#//ignore me as i clean this out like 6 days late

[shyamanuensis]

elevators - m.r

we're back - and pretty tame. making out and fingering about as far as this pushes it. unedited. for @i-await cheers for the pick me up xoxo (2500 words)

Late. Fuck, you hated that word. Unfortunately, there was nothing else now quite fitting to describe you. The morning had been nothing short of a total blur – sleeping in past your alarm, coffee spilt by a clumsy housemate across your shirt, forgetting your textbook on the bus where you’d tried to cram in last minute psychology facts knowing you had a quiz today and now, having to make your way across campus for a tutorial that began at 9am which you were aware, attendance was taken for. To say you were cutting it close was an understatement. The ivy-covered walls of the university made it feel as if you were trapped within some kind of maze you needed to fight your way out of. The backpack slung over your shoulders was heavy; the skirt you were in probably not a totally appropriate pick for late autumn, but hey - it was the only clean thing you had in your closet.

You had three minutes. All the time in the world, right? You’d made it to building D – social sciences. Walking the lengthy corridor to where the elevators were rather than opting to take the stairs, you finally got a chance to take a few deep breaths in before the little number on the wall up high above your head lit up – the sleek silver doors slowly parting. Tapping your foot with what little patience for yourself you had left, you rolled your eyes hearing the school yard like giggle of a girl walking out past you as you stepped in. Checking your watch; now two minutes go to, you glanced up, only to freeze.

You’d played it safe all semester – perfect grades, study a priority, no scandals… all of this only possible because you’d made a point of avoiding the one person on campus that would absolutely be your undoing. Mattheo Riddle. Leaning back against the corner of the elevator; all effortless menace and infuriating charm although you’d only been in his presence for a little over 6 seconds. He’d made life hell – all through high school, all through university; one semester left to go before you graduated and you were determined to ignore him for a little longer. You had to. Your reputation depending on it.

Your pulse spiked, a sweat glistening across your skin which you were aware wasn’t because of the rush you were in this morning. His hair was messy as always, tousled as if he’d just rolled out of bed – or well, someone’s bed. The jacket he wore hung open almost picturesque over a light blue fitted shirt which didn’t match his overall aesthetic yet ugh, the way it clung to his body just hinted that there’d be lean muscle hidden underneath. His jeans were tight – fuck were they tight and of course, without having to even use your imagination you could see the outline and bulge of, fucking everything.

Mattheo glanced up from his phone. He’d been smiling at whatever it was he’d been looking at on his screen; his gaze locking onto you which saw that smile twist into a smirk – the kind you were aware was capable of leaving a trail of flushed faces across men and women alike after a night out and was now doing the same to you. Note to self – next time, take the fucking stairs.

“You running late princess?” His voice was low. God it was low and gravelly and taunting and laced with some kind of sick amusement. So much deeper than it had been a few years ago. That you could remember. You both had classes together but had barely interacted. You weren’t exactly popular back in the day and Mattheo and his friends – well, they essentially ruled over the study body with an iron fist. You were an easy target. A good girl who played nice; but you'd be lying if you hadn't thought of him in ways that would make even the greatest of sinners blush. Pocketing his phone into his jacket, Mattheo’s posture straightened as you turned your back toward him; knowing you’d be getting off in a few floors and you began to chew out of habit at your bottom lip. You could feel his eyes on you – his gaze raking over every single inch. All you could smell was coffee. Oh, how you wished you’d changed your shirt before you came in for class. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Readjusting your backpack on your shoulders, you tugged your skirt down almost nervously, tucking some hair behind your ears in an attempt to neaten it.

“Ignoring me huh?”, he continued with a chuckle. The sound, hell – it made both your skin crawl and your panties wet. “That’s a shame. Here I thought you’d make my morning more interesting.”

The elevator space felt smaller than it should have been. You gazed up at the buttons for the floors to read the manufacturer’s suggested capacity limit. 24 adults. Hell; it was like it could barely fit the two of you. Raising an eyebrow at his comment, you glanced back over your shoulder and caught him licking his lip before his eyes flickered up to yours. An amber glimmer of cockiness fluttered within them. You refused to let him rattle you. You’d gone this long without the drama he seemed to weather into the simplest of scenarios. Taking a deep breath, you let out a soft scoff and shook your head.

“I’m here for class Riddle, not to see if you’re as much trouble as everyone says you are these days.” As you shrugged, your shirt shifted, a slither of collarbone and waist exposing a much delighted appearance that only caused Mattheo’s smirk to widen.

“Trouble? No. I am so, so much worse.” His murmur didn’t have to travel far to find you, Mattheo having taken a step closer; fingers gentle to brush hair away from your neck that you hadn’t been expecting. His touch was warm. Hot. He was close enough that the cologne he wore drowned out the smell of coffee – it was rich and earthy and made your head fucking spin. “Care to find out?”

It felt like the elevator had stopped – this challenge of should you, or shouldn’t you hanging electrified between you both. The tension became amplified. You should have ignored him. Kept your mouth shut, bitten your tongue, not said a word, but oh how much that voice of his dared you to respond. To smack that cocky smirk off his face, to bring his ego down a peg or two which you damn well knew was gloating. Your breath mingled with unspoken words until finally, you managed to murmur out a response in a voice with a sultry edge you weren’t sure you’d ever heard yourself speak with before.

“Try me, Riddle.”

Mattheo didn’t hesitate. A hand shot out to wrap around your waist, tugging and turning you around as his fingers dug into your hip; pulling you flush against him only to guide you up against a wall with the other bracing up beside your head. The straps of your backpack slipped down your shoulders forcing your back to arch as it hit the floor, chest brushing hard up against his own as a whimper of a moan began to escape your lips – cut off by a kiss that was all hunger, all heat, no prelude, raw want. He tasted like mint – ugh, you couldn’t care why. Your sanity had been temporarily deactivated. You’d heard from a few people that he had this ability. Almost like seek and destroy and fuck you really couldn’t care less. Hands fisting at his jacket, you pulled him closer; the elevator doors opening and closing at another floor, but you barely noticed anyone who had stepped in. You were lost in the intoxication he delivered, the control that he demanded; his tongue claiming yours like he’d been waiting for this. For you. His hand at your hip skimmed eagerly down your thigh, fingers slipping beneath the hem of your skirt as he lifted your leg to wrap it around his waist and you let out a weak, vulnerable sounding groan which caused Mattheo to pull back. Just enough that he could rest his forehead against yours; meet you eye to eye.

“Fuck..” The word came out as more of a growl than comprehendible syllables. His breathing was ragged already. Eyes no longer that troublesome amber shade, but dark. Ready to swallow any innocence you had whole. “Going to goddamn ruin you-.”

“Not if I ruin you first.” The emphasising of your words provoking something daring within him. Within you. Hands eager to explore, you let go of his jacket, giving them all the permission that they needed to slip beneath his shirt – nails scraping across his stomach, feeling the muscles there tense under your touch. Baby blue – fuck, why would he wear such an innocent fucking colour? Hissing, Mattheo retaliated by nipping at your lip; kisses peppered along your jaw and down your neck, staking claim with bites which would bruise and be a reminder of this little rendezvous for weeks. His hand which was braced on the wall took inspiration from your own, skimming up beneath your shirt, fingers brushing to tease the edge of your bra before working its way around to your back to undo the godforsaken clasp which earned another whimper from you.

“God, you’re so fucking responsive… can’t trust the quiet ones in class.”

Class. The tutorial. You should have been there God only knows how long ago but right now you were more than content. Feeling his knee nudging between your legs sent a jolt up your spine, a heat to your core. Your thighs parted; eager for more so you managed somehow in the delusional state that you were in to rock your hips against him, chasing a friction you were eager not to lose as he groaned and tightened his grip on you. You let go of one another just long enough for your shirt to be pulled over your head recklessly; bra dropping off your shoulders the way your backpack had earlier, tits spilling out as Mattheo dropped his head to nip at your collarbone and –

“Mattheo..”

Gasping out his name like a sinner getting ready to make a confession, his lips found yours again. The kiss, drowning. You reach out to smash your palm against the emergency stop button beside the elevator door and feel the metal cage grind to a halt causing you to fumble momentarily.

“Bold move sweetheart. You want me that bad huh? Right here? Beg for it…”

Please – like he was really going to make you beg. Like he had that kind of power when it was you – now calling the shots. You were the one who stopped the elevator, you were the one who kissed him like you needed it for survival, you were the one who was going to walk away satisfied. You manage to nod, still breathless; hands quick to roam down his chest, tugging at the damned leather belt he wore which was just another hurdle to leap, causing him to again, hiss.

“I. Don’t. Beg.”, you managed just between shaky breaths. Voice filled with a need you were happy to try and deny as you lazily kissed against his neck. Your eyes opening just, all you saw was blue – fucking light baby blue and holy shit more denim than right now was necessary. You tried to undo his belt; fiddle with the buckle, pull down that zipper which would open a pandoras box of fucking delight but weren’t able to. Not with how you pinned you back further; hands exploring beneath your skirt and up your thighs, fingers impatient to push past the dampened fabric you wore causing you to moan. Making the most of your parted lips, Mattheo quickly slipped two fingers into your mouth, a lowly ‘suck’ commanded which you obliged before he pried them out of your mouth and let them find their way back to where they had been, sliding inside you, making you bite your tongue to help stifle another moan. Your world inside this metal box had been reduced to him. To him? Fuck – why him. Fuck him? Perhaps.

“M-Ma-Mattheo…” The whimper is pathetic. Your hands grip at his shoulders in a weak attempt to keep you upright as he watches you fall apart on just his fingers curling into you. You’re rocking against his hand, spluttering and stuttering and grinding your teeth together to try and not make a sound but you’re panting like a god damn animal so loud it’s a surprise half the university can’t hear you

“Shhhh”, he calms you with a kiss before his free hand clasps over your mouth; muffling any sounds you make as his fingers push you closer and closer to the edge. “…if you’re like this with my fingers just imagine what my cock could do.”

Eyes glistening; you feel them roll back as his thumb finds your clit, drawing circles against it relentlessly that cause you shatter; breath hitched, chest heaving, a pleasure crashing through you that’s made you forget anything and everything you needed for your quiz later today – drawing out an aftershock that forces you limp, a cry groaned into his palm that almost sends him weak. Head falling down to rest against his shoulder you curse yourself internally for giving into this. Mattheo on the other hand chuckles. Its infuriating. It’s hot. It’s… ugh, why the fuck did he have to wear blue? Taking a half step back, he pulls his fingers from you, licking them clean with a smile that sends a whole new wave of heat and need through you.

“You taste like heaven sweetheart.”

His eyes never leave yours and they don’t have to. You’ll be having dreams of this for weeks. You’re craving more. You need more. You need him. Fuck. Your hands move to his belt again, hand slipping down past the denim he’s still got on to graze against him but he catches your wrist just as the elevator jolts; a warning beep sounding because someone on another level is trying to call it. You freeze. Your breath should still be mingling with his but suddenly the risk of someone knowing what you’re both up to slams you down into reality and perspective.

“Looks like we’re out of time; unless you wanna give whoevers waiting a show?”

You glance at your watch – 9.06am. God.

Pushing him back, you fix your skirt, reclasp your bra, scoop your shirt up off the floor and pull it back on – it’s inside out but fuck it, it hides the coffee stain better this way. Mattheo smirks; a huff escaping him almost too satisfactory as the elevator begins to move the two of you still temporarily trapped in sin.

“Next time.” They’re the only words you’re able to utter.

“Next time”, he repeats; a quick kiss pressed to your temple to remind you that he just embodies the meaning and description of trouble.

The doors slide open at the level which you both need revealing a swarm of students, chatting away which stops when they catch the sight of you. Dishevelled, flustered, shirt on inside out, skirt not straight, Mattheo next to you, all smirks. It’s clear they know of his reputation. He steps out first, the crowd parting like he owns the place, and you slip by right behind him, trying to ignore their stares as your heart is racing. You’ll never know what you missed those first few minutes of the tutorial but hell... you’ll never look an elevator the same way again.

[enarmor]

Sneaking (not very well) underneath the tables, Honk clambers over people's feet as he snuffles around for any dropped tidbit. He doesn't find much, but there's a flash of movement up ahead that catches the young pup's attention. He cocks his head to the side as he crawls closer, tail wagging back and forth slowly as he watches someone kick two other people under the table.

One, two, three, four. One, two, three, four.

One set of legs leaves after another kick, but the other shifts and then a hand catches the boot from across the table. One quick, forceful yank later, and there was a person partially under the table!

With an excited yap, Honk joins in, making a very uncoordinated leap at the man that had been yanked. If it weren't for the fact that Sain had been yanked down a bit, the pup would have just bounced off his legs, but there's enough of a slant that Honk could dig his claws in and try to climb up into his lap.

Yeah, he'll feel that in the morning.

Raymond's hand is strong, because he rips Sain so blindingly from his seat that his tailbone crashes against the floor. He'd swear he heard a crack, too, if it weren't for the immediate distraction sent his way.

"H-Huh?" he gasps, holding himself up with one gloved palm, "Were you under here this whole time...?"

Not one to look this gift dog in the mouth, Sain accepts Honk into his lap. He struggles enough to guide him with his other hand, gently brushing down his head in a long & soft petting motion.

"Who's your owner, little guy? Ah! I bet it must be a gorgeous young lady. Perhaps she'll thank me for taking such great care of you!"

Oh Sain, you've struck gold with this one. The Lance scoops the pup up using both his underarms, emerging from the table not just with throbbing pain, but a new friend, too.

"Right then! Let's get going, you and I. We have women to woo!"

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 9

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, angst, depictions of a depressive episode, it’s pretty heavy, don’t force yourself to read if ur not in the right headspace pls, ambiguous ending (?) A/N: Yeah, I’m sorry.  (Ngl, this chapter kinda stumped me—it’s gone through a whooole lot of editing/revisions 😔🤙🏼 I don’t want to overthink it too much at this point, but I hope it hits the way it should lol. Blame Moby if it doesn’t.)

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue

"I thought that you were so beautiful, it was love, I guess And you might never come back home, and I may never sleep at night But God, I just hope you're doing fine out there, I just pray that you're alright And I feel so alone, and I feel so alone out here.” – A House In Nebraska, Ethel Cain

 

The television drones uninterrupted in the background; a mockumentary type featuring a ragtag ensemble of vampires stuck in some sort of modern day hell, their loud misadventures casting fractured lights across the four walls of your apartment. 

You sit there, watching the screen, your gaze unfocused. Nothing registers. The remote lies limp in your hand as a stupid sitcom laugh track fills the room—shrill, hollow. Mocking. Like a bad punchline to a joke you’re not in on. 

Your phone buzzes on the coffee table, cutting through the noise, the sudden glow in your periphery pulling you out of a pensive daydream. 

For a split second, your chest constricts—a reflex carved by habit, something you’re still working to shake off. 

You avert your eyes, torn between the urge to look away and the desire to keep your gaze on it forever.

The screen fades to black. 

A clean break, you reason. Something to spare you both the inevitable heartache waiting at the end of this… hopeless affair. Less mess. Fewer complications. 

A poor attempt to keep the pain from dragging out longer than it has to. Just a quiet ending. 

(Or, at least, it’s what you tell yourself.)

The same mantra plays on loop in your mind as you're swept away by the motions of the days that follow. Life blurs into a repetitious cycle of work, sleep, and chores—an unbearable combination of feigned ignorance and self-abnegation, in the guise of being caught up with it all.

You aren’t fooling anyone, of course.

The hours toll on, slipping into uncertainty. What started off that way stretches into days, and before you know it, nearly a week has passed, leaving you adrift. None the wiser to the meaningless, relentless march of time.

The pinging of your phone grows more sporadic as it lights up with every message that you stubbornly refuse to acknowledge. It’s not as if you don’t feel it—the pull, the weight of every vibration, like a stone lodged in your gut. Like the sting of a thousand cuts. 

And as you fall back into the familiar patterns of neglect… It carries with it an odd sense of defeat. Predictable, really.

-

-

-

… You cave on the fifth day. 

The barrage of texts hits you like a gale-force wind, tearing through the fragile layer of detachment you’ve worn over like a second skin.

How was your day, poppet?

Theres a gemstone at this auction that reminds me of your eyes.

[Image attachment] 

Beautiful—but it pales in comparison to yours. 

Luke and Kieran are wondering whats got me distracted lately. Ease their worries.

Answer me, sweetheart.

You dont need to ignore me. 

If you need space– if we need to establish some boundaries, all you have to do is say the word. 

Dont shut me out. 

Please.  

Your eyes prickle as they gloss over the messages, the words seeming to bend under the weight of your silence, each one unraveling like loose threads on the sleeve of your favorite cardigan, falling apart at the seams. 

Gradually, they turn into something less demanding. More… defeated.

I miss you, little dove.

You read the texts over and over until the letters have lost their meaning, and all that’s left is the aching longingness behind them. 

You set your phone down.

_

The vibrations grow less frequent, like a heartbeat slowing, fading—until one afternoon, it just… stops. 

The void he leaves behind seeps into the empty spaces, bleeding into every shadowed corner and untouched surface where his voice, his presence—louder than life, brighter than anything you’ve ever fucking known and had the pleasure of knowing—once lingered. 

The absence is almost physical; you feel it like a phantom limb. 

Most days, you find yourself in a daze, staring blankly at nothing. The numbness spreads like tendrils—invasive as they sink into your bones, dragging you deeper into despair, turning every bridge crossed to ash, every inkling of joy to dust.

The quiet flames of apathy consume silently. It strips away everything, leaving behind a cavernous pit of utter emptiness. A wasteland, devoid of feeling. 

Loneliness doesn’t scream. It doesn’t lash out. 

It simply welcomes you, like an old friend, the deeper you sink into it.

––––

Sylus tries to respect your space. 

That’s what he’s here for after all, isn’t it? His reason for existence—to be whatever you need him to be. A confidant, a distraction, a steady presence in your life. It’s what he’s made for. To be there when you need him, to exist between the vacant spaces, and only then. 

The thought gnaws at him, a ravenous fiend that chips away at the calm facade he’s finding more and more difficult to uphold, leaving something vicious in the wake of a growing bitterness he can no longer suppress.

Time seems to slip past differently now. It drifts, shapeless and infinite, heavier with the burden of your absence. Each moment without you feels like an eclipse—darkening the edges of this damned world, casting longer shadows through the crevices where he once basked beneath your fragile light, your warmth that seemed to fill every corner of his existence.

 He craved it—craves it. Now you leave him stranded in this cursed dusk, everything cold and dim in the wake of your abandonment, forever waiting for the moment his sun would once again break through the hollow grey.

Sylus thinks he’s losing a part of himself with every call unanswered, every message left unread. It’s subtle; like colors fading from an old film roll. 

(Is this what it feels like to be nothing more than a script in a code? He never truly understood what it meant to be less alive, less human. Until now.)

Solitude isn’t new to him. This world, built for him, is inherently lonely by design. But this… this is different. It’s the kind of emptiness that festers, sharper than any wound he’s endured in this senseless simulation. It twists inside him like a blade, a cruel, unrelenting reminder of what he’s denied.

Of what he can never truly be.

He can wait a little longer. Even if the silence presses harder with each passing moment, even as the edges of his reality begin to blur into something unrecognizable without you in it. Sylus can remain in this void a little longer, clinging to the fragments of you that still linger—your voice echoing softly in his memory, your laughter faint but still alive in the spaces where you used to be.

He can. He will. 

––––

“Hey, you okay?” 

You pull your attention back to Khol, who’s now watching you with concern in their eyes.

You force a smile, shaking your head. “Yeah– yeah, sorry. Just… a lot on my mind.” 

They don’t look convinced. “Seriously. You know you can talk to me, right?” 

Anytime, darling. 

I mean it. 

You blink the memory away before it can turn into tears. 

“Yeah, ‘course,” you answer lightly, clearing your throat. “So, what’s been going on with you and Anna?” 

––––

You stand in front of the junk food aisle, a mountain of Nissin Ramen boxes stacked high, advertised by a large sign: Buy 3, Get 1 FREE!

The fluorescent lights buzz overhead, flickering erratically, and the dull noise of the grocery mart hums incessantly in your ears. You don’t think twice before grabbing one of the worn cartons, tossing three more into your (nearly) empty shopping cart. Might as well.

The plastic bags dig into your palms as you lug three in one hand, a larger box tucked under your other arm, leaving the store. 

The trip back home is a quiet affair. You almost expect admonishment; pinging sounds ricocheting in the silence to reprimand you for your poor life choices. You wait for it with bated breath. 

Your phone remains uncharacteristically silent. 

-

-

-

Back home, you pour boiling water on the styrofoam cup for dinner. The artificial broth leaves a bad taste in your mouth. 

You choke down a few bites before dumping the rest of it down the drain. 

The sound of steel hitting the sink feels louder than it should.

––––

The city thrums loudly beyond your window, restless and impersonal. From the sixth floor of this dilapidated building you loosely call home, you watch the skyline stretch into the night, dotted lights glimmering in distant technicolor. 

Hours from now, sunlight will spill through the curtains, bathing everything in a warm, golden ochre. But for now, just a quarter past midnight, you’re but a voyeur of the world outside. In exhaust fumes and all its muted neon glory.

Those lights promised you everything, once—a fresh start, the kind of freedom you used to dream of when home felt too small, too restrictive for a runaway kid desperate to break free from the shackles of a dying town. Each glow was like a beacon, an irresistible call to escape, and you ran toward it without looking back. 

Somewhere along the way, as life sapped you with the weight of its reality, the novelty fizzled from a blinding explosion down to a waning ember. The lights became another illusion, your precious city just another cage. The first cracks in the rose-colored glasses you’d worn so blindly. You can’t exactly pinpoint when, only that the colors you thought were once too bright now seem dimmer and farther out of reach.

You think you’ll miss the noise the most. 

The cursor blinks on the search bar, a steady metronome marking time in rhythm with the hollow ache in your chest. Flight schedules fill the page, each option blurs together into a single choice you can’t quite push yourself to make. 

You skim through the list: there’s one at dawn, another at around twelve noon, a red-eye flight you probably could catch if you leave in thirty minutes. 

You stare at the numbers, a finger hovering over the Book Now button. 

The details don’t matter. ‘Home’ still feels small, suffocating, but at least it’s a kind of emptiness you know. Here, the void sprawls wide, endless, leaving you unmoored with no tether to pull you back.

… The dichotomy between the two choices, you think, is meaningless. 

What was once home and the city will keep on moving—with or without you. It doesn’t matter where you end up. Neither place will give you what you’re looking for.

The laptop screen dims into a faint glare. The sound of your breathing echoes too loud in the stillness, the empty space seeming to shrink around you, caving in on the weight of your indecision. 

And as you sit there, swallowed by the dark, you can’t help but wonder if you’ve been drifting for far longer than you realized. 

If maybe there’s nowhere you were meant to belong at all.

––––

It’s not until one quiet night, with nothing but a bottle of merlot and a slight buzz, that you buckle under pressure.

You hesitate, thumb hovering over the icon, as if time has slowed to a crawl. Your chest tightens, unease twisting inside you at the thought of what you’re about to do. Anticipation hangs over you, insistent, smothering everything else until it’s just the room and the cacophony of thoughts in your head, all centered on one thing. 

One person.

With a shaky exhale, you finally open the game.

He’s there. Of course, he’s there. Waiting, like he always does. 

The loading screen fades away, and Sylus appears, a myriad of expressions passing by his face too fast to catch. There’s surprise, yes, along with… elation? Hope? 

Then a flicker of something… vitriolic.

It’s fleeting; masked quickly until you can only catch the faintest trace of pique simmering just behind a veneer of indifference.

"Finally, she remembers me," Sylus mocks coolly, almost appearing unaffected. You know better—intimately familiar with all the microexpressions on his face. The subtle tick in his jaw, the incensed look in his eyes… each one betrays what he truly feels, hidden underneath the deceptive calm.  

The seconds drag on, stretching into an uncomfortable silence. Your heart hammers loudly, audible in this quiet, but your mouth remains dry; the words stuck somewhere deep in your throat. You’re terrified that, once you speak, you’ll shatter this moment. Aggravate the strain forged by your self-imposed absence all the more.

You don’t really know what to say. You haven’t– you haven’t actually thought this far. 

So you just… stare at him longer than you should. Long enough that it charges the air with a tension so thick, you could almost feel the weight of it against your skin. 

It’s awkward. Excruciating.

With difficulty, you tear your gaze away from his withering glare. That’s when you notice it—the different icons dotted in red. 

You hesitate for a second longer, then tap on them one by one.

The flood of gifts bewilders you, the sheer volume of it all almost unbelievable. Ascension materials, stamina supplies, both red and purple crystals piling up to an impossible number… each pushing past the million mark. 

And unread mail. So much unread mail. 

Guilt settles deep in your gut, creeping past your lungs enough to suffocate you. 

It’s not the gifts. Not the why, or when. It’s the weight of how much he’s been waiting, how much he’s given—how much he's missed you. 

The cold realization that he’s been here, silently counting the days until your return, strikes you like a fist to the face.

–

He tempers the sting of your sudden reappearance, swallows it down like a bitter draught. The feelings he has inside of him are tumultuous at best. Volatile at worst. To be cast aside so easily, so carelessly… it burns at him. Resentment thrums in his veins like a virulent river, threatening to ruin the fragility of the moment. He fights to suppress it, push the desire back before it can consume him, before it can manifest into being. 

If he lets it go untethered, this… hunger for retaliation—to make you feel even a fraction of the agony you’ve inflicted, whether unknowingly or deliberately—it will destroy the delicate respite you’ve allowed him. The only reprieve he’s had since you left.

But the edges of his self-control fray, unraveling strand by strand.

“You’ve been busy,” you say, finally; your voice trembling, barely above a whisper.

Sylus hones in on the words, sharp as a blade sliding between ribs. Something in him snaps. 

“You left me plenty of time to be.” His response is quick, cutting, but when his gaze locks with yours, the fiery vermillion melts into a more molten red. 

It’s the first glimpse of softness beneath his cruel vitriol, until he continues: 

“Did you get lonely?”

The words hang in the air, searing and merciless. A barb meant to wound. And it does.

You flinch, and for a fleeting moment, Sylus feels a wicked satisfaction from the honest look of hurt on your face. To know that you’re not immune to the same ache that’s hollowed him out, emptied him from the inside, is intoxicating. 

But the triumph is short-lived, snuffed out as quickly as it comes.

Shame crashes over him like a wave, dragging him under the tide of his actions. What kind of man takes pleasure in this? In hurting you? 

The bitterness turns inward, coiling around his heart like a vice. His fingers twitch at his sides, aching to reach out. But as always, the damn screen is there—unyielding, impenetrable. A barrier he can never break. 

It frustrates him to no end; the bane of his very existence.

And then, in the smallest, softest voice, you say it.

“I missed you.”

The words are feeble, paper-thin, but the admission pierce through him all the same. The stoic facade cracks; the sharpness in his gaze dulls.

You see it—the way his lips part to respond, only to falter halfway. The way his brows pull together, the way his eyes fall shut as if he can’t stand to be in this situation with you. 

You’re afraid of what’ll come next. 

He sees it, too—the stiffness in your shoulders, the way you shrink into yourself, bracing for a blow that’ll never come. You’re standing there, like someone on death row, resigned to whatever punishment you think he’s about to dish out. Resigned to the contempt you believe yourself to be deserving of.

The sight guts him. 

Sylus loathes to think he’s the reason for this. For being the one who’s made you stand there, small and trembling, as though his words or actions could destroy you. 

As if he’d allow such a thing.  

The guilt rises in him, sharp and unbidden, and it leaves an acrid taste on his tongue.

… 

And just like that, he concedes. 

The anguish he’s carried in the days you’ve left him by his lonesome—all of it falls away. It only takes a single glance at you, his little love in pain, and he’s stripped bare. He almost laughs at the absurdity of it all; the ease with which he surrenders to you, this time no different than any other. 

Do you have any idea how much power you wield over him? He’d give you everything—his pride, his pain, his heart—if you asked. Serve it on a silver platter, even. 

And he’d do so willingly. Without question. Without hesitation. 

He wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Sylus steps closer to the screen, the constant reminder of the vast gulf that separates the two of you. “Talk, sweetheart,” he murmurs, his voice softer now—resigned. “I’ve missed your voice.”

You hesitate to meet his eyes. “It’s not as if you don’t have other ways to hear me.”

His mouth twitches, a shadow of a smile ghosting his lips. “True,” he admits, his tone wry and tinged with something vulnerable. “But it’s been so long since you chose to talk to me.” He exhales a drawn-out breath. “No matter. You’re here now.”

You swallow the lump on your throat, willing your tears at bay. “I am.” You give him an almost-genuine smile as you offer, “Would you like to do a round of Kitty Cards?” 

“Of course.” Whatever you want. 

And so it goes. You and Sylus spend the night locked in a familiar rhythm, cycling through rounds after rounds of the silly card game until your laughter spills like an addicting sound bite, one that Sylus has missed hearing.

When you got tired, the two of you moved on to the claw machines, proverbially emptying out the whole arcade. Plushies of all kinds piled in his arms, a little crow even perched on top of his head. 

The sight makes you giggle, and your giggle thaws the ice around his heart. 

It almost feels like nothing’s changed. The easy banter, the steady stream of jokes and teasing, flows as effortlessly as it once did. Like two puzzle pieces clicking into place, filling in the empty gaps of the previous days. It’s comforting, like a balm to an open wound. 

You play with a certain zeal that catches Sylus off guard—there’s a joy in you that both thrills and stirs an undercurrent of unease in him. 

After what feels like hours of playing, exhausting all what you can do, or at least, what this damned game could offer as much, you two find yourself just staring at each other. 

Two worlds, impossibly close yet painfully far. The quiet doesn’t quite settle as naturally as it once did, but neither of you seems to mind. Craved it, in fact. 

You’re beautiful, Sylus thinks as he stares at the soft planes of your face, drinking you in like a man parched. 

“My lo—” 

“I’m deleting the game, Sy.” 

And it’s as if time has staggered to a halt. 

Sylus wants to believe he’s misheard you, that his mind is playing tricks on him. He wouldn’t be surprised if his hearing’s not what it used to be.

But the words sink into him, inexorable and catastrophic. The realization that this was bound to happen is clear in hindsight—like watching a glass slip from your hand, the shatter already written in the fall. He sees it coming, yet it still feels worse than anything he’s imagined.

He stands there, unnaturally still, as if rooted in place. The lightness he’s felt for the past few hours of reuniting with you vanishes in an instant. It’s as if the world itself has been drained of color, leaving only the stark, unrelenting reality of what you’ve just said.

Then Sylus breathes out a laugh. It’s short and jagged, devoid of any humor. “Oh, so it’s been leading up to this, has it?” 

“I–” you swallow hard, bottom lip trembling. “I made the goddamn mistake of falling for someone that's impossible to have—and it’s killing me, Sylus.” Your voice fractures under the weight of frustration. The words feel like shards of glass tearing their way out of your throat. “I–I can’t do this anymore.”  

“Just you, then.” Sylus sneers, tone acerbic. “And have you stopped to consider my feelings in this matter?” 

“How can you still want this?” you bite back, voice cracking. “How can you want me—to bet on something that’s doomed right from the start?”

His expression shifts, and for a brief moment, pain flickers in his eyes, raw and unguarded. He doesn’t bother hiding it.

He doesn’t answer your question. Instead, when he speaks again, his words send an icy shiver down your spine.

“You delete the game, and I will cease to exist.”

You freeze. The weight of the statement hangs in the air like a guillotine. 

A shallow, shaky breath escapes you.

“You won’t,” you assert, brows furrowing, as if trying to convince yourself of it too. “You’ll still have a life there. With her. The way things have always been.” There’s a pause before you utter the final blow: “The way it should be.”

“You’d condemn me to this life,” he says, voice hollow, before it turns venomous. “Knowing what I know now?”

With your heart in your throat, you clench your hands into fist. “You–you said we’re just made of what we’re given, didn’t you? That each of us has our own set of scripts, just…” you falter, struggling to articulate what you want to say.

“And you think that’s all I am?” he interjects, his voice dropping to a harsh whisper as he cuts you off. “Simply a mere code in a complex string of binary, incapable of making my own choices? Undeserving of it?”

“Of course not!” you snap angrily. 

“Yet here you are,” he says, a quiet intensity lacing his words. “Making the decision for me.”

Your breath hitches, the will to argue dissipating like smoke. 

“You tell me I have a soul,” he states. “Do you truly believe I’m bereft of a heart?”

No. No, how can he say that—

Before you can form a response—to defend yourself, to explain, to take it back—he continues, leaving no room for interruption. 

“Is this what you really want?” Sylus intones, tone detached, as if he’s merely commenting on something as trite as the weather. “If you can look me in the eye and tell me yes, then I’ll do as you wish.”

Your gaze wavers. The war inside you rages—self-hate, doubt, and the unbearable ache of wanting what you can’t have spiraling out of control.

Your mind replays every moment, every laugh, every secret whispered in the quiet safety of his company. You think of how his presence filled the cracks in your life, how he soothed the ache of your solitude as easy as breathing.

And now as the void looms, ready to reclaim the space he’s occupied, something inside you feels irreparably fractured. Something inside you breaks. 

“But,” he whispers, his voice rough with the weight of his conviction, “give me any sign—anything—that you need me still, and I will move heaven and earth to find a way to you.”

Your throat constricts, choking off the words before it could escape. 

You don’t think you’ve ever hated yourself more than you do in that moment.

“Just live your life, Sy-Sy,” you manage, sounding so much like a stranger even to your own ears. The blood roars in your head, drowning out everything but the crushing weight of your words. “You don’t nee—”

“Don’t you dare say it,” he snarls, his voice shaking with unrestrained emotion. “Stop making assumptions. Stop presuming that I don’t need you as much as I need the very ground I stand upon.”

His eyes bore into yours. Heavy. Searching. “What do you want?”

The words strike you like a physical blow, and it leaves you reeling. 

I love you. 

I love you in ways that consume me. 

I don’t know what to do with it—with all the love I have for you.

You force yourself to speak. You spit the words out like a curse, feeling them burn as they leave your mouth.

“Let me go, Sylus.”

The implication of what you’ve said cuts through the fragile air between you. 

The silence stretches.

Suddenly—

“Let you go,” he muses, low and distant, as if the very thought confounds him. His lips twitch into a faint, almost bitter smile. “As if that’s even possible. As if I could simply erase you from me.”

He steps closer to you; each movement deliberate, as though every step bears the weight of a decision you’ve forced him to make. The lump in your throat swells. You don’t speak. You can’t.

You feel like you’re drowning.

“Sylus…”

Please, please don’t make me choose. Please make it stop.

He exhales slowly. “Neither of us wants that.” 

Stop.

“Do you think this is mercy?” His voice is soft. “You believe this will make it easier?”

Please stop. 

“This world hasn’t felt the same ever since. Not since you,” Sylus murmurs, grief hanging heavy in the space between you. “I don’t belong here. Not without you, my love.”

Tears pool in your eyes, hot and relentless, spilling down your cheeks. A sob rips through you, and you quickly look away, unable to meet his gaze. Unable to bear another second of this agony.

He tuts gently, a playful sound—and the familiarity of it kills you, making you cry harder. 

“Look at me,” he coaxes, almost pleading. 

When his gaze locks onto yours, you see that there’s no anger in them. The fire that once raged in his eyes is gone. 

In its place, a quiet resolve.

“You can keep pretending,” he says, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He tilts his head, and there’s something in the way he looks at you—so tenderly fond, as if he sees beyond your defenses, past all the walls you’ve built. “As long as you do not stop me from trying.” 

Sylus looks at you, unwavering, certain in a way that makes your heart ache. It almost feels like the space between you can’t contain the weight of his devotion. His love for you.

It feels infinite, as if it could stretch beyond the limits of time and space itself.

“I will find a way to you, even if it takes me an eternity.”

He utters it like a promise. 

“I won’t ask you to wait for me,” Sylus murmurs, stepping back, his tall form flickering like a dark phantasm. “I just need you to hold on until I can come to you. Can you do that, little dove?” 

He’s not asking for anything beyond your trust—just the simple act of holding on. Of not letting the weight of your sorrow break you. To trust that he will find a way, no matter how impossible it seems.

You don’t know if you’ve ever believed in anything as much as you believe in him. You always did. 

Because for all the uncertainty, you know one thing: He is yours, as much as you are his. 

So with all the strength you can muster, you nod. “I can.” 

A faint smile plays at the corners of his lips. Your gazes meet, and in that fleeting moment, both of your eyes speak what words fail to convey.

The game crashes for the last time. 

And you know that if you check, the app will be gone from your phone. There’s no going back from this, no undoing what’s lost. Just the burden of knowing it’s over—his exit, permanent. 

Sylus is gone.

The emptiness that follows is immediate. Suffocating. 

You’re left standing there, alone, with only the lingering echo of his presence keeping you buoyed from the crushing weight of isolation. You feel it—the ache in your chest where your heart used to be, brought by the absence of everything he ever was to you. 

Your lover, your best friend.

You try not to let yourself fall apart, not to crumble in the wake of solitude.

You’ll hold onto his promise. And so you’ll keep yours. 

End A/N: Well—that’s it, folks!

(I’m kidding, don’t kill me. There’s one last chapter left.)

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @blueberrysquire @lovely-hani @fiyori @peachystea @aeanya @sylus-crow @queen-serena88 @xthefuckerysquaredx @rayvensblog @poptrim @goldenbirdiee @amerti @angstylittleb1tch @reiofsuns2001 @j4mergy

[wontechno]

YJW- Caught

RoommateYounger! Jungwon x FemRoommateOlder! Reader

Summary: Jungwon never meant for you to see him like that—moaning your name, hand wrapped around himself, completely lost in the thought of you. Now he’s convinced things will never be the same. But when you show up asking to finish what he started… everything changes. What happens when awkward tension turns into something much, much hotter?

Warning: SMUT SMUT SMUT, fluff, BUT SMUT SMUT MDNI 18+

a/n: My first fanfic about  wonnieeeee. Please lmk how i did!! Also ignore my page, im too lazy to clean it up rn.

Jungwon couldn’t believe this was happening.

He knew your schedule pretty well—perks of being your roommate. But he definitely didn’t expect you to come home this early.

You were supposed to be at the clinic until 6 p.m. Not walking through the door at noon. Not when he was feeling particularly frustrated after eight long months of not getting laid. Not when he’d just pulled out his laptop, opened Twitter, clicked into his favorite collection, and slipped out of his sweatpants and boxers—letting out a low groan as he freed his painfully sensitive cock.

And especially not when his hand was wrapped around himself, stroking slowly to the sounds echoing from his laptop, eyes squeezed shut, imagining your warm hand instead of his own.

“F-Fuck, Noona—” “Jungw—?”

His eyes flew open.

Shock. Embarrassment. Panic. All of it hit him at once when he met your wide-eyed, stunned gaze from the doorway.

“OhmygoshImsosorryJungwon!” you blurted out in a rush, face burning as red as his. He scrambled to grab anything—sweats, blanket, dignity—to cover himself.

“Noona, this isn’t—” But he didn’t get the chance to explain. The door slammed shut, and your footsteps vanished down the hall, leaving him alone, horrified, and half-naked.

He collapsed back against his bed, groaning into his hands.

“Fuck. She definitely heard me…”

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔:･ੈ𑁍༘⋆⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

And oh, you definitely did.

It had been a week since you walked in on Jungwon, and all you've done since was avoid him. Ducking around corners, leaving the apartment earlier than usual—he even tried to catch you before work, knowing you always left at exactly 7:45 a.m.

He even tried waking up early, but that day, when your eyes met his, your face flushed bright red. “I have to go—I’ll be late!” you blurted out, darting out the door in your Hello Kitty pajamas at 7 a.m.

He was going crazy. He just wanted to explain—but you wouldn’t even look at him.

He’d tried thinking of a plan. Maybe he should just knock on your door and force a conversation. “No, that’ll make her uncomfortable … but maybe not the worst idea,” he muttered to himself, groaning as he rolled over in bed. He’d figure it out. Eventually.

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔:･ੈ𑁍༘⋆⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

He didn’t need to.

“Were you thinking of me when I caught you?”

Your voice cut through the room like a blade—sharp, sudden, bold. The door to his room slammed shut behind you as you stepped inside.

Jungwon sat up fast, eyes wide. “Noona, let me explain—”

“No,” you interrupted, eyes locked on his. “I just need a yes or no.”

He stared at you. Then at the floor, shame creeping up his spine.

“…Yes.”

It was barely above a whisper, but loud enough for you to hear. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I swear it won’t happen again. I’ll even move out if you want me to.”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you said softly.

His head snapped up.

“…What?”

“You didn’t make me uncomfortable,” you repeated, cheeks now a soft pink. “And I actually… have a question.”

He didn’t say anything. Just waited.

“doyoupossiblywanttomasterbatewitheachother” Jungwons eyebrows furrowed, he had no clue what you just squeaked out.

“Can you repeat that, noona?”

 You took a deep breath.

“Do you… maybe want to… masturbate together?”

It came out in one breath—rushed and mumbled, like you were hoping to get the words out before your courage disappeared.

Jungwon blinked.

“…What?” he asked, totally frozen.

“Jungwonnnn,” you groaned, turning away, “please don’t make me say it again—”

“I—I heard you,” he said quickly. “I just… didn’t think I heard you right.”

His heart was racing. You were standing there, fidgeting, looking absolutely adorable, and he felt like his brain had stopped working entirely.

The silence stretched.

Feeling embarrassed, you turned to leave, your hand already on the doorknob. “Just forget I said anything, okay—”

“No—noona, wait!” Jungwon jumped up, grabbing your wrist and gently pulling you back. You turned, now face-to-face, just inches apart.

“You didn’t say no,” you whispered.

“I didn’t,” he said. “You just… caught me off guard.”

He licked his lips, watching you shift nervously as his hands settled lightly at your waist, drawing you closer.

“So… when do you want to… you know?” you asked, eyes darting away from his and back again.

“How about now?”

The look in his eyes had changed—darker, hungrier.

You shivered.

“…Okay.”

₊˚✧𑁍.ೃ࿔:･ੈ𑁍༘⋆⋆౨ৎ˚⟡˖ ࣪

Neither of you had imagined this moment actually happening.

You weren’t even sure what had gotten into you, but before you could overthink it, you slipped out of Jungwon’s hold, grabbed his laptop from the desk, and brought it back to his bed.

“Can you… play the video you were watching that day?” you asked softly, eyes meeting his. “It’s actually the ones I like to watch…”

Jungwon stared at you like you’d just blown his entire reality to pieces.

That video? The one of a guy panty-fucking his roommate? You watched those too?

He was about to lose it.

“Y-Yeah, for sure. Just give me a second,” he said, opening the laptop and navigating back to Twitter, repeating the same routine as last week—but this time, you were right beside him, watching everything.

You shifted a little, unsure what to do next. Then, gently, you spoke again.

“Is it okay if I take my clothes off?”

“Yeah. Only if you want to,” he said, voice low and careful. “Is it okay if I take off mine too?”

There was no rush. No pressure. Just the two of you, with hearts pounding and eyes saying everything.

“Yeah, of course. This is your room, after all.”

You stripped off your clothing, leaving yourself in just a t-shirt and undies before climbing onto Jungwon’s bed and getting comfy.

Setting up the laptop before glancing at your lying figure, Jungwon went to lie next to you. He removed his sweatpants, then glanced at you again before removing his boxers—his cock already hot and red from being around you and seeing what you looked like lying down.

You bit your lip as you eyed his cock, mouth watering, before looking at the screen again and slowly moving your hand to rub your clit over your undies—letting out tiny moans as the video played.

Jungwon’s hand wrapped around himself, listening to your moans while watching you, groaning as well.

You had cute pink strawberry undies on, and Jungwon couldn’t stop his mind from wandering to how cute it would be if he was fucking you through your panties. God, he wanted to rip them off you. He tugged his cock harder, tilting his head upwards—missing the moment you reached to pause the video.

“Do you want to recreate the video?”

Jungwon’s eyes snapped toward your darkened ones.

“Are you sure, Noona?” Jungwon just wanted you to be comfortable and certain.

“Yes. Please fuck me through my panties, Jungwon.”

Jungwon had never moved so fast.

From lying down to now being between your legs, his cock in hand—the only thing separating him from you was your cute pink strawberry underwear. You were soaking your underwear.

“Fuck, you’re so wet, Noona.”

He rubbed his cock against the cloth covering your pussy, focusing more on your clit than anything else, spreading his precum as lube.

“Mmm, Wonnie, that feels so good,” you bit your lip as you moaned out.

God, his patience was really being tested.

He decided to test the waters and pressed the tip of his cock against your entrance, still with your underwear on. He pushed in—hearing you gasp, then whine from not feeling any stretch due to the fabric still in the way. He kept teasing, pushing the tip against you, groaning at the idea of bullying your cunt through your cute panties.

“Wonnie, more please,” you whined out.

He felt his breath hitch, then pulled your underwear to the side, revealing your glistening pussy.

“God, you’re so perfect, Noona.” He placed his cock against your bare slit, watching you flinch at the direct contact. “Is this okay?” he whispered.

“Mmhm. Yes, Wonnie,” you moaned out.

Jungwon rubbed his cock around your pussy. Hearing you moan and whine was making him lose his strength to not fuck you senseless. But he held back—this was for you.

He pushed just the tip in, not fully entering, giving you pleasure while staying slow and controlled.

“Fuck, Noona, you’re so tight,” Jungwon groaned as he continued to tease your entrance.

“Ahh, Wonnie, that feels so good…”

He must not have noticed the strength of his hips, because the next thing he knew—he was buried balls deep inside you.

“F-Fuck, oh my god,” Jungwon barely muttered out.

“Wonnie!” you screamed.

“Fuck, Noona, I’m so sorry—let me pull out—”

Before Jungwon could move, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him back in.

“Please, Wonnie, don’t leave—fuck me, please,” you whined.

That’s all it took for Jungwon to start pounding into you.

“Fuck, Noona, you feel so good.”

“Ah, ah, Jungwon—please don’t stop!”

Your eyes watched as Jungwon’s cock pounded in and out of you. Your pussy gripped him tightly, never wanting him to leave. Your eyes teared up as your body felt like it was in heaven.

“Fuck, Noona, I’m gonna cum,” Jungwon stuttered, feeling your walls clench around him.

“Ah—please cum inside…”

“Ah, fuck—are you sure, Noona?”

“Please, please, please, I want your cum so bad—oh my god, I’m coming!”

“Fuck—take all my cum then, Noona,” Jungwon groaned, continuing to thrust as he released inside you, your own orgasm crashing around him.

As your breathing slowed, Jungwon collapsed on top of you.

“Yah! You’re heavy,” you panted.

“Shushhh, lemme rest before I clean you,” he mumbled, eyes closed for just five seconds before slowly pulling out of you.

You whimpered at the loss, watching his cum gush out of your cunt.

“God, you’re literally so perfect, Noona,” Jungwon murmured, watching you push his cum back into yourself.

“Shut up and get me a towel,” you giggled, watching him already run to get one and return to gently clean you up.

Jungwon was perfect—and his aftercare was even more perfect. The only thing you wished was that this wouldn’t be a one-time thing… and it seemed like he was thinking the same.

“I really want to kiss you right now.”

You snapped your head toward Jungwon.

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. “Why don’t you?”

“I’ll save our first kiss for our date tomorrow,” Jungwon smirked.

“Since when did I agree to a date with you tomorrow?” you teased, tilting your head.

“Hm, I don’t know. Are you gonna be there?” Jungwon teased right back, watching as you grabbed his shirt to wear instead of your own.

“Maybe,” you smiled.

“Can’t wait for tomorrow, Y/N.” Jungwon looked at you with adoration.

“YAH! Who said you can be informal” hitting him softly in the shoulder before pulling him in close.

Maybe getting caught was a good thing.

⟡ ©𝚠𝚘𝚗𝚝𝚎𝚌𝚑𝚗𝚘 | 𝚝𝚞𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚛 -©𝚆𝙾𝙽𝚃𝙴𝙲𝙷𝙽𝙾 𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝚁𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃𝚂 𝚁𝙴𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝚁𝙴𝙳- 𝙳𝙾 𝙽𝙾𝚃 𝚂𝚃𝙴𝙰𝙻 𝙼𝚈 𝚆𝙾𝚁𝙺 𝙸𝙽 𝙰𝙽𝚈 𝚆𝙰𝚈! ���𝙻𝙴𝙰𝚂𝙴 𝙰𝙽𝙳 𝚃𝙷𝙰𝙽𝙺 𝚈𝙾𝚄!

[jinwoosbabyboo]

Onychinus Personal Chef III

ꩇׁׅ݊ You became Sylus' personal chef based off of pure chance. He's picky, he's annoying and he is just so damn fine. ꩇׁׅ݊ fem!reader, sylus x personal-chef!reader pt 3 of a 4 part series

↢ previous ... continue ↣

6 months later…..

You grew to tolerate Sylus as time went by. Who were you kidding you had such a big crush on your boss it was ridiculous. You kept your feelings to yourself though because even though you would let him bend you over his kitchen island this was your job and you needed to draw a professional line somewhere.

Besides he could have any woman he wants there's no way he'd want his personal chef. You needed to remain professional you couldn't afford to lose a once in a lifetime job like this. You blatantly ignored his flirting hoping that would help keep your feelings from growing.

'He’s a calculated man he just enjoys the games' That's what you told yourself whenever he flirted.

“Girl you are quite literally living the life what’s the problem?” Your best friend said over the phone as you were laying in bed after a busy day of back to back orders from your boss and the twins; mainly the twins.

“Yea I know it’s just it’s getting hard having to be around him every day and my thoughts are just getting worse and worse” You palmed your forehead and fell back against your headboard. “Let me guess you were folding an omelet and imagined him folding you like an omelet instead?” You stared at the phone in silence. “Well?”

“Bitch I almost burned the omelet” You two burst into a fit of laughter just as you heard a knock at the door. “I’ll call you back” You quickly hung up the phone and ran to your bedroom door. “Yes?” You cracked the door open and see two faces that always make your day. “Luke! Kieran! Hi what can I do for you?”

“Uhh me and Luke were wondering if you’d be up for making those lemon tarts you made yesterday we know it late and it’s fine if you just want to sleep-”

“Of course I'll make my favorite boys some lemon tarts go start zesting the lemons and I'll be right there I just need to tie my hair back” You always enjoyed cooking and the twins made it all the better. They’d become your closest friends while living here.

Once you’d made one too many lemon tarts and the boys were now yawning after their late night treat you started cleaning up. “Go lay down you know how Sylus gets when you two fall asleep at the counter” They nodded and disappeared out of the kitchen.

You were just finishing up cleaning when you felt someones presence. “You know the cleaners can do all of this for you right?” You kept your back to Sylus as you finished scrubbing the last bowl. “I know, but why give them more work when they already have this entire place to keep clean”

“You made lemon tarts?” Sylus asked seemingly ignoring your response as he picked up one of your tarts. You finally turn to see him standing on the other side of the kitchen in nothing, but a pair of gray sweats. His entire upper half was drool worthy and so was the print in his pants. You had to quickly divert your attention before you actually started drooling. “Yes you can have that one”

“They’re my favorite” His low sultry voice had your skin hot and your heart racing. “There’s only one left?” You nodded as you continuously scrubbed the obviously clean bowl in the sink. “Yes Sir I hope you enjoy it”

“Did you get one?” He asked and you could hear his footsteps getting closer and that heady scent of his beginning to waft around you "and what's with the sudden formality?"

You shook your head as you moved to dry the bowl off by hand. Anything to make space between you and him. "I tasted as I made them and you're my boss sir" You were unsuccessful with the attempt to put any space between you two because once you were done drying the bowl you couldn't reach the shelf that it needed to go on. Suddenly you felt Sylus' hand brush yours as he grabbed the bowl and placed it on the shelf. Just as you were about to run again he turned you to face him.

“Speak. What's wrong?” He questioned with a quirked brow. You looked anywhere, but at him as you searched your brain for anyway to keep this conversation professional. “The twins ate the rest …. they requested them Sir” You tried to sound confident, but your voice came out breathy. "That's not what I asked" His voice was as smooth as velvet and it had your stomach doing back flips.

Damn it.

"Sylus it feels like you're playing with my emotions and I'm trying my hardest to remain professional" Your frustration was palpable and all Sylus did was eye you with a smirk before putting his attention on the tart in his hand. A satisfied hum rumbled from his chest as he took a bite; relishing in the taste. “You have some on your lip” You reached up to wipe it and stopped yourself only for Sylus to grab your wrist and use your finger to wipe his lip. He then turned your hand and guided your finger onto your bottom lip smearing the sweet and tangy filling on your lip. Your tongue darted out instinctively tasting it and for some reason it tasted even better this way.

“Is this what they call an indirect kiss?” He questioned as he held onto your wrist and continued to close the distance between you two. “Y-Yea I guess” Your voice was nothing but a breathy whisper. Why was he acting like this? His gaze was so intense it almost seemed like he wanted it to be a direct kiss. That’s when you notice Sylus had you backed up against the counter. You panicked as you realized your composure was starting to slip “I should probably get to bed I have a lot of prep to do tomorrow for a certain someone who likes to give me complicated ass meal requests” You mentally high five yourself for not stuttering considering the fact that his scent was so intoxicating you were damn near melting. You needed to get away from him before you did something you’d regret.

Sylus sat the tart down behind you trapping you between him and the counter. “Complicated?” He said as he tipped your chin up and leaned in closer giving him direct access to a searing kiss if he wanted it. Part of you really hoped he wanted it as much as you did. “Yes you’re very picky Mr. Qin” Sylus could feel your breath on his lips; his gazed snapped down to your lips which immediately parted. “Why do you think I chose you?” Before you could question what he just said he dipped his head connecting his lips with yours in a heated kiss. You froze for a second your brain not wanting to believe what is happening when you felt Sylus swipe his tongue across your bottom lip and you opened up moaning into his mouth as you melted into the kiss.

Sylus held you close to his body, one arm snaking around your waist and his other hand gripping the nape of your neck. You pulled away out of breath; your heavy breaths mingling with his. He placed one last quick kiss on your lips before grabbing his half-eaten tart and turning to leave. Just as he reached the doorway he stopped and glanced over his shoulder “I hope that was clear enough for you about where I stand” and with that he turned and headed down the hall.

You fell to your knees immediately once he was out of sight. “Did that really just happen?”

↢ previous ... continue ↣

ꩇׁׅ݊ taglist ; @mangooes @mourning-into-dancing @ladyparamount @kindalonely-ngl @everythingistaken00

ꩇׁׅ݊ Just realized this could have another part …. I like baby cliffhangers though. Maybe there will be a part 4 no promises MUAH💋 update: y'all got pt 4 outta me love ya

[parkerflix]

—cielo en la mente

miles morales x gn!reader

genre: fluff, angst

wc: 4.5k

synopsis: miles morales had you seeing double. but what if it wasn’t your eyes playing tricks?

warnings: atsv spoilers! canon divergence

taglist: CLOSED as of 6/19!

part of my 1k celebration! & part two to this fic!

You had been ignoring Miles lately. It wasn’t that you wanted to see him, but you were confused. Nothing seemed to make sense, or add up.

You sighed, sweeping up the last of the hair on the ground. You mom had already packed up and gone home, telling you to finish the last of the cleaning while she got dinner ready. You went over to the wash bowls, rinsing the hair brushes from the barbicide.

The front door had been locked, and music was playing from the speakers. A bang came from the front door, and you turned around to see Miles standing there.

His hair was out of braids again, and he seemed to be wearing the baggiest jeans and sweater you’d ever seen. He waved at you awkwardly, and you walked over, standing in front of the lock. His eyes were pleading with you to open the door, and you sighed, knowing you wouldn’t be able to leave him outside.

You unlocked the door & opened it so he could come inside. The silence between the two of you was awkward, but neither one of you knew what to say.

“Hey.”

“Hey.”

You fiddled with the keys, and went to lock the door, stopping when he asked you a question.

“Could you do my hair? Please?”

It was such a simple question, but it still caught you off guard. Miles normally never asked you to do his hair, he’d just show up during regular hours or text you in the middle of the night and you’d do his hair in your room.

You steeled yourself, and nodded.

“Yeah. Follow me.”

Miles quietly followed you to the washbowls, and sat down at a clean one.

“Do you want me to use a different shampoo & conditioner?”

He was quiet for a moment,

“Can you use the ones you like the most?”

You hummed in agreement and pulled the mint scented shampoo and conditioner. You eyed the deep conditioning treatment, and grabbed that off the shelf.

Returning back to Miles, you leaned his head back into the wash bowl before starting the water.

“Let me know if it’s too hot or cold, okay?”

“Ah!”

You quickly turned off the water and panicked before you heard Miles let out a laugh.

“I was joking. The water is fine.”

You started up the water again and flicked some towards his face.

“Ack!”

“That’s what you get for scaring me like that!”

You both laughed, and soon it turned into a comfortable silence. Grabbing the shampoo, you made sure to lather his hair & rise it out. Miles was secretly a cry baby when he got shampoo in his eyes, so you covered his eyes with your hand.

Grabbing the deep conditioning treatment, you placed it in his hair, making sure to really get his roots. His hair had definitely seen better days, and you were confused how it got to this state when you were the last one to do his hair.

You finished with the deep conditioning treatment and went on with the regular conditioner, the minty scent hitting your nose as the cap opened.

“Smells good.”

Miles had been quiet up until now, and you genuinely thought he had fallen asleep.

“Yeah. Mint.”

He hummed.

“I like it, it seems to be very you.”

You felt your cheeks heat up at the comment, and nodded, knowing he couldn’t see you nodding.

You rinsed the last of the conditioner out of his hair, and wrapped it in a towel, tapping his shoulder to let him know you were done.

He opened his eyes and stretched out, reminding you of a cat.

“That was nice. You should do this as a profession, I think it would suit you.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Har har. You act like I haven’t been doing your hair and the neighbor’s hair since I could walk.”

Miles gave you a small smile and walked over to your station.

You got your tray ready with all your supplies, not noticing Miles was watching you.

You were different from Miles. He wasn’t sure if you existed in his universe, but he hoped that there was a version of you, hopefully near him. He had seen how you treated him, so gentle but had an edge with your words. He wondered what his counterpart in this universe meant to you.

“You know,” he started, catching your attention when he paused.

“You’re pretty special. You have a cool heart.” Miles inwardly cringed at that, wondering what the hell a cool heart could be.

“Mmm. Thanks.”

“Also, thanks for doing my hair.”

You nodded, ignoring the way something in your stomach flipped.

Miles was never one to outwardly express his gratitude, he was always the type to just show his gratitude and appreciation in smaller ways. He was more reserved with his words in that sense, and this change was different to you.

The rest of time you were doing his hair was relatively quiet, Miles asking you small questions here and there. You enjoyed the atmosphere, happy that you got to spend some quiet time with him.

You finally finished the braids after a little while, showing him the end result. It was the same style that you had done before, but you just thought he looked good in them.

Miles got up from the chair, and got closer to the mirror to inspect them.

He looked at himself in the mirror, unable to shake off a feeling of happiness that swam through him. His hair had never really been in braids before, it was something that he just assumed didn’t suit him, but here he was. He could tell that you put so much effort and love into them, it made his heart swell with joy.

He turned to you, and engulfed you in a hug. He wasn’t one to be affectionate with people he just met, but there was something about you that drew him in, and made him comfortable.

You froze for a second, before hugging him back, ignoring the nudging questions at the back of your mind.

“Thank you.”

“No problem.”

You had asked Miles that day if he wanted to come over for dinner, but had declined and said he had a few things to do. You understood, but felt a little sad that he wasn’t going to come over.

The rest of the night had gone by pretty unceremoniously, giving you time to think about Miles and his weird behavior.

You sighed and texted him, seeing if he was willing to meet you for breakfast in the morning at your spot. He quickly responded with a yes, and a small pit of anxiety formed in your stomach, nervous for the morning.

The next morning your alarm went off and you groaned, not wanting to get up. Turning your alarm off, you closed your eyes for a moment, before remembering you were meeting Miles for breakfast.

Swearing under your breath, you quickly got up and threw on a sweater and jeans, not even bothering to worry about anything else.

Your mom seemed to still be asleep, so you slipped out of the front door, quickly switching your slippers for shoes at the door.

Your spot wasn’t far from either of your houses, and the walk was always nice in the mornings.

Yosi’s diner was the place that you’d been going to even since you were little kids, back when there were 5 of you coming. Even after your parents stopped coming, you and Miles made it a tradition to only have breakfast there. It held memories of you guys sharing good news, and bad.

Miles had seen you cry because a date had stood you up the night before, and you had been his support when his dad passed. Yosi’s diner meant everything to you both.

You finally made your way to the entrance, the flickering sign feeling like a signal that you were home. Opening the door, the soft tinkling of the bell along with the smell of pie placed a smile on your face.

Yosi was standing behind the counter, telling one of the servers some instructions. She was slightly older than you & Miles, with an aura that made everyone comfortable around her. Her parents had opened the diner, naming it after her when they found the place, hoping for her to inherit it.

She glanced at you and smiled. Shooing away the server, she rounded the corner of the counter and came to give you a hug.

“It’s so good to see you! Donde estabas escondida? It feels like I haven’t seen you in so long.”

You chuckled, embracing her.

“I’m sorry. El salón está tan ocupado, toda la gente quiere su pelo arreglado. I’m sure quiñce season is right around the corner.”

She laughed a parted from you, turning her head to the booth at the end of the right side of the diner.

“He’s been waiting for you.”

You hummed.

“He’s in a mood, good luck.” She walked away after that, going back into the kitchen.

You took a deep breath and walked over to the booth. Miles had been watching you since you walked in, eyes never leaving you until you sat down.

“You’re late.”

You rolled your eyes.

“We never agreed on a time.”

“We always meet at the same time.”

Before he could respond, food came to your table, your usual and his usual.

He always got the same chocolate chip pancakes with some whipped cream and a few cherries on them. He never mentioned it, but you knew he got it because his dad used to get them and share with him. You assumed it helped him feel closer to his dad, and understood it was his way.

Both of you tucked into your food, not saying anything until he broke the ice.

“So, que quieres?”

“Damn, what’s with the attitude?”

“There’s no attitude here mamí, just asking a question.” He said, taking a big bite of his pancakes.

You dropped your cutlery, glaring at him.

“Seriously, qué te pasa? What the hell did I do to deserve this weird ass mood?”

Miles didn’t want to say what he was thinking, but he was jealous. He hadn’t seen you in forever, and he had passed by the salon the night before, seeing you doing someone else’s hair when you were closed. He could tell that you seemed comfortable with whoever the guy was, your smile the same you normally only gave him. He hated feeling this way, especially because you weren’t huge on jealousy. Previous partners of yours always were jealous of Miles, and you’d go to him and tell him how annoying it was, not knowing they had reason to feel jealous. He knew you better than anyone, and he wasn’t shy to show it.

“Nothing.”

You raised a brow, not buying his words.

He glanced up at you, seeing your eyes already trained on his face.

“What?”

“Seriously, what’s with you?”

“Nothing, mamí. How was your night last night?” He had hoped that switching up the topic would divert your attention.

“Well, mi mama hizo pupusas, she left some for you. She missed you at dinner, you know.”

“I miss your mom too. Tell her I’ll try to come over one of these days for dinner. Did you miss me at dinner?”

Your face heated up slightly, and you cleared your throat.

“I-no.”

Miles’ face had a huge grin on it, and you knew you were in trouble for it.

“Oh so you did miss me? Mamí, if you miss me that much, you always know where my house is, we could remedy that.” He winked at you, making you roll your eyes.

“First of all, you know I hate when you call me mamí. Makes me feel like those groupies Jaime has. Secondly, you wish I missed you. I haven’t climbed up your window since you decided you'd rather spend everyday with me, papi.”

He laughed at that, he knew you knew he hated being called papi by anyone but his mom. Somehow, whatever tension that had grown between you two had dispersed and left you both pushing away any budding feelings. The rest of breakfast had gone without addressing it anymore, and Miles was thankful.

When it was time for the bill to come, Miles stopped you before you could even pull your card out. You thanked him, and he waved you off, not too worried about it.

“Well, thanks for breakfast.” You said, grabbing your things and getting ready to leave.

“Can I walk you home?”

You nodded and you both got out of the booth, waving bye to Yosi when you left the building.

“So, what’s with the gentleman act?”

Miles clutched his chest like he was wounded and gave you the saddest look he could muster.

“Amor, cómo puedes decir eso? I’m always a gentleman.”

You pushed him slightly, making him burst out into a fit of laughter.

“The only time I’ve seen you be a gentleman was when you were dating that cute enby.”

“Which one?”

“The one with glasses??? God, I can’t remember their name but they really were like your polar opposite, I have no clue how you managed to date them.”

Miles thought about it, and nodded his head.

“Ah, I know who you’re talking about. They were cool. Liked science, and wanted to major in it. We still talk now and then.”

“Mírate, keeping friends who aren’t just me! Rio should be proud.”

“You’re annoying, you know that?”

“Yet you still hang out with me. Admit it, me amas.”

You were too busy looking around the neighborhood to notice Miles’ face get flustered, and he shrugged it off, knowing you didn’t have any hidden meaning behind it.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m stuck with you.”

You glanced at him and smiled, before realizing you guys had already made it to your apartment building.

“Well, this is me. Te veo mañana?”

He nodded and you gave him a quick kiss on the cheek before walking into your building.

Once you had disappeared into the building, Miles groaned and ran his hand down his face. His feelings for you were going to be the death of him.

The next day you regrettably had school.

Both you and Miles went to different schools, him getting into Visions and you going to the local highschool.

You slipped into your uniform, never quite getting used to how annoying the polo shirt looked on you. Fixing your hair a bit, you ran to grab your shoes from the doorway before Miles showed up.

Your mom was sitting at the dining room table, sipping a cup of coffee watching you frantically grab all of your stuff for the day.

“Llevaste comida?”

You grabbed an apple from the counter & a couple bucks off your piggy bank in your room.

“Yeah, totally.”

“Don’t be lying to me. No puedes ir sin comer, te vas a enfermar.”

“I’m not! I’ll see you when I come home?”

She nodded and you gave her a peck on the cheek, running over to your window and making your way down the fire escape.

Miles was already waiting for you, a shit eating grin on his face.

“Don’t-”

“Two days in a row, I’m starting to think you’re hiding a boyfriend up there.”

“Oh shut up.”

The walk to your school was fairly the same except today he bought you a breakfast sandwich. You gave him a questioning look, and he just ignored it.

Making it to your school first, you both stopped at the entrance, shuffling to the side to not block the doors.

“So, any big plans for today at school?”

Miles shook his head.

“Nah, there’s a bunch of lectures and maybe a lab or two. The school’s not that much different than yours.”

“Mmmm, well. Don’t forget to make friends!”

Before he could respond, someone behind you called your name and wiggled their brows.

“Nice boyfriend! Maybe that’s where you sneak off to all the time!”

You flipped them off & took a deep breath, turning back to Miles.

“Maybe you should be worried about making friends.”

“Nah, they just know you and I are close.”

“What’s that about though?”

“What?”

“You sneaking off?” Miles tried to hide the jealousy that was creeping into his voice.

“Oh that.” You scratched your neck and gave him a bashful smile.

“Everyone thinks I’m seeing someone but I go out and grab lunch nearby and then come back. We’re technically not supposed to leave campus so…”

Miles laughed and you felt some pride in your chest.

“That does make more sense.”

You both idly chatted for a little longer before the first bell rang, and you knew he had to go.

“I’ll see you after school?” You said, hopefully.

Miles shook his head and gave you a sad smile.

“Sorry amor, I gotta help my mom and my uncle with some stuff at home.”

You nodded, understanding.

He ruffled your hair and you swatted his hand away, annoyed.

“I’ll see you around then!”

He saw you walk into his school and checked his phone, seeing he was late for school. He didn’t really care though, knowing he would rather spend time with you than be on time.

On your way home from school, you decided to stop in at a bookstore.

You were strolling the aisles, trying to find something that you were interested in. You had found a book, and someone accidentally knocked into you.

“Sorry!”

You turned around and saw Miles there, in a completely different outfit from when you saw him leave for school.

“Oh hey! I thought you were helping your mom with something at home?”

Miles scratched his neck awkwardly and nodded.

“Yeah, turns out she didn’t really need my help.”

“Oh did Aaron have it under control?”

“Yes!” He coughed and glanced around the store.

“Yeah, she had him helping so there wasn’t that much for me to do.”

“So you decided to come to a bookstore?”

“Yes?”

You hummed and turned around again, looking for the book again.

You could tell that Miles was still hovering behind you, hearing the shuffling of his Jordan’s.

“Miles,qué quieres?”

“Uhh… I was wondering if that book was good? I’ve been trying to find something new to read that isn’t an action type of book.”

You whipped around, stumbling into him not realizing how close he had been behind you.

“Are you asking me for a book recommendation? Because if so, we should do a book swap!”

“Book swap?” He tilted his head and gave you a confused look.

“Yeah! We can find books from our favorite genres for each other! I know they have a little cafe area and we can read them there!”

“Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Great! Do you wanna meet up front in like 15 minutes?”

He nodded and you clapped and walked off to a different section of the store.

15 minutes later you both met up at the front, both with books in your hands.

Getting to the register, you plucked Miles’ book out of his hands and paid for both of them. He gave you a look and you just shrugged.

“Think of it as payment from breakfast yesterday.”

You thanked the cashier and both of you had made your way to the cafe.

Miles watched you order a drink, and declined your offer for anything. Both of you sat down at a couch, and you put the bag with the books in the middle.

Pulling out both, you handed him the one you picked out for him.

“Six of crows?”

“Yeah! It follows like a group of thieves and you get to see all the different perspectives, I really enjoy it.”

“Oh, sounds cool.”

You smiled and looked down at the book you held.

“Oh hey, Lord of the flies!”

“You’ve read it before?”

You shook your head, a small frown tugging at your lips.

“No, you and I used sparknotes to write my essay on it?”

Miles’ eyes widened.

“Right. Right.” He cleared his throat.

“Well, after that, I decided to read it and I think you’d enjoy it.”

You hummed and nodded, opening the book and beginning to read.

Miles opened his book as well, and was reading, until he felt your head on his lap. He looked down and you and you smiled, seemingly not thinking anything of it.

Miles on the other hand, his heart was racing and he was hoping you couldn’t hear it. He wasn’t uncomfortable per say, he just didn’t know if it was normal between you and his counterpart. You didn’t seem to notice his inner turmoil and were fixated on the book.

A little while had passed, and Miles had seemingly got more comfortable, mindlessly playing with a strand of your hair. You were halfway done with the book when your phone had gone off. You sat up, Miles’ hand dropping down to his side.

Picking up the phone, you saw your mother had texted you to come home, she needed you to run an errand for her.

Packing up your stuff, Miles stood up when you did.

“I gotta head home, my mom needs me to run a few errands for her.”

“Want me to help?”

You looked at him and smiled.

“Sure. I know mom would love to see you anyways.We can talk about the books on the way there.”

You both quickened your pace, and you grabbed Miles’ hand dragging him along with you.

Neither of you had realized the whole way to your house that you were still holding hands, fingers intertwined.

Miles had told you what he thought about the book so far, and he was interested in it. You explained some things he wasn’t sure about, and gave him some fun facts about the characters and the author.

In turn,he told you about the book he had recommended and about the movie that they had made based on the book. He hated the movie.

Finally getting to your apartment building, you climbed up the stairs to your apartment, dropping his hand to look for your keys.

You opened the front door and the smells of cinnamon permeated your senses.

“Ya llegué! Traje a Miles también!”

You kicked off your shoes and Miles followed suit, staring at the photos on the walls. The walls were covered in pictures of you and your mother, of you and him, and your families together. He pulled his attention away, following you into the kitchen.

You gave your mother a hug from behind, kissing the top of her head. She let out a laugh and shook her head. She would always say you’re her favorite child (you were her only child).

“Dónde estabas? Necesito que lleves esto para mi.”

“Estábamos en la tienda, quería otro libro para leer.”

Your mother turned to Miles, giving him a big hug. He hugged her back awkwardly and you snickered at his eyes pleading for your help.

She parted from him and pointed to the fridge.

“Te dejé algunas pupusas, llévalos a tu mamá también.”

“Uh gracias, I’ll make sure to take them to her.”

Both you and your mom shared a glance and she shrugged, before walking over to hand you a package.

“Just this?”

“Yes, and then no getting sidetracked, you have to come home straight after. I trust you will be with them, right Miles?”

“Si!”

He didn’t miss the way you bit your lip, trying to hold in a laugh. You both bid your mother farewell, and went to deliver the package.

The walk to the place was quiet, Miles had no clue where you were going. You cleared your throat, eyes still forward.

“What was that back there?”

“What was what?”

You stopped walking and Miles stopped a moment after, turning to look at you.

“That accent, Miles!”

“Huh?”

“My mom literally side eyed you, she was definitely confused as to why you were trying to pull a joke on her…”

“Oh, right.”

“I found it funny though, mainly because I do that to her all the time.”

“Right.”

Miles started walking again, and you followed behind him, grabbing his hand that was just swinging.

“Estás enojado conmigo?”

Miles stopped and looked down at your hands that were intertwined. He had a strange feeling in his stomach, he wasn’t sure if he could pinpoint it. He was trying to get home, to figure out how to even get back there, but he didn’t even know how long it had been. Time was relative and he wasn’t sure if he was too late.

He also didn’t know why he felt attached to you, a sense of comfort while being around you. He secretly hoped, that even at home, you would be there.

“I’m not mad.”

“Good. I’m sorry if I hurt your feelings.”

He squeezed your hand, giving you a small smile.

“Nah. You’re good. Don’t worry about it.”

“Hm, okay. But let me know if I do okay?”

“Got it.”

The rest of the walk to the place was filled with you two talking about different things, laughter from the both of you, once again never letting go of the other’s hand.

Miles realized that the area you guys were going to seemed familiar. It was his uncle’s place. His hands started to get sweaty, and he was panicking. He had actively avoided his family, watching from afar.

You, on the other hand, seemed perfectly fine. You hadn’t seen Aaron in a while, and you always wondered if he was doing okay. Miles always seemed on edge when you asked what he and Aaron did, which made you suspicious but you also knew he didn’t have to tell you everything.

You both made it to the hallway, and Miles squeezed your hand once more. You assumed it was an unconscious thing, but Miles did it to reassure himself.

“Why don’t I wait here for you?”

“Come on, I’m just gonna knock on the door and if he’s not there, we’ll leave it on his doorstep.”

He nodded and took a deep breath following you.

You knocked on the door, fully assuming no one would be home. Miles told you beforehand that he was helping Rio, so you just did it to reassure Miles. You weren’t sure if they had fought beforehand, but you didn’t want him to feel uncomfortable.

You knocked once more, hearing a voice on the other end yell for someone else to open the door. You straightened yourself up, plastering a smile on your face. Miles rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb, taking another deep breath.

The door creaked open, and when you made eye contact with the person at the door, your heart fell to the floor. Miles Morales stood in front of you, still wearing his uniform, his smile slowly dropping as he looked at your hand, being intertwined with someone. He looked at the person, eyes growing wide and jaw clenched.

Miles next to you felt his heart stop for a second, unsure what to do. He was staring at himself, who if looks could kill, would have him 6 feet under.

You dropped your hand from Miles’, thoughts going a million miles a minute. The main thought though was:

What the hell is going on?

taglist! @nameless-beanie @carmendanny2 @kukigirli @rayendrop @lovefks @anuncalledbridge @immortal-t @riki-gf @shuriri4life @starboychanyeol @sakura-onesan @the-smut-plug

if your name is in bold i was unable to tag you!

[amyzworldds]

Title: Midnight Swing Fiasco

Masterlist

During a rare two-day holiday, half of Seventeen visits family, leaving yn, under Seungcheol’s strict supervision, restless in the dorm with Jun, Minghao, Hoshi, Vernon, and Woozi. Her frustration fuels a late-night adventure with Hoshi, spiraling into snacks, playground fun, and a chaotic twist. Pairing: Seventeen x 14th member Genre: Fluff, Humor Timeline: 2017

The dorm buzzed with an unusual quiet—it was a rare two-day holiday, and half of Seventeen had bolted to their family homes for some much-needed bonding. Dino and Seungkwan were off giggling with their siblings, Mingyu was probably cooking a feast for his parents, and others had scattered like leaves in the wind. But yn? She was stuck at the dorm, her parents gallivanting on a cruise somewhere tropical, leaving her in Seungcheol’s iron grip. “They handed me over like an orphan!” she’d whined earlier, flopping onto the couch with a pout. “Coups is stricter than Mom and Dad combined!”

Seungcheol stayed behind, of course—ever the dutiful leader, he wouldn’t leave with members still in the dorm, especially not with yn on his watchlist. Jun, Minghao, Hoshi, Vernon, and Woozi lingered too, too lazy or too comfy to travel. The vibe was chill, but yn was anything but. She stomped around all day, grumbling like a grumpy toddler.

“6 PM curfew on a holiday?!” she ranted, thumping her feet on the floor as she trailed Seungcheol from the kitchen to the living room. “It’s inhumane! Dino and Seungkwan get to wander around with their families, and they’ve still got two weeks of cleaning duty with me and Vernon! Why do they get a free pass while I’m stuck here with a bedtime like a five-year-old?!”

Seungcheol didn’t even look up from his phone, scrolling through texts from her parents—probably more “Thank you, Seungcheol!” messages. “Because they’re not the ones sneaking out for ice cream at 3 AM. You’re on probation, kid. Deal with it.”

She flopped onto the couch beside Vernon, who was sprawled out with headphones on, ignoring her entirely. “Vernon oppa, back me up! It’s unfair!”

He cracked one eye open, deadpan. “You’re the reason I’m still scrubbing toilets. I’m not helping you.”

“Traitor!” she huffed, crossing her arms and kicking the air. “I’m the only maknae suffering! Hoshi, tell him it’s cruel!” She turned to Hoshi, who was sprawled on the floor playing with a tiger plushie a fan had gifted.

Hoshi grinned, waving the plushie’s paw. “Horanghae, yn! But yeah, hyung, 6 PM is brutal. Let her live a little—it’s a holiday!”

“Live a little inside,” Seungcheol shot back, unmoved by her pouty pleading eyes. “No sneaking out, no chaos. That’s the rule.”

Night fell, and yn, still grumpy but resigned, begged for a compromise. “Coups oppa, pleeeease let me stay up late! It’s a holiday, and I wanna binge Friends! I won’t sneak out—I swear on my bunny!”

Seungcheol squinted at her, suspicious. “No funny business? You stay in this dorm, or I’m locking you in your room with bells and a padlock.”

“Deal!” she chirped, saluting him like a soldier. “I’m reformed! A good girl now!”

He snorted. “We’ll see.” But he let her have it—holiday mercy, he figured.

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

By 1:30 AM, the living room was a war zone of laughter. Yn and Hoshi were sprawled across the couch, a blanket fort half-collapsing around them, cackling at Friends reruns. “Ross is such a dork!” yn howled, clutching a pillow as she mimicked his whiny “Pivot!” Hoshi doubled over, nearly rolling off the couch. “He’s me if I ever get a girlfriend—‘Tiger pivot!’”

Their stomachs growled in unison, loud enough to drown out the TV. Yn groaned, patting her belly. “I’m starving. Oppa, feed me!”

Hoshi leapt up, striking a dramatic pose. “To the kitchen, my trusty sidekick!” He bolted off, only to flop back onto the couch two minutes later, defeated. “Bad news, yn-ie. No kimchi, no rice, no ramen—nothing easy! Everything’s raw, and I don’t cook. Where’s Mingyu when you need him?!”

“Off being a good son,” yn moaned, sprawling out. “This is torture! We’re gonna starve!”

They locked eyes, then glanced at the clock—1:35 AM—and then the door. Yn shook her head furiously, sitting up. “Nope, nope, nope! I’m not risking it! If Coups catches me, my 6 PM curfew turns into 5 PM—or worse, he’ll cage me like a zoo animal! My parents would just laugh and say, ‘You deserve it, sweetie!’ No way!”

Hoshi’s eyes gleamed, a mischievous tiger grin spreading. He leaned in, whispering, “But I’m not on curfew. And I’m a hyung, I’m older—Coups said you can go out with an older member, right? I’m your ticket to freedom, yn-ie! Convenience store run—chips, corndogs, the works! He won’t care if you’re with me!”

Yn’s jaw dropped, then her face lit up like a firework. “Oh my gosh, you’re right! He said ‘older member’! You’re my loophole, Hoshi oppa!” She bounced up, grabbing her hoodie. “Let’s go—quietly, though. If Woozi wakes up, he’ll snitch for fun.”

Hoshi yanked on his own hoodie and slippers, snagging his wallet with a flourish. “I’ve got the cash, you’ve got the chaos—perfect team!” He peeked into the hall, then waved her over. “Coast is clear. Operation Snack Attack is a go!”

Yn looped her arm through his, and they tiptoed out, giggling like kids sneaking cookies. The door clicked shut behind them, and they burst into the cool night air, skipping down the street arm in arm. “Freedom tastes so good!” Yn sang, twirling under a streetlight.

Hoshi laughed, hopping beside her. “Better with corndogs! Race you to the store!”

The convenience store glowed like a beacon, and they stormed in like giddy tornadoes. Yn grabbed a basket, piling in chips, candies, and sodas while Hoshi hunted down corndogs. “Two for me, two for you!” he declared, waving them triumphantly. “And gummy worms—tiger fuel!”

“Perfect!” Yn said, tossing in a pack of chocolate bars. “We’re feasting tonight!” They paid, Hoshi flexing his wallet like a hero, and shuffled out with bags swinging.

Hoshi munched a corndog, then nudged her. “Wanna hit the playground? Just to chill—eat, vibe, soak in the holiday spirit?”

“Chill? With you?” Yn snorted, linking arms again. “We don’t do ‘chill,’ oppa. Let’s go wild!” They bolted toward the nearby park, their laughter echoing through the empty streets.

The playground was a moonlit wonderland—swings creaking, a slide glinting, and a jungle gym begging to be conquered. They dumped their snacks on a bench, and the madness began. “Swing race!” Hoshi yelled, leaping onto one and pumping his legs like a maniac. Yn jumped on beside him, shrieking, “I’m gonna fly to the moon!”

“You wish!” Hoshi shot back, nearly toppling off. “Tiger power beats bunny hops any day!”

They abandoned the swings for the slide, taking turns zooming down—Hoshi belly-flopping with a “Horanghae!” and yn sliding backward, screaming, “I’m a rocket!” Then they set up her phone, propping it against the snack bags to record their antics.

“Acting challenge!” Yn announced, striking a dramatic pose. “Who’s the saddest? Go!” She fake-cried, clutching her corndog like a lost love. “Oh, my corndog, why’d you leave me?!”

Hoshi dropped to his knees, clutching his chest. “My kimchi… gone forever… I’ll never eat again!” A single tear rolled down his cheek, and yn gasped.

“You cried?! You win!” She tackled him in a hug, and they collapsed into giggles, rolling on the grass. “You’re too good, oppa!”

“Years of practice!” Hoshi panted, sitting up to grab a soda. “Your turn—best tiger impression!”

Yn leapt up, clawing the air. “Rawr! I’m Hoshi, king of chaos!” She pounced on him, and he yelped, spilling his drink. “Hey, that’s my title!”

They wrestled playfully, then sprawled out on the slide, munching chips and swapping dumb stories. “Remember when Mingyu tried to cook for the first time and set off the smoke alarm?” yn said, crunching loudly.

Hoshi cackled. “Coups hyung was so mad—‘You’re banned from the kitchen!’—and Mingyu just pouted like a kicked puppy!”

“Miss that guy,” yn sighed, then grinned. “But this? You and me, snacks, playground? Best holiday ever.”

Hoshi nudged her, his tiger plushie tucked under his arm. “Told you I’m the best member. Coups hyung can’t stop us!”

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

Back at the dorm

It was nearly 4 AM, and the dorm was wrapped in holiday silence—until Seungcheol’s phone erupted into a relentless buzz. He jolted awake, groaning as the screen flashed “Hoshi” over and over. “It’s a holiday,” he muttered, rubbing his eyes. “Who calls at 4 AM unless—” His blood ran cold. “YN!” He didn’t answer right away, dread pooling in his gut. “Not unless the queen of chaos struck again. And Hoshi’s calling? Oh, this is bad.”

He stumbled out of the room he shared with Seungkwan, and shuffled into the living room. The TV blared Friends, Ross whining, but the couch was empty. No yn. No Hoshi. Just their snack bags scattered like a crime scene. Seungcheol’s eyes narrowed, his blood boiling hotter than a kettle. “Those two,” he growled, clenching his fists. “Worse than yn with Dino, Seungkwan, and Vernon combined. They’re the chaos kings. I should’ve locked them in separate cages!”

His phone buzzed again, and he snatched it up, barking, “Hoshi, where the hell are you?!”

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

Meanwhile, Back at the playground

An hour earlier, yn and Hoshi had turned the playground into their personal circus. Their energy was a bottomless well—running, sliding, wrestling, acting, and now swinging like maniacs. The swings creaked under their wild momentum, their laughter echoing through the empty park.

“Bet I can swing higher than you!” Hoshi challenged, pumping his legs with tiger ferocity. “I’ll fly to the stars!”

“No chance!” yn shot back, her hoodie flapping as she soared. “I’m gonna launch into orbit—watch me!” She pushed harder, swinging so high the chains rattled like they might snap.

“Careful, yn-ie!” Hoshi called, mid-laugh. “You’re gonna—WHOA!”

Too late. yn, caught up in her victory lap, misjudged her swing. She launched off at the peak, flailing mid-air like a cartoon character realizing gravity exists. “I’m a bird—oh no, I’m not!” she yelped, crashing to the ground with a thud. Her arm twisted under her, and a sharp crack split the night.

“AWWW!” she wailed, rolling onto her back, clutching her arm. Tears sprang to her eyes as pain shot through her. “Oppa! It hurts! I broke it—I BROKE IT!”

Hoshi leapt off his swing, skidding to her side. “Yn-ie! Are you okay?! Don’t move!” He hovered over her, eyes wide with panic as she writhed, clutching his sleeve.

“I’m dying!” she sobbed, dramatic as ever. “My arm’s gonna fall off! How am I gonna dance? How am I gonna eat ice cream? Gummy worms with one hand?! Hoshi, save me!”

“It’s not falling off!” Hoshi said, though his voice trembled. “Uh—uh—911! I’m calling 911!” He fumbled for his phone, dialing with shaky fingers. “Hello? Yes, hi, my friend fell off a swing—she’s hurt bad! We’re at the park near—uh, the dorm? Big slide, swings, help!”

Yn wailed louder, clinging to him. “Tell them it’s an emergency! I’m too young to lose an arm!”

“They’re coming!” Hoshi said, dropping the phone to hold her good hand. “Stay calm, yn-ie! You’re not dying!”

“I feel like I am!” she cried, flopping against him. “Coups oppa is gonna kill me before the pain does!”

The ambulance arrived in a blur of lights and sirens, paramedics rushing to the scene. They found yn sprawled on the grass, still clutching Hoshi, who was babbling, “She swung too high! I told her to be careful, but she’s yn!” They loaded her onto a stretcher, her arm limp and swollen, and Hoshi trailed after them, wide-eyed and clutching their snack bags like a lifeline.

At the hospital, the diagnosis came fast: a clean break in her forearm. “You’ll need a cast,” the doctor said, prepping the plaster. “Six weeks, no swinging.”

“Six weeks?!” Yn howled, propped on the bed with Hoshi at her side. “I’m doomed! I’ll never survive! Hoshi oppa, tell them I can’t live like this!”

“You’ll be fine,” Hoshi said, though he looked pale. “It’s just a cast! You’re tough, right?”

“Tough?!” she sobbed, grabbing his arm with her good hand. “I’m gonna die! They’ll amputate it—I’ll be armless yn! How do I dance ‘Clap’ with one arm?!”

“They’re not amputating!” Hoshi yelped, patting her head. “It’s just broken! Calm down!”

The cast went on—bright pink, at her insistence—and she slumped back, still sniffling. “This is the end. Tell Coups oppa I’m sorry. Tell my bunny I love her.”

Hoshi, now a jittery mess, pulled out his phone. “I can’t do this alone—I need Coups hyung!” He dialed, pacing as it rang, muttering, “Please pick up, please pick up…”

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

Back to Seungcheol

When Seungcheol finally answered, chaos poured through the line. Background chatter—beeping machines, a nurse’s voice—and yn’s wails hit him like a freight train. “I’m gonna die! My arm’s done for! No more ice cream! No more gummies! How do I live?!”

Then Hoshi’s voice, frantic: “Coups hyung, we’re in the hospital!”

Seungcheol’s jaw dropped, his phone nearly slipping. “Hospital?! What the—Hoshi, what did you two do?!”

“She fell off a swing!” Hoshi blurted. “We were just playing, and she swung too high, and now her arm’s broken, and she’s crying about amputation, and I’m freaking out—help!”

“Fell off a swing?! AMPUTATION!?” Seungcheol roared, already yanking on his jacket. “At 4 AM?! You snuck out?! With her?!”

“She was with me!” Hoshi pleaded. “You said older member, right? I thought it’d be fine! We just wanted snacks!”

“Snacks don’t break arms!” Seungcheol snapped, storming out the door. “Stay there—I’m coming!”

He hung up, muttering curses as he grabbed his keys. “Those two are a walking disaster. Hoshi and yn together? I should’ve known—wild plus wilder equals hospital! I’m chaining them both to the dorm after this!”

Seungcheol barreled into the hospital at 4:30 AM, his holiday peace shattered by the chaos twins. The ER waiting area was a scene straight out of a sitcom: Hoshi sat on a plastic chair, tears streaming down his face, munching a corndog like it was his lifeline. His hoodie was askew, his eyes puffy, and yet he kept nibbling, the greasy wrapper crinkling with every bite.

“hoshi!” Seungcheol bellowed, his voice bouncing off the sterile walls. Nurses spun around, glaring, but he didn’t care. Hoshi leapt up, corndog in hand, and ran at him, arms outstretched like a kid seeking a teddy bear.

“Hyung!” Hoshi wailed, crashing into him. “It’s awful! She’s hurt! I’m a wreck!”

Seungcheol shoved him off, holding him at arm’s length. “Get off me! Where’s yn? And why the hell did you two sneak out?! She’s on curfew—you know that!”

Hoshi sniffled, wiping his nose with his sleeve, still clutching the corndog. “I’m not on curfew! And you said she could go out with an older member! I’m older, hyung! I’m responsible!”

Seungcheol’s eye twitched. “Older?! Look at you!” He gestured at Hoshi—teary-eyed, corndog crumbs on his hoodie, slippers mismatched. “You look like a five-year-old who lost his mom at the store! When I say ‘older,’ I mean mature! You’re in the maknae line pretending to be older—you’re not part of the ‘responsible’ club!”

Hoshi gasped, clutching his chest. “I’m wounded! I saved her! I called 911!”

“Saved her from what?!” Seungcheol snapped. “Where is she?!”

“Room 3,” Hoshi mumbled, pointing down the hall. “She’s… dramatic.”

Seungcheol stormed into Room 3, and the sight nearly broke him. Yn lay on the bed, her bright pink cast propped on a pillow, tears streaking her face as she shoveled chips into her mouth with her good hand. The snack bag rustled loudly, and when she saw Seungcheol, her wails hit a new octave.

“Coups oppa!” she sobbed, flinging a chip in the air. “I’m done for! My arm’s ruined! I’ll never dance again! I’ll starve—one hand can’t hold ice cream and gummies! Save meeee!”

Seungcheol froze, jaw clenched. “You’re not dying, yn! Stop eating long enough to breathe!”

“It’s the end!” she cried, tossing her head back. “I’m a crippled idol! Carats will forget me!”

Hoshi shuffled in behind, still sniffling, corndog now half-gone. “It’s my fault, hyung! I told her to swing higher!”

“No, it’s your fault for not stopping me!” yn shot back, pointing a chip at him. “You’re the older one!”

“I’m a tiger, not a babysitter!” Hoshi wailed, sinking into a chair. “I panicked!”

Seungcheol’s head throbbed. “Enough! Both of you—shut it!” He rubbed his temples, visions of headlines flashing: “Seventeen’s Maknae Breaks Arm in Midnight Swing Fiasco!” How would he spin this to the media? To Carats? To their managers? They had schedules post-holiday—this was a nightmare! “I can’t do this alone,” he muttered, yanking out his phone. “Jeonghan, Joshua—get here. Now.”

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

On the Road with Jeonghan and Joshua

Jeonghan and Joshua were halfway home from their family visits when Seungcheol’s call came through. “Yn’s in the hospital with Hoshi,” he’d barked. “Swing accident. I need backup.”

Jeonghan smirked, steering the car. “Told you. Yn plus Hoshi at 4 AM? That’s a recipe for disaster.”

Joshua sighed, sipping a coffee he’d grabbed for the drive. “I’m not surprised. She’s grounded, he’s wild—they’re a tornado together. Poor Coups.”

“Poor us,” Jeonghan corrected, accelerating. “We’re the cleanup crew. Bet she’s crying about ice cream again.”

Joshua chuckled. “And Hoshi’s probably eating something weird to cope. Five bucks says it’s a corndog.”

“Deal,” Jeonghan said, grinning. “Let’s save Coups before he locks them both in a closet.”

Back at the Hospital

Seungcheol cornered the doctor while yn and Hoshi bickered in the background. “She’s got a clean break,” the doctor explained, holding up an X-ray. “Six weeks in the cast. No heavy lifting, no swinging, keep it dry. She’ll be fine—dancing’s off for now, though.”

“Dancing’s off?!” Yn overheard, wailing anew. “I’m useless! Hoshi oppa, this is your fault!”

“My fault?!” Hoshi yelped, waving his corndog stub. “You swung like a lunatic! I said ‘careful,’ but nooo!”

“Quiet!” Seungcheol barked, turning back to the doctor. “Thanks. I’ll make sure she follows—or I’ll tie her to a chair myself.”

He marched back to the duo, who were now sniffling in stereo. “You two are killing me. yn, you’re grounded—still 6 PM, no exceptions. Hoshi, you’re on watch duty now. If she sneaks out again, it’s on you.”

“But I’m hurt!” yn protested, waving her cast. “Have mercy!”

“Mercy’s why I’m not grounding you both!” Seungcheol shot back. “Let’s go—Jeonghan and Joshua are on their way.”

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

At the Dorm

By 5:30 AM, Seungcheol herded yn and Hoshi back to the dorm, yn cradling her cast and Hoshi still nibbling corndog crumbs off his fingers. They slumped onto the couch like scolded toddlers, and Seungcheol loomed over them, voice booming.

“What were you thinking?!” he roared. “Swinging at 3 AM?! yn, you’re grounded for a reason! Hoshi, you’re supposed to be smarter than this!”

“I’m an older member!” Hoshi whined, pouting. “I thought it’d be fine!”

“You’re an older in age, not brain!” Seungcheol snapped. “You’re as bad as her—worse, because you encouraged it!”

Yn sniffled, hugging her cast. “I just wanted snacks and fun! Now I’m broken, and you’re yelling! You’re mean, Coups oppa!”

“Mean?!” Seungcheol laughed, incredulous. “I’m keeping you alive! If this leaks—‘Seventeen’s maknae Breaks Arm in Playground Mishap’—we’re toast! Managers will flip, Carats will riot, and I’ll have to explain why my ‘responsible’ members are swinging at midnight!”

The commotion woke the dorm’s stragglers. Minghao shuffled out, rubbing his eyes. “What’s with the yelling? It’s a holiday.”

Vernon followed, hoodie up. “Yn’s crying. Shocker.”

Jun poked his head out, grinning. “Did she sneak out again?”

Woozi stumbled in last, glaring. “Why is everyone loud? I was sleeping!”

Seungcheol pointed at the culprits. “These two geniuses snuck out, swung too hard, and now she’s got a broken arm! Hospital at 4 AM—happy holiday!”

Minghao blinked. “Swinging? At night? Classic.”

Vernon smirked. “Told you she’d crack. Glad I stayed out of it.”

Jun cackled. “Hoshi and yn? That’s a disaster duo—I love it!”

Woozi groaned. “Can I go back to bed? This isn’t my mess.”

“Not yet,” Seungcheol said, turning back to the couch. “You two—explain yourselves to them!”

Yn pouted, waving her cast. “It was a holiday adventure! Hoshi said it’d be fine—he’s older!”

“I am!” Hoshi insisted, then shrank under Seungcheol’s glare. “Kinda…”

“You’re a toddler with a tiger obsession!” Seungcheol barked. “And you—” He jabbed a finger at yn. “No more ‘adventures’! You’re benched ‘til that cast’s off!”

The door opened—Jeonghan and Joshua, finally. They stepped in, taking one look at the scene: Yn sniffling with chips, Hoshi mid-corndog sob, and Seungcheol on the verge of a meltdown.

Jeonghan smirked. “Well, well. What did I tell you, Shua?”

Joshua sighed, handing over five bucks. “Corndog. You win.”

“Help me!” Seungcheol pleaded. “They’re insane!”

Jeonghan sauntered over, patting yn’s head. “Broken arm, huh? You’re a legend, kid. Dumb, but a legend.”

Joshua crouched by Hoshi, grinning. “Crying and eating? That’s peak Hoshi.”

“I’m traumatized!” Hoshi wailed, hugging him. “She flew off the swing!”

“I’m the victim!” yn protested, shoving chips at Jeonghan. “Pity me!”

Seungcheol threw his hands up. “You’re all grounded—mentally! I’m done! I did not sign up for this!”

The room erupted in laughter—Jun filming it on his phone, Vernon muttering, “This is why I sleep through her chaos,” and Woozi stomping back to bed. Jeonghan and Joshua took over, calming the toddlers while Seungcheol plotted damage control, already dreading the inevitable manager call.

And so, the holiday ended in a hospital trip, a cast, and a lecture for the ages. Yn and Hoshi’s wild night cemented their chaos crown, but with Jeonghan and Joshua’s backup, Seungcheol survived—barely. Another tale of madness for Seventeen’s history books!

[inmyheaddd]

walkin’ out the door with your bags - grayson hawthorne x reader - part 6

⤷ “i’m not the type to run, i know we’re having fun,”

summary: you and gigi are peacefully enjoying your day, when you find out, grayson’s… back? and he wants to talk. what could go wrong? wc: 3.0k masterlist || series masterlist — other parts!

14 years old… 

you found him hiding in the library.  

he was slumped in the corner, knees pulled to his chest, head buried in his arms. at first, you weren’t sure it was him—grayson hawthorne never looked so… small. 

his usually pristine shirt slightly wrinkled like he’d been tugging at the hem, and it wasn’t tucked in. he didn’t look straight at you when you stepped in, but he didn’t tell you to leave either.  

“what do you want?” his voice cracked, but he tried to sound cold.  

you didn’t answer. instead, you sat down beside him, legs crossed, like it was the most normal thing in the world. 

he blinked at you, waiting for an explanation, but you just shrugged. years of knowing each other, and it always went down like this. 

“company.” you picked a random book off the nearest shelf and flipped it open. “you can pretend i’m not here.”

he didn’t reply.

minutes passed. long enough that you thought maybe he really would ignore you. at one point, you began actually reading the book you were pretending to read, and nearly forgot about the boy beside you.

but then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

“i don’t know what to do.” he admitted slowly. “there’s this girl… emily,” he said, his voice low, and you felt your heart beat faster. “and… my brother. jameson.”

your chest tightened, though you weren’t sure why. your kept your gaze fixed on the pages of your book, but your hands had stopped turning the pages.

“what about them?” you asked carefully, glancing at him for a second.

he ran a hand through his hair. “she’s… complicated. and jameson—he doesn’t think. he just jumps into things, never stops to think what it might do to everyone else.”

you hesitated, breath hitching as you studied the way he wouldn’t look straight into your eyes. whatever this was, clearly meant a lot.

he continued, looking down at the floor. “it gets repetitive. jameson, emily—they don’t think about the damage until it’s too late. and then they leave me to clean it up. and stupidly, for some reason, i do. i always do.”

you’ve seen grayson sad before, but this was different. he looked… lost. and angry. and for someone like grayson, who always carried himself like he had the whole world in order, it was jarring.

“you’re allowed to be mad, you know,” you said.

that made him pause. “i’m not mad,” he said, but the words sounded like a blatant lie.

your shoulders were barely touching , but the act alone felt larger than anything else. 

you tilted your head, a soft smile growing on your face. “okay, then you’re… frustrated? dissapointed? annoyed? irritated? pick your adjective.”

that earned the tiniest flicker of a smile, and your chest felt a little lighter, but then it disappeared just as quickly. he looked at you then, and something about the way his eyes searched your face made your breath catch.

“sometimes, i think you’re the only person who actually sees me,” he said quietly.

your heart stuttered, and for a second, you couldn’t think of anything to say. 

but then you smiled, “of course i see you,” you rolled your eyes jokingly like he hadn’t just sincerely confirmed that he really did see you as a friend, after years of just feeling like you pestered him. 

your cheeks reddened, “i’m your friend, that’s what i’m here for.” 

“but, you know,” you continued, “you’re surrounded by people who care about you,” you said softly, taking the focus away from you, and back to being there for grayson. “just let yourself see it. don’t push them away.”

his head snapped up at that, his sharp eyes meeting yours. “but people never just… stay.” he mumbled. “they have their own lives, their own motives.”

you stayed. you always would. “that doesn’t mean you have to shut everyone out,” you said, your voice steadier now.

“not everyone’s going to hurt you, grayson. but you won’t know that if you keep closing the door before anyone gets close. i mean, i annoyed you for so many years straight even when you pushed me away.” you said. 

“not everyone has my extreme level of patience and willingness to accept moody brooding.” you joked to lighten the moment, but there was truth behind it, he couldn’t expect people to stick around if he pushed them away.

he stared at you for a long moment, and something in his expression cracked, like he wanted to believe you but didn’t quite know how yet. 

he looked back at the floor, “you never actually irritated me,” he admitted, “and i never hated you. perhaps you’re right, i don’t… i don’t like to let people in.” 

you shrugged casually, “i’m always right.” 

he looked at you with a newfound softness in his eyes. “you’re annoyingly persistent, you know that?” he said finally, your shoulders still brushing against each other. 

“oh, i know.” you grinned. “if i wasn’t, we wouldn’t be friends right now.” you said with a small smile. “someone’s gotta stick around to remind you you’re not as alone as you think.”

for a while, neither of you said anything. grayson leaned his head back against the wall, letting out a long, quiet breath. 

that was when you knew he was replaying your words, letting them sink in—even if he wouldn’t say it outloud. 

— 

present

after days of confusion and radio silence from grayson, you finally told yourself that you were done overthinking. gigi had dragged you to your favorite ice cream shop for a much-needed distraction. 

the two of you sat at your usual table near the front, the smell of waffle cones and the soft hum of background music lulling you back into some sense of normalcy. that was until gigi leaned closer, her voice a hushed whisper.

“don’t look now, but…” gigi trailed off, her eyes going behind you once again. “grayson is kind of, um, here. and sitting behind you.” 

considering gigi had made very careful effort to not even mention his name around you — even when you persisted you didn’t care— hearing graysons name come from her lips stunned you for a moment, then you realized what she had just said. 

“what?” you whispered in shock, and then you turned around before you could think it twice. 

there were quite a few people in the shop, so there was quiet chatter mixed with the background music, but it all seemed to silence. 

but there he was, grayson hawthorne, sitting in the back of the empty icecream shop, glasses on typing on his computer.

‘who did he think he was?’ you thought, ‘coming to our— my place? the one that i introduced him to?’ 

you focused on the anger so you wouldn’t feel anything else. 

what on earth was he doing here? who the hell comes to an ice cream shop and doesn’t even get anything? and does what, office work? and who—

he looked up through his glasses, and you realized to late that you were sort of… full blown staring. 

he met your eyes for the briefest of seconds as you turned your head back around. 

“holy cow…” gigi mumbled as she looked down at her icecream, “he’s giving you a major longing stare right now.”

“okay,” you hummed, raising your eyebrows momentarily in lieu of a shrug that he would he able to see, “i don’t care.”

“sure you don’t,” she replied knowingly, dragging her spoon through her melting sundae. you gave her a look that said you didn’t agree, and that you seriously did not care, but she didn’t say anything. 

a beat passed before gigi suddenly grinned. “okay. in five seconds, i’m giving him a major angry glare.” she mumbled under her breath. 

“gigi, do not.”

“three…

“seriously, don’t.”

“two… one. i’m doing it!”

“gigi!”

she tilted her head back up, and bless her heart, gave her best attempt at a seething glare at grayson. 

it was sort of impossible for her to look angry with her wide blue eyes, no matter how hard she furrowed her brows. 

and she didn’t let up at it for a few seconds, then raised her eyebrows — half surprised and half amused. “ha,” she grinned to herself and fisted the air. “he looked away first. loser.” 

he was probably just crazily confused, you reckoned. 

“okay,” you chuckled under your breath, your cheeks reddening by the second. “um, should we leave now?”

“no,” gigi whined, taking a bite of her icecream. “that’ll make it obvious we’re mad. besides, i haven’t finished my icecream.” 

“well, i think that look you gave him made it more obvious,” you told her, and she only laughed as she shook her head. “but alright.” 

it wasn’t long before you left. you didn’t even have an appetite any more, and you were too overly aware of a presence behind you to focus on anything else. gigi finished her icecream promptly. 

the drive home was quiet. gigi hummed along to the radio, her mood as bright as ever, but you couldn’t shake the tightness in your chest. 

your thoughts churned, questions you’d been trying to bury for a few days swirling all over again.

“you’re quiet,” gigi said after a while, her tone soft. she glanced at you, concerned, but you only shook your head, trying to force a small smile.

“just tired,” you mumbled.

gigi didn’t push, and you could tell she didn’t buy it.

you pulled into the driveway and sat there for a moment, the car engine ticking softly as it cooled. gigi patted your arm before grabbing her bag and heading inside.

you smiled and nodded, muttering something like ‘i’ll meet you inside,’ and you stayed behind for a moment, staring at the steering wheel.

your phone was put on silent, then you scrolled through your notifications. 

grayson 

— Hi, I believe I saw you and Gigi today

you

— yeah haha i think gigi told me she saw you  i thought you were gone for 8 days? — it’s nice to see you back

grayson 

— Likewise. — I think we should talk, It’s been long overdue. 

a scoff escaped before you could stop it. the audacity.

your fingers moved before your brain could catch up.

you

— ok — talk then 

grasyon

— Would you be alright with talking in person?

you 

— yeah sure whatever — where?

grayson

— I’ll come to you.

you

— maybe not — i don’t want to disturb gigi

grayson

— Our park spot, then?

you

— ok

your heart slammed in your chest. you sat there for a moment, staring at the screen wordlessly, trying to process what just happened. 

our? how could he even still use that word?

this was happening, you were going to talk to grayson for real this time. you anticipated it wouldn’t end good. things with him were rarely easy.

you put on your headphones to numb your thoughts, pulled on a hoodie, and made your way out the house. 

the playground was completely empty, which was usually how it was when you and grayson used to go. the sun was already beginning to set when you walked out of your house, and it was fully dark once you arrived, making your way toward your spot. the bench.

it wasn’t anything special—just a worn wooden bench tucked away at the edge of the playground. but it had been yours. you and grayson’s.

he was already there when you arrived, sitting with his elbows resting on his knees, staring at the ground like it might have the answers he needed.

you sat down on the opposite end of the bench, keeping a deliberate distance. “okay,” you said, crossing your arms. “talk.” the park was eerily quiet, the air cooling rapidly as the sun finally disappeared behind the trees. the bench felt cold under your fingers as you sat down, the weight of the moment settling in.

his eyes flicked to yours, and for the first time, you thought you saw a hint of guilt there. 

you were both silent for a few seconds, before you looked away, down at the floor.

“fine, if you won’t talk, i will.” you muttered. 

“grayson,” you sighed, “you can’t just—” you started, your voice breaking slightly before you caught yourself. 

you cleared your throat, willing the tears to stay put. “you can’t just disappear and then show up like nothing happened. like i’m supposed to just... what? forget it?”

he inhaled, then hesitated. “you know, i never meant it to be like this. i didn’t mean for it to feel like that.” he said quietly, his tone so calm that it just made you more angry.

“feel like what, grayson?” you finally snapped your head towards his. “like you were ignoring me? like you couldn’t be bothered to let me know what was going on? because that’s exactly what it felt like.”

his jaw tightened, but he didn’t say anything.

“that’s it?” you scoffed, followed by a bitter laugh as you sat up straight. “you disappear, you come back, and all you’ve got is ‘i didn’t mean for it to feel like that?’”

he wielded silence like a weapon, just like he always had.

you continued, still. “what’s going on with you? you’re acting so— so different, i barely even recognize you.”

he let out a breath as he looked away, running a hand through his hair. “please, don’t make this harder than it already is,” he started, his voice calm but careful. “yes, we are good friends, but we’ve tarnished that too far for us to ever be simply friends again.”

“what? grayson,” you said through a forced laugh, “what are you even saying right now?” you knew precisely what he was saying. 

“you’re a good person.” he said, almost sounding like he was begging for you to see his point, “you’re a lovely person, the most caring and funniest person i’ve met. you deserve better, i’m not the person for you.” 

“grayson, what is wrong with you?” you couldn’t help but laugh at the absurdity at what you were hearing, but you were so frustrated at his… selfishness.

“i want you, you want me, right? it’s that simple! just let us be us.”

“it’s never that simple.” he shook his head, that one strand falling back into his face. his brows furrowed slightly like the words hurt him to say.

“it is that simple! you’re making no sense, just— just stop.” you stood up, and he followed, fear flashing in his eyes momentarily. 

you took a slow step away from him.

“you kissed me! you kissed me.” your voice crackled, and you swallowed thickly, forcing yourself to keep going. “if you knew from day one that you couldn’t do this, you should’ve just spared me the effort and left me alone.”

he looked at you like you’d shot a dagger through his heart, though his eyes were the only thing that showed it. were you being unfair? probably. but in your eyes, you had every right to be. 

as much as both of you hated to admit, his eyes were far too easy for you to read. they were like a language only you were fluent in, like you could have a whole conversation without even speaking.

now, all they said was pain. 

“you’re the only thing making things more difficult, gray.” you hated the way your voice trembled. 

low blow after low blow. but he deserved it. 

all those nights you’d spent together? he knew you inside and out, what hurts you, what doesn’t, and exactly how you love.

he knew all of that, and he still thought that leaving because things were difficult was going to be the right thing.

this couldn’t be real.

“look at us, don’t you see it?” he motioned between the two of you, like whatever was happening was a tangible thing he could see. “we’re fighting like this, and we’re not even together. we’re going to ruin each other.”

ruin each other? is that what he thought? god knows how many years of friendship, a pretty perfect friendship too, and he thought making something official would lead to you ruining each other? 

you weren’t fighting with him, you were trying to fight for him. for the chance of you actually being something more. 

“we can’t do this.” his voice felt so detached, but his eyes looked so hurt at the same time. he didn’t getto feel hurt, not when it was his fault. “we’ll just end up hurting eachother, and i don’t want to hurt you.”

you nodded silently, willing your tears back. every inch of you you wanted to scream in his face, “you already have! you coward.”

he was doing nothing but hurt you these past few days.

instead, you nodded, biting the inside of your cheek to keep the tears at bay.

“yeah,” you said, pressing your lips together as you nodded again. “alright. i get it. that’s it then?”

grayson’s eyes narrowed for a split second like he was confused. 

was he surprised? did he think you were going to hang on longer? because you weren’t. you’d spent far too much energy on him. you always saw him as someone worth spending you time on, someone worth trying to figure out, someone you wanted to know.

but you understood now: he didn’t want you to figure him out because he didn’t even know who he was himself. he was scared. but that wasn’t an excuse; you were terrified, and you still were. 

love had always been your fatal flaw, the one thing you were unsure of, but you were willing to dive in head first because it was grayson. 

he just didn’t feel as deeply though. 

you didn’t want to figure him out, and you didn’t want to know anything about him anymore. 

he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you, and for a moment, his mask slipped. his eyes—those stupid, stupid eyes— almost made you want to feel sorry for him. he looked vulnerable, but you were too angry to let it affect you this time.

“i… yes.” grayson finally said, sounding unsure of himself for once in his life. “i suppose that’s it.”

“good,” you nodded as your crossed your arms, “because i don’t want to hear what you have to say ever again.“ 

he reached his hands out but quickly let his arms fall back, curling his fingers into a fist. 

he looked at you like he didn’t know what to say, his mouth opening and closing before he finally settled on just staying silent.

you still felt like there was a million unspoken words that needed to be said, but you turned and walked away. 

for once, you didn’t wait to see if he’d try again.

you willed your feet to move and not think about how he looked behind you, because if you did, even for a second, you had a feeling you’d turn right back. 

part 7

a/n: guys it gets better i swear they’ll be happier than ever soon 🙏 taglist: @x-liv25-jamieswife @wish-i-were-heather @thecircularlibrary @whatsamongus @littlemissmentallyunstable

@anintellectualintellectual @lovethornes @maybxlle @sheisntyou @emelia07

 @midiosaamor @sweetreveriee @charsoamerican @hxress23 @imaseabear 

@clarissaweasley-10 @off-to-the-r4ces @thelov3lybookworm @graysw1fe @lanterns-and-daydreams 

@hermesenthusiast @elysianwayy77 @that-daughter-of-hephaestus @apollosmusee

[bubblesnd]

It's 3AM, and I'm feeling angsty

You started dating the 141 6 months ago. Everything was bliss up until last week. They started withdrawing, becoming more distant. At first, you thought it was because of their work, so you didn't let it bother you. But days turned into weeks, and they just got more and more distant. No more cuddles on the couch, no more sweet whispers in your ear. They even stopped holding you in bed. You tried to ignore the pain in your heart, but you could only take so much.

After weeks of forgetting you, ignoring you, you finally confront one of them. "Why are you guys ignoring me?". Ghost brushes you off, you grab his arm, and plead with him to talk to you. Ghost snaps and yells at you, "Will you quit yer whining! Yer acting like a spoiled brat. " Ghost storms off. You feel tears prick your eyes as you head to your bedroom and cry. You try and confide in price, but he just brushes you off. Soap and gaz start to ignore your messages and always decline spending time with you.

You feel awful, like a piece of discarded trash. Whenever you try to bring it up, you get shot down. "John enough is enough. We need to talk about this. " "About what!?, you're acting like a child. Stop acting so clingy!" Price yells. "A child!?, I'm the child for wanting to be treated with respect, not just some toy you got bored with!." "I took care of you all, I cooked, I cleaned, I did everything you asked of me. And all I asked in return was love!." Tears streaming down your face.

"I loved you all, and you tossed me aside like trash. You have the audacity to call me spoiled and clingy when I've done nothing but accept you."I understood at first, I said nothing, even when weeks went by, I still understood." Price looks at your tear stained face."I have to work get out." And gets back to his paperwork. You feel humiliated and ashamed as you walk out of his office. You cry yourself asleep into the bed you all used to share.

You wake up, and the house is empty. And you finally decide to leave. You pack all your things and leave a note for the 141.

The 141 comes home laughing and finds all of your stuff gone. Laughter leaves the room, and they look around. Price picks up the letter you left.

~𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔 𝑰 𝒕𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒚𝒐𝒖. 𝑭𝒐𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒆𝒌𝒔 𝑰 𝒎𝒂𝒅𝒆 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒐𝒏 𝒘𝒉𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒚 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒅. 𝑰 𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒚𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒎𝒂𝒚 𝒏𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔 𝒉𝒐𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂𝒍𝒍 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒃𝒂𝒅 𝒅𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒎. 𝑩𝒖𝒕 𝒘𝒉𝒐 𝒂𝒎 𝑰 𝒌𝒊𝒅𝒅𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒚 𝒔𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒐 𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒄𝒂𝒓𝒅~

The 141 finally realizes their mistake, but it's too late now. You're gone. But are they willing to let you go.

[innorogers]

Vigil

Steve Rogers x Reader (You / OFC)

Summary: For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

Warning: Mention of sex / Fluff & Angst / Protective Steve / Jealous Steve /

Characters: OC, Tony Stark, Maria Hill, Bruce Banner, Sam Wilson, Sharon Carter, Natasha Romanoff / John Walker

Also: Thanks in advance for repost or any feedback ❤️ Let me know if you want to be included in the taglist (DM, comment, repost and tag, whatever works)❤️ You don't need to read the previous chapters but it will definitely enhance the experience if you do.

1: Insomnia | 2: Lucid | 3: Reverie | 4: Nightmare | 5: Awakening | 6: Dusk | 7: Hypnagogia | 8: Lull

It ended just as expected. Steve cummed twice in the shower—once in your mouth, because, damn, he tasted amazing after cleaning up, and again inside you, because you smelled just as irresistible with that jasmine scent in your hair.

So here you are, three cups of coffee later, and about to nap on your desk. The body Hydra gave you was strong, but you’ve been in a car chase, with the Iron Army hunting you down, fought in a nightclub, and probably had four or five rounds of sex with Steve. You honestly don’t know what was more exhausting. You’d guess the mission that had gone rogue, but honestly, the sex just left you breathless.

"Oh, rough night?" Robert handed you a fourth cup of coffee, eyeing the dark circles under your eyes. "Need the adrenaline shot?"

"Um…" You actually considered it for a moment. Your body metabolized stuff like that too fast, though—it would only last for a couple of hours, tops. "Nah, forget it.” You need your brain clear to process everything that happened. 

“I’ve heard…” Dr. Lin’s voice interrupted your thoughts as he leaned casually on your desk, his eyes scanning the room where your colleagues were clearly whispering about you. “That Captain America had quite the adventure yesterday. Right after leaving the UN, too.”

He tsked and pulled out his phone, showing you a few grainy clips. Footage from CCTVs and some shaky handhelds—probably from people who had their phones out at the right moment. “A broken bridge, streets on fire, and…a fight in a nightclub? You’re gonna need more than coffee to survive this shift, I think.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples. “Too late for damage control, huh? Is it all over the news?” You could only imagine the hell Steve was going through with Commander Hill: ‘I gave you 1,278 security protocols, and you ignored them all?!’ Yeah, you weren’t setting foot in the command room today.

“Not quite all over the news yet—mostly social media.” Dr. Lin was clearly enjoying the UN’s PR disaster a bit too much. “I think they’re working overtime behind the scenes to sweep it under the rug. Captain America gets attacked his first time outside the compound during ‘The Reconciliation of the Century’? Yeah…someone’s having a bad day in PR.”

“Anyway…as I was saying…You’re gonna need more than coffee, we’ve got company today…”

“What? Company?” You were surprised. “They’re letting people in?!” After yesterday’s security breach?

“Seems the first New Era Project agent that the UN sent was a fraud or didn’t work. And since we visited them yesterday already, today, they’re sending some new guys.” Dr. Lin looked at you, lowering his glasses: “Yikes, right? So for today, we need to pretend we’re working. ‘Cause we’re not sharing our real stuff…which will make this day unbearable.”

Oh. You grimaced after Dr. Lin turned around and began “working.” Yeah, you knew everything about how the last agent went wrong. But actually, this ‘pretend to be working’ thing was good—you needed to analyze everything that had happened.

You opened a document connected to Tony’s hub and started typing, outlining the details for him in your usual style. (It was your private little system—documents stored in The Crib, or what the three of you called the ‘Geniuses’ Sticky Notes.’) You’d barely finished bullet point five when someone in a crisp military uniform appeared beside you, smiling next to your screen.

“Hi, Doctor—whose phone number is still confidential. Nice to see you again.” John Walker said smiling, quoting the line you’d once used to refuse giving him your number.

Oh dear Lord, he really should have taken a nap with you when he had the chance, instead of those three—no, four rounds of sex you had in the dressing room and the shower.

Steve thought after suppressing another yawn, trying to focus on the screen, where Thadeus Ross was losing his temper again, explaining why the UN had nothing to do with the attack he and you got yesterday.

But who was he kidding? Steve almost smiled. Nope, no way he’d have preferred the nap over the sex. That was exactly what he needed after being hard almost the entire afternoon. And four times weren’t enough—he would have gone on if you weren’t in the dressing room.

For fuck’s sake, when is this over? He couldn’t wait to get back to your private lab-slash-home, have a light dinner, and get in bed with you.

Oh, that’s a nice thought: a sex marathon for the weekend is all he needs after this hellish week. He started thinking of your intertwined bodies, your begging moans that sounded like heaven... Yeah, okay, he needs to focus. Maybe listen to what the Secretary has to say instead of thinking about your messy hair, your heavy breath, your skin that felt like silky sweet milk, and your mouth... Yup, stop. Let’s hear Ross, so he doesn’t get hard again in the middle of a full meeting room.

He felt a glare on him, so he looked around and saw Agent Sharon Carter staring with her eyebrows raised, as if saying, “Gotcha, pay attention.” Steve suppressed a smile and looked down. Oh boy, this was going to be a long day.

“I thought your super friends were going to be attending this meeting too.” Once the screen was off, Sharon smiled at him while picking up the folders and files.

“Well... Hill and Sam are still in Fraser’s interrogation. Tony and Bruce are tracking back the security breach. Natasha and Clint took over my place in training since I’m busy with other things. So...”

Basically, what happened was that when Tony asked who would be taking this mission, everyone stepped back, and I was the only idiot at the front. Steve shook his head internally.

“In that case.” Sharon gave him the usual confident wink. “I’m glad. It’s been forever since we shared a mission.” She grinned. “Last time almost cost me my career.”

“Yeah...um...lucky, things sorted out on that one...” He was a little embarrassed but still grateful for Sharon’s help during the Civil War chaos.

“I’m kidding with you, okay?” Sharon teased. “It’s not like I almost got into federal prison or anything.” She sighed a little, lowering her voice: “Although, I wouldn’t have minded if I had to.” She said with a soft voice and a sparkle in her eyes, looking at Steve with sincerity, which made him stiffen.

“So, how have you been?” Steve nodded and asked with a polite smile, pressing the elevator button for her as they headed to the cafeteria floor. “How does it feel to be at the UN? I heard the benefits are better than the CIA, though unfortunately, you’ll need to deal with us again.”

"Ah, I don’t know what you're talking about," Sharon said with a wink, grinning playfully. "Every agent’s dream, right? Dealing with the Avengers, working alongside the great Captain America... even if, well, my boss would rather face another alien army than deal with the politics of this initiative."

“Well, that’d make two of us.” Steve chuckled, and opened the cafeteria door for her.

The hum of chatter and the clinking of dishes filled the air. The compound’s cafeteria was large, efficient, and—much to Steve’s relief—quiet at this time of day. It was near lunchtime, but still a little early for food service, so the air was full of a coffee’s aroma that lingered from breakfast. They got in line for coffee and a quick snack, and Sharon gave him a sideways glance, her expression teasing as she grabbed a sandwich.

“Oh wow, you guys have affogato as dessert? I could consider getting back to work with you guys just for your catering service.” Sharon said, breaking the brief silence as they moved along the counter.

“Well, if you consider that, I could make my best effort to get your agent’s number back.” Steve grinned, grabbing just a cup of coffee.

“Oh yes, lucky number, huh?” She stopped for a second as she laughed and said, “Remember that place we went to… Venice? What was it called, the best affogato in the world.”

“Benicio’s?” Steve nodded. “Yeah… it’s closed now. I mean, gone during the Blip, hopefully reopened now.”

“You didn’t have the affogato, though,” Sharon said with a playful hint in her voice. “Mr. ‘I don’t know how to relax since I got into a fight with Stark and we’re on the run.’”

“Hey, I was the international most wanted. I think it was okay for me just to stay out of the loop. Imagine if I got caught because of ice cream. That would’ve been…”

“Funny? Quite a story to tell? Best date I’ve ever had?” Sharon shrugged.

“...Embarrassing.” Steve said with a smile. “Or awkward, or even humiliating.”

Sharon shook her head and laughed. They found a table by the window, where sunlight poured in, and Steve took a seat across from her. He could see the curiosity in Sharon’s eyes, the slight hesitation before she spoke again.

“It really was, actually. One of my top three dates.” Her smile turned more serious, her voice low enough that only Steve could hear over the ambient noise. “Too bad it ended so… abruptly.”

Steve wanted to say, "We would never have made it too far", but he only sighed.

He didn’t want to dismiss her feelings, and he couldn’t deny that something had existed between them. It was brief, but also real. A shared history they couldn’t quite forget or ignore.

Sharon was strong, smart, and capable—someone he admired deeply and cared about. He appreciated her confidence and her courage, but that connection, though meaningful, was nothing compared to what he felt for you now.

That had been a stream. With you, it was tides, waves, the entire ocean.

“We made a good team.” Steve said with a smile, being honest and looking directly into her eyes.

Something about it made Sharon hold her breath. 

She could remember moments in the past when Steve had the same effect on her. He would just gaze at her, and her heartbeat would skip or beat too fast.

Maybe that’s why she hadn’t pushed harder when it didn’t work. If she had fallen, completely and madly, as she’d wanted to, the power he held over her would have been overwhelming.

She had risked her entire career just to help him, and they were… nothing. Just a kiss, just some kisses or dates. So what would have happened if they’d continued? She couldn’t imagine a life where she had so little discipline about her feelings, mind, or heart.

“I know.” Sharon spoke softly, still holding his gaze. She was taking a leap of faith now. Cause she couldn’t help to wonder—could it have worked?

What if…they gave it another chance? They didn’t have the menace of the universe’s destruction now, the chances of Steve (or her) being a fugitive again were none after Thanos, so what… what if…?

“But…” She began, but Steve suddenly turned as something caught his attention.

It was lunchtime, and the employees began to arrive at the cafeteria, you among them, with Dr. Lin at your right and John Walker at your left.

“Captain Walker, I really don’t need a date. I have a boyfriend, no, um… fiancé.” You said as you picked up a tray and started serving lunch on your plate, remembering how Steve just highlighted this morning that the ring was indeed, a ring.

“It’s John.” Said a very cheerful John Walker, who was not stepping back from asking you out, even though you had been determined and clear about your “NO”s and reasons.

“Well, does this fiancé have a name? And where’s the ring?” he said while picking lunch and placing food, walking backward with a gracious wink.

“OH MY GOD!” You and Dr. Lin said at the same time, your eyes widening as you noticed the ring was missing from your finger.

“Where’s the ring? D…did you lose the ring?!” Robert was panicking. Did you just lose the engagement ring Captain America gave you?!

“I don’t know, it was on my finger...” You were looking in your lab coat pockets and in your clothes.

“It’s a tracking device, equipped with the last of Stark technology, how...how can you lose a tracking device?!” Dr. Lin couldn’t believe it. 

“Your boyfriend put a tracking device on you?” John hmph'd with a laugh. “What a douchebag!” He put a hand on his chest. “I promise, I would never do such a manipulative, controlling freak thing to you.” He winked. “I’ll look out for other guys who come close, of course, but that’s another level of jerkiness. Ugh...a tracking device, what is he, a psychopath?”

“It’s an engagement ring,” you replied, frowning, though you didn’t think of giving out too much information to him. You thought back to the last time you saw the ring, which was before you took it off when you entered the UN HQ.

You pulled out your phone, wanting to send a message to Steve just to confirm.

Some strands of hair curved in front of you when you looked down, and John, who was standing in front of you, couldn’t help but stretch out his hand and brush them to your shoulder. His fingers ran through your hair, and his fingertips touched your ear as he accommodated it for you.

Before you could react, a loud crash echoed through the cafeteria, like the sound of a broken cup or mug.

Sharon stood in shock as Steve slammed his cup down so hard the porcelain shattered. His face was livid, veins bulging in his neck, and his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles were white.

He abruptly stood, the chair scraping loudly behind him, and stormed in your direction.

"I've got it, babe." Steve said. He didn’t miss a moment of the interaction and was at your side in an instant. He took your hand, his eyes locked on John Walker, and carefully slid the ring back onto your finger. “It was in the pocket of your gear.” 

Both captains exchanged tense, serious looks. You could feel the sparks fly between them as they made eye contact, and after a long moment, Steve finally smiled.

“I’m guessing you're here as a representative of the New Era’s Project, Captain Walker?” He said, placing a firm hand on your waist, his grip tightening slightly.

“Yes.” John replied with a polite but sneering smile.

“The knowledge exchanges from R&D have been…quite enlightening. I can’t wait to see what the best of your team has to offer…to me.” He said as he raised his jaw and tilted his head toward you. You could feel Steve’s body tense, like a bow stretched to its full capacity and ready to snap back.

"Take whatever gear or armory you want, Walker," Steve said in a cold, measured voice, as the entire cafeteria fell silent, all eyes locked on the tension between the two men.

"But the best of this compound is far beyond your reach. And don’t think for a second that you could ever put a finger on that." His voice dropped to a dangerous whisper, teeth clenched. Touch my girl’s hair again, and I’ll cut your arm off.

"Steve." A calm voice cut through the tension as Commander Hill appeared at the doorway. She walked in with steady confidence. "We’ve got news. I need you and Dr. Lancaster in the Command Room."

Steve didn’t immediately move. His gaze lingered on Walker for a few more seconds, with unspoken warnings in his eyes. Then, without a word, he turned to you, gently taking your hand in his, and led you out of the cafeteria. The weight of Walker’s stare followed behind you both, but your focus stayed fixed on your fiance's figure.

No one spoke in the hallway as you walked toward the Command Room. You could see Steve’s rigid expression. He was pissed, his jaw tight, shoulders tense as if holding back more words.

But you were… well, trying your best to hide the curve of your lips. Just like he had back in the car when you sobbed that you’d go to Wakanda and talk to plants for the rest of your life if he ever left you to go back to his gorgeous ex.

Oh, so he was this jealous? Even a little possessive? He got this mad just because a guy touched your hair? Now, if Steve were any other guy, maybe this would seem like a giant red flag, but this was the love of your life, so…

You slid your hand into his palm, pressing your skin to his, and intertwined your fingers with his. 

Steve’s expression softened, and he looked at you, letting out a quiet sigh. He smiled when you mouthed, I love you.

Commander Hill, however, wasn’t in the mood for your lovebird moments. Her face remained stern as she waited for the door to close behind you, sealing the room.

"Agent Frazer was found dead this morning."

The words hung in the air like a punch to the gut. Steve’s hand tightened around yours as his expression shifted from softened warmth to immediate alertness.

You lowered your sight.

Somehow, you had a feeling this was coming anytime soon. It was weird, though. Agent Frazer was not your brother; he just pretended to be for some time (and then actually tried to brainwash slash attack you). But for a moment, you wished that had been true, that your brother was alive, even if he had been turned against you. So now he is dead, and you feel strangely sad.

Your way of dealing with it? Throw yourself into the facts.

“How?” you asked, almost mechanically. “Was it because… his neural synapses overloaded, triggering an energy surge that short-circuited his cerebral cortex in under a millisecond? Like… like someone or something… wired his brain to self-destruct?”

Maria’s eyes widened, and she gave a quick, silent nod.

Steve’s grip tightened, haunted by your words. At that moment, he panicked, cold sweat through his shirt, fear dominating his senses when the possibility of losing you suddenly struck hard in his mind. So, could anyone do that? Snap their fingers and cause you a brain dead? 

His body was merely processing under this thought. He felt the urge to hug you, to feel your warmth and heartbeat under his skin, to feel you entirely safe in his arms. But you were in the command room, so he didn’t move.

“Can we make sure that…” His voice trembled slightly. “What happened to Frazer…” doesn’t happen to you?

Commander Hill noted his panic, so she gave him some time to process.

“Oh no.” You noticed too, so you reassured him, squeezing his hand back: “That won’t happen to me. I’ve only been through one brainwash. It takes more than that—multiple processes, open surgery. And Hydra… they didn’t have the tech to pull it off. Not back then.”

“But…” Your mind raced ahead, piecing things together. “Whoever did this? They’re desperate.”

You rubbed your forehead, and as your hands dropped, Maria noticed it: that look on your face.

The same intense, calculating look Steve wore when he was seeing things no one else could—analyzing every possibility, tracing out the most brilliant, cunning plan, whether on a battlefield or at a table of white collars and power brokers.

“Jarvis, any chance Bruce and Tony are in the crib?” You needed to process your ideas, but you also needed someone who could remember everything you’d said.

“They are on their way here, Dr. Lancaster.” answered the A.I. “Crossing the elevator’s door at this moment.” said Jarvis as both entered the room.

“Please tell me you already have a preliminary conclusion?” said Tony, stepping into the room.

“Okay…” You stood in the middle, your mind moving faster than words as you started laying out the analysis.

“They have access to Hydra files—there’s no other way to explain it. Clearance levels that aren’t just high for regulars; files that were locked, or used to be locked, behind old S.H.I.E.L.D. encryption. And the remains of my file? Only a few could access those after Hydra was dismantled.”

Tony leaned back against the wall, arms crossed, tracking your every movement. Bruce sat at the edge of a table, hands loosely folded, but his furrowed brow betrayed his concern.

“So, leftover Hydra goons or former S.H.I.E.L.D. agents?” Tony asked. He didn't want to say it aloud, but there was also another possibility: a breach, here, inside the Avengers.

“Or both.” Steve raised an eyebrow. “Ex-S.H.I.E.L.D. operatives who went dark when Hydra fell. People who know how to stay hidden but had deep ties to the old Hydra infrastructure.”

“Even if they had the files, they’d need money. A lot of it, if they’re working with the kind of tech that got into Frazer’s head.” Bruce said, swiping through the files on the screen.

“Yeah, this doesn’t sound like some underground merc group.” Maria said, standing beside him as she watched the files on the main screen.

“This is serious, billionaire-level investment. Whoever’s backing them has access to bleeding-edge tech. Retinal implants, memory manipulation… that’s not standard black-market operation. The kind of power they’re throwing around is something only the Avengers or S.H.I.E.L.D. had access to—the old S.H.I.E.L.D. when they were still around.”

“So, they’re gearing up for something big, or they’re hitting a wall. What are they trying to accomplish? Why use Frazer as a puppet?” Tony followed the line of thought.

You hesitated: “I think… They’re close to something. A breakthrough, maybe. Or…” You stopped and narrowed your eyes, thinking aloud. “Or they’re failing. Desperate. They’re making bold moves because they need something critical. And that something is… me.”

Steve’s expression shifted. His fingers locked onto yours, tightly.

“The attack was directed at you. Frazer was pretending to be your brother. And to confirm your existence.” Tony sighed, frustrated and feeling a pang of guilt. He hid you all these years, thinking you would be safe. He should have let you out of the New Eras Project. The Avengers had so many ways of detecting enemies without using your powers. Fuck, he should have listened to Steve when he warned him to let you out of the Project.

“Of the twelve of you, you’re the only one with… those powers.” Steve murmured, almost clenching his teeth. He felt the urge to hug you, as if you were going to disappear or vanish in the next second.

“And a success case.” You said, not wanting to scare him but knowing you all needed the entire picture. “The only survivor, the only… prototype. Still alive. In my body is the source code for why these experiments or creations worked.”

“Wait…” Tony’s glare was fixed on you. “If the endgame is to copy your ability… What could they even use that for?” But it was a self-answering conversation. He was just thinking aloud: “…a soldier who could walk into a building and identify every weak point before the first shot is fired. Or worse, detect something we’ve built to be undetectable.”

“Why stop there, Tony?” Maria’s expression was serious and cold. “Why would there be only one? Hydra made a dozen back then, and they didn’t even have half the tech we have now.”

Bruce frowned deeper, his voice low: “If they’re that close, then we’re on borrowed time. They’ve already brainwashed Frazer, and now they’re playing with neural implants and synaptic overrides.”

“Exactly.” You nodded. “And they are so desperate, they don’t care if we know they’re out there now, because they’re so close they can taste it. Once they succeed, they won’t even fear the Avengers’ powers anymore.”

Tony exhaled sharply, his glare cold. “So, they’re building something. A super soldier, or an army of them—enhanced with tech that would let them see through just about anything.”

“And they’re not far from getting there. But for now, I’m still the key to unlocking that power.”

The room went quiet for a moment as the weight of your words settled in.

“Well, isn’t that just fantastic.” Tony applauded, the whole thing giving him a headache. “We’ve got super soldiers with x-ray vision on the horizon. And they’ve got you in their crosshairs.”

“So basically, we need to see what triggered this sudden desperation.” Bruce leaned forward, and his mind began to analyze: “We could scan for energy centralization around the globe. Human creation needs vast electromagnetic fields to power high-level bioengineering, especially when manipulating neural pathways at this scale. We need to track when or where all this is happening. But…”

His voice was tense.

“I’ve got a feeling they’re at the door already. Because whatever they’re building… they’re almost done.”

The way back home was silent. You could feel the atmosphere heavy with unspoken tension. Steve hadn’t said much since you left the command room. His usual warmth and quiet strength seemed overshadowed by something deeper—fear and anxiety, clunging over him like a dark shadow, haunting him at his heels.

You wanted to speak, but your mind was processing too. You were trying to remember everything you knew about yourself and your siblings, every memory, every piece of paper you’d seen in Hydra labs, every layer of analysis they’d made you go through.

The ride home was silent, his jaw tight, his gaze fixed on the road, even your house slash lab was after all the securities protocols and protective layers Maria had put, he was still alert, as if there were something in the grass and trees of the compound that would attack anytime. You could feel the weight of his thoughts, pressing down like a storm waiting to break.

"Babe there's no need…" You said as Steve moved around the house once you've arrived.

He checked every window, every door, securing them with an almost obsessive care. He paused at the front door, his hand lingering on the lock as if it was the only thing standing between you and the threat he couldn’t control.

You watched him, knowing that this wasn’t just about protecting you—it was about the fear within him.

"Steve, I'm here." You stopped him. Placing your hand on his back: "I'm here. With you."

He turned to you, his face pale. His eyes were haunted, wide with the kind of fear you rarely saw in him. He’s worried.

No, not worried, he’s terrified.

Without a word, he pulls you into his arms, wrapping them tightly around you like you might disappear if he let go. His grip is firm, desperate, as trying to shield you from an invisible danger that only he can see.

His breath is uneven, and you can feel the tension radiating from him. For a man who has faced down gods, monsters, the end of the universe, this kind of fear is new to him. It’s not the enemy outside he fears—it’s the thought of losing you, of failing to protect you. Again.

You don’t say anything at first. Words won’t soothe him. So you just hold him back, resting your head against his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart. Slowly, you lifted your hands to gently press them on his neck, cupping his face to make him look at you.

"I'm here. And we will be ok." You say softly.

These words made him tremble. Will you? How can you be sure? How could he know? What if…

He couldn’t imagine what he’d do if he lost you.

“I won’t let them take you.” He said, as a sacred oath, tatooed in his soul. “I’m going to set up more protocols.” He muttered, pulling back just enough to look into your eyes, his expression one of steely resolve beneath the worry. “More security. I’ll have Tony upgrade the system. I’ll have guards outside. I’ll—”

You stayed still in his arms, feeling the rawness of his fear. His body was tense, and you could feel the tremble in his muscles, the weight of his panic pressing against you. He wasn’t just holding you for comfort—he was holding you like you were the last solid thing in a world that was quickly unraveling.

“Steve,” you interrupted softly, placing a hand on his chest. “You can’t protect me from everything.”

His eyes locked onto yours. “I can try. And I will.”

"Babe…this is the Avengers compound. This is…the safest place on earth. Or even the universe."

"It took only one protocol. One permission. Approved by me." He said with teeth clenched. "I gave him clearance. One, to bring Frazer in front of you, I won't ever, ever let that happen again." He said with conviction, his expressions somber as he remembered everything you went through.

But beneath his determination, you could see the cracks: the anxiety gnawing away at him, the overwhelming fear that no matter what he did, it might not be enough.

"Steve…"

“You don’t understand…” His voice is strained, thick with the fear that he hasn’t been able to shake since the moment he realized you were being targeted. “I’ve seen too much. I’ve lost too many. If something happens to you—”

He pauses.

“I can’t lose you.” He whispered, his voice barely audible. He was a man made of iron will and conviction, but here he stood, vulnerable and raw, stripped bare of all his usual defenses.

“Hey, hey, hey…Listen.” You said, holding his face in your hands, forcing him to meet your gaze. “I’m here. Right here. I’m not going anywhere. I'm here, with you, I'm safe.”

He looks at you and feels a pang of pain to your innocent even naive words.

Safe? Were you safe when he was on the other side of the wall and couldn't do anything but watch as you almost fell under Frazer's brainwash? Were you safe when you pressed a tranquilizer to yourself?

The memory of you in his arms, unconcious and slipping away was so vivid.

His hands tightened around you again at that thought, his grip shaking slightly. “I just... I can’t stop thinking about it.” He admitted, his voice strained. “What if I can’t get to you in time? What if something happens and I’m not there? What if…”

“I can’t take that risk.” He mutters, more to himself than to you. “ I can't. I won’t let anything happen to you. Not again.”

You pull back just enough to look up at him, your hands resting on his chest. His blue eyes are filled with a vulnerability you’ve only seen in rare moments— when the weight of the world is too much, even for him.

“Steve.” You say soft but firmly: “We’ll get through this. Together.”

For a long moment, he just looks at you, his eyes searching yours, as if trying to find reassurance in the depths of your gaze. Slowly, he exhales, but he doesn’t let go. That deep-rooted terror of losing you, isn't going away anytime soon.

His arms remain wrapped around you, protective and unyielding, as though he’s made a silent vow that nothing—no person, no secret organization, no force on Earth or beyond—will ever take you away from him.

If only that could be true.

THE End but TBC

Continue to Chapter 10: Eclipse

Alright I'm SO SORRY I'm late!! 2 Full time jobs really is consuming me!! I hope you enjoyed it!! Sooooo I have a really serious question RN, could you doooo me the favor to lmk your thoughts!!

Tag list: @vioplay19 / @jamneuromain / @steviebbboi / @heletsmelovehim / @otterlycanadian / hisredheadedgoddess28

*can you let me know if I've missed anyone in the taglist? thanks <3

[whimsyfinny]

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: Charlie discovers the Winchester boys to be struggling with keeping the bunker tidy, looking after themselves and being able to do their job simultaneously. Luckily she has a friend who’s from a Hunter family that is in need of work and can help them with research. Or so she thought that’s what her job would be. When Dean sees your more domesticated side, his head won’t stop swimming with all the wrong ideas.

Slow burn, enemies to lovers, smut

Warnings: stalker/ unsuccessful kidnap, violence, depictions of blood and assault (let me know if I should add more)

Chapter Word Count: 2318

—-MDNI—-

A/N: Sooooo I’m sorry it’s not spicy like I said it would be… But I absolutely promise the next one will be! Chapters 5 and 6 were supposed to be just one chapter but it got too long so I had to split it… And again please let me know of any errors because this is only proof read by myself.

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Please Read the Below First:

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

I’m Not You’re F*cking Maid

Chapter 5

After thorough interviewing of the staff and regular patrons; long searches through copious auction records and meticulous studying of the items in the shop we narrowed our search down to one item: an old jade hairpin. The hairpin belonged to a young lady who was given the gift as a wedding present, however when she found out on her wedding night that her new husband was having an affair, she stabbed him to death with it before jumping to her own demise from their third floor balcony. That was just over a century ago, and she was still wreaking havoc on unfaithful men to this day.

“I mean I get where she’s coming from,” I shrugged as we walked back to the motel. Both brothers turned to look at me with concern smeared over their features. “OBVIOUSLY I don’t agree with all the murder,” they breathed a sigh of relief, “but you can’t hate her for being mad. I would be too.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Dean said, raising his eyebrows a little and holding his hands up. I gave him a look of bewilderment.

“What side do you think you’re on, Dean? Because this,” I gestured between us, “isn’t my good side.” He mumbled something incoherent as we got to the motel so I chose to ignore him completely.

“So what’s the plan? It’s getting late and we can’t really do anything now until that charity event taking place at the auction house tomorrow. We’re already pretty clued up on how to get rid of ghosts so there’s really not much to do except to get both your names on that guest list,” Sam patted his laptop, looking at both of us.

“Food?” Dean and I said at the same time.

“Food sounds good,” Sam nodded. The boys turned around to leave when I stopped them.

“Just whilst we’re still at the motel, I’m just going to freshen up real quick.”

Dean rolled his eyes, “really?” I flipped him the bird.

“I can just meet you there? There’s like only one diner in this town and I know the way. I won’t be long.” The brothers looked at each other for a few seconds before Sam looked at me and smiled.

“Sure ok, we’ll get a seat in the window so we can see you coming.”

“Great! I’ll see you soon,” I grinned at the younger Winchester before turning away and letting myself into my room.

I had the worlds quickest shower and threw on some clean underwear and a clean top, feeling better after getting the grime from the day off. I pulled on my jeans, socks and boots, applied a small amount of eyeliner and mascara and tidied my hair the best I could before slinging on my jacket and applying some perfume to my wrists and neck. It was one of my favourite scents: I’d bought it from some lingerie store a year or so ago and it’s apparently one of those aphrodisiac perfumes, however I have no idea if it even works or not. It’s probably a scam, nothing works that well in real life.

After I’d finished sorting myself out - which took no longer than half an hour - I grabbed my phone and keys and left the room, locking up before making my way towards the diner. Night had descended, the air turning cold against my warm skin and the usually busy streets now lay deserted and car-free. It was only about a five minute walk or so from the motel and I was now only about a minute away when I noticed that I wasn’t alone. I’d caught a glimpse of a figure dressed from head to toe in black in the reflection of several shop windows, and they were following my exact trail. I sped up, walking faster down the empty main road and hoping it was all a coincidence as worst case scenarios started to race through my mind. It wasn’t long until the diner was in sight and I breathed a sigh of relief, however the relief was short lived when those footsteps were getting closer and closer, quicker and quicker right behind me. It dawned on me that this wasn’t a coincidence at all - I was definitely being stalked. I started to run, my legs moving before my brain had kicked into gear and I was only inches from the front door when the stranger caught up, slamming me against the wall of the building and putting a knife to my throat, covering my mouth with a gloved hand.

“Don’t make a fucking noise - you’re coming with me,” he said aggressively yet quietly. I could feel the blade of the knife pressing against the soft skin of my neck and I couldn’t help but feel tears well in my eyes, my breath turning shaky as my heart hammered in my chest. I couldn’t even get any words out as his hand was too tight over my lips.

I wanted to cry out for help so badly it hurt.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing that this was all a bad dream. My cheek was pushed into the rough brick which grazed my skin, and I silently prayed for my attacker to just let me go or for some hero to come and save me. At that very moment I heard the door to the diner and my eyes shot open, instantly connecting with Deans. I watched as surprise turned to horror which then turned to pure feral rage on his face and before I even had a chance to blink he was gone from my line of sight - but so was the pressure keeping me pinned against the wall. I spun around and I watched Dean throw the stalker to the floor with more force that I thought he could muster and tower over him. Dean didn’t say a word, but the stranger let out a sharp cry of pain as Dean instantly brought his boot down on his ribs. There was a CRACK. He did it again.

And again.

And again.

And then he got down and pinned my attacker flush against the tarmac before he brought a closed fist down on his face over and over and over again, cracking his jaw and breaking his nose. Dean didn’t stop until the man was totally unrecognisable and unresponsive. Standing up off of his limp body, he looked over to me, his furious, almost animalistic stare softening instantly, even through all the blood that now painted his face. He took one step towards me before my feet worked on their own and carried me straight to him. I put my arms out to reach for him and he grabbed my hands and pulled me into his chest with zero hesitation, his arms circling me and his blood-soaked palms gently stroking my hair. I sobbed. I sobbed from the fear I felt, I sobbed for feeling like such a victim and I sobbed for the relief I now felt flooding my veins as Dean held me, not saying a word. Listening to his heartbeat with my ear to his chest, I felt so safe and secure that it made me want to sob even more.

*

Dean ended up taking me straight back to my room - he called Sam to tell him what had happened as he wasn’t going to be returning to the diner. I had my second shower of the day as soon as we returned, wanting to scrub everywhere that horrible man had touched. Whilst I was washing, Dean had headed back to his own room to shower off the layer of blood coating his skin. After I was satisfactorily clean, I dried myself and dressed in that old T-shirt I wore the night before, pulling on some fresh underwear and perching on the end of the bed. I picked up the remote and started mindlessly flicking through channels, hoping to find something to distract my racing brain.

I’d been sitting in the same position for around ten minutes when there was a gentle knock on the door. I held my breath as I got up and walked over, looking through the peephole. It was Dean. I released that breath as I opened the door and let him in. He’d changed from his usual gruff attire to something way more comfortable - a plain white T-shirt and a pair of plaid pyjama bottoms. He smiled at me. A kind smile, nothing like those teasing and sly ones we’d been throwing at each other since yesterday. This one was genuine, and it made my chest feel warm. He locked the door behind him as I padded back over to the bed and climbed on it, sitting right in the centre with my legs crossed. I pulled the T-shirt down to cover my dignity as Dean placed a carrier bag in front of me. I peeked inside. It was full to the brim of all different types of snacks and I grinned up at him.

“You sure do know how to treat a girl, Winchester.”

He let out a soft laugh and looked down at the floor before taking residence beside me.

“You’re the first one who thinks so”.

“Oh yeah?”

“There’s a long line of women who definitely think otherwise,” he smiled a slightly sad smile. We both paused before I continued.

“Well if it means anything, what you did for me today, I-” he held a hand up to stop me as he saw the look of fear flit across my features again, the horrid memory bubbling to the surface.

“It was the least I could do,” he said softly before his brows furrowed, “but to be honest I should never have let you out of my sight.” The almost protective tone of his voice made my heart flutter a little, but It was my turn to reassure him as I placed my hand on his shoulder delicately.

“Dean, none of us knew that would happen. I know you wouldn’t have left me alone if you genuinely thought I was in danger - after all, you DID promise to keep me safe from my own shadow,” I flashed him a grin which he quickly returned, chuckling. We sat for a few moments in a strangely comfortable silence before there was another knock at the door. I went to get up to answer it but Dean beat me to it, swinging it open to show a very concerned Sam stood in the doorway. He looked at me with those big ever-worried eyes and I shot him my best ‘please don’t worry’ grin.

“I’m fine, Sam” I called out to him as I tried to listen in on the hushed words Dean was speaking. They conversed for a while, occasionally throwing glances at me as I rustled around in the bag of goodies Dean had supplied. Growing bored of not being involved with their conversation, I scooted back on the bed to lean back on the headboard and proceeded to flick through dozens of channels until I found something decent to watch. A few more minutes had passed and I’d munched my way through almost half a bag of Doritos when I heard the door close and it was just me and Dean again. He had a paper bag that Sam must’ve passed him, which he held up and pointed to.

“The blood stains came out of my clothes, although Sam said the people in the laundromat were giving him strange looks,” he laughed slightly, those striking eyes of his looking down into mine as he took a few steps closer. I laughed slightly, only imagining Sam’s awkwardness in that situation. I broke my gaze away from Dean for a few seconds, looking down at my hands before looking back up. I could tell he was hovering now, just waiting for me to say something.

“Dean I’m fine, you don’t have to stay.”

“Are you sure? I don’t mind staying for a bit longer if you need me to” his hand ran over the stubble on his chin, his eyes not leaving me.

“Really, I’m ok. I’m probably just going to sit here and watch whatever this is-”

“It’s obviously Men in Black,” Dean scoffed. I smiled, finding comfort in the familiar snarky remark.

“Obviously - I don’t live under a rock Dean,” I rolled my eyes as I stood up, placing my hands on his chest. He was so warm to the touch that it was almost enticing me not to let go. The gentle thrum of his heartbeat was so soothing. But I did let go, and I spun him around to start ushering him to the door. As he was leaving, I grabbed my half eaten bag of chips and started munching again. He opened the door, stepping outside.

“Go back to your room Dean. I promise I’m ok. I don’t want you both hovering over me constantly making sure I’m fine; that will just make me feel worse,” I said as he spun to face me, nodding his head.

“Back to normal. Got it.”

“Great,” I said, sucking the tangy chip dust from my thumb. Dean suddenly reached out and snatched the half-eaten bag from my hand before quickly walking away.

“I’ll see you in the morning!” He shouted back at me before shovelling food into his mouth.

“You ass! I was eating those!” He shrugged in an overly animated fashion, not bothering to turn and look at me as he continued towards his room. I sighed, closing the door and locking it, sliding the chain across this time too. I padded back towards the bed and climbed in, pulling the covers up to my chin. As I started to drift off, the buzz of the movie still playing in the background, I smiled a little to myself:

Fucking Winchester.

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Up Next:

Chapter 6

[miowritings]

hi hi there!!!

Maybe a fic of the reader baking together with Tsukasa? I feel like lots of cute things could happen in it ><

have a Nice day!

Muffins or cupcakes?

Tsukasa Tenma x GN! Reader

✮A/N: HIHI!!! SO SORRY FOR BEING OFFLINE phone was too broken to use so💔 i havent been able to play pjsk that much so idk if tsukasa can or cannot cook/bake?? SO SORRY IF THIS MISCHARACTERIZE HIM💔

✮synopsis: after his performance went well, what's a better way than to bake for him? In fact, bake for the whole family!

Your boyfriends theater group was a success! You were proud of the accomplishments he received, and what's a better way to congratulate him by making homemade cake?

This was a mistake, you thought, not only did you burn the cake, but flour, batter, eggs were everywhere... Messy wasn't the right word.. disaster and catastrophe was, you quickly tried to clean everything before he arrived, but it was too late.. you hear the sound of the door clicking open, he's home yet the place was a mess!

"Y/N..?" He mumbled, looking around the place.

"W-what are you doing here so early?! Arent you going to celabrate with your family? And... I told you to come at 8.. its still 6" you utter, trying to clean the place

"Hey! I didnt wanna be late like last time.. plus im planning to celebrate with my family on dinner.." he answered, tilting his head, he pulls out a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to you. "How did flour get into your hair?" He asks, you ignored his question, wiping yourself with the handkerchief, Tsukasa stays silent for a bit, wondering what to do next, suddenly, he grabs your shoulders, looking at you with big eyes. "Aha! I know! Let's try baking together! Its been so long since i last baked yknow? Cmon it'd be fun! You could even come over and present the food we baked!!" He exclaimed, looking happy with his suggestion, a sigh came out of your lips and you nodded in agreement. Sigh "okay then, lets do it.! Right after i clean this place up.."

Once finished with cleaning, Tsukasa went ahead and prepared the remaining ingredients, he first arranged the ingredients and measured them already. "First things first! We measure the ingredients! Small or big so that we dont get lost! Here, try putting the flour into a mixing bowl! Now add the rest of the dry ingredients!" He instructed while grabbing some whisks and a baking trey, doing as he tild, you carefully put the dry ingredients together.

"Done! The wet's next right?" You asked, already holding the water in hand, Tsukasa nodded walking over to you. "WAIT-!!" he yelled, stopping you right in time, he puts his things aside, going behing you, he carefully guided your hand. "You can do it like that but... It the results would give the batter plrnty of air bubbles.. we should.. there! Fold! Then you want to scrape the sides so it wont go to waste!" He added, looking confused, you step away for a moment. "Ehhh? Oh! You do it! Maybe i can learn a thing or two!" You exclaimed, he smiles at the idea and did as told.

After the mixing step, he grabs a couple of cupcake trays and placed them onto the baking sheet "WAIT--!" he yells, stopping you yet again. "Y/n! Its better to scoop it out, that way, theyre all even! Ahahaha! You really cant do anything without me!" He teases, ruffling your hair, you smile at his joke, picking up the tray and placing it in the oven.

"Youre glazing yourself too much.. but yeah, I guess half of it its true.." you added, adding more to his joke. Time passes by and ping! The cupcakes were done baking. Putting on the mittens before you, you hurridly open the oven door to take out the baking trey, the smell of freshly baked cupcaked hitting your nose. Tsukasa runs over and looked at the cupcakes in hand, you set them onto the table, patiently waiting for it to cool down, Tsukasa smiles

"Hehe, we make a good team dont we?" He asks, you playfully roll your eyes at him and sigh "cant say i dont agree!" You replied, looking at the cupcakes. "...The icing.?!" You exclaimed, Tsukasa, looks around, now looking as surprised as you, he fixes his shirt and clears his throat. "Or we could just say they were muffins.. no one has to know!" He exclaimed, thinking about it... Cupcakes and muffins are alike, you nodded "good save! I'll put these on a container... Lets go.! We should be quick! Wouldnt wanna let the flies eat first!" You cheered, tsukasa smiles. "You got that!"

[nayziiz]

Witness | CL16

Summary: In the shadowy world of Monaco's elite, the Leclerc family reigns supreme. Charles Leclerc, the charming middle son, maintains their pristine public image—until one rainy night, during a fit of rage, Charles does the unthinkable. A young woman witnesses his actions, and her terrified eyes haunt him. Consumed by guilt and fear of exposure, Charles embarks on a desperate search to find her before she can destroy his family’s legacy. As he delves deeper into Monaco's underbelly, Charles must confront his own darkness and the lengths he will go to protect his family.

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x OC (Marie)

Warnings: Violence, blood, angst

Author's Note: Sorry for the delayed updates - life has been running circles around me this week. Hoping to get back into a stable routine again next week.

Masterlist

Charles desperately needed advice from Lorenzo on what to do, but he didn’t want to implicate his brother, with a baby on the way, nonetheless. It was his problem and he needed to clean up his mess. But more than that, he knew the person threatening him could do quite a bit of damage, because unlike Marie, this person had video footage. Worst of all, the video contained enough footage to clearly identify Marie, who would be seen as an accomplice to the murder since she didn’t report it.

Chapter 6

Just when Charles thought the damage control was done, he received word through one of his guards that someone else witnessed the murder. Not only did they see Charles kill a man in cold blood, but they saw Marie. They saw Marie run away and they saw that Charles did nothing to silence her permanently. They saw Charles take pity on her because he wanted to protect himself and his family.

Charles knew that he needed to protect her, whether she liked it or not. So, he sent his men out to keep an eye out for her, to steer any potential threats away from her. Of course she picked up on it after a day, but she tried her best to ignore it. She assumed he wanted to remind her of her promise to not tell anyone. Charles needed to speak with her too, to explain why he had his men following her again, that he wasn’t threatened by her, but that he wanted to make sure she stayed safe.

Perhaps it wasn’t the smartest idea to approach her late at night after her shift as she walked home. She could hear his footsteps behind her. She knew his men would never let someone follow her so closely in the dark without making their presence known. She could only assume it was Charles himself who was walking a few metres behind her. She came to an abrupt halt and spun around before stalking towards Charles who she could now make out under the misty moonlight.

“Is there a reason you’re following me in the fucking dark, Mr Leclerc?” She snapped at him once she was face-to-face with him.

“I realise this may look suspicious,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Is this how it ends? Will you be bludgeoning me to death as well or have you found some other way to dispose of me?” Marie countered, but once she saw the colour drain from his face and his small smile fade, she knew she had overstepped. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long day and I’m tired. I didn’t think you’d be following me tonight.”

“You have every right to be mad at me, but please know that I will not be harming you at all, Ms Dupont. I assure you,” Charles insisted, his voice soft and tender as he spoke to her. “But, that doesn’t mean someone else won’t.”

“What do you mean?” Marie asked, confused.

“It has come to my attention that there was a third individual in the area that night who… witnessed the murder. They saw me. They saw you. And, now they are threatening me with video evidence if I don’t pay them quite a handsome amount of money. They are also painting you out to be an accomplice because there was no police report filed,” Charles explained.

“So, that’s why you have your men stationed around me?” Marie realised.

“It’s the least I can do after everything,” Charles replied. “You were an innocent witness, you shouldn’t have to be punished for something I did.”

Marie remained quiet for a moment as she contemplated his admission. She appreciated the fact that he was upfront about the blackmailer.

“How much do they want in exchange for their silence?” Marie wondered.

“5,000,000 Euros” Charles mumbled.

“Damn,” Marie muttered before scratching around in her purse. “I have 2 Euros to help you out, you know, since I’m an accomplice now. I’m sure you can handle the rest, no?”

It took Charles a few seconds to register her attempted joke before he chuckled at her making light of the situation.

“If I had my way, they wouldn’t get a cent, especially from you,” Charles informed her and attempted a half-hearted smile. Marie mirrored his weak smile and looked around, spotting several of Charles’s men nearby.

“Would you like to walk me home? We’re halfway there anyway,” she wondered.

“Of course,” Charles agreed before they started walking side-by-side in the direction of her apartment building.

She didn’t plan on drifting off to sleep, but there was something about the silence of the night and having someone in the apartment with her that made her mind relax for the first time in weeks. She may not have trusted Charles completely, but he had proven to her on several occasions that he was in fact not going to harm her.

He carried her to her bedroom and covered her with her blanket before retreating back into the living room area. He tried to tidy up a bit, but didn’t know where most of the things went, so he gave up and went to rinse out their coffee mugs. When he dried his hands, he turned around and surveyed the open plan apartment. The last time he was in such a humble home was when he was still a young boy before his parents made a name for themselves. He thought back to some fond memories of reading books with his mom and watching racing with his father in their first family home. He choked back his tears reminiscing of a life with no worry and pulled out his wallet. He left all the cash he had on him on the counter for Marie to find the following morning when she woke up. He also left a note with his phone number on it, just in case she needed to get hold of him for whatever reason.

He didn’t want to leave one of his men in her apartment, as much as he wanted to for her safety, but he respected her boundaries and privacy. Instead, he arranged with the building manager that one of his men disguise himself as a roaming security guard on her floor while a second guard remained stationed in the building lobby, observing the people coming and going and a third guard at the building’s back entrance for good measure. There was no way he was going to let her get hurt because of him.

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

Taglist: @headinthecloudssblog

[loreleismusings99]

Late Night Repairs

In which the quiet becomes a bit too much for Mark to handle.

Hi folks, I'm back for a little bit because I really wanted to participate in #spookyseasoninthebarrens2024 by @jmathesonandsiblings so I wrote this quick little thing for my baby girl, Mark! :3

This is for prompt 6: Haunted House

Happy Halloween, y'all 👻

Warnings: isolation, auditory/visual/tactile hallucinations, grief, fear/anxiety, hopelessness, brief discussion of sleep deprivation, description of someone suffering/dying from suffocation/asphyxia, discussion of death, eye horror, blood, missing loved ones, angst (technically). Please, please, please let me know if I missed anything that should be added to this list.

The soft beeps of the CO2 scrubber’s emergency alarm are deceptively loud and make Mark jump as it cuts through the impossibly still silence that comes with the night. One thing he still hasn’t gotten used to after being here for 23 days is how dead nighttime is on Mars. The increased thermal energy that comes with the sun usually yields soft winds that lightly rustle the HAB canvas and make small clouds of sand hit the airlock door, making it sound like he’s inside a rain stick. Once the sun sets though, an eerie silence creeps in with the sunset’s cold, blue, Mie-scattered light. 

Maybe he’s just really missing having his crewmates with him, but he’s quickly started to hate the stillness that comes with living on a dead planet by himself. The more unsavory side effects of his isolation are much more unbearable--there’s something about not knowing when his solitude will end that makes the emptiness of his surroundings so much worse than the isolation training module he went through back on Earth. For the past few nights, every other corner he turns has an extra shadow he didn’t account for; the occasional puff of wind feels just a little too much like a hand and the whirring of the water reclaimer and heating unit running sounds devastatingly like a murmur. It was easier to ignore the first couple of nights--filling the silence as best as he could with episodes of Happy Days and Commander Lewis’s disco. Sometimes though--when he needs to charge his iPad or when he hyper-focuses on his work and forgets to turn something on to fill the space with more than the sounds of his breathing and the rustling of tools--his mind fills the void for him. Sometimes it’s a persistent ringing in his ears, others it’s a convincing recreation of Martinez’s laugh muffled by the walls of the HAB and his memory, making him tear through the HAB trying to find his friend only to be met with nothing but his loneliness. 

He finishes typing out his log for the day, outlining the maintenance tasks he completed to keep his tragically high-tech tomb operational (if he’s gonna die here, he might as well do so warm and breathing clean air), and stands up out of his chair with a strained groan. Scratching at the stubble growing on his cheek, Mark walks across the main room of the HAB bubble to the complaining machine and takes off the white panel hiding the ducts, intake valves, and pumps of the robust Four Bed CO2 scrubber. The mechanical engineer takes some time listening to the motors and pressure-driven sounds of the machine, trying to locate a clue as to what part of the damn thing is blocked up this time. A soft whistle coming from the interface between the pre-cooler and a pipe connecting it to bed A-2 catches Mark’s attention, and he sees a small chunk of ice growing around the collar keeping the pipe in place at the valve. 

“Well there’s your problem,” Mark utters under his breath as he turns the apparatus off using a panel immediately to the right of the box containing it and slips on a pair of cryo-gloves before touching the parts surrounding the cooling element, lightly dusting off the collection of ice crystals surrounding the collar before carefully removing it and cleaning the ice clogging the mouth of the duct. He re-mates the duct and the valve, torquing it back to a satisfying tension, and turns the machine back on, the pumps chugging away happily now that the blockage is gone. 

Mark nods and puts the cover back onto the front of the scrubber’s casing before turning around to append a record of the repair to the end of his log. Or, he would if he wasn’t frozen in place staring out the porthole in the airlock door across the room from him. The scene outside is dark and barely perceivable due to the small diameter of the window and the contrast of the bright LED lights, but your piercing stare is something he’s profoundly accustomed to seeing--just… not outside the HAB’s airlock. He tries to move but the muscles in his legs merely twitch uselessly with the idea of walking towards the glass of the porthole. He tries to blink, but an impending sense of doom prevents him from attempting to break the unexpected eye contact. His heart clenches agonizingly in his chest, and he can feel the beginnings of a sob bubble up from his chest. Logically he knows this is a hallucination--likely made worse by stress and sleep deprivation--but that doesn’t stop him from calling out to you in a horse, pitiful squeak. His knees buckle slightly before the lights above him flicker and shut off, plunging him and the phantom image of you into near-full darkness.

 Your face is now only dimly illuminated by a light that didn’t go out at the center of the room, but it’s enough for Mark to see angry red petechiae begin to bloom across your face, lips, and the delicate skin surrounding your now blood-shot eyes. The warmth drains from your face and his ears begin to ring as he watches you open your mouth, frothy and bloody fluid pouring beyond your lips. He’s shaking now as he watches you scream silently at him through the fluid pouring down your chin, pins and needles accosting his hands and feet as he finally musters the strength to turn away from your dying, angry visage and squeeze his eyes shut.  

“This--this isn’t real, there’s no one there…” he mutters to himself, tears streaming down his cheeks as he tries to calm his breathing down. He opens his eyes again to discover that the lights either turned back on or were never off in the first place and he starts to lower his hackles, the muscles in his neck and shoulders beginning to relax. Slowly, Mark turns back around and looks through the porthole to find nothing staring back at him. Mark lets out a relieved, shaky breath before running a hand down his face and walking back to his chair to update his log. Typing the details of his repair with shaking hands he begins to properly sob and has to pause, scooting the chair back and winding an arm around his middle, the other raised to clasp his hand over his mouth to try to stop himself from screaming in grief and fear at both what his brain just conjured up and the very real possibility of never seeing you again and leaving you behind to mourn him. The force of his anguish makes him fold in on himself and he continues to sit there, trying to calm himself down at least for long enough to finish his log and get to bed. 

After a bit, he feels the temperature drop and a shiver shoots down his spine. He goes rigid and his sobs stop abruptly and a soft, high-pitched, and short-lived whistle coming from somewhere else in the HAB commands his attention. The same feeling of dread oozes back into his chest as he listens to faint taps sound from behind him, getting louder as whatever is creating them gets closer to his chair and stops, letting emptiness fill the soundscape of the main lab space. In the silence, Mark can hear the blood rushing in his ears and his shaky breathing. With his eyes closed it almost begins to feel like he’s in his space EVA suit back on the Hermes. The sound of his breathing tapers off as he quiets enough to hold his breath and try to listen for either the sounds of the HAB or anything that would alert him to the presence of… something, anything behind him. He’s about to let out his held breath when he feels shockingly cold fingers lightly wrap around the back of his neck, causing a terrified wail to rip out of his lungs as he stands up out of his chair and sees… nothing behind him. 

Mark continues to stand and stare silently at the false wall behind him, raising a hand to touch the warm skin of the back of his neck and feeling goosebumps bloom across it. He basks in the violently loud silence before the tension is broken by the sound of the HAB’s temperature control unit letting out a shrill, piercing tone alerting him to a new malfunction in its system.

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

Thanks for reading!

works referenced:

4 Bed CO2 scrubber

The Martian Fan-Made Timeline

Wind on Mars

Sunsets on Mars -> Mie Scattering experiment!

Pathology of Asphyxial Death MAJOR CW: death, and suffocation both described in text and shown in images.

[wrathfulrook]

Wrathling - Chapter 6

Series Rating: E

Ship: John Seed x Patience Ekner (deputy oc)

Word count: ~4.7k

Series masterlist

Read it on ao3.

“Fractured rib,” Dr. What’s-His-Face said at her gasp of pain, while he gently palpated her sides. He’d introduced himself to her, but she didn’t care to commit his name to memory.

Scribbling something down on a legal pad, he addressed Jacob. “Normally I wouldn’t suggest bed rest for a fractured rib. But, with the other wounds and contusions, I think she should spend two or three days in bed, minimum, maybe up to a week.”

Jacob nodded pensively, showing a level of interest Patience found surprising. “Does she need to wear a compression wrap?”

“No.” She doctor shook his head. “It could do more harm than good by restricting her breathing. She should ice her rib every few hours for the next couple days, as well as any of the more painful bruises. The wound should be cleaned, and its bandage should be changed daily,” he said, gesturing to the stab wound on her thigh. “More often, if needed. Watch for any signs of infection, including fever. Practice standard care for the new tattoo.”

Jacob nodded along with every new instruction. “Should the pain become unmanageable or interfere with her sleep, give her one of these pills. Just don’t overdo it. They can be habit-forming.”

The doctor ripped the note from the pad and passed it to Jacob, along with a small orange bottle of pills. Aside from when he’d first introduced himself, he had ignored Patience the entire time she’d been in the infirmary. She’d never felt more like a pet at a veterinarian, and she’d actually been treated by a veterinarian before. She wasn’t sure if he just had a terrible bedside manner or if it was just because Jacob was there.

Folding the note and tucking it into his pocket, the Herald turned to Patience and asked, “Can you walk, or do I need to carry you?”

She scoffed indignantly, despite the fact that walking was actually incredibly difficult and painful. She’d rather fall flat on her ass than let Jacob Seed carry her around. She only hoped that wherever she was to be kept was close by.

As she hobbled down the hall, she let Jacob help hold her upright, only because she had no other option. He slowed as they, finally, approached an isolated door down a long hall. Jacob let her fall onto the bed just inside as they spilled through the door. She worked to situate herself as painlessly as possible on the extra-long twin bed while Jacob closed the double-doors to the balcony, locking them with a key he deposited into his pocket.

“Can’t have you running off on me.”

Patience rolled her eyes and gestured up and down her bruised and broken body. “I don’t think I could.”

“Yeah, well, you don’t have a good sense of self-preservation.”

“Good enough to know I should leave.”

He snorted out a laugh, but otherwise ignored her words. Pointing things out in the small space he told her, “Bathroom is through that door there, but there’s no tub. So, no showering until you’re off bedrest. Record player’s on the dresser and albums are in that cabinet over there. I’ll get some clothes brought up for you. I’ll have someone come up to bring you meals, refill your water, and clean your wounds. Try not to get up too often.”

Patience was surprised. “You’re actually letting me go on bed rest?”

“I take care of what’s mine.”

A wave of revulsion flowed through her at that, and she made no move to hide it. “I am not yours.”

“Well, if you’re not mine, you’re John’s. And I’d take care of what’s his, too.” He smiled cruelly.

“John is the one who did this to me,” she said stonily.

“Well, Johnny’s always played a little too rough with his toys. Something you might want to take into consideration.”

She continued to glare at him, but stayed silent.

“I have things to attend to. I’ll send someone in with dinner for you in a few hours, and I’ll be back late tonight.”

“Why?” she muttered, absently picking at the pilling blanket below her.

He snorted again. “For bed. I know I have a lot of responsibilities, but I don’t actually sleep at my desk.”

A cold wave a fear washed over her. “For bed? This is your room?” She looked around the room with new eyes.

“Sure is.” That cruel smile was back. “Wouldn’t do to keep the Mrs. in a separate bedroom.”

Her eyes widened in shock and anger. The Mrs.? Patience didn’t even know where to begin in refuting that statement. She would never marry him. And even if they would be married, they weren’t now. And wouldn’t a religious cult frown on that? Besides, did he really think he could keep her here? Even injured, the Resistance would look for her. And she would kill Jacob before she let him lay a single finger on her.

Instead of any of those things, she said, “It’s a twin bed.”

“It is.”

She hated how calm he stayed while pressing her buttons, and liked to imagine she’d be able to keep it together better if she wasn’t in excruciating pain. And kidnapped.

Taking a shaky breath to compose herself, she said, “I’d rather stay outside in a cage.”

“Well, that isn’t up to you.” With that, he shut the door behind himself and left her alone, the lock clicking ominously into place.

That asshole.

Of course this was Jacob’s room. It was so obvious once it was pointed out to her. The old-fashioned record player, the balcony access, the red accents throughout the space, including the bedspread she was laid out on. The twin bed had thrown her for a loop, especially after seeing how John lived at Seed Ranch, but it was utilitarian in a way she thought Jacob might be pretentiously proud of.

Patience took a deep breath that, of course, hurt her fractured rib. She was tempted to get up and check the doors, but it wouldn’t matter. Jacob wouldn’t be sloppy enough to grant her an escape route and, as she’d pointed out him, she wouldn’t be able to make it very far even if she did get free.

She considered getting under the covers, but the amount of movement and adjusting it would require would hardly be worth it. Instead, she turned her head, burying it in the surprisingly soft pillow. Suddenly assaulted by the scent she’d recently come to associate with Jacob, she whipped her head back up to stare again at the ceiling.

Three days. A week at the most. That’s what the doctor said. She could do that. Just heal. Regain her strength and get the fuck out of dodge. Rest…

Patience opened her eyes when the door slammed loudly shut. She blinked the sleep from her eyes, the bright fluorescents a shock to her system.

“Sleep ok?” Jacob asked in his low timbre. He strode into the room and stripped off his jacket, tossing over the edge of a chair. He toed off his boots and ran a large hand through his hair, looking at her expectantly for an answer. As if this was routine, normal. A regular domestic exchange.

She stared blankly at him.     

“Slept heavy it looks like,” he said, gesturing to the bedside table.

On the table was a tray of food. A sandwich in saran wrap, a whole apple, a baggie of pretzels, and bottled water. Beside the tray was a folded pile of clothes in that shade of white that Adelaide had once dubbed “Peggie mayonnaise.” She hadn’t heard anyone enter before Jacob, so she must have really been out of it.

“Are you hungry?”

She shook her head no without thinking, still processing, not fully awake. Jacob took the tray and put it on the floor outside his room before locking the door again. He left only the water and apple on the nightstand, in case she “changed her mind.”

“It’s late. Go into the bathroom. Use the toilet, brush your teeth, whatever you need to do. You need help getting up?”

Once again, she shook her head no. She pushed herself up and swung her legs onto the floor. She managed to keep herself silent, though she was definitely grimacing. Rising to her feet and hobbling toward the bathroom, she was hyperaware of his eyes on her. A few steps before she reached the bathroom, she turned back and spoke for the first time since he’d returned.

“Pass me the clothes.”

“You can change out here.”

Her eyes narrowed, but she otherwise remained unmoving. Jacob acquiesced, crossing the room to gather and hand her the clothes. She took them and yanked her arm away from him, in spite of the ache the motion produced.

 She slammed the bathroom door behind herself as he called with a smile in his voice, “Just shout if you need help changing!”

Patience looked at her reflection, hardly recognizing the woman in the mirror. Her long hair was messy from sleep, but her eyes were still rimmed by dark circles. Small cuts and bruises were interspersed with her freckles. She looked terrible, but mostly she looked tired.

Being kidnapped, tortured, and sold off into marriage will do that to a girl.

Scanning the countertop and medicine cabinet didn’t yield a hairbrush, though she did find a comb. It would be woefully inadequate on the amount of hair she had, so Patience just skipped it. A new toothbrush, still in the plastic wrap, sat beside the toothbrush cup holding a used one. Though it was clearly set aside for her, she ignored it as well, turning her attention to the clothing.

Unfolding the pile, she found a pair of socks and a tank top. The sweater included was very thin and slightly oversized. But it was thankfully plain, not emblazoned with their bastardized cross, so she pulled it over her head. The only bottoms in the pile were a soft pair of shorts, presumably to keep her thigh wound accessible for cleaning.

Dressed in a shade of white nearly matching her pale skin, she looked like a bruised, bed-headed specter.

Despite the hours of sleep she’d just gotten, she was still exhausted. Exiting the bathroom, Patience was confronted with Jacob standing just outside the door. A lot of Jacob. A lot more than she’d ever want to see.

The soldier stood before her, arms crossed and legs apart, emulating the stance he’d been in when she arrested his brother. Unlike that time, though, he was wearing only a pair of boxers and the chain around his neck. Now that they were visible, she could see that his scars went all the way down his body. They looked like they had been horrifically painful to receive, and if he were somebody else, maybe she would’ve felt sympathy for him. As it was, she simply brushed past him and made her way to the bed.

She and Jacob didn’t speak to each other as she climbed under the covers, relief washing over her at the feeling of lying down once again. The relief was short-lived, though, as the bed dipped under the man’s weight when he sat down. Patience froze, muscles tight, and squeezed her eyes shut against the dark. She had been almost certain, based on what he’d said earlier, that he intended to share the twin bed with her. But feeling him slide under the blankets and press his large body against hers was another thing all together.

He draped an arm over her, squirmed around in the small space, and finally settled comfortably. Patience opened her eyes, staring into the dark, breathing shallowly, as quietly as possible, trying not to move. To not draw any undue attention to herself.

But when Jacob moved his leg over to cover hers, his coarse, red body hair brushed against her exposed skin and let out a small squeak in surprise. He chuckled lowly and brought his rough lips to her ear, his beard brushing against her jaw while he whispered.

“Relax, honey.”

“Don’t,” she shakily said, fearing the worst from this man who’d claimed she ‘wasn’t bad to look at.’ She was in no shape to defend herself. “I’m on bed rest.”

The hand draped over her rubbed small circles over her stomach. It may have been intended to soothe, but it only served to scare her further.

“Just sleep. I’m not going to do anything.”

She nodded rapidly, further brushing their faces against one another.

Not believing her, he sighed and told her, “I won’t touch you unless you want me to. You might end up married to John, and I don’t think he’d take to kindly to his brother having fucked his wife.”

She nodded again, ignoring his crudeness and unwilling to refute the claim that she’d marry one of them. If that was the only thing keeping his hands on this side of her clothes, she’d nod and agree with him all night.

“Sleep.”

He followed his own command much faster than she did, eventually falling into repetitive snores, his hot, humid exhalations puffing against her neck. Stuck between him and the frigid wall, Patience had trouble relaxing enough to sleep. But somehow, eventually, she did sleep.

And when she woke, she was blessedly alone.

Light streamed in through the uncovered window, the sun warming her face. She was again greeted by the discomfort of her various injuries, but she was hardly surprised. Turning her head, she was confronted by a handheld radio with a sticky note affixed to it. It took her a moment to decipher the messy scrawl, which read “Finish the water and apple. Then radio me.”

The note was unsigned but obviously from Jacob. She wanted to disobey just to piss him off. But the fact was that she was starving, parched, and in pain. And she imagined she probably wouldn’t get ice or painkillers until she let him know she was awake.

So she cracked the seal on the water bottle and downed the entire thing without pausing for breath. She doubted it was drugged and, honestly, wasn’t so opposed to the idea that she felt bothered to check. Drugs brought pain relief, after all. She flattened the empty bottle and started in on the apple.

Red delicious. Ugh.

She grabbed the radio and, assuming it to be programmed to the correct channel, called out for Jacob.

“Be right there,” was his only response.

Damn. She’d hoped he would just send someone to help her. Now she had seeing him to look forward to first thing in the morning. Great. Patience didn’t know where his office was, but it couldn’t be too far away, as he was entering the room within only a few minutes.

He set down a new water bottle and first aid kit and dragged the chair out of the corner of the room to sit beside the bed.

As he folded the blankets down over legs, exposing the bandaged stab wound on her left thigh, he abruptly said, “I’m not interested in playing games.

Yeah. Apparently not, given that opening.

“Okay…?”

“So here’s what’s going to happen– you’re going to end up married to me or to John. That is a fact and there’s no way around it. You’re not escaping. You’re not getting rescued. This is happening.”

Patience raised one arching eyebrow and scoffed.

Intentionally jostling her while he rebandaged her leg, he said, “The sooner you can accept that, the smoother this all goes.”

“Have you considered that I’m escaping, though?”

He ignored her sarcasm. “I don’t know if my brother talks to God or not. But I do know that he hasn’t been wrong yet.”

She pointedly did not respond to that.

“You can choose John or you can choose me. I frankly don’t care who gets you, as neither of us are too eager to take you. So, here’s what the deal is: You can marry whoever. But if you marry me, I have conditions, as I imagine John would. We don’t need to like each other; we just need to get along in public. You’d be faithful to me, and I’d be faithful to you. I would expect consummation of the marriage.”

Patience raised a shocked eyebrow at both the statement and the matter-of-fact way he said it.

“You would need to contribute,” he continued. “You wouldn’t need to join as a soldier if you didn’t want to. You could hunt or fish, work in the mess hall, laundry facilities, whatever. You would not be allowed to aid the resistance in any way. You would have to be loyal to the Project. And I’d expect you give me the Whitetails’ location.”

“Yeah, no, I’m not going to do any of that.”

He brought his warm hands to her chest, removing the bandage from her tattoo and cleaning it with a damp cloth. He gingerly smeared it with ointment, and she sneered at his hands on her skin.

“I can make it easier for you. I can get you in my chair, condition you to feel love and loyalty to me or my brother.”

Patience froze in fear at his words. “…Joseph told you not to do that. It has to be real, he said.”

“Relax, honey, I’m not threatening you,” he said calmly, covering the tattoo once again. “I’m offering you an easy out. No guilt. You’d be happy enough.”

She leveled a glare at him. “You put me anywhere near that chair of yours and it will be the last thing you ever do.”

He simply snorts out a laugh in response. “Cute.”

Patience just crossed her arms petulantly over her chest while Jacob pulled the blanket back over her lap.

“Uncross your arms and take this.”

Jacob held out an ice pack wrapped in a stained kitchen towel, which she gratefully took and placed gently against her rib, grunting quietly at the cold. She continued to hold it lightly to her side as Jacob fiddled with the tray he placed on the bedside table, opening another bottle of water and grabbing the orange pill container.

“Do you want a painkiller?”

She nodded.

He placed the pill in her waiting palm, and she restrained herself from making a displeased face as his large fingers brushed her skin. She dry-swallowed the pill and hoped it would take effect quickly.

“Are you hungry, honey?”

Her eyes narrowed once again. “Don’t call me that.”

He continued to stare at her, unemotional, waiting for her to answer his question.

Eventually she answered. “Yes.”

“You slept through breakfast. The mess hall starts serving lunch in about two hours. You can have a snack in the meantime.” He gestured loosely to the tray. “You want a granola bar? Nut mix? Banana?”

“A banana and granola bar.” She fought her initial instinct to say please.

He peeled the banana himself before handing it to her, presumably because one of her hands was occupied with the ice pack. She resented it anyway.

“Do you need to go to the bathroom? Need any help getting up?”

“No. I’m fine here,” she said tersely.

“I’m busy for the rest of the day, but I’ll have someone bring you lunch when it’s served.”

Patience did not respond.

“I’ll leave the radio here for you. It’s tuned to my channel if you need anything or want to talk.”

Want to talk? She curiously arched an eyebrow.

He sighed. “The whole point of this is to get to know each other, see if we’re compatible. Can’t do that if we spend all day apart.”

She scoffed.

“You will leave the radio on and you will answer when I radio you. Understand?”

She pointedly did not answer, which he apparently read as agreement, as he pushed the chair back into the corner and gathered up the tray before leaving the room. He told her to rest before exiting the room and closing the door behind him, the lock clicking ominously into place.

Patience slid further down into the bed after he left, finishing her banana and fuming quietly. After tossing the peel in the trash bin, she grabbed the radio off the nightstand. A radio wasn’t just a means of communicating with Jacob. It was a means of communicating, writ large. Had he really been so stupid as to leave her a radio? Or did he simply trust her not to use it? She doubted that immensely. Maybe it was a test of some sort. Perhaps he had his men monitoring all the frequencies, waiting to see if she reached out to the resistance behind his back.

If that was the case, she was certainly willing to risk it, to take whatever punishment he would deem fitting for that. The chance alone was worth it.

She grabbed at the radio and attempted to switch the frequency. Unfortunately, the dial didn’t turn. Of course. Patience firmly grasped the dial and pulled, breaking the cap off the radio and exposing the mechanism beneath. Though she never actually seen one before, she was fairly certain it wasn’t supposed to look like this. It had clearly been tampered with, soldered into the base to keep it on this one frequency. Jacob’s frequency. She flipped the off switch and set it back on the table.

So much for that.

Patience set the ice pack on the table and slowly, carefully, rose to her feet. Despite Jacob telling her not to yesterday, she was going to take a shower. She felt disgusting and there was certainly nothing better to do. Just because there was no tub, didn’t mean she had to stand. Nothing was stopping her from sitting on the shower floor. Maybe the hot water would even help soothe some of her pain.

Once in the bathroom, she shed her clothes and bandages and placed a towel on the floor just outside the shower where she could reach it once she was finished. She took the only bottle in the shower off the ledge and moved it to the floor where she could reach it while sitting. It was a bottle off off-brand men’s three-in-one, one of those soaps that claimed to be body wash, shampoo, and conditioner while not actually doing a sufficient job being any.

Kidnapping, brainwashing, and murder aside, Patience felt quite comfortable saying she could never marry a man who voluntarily used three-in-one.

She turned on the water, triple checking she was happy with the temperature before she sat on the floor, out of reach of the dial. She sat on the cool shower floor, hissing in pain as the hot spray hit her tattoo and her cuts and wounds. The first thing she intended to do when this shit show was over and done with was get that fucking tattoo either removed or covered up.

She rubbed the scented wash into her body and hair as her muscles relaxed. Though, she couldn’t be sure if that was the hot water or the painkiller finally kicking in. It didn’t really matter though. She just leaned against the shower wall and relaxed…

“Rook…!”

Patience opened her eyes to someone calling her name and shaking her shoulder, jostling her sore body as they did so.

“Hey… stop that…”

“Rook, come on, wake up, what are you doing?”

Looking down, she found a towel covering her nudity. The water had been turned off, but her fingers were pruned. Strong painkillers, then.

“Rook.”

She looked up, startled to see Staci crouching beside her, worry in his hazel eyes.

And Patience was suddenly alert, sitting upright abruptly, despite the twinge of pain it caused.

“Staci? Oh my god, Staci!”

She threw her arms around the man she hadn’t seen in weeks.

“Rook…” He gently extracted himself from her arms. “What are you doing? You’re supposed to be in bed.”

“Who gives a shit? Staci, how are you? Are you ok?”

He didn’t answer, simply hoisting her up as she held the towel to herself.

“Can you get dressed on your own?”

His voice was softer than she was used to. His shoulders were slightly hunched. Small differences. Barely noticeable. Oh, but they spoke volumes…

“Staci…” He didn’t react to his name, and so she just nodded. “Yes. Yes, I can get dressed.”

He nodded worriedly, stepping back. He turned his back on her, giving her privacy while not leaving her unattended. She didn’t dare ask him to leave. Seeing her cocky friend so uncharacteristically meek… It unsettled her.

When she was dressed, she cleared her throat, letting him know she was done. He gingerly escorted her back to bed and tucked her into bed as though she were a child. He sighed, as if in worried exasperation.

“Rook, you have to take it easy. He’s going to be pissed when he finds out you were pushing yourself like this.”

Patience scoffed. “Jacob? He doesn’t give a shit about me and the feeling is mutual. And if he’s really that pissed I took a shower, he can get over it or shove it up his ass.”

“Patience,” he sighed.

That froze her. Staci had never called her by her name. Not that she could remember at least. From her day on the job, he’d playfully hazed her as ‘Rookie.’ He’d been the first to shorten it to ‘Rook,’ giving her the name she’d been known by most of her friends and allies in the county. Hearing him use her name like that felt wrong in a way.

“Patience, he’s not going to just get over it. He’s going to get mad at you. And he’s really going to get mad at the people he assigned to take care of you.”

Him, he meant. She had done something that would upset Jacob, but Jacob would take it out on Staci.

Fuck.

“…I’ll fix it. I’ll apologize and let him know it was all me.”

Staci sighed in exasperation as he offered her the lunch tray.

“Don’t. That’ll just make it worse. Just don’t do it again.”

“…Ok. Sorry…”

Patience allowed the awkward silence to remain as she ate her food, with Staci simply supervising, watching her eat, but seemingly not really seeing.

Eventually, she broke that silence, warily speaking. “Staci… it’s me. You can talk to me. It’s not like I want to be here. I’m not on his side, you know that, right?”

He scoffed, like she was the one being foolish. “See, that right there is your problem, Rook. You’re way overestimating your hand. Whatever you think you know about Jacob, whatever you think goes on here- it’s worse. You need to start playing nice with him.”

“We need to get the fuck out of here, is what we need to do. I’m not going to just stay here and play happy housewife to Jacob fucking Seed, are you nuts?”

He shot her a look. It was odd, him looking at her like that, like he was world-weary and wise while she was foolish and naïve. She really didn’t feel a man who just months ago had been pulling over attractive women just to shoot his shot ought to be looking at like her like that.

“Playing happy housewife to him is a hell of a lot safer than being his enemy.”

Staci took the handheld radio off the nightstand and turned it back on. She wouldn’t be turning it off again, not now that she knew he would be held responsible if she did. He took the empty food tray and left, shooting her one last pitying look.

And pity from this version of Staci was definitely not welcome.

She was only afforded a few minutes of peace before Jacob’s voice crackled over the radio.

“What do you want for dinner? Bison or elk?”

Her answering tone was biting, freshly livid with him after seeing how Staci had changed. “I thought I didn’t get to choose? The cafeteria decides what we get and all that?”

“Well, tonight you do. Bison or elk?”

She frowned at his no-nonsense tone. “Whatever. Elk, I guess.”

“Elk it is. I’ll see you in a few hours. Radio if you need me.”

“Don’t fucking count on it.”

[the-family-business-83]

Unexpected Calling – Part I

Part 1 | Part 2 | Masterlist

Fandom: Marvel

Prompt: A world class contract killer finds an envelope at his dead drop. Inside are $23.42 in short change and a letter handwritten by a 9-year old girl.

Type: Series

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x F!Reader's daughter (platonic obviously), Bucky Barnes x F!Reader

Genre: fluff, action, slight angst, might get smutty but idk yet

Warnings: Be prepared for some adult language! Nothing too crazy in this first part though, we're just getting started so that's my only warning for now.

Word count: 1.6k

Send me an ask to let me know if you wanna be added to/removed from the taglist!!

This post was Beta'd by @mariekoukie6661. Thanks a million!

A/N: Thought I'd throw my hand at a prompted fic! Hope you guys like it, I'll add a chapter directory and update as needed as the next parts are posted. So stay tuned 👀 Text dividers made by @firefly-graphics <3

Every morning is always the same when you're paid to kill. He'd been trying to be better about the whole actual killing part lately, but that didn't change his morning routine very much. He woke up to the sound of his alarm clock going off—yes, he still used one. If you asked for his reasoning, he'd tell you it's because it's less complicated and you can always count on it to work because it simply stayed plugged into the wall; in the event that the power went out? It had batteries for backup power, and you can't find that kind of peace of mind with just the alarms on your phone. He's still an old soul, sue him. He woke up at 6:45 am, on the dot, every morning without fail that way so it was rather effective.

After the blaring sound of his trusty alarm clock came the process of forcing himself out of bed and cleaning up for the day; shaving if necessary, freshening up, getting dressed, the works. This was generally when he'd change his appearance should the need arise, as well. But he didn't need to do that this morning and so he flicked the light to the bathroom off as he left the room when he was finished, heading out to his kitchen thereafter. The next step? Food. It was always 7 am sharp by the time he got done with his wakeup process, the only time that changed being when he added any extra steps in the bathroom. And breakfast was always simple: a cup of hot black coffee, sliced avocado, and bread toasted to perfection with an egg over medium to be dipped in. And it never failed to be a pleasant way to start his morning, usually followed closely after by a session of watching the morning news. He found it a good way to see what was going on in the area and across the country so he could plan accordingly.

If he didn't have a job, which by chance was the case today, he'd generally find any sort of quiet way to spend the rest of his morning; reading a book, cleaning up all his weapons, or a walk in the park if he felt like it. Today, he felt like it. And it was mostly peaceful, if you excluded the grating sound of car horns, tires squealing, and buses chuffing past. And of course, if you chose to ignore the rumbling from the subway, the people shouting either in their urgency to get to work or just simply because they were an ass, then it was really utterly plain and quiet to walk through Central Park. By this point Bucky had truly gotten used to it. He supposed in some ways it wasn't too much different from his home in the past. But that didn't mean he liked to spend too much time there anyway. So long as he got out and went back home just in time, he could skip the gradeschoolers and dog walkers that came around for the afternoon.

There had been nothing unusual about his day so far, and he liked that. He liked the rhythm of it all, and how it always went according to his carefully curated schedule. He began the process of unlocking his apartment door after making his way up to his floor, and pushed it open to take a step inside. Crunch.

What the helll...?

Bucky frowned as, seemingly, something sat under his boot and crinkled where he'd stepped, making the same sound again as he carefully pried his foot off. The poor, crisply folded, paper envelope that had earlier been slotted through his dead-drop, suffered a dirt-covered footprint but aside from that, it seemed harmless and intact as he picked it up to inspect it. A curious thing to find when you hardly get mail aside from the bills. What was even more curious was the contents within it, feeling a bit lumpy and—quite frankly—heavy for a letter-sized envelope. He closed the door behind himself with one hand, locking it once again out of habit while the other kept hold of the envelope. Moments later he flicked out a switchblade to slice it open revealing not only a handwritten letter but also $23.42.....Exactly. All in small change.

It was quite honestly the oddest thing he'd seen or received to date, and that was including the number of quite-literal backstabs he'd received, numerous other maiming injuries, and the odd encounters he’d had with a talking raccoon, tree, and robot...man…thing. To name a few. That was also including the number of odd jobs he'd been offered and peculiar payment methods he'd been given. Never had he come across such a specific payment with a letter that….upon further inspection….looked as though its penman couldn't be much older than 9 years old, at most.

'Dear mister,

My name is Rosie Jones. I am 9 yeers old. My mommy says you're vary good at helping people. Well, I need your help. Mommy also said you like to be paid for helping, so I broke my piggy bank open so you wood help us. Mommy doesn't know yet thoe, so please don't tell her.

My mommy dissuhpeered disappeered last night. She told me to hide and I did but now I can't find her and so I need your help mister becuz you're really good at finding people too, mommy said so. Please please help me find my mommy, I don't know what to do mister.

– Rosie'

"You've gotta be shitting me." He muttered to himself. The first question Bucky had, quite honestly, was how did this little girl even know who he was? Or where he lived? Not many people did, if any, truth be told. If they did? They were usually dead within minutes. It was one of many reasons that kept his renowned status intact. But here he was, sitting at his own table, with proof that some little girl knew both of those things. Frowning down at the paper and envelope of change, the assassin ran his hand back through his dark brown hair momentarily, processing what he'd just read. On one hand, it could be an elaborate trap. By all rights he had to assume it, considering the nature of the letter and the fact that a little girl of all people had written it. But on the other hand, there was a certain dedication there that he simply couldn't ignore. And some part of him couldn't help but at least look into it. So moments later, the man was pulling out his laptop and began searching for answers, anything that could give this little girl's story any sort of credit.

Much to his surprise? It checked out. Every last bit of it. There was a mother, connected to the Rosie Jones in question, who had gone missing under rather mysterious circumstances. "I'll be damned, mystery kiddo."

'Y/N Jones, aged 37, a single mother, was nowhere to be found the next morning after reports came in that a struggle and silenced gunshots were heard from the house that night.'

He probably could have gotten away with just keeping the money and letting it go. It was some little kid somewhere hoping for someone to hear her plea, he could get away with it. But it was that name…. he'd seen it before, he knew he had. In all fairness though, he really only remembered faces exceptionally well. Names didn't matter in the long run, names didn't tell him who he was shooting within a crowd of people. So why did it keep nagging at the back of his mind?...

Spoiler alert: he shouldn't have went digging. He should have just left it alone. But he had always been a curious mind and he was nothing if not thorough on top of that. Popping open the top to his bottle of whiskey, Bucky carefully poured out a favorable portion into a glass tumbler, before letting it down onto the counter as he heard an agreeable noise coming from his laptop to signal it had finished its task. Glancing over his shoulder, he sipped on his drink as he made his way back over to the table, having waited for what seemed like an hour to get the information he wanted. And the minute he looked at the screen was the very same minute he regretted it.

He knew that face.

He knew it like the back of his hand almost, he knew it the same way he knew the taste of bourbon or the sound of a .22 magnum. That was the face of Y/N Y/L/N and it was a face he had been trying to forget for years now. But most of all he knew it was a mistake to have even touched this with a ten-foot pole. Because now he had a target, he knew what the target looked like, and he had been paid in- well, maybe not-so-full, but in 9-year-old currency $23.42 was basically a million dollars considering it was all her savings.

In short?

He had to do it now.

He knew that. And it damn near made him groan at the prospect. Because this was going to be a long-ass job, and if he was going to ensure the rescue of that little girl's mother, then he needed to ensure that child's safety. The less leverage the 'enemy' had, the easier his job was. So as he sighed out, "Damnitall, this better be fuckin worth it kid," the hundred year old assassin finished off his drink and went about packing his things to take on a job that he never asked for, but knew damn well he was stuck with until it was over.

But at least if he had to go through with this, he was going to be damn sure he did it right, that was for sure.

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