, hot and dark, staining his clothes.

…What?

He falls to his knees, clutching his chest, unable to speak a word. Without thinking, you jump off the boat and kneel beside him, desperately trying to stop the bleeding.

The dress, once soaked from the rain, now stains bright red.

“We’re even now.” A familiar voice echoes behind you with a coldness that chills your blood.

You don’t want to look up. How could you?

“You’re not even going to look at me? Looks like I’ll have to make you.” A sigh escapes your lips as something explodes next to T’s neck, right at the carotid artery. Blood spurts out, splattering your face, while his lifeless body collapses onto you.

An explosive device?

“So? Are you going to pay attention to me now?”

You feel the world spinning, but gather enough courage to lift your head. And there he is.

James.

Alive. Standing. With that damn smile. The blood drains from your face as if pulled from within, your stomach twists, and for a moment you think you’re going to throw up. Everything around you becomes noise, the sound of the sea crashing against the shore, the wind blowing through the open window, even your own heartbeat. All drowned out by his presence.

“How… How are you alive? I made sure to hit your medulla oblongata…” Your face twists in pure horror. You were certain. You had hit it!

…Right?

He laughs. A soft, almost innocent laugh, as if mocking a child who confused right with left.

“Actually, it was the occipital bone.”

He sees your terrified expression and mistakes it for confusion. He starts explaining, almost like a patient teacher.

“You hit right here.” He raises his hand and points to a specific spot on the back of his neck, the exact region you aimed at. “But this is where you needed to hit.” His finger moves just a few millimeters down.

So close.

Had you really missed by such a small margin?

Your breathing grew heavy, each inhale a struggle. You had ruined everything. The entire plan, all the risk… and worse, you had dragged an innocent into this disaster.

The blood of an innocent was now on your hands.

Before you could react, James was already crouched before you.

“See? You need me even to kill someone.”

As your tears mixed with the cold rain and the blood running down your face, he slowly ran his hand through your hair, stroking it with a disconcerting gentleness, as if comforting a frightened child.

“Now we are both sinners.” His voice was sweet, almost gentle, but carried a cruelty impossible to ignore.

He kept stroking your hair for a few more moments, silently, until something behind you seemed to catch his attention.

“The sun is rising, darling. It’s time.”

His voice sounded soft, almost serene. The same hand that just seconds before was caressing your hair now squeezed yours, pulling you firmly to stand up.

You didn’t understand what he was saying. You still couldn’t process everything that had happened. Your mind was numb, thoughts scrambled, as if your body was still there, but your consciousness was far away.

James kicked something hard away, the sound of the impact echoing on the wet floor. When you looked at what it was, you saw T’s lifeless body thrown aside as if he were nothing.

Then he wrapped an arm around your waist, holding you tightly, probably to keep your steps steady as you both started walking.

As you walk, you see a body.

Then three, four, five…

The count continues. They are everywhere, lying on the ground, blood dripping from their necks. Your dress, which before only had T’s bloodstain, now drags on the floor, stained with the blood of all the others.

James notices the movement of your gaze, the way your head slowly turns, looking at every dead face that appears in your path. “Oh, them?” he says in a casual, almost distracted tone. “I forgot the remote also detonated all the explosive devices.”

The coldness in his voice frightens you. So you killed several innocent people?

Most of the guards were there, their bodies scattered, fallen over the chairs decorated for the wedding. The room was stained with blood, the heavy, humid air carrying the strong, bitter smell of iron, making your stomach churn. You tried to vomit but couldn’t. A lump in your throat seemed to tighten everything, leaving you breathless.

He walked beside you with an unsettling calmness, his eyes reflecting the pale light of dawn. James stopped in the center of the altar, where blood splatters from the guards covered the floor, now also marked by the soles of his shoes.

“Isn’t it beautiful?” said the soft, almost reverent voice. “I arranged everything so it would be exactly the way you like it. I wish I could have done more, but I admit that at this moment, I couldn’t ask for a better situation.”

You looked around, the contrast between the horrible scene and his words sending chills down your spine. 

He turned to you, took a small box from his pocket, and with a slow movement, opened it, revealing a ring that softly gleamed, reflecting the faint light of the rising sun. Carefully, he took the ring from the box and slid it onto your finger.

“Now, after all this time, we are married.”

You mustered the strength to say something, your voice barely a whisper: “…I don’t remember saying yes.”

An enigmatic smile appeared on his lips. “I’m sure you would have accepted in the end.”

Before you could respond, he gently held your hand, almost in contrast with all the violence surrounding you, and brought your fingers to his lips. He kissed the newly placed ring on your finger with an almost ceremonial care. Then, he softly pulled your hand and guided you behind the altar.

When your feet touched the cold sand, the icy water soaked your feet, making you shiver. James took off his jacket and wrapped his arms around you.

“Do you remember the dance we were practicing?” he asked, adjusting the jacket around your shoulders. “It’s been quite a while, but I still remember every step.”

You let out a soft sigh, not of impatience, but of indignation. You turned your face to the side, trying to avoid looking at him. But he wouldn’t allow it. With two fingers, he held your chin and turned your face back to him.

“It’s alright, I’ll guide you.”

He takes the first step, slow and steady, gently pulling you. Your feet slide against his, forced to keep pace with his rhythm. You want to rebel, to show your anger, to run away. But you can’t.

Do you even deserve to want anything?

His hands grip your waist firmly, guiding every movement. In a smooth turn, he spins you around, then pulls you back.

The innocent people whose blood is now on your hands can feel nothing.

He lifts you out of the water, your body suspended for a moment before touching the ground again.

You should just stop resisting and stay with him. You wouldn’t be happy, but wouldn’t that be a fair way to pay for your sins?

Then, he positions you with your back against his chest.

You’re not important enough for your death to pay for the lives lost because of you. Would the death of a bad person like you even be enough to repay the innocent lives?

Without letting go of your hand, he leans you back, his arm firmly supporting your arched body.

You promised you would change, that you would become someone better than you were in the past. Maybe you have no salvation.

You both spin together, and water splashes at your feet.

Actually, it would be hypocrisy. It’s like you’re forgetting what you did.

He slides back to the middle with you.

Then stay suffering, being unhappy.

In one last step, he pulls you close to him.

It’s the only thing you can do anyway.

Your breaths come in gasps as the dance ends. Your thoughts are interrupted when he begins to speak.

“I’m willing to spend eternity by your side, until your sins are forgiven, my sinner.” ______________________________________________________________ Epilogue

[heartsiebyul]

Hiii 😁😁😁, are your requests open? If it is, can I request all characters of TWST x Famous Author of many genres reader? Reader is a girl in this, she's famous but she's shy whenever some of her fans come up to her in public, but she tries to be confident. The TWST characters are big fans of her books. If you can't do all the characters, it's okay! You can just choose whoever character you want. Thank you beh! 🥳

જ⁀➴ Twisted Wonderland x reader!

Twisted Wonderland characters paired with a Famous Multi-Genre Author Reader who is renowned for writing across genres like fantasy, horror, romance, and mystery. Each character is a genuine fan of your work and has their own unique reactions.

featuring — Rook : Idia : Azul : Leona : Vil : Jamil : Riddle.

──── ──── ──── ──── ──── ────

Rook Hunt

Rook had always believed that beauty could be found in all things, and your words were his latest obsession. He'd devoured your fantasy novels, lingered over your tragic romance, and even praised your horror stories for how they stirred his "âme artistique." When he spotted you at a cafe, casually flipping through a gardening magazine, his gasp of delight drew the attention of half the store. “Auteur extraordinaire!” he cried, approaching you with such dramatic flair that you nearly dropped your coffee. You tried to put on a cool smile, but your flushed cheeks betrayed your nerves. Rook, of course, found it "ravissant."

When you stammered through your thanks and tried to regain composure, Rook leaned in conspiratorially and whispered, “You do not need to pretend with me, monsieur auteur. I have seen your soul on paper—it is bold, honest, and magnifique!” You were so startled by his sincerity that you laughed awkwardly, covering your face. Rook simply beamed, already pulling out a copy of your latest thriller for you to sign. “May I request a personalized dedication for the hunter of beauty?” he asked, and despite your embarrassment, you wrote a message that made his heart flutter more than any poem.

Idia Shroud

Idia had known about you before you were famous. He’d followed your early blog posts, your serialized horror chapters on underground forums, and even coded a private fan wiki dedicated to analyzing your worldbuilding. When your romantic sci-fi series became mainstream, he nearly combusted with conflicting emotions: pride that his favorite author was getting the attention you deserved, and terror that other people might talk to you in public. He never dreamed he’d actually see you at a game launch event, let alone find himself standing next to you in line.

You didn’t notice him at first—too busy shrinking into your hoodie as fans approached for autographs. But then Idia blurted out a line from one of your darker fantasy books—a line only a real fan would know—and your eyes lit up. “You… read that one?” you asked, visibly surprised. Idia nearly short-circuited, mumbling something about being a long-time supporter. When you offered him a signed copy of your newest book, he hesitated, then pulled out a dog-eared, annotated edition of your debut novel. "This one… means a lot," he said quietly. You smiled warmly, and it took every ounce of his will not to scream.

Azul Ashengrotto

Azul was first drawn to your books because of the meticulous structure of your mysteries. As a tactician and businessman, he admired how you constructed plots like deals—layered, calculated, and sharp. When he hosted a private reading club at Mostro Lounge, he made sure your work was always on the menu. He finally met you after sponsoring a literary charity event, where you were a guest speaker. You arrived looking nervous despite your fame, eyes flickering with panic when cameras flashed. Azul, ever the gentleman, offered you his arm and led you inside with a charming smile.

“Confidence is like ink, isn’t it?” he said smoothly once you were seated. “Even if you feel like you're running out, you can always dip the pen again.” You laughed shakily, clearly trying to hold it together as another group of fans approached. Azul shooed them away politely, giving you a moment to breathe. “I must confess,” he added, “I keep a signed copy of The Merchant’s Veil in my office. That negotiation scene? Inspirational.” His praise was so earnest that you couldn’t help but grin, blush and all. He offered to collaborate on a new themed drink menu for your next fantasy release—and how could you say no?

Leona Kingscholar

Leona wasn’t a reader—not until one of your high fantasy books was left in the lounge and he picked it up out of boredom. One chapter in, and he was hooked. The warring kingdoms, the morally gray antiheroes, the sharp political intrigue? It reminded him of home. Now, he secretly waits for every new installment, claiming he’s “too lazy” to get excited but tearing through your books in one sitting. When he caught sight of you at a rare book fair in Sunset Savannah, trying to sign autographs while avoiding the crowd’s full attention, he raised a brow and approached with his usual swagger.

“You don’t look like the confident genius your books make you out to be,” he drawled, slouching next to your table. You chuckled nervously, muttering that you weren’t good with people. “That so?” he smirked. “Could’ve fooled me. Your war scenes feel like you’ve lived ’em.” You blushed, trying to downplay it, but he just leaned closer. “Don’t worry. I won’t let the hyenas swarm you. Just sign my copy and you can hide behind me for the next hour.” You laughed in relief, and Leona shrugged. “Least I can do. You got me hooked on reading, after all.”

Vil Schoenheit

Vil was skeptical at first. A celebrity author writing romance and fantasy? He assumed it was another trend-rider. But when he read Silver Ash and Crimson Vows, he was stunned by your elegant prose, your nuanced characters, and your themes of self-worth beneath fame’s glittering surface. He became a devoted reader—though he’d never fangirl publicly. When he met you backstage at a charity fashion gala, you looked lost and overwhelmed by the attention, gripping your phone like a lifeline. Vil noticed instantly, striding over with composed grace.

“Deep breaths,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder. “They admire your brilliance, but don’t let them drown your voice.” You recognized him immediately and fumbled a compliment, flustered. Vil only smiled. “You don’t need to perform for me. I know authenticity when I see it—on stage and on paper.” He asked you thoughtful questions about character symbolism in your romance books, subtly shielding you from cameras with his poise. “Art deserves to be nurtured,” he added, and you realized that behind his perfectionism was a kindred spirit who truly respected your work.

Jamil Viper

Jamil grew up craving escape—so when he discovered your stories, he devoured them in secret. Your psychological thrillers and complex protagonists spoke to him in ways he couldn’t voice. He hid your books under his mattress, annotating them late at night while pretending to sleep. One day, while chaperoning Kalim to a public festival, he spotted you trying to deflect a swarm of fans with an obviously forced smile. Jamil, sighing, pushed Kalim away and approached you with a calm, protective presence.

“You don’t have to pretend,” he murmured, handing you a cold drink without asking. “I’ve read your interviews. You hate crowds.” You blinked at him in surprise, touched by his quiet perceptiveness. He didn’t gush or ask for a photo. He just said, “Your words helped me breathe when I couldn’t. Thanks for that.” You nodded, too moved to reply. Before leaving, he offered you a worn paperback of your earliest novel—scarred with years of re-reading. “This one? It saved me more than once.”

Riddle Rosehearts

Riddle discovered your work through your historical fantasy novel, The Hollow Prince, and was immediately enthralled by the richly layered themes of legacy, loyalty, and rebellion against unjust systems. It mirrored his own personal journey so closely that he read it three times over and annotated every page. He admired your sharp prose and the way your protagonists questioned traditions without discarding honor. So when he heard you were attending a literary symposium, he made immediate arrangements to attend—under the guise of “academic enrichment.”

You were visibly flustered in the crowded hall, trying to smile for fans while glancing longingly toward the exit. Riddle, noticing your discomfort, approached with precise steps and an empathetic gaze. “You don’t have to force a brave face,” he said gently, offering you a glass of water. “Your books already show your strength. You don’t need to prove it in front of strangers.” You blinked, stunned by his unexpected kindness. When he pulled out his well-worn copy of The Hollow Prince, marked with color-coded tabs and notes in elegant script, your smile turned genuine. “You helped me understand myself better,” he said quietly, cheeks tinged pink. “So let me return the favor by making this moment easier for you.”

📚 Books Credited to Original Authors (Pretending Reader Wrote Them):

1. The Hollow Prince (inspired by “The Bear and the Nightingale” by Katherine Arden)

2. Silver Ash and Crimson Vows (inspired by “The Cruel Prince” by Holly Black)

3. The Merchant’s Veil (inspired by “Six of Crows” by Leigh Bardugo)

4. The Kingdom’s Debt (inspired by “A Song of Ice and Fire” by George R.R. Martin)

5. Whispers in the Fog (inspired by “Rebecca” by Daphne du Maurier)

6. Starcrossed in Dystopia (inspired by “The Hunger Games” by Suzanne Collins)

7. Fractured Wings (inspired by “If We Were Villains” by M.L. Rio)

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

[gigiii1sblog]

DORM-ROOM DEVIL 006

Warnings: mature content, fluff, sexual content, teasing, dirty talk, unprotected sexual content.

Chapter six: late night smokes & confessions

Y/N POV:

I woke up to the smell of bacon.

My head was pounding, my mouth dry, and the room was way too bright for whatever the hell I did last night. I squinted as I blinked the sleep away, unfamiliar ceiling above me. Wait—my ceiling wasn’t this high. My sheets weren’t this soft.

And I definitely didn’t fall asleep in my own bed.

Shit.

I turned slowly, everything sluggish. And that’s when it hit me. The faint whiff of cologne on the pillow. The oversized hoodie halfway off my shoulder.

I was in Chris’s bed.

Double shit.

Flashes of the night before crawled back — the party, the tequila, the kiss.

I sat up fast. Bad idea. My head spun.

“Morning, sunshine,” came a smug voice from the kitchen.

My eyes snapped to the open doorway. Chris stood at the stove, spatula in one hand, pan in the other. Shirtless. Low-rise sweatpants clinging to his hips. Hat backwards.

Of course.

He glanced over his shoulder, smirking. “Sleep good? You were knocked the hell out.”

I swallowed. “W-what… what happened?”

He turned, leaning against the counter, arms crossed, biceps obnoxiously perfect. “You don’t remember?” His tone was all fake surprise.

I squinted at him, wary. “No. Not really.”

Chris dragged his tongue across his bottom lip, playing it way too cool. “Damn. And here I was thinking it was the best night of your life.”

I stared.

He grinned wider. “Kinda messed up how you begged me and now you don’t even remember.”

My stomach flipped. “Begged you?”

He nodded casually. “Said something like.. what was it? — ‘Chris, I need you, I can’t stop thinking about you,’ and then tried to take your shirt off in the doorway.”

I gasped, color draining from my face. “You’re lying.”

“Am I?” he said, raising a brow.

I narrowed my eyes. “Wait… did we—?”

He held the pause.

Let it simmer.

Then burst out laughing. “No, Y/N. Jesus. You passed out mid-kiss.”

I grabbed the nearest pillow and chucked it at him. “You asshole!”

He dodged it with ease, still cackling. “Don’t act all offended. You practically attacked me.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Oh my God.”

“You were bold, roomie,” he added, flipping a pancake like this was just any other Tuesday. “Tried to climb me like a tree. Called me hot — which I obviously already knew — and told me I couldn’t handle it.”

I peeked through my fingers. “I hate you.”

“Yea, but drunk you? She loves me.”

I flopped back on the bed with a groan, the sheets still smelling like him. He was so damn smug, like he lived for this. And okay — maybe he had every right to be. I had thrown myself at him like I didn’t have a single brain cell.

“I swear to God,” I muttered into the mattress, “if you ever bring this up again…”

Chris’s voice was right above me now, closer. “You’ll what?”

I peeked again, he was at the doorframe, still shirtless, still smirking , holding out a plate with pancakes and strawberries, like this was some kind of morning-after honeymoon.

“I made you breakfast,” he said, voice sweet with mock innocence. “Least I could do for the girl who tried to seduce me last night.”

I grabbed the plate, grumbling. “You’re lucky I was too drunk to remember.”

He leaned down just slightly, lips brushing my ear.

“Thing is, Y/N…” he whispered, “I remember everything.”

And with that, he turned and walked off — the cocky swing in his step making it real clear: this was far from over.

CHRIS POV: Later that night

The cherry of my joint glowed red in the dark, matching the heat still buzzing under my skin.

I leaned back against the brick wall outside the dorm, letting the smoke pull through me. The air was cool, but my head was still running hot with the memory of her—Y/N—half-asleep in my bed this morning, lips parted, hair tangled, legs tangled in my sheets like she belonged there.

I’d made the joke too easy. Tossed a few lines her way about how wild she was, how she begged me not to stop. Watching her fluster, watching her try to play it off like she didn’t care—fuck.

She was getting under my skin.

Too fast.

Too deep.

She wasn’t just hot—she was chaos dressed like control. A devil in the skin of an angel. And I hated how much I wanted her.

I was halfway through the joint when I heard the creak of the dorm window sliding open.

She climbed out barefoot again, her tiny tank top loose, braless, hair twisted on top of her head, her phone tucked into the waistband of her sweatpants. She didn’t say anything, just looked at me and held out her hand silently. I passed the joint over.

“You love being dramatic out here like a brooding villain,” she muttered, inhaling.

I smirked. “It’s my brand.”

She exhaled slow, looking out at the city lights. “So… about this morning.”

Here we go.

“You mad I joked about it?” I asked, already trying to sound indifferent.

“No,” she said. “I think I was mad you didn’t actually do anything.”

That made me pause.

I turned toward her. Her face was unreadable. Calm. But her eyes had that glint. The one she got when she was toying with fire. Or trying to be it.

“You were drunk.”

“Barely.”

“Still,” I said, leaning in slightly. “I’m not gonna fuck you when you’re not fully there.”

Her lips twitched, slow and sharp. “So what’s your excuse now?”

I blinked.

“What?” I asked.

She stepped closer. Took the joint from my hand, flicked it off the ledge without breaking eye contact.

“I’m sober. You’re sober. And you’ve been staring at me like you want to ruin me for a week straight.”

I said nothing. My jaw clenched. My hands stayed still at my sides.

Y/N took one more step until our chests nearly touched.

“Or are you scared?” she whispered, voice low. “You talk a big game, Chris. Maybe you can’t actually handle it.”

My hand moved before I could stop it—fisting the back of her tank top, yanking her forward, lips crashing to hers like I needed to win something.

She moaned into it, fingers tangling in my shirt, and I didn’t care who could see. Didn’t care about neighbors, the dorm, the rules.

All I cared about was getting her under me.

⸻

Her breath hitched as I broke the kiss, grabbing her hand and pulling her toward the apartment entrance without saying a word. She followed—barefoot, silent, eyes wide and blown—and we slipped inside without turning on the lights.

The door shut behind us. The city hum faded.

It was quiet now. Heavy.

I turned, and she was already pressing me back against the wall.

“You’ve been thinking about this,” she whispered, hands sliding under my shirt, palms flat against my stomach. “I can tell.”

“You think I haven’t noticed the way you look at me?” I muttered, my voice low. “Walking around in little tops like you’re not doing it on purpose.”

She smiled, all teeth. “Maybe I was.”

My shirt hit the floor.

She stood still, just looking at me. Like she was deciding something.

Then she turned around, tugged her tank top over her head—slow, deliberate. The dim light from the window made her skin glow, all soft curves and sharp edges.

I stepped forward and hooked my fingers in the waistband of her sweats. “Last chance.”

She looked over her shoulder. “Shut up and touch me, Christopher.”

God, she said my name like she owned it.

Her pants slid to the floor. I pulled her against me, her bare back against my chest, my hands trailing down her sides, gripping her hips. Her skin was warm, soft, electric under my fingers.

I pressed my mouth to her shoulder, breathing her in—vanilla and smoke, like sin wrapped in silk.

“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” I muttered against her skin.

She turned in my arms, kissed me again—deeper this time. Slower. Her hands moved up to my jaw, pulling me down into her. I walked her backward, lips never leaving hers, until the backs of her knees hit the couch.

She fell onto it, pulling me with her, her thighs parting like instinct.

“You wanna play dangerous?” I whispered, nose brushing hers. “I’ve been waiting to break this tension since the night you walked in.”

“Then stop waiting,” she whispered back.

⸻

Her voice in my ear was like a spark to gasoline.

I didn’t wait.

One hand slid up her thigh, fingers brushing where the waistband of her underwear met her skin, black, lacy, soft under my touch. She shifted beneath me, one knee hooked over the couch armrest, lips parted, chest rising fast.

“Say it again,” I muttered, dragging my mouth down her neck, over her collarbone.

“Stop waiting,” she whispered, breath hitching.

I kissed her just below her jaw, slow and open-mouthed, until she was gripping the back of my neck like she couldn’t decide whether to pull me closer or push me over the edge.

I pulled back just enough to look at her.

Hair messy. Eyes heavy. Lip gloss smudged from kissing me like she meant it.

Fuck, she was unreal.

“You always talk like you’re so calm,” I murmured, dragging a finger across her bottom lip. “But look at you now.”

“You’re the one shaking,” she whispered, and yeah—I was. From the control it took not to devour her all at once.

My fingers hooked into her underwear and slid them down, slow and teasing. She lifted her hips for me without a word.

When I kissed down her stomach, she gasped—tiny, involuntary.

“Chris—”

“I got you.” My voice was rougher now, lower. “I’ve had you since the second you walked in that door four days ago, and you know it.”

She looked at me like I was the fire and she was ready to burn.

So I lit the match.

I kissed my way down, taking my time, letting her fall apart under my mouth. Her fingers tugged hard on my hair, her thighs shaking, breath coming in broken gasps. She whimpered my name like it was a prayer.

And I wasn’t done.

When I came back up, she grabbed my face and kissed me hard, desperate, messy, hungry. I pulled my sweats down just enough, pressing myself against her. Her eyes fluttered shut, back arching.

“Want you,” she whispered. “Right now.”

“No going back from this,” I said, one last warning.

“Then don’t stop.”

Y/N POV:

It felt dangerous. But it felt right.

His voice. The way he touched me. Like he was holding back something feral just for me.

He slid into me slow—hands gripping my hips, forehead pressed to mine. My mouth fell open and he swallowed every sound I made with his own.

We moved like we’d been waiting for this. Like our bodies knew something we didn’t.

It wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t just heat.

It was him.

Chris—smelling like smoke and sweat and every bad decision I wanted to make again and again.

He cursed under his breath as I tightened around him, and I bit his shoulder to keep from crying out. We moved in sync, fast then slow, rough then gentle, like a song we didn’t want to end.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered, eyes shut, head buried in my neck.

I ran my nails down his back. “So do you.”

He pulled back to look at me—really look. Like he was seeing something in me he hadn’t let himself believe before.

We came undone together, his name the only thing on my lips.

And when it was over, he didn’t move right away. Just stayed inside me, his hand on my cheek, our breathing synced.

Like maybe we both knew this wasn’t just a hookup.

Like maybe we’d just crossed a line we couldn’t uncross.

CHRIS POV:

Her skin’s still warm beneath my hands.

The silence after what just happened hangs heavy, thick with heat, with something I can’t name. She’s lying there, half-buried under the sheets, her back rising and falling like she’s still catching up to her breath. The haze from the blunt I stubbed out half an hour ago still lingers in the room, clinging to the air like smoke to velvet.

I should leave it. I should.

But when she shifts, just slightly, hips rolling against the mattress, bare skin sliding against cotton like a whisper, I can’t stop my hands from finding her again.

“You’re staring,” she murmurs without turning, her voice wrecked and teasing. She sounds like midnight and sin.

I run my thumb along the curve of her lower back. “You’re still here.”

“Where else would I be?” she shoots back, glancing over her shoulder. Her lips are swollen, her hair a mess, and she still looks like trouble dressed as heaven. My heaven.

She rolls onto her stomach fully, her arms folding beneath the pillow, and I freeze.

Her back arches just enough to make my blood heat again.

Fuck.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” I mutter, voice low.

“What if I am?”

There’s something about the way she says it lazy, dangerous, taunting. Like she knows she has me right where she wants me. And I hate it. I hate how much I want to let her win.

I move before I can stop myself, crawling over her slowly. My hand slides along the back of her thigh, spreading her knees just slightly. She gasps, soft, sharp and her fingers grip the sheets.

“I thought you said you couldn’t handle it,” she whispers.

“I lied.”

Her breath stutters when I press a kiss to her shoulder blade, slow and hot. Her skin tastes like vanilla and sweat and something I can’t quit. She whines, soft and needy, when I shift her hips back toward me and push her down with one hand on the small of her back.

This time, everything feels slower.

Like we know exactly what we’re doing now. Like we need it. Like it’s not just lust anymore, it’s something deeper, messier, scarier.

I grip her hips harder and lean over her, lips brushing her ear.

“Tell me you want more.”

She breathes, “I do.”

She says it again—“I do.”

Quiet. But certain. Like she means it.

I close my eyes for a second, jaw tight, because that voice—her voice like that—could undo me faster than anything else.

I shift closer, pressing into the curve of her spine as I move my hand up to thread through her hair, just enough to pull her head back so she’s listening.

So she knows.

“You’re gonna wreck me,” I murmur.

She doesn’t answer. She just pushes back against me, a slow, teasing roll of her hips that makes my throat go dry.

Every inch of her is warm and tempting and infuriating. The way she lays there like she owns the moment. Like I’m the one begging. And maybe I am. Maybe I always was.

I guide her hips up again, and this time there’s nothing slow about it.

It’s rougher now, but not careless. More like all the tension we’ve been pretending doesn’t exist finally snapped. My hands are gripping her tighter, her breath spilling out in broken gasps, and I can’t stop pressing kisses to her back, her shoulders, the shell of her ear.

“You drive me insane,” I whisper, voice ragged. “Wearing those tight shirts around the dorm, acting like you don’t notice me looking.”

She lets out this little breathless laugh, like it’s funny how easy I am for her.

“I don’t notice,” she lies.

I grip her waist harder. “Liar.”

And she moans—high and sharp—and I know I’ve got her right there, unraveling underneath me even if she won’t say it out loud.

Minutes pass like heat waves. Our bodies move like we’ve done this a hundred times before, like we know what makes the other snap. Her hands claw at the sheets. My name leaves her lips like a curse and a prayer at once. And when she finishes, shaking, whispering something that sounds like fuck, Chris—I’m right behind her, cursing against her shoulder and collapsing with a weight I didn’t know I was carrying.

And then silence again.

Only it’s different this time.

Her breathing slows. My arm is still around her waist, and her hair’s fanned out over the pillow like black ink. My chest presses against her back, and neither of us moves.

It’s not just heat anymore. It’s not just the weed or the alcohol or the dare from last night that started it all.

It’s something deeper. Something dangerous.

And I think we both feel it.

@izzylovesmatt @riggysworld @amiraisafreakokaysorry @ansteeze @pair-of-pantaloons @kitty-meow-meow44@emeraldsturns @sturnslux3 @kalel2005 @sarahsturns @teheabrams @needchrissturniolobad @julessspoetry @sturniszn @slutforchrissturniolo2 @alinagrace11 @beardedbernard

[yup-thats-me]

—smitten • Y. Jeong

𐙚pairing; ❝bf!Yunho x gf!reader❞ 𐙚summary; ❝Yunho yearns for you and maybe his prayers will be answered❞ 𐙚warnings; ❝hurt comfort❞ 𐙚a/n; ❝its not that well-written, but I do hope you like this nonnie<3❞

⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

"I swear I'm going to smother you in kisses till you die," Yunho groans into the call. "Just let me get back."

Y/n giggles at her boyfriend's frustration. "Awe, but it's still three weeks away, love," she teasse.

"Don't. Remind. Me." He threatens with a tight-lipped smile.

How many times has it been that Yunho had to leave you for tours? Countless. Being together for four years and yet your hearts yearned like the first time he had left all those years ago.

"I'll be back before you can say "I love you,'" Yunho had said at the airport then, eyes teary but still trying to make you laugh.

But now, some would say the two have gained experience, that you two would be used to the distance, but no. One really can't get used to that, Y/n would argue.

So when her man left for tour again, it still ached. Even if there were no tears shed this time, the atmosphere was still heavy. Heavy when Yunho had kissed Y/n goodbye just before boarding the plane. And the call after landing was heavy too.

Sighing deeply, Yunho shakes his head. "Anyway, how was your day, baby?" he tries to change the subject.

Y/n smiled at the man, heart feeling all warm and fuzzy. Even when he was sad, he still tried to make her smile and that made the girl yearn for him even more.

"Yunho," Seonghwa calls out as he enters the room. The older one smiling when he hears Y/n talking on speaker. "Hey, Y/n!"

Y/n calls back, voice cheery. "Hwa, hello!"

Yunho smiles as the two of you chat before he remembers. "What is it, hyung?"

Seonghwa too had forgotten why he was here while talking to Y/n about the stupid things they were doing. He hits Yunho once he remembers. "The delivery is here!''

Yunho groans again, tipping his head back against the chair. "WHy can't Wooyoung go to pick it up?"

"You lost, remember?"

"Oh?" Y/n asks. "What delivery, yuyu?"

Seonghwa answers for him. "Just some food, Y/n," he glares at Yunho before speaking to Y/n again. "Your man's getting all lazy, ya know!"

Yunho chuckles. "Can't blame me, hyung. My powerhouse is not here," he pouts.

Y/n giggles on the other end at her boyfriend's antics.

"I have to hang up! Bye!"

And silence. Yunho stares at the blank screen, blinking. "What? No 'I love you's'?" he mumbles.

Seonghwa smirks, hitting him playfully on his head. "You can call her later, loverboy. Get the delivery."

Without a choice, Yunho sighs as he gets up. "You guys' gonna kill me, making me do all the work round here," he mutters like an old man as he leaves the room.

As soon as Seonghwa heard the hotel room click, Seonghwa quickly runs to the other's room, calling them to come down. The men, read that as two child San and Wooyoung, and other men, they take the stairs, silently rushing down the building, phone already in hand.

Yunho stands on the road with a hand resting on his waist as he looks around for the delivery man. In fact, what delivery? The street was as empty as his heart without Y/n, Yunho thinks.

Then a call from an unknown number. "Hello."

"..."

"Hello? Is it the food delivery?" Yunho tries again.

Then the other person speaks. "Turn around," their voice is incredibly deep, Yunho notes.

"Where?" He asks when he turned to his left.

"No, on your right."

Yunho turns again to avail. "I can't see you man! You're messing with me–"

"You can't see me, yuyu?"

The voice came from his back. Turning around in a flash, Yunho almost drops to his knees when he sees Y/n standing there in sweats and a cap covering her pretty face. Even if Yunho can't see her face, he'll be damned if he mistakes the love of his life for some stranger.

It's really her.

As if to be assured of it, Yunho takes slow steps towards her. He gently lifts up the cap, breathing sharply as her face comes in full view.

Yunho hugs her close, spinning in circles as he did so. "You're here!" He excalaims, "Why are you here?!"

Y/n giggles, hitting him on the chest. "You don't want me here?"

"May I be damned for ever thinking that," Yunho says in all seriousness.

When he finally sets you down, Yunho was just inches from your lips when the sudden commotion of men cheering from the building stops him.

"Guys!"

The group erupts in cheer, jumping as if they were the ones getting married. Wingmen for life for sure.

Yunho laughs as he makes an attempt at hiding you from their cameras. "No point, dude," San laughs.

"Got that on camera," added Yeosang.

"The perfect blackmail material. He's so smitten!"

And Yunho swears to the heavens above that he is indeed, smitten with you. And forever will be.

do not copy, steal or translate my work on any other sites. All rights belongs to yup-thats-me™ on tumblr

⋆｡°✩reqs are open⋆𐙚₊˚⊹♡

[shadyfestivalperfection]

I loved your “Dating Loki” could you do one where him and the “reader” reunite during the Avengers? Nick Fury and the others won’t think he’ll talk until Thor brings the “reader” in. Loki thinks it’s Black Widow before he turns around, maybe he tries to keep his composure.

To Choose You Again~Oneshot

Summery: He let her go once in the name of power. Years later, broken and imprisoned, Loki sees her again—and this time, he’s the one who won’t walk away.

Characters: Loki x ex-girlfriend!reader

Note: Don’t worry, it has a happy ending 😉

||Main Masterlist|| ||Oneshot Masterlist||

Loki of Asgard sat on the floor with his knees drawn up, long fingers dangling loosely between them. His hair, longer now, curled slightly at the edges of his jaw, and the green in his eyes was dulled with something deeper than rage—fatigue. He stared at the far wall, unmoving. For hours, maybe longer.

He hadn’t spoken. Not to Fury. Not to Stark. Not even to Thor.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agents watched him from behind mirrored glass, voices low and skeptical. Romanoff leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, her gaze cold.

“He’s not going to talk,” she said for the third time that day. “He’s waiting for something.”

“Or someone,” Banner murmured.

“Maybe a stage,” Stark quipped. “Guy always did love a dramatic entrance.”

Thor, standing slightly apart from them all, frowned in silence. His arms were crossed, and his brow furrowed with more worry than anyone present had seen since New York burned under the alien sky.

“He is… lost,” Thor said finally. “But not beyond reach.”

“Then who can reach him?” Steve asked, his tone calm but pressed. “Because we’re running out of time.”

Thor hesitated. “There was someone.”

Fury glanced over. “Someone?”

“She was once close to him. Before all of this. Before… everything fell apart.”

“Oh, here we go,” Tony muttered. “The ex-girlfriend bomb.”

“Her name is Y/N,” Thor said over the sarcasm. “An Asgardian by birth. Immortal. She left the realm generations ago. She chose Midgard—Earth. Lives in quiet. She is a researcher. A scholar. And she knew my brother better than any of us.”

Steve tilted his head. “Why haven’t we heard of her before?”

“She wanted peace,” Thor said simply. “And he let her go.”

“Wait,” Natasha cut in. “You’re saying Loki had someone he actually cared about? Enough to let her walk away?”

Thor’s eyes darkened. “Yes. And it nearly broke him.”

Silence followed. Only the faint sound of Loki’s breath through the speakers filled the stillness.

Fury crossed his arms. “You really think this woman—this Y/N—can get through to him?”

“I believe,” Thor said softly, “that if anyone can remind him he was once capable of love… it is her.”

—

The quinjet landed gently in a clearing surrounded by silver trees. Beyond them, nestled on the edge of a sheer cliff, was a small cottage with a moss-covered roof and a garden that bloomed wild and unbothered by human hands. It overlooked a stretch of sea so vast and calm it seemed the sky itself had poured into it.

Thor stood at the head of the team: Steve and Natasha behind him. No guards. No weapons drawn.

The moment they stepped through the trees, the front door opened.

Y/N stood in the threshold, still as the wind. Her long hair, loosely braided, hung over one shoulder, silver strands catching the fading light. She wore a simple sweater and linen pants—earthy, unassuming—but her eyes held a sharpness that hadn’t dulled since Asgard.

They were the eyes of a woman who’d seen empires fall and loved a man who helped break one.

“Thor,” she said evenly, voice like smooth stones in a stream.

He smiled, almost boyishly. “Y/N. You look well.”

“You didn’t come all this way just to flatter me,” she replied. Her gaze shifted to the two behind him. “Captain Rogers. Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha raised a brow. “Didn’t expect the welcome committee.”

“I’ve seen many things,” Y/N said. “But nothing surprises me anymore. Not even a god on my doorstep.”

She stepped aside. “Come in.”

—

Her home was filled with books. Stacks of them on tables, nestled beside vials of glowing plants and scrolls too old for even Steve to date. The air smelled of lavender and salt. It was peaceful. Still.

She poured tea without asking. The silence was comfortable… until it wasn’t.

“You’re here about Loki,” she said.

Thor lowered his cup. “Yes.”

“I figured.” She didn’t look at any of them directly. “Is he dead?”

“No,” Thor said quietly. “But perhaps worse.”

She didn’t speak.

“He’s in custody. After what he did in New York.”

“I heard.” Her voice tightened.

“He will not speak to any of us,” Thor continued. “Not even me.”

Y/N finally looked up. Her eyes had that familiar sheen to them—reflective, unreadable, and impossibly old. “And you think I can reach him?”

Steve answered this time, his tone careful. “He’s completely closed off. If there’s any chance someone from his past could draw him out—help us understand what he’s planning—it’s worth trying.”

“He’s always planning something,” she said softly. “That hasn’t changed.”

“But once,” Thor said, “he wasn’t only this. You saw that. You knew him before the fall.”

Y/N didn’t respond.

“I saw what you were to each other,” Thor added. “He loved you.”

She rose, walked to the window. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “And still, he let me go.”

“Why?” Natasha asked quietly.

Y/N smiled faintly. “You’d have to ask him.”

Steve stepped forward. “We’re not asking you to forgive him. Just… speak with him. If you get through, we might be able to stop whatever’s coming.”

Y/N was silent for a long time.

Then: “When?”

Thor stood. “Tonight.”

—

The quinjet hummed softly as it rose into the clouds. Y/N sat across from Thor, her eyes on the horizon. The closer they flew to the helicarrier, the quieter she became.

Thor watched her with a heavy heart.

“You haven’t asked if he remembers you,” he said gently.

“I know he does.”

Thor nodded.

“And I know,” she added, voice barely audible, “that I never stopped remembering him.”

—

The S.H.I.E.L.D. helicarrier was cold and sterile, a place of harsh lights and harder edges. Y/N stepped out of the elevator, Thor just behind her, and immediately the chill of the place seeped into her bones. The smell of metal and ozone mixed with distant echoes of voices and footsteps.

They walked down the narrow corridors until they reached the observation deck, the glass cell standing silent and imposing.

Inside, Loki sat alone, his posture rigid, shoulders squared as if bracing against invisible storms. His back was to them, the dark hair falling messily over his shoulders.

“Are you sure he doesn’t know you’re here?” Y/N asked quietly.

Thor nodded. “He believes this is another attempt to interrogate him. He doesn’t expect you.”

They stepped closer, their footsteps muffled against the floor.

Y/N’s heart pounded, an old ache rising up—equal parts dread and longing.

“He’s not going to like this,” she murmured.

“I’m not here for his approval,” he said softly.

Loki shifted. “Another visitor,” he muttered, voice dry but edged with a trace of amusement.

Y/N cleared her throat. “Loki.”

He turned slowly. The moment their eyes met, the air shifted—charged with years of unspoken words.

His face was pale, a mask of cold composure. But his eyes betrayed him: wide, searching, almost disbelieving.

“…Y/N?”

She nodded, a faint, bittersweet smile curling her lips.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he said, stepping closer to the glass, his hand rising to meet hers.

The world between them felt fragile—time stretched thin.

“I came because there’s still a part of you I remember. The part I want to believe is still there.”

Loki’s gaze faltered. “I buried that part deep.”

“Maybe it’s time to dig it up.”

Silence hung heavy, then he whispered, “Tell me… why did you leave?”

Her mind flickered back to a night long ago—stars above, tears streaming.

“Because you wouldn’t let me stay.”

He closed his eyes, the weight of regret settling on his shoulders.

“Let me try,” he whispered.

For the first time since his capture, Loki spoke—not with malice or riddles, but with the rawness of a soul seeking redemption.

Loki’s breath hitched as he stepped back from the glass, pacing the small confines of his cell. The shadows seemed to cling tighter to him, but in his eyes, a flicker of something warmer, something more fragile, lingered.

Y/N’s heart clenched watching him—this god, so fierce and broken all at once.

“Why didn’t you come to me sooner?” she asked softly, leaning closer to the glass.

He stopped and stared at her, jaw clenched.

“I was afraid,” he confessed, voice cracking like thin ice. “Afraid that what I’d become was beyond repair. That the man you loved was gone forever.”

She swallowed hard, remembering the bitter nights she spent wondering if he even thought of her.

“I never stopped hoping you’d come back,” she said. “Even when it felt like you were slipping away.”

Loki’s fingers pressed against the glass, fingertips tracing where hers rested.

“I should have fought harder. For you. For us.”

“You did what you thought was right. But sometimes, doing right means letting go.”

His eyes darkened. “Letting go of you was the hardest thing I ever did.”

They stood, separated by the thin barrier, but their hearts stretched across the distance like a fragile thread.

“Maybe this is our second chance,” Y/N whispered.

Loki’s lips curled into a tentative smile.

“If you’ll have me,” he said.

Her eyes shone with unshed tears. “Always.”

The hours slipped by unnoticed, swallowed by the quiet hum of the helicarrier and the steady rhythm of their voices.

Y/N found herself sharing memories she thought she’d buried—moments of laughter under Asgard’s twin moons, stolen glances during palace festivities, whispered promises beneath endless starlit skies.

Loki listened, his expression unreadable at first, but gradually softening like ice thawing under spring’s gentle sun.

“You always had that stubborn streak,” she teased, a small smile tugging at her lips.

“And you always knew how to challenge me,” he countered, eyes glinting with a rare warmth.

They spoke of things left unsaid—the fears, the regrets, the reasons that tore them apart.

“I thought I was protecting you,” Loki said, voice thick with pain. “But all I did was push you away.”

Y/N reached out, fingers brushing the glass between them. “You didn’t push me away. I walked because I had to survive. And because I believed there was still good in you.”

He closed his eyes, a single breath escaping him. “There is good. I buried it too deep, but it’s still there.”

She smiled through the tears threatening to spill. “Then let’s find it again. Together.”

Loki’s gaze locked onto hers, fierce and vulnerable. “I want to believe that. I want to try.”

Their hands pressed harder against the glass, desperate to erase the space between them.

“Soon,” Y/N promised. “Soon.”

As the conversation lingered, Loki’s guarded demeanor began to peel away, revealing glimpses of the man she once knew—and the one she hoped might still be there.

“I’ve been alone,” he admitted quietly. “Not just in this cell, but inside myself. It’s a cold place.”

Y/N’s heart ached for him, the weight of his solitude almost unbearable.

“You don’t have to be alone anymore,” she said, voice steady despite the flutter in her chest. “Not while I’m here.”

He looked at her then, truly looked—as if seeing her for the first time in years.

“You never left my thoughts,” he whispered. “Even when I told myself you had.”

She reached out again, pressing her palm to the glass. “Neither did you leave mine.”

For a moment, time seemed to pause. The sterile hum of the helicarrier faded into the background, replaced by the quiet resonance of two souls tentatively reaching out.

“I don’t know what comes next,” Loki confessed, “but I want to find out—with you.”

Y/N smiled, hope blooming like dawn breaking through endless night.

Walking away from the cell, Y/N’s steps felt lighter than they had in years. The walls around her seemed less suffocating, the weight on her chest easing with each breath.

Thor met her at the hallway’s bend, a knowing smile on his face.

“She is the light in his darkness,” Thor said quietly. “You gave him something I could not.”

Y/N nodded, wiping a stray tear. “He’s still lost in parts. But he wants to be found.”

Natasha approached, folding her arms. “He talked?”

Y/N chuckled softly. “More than that. He remembered.”

Steve smiled warmly. “Then we have hope.”

The team gathered around her as they prepared to move forward, their mission now carrying a new purpose—not just to contain a god, but to heal him.

Later, as Y/N stood by her window, looking out over the night sky, a single moonflower bloomed on her windowsill—a reminder that even in the darkest places, hope could still take root.

And somewhere, far away but no longer unreachable, Loki was thinking the same.

“We’ll find the path. Together.”

Loki was taken back to Asgard in chains. Y/N watched from the shadows.

He didn’t look back.

Not then.

But a month later, a letter arrived — in ancient Asgardian script, with his seal.

I meant what I said. I remember everything.If I ever find a way back to the light… I hope you’ll be standing there.

—

Three months passed. Then four. Then five.

Y/N accepted a quiet research post in Norway, studying Earth’s auroras — a nod to the skies she once knew. Her days were quiet. Her nights lonelier.

Until one stormy evening… the wind shifted.

She turned from her telescope, heart pounding.

He was there.

Not armored. Not kingly. Just… Loki.

Hair longer. Eyes tired. But real.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she breathed.

“I wasn’t sure you’d want me.”

She crossed the room and stopped inches from him. “Are you here to stay?”

“I don’t know what I am anymore,” he whispered. “But I know who I miss.”

He touched her cheek.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For all of it. I broke the only beautiful thing I ever had.”

“You didn’t break me,” she whispered. “Just my heart. But I kept the pieces. I was hoping you’d come back and help me put them together.”

He leaned in, slow, unsure.

She met him halfway.

Their kiss was not the burning heat of youth — it was slower. Wiser. Real.

They watched the auroras from the cliff, his hand wrapped around hers.

“Do you think they’ll ever let me live in peace here?” he asked.

Y/N smiled. “That depends. Do you plan to conquer anything else?”

“Only your attention.”

“That, you’ve already won.”

He looked at her, the glow of northern lights reflecting in his eyes.

And for the first time in years — he felt whole.

-the end