#How dare you ignore me for a little glowing box!!!

[monsterfloofs]

Hey you!

Yeah, you!

Go to bed! The monster under there wants cuddles! It's been waiting all day for snuggle time! Get off your phone and get under those blankets!! >: O

[loveisanimaginarydagger3000]

Enemies With Benefits (2)

Admit It

Wanda Maximoff X Reader 18+

Summary: Enemies. That was what you were. She was an Avenger, you were a criminal. You should hate her, she should hate you. So why do you love the feeling of her skin pressed against yours? Moans spilling from her lips? The taste of her on your tongue?

Casual, rough sex. That was all it was supposed to be but soon feelings start to get involved. Would something so scandalous be able to last?

Warnings/Tags: Smut 18+ MDNI, Strap on, Jealousy, Enemies, Rough sex, Dirty talk, Angry Sex, Multiple Orgasms, Wanda's Power's during Sex

General Masterlist | Enemies with Benefits Masterlist

Chapter 2- Admit It

---

Panic and anger flooded through Wanda as she frantically searched for the USB in her dress. The fear of letting Steve down another time for not completing a mission weighed heavily on her mind, the Captain trusting her with this mission and letting her do it instead of waiting for Natasha, who would normally have done a mission like that, to come back from her two week stake out with Clint.

Frustration with you also clouded her mind, this the third time you had stolen intel from her during a mission and at least the seventh time you caused her to not complete a mission. It had always ended in hot, rough sex (not that she was complaining) but that caused her to be unaware of your sneaky actions.

Clenching her jaw, she walked back into the club, her eyes scanning the dance floor to see if you were still there. She saw the blonde from earlier making out with some man, the kiss sloppy making her look away with a grimace. After a few moments of searching, she realised you must have left and quickly made her way out of the club, one place set on her mind.

***

Your body moved with the music, your hand holding a glass of whiskey while the other unbuttoned your shirt as you were getting warm. You briefly looked over at your laptop, the files from the USB almost downloaded so you quickly moved to grab the small box and tag. You neatly wrote ‘To My Little Witch’ on the tag, knowing how mad Wanda would get once the Avengers received your little present and downed the rest of your drink. The liquid burnt the back of your throat but you didn't care as you watched the files finish downloading and took out the device and placed it in the box.

Just as you were tying the bow on the box (yes the bow on the box, you had to be dramatic) a loud knocking sound was heard on your door. You turned off the music, now able to hear how loud the pounding on the door was and chuckled at the knowledge of who it was.

“Hello my little witch,” you say as the door opens, her eyes glowing red as she looks at you in anger. She didn't respond to you, only pushing you into your apartment and slamming the door shut. Her hand found your neck and she swiftly pinned you to the door, her magic holding your hands against the wooden door. “Anything I can do for you?” you tease, her grip tightening around your throat making you shut up.

“You,” her finger roughly slammed against your chest, “Need to stop fucking my missions up.”

“The only thing I’m fucking is you little witch,” Wanda tilts her head at you, a daring look in her eye to make you continue, “It’s not my fault you’re easy to steal from.”

“Give it back. Now. ” Her voice is laced with anger but you can’t help but annoy her more.

“Or what? Gonna send your friends after me?” She remained silent for a moment, thinking to herself and looking around. Her eyes soon met your unbuttoned shirt, your toned body on show for her along with your black lace bra. You caught what she was staring at and chuckled, her gaze snapping to your smug face. “I’ll make you a deal. Admit that you were jealous earlier, and I'll give you whatever you want.”

Wanda had to stop the trail of thoughts that filled her mind with the promise of whatever she wanted and focussed on fixing her mistake, even if that meant ignoring the throbbing heat building between her legs

“Just give me the USB,” she pleaded, her voice no longer angry.

“Just admit it then,” you rasped out while her body moved closer to yours subconsciously. Wanda clenched her jaw, her pride not worth failing the team again so she moved to whisper in your ear, trying to have the same effect as you have on her.

“I was jealous of her,” she purred, her magic slowly releasing your hands.

“More,” you whispered, still trapped against the door.

“I was jealous of how she had your hands on her, your mouth whispering words only I should hear,” you moved your leg forward so it slotted between her thighs, a breathy sigh escaping her. “It should have been me in your arms, not her.”

“Good girl,” you whispered back, your hands now free to move, immediately going to her hips, “Now what do you want?” Wanda thought for a moment before smirking at you.

“I want to ride you, hard,” you groaned at her words and the feeling of her hand moving from your neck to trail her fingers over your jaw. “Then, you can do what you do best and fuck me,” her thumb glides over your bottom lip, dragging it down and letting go. “And finally, you can give me the USB.”

“So greedy,” you whisper before kissing her, hands threading through your hair as yours went to the back of her thighs to lift her up. You carried her to the bedroom, placing her down and immediately unzipping the dress so you could pull it down. Her hands pushed off your shirt, scratching down your back causing you to hiss into the kiss. “You know, I should be punishing you for being so careless,” you murmur as you kiss along her jaw, “Losing such a valuable item.” You find yourself quickly on your back with her on top, strong, powerful legs straddling your waist as she glared down at you.

“And I should punish you for taking it from me, maybe I should tie you to the bed and use you as much as I want to in return for your actions,” she purrs, her hands unclasping her bra to show off her perfect breasts.

“You already said what you wanted, no take backs,” you murmur, her eyes rolling at you before you take a perk nipple into your mouth. Her mouth parts to moan while her hands clutch at your shoulders, your tongue swirling around her nipple before letting it go to do the same with the other. You only stop your actions when she climbs off your lap, swiftly pulling your trousers down and walking over to the drawer to pull out the strap on. You put it on as quickly as possible as the witch pulls down her drenched panties and returns to your lap.

“Fuck,” she groans out as she lowers herself down on the toy, your hands going to guide her hips but are restrained by her magic. She gives you a mischievous smirk that swiftly changes to an open mouth, moans tumbling out as you thrust your hips up to bury the toy into her. Her hands grip onto your thighs as she leans back slightly, her hips moving up and down the large plastic cock. You watch mesmerised as the toy is swallowed by her pussy, her arousal coating it and dripping onto your skin.

Soon, she’s bouncing on your lap like it’s the last time, the whole bed shaking as she brings her hips down onto yours. Pants and moans spill from her lips while she rides you into oblivion, her hips moving frantically as she nears her orgasm. With fervour, she moves her body upwards before slamming back down on the toy before sticking to rolling her hips hurriedly and clenching around you. Her hands dig into your thighs, leaving crescent shapes to mark you of your time together.

“I’m so close,” she moans out, releasing your hands so one can travel to her clit. You oblige her silent demand and circle the sensitive bud, her hips twitching in your lap as she gets even closer. Her hands move to grope at her own chest, pinching and pulling at her nipples.

“Come for me,” you husk out, her replying by screaming your name and tensing on top of you. Gradually, her hips slow, riding out the aftershocks, her body moving forwards and leaning down to kiss you. The kiss is messy, her too out of breath to properly make out with you. You take this as the sign to roll you two over, a whimper coming from her at the action while her hands go to grip at your back. “Still want me to fuck you?”

“What a stupid question,” she teases, pulling you down for another heated kiss. You quickly pull back, pulling out till only the tip is in before slamming your hips forwards. She moans into your mouth as you pound her into the mattress, her hands clutching at the sheets near her while you kiss at her neck when she can’t keep the kiss going. You snap your hips into her, panting against her neck as you feel the base of the toy hitting your clit. “Shit, you’re making me feel so good,” she sighs out, back arching as you thrust in harder.

“You look so pretty stretched out for me,” you mutter, moving back to ghost your mouth against her lips. You swallow her moans, her hands moving down to your back, scratching down making you hiss, then to your ass as you drill the toy into her. She pulls back from the kiss when you hit a spot deep inside her, head thrown back into the pillow showing off her neck and sharp jawline.

“Harder,” she begs and you want to scoff at her, is making the whole bed shake not hard enough? You grip at her thigh as she wraps her legs around you, pressing hard enough to leave a bruise that she’ll enjoy looking at another time, and change to slower but harder and even deeper thrusts. Sokovian curse words spill from her lips while you fuck her mercilessly, the sound sending another wave of arousal down to your core.

“I’m close,” you murmur, the friction against your clit having you so close. Her mouth reaches yours and with one final thrust, you climax, her following straight after. Your hips stutter as you experience the aftershocks, her body twitching under yours as her legs shake slightly.

You pull out when she is ready, discarding the toy and making a mental note to clean it later and leave the room to grab her a glass of water. Just because you’re supposed to hate her doesn’t mean you can’t be nice to her, right? When you return, she takes the glass with a quizzical look before exhaustion decides to take over her. You’re not sure what to do when she quickly drifts off to sleep, curled up against your pillow so you place the box with the USB on the other pillow and quietly retreat.

“Goodnight, my little witch,” you murmur, leaving your apartment with your laptop, ready to go through all the files while Wanda sleeps peacefully in your bed.

[mssorceressupreme]

hi again i was the one who asked for the last one. ty n i loved it, I actually loved the end ty for that as well!! ALSO SRRY I GOT SHY REQ IT SO IT WAS HALF BAKED so imma req a nice fluff one 😭

so fem!reader is a cold person who always had a mean and stoic look on her face since arriving in the box. after a while of living there, her attitude hasnt changed much, even ridiculing the other boys over small little things like their lingo, but the other gladers took notice that she is MUCH nicer to minho than the others. ofc minho doesn’t notice since hes so busy with the maze. so one bonfire night, reader gets tipsy and drunkenly confesses to minho, which leaves reader flustered upon realizing what she did and minho too since hes shared the same feelings. how it ends is up to you im indecisive lol.

ty in advance!!!

glad I could satisfy ur prompt love 🥰🥰 HAHAHA girl don’t even worry, I love it when u guys send requests!! keep em coming 🥹🫶🏼 also this is such a cute prompt, who doesn’t love Minho honestly 😩🤌🏼

——

That’s Enough

Pairing: Minho x Reader

Summary: cold and stoic on the outside, you had built a wall to protect yourself. But what happens when that wall is broken one night and you find yourself doing things you never would’ve done before. Things like dancing sensually in front of the gladers, and oh boy, a confession.

Warnings: subtle sexualisation of reader, spice if you squint but not really

——

Life in the glade had made you tougher than you ever were. From the moment you arrived, you decided that the only way to survive was to keep everyone at a distance. Ultimately, you figured that the only way for you to do this was to put in a cold, mean and stoic exterior, and it worked.

To your victory, the boys left you alone, wary of your sharp tongue and icy demeanour. Well, for the most part at least. The gladers still teased you on the odd occasion, but it wasn’t to an extreme extent.

There were only a handful who managed to break through the ice wall you had built. Alby, Newt, and Fry to name a few. Oh, and Minho.

Though you had barely interacted because he was always out in the maze, every time you did, it felt like time had stopped. There was something about him that drew you in, you were like a moth to a flame.

Or perhaps not a flame, he was more like honey? You wanted to taste him, to confide in him, have him be the first person he embraces when he returns from the maze.

You admired him in silence every time he returned from the maze, panting, the way the sunlight reflected on his sweat, giving him a healthy glow. The way he gave orders to other runners, his bravery, authority, the leadership skills he possessed, and not to mention how he was such a gentleman.

But you would never dare admit that aloud, not to anyone. You would take this to your grave with you if you could.

——

“Better not klunk your pants greenie!” Gally teased the new dark haired greenie. He wore a light blue shirt and greyish-green cargos.

The greenie furrowed his brows at Gally, “Stop calling me greenie.”

You paused from helping Newt in the garden and walked over to them. “Remember when you first entered the maze because you wanted to be a runner but ran back out immediately because you klunked your pants, Gally? I do. Let me also remind you that—”

“Alright! I get it,” Gally interjected, “just teasing the greenie that’s all.” He scoffed, raising his hands in the air while he dispersed.

You turned to the newbie, “I’m sure he has a decent side. Give him time.”

The greenie stood still, “Thanks.”

“Ignore his use of slang, some terms are pretty weird, took a while to get use to them myself.” You confessed.

“Like?”

“Lately, Gally’s been obsessed with using ‘klunk’, just means poop. Don’t worry, you’ll get used to it in no time.”

He listened intensely, trying to grasp how life in the glade worked. You explained a few more terms before deciding it was time to get back to work.

As you were about to return to the other track-hoes, the greenie called out, “Wait-uh, what’s your name?”

“Y/N.”

“Thomas,” he introduced himself, “Good to know there’s someone with a brain around here.”

The both of you shared a moment of laughter, before you saw caught a glimpse of the runners returning from their daily exploration. Your gaze softened, there he was, Minho.

Your eyes followed him until they disappeared, heading to the runners hut. You inhaled, “I should get back to work.”

“How can I be of help?” Thomas asked, ready to take on any task.

“Oh, no no, you should rest up Thomas. It’s bonfire night tonight, we throw a celebration for the greenie each month, this month that’s you. Last month it was me, the month before it was Chuck, and next month it’ll be someone else.”

He nodded slowly, “I see.”

“See you tonight then, greenie.” You teased, both of you sharing another moment of laughter. From then, you knew that Thomas would be another glader who managed to get past your wall.

——

It was a rare night of celebration, a bonfire crackling in the centre of the glade, casting a warm luminary light and shadows.

You sat with Newt, Alby, Frypan, and Thomas, a cup of homemade brew in your hand. You weren’t much of a drinker but tonight you felt the need to let loose a little.

The alcohol loosened your usual defences, and you found yourself laughing and joking with more gladers, a far cry from your typical aloof self.

Across the bonfire, Minho mingled with the other runners, including Ben. You stole glances at him, feeling a flutter in your chest every time you saw his face illuminated by the firelight.

“You should talk to him.” Newt encouraged, leaning over.

You shook your head, “He doesn’t see me as anything! I don’t like him that way…plus we barely interact.”

“You’re kidding, it’s so obvious. Everyone knows that you have a soft spot for him.”

Your cheeks began to heat up, “Whatever Newt.” You brush him off and he shrugs in defeat.

As the night progressed, you had more, and more, and more to drink. It made you bold, you were laughing louder, throwing more jokes around, being unintentionally physical with other gladers—touching their shoulder while laughing or throwing occasional light punches.

“Come on, let’s not sit down all day! My butt’s getting numb!” You ushered the boys to stand up and let loose.

Everything was a blur but you cherished every second of it, you saw a tall and wide stump from a tree the builders had just cut down. Feeling daring, you stood on the stump and began dancing sensually.

You closed your eyes and cheered, getting lost in the moment. “Come dance with me!”

The boys stood by the stump, cheering you on and whistling. Obviously enjoying this newly unveiled side of you, and not to mentioned some of them got turned on by the way you moved.

“WOOOHOO!!!” You cheered, practically shrieking but everyone joined in. This might have been the most entertaining bonfire for them.

You felt powerful, free from the fear that usually kept you guarded. But then you caught sight of Minho, his expression darkening as he watched you.

Brushing it off, you continued indulging in your dance, earning excited roars from the gladers.

Minho gave Ben his drink, and pushed through the crowd towards you. Before you could react, Minho was at your side, lifting you effortlessly and slinging you over his shoulder.

The boys’ cheers turned into laughter and catcalls, but you were too tipsy to care.

“That’s enough,” Minho growled, carrying you toward your hammock. His grip firm and unyielding.

You giggled, finding the whole situation funny. “Minho, you’re so strong,” you teased, your voice flirtatious.

“You’re drunk.” He remarked, still carrying you.

“Put me down now!” You demanded, “I want to continue dancing with the others, pleaseee!”

He sighed, ignoring your request, “No.”

A thought crossed your mind and you smirked, “Are you jealous? Was I having too much fun with other people and not you?”

“What? No!” He retorted, tightening his grip on you.

“You’re mean,” you pouted, “I’ve liked you for so long but you always ignore me. Always out in the maze and never with me.”

He paused for a moment, “You’re drunk Y/N, save your thoughts for later.”

You leaned against him, your fingers tracing patterns on his arm. “Why don’t you love me?”

When he set you down, you stumbled slightly but he caught you, stabilising you and laying you gently on your hammock.

Minho froze, his eyes widening slightly before he continued, “Who said I didn’t?” He response confident while he tucked you in.

“I love you.” You muttered, shutting your eyes as you shifted comfortably into your pillow.

“You love me?”

You nodded, your heartbeat getting heavier and louder as the alcohol-fueled confidence began to wane. You were reverting back to your normal self.

“I do. I always have, Minho. There’s something about you…” you cut yourself off, loosing confidence as you started to gain further consciousness.

He stared at you, eyes scanning your flushed face, to him, it was the sweetest sight in the world, “I didn’t know,” He began, and your heart dropped, “I feel the same way about you.” What?

A rush of emotions surged through you, causing to you to jerk up, “You do?”

He nodded, “I do. I’ve just been so busy with the maze, I never realised….”

Before he could finish, you closed the distance between you, standing up to meet him. You pressed your lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. Minho’s arms wrapped around you, pulling you closer till your bodies pressed against each other. His lips moved against yours with a fervour that took your breath away.

When you finally broke apart, your breaths mingled in the cool night air. “Stay with me tonight,” you whispered, voice filled with longing.

He guided you towards his hammock, as it was slightly larger, able to fit two people. You snuggled against him, feeling the warmth of his body and the steady beat of his heart.

“I can’t believe I confessed like that,” you murmured, a blush creeping up your cheeks as you nuzzled your face into his chest.

Minho chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, “It’s okay,” he stroked your hair gently, “I’m glad you did. I’ve wanted to tell you how I feel for so long.”

“It’s just…I know I come off as tough and aloof, but truth be told…I’m scared…” you confessed.

“Being the only girl must be really hard. I tried to, but I should’ve done more to protect you,” He continued stroking my hair softly, “You’re going to be okay Y/N, I’m sure of it.”

“I’ve been keeping my distance for so long, trying to protect myself, but…I don’t want to do that anymore. Not with you.” You made your new intentions known.

Minho’s arms tightened around you, “You don’t have to anymore. I’ll keep you safe.” He hummed.

You looked up at him, eyes shining as the moonlight casted a perfect ray over the two of you, “I love you, Minho.”

“I love you too,” he whispered, before planting a kiss on my forehead, “And I promise, I’ll always be here for you.”

As you drifted off to sleep in Minho’s arms, the fear and loneliness that had haunted you since arriving in the glade melted away. For the first time, you felt truly at home, knowing that you were loved and cherished by one person who mattered most.

The bonfire’s glow and buzz from the other gladers softened in the distance, a warm reminder of the night that had changed everything.

[irrlicht-writes]

Scrapped part! They were not doing what I wanted.

“Hey, Allie,” he says after a bit, not knowing if Alastor is still awake, “you said you’d been roofied before – was that – I mean – what happened?”

There’s no answer at first and a part of Vox is glad, because he’s unsure if he would like an answer at all.

“I was given a roofie before.”

Well, damn. Also, no shit.

“I mean. I mean, yes. Allie, you know what the fuck I mean.”

Alastor raises his head and his eyes glow brightly in the dark. “Then why do you ask?”

“Because –“ Because he’s stupid, that’s why. Why did he get roofied? By whom? When? Where? What happened? Did someone help him; or was he left alone?

“Are they – whoever did – are they here? Do you know? Because if they are, I –“

Alastor growls, low and threatening. “What, fight my battles for me, utterly unasked? If I need your help, you little worthless picture box, I will let you know. I am not a maiden, desperate for rescue; and you are no knight in polished, worthless armour, looking to save me.”

Before, Vox had moved his hands from Alastor’s hair to his back, but now he brings them to the man’s cheeks, holding his face up.

“But I want to! I’m your boyfriend! I want to protect you, is that really such a terrible thing?!”

Vox grows cold when he feels sharp claws pierce the soft of his belly. He doesn’t dare move, and he hardly even breathes. That’s not how he expected the rest of the night to go, to be honest.

“If I need your help,” Alastor repeats, “I will let you know.”

“You didn’t ask before. With the Pierre guy.”

Alastor’s claws dig deeper. “I’ve told you before, little sheik: sometimes, it is important to hear the things that aren’t said. If you never listen, how will you ever hope to understand? I need no rescuing, from nobody and nothing –“

He’s full of shit. Vox roars and throws Alastor around, slamming him against the wall. The pain stings sharp in his belly, but it’s just pierced flesh, and it will heal quickly. Alastor hits the back of his head and he lets out a short sound of pain but Vox ignores it. If the fucker wants to play, Vox can provide.

“Why are you like this?! It’s okay to fucking admit when you need fucking help! We’re in a fucking relationship, you fucking asshole! Don’t treat me like one of your pets, you miscreant! You act all high and mighty, like you’re the worst thing in every fucking room but newsflash, old-timer, you fucking ain’t! Radio’s been dead for fucking decades and you’re the only one still holding onto it!”

Alastor glowers at him. Vox’s pinning the man to the wall by holding his wrists tightly. Vox is breathing hard, but he’s not going to back down.

“If we were to fight now,” Vox continues, “I would defeat you.”

“Then do it,” Alastor dares him. “Go defeat me. You have me in your grasp, so where’s your victory?”

Before Vox can gather up a response, Alastor melts into the shadows, escaping Vox’s hold, just to materialise behind him again. Vox just stares at the spot on the wall where Alastor’s head was two seconds ago. How did they fucking get here?

He should fucking calm down and figure out what the fuck went wrong. But Alastor never ever says a damn fucking thing, how’s Vox ever supposed to know what the fuck is wrong in his head this time? Vox growls. Alastor is weakest in hand-to-hand-combat, and while Vox himself doesn’t necessarily shine on that front either, he’s still better at it. He whips around quickly, not giving Alastor time to react, and grabs the man by the throat, pushing him down onto the – well, he had the mattress in mind, but he miscalculated their positions, and as such, they both fly off the bed onto the floor. Alastor’s body makes a loud thud noise when he connects to the ground, but it doesn’t seem like he got hurt. Good, that’s good. Vox is upset, not out for blood.

“This isn’t a fucking fight!”

He’s squeezing his fist around Alastor’s neck; and the man is fletching his teeth at him. Why is everything always such a fucking struggle with him?! Sure, Val gets pissy at the most random shit, but if Vox just waves something pretty in his face – flowers, dildos or money – he calms down fast enough. But there’s nothing he could wave at Alastor’s face; and he doesn’t have suicidal sinners on hand either, for fuck’s sake!

“You made it one!”

Oh, Vox wants to bash the man’s head against some concrete, hard. Sure, maybe he initiated this confrontation, but it’s not like Alastor’s a fucking innocent kitten, either. It takes two to have a fucking fight.

“For fuck’s sake! Val would kill for me to be so concerned, and here you are –“

At the mention of Val’s name, Alastor lashes out, jamming his claws into Vox’s arm and tossing him to the side. Alastor is not weak by any means, and due to the surprise, he manages to throw Vox off easily. He doesn’t fall far, but when he gets himself upright again, Alastor is halfway to the door already.

“Now where the fuck are you going?!”

“Why do you care?! Perhaps Pierre is still willing to show me his car!”

“His –? Don’t be fucking ridiculous! He’s – he’s wanted to fucking rape you, you can’t be this daft!”

“So what?! He wouldn’t be the first one!”

Half-kneeling still, Vox goes very quiet. He’s known. Of course he’s known. But it had been – it had been that silent, hidden knowledge; the one that just isn’t true because he wasn’t there to see it and because it was never said, it was never real, even if it was always true.

Alastor has realised his slip, and not knowing what to say, he instead turns away from Vox, but he doesn’t move to the door. He just stands there and – and Vox doesn’t know. He should – say something, but nothing he could say would be good enough. So he stands up slowly and takes a step towards the demon. He’s not going to propose anytime soon anymore but – that doesn’t really matter now.

“Alastor,” Vox says and the man turns further away. “Please.”

“No,” Alastor replies muted, “just forget it. You can stay here; I’ll just take the other room.”

It’s an easy out. It’s an easy out, because that’s what Alastor wants. And Vox longs to take it. That’s not a conversation he’s equipped to handle, but – but who is, really? He takes another step closer and slowly lowers his hand onto the other man’s shoulder. He’s allowed and Vox wants to pull him into his arms, but he refrains from doing so.

“I get scared alone in the dark,” Vox lies, “so I need you to stay with me.”

Alastor turns his head slightly, knowing the lie for what it is. He doesn’t comment on it. Vox puts his other hand on Alastor’s shoulder too, standing close behind him now. “Please,” he repeats simply, not even knowing what he really wants.

“It’s been a long time ago,” Alastor says; his voice sounding monotone. “I don’t want to think or talk about it. Will you forget it, if I ask?”

No. Vox can’t forget this, not after it’s been said.

“No,” he admits truthfully, “but if you want, I will pretend I did. How about in return, you tell me why you talked to Pierre at all?”

Alastor turns around and looks at him. His pupils are still wide. “You kept talking about Valentino,” Alastor confesses then, “I was – getting irritated.”

Jealous, is what he means. He had been jealous. Oh, Vox hopes to ride that high for fucking weeks to come. But not now. Not just right now.

“You could’ve just said, you know?” He dares to remove one hand from his shoulder and gently brushes a finger alongside Alastor’s cheek. He loves doing it; and he loves being allowed to do it.

“Being pathetic is your job, not mine.”

Vox gently pulls the man into an embrace. He doesn’t protest, and Vox breathes out. He had no idea just how tense he’s gotten.

[half-deadmagicperson]

Angstfest Day 2:

Title: I'll be in Denial

AO3

Rating: Teen

Words: 748

Summary: Danny is loosing his grip on humanity

Warnings: mild blood and tooth loss

Also not all of this fits as 'Nobody Knows AU', but most of it is.

    SMASH.

    Another case of beakers shattered. Danny sighed as he walked over to get the lab broom. It's been a few days since he died, and he's already having issues. He randomly goes intangibile. Sometimes he'll find himself sinking through the floor or having stuff drop through his hands, like a case of lab beakers for example. 

    Two weeks later, and it only got worse. He almost got exposed when his eyes started glowing after Dash had shoved him into a locker. Thankfully he noticed and calmed down before Sam or Tucker saw. He wanted to tell them, but he thought against it. They didn't need the weight of their friend's death on their conscience.

    One month later, it was getting harder to hide. His ghostliness leaked out at any given chance. It was harder to walk without floating. His eyes glow in the dark like a dog's. He woke up one day to blood on his pillow and a pile of teeth. His regular human teeth were replaced with unnaturally sharp fangs. 

    So he did what any person would do and tried to ignore his problems. He put on make-up and filed his teeth. Looking in the mirror, he tried everything to look human, to be in control.

    It wasn't enough.

    He threw on sweatshirts to cover how cold he was. Hair dye was used by the boxes to cover the strands of white that were leaking through. Sam and Tucker had asked him if he was okay when the changes first started happening, but now they don't pay him much mind.

     His aura causes people to pass him by. Their minds are too horrified to look. His parents, even his sister, don't notice his coming and going. Hell, they might not even remember he exists. 

    Danny packed his bags. He looked over at the pictures of before. Sam and Tucker are smiling with him at Nasty Burger. Jazz is teaching him how to bake a pie. His dad is teaching him how to fish. He sighs. His old life is dead.

    Soundless steps walk down the stairs. Make-up and dye have been long since forgotten. They don't notice him anyways. Danny places five pieces of paper on the coffee table, each adorned with the names of loved ones.

     Tired legs lead him to the kitchen. Jazz is sitting with Mom talking about her AP class. Danny smiles solemnly. He watches as Jack bursts through the door and shows them his newest invention. They looked happy. Danny sighed and turned towards the lab door. He could only hope to have happiness like that again.

     Green light greeted him from the other end of the lab. The portal's imposing structure dared him to go in. He grabbed his backpack and breathed a heavy sigh. He can't remain on Earth any longer. He needs to gain control. He needs to move on. The young boy took a weightless step into the abyss.

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

   Maddie Fenton was cleaning the house when she noticed something on the coffee table. There were five notes each adorned with five different names. Maddie picked up the folded paper that read 'Mom'. Gently, she peeled the edges of the page and opened it to read.

   "Dear Mom,

   If you're reading this, I am dead. I've actually been dead for a while now, but I didn't want to accept it. It's been hard, not gonna lie. At first it was just little things like dropping beakers, but now -some scribbles- now I can't. I haven't been able to control it. It's been so hard, Mom. I've tried to pretend that I was still human, same old Danny, but I'm not. I've been so lonely, Mom. Seeing you, Dad and Jazz enjoying life while I was stuck watching. It's been hard. All this to say I've decided to move on with my life, or I guess afterlife. And maybe one day I'll be able to see you again, and maybe you'll be able to see me. Don't be sad for me, Mom, I'm trying my best. I'll come back when I'm in control!

-Danny"

    Maddie sobbed. Danny, her little boy, was dead! She didn't even notice. She ran up to his room. He's just messing with her, Right? She opened the door to find the bed was made and unoccupied. The woman flung herself onto the sheets.

  "Oh Danny, my precious boy," her voice croaked into his blankets.

   Maddie spent her night grieving the loss of her child.

[nyxlaufeyson]

The Simple Gift of Flowers (Pandora's Box)- Chapter 6

Main Masterlist - Pandora's Box Masterlist

“Mommy! Daddy!”

Pandora froze as Finny threw himself onto his mother’s lap. Her mother’s lap. 

Pandora unconsciously gripped onto Loki’s shirt, trying not to show any emotion. Trying to keep herself from crumpling up on the floor and screaming, because that’s what she wanted to do. 

Loki noticed Pandora’s change in demeanor and made the connection between her and Finny. He lightly put his hand on Pandora’s shoulder, attempting to provide silent consolation. 

Pandora tried her best to remain calm and composed. She had managed all these years, so why did this bother her so much? Why did it hurt so much? 

Pandora locked eyes with her parents as her mother hugged Finny and kissed him on the forehead. 

She had never kissed Pandora on the forehead.

Pandora was too wrapped up in her head to notice the sympathetic look from Frigga, and she ignored the sting in her eyes that pleaded for her to shed a tear. She didn’t. 

“Oh Finneas, you scared us!” Her mother scolded, holding onto the boy tightly as he returned the embrace. “Don’t ever do something like that again.” 

Odin narrowed his eyes at Pandora who stood next to his sons. “Thor, what is she doing out of the dungeon?” 

Thor took a step towards the council table where his father sat. “There was an outburst in the cells.” 

“That doesn’t answer my question.” Odin said, a bit agitated, and Frigga rested her arm on his. 

Thor sighed before answering. “Pandora prevented any of the prisoners from getting out.” He explained, glancing towards Finny. “And I believe she saved your son, Madame.” 

Pandora’s mother’s eyes widened as Finny sat up in her lap and grinned. “It’s true! She was all like ‘get back in that cell’ and then the prisoners were all like ‘i’m gonna hurt you!’ and she beat them up!” Finny said, enacting some of the scenes. 

“Oo! And, she did something really cool to my sword! Look!” Finny pulled out his sword from a strap he had on, showing it to his parents as a gold glowing arrow pointed towards Thor and Loki’s direction. 

Her mother scowled and snatched the sword from him, glaring at Pandora. “You should not mess with that, child, it is dangerous.” 

Finny frowned and reached for the sword, but his mother kept it out of his reach, passing it to his father. “But-”

“No buts. Now go with your nanny, we have important things to discuss here.” A woman came out of the shadows and took Finny’s hand as he frowned, but didn’t argue. 

Finny turned around and gave a small wave to Pandora before he disappeared with the nanny. 

As soon as he was gone, Pandora’s mother started up. “How dare you use some sort of your magic on him!” 

Pandora tightly closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Hello to you too, mother.” 

“You-” Pandora’s mother started, but Frigga interrupted her. “Now, Alice, the girl saved your boy. If anything, you should be thanking her, not scolding her.” 

Alice looked at Frigga shocked, but held her tongue from further comment. “Now then, dear, why don’t you have a seat.” 

Pandora reluctantly moved towards one of the unoccupied seats, and Loki and Thor sat on either side of her. 

She could feel the gaze of her parents, but she avoided it. She didn’t think she could handle it. Especially since she had just found out that she had a little brother who seemed to have both of their parent’s approval. 

“Well then…” Odin sighed and turned to the council. “Pandora, do you mind explaining to us what happened?” 

Pandora hesitated before nodding. “Well, Finny-Finneas wandered down to the cells at some point, and he talked to me for a minute before I suggested he leave before he got himself into trouble. When he went to leave, he tripped some sort of device, which let one of the cells open, and some of the prisoners got out. I ran out of my own cell in between them and the boy.” 

Odin furrowed his brows. “So whatever he tripped opened your cell as well?” He asked, but Pandora shook her head.

“Then how did you get out of your cell?” Pandora bit her lip before responding. “I disabled the barrier on my own.” 

Eyes widened and hushed whispers were thrown around the table, the court surprised at the knowledge that someone was able to overpower the prison system, existing to keep them safe, of Asgard. 

“How?” Odin asked in disbelief. Pandora shrugged. “I can’t explain it. I just did it. It wasn’t that difficult.” 

Alice scoffed, but Pandora ignored her. 

“Let us go back to that on a separate occasion. What happened after that?” Odin asked, and Pandora’s stare dropped to the surface of the obsidian table.

“I told Finny to go left as I warded some of the fugitives off before meeting back up with him. I then enchanted the sword-” Pandora saw her mother’s breath hitch momentarily. “-which would then lead him to either Thor or Loki. I figured they could help. I continued to fight the fugitives, who somehow had opened other cell blocks, and at some point guards came to help.”

“I see.” Odin paused, scratching his beard. “I heard you were injured, is this true?” 

Pandora nodded. “Yes, I did get stabbed in the shoulder. A healer has already seen to it, though.”

Frigga offered a smile to Pandora. “I applaud you for your bravery, dear. It is much appreciated.” 

Odin frowned at his wife. “We don’t know-” He started, but Frigga hushed him. “The girl was stabbed, for Valhalla’s sake. And she saved a boy's life. She at least deserves a ‘thank you.’” 

But, Odin did not utter a ‘thank you.’ Pandora didn’t care. 

“Well then, on another note...” Odin said, shifting his position on his chair. “The council has some questions for you, starting with the obvious question: how did you escape Helheim?” 

Pandora didn’t immediately respond. She tried to piece together a response that wasn’t a complete lie, but she wasn’t keen to give the whole story either. “I had help.”

Odin sighed, stroking his beard. “So I’ve heard. Mind being a little more specific for us?” 

“I think you know the basics of how I got out, and who exactly helped me.” Pandora drawled. “You’re not that incompetent, I hope.”

Odin’s fist tightened on the table, but he ignored her insult. “Did anyone follow you out?” 

Pandora shook her head, crossing her arms. “Nope. I made sure of it. I understood that the person who helped me… would pose an actual threat to the realms.” She said with a sigh as she looked around the table. “I know you all think I'm a monster, but I don’t wish for the downfall of everyone in the nine realms.” 

As she spoke, her eyes moved quickly from councilmen to councilmen, eventually making their way to Odin and her parents. “Only some.”

“Well then. I believe this is a good stopping point for today, perhaps we all need to take a break and revisit this later.” Frigga averted, a tight smile spread out across her face. 

Pandora wasn’t sure of the time, as there wasn’t an easy way to tell in the cells. She knew that when they arrived on Asgard, it was around mid-day, despite the fact they left Midgard early in the morning. The time between realms was blurred and it was unclear of the time difference, especially since Pandora had fallen apart. 

Odin frowned before nodding with a tired sigh. “I suppose the Allmother is right. We have gone for far too long today, along with… recent events to be looked into.” Odin looked to his left, gesturing to the guards. “Guards, please escort Pandora-” 

“But Father, she helped the boy down in the cells- it is useless to throw her back down there again!” Thor said, getting up from the table as his father’s eyes widened at Thor’s words. 

Loki scowled at Thor and his poor choice of wording before intervening himself. “What Thor meant to say is that Pandora here should not be considered as big of a threat as you have labeled her.” 

Loki stood up, gesturing down at Pandora as he continued to speak. “She gave up the chance to escape in order to save the little boy as well as help hold the fugitives at bay until the situation was handled. Additionally, the cells won’t do anything to prevent Pandora from escaping.” 

Odin opened his mouth to comment, but closed it again as he appeared to be considering Loki’s words. He glanced over to Pandora before speaking. “Very well. Thor, Loki, lead her to one of the guest quarters. We shall reconvene tomorrow then.” 

Some of the council members began to protest, but the look Frigga sent them quickly quieted them and they silently watched as Loki helped Pandora up and led her off with Thor.

Guards did not walk with them, but Pandora could feel the heavy eyes watching her from the guards posted in various places around the castle. 

Eventually, the three reached the guest room Pandora would be staying at. “If you need anything, feel free to ask.” Thor said, and Pandora opened the door to the room. 

“Thank you.” She said, and Thor went ahead and started walking back the way they came. Loki stood there for a moment, staring at Pandora. “Do you need something?” Pandora asked, and Loki shook his head.

“I’m just- I wanted to make sure you were alright after what happened with…” He trailed off, and Pandora put on a smile. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll be alright.” She said, knowing very well that she wasn't alright. Loki nodded before turning around and joining Thor. 

Pandora shut the door and took in the room. It was fancy, and much larger than what she was used to. Of course, so was the room she had stayed in at the tower. Pandora was more accustomed to sleeping in tiny rooms with creaky mattresses, or sometimes just on the floor. 

Pandora walked into the room’s bathroom, turning on the tub’s faucet. She slowly removed her clothes, and let her box-dyed blue hair down from the space buns she normally had them in. 

She stared into the mirror, noting a couple of bruises here and there, accompanied by a few scratches. However, none of the ones she could see hurt her more than the wound in her heart.

When the tub was full, Pandora switched the faucet off and slipped into the tub. She let the warm water engulf her body, leaning her head back. 

It had been a long time since she had taken a proper bath. Always on the run, she found herself taking quick showers or bathing in small creeks. Sometimes, she didn’t even get a chance to get clean. 

Pandora’s hair pooled around her as she sighed, staring up at the golden patterns on the ceiling. 

Even now, in a warm bath, she still didn’t feel completely relaxed. She couldn’t. 

But, it was as relaxed as she was going to get, so she had to accept it for now.

~~~~~

Loki walked up to the guest’s door, knocking firmly. He waited, hearing rustling behind the door, before Pandora opened it. 

Instead of Natasha’s clothes, Pandora now wore an Asgardian dress that was a deep bluish-gray color. The dress seemed to be made out of silk, and had an ombre into darker shades as it went down towards the floor. On each of her wrists, she wore a golden cuff bangle that had intricate patterns on it.

“Wow.” Loki breathed, taking her outfit in slowly. Pandora shrugged, pushing a loose strand of hair back into her singular bun that replaced her regular two buns. “I figured, since I’m staying here for the time being anyways, I might as well look the part. Perhaps it will help avoid unnecessary attention.”

Loki smirked, raising his eyebrows. “I don’t know, it might have the opposite effect.” Pandora smiled, looking down. “You’re too kind.” She replied, facetiously. 

“In all honesty, you are stunning.” He confessed, and Pandora couldn’t help but blush a little. “Thank you.” She said, rubbing her elbow. 

“So, why are you here?” She asked, addressing the fact Loki had knocked in the first place. Loki widened his eyes, remembering his reason for knocking. 

“Right.” He said, and Pandora nodded for him to go on. “I was thinking that you might need some fresh air. I can show you to the palace gardens if you would like, maybe that could help clear your mind?” 

Pandora nodded, a bit surprised. “Uh, sure.” She said, shuffling in the door frame. “That sounds lovely, actually. I do need to clear my head.” 

She backed into the doorway, holding up a finger. “Just give me one second, I need to grab something real quick.” Pandora disappeared behind the doorway for a minute, before reappearing with her dress slightly askew. “Ready.” 

Loki escorted her through the hallways and outside into the gardens, Pandora’s dress trailing in the wind behind her. The smell of flowers of every kind filled their noses, along with the fresh, Asgardian air. 

They walked through the garden, Loki pointing out several different species of flowers and their significance in Asgardian culture. Pandora wandered over to where dozens of yellow flowers were hanging, reaching out to touch one of them. 

Before Pandora could make contact with the flower, Loki grabbed her wrist to stop her. Pandora turned towards him, confused. 

“It’s the Angel’s Trumpet.” He explained, but Pandora was still confused. “It’s poisonous. There is magic suppressing anyone from getting sick due to the smell, but it can still be transferred by touch or consumption.”

Pandora nodded, putting her hand back to her side. “I see. Well, it’s probably not a good idea to go touching random flowers, anyway.” 

Loki chuckled, and led Pandora around a bush, where a wooden swing hung from a couple of hazel trees. Pandora ran her hands down the rope, checking for any frays, before sitting down on the swing and leaning back slightly. The swing was big enough to sit two, so Loki sat down next to her. 

They sat in silence for a few minutes, rocking back and forth in the wind, before Loki looked over at her. “Are you alright?” He asked, and Pandora tilted her head, confused. “What do you mean?”

“Are you feeling okay, it’s been a long day.” He clarified, and Pandora shrugged. “I guess.”

Loki sighed, looking her in the eyes. “You just found out that your parents had another child, one that has a seemingly normal relationship with your parents.” Pandora flicked her gaze to the ground, flexing her foot so that it dragged along the grass as they swung. “You don’t have to lie to me.”

Pandora set her feet on the ground, stopping the swing from moving, but still remained sitting. She turned to Loki, a forced smile on her face. “No. No, I’m not alright.” She said, letting out a sharp laugh. “Would you be alright, if you found out your parents have had another child, after practically disowning you?”

“No.” Loki replied, watching as Pandora took a shaky breath, closing her eyes. “It’s okay to feel sad, or to feel angry. Anyone in your position would be. I’ve been in a similar situation, and I don’t remember feeling much but hurt and rage.”

Pandora felt a single tear escape, but she quickly wiped it off with her hand. “What you cannot do, however, is let your emotions take control of your mind.”

Pandora scoffed, clenching her hand that was holding onto the rope, feeling the slight burn it had on her palm. “Why not? I don’t see how it matters at this point. No matter what I do, everyone will always see me as some monstrous witch.”

“That’s not true.” Loki said, and Pandora rolled her eyes. “Yeah, right.” She said, turning away from him as her eyes went to the horizon above the flowers. 

“I’m serious.” Loki said, gently taking one of Pandora’s hands into his own. “I understand how you feel.”

“Do you?” Pandora asked, raising her eyebrow. Loki knew she didn’t believe him, and he couldn’t entirely blame her. To be fair, she had only met him yesterday.  

Loki nodded, looking down. “Did you know I was adopted?” He asked, looking Pandora in the eyes as she shook her head. “Well, I was, and Odin didn’t tell me.” He said, glancing down. “I wasn’t anything more than a token of false peace between two worlds.” 

Pandora considered saying something, perhaps something comforting, but she didn’t. She wasn’t entirely sure why Loki was confiding in her, but she continued to listen. 

“Despite my adoption, I was led to believe I had a chance at the throne. In hindsight, it makes sense that I was adopted. Thor was always Odin’s favorite child, no matter how hard I tried to prove my worth.” Loki looked back up at Panora. “I know it’s hard knowing your parents have a loving relationship with Finneas and not you. I know it’s hard being a powerful sorceress who people are afraid of.”

“But none of that makes you a monster. And if people view you as such, and they will, so be it. Ignore them. In the end, it’s your viewing of it that matters, and we both need to accept that.”

Pandora thought about Loki’s words before saying anything. “Do you consider me a monster?” She asked him, tracing her palms with her fingers. 

“No.” Loki said, confidently. “In the short time I’ve known you, you’ve done nothing that proves you to be a monster. Quite the opposite, considering you saved a child. So no, I don’t consider you a monster.”

Pandora gave him a small smile, feeling slightly better, before dropping it. “Do you… Do you consider yourself to be a monster?” Loki hesitated, tensing up. “I don’t know…” He trailed off, staring at the ground. 

Pandora leaned slightly into his shoulder, following his gaze to the grass. “Well, if it’s any help, I don’t consider you to be a monster either.” Loki smiled a bit, but just then the pair heard footsteps and bushes rustling. 

They stood up, Loki conjuring a dagger, while Pandora pulled one out of her bra. Loki scrunched his eyebrows, but ignored it as he focused his attention to the direction of the sound. 

Pandora took a step forward, when someone came running from behind the bushes. She held her dagger up, but dropped it to her side when she saw who it was. 

“There you are!” Finny said, holding a bundle of flowers in his little fist. Pandora breathed a sigh of relief, and Loki put his dagger away.

“Finny!” She said, smiling. “What are you doing in the gardens?” Pandora asked, and Finny grinned as he held up the flowers he had. 

“I picked you some flowers as a ‘thank-you’ for saving me!” He said, handing Pandora the hand-picked bouquet. Pandora opened her mouth to say something, but she was in shock. She wanted to cry, and knew she wasn’t too far off from doing so.

Gaining as much composure as she could, she gave Finny a hug. “Thank you. I love them.” She said, honestly. 

When the hug broke apart, Loki raised an eyebrow at the boy. “Did you pick those from my mother’s garden?” He asked, and Finny’s ears turned slightly pink, but he shook his head. 

“I would never do such a thing!” He said, waving his hands in defense. “But, I must get going to fight Tooze. He’s been up to no good.” Finny waved to the pair, and Pandora waved back before Finny pulled out his wooden sword and ran off. 

“Tooze?” Loki asked, confused. “Whose that?” Pandora laughed, shaking her head. “Tooze is a giant radioactive monster with really big teeth, duh.” She teased, and Loki just shook his head. “Kids.” 

Loki looked at the dagger at Pandora’s side, and remembered where she had pulled it from. “Did you really pull that out of your chest?” He asked, and Pandora gave him a half-smirk. “What can I say, it’s convenient.” She said, shrugging as she put it away.

Loki could tell Pandora was on the edge of crying as she looked down at the flowers, and she had already begun to shed a couple of tears. He carefully took the flowers from her hand, and started leading them to her room. 

They walked in silence, finally reaching the door to the guest room. Loki opened the door for Pandora, letting her walk over to sit on the bed. Once Pandora was settled, Loki conjured a vase and water for the flowers, mumbling a quick enchantment as he set them atop the vanity. 

“Thank you.” Pandora said, softly, as she kicked her shoes off. Loki nodded, beginning to leave the room. “And not just for the vase.” She added, and Loki stopped, looking back at her. 

“You're welcome.” He said, offering her a smile. “If you need me, just get one of the guards to notify me.” He quietly shut the door, leaning his head against it. He normally was cold towards others, especially people who he’s just met, but he felt like Pandora needed someone to talk to. And, of course, he couldn’t deny his connection to her life story and its similarities to his own.

On the other side of the door, Pandora lay down on the bed, staring up at the ceiling as her vision began to blur from the tears that she finally let out. She didn’t know what to make of Loki’s kindness, or of Finnys.

For the first time in a long time, Pandora felt a feeling that she thought that she had gotten rid of long ago. She felt vulnerable.

A/N: Yeah so it took longer but also longer chapter and also Loki fluff so IMO it evens itself out.

[your-localidiot]

Unheard Longing

Narrator never thought he'd feel lonely again..

...but he was clearly wrong.

He's waited in the same room for years, waiting for Stanley to move anywhere away from the skip button. Narrator stared and stared, feeling his already dimming glow of hope slowly diminish to imaginary atoms. He didn't like how quiet everything was; how he was feeling about the silence.

And he has yet to mention these.. these complex emotions of emptiness. It was like he lost something vital to himself.

..Stanley's not that important, is he?

Sure, Narrator did make The Stanley Parable, but..

...

..Moving on...

He supposed that searching around for the door would be pointless; it was clear that every nook and cranny of this measly little concrete box was devoid of any possible exits. Sure, some dust was beginning to fall from the ceiling, but he was sure that it was just getting mildly windy outside.

Jumping back to the present time, Narrator looked around the room for what he was sure was going to be the millionth time in a row, turning and darting whatever kind of eyes he had in a desperate yet feeble attempt in searching for a way out. He loudly sighed, hoping that the rude intrusion would spark something from the man afront.

...

...Nothing.

Stanley didn't move an inch.

Narrator let himself feel hopeless. He's lost count for how long it's been, at this point; a hundred? Two hundred? Perhaps more? At this point, he couldn't care less.

At first, he was tired.

Then he grew upset.

Angry, even, as the memories of what happened beforehand came flooding in, unwarranted. Narrator began to seeth, mumbling to himself in a scoffing manner.

"You know, Stanley, I still very much remember all of those nasty reviews," Narrator pointedly began, "Me, preachy, unfunny? Why, it was them who dared to twist what I meant! You understand what I am saying, don't you, Stanley?

The Stanley Parable was a work of art; nothing but serious dedication was etched and written into it! How dare they, Stanley — how dare they, indeed! You better be hearing this — my preachy and unfunny and obnoxious little voice — just thinking about it makes me want to... want to..."

Narrator, by this point, trailed off to silence. The more he thought about it, the less it made sense to blame them. He was the one who responded to those reviews, wasn't he? He saw them and — instead of checking if those were worthy taking into account — he just decided that they were already meant to be taken seriously.

He should have known from the start, he should have ignored them for their needlessness; for their sheer pettiness.

But they were being reasonable–

That gives no excuse for what happened.

It was for the good of the legacy–

What legacy is there to keep if Stanley himself is frozen solid!?

That single thought brought him back to reality.

He blinked and looked back at the dimly lit room. He felt himself let out a shaky sigh, knowing for a fact that Stanley hadn't moved an inch during Narrator's whole time stuck in his thoughts.

"..I did this, didn't I?

I'm the whole reason everything came to be like this, Stanley– I made the button! The stupid button that you just can't help but keep pressing every single time. Please – I'm begging you, please – come back, Stanley– Return to me, Stanley! You can hear me, can't you? I'm helpless without you– the story is helpless without you– you're the reason I'm like this!.."

Alas, all he heard in reply was his own voice, echoing around the confining walls.

Everything fell silent. All Narrator felt like he had the energy to do was just watch; wait for something, anything to happen.

When nothing did.. he hated it.

"And of course I just had to start talking to you! You, Stanley, YOU! You and your brainless antics, ignoring each and every time I tried to tell you to just listen to me, you pressed the damn button!

Don't get me started on those reviews! I'm betrayed, Stanley, betrayed by you– betrayed by everybody in this god-forsaken world! Why, I ought to speak up about this, Stanley– the injustice, the pettiness, the shamelessness to ever dare to suggest such falsetries–!

Look at me, making up words on the fly– What have I become, Stanley, what have I become..?"

Silence.

Narrator took in a deep, berated breath.

"...I'm.. I'm pathetic, aren't I? Is my voice truly too preachy, Stanley? Talk to me, Stanley– say something, move, anything, please..?"

Nothing.

..Anger.

"This– This is all the reviews' fault. Maybe if they didn't– maybe if they decided to just keep it to themselves–"

He seethed, cried, lashed out.

"Maybe then you'd still be with me instead of leaving me to my annoying and obnoxious and unfunny humor and commentary– ..Yes, it's all their fault; they demanded, they screamed, they yelled at the top of their lungs!

They wanted more, they wanted less, they wanted. They wailed their thoughts and buried the shame they should have been feeling!

The game was never even meant to have humor to begin with! 'But why!?' They screamed, and I screamed back, loathing and full of hatred; 'Because I know what I was doing!', but they didn't understand that the game was never meant to be funny! It was meant to have a point!"

And he rambled.

On and on.

He thought and yelled, he cried and swore, he looked away from the room.

He talked and talked until he heard the faint sound of a click,

...and silence resumed once more.

[1o-rings]

Live or Die?

A little musing that I vaguely recall writing, sometime after i left the psyche ward.

“You decide… Are we gonna live or die?” - Kendrick Lamar

And on that note, I will state this:

I am not the hero. Nor am I the villain… For now, it is far too early to tell either or when it comes to the likes of me. But who knows? Perhaps I might stay that way; maybe even become greater. Or worse. By the grace of what I’ve been taught, I'll tell it eloquently as it goes… or rather, let's hope I will.

Mind you, I write about anyone and anything that isn't in fact me. So forgive my reluctance. In some stories, I've already been killed off, or deemed unnecessary.

But enough of all that. Let's continue with what we came here for, and it just so happens that I get to choose the setting.

Let's start this off with - say - an asylum.

Yes, I know. Utterly cliché, but it doesn't have to be good to be a classic.

So I emerge from an asylum. Not the modern day ones, claiming to be psychiatric wards or institutions, but one of authenticity! Straight from the stark black and white honesty of the 20th century.

It's grimy. Zinc white. When you blink, you see its walls glowing on the back of your eyelids…

A place like that - after so long - becomes more than a memory. It becomes a conscience. And let's just say I've been there long enough for it to now be my only conscience.

Stick that back into society and what do you get? A loose canon? Sure. Unpredictable instability. Maybe.

Delicious mystery, and hunger for the inevitable… Absolutely.

To a person like me, the asylum walls grow wider, swallow up the rest of the world, making itself bigger. There is nothing beyond that. And differentiating the good and bad times - well, depends on the meds you're given, and what journey or endeavour of the day that comes with it.

Today, it is release. I've just signed all my papers, and switched my uniform for street clothes.

Now, but a threshold away from the outside, and I still don't see. Or I see half of it. Like being blind out of one eye.

The legend to that is that you see earth through one, and the glory of heaven through the other. Only in this case, the twisted purgatory I just left.

Should I have really done so?

Am I truly in that good of a state?

If I myself am not sure, then how should anyone else know?

Seeing it not fit to turn back around and squander anyone's perspective, I walk so far until the looming building is but an old, dusty box in the distance, amidst a new city of opportunity and chic remodels. I was never knew for the new myself, but one must learn to adapt. That's what I tell myself, as I try to ignore my right eye (my bad eye) and what it showcases shameless with every blink. Blink, blink, blink.

Now you're probably wondering: where does this story truly start? Not too far along. In fact, we've merely just hit it. You see, I always portrayed myself as an actress in my worlds; insanely fictional, but ingrained with pieces of inspiration from that of the real, naturally. I may be a writer, here and now. But say, for the sake of an Anti-Hero’s story, I could be much more. Besides, I already am an actress. (of occasional sorts)

So I get this opportunity - a very challenging one. One that every other actress dare not touch for the sake of their reputation. They themselves are the character. And rather, the character becomes me. That is what I'm known for. In plain english, it is called method acting, and no matter how the methods you go about it intensify, you do it for the sake of believability; for the honor. Not for yourself, but for the character. To you, they are real, and they cross over into reality through you. You just need the proper way of channeling…

And how I channel - I return to the asylum.

If you haven't guessed by now, the character I will be playing is of that particular stature. And I'm not the first one to do it.

It's just been a while since somebody has.

I'm a grand enthusiasts when it comes to paying homage, so I think of it as that when I dared to step over that threshold again, into the place that I've mentally never left.

However, the brewing question, that could possibly be the entire plot to this adolescent story: will I be able to channel what I once was? And if so, will I be able to get out of it when the time comes?

And furthermore…

Did I really need to come back to this place, when perhaps I've already been in possession of what I needed?

The walls were just calling… calling.

Don't you hear it? I do, too.

Will it kill me if I get closer? Or farther?

Well, fate. As I've said before - You decide…

“Are we gonna live or die?”

[soriaryl]

Could You Kill a Dragon?

WP: You have heard rumors of a dragon; you seek to kill it. Now you stand before each other, neither willing to lift a sword or a claw

“It has been a long time, Deacon.” I stepped into the light of the large cavern. The walls were covered in glowing slime and thousands of candles.

“Have you come to kill me, Dayla?” His deep haunting voice drifted down to me. His mass took up so much, yet so little of the cavern. He could easily kill me, but he hesitated.

“I was told you have been destroying towns and farms. You are a menace; you need to pay for what you have done!” I yelled out to him, grief and rage using my body to give these emotions a voice.

His massive wings beat once, twice, thrice, lifting him into the air. He landed hard on the cavern floor, the sounds echoing through the chambers. “I am a menace?!” he shouted. “You are the reason I became this way! Unless you have forgotten that it’s your fault!”

I held my shield and sword ready to defend myself. “Stay away from me, Deacon.”

He took one step closer and slammed me down with his massive paw. He grabbed me and pulled me close to his face. I tried to move my arms, but his grip tightened with every struggling move. “Why are you here, Dayla? I have been in this cave for a thousand years. Why have you come now?” he asked, his voice lowered.

I did not know how to answer, so I looked down at the ground. I came because he was the last of his kind, and I wanted to be the one who killed him. “I came here to kill you, Deacon.” I then looked up at him, “I came here to kill you… I need to kill you.”

“You do not need anything from me, Dayla. You have not needed anything from me since you took that knight into you bed!” he roared and threw me on the ground.

My sword and shield clattering to the ground. I stared up at him, astounded by his idiocy. I spoke slowly and deliberately, “I did NOT take that knight into my bed.” I glared at him for that assumption, “That…knight,” I spat the word ‘knight’ out in hatred, “stole into my chambers held me down and forced himself into me. How dare you say that I wanted that monster in my bed?!” I screamed at him, using my voice as the outlet. “For a thousand years, you kept me alive and blamed me for something I never wanted!” I grabbed my sword and shield and set myself ready to fight. “Come taste my blade, you ignorant creature!”

Deacon took a step back, unsure and afraid. It is different when the one you are fighting does not fear death. I ran towards him, slashing at his paw as he tried to grab me. I was aiming for his stomach when his other paw came around and knocked me off my feet. “Stop this nonsense. You are not going to kill me.”

“Then kill me, Deacon! If you could still feel love in your cold, dead heart, kill me and end this pain.” I stood back up and dropped the sword and shield. “Kill me.”

He whipped around, his long tail barely missing me. I grabbed my sword and ran towards him. I wanted to plunge it into his back, hopefully hit some sort of vital organ. He swung back around, his tail hitting me and pinning me to a wall. I turned the sword downwards and stabbed into his tail. I let go of the sword as he screeched in pain, dropping me to the ground.

He growled lowly, each step brought him closer to me until he was above me. I could hear the rumbling in his throats where flames hotter than the upper echelons of Hell gathered. He threw something at me, backed away and blew the fire out of the cavern entrance.

I grabbed the metallic box he threw into my stomach. I look at him, as he grabs the sword with his paw and rips it from his tail. He threw it behind him, leaving me without a weapon. “Open it.” he hissed in pain.

I opened the box and found two identical gold rings wrapped in the velvet of the bottom lining. I moved the lining to find a large, still beating heart. I dropped the box and the two rings clinked to the ground, the heart still in the box.

“What are these for, Deacon?” I ask, no longer sure of anything.

“You spoke about my cold dead heart. You were right, it was cold and dead. Until you touched the box. Those rings… those were the rings we were to share, along with our vows. Instead, you cursed me, shut me out of your life, and I became this creature you hate with every fiber of your being.”

“You waited a thousand years for this?”

“I would have waited a million years as long as it would have brought you here. Take the rings, and the heart. If you truly wish to kill me, do it somewhere else, so I may die alone. Then you will age and perish after another seventy-five years.” I

 picked up the box, the rings, and the heart. I took a deep breath and sighed. “I apologize, Deacon.” I set the box on the ground, heart still inside. I placed one of the rings on my left hand and felt the warmth I have not felt for too many years. “I apologize for not telling you… I could not, because I was a coward. I let some monster ruin my life, and you became cursed in the process.” I felt the tears drip down my face, before falling to my knees. I broke down in front of him, all of the pain, shame, guilt, rage, sorrow, and grief becoming more than I could bear.

Two hands held me, two arms pulling me into a solid chest. Out of the corners of my eyes, I could see the blond hair that used to grace my pillow in the morning. I felt warm tears drop onto my face, and I knew he was crying for the time we both lost.

“I apologize, Dayla. You were hurt, and I was not strong enough to stop it from happening. I saw your pain and thought it was because you had lusted. I never once tried to find out the truth.” He pulled away and grabbed my hands in his. He pressed his forehead to mine, speaking softly, “Can you ever forgive me?”

I nodded, unable to trust my words. The man I fell in love with held me while we both wept for what had become of us. When we both felt the tears stop, he held me. He lifted my left hand with his and I saw the second gold band around his third finger. He kissed where my ring sat and promised to never leave me again and to this day, I still hold him to that promise.

[seijorhi]

Inexorable ♕

My birthday present for my beloved wife @iwaasfairy​ and my contribution to her birthday bash collab you can find here. I love you, you’re incredible and I hope you like this i even wrote smut for you smh

Iwaizumi Hajime x female reader

tw: dub-con, stalking, unhealthy relationships, very questionable decision making, smut, nsfw, um... implied murder?

He’s sitting on the steps outside your apartment when you get home from work, a lit cigarette dangling between long fingers. He brings it to his lips, the bright cherry red tip glowing as he takes a nice, slow drag and you scurry on past.

Not a word passes between the two of you, but olive eyes follow you up the stairs regardless, just like always. His name is Iwaizumi – Iwa – but you only know that because you’ve heard his friends yelling it down the hallway. In the three months since you’ve moved in, you haven’t so much as introduced yourself to the guy, but like most strangers crammed into the same shitty place there’s some kind of a routine between the two of you.

Why he religiously chooses this time of night to take his smoke break is beyond you, but like clockwork you’ll arrive home, having walked back from the bus stop and Iwaizumi’ll be there waiting for you, cigarette in hand.

Well, not waiting, just… there. Black leather jacket with a hoodie underneath, there’s a cut above his eyebrow tonight that he hasn’t bothered to clean, a purpling bruise colouring his jaw. Whatever dealings Iwaizumi’s tangled up in, you don’t like to think about too much, but you know it can’t be anything good. His friends dress like him, all have the same ‘don’t fuck with me’ vibe. You’ve seen their scrapes and bruises too – the weapons that stick out from the waistband of their pants – though you’re always quick to avert your eyes when they catch you staring.

You’ve heard them snickering about it when you hastily dart past, all but slamming your front door shut. 

And it’s not that you’re scared of him. There are people who play at being dangerous, and ones who are. Iwaizumi doesn’t strike you as somebody who enjoys playing, and while you don’t doubt for a second that he is dangerous, he isn’t to you. He wouldn’t go out of his way to hurt or scare you – you’re not even a blip on his radar – but what Iwaizumi is, at least as far as you’re concerned, the reason your step quickens and you can’t bear to meet his eyes, is intimidating.

Tall and broad shouldered, with those piercing green eyes. You’ve only seen him smile once, though it was more a quirking of his lips than anything else – usually he just stares, his expression halfway between impassive boredom and a scowl. 

No, Iwaizumi doesn’t scare you nearly as much as the bouquet of flowers you find sitting on your doorstep, a handwritten note tucked in between the roses.

—

The calls come next. You block one number and he rings from another, followed by endless texts. Cute little messages you suppose are meant to brighten up your day. 

Hi baby, love the skirt you’re wearing today. You know blue’s my favourite on you, always look so damn pretty. It’s like you’re trying to drive me crazy haha

Morning babe, I was thinking about you last night. You remember that trip we always said we were gonna take in the summer down to the lake? I can’t wait to bring you there.

Why won’t you answer my calls? I just wanna talk to you, hear your voice again. Let me make things right. I love you.

Don’t you miss me? I miss you. So, so much… You look beautiful today, by the way.

Baby, I love you, but you really shouldn’t be staying out so late with your coworkers for drinks. I just want you to be safe.

They’re not all soft and sweet though. Sometimes he just sends you pictures, and those creep you out most of all.

You change your number, and it doesn’t make a difference.

—

It’s hard for you to try and convince yourself that you’re imagining the prickling sensation on the back of your neck as you go about your day. You know he’s watching you – the messages and the voicemails just drive that home, but what else are you supposed to do?

You can’t just pack up and run again, and what good is a restraining order when you have no proof he’s violating it – and by the time you do, it probably won’t help you.

Kazuma’s always had patience, but only up to a point.

The final nail comes the day you arrive home to find one of Iwa’s friends heading out from his apartment – the tallest, with the curly dark hair. Barely spares you a glance until he seems to think better of it.

“Didn’t realise you had a boyfriend, sweetheart.”

He says it so casually, but the words make you falter, a sinking feeling in your stomach. “What do you mean?”

And for a moment, he looks half surprised that you’ve bothered to reply – so far you’ve done nothing but pretend to ignore him and Iwa and every last one of their friends. But the mirth slips from his expression quickly enough once he gets a good look at yours, “Blonde guy with a shitty dye job, tall-ish. Saw him leaving your apartment an hour ago.” 

But to walk out of your apartment, he had to have first gotten into it.

“Guessing he wasn’t your boyfriend then,” he says, eyeing you with an odd look. But you don’t respond and after a short pause, he simply shrugs and continues on his way. 

You couldn’t care less.

Kazuma was in your apartment.

Leaving flowers at your doorstep is one thing, but now he has a key. 

And it feels like there’s somebody else moving your body as you stumble towards your apartment, your hand shaking so badly that you fumble and drop your own keys twice before you finally manage to slide them home and push your way inside.

It’s waiting for you inside your bedroom, sitting atop your pillow; a pretty blue box wrapped with white ribbon.

Your phone flashes to life a minute later; an incoming message from an unknown number. 

Did you like your present, baby?? I hope you don’t mind, I kinda borrowed a little something too… 

With your heart in your throat you watch those three bouncing dots as the image comes through. 

A pair of red lace panties – yours – scrunched up in his fist, wrapped around his–

Your stomach heaves, and you barely make it to the bathroom in time before you’re hurling your guts up.

—

You’ve always had an impulsive side, and more often than not it’s landed you into trouble.

So you force yourself to calm down and think before you do anything rash. You head to the police station the very next morning to file a report, fresh off a sleepless night. The officer seems sympathetic, but you know before she even opens her mouth that there’s nothing they can do.

There’s no proof of a crime committed; nothing was taken (nothing you can prove, at any rate) and because your door wasn’t tampered with and the windows weren’t smashed, there’s no evidence of a break in. She suggests changing your locks and going to stay with some friends or family for a few days and you don’t know whether you want to laugh or burst into tears.

And instead of going back to work, you call in sick.

Iwaizumi isn’t sitting on the front steps when you get back home, and why would he be? You’re not supposed to be home for another few hours – so instead you head to his apartment door and mustering every last ounce of courage you possess, you raise your fist and knock.

Silence greets you. 

You wait for a moment, a heartbeat, not daring to breathe, but there’s no answer. Which, really, shouldn’t be that surprising considering it’s mid-morning on a Tuesday, but you can’t help the crushing sense of disappointment that washes over you. The thought of trudging back to your apartment to sit and stew alone for the next few hours while you wait for him to come back makes your skin crawl. You can’t just sit still and twiddle your thumbs, not when–

Abruptly, the door in front of you swings open, and you find yourself face to face with a glaring Iwaizumi. His expression falters, momentary surprise flickering across his eyes at the sight of you standing in his doorway.

This time you don’t avert your eyes. Your heart’s pounding, your hands clammy and trembling by your side, but this is the only choice you have left. And so as a single eyebrow cocks and Iwa falls into a lean against the doorframe – the only invitation you’re gonna get – you steel your nerves, take a deep breath, and speak.

“I-I need a gun.”

To his credit, Iwaizumi doesn’t snort. “You planning on shooting somebody, princess?”

They’re the first words he’s ever spoken to you, and they make your cheeks burn, your stomach twisting into a knot. It’s not a dismissal, but there’s a tinge of amusement colouring his tone and you can’t help but wilt a little under the weight of his gaze. 

Better sense would tell you to turn around, walk back to your apartment and curse your own idiocy for entertaining this stupid idea to begin with But Iwaizumi’s staring at you like he’s expecting an answer and all you can think about is the fear that gripped your heart last night, how you couldn’t bear to turn the light off, half terrified that at any moment Kazuma would come back – and this time he wouldn’t be satisfied with just some panties.

You can’t live like this, and you can’t just pack up your life and wait for the same thing to happen in the next place, and the one after that. Kazuma won’t stop, you know that. 

“I…” you chew on your bottom lip, dropping your gaze so that you’re staring at his chest instead of those piercing green eyes. “I don’t, I-I’m not–”

“A killer?” he interjects, and you almost flinch at his bluntness“Yeah, no shit.”

Taking another breath in through your nose, you force yourself to meet his gaze, even as your nails bite into the palm of your hand and your heart skips a beat. “I just want…” but you can’t even bear to say the words aloud, not without your voice shaking like a leaf. “It’s for protection. I don’t know who else to go to. Please,” you beg.

Iwa exhales heavily, a crinkle appearing between his brows as he frowns, “This got anything to do with the blonde asshole that’s been sniffing ‘round your place?”

Your bewilderment must show, because he snorts, finally stepping back to let you inside. “Mattsun told me,” he says, answering your unspoken question. 

The unmistakably hard edge to his words takes you a little by surprise, but you nod anyway, gingerly taking a seat on the couch when he jerks his chin at it. “Oh, uh, yeah. He’s my ex, kinda. We… didn’t end well.”

It’s the understatement of the century, but you somehow doubt a man like Iwaizumi gives two shits about your past relationship with a stalker. Your fingers play with the hem of your skirt as the imposing man settles down beside you. “So does this mean you’ll get me a gun?” you ask. “I can pay you, if that’s what you’re worried about. I have some money–”

Iwa scoffs, cutting you off. “If you think I’m letting you anywhere near a loaded gun, pretty girl, you’re dumber than I gave you credit for.”

You reel back as if he’s slapped you. But Iwaizumi’s staring at you with that steely expression and blood rushes to your cheeks. Why are you surprised? Did you actually think he was going to help you – a veritable stranger – just because you have some sob story? Why even bother letting you in if he was just gonna make you feel like an idiot? And for a moment you forget the gnawing terror that’s kept you up all night, letting yourself become awash with indignation. You have no control over the hurt noise that leaves your throat, but the ‘Fuck you’ that follows; that one’s intentional.

You don’t have time to regret the insult as you jump to your feet; his hand shoots out to wrap around your wrist, jerking you to a halt the moment you try it. 

“I didn’t say you could go,” he tells you, and you can’t fight the shiver that rolls down your spine at the unmistakably commanding tone. “Sit.”

Wordlessly, you comply.

“Look at me.”

Again, there’s that harsh undercurrent in his voice that tells you he’s not asking, and you lift your gaze with a tense swallow. Iwa still hasn’t released your wrist, the warmth of his calloused palm searing against your skin. 

He doesn’t speak for a moment, olive eyes studying your face intently as you force yourself to sit still under the appraisal. “I said that I wasn’t going to give you a gun, not that I wasn’t going to help.”

Your eyebrows draw together in confusion, “What–”

“I’ll take care of it,” he snaps, cutting you off once again. And as you inhale sharply, you realise that it’s not anger you see burning in those pretty eyes, but sheer, unrelenting fury, an icy rage that you don’t understand, that terrifies you as much as it enthrals.

Because you feel like it’s on purpose. Like he’s finally letting you get a glimpse of what silently seethes beneath that impassive mask of his. Are you scared now, sweetheart?

“H-how much?” you ask breathlessly, eyes wide and heart pounding. 

“I don’t want your money,” he says quietly, his voice low and husky. And just in case there was any confusion as to what he does want, his other hand comes up to your face, a broad thumb tracing along your bottom lip as he cups your cheek.

Iwaizumi leans in slowly, as if he’s giving you time to shove him away and tell him that you’re not that kind of girl. Part of you – the part that’s terrified, frozen stiff and regretting the very moment you decided to step into his apartment and cross that line – wants to. Even now, as those hooded olive eyes drink you in, his warm breath ghosting across your skin leaving goosebumps in its wake, you’re afraid that it’s too late for that. You’ve opened a door that should never have been opened and there’s been a fundamental shift between you and him. There’s no going back for either one of you.

And the other part of you revels in it.

“Don’t kill him,” you murmur the second before his lips meet yours. “Not unless you have to.” You don’t even know if he heard you, and as Iwa deepens the kiss, his tongue sliding against yours you find that you don’t care. You lose yourself to Iwaizumi as he leans closer, gently pushing you to lie back on the couch.

He isn’t satisfied with just your lips for long, planting hot, open mouthed kisses along your jaw and down the column of your throat, sucking on the sensitive flesh. His teeth nip at your collarbone as he busies himself unbuttoning your shirt, but your gasp sounds more like a needy whine than a plea for him to stop. 

He laughs a little at that, his chest rumbling against your stomach, but he makes no moves to slow down. Instead he turns his attention to your bra, his hands far less gentle with the delicate lace than he was with your shirt, and then his mouth is on your tits, licking, sucking, biting. Tomorrow, your skin will be littered with pretty red and purple marks, and judging from the single minded focus glinting in his eyes as he stares up at you, that’s exactly his intention. Iwa drags the flat of his tongue along the swell of your breast, circling it around your nipple before he sucks it into the wet warmth of his mouth, and the whimpering moan you give him in response is a thing of beauty. 

“Good girl,” he croons. “Such pretty, perfect tits.”

Your back arches when he cups the other in his hand, and you cry out when he roughly tugs the sensitive bud. He waits until the sting fades and you relax, sagging back against the cushions with relief before he does it again, harder this time. The sharp, searing pain ripples through you, your breath seizing in your chest as you try in vain to writhe away from his touch, but it’s followed by a flood of pleasure so strong it almost makes you dizzy. The fleeting kiss Iwa bestows on the supple flesh a moment later could almost be taken as an apology – if not from the satisfied smirk curling at his lips. He has no desire to be gentle with you, not today or any other day. That’s not who he is. 

Large hands ease down your side, reaching for the hem of your skirt. Iwa doesn’t bother trying to pull it off of you, merely flips it up, exposing your soft thighs and the delicate panties lying underneath. 

In an attempt to be helpful, you lift your hips to allow him to drag the lacy scrap of fabric down your legs and discard it, but Iwaizumi seems perfectly content with leaving them where they are. Even so, it takes you by surprise when his mouth descends on your cunt, the wet, pink muscle laving along the seat of your panties. You shiver in response, one hand instinctively reaching out to tangle in those spiky brunette locks, but if you’re about to tell him to stop teasing, the words are robbed from you when Iwa pushes the fabric aside and buries his face in the heat of your pussy.

His nose nudges at your clit and you jerk at the first lap at your folds, already shamefully wet for him. There’s no rhythm or rhyme to the way he eats you out, letting a long, thick finger slide into your cunt while he suckles and licks at your clit, but you can’t deny that it’s working. Your thighs tremble and quake beneath his hands, every second of his attention dragging you closer to unravelling entirely. And you’re awash with pleas, little whimpers and moans as he chuckles, the low vibrations making your fingers tighten in his hair as another burst of pleasure flutters through you. Your hips rise and fall against his face, desperate for more when he finally slides his tongue inside of your heat, eager to taste your cunt properly. You want more, you’re desperate and aching for it; but Iwaizumi’s grip tighten bruisingly against your thigh in warning. 

You’re at his mercy, and he’s in absolutely no hurry.

The first time you cum, it takes you by surprise. It feels like an endless build-up, Iwa’s tongue lapping at your pussy like it’s heaven sent, his mouth working diligently to drive you insane. Every touch feels unbearably good, from the long, slow strokes to the way he drags the tip of his tongue along your clit. Your toes are curling, your tits heaving with the desperate breaths you choke down, and all of a sudden his mouth latches onto your clitoris and he sucks hard at the swollen nub. You almost black out right there and then, stars bursting behind closed lids as pleasure wreaks havoc over your body. But as good as that feels, it’s not until you open your eyes and catch sight of the hunger blazing in Iwaizumi’s eyes that you tip over the edge, cumming into his waiting mouth with an earth shattering moan. 

At some point he must have let you go to rid himself of his own clothes, and your panties, but you’re boneless, basking in the afterglow as he shifts you once more, lifting one of your thighs up to hook your leg over his shoulder as he settles back onto the couch.

You just watch through hazy eyes as Iwaizumi gives his thick cock, already hard and flushed an angry red, a few cursory pumps. And his eyes are fixed on yours as he leans down, guiding the tip to your sopping cunt. 

“Fuck, you have no idea how long I’ve been dreaming of this, princess,” he grunts out. 

Warning bells sound in your head once more, your gut clenching uneasily, but any protests you might have voiced fall by the wayside as he slowly presses into you. It’s the girth, more than anything else, that takes you by surprise. It hurts, stretching out your poor, oversensitive cunt as his cock fills you up, inch by agonising inch. 

Iwa hisses from between clenched teeth and your eyes squeeze shut, trying to breathe through the pain. It won’t last long, you know that, and until it does you just have to grin and bear it.

You can feel it twitching inside of you, every ridge and vein, the way your slick walls hug his cock. His thumb strokes along your hip, soothing you as your face screws up and another whimper slips out. You think you hear him say something, praise maybe, or encouragement, but all you can focus on is the way his cock throbs inside your pussy when he finally bottoms out and stills.

And for a moment, he doesn’t move. A small kindness, letting you become adjusted to his size before he fucks you the way he’s dying to. 

“Look at me,” he says, and while his tone isn’t as sharp this time, it’s no less of an order.

Your eyes flutter open as Iwaizumi turns his head just a fraction without breaking eye contact, pressing a soft kiss against your calf. His eyes are glazed with feverish lust, pupils blown wide, almost swallowing up that thin ring of olive green entirely, and you wonder whether you should feel afraid right now.

You don’t have the words to describe it, the distant unease that seeps through you as you stare into the eyes of a man who’s clearly not in control anymore. If you screamed right now, tried to fight back or stop him, would it make a difference? 

Do you actually want to?

“You’re mine,” he growls out, drawing his hips back and slamming them forward ruthlessly as you choke on a scream. 

He’s relentless, hissing out curses as he fucks you like a rag doll, filling your wet, tight little cunt again and again and again. It’s all you can do to fist at the edge of the cushion, one hand wrapping around his back, your nails raking down his skin, drawing blood in their wake.

And Iwa doesn’t care, tossing his head back as he pounds his cock into your needy cunt, his balls slapping against your ass with every thrust. “Iwa,” you plead between gasping breaths, clinging to his broad frame. You don’t even know what you’re begging for, not as he grabs you by the hips and lifts you up, hauling you closer so he can fuck you deeper. And you can feel his cockhead rutting against your cervix with every vicious thrust, the painful stretch of your cunt as you’re forced to take his fat cock. It hurts, it does, but holy fuck you can’t focus on that when his fingers slip between your legs and he starts to rub at your puffy, oversensitive clit.

You’re whining, mewling, hips shifting as you rock against him, desperate for more friction. “Please, Iwa,” you moan.

The sound of it, the lewd slaps of skin against skin, the wet squelching as he drives his cock home again with an unforgiving pace would be enough to make you burn with embarrassment, but you don’t care because you’re quickly losing yourself to mindless pleasure. Every stroke fills you completely, it’s hot and thick and the drag of his cock against your plush walls, the way it kisses that sweet perfect spot with every thrust is driving you to insanity.

“Fuck!” you cry, clenching tightly around his length as you hurtle over the edge for a second time. You’re gushing, convulsing, back arched up off the couch, lips parted and–

Iwaizumi stops with a growl and you barely have time to process it before he’s flipping you onto your front, yanking your ass up into the air and hammering his cock back into your swollen, abused little pussy. It’s a bruising pace he sets as he chases after his own end, your name falling from his lips in harsh, breathless grunts. 

It doesn’t take long for his thrusts to become sloppy, your cunt sucking him in and pulsing around his cock. And you don’t have the mental capacity to beg him to pull out, not as his muscular chest collapses against your back, his arms wrapping around your waist and he pumps you full of his seed.

Neither one of you move straight away, both fighting to catch your breath and calm down in the afterglow of your orgasms. Your eyes flutter shut as he presses soft, sweet kisses to the back of your neck, your shoulders, anywhere he can reach. It’s an intimacy that doesn’t belong here, but you find yourself arching into it, a small, tired smile curling at your lips as Iwaizumi lavishes you with affection. 

And you can only whine softly when he finally pulls his cock out and stands, lifting your boneless form up into his arms, chuckling quietly when you bury your head into his chest. Your head’s empty, your thoughts a jumbled mess as he carries you into his bedroom, depositing you carefully onto the bed. 

Iwaizumi leaves you there like that, and when he returns a few minutes later he’s dressed again. He doesn’t smile, but there’s something oddly content about his expression as he stops by the doorway and takes in the sight of you; naked and thoroughly fucked out, curled up amongst his covers. 

“Iwa?” you ask sleepily, stretching your aching body to make yourself more comfortable as you nestle further into the soft mattress.

He doesn’t answer you as he strides in, but you watch through half lidded eyes as his expression hardens. Stopping by the bedside, Iwaizumi reaches for you. You think he’s going to cup your cheek again, maybe run his fingers through your hair, but instead his hand slides between your thighs, gathering up some of the cum that’s seeped from your pussy with his fingers and slowly pushing it back inside of you, humming when you whine and shift under him.

“I’m leaving for a bit,” he tells you, your gut clenching as you remember why you’re in this position in the first place. “You don’t leave this apartment until I get back. You don’t answer the door, you don’t tell anyone you’re here, you don’t leave this bed unless you have a goddamn good reason. Understand?”

Weakly, you nod.

“Such a good girl for me,” he breathes, and this time when he leans over he does kiss you, sweeping your hair back from your face before his warm lips meet your cheek. He lingers there for a beat longer than necessary before pulling away with a sigh.

And as the door swings shut, the sound of the lock clicking into place behind him, you begin to question whether you’ve made a mistake. You don’t doubt for a second that Iwa will follow through with his promise. Whether it’s tonight or tomorrow or a week from now, he’ll find Kazuma; him and his friends, and they’ll make sure he stays away. And until they do, you won’t leave this apartment.

There’s a sinking feeling in your stomach that despite your pleas, Iwaizumi’ll kill him. 

Not because that’s the only way for this to end, though you realise that that’s always been a possibility, but because of what you glimpsed in his eyes today. Stupidly, you’d thought you had Iwa pegged. But there’s something that lurks beneath that facade, something more dangerous than you could’ve possibly imagined and the moment you opened the door to Iwaizumi it sunk its teeth into you and now you’re not sure if it’ll ever let you go.

And as you lie back in Iwaizumi’s bed, covered in the marks he left behind you wonder whether you’ve merely traded one monster for another. Perhaps it was inevitable. Inexorable.

[barbex]

17. One And The Same

Don't stop, won't stop. Still for @18daysoffenders, I'm determined to finish all the prompts.

-----

"Do I detect a note of jealousy? It's not surprising. The lad is rather skilled, isn't he?"

Danarius holds out his hand, and Fenris watches himself lower his head. His knees want to bend.

"Fenris is important to me, I offer you a generous compensation." 

Hawke's face transforms into a smile that cuts through her entire face. She laughs, holding her hand out for the money. "You can have him, for the right price."

Fenris stares at her, a scream stuck in his throat, and his eyes fall on Anders leaning against the wall. Anders' eyes narrow as he watches him. "Looks like I wasn't the only one who thought that way."

Colour bleeds from the world. "No, Anders." His voice doesn't even reach his own ears.

"He's such a hypocrite." Anders pushes himself away from the wall and steps over to Danarius. His hand glows with magic and Danarius' eyes widen. "Always going on and on about how he hates all mages, but still lusting after the one who owns him. Looking for him in all other mages."

Danarius looks down at Fenris. "I remember him being so affectionate."

"I'm sure he was."

Fenris is on his knees, his mouth sewn shut, helpless as he stares at Anders, laughing with Danarius. 

"I could offer you incredible chances, mage." Danarius strokes over Anders' arm, a hidden blade in his palm leaving a bright trail behind. The blood flows from the cut like flowery veins, like the pattern on Fenris' arm. Anders' body goes rigid, his back arching, bloodmagic wrapping around his body with red fog. 

"Come, my little wolf." Danarius turns, and Fenris rises to his feet. "We have a new toy to play with." 

The thread through his lips rips as he screams — and wakes up.

Panting, he scrambles to free his legs from the blanket clinging to him, pushing and kicking until he falls out of the bed. The floor is ice cold, shocking him awake. The wind carries laughter from the street below through the window, cackling like Danarius —

"You are dead!" he yells into the room. It sounds hollow.

He snarls at the empty room, soulless and broken as it is. In a rush, he pulls on his clothes, his armor, and grabs his sword. His feet carry him down the endless stairs of Kirkwall. Nobody bothers him. Not even the elevator to Darktown dares to rumble as he kicks the ancient mechanism.

The lantern over the clinic's door is out, but light shines through the gap under the door. He presses his hand against the wood, knocking with the other. 

Hectic movements sound through the wood. "Who is it?"

His mouth feels sewn shut again. "Fenris," he presses out, the name foreign on his tongue.

The door opens for a small gap and then slowly opens all the way. "Fenris? What is it?" Anders steps aside, gesturing for him to step inside. The room is lit brightly by several lanterns. One of the examination tables is covered with boxes and things, hidden from view by a haphazardly thrown blanket. 

Fenris ignores the table, pacing in agitation. 

"What's wrong?" Anders asks.

"Danarius, he is dead."

"Yes, I was there." Anders stands at the wall, his hands open at his side, watching Fenris like one would watch an agitated animal. A predator. 

A dog without a master.

"What now?" Fenris stops pacing and turns to Anders. "What am I now? Nothing changed. I thought killing Danarius would change something, but... this anger, it still eats at me like poison."

Anders pushes away from the wall, eerily looking like the Anders in his nightmare, and steps over to the cast-iron stove. "And you're asking me?" He shakes his head as he fills a kettle with water and places it on the stove. "You want to know when the anger goes away?"

"Yes." There is a chair next to an examination table and Fenris sits down, feeling too heavy to stand.

Anders casually flicks fire into the stove. 

Fenris doesn't even flinch.

Dragging a second chair over, Anders sits down next to Fenris, staring at the light of the fire shining through the decorative gaps in the stove's door. "The anger never goes away. Because nothing changed." He looks at Fenris. "The abuse happened, and nothing will change that. It was cruel and unfair, and it still is. Even if everyone involved is dead, it still happened to you. That person, the one who believed, who doubted, who had no power, is still part of you."

"Are you talking about me or yourself?" He wants to feel angry about that too, but he can't.

Anders laughs out bitterly. "Are you suggesting we're one and the same? How could that ever be, since I'm such a carefree and powerful mage?"

"Don't patronise me." 

"Is that what I'm doing?" Anders shakes his head and stands up to take the steaming kettle off the stove. He keeps talking makes tea in two cups. "I'm afraid I'm not much help when it comes to healthy ways of coping with anger. I just know..." He sighs, handing Fenris a cup and sits back down on the creaking chair. The fire in the stove draws orange shadows on his face. "I know that hopelessness can be addictive. Because it's predictable and reliable."

Fenris takes a sip of tea. It's green and tastes spicy on his tongue. The warmth lets some tension seep from his shoulders. "I don't want to stay stuck in this spiral. How do I get out?"

Anders holds his nose over the cup, breathing in before he drinks. After a pause, he turns to Fenris. "You have a whole free life to look forward to. It's an incredible chance, you know? You can make your own life from the ground up. No past to hold you back."

Fenris scowls at him. "You mean my lack of memories is a blessing?" 

Instead of the frown Fenris expects, Anders' expression turns soft. Almost sad, despite a smile playing on his lips. "No, of course not. But your past life is gone now. There is no slave named Fenris anymore. There is only Fenris, a free man, who has friends and opportunities. Your life is yours now." He wipes a tear from his eye as he turns away.

"This saddens you?"

"Ah, sorry." Anders wipes his eyes once more and then gives Fenris a hint of a smile. "Please, don't begrudge me this small moment of envy."

Fenris doesn't know what to say to that. That Anders equates his life as a mage with him living as a slave, still doesn't sit right with him. But he cannot deny that Anders' experiences, and what he has seen in the Gallows, do not align with his image of mages that he carried over from Tevinter. 

He almost wants to tell him that. But the moment passes in silence. Anders shakes himself and puts a smile on his face, offering him more tea. He tells a story of tea someone at Kinloch Hold brewed once, and Anders' lively tale soon has Fenris laugh out loud. 

He leaves a while later, a smile still clinging to his face. As he turns back at the door to say his goodbyes, he is taken aback by the sadness in Anders' expression. "What's wrong, mage?"

For a brief moment, a smile lights up Anders' face. "It used to sound so vicious when you called me 'mage'. But now..." The smile disappears, a frown marring Anders' forehead instead. "I feel honoured that you came to me today. I don't know if I helped but I... I hope I can help you again, one day."

"You helped me. I have a lot to think about." 

Anders looks at him for a moment and then steps forward and draws him into an embrace. Before Fenris can quite register what happens, Anders steps back again. "Goodbye, Fenris. Make yourself a good life." 

Bewildered by the sudden seriousness, Fenris can only say his goodbye before Anders closes the door. He watches the light under the door for a while, at the shadow moving across it, and the blue light that flickers in it. 

Two days later, the chantry explodes in bright red columns reaching into the sky.

[dameronology]

you have my number {bucky barnes x reader}

summary: bucky barnes' memory is a little selective, thanks to all the brainwashing - but one thing he'll never forget is his love for you, even if you're a complete & utter pain in the ass. his ass. (based on deja vu by olivia rodigro)

^even tho this fic refers to bucky as having a new gf, the reader is still g.n :)

this is spoiler free! enjoyyy

- jazz xx

Your relationship with Bucky Barnes had been nothing short of a train wreck.

And frankly, that was putting it nicely.

It had been a short & passionate affair; intense and sweet and filled with so much emotion in such high concentrations that you'd both almost drowned in it. For every euphoric moment, there had been one so low that you'd scraped your knees on the ground. Climbing a ladder to heaven whilst simultaneously digging your own graves had taken its toll on you both, and eventually, you had no choice but to go your separate ways. It had been for your own sanity, really.

So there he was, tucked away in a neat little box in your brain, labelled don't touch, ever. Even when you were completely wasted, surrounded by your friends and their respective lovers, you never dared to venture back down that particular memory lane. Forgetting all the bad parts and selectively remembering the good parts was easy enough to do, but you had the common sense to remember why you'd broken up in the first place. Because Bucky Barnes, despite being easy on the eyes and having a charming sense of humour, was a pain in your fucking ass. He managed to press every one of your buttons without even trying and his ability to bring out the best in you was completely and entirely wiped out by his tendency to bring out the worst. That wasn't even getting started on his emotional hold-ups; a can of worms neither of you had dared to open until it became the very reason for your demise.

Six months had passed, and you'd managed to expertly avoid him. You worked different missions and Sam Wilson, god bless his sweet soul, went the extra mile to ensure your paths never crossed in a professional sense. On a personal level, however? That was a little more difficult. New York City felt a lot smaller after your break up. You found yourself occasionally ducking under your hood when you saw him on the F-train, or rushing to cross the road when you saw him coming towards you on the street.

That was when you had the whole city to lose yourself in; streets and shops and little food carts to distract yourself with should you need to. Being confined to the same room for a work party was a different story entirely, and one you didn't want to read. Yet, thanks to some insistence from your boss and a little grovelling from your colleagues, you found yourself rocking up to the former Avengers tower on a Friday night.

"So you do exist outside of your work uniform?" Sam Wilson greeted you with a quirked eyebrow.

"Yeah, yeah - nice to see you too, Wilson."

Despite your initial attempts to elbow him in the rips, he wrestled you off of him and pulled you into a tight hug. Sam was one of your favourite colleagues and oldest friends - he'd witnessed the rise and fall of your relationship with Bucky, and been there for you both during the break-up. That had been an exhausting few days, running between your respective apartments in an attempt to offer emotional support to you both.

"D'you want some champagne?" He asked.

"I'm good, but thank-"

You froze, eyes widening at the sight of James Barnes across the room. He looked quintessentially the same, bar for the fact his hair was a little longer and he had a fresh, pink scar under his left eye. Having ditched his usual attire for a black blazer, he looked good. Annoyingly so, in fact. It made you secretly grateful that you'd chosen to dress up a little more than usual too.

"- on second thoughts." You took the flute of champagne from Sam, also grabbing a shot of vodka from the same trey. It was gone in seconds.

"Need I ask?" Sam gave you a playful frown. His brown eyes followed your gaze over his shoulder, landing on the man you'd been staring at. "Ah. I need not."

"Sorry." You murmured. "We haven't actually spoken since, y'know."

"Since you had a break-up that made Ross and Rachel look good?"

"I don't think Bucky has ever seen Friends." You quipped.

"His loss." Sam shrugged. "You should talk to him."

"Nope." You snorted. "Absolutely not. I don't even know if he's moved on."

"Judging by the pretty blonde on his arm, I think he has," Sam replied. "Would you look at that! They're headed right for us."

That was a lot of information to process at once. You would have needed a week alone for your poor, tired brain to deal with the fact that Bucky had someone else on his arm, and a further three days to big yourself up enough to talk to him. Alas, that was not the case tonight. Instead, you had about five seconds between Sam finishing his sentence and your ex-boyfriend reaching you. It was just as well you found the energy within that timeframe to down your champagne.

You could see the woman on his arm clearer now. To give credit where credit was due, she stunning. She looked like the sort of girl who smelt of strawberries and Chanel, and grew her own vegetables on the fire escape. The kind of person you swore to be with every New Year that came, but quickly ditched after a week, returning to drinking coffee from the Starbucks under your apartment rather than going to the organic, vegan place a few blocks over. There was an ethereal glow about her and fuck. You were mad.

"Sam!" Bucky called out to his friend - for a minute, you thought he was ignoring you, before you realised he genuinely didn't recognise you. Your name rolled off his tongue with a tone of uncertainty, as though he was learning a new language and still learning how to pronounce things. "Wow. You look...different."

"So do you." You shot back. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Katie." He awkwardly smiled. "My...my girlfriend."

"It's nice to meet you." You forced an equally pained grin, taking her hand in a shake.

"How do you and Bucky know each other?" She asked.

"Work." Bucky quickly said. You thinned your eyes at him, almost in disbelief.

"So you're an Avenger like these two?" Katie asked, clearly not picking up on the tension. "That's so cool."

"Not in an official capacity." You replied. "But they'd be fucked without me."

--

The night only got longer from there, really.

There wasn't enough champagne in the world to help the void in your soul. It was a gaping wound that Bucky Barnes had both filled and widened - and tonight, he was doing the latter. It sounded as though him and Katie were having a grand ol' time of it. From the parts of the conversation that you'd actually bothered to listen to, you'd gathered that she'd arrived in New York from London just over three months ago. That meant she had a fucking accent. Of course she did. It made everything she said a thousand times more interesting.

"We were in Paris, in this little cafe. What was it called, babe? Maison de vie?"

"Maison de l'amour, doll." Bucky corrected her. It had only sounded right when he was calling you that.

Your eyes shot up from your drink, immediately staring daggers at them both. The slimy bastard. You had been the one to show him that place. You'd been in Paris for a mission, and after realising it was your four-month anniversary, you'd taken him there for pancakes. It had been a slow morning, filled with hazy eyes and pink skies, and it had ended with him dropping the L-bomb for the first time. The photo you'd taken of Bucky, sat beside a pile of pancakes the same size of him and with whipped cream on his chin, had been your phone background until the day you broke up.

"I've been there." You didn't break away from his gaze, holding cold blue eyes in a trance that he found to be almost suffocating.

"Oh, nice!" Katie beamed. "Did you enjoy it?"

"Yeah." You sniffed. "The company was shit, though."

"Oh, man." She replied. "I'm sorry to hear that."

"It's not your fault." You gave her a sweet smile - to Bucky, it was a look of venom. "So, tell me more about your trip to Paris."

He quickly cleared his throat. "We didn't do much. Just a weekend getaway-"

"- are you forgetting that we saw Billy Joel?" Katie cut him off with a laugh. "The Billy Joel!"

"Right." It looked as though his mouth had gone completely dry.

"He told me he loved me for the first time to Uptown Girl-"

"-excuse me for a moment." You shoved your glass in her hand, before backing away from your little huddle.

Your brain was focused on getting away and only on getting away. The room suddenly felt a thousand times hotter, and a thousand times smaller too, as though the walls were closing in on you. Maybe that wouldn't have been so bad if they'd just collapsed around you and swallowed you fucking whole. Anything to get away from this situation.

Making a beeline for the balcony doors, you elbowed them open and stepped outside. The cold air of the rooftop gardens was a welcome contrast to the stuffy indoors, biting, night air hitting your face like an icy hug. The sounds of the city rung below you - sirens and yells and tourists - and tangled into the faint sound of the music, all parts of a world that your brain was working overtime to block out.

You focused on the city instead, using the bright lights of the surrounding buildings to anchor you to reality. None of it really even made sense - you were over Bucky. Had been for a long time. It was just the thought of him doing all the things that he'd done with you, with someone else. It made you feel a little bad for Katie, too.

"I was going to tell you about Billy Joel."

You glanced over your shoulder, giving a derivative snort. "Piss off, Bucky."

"I'm serious." He ignored your demand, cautiously approaching you.

"I brought you those tickets!" You turned around to face him. "We were meant to go together. Billy Joel was our thing."

"We broke up!' He reminded you. "Like I said, I was going to tell you that we went together-"

"- I don't care." You cut him off. "I genuinely don't care."

"That was a lot of storming off for someone who doesn't care."

"Okay, maybe I care a little bit." You huffed, taking a seat on a bench. "It's not even that you're with someone else, it's that you're doing all the things we did. The nicknames, the pancake place, the concert."

"I..." Bucky took a seat beside you, pondering for a moment.

"And declaring your love for someone to Uptown Girl is fucking weird." You muttered.

"Do you have a better suggestion?"

"Vienna, obviously."

"You're such a pain in the ass." Bucky replied. "But for what it's worth, I wasn't thinking of Katie in that moment."

You glanced up at him, frowning. "What do you mean?"

"D'you remember that morning when we were in New Orleans?" He asked. "And we had a few hours to kill before our flight, so you started dancing around the hotel room to Uptown Girl?"

"I remember." You softly smiled.

"That was when I realised I loved you." He admitted. "I was replaying that in my head at the concert, and it just kinda came out, and Katie heard."

"Damn." You muttered. "Sucks to be her, huh?"

"I like Katie." He said. "Truth be told, doll, I'm still stuck in the past a little bit. With you, and with what we had."

"We fucking hated each other by the end, Buck."

"I know, but I mean all the stuff before that." He explained. "You were the first person who saw me for who I am and not what I've done. The first person that actually made me feel loved and worthy."

"I do try."

He lightly elbowed you "I'm serious. I think I'm just projecting my longing for what we had onto my current relationship."

"You're being painfully honest tonight." You observed. "It's fucking weird."

"Who taught me to be painfully honest?"

"Right." You rolled your eyes. "So this is how Frankenstein felt when he created his monster."

"You're the worst," Bucky muttered. "I genuinely am sorry, though. I shouldn't be recycling our memories. I should make new ones.'

Dusting off your trousers, you stood up. "You're right."

"Thank you, though."

"For what?"

"For finding me first," He replied, "and for teaching me what love is."

"Well, if you ever need to be reminded? You have my number."

[nxrthmizu]

Crash and Burn

fandom | miraculous ladybug

genre | salt, lila salt

pairing | n/a

w.c | 3.2k

author's note | hey remember that lila salt fic i promised? this isn't it but this is something i made today so yep. please accept this as an apology for yknow. me promising to write and. not doing it.

Enough was enough.

“Marinette, stop accusing Lila! She just wants to make friends!”

“Take the high road.”

“Be a good model student, Marinette.”

Enough. Was. Enough.

Marinette had the connections, the power, the choice to make Lila’s entire world crumble apart. The only thing that stood between the liar’s demise was the tiniest pinch of morality and self-restraint— And no, that self-restraint did not come in the form of Tikki. Even the kwami, who had to be an aggregation of all the good and nice things in the world, was fed up and ready to retaliate.

“What a joke.” Lila cackled, tossing a chunk of her sausage hair over her shoulder flamboyantly. The two girls were in the bathroom, with Lila smirking in front of the sink and Marinette a little distance away from her. “You can make my world crumble? What is this, a threat?”

“A promise.” Marinette corrected. “Stop telling lies. Come clean to every one. No more lying about knowing celebrities left and right, no more making excuses about not being able to take your own notes, no more making up ‘diseases’ just so your life gets a little more convenient. To be frank, I really don’t care what happens to you— But by making these empty promises to introduce my classmates to great ‘celebrities’, you’re ruining their futures. Stop.”

“And what are you going to do if I don’t?” Lila sneered, face twisted into an ugly grin. “You going to cry in front of the class? Try and convince them that I, the one they adore— That I am lying?”

“No.” Marinette’s eyes were clear when she met Lila’s. The clouds of self-doubt that used to hover over the bright, shining star inside her soul had now dissipated, letting the bluenette emit a confident, glowing appearance as she met the liar head on. “I’m just going to keep my promise.”

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila headed off to a modelling shoot after school, pleased at the prospect of spending more time with Adrien. There were a couple tendrils of Marinette’s words hanging behind in her mind— Did the girl mean what she said? Did she actually… Was she actually capable of causing Lila’s downfall? … Surely not. Marinette may have once been the ‘Everyday Ladybug’, but there was no way she was that competent, there was no way the girl was capable of plotting.

The Italian hummed, brushing away thoughts of the annoying bluenette from her mind. She was going on a photoshoot— One that was going cause the rise and burst of her career, the one that was going to make her name a globally-known one. Unfortunately for Lila, her plans were going to be derailed quite soon— In fact, as soon as Gabriel Agreste’s car rolled into the parking lot of the shoot location.

“Explain this, Mlle. Rossi.” Gabriel’s nostrils flared as he pointed to the tabloid article on his tablet. The Italian girl froze, the headlines seared into her eyes, big and black and bold, shooting poison right into the core of her body, paralysing her cell by cell starting from her heart. “What is the meaning of this?”

‘Adrien Agreste Reported To Be Harassed by Fellow Model’— The image under the caption was one that was clearly taken by a hidden photographer. The picture was framed with leafy foliage, which suggested that the camera was tucked up in a tree. Despite the distance, it was quite obvious in the image that Adrien was reeling away, disgusted and uncomfortable as a faceless woman in an orange blazer, back turned to the camera— Invaded his personal space.

The subtitle was the cream on the cupcake.

‘Witnesses State Gabriel Agreste Ignorant of Workplace Harassment’.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

As if things couldn’t quite go down a worser path, Lila returned home to a fuming mother and an unexpected visitor.

“Lila! You come here right this instant!” The diplomat demanded as soon as the front door opened, her daughter shrinking slightly at the tone and pitch that her mother was using. The last time her mother had been this angry— Well, it was when she got expelled from her last school. “I can’t believe what you’ve done! If it weren’t for your kind classmate, lord knows how long you would’ve continued with this!”

The Italian meekly followed her mother into the living room, eyes widening until they were as large as saucers, mouth agape at the last person she expected to see sitting on the couch.

Marinette smiled kindly, waving at the girl, looking every bit the part of the innocent, pure, kind child that every parent wanted to have. Before Lila could release a torrent of questions about what the hell Marinette Dupain-Cheng was doing in her living room, her mother charged on, beginning to take out her anger on her daughter while a literal angel sat on the sofa, cradling a box of pastries from her family’s bakery.

“Your friend here tells me that you’ve been taking absences from school to go on trips to help humanity!” Mme. Rossi exploded, waving her arms around madly. “She says she’s here to share her notes from the classes you’ve missed! You’ve never left Paris this year! What’s this I hear about flying off to the kingdom of— What was it called again, Marinette dear?”

“Achu.” Provided the bluenette helpfully, the diplomat’s expression instantly softening when she talked to the other teen in the living room.

“Ah, yes. Thank you, dear.” The woman turned back to her daughter, instantly snapping on a mask of anger in a matter of a fraction of a second. “What’s this about flying off to this kingdom of Achu to help homeless orphans with some random prince?”

“Um…” Lila piped up, wriggling as her brain churned at 200 lies per hour, trying to whip up a cover of some sort.

“I’m not done! Your friend here is such a helpful child that she even went as far as to ask her family doctor is there’s a cure for your… Lying disease!” Mme. Rossi practically roared, breathing flames as if she were an intimidating dragon, her daughter flinching away from the heat. “I’ve never heard of anything more ridiculous! And then there’s the fact that you lied to your classmates about having tinnitus?!”

“I actually do have tinnitus!” Lila cut in forcibly, widening her eyes to make herself look more pitiful. “I was just afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to worry!”

“Bullshit!”

“Um… Sorry to interrupt, Mme. Rossi,” Marinette piped up, the diplomat instantly cooling down as she faced the bluenette, a soft smile tracing the Italian woman’s lips. “But it’s getting rather late and my parents would love me home soon. I also have some tests to revise for tonight, so I think I should get going.”

“Oh, of course, dear.” Mme. Rossi hastily got up to help the bluenette to the door, shooting a warning glare at her daughter— ‘Sit still and don’t you dare go anywhere’, the glare read. “Feel free to come over again anytime you want, dear. I’m not home often, but you are such a sweet child. I’m sure Lila could learn a lot from you.”

“Thanks for having me as well, Mme. Rossi. I really like your home. I left the pastries on the counter— Make sure to warm the curry puffs before you eat them.” Marinette returned the smile, bowing slightly to the older woman as a sign of respect.

“Thank you for the pastries as well, Marinette. I ought to visit your parents’ bakery sometime when I’m free.” Mme. Rossi opened the door kindly for the bluenette, waving the girl off with an affectionate smile. Her parents must be so lucky to have such a sweet little thing like her, Mme. Rossi sighed internally, turning the key so she locked the door. And she seems to be a high-scoring student as well.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

Lila seethed, having been grounded by her mother. As far as Mme. Rossi was concerned, there was a boarding school not too far away from their current residence, and by the next week, the Italian girl would be transferred over. Lila had never hated Dupain-Cheng as much as she did in that moment.

Still furious, the Italian snapped her laptop open, too angry to bother with the fact she might’ve scratched the surface. Clicking into the web browser, she started to type in the words ‘Ladyblog’— That was, before a news article caught her eye.

‘Jagged Stone Interview Reveals Underage, Obsessed Fan’.

What on Earth…

As soon as Lila clicked into the link, the news footage from the interview immediately begin to play. The date stamp on it showed that it had aired last night— Which meant that she would’ve missed it, since her mother was too busy yelling at her to turn on the television to watch Nadja Chamack’s daily news.

“As soon as I heard this rumour about some underage teenage girl claiming that she had saved my cat on an airport runway, I called Penny and asked her to book a slot for me to clarify this,” Jagged Stone said grimly, dressed in more formal attire as he sat in the comfortable, cushioned chair of the news station, with Nadja nodding equally seriously beside him. “Let me clarify— I’ve never owned a cat. I’m allergic to fur. The only pet I’ve had was Fang, and he’s an al-li-ga-tor. Not a cat. Whatever the girl is claiming, she’s obsessed and making up stories.”

“It’s also kind of bewildering that she saved it on an airport runway,” Nadja continued, shaking her head in disappointment. “That kind of thing only happens in dramas— It’s too dangerous for anyone besides authorised workers to be on airport runways.”

“Right, right!” Jagged agreed instantly. “The whole rumour is just really baffling.”

“M. Jagged, may I ask what kind of effect these rumours have on a celebrities’ career?” Nadja continued, leading the conversation on like a professional.

“Well, rumours that circulate around tend to have really bad effects, and the worse ones can hang around for a long, long time. Tabloids are often spun off from rumours, baseless and with no evidence. Those tabloids will never truly disappear, so they can leave a mark on a celebrity’s reputation as some people will believe anything— Even things they read from un-cited tabloids.”

“That is simply terrible. Have you ever had any cases of rumours created by underaged teens before this?”

“I’ve had quite a number, but none of them really got as big as this one. From what Penny has found from digging around, the teen girl managed to spread the rumour through her school and onto a once-popular blog.” Jagged explained. “Penny has also found out that the same girl has claimed that I’ve written songs for her to thank her for saving my cat! I would never write songs and dedicate them to an underaged girl— Trust me. If I could do such a thing, I’d already have written a dozen in honour of my niece— She’s my favourite designer.”

Nadja smiled at that sentence. “Then—“

The news footage cut off abruptly as Lila slammed her laptop shut, too upset to continue watching.

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

On the other side of Paris, Alya was pacing around her room frantically, wondering why on earth Lila wasn’t picking up on her calls. She’d left at least four dozen messages to the Italian, who was absent from school that day. There had been a couple whispers here and there about why she was missing— Rose had suggested another impromptu trip to Achu.

Lila’s absence wasn’t the weirdest part of the day, however.

That award would go to Marinette, who walked into class with a smile, the slightest sprinkles of delight colouring her bluebell eyes when she spotted Lila’s empty seat.

Growing in frustration, Alya threw herself onto her bed, phone clattering onto the mattress with her. Within the next few minutes, however, her phone suddenly started exploding with notifications. Excited at the prospect of Lila finally texting back, Alya turned on her phone, only to be disappointed by the notifications all clamouring from the class group chat.

Kim had sent a link to the chat— Without hesitation, Alya clicked into it, frowning when she saw Nadja and Jagged appear on the screen. Throughout the interview, the colour on the Ladyblogger’s face only paled by the second until she was as white as a sheet, and if it were halloween at that time, she would’ve won the best costume award for being a ghost.

There must… There must’ve been a mistake.

A notification from Lila’s number made the blogger perk up, instantly clicking into the conversation— But her newfound hope didn’t last very long.

[Lila]

Hi, Alya. This is Lila’s mom. She’s currently grounded right now. Is there anything important you need to tell her?

[Alya]

Oh, nothing much… I just wanted to ask where she was.

[Lila]

She’s at home.

[Alya]

Okay, thanks.

Flopping onto her bed, Alya begin thinking, revising over the past few months like it was an old clip. Lila’s exciting adventures and interactions with celebrities of every kind— Lila going overseas and face timing the entire class— Lila letting her in on the secrets of being Ladybug’s friend…

… Marinette trying to tell them that Lila was lying…

──────── ⋆⋅❉⋅⋆ ────────

The class was awfully silent the next day. Adrien was absent as well— A social worker was looking into his home life as a result of the tabloid that arose. Things for the blonde could either get better or worse from then on, as the matters were still foggy and things hadn’t cleared up yet. The blonde maintained contact with his friends, however, calling and texting them whenever he could.

“Class, settle down.” Mlle. Bustier stepped into the class, looking very tense and uncomfortable. “Today, we will have a guest, so please be on your best behaviours, alright?”

Just as the teacher finished speaking, a tall, regal-looking Italian woman entered the classroom, a cowering principal and a meek-looking Lila in tow. The class brightened slightly at the sight of their friend— But by the way she wasn’t looking into their eyes… Things weren’t going to be good.

“Good morning. I am Mme. Rossi, Lila’s mother.” The woman begin speaking, her firm and no-nonsense tone instantly making every student sit straight, their eyes too afraid to look anywhere else but the Italian diplomat. “It has come to my attention that my daughter has been taking absences from school to do charity work— And I have to clarify that this is a lie. Lila has been doing nothing but holing herself up in her room, lying to me and saying that there are no classes due to akumas.” The Italian diplomat glowered at Damocles. “What’s even more baffling is the fact that neither her homeroom nor the principal bothered to check up with me despite a student having extended periods of absence with no note or email written whatsoever.”

The class was so quiet that they could hear the quiver of Mlle. Bustier’s trembling lip.

“In addition, I’ve been kindly told that Lila has claimed to have a lying disease, which is the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard this week.” It was impossible to miss the way the Italian diplomat was glaring daggers at both Mlle. Bustier and Damocles. “No one bothered to look it up online to see if it’s actual disorder, nor did anyone call me to confirm and ask for a doctor’s note, which is standard procedure.” Chills burst over the room, making every one shiver as the woman hissed out her words.

“Mme. Rossi, we didn’t want to disturb your busy schedule—” Damocles begin, only to be blown backwards from the sheer intensity of Mme. Rossi’s glower.

“M. Damocles, standard procedures exist for a reason. Unless you’d like to tell me about any other things you’ve been letting my daughter get away with?”

“N— No, Mme.”

The Italian diplomat continued on her war path. “My daughter also claimed to have tinnitus, am I correct?”

“Y— Yes, Mme.” Mlle. Bustier answered when it seemed like no one was going to.

“And I heard that the class seating arrangement was shifted to accommodate for that?” The homeroom teacher didn’t dare answer this time, for it seemed like whatever she said would be the incorrect answer. “And apparently, my daughter has also been faking broken wrists and requesting for her classmates to complete her work for her.” Mme. Rossi was practically breathing flames at that point, “And I am incredibly upset at the lack of action from the homeroom teacher.”

No one could breath.

“I have many concerns about the running of this schooling facility, and I expect to discuss this with M. Damocles privately after this. However, there is still something to be done.” Mme. Rossi swept her gaze towards her daughter, who found the floor incredibly interesting at that point of time. “Lila? Something you’d like to say to your classmates?”

“… I’m sorry for lying to you.” Lila mumbled resentfully.

“Louder, Lila. No one can hear you.”

“I’m sorry for lying to you!” Lila swallowed, bursting like an explosion that had finally been triggered, tears in her eyes and fists hatefully curled. “I’m sorry for lying about my diseases and injuries. I’m sorry for making you do my work,” She spat. “Sorry for causing any inconveniences.”

Mme. Rossi raised an eyebrow at her daughter. “Is that all?”

Lila glared at her mother, who was completely unfazed. “Oh, so you want an apology from me? Fine!” She turned to the class, a maniacal glint in her eyes as she sneered at the class, a few gasps puffing from around the room as they caught their first glimpse of the liar that resided in the ‘harmless’ shell of Lila Rossi. “I’m sorry that you are all such idiots that you all fell for everything. I’m sorry that Marinette has such terrible, untrusting classmates that turned their backs on her even though she was still a goody-two shoes till the end, even though she still wanted to help you sorry peasants. I’m sorry that you were all so goddamn gullible! There! Good enough for you?”

Shock was etched into the faces of every human in the classroom— Including Mlle. Bustier, M. Damocles, and Mme. Rossi themselves. Clearly, that part of the apology had not been part of the plan.

“Did I miss something?” Said a sweet voice, followed by the presence of a bluenette, her hair tied in a half-up. A royal blue blazer decorated her lithe form, accompanied by a smart-looking white blouse and a black plaited skirt. Formal had never looked so good on anyone— And if someone didn't know better, they'd think that the bluenette was a young lawyer, emerging victorious from her first successful case.

“Marinette!” Alya exclaimed.

“I’m sorry that you’re such an annoying, little, pest.” Lila bit in the girl’s face, disdain colouring her features as she ignored her mother’s enraged gasp behind her.

The bluenette simply smiled, unaffected by the liar who had crashed and burned like the liar once wished upon her. Marinette Dupain-Cheng stood at her full height, the perfect image of grace and poise as she maintained her composure, quite unlike her nemesis, who thrashed under her mother’s restraining hands.

“And I’m sorry that you didn’t take my promise to heart.”

this can count as adrien redemption depending on you cause ehhh i dont like how passive he is but i havent caught up with the recent episodes, he might have become better. idk.

also where the hell is my miraculous taglist i cant find it so eep. no tagging ppl ig oops

[wkemeup]

Sunrise (10)

summary: After an explosion takes his arm and his only sense of belonging, Bucky is content to live out the rest of his days in the hollow comfort of the dark. This is, until Sam drags him down to the local VA and he meets you. (Modern AU) pairings: bucky x reader chapter word count: 6.9k warnings: smut (18+), angsty angst, this time I dont leave you with a cliff hanger 😉 🧡 series masterlist / series playlist

“Come on, Bucky! I know you’re in there!” 

You hit your fist on the door again. Perhaps you would have been more mindful of the the hour, but you’d heard glass shattering as you raced up the stairway just moments ago. You’d heard him shouting himself hoarse and heavy footsteps as he paced inside his apartment. You’d heard the cracks in his voice – the consumption of grief and fury and shame swallowing him whole.  

One of Bucky’s neighbors had rung Sam the first time Bucky’s screams could be heard through the thin apartment walls. It was the fifth time in as many nights and Sam promised Bucky would get it under control before they went to the landlord with noise complaints. He made no such promises that he would be the one to do it. 

An elderly woman in a nightgown peeped her head out into the hallway, scowling at you as you continued pounding on the door. Her beady eyes narrowed and you only spared her a moment’s glance before you returned to the door. 

“I’ll wake up the whole building! I swear to—” 

The door was pulled from under your fist. In its frame, stood a ghostly version of the man you knew. Dark circles hung heavy under his eyes. His hair was disheveled, blood dripped from a cut in his palm. Behind him, furniture was turned on its side, glass on the floor, magazines and unopened mail littering every surface. He'd torn his place apart.  

“What are you doing here?” 

You swallowed, forcing your voice stronger than you felt. “Sam called me.” 

Bucky’s grip on the doorknob tightened. “Of course, he did.”  

He paused only for a moment before he turned his back to you and walked inside the apartment. The door was left open in his wake and you took it as permission to enter. 

Cautiously, you took your first steps into his apartment. You tried to ignore the dust lining the curtains and the fleeting thought wondering when the last time he’d allowed the sun to touch his skin. The latch clicked behind you and you winced at the intrusion to the silence.  

Bucky meanwhile was staring out into the mess of his living room. His gaze rested on the couch turned on its side, then to the box of trinkets spilled on the floor by the mantel, then the broken glass by the window. His shoulders sagged; his expression unreadable. Slowly, he knelt down to the edge of the couch to flip it back on its legs.  

You watched him carefully, not uttering a word or daring to move closer until he finished. Once the couch was right side up again, he exhaled a tired breath and leaned against the edge. Exhaustion flickering through his eyes, though you suspected it had little to do with the exertion of moving furniture.  

As Bucky moved to throw the cushions back to the frame, you realized suddenly how he was dressed. Plaid blue pajama pants hung low on his waist. Bare feet prodding over hardwood floors too close to where broken shards of glass waited. His chest was exposed; skin glazed in the dim glow of moonlight as it peered through the small slit between the curtains.  

You could see his shoulder blades move along his back as he tensed. The lines of his spine and the dips along his hipbones. When he turned to face you again, your eyes were drawn to his shoulder and the frayed mess of scar tissue and burns. It was mesmerizing, the intricate patterns and the markings on his skin. Pink and red and faded with time. You wondered if it still hurt, if he could feel the nerve endings there or— 

Your gaze flickered back to Bucky’s. He was watching you, barely taking a breath. So vulnerable as he stood in front of you and he had no time to prepare for it. He probably didn’t realize how exposed he was until he noticed you staring. You’d imposed on his home, on his space. He couldn’t have known he’d be confronted with this tonight. 

All the effort it took for him to simply remove his jacket and now he was left standing before you without a single layer to protect him.  

You could see the doubt swimming behind his eyes. No matter how hard he tried to pretend like this connection between you was something he could easily push away, like he could let go of it without much of a second thought or a single word in his own defense, you could tell he was ripping himself apart at the seams, wondering whether you found him as repulsive as he saw himself to be. 

He shook his head, his features hardening over again. He gripped at the side of the couch until his knuckles turned white.  

“You should go home,” he said, breaking the silence. His voice was thick as gravel. “Sam shouldn’t have bothered you.” 

“Shouldn’t have—?” You scoffed, stunned. “Bucky, look at this place!” 

“I’m fine,” he replied flatly and you almost laughed if it weren’t for the deadpanned look upon his face.  

“You’re clearly not fine!” You dared to take a step closer, aching to remind him of the lightness he carried weeks earlier, only for him to retreat. He rejected the contact on instinct – a flinch throughout his whole body. Your heart clenched as if a hand had slipped in past your ribs and squeezed until it burst.  

Your breath was tight in your lungs as you tried again, a little softer this time, “you’re not fine, Bucky. You’ve kept yourself held up – alone – in this apartment for days on end. You’re pushing away the people who care about you. You’re not sleeping. You... You look like you’ve been through hell.” 

Bucky’s jaw was clenched so tight, you wondered if it might shatter. His gaze was unfocused, staring down at the floor by your feet.  

“You don’t have to put yourself thought this,” you eased, though the tension would not fade from his muscles. They remained locked as stone. You inched forward, a hand extending to him, an anchor to ground him. “Bucky, please... let me help you.” 

Something snapped – as sudden as a rubber band pulled taunt until its breaking point – and Bucky’s cold eyes met yours.  

"There is NO helping me!” he roared, startling you enough to flinched back a few paces, your hand curling back against your chest protectively. He curled his shaking hand to a fist. “I can't escape this shit! Even when I thought I could—when things were finally bearable again and I had a reason to get out of bed in the morning and I actually wanted to live through the fucking day— it all came back anyway! One word and I’m right back to where I started! I’m a fucking nightmare to be around! Don’t you get that?!” 

His breaths were coming in ragged, too quick. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes red. He hit his knuckles against the edge of the couch, on the wooden frame under the spine. Bucky barely took in a full breath.

“I can’t keep my shit together and I’m -- I’m only going to hurt you, okay? You shouldn’t want anything to do with this. I—I mean, look around you!” He kicked at the glass near his exposed feet, angry tears burning on his cheeks. “This is what my life looks like! Is this—is this what you want for yourself? You really want to sign up for this? This—this fucking endless parade of night terrors and panic attacks and anxiety? Huh?” 

He was brimming with pain. It was spilling over the surface and coating the floor. You were drowning in it and all you wanted to do was cross the room to him, to hold him, to soothe even an ounce of that suffering away because it would consume him whole if he let it.  

Bucky’s right hand was shaking so badly, tremors wouldn’t cease even as he clenched his fist. His body betrayed the stone he etched into his features. It was crumbling under the weight.  

“You really want to throw away your life for that? For me?” he spat as if the very idea itself carried venom in its implication, as if it were nothing more than a fool’s errand to spend a lifetime by his side, as if choosing him would be choosing to tie a noose around your neck.  

You’d never seen the evidence of his self-loathing before—not in full view and smothering the man you adored. He was expecting you to recoil, to run, to fight and argue and ultimately accept that you could never love a man so broken. It was a reaction he could wait a century for and still never find even a glimpse of hesitancy on your features.  

You steadied your breathing. Focused on the heart of the man standing in front of you, determined to push past the destructive fog he’d surrounded himself in. You took a step toward him, and this time, he did not run.  

“You’re not going to scare me away, Bucky.” 

Shame quickly spread through his body, replacing the threads of anger with something much crueler. His eyes fell to the floor, his chest rising unsteady and he stumbled back a few paces to give you space from the rage he wasn’t able to control. He looked about a decade younger as his features softened again, cowering back into the shadows. 

“I’m not going anywhere,” you eased, daring another step. 

Bucky shook his head, reflective lines along his cheeks. His lower lip was chewed raw.  

“You don’t deserve this mess. You should—You should be with someone whole. Someone who can give you a better life than I can.” He could barely choke out the words.

“I don’t want someone else.” You took another step closer, determined to close the space between you. “I want you.” 

The tips of your fingers brushed against Bucky’s hand and a shiver cast up his spine. His eyes were transfixed on your touch as you slowly encased his hand in your own, easing the tension through his body and crumbling the stones in his chest with a gentle slide of your thumb against his palm. He started to sink against it, his whole body caving in to the very thing he’d been keeping at an arm’s length. He was suffering withdrawal.  

“You don’t know what I’ve done,” Bucky whimpered, tears slipping past his eyes as he shut them tight, as if he could cast away his demons if he were blind to their shadows over his shoulder.  

You tugged gently on his hand, pulling him down to the couch. He followed you easily, his body moving of your accord as if he were made of clay. When you wrapped your arms around his shoulders, you felt the slight tremble along his spine, the shakiness in his bones. His head laid against your heartbeat, his right arm snaking around your waist in fear of letting go.   

“I don’t need to know what happened. I don’t need the details,” you sighed against his ear. “I know you. I know you’re a good man, Bucky.” 

Bucky was quiet for a minute. The silence hung thick in the air. 

“What if I’m not?” 

You tried to ignore the twist in your chest. “Oh honey, please don’t say that.” 

“I lost eight people, Y/n,” he muttered out, holding onto you a little tighter. You could feel his heart pounding as you raked your fingers through his hair, hoping to ease him if only a little. “Eight of my unit. My friends. If I... If I had said something sooner... We were sitting ducks and... and...” 

It was impossible to draw the pieces together. You couldn’t see the vivid image he held in his mind, but the details of that day weren’t necessary. He trusted you enough to outline the frame, to provide glimpses into the worst day of his life, even if they were messy and blurred. His body shook as he spoke, like maybe it was the first time he was saying the words aloud.  

You ran your fingers along his spine, drawing patterns along his shoulder blades. He shivered. 

The gentle glow of the moonlight caught the reflective edge of something on the floor. A medal. A Bronze Star. You pressed a kiss to his forehead, remembering what Natasha had told you about its merit for exceptional bravery.  

“Were there any survivors?” 

Bucky held his breath and slowly he nodded. “He was... He was just a kid when it happened. Peter. I think... I think if it wasn’t for him, I would have died out there. I would have given up. Woulda been easy enough. My arm would have bled out pretty quick and the sky... the sky was so beautiful that day. I don’t know why I remember that. Not a cloud for miles. It would have been a nice last thing to see, you know? I would have been okay with that. But Peter... Peter was so young and I... I wanted to bring him home.” 

Tears were openly streaming down your face and you were thankful Bucky couldn’t see them as he laid against your chest. You tried to stifle the sob as it broke through. You kissed at his hairline again, holding him as tight as you could manage. 

“You saved his life,” you stressed, hoping he might be able to hear it.  

Bucky swallowed, tears brushing against the thin fabric of your t-shirt. “I lost eight others.” 

“Yes, you did.” There was no disputing that. Eight lives had been lost and he was grieving his friends, his team, blaming himself for each life he didn’t save. His body tensed and you were mindful to draw pressured lines along his back to ease the rigidity there.  

“You did everything you could, honey.” 

Bucky shook his head. “No, I could have... I—I should have...” 

“Some things are just outside of your control.” 

“But I—” 

“It wasn’t your fault.” 

Bucky froze, the recognition present in his body as he slowly lifted his head from your chest. “That’s....” He blinked a few times. “That’s what Sam always said. Those exact words.” 

You smiled, brushing the hair from his eyes. You wiped your thumb along his cheekbone, drawing away the tracks of tears on his face. “Sam’s a smart guy.” 

Bucky searched your eyes and you could tell he was wondering how you’d come to know Sam’s mantras, how they’d become words you often repeated to yourself in your darkest moments, but he couldn’t quite find a way to ask. He pulled himself from your lap and propped himself up beside you, your hands intertwined. He squeezed it lightly and an aching smile pulled at your lips.  

"Sam used to have to write it on paper for me,” you admitted at the bittersweet memory. “I couldn’t say it to myself and he figured if I could read it in his writing, maybe I’d believe it if it were coming from him. After a while I started to say them out loud and hearing it my own voice... I don’t know. Sam kind of tricked me into healing, I guess.” 

You laughed under your breath and you felt Bucky ease slightly beside you. He squeezed your hand again, a silent reminder that he was there. You focused on the feel of his grip, the callouses on his palms and the warmth of his skin. Real and tangible. Your Bucky.  

“Sometimes I think Sam’s the only reason I survived after I lost Riley.” 

A slight pinch formed at Bucky’s brows, his eyes narrowing—a subtle sort of curiosity, though he waited patiently for you to continue. The silence didn’t seem to frighten him as much as he focused on you, his eyes darted to your lip as you dug in your teeth.  

You hadn’t let yourself be vulnerable next to Bucky before, afraid to take away from his own suffering in favor of your own. But you had known pain of a different kind. 

You knew what it was to crave comfort, to silently beg to be held. You knew how it felt to be rejected by a man too shattered to offer any piece of himself away without breaking apart entirely.  

The way Bucky was watching you, even through the dark circles under his eyes, the exhaustion pulling him in... it settled the twists of nerves in your stomach. His thumb traced at the edges of your palms, gentle sweeps to ease the tension away. His back straightened, a determination returning to his features, a sense of belonging – of purpose – in his comfort of you.  

“He was a pararescue in the Air Force,” you continued after a moment and a flash of realization crossed over Bucky’s features. You pressed out a sad sort of smile as you said, “you remind me of him a little.” 

You thought of the t-shirt you’d lent Bucky the evening you’d gotten caught in the storm together, how it clung to his chest. Bucky’s shoulders where broader than Riley’s had been. It was slightly bigger on your frame the next night you wore it. The logo had faded with constant washing, the soft green of the fabric muted to a grey. You’d worn it to sleep nearly every night for weeks after Riley left for his final tour, longer after he’d been killed.  

It was the most cherished thing you owned. Lending it to Bucky that night had taken a strength you hadn’t allowed for yourself in years. It brought back memories you’d left untouched and an ache in your chest you’d forgotten. But somewhere, under it all, it had released you. 

Riley would have liked Bucky, you thought, might have considered him a friend. You hoped he wouldn’t mind being the bridge that allowed you to move onto a new sense of peace, a new comfort. Even in Riley’s darkest moments, he only ever wanted you to be happy. You desperately hoped he meant that.  

“I loved him so much,” you told Bucky, your mouth feeling suddenly dry at the admission, “but the war had hurt him beyond the scars on his body. Most nights, he woke up screaming. I tried... I tried to comfort him, to ground him back to what was real, but Riley was always so stubborn. He insisted he was fine, as if I didn’t notice the dark circles under his eyes or that he started drinking coffee in the evening before bed. He never told me what happened. I know he wasn’t trying to hurt me, that he was just doing what he could to hold himself together, but... the truth was, I lost Riley long before the officers showed up at his parents’ house.” 

Bucky nodded, watching you intently, though he didn’t say a word. You could feel his eyes on you as you kept your stare ahead, focusing on the imperfections laced into the brick of the fireplace across the room. You studied the curve of the cement, the nicks in the mantel, the divots of the stone. It was the first time you’d uttered Riley’s name in years. 

“I know you think I can’t handle this stuff, that it’s too much for me, but this isn’t the first time I’ve been around someone with nightmares, Bucky, or panic attacks,” you said, memories flashing over Riley sinking to the floor with his hands pressed to his ears, tears streaming down his face, images of him turning his back on you and disappearing for days on end. You had hoped he’d open up in enough time, but he never did. He couldn’t, he’d said, or it would consume him whole. Even years later, you still wondered whether it was under the weight of his pain that he suffocated, not in the prospect of its release.  

“Riley struggled after his first tour,” you continued, a lump burning in your throat. “He... He came back different. He couldn’t adjust to civilian life. I could tell from the second he got home that he was itching to go back. Despite all the pain he endured, all the nightmares and the guilt, all he wanted to do was go back.” 

You glanced over at Bucky to find his jaw clenched in understanding. It wasn’t an uncommon feeling, for soldiers who waited so tirelessly to be reunited with family and friends to feel isolated and insignificant when they returned home, to want to return to the one place they felt like they belonged.  

“I tried to stop him,” you continued, wiping your eyes as unshed tears started to blur your vision. “I begged him to stay. He was out of his contract. He didn’t need to go back but...” You sighed. Bucky’s hand gripped yours and you drew on the ounce of strength he was offering. “The worst part was that he was better when he was over there. He was smiling again and laughing and making jokes like he used to. He was promising things for our future I hadn’t even allowed myself to consider before then. Being over there... it offered him something I never could and I was... I was glad for that. I was thankful he’d gone. I was... relieved. I’d missed him so much and I was just happy he was himself again, even if he was a world away, even if it broke my heart. Seeing him happy again... it was enough.” 

You brushed at your eyes, the calloused touch of Bucky’s palm sliding along your jaw to gently wipe the wet from your cheek. His breathing was even again, the shakiness in his hands subsided. He waited for you to gather your thoughts again, not uttering a word in favor of the crickets chirping outside the window – unparalleled kindness in his patience.  

You swallowed back the lump in your throat, urging yourself to continue. Your eyes met Bucky’s, finding comfort in the warm shades of blue and the encouraging glimpse of a smile that barely rose at the edges of his mouth.  

“When Riley died, I blamed myself for a long time,” you said. “I told myself I could have stopped him from going back. I could have done more to convince him to stay, to get him the help he needed. I could have fought harder for him—for... for us. But Riley was his own person. He made his own choices and I couldn’t have done a damn thing to stand in his way. Sam helped convince me of that.” 

Bucky’s face slacked. “That’s why you started volunteering at the VA.” 

You nodded. “Sam and Riley were partners. They had some sort of pact to take care of the other’s family if something happened. Sam held up his side of the bargain whether I liked it or not. He dragged me to the open house that year and I haven’t left since. I do it for Riley, but... I don’t know... I think I do it for myself, too.” 

You exhaled a heavy breath, turning away from the fireplace to face Bucky. His eyes weren’t as red as they had been, a frown no longer etched into his features. His gaze full, though heavy, and he watched you as if you carried the entire world in the palm of your hands.  

“So, you have to understand... I can’t lose you to this war, too,” you choked out, squeezing at his hand to feel the firmness of it, to remind yourself that he was real and sitting right beside you and not an ocean away. “I won’t survive losing you, Bucky. I need you, okay? Please.” 

He looked as though he was about to argue, but he quickly held his tongue as he watched the tears slip down over your cheeks. Reflective in the dim light from the window.  

You took in a long breath, straightening your spine as you met his eye, your voice stronger than it had been since you started. “Not everyone comes home, but you did. You survived and you wandered into my life and somehow, you made me believe in love again. Even on your worst days, just being near you is the best part of mine.” 

Bucky’s lips parted, a semblance of shock flashing over his eyes. You smiled at him through your tears, a hand sliding along the side of his cheek. He sighed against the touch of it, sinking into your embrace as if hadn’t ever expected to be held like that again. Your sweet Bucky, still so surprised that you could adore him as much as you did.  

“So, I will take your nightmares and your panic attacks,” you told him, smiling through the trembling in your lips. “I’ll take your bad days and share the weight you carry on your shoulders. I’ll take every ounce of shame and self-loathing you have until the day comes you can hardly feel it at all. I’ll take the empty side streets with you and we’ll drive so far out into the country side we’ll never hear a firework again.” 

Bucky chuckled at that, a smile pressing up along his cheek until you felt it under your palm.  

“I will take anything you throw at me,” you sighed, your thumb brushing over his lips, “as long as you’re mine. As long as I’m yours. That’s all I want, Bucky. It’s all I ask. Just you.” 

Bucky stared at you, a strange mixture of awe and disbelief on his features. You could see the hope burning behind his eyes, how badly he wanted to believe you, but doubt crept in and sunk its talons into his spine.  

His smile sank. “You’ve... you’ve already been through so much. I don’t know if I’m worth all that.” 

“You are.” You slid both hands along his cheeks, holding his gaze, until you leaned in closer, inch by inch, and pressed your lips to his forehead. Slow, lingering, you kissed his temples, his cheekbones, the tip of his nose, his jawline, pausing only when you found yourself a breath away from his lips.  

“You are, Bucky,” you said again, brushing your thumbs along his cheeks and catching a tear in its path. He bowed his head, a slight trembling in his jawline. It took everything you had not to collapse into him.  

“Honey, I promise you, it won’t always feel like this and I’ll convince you every day that you are enough, if you need me to,” you told him, your voice shaking as you held back tears. “I’m not going anywhere, okay? You’re not alone. Not now. Not ever again.” 

You leaned forward to kiss the crown of his head and his whole body seemed to sink in response, lightening, as if he’d let go of a boulder strapped upon his shoulders. His muscles softened, the tension slipping from his spine, until slowly, he began to lift his head, hair parting away from his eyes. Though they were strained and red, a crystalized ocean current stared back at you.  

You could feel the ease in his body taking over, a realization and a determination present in his stare, in his body.  

His lips parted, a steady breath in. “I love you.” 

*** 

It was the easiest thing he’d ever said; slipped from his lips as if the words had simply tumbled out on their own. Lost in how tenderly you touched him, how your hands never once left his body even as he held himself firm as stone, how you entrusted him with the most painful parts of yourself, how you gently coaxed him away from the shadows threatening to drag him back into a darkness he’d never recover from – he’d never been so certain of anything in his life.  

“I love you,” he said again, just wanting to hear it one more time. His voice was stronger this time, steadier, and he could feel his cheeks curving up into a smile. It ached from disuse, but it was a pleasant feeling. A kind one.  

He slipped his hand to rest on yours as it laid against his face and gently pulled it back just enough to kiss at your palm. It wasn’t often he found you at a loss for words, but it he didn’t mind the silence, not like he did before. He could still hear the slight hitch of surprise in your breath, the nervous laughter carrying in your exhale. You were smiling so wide, he wondered if it were even possible to love you more than he did in that moment.  

“Really?”  

God, you were so beautiful when you looked at him like that. Starry eyed and so full of hope.  

He nodded. “Yeah. I do.” 

You kissed him then, full on his mouth, arms thrown around his neck, and he had to stifle a laugh against your lips. He could feel the smile growing against him, laughing in between every kiss as the tears dried on your cheeks.  

“I love you, too, Bucky,” you beamed, drawing him in to kiss him again. 

He shouldn’t be surprised after all you’d said to him tonight, but it still fluttered in his chest, still caused butterflies to swarm in his stomach, still cast a blinding light deep into his heart that pushed out the remaining darkness lingering behind. His arm snaked around your back, holding you as tight against him as he could manage. He was breathless by the time you pulled away.  

“Will you stay?” he asked, suddenly feeling nervous as his eyes flickered over to the bedroom door. “I know it’s a mess out here, but—” 

Your lips were on his again and he swore he’d never talk again as long as you kept kissing him like that. Slowly, you began to stand from the couch, tugging him along with you. He pulled away from your lips just long enough to navigate his way to the bedroom, stepping over broken glass and the remnants of his nightmare on the living room floor.  

His bedroom was untouched, at least. The sheets were thrown haphazardly off the bed, but other than that, it was pristine in comparison to the damage he’d done out there. A shame tried to work its way deep into his chest, but he felt your hand slip into his, carefully drawing him close to the bed, and it released him to your care.  

His back bounced against the mattress in tune with the sweet sound of your laughter as you crawled over him. Thighs caging his hips, you straddled his waist and he looked up at you, certain he’d find a glimmering shine of a halo behind your head. The moonlight touched over your shoulders as you leaned down against him, kissing his lips. 

He’d missed you so much. Those two weeks left him in a hole he couldn’t possibly dig himself out of on his own. He was scraping at the bottom, nails filled with dirt, digging himself deeper and deeper until he could no longer see the sunlight as it touched over the surface. It wasn’t until you jumped down into the pit with him that he noticed there were notches in a wall once perfectly smooth, allowing him to crawl his way back up to the top.  

You leaned back a little, breathless, as your hands slid along his chest. It was the first time he’d been so exposed in front of you, the scars and burns on full display, and he was surprised that there was no hesitancy in your touch, no reluctance as you brushed your fingertips over the corners of the damage to his skin. But you paused, eyes flickering to him.  

“Can I?” 

Bucky sighed, his heart aching. You knew how difficult it was for him, for you to see this part of him. He hadn't even taken off his jacket once in the first few weeks of knowing you. But now, he nodded eagerly, wanting to feel the tenderness with which you handled him upon the broken remains of his left side.  

Your hands slid up over his shoulder, brushing along the bumps and ridges in his skin. Hardened tissue and raised edges. The way you touched him, like he was something beautiful and adored, made his heart swell. It wasn’t until you leaned down to press a feathered kiss to his shoulder, just over the burn marks and the glimpse of what he’d lost, that he choked back tears.  

“Is it too much?” you asked, noticing the trembling in his lower lip, but he quickly shook his head. 

“It’s perfect,” he replied breathily, drawing you back to his lips. “You’re perfect. I don’t deserve—” 

“Hush,” you warned, kissing him to cut him off, “don’t talk about the man I love like that. You deserve every ounce of love I can give you, you hear me?” 

He stared at you for a moment, studying the sincerity on your features until the gravity of what you said sank in, and slowly, he nodded. It would take time to believe that, but he hoped the more you said it, the easier it would come. He’d believe just about anything if it came from your voice.  

“Let me show you.” 

Bucky stilled; his throat suddenly dry.

“Let me show you, Bucky,” you asked again, your lips against his neck. He shivered. You sucked at his skin, drawing a map along his collarbone. You tongue licked at the indent by his neck. “Please.” 

When you met his eyes again, Bucky wondered if maybe you saw him with the same wonder and enchantment with which he saw you. It only took the slight tilt of a nod before you crossed your arms over your waist and slowly pulled your shirt up over your head. Your bra came next and Bucky shifted uncomfortably, realizing you were still straddling him, his hardening length prominent against your thigh. 

He stared up at you, studying over the curves of your breasts, the dips in your hips, untouched and exposed – so incredibly beautiful.  

He stopped himself as the thought entered his mind, the wondering whether he deserved such beauty in his life, wondering how he’d managed to trick the cruel twist of karma to allow him to love a woman like this – to love you like this. 

He cast away the doubt, forcing it back to the shadows where it belonged. It was easier to do that when you smiled at him like that, like he was truly worth something.  

You laid down against his chest as his hand slid up along your spine, feeling for the slight dip in your back and the goosebumps following in his wake. You shivered under his touch and for the first time, Bucky remembered what it felt like to be wanted.  

He couldn’t stop kissing you, even as your hands slipped to his waistband. It was like you breathed new life back into him; reviving him with every touch.  

He helped you push down the band of his pants until you could easily drag it down his legs and drop it to the floor by his bed. It had been a long time since he was so vulnerable in front of a woman, but he didn’t mind when you looked at him the way you did. There was no ounce of judgement in your eyes, no cautious glance to his shoulder and the absence there. There was only love.  

You slipped the remaining clothes from your body and Bucky held his breath as you climbed over him again, straddling his waist, bare. 

Bucky was trembling as he reached for the drawer at his bedside. Blindly digging around for a box in the back of the drawer, he felt for the edge of foil wrapping. He brought it to his teeth, careful to rip the packaging, though as he held it in one hand, he let out a heavy sigh.  

“Would you...?” he asked, a blush creeping up into his cheeks.  

He didn’t know why he was so embarrassed, given that you were both naked, but this was one of those things he couldn’t do for himself. It would have felt emasculating if it weren’t for how eagerly you nodded and how good it felt as you placed the condom on his tip and slowly rolled it down his base. He closed his eyes, sinking back into the pillow at the feeling, wondering how he was going to survive this. 

“You alright there, honey?” you called, giggling under your breath and, damn, if it wasn’t the sweetest sound he’d ever heard.  

“I won’t last long,” he admitted, his hand sliding up along your waist, thumb brushing over your breast. He tried to catch the whimper as it left his lips to no avail.  

You smirked. “I think we’ve waited long enough. Don’t you think?”  

You sank down on him and he choked back a moan, embarrassingly loud, but it only seemed to spur you on as you rolled your hips, giving him little time to adjust. You were so tight, squeezing around him, and – holy shit – when you dragged yourself against him, using him as you sought out the angle you were looking for, he’d never felt anything like it. 

He held his breath, focusing on the ceiling as he listened to the sweet sounds you made as your hands curled against his chest, hair falling down into your face. He knew he wouldn’t last as long as he wanted— hell, he would have stayed in you like this for hours if he could have – and it was taking near everything he had to hold out long enough for you to finish.  

Thankfully, you were just as riled up as he was – high on missing him, aching in the distance – and Bucky gasped as he felt your walls clench around him with the rushed circles between your legs. You picked up in pace and Bucky found himself meeting you half way, thrusting up into you as he braced himself on the headboard.  

“Oh God – Bucky,” you whimpered, your chest falling down to his, unable to hold yourself up. He kissed your neck, his hand sliding from around the wooden of the baseboard to grip your hips.  

If he could, he would have had a hand on your breast, teasing at the nipple, the other sliding down to the space between your bodies, rubbing circles on the nerves that left you so breathless you could hardly hold yourself up. But he was learning again, getting used to his body and his limits, and all he could focus on was holding you, guiding your hips, giving him leverage to fill you whole.  

Judging from the sounds you were making, your body molding like puddy against him, you didn’t mind at all. 

“I’m close,” you gasped, breath hot against his neck. “Ah, God, Bucky... I’m-- I’m--” 

He could feel it before the words left your lips, the clench in your walls, the spasms in your muscles that left you weak against him, overstimulated as you pulled your hand away from your clit. Your cries gave him the permission he needed to let go, only a few more thrusts was all it took, and he shuttered as he came.  

Breathless, hardly able to control the laugh as it bubbled in his chest, Bucky could hardly believe that he started this night in the darkest place he’d been in months, only to end up lying here with you, so full of light and love he could hardly stand it.  

He didn’t let you go at first, just wanting to hold you a little longer. He felt the sweet touch of your lips as they trailed along his neck, smile brimming against his ear. Then slowly, you rolled off of him, gently removing the condom and tossing it to the bin. A shiver slipped up his spine at the touch.  

“I’m sorry I pushed you away,” Bucky confessed as you laid against his chest, curling up to his side. He pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. “Don’t let me do that again, okay? I can’t stand to go another day without you.” 

You smiled against his chest, your fingers tracing along the lines on his shoulder, touching over old scars and burns. You traced them as if they were simply lines on his body, just another piece of him worth loving, worth memorizing. He wondered if the next time he saw them in the mirror, he might remember this moment and see them for something more than the evidence of his loss that day. Maybe, he might see them the way you did – as evidence of his survival.  

“I love you,” you sighed and Bucky felt his heart swell; it grew and expanded so wide inside his chest, he wondered if his bones might bend to make room as it split him so lovely at the seams.  

“I love you, too.” He curled his arm tighter around your shoulders, drawing you close to his side. Over your shoulder, a cast of moonlight seeped in through the windows, touching over your skin, illuminating the room in a gentle glow. He closed his eyes as sleep drew him near, comforted by the patterns you drew against his shoulder. 

When he fell asleep, he fell willingly – protected in your embrace, safe, from the nightmares laying in wake.

[undertale-writing-times]

Marry me, Killer?

This is a while after he gets his emotions back from Nightmare, quite a bit of time, so he has more control over them :)

When you woke up today, the second you woke up, you knew that something was wrong. You just couldn't place your finger on what was wrong. It was a... strange feeling, something that you wished you could stop and ignore but something was wrong and you needed to figure out what it was. 

With a little groan, you push yourself to sit up, rubbing at your eyes “Ugh...” you mumble, and look around. Killer, your datemate, wasn’t in bed.

Maybe that’s what was wrong? Normally he would either be asleep by the time you woke up, or he would be laying in bed and either reading or typing on his phone.

He normally wouldn’t get up without you. 

So... yeah, this was a little strange. 

You slide out of your bed slowly, walking down the stairs your eyes scanning around. “Killer? Where are you?” You whine. How dare he deprive you of your morning cuddles!? What could be more important than that?

You hear a small thud from the kitchen, then his voice “I’m in the kitchen! Don’t come in I’m uh... I’m naked” then a bang, and groan.

He most likely just facepalmed.

You laugh a little, walking into the kitchen, tilting your head to the side “Killer... why would you be naked in the kitchen? What are you doing?”

He was covered in flour and weird mush. You look him up and down, and snort with soft laughter which you try to stop by covering your mouth with your hands.

Killer huffs, blushing brightly, squinting at you with the blackness smeared against his cheeks. He most likely tried to wipe it away, or wiped at the muck that might have been batter?

“Stop laughing at me” He crosses his arms over his chest, as he said that, turning his head away. His soul was glowing brighter than normal, you knew that that most likely meant he was either threatened, really happy, or very embarrassed. You figured that it was the last one.

“Okay okay, I’m sorry, it’s just adorable... what are you doing, though?” You walk over, putting your hands on his hips and looking at him with a relaxed smile on your face. He looks down at your hands, then at your face, and puts his arms around your neck, smiling wider.

“Hm... I dunno, I might have forgotten” he coos, in a playful tone. 

Your eyes scan over to look at what he had been working on. There was a bowl with batter in it, flour was spilled on the counter, and some broken eggs. 

“You were trying to make a cake?” You ask, amused.

He blinks, then huffs softly “Did you have to say trying?” he mumbles, plopping his head down against your chest. You giggle, patting the top of his head.

After cleaning the kitchen together, while you fling flour at him causing him to gasp in offense, you two were sitting in the living room. He had his head rested against your belly, laying on the couch, and you were petting your fingers against the top of his skull.

“So... Why did you even want to make that cake, anyway?”

He doesn’t respond for a few seconds, seeming to be thinking about what he would want to say. “Promise you won’t tease me?” He asks.

You smile a little, nodding “Yeah, I promise I won’t tease you.”

Killer breathes in, then out, and turns to lay on his other side looking up at you. “Well...” he hums, thinking. “I was going to” he shuts his mouth again, frowning. Now you were getting a little worried. What was he planning on doing?

“Can you shut your eyes?”

Weird.

Very weird... You shut your eyes anyway, nodding slowly, “Yeah, okay... sure” What the heck was going on?

You knew that Killer wouldn’t hurt you but that feeling came back from before. Something bad was going to happen, or maybe you were just worried.

Who knows.

You hear him moving around, getting off of you, and off the couch. Then more shuffles. “Okay, you can open your eyes”

You blink open your eyes, looking down, and your eyes widen. In front of you was Killer, on one of his knees, holding out a box with a ring in it, smiling sheepishly. “So... this is what I was planning” 

With shocked eyes, you move your hands over your mouth. Was he really... was this... your eyes shoot down to look at the box, then at him again.

“Y/n?” he asks, suddenly looking nervous.

Before he could say much else though, you suddenly lean forward pulling him into a tight hug, nuzzling your face against his chest “Yes! I can’t believe you, you idiot” you laugh, shaking your head.

He smiles wide, hugging back. You could hear a slight rumbling sound. He couldn’t exactly purr like most of the other skeletons cause of what his soul looked like, but you knew that this sound meant that he was happy.

[elriell]

Two Mates? Elriel & (El)ucien Theory.

These are just a few of my thoughts compiled together regarding having two mates, the signs and breadcrumbs Sarah has incorporated. If you know me you know am a Lucien fan so this is nothing hateful towards him and we will be looking at his place within it all as well, that being said this will have bond rejection/misalignment talk so if that is not your cup of tea I understand and you can skip this! As always I would love to hear everyones thoughts so long as we are all respectful ♡

Let's start by discussing the where the two ships align and parallel mates behaviour, and then we will discuss where their arc's veer from each other...

“TOUCH HER, SMELL HER, TASTE HER– THE INSTINCTS WERE A RUNNING RIVER.” (Lucien in ACOWAR about the mating bond.)

“Letting his scarred fingers touch her immaculate skin. Letting them brush the side of her throat, savoring the velvet-soft texture.”

“Azriel's fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. Slowly, Elain pivoted into his touch. Until his palm lay flat against her neck.”

“They'd exchanged looks, the occasional brush of their fingers, but never this. Never blatant, unrestricted touching. ”

“He prayed she didn't peer down. Prayed she didn't understand the shift in his scent. ”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it. ”

“He needed to know what the skin of her neck tasted like. What those perfect lips tasted like.”

“This one moment, and maybe a taste, and that would be it.  

“Yes" Elain breathed, like she read the decision. Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them. ”

Now you can easily parallel this to any of SJM's mates, like Feysand or Nessian. But for the sake of brevity I will leave you with the original link to the wonderful @suelky post where it was pointed out w/ Feysand quotes as well. [source]

Also "The instincts were a running river.” sounds a little like “Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea."

The Bonus POV has a lot of typical "Mates" behaviours manifesting between Elain and Azriel, and it would make sense this would be a extreme POV shift as we have never been inside either of their heads before so we were bound to have a major learning curve, especially with Az who is so reserved with his emotions.

“But Lucien’s attention went right to the hallway toward the back, his nostrils flaring as he scented Elain’s direction. And who she’d gone with. A low snarl slipped out of him—”

“So you will leave Elain alone. If you need to fuck  someone, go to a pleasure hall and pay for it, but stay away from her."  Azriel snarled softly.”

There are countless main trio parallels but most of you are aware of which one is my favourite...

“Knelt on those stars and mountains inked on his knees. He would bow for no one and nothing— But his mate. His equal.”

“Her arousal drifted up to him, and his eyes nearly rolled back in his head at the sweet scent. He'd beg on his knees for a chance to taste it.”

"Every instinct in his body came roaring to the surface, so violent he had to choke them with a brutal grip or else he'd find himself on his knees, begging her for touch, for anything."

And on to where they go their separate ways from a textual perspective;

"Elain only shrank further into herself, no trace of that newfound boldness to be seen.”

“Rhys kissed the hollow of my collarbone, and my core went utterly molten. “My brave, bold, brilliant mate.”

“You can give everyone that I Will Slay My Enemies look—which is my favorite look, by the way. You can keep that sharpness I like so much, that boldness and fearlessness. I don’t want you to ever lose those things, to cage yourself.”

“And he had the nerve once his powers were back to shove me into a cage. The nerve to say I was no longer useful; I was to be cloistered for his peace of mind.”

“Remember that you are a wolf. And you cannot be caged.” He kissed my brow one more time, my blood thrumming and boiling in me, howling to draw blood.”

I think finding freedom and power from within is something that the books have emphasized through Feysand and Nessian's journey's. Which is so interesting considering Lucien and Elain are both feeling tied to each other, as if in a cage of sorts.

Elain herself has been stuffed in to a box of other peoples making throughout most of the series, it quite prevalent she might feel caged by their opinions of who she is.

"Maybe she was never given a chance to be that way." I whipped my head towards him. "You think I stifle her?" Rhys held up his hands. "Not you alone."

“Nesta had been right. It was like a prison, this place.” [Graysen's Manor]

“Shall I tend to my little garden forever?” When Nesta flinched, Elain said, “You can’t have it both ways. You cannot resent my decision to lead a small, quiet life while also refusing to let me do anything greater.”

“She ignored me, and saw Elain as barely more than a doll to dress up, but Nesta was hers. Our mother made sure we knew it. Or she just cared so little what we thought or did that she didn’t bother to hide it from us.”

And as for Lucien I think his duty and honour to her is what is caging him;

“I can’t stand to be in the same room as her for more than two minutes. I can’t stand to be in this court and have your mate pay for the very clothes on my back.”

“Why are you here?” Cassian asked, unable to help the sharpness. “Where’s Elain?”

“I am not always in this city to see my mate.” The last two words dripped with discomfort.”

“Why?” Not a flicker of emotion. “He is Elain’s mate.”

I waited. “It would be an invasion of her privacy to track him.”

Godbless Azriel for respecting Elain's privacy.

I think we would see/understand a lot more if we got a chance inside their heads but the one time we did see Lucien's POV we got a good glimpse at how he feels about his situation with Elain and it wasn't particularly positive and reminded me of Rhy's parents.

"She’d seen him not as a High Lord’s seventh son, but as a male. Had loved him without question, without hesitation. She had chosen him. Elain had been … thrown at him.”

“...to remember that she picked it. Picked me. That it’s not like my parents, shoved together.”

Not using the word cage per say but the implication isn't much better.

“You know them better than I do. But I will say that Lucien is loyal—fiercely so.”

“So is Azriel.”

I don't think the debate is really whether Lucien is deserving of her, or even Azriel for that matter, it is a question of who is actually right for her and vice-versa, who has she been consistently written to thrive and smile alongside. And that is Azriel.

Why does Sarah constantly put Azriel in the picture, from day DOT. She was screaming "hey look Azriel is here, and they would work magically together"

“And I think Elain—Elain would like it, too. Though she’d probably cling to Azriel, just to have some peace and quiet.” I smiled at the thought—at how handsome they would be together.”

There are several instances/evens that occur throughout the series that set both Elucien and Elriel's relationships apart, and I think it is highly intentional on Sarah's part...

“I said quietly, “We will get her back.” But Lucien was watching me warily. Too warily.”

“From the shadows near the entrance to the tent, Azriel said, as if in answer to some unspoken debate, “I’m getting her back.” Nesta slid her gaze to the shadowsinger. Azriel’s hazel eyes glowed golden in the shadows. Nesta said, “Then you will die.” Azriel only repeated, rage glazing that stare, “I’m getting her back.”

Or we can look at both Solstice's and the clear differences in how their relationships are growing, and also how well one and other know each other.

“Tell me when you knew,” he demanded, his knee pressing into mine. “That Rhysand was your mate. Tell me when you stopped loving Tamlin and started loving him instead.”

“He left the rest unspoken. Because her mate was here, sleeping a level up. Because her mate had been in the family room and Azriel had needed to stay by the door the whole time because he couldn't stand the sight of it, the scent of their mating bond, and needed to have the option  of leaving if it became too much.  Elain's large brown eyes flickered, well aware of all that.”

&

“I want to see her. Just once. Just—to know.” “To know what?” He hitched my damp cloak higher around us. “If she is worth fighting for.”

“Azriel stiffened. “I know. I helped rescue Elain, after all.” Az hadn’t so much as hesitated before going into the heart of Hybern’s war-camp.”

GIFTS REFLECTING THEIR RELATIONSHIP MILE MARKS

“Az ran a hand through his dark hair. “Are we …” Unusual for him to stumble with words. “Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?”

“I handed Elain the small box with her name on it. Her smile faded as she opened it. “Enchanted gloves,” she read from the card. “That won’t tear or become too sweaty while gardening.” She set aside the box without looking at it for longer than a moment. And I wondered if she preferred to have torn and sweaty hands, if the dirt and cuts were proof of her labor. Her joy.”

“Don’t forget that gardening often results in something pretty, but it involves getting one’s hands dirty along the way.” “And torn up by thorns,” I mused,”

“I didn’t dare mention that if she had been wearing the enchanted gloves Lucien had gotten her last Solstice, nothing would have pierced them at all.”

“He and Lucien did not exchange gifts, though the male had brought a gift for Feyre and one for his mate, who barely thanked him after opening the pearl earrings. Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

Not only is she visibly uninterested which is painful to watch, it also highlights how little he knows about her. SJM is creating a visible gap in their dynamic.

“The golden necklace seemed ordinary -- its chain unremarkable, the amulet tiny enough that it could be dismissed as an everyday charm. It was a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, designed so that when held to the light, the true depth of the colors would become visible. A thing of secret, lovely beauty. “It's beautiful," she whispered, lifting it from the box. ”

“My Nesta. Elain shall wed for love and beauty, but you, my cunning little queen … You shall wed for conquest.”

“I painted flowers for Elain on her drawer,” I said, sawing and sawing. “Little roses and begonias and irises. And for Nesta … ”

“She plucked another figurine from the mantel: a rose carved from a dark sort of wood. She held it in her palm, its solid weight surprising, and traced a finger over one of the petals. “He made this one for Elain. Since it was winter and she missed the flowers.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly. “It’s for the headaches everyone always gives you. Since you rub your temples so often.”

“I led her into the sitting room, where Cassian had a bottle of amber-colored liquor in each hand, Azriel was already rubbing his temples,”

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. But she'd gotten Azriel one last year -- a headache powder he kept on his nightstand at the House of Wind. Not to use, but just to look at. Which he'd done every night he’d slept there.”

“Azriel unwrapped the box, glancing at the card that merely said, You might find these useful at the House these days, and then opened the lid.  Two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs lay within. Elain murmured, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you...”

See yet again a very thoughtful and funny gift on her part. Now at it's core even just simply comparing their general reactions says a lot about the story Sarah is putting forward.

"Silence again. Then Azriel tipped his head back and laughed. I’d never heard such a sound, deep and joyous.”

“He chuckled, unable to suppress the impulse. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone."  

Elain’s mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.”

“Elain bit her lip and then smiled sheepishly."

"Cassian’s heart strained at the pain etching deep into Lucien’s face as he tried to hide his disappointment and longing."

“She hadn't bought her mate a present. "

The writing is nothing if not clear about the discomfort both Lucien and Elain feel in regards to each other, though they lay under different reasons.

We are given multiple incidents in which we are told about how mating bonds are not perfect and we are given clear examples of it repeatedly, about woman enduring out of obligation, and do not forget this is heavily discussed literally in regards to Elain and her circumstances.

“She’d been revealed as his mate, and endured the miserable union mostly from gratitude for her unharmed wings.”

“You said your mother and father were wrong for each other; Tamlin said his own parents were wrong for each other.” I peeled off my dressing robe. “So it can’t be a perfect system of matching. "

“She glowed with good health. Except … Her brown eyes were wary. Usually, that look was reserved for Lucien. The male was definitely in the family room,”

“Elain had already departed with Feyre, claiming she had to be up with the dawn to tend to an elderly faerie’s garden. Cassian didn’t exactly know why he suspected this wasn’t true. There had been some tightness in Elain’s face as she’d said it. Normally when she made such excuses, Lucien was around,”

“Elain, the wretch, had taken the seat between Feyre and Varian, about as far from Lucien as she could get.”

VS

“That smile grew, bright enough that it lit up even Azriel’s shadows across the room. “I would like to build a garden,” she declared. “After all of this … I think the world needs more gardens.”

“Then his gaze shifted to Elain, and though it was utterly neutral, something charged went through it. Between them. Elain’s breath caught slightly, and she gave him a shallow nod of greeting before brushing past, leading Nesta into the room.”

What if ”—I jerked my chin toward the window, to my sister and the shadowsinger in the garden—“that is what she needs? Is there no free will? What if Lucien wishes the union but she doesn’t?”

“Can you truly fly?” He set down his fork, blinking. I might have even called him self-conscious. He said, “Yes. Cassian and I hail from a race of faeries called Illyrians. We’re born hearing the song of the wind.” “That’s very beautiful,” she said. “Is it not—frightening, though? To fly so high?”

“ I couldn’t tell if she was looking at his blue Siphon or at his scarred skin beneath as she breathed, “Beautiful.” Color bloomed high on Azriel’s golden-brown cheeks, but he inclined his head in thanks and led my sister toward the back doors into the garden, sunlight bathing them.”

“This is Truth-Teller,” he told her softly. “I won’t be using it today—so I want you to.”

“Never, Rhys said from where he finished buckling on his own weapons against the side of the wagon. I have never once seen Azriel let another person touch that knife.”

The romantic subtext is there and has been for quite some time, they prove it book after book when SJM continues to grow their bond and nurture it whilst breaking her connection with Lucien further apart, and for what reason?

“A mating bond can be rejected,” Rhys said mildly, eyes flickering in the mirror as he drank in every inch of bare skin I had on display. “There is choice. And sometimes, yes—the bond picks poorly. Sometimes, the bond is nothing more than some… preordained guesswork at who will provide the strongest offspring. At its basest level, it’s perhaps only that. Some natural function, not an indication of true, paired souls.”

“Why not make them mates?” I mused. “Why Lucien?” [...]

“I’m serious.” I turned toward him and crossed my arms. “What decides it? Who decides it?” Rhys straightened his lapels before plucking an invisible piece of lint from them. “Fate, the Mother, the Cauldron’s swirling eddies …”

“What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

“Just this taste in the dead of the longest night of the year, where only the Mother might witness them.”

“The Cauldron chose three sisters. Tell me how it's possible that my two brothers are with two of those sisters, yet the third was given to another.”

It is remarkably interesting to me that we are told about what Rhys suspects/believes is responsible for mating bonds, paralleled alongside Azriel questioning it all, I also think it is abundantly clear from his answer to Feyre he doesn't truly know for sure.

We also have several lines of dialogue talking about the sisters and fate, their reason for entering the IC's life. Not only that but we get a glimpse at Azriel's personality and how despite the world (Rhys and the mating bond in general) telling him to despair, he still found it in him to have hope the Cauldron could be wrong.

This is so significant, and she has carefully woven his character throughout the series to make this incredibly plausible.

“If I had not met a shadowsinger, I would not have known that it is the family you make, not the one you are born into, that matters. I would not have known what it is to truly hope, even when the world tells you to despair.”

“And then he said to my sisters, “We have not known each other for long. But I have to believe that you were brought here, into our family, for a reason, too. And maybe today we’ll find out why.”

“All three sisters blessed by fate and gifted with powers to match your own.”

“Even after the bond is rejected, they see her as belonging to them. Sometimes they return to challenge the male she chooses for herself. Sometimes it ends in death. It is savage, and it is ugly, and it mercifully does not happen often, but …”

“Oh, I can, and I will. If Lucien finds out you're pursuing her, he has every right to defend their bond as he sees fit. Including invoking the Blood Duel.”

As you can see even back in ACOWAR she was weaving the web for Elriel's journey and an upcoming Blood Duel/The threat of one.

“Many mated pairs will try to make it work, believing the Cauldron selected them for a reason. Only years later will they realize that perhaps the pairing was not ideal in spirit.”

I think it is pretty clear from all the quotes above that Lucien is no her ideal spirit and vice-versa to be frank when you put it side by side his budding relationship with Vassa or hers with Azriel they are clearly very different.

“On the continent, there are territories that believe the females literally belong to their mate. But not here. Elain would have our full protection if she rejects the bond.”

“Azriel's hand slid up her neck, burying in her thick hair. Tilting her face the way he wanted it. Elain's mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his before fluttering shut.  Offer and permission.  He nearly groaned with relief and need as he lowered his head toward hers. ”

Elain is choosing Azriel, choosing their bond over the one assigned to her time and time again... Back to mating bonds;

“The ancient healer jerked her chin toward Lucien. “See what he can do. If anyone can sense if something is amiss, it’s a mate.”

“The mating bond. It is a bridge between souls.”

"She pointed at Lucien as she saw herself out. “Try sitting down with her. Just talking—sensing. See what you pick up. But don’t push.”

“Can you hear mine?” He wasn’t sure if she truly meant to address him, but he said, “No, lady. I cannot.”

Her too-thin shoulders seemed to curve inward. “No one ever does. No one ever looked—not really.”

"Azriel’s hazel eyes churned as he studied my sister, her too-thin body. And without a word, he winnowed away. Mor watched the space where he’d been standing long after he was gone.”

“Should we—does she need …?” “She doesn’t need anything,” Azriel answered without so much as looking at Lucien.

Elain was staring at the spymaster now—unblinkingly. “We’re the ones who need …” Azriel trailed off. “A seer,” he said, more to himself than us. “The Cauldron made you a seer.”

“It made sense, I supposed, that Azriel alone had listened to her. The male who heard things others could not … Perhaps he, too, had suffered as Elain had before he understood what gift he possessed.”

“But Azriel nodded. “You knew,” he said to Elain. “About the young queen turning into a crone.” Elain blinked and blinked, eyes clearing again. As if the understanding, our understanding … it freed her from whatever murky realm she’d been in.”

Are you telling me that Madja saying a mate would know, would sense whatever is going on with her, and as it turns out Azriel was the one to sense and uncover it is solely what, a coincidence? Also to emphasize what she said about "A bridge between souls..." Where else have we heard that terminology? The Truth-Teller scene.

“I saw the painting in my mind: the lovely fawn, blooming spring vibrant behind her. Standing before Death, shadows and terrors lurking over his shoulder. Light and dark, the space between their bodies a blend of the two. The only bridge of connection … that knife.”

Not to mention this scene is simply iconic for a multitude of reasons, how poetic Feyre describes them, the clear soulmates/ying-yang subtext and him giving her something he has given no other but that's another story.

Azriel has also been displaying some very protective fiercely so mating vibes towards her,

“Azriel stilled. “What happened to Elain?” Cassian waved a hand. “A fight with Nesta. Don’t bring it up,” he warned when Azriel’s eyes darkened. ”

“Cassian surveyed the shadows gathered around Az. “You all right?” His brother nodded. “Fine.” But shadows still swarmed him.”

“Nesta saw the blow land, like a physical impact, in Elain’s face, her posture. No one spoke, though shadows gathered in the corners of the room, like snakes preparing to strike.”

“Azriel’s Siphons guttered, the stones turning as dark and foreboding as the deepest sea. “Where did Lucien go.”

I think there are some mixed opinions on Lucien and whether he deserves her (and vice-versa in this fandom) but I don't think that is what this comes down too, they are both handling it in the way they think best/following their instincts.

Lucien is hurting throughout this process as well, but I think ultimately it is honor and loyalty binding him to her not any genuine emotion for her as a human being fae. I think realising they are not meant for each other and supporting each other developing true bonds with other people will be their journey. And it would be a completely fresh and new view of a mating bond.

Smaller pieces of dialogue that need little explaining and a rather oddly specific choice of words in the latest book that is meant to set up the next one in the series:

“You’d know if she’d died,” Azriel said, pausing his work and looking up at Cassian. He tapped his brother’s chest with a scarred hand. “Right here—you’d know, Cass.”

“Elain and Feyre—that was the new status of things. The bond Elain had chosen.”

"I'd never do such a thing. you must be thinking of your other mate."

Honestly? At this rate I have no doubt Elriel are endgame and everything within canon text spells that out but I truly believe he will be her second mate/the will form a bond via some circumstance that shall arise due to these little hints.

I would love to hear your thoughts and/or additions because I by all means didn't do a massive deep dive and there are most likely tons more examples to add but I didn't want it to become overwhelming to read!

Hope everyone has a spectacular and magical evening <3