#then invisible string gets taken off

[lucreziaces]

we got no body, no crime. FUN!!! but we lost tis the damn season (a top ten taylor song for me) so I AM SAD 😭

[nerdygirlramblings]

implied poly!141 x fem!reader

pure fluff, abrupt ending

They were smitten the first time they saw you, some new civvie working in the admin building. Price saw you first and was taken in by your open, friendly smile. You were sweet every time he had to come in, always saying hello and asking how his day was. He couldn't help but talk about you to his boys.

Gaz was next, finding reasons to drop by with a question for your boss or "remembering" paperwork he had already brought to someone else. He always seemed to pop in when your boss was out, though, so he had to talk to you about it instead.

Soap noticed how often Gaz was slipping off to your building. He knew Price was smitten; the man had all but admitted as much. But it seemed Gaz wanted to keep his interest in you a secret. Soap never could let a secret go, so he followed Gaz, found him flirting with you, watched you give him soft touches and shy smiles. He couldn't remember the last time Gaz had lost his sharp edges.

He told Ghost what he saw, and the two began watching you.

They saw how you always dropped by medical on Wednesdays with a bakery box in hand. They learned Tuesdays - the first full day of training rookies had - was always busier for medical, so you brought them a pick-me-up after a hard day. They watched you stop and chat with every invisible employee: groundskeepers, maintenance, custodial staff. You made it a point to acknowledge those who were often overlooked. Soap and Ghost didn't interact with you personally, but they fell for your kind heart nonetheless.

It slowly became clear that there were others as enamoured with you as they all were. Flowers on your desk they knew Price didn't send. Lunch delivered when you'd clearly brought your own. A few other officers who stood a little too close and for whom your smile was tight rather than inviting.

They tell all this to Price and Gaz who bring it up with you in their own way.

Gaz asks about the bouquet behind your desk. You tell him they were a gift, and when your tone seems strained, he presses for more, finds out they came from an officer who didn't believe you meant no. Price stops in after a lunch delivery and jokes about you having two meals. Turns out you're allergic to what was delivered (someone obviously did not do their homework), but it was a favorite of the same soldier who sent the flowers.

This man was making their bird uncomfortable, and they wouldn't stand for it.

Slowly, things take a turn for this poor sod whose main flaw was an overbearing interest in you. His reports come back flagged for missing information, and he gets reamed out by his superior. (Gaz hacked the system and deleted things. Don't worry, he fixed it later, after the damage was done.) His flowers get delivered to married women, which raises an HR concern. (Ghost offered the florist double the cost of each bouquet to send them to a list of other people. He told them you didn't want people jealous of your relationship with the soldier and to spread the joy.) He finds himself called to the head of medical about the legal issue of accidental poisoning. (Price dropped by with your ill-delivered lunch to chat with the head and accidentally let it slip how this delicious food was sent to a civilian employee deathly allergic to some of the ingredients.)

The boys could have gotten dirty and taken matters into their own hands, but they wanted to be able to keep themselves clear of the fallout. To be there for you in the aftermath.

It took about two weeks, but eventually the officer was demoted and transferred. Word gets around the other soldiers how the 141 was protecting its own. They staked their claim on you before you ever realized it.

Two days after the incident, Price shows up with a vase of your favorite flowers (courtesy of Soap's intel). Later that day, Gaz invites you to your favorite restaurant (thanks to Ghost's observations) for dinner, "no strings, doll, just a nice meal." You show up in a cute but classy dress to find the whole task force - including Soap and Ghost whom you've never even met before - seated and waiting on you.

They'd decided to let you know where things stood before some other idiot tried taking what was theirs.

Inspired by the "To the pain" scene at the end of The Princess Bride: "That is what to the pain means. It means I leave you in anguish, wallowing in freakish misery forever."

main masterlist

[eldulcopatato]

"Keep It Cute, Keep It Quiet"

pairing: george clarkey x fem!reader

warnings: none!

summary: When George's lack of transparency about your relantionship and frustration by online rumors about him and Cinna finally pushes you over the edge, deciding you're done being his secret.

word count: 700

₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵˚₊

You and George had been together for seven months.

Private, not secret. That’s what he always said.

He didn’t want to deal with “people being weird,” didn’t want to give the internet too much. You understood. You didn’t love it, but you got it. You were patient. Supportive. Chill.

Until Inside happened.

It started with harmless clips.

Cinna joining the group. George greeting her with that goofy smile. Them vibing, bouncing off each other’s jokes, becoming lowkey inseparable.

You didn’t say anything. You knew George. You trusted him.

But then came the TikToks. The fan edits. The comment sections that became unhinged.

“they’d be so cute together 😭” “george & cinna have serious main character energy ngl” “he never looks at anyone like that i’m sorry 😭😭” “they BETTER be together off cam”

You told yourself it didn’t mean anything. They were just shippers. Parasocials. But it kept getting worse.

Because even after the show, George and Cinna started streaming together. Frequently.

Usually with the group—Jason, Millie, and the other contestants. But sometimes? Just them two.

You’d pop into the stream chat, lurking silently, watching them mess around in different games. She’d say something flirty—probably as a joke—and George would laugh.

Too loud. Too fond.

“george and cinna streaming alone again??? they are not hiding it anymore omfg” “if they start matching profile pics i’m throwing myself into the sea”

You asked him about it once.

He just blinked at you. “What, me and Cinna? Babe… she’s just a mate. You know that.”

And yeah, you did. But that didn’t stop it from stinging every time she popped up on your FYP. Every time you saw a new fancam titled “cinna making george blush for 2 minutes straight”.

And the whole time… You were just in the background. A ghost.

Until that night.

You were lying in bed, scrolling, and came across another viral tweet.

“i’d bet money george and cinna are a thing, they’re too comfy around each other”

Something in you snapped.

You opened your camera roll. Found a photo from two nights ago—taken after a long dinner date. You’d been straddling George on the sofa, jacket half off one shoulder, messy hair, his hands all over your waist. You were kissing him. His jaw, slightly tilted up, eyes closed.

It was hot. Obvious. Intimate.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

Then added the caption: “not just comfy x” Posted it straight to your Instagram story. No tags. No explanations.

You locked your phone and tossed it aside.

It took about 45 seconds for your phone to explode.

Twitter? In shambles. TikTok? Full of scream edits and breakdown videos. Instagram? DMs blowing up. People were analyzing your bracelets, zooming in on George’s hands, comparing hoodie strings to old footage.

“WHO IS SHE AND HOW DO I BECOME HER??” “CINNA STANS WE LOST 😭” “she ATE. she WON. no crumbs left.”

You didn’t even hear from George until ten minutes later.

George: ??? George: babe what did you just DO George: you know everyone’s going mad right???

You finally replied.

You: well now they know George: you mad at me? You: you think?

Typing… typing… George: i didn’t mean to make you feel hidden You: you didn’t mean to. but you did. George: come over. please.

You showed up at his flat an hour later.

He was waiting at the door, hoodie on, hair messy, expression wrecked.

“You posted that ‘cause of Cinna?” he asked quietly.

You stared at him. “You think I wanted to watch people ship you with someone else every day while I stayed invisible?”

He stepped closer, hands sliding around your waist.

“I should’ve posted about you months ago.”

You didn’t reply. Just stared.

Then he kissed you. Soft, slow, apologetic.

“Can I post something now?” he whispered against your lips.

You smirked. “You better.”

An hour later, George uploaded a blurry polaroid to his grid.

You, in his lap. Laughing. Kissing his cheek. His arm curled around your waist. Caption: “she’s not just comfy x”

“REAL RECOGNISES REAL” “i forgive him for hiding her bc she is CLEARLY the one” “ngl i respect the reveal game. they held onto that like champs.” “cinna shippers i am so sorry 💀 the girlfriend had RECEIPTS”

[deepspacenova]

between the strokes of midnight

it starts out with you doing your best to pull sylus out of his cynicism at a new year's eve party. it ends with you succeeding.

➻➻ ABOUT | 1500 words. sylus x gn!reader.

➻➻ TAGS | new year's eve. flirting. banter. fluff. first kiss.

NOTE: Just a little something while I get in my feels about how thankful I am for this little corner of the internet. Wishing everyone a peaceful and happy year ahead xx

"One hour 'til the countdown starts!"

Sylus rolls his eyes at the cheers and squeals that erupt through the room when the arbitrary announcement reverberates its way through the balloons and decorations that swath the hotel lobby. As if there isn't a device capable of tracking the passage of time in every pocket of the increasingly stifling room.

“Oh don't be such a grump. Even you must find some redeeming qualities about New Year's Eve."

The melody of that voice is an invisible string, trailing its softness along the shell of his ear before it tugs up the corners of his downturned lips. "Hm," he considers. "I guess it does end with explosions."

He turns to face you right as you stumble into him, the scent of the warm spice clinging to your hair curling around him when he frowns in the direction of the passerby who'd bumped their weight into yours. Pressing his palms into the back of your bare arms, he pulls you both back a few steps until you're closer to the wall and further from the chaos.

He watches laughter flicker through your eyes before he hears your soft giggle. "You know what I mean! The allure of it, the romance." Sylus raises his brow in amused confusion, eliciting an admonishing huff from your lips. "Don't tell me you've never taken advantage of telling some nameless beauty that she'll be the 'first thing on your to-do list' in the new year."

The incredulous sound that slips from his mouth is somewhere between a scoff and a guffaw. "Was that an insult, kitten? You think my romancing skills are so banal and cliché?"

"No, the opposite actually." Your face comes closer to his when you shift your weight to your toes and a small ember breathes to life where your palm connects with his chest. "It just seems like you'd have the perfect formula to make sure you ring in the new year with... a bang. And yet, you're avoiding the question," you tease, a gleam of mischief bounces off the apple of your cheek.

“I didn’t hear a question,” he replies. A shadow appears behind you and Sylus pauses to glare daggers at a vaguely familiar Hunter hesitantly approaching you from behind. By the time you turn around to see what has him distracted, your hopeful colleague is long gone.

When you turn back to face him, the sequined, silver ‘Happy New Year’ headband that crowns your updo bounces with the movement. “You’re telling me you’ve never kissed someone at midnight on New Year's Eve?”

Sylus hopes his casual shrug distracts you from the way his weight shifts from one leg to the other. “You know how I am about my investments, sweetie. And tying my luck to someone whose name I don't know for a whole year doesn't sound like a good one.”

The distant sound of his name seems to distort around the edges when he watches your bottom lip disappear behind your front teeth and your head shake. "Luck? You're the least superstitious businessman in the whole city. You literally only came here with me because you're trying to strike a deal. Try again."

His fingernail scratches at a piece of lint in the pocket of his charcoal trousers. And maybe it's the gold color of your dress that unexpectedly matches his tie. Maybe it's the two glasses of gin fizz already sending bubbles of air through his body. Or maybe the way you keep getting closer to him is interfering with the amount of oxygen making it to his brain. But the next words that stagger out of his mouth come a bit closer to the truth than he means them to.

"I just haven't liked anyone enough to make a commitment like that," he drawled. "Happy now, sweetie?"

Sylus thinks he sees surprise soften your eyes but when you open your mouth to respond, his name is called — this time clear and insistent and right behind him.

When his business for the night is finally concluded, you've melted into the crowd. No longer in the spot he left you.

You take another sip from your flute, watching the champagne swirl around like liquid starlight. The cityscape is on display before you, the windows from the buildings reflecting the fractured patterns of light that dance around you as impatient revelers set off bursts of fireworks a few minutes before the city's are meant to debut.

And though the balcony you stand on is largely empty — too cold to be hospitable for most — it still feels enchanting, as if nothing can siphon the magic from the space. 

"Had a feeling you'd be out here."

You startle as the rasp of Sylus' voice rouses you from your reverie, your hand flying to your chest to keep your heart from fluttering away. Smiling at him briefly, you turn your attention back to the performance of color around you.

"Didn't you hear our fiftieth reminder of the night?" he quips dryly. "Five minutes until the countdown."

Your brow lifts slightly. "I did. But I'm surprised you came out here to tell me, Mr. Cynical."

The snowflakes dust his face like kisses of frost, standing out against the dark fabric of his suit while melting into the strands of his silvery hair. When his body is close enough to heat the air around you and he leans an elbow against the railing, he sighs.

"Maybe I just need someone to explain it to me." He gestures to the city in front of them. "The 'allure' of this night, as you put it. The... romance." He leans toward you and watches your face intently, like your answer holds its own gravitational pull.

Seeing his sincerity, that he isn’t being sarcastic or facetious, you stare out at the skyline and start slowly. Drawing out your words as if speaking too quickly might break the spell. "It's not just the night itself. It's... the feeling. Time seems to, to hold its breath for a moment. There's this magic in the air and the world feels... softer somehow. That's the romance."

As you finish your thought, you shift your focus from the view in front of you back to him and you're struck simultaneously by the intent yet inscrutable expression on his face, as well as how striking and dear that face is.

You wait for him to break the strand of lightning that crackles between you, but he doesn't. He just stands there gliding his garnet gaze over your cheeks, your lips, your shoulders. Like a thread of silk, tangling your ribs and heart and lungs into knots until it's almost too hard for you to breathe.

"And there's this anticipation," you say, giving into the dizzying feeling. "Waiting for the stroke of midnight like it's a portal to something new. A chance to start something. It’s the belief that anything can happen." Your words trip over the gasp of air he steals. "And maybe it will."

You jerk in surprise when a shrill Ten!... Nine!... Eight!... Seven! buzzes its way across the balcony.

Never taking his eyes off you, Sylus takes a slow, deliberate step closer. "A chance to start something...” he considers, his voice low and velvety, the gin fizz on his breath painting the skin of your cheeks pink.

Six!... Five!... Four!

You frown in confusion when he reaches out and plucks the flute out of your hand, carelessly disposing of the glass on the railing behind him. His gaze drops to your lips, a flicker of hunger in his eyes.

"Three!… Two!… One!… Happy New Year!"

He surges forward and catches your lips in his. Your pulse quickens, the world outside blurring into a backdrop of lights and fireworks. Each explosion and pop harmonizes with the fizzing heat that's crackling through you every time he lets your lips go and recaptures them at a new angle.

You don't remember how the strands of his hair slither their way between your fingers, or how the softness of your thigh comes to hug the hard ridge of his hip, or how the inside of his forearm becomes a band that slots you so tightly into him, you can feel his shirt buttons branding your chest, your diaphragm, your navel.

All you know is the intoxicating taste of his tongue. The vibration of his groan.

All you know is the rhythmic sound of your panting. The heat of his fingers and then his mouth stamping their prints into your cheek and jaw.

All you know is that the strokes of midnight seem to suspend you both in that moment in time.

[youryanderedaddy]

Yandere! Killer

tw: female reader, murder (not reader), jealousy, captivity, slight gore

The cabin is warm enough - and that's one good reason to be grateful. Sitting by the fireplace brings you a slight twinge of comfort, reminds you of savage winters and hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows swimming on top that your mom would make on Christmas Eve. As you bring your hands together to rub them, you know your eyes are watering up - and you try to dispel the nostalgic memories, but you've always been a crybaby. The heat quickly spreads around the small room, burning your cheeks.

You hold your breath, your whole body stiffening with gripling fear as you hear that familiar sound of heels crushing ice, of twigs breaking into pieces under his heavy uniform step. You immediately stand up, rushing to dust off your long skirt, and for a split second every worry under the sun floods your dizzy head. Is the dinner too salty? Did you burn the meat? Is your apron clean and tidy? Is he still angry, just as he was this afternoon before storming off?

You don't need to fight your invisible fears much longer, because the very source of them, the monster in the shadows, kicks the door open. Your blood runs cold at the very sight of him - despite being in his loving arms for almost two years, fear remains your most loyal companion, if not your only. You never touch him without your old friend whispering deadly in your ear, and he never kisses you before he makes sure fear's taken comfort in your eyes. But something is different today - something about him feels off.

His boots are soaked - but outside it's freezing drought. His coat is stained, although you clearly remember washing it thoroughly a few days ago. The smell coming off him, usually awfully sterile, much like a hospital, with a singular note of wood - now reeks of something human, something musky and fleshy and moving like a thumping heart. And his eyes... they're smiling, oddly. He seems content, satisfied even. In one hand he's dragging a big black sack, and he uses the other to pull you in. You get light - headed by the proximity alone, but you know you have to act quickly. You've never seen him in such a mood, so you have no idea what to expect.

"D-darling, let me take your coat off. You must be tired, let's go to the firepl-." You try to take his garment, but he grabs your wrist in the motion, forcing you to stay still. You can feel your legs begin to shake. "What's the rush, pet? Let me take a good look at you." Daniel orders with bared teeth, making you do a spin for him. It's so deeply humiliating you can feel your cheeks heat up, but the man doesn't notice your discomfort as he wraps both his hands around your waist.

"You're wearing the red skirt." The man observes emotionlessly, taking in your form with a cold hard gaze. "D-do you like it?" You ask quietly, and he only humms in approval. "It will do. It is a special night after all." He replies shortly, slowly walking towards the table. You run after him to set the dinner, heart pulsing out of your chest. "Special n-night, you say?" You inquire, unable to remember exactly what day it is. In fact you stopped counting them a long time ago.

He nodds, gray eyes following your every movement, and through sheer panic you have to ask yourself once again whether he's truly human. He licks his lips, still staring right at you.

"Yes. I brought you something." Daniel starts off, still holding onto the sack. The corners of his lips start curling up ever so slightly, but the dim light hides most details of his face, while leaving you fully exposed. "Consider it a wedding gift." His smile gets crooked and all twisted. "For a beautiful, beautiful bride."

Your gaze is reluctantly drawn to the black bag, and suddenly you notice the red stains following it all over the pristine floor, leading to the table. Only once your eyes widen in horror does he untie the blue string holding it together, dumping the contents on the ground with a loud splash.

You can see it on your walls. You can see it on the carpet. You can feel it on your face. You open your mouth, ready to scream your guts out, but his hand clamps over it, rough fingers digging into the soft of your cheeks with pure hatred.

"Shut the fuck up. Don't you dare scream - and don't even think about turning your head away." Daniel hisses in your ear, keeping your head sternly in place as your whole body shakes like a leaf, guttural sobs threatening to burst out of your vocal cords. Laying before you on the ground is the head of... of... "This is what you wanted, isn't it? It's what you dreamt of. Don't you dare call me selfish now - see how much I fucking do for you, princess." He growls, caught between manic rage and primal agression as he tears into your throat like a wild animal. Now your neck is as bloody as your fiance's.

"You kept calling out his name last night - and then I remembered! Today marks two years since your engagement." The man strokes your chin, cooing at you mockingly. You, on the other hand, are completely frozen, unable to process the nightmare you've been thrown into. "So it makes sense, really. You must miss him oh-so-much. So I thought," His voice gets lower, sinister - taunting. In that moment he's more beautiful and more cruel than any God, deadlier than any weapon. "Since I am such a considerate lover, why not bring him to you?"

He's missing both his eyes, they've been torn off completely out of the socket. His tongue is sticking out grotesquely, but his skin is still warm. His hair, once soft and silky smooth under your gentle fingertips, is sullied with blood and filth.

"Happy anniversary, love."

[sturnswiftie]

cruel summer — c.s.

pairing ⟶ fratboy!chris x fem!reader word count ⟶ 4.7k

contains ⟶ explicit content, porn with plot, unprotected sex, angst, gaslighting.

you met chris on a humid thursday in late may, the kind of evening where the air stuck to your skin and the sky never truly got dark. he was leaning against the railing of the frat house porch, laughing too loud and holding a beer like it was a natural extension of his arm. he wasn’t trying to pull attention unlike most of his friends; he just did.

you weren’t supposed to be there—your roommate had dragged you out, promising it was just a casual hangout, a chill night. “not even a party, really.” but the music was already vibrating through the floorboards, and half the campus seemed to have crawled out of the woodwork to drink under cheap string lights and questionable beer.

you were beginning to weigh your options: go back to your dorm with an armful of snacks and one of your favorite movies, or be a good friend and wait this whole thing out? a daze fell over you as you grappled with the situation—that is, until the answer to your question came.

out of the corner of your eye, pulling you from your trance was chris, who was hard to miss. he wore a white t-shirt with a simple silver chain glinting at his collarbone, a backward cap, and that lazy confidence that made him look like he didn’t have to try. girls orbited around him like he had his own gravitational pull, and even from across the yard, you could feel it tugging at you, too.

it was almost like you were so mesmerized by this invisible tether that you didn’t even realize the way he’d been eyeing you at the same time. the realization had a warm burn creeping up your neck, the embarrassment of being caught staring seeping into your cheeks with the help of the sticky, humid air around you. from the porch, chris’s brow furrowed imperceptibly, blue eyes drinking you in before he turned his head to the frat brother he’d been talking to and saying something that you couldn’t possibly catch from your spot on the front lawn.

you watched as a few quiet words were exchanged between the two before, to your surprise, the brother offered some sort of handshake, and then left. your lips parted in quiet surprise, your gaze following the broad back of the fraternity member before a subtle movement from the corner of your eye gained your attention again—chris. he was looking at you with amusement twinkling in dark blue eyes, and when he realized he had your attention once again, he tilted his head to the side in one quick, subtle action—come here. despite the way your heart suddenly began to thud in your chest, your actions spoke for you in the way your feet carried you toward him, even when you spotted the subtle twitch of the corner of his mouth, and even when you felt that sinking feeling that you were feeding right into that gravitational pull you’d taken note of earlier—sucked right into a black hole.

your fingers twitched by your sides as you stood in front of chris, unsure of what to say. you were just about to mumble a quiet “hi,” when he suddenly broke the ice himself.

“don’t think i’ve seen you before,” he said in lieu of a greeting, gaze raking over you in a way that nearly made you bristle—calculating. suddenly, the way he looked at you made you feel defensive, like you needed to protect yourself.

you raised a brow, hoping to come off unimpressed. “maybe you don’t get out as much as you think you do.”

you thought your snark would deter him. that it would prompt him to release you from the magnetic pull he seemed to have wrapped around you, clutched tight.

it didn’t.

instead, he grinned like you’d just confirmed something for him, like you’d just handed him a challenge. “nah,” he said slowly, shaking his head, “i think i’d remember you.”

you weren’t sure if it was the beer or the heat, but something about the way he looked at you made your skin prickle, like he could already tell you’d eventually give in.

you told yourself it was harmless—a conversation, a little bit of flirting. nothing real. you’d heard the stories just like everyone else had, after all. chris was the kind of guy who could talk his way into your bed and disappear before your alarm could go off. he was nothing but complete trouble, but in the kind of packaging that made girls second-guess their instincts. the most dangerous of his kind.

but something about him pulled at you anyway. maybe it was the way he teased without being cruel, or maybe how he never looked bored when you spoke, like most guys did. whatever it was, you couldn’t stop yourself from going back for more, and it thrilled you as much as it terrified you.

it started slow. that first meeting lead to a shared drink on the porch, a laugh exchanged in the kitchen. then a text the next day—you left your sunglasses, princess. guess you’ll have to come back and get ‘em.

you shouldn’t have gone back.

but you did.

and from there, it involved into a thing. a secret, sticky summer thing. you didn’t label it, and there was no talking about it. you just showed up, and he let you. always at night. always behind closed doors. you weren’t dating. you weren’t even friends, really. you just... existed in each other’s orbit, drawn back together again and again like gravity, pretending not to notice how it hurt when he acted like none of it meant anything.

and maybe it didn’t.

but sometimes, in the quiet moments—when he’d trace your spine with lazy fingers or tuck your hair behind your ear like he actually cared—it felt like it could have.

maybe that was the worst part.

it was the fourth time that week.

you told yourself you wouldn’t answer when he texted this time, that you’d seen him flirting with some blonde in cutoff shorts in the library earlier and that you were officially over it. he only had so many times to disrespect you, so many times to do whatever the hell he wanted with no regard for your feelings. you were nobody’s toy and certainly not some frat boy’s entertainment for the summer.

but then the message came through:

[11:04 pm]

you up?

just two words. nothing that made you feel like he cared, at least not beyond your body and what it had to offer him. and still, in some sick, twisted way, it made you feel wanted.

twenty minutes later, you were standing outside the back door of the frat house, chewing on your bottom lip, your arms folded like that could protect you from what you were about to do—again.

chris opened the door without a word, his silhouette backlit by the soft glow of kitchen lights. his hair was damp, like he’d just showered, and he was shirtless, basketball shorts slung low on his hips. that dark, nagging voice in the back of your mind questioned whether or not he was cleaning up after hanging out with another girl, and it made you feel sick to your stomach with envy.

“hey,” he greeted you, voice low and unreadable.

you stepped inside despite every inch of your body telling you not to, brushing past him casually like your heart wasn’t racing in your chest. “hey.”

chris didn’t say anything else, but you could feel his eyes on you as he followed you upstairs. his room was the same as always—messy in a careless kind of way, like he never stayed still long enough to really settle. a few posters clung to his walls, his playstation blinking in sleep mode. one window was left cracked open to let in the thick summer air, and yet a chill creeped down your spine.

you sat on the edge of his unmade bed, picking at a loose thread in your shorts. you could feel the weight of his stare before even looking up.

“you okay?” he asked, surprisingly soft.

you blinked up at him. “why wouldn’t i be?”

chris shrugged and moved closer, crouching in front of you. “y’got that look on your face.”

“what look?”

“the one that makes me think i pissed you off and didn’t even notice.”

you laughed under your breath, bitter and tired. there was so much you wanted to say, yet it sat burning on the tip of your tongue, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of your hurt, your feelings. deep down, you knew he didn’t care, and it was embarrassing.

the brunette studied you for a second too long, eyes flicking across your face like he was trying to read something between the lines. and then, slowly, like he already knew the answer but wanted to hear you say it anyway, he asked:

“why do you keep coming back?”

you stared at him. your heart pounded in your chest, heavy and unrelenting, your mouth pressed into a firm line. immediately, answers flooded your brain: because he was a walking contradiction. because he made you feel like the center of the universe in the dark, but left you stranded in daylight. because he was reckless and stupid and impossibly addicting.

but all that left your mouth was a lie.

“because it’s easy.”

chris didn’t even flinch. instead, he leaned in, close enough for his breath to brush against your cheek. “easy?” he murmured.

you didn’t trust yourself enough to answer him without your voice shaking, but it didn’t matter. before you even had the chance to form a response, he was kissing you—hard and desperate—like he wanted to silence everything unsaid between you. you kissed him back because you didn’t know how to stop, not when he touched you like that, like he knew every nerve ending by name.

it wasn’t love. it was never going to be love.

but in that moment, with his hands tangled in your hair and his mouth on your throat, it almost felt like something dangerously close.

chris’s mouth found yours again, slower this time—like he had all the time in the world to ruin you. it left you confused as you were used to him kissing like he had something to prove, like every touch was a promise he wasn’t going to keep. and it scared you how much you kind of liked it.

your fingers pressed into his back, blunt nails creating soft indents in his skin, and he made a sound low in his throat, hands gripping your thighs as he moved to sit on the bed, pulling you into his lap as he went. you moved together like you’d done this a hundred times before—and you had—but it never felt the same. this time felt more dangerous. more fragile.

“you drive me fuckin’ crazy,” he muttered against your skin, lips dragging down your jaw, your neck, your collarbone. “showin’ up here looking like that and with a fuckin’ attitude.”

a breathless laugh fell from your lips, your head tilted back to give him more room for his mouth to nip and suck at your sensitive skin while you ground down against his growing bulge. “you texted me,” you remind him, teeth digging into your lower lip to suppress a soft moan when his tongue brushes over your pulse point.

“’cause i knew you’d come.” his hands pushed under your tank top, calloused fingers spreading wide over your ribs like he wanted to memorize the shape of you. “always do.”

you weren’t sure why, but something about hearing him throwing it out there so casually made you feel sick to your stomach. it was like he was finally recognizing the power he held over your head, and you hated that it wasn’t even a lie.

but then his hands slid lower, and your thoughts scattered like ashes in the heat. clothes were tugged away in pieces—your top over your head, his shorts pushed down to the floor—and soon, you were laid out on his bed, the dim light from the hallway slicing across the room in golden slats where he hadn’t fully shut his door.

chris hovered over you, that cocky smirk flickering—fading—for something that almost looked like reverence. his eyes searched your face like he was trying to find something he’d lost a long time ago, and suddenly it felt like you couldn’t breathe when you’d never seen him like that before.

“tell me you want this,” he murmured, voice low and rough, and thick with something that made your insides coil.

you should’ve said no. you should’ve walked out and never looked back.

but you pulled him down to you instead, fingers pressing into the back of his neck and the short, dark curls there. “i want this.”

immediately, his mouth met yours again, messy and hungry and full of all the things he wouldn’t dare say to you or to anyone else for that matter. he kissed you like he wanted to forget the world, and it left your emotions swimming with both hope and doubt. so many times would there be a crack in his façade, a glimmer of something more than what he showed everyone else, and yet as soon as you tried to brush past those layers, he drew the curtains closed. every time.

a soft noise left your mouth when you felt the head of his cock press into your soaked folds, chris’s hand guiding himself up your slit and then down again. you were wet enough to leave the tip of him glistening, these lewd noises being one of the few sounds in the quiet of his bedroom as he collected your excitement with his dick.

“chris, please,” you murmured, a desperate edge to your voice in hopes of making him realize just how bad you needed this despite the way your entire being screamed at you to stop.

he only glanced up at you briefly, taking note of the plea behind your pretty eyes, before he decided to take pity on you. it never failed to amaze you how you moved together in sync, like muscle memory, like you knew each other’s bodies better than you should have. and when he finally sank into you, when your hands found his and your breaths tangled, it didn’t feel like just a hookup.

it felt like heartbreak waiting to happen.

chris pressed his forehead to yours as he moved inside you, breathing hard, his chain brushing your chest with every roll of his hips. “you feel so fuckin’ good,” he rasped, hot breath brushing over your face. “always do.”

you shut your eyes tight, nails digging into his back. you didn’t want to hear that. didn’t want to want him. but your body didn’t care. your heart, traitorous and bruised, thudded loud in your chest as he rocked into you, pushing you closer and closer to the edge.

chris moved in deep, punishing thrusts that had the headboard knocking against the wall, and your back arching off the sheets. if you hadn’t been so lost in the pleasure coursing through your veins, you would have been scared of one of his fraternity brothers waking up to the sounds, but you were too far gone. you could focus on nothing but the way he fucked into you, the sounds of your bodies filling the room: skin, breath, and quiet curses muttered into your ear. it drove you insane.

“you like it like this?” he rasped, voice low and rough. you could tell that earlier softness was fading with each rock of his hips into yours, and you both loved and despised it. “like being fuckin’ used by me, huh?”

you clawed at his back, a whimper caught in your throat. it hurt—just a little. and you liked it. that rawness, the way he took you apart like it was second nature. it made you hate yourself, made you want to get back at him.

“i hate you,” you whispered, and it wasn’t true—but it wasn’t not true, either.

chris just smiled against you, his words hot and heavy against your slick skin. “no, baby,” he cooed to you, shaking his head. his dark curls tickled your face, and you swallowed hard. “you don’t.”

he drove into you harder, faster, while one hand traveled from your right breast, down your stomach, and then to your clit where he began to trace the nub with his thumb, adding a certain amount of pressure here and there that had your hips squirming with need. you could feel that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach, that tight rope beginning to snap, and just as your thighs began to shake on either side of him, your pussy spasming around every inch of his cock, that white-hot orgasm hit, completely overwhelming you. you cried out, fingers twisting in the sheets, but he didn’t let up. he just kept going, chasing his own release.

“where—fuck, where do you want it?” he panted, lips brushing your ear.

you were still dazed, barely able to answer, but chris either didn’t notice or didn’t care. he just pulled out of you and finished across your stomach, jaw clenched, and eyes shut tight as he let go with a deep, shuddering breath, his fist working overtime on his shaft to ensure he got every last drop of cum dripping out onto your soft, pretty skin.

silence settled heavy in the room afterward, thick as the heat. you stared at the ceiling, chest rising and falling, already regretting everything. it felt like this every time, and yet you couldn’t bring yourself to stop. you hated him, but nowhere near as much as you hated yourself for allowing it to happen.

chris disappeared into the bathroom for a towel, returning a minute later to wipe you clean. he didn’t speak—just moved quietly, almost gently, like maybe he felt it too. the regret. whatever this whole thing was.

you dressed without looking at him. there was no goodbye, no kiss—just the door creaking open, the hallway light slicing across his floor, and then nothing.

you were gone, once again.

in the following days, you tried to ignore the dull ache in your chest, tried to go back to normal. you hated the way chris always plagued your brain after the fact, that he had such an effect on you that even your friends took notice. it was always embarrassing to see the pity on their faces when they invited you out, it being so obvious they were trying to offer you an escape from reality.

you didn’t plan on going. not really. you told yourself you were tired, that you had a paper to finish, laundry to do—anything to keep yourself home and far away from the mess that always came with seeing chris in public because you just knew you would. but your friends were relentless, and the walls of your dorm were starting to feel too tight, too quiet. so, despite your better judgment, you said yes. you got dressed, even curled your hair, and told yourself it was just drinks, just a night out.

but you felt it the second you walked into the bar—that pull, that shift in your chest like your heart already knew he was there.

and he was. he always seemed to be.

chris was standing near the pool table, a beer in one hand and his phone in the other. he looked good—too good, in that casual, careless way that he always did. a fitted shirt clung to his chest, his hat pulled low, and the same chain glinting under the dim bar lights. the only thing that was different was the stupid grin on his face as he leaned in to whisper something to the girl beside him.

you watched as she laughed, touched his arm. lingered.

you were frozen mid-step, your friends already drifting toward the bar while you stood there, caught in the crossfire of something unspoken and brutal. you weren’t his girlfriend, and you never had been. but your throat still burned with betrayal.

you tried to play it cool despite the nasty feeling that clawed at your chest. you ordered a drink, smiled when someone from class said hi, and even danced a little when your friends dragged you out onto the floor. but your eyes kept drifting—back to him. back to her. watching the way his hand grazed her lower back when she walked away, watching the way he didn’t even look for you.

it was stupid, and you knew it. because that was the deal, wasn’t it? no expectations, no labels. no mess.

but it was messy, and it had been from the start. and tonight, with music pounding and people laughing around you, it finally hit you: he was never going to choose you.

the realization left you feeling lightheaded, your chest heavy with the truth. your gaze shifted around the room like you were looking for someone or something to help—maybe your friends—but immediately paused when you found the shots waiting on the bar for you and the rest of your group.

and so you got drunk.

not sloppy, falling-over drunk, but just enough to blur the ache. just enough to be brave. enough to feel like someone who might actually walk away this time.

when the uber pulled up later that night, you slid into the back seat with your heart unraveling and your hands shaking. you were grateful for your ability to hold it together until you were out of sight of anyone else—of chris—and gave yourself the reward of crying quiet, angry tears against the window, pretending you were fine when your friend turned around to check on you.

you were anything but fine.

you didn’t sleep.

by mid-morning, you were pacing your room with last night’s eyeliner still smudged under your eyes and a knot in your chest so tight it made breathing hard. you’d woken up to a text from him, and for a moment, you thought maybe this was it. that whatever lay beyond that notification would mend you, would make breathing come a little bit easier.

instead, you emptied the contents of your stomach into the nearest trashcan when you read his “wyd” text.

you didn’t know what to do with yourself anymore. the thought of chris and everything you let him do to you made you physically ill. you found yourself replaying the night you met him, wishing you’d gone home like you’d wanted to do in the first place.

but somewhere, in the depths of your mind, you knew crossing paths with him was inevitable. that he would have gotten to you somehow, some way, regardless. and the only thing left to do was end it yourself, or let it destroy you.

“are you home?”

he replied within minutes.

“yeah. come through.”

your fingers tightened around your phone, jaw clenched at how easy it still was—how quickly he let you come back. it almost made you explode right then and there, send him paragraphs he would never read about how hurt you were and how awful he was for what he’d done to you.

but you needed to do this in person.

he opened the door wearing that same look he always did when you showed up at his place: smug, knowing, like he was already in control of whatever was about to happen. and usually he was right.

“you good?” he asked, stepping back.

you slammed the door behind you so hard the cheap frame rattled. chris’s eyes widened only a fraction as he glanced from you to the door and then back again, brows furrowing in both confusion and a little bit of irritation at your sudden outburst. the fact that he stood there, shirtless and his hair messy like he’d just rolled out of bed without a care in the world, only further angered you.

“damn,” he muttered, that previous hint of irritation melting into a smirk—like it was funny. “didn’t think you were that mad i didn’t say hi last night.”

you felt your blood run cold. it was his way of letting you know that he was aware of your presence, that he knew what he was doing right in front of you. and that you’d taken it just like always.

you stood there, keys still in your hand, your pulse thudding like war drums in your ears. the tequila hadn’t fully left your system yet, and the three hours of sleep you’d gotten only sharpened the edge of your anger.

“that girl,” you finally said, voice flat. “at the bar. who was she?”

chris leaned back against the counter like he was settling in for a show, something to entertain him, completely unbothered. “just some girl.”

you blinked, feeling that red-hot anger begin to boil in the pit of your stomach. “like i’m ‘just some girl?’”

he raised a brow, but his smirk dropped just a fraction. “did i say that?”

you stared at him, bewildered. “well, that’s how you make it feel, chris. i walk into that bar, and you don’t even look at me. you’ve got your hands all over someone else, and then you text me at 3 a.m. like i’m your closer of the night. your second choice if the first option doesn’t work out because you know i’m always there,” you snap, willing your voice not to break at the end. you can feel hot tears of embarrassment beginning to sting the corners of your eyes, and at the sight, chris’s jaw flexes.

“what the fuck are we talkin’ about here, kid? you knew what this was.”

“yeah. i did,” you quip, taking a step closer despite the desire to stay far, far away from him. “i knew you didn’t want anything serious. i knew you weren’t going to parade me around campus. but you know what else i knew?” you ask, staring at him incredulously.

when he doesn’t answer, you continue. “that i was sleeping with you and only you. that i was losing sleep over you. that i let you in, and i thought maybe you would do the same—that maybe it meant something to you, too.”

the brunette scoffed in your face, turning his head slightly like it was the most ridiculous thing he’d ever heard. “’m not fuckin’ responsible for your delusions.”

“don’t play dumb,” you seethed. “you didn’t have to say it out loud. you showed up. you touched me like i mattered. you held me after. you let me fall, and you never fucking stopped me.”

silence.

he didn’t deny it.

didn’t say sorry, either.

you felt your throat tighten, but you swallowed it down. no tears. not here, not now. not in front of him.

“i cried last night, chris,” you said, maybe just in a desperate attempt to see if he cared at all. “in the back of a car, drunk and humiliated, because the guy i’ve been seeing for months wouldn’t even look at me in public.”

his face finally shifted—something cracking beneath the surface—but you didn’t care. it was too late.

“i lied to my friends. lied to myself. i stayed your secret, and i let you make me feel like that was all i was worth. and you know what the was part is?”

you took another step forward, close enough to smell the mint on his breath. close enough to see the faint panic blooming behind his carefully neutral expression.

“the worst part is, i still wanted you. even after all of it. even after last night.”

his jaw tensed, but he still didn’t move. still didn’t reach for you. still didn’t fight.

“i’m done,” you whispered. “done sneaking around. done pretending this is something it’ll never be. that it doesn’t fucking hurt.”

chris blinked, frozen. for a split second, you thought he was going to say something. his mandible shifted like he was going to speak, but then you watched as his mouth pressed into a firm, hard line. remaining shut.

slowly, you nodded once, like you understood. you backed away, step by step, like peeling yourself off a bruise.

he didn’t follow, and he didn’t say anything else.

just watched you walk out the door for the last time—no fight, no apology, no anything. and that told you everything you needed to know.

you slammed the door behind you again, knowing this time it would stay shut.

 

a/n. ngl, i actually hate this LMAO. but i'm just attempting to challenge myself at some longer-form writing to hopefully get better at it in the future. sorry for anyone reading this lmfao <3

©sturnswiftie

dividers by; @bloodibambiidoll, @strangergraphics, and @kodaswrld.

[heartepub]

from the vantage point of death (teaser)

summary. when the lord of the dead meets the goddess of spring, all his plans are derailed. pairing. hades!choi seungcheol x f!persephone!reader genre/tags. reverse hades and persephone au, bastardizing mythologies to form my version of it, unhinged mc (a little, but we love her), NO STOCKHOLM SYNDROME, suggestive in the full version, more tags to come by then preview wc. ~600 ; full wc. ~10k (likely more) OUT NOW

notes. blaming @ylangelegy cos the hozier brainrot got 10000x worse and made me bump this fic up in word count more than my actual feb fics. title co-opted from uklg. my characters have taken over the page while I tag along for the ride. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined! stream hozier

For the first time in millennia, Seungcheol walks above ground. 

As expected, the Goddess of Spring’s domain is a lush garden, nothing but Life as far as the eye can see. He enters much more easily than expected; the wards have weakened concerningly so, even as the lingering magic in the air hint at their former strength. 

As he ventures in, the leaves sway to some invisible wind, a smidgen more alive-seeming than they would be in the mortal realm. Still, there is yellowing on some trees. Dead petals litter the floor. Leaves crunch under his shoe as he walks.

Though present, the Goddess’ magic is weakening.

“Goddess, are you here?” He calls.

In the distance, he hears someone coughing. 

Seungcheol breaks into a jog, concern rising. He plucks through the threads of death that he senses, filtering them out until a single golden string remains, though its luster seems to dull with every minute that passes. He follows it forward.

“Goddess, please speak if you hear me.”

“Here,” he finally hears a weak voice croak.

He turns, finding you sprawled a few feet shy of what is evidently your chambers. 

Seungcheol does not hesitate to lift you in his arms, walking up the steps you were collapsed on. Your breath escapes your mouth in reedy pants, eyes hazy and unseeing as you gaze at him without recognition. He nudges the gossamer curtains open, slipping through the gap while cradling you to his chest.

Seungcheol lowers you onto your bed, fluffing and adjusting the pillows the best he could. He finds a jug of water and a cup resting on a nearby table. Filling the cup, he tilts it up your lips. “Here. Drink.” You take small sips, holding not the cup, but his hands as he feeds the water to you. He feels your fingers trembling. Once a small noise of protest leaves you at the water still falling past your lips, Seungcheol quickly sets the cup aside, easing you into a lying position.

You close your eyes, breathing finally steady. Sorrow tugs at his heart as he wipes the sweat off your brow.

“Oh Goddess, how did this happen to you?”

It has been many centuries since the last time an immortal crossed the River. He wonders if the Underworld would be to your taste, absent of Life as it is. Only the lands of the blessed are lush with any kind of greenery, as it is near enough to Life, housing souls getting ready for reincarnation.

Lost in his thoughts, he does not notice the string of death that guided him to you suddenly wink into brilliant gold and disappear.

The Goddess’ eyes snap open, and Seungcheol startles. All too quickly, he feels strong hands grasp at his forearms and push. He stumbles back, almost tripping over his robes, but before he is able to resist, he lands in the middle of what he realizes is a ritual circle. The runes around his feet burst into brilliant gold light, washing the world in their glow. Vines rapidly begin to sprout, curling, tangling, and twisting above and around him. From beyond the light, he hears a faint voice chanting.

It is magic, but one entirely foreign to his eyes. 

Finally, the glow fades. That same force he sensed earlier seems to be binding him in place, making his limbs ten times heavier than normal. Seungcheol fights to stand, grasping at the structure in front of him to help himself up. A great tangle of vines surrounds him; despite their flimsy appearance, they refuse to break or wilt with any amount of magic he forces into them.

In fact, they only seem to grow stronger.

Confusion gives way to realization, and then dawning fury. He zeroes in on the woman on the other side of the cage. The haze in your eyes has disappeared, replaced with a sharp gaze and a triumphant smirk. Around you, the air crackles with power.

“Caught you.”

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime (pt. 3)

summary: as you're both standing in the hallway, all logan can think about is the version of you in his universe. pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader word count: 2.4k tags / warnings: angst - post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), brief appearance of wade, logan dreams about his universe's version of you (in italics), no use of y/n. a/n: wanted to write a chapter where it's solely logan's POV. i hope i captured the essence of his character (still pretty new on writing for him!). also pulled some inspo from the scene in prisoners where keller is sitting in the passenger seat of loki's car - ugh that scene gets me everytime! anyway, hope you all enjoyed bc my heart was breaking when listening to the song while writing... hehe stay tuned for more angst 😅 song: lost without you by freya ridings prev. part - next part.

Logan’s hand drops to his side as his eyes search yours. The sudden sense of familiarity stares right back at him, and he feels his heart swell with excitement, but breaks at the memory that nags in the back of his mind. Tears are pooling at the corners of his eyes, threatening to spill over. The chatter and laughter coming from the living room fades into the background as the only thing he can focus on is you. 

He’d be fooling himself if he thought this was his second chance with you. A second chance at making things right. Logan never got what he wanted and even when he got a glimpse of it, it was taken from him. He can’t lose you again and he knows that it’s going to hurt, knows that he’s going to break your heart (and his), but he knows that it’s better this way. You are better off without him. 

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispers, voice shaky. “You– You deserve someone better than me, than what I can give you.” Logan feels his heart break all over again at the sight of you – the way your lower lip trembles as a tear slides down your cheek – because he knows that you’ve heard this before. If your Logan was anything like him, then he knows that you’re used to this. Used to him deciding what’s best for you because he had done this same thing to the version of you in his universe. 

And the same look that you had in his other world is the same look you’re giving him now. Silently pleading with him that he is what you deserve because there’s no one better than him. In your eyes, Logan was (and will always be) the only man for you. 

Logan can sense your urge to reach out to him, to touch him, but he doesn’t let you because he knows that if you do, he’d fall deeper… and deeper until there’s no way out. And he doesn’t deserve that, doesn’t deserve you. So, he takes a step back, trying to create some distance between the both of you but he can’t ignore the way he feels a pull towards you, like there’s an invisible string tying your souls together. 

“You died in my arms,” he continues, eyes gazing into yours. “You died because of me, do you get that?” Logan’s hands curl into fists, his claws threatening to come out. “Everyone I love dies, bub. I can’t–”

“I can’t just continue living my life when I know that you are here, in this world,” your voice trembles and you bring your hand up to wipe your tears away. “I’m not her,” you repeat. “And I know you’re not him, but maybe–”

“No,” Logan interrupts you. “I won’t ever be the Logan you want me to be.” 

“I don’t want you to be anyone but you, Logan.”

Logan shakes his head, blinking away the tears as a couple trickles down the side of his cheek. “No,” he repeats. “I can’t lose you again,” he whispers. “You called out for me and I failed you. What happens if I fail you again in this universe?” 

You have no words. You just stare at him, your fingertips yearning to reach out to him, to touch him, to get him to see what you see. This version of him is much more closed off than your Logan and while you know that each man has their own fair share of trauma, the one standing in front of you cannot overlook the fact that you had died because of him. 

“You deserve to live a life–”

“I haven’t been living since I lost my Logan,” you interject. “Seeing you– I know that you aren’t the same man that I lost all those years ago, but…” you take a deep and shaky breath. “But I can’t help the way I feel, Logan. I think you know that because you feel it too.”

“Don’t matter if I do,” he replies. 

“Yes, it does. Don’t you want to be happy?” 

“A man like me don’t get to be happy,” Logan answers. He goes to turn on his heel, but you reach out for his wrist. Your touch alone sends shockwaves through him and he turns around to look at you. Your hand lingers before it drops back to your side and Logan’s gaze never leaves you. 

“You will never be my Logan. I know that,” you mumble. “But I don’t want you to be the same man. I just want you.” 

“Sometimes we don’t get what we want, bub.” 

“So, we’re just supposed to act like we don’t know each other? Act like there’s nothing between us and–”

“Exactly. I stay out of your way and you stay out of mine.” 

You stare at him and Logan breaks your gaze to look down at the floorboards, his hands still clenched into fists. He thinks you’re going to say something, to try and talk him out of it, so when he hears you begin walking away, he lifts his eyes to see your back turned as you leave him standing – alone – in the hallway. 

It’s only at that moment that his claws come out as he huffs under his breath. Logan feels a twist in the pit of his stomach, his heart breaking at the sight of you walking away from him. That was one thing different about you and the version of you in his universe. 

Here, you were tired. Exhausted. Fed up. And you couldn’t take it anymore. 

In his universe, you fought for him until you couldn’t anymore. Until your last breath. 

Logan remains standing in the hallway, his heightened senses solely focused and zeroed in on you as he hears you mutter to Laura that it’s time to go. Only he would notice the sadness in your tone, the tremble in your voice, but you do your best to hide it from the younger girl. It isn’t until he hears the door shut that he goes back into his room, slamming his own door in frustration. 

—

A few hours pass and Logan hears a knock at his door. He’s already gone through his case of beer and a bottle of whiskey and he needs more, needs to numb the pain that can’t seem to go away. While he can’t shake the memory of you dying in his arms, he also can’t ignore the way his heart is calling out this world’s version of you. 

“Ain’t in the mood,” he calls out, a slight slur to his voice. 

The knocks persist until Logan stands up to open the door. When he sees Wade on the other side, he lets out a sigh and tries to close the door in his face. Wade shakes his head and puts his foot against the door, looking in Logan’s direction. 

“We’re talking,” Wade says, pushing Logan back into his room. 

“Don’t wanna talk.”

“Yeah, well, I think you need to, Peanut.” 

“Ain’t your business,” Logan mutters. “Besides, I was just about to leave.” 

“To get more alcohol?”

“What’s it to you, hm?” Logan threatens, pressing a finger against Wade’s chest. “Last I checked, I didn’t even want to be here.” 

“Tough shit,” Wade replies. “You’re here now and you need to make the most of it.”

“I don’t need to do anything.”

“What did you both talk about?” Wade asks, changing the subject. “You both were talking for a bit before she just abruptly left with Laura. So, what happened?”

“Told her what she needed to hear,” Logan growls. “Ain’t my fault she didn’t like it.”

“You really like to make shit difficult, don’t you?” Wade says with a laugh. “You know, I think this world’s version of Logan liked to make things difficult too. Is that a thing with you Wolverines, hm? Can’t see a good thing when it’s right in front of you?” 

Logan curls his hands into fists, his claws slowly coming out. 

“Oh, it’s taking a while to get going, huh? I hear that happens when you age–”

Logan slams his fist into Wade’s jaw with a low growl. “Do you ever shut the fuck up?” 

Wade grunts, rubbing his jaw as he looks at the older man. “Never,” he grins. “Now, I’m gonna let that one slide because you’re going through something, but–”

Logan throws another punch in Wade’s direction, but Wade easily dodges it which causes Logan to stumble forwards. 

“Careful there, Peanut,” he chuckles. “Listen, I didn’t come in here to get you riled up–”

“Sure as hell seems like it,” Logan mumbles. 

“That woman,” Wade begins. “Is your person, Logan. I’m sure in every universe, there’s a version of you and a version of her who love each other.”

Logan looks over at Wade, jaw tight and hands still curled into fists.

I will love you in every lifetime. 

In every universe and in every lifetime, I’m yours. 

“She’s just going to get hurt,” Logan admits. “And it’s going to be because of me.” 

Wade shrugs. “That’s a possibility.” 

Logan glares. 

“But you’re already hurting her, Logan.”

“She’ll get over it.”

Wade scoffs. “Her Logan died so long ago. Did she get over that?” 

“That’s different.”

“It’s not.”

“I’m not him,” Logan says. “I won’t ever be him.”

“She doesn’t want you to be him,” Wade sighs. 

“She died because of me, Wade,” Logan mumbles. “Took her last breath in my arms because I wasn’t there and every day–” his voice catches in his throat. “Every day I hear her voice, calling out to me. Every. Day! I have to live with that. Not you. Not her. Me!” 

“But, she loves you…”

“And I love her,” Logan admits, tears trickling down his cheeks. “But I can’t– How can I be happy when there’s a version of her out there that’s dead because of me?” 

“Maybe she’s the reason you start to heal,” Wade answers. “And maybe… Maybe the version of her in your universe would want you to be happy, Logan.”

Logan shakes his head. He knows that Wade has a valid point. You had always wanted him to be happy. Even when Logan had pushed you away in his universe, you still wanted the best for him. You had every right to be upset and frustrated with him, but instead, you loved him from afar and he felt every ounce of your love even if he didn’t deserve it. 

“You should leave now,” Logan replies. “I don’t wanna talk about this shit.” 

“This is your chance to live a life you always wanted, Logan,” Wade says seriously. “Everyone of us deserves that, even you.” 

“I ain’t everyone, Wade.” Logan mutters. 

—

Logan finally manages to pass out once Wade leaves his room. Behind closed lids, all he can see is you. His universe’s version of you. 

You’re wearing a white dress and there’s a glow around you and still, you’re smiling at him. Logan’s lying on his side and you’re across from him, hand reaching out to touch his cheek. Logan lets out a sigh, bringing his own hand to touch your wrist and it feels so real. You feel so real. 

“Hi, baby,” you whisper. 

“Y– You’re real?” 

“As real as I can be,” you giggle. Logan feels his heart swell at the sound and he leans forward, resting his forehead against yours. 

“Can you stay?”

“Not for long.”

“Can I come with you?”

“No, baby,” you say sadly. “Not yet.”

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, tears stinging his eyes. “I should have– I should have been there. I should have fought alongside all of you and–”

“Hey, hey…” you brush the pad of your thumb across his cheek, feeling his tears trickle down. “We don’t blame you, Logan.”

“You called out to me, baby,” Logan’s voice trembles. “You died in my arms. You– All I can hear is you.”

“I know,” you whisper. “I wish I can take it away for you.” 

“I shouldn’t have ever pushed you away. I loved you so much.”

“I know,” you repeat. “I never questioned it.”

“Then, why did you let me push you away?” 

“Because,” you say softly. “I wanted you happy and if that meant pushing me away, then…”

“But I hurt you.”

“You did,” you nod. “But I never questioned your love for me, that’s the difference.” 

Logan slowly wraps his arms around you, burying his face against the side of your neck. “I want to stay. I’ve been lost without you.” 

“You can’t stay, baby,” you tell him, running your hands through his hair. “There’s still a lot of life for you to live, people to save, someone to love…”

He shakes his head as he feels his entire body tremble against you, an overwhelming flood of emotions washing over him. “She isn’t you…”

“And you’re not her Logan, so what?” you answer. “I told you I would love you in every lifetime, Logan…” 

“I can’t–”

“You can,” you whisper, pulling back to look into his eyes. “You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved, baby.” you lightly peck his lips as your hand drops from his cheek. 

Logan suddenly gasps awake, looking around the darkened room. He tries to search for you, eyes scanning rapidly until his gaze settles on the empty side of the bed. 

“You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved.” 

He sits up on the edge of the mattress, head in his hands as your voice echoes in his mind. You felt so real, looked so real. It had been a long time since you had visited his dreams. 

“You deserve to be happy, Logan. You deserve to be loved.” 

Logan looks at the time and stands from the bed, pulling on his leather jacket. He walks across the hallway and knocks on Wade’s door. It takes the other man a few minutes to get up, rubbing his eyes. When he opens the door to see Logan standing on the other side, fully dressed, he furrows a brow. 

“You know what time it is, Peanut?” 

“What’s her address?” 

“Whose?”

Logan grunts. “You know who.”

Wade suddenly begins to grin, scrambling back into his bedroom to grab his phone. He writes down your phone number and your address before handing the piece of paper to Logan. 

“Go get her, Peanut.” 

---

taglist: @its-in-the-woods @mynatureworld @wadewnstonwilson

[nvxzaa]

── .✦ strangled

Masterlist

—> Part one —> Part two — Hyung line — Maknae Line —

—> Part three

Pairing : Bahng Christopher x reader

Word : 665

Genre : angst

Warning : none

[___]

Entering the flat, Chan takes off his shoes slowly, looking around the entrance. No light. No sound. He calls out, a little hesitantly.

Chan

- Yn...?

No answer.

He walks to the living room. Everything in its place. Too much in its place. The plaid she always dragged over the sofa is folded. The mug with her initials is not on the coffee table where she always left it. He frowns.

He checks the room. His suitcase is there, locked. Her clothes are in the cupboard. But on the chest of drawers... several things are missing. Her old Moleskine notebook, worn to the binding - the one where she wrote down everything she couldn't say out loud - is gone. Her lion cuddly toy, which she had kept since childhood, is no longer on the bed. Her wooden-handled hairbrush, damaged on the side, is gone too. Her perfume, the one she'd worn every day since they met, is no longer on the shelf.

He opened the nightstand drawer: empty. She kept her anti-anxiety medication there. And a photo of them, taken on a rainy day in Busan. A square mark remains in the dust.

Chan takes a step back.

He sits down slowly on the edge of the bed. His hands shake a little.

- Shit...

He takes out his phone. He hesitates. Types a message. Deletes it. Starts another.

He presses "send".

The message stays there. One second. Two seconds. Then:

"Message not delivered."

He frowns. Checks the signal. All's well. He tries again.

"Message not delivered.

He opens their conversation. No profile picture. No status.

He goes to his networks. There's nothing.

Instagram: "User not found."

KakaoTalk: "You cannot send a message to this contact."

He freezes.

His heart drops in his chest like a block of concrete.

- No... no no no...

He gets up abruptly, spins around in the living room. Grabbing his phone, he dials her number.

Beep.

Beep.

"This number is not available at the moment. Please leave a message after the beep."

He hangs up. Drops the phone on the sofa. Runs his hands through his hair.

Suddenly, the flat seems immense. And empty. Terribly empty.

His eyes fell on the photo on their fridge: a Polaroid of the two of them, stuck together with a heart-shaped magnet. She was smiling broadly, her arms wrapped around him, and he was looking at her as if that were all that mattered.

He picked up the photo. He looked at it. And for the first time in a long time, Chan felt truly, deeply alone.

Chan puts the Polaroid back down, slowly. He rubs his face, tries to breathe, but it's no use - his throat is tight, his thoughts are crashing against his skull like waves in a storm.

He stumbles backwards, almost tripping over one of the stools on the kitchen counter. And that's when he sees it.

A small silver shard, left in a corner. Almost invisible against the pale marble.

He approaches it.

A bracelet.

The bracelet.

The one they'd bought together, two years ago, on a whim, in a tiny shop in Tokyo. A braided black thread, a small plaque engraved in Korean:

"같이 숨 쉬다"

(Breathing together.)

She never took it off. Not even to sleep. Not even in the shower.

And now it's here. Put down. Deposited. Deliberately.

Chan stands still. As if this little piece of string and metal weighed a ton.

He reaches out, trembling, and takes it between his fingers. It's warm. Recently removed.

A word, speechless, escapes his throat.

- What the fuck?

He collapses to the floor, leaning against the cupboards. His head falls back against the wall, his eyes fixed on that bracelet, as if it were the last link he had left.

But she was gone.

And this time, she had taken silence with her.

[cavegirlpoems]

cavegirl banging out the designs

Spectres A spectre is a magical girl who has given in to sadness, growing numb to the mundane world and disconnecting entirely. As her disassociation grows, her spirit slowly separates from her body until it splits off entirely. As her spirit finally emerges from her flesh, her body is left behind, seemingly having died tragically and young. Deaths of despair - overdose, suicide, heart attack - are typical, leaving the magical girl’s survivors to process the sudden shock of grief. And, invisible to them, a Spectre emerges from the magical girl’s corpse, her spirit blossoming out into something huge and alien, embodying the magical forces that pulled her from the world of flesh to begin with.

Becoming A Spectre After a Magical Girl has taken four advances, she can begin Metamorphosis to become a spectre, by taking the Numb Detachment optional ability: Numb Detachment: You’re able to shrug off entanglements with the material world. Whenever you’d be given a Condition, or somebody would get a String on you, you may ignore it. If you do, take a point of Numbness. When a Magical Girl’s Numbness plus her Strain equal twenty or more, her body dies, and her spirit emerges from it to become a newly-bloomed Spectre. Play out a scene where this happens. Decide what expression is on her face as her body dies; is it pain, peace, anticipation, triumph? Thereafter, the magical girl is now a Spectre. You can keep playing her.

Playing as a Spectre A spectre player character loses her Mundane persona entirely. Remove that playbook entirely, including your Name and Backstory. Your stats remain exactly as they were. You lose any Special Abilities from Mundane playbooks. You cannot use Mundane moves at all unless you have a Magical special Ability to do so in your Magical persona. Your Soul Jar is absorbed into your intangible form, and part of you. You no longer need to worry about protecting it or being separated from it. A spectre is a being entirely made of magic, with no physical presence. You cannot take material actions, and can only influence the material world via your magic. You can now use Primordial Moves. You can now spend points of Numbness. Each point of Numbness can do one of the following: ◆ Be treated exactly like it was a point of Momentum. ◆ Reduce a dice roll against you by 1. While your Numbness is lower than your Strain, you are Suffering. Treat it as a Condition that you can never lose. While your Numbness is higher than your Strain, you are Dreaming. Treat it as a Condition that you can never lose. If your Strain ever reaches 15, and you would pass out, it resets to 0, and pain briefly overwhelms you. Reduce your Numbness by 5. If your Numbness ever reaches 0, your essence is torn apart by the force of your raw emotions, without the shield of flesh or numbness to protect yourself. You come apart entirely and cease to be. Make a new character to play.

[rafeys-sweetie]

𝐍𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐓𝐡𝐢𝐬 ౨ৎ

Summary: Late-night quiet settles over the house after a long, chaotic day of new parenthood and a night full of washing binkies and bottle nipples.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x kook!reader

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆｡˚

The baby was finally asleep.

Finally.

You stood in the kitchen in one of JJ’s hoodies half on, half falling off your shoulder staring blankly at the mountain of baby bottles that had taken over the marble island like some kind of domestic apocalypse. Your hair was a mess. Your skin had that faint sheen of dried spit-up. Your feet were bare, swollen, and sore.

JJ, meanwhile, was being no help at all.

He was at the sink, shirtless, swinging a bottle brush like it was a weapon, pretending to duel an invisible opponent. “En garde, bitch! You messed with the wrong family. This is Baby Maybank’s bottle now!”

You didn’t even look up. “I swear to God if you don’t shut up, JJ, I’m going to hit you with the formula scoop.”

JJ gasped. “Damn. Hostile environment. HR’s gonna hear about this.”

You threw a nipple ring into the drying rack with unnecessary force.

JJ grinned, walking over to your side of the counter. He leaned on his elbows like he wasn’t part of your exhaustion. “You mad at me?”

“I’m mad at everything.” You glared at him. “I’ve had a baby attached to my tit for like 19 hours. I haven’t slept. My hair smells like sour milk. My nipples burn. And your idea of helping is… whatever this is.”

JJ nodded slowly, blinking dramatically. “Right. Totally valid. Quick question, though… do you think now’s a bad time to ask for sex?”

You stared at him.

He grinned wider. “I’m just testing the vibe! You never know! Hormones!”

“JJ.”

“What? I miss you!”

You groaned, dragging your hands down your face. “Go drown yourself in the pool.”

JJ gasped again fake offended. “Wow. Harsh from the woman who begged me for an epidural and then cried because the nurse said I looked like a golden retriever.”

“That was after I pushed your kid out of my body!”

“And you looked so hot doing it, by the way. 11/10 performance. I’d knock you up again right now if you weren’t actively vibrating with rage.”

You threw a bib at his face.

He caught it, held it to his chest dramatically like he’d been shot, then dropped it on the floor and pointed at you. “You need to chill.”

“I need a spa day.”

“No, babe. You need a pool dunking.”

You blinked. “Don’t you dare.”

But he was already moving. Already got that look in his eye mischievous little shit with too much energy and nowhere to put it now that he wasn’t dodging cops or dealing with his dad.

“JJ. I’m not in the mood—JJ, don’t—”

Too late.

He swooped in and grabbed you by the waist, hauling you over his shoulder like a sack of laundry.

“JJ MAYBANK, I JUST WASHED MY HAIR—”

He slid the patio door open with one hand like some cocky golden god and walked out into the night.

The pool shimmered under string lights, reflecting blues and silvers across the backyard like something out of a dream.

“JJ—I swear to God—”

“You’ll thank me when you’re not a demon anymore!” he said gleefully, then launched you into the pool.

Splash.

You popped up with a curse, hair everywhere, hoodie soaked, looking like a pissed off siren.

JJ dropped to his knees by the pool, laughing so hard he wheezed.

“You are SUCH a little shit!” you shouted, splashing water in his face.

He wiped his face off, still grinning like the devil. “You’re not mad.”

“I’m furious.”

“You’re not,” he said smugly. “I can see your dimples.”

You swam closer and grabbed his wrist. “Get in here.”

He blinked. “We talkin’ peace treaty or waterboarding?”

You tugged harder. “I’m dragging your stupid ass in.”

He laughed, pulled his shirt off over his head in one smooth motion and damn then dove clean into the water.

He surfaced right in front of you, glistening under the moonlight, blonde hair pushed back, grin in full force.

And just like that god help you you were melting.

“Hey,” he said, low, breathless. “Hey,” You replied.

Then rolled your eyes, treading water. “You’re still a menace.”

He closed the gap, voice a little rougher now. “You’re so fucking pretty when you’re mad at me.”

His hand found your waist, fingers sliding under the soaked hem of his hoodie still clinging to your skin. Your legs wrapped around his waist.

“You’re lucky I didn’t throw a baby wipe at you,” you muttered.

“I’m lucky you love me,” he corrected, brushing your wet hair from your face, eyes darkening as he tugged the hoodie over your head and tossed it toward the patio.

It landed with a wet slap.

You were left in nothing but your thin bra and panties soaked, clinging, sheer under the pool lights. You crossed your arms over your chest instinctively, but JJ just stood there, chest rising and falling a little faster now, mouth slightly open.

“Holy shit,” he whispered.

You raised a brow. “You gonna say something or just stare?”

“I’m reverent Ma.” He reached out, slow and soft, like you were a painting. His fingers skimmed your waist, up your ribcage, along the strap of your bra. “You’re like… Aphrodite. But pissed off. And damp.”

You snorted, letting him pull you in.

And then he kissed you wet, open-mouthed, desperate. Not just soft pool make-out. This was I’ve missed you, I love you, I’m gonna worship you till you can’t walk kind of kissing. His hands slid down your back, under your thighs, lifting you so you wrapped your legs around his waist.

You could feel everything.

“JJ…” you whispered against his mouth.

“I got you,” he murmured, nipping at your lower lip. “I know you’re tired. Let me take care of you.”

You moaned softly, head falling back as he kissed down your throat, teeth grazing just enough to make you gasp.

“Let’s make a new rule,” he mumbled against your collarbone, “every time you get mad at me… I strip you down and throw you in the pool.”

You laughed breathlessly. “You’re gonna owe me chlorine.”

“I’ll buy you a whole damn pool, Kook girl,” he whispered, sliding one hand down to the curve of your ass, kneading, claiming. “You’re mine. My girl. My baby mama. My wife in everything but legal paperwork.”

And in that glowing, half-silent, post-chaos moment, as you kissed him like he was air and he held you like he’d die if he let go, you knew.

You’d let him throw you into a thousand pools.

As long as he caught you every damn time.

[scorpioriesling]

Invisible String - Part 2

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Pairing(s): Eris x reader

Warning(s): light angst if you squint. Please be advised; future parts might not be suitable for all audiences. Proceed with caution.

Summary: You'd taken the nanny position for the royal family over a year ago, not expecting what would come of it or how close you'd grow to the child you cared for. Things became tough for Eris when his wife left him and his daughter, and he found it increasingly harder to raise Riley himself. He soon realizes, you've provided a lot more than the typical job description duties for his daughter... and maybe for him, too.

SR’s Note: I added in the advisory so that younger / uncomfortable readers won't begin the series without knowing or expecting potential risks in content to come. For those who enjoy or look forward to content as such -- get excited! Nonetheless, I hope readers will enjoy this series that came to me in a dream one night. (; Much love to all.

Tags: @cynthiesjmxazrielslover @talesofadragon @rcarbo1 @mandziaaa @lilah-asteria @a-frog-with-a-laptop @kitsunetori (inbox me or comment if you'd like to be added!)

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* ✧･ﾟ: *

Part 1

You paced back and forth awkwardly around your room, not sure what to do with your time. Normally, you'd give Riley a bath and see her off to bed -- but not tonight. Her father had come home during dinner today, and you almost couldn't believe your eyes when he'd materialized before the both of you in the dining room.

Gods, you'd never seen her so excited to see him come home in all the time you'd known the two. She truly missed him when he was gone, just waiting to see her dad come home at the end of the day. You understood; to be honest, you worried some nights when he would be gone late, always apologizing like his timing was the end of the world. He failed to realize that it was his safe return you were more concerned with.

You paused, shrieks of laughter heard from the opposite end of the Wing and you smiled to yourself. Padding over to your open doorway, you peeked your head out, listening as Eris' faint voice spoke with his daughter, saying something that had her giggling once more before you heard the distinct sound of her door latching shut. You retreated back into your room, trying to find anything to busy yourself as the sound of his shoes drew nearer toward your room.

"Could I offer any help with the last of those?" Eris asks, leaning casually against the doorframe as he gestures toward the stack of heavy boxes piled in the corner of your room. You turn, crossing your arms and then uncrossing them, not quite finding a comfortable position.

"Um... well, I could probably get them, tomorrow." You shrug, biting on your lower lip. Eris' eyes study your face for a long moment before he chuckles, walking over to the pile and pushing up his sleeves with such grace. He lifts the top box, his arms flexing under the weight as he adjusts his grip under the edges.

You try, really, really hard not to stare.

"I'll leave these outside to be picked up in the morning, unless you needed them to be kept for something?" He asks, and you all but shake your head before he heads out of your room, leaving you in awe. You shake your head, get it together. That is your boss, for Gods sakes. You take a deep breath, pushing your hair behind your ears before reaching for the next highest box, barely reaching the upper rim before its contents nearly spill over on top of you.

"Cauldron damned-" your curse is cut off when the box doesn't completely dump out on to you, but is caught haphazardly between your hands and one of Eris'. His other one is wrapped around your waist, preventing your impending collision with the floor.

"Woah! Woah," he says, his voice much closer than you expected and you open your eyes you'd inadvertently squeezed shut. He loomed over you, holding you so close to his chest that you sucked in a breath, your eyes widening when they met his peering down at you.

"I'm..." you made to stand, and he lifted the cardboard from your hands. "I thought I could help with that one." You said sheepishly. He chuckled, glancing sidelong at you.

"Always trying to do everything," he muttered. "Honestly, I'm just surprised to hear Y/N actually say a bad word out loud."

You set your hands on your hips, raising an eyebrow and ignoring his teasing remark.

"This is my mess, anyhow. I was just trying to help."

He turns, heading for the door once more.

"Allow me to help you for once, hm?" He says, winking and walking out. You roll your eyes, irritated at how warm your cheeks feel. You flit about the room, putting random smaller items away and folding a few articles of clothing as Eris makes the last few trips. When he comes back in for the final time, he sits on the edge of your bed with a sigh, running a hand through his hair.

You look to him, noticing his exhaustion from the day again. "Thank you," you say, and he looks to you again. He offers you a small smile, leaning back on his hands.

"For all that you've done, helping you move a few boxes is incomparable." Your lips curve upward as you place a few more of your skirts inside the drawers of the dresser, averting his eye. After a few shared moments of quiet, he speaks again.

"This room... its... I'm glad someone is using it again." He says, his hand running softly over the duvet. You glance at him, his fallen expression puzzling as you go about tidying up.

"Oh?"

He's quiet again before he looks at you. "I used to avoid coming in here, after... well, after Selene left." He says quietly, and you pause. The air feels thick, you try to keep breathing evenly as your mind races.

"She... the two of you didn't share...?"

"No." He whispers, looking at the floor. "She thought only mates should share a room."

You shoved the drawer closed, walking slowly to the bedside and sitting next to him.

"I'm sure this is common knowledge by now, but our marriage was simply a transaction, a sign of goodwill between our courts." He let out a humorless laugh. "No magic, golden thread there."

For everything he'd done for his court, all the battles he'd won, every fight he'd fought and all he'd witnessed... this was a subject he rarely discussed, as it seemed tomdrag him down the most.

"Eris..." You said softly, reaching out a hand timidly and placing it on his arm. He braced lightly against the touch, and you leaned closer. "I'm so sorry that you were treated that way-"

He sniffed, his hand rubbing along his jaw quickly before he stood, your outstretched hand slowly retracting with the distance between you two.

"It's alright. Nothing for you to worry about, anyway." He flashed a humorless half-smile, and you stared up at him with concern. You could tell it was a tough subject for him, and you definately didn't want to pry; but he didn't exactly have many other people to open up to.

"Well... alright then." You say defeatedly. He nods, turning and heading for the door. He looks over his shoulder only once more before closing the door behind him.

"Sleep well, Y/N."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Apple juice, please?" Riley asks, and you pour her a fresh glass, delivering it to her awaiting hand. She sips quietly, then blinks a few times when you sit down beside her. "Oh -- thanks!" She smiles.

You nod, silently praising her good mannered habits. You could still remember when you arrived at the Forest House, the little spitfire was ordering people around at the ripe age of three. "Give this!" and "Do that!" was all she managed, and though her heart was pure, you did encourage better etiquitte; luckily, it stuck.

"Daddy said he have a surprise," she swung her legs under the table, some of her juice swishing in her cup. You raised an eyebrow.

"Did he, now?" You weren't sure what she was talking about, or if there really was a surprise at all. Eris had made haste this morning, rushing past you this morning on his way out the door. He'd barely kissed his daughter goodbye before he was on his horse and halfway to the border-

"He did! He said he had one." She insisted, and you nodded in understanding. What it could be, you had no clue.

"Well, lets finish our dinner so we're ready when he gets home, yes?" You suggest, and Riley agrees, jamming the last of her chicken nuggets into her mouth and chewing with maximum effort. You shake your head, smiling at just how normal the girl was. You were just glad she found joy in chicken nuggets still, and didn't request challenging dishes every meal quite yet.

Insisting on wearing her fluffy pink footie pajamas, Rylie then sat in your lap on the couch, her stuffed beagle clutched in her hands as you brushed out her wet-clean locks.

"Braid it pretty?" She asks, and you leaned in, kissing the top of her little head. She grinned, holding her little beagle's head to her lips and kissing it's head just the same.

"Anything for you, Riles," you say, getting to work on the long strawberry strands. She sits very patiently for a four year old; that is, until you've secured the band at the end of your work and the front door creaks open.

"Daddy!" She's up in an instant, running to the door with glee and clinging to her father's leg the moment she spots him. You stay seated a moment longer, listening from the living area but not quite ready to see Eris yet. After the tense conversation last night, you couldn't help but feel... awkward, after the conversation.

After a few minutes, Riley has retreated to the living room looking rather dejected. Your brows knit as she stalks toward you, her beagle hanging limply from her fingers.

"Daddy says bedtime. You take me please?" She says, looking down at the floor. You frown, your hands lifting under her arms as she wraps her legs around your waist.

"Of course sweetie," you try to sound upbeat, but she only lays her head on your shoulder. You pet her head, wrapping your other hand around her to keep her propped up against your waist as you make your way to her end of the Wing. You look around as you go, not seeing any sign of Eris on your way. He literally just got home, what the Hell could he possibly have to do right now?

Once you reach her room, you place her gently atop her plush duvet, her eyes half closed when her head touches the pillow. You pull a loose blanket over her legs, knowing sometimes she gets cold at night, and kiss her little cheek one last time before moving toward the door.

"Y/N," she whispers. Your eyes meet hers in the dim light, your fingers stalling as they reach for the glowing tableside lamp.

"Yes dear?"

"Can you please read? Please?" Her bottom lip trembles. "D-daddy always reads... he reads my book..." she sucks in a breath of air, and you rush over to her bed, taking her little hand in yours.

"Yes, of course honey!" You say, hoping she will feel better. "I would love to read you a story," you look left and right, searching for any tomes near her bed. She lifts a limp hand, her finger pointing to the book resting at the opposite end of her bed.

"You'd like that one? The Kissing Hand?" She nods, one tear slipping free and running down her cheek. You hastily grab the book, and she scoots over, making a space for you to lay beside her. You scoot close, reaching an arm around her and she snuggles close as you flip open the book. Her little fingers wipe her tear from her cheek, and you begin to read.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You weren't sure when you'd drifted off, but when you slipped back into consciousness, your back ached from its cramped position on the small bed. You looked around, the darkened room coming into view as well as the peacefully sleeping babe next to you.

You must have fallen asleep reading to her, you thought. Surely you'd left the lamp on though; its glow would come in handy now as you tried to slip silently out of her embrace, sneaking out in absolute darkness. At least the door was still cracked open.

You'd stumbled around quietly enough and made it down the hallway to the kitchen, the clock on the wall coming into view.

Four in the morning. Gods.

You kept walking, feeling along the walls until you found your bedroom door, and let yourself inside.

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

You woke up that morning to the delicious smell of cinnamon and sugar, the comfort of your plush bed surrounding you as the first light of day drifted through your curtains. You yawned, stretching out your arms and slowly opening your eyes.

Ahh, what a lovely morning.

Morning. The sun was out.

You threw the covers off of you hastily, your bare feet hitting the cold wood floors in a rush as you lunged for your door handle. Riley was surely awake by now, and surely starving. You bounded down the hallway, your steps faltering when you heard her familiar ramblings from the kitchen and registered the smell of food wafting through the air.

As you approached, you watched in pure shock as Eris stood over the kitchen island, his hand holding his daughters as he helped her spread icing over a tray of steaming cinnamon rolls, smiling and talking along with her. He hadn't noticed you walk in; but she sure did.

"Y/N! Finally! You're awake!" She squealed happily, and you forced a smile, still confused by the scene before you. Eris looked up then, his eyes meeting yours only briefly before he went back to the treats he was making.

"Good morning Riley," you said hesitantly, stepping closer toward the island. Eris' eyes flicked up again, snagging on the silk pajamas you'd changed into before collapsing onto your bed last night. You crossed your arms over your chest.

"Good morning. Eris." You said, and his mouth pressed into a thin line.

"Morning Y/N." He said plainly before turning to Riley, lifting her off the counter and setting her on the ground.

"Bunny, why don't you set the table," he handed her the silverware and a few plates. "And we'll join you in just a few minutes?" She nods, skipping into the dining room, as Eris braces his hands against the countertop, his eyes locked on yours once more.

You stare back, shrugging when you can't understand the point of standing in silence. "What?" You ask. He sighs, biting the inside of his cheek.

"Y/N, I'm sorry for the... discussion. We had. The other night, it was... highly, unprofessional." He nodded, looking down at the pan of cinnamon rolls once more. You raised an eyebrow, a soft laugh erupting from your lips and causing him to flick his gaze to you again.

"What is funny?" He asks, seeming a bit taken aback.

"Nothing, no," you say, smiling softly at him. "I just... Eris, I live in your home. I spend every day with your daughter. I think we're beyond professional, aren't we?" You say. He cocks his head to the side, a small smirk curving the side of his lips.

"I suppose we are, then."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

"Daddy. These cimanim rolls. Are. Delicious!" Riley grins with delight, Eris' expression a mirror of his daughter sitting next to him at the table. You watch the two and your heart swells; one day, you could only dream of having something so special as that.

"Why, thank you Princess!" Eris says, and she holds her chin high. You shake your head at her, and Eris' eyes meet yours, his face giving away exactly what he's thinking. After a few more quiet moments, he speaks up again.

"Bunny, I wanted to ask you about doing something fun today," he says, and Riley immediately perks up.

"Fun?" She asks, and he nods.

"In the Town Square, there is the Autumn Festival, and it would make me very happy as your daddy if you would go with me-"

"Yesss!" She shrieks, every single one of her teeth showing as she smiles in excitement. You can't help but feel so happy for her -- she deserves time with her father, and he's finally home to spend it with her, doing something she had been longing to do anyway.

"Ohmygosh I can't wait! I will wear my Princess dress so everyone knows I am a Princess, okay," she explains hastily, only pausing to take a sip from her glass of milk.

Eris nods, looking to you. "I figured you may appreciate at least a day off as well," he adds quietly, and you offer him a gentle smile. Truly, you didn't need one, but you appreciated his consideration all the same. Riley doesn't quite catch the incinuation, though.

"Y/N, you have to wear a dress. You can't borrow from me this time because you're too big," she says, hopping from her chair. "You have a dress?" She asks. Your eyes meet her dad's and his mouth opens to answer first.

"Bunny," he starts. "I don't think Y/N was going to come today," he explains. Rileys brows knit in confusion as she looks at him.

"Why not?"

"Well," he says, trying to tread lightly. "Maybe Y/N has other things she would like to do today. It's okay though; just me and you can go." He says, but Riley looks to you, her eyes looking you up and down.

"What... what else do you want to do though?" She says, and you chuckle.

"Riley, honey, today you can go have fun with your daddy, alright? Me and you play here everyday," You reason with her. She doesn't let up, and Eris studies you from across the table.

"Daddy -- can Y/N just come too?" Riley says. You sigh, looking to Eris for help, but he only stares quietly at you, a small smile on his lips.

"I really will just stay here-"

"Yes." Eris says, and you meet his eyes, Riley spinning in happy little circles at the end of the table. "Y/N can absolutely come with us today."

･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

Part 3

[brookediamonds]

on again, off again, love you like oxygen | Axel Kovačević x Fem!Reader

Summary: What you and Axel had was undefinable. After months of longing and denial, you had enough and decided to confront the feelings you’d both been hiding leading a drunk confession that can't be taken back.

Word count: 3.3k Warnings: ANGSTYYY but happy ending :) drunk reader, drunk confessions

not my gif

It started a year ago. You and Axel had been ogling at each other for the last couple of months, sharing stolen glances, accidental touches, personal up close sparring that always ended with one of you on top of the other.

The sparks were there, your feelings for him only grew stronger as the days and months passed. You had fallen so hard for the captain of the Iron Dragons, that every other boy seemed irrelevant to you.

But he didn’t feel the same way. At least you think he didn’t.

After a long night of practice, you two were the last people in the dojo working on your techniques when you were having a hard time with a certain move.

Axel noticed your silent frustration, and came up to you offering an outsiders perspective. You couldn’t help but feel that warm tingling sensation inside when his hands find your waist guiding you through the move.

You took your chance, turning to face him, and when he didn’t move back or neglect your starry eyes, you felt this might be it, you might just kiss,

And you did. He’s breathing rapidly, he too had been waiting for this. The slow burn between you two had been worth it.

When he finally connects his lips with yours, there’s a fire ignited in the pit of your stomach, his lips were soft and moved perfectly with yours.

You go to pull away when he’s gazing down at you immensely, and suddenly picks you up with ease, wrapping your legs around his torso.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, he pushed you into the mirror of the gym wall, and reconnects your lips, never wanting to forget the taste of your mouth.

Your tongues clashed with each others as you ran a hand through his soft red brown hair, tugging at the ends making him moan into your open mouth.

You’re gasping for air when he pulls back, panting leaning his forehead against yours.

“I-I’m sorry,” Axel breathes out, cause you to knit your eyebrows together in confusion. He’s placing you back down on to your feet, removing your hold from him.

“Sorry for what?” You ask your mind not comprehending his sudden change of demeanor. He turns his back to you, avoiding your conflicted expression.

“I shouldn’t have kissed you, it won’t happen again,” he says quickly before grabbing his stuff off the floor and racing out of the building leaving you stunned.

That was just the beginning.

It continued like this for awhile, you’d find yourselves alone, unable to deny the attraction and invisible string that held you two together and extinguish the fire of want with a heated kiss,

He was the first one to always break apart and gaslight you into thinking what you two were doing was wrong and push you away the following day.

You grew tired of it eventually, and one evening when you were about to repeat the cycle, you held a hand to his chest stopping him from devouring your lips and said: “You either man up and admit you want me or this is done. I’m not a game you can play and quit whenever you want, I deserve respect.”

So he nodded, tucking your hair behind your ears and swallowed the lump in his throat. He knew this could be the very last time he’d ever get to be so close to you.

“You do deserve respect, I- I will leave you alone,” he confesses dropping his hands from your face. Your heart dropped, not wanting this to be the end, wanting him to embrace you and drop whatever act this was.

“Why are you doing this?” You ask desperately. “Why can’t you just admit you want to be with me?”

Axel was afraid, he was afraid of fully letting his guard down. He had been let down by his parents, his sensei, his siblings. While he knew he could trust you, there was still something holding him back from fully giving all of himself to you.

“You are all I have left,” he confesses. “I do not want to lose you if something should happen.”

You knew once you crossed this line, there was no return. You were still teenagers, friends come and go at your age and he didn’t want to risk losing you.

So you let him go.

-------------------------------------------------

“Two more please,” Zara calls out to the bartender. The two of you sat slightly buzzed at the counter of the bar in Barcelona, Spain drinking away the day you had.

It was successful at the tournament, and even though you had won your matches, you felt off.

“Another?” You ask hesitantly grimacing as the man behind the counter poured another shot of tequila.

“This will be the last one,” Zara promises sliding over the small glass of liquor.

“You said that two shot ago,” you narrow your eyes at the petite girl next to you.

“Cheers!” She grins ignoring your comment. You roll your eyes playfully, licking the salt on the back of your hand and shooting back the drink, squeezing a sunken in lime into your mouth.

You grimace, your lips puckering at the sharp burning feeling in your chest, making Zara laugh at your low tolerance for alcohol.

“Blagh!” You shake your head shuddering at the intense aftermath feeling.

“That was a good one,” your friend pats your back at your effort to hold back your tears. You begin to laugh wiping away the small tears that left your eyes.

As the two of you shared your laughter, you’re suddenly tapped on the shoulder making you turn to your right.

“Hey,” A boy with a blue and red mohawk greets you, a small smirk on his lips. He was also in the Sekai Taikai, not a bad fighter. You perk up, taking notice to his cute appearance.

“Hi,” you flirtatiously respond tilting your head to the side.

“Would you like to dance?” The stranger asks holding his hand out for you.

Glancing over to Zara she wiggles her perfectly framed eyebrows at you, teasing you to go.

“Sure!” You happily took his hand, hopping off the stool. He leads the way to the dance floor, pushing through the small crowd of people.

“I’m Eli, by the way,” he introduced himself. “But they call me ‘Hawk.”

You giggled at the nickname understanding his hair resonated with his title.

“(Y/n)!” You respond cheerfully, the warm fuzzy feeling streaming through your body. You had never felt so serene.

The two of you enclose in on each other swaying to the beat of the music playing, your body feeling the most relaxed its felt since the beginning of the tournament.

As Hawk grabbed your hand to twirl you around, you laughed at the movement until a certain face caught your eye.

Axel stood by the bar, keeping a close eye on your buzzed state. Whilst he didn’t want to be around people, especially during the Sekai Taikai, he also didn’t want you doing something while you were under the influence.

You decided to ignore him, and continue your fun with your new cute friend and danced closely to him.

After 15 minutes of dancing, Hawk pulls you in close by your waist, almost pressing his lips to your ear.

“I have to use the bathroom, I’ll be right back,” he excuses himself politely, leaving you swaying by yourself.

You smile waving its okay, and walk over to your abandoned seat by the bar, Zara already accompanying someone else.

“Water please,” you hear from behind you. Turning your head slightly, you see Axel has taken the seat next to you.

“I hope that’s for you,” you scoff turning to face the crowd, leaning against table behind you.

“You should drink some water,” he says his deep accent sending a warmth through you. The bartender places the iced drink down, making Axel slide it over to you.

“You drink water,” you mocked him. Turning back to the bar, you grin over at the man across from you sweetly.

“One shot of tequila, please!”

You’re not sure if you did it out of spite or because you needed some liquid courage.

“He is not good enough for you.”

Axel says it without looking at you, before getting up from his seat and walking back to where he was originally sitting in the corner.

You toss the shot back, and swallow it hard, as resentment boiled through you.

Striding over to Axel, pissed at his judgment, you punch him in the shoulder making him turn to you in disbelief.

“You don’t get to do that,” your voice is sharp and trembling with fury. “You don’t get to act like you care, like you’re protecting me, when you’re the one that keeps pushing me away!”

His jaw tightens, eyes faltering down to his hands at your words. There’s softness to them when they flicker back to your raging orbs, pleading you to understand where he was coming from.

Your mind feels hazy, the light weight feeling in your body wavering.

“You don’t get to tell me who’s good enough for me, you don’t get to decide that for me, Axel,” you hiccuped.

A wave of nausea suddenly comes over you, your head begging to spin.

“I-I—“ you’re reaching out to hold on to something when Axel see’s your drunken state and grabs on to you to keep you steady.

He’s holding you up by your waist, your hands reaching up to grasp on to his shirt.

“Okay, come on,” Axel sighs draping your right arm over his shoulder, and keeping one tight around your waist securely.

“Axel,” you slurred his name out, the world around spinning. “I don’t feel good.”

“I know, sweetheart, just hang on,” he’s trying to keep you from stumbling out of his grip, but when the fresh air hits you like a ton of bricks, you feel your stomach flip— and not the romantic kind.

You’re stumbling over to a bush, hacking up the liquor you had just consumed. Axel rushed over to you, gently pulling your hair back from your face, waiting patiently for you to finish.

“Please, just go,” you beg the boy rubbing your back soothingly. You spit out the remaining saliva, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

“I’m not leaving you,” he states softly. You slowly stood up straight, glaring up at the tall blurry boy. Boys?

“I’m mad at both of you right now,” you furrowed your eyebrows a small pout on your lips making Axel want to smile knowing you were seeing him twice.

“Be mad at us, and let us walk you back, okay?” He suggests. You roll your eyes and attempt to walk forward on your own, when you trip over your own feet, Axel catching you before you can hit the pavement.

It doesn’t take you two long to head back to the hotel, since it’s just down the street. As you stepped into the elevator, you lean back against the wall, shutting your eyes at the bright lights.

You feel heartbeat slow down, the wall giving you a sense of comfort, so much so you could fall asleep right there.

When the doors reopen, Axel notices your sleepy face, and bends down, placing his hands beneath your legs and scoops you into his arms.

He feels your face nuzzle into the side of his neck making his heart wrench in his chest.

“You smell nice,” you mumble. “And you’re warm.”

Axel chuckles, careful not to rock you too much when he pulls his key card out, and opens his hotel room door.

Once the door is closed, he lays you down gently on the bed, grabbing the small trashcan in the corner and placing by your bedside.

“Do you want to change into something more comfortable?” He asks kneeling down beside you.

You nod wordlessly, rising up cautiously in your spot. Axel grabs a random t-shirt and basketball shorts from his suitcase, placing them beside you.

“I will turn around,” he says reassuringly. As he turned to face the wall, you sluggishly pull your sundress over your head, throwing it over your shoulder without a care in the world, and slip on the large shirt and shorts.

You could laugh at how the clothes practically swallowed you, you carefully stood up from the bed and tugged at Axel's hand.

He whipped towards you, quirking up a small smile as he took in your baggy appearance.

"They're a little big," you frown holding up the shorts that wanted to fall.

"Here," Axel whispers gently moving your hands away so he could pull the drawstrings from the short to tighten and tie them securely to fit your waist.

You sighed staring up at the boy in front of you, that sinking, gut wrenching feeling spreading through your chest as he took care of you.

Axel walks over to the bed behind you, pulling the covers back, and guides you to the mattress, laying you down delicately.

As you lay your head down on the pillow, you pull the sheets up to your chin, continuing to gaze up at the boy you wanted so desperately.

"You comfortable? You want some water?" Axel leans down, stroking the side of of your head like it was an everyday occurrence, like he tucked you in every night and ran his fingers through your locks.

"I'm okay," you mumble sniffling.

He goes to stand up, when you reach out for his hand, making him look down at you.

"Did I mean anything to you?" Your voice is small and fragile, breaking as the question left your lips.

“(Y/n)...” he whispered, his voice thick with regret as he knelt beside the bed. His hand reached up, thumb brushing away the tears that spilled down your cheeks. His touch was gentle, but his expression was anything but—his stormy eyes swirled with guilt, fear, and something deeper.

You leaned into his hand, your fingers curling around his wrist to keep him there, to make him feel what he meant to you.

"I know you're afraid to let me love you," you said, your voice trembling. "But I already do, and I'm not going anywhere, Axel."

Your eyes are now fighting to stay open, the softness of the pillow below you enveloping you warmly.

"I'd never leave you..." you mutter your eyes fluttering close, sleep overcoming you.

Axel hung his head low, unable to register your drunken words. Listening to the sound of your soft snores, he moved a piece of your hair away from your face, wanting to kiss your tear stained skin.

"You mean everything to me," he confesses lowly.

But you were asleep, still under the influence he didn't feel the same as you.

-------------------------------------------------

Before you can even open your eyes, you feel the throbbing headache knocking at the back of your skull making you groan softly.

Squinting your eyes open, a blue hue of light is coming through the curtains indicating it was rather early. Glancing over at the clock with one eye open, it reads 7:13 AM.

Looking down at the floor, you notice there's a make shift bed made out of sheets and a pillow indicating someone had slept on the floor. Axel.

You rubbed your eyes not caring about the dry mascara clumping up on your lashes, before glancing down in confusion at the backwards jacket wrapped around you.

"What?" You mumble feeling around your back, the jacket completely zipped up.

The door opened revealing Axel holding a bottle of water in one hand and a to go box in the other.

"Good morning," he greets you warmly almost teasingly.

Your stomach churned—not from the hangover, but from the flood of flashbacks that hit you like a tidal wave. The stubborn refusal to let him help, the rambling declarations, the way you’d nuzzled into his neck like some lovesick puppy.

"I brought you some water and breakfast," He sets down the bottle on the night stand next to you along with the box of food. "Got you some of these, as well."

He places two pills near your water making you sigh in relief. Desperately reaching over for them, you waft them down with a swig of water.

"What's with the straight jacket?" You ask holding your arms up in a T.

"Uh, well," he laughs awkwardly, a heat creeping up his neck as he thinks back to the thirty minutes after you fell asleep, you woke up again with an insane amount of energy.

You raised an eyebrow placing your water back on the table waiting for him to continue.

"You kept trying to take shirt off, so I closed up jacket from behind you to keep you from..." He motions to your confidence, making you shove your face into your hands from embarrassment.

"You had to refrain me from stripping," you groaned into your hands. "My god, I've hit rock bottom."

"It could have been worse," he fails to convince you, a suppressed smirk on his face.

"I don't see how," you shook your head. "Please help me take this off."

He sits down next to you as you turn your back to him, lifting your hair up for him. Axel tugs the zipper down, releasing you from your restraints.

You felt like you could breathe again as you peeled off the jacket, and twisted around to face your helper.

"Thank you for helping me," you say softly unable to avoid his intense gaze.

"No need to thank me," he excuses. "You would do same for me."

You nodded in agreement with a faint smile. "I would."

Axel held an unreadable expression, a conflicted one that made you know he was holding back.

"What's wrong?" You ask. He knew this was the time, it was now or never.

"Last night, you said some things," he says referring back to your tear triggering conversation. It made you want to throw up, and not because of the hangover.

"I know, I know how you feel and I shouldn’t have—" you're already moving to stand up when he grabs your wrist and moved to stand in front of you.

"Please, just listen," he begs you, his dark blue irises holding you in a trance. "I need to say this."

You swallowed hard, your legs trembling as you sat back down.

“Okay,” you whispered, barely trusting your voice.

He sits down next to you, never breaking eye contact with you.

"I have been afraid,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “Afraid of ruining this, of losing you. But hearing you say those words...” He shook his head, a small, almost disbelieving smile tugging at his lips. ���It made me realize I’ve been pushing you away, running from us.”

You felt your heart crack open at his words, the vulnerability in his tone cutting through every fear and doubt.

"I love you, I don't know why I was so afraid to say it," he says truthfully. "But I will say it a hundred more times to make up for all the times I never was able to."

You can't help but throw your arms around him, pulling him close. He reciprocates the embrace, pulling you into him, never wanting to let go.

"I love you too, Axel," you whisper against his shoulder. "I've waited so long to hear you say that."

He pulls back just enough for you to look up at him, his hands framing your face. His pink lips held the softest grin, one that's only for you.

"You will hear it from me everyday if you will let me," he proposes. You chuckle leaning your forehead close to his.

Without another word, you close the distance, your lips meeting his in a kiss that’s slow at first, but deepens as you two found comfort knowing now this all meant something.

It was a quiet confession of everything you’ve wanted to say but never found the words for.

When you pull away, breathless, your foreheads touch once more, and the smile on his lips mirrors the one on yours.

“I love you,” he whispers again, as if saying it once wasn’t enough.

“I know,” you reply softly, your hand gently brushing his cheek. “I love you, too.”

-------------------------------------------------

(a/n: heyyy what is up, my guys?? sorry this took so long i had family in town was writing while in the car and all that jazz but working on requests next!!)

[mandarinmoons]

How Could Anybody Have You I Spencer Reid

Pairing: Spencer Reid x gender neutral reader

Content warning: none

Word count: ~500

Summary: After having your heart broken Spencer is the one to comfort you in your time of need

Authors note: This piece got inspired by lyrics taken from the song Los Ageless by St. Vincent!

Tears cascaded down your eyes as sobs continued to rock your body. This wasn’t supposed to go this way, how could it go this way? You were supposed to be swept off of your feet by the supposed love of your life, but instead he decided to cut the invisible strings linking your hearts and then drive a knife through it as well. You thought that he was the one, but the illusion of that thought was shattered when you found out that he had met another woman.

“I’m so sorry dear.”

Spencer rushed over as soon as he heard your voice crack on the phone when you called him. He’d never seen you this broken before and it took everything in him to keep a calm composure and not go over to your ex’s place and break his neck. However, he knew that his priority was comforting you at the moment and nothing was going to drag him away until he knew you felt better.

Your face was pressed against Spencer’s chest, tears wetting his shirt and your hand clutching it.

“I just, I just don’t know how he could-”, before you were able to finish your sentence, a hiccup made its way out of your mouth and the words you wanted to say were gargled.

Spencer continued to smooth his hand down your back, the pads of his fingers trailing down your spine, the action making you cuddle into his chest more.

Spencer watched as your breathing slowly evened out and your hold on his shirt loosened, as much as he secretly loved seeing you depend on him so much he knew the reasons for it were the last thing he wanted you to experience. He wanted you to be single though, as selfish as it sounded. He didn’t want to see another man with the wrong intentions get a hold of you and take you for granted, he knew that he could treat you the way you deserved to be treated, if not better.

“I just don’t understand,” your eyebrows furrowed at Spencer’s words.

“What do you mean?”

“How could anybody have you and lose you and not lose their minds too?”

You felt your heart stop for a moment. Spencer was always kind to you, too kind. Everyone mentioned how Spencer would go out of his way to make you happy, which you didn’t see at first but over time you saw what they meant. On one instance, Spencer would go to five different stores in order to find your favorite brand of coffee, no one had ever been that persistent to please you before.

“I just… I don’t want you to cry over this douchebag for that long because he wasn’t good for you, Y/N.”

“I know…thank you Spencer, for everything.”

Slightly leaning over, you placed a light kiss on Spencer’s cheek and you felt his arms around you tighten a bit. Spencer leaned down and rested his lips on your head, an action that spoke louder than words.

The rest of the night was filled with more cuddling and Spencer finally getting a smile out of you. Eventually you passed out due to the exhaustion from the crying and Spencer made sure to drape the covers over you while he rested beside you, always there when you needed him.

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[yzzart]

okok but what about a fic with coriolanus based off of the unreleased version of national anthem, i want it all by lana del rey??? like she has the same ambitions and drive as him (a little coocoo) and they kind of just manipulate each other, but like they do really love each other yk?? food for thought 😙

"𝐁𝐲𝐞, 𝐛𝐲𝐞, 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐲!"

pairing: young!Coriolanus Snow x f!reader.

word count: 674!

summary: if you wanted one thing, Coriolanus would give it to you.

warnings: mention of manipulation, excerpts from "I want it all" by Lana Del Rey, Coriolanus needy and wrapped around reader's finger, reader sitting on Coriolanus' lap.

The word "frustration" was so mediocre in your tongue that, at times, it burned your with pure bitterness. — With such an immoral meaning, there is no meaning in your life.

And you didn't even have a drop of pleasure in mentioning it in secret, in front of and outside the harsh and venomous gazes of your classmates. — After all, you didn't want them to be able to associate your fascinating image with that word.

Even if, at times, that feeling of relief, tranquility in your life and especially in the financial sense, turned into a knot of frustration, disappointment with factors that didn't go your way. — Taken for days, completely, fragile and indiscreet. — You would never admit or mention it, not even with your dying breath.

However, there was one person among those neat and arrogant vipers who recognized your despair, observed your fragility with his deep and beautiful blue eyes; who paid attention to you, getting to know you. — Silently admiring your steps on clumsy days. — Watching how you manipulated those who had something that marked your interest.

You loved to seduce any look to achieve your greatest desires. — Mainly, the look so full of feelings, displeasures and sensitivities

Coriolanus understood your body language, and was surprised by it; in most times and situations, you didn't even need to say a word, not even release a sigh, because he already had in mind what could have happened. — And that he could use that to his advantage.

But the prodigal boy, so admired and recognized by the university and envied by the majority, had no capacity to involve and blackmail you; no, he couldn't. — And it was an ironic play, because Coriolanus would commit such an action with anyone. — Even if your situation, his life is at a moment of failure and, intensely, unpleasant.

Coriolanus, in his reason for wanting, wanting everything he wanted most in his life, or that could help him or even favor him, he would do anything. — To enjoy his power, to lift his mediocre life from misery and poverty, Coriolanus would do absolutely anything. — Just like you, even in different circumstances.

Like, maybe, he would do anything for you. — And maybe, you would do anything for him and for him. — However, the factors that could benefit you always come first.

"Do you think you'll kill for me one day?" — Your voice, lost, in pure sympathy and your hands passing through some white and curly locks that were stuck on his forehead; a sweet gesture for a slightly inappropriate moment.

Sitting between Coriolanus's thighs, you settled, beautifully, on his lap; as if it were his favorite seat. — The distress, which didn't bother your so much, from his rich-looking fabric pants touched your skin. — You were so relaxed, carefree.

And also wrapping the young boy Snow around your finger, with an invisible string before his eyes.

Coriolanus was stunned, his cheeks red and hot, swallowing hard and trying his best to remain conscious; he was funny so ridiculous. — The one worthy of the surname Snow, the one who had a promising future and drew confident and ambitious comedians, was nothing more than a trembling and needy soul.

He had the answer on the tip of his tongue, between his bright, reddish lips, but he hadn't committed to saying it. — Coriolanus felt his heart beating faster and faster, feeling like it would leave his chest at any moment and he wouldn't even have the ability to control it.

"Yes." — Coriolanus sighed, so breathless and marking his bluish irises and poisoned by attention on your lips and, soon, your eyes. — "Of course i will, my darling."

God, he wasn't lying; Coriolanus would never do such a merciless and deplorable thing against you. — Even in his last circumstances, in his worst second of life. — He felt so pathetic, sensitive but only you could make him feel that way.

Your lips curved into a gratifying smile, feeling satisfied and fortunate, and almost brushed against Coriolanus's. — You always got what you wanted and wanted most.

[xoxochb]

it's me again, hehehehe 🙈

semaine de la mode - (jason grace + t.s. invisible string)

⋆·˚ ༘ * one single thread of gold tied me to you

warnings: soulmate au pairing: jason grace x fem! reader a/n: the ending is a tad rushed 😣

jason grace was a fucking disaster. the quest was thrown off track when you had been taken by some stupid monster. you had an attempt to hurt it by instead it took you in its hands, incinerating you almost instantly, the only thing left was gold ashes. where you went was a mystery to everyone on the argo ii except for the son of jupiter. he knew exactly where you were

he didn’t quite know why, however. he just knew. It was weird, when any of his others friends were apart for him, it was unknown where they could be. whenever you weren’t in the very blurry vision of jason grace he knew where exactly you were. even if it was just at night, if you were laying in bed he would know, if you walked past him he knew where you were going and it worried him

why were you so special? he loved you, yes- admittedly more than anyone else on the ship but you weren’t even dating. but of course you were special to him, jason held you so dear in his heart and if something bad were to happen to you he might have to be institutionalized or he’d never survive

did he only feel your parting because he was in love with you? because he sure as hell wasn’t in love with anyone else, you were the only thing occupying his mind. it might’ve been annoying to others but oh gods he loved you and nothing could ever make him hate the thought of you

jason grace couldn’t sleep. since you were taken, not even a minute of rest came to him. he spent his nights and days planning how to rescue you. even when his eyelids shut the vision of you tied up in gods know where was mortifying, enough to keep him going until you were safe in his arms once again

he spoke to his friends about the reoccurring visions of you in despair, they- of course- helped him find you. two weeks after your kidnapping the argo ii arrived at your keeping. it was a dark cave, most definitely monster-infested but he would rather risk his life than let you die. jason assured his occupants that he could handle finding you himself, percy begged to help but jason declined and entered the stygian cave

It was dark. It was very dark. jason had no clue where he was going but nonetheless he kept going, eager to see you again. he reached a two way path- right or left, right or left…

he went right. as stupid as it sounds jason picked right because it was your favorite direction (you had told him this one night when he couldn’t sleep, it was the middle of the night and it amazed you that he remembered it). the ground was wet. he knew this was a good sign because in his visions he had seen water behind you. just as he thought he was getting close something stops him

jason looks up from the ground. a very ugly cyclops stands before him. oh he nearly screams but the content face of the monster is highly disturbing enough to stop any sound coming from his mouth

“wedding guest” says the cyclops

jason contemplates answering because seriously- what kind of statement is that? he pulls out his sword incase what he’s about to say is not cyclops appropriate

“who’s wedding?”

the cyclops proudly puffs out his chest. “y/n and me”

oh no

“where is she?”

“are you a wedding guest?”

“I’m here to object”

“you will not”

jason is thankful for the darkness of the cave. he positions his sword towards the cyclops. “who says?”

“I do”

“yeah?”

the cyclops nods. three… two… one… jason slides his sword into the monsters abdomen. the cyclops does not like this, attempting to rip it out but jason makes sure that it will not, sliding it in further until it reaches the opposite side. the monster makes noises in pain and occasional curses, his hands stay tightly around whatever part of the weapon he could reach

he left the cyclops there and rushed away. yes, maybe he should’ve waited until it was dead but honestly when he was this close to finding you nothing else really mattered. nothing else ever mattered when you were in his presence

jason wasn’t entirely sure how he knew which way to go but before he knew it he reached your temporary jail. something happened when your eyes met. as cliché as it sounds electricity ran through your body. jason ran to you as fast as possible, struggling to untie the ropes tears escaped his eyes

“jason” you muster out. and who knew a simple word could enlighten such a reaction but he stopped everything and looked up at you. the position admitted a little sexual since he was kneeling before you, he stood up quickly with a reddened face

“I’m sorry, I- didn’t, oh gods”

“jason, please. there’s a dagger in my back pocket”

with both of you hysterically crying wasn’t helping the situation. he hurried- yet remained respectful slid the dagger out from your back pocket, using it to first untie your hands, the kneeling once again (with your permission, he wasn’t sure if this was comfortable for you) to untie your ankles. he throws the dagger to the side and you throw yourself into his arms, he crumbled at the sensation, taking in your scent

“I missed you, gods, I thought I’d never leave” you cry into jason’s shoulder

he strokes his fingers through your hair to calm you, although he wasn’t very calm himself. “It’s okay, I’m here”

your grip on his shirt so tight you’re sure your fingers would’ve been turning white. “I don’t want to leave you again”

“I won’t let you”

“do you promise?”

“I swear it”