#I logged in here after a while and this was the first thing I saw

[bucky-bucky-bucky-bucky]

Come Find Me | Bucky Barnes x Reader

I am back back back again! I have missed writing so much, I just don't have nearly the amount of time that I used to. But I'm in my last semester of school! So hopefully I'll be back on a consistent fanfic grind once I'm done :) PS: If you know what the title is referencing, you get a big hug from me.

Word Count: 13,439

Warnings: blood, talk of violence, reader injury

Bucky checked his texts every few minutes. Initially, he lied to himself about the reason behind it. He told himself he must’ve opened his conversation with you accidentally, or that he mistook an email notification for a text from you. Simple, innocent mistakes. 

Either way, he always ended up staring at your side of the conversation, hoping for a gray ellipsis to appear. 

But after a while, he could no longer deny the truth- and why would he want to? You were coming home. 

You hadn’t been gone long, and your mission was projected to be a cake walk. But he couldn’t help it; he missed you. He missed you when you went on missions, when you visited your parents out of state, when you slept in your room down the hall. Missing you was part of him now, woven into the fabric of his being. It matched the material of his soul perfectly, like he was always meant to feel this way.

He fired off a quick “let me know when you land” message and waited, hoping you’d write back soon. 

Usually, you texted him when you were headed back to the compound. It gave him a countdown to your return and something to look forward to. It also signaled to him that you were, in fact, coming home alive. Even if a bit banged up, you were well enough to shoot him a message. And that always eased his worries.

Today, however, was different. No text, no call.

It struck him as bizarre and sounded Bucky’s internal alarms. But he silenced them as best he could. He wasn’t going to let himself get worked up, not when you had a perfectly good reason for not messaging him.  

This was your first time leading a mission with a new recruit under your wing. Bucky knew you devoted your full attention to your trainee, giving him absolutely everything you had. You took this position- as well as your pupil’s safety and success- very seriously. He knew you were probably busy helping your recruit learn a swath of new things, and who was he to interrupt?

Bucky opened the log and saw your jet had been marked as ‘incoming’ only minutes ago. A sigh of relief left his chest and eased his muscles. Sure, he would’ve rather heard that information from you, but it didn’t matter. Your jet would be here soon; he had no reason to worry. 

The moment he saw that your jet was homeward bound, he lost the ability to think about anything else. He counted the minutes, the seconds. You had to be close, right? The log wouldn’t have said ‘Incoming’ if you were still hours away. 

To pass the time, he folded laundry, answered emails, reread a few chapters of The Hobbit- but he couldn’t focus. He thought of you, only you. And no matter how hard he tried to distract himself, he couldn’t hang around his room any longer. He couldn’t stand it. He needed to be there when the jet landed. He needed to meet you on the steps of the aircraft and wrap you in a bear hug. 

And there was no real harm in waiting near the hangar, was there? ‘If anything,’ he told himself, ‘It’s actually more convenient for her if I meet her there. That way, I can carry her bag- she’s probably tired.’ 

Anything to rationalize his desperate need to be near you.

He knew in his heart of hearts that you didn’t need him to carry your bag or help you off the jet. But this lie was all the convincing he needed. Without hesitation, he ditched his room and set off down the hall, your impending homecoming pulling him forward. 

It was in that moment he noticed just how far the elevator was from his room. The walk seemed to stretch on and on, the hallway growing longer with each step. And how had he never noticed how slowly the elevator moved? It slid downward at a glacial pace, toying with his patience. For such an expensive, state of the art building, the elevator moved like an ancient piece of turn of the century machinery. Bucky cursed Tony’s engineering. 

Everything seemed to add time, multiplying his moments without you. The universe liked toying with him, teasing him. And this was just another cruel joke. 

The moment the doors opened, Bucky sprang free out into the hallway. He knocked into Clint and his group of trainees and called an apology over his shoulder without stopping. He couldn’t stop, couldn’t waste time- not when you could arrive at any moment. 

His field of view narrowed into tunnel vision, only allowing for visualization of the path toward the hangar. He didn’t greet his fellow team members or allow for distraction. You were his one-track mind. That is, until something stopped him. 

“Shit, sorry, man,” your trainee, Jake, laughed as he bumped into Bucky. He took a step to the side and attempted to continue down the hall, but Bucky blocked his path. 

“Jake?” Bucky eyed a bloody gash on Jake’s eyebrow, “when did you guys get back?”

Jake gave a casual shrug and checked his phone, “I don’t know, five minutes ago?”

“Oh, okay…” Bucky reached for his phone, but found his screen void of notifications. If you landed five minutes ago with your trainee safe and sound, why didn’t you send him a message? It was out of character for you. 

“Well, where’s your partner in crime? Or crime fighting, I guess,” Bucky tried to joke, but his tone was strained. He eyed each person who came around the corner, hoping to find your face. “Did you see which way she went?”

“Nah, she’s not here,” Jake was scrolling through Instagram, only half paying attention.

Bucky’s disappointed sigh left his chest deflated, empty. “Oh, did she say where she was going? Or when she’d be back?”

Jake pulled his focus from his phone and stared at Bucky with confusion on his face. His brows pulled together, his mouth hung slightly ajar. But finally, he made sense of Bucky’s words. “OHHH, okay, my bad- I think there was a miscommunication just now.”

Bucky sighed again- this time, with relief. 

“Yeah, no, she’s not here,” Jake continued, “because she didn’t make it back.”

Bucky’s ears started ringing. 

The sharp, piercing sound blocked out voices. Footsteps on the tile. Maybe Jake was trying to speak to him, but Bucky heard only the shrill sound of shock. Seconds later, his nerves fell numb. The utter absence of sensation disconnected him from his body. He was lost in a liminal atmosphere with no stability, no purchase. His entire being was shutting down, one sense at a time.

Bucky told himself to focus, to compute what he’d heard. He did his best to make sense of Jake’s words, but to no avail. His mind simply couldn’t understand the phrase “she didn’t make it back”. The words had shed their meaning entirely and sounded foreign to Bucky as they rattled around his skull. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin, and a cold sweat created a sheen across his face. He feared he might get sick. 

“I- I’m sorry,” he forced himself back into his body, back to the present. “I don’t think I understand.” 

“Things got pretty hairy- this was not the easy mission they said it would be,” Jake scoffed and rolled his eyes. “It’s not fair, I definitely got a way harder assignment for my first mission than all the other new agents, and I think it’s-” 

Bucky’s glare could’ve sliced Jake in half, “get to the point.”  

“Right, um,” Jake continued, “I told her over comms that I was leaving. I gave her plenty of time to meet me at the jet, but she didn’t answer. And she never came outside.” He shrugged, “I had to leave for my own safety.”

“So, you just-” Bucky felt himself losing his grip. “You left her there? Alone?” He didn’t realize he was shouting, didn’t realize he’d drawn attention to himself- until Agent Hill showed up.

She placed a light hand on Bucky’s tense shoulder, but instantly withdrew. He was shaking, practically vibrating under her palm. “Is there a problem here, guys? I don’t want-”

“He left her behind,” was all Bucky could manage.

Maria stared at Jake in disbelief, “you did what?”

A strange mixture of rage and heartbreak seethed behind Bucky’s eyes, “You don’t just abandon your partner-”

Jake’s attitude disgusted Bucky. He was detached, irritated. He rolled his eyes like an insolent child. “Relax, man. Jesus Christ, this isn’t the army. I didn’t promise to ‘leave no man behind’ or whatever-”

Bucky had heard enough. He lifted jake by the collar of his shirt, twisting the material in his metal fist. Jake’s head sent a sickening thud resounding through the space as Bucky forced him against the nearest wall.

“What the fuck?” Jake squirmed in Bucky’s grasp, “There are casualties in the field all the time, why am I being punished for-”

Bucky released Jake at once, sending him crashing to the floor. 

His voice was quiet, hollow. “Casualties?” He swallowed hard, “Is she-”

Jake shrugged at he rubbed at the bruise forming on his neck. “I don’t know, I assume so. I didn’t stick around to find out.” 

And just like that, Bucky was gone. 

He took off down the hall, forcing himself forward as a soul-crushing panic swallowed him whole. No matter how many times he blinked, no matter how fervently he shook his head, he couldn’t rid his mind of the picture Jake painted for him. Each time he shut his eyes he saw you- alone. Your bloodied, broken body laying collapsed against a wall of a Hydra base. Your skin slick with blood. Your skin cold. Void of life. 

He moved quickly, but not quick enough. He simply couldn’t outrun the familiar feeling closing in on him. His heavy, well-worn cloak of grief wound its way across his shoulders and twisted itself around his neck. He knew the suffocating sensation all too well. It weighed him down but couldn’t dampen his pace, nothing could; not when your life hung in the balance. 

He was too well acquainted with loss by now, too familiar with mourning. There’d been a time when he wondered if he’d ever grieve again. He’d lost his family, his friends, himself- what else was there? What more could he possibly lose? But the moment he met you, he knew he’d one day mourn again. He just didn’t realize that time would come so soon. 

A startling cold prickled at his skin, his lungs refused to inflate. How much time did you have left? How long would it take him to get to you? Were you even-

Hill’s voice yanked him out of his spiral, “Barnes, hey-” She made a grab at his shoulder, but her feeble attempt was no match for Bucky’s pace. “Where are you going?”

“To get her back.” Bucky’s tone was firm, resolute. He was going to bring you home or die trying.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Hill nearly tripped over her own feet as she tried to keep up with Bucky’s long strides. “You heard what Jake said, it’s a dangerous location- more dangerous than we thought. I think it might be best to wait it out for a few days, let things calm down and then-”

Bucky turned suddenly, stopping Maria in her tracks. “I’m not just going to leave her there.”

Maria shrunk away from the fierceness in his eyes, “I know you’re upset, but she might not be-”

“I don’t care.” His gruff tone dissolved, making way for the fear he’d so desperately tried to hide. “Whether she’s alive or-” he couldn’t bring himself to voice the alternative. 

Bucky knew what it was like to be assumed dead. He knew what it was like to be left in the field. 

“She deserves to come home,” he said.

Maria couldn’t argue with him. 

“Round up as many members of the med team as you can and have them meet me in the hangar. We’re leaving in ten minutes- sooner if we can.” Bucky turned and resumed his previous path, “I’ll be in the armory.”

Bucky grabbed as much weaponry as his duffel would carry without splitting at the seams and made his way to the hangar. He hoped to find ten, maybe fifteen members of the medical team waiting for him on the jet. He wasn’t sure of your condition, didn’t know how many breaths you had left. He wanted to give you the best possible chance at surviving the onslaught you endured. 

But when he turned the corner into the hangar, he found only three scrub-clad bodies. 

“Is this it?” Bucky boarded the jet and dropped his bag to the floor. He eyed the scant amount of medical support, their uncertain expressions. His hopes of bringing you home alive dwindled.

A nurse who’d stitched Bucky up more times than he could count gave him a nervous smile. “The med bay is swamped, the team could barely afford to let us come with you.” 

Bucky didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want excuses or rationalizations. All he wanted was to bring you home with your heart still beating. And three medical professionals, he decided, was better than none. 

The flight to your location only gave Bucky more time to worry. He obsessively checked his weaponry, hovered over the med team’s supplies. But no amount of double and triple checking could save him from the spiral. He traveled down the path of every possible “what if?”, leading him only to heartache. No matter where he searched, he couldn’t find a positive outcome. And though he didn’t want to acknowledge the odds, he knew yours were slim- impossible, even. 

And as the jet grew closer to your location, Bucky steeled himself for what he knew he’d find: you, his best friend, his reason for living, his everything- dead. Cold. Lifeless. None of the horrors he faced in the past could compare; no pain could ever be greater. Bucky knew he’d hurt for the rest of his life.

The clouds parted as the jet began its descent. Slowly, a large stone building appeared out of the fog like a monster in the horror movies you loved so much. It stood in an otherwise empty clearing, its shadow looming over the dying grass. Smoke billowed from holes in the roof, the walls. Whatever happened here was catastrophic. Disastrous. 

Bucky’s heart sat lodged in his throat as he imagined you trapped in there. Goosebumps rose over the surface of his skin as he stared at the looming structure. He had to get you out, even if he died trying.

Just before the jet touched down, an idea popped into Bucky’s head. It scaled the high walls he’d tried to erect to protect himself from thoughts of your demise and grabbed him by the throat. It was smart- brilliant, actually. He was shocked he could even think straight given the circumstances.

“FRIDAY,” Bucky called out, “is comm 1209 working?” He shoved his own comm in his ear and waited for a response. 

“Comm 1209 is on and in range,” Friday said. “Would you like me to connect you?”

He couldn’t say yes fast enough.

A few staticky clicks and pops vibrated against Bucky’s eardrum as his comm connected to yours. But he was too scared to speak. What if you didn’t answer? What if he heard you take your dying breaths? Just the thought was enough to make him sick.

He owed it to you, though, to at least try. He’d always said he’d do anything for you, that he’d risk it all for you- and he meant it every time. If reaching out to you over comms exposed him to something horrible, something traumatic and unforgettable, at least he tried. At least he attempted to keep his promise. And after everything he’d been through, what was one more life-shattering, soul-crushing nightmare?

“H- um…” Bucky swallowed the large lump obstructing his throat. “Hello?” He waited a moment, holding his breath the entire time, and tried again. “Hello?”

He waited. 

No response.

“Doll? It’s me. It’s Bucky…” 

The dead silence on the other end of the line dragged on. It seemed like his words disappeared into the air, unacknowledged. Unheard. Maybe the sound of his voice was reverberating inside your ear as you lay dying. Or maybe he was talking to your corpse.

 The thought made him nauseous.

“Please, sweetheart. If you’re there- if you’re able- just say one word. Say anything,” he pled. A long bout of silence followed.

He clenched and released his metal fist again and again, desperate to rid himself of the panic settling into his bones. He was stupid to think you survived, stupid to let himself be optimistic. He made it here as quickly as he could, but he couldn’t save you. He was too late. 

He wanted to take one of his many weapons and turn it on himself. 

But a small sound stopped him.

“Buck…”

He almost fell to his knees. At the sound of your voice, an overwhelming warmth banished the cold that infiltrated his bones. Against all odds, you were alive.

A deep sigh of relief seeped from Bucky’s lungs, “Sweetheart…” 

A hurricane of emotion rattled against the storm doors inside Bucky’s mind. He couldn’t stop thinking about the ‘almosts’. How he almost lost you, how you almost died alone in a Hydra base. But he couldn’t allow it to swallow him- not yet. There was no time for a breakdown. He needed to move, he needed to get to you. 

He shrugged off the grief that rested heavy on his shoulders and swallowed the impending sob that vibrated inside his throat. “I’m here- I’m gonna come get you. Just tell me where-”

A staunch refusal came from your end of the comm, “No- no…” You took a sharp, rattling breath, “no way.”

Bucky didn’t like the way you had to fight to get your words out. You were clearly struggling, doing everything in your power to stay on this side of consciousness. He wondered how much time you had left.

But still, there was a familiar strength to your voice. Maybe it was the adrenaline, maybe it was the renewed hope of rescue; something was keeping you alive. 

“It’s okay, sweetheart, just tell me where you are. The jet just landed. I’m gonna get you out and-”

“I said- I said no,” you breathed. “You can’t c-come in here, it’s too dangerous… we were a-ambushed.”

Even in your condition, even when Bucky was your only hope of rescue, his safety was your first thought. You’d rather die alone than put Bucky’s life at risk; the thought made his cheeks pink and filled his chest with a fuzzy warmth. But he didn’t have time to enjoy the feeling.

“If you don’t tell me where you are, I’ll just sweep the whole building,” Bucky said, using your worry against you. “That means more opportunities for me to run into Hydra operatives. More time inside the base- it’ll be way more dangerous.” He could practically see you rolling your eyes, “so it’s probably better if you just give me a direct route, don’t you think?”

Bucky smiled to himself as he envisioned you on the other end. He was certain you were arguing with yourself, cursing his rationale. 

He waited for you to come at him with a sharp retort or a sarcastic quip but heard nothing. The silence on your end of the line dragged on. And on. It lasted far too long for Bucky’s comfort. Surely, you couldn’t still be thinking about his proposition? He’d given you more than enough time to make up your mind, more than enough time to come up with a response. It was time you didn’t have. 

What if you’d fallen unconscious? What if, in those quiet moments, your soul vacated this earth?

Bucky couldn’t take it anymore. He disembarked the jet, resolving to search every inch of the base. But just as he reached the dark, unsettling building, you spoke.

“F-fifteenth floor. Northeast… northeast quadrant,” you sighed, defeated. “There’s a- a room at the end of this hall, I think it’s maybe an office?” Again, you took a long pause. The energy required to think, to speak, was energy you didn’t have. “Just f-follow the trail of blood.”

Bucky’s breath caught in his throat. He shuddered at the thought of your blood leaving a path down the stark white, sterile hallways of the base. But he didn’t have time to focus on anything other than getting you out; this was a rescue. He owed it to you to keep his head level. To focus on getting you out as quickly as he could. 

“The power is… it’s out”, you said. “You’re gonna h-have to take-” 

Bucky wanted to save you from wasting any extra energy, “The stairs. Got it.” 

And while he normally didn’t mind getting a few extra steps in, he knew the time required to climb fifteen flights of stairs would push the limits of your survival. 

But he pushed the ever-encroaching sense of doom to the side and put on a brave face for you. For himself. “Okay, I’m coming to get you,” he promised. “Stay awake, and don’t move.”

“As if I h-have a choice,” you laughed a breathy, hollow laugh. A long groan followed. 

Your pain radiated through Bucky’s chest. He didn’t want to climb stairs or scour hallways- he just wanted to be there. To instantly materialize at your side. To bring you instantaneous comfort. He lamented the super soldier serum’s lack of teleportation abilities. 

“You know what I mean, doll. Just stay awake, okay?” Bucky drew his gun and stepped inside the building. “Don’t fall asleep. Do anything you have to do- just stay awake. Can you keep talking until I get there?”

“W-what am I…” You let out a raspy exhale, “supposed to talk about?”

Bucky cleared a long hallway and found the stairwell, “Anything, just keep talking.”

Another extended silence filled the air; it nearly drove Bucky crazy. Your silences held limitless possibilities, horrifying ‘what ifs’.

“It w-wasn’t supposed to be… to be like this,” you finally said. “It wasn’t supposed to be this dangerous. This was Jake’s first mission- it wasn’t f-fair to him.” Heartache coated your every word. Even after your partner abandoned you, even after Jake forced you to suffer and bleed all alone- you still sympathized with him. Still felt sorry for him. 

Bucky felt no such thing.

“I know, doll. Keep talking, okay?”

You sighed. “We s-split up for recon… that’s when they- when they came at me.” Your next few breaths were so shallow, your lungs barely inflated; the lack of oxygen left you dizzy. A thin veil of glittering spots sparkled and danced on the edges of your periphery. “It all h-happened so fast… there were so many of them. I just- I remember pain. And I hoped Jake was okay, w-wherever he was.”

Your heart was too good for this job. For people like Jake. Bucky admired your kindness, your empathy, your selfless nature. Even in the face of pain, of death- you thought about others. You often told Bucky how unfair life had been to him, lamenting his treatment at the hands of fate. Bucky found himself doing the same for you and your kind heart.

“I called out for h-him, I needed backup… I kept asking him to come help me-” A sharp cough rattled out of your throat. 

Bucky cringed at the sound. It was the only sound in the building. He hadn’t heard anyone else. Hadn’t seen one Hydra operative- at least, not a live one. He came across their bodies every now and again but didn’t see a single living soul. He was sure they deserted after the explosion. Just like Jake. 

The destruction, however, was everywhere. Bullet casings littered the floor. Blood stained the tile floors. Fluorescent lights flickered overhead. He had to get you out of here.

“But he n-never answered. And then he told me he was leaving. He said he was- he was outside already. He gave me n-ninety seconds to meet him at the jet…” Your words were tinged with devastation, with hopelessness, with betrayal. “I tried- I did my best to make it down the stairs. But I was- I was dizzy… I was b-bleeding.” The memory stung like your fresh wounds. “I kept slipping on- on my own blood. I just c-couldn’t move fast enough. It hurt too much.”

Wrath burned inside Bucky like a raging forest fire. But his utter heartbreak doused it completely, extinguishing the rageful flames. He found himself unable to think, to breathe. It took everything in him to keep moving forward. Who could ever leave you behind like that? Who could ignore your suffering and sentence you to death without a second thought? The image of you stumbling, struggling to run for your life gutted him.

“And then- and then I heard the jet t-take off,” you sighed. “And I listened as it got farther and farther away… until it was g-gone. And I was- I was alone.”

He thought of you sitting alone in cold silence as the noise from the jet quieted. As your hope dwindled. The entire base must’ve felt like a tomb, like a massive, lonely grave meant just for you. 

Bucky almost fell to his knees. Sobs throttled the inside of his chest, begging for release. Tears burned inside his lash line. Jake didn’t just leave you behind, he marooned you without care. And in his departure, he sealed your fate. 

“I d-didn’t have a way to call for… for help. My phone was on the j-jet with jake.”

The sorrow that stained your words was all too familiar to Bucky. It was the same hopelessness that accompanied him every day that he was at Hydra. When he laid in the snow for hours upon hours after falling from the train. He never wished that kind of despondency, that kind of  misery on anyone. And knowing that you, the person who deserved it the least, experienced it for even a moment shattered him.

“I realized I… I didn’t h-have any options,” you breathed. 

A collapsed column blocked Bucky’s path as he tried to make his way from the sixth floor to the seventh. The concrete was too high, too precarious to scale. If he tried to climb it and got hurt, it would only serve to diminish your chances of survival. And he wasn’t willing to risk that. With a huff, Bucky exited the northwest stairwell in search of another route. This was a waste of time- time you didn’t have. 

He painstakingly checked every hall until he finally found another stairwell. His breathing came a little easier as he rocketed his way up the stairs, growing ever closer to you.

“So, I found this- this room. It’s quiet. It’s out of the w-way. I needed somewhere to hide. S-somewhere to…” A small crack of emotion cut through your voice, “somewhere to die.”

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Jake got to return home safe and sound while you struggled to stay alive. It wasn’t fair that you had to seek out your own deathbed. Bucky wanted to scream, to break things, to spill every last drop of Jake’s blood. But he was a soldier, and this was a rescue mission.

“This seemed like as g-good a place as any,” you choked on a weak laugh. “Beats dying in the middle of a h-hallway, I guess.”

Bucky’s automatic response was to swear that you’d make it out. To promise that you weren’t going to die. But he bit his tongue. He couldn’t make those kinds of assurances. He’d do anything to bring you comfort but swearing that you’d return home alive seemed almost cruel. 

He pushed himself to move faster. He couldn’t let you die alone, especially not in this godforsaken place. As he sprinted up the last flight of stairs and ripped open the door to the fifteenth floor, he struggled to orient himself. You were in the northeast quadrant, but where was he? He searched for anything to indicate his location- but found no signage. No directory. 

Everything inside of him rattled with dread, with anxiety. Any moment now, you were going to die. You were going to take your last breath. All alone. A thick, suffocating wave of panic crashed over Bucky as he realized- you were going to die disappointed. You were going to leave this world knowing that he hadn’t gotten to you in time.

It was then that he noticed a faded arrow painted on the wall, with “NEQ” painted below it in block letters. Northeast quadrant. He was closer than he thought.

“I’m gonna be there in just a second, doll,” he said as he followed the arrows.  “I think I’m right around the corner.” 

This was just his way of making you feel better, you were sure of it. The hallways were long and winding. Each floor was a maze of its own. Even with your vague instructions, it could take him a while to find you. Still, Bucky’s words brought you comfort in the way that only he could.

“I know, I t-trust…” A metallic taste filled your mouth. A warm ooze trickled down your chin and dripped onto your chest. The warm, fuzzy feeling brought on by Bucky’s assurances faded. Of course, you knew you were in bad shape. But as blood leaked from your mouth, you wondered if these were your last moments.

Instantly, you searched for the words to say goodbye to Bucky. Time was slipping through your fingers, life draining from your body with each passing second. But before you drifted off into a never-ending sleep, you had to tell Bucky what he meant to you. You’d use all your strength, your last few breaths- whatever it took. He just had to know. 

But how does one say goodbye to a soulmate? You didn’t have the energy or capacity to make a grandiose speech. And the blood filling your mouth impeded your ability to speak. You wanted to tell bucky everything- how he comforted you, cared for you, made your life worth living. How your life revolved around him as though he were your personal sun. But nothing quite encapsulated the things you felt for him. Every word in the English language, every sonnet fell short. And the lack of oxygen getting to your brain sabotaged your phrasing.

“Buck, I think it’s… I think it’s almost t-time,” you rasped.

But just as you opened your blood-stained mouth to proclaim every feeling you ever had for him, the door flew open. Alarm coursed through your veins at the threat. Surely, a Hydra agent had stumbled upon your hiding place and was here to finish you off. The severe blood loss was no match for your training, thought. And, on instinct, you pulled your gun on the tall, dark silhouette standing in the doorway.

“Woah, hey!” Bucky raised his hands in surrender. “It’s me, it’s just me.”

At the sound of his voice, your arm fell limp. Your gun clattered to the floor. Your head lolled back against the wall. It had taken everything in you to try and protect yourself one last time. And now that your energy reserves were nearly depleted, you allowed your eyes to close.

“S-sorry…” A barely-there smile pulled at your lips. “My… my bad, Buck.”

“No, don’t be sorry, doll.” 

Bucky knelt in front of you, taking in your broken, bloodied body. He’d seen carnage before, witnessed more death than anyone should. But this, you- it was different. It hurt in places he didn’t know he had. But he didn’t let it show. Knowing you, you’d spend your last few moments comforting him, trying to make him feel better. And so, he forced a warm smile and tabled his breakdown for the moment.

“I’m actually impressed. I mean, you might be hurt, but you were ready to take me out just now,” he forced a chuckle. “That’s my girl.” His cool metallic hand brushed against your blood-stained cheek. 

And in that moment, something within you changed. Your eyes shot open. You blinked a few times before forcing your eyes shut once again. You gave your head a few good shakes. Surely, this wasn’t real- it couldn’t be. 

You opened your eyes wide once again, taking him in. “Bucky?”

With one shaking hand, you reached for him in the most pathetic attempt he’d ever seen. You were weak, dangerously so; it scared him to his core. But you were alive. 

He leaned in, meeting you in the middle, and let you stroke at his stubble for a moment.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he kissed your palm. “I’m so happy to see you.”

“You’re…” you other hand reached for him, but made it only a centimeter or two before falling into your lap. Bucky opted to take it in his. “You’re here?”

He nodded, “I could never leave you behind, sweetheart.”

He may have continued speaking after that, but you didn’t quite hear him. The emotion you’d tried so hard to swallow came bursting forward, crushing your every attempt at remaining levelheaded. Your fingers smoothed over Bucky’s cheek again and again. His name fell from your lips in what resembled a prayer. Tears rolled down your cheeks and mixed with the blood crusting over your skin. 

A soft, warm wave of peace rolled in, covering you like a well-loved quilt. The pain disappeared; the sorrow evaporated. All that remained was Bucky. This was the warm spring that followed a dark, bitter winter. The first rays of sun after a vicious storm. The first taste of home after a long time away. You let the familiar warmth of Bucky’s presence drown out the rest of the world until only you two remained.

“Sweetheart, did you hear me?” With a gentle squeeze of your hand, Bucky called you back to the present. “I need to look at your wound, okay?”

A sharp rush of pain nearly blinded you as you lifted your shirt, exposing the bloody mess. But even as Bucky appraised the gunshot wound that turned your abdomen into horror scene, you couldn’t find it in you to worry. Your hands lazily found his shoulder, his chest, his face; you just wanted to touch him. To know, without a doubt, that he was there. That he was real.

“Hey, we… we need to t-talk,” you whispered as Bucky did his best to quickly bandage your wound for transport. “I n-need to talk- to talk to you…”

Bucky nodded, “sure thing, doll. Absolutely. We can talk about whatever you want. But right now…” he returned your shirt to its rightful position and met your gaze. “Right now, I need to get you out to the jet, okay? We can talk later.”

He guided your arms around his neck, lifted you into his arms, and moved as fast as he could through the winding hallways. His quick gait set your nerves alight with pain. Every bump, every jostle had you gasping for breath. And though it was a necessary evil, the guilt still sat in Bucky’s stomach like a rock. His repeated ‘I’m sorrys’ were nearly constant, doubling with your every grimace and groan. But he couldn’t slow down, couldn’t let the time slip away; you didn’t have much left.

Between pained sounds and twisted expressions of discomfort, you said the same thing on a loop. Again and again and again, you pled with him, using energy you didn’t have. 

“We need to… to t-talk.”

“I h-have to tell you.”

“Can I talk to y-you about- about something?”

And though Bucky would’ve loved nothing more than to have a long heart to heart with you as you two often did, you weren’t strong enough. He couldn’t let you waste your finite energy on a conversation with him. And so, he responded to each of your requests with an ask of his own, begging you to save your strength. He promised that the two of you could talk tomorrow, that there was plenty of time for a conversation later. 

But ‘plenty of time’ almost seemed like an empty promise. And ‘tomorrow’ felt like a lie. Would you have a ‘later’? He didn’t know. But he didn’t want you wasting your oxygen, not when he feared it might be your last breath.

Boarding the jet with you alive in his arms almost felt like a win to Bucky. Almost. Sure, he’d gotten you out with your heart still beating, but your condition worsened by the second. And the grave looks the med team wore as Bucky gently rested you on the treatment table dug a deep pit in his stomach. 

They sprang into action, placing IVs and delivering medications. Scissors glided through your shirt and exposed your broken body to the med team. Bucky knew they’d seen their share of gnarly injuries over the years, but he swore that they recoiled at the sight of your wounds. 

With a shake of his head, Bucky refocused. He had to get you out of there- to get you home. He headed for the controls and planned to set the jet in motion. But he made it only a step toward the cockpit before a hand caught his.

“S-stay…” you whispered. “Please.”

His heart shattered. “I’m not leaving you, doll, I promise. I just have to get us in the air, okay?” With great care, he placed a kiss to your hand and set it at your side. “I’ll be back in just a minute.”

Bucky’s body operated on muscle memory alone as he initiated take off. His mind was occupied, completely and totally, by the sound of your weak voice begging him not to leave. The sound played on a loop inside his brain, cutting him deeper each time. You’d already been abandoned once today; he was certain you feared it would happen again. 

With a deep breath and a quick reset, Bucky did what he had to do. He needed to be on his A-game for you, needed to be his very best. Only a few hours ago, you’d trusted someone with your life, and they failed you. Bucky wasn’t about to do the same. He worked carefully to chart the fastest route back to the compound, opting to forego FRIDAY’s proposed path. It kept him from your side longer than he would’ve liked, but less time in the air seemed like the best option. The sooner he could get you to the med bay, with its massive, brilliant medical staff and unlimited resources, the better. 

Just as he finalized the flight plan and asked FRIDAY to notify the med bay of your impending arrival, an unsettling sound pulled his focus. It was an ominous beeping, alarming your care team of a sudden, life-threatening change. 

Gloved hands moved at lightning speed; voices yelled medical jargon back and forth. And you laid there on the table. No heartbeat. No respirations. Deathly still. 

Bucky stood on the periphery, too horrified to get any closer. 

He thought it best, of course, to stay out the med team’s way. But knew deep down it was an excuse. He was simply too terrified to lose you. If he got closer, if he saw you struggling to stay alive, all of this would suddenly become real. And he couldn’t handle that. 

“Barnes!” A nurse screamed at him, “did you hear me?”

Bucky forced himself back to the present. “No… I, um-”

“She has no pulse- get over here, we need you to do compressions!”

Bucky’s desperate need to help you, to save you, overpowered his fear. And in an instant, he was at your side. He loomed over you, his hands locked together, preparing to help resuscitate you. But once again, his fear reared its ugly head. You were already so badly injured, so weak. And he was far too strong. What if he made your condition worse? What if he-

“Come on!” The nurse yelled at him, “start compressions- now!”

He did as he was told. He pressed into your body with a measured pressure, careful not to crush your chest. But his cautious compressions didn’t cut it. The nurses instructed him to push harder. To “actually compress” your chest- and Bucky followed instructions. 

But as he did so, a sickly snapping sound exploded from your body. Bucky recoiled instantly; his face contorted in horror.

“What are you doing? Keep going!”

“I can’t- I think I broke her ribs,” Bucky shouted at the doctor. “What do I do?”

“Keep going!” The nurse yelled, “It happens- just keep going.”

Bucky broke out into a cold sweat. His stomach turned at the thought of hurting you, of causing you even more pain; you’d been through enough as it was. But he did as he was told. With each round of compressions, he swore he created new fractures. He felt every splinter, every crack as he put pressure on your chest. 

He wanted to sever every last nerve-ending in his hand; anything to rid him of the sickening sensation creeping through his palm. But if doing this saved you, it was worth the nightmares.

He watched as the two nurses provided your supplemental breaths and tended to your endlessly bleeding wound. The doctor called ‘clear’ every so often, shocking you with a defibrillator in an attempt to restore your heartbeat.

Round after round of compressions, breathing, and shocks passed by without signs of improvement. You remained lifeless, unresponsive. A syringe of epinephrine delivered straight to your chest did nothing. And Bucky felt what little hope he had slipping through the cracks in your ribs. He couldn’t believe he was about to lose you; couldn’t believe he’d have to watch you die. Hot tears blurred his vision and streaked down his cheeks. His legs went numb. At any second, he knew his knees would give out, knew he’d crumble to the floor under the crushing weight of grief.

The doctor deemed the next shock your last, and Bucky almost doubled over. 

“Come on, doll, just-” He swallowed a sob, “just stay. Stay. Do it for me, I’m begging you. Please?”

The doctor called one last “clear” and delivered your final shock, only to be met with the rhythmic beeping of your heart monitor.

“Sinus rhythm restored,” announced the nurse to Bucky’s left. She appraised the waves on your EKG and gave a nod. “She’s stable.”

After what felt like an eternity, Bucky took a breath. He stretched his tense fingers and did his best to  relax the rock-hard knots forming in his shoulders. A new crop of hope bloomed cautiously inside his chest, but he couldn’t allow it to blossom and flourish just yet. You weren’t out of the woods; there was a very real possibility that your heart might stop again. And he wasn’t sure how many times the doctor could revive you before throwing in the towel.

Less than a minute after Bucky’s cautious optimism sprouted anew, a soul crushing sight dashed it completely. A sharp gasp filled his lungs, a shudder rocked his frame. Shades of deep, dark blue bloomed under the skin of your chest. Black and purple splotches stained your sternum. Some spots were already starting to swell. He extended a hand in your direction but recoiled in an instant, fearing he’d hurt you yet again. 

“Happens all the time,” one of the nurses said with a shrug. “Believe me, broken ribs are the least of her worries.”

Somehow, her words didn’t make him feel any better. He ached to hold your hand, to sweep a gentle caress across your cheek. But he didn’t dare touch you after what he did. Every glimpse of your bruised, swollen chest sent bile rushing into his throat. 

The three dedicated members of the med team worked tirelessly for the rest of the flight. They did everything in their power to keep your condition steady, to maintain the life they worked so hard to save. It brought Bucky comfort to see them staying so close, ready to jump into action if need be.  

Bucky, like the med team, hovered. He couldn’t bring himself to leave your side. You seemed too fragile, your condition too tenuous. He counted your every breath, took stock of every beat of your heart on the monitor. Stepping away for even a second felt wrong. He needed to be there if you crashed again, if the doctor needed extra hands. He needed to be there to help.

And if you woke up, he wanted to be the first face you saw. 

But you didn’t wake. A groan here, a muscle twitch there- that was all you could spare. And though Bucky wanted nothing more than to see you open your eyes, he thanked the universe for keeping you unconscious. He knew tsunamis of pain rippled in the wings, waiting to overtake you the second you woke.

Bucky held his breath as the jet landed. Every jarring bump, every vibration, forced his heart into his throat. He feared that even the slightest impact would send you into cardiac arrest. He flicked his eyes from the rising and falling of your chest to the rhythmic flashing of your heart monitor and back again. Nothing changed, no alarms sounded. And when the jet finally stilled, Bucky breathed a deep sigh of relief. He just needed to get you to the med bay for treatment, and this whole nightmare would be over. 

He didn’t like being optimistic. It felt like a set-up, like false hope. If he told himself you’d survive and you didn’t, the fall would be that much harder, that much more devastating. 

But being realistic wasn’t any better. Telling himself that you were too far gone, that you weren’t going to make it, felt wrong. To him, it seemed like he was cursing you. Like willing your death into existence. Like begging the universe to end your life. 

And so, he opted for a neutral mantra. “She’s home,” he told himself. “She’s home. She’s home. She’s home.”

The distance to the medbay felt longer than usual. The hallways seemed to stretch on forever, the double doors to the triage center seemed to grow farther and farther away. Bucky followed your gurney closely, only allowing a few inches of space between the two of you. He couldn’t be separated from you again. He wouldn’t. He needed to be with you every second, watching over you. 

A dark cloud of impending doom loomed over his psyche. It whispered to him, telling him that if he left your side, if he let you out of his sight, you’d die. You’d be gone forever. And it would be his fault. He knew it was nonsense, that this was just his anxiety operating on overdrive. But he couldn’t shake the fear. And risking it wasn’t an option.

“No visitors past this point,” a security guard placed an arm in front of Bucky as he tried to enter the triage unit.

Bucky tried to go around the man, watching as the medical staff carried you farther out of reach. “I’m not a visitor, I’m an agent-” 

“No agents past this point, then,” the guard rolled his eyes. “Only patients and medical staff. You can have a seat over there.”

A small table sat against the wall, flanked by two chairs. It was a sad, makeshift excuse for a waiting room that operated as a device to keep people from hanging around. But bucky couldn’t be discouraged. He took a seat in one of the chairs, determined to wait there as long as he had to. He knew he’d missed a number of important phone calls by now, and probably several meetings. But he didn’t care; all that mattered was you. 

Dread circled Bucky like a buzzard as he waited. It was taking too long- why was it taking so long? How much time did the medical staff need? You were stable when the jet landed, the nurse said so. Why were there no updates? All Bucky needed was a nod, a bit of information. But he remained in the dark, wondering if you died on the operating table.

Maria found Bucky slumped in a chair with a zombie-like air about him. He was expressionless, his gaze hollow. His palms traced the same track up and down his thighs in a never-ending cycle. One look and she knew: something was very wrong.

“Hey,” she called softly, hoping not to startle him.

But Bucky didn’t respond- he didn’t even react. He just sat there, his unblinking stare burning a hole in the tile. An uneasiness enveloped Maria. She’d never seen Bucky so empty, so despondent. As she stared at him, she found herself fearing the worst. ‘Maybe he just received terrible news’ she thought. ‘Maybe he’s grieving’.

“Hey,” she tried again, nudging her foot against his. 

He came back to life with a start. A sharp inhale filled his chest, his eyes blinked wildly. But his palms never stopped moving in their endless cycle against his tactical pants. And he never actually looked at her.

“Hi…” he breathed. 

Hill took the seat opposite him. She conjured the gentlest, warmest tone she could find, “is everything okay?”

Bucky balled his hands into tight fists and stretched them out again. Maria noticed blood- your blood- crusting under his fingernails and staining his skin. But before she could get a good look, he grabbed the arms of the chair. His palms rubbed fervently against the plastic handles for a moment until they moved to his face. He ran his hands along his jaw, his spiky stubble poking into his skin.

“Barnes, what happened? Are you-”

Finally, his head snapped in her direction, “I can still feel it…”

“Feel what?”

Bucky’s head fell into his hands. He pressed his palms against his eyes and dragged them down his face. Maria watched him fall apart in slow motion. He seemed to be unraveling, one cell at a time. And when he finally spoke, shame made his words almost unintelligible. 

“She crashed on the jet…”

“Oh...” Maria did her best to keep a calm, even tone. Her concern for you vibrated in her chest, but she didn’t dare let it free- not when Bucky was moments away from a meltdown. “Is she-”

“The med team needed help. There weren’t enough of them- they needed me to do chest compressions,” Bucky said, his voice low. “And I broke- I crushed her ribs.” 

A sharp shudder rocked his entire body. Just thinking of that moment, when his too-strong hands destroyed your chest, was enough to make him sick. To scar him for life. To haunt him. Of all the horrible things he’d done in over the years, this was the worst. He gave his hands a quick shake, hoping to rid his nerve endings of the sensation.

“I felt her bones snapping under my hands,” Bucky’s words dripped with shame. “And I can still… I still feel it.”

“Okay,” Maria said gently. “Well, if she-”

“She was already in such bad shape,” Bucky swiped a tear from his cheek. “And I… I hurt her. I made it so much worse.” 

His head fell into his hands once again and did not reemerge. 

“Hey, look at me,” Maria gave his arm a gentle touch. 

Bucky only shook his head. 

“Come on, Barnes, just look at me for a second.”

Again, he refused. 

Maria abandoned her chair and sat instead on the small table. She never got this close to Bucky. Usually, she preferred to give him his space. He wasn’t the touchy-feely type- unless you were around. But he was lost in a shame spiral, adrift with no hope of return. And he needed rescuing. She placed her hands on his and gently removed them from his face. 

“You saved her life,” Maria said. “Twice. You rescued her from the base, and when the med team needed help, you came through.”

“But I-”

“Did it work?” Maria asked, her tine almost stern. “Did the chest compressions work?”

Bucky nodded. 

Maria gave him a shrug, “That’s all that matters. She can recover from a few broken ribs, but if you hadn’t been there-” 

Bucky averted his gaze as his eyes filled with tears. 

“Hey,” Maria grabbed his face, bringing his focus back to her. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead.”

Maria’s words fought hard against the demeaning voice that lived inside Bucky’s head. It screamed at him, telling him that he shouldn’t believe her, that he was a monster, that he almost killed you. Usually, Bucky allowed his inner demons to run free. He listened to them without pause, believing anything and everything they told him, no matter how vile. But Maria was steadfast and unshakable in her sentiments; she truly believed what she was saying. And by some miracle, Bucky did, too.

“Thanks…” He granted her a hollow smile and a small nod. 

Hill sat in silence with him for a few hours. She didn’t try to make small talk or ask what was going on inside his head. She simply existed near him, sharing the space so that he didn’t have to be alone. She ignored important texts and sent every call to voicemail. She knew it was exactly what you’d do for him, if you were able. And she did her best to fill your shoes.

Abruptly, Bucky’s head snapped in her direction. His pulse thrummed against his skin as a new wave of anxiety crashed over him. “She kept saying…” he sighed. “She kept saying we needed to talk. She wanted to talk to me about something.”

Maria cocked her head to the side, “About what?”

He shrugged. “I told her we could talk later because there would be plenty of time,” Bucky’s words grew shaky. He found himself near tears for what felt like the millionth time that day. Guilt sucker punched him. “What if… what if there isn’t more time for us? What if that was all we were ever going to get? What if-”

“You’ll get more time,” Maria said with certainty. “The universe has a way of evening things out. You were robbed of time once; it won’t happen again. Plus, you’re deserved some fucking karmic retribution- you’re owed this.”

Bucky wondered how she could be that sure of something so ethereal. But she was steady, solid as a rock. She didn’t waver in her words or add caveats at the end. She, somehow, knew it to be true. And Bucky couldn’t help but believe her.

But when Fury called her for the eighth time, she knew quiet time was over.

“I have to go, okay? Fury can’t do anything without me, he’s hopeless.” She stood from her seat and rested a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Call if you need anything.”

Bucky thanked her a million times over and, for the first time, gave Maria a hug. She would never know how much her reassurances helped him. She’d pulled him from the ledge and gave him what he desperately needed: perspective.

In the hours that followed, he let her words play on a constant loop inside his mind. “If you hadn’t been there, she’d be dead,” he heard her say. “You’ll get more time.” The sickening feeling of your bones snapping under his strength never faded, and the fear of losing you still had him in a chokehold, but Maria’s words quieted his mind. 

In the sad, empty waiting room, time seemed to mutate. Some of the hours dragged, others whizzed by. Bucky wasn’t sure how long he’d been there. Was it ten hours? Or twenty? He didn’t really care. He’d wait lifetimes for you. 

He saw the security guards change shifts once, twice. It was the only thing alerting him to the passage of time, as part of him believed it was standing still. On the third shift change, they told him to go home. 

“They’ll call you if there’s an update”, said one of the guards. “It’d probably be a good idea for you to go get some sleep, or something.”

Bucky knew he looked like hell. Your blood left crimson streaks across his face and neck. And the dark circles he usually wore under his eyes were a deep shade of plum. But he couldn’t leave, he couldn’t sleep. Not when your life hung in the balance. Not when you needed him. 

A few more hours passed with no news, and Bucky found himself teetering on the edge of insanity. An angry, desperate voice bellowed inside his head. It told him to bust through the doors and find you, no matter what it took- even if it meant hurting people in the process. The gun secured to his hip and the knife strapped to his ankle became eerily attractive. His hands itched to reach for the weapons, to hold someone at gun point until they allowed him to see you. But he couldn’t to give in to the fear, to the violence. It took him years of therapy and long talks with you to stop seeing himself as a monster- and he refused to destroy the progress you helped him make. 

A doctor stepped out of the double doors and looked in Bucky’s direction, “Sergeant Barnes?”  

Bucky was on his feet before he knew what hit him. This was it. After what felt like an eternity of not knowing whether you lived or died, he was about to have an answer. Sweat dampened his palm, his brow as he stood in front of your doctor. 

He didn’t know he was even capable of this kind of fear, this kind of agony. And though he was an impossibly strong physical specimen, Bucky knew he’d never be able to lift the weight of the grief that followed your loss. He knew that, if you died, he’d spend the rest of his life dragging himself from place to place, unable to stand, unable to push back against the overwhelming, oppressive force of losing you. 

Your doctor spoke quickly and professionally about your condition, but the words turned to mush the second they reached Bucky’s brain. The combination of medical jargon and pure panic made their meanings imperceptible. But one phrase managed to cut through the fog of Bucky’s anxiety and exhaustion: “you can see her now.”

And just like that, Bucky took off. His fatigued body did its best to carry him through the halls, stumbling every now and then on the smooth tile of the hospital floors. But he didn’t dare slow down. He had to get to you. 

By the time he reached the door to your room, he found himself shaking- almost shivering- with anxiety. He knew you were alive, of course. Knew that the doctors had been successful in saving your life. But something in him doubted their handiwork. Something in him swore that if he didn’t get to you in the next half second, you’d flatline. Again. 

He could practically feel his brain rattling around inside his skull, his teeth chattered against one another. And the sharp tremors in his hands made it nearly impossible to get a grip on the door handle. Panic and frustration coursed through him as the he tried again and again to gain entry to your room with no luck. A strangled sob forced its way out of his chest and caught the attention of a nurse- one of the nurses who helped keep you alive on the jet. 

“Hey…” Her eyes drifted to Bucky’s shaking hands. “Need some help?” Before Bucky could answer, she’d abandoned the medication she was prepping, discarded her gloves, and made her way to his side.

“Here, let me.” Her soft, sympathetic tone was almost too kind; Bucky’s eyes blurred with tears. She turned the door handle and gestured for Bucky to go inside.

His “thank you” was for more than just the door. 

Bucky took a few steps inside and drew in a sharp breath; he’d never seen you in such severe condition. Over the many hours that Bucky waited for you outside, all of your bruises grew darker, more menacing. They stained your throat, your face, your arms. He didn’t even want to think about the ones on your chest- the ones he caused. Dried blood crusted in your hair and formed a path down the side of your face. It sat caked under your fingernails and rested in the creases of your palms. Thankfully, your gunshot wound was covered by gauze and concealed by your gown. But knowing it was there was enough to make Bucky sick. He, of course, witnessed and inflicted, his fair share of carnage over the years. But he knew your wound would haunt him for years to come- simply because it was yours. 

All he wanted was to be near you. To sit at your bedside and hold your hand. But he didn’t dare to get any closer. Electrodes attached a dozen wires to your chest. IVs sat lodged in the crooks of your elbows, in the backs of your hands. Machines and monitors kept track of your vitals. And who was he to disturb this fragile, vital ecosystem? What if he accidentally pulled out one of your IVs? What if he detached a wire by mistake? He’d already hurt you once today, he wasn’t about to do it again. 

He, instead, opted to stand at attention. A few feet away. For your safety. He didn’t touch you, didn’t even say your name. He simply stared at you, counting your every breath. 

An hour- or maybe two- passed by with him like this. Nurses checked on you, doctors poked their heads in. And every time, they told him he was permitted to sit by your bedside. But he just shook his head. Sure, slipping his hand into yours, being close to you- it would provide him with incomprehensible comfort. But he couldn’t, not when you were so severely injured. 

After the third hour, Bucky feared his sanity was slipping. A wicked voice lodged deep in his psyche suddenly awakened. It whispered to him, taunted him. Maybe this was all a dream. Maybe he was asleep in the waiting room. Maybe you didn’t survive. Maybe…

And he would’ve believed it, had you not snapped him out of the vicious spiral. 

“Buck?” He feared he’d never hear you voice again, but there it was. Hoarse and weak- but yours.

Bucky flew to your side. He cradled your face gingerly in his hands, completely consumed by the need to touch you, to feel you, to know that you were real. His palms laid flush against your cheeks, his thumbs sweeping over your skin. And in an instant, the sickly sensation of your snapping bones vanished.

A hurricane of tangled thoughts and emotions crashed over him. He had so much to he wanted to say, so much he wanted to confess to you. But the words refused to arrange themselves properly. Suddenly, Bucky wished he’d used his ample time in the waiting room to better organize his thoughts. He wished he’d sought out a pen and a scrap of paper and used them to plan and articulate his sentiment. But even if he’d found the supplies he needed, he wouldn’t have been able to jot a single thing down. Not with his shaking, unsteady hands.

Anxious words and broken sobs got stuck in his throat and formed a garbled, unintelligible mess as they left his mouth. But it was the best he could do. He stared at you, waiting for your response.

“I, um…” you looked at him for a long moment. The haze of head trauma, blood loss, and pain killers made you foggy. You did your best to trace your steps back through Bucky’s words, certain that your condition was the cause of your confusion. But after a significant pause, you came up empty. “Sorry, I- what?”

Bucky slid one of his hands into yours and gave a soft laugh. “Sorry. I tried to say-” He sat quiet for a moment. What had he tried to say, exactly? He wasn’t sure. With a small shake of his head, he re-rerouted. “Um, it doesn’t matter. Here, how’s this:” He cleared his throat and spoke with the sharpest pronunciation possible. “How are you feeling?”

Your laugh- Bucky’s favorite laugh- bubbled up to the surface. But regret swallowed you whole as pain shot through your head, your chest, your side. The hurt radiated through your entire being. It rendered you breathless, and left your face twisted in an agonized grimace.

Bucky didn’t like how long it took you to recover from the small chuckle you shot his way. A pang of worry shot through him.  “Don’t exert yourself, okay?” He swept a thumb across your cheek, “you don’t wanna tear your stitches or...” He cleared his throat, “aggravate any, um, broken bones.” Bones that he broke.

“No, I’m…” you squeezed your eyes shut for a long moment before opening them again. The pain slowly receded. “I’m good, I’m okay. I just- breathing is hard. I forgot how shitty it feels to have broken ribs.”

Bucky nodded. His teeth sunk into the smooth flesh of his cheek. A metallic taste coated his mouth. He didn’t want to tell you the truth. Didn’t want you to know that he was the cause of your severe pain. But you deserved to know, didn’t you? With a deep sigh, he opened his mouth, intent on telling you what really happened. But you cut him off. 

“Thank you, Buck. For coming to get me. I really thought I was…” Hot tears stung your eyes and blurred your vision. “I thought that was it for me, you know? And I just want you to know how-” you sniffed, “how grateful I am.”

Bucky left your side for only a second, retrieving a box of tissues from the counter across the room. He was back in no time and swept a tissue across your cheek to catch your tears.

“I know we always say that we have each other’s backs but you… you meant it,” you said. A small smile pulled at your lips, “thank you for meaning it.”

Bucky nodded. He did his best to keep his breathing steady, to stop himself from falling apart at the seams. He knew exactly what it felt like to be left behind, to wait for your last moments- alone. 

“I wasn’t gonna leave you there, doll. I couldn’t.” 

You gave a small nod. “Yeah, I- I wish my partner had felt the same way…” The hurt in your voice was unmistakable. It sliced though Bucky’s chest. “I didn’t think he would ever do something like that. I mean, I thought we were friends.”

The mere thought of Jake brought a familiar rage to the forefront of Bucky’s mind. He didn’t understand how anyone could be so callous, so uncaring- so indifferent to the well-being of others. The part of him that swore off unnecessary violence remained quiet as the rest of him imagined Jake’s demise. He wanted your disloyal partner to suffer. To squirm and squeal and regret that he ever left you behind. But that could wait- you were the priority.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect him to be that kind of person,” Bucky sighed, “he seemed like a stand-up guy.”

Silence filled the room as you thought over Jake’s desertion. His abandonment hurt. It stung in places you didn’t expect. You’d taken Jake under your wing and did everything in your power to be the best leader possible. All you wanted was to help him. To set him up for success. 

And after working alongside Bucky for so long, you’d forgotten that disloyalty to one’s partner was even an option. 

“He probably panicked,” you tried to rationalize. “And then once he realized what he’d done, maybe he…”

There was no rationalizing this. 

An ugly realization slithered into your mind. “After he left, I think he probably hoped I’d just die… that way I wouldn’t be able to give my side of the story.” The weight of Jake’s actions hit you like a train. Rivulets of warm tears rolled down your cheeks, only to be swept away by Bucky’s gentle hand. With a small shake of your head, you did your best to banish the feelings of abandonment and betrayal. Wallowing would only make you more miserable. And you didn’t need emotional pain on top of the physical agony that already plagued you.

“Well, joke’s on him,” you shrugged, “cause I’m still alive.” Pain radiated through your chest, bringing a grimace to your face. “Kind of.” 

Bucky didn’t understand how you could just dismiss the bad feelings. Couldn’t understand your propensity for levity. Your partner left you for dead without a second thought- and yet, you found a way to joke about it. It was something he’d always admired about you, something he wished he was capable of. 

You gave a strained laugh, “I can’t wait to see the look on Jake’s face when he finds out that I didn’t die.”

Bucky wasn’t sure what prompted him to say it. It left his mouth without his brain’s authorization.

“But you did.”

He wished to take the words back, but it was too late. They hung in the air, just out of his reach. 

“I…” you struggled to grasp Bucky’s words. “I what?”

This was not the time- or the place, or the way- to tell you the truth. But he didn’t have a choice. His clumsy words made his bed, and now he had to lie in it. 

“You, um…” Bucky didn’t want to think about what happened, let alone say it out loud. But he owed it to you to be honest. Especially after Jake had lied to you about being a trustworthy partner. Bucky scratched at the stubble on his face, ran a hand through his hair. Anything to delay the inevitable. But he couldn’t put it off for long. “Your heart stopped- you died. On the jet.”

Only one word fell from your lips, “Oh…” 

“And while I’m at it, I might as well tell you that…” Bucky took a deep inhale. He was in too deep now. And keeping this from you any longer felt like lying. “That your ribs are broken because of me.”

A quizzical look crossed your face, “what do you mean?”

“I mean… the med team was short staffed on the jet. There were only three of them. And when you crashed, it was- it was an all hands on deck situation.” He flashed back to the moment when the alarms sounded. When your EKG flatlined. A shudder ran through him. “They needed me to do chest compressions. And I- I didn’t want to hurt you, but the nurse said I wasn’t pushing hard enough to actually help you. And when I pushed harder- I broke your ribs.”

Bucky searched your face for something- anything. Anger. Fear. Betrayal. But he found nothing. Your expression was as neutral as they come. He feared that something lingered just below the surface. That once you fully processed his words, you’d erupt into a perfect storm of disgust and disappointment.

He told himself to wait silently until you made up your mind. But the outburst exploded from his lips before he could stop it. “I’m sorry- I’m so sorry, sweetheart. You know I’d never want to hurt you, I would never do anything to hurt you. But I… they told me I had to push harder. Or it wasn’t going to work. And I just wanted it to work, I wanted you to be okay, and-”

It took almost all of your strength to raise your hand and place a finger to Bucky’s lips. He fell silent.

“Buck, it’s okay.”

He tried to form a rebuttal, but you cut him off. 

“You didn’t have to rescue me, but you did. No questions asked, no hesitation. You saved my life by getting me out of there. And you saved me again by helping the med team.” Your hand drifted from Bucky’s face and landed in his palm. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Bucky didn’t say anything else. His fingers traced gentle patterns on your palm. His eyes fell downward. You could almost see the shame eating him alive from the inside.

 “Hey,” you intertwined your fingers with his. “I can handle a few broken ribs.”

“No, I- I know you can. I just…” A sad smiled flickered across his lips. “I feel terrible. You went through a lot. And I just don’t like knowing I made it worse.”

A long silence filled the room. You’d seen this side of Bucky more times than you could count. And you knew him well enough to know what followed. He was going to feel bad- terrible, actually- about this for a while. There was no accelerating the process or absolving him of his guilt. No amount of reassurances could save him from it. He just had to sit with it. One day, the weight would diminish. But it was going to take time. And that was okay. 

You gave his hand a squeeze. “I thought your voice was a hallucination, you know.”

Bucky lifted his head.

“And when you came into the room, I actually thought that was a hallucination, too.” A smile stretched across your face, “I mean, I thought I was losing my mind.”  

Bucky gave a half-hearted chuckle. He didn’t want to think about you in that room by yourself. About you struggling to tell what was real.

“But then you touched me…” You raised your hand and brushed it across your cheek, mimicking him. “And that’s when I realized that you were real- that you were there.” You fell quiet for a moment, lost in the memory of Bucky’s rescue. “It was like, in that moment, I wasn’t scared anymore. I wasn’t scared of the pain. I wasn’t scared of dying. I was just scared that…”

“What?”

“You have to promise not to laugh,” you told him with an authoritative tone. “Cause I know it’s corny, or cheesy, or whatever.”

“Sweetheart,” Bucky drew an X over his heart. “I’m not gonna laugh at you.”

You stared at him with narrowed eyes, sizing up his promise. But, of course, you knew Bucky would never tease or ridicule you about something like this. 

“Okay, fine, I um… I was scared that I’d never see you again. If I died, I mean.”

Bucky’s lungs emptied. He couldn’t remember how to breathe, how to speak. A sudden ache ripped through his heart as it splintered and shattered into a million pieces. To know that you thought of him in what you believed were your last moments somehow ripped him apart and put him back together all at once.

Your voice cracked. Tears filled your eyes. “I was afraid that we’d already run out of time. I was afraid that we weren’t going to get any more.” A few soft sobs escaped from your throat, followed by a pained groan. But you pushed passed the throbbing in your chest. “But I was so relieved. Because I got to see you one last time. It was the most intense sense of peace I’ve ever experienced.”

Bucky struggled to hold on to his composure. He felt himself crumbling, weakening under the weight of your words. 

“But then I realized- I realized I’d never get to tell you. And you kept saying we could talk later, but I didn’t know if there would be a ‘later’. And when I blacked out, I was so full of…” You shook your head ever so slightly, sending a few tears dripping onto your cheeks. “I had so much regret. Because I needed you to know.”

“To know what?” Bucky leaned in close, searching your face for any inkling, any clue. “Doll, it’s ‘later’. Tell me- whatever it is. You can tell me now, it’s-”

Your lips met his in a soft kiss. In it, everything you’d ever felt for him came rushing forward. Admiration. Longing. Lust. Obsession. Adoration. Love. 

A sting of pain jolted through you as your split lip brushed his, but you didn’t care. His hands found your face, your fingers curled into the collar of his shirt. It was always supposed to be this way. 

When the two of you finally separated, Bucky simply stared at you. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak. He wasn’t sure he knew how. 

“I love you, Buck. I’ve loved you- for so long.” A huff left your chest, “So. Long.” 

Still, Bucky remained silent. Nerves began crawling through you like vines, twisting their way through every fiber of your being. But you owed it to yourself, and to Bucky, to tell him the truth. 

“And I just… I know how you see yourself. And I know you don’t think you’re even worthy of my friendship, let alone love. But I was so anxious, cause I thought you’d never know the truth. I thought I’d die without getting to tell you. And you’d live the rest of your life thinking that you’re not worthy, that no one could ever love you. But I- I love you. I just needed you to know.”

The silence made your ears ring. Bucky’s face still wore a mask of bewilderment. And you feared you’d ruined everything. 

“You don’t have to say it back, though,” you said. “I’m not gonna stop being your friend if this is an unrequited thing.”

Finally, Bucky came back to life. He rolled his eyes and let a scoff escape his lips. He leaned in close, the tip of his nose almost brushing yours. “Unrequited? I broke every SWORD rule and policy. Abducted medical staff. Stole a jet. And went on an unauthorized mission. All to get you back. I didn’t even know if you were alive, I just- I had to bring you home.” 

He closed the small gap that remained between your face and his and granted you warm, gentle kiss that tasted like home. “I did all that- and you thought there was even a chance that I didn’t love you back?” Bucky gave a playful roll of his eyes, “you don’t know me at all, sweetheart.”

You returned his eye roll. "Well, you're a really great friend to me. And you always have been. So, I didn’t take a rescue as a proclamation of love,” you gave a strained chuckle. “I just thought-”

“I’ve loved you for…” Bucky thought back over the course of your friendship. The day you first met, the first time you helped him through a panic attack, the time he made you the ugliest cake in the world for your birthday. He saw his life in two parts: before he met you and after he met you. And he so preferred the after. 

“I don’t even know how long,” he shrugged. It was almost automatic. His feelings for you didn’t need a slow, gradual build up. They descended upon him all at once, like the world’s most beautiful avalanche.  “It’s been a long time- an embarrassing amount of time, probably,” he laughed.

“Oh, so we’re both cowards then,” you shot him a wink. “Too afraid to tell the other how we feel.”

Bucky nodded, “It seems that way…”

“But you weren’t too scared to steal a jet and run into possible gun fire?” you quipped.

“Nope. Didn’t even think about it,” he said matter-of-factly. “I just wanted to find you.”

You’d never experienced a love- a commitment- like that. It sent a rush of warmth into your cheeks and somehow eased the pain plaguing your body. You knew in your heart you would’ve done the same for Bucky without a second thought. But knowing that he was so fiercely determined to bring you home felt almost unbelievable. You had the proof, though, right there in front of you. This man, who you loved, loved you too. And loved you enough to risk his life for you. It wasn’t something you’d ever ask him to do, and you knew you’d never have to. He’d do it without hesitation. Without reservation. He’d walk through fire for you if it meant bringing you home. 

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

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[eglerieth]

Some of y’all are not appreciating Bilbo Baggins enough. I am here to remedy that. This guy has:

• somehow managed to establish himself as a respectable, staid hobbit by the time he was fifty, despite being both a grandson of Bullroarer Took and the Shire champion of pretty much every aiming-game known to hobbitkind

• had an in-depth debate on pleasantries with a random guy passing by in the street, who turned out to be GANDALF

• collapsed in front of his own fire shaking and muttering “struck by lightning” over and over again in response to hearing about dragons and danger

• mind you, this was after he screamed loud enough to startle a roomful of Dwarves

• signed up for a dangerous quest completely outside of his league out of spite

• when told to scout out a mysterious light, saw some trolls, and instead of reporting back with the information, decided to PICK THE TROLLS POCKET

• arrived in Rivendell for the first time and said it “smelled like elves”

• upon meeting a strange creature that visibly wanted to eat him, he decided to play a riddle game with him- and guessed pretty much every one, and made up his own riddles, afraid and alone, that not only were good and full of linguistic puns, but actually stumped the other guy- AND THEN CHEATED AND WON WITH A QUESTION

• showed mercy to said strange creature who wanted to kill him, and was now standing between him and freedom

• eavesdropped on the dwarves arguing over whether to try to save him, then popped up casually smack in the middle of them just as they were debating

• somehow managed to sleep like a log at the really really high eyrie full of wild predators

• found himself in a bad situation, said eff it, and turned around and antagonized and fought off an insane amount of man eating spiders, like enough of them that fifty was a small portion, by singing at them with incredibly complex and punny insulting songs composed on the spot, while simultaneously slaying them in multitudes despite having zero combat training. Seriously, we don’t discuss enough how epic the spider scene is.

• broke a company of dwarves out of the very secure prison of the Elvenking by inventing white water rafting with barrels

• charmed his way out of being eaten by a dragon

• stole the frickin Arkenstone from the guys who employed him, one of whom was a king

• took part in an epic battle, only to be knocked out in the first ten minutes and miss the entire thing

• was named elf-friend by the guy who’s prisoners he sprung

• wrote his own autobiography, complete with all the narrative recognition of his own heroics

• spent 60 years writing said autobiography

• taught his lower class neighbor’s kid how to read

• taught his nephew Elvish- not only Sindarin, but Quenya too

• spent decades telling his cousins his own story as fairy tales, complete with character impressions accurate enough that one of them was able to fool a servant of the Enemy with a second hand impression

• used the One Ring of Power to hide from his neighbors

• planned an elaborate feast with multiple social faux pas to mess with his neighbors, complete with a purposefully bewildering speech and culminating in him vanishing into thin air in front of everyone

• left his cousins and neighbors very unsubtle passive aggressive gifts in his will

• settled into Rivendell, randomly befriended the heir to the throne of like half of Middle Earth, and apparently spent his time writing very personal poems about his hosts and reciting them to crowds of elves

• after being invited to a Council of basically every major kingdom in the continent, spent a quarter of the time reciting vague poems about his friends, a quarter of the time telling anyone who would listen about his heroic past, and half the time interrupting to ask when lunch would be

• volunteered to bring the ring to Mordor

• became one of only four or five mortals in history to live in Valinor

Seriously, Bilbo Baggins may well be the most chaotic, insane person in the entire legendarium, and that includes the likes of people like Finrod “bit a werewolf to death to save the life of guy who he just met and gave up his kingdom for” Felagund.

[reysdriver]

Keeping It Quiet | E.M.

Eddie comes to visit you when everyone is sleeping... or so you thought — eddie x fem!hopper!reader fluff

warnings: suggestive content, making out, fear of getting caught, jokes about guns/getting shot

words: 1.7k

a/n: idgaf about timeline or continuity with the show when I do this series of oneshots, it's just kind of an alternate version of the show where Hopper is still here around the events of season 4 ig (also I LOVE this gif of joseph omg)

It was late at night, but you weren’t sleeping. You were taking advantage of the quiet house and catching up on some reading that finally wasn’t for school. You laid with the book at the foot of your bed, and your feet dangling over your pile of stuffed animals right by your pillows. 

It was so comfortable, you forgot about the world around you. 

And you were only brought back by the terrifying sound of someone knocking on your window. It scared you right out of your haze, at least until you looked outside and realised who it was. 

Eddie was standing right outside your bedroom wall with a stupid grin on his face, and he was pointing to the windowsill, wordlessly asking you to let him in. 

After rolling your eyes and marking your spot in the book, you got up and opened the window for your boyfriend. 

“What are you doing here?” You asked, leaning over the separation to peck his lips quickly. 

“Not quite the warm welcome I was expecting.” He grunted, using the log you had placed under your window to climb in your room. “You’re not happy to see me?”

“You scared the hell out of me ‘cause you didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

“I didn’t know I was coming over until I was already in my van. I haven’t seen you in forever, plus I had something I wanted to show you.”

The last part was intriguing, but you still wanted to correct his dramatics. You’ve learned that if you didn’t act as the voice of reason sometimes, he would start believing his own exaggerations.

“It’s been two days since you last saw me.” And it didn’t take long for you to give in to whatever he was hiding. “But what is it that I have to see?” 

He let out an exaggerated sigh as he flopped down on the end of your bed. He looked up at you with fake sadness. “I should have known you would only like me for material things, Madonna.” 

“So what if I was a material girl? You’d still love me anyways.” 

He started speaking like he was in the school play, which he would never do. “It’s just sad—”

You jumped towards him to cover his mouth with your hand. As much as you loved his antics and would encourage it at any other time, it was all quiet in your house and you were petrified of waking your family. 

“Are you crazy?” You asked him in a hushed scold. 

He just nodded happily since he couldn’t speak with your hand still over his mouth. 

“If my dad hears you, he’ll burst into the room with a gun in his hand. You might be able to charm the pants off of me effortlessly, but I think you’d get shot if you tried to test your charisma on the chief of police.” 

You cautiously took your hand away from Eddie’s face while he looked at you with a mischievous glint in his eyes. 

“Stop looking at me like that and show me what you wanted me to see in the first place.” You told him, sternly but lovingly. 

“Wow, you really are the chief’s daughter.” He joked as he stood up and took off his leather jacket. 

You figured he was just making himself comfortable, but when he started taking off the t-shirt he was wearing underneath the coat, you wondered what was really going on. 

Then you saw it. 

On his right side, where his rib cage ends, there was a new tattoo. A flaming sword that you knew was based on his current—and favourite—Dungeons and Dragons campaign of his. 

He pointed to the pommel of the weapon, which was a heart shaped gemstone. 

“Did you see the end? It doesn’t have anything to do with the game, but I designed it while thinking of you.” He smiled at you, and you smiled back. “Do you like it?”

“I love it, Eds.” You answered sincerely. “When did you get it done?”

“Friday. Right after your dad picked you up from the mall.”

“Did it hurt?”

He shook his head as he gently pushed you back against your pillows, then positioned himself on top of you.

“Not as much as it hurts to be away from you.”

You had to stifle your own laugh at his corniness. As stupid as it was, you did feel kind of flattered by him at that moment. And that’s exactly why you let him kiss you, despite you being just a few decibels away from your sleeping father waking up and grounding you permanently for sneaking a boy in. 

But you pushed all your worries aside and let him press his luscious lips against yours. God, how you couldn’t get enough of that sensation. 

You loved how he kissed you just because he likes to kiss you, how he used flavoured chapstick so he could heal his chapped lips, and how he always tasted faintly of cigarettes and the lemon candies you got him hooked on. 

You loved all that almost as much as what came next. 

When he moved his lips from your mouth to your jaw, and then your neck. He nipped the skin just lightly and then continued to work his magic. You had both noted another time just like this that your bodies must be made for each other, and this exact moment was perfect proof for that claim. 

“Oh, god, Eddie. You’re so good at this.” You praised, trying to keep your voice down. 

He mumbled an ‘mhm?’ against your throat. He was such a sucker for your affirmations. 

“Yeah. Just be careful not to leave a bruise.”

Eddie lifted his head up, causing your face to morph into a frown from the expression of pleasure just a second ago. 

“You don’t want little reminders of my love?” He asked, lips exaggeratedly pouted. 

“Not when my family can see them, loverboy.”

He seemed satisfied with that response, returning his attention to you and practically attacking your neck with his kisses. The way his mouth was worshipping your neck damn near put you in a trance. It was so good that you didn’t even notice the soft knock at your door, nor the opening that followed it. 

When your younger sister called out your name softly, that’s when you realised the importance of not letting your guard down. You tried to push Eddie off of you as he hadn’t seen Eleven there yet, but he got up quickly once he did notice. 

You urged him to sit down and stay silent while you pulled El away from your bedroom and into the bathroom, all while your sister stared at you with a wide-eyed expression. 

Eleven was the first one to speak between you two. “Who was that in your room?”

“That was my friend.” You said, partially honest. He was your friend, he was just also more. “His name is Eddie.”

“What were you and Eddie doing?”

You racked your brain, trying to think of something believable to say that would get your sister off your back. You really should have prepared a lie before this, because it was proving to be more difficult than you would have thought; of course, you never really thought about your sister catching you making out with your shirtless boyfriend.

“We were playing.” You answered as confidently as possible. 

“Playing?” 

You nodded. “Yeah, you know when you and I play-fight, like wrestling? When Dad sometimes thinks we’re hurting each other but we’re really just having fun?”

“So you and Eddie were just having fun?”

“Mhm.” You ran a hand through her hair, feeling somewhat guilty about your lie. “Why? Were you worried about me?”

She didn’t seem fazed at all by your fingers combing through her hair, but her cheeks flooded with pink when you asked if she knocked on your door out of concern for you. 

“I heard you were awake and I wanted to know what you were doing.” Eleven told you. 

It really was nothing embarrassing, she’s just a shy girl. And now you felt less guilty about lying since you know she was just curious rather than upset. 

“Well, I was just playing with my friend. But, don’t tell Dad about Eddie, okay?”

“Why not?”

Another question you didn’t quite have an answer for. Luckily, you were quick enough on your toes that your little sister wouldn’t notice the nonsense spilling from your mouth. 

“You know Dad can be a fun sponge sometimes. Like when he spends an hour questioning your friends before you can hang out, or when he won’t let us turn the couch into a pillow fort. If he hears about Eddie, he won’t let us have fun together anymore, and I would be really sad if I couldn’t see my friend.”

She seemed to be eating your excuse up, knowing exactly what you meant.

“Okay. I won’t tell him.” She agreed. “I don’t want you to be sad.”

“And I don’t want you to be tired, little lady. So, now that you know what you wanted to learn, how about you go back to sleep, okay?”

“Okay, goodnight.”

She opened the slightly creaky bathroom door and headed back to her bedroom, hopefully to fall back asleep soon. 

“Goodnight, El. Sleep tight.” You called in a volume just above the whisper you were using just seconds before.

You stood in the bathroom alone after you heard your sister’s bedroom door close. For a minute, you just listened to everything around your house. The quiet wind blowing outside, the sounds of Eddie flipping through your books as he waited for you to come back, and best of all, not a peep from your father’s room. 

It was safe to return to Eddie in your bedroom and resume the fooling around from before. 

Once you silently pushed open your door, closed it again, and sat down next to your boyfriend on the corner of your bed, he pulled you onto his lap. 

“So, we’re in the clear now?” Eddie asked you. 

“Yeah, but that doesn’t mean we can be any less careful than usual. That just proves my family can hear us, so let’s not be stupid.”

A flirty grin spread across Eddie’s face as he trailed his fingers under your shirt and up your sides. “Baby, I can’t promise anything. Stupid is my middle name.”

[zorosangell]

⛥ﾟ・。 jug

synopsis: after going out to search for luffy, you and zoro stumble upon a bottle of pink sake. zoro drinks it without question, but lives to regret it, as you have to deal with the consequences... physically

cw: nsfw (nothing too crazy), fluff, angst if you really squint, aphrodisiacs, reader is down bad for zoro, and vice versa, whiny-ish zoro (he's in pain give him a break)

a/n: thought of the song heart of a woman while writing this

"Luffyyy!" you called, hands raised to the sides of your mouth as you glanced around. "Luffyyy! Where are you?!"

The swordsman bristled, pinching the bridge of his nose with an annoyed look.

"C'mon, Luffy, it's freezing out here! Hurry up!" he groaned, breath disappearing into the cool air.

Of all the nights your captain chose to disappear, it had to be the coldest of the week...

"For all we know, he can't even hear us," you sighed, tucking your hands in your pockets. "We might have more luck tomorrow... y'know, when it's not twenty below freezing."

"We already came all this way, we might as well bring him back," he grumbled, sharply, pressing forward with a taut look. "Christ, why is it so fuckin' cold..."

His tone came as barely a shock, your eyes unable to stave off their eyes roll.

'Someone's cranky...'

The crew hat been docked on a fall island for a little under a week, waiting for the log pose to set, but it was clear that the crew was already starting to go a little stir crazy.

Some more than others...

But, after a day of exploring and forest shenanigans, Luffy had yet to come back, and both you and Zoro were sent as his search party—the swordsman having been woken up from his pre-night watch nap.

Which would explain why he was acting so grouchy.

Or... grouchier than usual.

"C'mon, Zoro, we've been searching for an hour... How about we give it a rest?" you suggested, sincerely. "From what I can tell, this place is inhabited by nothing but deer, rabbits, and squirrels. I'm sure Luffy can survive the night."

The swordsman kept his gaze forward, not slowing down at all.

"It's dark, and this island is full of frozen lakes," he stated, matter-of-factly. "If that idiot manages to find some way to fall into one, he's done for."

Slightly, you deflated, looking off to the side.

You hadn't thought of that...

Cheeks puffed, you hugged your arms a little closer to your body, attempting to close out the chill of embarrassment.

You knew Zoro didn't mean anything by it—seeing as he talked like that to everyone—but you couldn't help but suddenly feel annoying, your excuses probably the last thing he wanted to hear after being dragged out of bed.

'Dammit, (y/n)... always whining about something...'

This was an insecurity that plagued you constantly.

When you first joined the Strawhats, it was blindingly clear that you were nowhere near the strongest of the bunch.

You weren't fast like Brook.

Or powerful like Luffy

Or even smart like Robin.

You were just... (y/n).

Average, human (y/n).

The only thing particularly unique about you was your skill with a needle and thread.

You were the ship's seamstress, and the clothes you created for the crew were all exquisitely crafted and perfectly tailored to their needs.

It didn't matter how much thread you had, how much fabric you were given, or even how bad the damage was.

You could easily turn it into something both stylish and practical, your craftsmanship that of a seasoned pro, someone who had been honing their trade for decades upon decades.

But you were only twenty.

And while the rest of the crew saw this incredible talent, and often sang your praises for it, you couldn't help but feel useless.

How the hell was sewing supposed to help you win a fight?

You couldn't feather stitch an enemy into submission.

Day in and day out, you trained, hoping to build your strength enough to run with the big dogs.

Even during the crew's two year break, you hadn't laid a finger on your sewing machine, focusing solely on your fighting prowess.

But when you came back, utterly elated by your newfound brawn, you were quick to realize that the monsters had gotten stronger, too.

And you were right back where you started.

"SHI—!"

Your little, mental pity party was interrupted as you tripped over a tree root, feet stuck and body flying forward toward the ground.

Luckily, a pair of strong arms caught you with a death grip, forcing a gasp out your lips as your hands shot up to cling to his broad shoulders, your face smashing into his muscular chest.

'I think I'll go die now...'

Deathly embarrassed, you quickly pulled your head up, stomach lurching and heart stuttering as you caught sight of his face.

"I'm sorry..." you muttered, meekly, eyes slightly wide and completely entranced.

He had a hardened face, with dark eyes and a dark aura—not at all like the men that typically hit on you (not that you thought he was hitting on you now)—and surprisingly soft looking lips.

It was common knowledge that Zoro was anything but ugly, but just seeing his features up close...

He was such a pretty man.

"You good?" Zoro asked, raising a brow.

Clearing your throat, you nodded, allowing him to stand you back upright, and allowing yourself the chance to reign yourself back in.

Your "little" crush on the swordsman was something that plagued you from the moment you joined the crew... and if we're being honest, who could blame you?

Not only was he incredibly attractive, but he had morals; honor; and most importantly, chivalry.

Which, in your private opinion, far surpassed Sanji's.

But, it was beyond obvious that the man was completely out of your league, and you preferred keeping your feelings bottled up and saving yourself the embarrassment rather than getting rejected by a crewmate.

You'd seen the caliber of women that had come onto him in the past.

Powerful, female enemies...

High ranking Navy officials...

A fucking princess...

How could you hold a candle to that?

Though, little did you know, he thought the exact opposite.

While Zoro was a man who prided himself of self-restraint and respect, he couldn't help but let his eyes rake over you as your arms came up to cross over your chest.

Smooth, tanned skin accentuated under the complementary white of your cropped parka, your jeans just loose enough to run, and just tight enough to make your ass look fantastic.

Your lipgloss made your plump lips look so soft and inviting, and your eyes were so warm he felt like they heated him from the inside out.

And don't get him started on your sexy-ass voice—

"What did you trip over?" he quickly blurted out, glancing down at the ground to fight off the impure thoughts.

"It looks like a handle," you remarked, squatting down to take a closer look. "And I think there's a square outline in the ground."

Slowly, you looped your manicured fingers around the tree root, getting ready to pull.

"Careful..." Zoro warned, swords at the ready.

You nodded, and with a harsh tug, the door lifted, revealing a small compartment with a large jug inside.

Grabbing it by the neck, you pulled it out, dusting off its label to see what it was.

"It's sake... from over twenty years ago."

Instantly, a grin stretched across Zoro's face, the man gratefully taking the bottle as you handed it to him.

"Now we're talkin'," he smirked, popping the cork with his teeth and swiping the bits of dirt off the mouth. "Just what I needed."

"Are you sure you wanna drink that?" you asked, warily, as you stared at the bottle's contents. "I've never seen pink sake before..."

The man shrugged, his good eye taking a quick glance at it before he tossed back a large gulp, licking the remnants off his lips when he was finished.

"Eh, it's probably native to this island or somethin'," he waved off, turning around to continue the search. "It's strong... tastes like strawberries."

With a sigh, you stood to follow him, brows flattening as you watched him pound back another huge swig.

'I'll have Chopper check him out when we get back...'

It wasn't long after that you guys found Luffy.

He had been napping in a tree the whole time, and after you and Zoro gave him a serious scolding for worrying everyone, you dragged him back to the ship, you practically slumping against your door once you made it back into your work room.

Your day had been a whirlwind, to say the least, and your body wanted absolutely nothing more than to sprawl out on bed and catch some Zs.

But, even with the late, or rather, early hour—two to be exact—you didn't allow it.

First, you changed into some more comfortable clothes—some pajama shorts and a flimsy tank top—before straightening up the mess you had made in an attempt to make everyone new winter coats.

Once all that was done, you finally sat down at your desk, opening up your sketchbook and pulling out a pen to draw with.

'Alright, Nami said she wanted a new party dress...'

But before you could even draw the first line, someone frantically knocked on your door.

"For fuck's sake..." you sighed, throwing your head back in anguish.

You had half the mind to ignore it.

And, honestly, you did, returning to your book and pretending to be asleep.

But it wasn't long before the frantic rap turned into a distressed bang, completely disrupting your flow.

"Fine! I'm coming!" you caved, roughly pushing your chair back and storming toward the door.

If Kaido himself wasn't burning down the ship, heads were going to roll.

"Usopp, I swear to God, if this is some kind of jo—"

Swinging the door open, you never in a million years would have expected to see Roronoa Zoro on the other side.

Especially not looking like that.

"Shit," he panted, breathless, as he clutched his stomach, leaning against the door frame for support.

Of course it led him to you...

"Can I... mph! ...Can I come in?"

In front of you stood the first mate of Luffy's crew, his most trusted companion, his most loyal friend.

And the hands-down hottest man you had ever seen.

He was in nothing but some black sweats, his muscular arms and abs on perfect display.

His face was flushed, cheeks puffed with his hair tousled, and chest heaving like he'd just run a marathon.

Without thinking, you stepped to the side, allowing him in, now incredibly thankful that you'd tidied up beforehand.

Can't have the place looking like a pig sty...

Feeling something burning into the side of your head, you shut the door, turning around to see that he was staring at you intensely.

His eyes, once a beautiful steel gray, mimicking that of the swords he cherished so dearly, now resembled that of storm clouds, dark with something you couldn't place your finger on.

Yet something that worried you nonetheless.

"Are you okay?" you asked, raising a brow, not daring to touch him as he leaned against the wall, his legs having a slight tremble.

"No," he replied, his voice a half-whine, half-growl, the sound sending shivers down your spine. "Something's... something's wrong... and... fuck! Everything hurts!"

"Hurts?" you parroted, now even more confused.

If he was in pain, why would he come to you?

You were just the seamstress, someone with little to no medical knowledge.

Why not go to Chopper?

Hell, why not go to Robin?

He let out another pained groan, sending a small, sharp pang to your heart.

'Questions are for later.'

Swiftly, you approached, only stopping when you were about a foot in front of him.

Leaning forward, your eyes scanned over his body, checking to see what you could deduce off looks alone.

"What hurts?"

Before he could answer, his eyes trailed down to your chest, the cut of your tank top and the angle you were leaning giving him a perfect view of your tits.

'Fuck me...'

Embarrassed, he avoided eye contact with you, his gaze flicking down to his crotch before zooming off to a far away window.

Still thoroughly confused, your eyes followed his path, only to find that he was hard, and it looked almost painfully so.

'Oh, shit...'

Your face burned, and you quickly snatched your eyes away from the sight.

"What happened?" you squeaked.

"I don't know," Zoro rasped, his entire body shuddering with arousal, heat pulsing through his body so intensely it hurt. "I woke up in my room an hour ago, and... well."

He gestured to his hard-on, the message clear.

"I tried to rub one off but... fuck... nothing worked. And then it got worse... and then—"

Red-faced, he glanced away from you, nostrils flaring.

Why couldn't shit like this happen to the damn cook?

"I...fuck...I smelled something...shit...something that just made it even worse, so I went to find it..." Zoro swallowed thickly, "and it lead me here."

Here?

HERE?

'HERE?!'

Why would, what was obviously some sort of lust sickness, lead him to you?

And why would your scent make it even worse?

Sure, you thought the man was stunningly handsome, and the mysterious, stone-cold air about him intrigued you to no end... but this was too much.

It had to be a dream.

Right?

Suddenly, Zoro crumpled to the floor, breathing heavily in short pants, eyes glassy and cheeks flushed.

"Zoro!" you gasped, worried, rushing over to him.

"Look... I don't know how or why this... whatever it is...led me to you by your fuckin' scent or somethin'," he shuddered, the room somehow filled with your damn smell.

The shampoo you used.

The body wash.

The perfume.

Hell, the goddamn candles.

Everything just set something off inside of him—something that wanted to ravish you until you couldn't speak, trapped under his body helpless and needy.

Just like he was for you.

God, you were his fucking crewmate.

"Look, I wouldn't ask this of you, (y/n), if there was any other choice..." he rasped, your name on his tongue sending another shiver down your spine.

'Get a hold of yourself...'

"But you're the only one that caught this thing's attention. I don't think think this'll go away normalLY!"

His word extended as pain thrummed through his body, starting at his pelvis and sparking up his back.

God, it hurt so fucking bad.

But as the body cramp passed, he looked up at you with glassy eyes.

"(y/n), please. I'll...fuck! ...I'll fuckin' get you something nice at the next island..." he shuddered again. "Just help me..."

You stared at him for a long moment, struggling to process what was happening.

This had to be some sort of freaky dream.

You'd probably passed out from exhaustion at your desk, and were now face first in your sketchbook.

But looking down at him, so helpless, trembling like an injured deer, it felt oddly real.

...

'Nahhh...'

With a heavy sigh, you moved closer, until you stood over him, his breathing becoming rapid and uneven.

You smelled so fucking good.

He just wanted to have you, to keep you.

To devour you.

You knelt in front of him, tilting your head and lifting him just enough, giving him a warm nod of approval.

That was all he needed.

In an instant, Zoro surged forward, his impossibly soft lips capturing yours in a breath-stealing kiss, granting him a faint pang of relief.

If this was a dream, then it was the most vivid one you'd ever hand.

His lips felt so real, pressing a searing kiss into yours, all the pain and arousal he had been feeling clear as day.

Smoothly, his nimble hand curled around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head.

"Fuck, you're so soft... You smell so good," he muttered into your mouth, his hands wandering all over your body.

You took in a shuddering breath when Zoro pulled away, giving you a small chance to regain your senses as his lips traveled down your jaw and to your neck, his teeth scraping your sensitive skin.

You sighed, the feeling alien.

Sure, you weren't a prude—you'd frenched a guy or two from your village in your teen years—but never had you done something so... intense.

"Zoro!" you gasped as he suddenly shoved you to the floor, his pupils dilated beyond relief.

"I'm givin' you an out right now," he warned, leaning down so close to you, you could count his eyelashes. "One word... and I'll leave.

God, his eyes were so pretty.

You could stare into them for hours, getting lost in their cloudy grey.

'Wait... what did he say?'

Zoro pressed his forehead against yours, his breath ghosting across your lips, "Last chance."

He almost sounded nervous.

He wasn't at all experienced in the world of sex.

And, yes, he was a pirate who often cared little about the feelings of others.

But he wasn't a monster.

Nothing further was going to happen without your say so.

With a shy smile, you leaned forward, pressing a soft kiss on his lips.

'Thank God.'

With that out the way, his hips pressed into yours, and you let out a shocked moan into his lips, feeling his hardened dick throb with each throb of his heart.

God, he felt big.

A small pit of nervousness settled in your stomach, but you pushed it away, following instinct by lifting your hips, helping Zoro get some relief from the pain as you carefully rubbed your pulsing core against him.

And it felt fantastic.

Zoro let out a shuddering sigh, pulling away from the kiss and looking down between you both, his hips already meeting yours in a rhythm.

"Fuck—" he groaned, almost flopping completely on top of you, his large arms enveloping your body as he ground against you.

"Fuck fuck fuck, dammit, you already feel too fuckin' good," he kissed your neck, scraping his teeth against your skin as he dry humped you. "Thankyouthankyouthankyou."

You let out mousy responses to his thanks, rutting back into his hips until it wasn't enough for him anymore.

He sat up abruptly, scooping you up as if you weighed nothing and standing up on wobbly legs, walking over to your bed and setting you down less than gently.

(Franky had installed a bed in your workshop after the fiftieth time you'd fallen asleep at your desk. Yes, he counted)

You bounced as you landed, almost squeaking as Zoro's rough hands explored your body once again, tugging off your sleep clothes in a fumbling, desperate manner.

You sat up to help him slide off your shirt, his eyes catching on the soft curves of your shoulders and waist, studying the way your stomach smoothed out into your hips and thighs, your skin so soft under his touch.

He leaned down, trailing his lips against your hips and stomach, his tongue licking up your waist until it reached your breast, his mouth latching onto your hardened nipple as you shivered at the pleasurable feeling.

He whispered your name against your skin like a prayer to the gods, and you took in a sudden, deep breath.

You'd never imagined your name sounding so sexy.

'This has to be a fucking dream, it has to be...'

Something like this would never actually happen to you—so you decided to just enjoy it.

Soon, your pants followed your shirt, landing on the floor behind Zoro.

He stood, staring down at you with dark eyes, his chest heaving, you almost matching him with how hard you were breathing.

Suddenly, he pulled your underwear off, exposing your soaked core to the freezing air of your workshop.

"Wait, Zoro, I've never—"

You couldn't even finish your sentence, his mouth already meeting your core, his tongue driving into you while his thumb circled your clit.

"Zoro!" you cried out, your hand reaching down to grab his soft hair, bucking your hips against his mouth.

It felt better than anything you could've ever imagined.

But just as quick as it came, his tongue left you, your whine not even making it halfway before your back was arching, all three of his fingers shoved into you.

The mix of pain and pleasure was delicious, and you almost instantly understood why some peple were addicted to it.

His mouth replaced his thumb on your clit, his diits unraveling you so easy.

You moaned his name like a broken record, the heat in your face reaching down your entire body, sighing as he pulled his fingers out.

You watched, intently, as Zoro tugged off his pants, his boxers going with his clothes, landing right next to yours.

He was gorgeous.

Years of hard, grueling training left him toned, every bit of him defined and carved by the gods.

He stroked his cock, and something churned in your stomah at the sight of it.

It as really big—if this was real, then you'd be sore beyond belief.

You swallowed, letting Zoro maneuver your body and legs as he lined himself up, rubbing the pink-tipped head of his dick against your folds.

He looked into your eyes, and smirked, before pushing in with one motion, his eyes snapping shut at the feeling of your hot, soft walls.

In an instant, his body cooled down, allowing a moment of relief before it came back twice as painful.

Meanwhile, you had breathed yourself through it quite well, the painful sting already beginning to disappear.

Suddenly, he let out a pained, lustful moan, slowly pulling out before thrusting back in.

It as simple at first, a novice pace, the sound of your wet cunt suctioning around him echoing throughout the room.

Your breath was suddenly stolen as Zoro pressed down into you, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist as his hands pinned your wrists to the bed.

"Fuck fuck fuck," he growled.

He sounded like an animal in heat, his hips hammering into yours, the sound of your cunt being abused growing louder.

"Ah...ah...aah!" you panted, drool leaking down the side of your mouth as Zoro fucked you hard, his hips slapping against your thighs and ass, the sound only turning you on even more.

And it seemed to be doing the same to Zoro.

He bit your shoulder, moaning so loud you were sure the entire ship would've had complaints.

If this wasn't a dream, of course—which you were positive it was.

Your first orgasm came fast and hard, fireworks exploding in your vision as the coil wound in your gut snapped.

Zoro let out a tutered groan, frantically pulling his dick out and coming all over your stomach, the amount a concerning one.

But he was still unsatisfied.

With a grunt, he clutched his side, another cramp rushing through his body and forcing him to flip you over, pulling up your hips.

Your face burned as he ignored your sputtering words, sliding back into you, his breath hitching as you clenched down on him yet again.

Using his strength, he practically overtook you with his body, arms wrapped around your waist and hips pistoning as he hammered you like there was no tomorrow.

You couldn't even breath, each thrust knocking the wind out of you.

Fixing his position, Zoro shifted his hips ever so slightly, sitting up on his knees, forcing you to see stars.

Ecstasy flooded through your body as your front half went completely limp, panting moans pushing from your chest with each slap of Zoro's hips against your ass.

It wasn't long before your second orgasm came crashing through you—not as intense as the first but ust as hard.

Feeling himself right on the edge, he quickly pulled away, letting out a brathy whisperof your name as he pumped himself, releasing all over your back.

It continued like this for a while, the pain only disappearing after two more rounds.

And once it did, he carefully let go of your hips, them dropping like dead weight as all of your strength was completely sapped away.

Zoro was utterly exhausted, panting and aching everywhere, but he could only imagine how you felt.

He himself had never made it past first base with a woman before—he'd never had time for relationships, sexual or romantic—but he wasn't stupid.

He'd heard many a tale about the soreness that exists after sex for women.

And you had done him a serious solid.

So he forced himself to stand up, pulling on some pants before walking to the bathroom on tired legs and grabbing a few wash rags.

He got you cleaned up with the warm, damp ones, before using a cold one to cool the rest of your body.

But once that was done, he had no energy to do anything else, allowing himself to fall back against the pillows, breathing heavily.

Though, he didn't waste any time in wrapping his arms around you, pulling your back flush against his chest.

He couldn't just leave you after what he did...and if he was being honest, he didn't want to.

Watching your sleeping form, snoring softly and snuggled under the sheets, brought a certain warmness to his heart he had never felt before.

He didn't know what tomorrow would bring, but the least he could do was hold you in his arms while he had the chance.

Maybe, one day, this could be real.

BONUS !!

The shouts of your captain snatched you from your death-like sleep, waking you with a groan as your eyes fluttered open, only to be blinded by the golden rays of morning light seeping through the window.

You let out a tired whine, covering your head with your pillow.

'I knew I should've got those curtains...'

Sitting up, sluggishly, you almost immediately regretted it when a jolt of pain shot through your core, the following soreness and aching rippling throughout the rest of your body.

"The hell?" you winced at the pulse between your legs.

It practically hurt to breathe.

And you had no idea why.

Confused, you lifted the blanket to check what was wrong, only to find that you were completely naked.

'Oh, shit... oh shit, oh shit, OH SHIT!'

You whipped your head around, looking for any sign of the handsome pirate, only to find him snoring soundly right next to you, one of his arms haphazardly strewn around your waist.

Going off his positioning, it looked like you two were tangled in the sheets, his arms holding you protectively for most of the night.

"Last night was real..." you muttered, wincing again, your voice nearly gone.

A raspy tone only acquired after screaming nearly all night long

'Oh, shit! Fuck! The others! I was so loud!'

Frantic, you didn't realize how close you were to the edge, your lips letting a yelp slip as you fell over.

Instantly, you hit the floor with a harsh thud, letting out a string of curses as another jolt of pain coursed through your legs and hips.

"Fuck..." Zoro groaned as he patted the space next to him, attempting to feel for you as he stirred awake from the noise. "Where the hell did she—oh, shit, (y/n)!"

Realizing you were on the ground, his eye shot wide, and he quickly scrambled to the edge of the bed, wrapping his arm around your waist and effortlessly hoisting you into his lap.

"Crap, (y/n), are you alright?! Are you hurt?!" he asked, frazzled, and still trying to wake up. "Shit, (y/n), I'm so sorry. I didn't mean for all this to happen. I shoulda listened to you and left the damn sake alone."

To say he felt ashamed was an understatement.

He was absolutely mortified.

The events of last night began coming back to him in flashes, the pit of guilt in his stomach sinking deeper with each one.

Where he dragged his tongue against your skin...

Every hickey and bite mark he left behind...

The feeling of your gummy walls squeezing against him...

That's not how he wanted your first time together to be.

He wanted it to be something slow and special, something a woman like you deserved.

But instead it was fast and in the spur of the moment, all because he was stupid enough to guzzle some mystery drink and fall under the effects of a lust spell.

"I—"

Raising your finger to his lips, you silenced him, eyes suddenly lidded as you leaned forward, forcing the two of you to lay back down, much to his confusion.

"Talk later," you mumbled, sleepily, nuzzling into his side as you pulled up the covers. "Sleep now."

Allowing your eyes to flutter shut, you let out a smooth, content sigh, slowly drifting back into slumber.

Incredulous, Zoro let out a small chuckle, but complied anyway, his arms snaking around your waist once more, pulling you further into him with a slight smirk.

Maybe he had that jug to thank after all...

[monstersflashlight]

Patreon Commission for @wimble_warcrime

Request: So basically, I was thinking of a disgustingly cute fluff piece about a werewolf and his mate going on a winter vacation a month before his mate is due to give birth to his litter. It's like a last hurrah before their family dynamic is changed forever, and they want to spend it alone. But (!), things don't go as planned, and she's forced into labour (after a particularly rowdy round in the sheets), and their also stranded in the middle of nowhere in the log cabin because of a sudden blizzard. So, werehubby and her have to deal with the birth alone, without pain meds or power.

A/N: I hope this meets your expectations, I changed it a lil bit and added power to the mix so there was someone not panicking. It was very interesting to write. :)

Cabin surprise

Werewolf x fem!reader || sfw (mainly), found family feels || tw: pregnancy, labor

When you first arrived to the cabin, everything felt so new and cozy that you felt instantly at home, it was like you could inhale the peace around you, the woods, solitude, the chirps of the birds outside… And your werewolf husband cursing because he kicked a rock while carrying your bags. Typical.

You tried not to laugh, but when you looked back and saw him looking at the rock as if it personally offended him, you let out a soft chuckle. He looked up, eyebrows furrowed and a scowl on his face, but as soon as your eyes met, it disappeared. His face broke into the biggest smile possible, his ears twitching like they did when he was excited.

Staring at him from the porch of the cabin, hand resting on your very big belly and a soft smile as you looked at him. It was just the epitome of relaxing situation. He walked to you in a rush, not caring that he probably kicked a few more rocks in his way. He was a werewolf on a mission, and his mission was you.

He hugged you with his free arm, squeezing you to his side as he walked inside. “Come on darling, let’s get you settled and then I can rub your feet.”

“I don’t need you to do that,” you tried to argue instantly.

He looked down, faking annoyance. “I know. But I want to.”

He had been more than helpful since you found out you were pregnant. Well, since he sniffed your neck and informed you that you were going to be parents. That was a weird breakfast. But it was magical at the same time, he looked so excited his tail didn’t stop wriggling from side to side for hours. Literal hours wriggling his tail, and his ears twitching in excitement every time he looked at you. His excitement had died down a tiny bit, but he was still over the moon about the baby. Or at least he acted like it.

You had the suspicion that what he really liked was seeing you round with his babies, he fucked you harder than ever, being careful not to put too much pressure or weight on your belly, but fucking you until your arms and legs were trembling and you were drenched in his come, your stomach and pussy messy as he marked you over and over.

He whispered sweet nothings in your ear every time it happened, too. He told you how much he enjoyed seeing you full of his cub, how he wanted to keep you full of come so you would smell like him forever… And you lapped it up. You lived for the attention, he was hornier than ever, and that helped a lot with your crazy pregnancy hormones that made you want to jump him every single second you had available.

And good lord if he complied with that.

He didn’t leave any of your desires without fulfillment. You wanted to be fucked raw doggy-style until your body was sore? Done. You wanted to suck his dick until he was crying and begging? Done. You wanted strawberries and cream out of season? Don’t worry darling, he would drive three towns over until he found them.

And right now, you knew full well what you wanted. And that was to be ravaged by your werewolf. “Come here,” you told him, eyes hooded and a primal hunger boiling inside of you.

His smirk was knowing as he approached, lowering his head enough to kiss your waiting lips. You deepened the kiss instantly, grabbing his hair and pulling until he was whimpering against your lips and grabbing your ass, pulling you up and walking you to the room.

And once again… he complied with all your desires.

But when you woke up a couple hours later, soreness wasn’t the first thing you felt, but the agonizing pain of contractions. Fuck. You were in so much trouble. You could hear the wind outside, which wasn’t a good sign.

You tried to remain calm as your brain freaked out completely. “Honey. Honey, wake up. I think we need to go.” He mumbled something in his sleep, and you turned to his sleeping form and hit him right in the chest. “Wake the fuck up, the baby is coming!” You snapped.

He stood up in one fast movement, looking around in confusion. “What?!” He was blinking rapidly, as if he could stop being sleepy if he did that.

You stared right back at him, but when another contraction hit, you squeezed his arm until he winced. “I have contractions. The baby is coming.”

Instant panic. “But… But we aren’t ready. We don’t have the stuff and… and. Hospital. We need to get to the hospital.” You looked at him and pointed at the window, which was obscured by the dark clouds outside and the huge amount of snow falling. That fact hit him harder than you expected. “There’s a fucking storm outside, we can’t go to the hospital. Shit. Shit. Shit. What do we do? What do I do?”

You breathed hard, trying to collect yourself. “Honey, I need you to calm down, and go get some supplies. We can do this together, okay? We can.” You reminded him. “Say it,” it was an order between clenched teeth.

“We can do this,” he repeated, breathing deeply and looking at you with a hint of desperation.

You looked at him, nodding shortly. “Okay. You aren’t going to pass out right?” You were sure he would hold strong, but at that moment you really needed him to be on fucking alert.

He looked offended. “What? No!”

“Okay. Go get towels and clean water and all those stuff they get in movies,” you instructed.

He got everything he could as you tried to remember all the things they taught you in parenting classes, how to breathe, what to do when the worst pain hit… All that things that at the moment felt a bit stupid but right now were saving you from panicking.

But then your amazing husband returned, he had the best idea ever. “Let me call the Alpha, she will know what to do.” You nodded, squeezing his hand until he whined at the next contraction.

He talked in hushed tones as the Alpha told him some stuff you couldn’t pick. Your brain was entirely focused on the pain and the way your lower body was starting to feel too heavy.

“Okay, okay… Darling, I got you. I got you. Alpha is going to walk us thru’ it, okay? She’s done it a thousand times with wolves in the pack, right?” You nodded, looking at him with tears in your eyes. He looked panicked still, but a lot more collected. “We can get through this. And then we’ll have a beautiful baby that will look a perfect mix between you and me, okay? You want that right?” You nodded again, a single tear leaving your eye as he helped you into a better position.

Step by step he followed what the Alpha was saying on the speaker, never stopping giving you encouragement and compliments. How good you were doing, how pretty you looked even when you felt like shit, how much he loved you… And with each word and each contraction, you felt a bit lighter, a bit better. And when the time to push arrived, he held your hand as he guided you through it.

And when you thought your body couldn’t hold anymore, when you thought you were about to die because of the pain… Then you heard a cry.

You opened your eyes enough to see a ball of fur and soft human skin on your husband’s arms, smiling down at him like he’s the most precious thing he’d ever seen. And you can understand why. Because he is. He’s the most precious baby. Delivery wasn’t over, but the rest flew by in a few seconds (or you thought there were seconds) because you knew your baby boy was okay and well…

You were breathing hard, body completely spent, when your husband approached you, already clean and with a bundle of covers on his arms. “You did it, darling.” He kissed your forehead. “You did so good, look at him, he’s so beautiful. Looks just like you…” He passed you the baby and you couldn’t hold back the tears. He looked so perfect, his tiny pointy ears twitching at the sound of your voice, and his nose scrunching as you booped him. He was… perfect.

The next morning you woke up feeling more than soreness, your whole body hurting but with a delicious smell of pancakes and bacon arriving from the kitchen. You wanted to get up, but before you could, your beautiful werewolf was walking back into the room, a plate full of food in one hand, and your beautiful baby in the other.

“The whole pack is here to help, the ran through the blizzard to get here,” he told you with tears in his eyes. You were a lot more sensitive than him at the moment, so the contained tears weren’t your reaction. You started to sob very loudly, alerting the whole pack who entered the room in a panic.

You found yourself half naked in bed, with your whole family looking at you with love and understanding in their eyes…

You did good. Both of you did perfect.

[jtargaryen18]

The Arrangement ~ Chapter 4

Series Masterlist

Words: 8k (Because apparently I lack self control)

Pairing: Thomas Shelby (Peaky Blinders) x Reader F

Warnings: References to disappearances, kidnapping, threats, and emotional angst. Explicit sex (reader is taught a couple of things). The calm before the storm.

Your stepfather is spreading rumors like wildfire, pushing Tommy to consider his options. Polly tries to prepare Tommy for what's coming soon. You're still awake when Tommy gets home late after a long day of business. You surprise him.

Disclaimer: The author of this work claims no ownership of characters aside from the reader, and original secondary characters mentioned. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and darker themes. By reading this work or any works on my blog (jtargaryen18), you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work hosted on any third party app or site.

The dull roar of conversation and the sound of clinking glasses filled the Garrison’s packed front room. Music from the old upright piano came from somewhere in the background, a few drunken voices rose in song, and boots scuffled against the floorboards. It was Friday night, and Small Heath drank like it needed to forget its many troubles for one night.

But behind the frosted glass of the Shelbys’ private booth, the mood was anything but festive. Here, the air was filled with cigarette smoke, tension, and quiet calculation. Tommy Shelby’s eyes scanned the manifest in front of him—half reading, half somewhere else entirely. Because truthfully, he wanted this meeting over with. The logistics, the dock delays, the endless talk of cargo and contacts and who needed reminding of which alliance—he could recite it all in his sleep. 

He wanted to get through it quickly—to get back to the quiet of his house, to the girl sleeping upstairs in his bed right now. Each day, she seemed to feel a little better, refusing the laudanum after the third night. In the last week, he'd managed to take a couple of his meals there with her, enjoying the fragile bond that was forming between them.

It was more than that. She’d been calmer in his presence. There was trust in her eyes, in the way she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. Each night she fell asleep on her side of the bed, and he woke up with her sprawled across him and his side of the bed early the next morning. Fortunately, she never woke when he did before dawn. It spared her from seeing the state their newfound intimacy left him in every morning.

Everything was still going according to his plan and he reminded himself of that in those moments when impatience got the best of him. Soon, Small Heath would learn the lesson he wanted to teach them. He'd have himself a nice young bride, all that was left were the formalities the way he saw it. Maybe he'd have her brother too as an addition to his crew.

All he knew was that it made him want to leave the ledgers behind, push the folders across the table, and walk out the door without a word. But for now, he focused on the task at hand —because business came first, and nothing could look out of place.

"Tom?" John's voice pulled him out of his thoughts.

The three brothers and Liam were seated around their private table. The door was closed, the whiskey untouched, and the air held the kind of tension that meant money was moving, and so were men. The ledgers were open, papers spread across the table—manifest lists, customs logs, coded letters from France. Tommy scanned a page in silence, a cigarette between his fingers, while the others waited. 

“Imports from Marseille docked two days behind,” he said finally. “Customs was paid off, but someone held the cargo. You and Liam’ll see who’s sniffing around the docks,” he told John without looking up.

John nodded. “We talking bribes or trouble?”

“Could be both,” Tommy said flatly. “But we find out before they do.”

Arthur was still nursing a hangover from last night. He wasn’t talking much—just watching, brooding, his eyes red and tired. Liam took notes quietly, nodding when assigned to shadow the dockmaster, handle payouts, and verify the goods hadn’t been tampered with. It was business that had to be dealt with. The kind that kept the guns loaded and the books nice and clean. 

At least, it was—until John mentioned the whispers from the street. “You hear what they’re saying about us down by the canal?”

Tommy didn’t look up. “They're always saying something.”

“No,” John said, a little firmer, leaning in now. “This is different.”

That caught Arthur’s attention and he tensed. 

John continued in a low voice. “Sean O’Grady’s running his mouth about the coin toss he had with Arthur. He's complaining that the Shelbys took more than they were owed. Says the girl’s gone—vanished.” He glanced sideways at Arthur. “People are saying he took her and didn’t return her.”

The words hung thick in the air like smoke that wouldn’t clear. Arthur’s jaw locked. That old, familiar twitch started just below his eye—the one that usually came right before something got broken. No one spoke in that moment. Even John, who’d just delivered the news, went still. He watched carefully, knowing he just lit a fuse.

Arthur abruptly rose, color flooding his face. “Fuckin’ bastard,” Arthur muttered, fists already curling. “Talkin’ like I’m the one who crossed the line.” He was breathing harder now, pacing like a caged dog trying to burn off the anger in his blood. “I didn’t even touch her. I passed out cold, just like he planned it. And now my name’s getting dragged through the muck while he—” Arthur gestured to Tommy without finishing the sentence.

The tension was thick. John looked between them, like he was waiting for someone to throw the first punch—or stop the second. Tommy stayed in his seat. He pinned Athur him a stare. This wasn’t just about Sean O’Grady’s lies. It was also about Arthur’s pride.

And the Shelby's control in Small Heath.

“Arthur,” Tommy said.

But Arthur was already marching for the door. He didn’t slam it, but the click behind him was louder than any shout. 

John leaned back as he watched him go, whistling low. “That’s not gonna be the last time we hear about it.”

Tommy stubbed out his cigarette, lit another one.

John swirled his drink in its glass. “Apparently no one’s seen O’Grady’s wife in days.”

That got Tommy's attention. “What’s that?”

John shrugged. “Could be nothing. Could be she’s embarrassed. But Polly heard the mother’s beside herself. Grieving, crying. Not taking jobs.” He paused. "No one's really seen her."

Tommy exhaled slowly through his nose, smoke curling upward in a lazy spiral that drifted toward the low ceiling. Their room fell silent again, just the din of the rest of the bar in the background. John and Liam sat still, watching him. They knew what had happened. They’d been part of it. John had helped move the girl. Liam had been there that night too—a silent shadow keeping things tidy while the rest played out.

It wasn’t a secret. Not between them. Tommy didn’t lie to his own—not about business. Not when it mattered. And did he care that they knew? Not really. They were family. They understood the difference between personal and strategic—how sometimes the lines blurred when power was on the table. Besides, he hadn’t asked for approval. He didn’t need it. They might whisper when he left the room, might wonder if this one girl would shift something deeper inside their brother—but they’d still follow orders. Still fall in line. Because Tommy Shelby didn’t ask for permission. He moved pieces. And they knew better than to question the hand that moved the board.

Tommy hated rumors. Not because they were lies—he could handle lies. Lies were useful. Lies could be shaped, steered, crushed under a boot or fed back to the streets with a smile and a drink. But rumors… rumors had teeth. They spread without control. They bred in silence, passed from one mouth to the next until truth didn’t matter anymore—only perception. And perception was power.

The Shelbys thrived on it—on the fear, the respect, the sharp silence that followed their name down every alley. But now the whispers said Arthur Shelby couldn’t finish what he started. That the girl had vanished. That the Shelbys were hiding something—or someone. He could feel it coming. There would be glances that lasted a little too long. Men would lower their voices when he passed. They were watching. Waiting. And Tommy knew—that couldn't stand. Not because his pride demanded it. Because power demanded it. And if Small Heath thought for even a second that the Shelbys could be questioned, that a drunk like Sean O’Grady could take a swing at their name and walk away unbloodied—then everything he was building would begin to rot from the inside out.

And it was more than just the bloody rumors. It was about damage control. Arthur’s pride, dented and dangling in front of the wolves like bloody bait, was a match in a powder keg. His girl’s safety, and the fragile hold Tommy had on the peace she was beginning to settle into, was at risk. It was about the next move in a game Sean O’Grady didn’t realize he’d already lost.

Tommy leaned back slowly in his seat, tipping his head back as thoughts layered one over another. He considered her mother who no one had seen in days. Was she truly ill? Or had Sean raised his hands, punishing her for his shame? Polly described the woman was delicate, quiet. The type who would break easily in silence.

Then there was Rory. The lad had steel in him—enough to walk into a Shelby-owned betting shop with a weapon tucked in his coat and a question in his heart. If he’d seen his mother bruised, broken… would he act on it? Would he go for the knife this time instead of turning it over in his palm? Tommy’s fingers tapped against the edge of the table. If Rory made a move now, it could really throw a wrench in his well-laid plans.

And then, his thoughts shifted  to her. She was still unsure, but inching closer to trusting him. She didn't know about the rumors nor her stepfather's public slander. She didn't know about her mother. He had to keep it that way. She’d bolt if she found out and run straight back into danger.

Stubbing out his cigarette, Tommy regarded each of them slowly—John, then Liam. Arthur was gone, and letting him stew wasn’t the worst thing. He needed to burn some of that fury off before Tommy could use it properly. But these two—they were still here. Still waiting. Time to make a move. Before someone else did.

“We don’t let this drag,” he said finally, voice low but sharp enough to cut through the silence.

John sat up straighter, already keyed in. “You want him silenced?”

Tommy shook his head once. “Not yet. Silenced men can’t suffer. We make it slow.”

Liam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t speak.

Tommy continued, eyes narrowing. “Find out where he drinks, who he’s talking to. Find the wife. I want eyes on her, too.”

John nodded. “You think he’s laid hands on her?”

Tommy didn’t answer right away. “We make him nervous,” Tommy went on. “Not dead. Not yet. Let him feel the breath on his neck. Then we remind him what it means to put the Shelby name in his mouth.”

He sat back again, lighting another cigarette with quiet finality.

“And if he sends anyone near the house…” John didn't finish the sentence.

Smoke curled from Tommy’s lips as his gaze met John's. “We send them back in pieces.” His kept his tone casual. It wasn't a threat. It was a fact.

John didn’t smile. Didn’t joke. He just gave a single sharp nod.

Let them whisper about wagers. Let them question Arthur’s name, the girl’s disappearance. But if anyone came near that house, near her, if Sean O’Grady so much as looked in that direction—the response would be surgical. No negotiation. No second chances.

Tommy tapped ash into the tray, slow and steady. “If they test us,” he said, eyes still on John, “I want the answer to be so clear they never ask again.”

Then he looked away, finally, his attention shifting to the window and the distorted shapes of the Garrison beyond the glass. Because the game had changed. Now it was personal. And that meant it had to be handled… perfectly.

Tommy took a long drag from the cigarette between his fingers, as the others absorbed what he'd said. But even as he laid out the next steps—another name edged back into his thoughts. 

Rory.

The lad had held it together the first time. Had come to Tommy instead of spilling blood. That had earned him a measure of respect—and, more importantly, a stay of consequences. But this was different. Sean’s name was in everyone’s mouth now. The girl’s absence wasn’t just whispered about—it was noticed. The mother had disappeared, and if Rory had seen what Tommy suspected he’d seen, his temper would be at a rolling boil. And Rory Flynn, for all his quiet strength and good intentions, was still young, desperate, and dangerous.

Tommy sighed, the thought twisting in his chest like a nail worked loose. He couldn’t risk Rory doing something stupid. Not just for the boy’s sake. Not just for hers. But because if Rory acted out of emotion now—if he laid a hand on Sean—he’d throw the whole balance off. It would disolve into chaos.

Tommy turned to Liam. “Find Rory Flynn. Tonight.”

Liam straightened. “Want me to bring him in?”

“No,” Tommy said. “Just watch him. Make sure he doesn’t do anything... irreparable.” He tapped ash into the tray. “If he starts sharpening a blade, I want to know before the first drop spills.”

John leaned in slightly. “Think he’ll go for O’Grady?”

Tommy stared at the swirling smoke in front of him. “He wants to... But he won’t. Not yet. He’s smart. Smarter than people give him credit for.”

John leaned back in his chair, one arm slung casually over the backrest, but there was a flicker of something sharper in his eyes—curiosity, maybe. Or caution. He took a sip of his drink, then asked, “So… are you givin’ her back?” John didn’t say her name.

The question hung in the air—blunt, bold, and only something one of his brothers could get away with. Liam looked down quickly, pretending to reread the papers in front of him.

Give her back? As if she were borrowed. As if she were something he’d taken on a whim and could now return like a misplaced coat. No. That wasn’t how this worked.

Now, when the meetings dragged too long or the nights stretched thin, he thought of her. Not as leverage. Not as property. As someone. He thought of the way she looked at him—guarded but watching. Waiting to see if he was a man or just another monster in a sharper suit. He thought of her voice when it softened. She'd stopped flinching when he entered the room now.

Tommy wasn’t used to being someone people trusted. Feared, yes. Respected, when it counted. But not trusted. She made him want to be that man. Even if he didn’t believe he could be.

So no—he wouldn’t give her back. Not to Sean O’Grady. Not to anyone.

Tommy turned his head slowly, met John’s eyes with a cool, unwavering look. “No,” he said simply.

John nodded, like he expected that answer. “Didn’t think so.”

***

The house was quiet and still when Tommy returned. It was well after midnight. Only the soft tick of the grandfather clock echoed as he hung his coat  and cap, running a hand through his hair, weariness clinging to him like smoke. 

Everyone was in bed—except Polly. She waited in the archway to the sitting room with her arms crossed. The dim lamplight cast deep shadows across her face. “We need a word,” she said, not asking.

Tommy didn’t argue, just followed her inside. She poured a splash of whiskey into a glass—just one—and handed it to him before sitting.

“Arthur’s melting down.” Her voice was steady, but her eyes were sharp. “Everything coming from O’Grady’s camp is eating at him. He’s not just angry, Tom. He feels betrayed. By you.”

Tommy didn’t drink, just stared down into the glass for a moment. “I know.”

“What do you plan to do?”

The answer wasn’t simple. Arthur was fire and glass—burning and breakable all at once. You couldn’t just scold him into sense or soothe him with empty reassurances. He didn’t respond to softness, not when the damage ran deep. The weight of what had happened—the lie, the shift of control, the humiliation of having his name whispered through pubs like he’d lost his edge—that didn’t sit quietly in Arthur’s chest. It twisted, boiled, curdled into something worse. He’d trusted Tommy and followed his lead, even when it meant swallowing his pride and taking a step back. And now he was being painted as the weak one, the fool who’d made a deal he couldn’t finish.

It was the sort of thing that festered in Arthur. He’d take it in for a while, laugh it off, drink it down. Until something snapped—and then, it would come out in a burst of fists or a broken bottle or a body left in the wrong alley.

And Tommy couldn’t afford that.

Arthur needed to be managed—not with orders, but with truth. And maybe, this time, Tommy would have to give him more than he usually did. A glimpse behind the curtain. A reason not to burn everything down. Because if Arthur went off the rails now, they’d all feel it.

And Tommy was already holding the line tighter than anyone realized.

“I’ll talk to him,” Tommy said at last. “Soon.”

She leaned forward, lowering her voice. “We also need to talk about what I’ve been hearing from O’Grady.”

Tommy’s gaze lifted, sharp and immediate. There was a different edge to Polly’s tone—one that meant it wasn’t gossip.

Polly nodded grimly. “His wife hasn’t been seen in days. Word is, she’s taken to her bed, worried. I doubt that. O'Grady's a brute. Always has been. He used to beat his first wife black and blue. She died with the child she tried to birth. After that, many of us hoped he wouldn't marry again, but...”

She trailed off, lips pursed in quiet contempt.

What a bloody waste.  That Malachy Flynn’s family had fallen into the clutches of a bastard like Sean O’Grady. He'd died a war hero. And what was the fate of his family? His daughter, bartered like livestock. His wife, left to rot under the bruising hands of a man who never should’ve been allowed to lay claim to them. And he’d left behind a good son, too. He’d walked in ready to take on the Shelbys, not because he was stupid, but because he was desperate. Because he loved his sister. Because someone had to protect what was left of their family. His were the actions of a man. Malachy would’ve been proud of that. Would’ve wanted better for his boy. Better than the factory lines. Better than a household soaked in silence and bruises. Better than being forced to carry the weight of a man like Sean O’Grady.

It sat wrong in Tommy’s gut. Not just as strategy—as a man.

He downed the rest of the whiskey and set the glass down hard enough to rattle. “He should’ve been buried with his first wife.”

Polly just nodded, grim and silent. “It’s getting out,” she continued, folding her arms. “People are talking. They’re saying the girl disappeared after the wager, and that her mother’s sick with grief. And O’Grady?” She gave a humorless laugh. “He’s unraveling, but still loud enough to make it sound like we’re the villains.”

Tommy didn’t speak. He moved instead—slow, deliberate—rising from the chair and walking to the sideboard. He poured himself another measure of whiskey, let the bottle clink softly back into place. Then he turned, lifting the glass, taking a slow sip as if he were thinking it over—but he wasn’t. He already knew.

O’Grady was shifting public sympathy. Playing the wounded father. Painting himself as the man whose household was ripped apart by Shelby greed. And worse—people were beginning to listen.

“The pity changes things,” Polly said quietly, reading the same map Tommy was. “When they start feeling sorry for the girl, for the mother… the pressure builds. They’ll want answers. And they’ll come looking. Eventually, someone’s going to try and find her.”

Tommy stared into his glass. “Then they won’t like what they find.”

It was going the way he’d planned—for the most part. The girl was safe. Hidden. The message was building. The streets were talking. Good. Let them wonder. Let them whisper. Let every man in Small Heath who’d ever tossed a coin and wagered a woman’s dignity feel the cold edge of consequence tightening around their throats.

But what he hadn’t counted on… Was O’Grady attacking Arthur. Not with fists—but with whispers. Spinning the story. Playing the victim. Rewriting the wager as a betrayal. Painting Arthur as the man who couldn’t keep his end, stealing more than was owed. And worse—people were starting to believe it.

Because Arthur, loud and volatile, always wore his shame on the outside. And Sean O’Grady? He knew how to bleed in front of the right crowd. A drunken brute turned grieving stepfather. It was clever. Cowardly, but clever.

And now Arthur was fraying at the edges, his temper boiling just beneath the surface, and if he broke—if he snapped in public— everything Tommy had set in motion would come undone.

He'd put men around the house, unseen but there, until everything was done. To keep his family safe and to protect her.

“She can’t hear it,” he said flatly. “Any of it. Especially not about her mother. Not until I know the truth.”

Polly nodded, lips pursed. “So you do care what she thinks of you.”

Tommy didn’t take the bait. 

“She’s feeling better,” Polly said, shifting gears. “Restless. Getting underfoot a bit. She reminded me that she worked as a seamstress and can do sewing or mending if we have any.”

Tommy looked up at that. He remembered. That's how he met her, taking his coat for mending. But she hadn’t said anything to him about sewing. Not a word. He thought back—how she’d been quiet, polite, cautious, always watching for signs of what he expected from her. How she’d never asked for anything more than what was given. And even then, only what she thought she could return in silence. A bitter taste rose in his mouth at the thought of it—how little she must expect from the people around her. How small she still made herself, even now.

He could see it clearly in his mind—the old Singer sewing machine tucked in the corner of one of the guest bedrooms, covered with a cloth no one had moved in years. It had belonged to his grandmother.

And those dresses she now wore. Ada’s old clothes—well enough for a temporary fix, but they weren’t hers. They didn’t fit her right. They didn’t move like they belonged to the woman who now walked his halls. He didn’t like it. Didn’t like that she was walking around in someone else’s shape, like she didn’t deserve her own.

“If she wants to sew,” he said at last, voice low, “let her. Make sure she sees the machine.”

Polly tilted her head, watching him. “We're in agreement then. Good. She’s not asking for much, Tommy. She's barely asked for anything since she got here.”

“Then give her what she needs.” Because if she was going to stay—and she was—he didn’t want her patching together the pieces of someone else’s life. He wanted her building something new. Something that was hers. 

Polly watched him, reading more than he gave. “She’s not just sewing, Tommy. She’s looking for something to do. Somewhere to belong.”

He downed the rest of the whiskey in one drink. “Then she’ll have it.”

And he meant it. Whatever came next—Arthur’s temper, Sean’s trap, the girl’s questions—it would all be dealt with. Because keeping her safe wasn’t just about the outside world anymore. It was about keeping her whole, even if he wasn’t.

Tommy just stared into the fire, thumb slowly circling the rim of his glass.

Polly sighed. “You do realize that she doesn’t know.”

His gaze shifted, but he didn’t interrupt.

“Not really. Not the truth of it. She thinks she was caught in a bad deal between men.” Her eyes narrowed, voice low but cutting. “She doesn’t know you were the one who steered Arthur into making that wager. You had her delivered. That you drugged him just to keep her untouched until you could step in.”

He didn’t flinch. But he knew she saw it anyway. 

“You created the entire bloody scenario, Tommy. Don’t pretend it was all about sending a message to Small Heath. You used that to justify your reasons.” She leaned forward, elbows on her knees, voice softer but sharper now. “You did it because your eye fell on her. And you decided, in all your brilliant, broken logic, that you were going to have her.” She let that sink in. “What happens when she finds out?”

He looked away, only for a second. When his gaze returned returned to hers, it was steady. Polly wasn’t accusing. She was warning.

“You think she won’t? That someone won’t slip up? That she won’t put the pieces together herself?”

Tommy’s grip tightened on his glass in his hand. Polly was right. She would find out. And when she did, he’d have to face more than her fury. He’d have to face the possibility that she’d never look at him the same way again. And that, more than anything, unnerved him the most.

Polly watched him closely, her tone softening slightly. “I can usually hear you at night, you know,” she said. “From across the hall. When the nightmares come.”

Tommy didn’t look at her. 

Polly continued, her voice low, matter-of-fact. “You thrash. You shout. Sometimes you cry out names you don’t remember in the morning. Sometimes you don’t sleep at all.”

The darkest visions from the war visited him often at night. The nightmares didn't come from the bullets or the blood, but from the silence between the shell blasts—the moments when he had time to realize he was still alive while better men were not. Now that Polly mentioned it, he hadn't had a single one since he'd moved her into his house, his bed.

Polly waited, but he said nothing.

“But since you moved her into your room…” She paused. “Well, I've heard some things... But not your nightmares.”

The truth settled between them like smoke.

“She calms something in you,” Polly said, quieter now. “And maybe you don’t want to admit that, maybe you can’t… but it doesn’t make it any less true.” She straightened, blowing out an exhale as she studied him. “So the question isn’t if she’ll find out what you did to get her. The question is what you’ll do when she does. Because if she walks out that door, Thomas…” Her gaze was sharp, but not cruel. Just honest. “You won’t sleep again.”

And with that, Polly turned and left the room, leaving him alone with the fire and the weight of everything he hadn't yet said.

***

The moonlight spilled across the floor in soft pools of light, casting long shadows across the floorboards. You sat in the window seat, knees drawn up, arms wrapped loosely around them, chin resting on the crook of your elbow. The night was quiet and still. But your mind wasn’t. Your eyes followed the curve of the moon as it rose over Small Heath, pale and full in a sky smeared with clouds. You hadn’t meant to stay awake this long—had tried to will yourself to sleep—but your thoughts wouldn't quiet.

When the door opened, your fatigue evaporated.

Tommy. He looked tired tonight—shoulders tense, tie loosened—but he smiled when he saw you.

“You should be asleep by now,” he said, voice low and warm as he stepped into the room and closed the door behind him.

“I tried,” you admitted. “But it’s hard… It's like my mind won’t stop when it gets quiet.”

He said nothing at first, just watched you for a moment—like he understood more than he was saying. 

But you had another reason for staying awake. You wanted something. You lowered your knees until you were sitting normally at the window, fingers twisting gently in your lap. It was worth a try. The endless days of being confined to Tommy's house with nothing to do were wearing on you. You were prepared for his answer no matter what it was. But a needle and some thread to do any mending they needed wasn't a lot to ask for. 

And if he wanted something in return? 

Tommy had been so kind to you for the last week during your monthly. To your surprise, he hadn't demanded anything at all. Your mother had once explained that keeping men happy in a marriage was one of the few cards women had to play. Granted, you weren't married to Tommy, didn't know if you'd ever be married to anyone now. But you'd already been intimate with him. It was only a matter of time before he turned his attention back to that, right? Someone as powerful as him wasn't doing any of this out of the kindness of his heart.

But sometimes... it felt like he was.

No, you had to stop thinking like that. As soon as Tommy got what he wanted from this situation, you had some plans to make. You'd need to go somewhere else and pray this scandal didn't follow you.

But first, you had to get through tonight. If he wanted something... Honestly, it wasn't too unpleasant, especially the second time. You'd even enjoyed some of it. But what kind of woman did it make you to be thinking like that? Shaking your head at yourself, you sighed, battling your anxiety.

“I actually stayed up because… I wanted to ask you for something,” you admitted, wilting under his steady gaze. 

He raised a brow, moving closer now. “Go on.”

You glanced back out at the moon for a breath, gathering yourself. "You probably remember that I help my mum with sewing for people. Mending and repairs. I can even make clothing. Nothing fancy, but… if there’s anything in the house that needs stitching or patching, I’d like to help. If you'll allow it." Your gaze met his. “You told me to ask you. So… I am.”

For a moment, he said nothing. Just stood there, painted by the soft gold of the lamp by the bed. His eyes stayed on you—unblinking, unreadable. It made your breath hitch, the way he could go so still. You looked down again, already regretting it. Maybe it had been the wrong time. Maybe he thought it was foolish. Maybe—

“Alright,” he said, simply.

You blinked, glancing back up. His expression had softened, just a little. Enough to make your chest tighten. 

“You’ll have what you need,” he added. “Thread, fabric… whatever Polly hasn’t already set aside.”

You could only nod, the relief flooding through you too quickly to find words. He stepped closer, slow, and crouched a little to meet your eye level.

“That wasn't so hard. I'm hiding you from Small Heath right now.” His voice was quiet but firm. “But in this house, you're not invisible. You're allowed to ask for what you need."

You swallowed hard, trying not to look too moved by the kindness in that—because it wasn’t just approval. It felt like permission to exist. Your lips parted. A quiet, shaky, “Thank you.”

He stood again. 

Then, without quite thinking, you added, “I think about my mother, and Rory, every day. This will help keep my mind busy.”

His shoulders stilled, just slightly. Tommy looked at you with something close to understanding—and something else, too. Something fierce and quiet. "I’ll see to them,” he said. “When the time is right, you’ll know everything. You'll get to see them.”

And strangely, you believed him. Not because he said it gently. Because he said it like a vow. You thought him saying you'd "get to see them" was a little odd. Once everything was over, you'd be going back home, right?

You watched him in silence as he moved about the room—shedding the weight of the day one layer at a time. Jacket off. Waistcoat next. He rolled his sleeves up with practiced ease, every movement smooth and unhurried. It wasn’t the first time you’d seen him like this—quiet, tired, thoughtful—but there was something different about tonight. Maybe it was the way he paused slightly, glancing over his shoulder at you as he unbuttoned his cuffs. Maybe it was the way his brow lifted just a little—curious.

“You got your answer,” he said casually, the corner of his mouth tugging upward. “Was there something else?”

You shifted your weight slightly, embarrassed to be caught lingering. "I'm sorry," you muttered, rising from the window seat and moving to the bed.

He didn’t say anything as you crossed the room—just followed you with his eyes. You climbed onto the bed, keeping close to your side, careful not to take up more space than necessary. The sheets were cool, the pillow soft, but your skin tingled with awareness. You turned to your side, back to the wall, knees drawn slightly up. It was habit by now—putting a little distance between yourself and him, even if he’d never asked for it.

Still, you couldn’t help it. You watched him. Tried not to, but you did.

He finished unfastening his shirt, pulling it off with a fluid motion before draping it neatly over the back of a chair. The soft lamplight caught the lines of his back—strong, lean muscle shifting beneath skin marked by old scars. Pale against the shadows, silent testaments to a life that had never been gentle. He moved with a kind of quiet confidence, not trying to impress or intimidate—just existing in the way only a man who'd seen too much could.

"If you're going to keep looking at me like that," he said, "I might start wondering about your intentions."

Your breath caught. You were caught. Still, your gaze lingered just a second longer before you turned your eyes away—but it was too late. He'd seen it.

And when he crossed the room to join you, it was with a quiet, self-assured ease. He stretched out on his back beside you, one arm tucked behind his head, the other resting loosely across his abdomen. A small smile played at the corners of his lips—not smug, but amused. 

“Something else you wanted?” he murmured, tone casual, teasing.

The hint of amusement in his voice was unmistakable, and it made your stomach flip. You looked over at him, just briefly, then back toward the ceiling. 

What were you doing? He'd given you the answer you were hoping for and he wasn't asking for anything in return. Maybe he was just being kind and not wanting to bother you during your time. Men had no idea how any of that worked. Or maybe... You didn't like the small voice whispering in the back of your mind that maybe he didn't want you anymore. Maybe once his business was settled with your stepfather, he wouldn't need you anymore and you'd be on your own. Maybe he already had what he wanted from you.

Those worries lingered but didn't feel quite right.

"Someone's thinking very hard over there," he mused, still with that note of teasing in his tone. 

Just sleep. Tell him goodnight and go to sleep.

No, you couldn't. Because you wanted an answer to that question. You needed to know if you were reading too much into things.

He was the most powerful man in Birmingham. If he hadn't been trying to use your stepfather to get his point across, would he have even looked at you twice? Was it just the wager? You'd never seen him with anyone but if he ever had a woman on his arm, you'd expect her to be beautiful, sophisticated. You were neither of those things.

Still, it was the random moments when you were alone together that made you wonder if there was more to it. The way he could be caring. Those rare smiles he'd flash. Was it only in your head?  

With no idea what you were doing, you sat up in bed. His gaze stayed on you, the look in his pale-blue eyes pure intensity. You moved closer to him, your hand trembled as you raised it, sliding it along his cheek. Tommy held completely still for you as you held his face in your hand but his expression shifted. The amusement faded, replaced by challenge and desire. How easily the man could burn you down with a single look. 

You leaned in close, feeling like you couldn't breathe but unable to turn back now. You just brushed your lips against his at first, soft and seeking. Tommy wasn't stopping you. He held still and you took it as permission to continue. You kissed him again, more insistently. You weren't sure what to do with your tongue so you shyly ran it along his bottom lip as you went. From there you weren't sure what to do next, and started questioning yourself on what you were doing to start with.

The moment you hesitated, his arms closed around you tightly, hauling you against him. He claimed your mouth with a kiss that sent your heart flying. One hand clutched the back of your gown, the other clutched in your hair. Your hands landed on his bare chest, your fingertips smoothing over muscle and warm flesh. He smelled of sandalwood and whiskey. His warm breath pelted against your face as he pulled back, his gaze searching yours. 

Apparently he found no lie, no duplicity. He smiled, it was just so gorgeous, so genuine that it had your heart shifting in your chest. "Is this what you were after, love?"

You didn't know what to say. You just wanted him to keep smiling at you like that. You nodded. And for good measure, you slid your arms around his neck and kissed him again. You were learning. The deep moan you pulled from him with that kiss made your entire body tingle. Your lips danced together feverishly as his hands yanked up your gown with haste. He only broke the kiss to pull it over your head, to reveal you to him, leaving you only in your drawers. Yes, you were exposed and didn't like the vulnerability it brought, but the heat in those pale blue-colored eyes as his gaze moved over you, froze you to the spot. 

"I called you pretty before," he whispered, "but I changed my mind... You're fucking beautiful." 

He left you no time to react to that. His rough hands skimmed all over your body as he tantalized you with his kisses, seeking out the places that would make you tremble. Your nipples were so tight they hurt under his palms. Tommy pulled you onto his lap as he kissed you but arranged you so that you straddled his body, the center of you just above his muscular thighs. He left you panting when he broke the kiss, his hands going to the front of his trousers, pulling them open and pushing them down his slim hips. Tommy laid back then, taking himself in hand. You watched how his hand moved, the carnality of the act fascinating you. 

"Touch me," he whispered, his voice rough. Impatiently, he grabbed your hand and guided you to wrap your fingers around him. He felt like warm velvet under your fingers as his hand closed over yours, showing you what he liked in gentle, easy movements. Once you picked up the rhythm he wanted, his own hand fell away, landing on your bare thigh. You must have done something right because his eyes slid closed, his jaw slack like the only thing he wanted in the entire world was your hand on his cock. 

"I've thought about this for days," he whispered. "Could barely focus on my meeting earlier, thinking about you."

You knew he was only talking about sex but you couldn't help the way your heart skipped a beat, hearing that he thought about you at all. You kept your hand moving on him, trying to be careful. When you squeezed him just a little, his breath huffed out. He hardened in your hand. You made your grip a little firmer and he moaned, a deep sound that you felt everywhere. It had your own body clenching in need, weeping for him.

"You're a fast learner," he muttered, his eyes slitting open to watch you. "Now, put your mouth on me."

While you had no experience with men before Tommy, you had heard of what he was asking for before. Your mum's best friend had a daughter named Anne who was only a couple of years younger than you. Once when your families visited each other, she told you about what she got up to with the local boys. How she drove them wild. She hadn't been instructing you per se but she told you enough about her exploits that you had an idea of how it went. 

You pressed a kiss to the head of him, shiny and smooth. Then another. You jerked a little at first, to feel his hand on your head, not moving you but there. When you swiped at him with your tongue, he sucked in a breath. You froze. Was that a good thing or had you hurt him? A quick glance at his face showed you that amazing eyes were on you, watching you as you teased him with your mouth. 

When your lips spread around him to pull the head into your mouth, you tasted him. Slowly, you kept going, wrapping a hand around him at the base while your mouth teased the top. You got braver, working more of him into your mouth as he watched. You kept your tongue moving around him, kept your teeth away. Tommy's hips moved with you now, a silent demand for more. All the while he watched, color flooding his face, that blue-eyed gaze on you so intently. Now the hand on your head did guide your movements, urging you to continue.

"Such a good girl." Tommy was breathless. "Feels fucking amazing."

You carried on but within seconds, both of his hands were on your head, urging you to stop. Tommy was panting above you and when your gaze met his, you were so confused. Had you done something wrong? Had you hurt him?

It was like he could see the question in your mind, his expression softened. "That's good. Too good... Not the way I want to end though."

You weren't sure what that meant and you didn't get a chance to think about it. His hands darted between your thighs, fingers sliding into the drawers you wore, sliding easily on all the wetness he found there. He groaned, grabbing your hips and moving you up his body, positioning you over his cock. You didn't understand what he wanted until he pulled your drawers to one side, creating a path for himself at your entrance and you were shaking. Him pushing into you while your drawers were still on was indecent, had your heart pounding in your chest. 

He was inside you but this time you were on top and you weren't sure what to do. Tommy realized that, holding onto your hips and pushing up into you. It felt different, hitting new pleasure points inside you. His movements had you leaning forward, your hands on his chest. He started rolling his hips up into you, using his hands to pull you down on him at the same time. 

"Ride me," he whispered as he kept moving you on his cock, his thrusts speeding up until it felt like he was punching the air from your lungs. 

Changing the position of your legs, you found a way to move on him, helping him along. Your walls clenched around him and you tried circling your hips on him as you moved. 

"Fuck, yes." The heat in his gaze letting you know you were onto something.

You kept going, moving in ways that you hoped made him feel good. It definitely made you feel good. Your nails raked over Tommy's chest as those sensations built in your lower body. Your gaze locked with his as you were joined as one, both chasing relief from the heat and the lust rushing through your veins. When you leaned closer to him, each thrust hit your most sensitive point. You were shaking as all that sensation came for you, and when it hit, it took your breath away. Beneath you, Tommy went faster, his grip on you almost painful as he came. 

Your arms trembled and gave way, leaving you to collapse over him, both of you struggling to breathe as if you'd run a mile. His heartbeat was so loud as you lay sprawled over him and his arms wrapped around you. You liked the way his fingers drew lines over your back, the way his damp skin felt against your cheek.

He pressed a kiss into your hair. "Ever used a sewing machine?"

"No," you replied. "Always wanted to. Mum and I once thought about trying to put some money back each week from what we made to try and save up for one. There was always something more important that came up, that we needed the money for."

You didn't mention that your stepfather with his drinking and gambling was the reason you could never save money, why you struggled to put food on the table.

"We have one," Tommy said. "Polly will get it for you tomorrow, along with any sewing notions we have for you to use."

You lifted your head in excitement, your gaze meeting his. "Really?"

"Really," he said, the corners of his mouth curving up. "Tomorrow. It's after midnight right now. Get some sleep."

You were sleepy, and happy to have something to do tomorrow to keep from worrying about your Mum and Rory every waking moment. And your future.

You fell asleep in his arms, unaware he stayed awake for a while, just watching over you. Polly's words ran through his mind, haunting him.

@outlanderuniverse

@alyssajunelle

@gothic-chinadoll

@sparda1234

[xxsyluslittlecrowxx]

𝐇𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐀𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭.

[ 𝐒𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ]

𝐚/𝐧 : To all my crows—If you’ve been here a while, you know I usually haunt the angsty, aching, slow-burn corners of the fandom. Fluff? Domestic chaos? This is all new territory for me. But sometimes, the right prompt (and the right queen) can coax even a gloom-monger into the light.

So here’s my first real venture into soft moments and kitchen concerts. I hope you enjoy a singing, dancing MC, a teasing, unexpectedly-soft Sylus, and the kind of found family comfort that sneaks up on you when you least expect it.

This was a big step out of my comfort zone, so please be kind in the comments—your support (and softness) means the world!

𝐝𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 : For @someprettyname — Thank you, your majesty, for this delightfully fluffy prompt. Without you, this kitchen would be a lot quieter (and far less sparkly). This is yours.

𝐒𝐇𝐄 𝐇𝐀𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐌𝐄𝐀𝐍𝐓 to wander.

It started as just a walk—an excuse to stretch her legs, to shut up the static humming beneath her skin after sitting too long in a place that didn’t even echo her name, let alone remember it.

But Sylus’s mansion was never meant for soft things. Not for bare feet on chilled marble, or cotton pajama pants brushing against furniture that probably cost more than her entire existence. Every inch of the place screamed: You don’t belong here. With a very tasteful, very intimidating accent.

And honestly? She felt it. In her bones, in her lungs, in the careful hush of every step.

The hallway stretched ahead like something out of a villain’s Pinterest board—endless, empty, lined with faceless portraits and obsidian statues so shiny they probably judged you if you wore cheap mascara. Silver light puddled across the floor in cold, dramatic swaths, filtered through frosted windows that showed her absolutely nothing.

This place is a villain origin story waiting to happen, she thought. And I’m the idiot wandering into it in bunny slippers.

She almost laughed. Almost.

But the air was too still.

Behind her, the soft flutter of metal wings sliced through the quiet. Mephisto landed on the bannister with a delicate clink, his red optic blinking slow. Watchful. Patient. Judgy.

“You again,” she murmured, not bothering to turn. “Of course you’re the nosy one. You probably have spreadsheets.”

Mephisto, as expected, said nothing. But the crow tilted his head, mechanical feathers gleaming like razor-thin blades. She didn’t need words to feel his gaze settle along her spine—a second, silent heartbeat.

Weirdly enough, it was... comforting.

Like the house wasn't watching her anymore.

Someone was.

Not with suspicion. Not even with disapproval, which would've been understandable.

Just... interest. Measured. Curious. Maybe a little ominous.

She slowed, fingers trailing velvet-lined walls as she drifted deeper into the hush. She didn’t know where she was going—only that her pulse was finally calming down. That this—this strange, silent domesticity—felt more real than anything waiting outside these walls.

The fear didn't vanish.

But here, it was... negotiable.

As if the mansion, with all its sleek menace, had decided she might be worth tolerating. As if Mephisto had already logged her movements in some terrifying database labeled Potential Threat: Probably Harmless. As if Sylus—

Nope. Absolutely not.

She cut that thought off so fast it probably got whiplash.

She was still a guest here.

Still a girl in borrowed clothes and morally questinable slippers.

But when she glanced back and saw Mephisto trailing her—silent, loyal, and radiating mechanical judgment—she found herself smiling.

Just a little.

And kept walking.

She followed the corridor’s gentle curve, the floor cool beneath her feet, the air laced with the faintest trace of something botanical—expensive, rare, the kind of scent that whispered you’re underdressed. The light softened here, splintered through patterned glass that painted restless shadows across the walls like they were having a mood.

Mephisto perched on the edge of a side table, talons tapping out an erratic rhythm—half warning, half invitation. He was practically theatrical in his stillness: unblinking, overly dramatic, like a judge in a reality show no one signed up for.

She paused, glanced back over her shoulder, and smirked. “He’s not about to jump out from behind a curtain, is he?” Her voice was low, swallowed by the hush.

Even the security sensors seemed to lean in.

She spun on her heel, calling out, “Sylus? Are you lurking? Or did you finally decide to trust me not to set the place on fire?”

Her laugh slipped out, sudden and small—a startled sound she immediately pretended wasn’t hers.

She turned back to Mephisto, raising a brow. “You’d warn me, right? Blink twice if the twins are about to pop out and scare me into early retirement.”

Nothing. Just the soft, mechanical whir of Mephisto’s gears—a helpful reminder that she was never entirely alone, and never entirely not being judged by a bird with WiFi.

She dragged her palm along the back of a velvet chair, fingertips tracing unfamiliar swirls. It felt oddly intoxicating—unchaperoned, unsupervised, a tourist in a house built for control freaks and beautifully repressed secrets.

“Just you and me,” she murmured, voice warming, shrinking the room to something less vast and more… negotiable.

A hush settled. Not quite comfort—she wasn’t reckless—but almost. Closer than she’d been five minutes ago.

With a last conspiratorial look at Mephisto, she stepped into the light and warmth spilling from the next room. The kitchen—blessedly, miraculously—looked like it might have let someone human inside.

The kitchen was a revelation.

Amber lights crowned polished countertops, casting soft warmth over chrome and ceramic. The air hinted at citrus and something herbal, like a garden had once flirted with the windows and left behind a secret. It was the only room in the mansion that didn’t seem to mind a little clutter: a perfectly folded dish towel, a fruit bowl with exactly three apples, a single mug air-drying beside the sink—proof that someone, somewhere, had been here and survived.

She lingered at the threshold, part-thief, part-tourist, curiosity winning out over self-preservation. “I guess this is as close to normal as I’ll get,” she muttered, glancing back for Mephisto’s verdict.

He’d already claimed the highest cabinet, talons wrapped around the molding like a gargoyle at a black-tie gala.

She drifted to the refrigerator and pulled open the door, letting the cold rush over her like an interrogation light. Inside, everything was arranged with military precision: brand names she’d only seen on TV, more imported cheese than actual food, and a rainbow of jars so organized it was either genius or a cry for help. She stared, half-impressed, then plucked a pear and set it on the counter, grinning.

“You think he alphabetizes his condiments?” she whispered to Mephisto, like she was sharing state secrets.

The silence practically cheered her on.

Her confidence grew with every discovery: drawers lined with artisanal teas, a militant row of spice jars with intimidatingly perfect labels. “Of course he drinks white tea,” she scoffed under her breath. “Probably the kind that comes with a rulebook and a thermometer.” The knots in her shoulders began to unravel, replaced with the quiet thrill of snooping somewhere slightly forbidden.

She made a slow lap around the kitchen, poking at spice jars, lifting lids, seeing how much she could get away with before a robot army descended.

“All right, featherhead,” she called up, “I need your expertise. Are you a sous chef or more of a kitchen overlord? Because I don’t work for tyrants.”

Mephisto shifted, wings fluttering with all the enthusiasm of a disinterested judge.

She dropped into a theatrical bow, pear in hand. “Your Majesty, may I have your blessing to steal exactly one snack and promise not to poison your master in the process?”

No answer. But she could’ve sworn the angle of his head was a yes.

This time, her laughter lingered—a little brighter, a little more hers. In the gentle chaos of everyday life, her heart remembered how to settle.

For the first time since arriving, she felt almost safe.

Almost herself.

The quiet shattered—split by a low, traitorous grumble. Her stomach, voicing its concerns in no uncertain terms.

She blinked down, then glanced at Mephisto, who held his perch with the regal calm of someone who’d never skipped lunch. They exchanged a slow look: hers mildly accusatory, his forever inscrutable.

“Don’t give me that face,” she muttered. “You’re the one who made me forget I haven’t eaten anything that wasn’t vacuum-sealed or 90% caffeine in days.”

Her gaze slid to the pantry, then the fridge. She could’ve grabbed something quick—a handful of crackers, a wedge of terrifyingly expensive cheese—but it would’ve felt like stealing. Worse, it would have felt temporary.

She didn’t want a snack.

She wanted to cook.

“Alright,” she announced, clapping her hands like she’d just been handed her own Food Network special, striding to the countertop with all the misplaced confidence of someone about to burn water. “If we’re doing this, we’re doing it right.”

Mephisto cawed, sharp and judgy—a sound that said, Oh no, she’s serious.

She shot him a look. “Relax, Mephie. I’m not about to hack Sylus’s music archive unsupervised. I know how he gets with his precious things.”

But the kitchen had already started to melt into a lounge she’d previously avoided like a tax audit—walls in matte black, brass accents winking in the low light like secret agents. And there, in the far corner: the record wall.

She stopped. Whistled. Tried not to look like she wanted to marry the entire vinyl collection.

Floor to ceiling. LPs filed with such aggressive neatness it bordered on a kink. Jazz, classical, synthwave, operatic rock, imports in languages she’d need Google Translate just to insult. Each spine lined up like soldiers in a musical army, daring her to touch.

She drifted closer, fingers skating the spines. “I knew he was intense, but this…” Her voice dropped to a whisper, awe and mischief doing a duet. “This is serial-killer-level obsessive.”

Mephisto cawed again, the sound pure disapproval.

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” she sighed. “No breathing near the vinyl. Don’t even think too hard in their direction. But—” She paused at a battered sleeve. “He actually owns this?”

The record was worn at the corners—loved, not just collected. She slid it out, lips curving, nostalgia blooming for a memory she hadn’t lived.

“Oh, I definitely like him more now,” she told the bird, as if Mephisto was taking notes for a future roast.

She lifted the lid, set the record down with the reverence usually reserved for ancient relics and overpriced shoes, and dropped the needle. A heartbeat of crackle—then music, lush and golden, pouring into the room. The kind of song that demanded kitchen dancing and a reckless disregard for dignity.

She glanced at Mephisto, cranked the volume with a devil-may-care grin. “Hope your circuits are ready, because we’re doing this my way.”

The first beat dropped—crisp, insistent, absolutely not optional.

She felt it before she moved. Drums slipping under her skin, bass strutting in like it owned the lease, and suddenly the whole room felt like it belonged to her and her alone.

“Oh, this?” she called, eyebrows doing a victory dance. “This is what music is supposed to feel like, Mephie. Take notes.”

He lingered in the doorway, feathers bristling, optic blinking in a way that screamed, I regret everything.

She did not care.

Not with Amy Winehouse swirling through the air—silk, smoke, and heartbreak. Not when the rhythm took her hand and refused to let go. Not when, just for this moment, nothing belonged to Sylus, or the Hunters, or anyone who thought they could tell her how to be.

This moment belonged to her.

She spun, playfully reckless, toes sliding on cool tile, shoulders grooving to the beat. One hand claimed an invisible mic; the other thumped her thigh, mouthing lyrics with the confidence of someone who’d never met shame.

“Why don’t you come on over, Valery…” she crooned, dragging every syllable, gloriously off-key.

Mid-chorus, she spun, pointed dramatically at Mephisto—conductor summoning a deeply reluctant soloist.

“You going to flap a wing or what? No? Suit yourself, but you’re officially in the band.”

He didn’t budge. But for a second, she’d swear his optic squinted—a fine line between judgment and a tiny bit of ugh, fine, I’ll allow it.

“Come on!” she laughed, arms thrown wide, slicing the air. “This is peak music, my guy. Not dancing is basically illegal.”

The tempo soared. So did she.

Not literally, but in the way her body caught the horns, rhythm rolling through her hips and knees, her spine arcing with joy. Hair swinging, laughter bubbling—breathless, real, the kind you only set free when you finally, truly stop caring who’s watching.

No fear. No surveillance. No expectations.

Just music. Just movement. Just her.

And the echo of joy, blooming in a room that—until now—had probably thought “fun” was a security risk.

She glided back into the kitchen, hips swaying, beat urging her into a performance no one had requested—but one she desperately needed. She sang without a shred of shame, lyrics tumbling wild and loud from her lips, filling the cavernous space until it felt a little less like a luxury mausoleum.

With a flourish, she flung open the fridge. Tomatoes, basil, fresh pasta—she gathered them up, spinning toward the counter as if every ingredient had been choreographed. A jar of sauce, a hunk of cheese, a heroic fistful of garlic. She lined them up and delivered a deep, theatrical bow.

She snatched a spatula, twirled it like a baton, and pointed it straight at Mephisto. “Your solo, maestro,” she declared, matching her voice to the music’s drama.

And—miracle of miracles—Mephisto obliged. He cawed, sharp and perfectly on beat, then hopped from cabinet to counter, displaying that strange, mechanical grace only he could pull off. Every time she brandished the spatula his way, he responded on cue—an unlikely duet that dissolved her into helpless, infectious laughter.

The song faded; a new track flared to life—brass, synth, swagger: “Uptown Funk.” She whooped, unable to help herself, and kicked her dance into a higher gear. Shoulders popped, feet tapped, she shimmied past the stove like she’d been training for this her whole life, waving a box of pasta overhead like a victory banner.

A saucepan clattered onto the burner. Garlic hit the oil, sizzling, the air swelling with the scent of home she’d never had. She never stopped moving—spinning to chop basil, hair flying, spatula now her fearless microphone as she belted out every lyric, off-key and glorious, head tipped back in total abandon.

Mephisto watched, cawed again, wings flapping in a half-hearted attempt to keep up with the madness. She grinned, emboldened, hips swinging even more, letting herself dissolve into the music. Every chorus, she leaned in, spatula pointed at her unlikely backup singer. He never missed his cue.

She was everywhere at once—stirring sauce, salting water, tossing pasta with the casual confidence of someone who’d never been a guest. Flour streaked her wrist, sauce marked her cheek, a wild, reckless light igniting her eyes.

For the first time, she wasn’t a guest.

Not a captive.

Not a girl lost in someone else's fortress.

She was chaos incarnate, barefoot and divine—lips parted mid-lyric, apronless goddess conjuring a universe from steam and song. Every pot and pan a moon in her orbit. Gravity bowed to her, not the other way around.

And Sylus…

Sylus stood in the doorway, silent as a ghost, all sharp lines and softer shadows.

He didn’t announce himself. Didn’t clear his throat. His entrance was seamless, slipped in between bass lines and the golden haze of garlic and laughter. Now he leaned against the frame—one arm folded, the other draped loose, mouth curved in something gentler than a smirk.

A smile no one else ever saw.

Reserved. Unscripted. A secret shaped by her presence alone.

She hadn’t noticed him—not yet.

Too busy performing for the only audience that mattered: herself, and a crow with questionable taste.

The music swelled, brazen and bright. She answered it with her body—hips snapping, shoulders rolling, fearless and free. She bounded as the chorus demanded—dance, jump on it—dropping low and springing back up, joy unraveling in every line of her.

“If you sexy then flaunt it…”

The spatula jabbed at Mephisto, daring him to keep up.

“If you freaky then own it…”

She spun, breathless and beaming, surrendering to the moment, utterly unguarded.

And Sylus watched.

He watched the tumble of her hair, the dusting of flour on her temple, the clatter of a wooden spoon dropped and forgotten. The mess she made of his kitchen. The much greater mess she made of him.

He’d seen her composed. Cautious. Sharp.

But this—this was something else entirely.

This was softness, wild and unmade. Chaos with a beating heart. The raw, unfiltered version of her that bloomed only when she forgot to care who might be watching.

And gods, she was beautiful like this.

Not in the way he could protect. Not in the way he could teach, tame, or control.

But in the way that made him ache—to stand silent in the doorway, memorizing every untamed, radiant beat she spun through, already lost to her orbit and far too willing to stay there.

She spun mid-chorus, spatula raised in triumph, lips curled around the next lyric—

—and froze.

Her body stalled first. Then her breath. The words died, caught in a hush thick with shock. The music played on, gloriously oblivious.

He was there. Still leaning in the doorway, still watching—smirk deepening, lazy and devastating, stretched across his mouth like he had nothing but time. His eyes—red, amused, unblinking—had never left her.

They’d been there the whole time. Fixed. Steady. Impossible to ignore.

She stared. Spatula midair, hair stuck to her cheek, sauce bubbling behind her like a forgotten subplot.

“Oh my god,” she whispered.

Then, louder, horrified and breathless: “How long have you—?”

Sylus pushed off the frame, arms unfolding with the kind of deliberate grace that should come with a warning label. “Long enough to consider selling tickets.”

A strangled sound escaped her—half squeak, half mortified groan, all dignity in retreat.

He stepped fully into the room, his presence sweeping away the last shadow of cold. “Tell me,” he drawled, voice pure velvet, “was that rehearsed? Or should I come back for the encore?”

Her cheeks caught fire. She tried, desperately, to salvage her dignity. “It was… not for you. Obviously. It was just—”

She flailed the spatula, as if she could swipe the memory away.

He arched a brow. “Your way of buttering up the bird?”

She spluttered, caught between laughter and outrage. “No, I was cooking. And vibing. Alone.” She shot a betrayed glare at Mephisto, who cawed—perfectly on cue—then preened like a theater critic after a standing ovation.

“Et tu, Mephie?” she groaned.

Sylus blinked. “Mephie?”

Her stomach dropped. “Oh god. Did I say that out loud?”

“You gave him a nickname.” He sounded genuinely scandalized. Then, with growing offense, “Where’s mine?”

She stared, deadpan. “Do you want one?”

“That depends.” His eyes were all secrets, mouth curving. “Does it come with a song and dance routine?”

She laughed—breathless, pink-cheeked, ruined in the best possible way. “Only if you bring your own spatula.”

He stepped closer—just a fraction, but everything felt different. Mischief still glinted in his eyes, but something softer simmered underneath, private and reverent, like a secret meant only for them.

She felt it: humming between them, threading through the quiet.

Something had changed.

Not just the air, not just the tension, and definitely not just the fact that she’d just given an impromptu kitchen concert while pasta boiled in the background.

It was the knowing. The being known.

And for once, it didn’t feel like she’d been caught.

It felt like she’d finally been seen.

Then the pot hissed.

Violently.

She jolted, eyes wide as the pasta water surged up in a steamy revolt, bubbling over and crashing onto the burner with all the fury of a kitchen crime scene.

“Shit—shit, no, no, no—”

She lurched for the stove, nearly tripping over her own feet, spatula abandoned mid-air. Mephisto cawed in protest, scandalized by the chaos.

Steam curled upward, warm and sticky against her cheeks as she scrambled to turn down the heat, muttering curses under her breath—none of which remotely matched the delicate melody still drifting through the kitchen.

Behind her, Sylus didn’t budge. He stood like a living sculpture—arms crossed, mouth quirked, one brow arched with glacial amusement.

“Is this part of the performance?” he drawled, his voice drier than the air outside N109.

She didn’t even look at him. “This is what happens when someone materializes out of nowhere and distracts the chef.”

“Ah.” He cocked his head, feigning deep thought. “So it’s a staged kitchen emergency.”

She shot him a look over her shoulder, exasperated. “I was hungry. And I didn’t want anything vacuum-sealed or—what was it—science-project adjacent. So I made pasta. Like a normal person.”

“Mm.” His gaze lingered, intent, as if she were a puzzle that would solve itself if he watched long enough. “And the dancing?”

She stabbed at the noodles. “That was for morale.”

A beat passed. Then, quietly—his humor softened at the edges by something warmer: “Of course it was.”

He didn’t offer to help. Not yet. Just watched her—the way her shoulders loosened with every stir, the way she exhaled like she was finally figuring out how to breathe.

Steam rose between them, a shimmering veil—more charged than distant, more invitation than barrier.

Something had shifted.

Not quite close. Not quite far.

Just enough space for him to wonder how long she’d keep dancing when she thought no one was watching.

And how long it would take for her to let him join in.

He moved at his own pace—unhurried, unbothered, like he’d always belonged here. He slipped past her shoulder with barely a brush of fabric, rolling up his sleeves and baring skin she’d only glimpsed in stolen seconds. Light caught on the veins of his wrists, the old scar along his knuckle, the flex of tendon as he took the wooden spoon from her hand.

She clung to simple tasks: slicing tomatoes, stripping basil, listening to the sauce hiss and thicken. But she was acutely, almost painfully, aware of him—every movement amplified, every shared breath somehow heavier.

Sylus tasted the sauce, slow and deliberate. “You’re heavy-handed with the garlic,” he observed, lips quirking.

She shot him a glare that tried to be scathing, but ended up affectionate. “Maybe I like flavor. Not everyone’s a food snob.”

He feigned horror, brushing past her again—close enough that the heat of his arm sent goosebumps racing up hers.

Suddenly, their hands reached for the same jar of pepper. Her fingers grazed his—just a flicker, just enough to spark. She pulled back, hiding the jolt behind a soft scoff.

He noticed. Of course he did.

“Relax. I don’t bite,” he murmured, his voice pitched just for her.

She nearly fumbled the grinder. “That’s not what the rumors say.”

Sylus’s mouth curved into a private smile—the kind reserved for empty rooms and, apparently, this kitchen. “You shouldn’t believe everything you hear.”

He added pepper with theatrical precision, glancing at her like he was challenging her to critique his style. She nudged him with her elbow—light, playful, the opening move in a game she’d only just realized she wanted to play.

“Fine, chef. Show me how it’s done.” Her voice came out a little breathier than she meant.

He obliged, and for a heartbeat their hands overlapped on the spoon. Her skin tingled where his fingers brushed hers—just a second, just enough. She tried not to react, but the electricity was impossible to hide.

Sylus’s gaze lingered on her face, sharp and unexpectedly gentle. “I thought you were fearless,” he teased.

She ducked her head, pretending to scrutinize the bubbling water. “Only in the field. Not in… domestic warfare.”

A low laugh rumbled from him—rare and unguarded. “And yet you take on my kitchen like it’s an enemy base.”

She grinned, letting her own laughter bubble over and fill the room. “I go where I’m needed.”

They slipped into a new rhythm—awkward at first, then easier by degrees. Sylus corrected her grip on the knife, his hand wrapping over hers, lingering a fraction too long before letting go. She dusted flour off his forearm with a shy flick, only for him to follow the movement with softened eyes and a half-smile that felt almost private.

At one point, she reached across him for the colander, her hip bumping his. “Sorry,” she mumbled, cheeks prickling with warmth.

He looked at her—really looked, like he was searching for a way out but finding none.

Instead, he reached up—almost tentative—and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. His knuckles traced the curve of her jaw, gentle and reverent, leaving heat in their wake. She blinked, lips parting, the whole world shrinking to the space between them.

The air turned thick and honeyed, everything suspended—neither of them quite willing to move, everything balanced on the knife-edge of something quietly, breathtakingly new.

From the counter, Mephisto cawed—sharp as a starting bell, shattering the spell just as it threatened to turn into something else.

She ducked away with a shaky laugh, wiping her hands on a dish towel. “He’s judging us,” she said, nodding toward the bird.

Sylus’s smile didn’t fade. “Let him. He’s seen worse.”

And, for the first time, she believed it. The tension melted from her shoulders, replaced by something warmer, lighter, threaded with laughter she couldn’t keep in.

Cooking got easier after that—messy and collaborative, punctuated with whispered jokes and shared glances. They moved around each other, learning a duet older than language.

With every accidental brush of skin, every glance held a beat too long, she let herself trust the moment.

Just a little more.

The kitchen quieted again. Not the awkward silence of strangers, but the earned hush of familiarity—a quiet that wrapped around them like a secret, where nothing needed explaining anymore.

Steam curled from the pot in lazy ribbons as Sylus plated the pasta with a care that almost surprised her. The dish looked elegant, considering its riotous birth, and when he handed her a bowl, there was no ceremony—just the simple, practiced ease of something shared.

“Chef’s orders,” he murmured, voice low and teasing.

She grinned, accepting the bowl with both hands as if it were a holy offering.

Without asking, she hopped onto the counter, legs swinging above the tile, tucking one foot behind the other. The bowl settled warm in her lap, steam curling under her chin as she leaned in for a bite.

It tasted… right.

Not perfect. Not fancy. But real—tangy, warm, too much garlic, just enough salt. She hummed, cheeks full, then offered him a forkful with a conspiratorial tilt of her hand.

He didn’t move to take the bite. Just watched her, elbow braced against the counter, his own bowl resting forgotten in his palm.

“What?” she asked, half-muffled by a mouthful of pasta.

Sylus’s gaze lingered—not sharp, not analyzing. Just… seeing her, like he was piecing together a puzzle and realizing he liked not having all the pieces.

“You should sing more often,” he said at last.

She blinked, startled.

There was no irony in his voice. No teasing edge. Just a quiet certainty, so sincere it made her throat tighten around her next bite.

“It suits you,” he added, softer this time. Then he turned his attention back to his food, as if he hadn’t just cracked her heart wide open.

She stared at her bowl, cheeks warming, not quite sure what to do with all that tenderness he’d just given her—no games, no flirty dodge, just something rare and quietly dangerous.

Because when he said it, she knew he didn’t just mean her voice.

He meant this—her, barefoot on his tile, wild-haired and flushed from the stove, music still humming in her bones. He liked her messy. He liked her real.

And she liked being seen that way.

Maybe more than she should.

Her chest lifted on a slow, careful breath—the kind that settles deep, the kind that whispers you could stay. Just a little longer.

Maybe even longer than that.

She glanced at Sylus—posture easy, expression unreadable, but somehow softer than before. Then at Mephisto, grooming himself on the windowsill as if chaos had always included him.

The kitchen was still a beautiful disaster.

But for the first time, she didn’t feel like an intruder in it.

She felt… woven into the fabric of it. Of them.

Like the chaos and the calm had finally made space for her. And so had he.

She dipped her spoon back into the bowl, taking another bite—slower this time, as if to savor the moment—and thought:

This feels dangerously close to home.

— © 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝒃𝒚 𝑺𝒚𝒍𝒖𝒔 𝑳𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝑪𝒓𝒐𝒘

[nats-w1fe]

Worse or Even Worse: 3

Natalie Scatorccio x Reader/Shauna Shipman x Reader

Summary: You had all began to accept that you probably weren’t going to be saved and you learn the truth about Shauna and maybe she’s not as perfect as she seemed.

Word count: 3.9k

Warnings: Past plane crash, toxic relationship, gore, mentions of blood, abuse, violence, mentions of vomit, broken bones., arguing, bad writing and ither things I’ve probably forgotten

Characters included: Reader, Natalie Scatorccio Lottie Mathews, Shauna Shipman, Jackie Taylor, Van Palmer, Taissa Turner and other Yellowjackets.

A/n: I’m still writing drabbles so please give requests!

Worse or Even Worse Masterlist

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

You’d been in the wilderness for a while. Most of you had accepted that you weren’t going to be saved and it’d be best to just give up. You all learnt how to survive in the wilderness, you adapted. Natalie and Travis become the hunters and everyone else just did what they could to help with things. You wanted to be the one to fetch water, but after the injuries to your leg from the plane crash and the wolf attack it would never be the same again. you could still walk on it but after too long the pain would be too much and it would just give out on you.

Still, you did what you could which mostly consisted of helping Akilah, Lottie and Mari look for berries. Today though, your leg was acting up. it ached more than usual and you were told to stay behind. You were sat on a log outside in front of the fireplace. You looked over at Shauna as she sharpened her knife, you couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t at least a bit attractive doing that.

Jackie sat beside you, rambling about random things as usual. You’d admittedly zoned out a while ago In the conversation. Then you saw Natalie and Travis returning from their hunt. Usually they came back empty handed, but this time they came back holding a large deer. Your eyes widen and you carefully pulled yourself up to your feet, using a makeshift walking stick that Van made for you.

“Holy shit” you muttered.

Coach ben looked over, his eyes widened slightly,

“Nicely done, you two” he complimented, walking over with his crutches. You looked at the deer as they placed it on the ground, it was quite hard to look at,

“It was all Natalie” Travis said, you looked over at them. they way they looked at each other made your stomach churn uncomfortably.

“So, what do we do with it now?” you asked, breaking Natalie and Travis’ attention away from each other.

“First, we have to bleed it out.” he told you all. There was a beat of silence until Shauna stood, and cautiously stepped forward,

“I’ll give it a try” she said, taking her hunting knife out. She knelt down beside the animal and pressed the tip of the blade to the deer’s throat. After a moment she plunged it deeper, deeper than began to draw it straight across. As the animals blood began to spill onto the ground, Shauna felt a thrill she hadn’t ever felt before, she craved more.

You grimaced and looked away from the gory sight,

“Well I think that’s settled” Coach Ben said, “Shauna should be the butcher” everyone nodded in agreement. Shauna shot you a smile and you returned, happy for her but you seriously couldn’t look at that blood.

Later that night, in the glow of the blazing fire Shauna diligently worked on sawing hunks off of one of the deer’s legs which she had sloppily severed and skinned. Meanwhile, around the fire Mari had been cooking the meat while everyone else ate. You sat next to Taissa, not a word had been spoken between anyone, much too focussed on eating. You looked over to Shauna and decided to walk over.

“Hi..” you gave her a gentle smile. She looked at you, pausing, almost as if she were admiring you. it made a faint blush grow on your cheeks,

“Hey you, here to help?” she asked, holding up the bloody knife with a grin. You chuckled and grimaced,

“Oh no no I’ll leave it to the professional” you jokingly insisted, she chuckled too and shook her head. Taking your hand she pulled you closer slightly by her side,

“Come on, give it a try”.

She stood behind you, her front pressed against your back as she carefully guided your movements. You cut into the deer’s leg and made a noise of disgust; she chuckled and you only then realised how close she was to you. Her warm breath fanned against your neck,

“There you go, see you’re actually alright at it” she muttered into your ear. You were more than grateful it was dark out and Shauna couldn’t see how red your face had become.

Natalie glanced over at you two. Her jaw clenched and her grip on her tray of food tightened. She placed her tray down, suddenly put off of her food. She stood, walking off as she couldn’t look at the sight of you and Shauna any longer. Jackie noticed and quickly walked after her.

“Hey! Hold up” she called out to her. Natalie groaned and turned to her,

“What?” she asked.

“Y’know you cant be annoyed at Y/n for finally moving on” when Natalie scoffed in response, Jackie continued “You treated her like shit and she deserves so much more than an alcoholic druggy who probably cheated on her any chance she got” Jackie told her, crossing her arms over her chest. You had told her everything that happened between you and Natalie, it took a lot of persuading to convince Jackie not to slap the shit out of her.

“You’re right, she did deserve better…but I never cheated on her, okay?” Natalie said. It was true, she would’ve never done that to you,

“Well you used her! If you know she deserved better why didn’t you treat her better then?”

Natalie sighed and pulled Jackie further away from everyone just to be sure you wouldn’t hear

“I didn’t use her, I lied…okay you’re right, she does deserve better because I am a druggy and I am an alcoholic and I’m a fucking mess, and she is just…” Natalie sighed, looking over at you and Shauna. You were giggling and just looked so happy, it made her heart ache, “She deserves so much better than me, if Shauna makes her happy then that’s all I want for her” she explained simply, looking down at the ground. Jackie softened slightly,

“Oh…you really like my sister then huh?” she asked, unfolding her arms and dropping them to her side.

Natalie nodded,

“I think I love her, but I don’t know how be in a proper relationship, I’m not good at it…Y/n deserves better than me so I had to let her go, its best if she just thinks I was just using her” Jackie couldn’t think of what to say, so without a word she turned on her heels and walked off, running a hand through her hair.

--

You sat next to Shauna on the floor, leaning against her with your head resting on her shoulder. Music started playing, “this is how we do it” came from the Walkman. You chuckled and watched as a few of the gurls launched into a choreographed dance number, elaborate enough you could tell they’d been working on this for weeks. Mari, Akilah, Lottie and Van came in doing the running man while quite literally chanting the words ‘running man’. You giggled, then Shauna suddenly stood up and joined Taissa, Natalie and some others as they did the Bart Simpson dance move.

“And Javi... and-- Javi, you're late!” Mari exclaimed, Javi hurried to get on beat and Taissa jumped in the help. They all re-synchronized and everyone cheered. Suddenly the tape began to struggle, the song creepily slowly and distorting into an eerie dirge before stopping completely. Everyone stopped. Van walked over, giving the Walkman a few hopeful smacks,

“Has hitting something ever fixed it?” she asked to no avail, everyone walked over to try give their assistance,

“Maybe try blowing on it?” you offered, still sat down.

Before anyone could reply they all heard a distinct, sustained scrapping noise from the attic. You looked up at the attic in fear.

“Um. The fuck is that?” Jackie asked, everyone paused and stared up at the ceiling. You carefully stood and walked closer to Shauna.

“...You hear it, too?” Lottie asked, seemingly very surprised. Everyone looked at her, quite confused. You held onto Shauna’s hand.

“It's probably just a branch” Taissa casually remarked, trying to ease the tension.

“Inside? On the floor?” Mari asked, she paused. Everyone seemed to tense at that slightly, “What if it's him?” she suddenly asked.

“What, the dead guy?” Shauna then questioned. You tensed once again. Ghosts weren’t real, right?

“Um, yeah” Mari responded, as if it were obvious. Taissa snorted defensively. Then Natalie spoke up, in a deadpan voice,

“You know what it probably was? The dead guy's missing fingers... trying to find their way home” she teased. A few of the girls squealed, including you as you clutched onto Shauna’s arm. Taissa shot Natalie a glare, “You really have to encourage them?”

Akilah then said to Taissa,

“You gotta admit, it didn’t sound like it was on the roof” she said, sounding extremely nervous just like the rest of you. Jackie joined in,

“Fine, so it was a rat, or a racoon…or I dunno-“ she was cut off when Lottie called out,

“Shhhh! Listen!”

Everyone paused, straining to hear, but there was only silence.

“Well I don’t hear it now” Mari said which a shrug and others agreed. Before the debate could resume Coach Scott spoke up,

“You know what I think? I think the ghost decided it's time to get some sleep. We should do the same” he said. Thus concluding another evening of the forever slumber.

You changed into your pyjamas, pulling your shirt over your head you caught Shauna staring at you. You blushed, expecting her to look away, but she didn’t. you looked down at the ground as you changed, feeling her eyes on you the whole time.

--

That morning was your least favourite. You woke up to your period. In fact everyone had their period. You’d all synced. Luckily for you, you didn’t get cramps. But you did get a very heavy flow. You sat outside, eating your breakfast. You looked over as the cabin door opened and Jackie walked out. Van and Laura Lee hung laundry together while Taissa chopped wood nearby. Other girls stacked chopped wood by the cabin and swept the porch. Akilah was rolling torn-up shirts into makeshift pads. Right by her were two heavy pots, simmering over the fire.

Jackie made her way over to the breakfast pot till Mari intercepted her, shoving an empty bucket into her hands,

“How about getting some more water? Breakfast isn’t going anywhere” Jacke shot her a glare before walking off.

After a bit Jackie came back holding a the heavy, sloshing bucket, clearly struggling. As awkward as it was, it was not hard to feel like she was being extra dramatic as she set it down to rest. Taissa and Van both shared an eyeroll at the sight. Catching the look, Shauna made her way to Jackie,

“Need a hand?” she asked her.

“No, I can do it…Why are you so chipper? Or don't you have a blood sacrifice between your legs like the rest of us?” When Jackie noticed Shauna hesitate she then asked, “Hang on... do you not?”

“I'm... late this month. I mean, we were in a plane crash, so it's probably just stress.” Shauna responded, shrugging it off,

“Lucky you're a virgin or we'd really have to worry...speaking of…what’s going on between you and Y/n?” she asked. Shauna looked over at where you were sat.

“Dunno yet…I like her though; I think she might like me too” she said hopefully, Jackie hesitated. She knew Shauna had a crush on you for a while. The way she looked at you was far from friendly, she even noticed how she would look at you when you got changed. It made her uncomfortable, she didn’t know why but she never confronted Shauna about it.

“Right, well you know just be gentle with her, she only recently got out of a relationship not too long ago” Jackie told her, placing the bucket back down. Shauna nodded and picked it up for her,

“I know, I wont hurt her Jackie” was all she said before she walked off. Something deep inside Jackie just made her feel so unsure about this, something felt off.

Shauna went to cut up some more of the deer, she stood by her bench, taking her knife out. She then looked over at you, you were already looking at her. You smiled and gave her a sheepish wave. She waved her hand, beckoning you over. Carefully, you stood up, walking over to her with a slight limp.

She smiled at you,

“Hey, I wanna give you something” she told you; you looked slightly confused but kept your smile on your face,

“Okay…what is it?” you asked, she put her hands on your hips and gently turned you around so that your back was to her. a small blush lingered on your cheeks as she put a necklace around your neck. You looked down at it and recognised it as Jackie’s heart necklace. You smiled and looked at her, “I thought Jackie gave this to you?” you asked her. She shrugged with a small smirk,

“And now I’ve given it to you…you wanna give me something in return?” she asked. Your brows furrowed slightly in confusion, but when her eyes flicked to your lips you realised what you meant. With slight hesitancy you leaned in, connecting your lips with hers. It was a quick kiss but gentle.

Shauna grinned as you pulled away,

“Now that, I’ll cherish” she teased. You couldn’t help the giggle that fell from your lips,

“Good” you grinned, scrunching your nose up. She found that adorable, which made her question that deep, burning sensation, that sensation that was so deep down and rooted into her soul. She wanted to ruin that smile. Ever since she pushed the blade into the deer for the first time she had a thirst for blood. Your blood. Your tears. Your pain. She craved it.

Natalie watched from afar. A sick feeling rose in her throat and she felt like she could strangle someone, Shauna to be specific. She didn’t deserve you; you were too perfect for Shauna. Those lips didn’t deserve to touch anyone, not Natalie and certainly not Shauna. When you turned your head you caught Natalie’s eye. She snapped her head away, continuing on with her current task. That stung. You knew you weren’t over Natalie, you didn’t know if you ever could be. But you did honestly think you had feelings for Shauna, she was always there for you, she looked after you, she understood you and It helped she was attractive.

Natalie then felt a tap on her shoulder, she looked and saw Lottie holding the bucket,

“Hey, wanna come get some water with me?” she asked, with a sweet smile. Natalie couldn’t help but smile back, she nodded,

“Sure, but didn’t Jackie grab water not too long ago?” she asked, furrowing her brows slightly as they began to walk.

“Yeah but with washing all the pads, we’ve already run out” Lottie chuckled.

They went to the lake; Natalie carefully dipped the bucket in and picked some water out. Lottie stared at her the whole time. Just as Natalie turned to talk to Lottie, the brunette crashed her lips against Nat’s, kissing her. She was clearly not experienced, but she wasn’t terrible. Natalie didn’t pull away for a second, till she did.

“Lottie I- I can’t” she dropped the bucket and quickly walked off, leaving the brunette alone at the lake.

--

It had been a few more weeks. Food was growing slim again and more than anything you wanted a good, well-cooked steak. Things with you and Shauna had been going well. She was so kind to you, so gentle. You weren’t officially together, but you sure acted as such. She always called you nicknames, things like ‘doll’ and ‘babe.’ You did notice Shauna acting quite weird though, she disappeared earlier with Taissa and you had noticed something is changing in her appearance, but you couldn’t figure out what is was.

You were sat with Shauna, leaning against her when Natalie and Travis emerged from the forest, holding a dead deer. You grimaced at the sight of it, its antlers were coated in blood and flesh, everyone cheered,

“Whoa. That thing is gnarly” Van said, “It's like--Freddy Krueger and Bambi had a baby” she commented, making a few laugh.

“I'm not eating that” you said, grimacing at the sight. Shauna took her hunting knife out her pocket and stood.

“Guys, deer shed their antlers seasonally. This is all normal.” Coach Ben insists, he then looks at Shauna, “You want to do the honours?” Shauna walked to the deer, crouching down as she cut into its belly. A chorus of disgust followed at the sight of the inside of the deer, it was infested with parasitic worms. Completely inedible. You couldn’t see from where you were standing, you went to go look.

Natalie noticed this, she knew how sensitive you were to things like that and you’d throw up at the sight. Out of instinct, she quickly stepped in front of you, gently grabbing your wrist to stop you from going over,

“Don’t” she said, her voice gentle. You were taken aback slightly by the sudden action and froze for a moment before pulling your wrist away harshly and sitting back down. Shauna watched the interaction, her jaw clenched.

“That normal too, Coach?” Jackie asked, Ben looked as grossed out as the others. You heard Taissa scoff,

“We can't do this anymore, you guys! What happens when winter gets here? We starve to death? Freeze?” she questioned, looking around at her troubled faces of her teammates. All except for Lottie who continued to stare at the deer. “We can't count on getting rescued anymore-- we all know that is not gonna happen. We have to save us. That's why I'm gonna go find help.” Some of the girls seemed shocked, while others, along with you seemed on board. “I'm leaving in the morning. Come with

me if you want to get out of this fucking hellhole.” Was all she said before turning back to the cabin

Anxious murmurs aroused as she left. You stared at the floor, Tai was right, you couldn’t wait here any long to be saved. This could be the only way home.

--

Taissa stood opposite the rest of the Yellowjackets around the campfire. She scanned their faces, looking for hints of dissent,

“Everyone?” she asked, Jackie spoke first,

“Some of us think there aren’t any good ideas”.

“Well, we have to do something. We're starving. There's nothing to hunt. And it might still be warm enough during the day, but it's starting to get cold at night...” Taissa explained to everyone, you knew you were already on board with going,

“The animals must be migrating.” Misty said, gasping in realisation.

“That's probably why the only game we've seen for weeks was the one sick deer. And it's just gonna keep getting colder. Not 'I-better-put-on coat cold.' We're talking 'dying-feels-like-falling-asleep cold’” you shifted uncomfortably, leaning more into Shauna who put a comforting arm around you. You decided to just block out what they were saying, choosing to instead stare down at the dirt.

But as they spoke, Taissa’s words pulled you out of your zone,

“Anyone who wants to come with me is welcome. But I'm going.” She said, grabbing her bag off of the floor,

“I’m coming” you said, everyone seemed surprised by this. At the same time, Natalie, Jackie and Shauna all spoke up in unison,

“What?” you looked at them and shrugged.

“You’re not going” Shauna said, the way she said it was as if there was no room for argument. Like she had control over what you did,

“Listen, if I'm wrong, I'll die out there” she paused, “I'm leaving in an hour.” Was all Tai said before pushing through the crowd and walking off.

You looked at Shauna,

“I’m going” you then looked at Jackie, “I want to actually help for once, so I’m going” you stood up with a bit of a limp. Jackie scoffed,

“Y/n you can barely walk, you’re not going and that’s final” you then scoffed too,

“You cant fucking control me Jackie” you stormed off in a random direction.

Natalie sighed and looked at Shauna. She couldn’t help the way her eyes widened slightly. Shauna looked fucking furious, like she was going to explode. She clenched her fists and got up, going after you. Immediately Nat felt unsettled, she got up to go after her but Jackie held her arm,

“Just leave her” she clearly didn’t see Shauna’s state.

You stumbled slightly as you walked, your leg ached. You then suddenly tripped, hitting the floor with a grunt. Shauna came up behind you,

“Are you fucking stupid?” she asked, your brows furrowed. Struggling, you pulled yourself back up to your feet, “Excuse me?”

“You’re basically fucking crippled Y/n, you’re not going so stop being a brat” she spat, the words stung to hear from Shauna, someone who was usually so kind to you,

“Fuck you Shauna” you went to walk past her till you felt a harsh hit to your face then a shove. You landed back on the floor with a small cry of pain,

“Don’t talk to me like that you little bitch..”

You looked up at her in pure fear and surprised, nobody had ever laid a hand on you like that.

“You’re a psychopath!” you yelled at her. Without hesitating another second she quickly got on top of you, you yelled and tried to squirm away. she slapped her hand over your mouth, you bit down on her hand. she pulled her hand away and slapped you hard across the face. Tears filled your eyes as you tried to push her away, “Get off of me!” you yelled to her, hoping someone would here.

You then felt her hands around your throat, you gasped as she started to squeezed. You slapped at her hands, trying to push them away. It wasn’t working. The harder she squeezed the weaker you felt, you didn’t know if you could fight back anymore. Just as you were on the brink of passing out she let go and got up. you gasped out, taking in as much air as you could. Choking, you sobbed loudly. But you weren’t as loud as you were when she suddenly brought her foot down on your ankle, on your bad leg. You screamed in pure agony. You were sure the others could hear.

Quickly Shauna crouched by your side and held your body In her arms, you tried to squirm away but then suddenly felt her hunting knife to your back,

“Shhh baby…don’t move, be a good girl” you whimpered quietly, “You’re not going to tell the others about this, you fell and hurt your leg real bad…and I helped you, hm?” she told you. she ran a hand through your hair, the soothing action calmed you down slightly. You sniffled and gave a small nod,

“O-Okay..”

Jackie sprinted over, followed by Tai, Van, Lottie, Mari, and Misty. They looked at you in shock, then Natalie appeared, holding her rifle as if she thought you were being attacked. You buried your face in Shauna’s shirt, not being able to look at the others.

“What happened?” Jackie asked, rushing to your side,

“I think she fell” Shauna lied, very well too, “She’s hurt her ankle really badly”.

“Were you not with her? You went straight after her so you couldn’t have been far” Natalie speculated, she knew Shauna was lying. It pained her, she knew Shauna hurt you but there was nothing she could do about it,

“What are you insinuating?” Shauna scoffed.

“That doesn’t matter, we need to get her back to camp so we can help her” Misty said, Shauna picked you up in her arms and carefully carried you back to camp. Natalie glanced at you every now and then, checking your condition. Her brows furrowed when she noticed odd marks on your neck, they appeared to look like red lines, handprints. Out of anyone, Natalie would be the one to recognise that.

[slippinninque]

🗄️Clocking In🗄️

Terry Richmond x blackfemreader

warnings: some cursing, a little bullying, office-setting, may need some edits, mid-sized fic

Terry stood there and an expression that you’ve never seen on his face in the 9 months he’s been working in your office. Pissed. 

There was a crash and then a crunch as the door’s lock and upper hinge broke through. The storage room lit up, Terry was standing there and turning on the light. You clutched your lanyard in one hand, your other hand still tightly balled at your side. Now that the storage room was lit up, you could see just the mess you made when you fell.

You called out, knocked, and did your best to yell but there was no movement from the other side. The panic led you to remember you had a phone, but it was waiting for your return at you desk. So, you waited. 

“Sorry,” You said quietly as you tried to fix what you’ve done. It all happened so fast, you didn’t even hit the storage room’s light before going in to search for paper and pens. Being in the same place year after year, you figured it would be easy to navigate with the light that crept into the room from the hallway. 

Which you were swiftly proven wrong when the busted door slammed shut, locking you inside in the dark. The shock of the sound and the sudden darkness left you unsteady, you fell over a pile-of-something and then over the step stool when you went to pound on the door.

And waited. Then, waited some more, hands throbbing from your pounding every time you thought you heard someone nearby. Anxiety clogged your throat, why was it that you? Always you…

“Oh, Lord! How long have you been in here, you poor thing! I just walked in when Terry asked where you were!”

Rena's sympathetic voice snapped you back to your senses, her looking over Terry’s shoulder with a worried crease to her brow. 

“It’s-It’s okay, I didn’t stop the door…properly.” You cleared your throat, looking around to see what you could do to save face in front of the rest of your department. 

He shook his head. A pit opened in your stomach as you registered the same, annoyed expression on his face as a few others in the office had when they saw you coming. You avoided their stares as he led you from the maw of the supply room. A hand resting lightly on your back, his gaze pinned straight ahead. You wondered if he hurt himself with the way he knocked down that door.

It wasn’t until you tried to pick up the damned packet of printer paper you were previously hunting for that you realized your hands were shaking. Terry strode forward and said nothing as you insisted that you could carry something.

The walk to your shared cubicle was quiet, especially when the whispers started up once your back was turned.

Had they all just stood there while Terry broke down the door? Did…anyone think to contact the building manager? The handyman? Was Terry the only one who looked for you?

“Thanks for saving me,” You tried on a smile but it didn’t fit right, “That door almost never shuts. Just my luck that I'm the one to change it’s damned mind, huh?”

You jerkily logged into your computer, “Kinda sucks. I’m not beating the ‘personality hire’ allegations anytime soon, am I?”

“It wasn’t your fault–that is something that should have been fixed as soon as it was an issue.”

Nodding and using the sugary excuse, you stuffed your mouth so you wouldn’t have to feel the warbling of your mouth. Honestly, you were so lucky to have a coworker like Terry. He always took you seriously, never left you to pick up the bill during lunch, always responded to your celebratory responses to company-wide emails. Terry wasn’t just being nice–it was who he was. An earnest, hard worker. When the day comes that Terry decides to go onto bigger, better things–maybe you could…follow.

Great. Now, you hurt your own feelings. There was a bite-sized Snickers slid into your view. A laugh loosened a bit of the gunk in your chest because of course the first time Terry dipped into the Emotional-Support-Chocolate-Fund, it wasn’t for himself. 

“How about I brave the supply room until that door is fixed?” Terry suggested, voice surprisingly gentle.  

Still feeling small, you sighed and decided that it would be best to just lose yourself in the tasks lined up in your inbox until it was time to clock out.

—-------

“You really did a number on that door, Terry my man!”

When Kyle didn’t hear a response, he glanced into the bathroom mirror to see Terry’s icy expression. He chuckled a bit, rolling his eyes as he finished soaping up his hands.

“Just a little joke! No worries, it isn’t going to come out of your check or anything. Hell, it was worth it for an hour of silence…”

“It was you.”

Kyle jumped when he felt the presence of Terry pressing closer, trapping him near the sink’s counter as the other man’s eyes narrowed. 

“Excuse me–

Terry stepped even closer. Toe to toe, right hand clasping the wrist of his left as he slowly sized Kyle up. He tried to straighten to his full height as well, but it curled him a bit closer to the other man. 

“You’re the only one strong enough to loosen the stopper. No acrylics to get in the way of your ‘hour of silence’ , right?”

Kyle glared but his heart jumped, feeling unprepared and caught out. Terry’s answer to his tight-lipped expression was to smirk, eyes sparkling unsettling. 

“My partner was held up from doing her job, one that she takes immense pride in, because of this petty joke of yours. It made her stressed.” Terry leaned in and lowered his voice, relishing how Kyle paled, “When she’s stressed, I’m stressed. It’s that personality of hers–it’s the only one here that I like. So I appreciate it if you and your…hens kept things professional.”

“It was Rena's ide–

Terry cut him off with a growl, “Which makes it all the more irritating,” Terry glanced away to compose himself, taking a step back to look over Kyle’s head and into the mirror.

“This won’t happen again. If it does, then it will be a conversation about PACE…and you don’t want that. Do you, Kyle?”

Kyle shook his head quickly. He didn’t know what the fuck PACE was but he say anything to get away from Terry’s simmering menace. Terry gave his shoulder a pat rough enough to make Kyle jump.

“Good. This talk never happened. You’ll show her that you're sorry without apologizing and you’ll tell the others to do the same.”

“Why–what…how can I do that?”

Kyle stammered, struggling to find words as Terry waltzed out of the restroom as easily as he came in. Kyle released a shaky breath, sagging against the counter as he ran a hand down his face.

Terry didn’t answer him as he moved aside to wash his hands, reminding Kyle that he still had soap on his own that now made his sleeves soggy. Kyle watched as the man rinsed and grabbed a few paper towels, then one of the peppermints from the care basket nearest the exit.

“I have a guy who does good work, that door will be fixed within an hour. I’ll forward his contact to you later to have it arranged. It is your fault that it’s broken, after all.”

Fuck. 

---------

💗ending notes:💗 this would not leave my head, 🤣I just think Terry would be a wonderful work-husband especially after reading all these lovely office fics lately����Would ya'll like a prt.2, you think?🤔 Tell me what you think, reblog and comment pretty please! thank you so much for reading!💗✨💗✨💗✨💗✨💗✨

✨taglist:✨ @megamindsecretlair @sageispunk @miyuhpapayuh @notapradagurl7 @blackerthings

@thickeeparker @mcondance @blowmymbackout @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart

@kindofaintrovert

[kikker-oma]

I made another thing based off of your whumptober art :)

This one in particular:

The old man sat on a log near the crackling campfire, awake for his watch and he had set his eye on someone in particular who had seemed...off. The vet was tossing and turning in his bedroll, eyes squeezed shut when he could see his face, but it wasn't relaxed like when he was asleep. He eventually crept down and whispered, "Vet?"

The veteran's eyes opened slightly, and the old man just noticed the bags under his eyes. "Yeah?" He replied in a whisper.

"I noticed you hadn't gone to sleep yet. It's third watch."

Legend groaned. "I haven't been able to fall asleep for a while, but I tried everything I could. Nothing to do about it."

That was worrying.

"Are you sure? I know a remedy, that you most likely haven't tried."

"Go for it, old man, I'll do anything at this point."

He pulled out the ocarina, and played the Song of Healing, closing his eyes to let the soothing melody reach the vet's waiting ears. He nearly fell asleep himself but finished the tune and opened his eyes. The veteran had his eyes closed and though he wasn't quite asleep yet, Time smiled, hoping that this would do the trick and did a quick patrol.

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

The old man noticed things. From the vet's stumbling and sloppiness during battle, to mess ups with conversations and answers. His seemingly random mood swings which seemed quite unusual for him. He had confessed that the song didn't do anything and for literal magic to not work, well, Time was more than confused. He had kept it to himself because the veteran pleaded with him to not worry the others.

One night he had second watch, and the vet had somehow ended up with first. He slept peacefully until he woke up and realized it was his turn for watch, and he hadn't been woken up by someone else. (His internal clock told him it was approximately halfway into second watch.) So he got up immediately, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and what he saw shook him.

The vet was trembling on his knees, and when the old man rushed to talk he noticed the expression on his face. There were tears pouring down his face, and his eyes were barely open, staring off into space. The old man noticed that the veteran's hands were shaking even more, arms wrapped around air. "Veteran?" Time spoke loudly. "Link?"

When he got no response, he got down on his knees in front of Legend and took his arms, repeating his name. "Uncle?" Legend mumbled wearily. "What're you doin'?"

"I need you to stay here, I'm going to go find help."

"Nnnooo, don't leave me," Legend gasped deliriously. "If you go to th' castle..."

"I'm not going to the castle," Time tried to reassure. "I just need you to stay with me, okay?"

"M'kay."

He whistled sharply, getting everyone up because this situation was getting dire and he needed help. "What's going on?" The captain questioned, voice a bit frantic.

"Our veteran. He needs help."

They were at his side instantly. "'ncle who're these people," the vet slurred, still staring off into nothing.

"Is he sick?" Sky frowned.

"I don't think he's been sleeping, at all recently," Time worried. "He said he tried everything but still couldn't sleep."

"I'm not trained for this stuff, I'm afraid," Warriors shook his head. "Traveller?"

"All I know how to do is magic," The traveller replied and shrugged looking downcast at the fact.

"Oh!" Wind snapped his fingers. "Someone on Outset had a similar problem. It was because they were really stressed and they fell asleep once they were more relaxed."

"Stress? That seems plausible," Warriors nodded.

"Link," Time uttered, catching the veteran's slow attention. "Tell me, are you stressed about anything? Worried?"

"I mean, 's a quest, Uncle, of course I'm going to be stressed sometimes."

"I know, but right now, what's troubling you specifically?"

"You're always so kind," Legend muttered after a long moment.

"This isn't going anywhere," Four whispered.

"Uncle, don't die."

Time swallowed concern for that statement, said with desperation and he looked helplessly at the rest of them. What could they really do? Why couldn't he figure this out? The chain looked at them as a leader, so why was he feeling so helpless right now? Why couldn't he help one of his boys?

Then there was one sentence that nearly drove the old man to his knees.

"If you die, Grandma Malon is gonna kill me...she already lost th' Hero 'f Time, and you're just as important. Don' leave me to save the world like he did."

THAT LAST LINE OMGGGGGGGG

LOOOOOORE!!

SECRETS SPILLED!!

THE REALIZATIONS TO FOLLOW!! AAAAAAGGHHHGGSHXJSBAHAIA

The Ocarina was such a good try, poor boys just don't know how they can deal with this sweet little sleep deprived man🥺

Gosh sleep deprivation is no joke, it's brutal for real

Thank you so much for writing this Uni! Your writing is a treasure as always❤️❤️❤️

[eowynsowl]

A Quiet Night

Notes: Here it is, I am finally doing it- sitting down and writing my first story! This came to mind when I was feeling pretty down a bit ago. Homesick, if you will. I recently moved to Hawaii from Alabama and it has been a huge change for me for a while and after a good cry, I decided to channel my feelings into this. I hope you guys enjoy :) Any feedback is appreciated! 

Summary:  Reader is struggling with feelings of homesickness. She joined this quest eagerly, not realizing just how much she would miss her home. The stoic leader of the company offers some comfort to her. 

Warning(s): None.

The campfire crackled softly, casting warm light over the company as they sat in their usual clusters. Laughter and the murmur of low voices filled the air, but she remained apart, perched on a rock at the edge of the clearing. The stars above were bright, scattered like shards of silver in the vast darkness, but her gaze was fixed on the distant horizon, where the mountains loomed faintly against the night sky. 

She wrapped her arms around her knees, trying to find comfort in the chill of the night. Her thoughts were far from the company, far from the adventure she had agreed to join eagerly. The fire reminded her of home–of nights spent sitting near her hearth, her mother’s soft singing, and the comforting smell of warm bread. The ache in her chest felt heavier than her pack. 

“You’ve been quiet tonight.” 

The low, measured voice startled her, and she looked up to see Thorin standing a few paces away. His silhouette was dark against the firelight, his sharp features softened by the glow. He studied her with an expression that wasn’t quite unkind, but wary. 

“I did not mean to disturb you,” he added, his voice gruff but quieter now, as though he’d sensed her unease. 

She hesitated, unsure of how to respond. Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t exactly the type to invite small talk, and he had barely spoken to her since she joined the company. His mistrust had been clear—he had questioned Gandalf more than once about why she had been brought along. And now, here he was, watching her with those piercing eyes, like he was trying to read her soul. 

“It’s nothing,” she said, forcing a faint smile. “Just…thinking.” 

Thorin took a step closer, his arms crossed. “You’ve been ‘just thinking’ since we made camp. That doesn’t strike me as nothing.” 

She let out a soft sigh, looking back at the horizon. “I suppose I’m just homesick.” 

There. She’d said it aloud, and the words felt heavy in the air. She didn’t know what she expected—dismissal, perhaps, or one of his sharp remarks about weakness. But Thorin remained silent, his gaze steady. After a moment, he sat down on a nearby log, his movements deliberate but not unkind. 

“It is no easy thing, to leave home,” he said finally. His voice was softer now, almost reflective. “Even for a noble purpose.” 

She looked at him, surprised by the admission. Thorin rarely spoke of his feelings, and she had never expected him to offer anything resembling sympathy.

“Do you miss it?” she asked before she could stop herself. “Your home?”

Thorin’s jaw tightened, and he looked into the fire. For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he nodded, his expression distant. 

“Every day,” he said quietly. “I’ve carried the memory of Erebor for so long, it feels more like a dream than a place. But I’ve never forgotten the warmth of its halls, the sound of my kin’s laughter. That longing—it does not fade.”

She swallowed hard, her own emotions threatening to rise to the surface. “How do you bear it?” 

Thorin turned his gaze to her, and for the first time, she thought she saw something other than mistrust in his eyes. Perhaps it was understanding. Or maybe a hint of respect.

“You find strength in those who travel beside you,” he said. “In their loyalty, their courage. It is not the same as home, but it is enough to keep moving forward.” 

His words settled over her like a blanket, warm and grounding. For the first time since she’d joined the company, she felt a flicker of hope—a sense that maybe, just maybe, she could belong here. Belong among them. 

“Thank you,” she murmured, her voice almost a whisper. 

Thorin gave her a small, almost imperceptible nod. Then he stood, the gruffness returning to his posture as he adjusted his coat. “Get some rest,” he said. “We leave early.” 

She watched him go, her heart a little lighter than before. Maybe Thorin Oakenshield wasn’t as unapproachable as he seemed. And maybe, in this strange and dangerous journey, she could find a new sense of home—not in a place, but in the people around her.

[squinch-depraved]

Jschlatt. But Y/N is being a brat. Thank you for your time. Have a good day.

okok you sweet thing thank you for your patience here we go

CW: killing bugs, aggressive facefucking, he smacks you once but its chill i swear

you had only agreed to a camping trip because you thought you would get to eat s'mores. but you were thoroughly disappointed when tucker forgot the marshmallows, crossing your arms and leaning back on the log you were sitting on with a harrumph, shrieking when you spilled backwards onto the rough pine needles behind you. schlatt helped you up as you giggled, chuckling softly himself.

"i texted you five separate times about the damn marshmallows, tucker," ted spoke through gritted teeth, eyeing his childhood best friend angrily.

"oh, you mean the marshmallows that were your job in the first place? you got everything else for 'em, ted, chocolate, graham crackers, but somehow you forgot the marshmallows for s'mores and I'M the one at fault!" tucker responded, chucking the pinecone he was playing with down at the ground in front of him.

"sshhhh!!" ted glanced at you, deep in a conversation with schlatt, and glared back at the man. "get up, let's walk down the trail to the general store and get some so we can have dessert," he grumbled, standing up and extending down his hand to help steady tucker as he followed suit.

the two men let you and schlatt know where they were going before heading a few dozen yards away to the rv where tucker and emma were sleeping to invite her along. she agreed and they set off, the couple holding hands and listening intently while ted made theatrical hand gestures and explained whatever tangent he was on.

it was quiet for a bit after ted's voice faded away, only the crackling fire punctuating the comfortable silence between you two, and schlatt tended to it solemnly, occasionally adding more wood to keep it big enough to last until they would return. he figured they'd be gone an hour and flicked his eyes to look at you about five minutes in.

you were still on your back, legs draped over the log you fell off, staring up at the brightest stars beginning to appear in the sky as dusk began to fall. he thought you looked angelic, and he startled you when he cleared his throat to speak.

"sorry," he started, shifting to face you more from his seat above you at the picnic table.

"you're good," you mumbled as you shook your head slightly, training your eyes back on the moon high above you.

"do you know if ted was kidding when he said we only have one tent?"

you laughed, remembering the sleeping arrangements, and shook your head. "do you see another one besides the one we have up?" you gestured broadly behind you somewhere, and, sure enough, schlatt saw a rather large rounded tent a small distance away.

he groaned and squashed a beetle on the ground with his boot, grinding the toe into the earth and smearing the bug beneath him. "i shouldn't have agreed to this," he complained. "two dudes above 6 foot in a tent plus you? no offense, toots, but we're not gonna all fit."

you sat up in shock, not at what he said, but at your clear view of his cruelty towards the feeble creature whose home he was invading. "why would you do that??" you shouted at him, weakly grabbing at his ankle and trying to move his foot by force. he picked his foot up and swiftly yet relatively gently shoved you in the chest with it, planting you on the ground once again.

"the fuck are you doin'?" he laughed mockingly. "it was just a bug, y/n, relax." he said it with a cruel smile and turned away to tend the fire pit. you growled quietly in frustration and sat up again, climbing to sit on the surface of the picnic table so you were almost eye-level with the tall man when he turned back to face you. you were quiet, apparently, and he hadn't heard you moving, so when he saw you there, he let out an embarrassing noise at the jumpscare and immediately began pretending it was something in the woods.

"no, i think that was actually a, um. a creature in the wilderness or something," he fumbled when you asked, sniffing his mustache a few times.

you continued to make fun of him, laughing at his stupid jokes and handing him small sticks to add to the burning pile. when he asked you to hand him his drink, just a few feet to your left, though, you said, "no."

he turned around slowly to look at you after adjusting the fire, as if giving you one final chance to pass it to him. "not askin' for much, toots," he warned.

"i don't feel like not killing bugs is asking for much, but here we are," you yawned. it was getting darker now, maybe 20 minutes had gone by since the rest of your friends had left. "reach for it yourself."

he sighed and grabbed the drink, taking a long sip of whatever he and tucker had concocted while ted, emma, and you worked on dinner. it was quiet for what you thought was almost too long before he spoke.

"are you gonna keep givin' me trouble all night?" it sounded more like a threat than a question. he was still facing the fire, watching the smoke, and you couldn't help but flush at his words.

"i dunno, depends what my prize would be," you teased as you slowly walked two fingers up his back. he shivered and whipped around, grabbing your hand so tight it hurt.

"don't do that, you don't get to pull that cutesy shit after bein' a bitch earlier," he chided down at you. "and i know you'll enjoy hearing what i'd do to you, you stupid whore, so i'm not gonna say anything. but i also know you're just gonna keep pushin' til you find out."

you moaned and bit your lip unknowingly, blinking up at him. he groaned in a mixture of disgust and attraction as he dropped your wrist and turned away.

after minutes of schlatt just tending to the fire, ignoring your increasingly desperate attempts to capture his attention again, you saw a beetle similar to the one he killed earlier crawling on the table an arm's reach from you. a wicked smile spread across your face before you composed yourself and reached down to coax it onto your finger.

quickly and quietly, you guided the little creature onto his shoulder and tapped him, stifling a laugh. he turned, huffing, an annoyed expression adorning his face, and jumped slightly when he saw the bug. for the second time that night, he shrieked, and he swatted frantically at his shoulder blade as you cackled at him.

"you stupid bitch!" he laughed incredulously when he was sure it was gone, turning around fully to tower over you. he put his arms on either side of you and leaned in, breath reeking of whiskey hot on your face as he spat his words at you through gritted teeth. "i'm gonna give you one last warning before i fucking ruin you."

he usually wasn't this patient! you smiled coyly at him and ran your hand across the top of his thigh featherlight, mimicking a skittering spider. his leg twitched and he looked at you, dumbfounded by your blatant desire to piss him off. your smile only got bigger after a moment when he rolled his eyes and smacked you playfully before turning to check the fire was still safe. he didn't know how long he had before your friends got back anymore, and he was going to have to take the risk of being caught if he was to punish you like he wanted.

he gestured for you to get off the table and sat down himself, facing outwards and gesturing for you to kneel between his legs. he looked like a god from this angle, chops framing his face perfectly; the firelight cast a glow on him that just called for you to worship at his feet. you shifted your legs underneath you on the cold ground in an attempt to get some friction at the sight of him undoing his pants and pulling out his cock, but he quickly snapped his fingers and pointed at his crotch before saying, "now. choke on it, doll."

you smiled slightly, shaking your head. unfortunately for you, schlatt was done with your little game. "not fuckin' playin' anymore, you stupid hole, i can be mean if that's what you really want. last chance," he almost pleaded. he was really scared of going too hard with you in the middle of the woods and not being able to get you help if needed.

you stuck your tongue out at him and he grunted, shaking his head as he grabbed you by your hair and shoved your head down his entire length. he used your head like a fleshlight, guiltily reveling in the sloppy noises your lips were making, along with the occasional whimper and moan— and don't get him started on the tears that fell from your eyes as you blinked up at him, those would be something he pictured every time he was by himself for years to come.

"god, toots, i should really plug your mouth up with my cock more often, huh?" schlatt let his head fall back and gripped your hair tighter when he felt you nod with him still in your mouth. he scoffed and peeked at the fire again. "yeah, you love this shit. you lil' whore," he mumbled.

in addition to slamming your mouth up and down on his shaft, he began fucking up into your throat, grunting rhythmically with every thrust after a bit. your throat was incredibly sore, but you were the one that asked for this, so you couldn't complain.

schlatt's groans echoed off the trees, and the nightlife of the forest sang in symphony with him as the dark settled over the campsite. "god, y/n, fuck," he panted, staring up at the universe above him. he wasn't sure if the stars were real or from how good you were making him feel.

but, since all good things must come to an end, schlatt froze when he heard ted's voice coming back from what he thought was a good distance away. "fuck," he muttered. he tried to pull you off but you continued to lick and suck his tip. "fuckin' stop that, y/n! i'm serious, they're almost here," he scolded.

"dude, we already saw! you're the only light source for like several hundred yards! it's cool though, take your time!" tucker called from the rv.

a faint, "dude!" and a smack was heard, followed by laughter. you grinned up at schlatt, who looked mortified, and stood up while he put himself back in his pants.

"come over here with my marshmallows, guys! i was promised s'mores!"

ilyyy thank you for your patience part two should be up sometime in the next few days mwahhhh

[yunniestars]

"maybe this time, love won't end."

. . . ACT I. "Logged Out" ʚɞ pairing: kinich x gn!reader

oh archons, the nerves have never been wrecking so much before.

he was in front of your residence, and the place feels all too familiar. it was definitely a different location, but the taste in decoration screamed you. ah, this felt so surreal, he thought.

taking in deep breaths, he knocked on the wooden door. the doorknob starts to unlock, opening the door and...

"hello, how can i help you?"

oh. that sweet, velvety voice. the one he missed so much.

he couldn't believe his eyes, it really was you. the same person who changed the trajectory of his life and gave it meaning. his star, moon, sun, and everything. the one who made him feel like a lovesick fool, but he'll never regret being one. the jewel that no mora he earns will ever buy. his-

"um, if you're just going to gape at me, then i'm shutting the door." you say with an annoyed look on your face.

"i'm sorry?" he blurts out. okay, that was a mistake, but he's genuinely confused -- were you joking at him?

"uh, excuse me? do you expect me to just let you in? i'm not expecting visitors at the moment, so go leave or else i call someone-"

"ah wait! i'm..." he tries finding a good excuse to stay. suddenly, he remembers the other reason why he's here. "i'm the one for your commission. yeah."

your face then lights up, demeanor going from irritated to overjoyed. "oh then why didn't you say so! gosh, and here i was thinking on methods to get rid of you as soon as possible!"

he then gets hugged by you, the same warmth he used to bask himself in, but right now, it felt... strange. the warmth wasn't the same as before.

you then let go of him, with a cheery grin. "i'm y/n l/n. your name?"

what?

"...kinich. 'malipo' kinich." he responds, a wave of disappointment washing him over.

"great! so, the last time i saw my yumkasaur..." your voice suddenly starts to slowly disperse, words breaking down into inaudible mumbles as if he shut down every sound around him.

you didn't remember him.

୨୧

"my baby!"

you run up to your yumkasaur who ziplines to you, happy to see you after such a long time. kinich watches the scene unfold at him, unsure on how to feel.

the entire time, you were behaved like the same person he loved so much before. the same old yapper who pulled his heartstrings like their life was on the line. except... you acted as if you didn't know him.

"how have you been?" kinich breaks the ice as you two head over the place you say your yumkasaur was last seen.

"that's quite the question for someone you just met... but i guess i've been pretty lonely? after all, pipo has been away from me for so long."

and since then, you continued talking about pipo and the conversation longed on as if you were just getting to know each other.

perhaps for you it was like that, even if he couldn't believe it, but to him, he knew every single thing about you.

however, for some reason, it feels as if his knowledge of you was just useless now.

"thank you for finding pipo for me, i don't know what i would've done," you cry while hugging kinich, who didn't know if he wanted to hug back or just distance himself. "um, as for the compensation..."

"nevermind that," he cuts you off.

your eyes widen in shock. "what? no! i need to pay you. i'll feel guilty my entire life if i just take this for free -- take it!" you hand him a bag of mora, but he shakes his head.

"just... compensate me by being with me. i'll never ask for anything more again," he says in a low whisper, but loud enough for you to hear.

you tilt your head, but nod. "okay then, let's be friends!"

oh, that took a deep cut. you've really forgotten about him.

he took a deep sigh, and nodded back. "friends, then."

well, it's better than being nothing with you.

୨୧ prologue | act ii ୨୧ masterlist

♡ tags: @lvvcian @sunsethw4

a/n: thank you for reading the first chapter! i'm sorry it's really short haha, but i hope it was enjoyable nevertheless. idk when i can update again, but i have a lot of ideas in my mind right now, so probably 2-3 days from now. also, thank u to the nice comments that were left at my work! it's been motivating me to continue so it means a lot haha. love u all

[casuallyanidiot]

part 2 of yandere model please 🥺🙏

Tw. For mentions of sex, dubcon, and surveilance

Yandere model, known as Caspian to his fans and most of the modeling world, has been keeping you locked up in his luxury penthouse for god only knows how many days.

It wasn't too bad, in all honesty. Besides the whole being locked up part, you had free reign of his house, and even access to the internet. Though, it was heavily monitored and restricted as you quickly found out after you attempted to log into a social media account to ask for help. Caspian had sent a barrage of messages, the computer crashed, and you weren't allowed to leave your room for two or three days after that.

Something you noticed was the cameras that were set up in every crook and corner that you could possibly think of. You felt a coil of anxiety whenever you caught sight of a blinking light in the corner of your eye. It was even worse when you realized that there were at least five separate little lenses in the bathroom. You shuddered to think of what exactly he used the footage for. He would come to you everyday after work and tell you all about the shows, auditions, and meetings he attended with a small smile.

"I saw you ate that new flavor of yogurt I got you! Good job, honey. It's healthier for you than that old slop you used to have in your fridge," He laughed and stroked your hair as the two of you lounged in bed. "Oh, and I love that pair of panties on you. Can I see them? They looked so cute when I saw them on screen," He chuckled and kissed your cheek, his fingers playing with the loose elastic waistband of your sweatpants.

He was such a creep.

Another thing you came across was the fact that you never realized how much Caspian credited you for his career before this whole ordeal either. He had basically given you a bit of homework to do.

"Every day while I'm out, you need to watch at least three clips of me on the runway," He instructed, much to your confusion. It was just so odd of a request to make to what was essentially a captive. "I'll know if you haven't," He added quickly, an odd, giddy lilt filling his words. It was like he was excited to cause you discomfort, to know that you felt anything for him at all.

You watched him on screen daily. You studied his poses, his gait, and his facial features out of sheer boredom. When he would come home, Caspian would snuggle into your arms and chatter excitedly about the shows and commercials you'd seen.

"What did you think of my poses for the jewelry brand? Hm? You know honey, I was thinking of how you'd look in all those pretty gems. That's how I got so into the role there...Oh! And see how I was strutting in this one? How angry I looked? That's me thinking of how mad I would be if you ever tried to leave me haha! You're my muse (y/n)!"

You tried not to think about it too hard. You tried not to linger on the fact that it was like every move he made was part of some elaborate, hidden worship of your love and relationship that he had conjured up from nearly the moment you met. It was like he couldn't do what he did if he didn't have you.

Maybe the worst part about living with Caspian, if you could even call it that, was that he pretended like this was somehow normal. He bought you a slew of makeup products, all high quality and from luxury brands, and presented a basket of new products to you everyday.

"Here! For you to practice with!" He beamed and pushed another round of expensive goods that you could only dream of touching when you were a newer Makeup artist on the scene. You picked them up gingerly with narrowed eyes as if they would burn you if you held them too long. For Caspian, you doing makeup, either on him or yourself, was like a nostalgic, sweet callback to the first time the two of you met back at a less than respectable fashion show that the two of you had been paid pennies to work at.

At the time, the you were so fresh faced and eager to get any gigs you could. Maybe if you hadn't been so career hungry, you could've maybe questioned why you were being booked to high end events all of a sudden. Maybe you could've stepped back and noticed his hungry eyes on you, or the fact that you never seemed to get any jobs without him. That's why you knew he didn't actually care about your happiness.

If he cared, he wouldn't be chasing your admiration, approval and affection all while gifting you what was essentially a slap in the face.

Your job, your life, your individuality wasn't as important to him as owning you was, and you felt that every time you applied lipstick to his perfectly shaped mouth. He shuddered under your touch, and you always kept your gaze even. To him, everything you had done before he had pinned you down, kissed you, and knocked you out backstage at a show was just him allowing you to play and pretend at being free. At being successful. At ever being without him.

The realest you that you could be, according to Caspian, was in his lap, in his home, lavishing over his face exactly as you had when you first met.

[axescryinwater]

｡⋆𖦹.✧˚──

you’ve been walking for hours.

the snow crunches under your boots, soft and stubborn. it’s early, not quite morning, not quite night. that weird blue hour where the trees blur together and everything looks like a painting. ellie’s a few feet ahead of you, rifle slung over her shoulder, her other hand jammed in her pocket. she’s humming something under her breath, low and tuneless. probably doesn’t even know she’s doing it.

you’d followed her out this morning for patrol. well, you offered. she didn’t say no, just raised her eyebrows and said, “hope you’re not squeamish." you’re not. mostly.

but now, hours in, no infected in sight, she’s kneeling in the snow next to a fallen log, flipping through her beat up sketchbook. her gloves are hanging out of her pocket, her fingers red from the cold as she shades something in with a pencil. you awkwardly hover behind her, “what’re you drawing?” you ask, voice soft like it might break something.

ellie glances up at you, a smudge of graphite on her cheekbone. she shrugs. “just saw a rabbit earlier. figured i’d get it down before i forgot.”

you lean over her shoulder, watching the strokes of her pencil. the sketch is rough but careful, ellie’s kind of careful. like she’s scared of getting it wrong but doesn’t wanna show it.

“you’re really good,” you say.

she makes a face like she doesn’t believe you. “sure.”

you chew your lip, glancing at the empty space on the corner of the page. “can i… try?”

ellie blinks. “seriously?”

“yeah.” you shrug, trying to act casual. “i used to doodle stuff. nothing good.”

she hesitates, like she’s about to make a joke. then she just passes the sketchbook to you and says, “don’t fuck it up.” but her tone is warm and teasing. safe.

you sit down next to her on the log, your thighs brushing, the cold seeping through your jeans. the pencil’s warm from her hand. you look at the blank corner and freeze up a little.

“shit,” you mutter. “how do you even start?”

ellie leans in, her shoulder pressed to yours. “just find the shape first. don’t think about the details.”

you glance at her, and she’s already looking at you, her mouth half quirked up in this lopsided grin that makes your stomach do something annoying.

you try to draw a bird. you saw one earlier—a little brown thing that darted through the trees like it had somewhere important to be. your lines are shaky, clumsy. your rabbit looks more like a lumpy sock. you scowl. ellie snorts.

“okay, rude,” you say.

“what? i didn’t say anything.”

you nudge her with your elbow and she laughs, low and scratchy. “nah, it’s not that bad,” she adds. “here, lemme…”

she takes the pencil from you and lightly draws over your lines, fixing the shape, softening the angles. her hand rests over yours, steady and sure, and you swear you forget how to breathe for a second.

you look up at her. she’s close. too close. but you don’t move.

“see?” she murmurs. “not bad.”

you nod, eyes still on her, and for a second, the snow stops falling and the cold doesn’t matter and the whole world feels quiet.

ellie blinks down at you. her voice, when she speaks, is barely above a whisper.

“you, uh… ever come out here just to hang?”

you smile. “maybe i will.”

she grins, it looked crooked and nervous, but it was cute.

you stay like that for a while. shoulders touching, breath clouding in the cold, sketchbook balanced between you. maybe the hunt wasn’t the point after all.

[seattlesellie]

soccer!ellie x cheerleader!reader headcannons (sfw+nsfw) ⚽️💗 18+

this has been on my mind a lot.

ᥫ᭡ first of all, lets make it clear. ellie is a forward, and an attacking midfielder. when it comes to playing, ellie's a game maker. she's calculated, and knows exactly what she's doing. often times, you could catch her pacing around the midfield in what may seem like an aimless strut, but if you really look at her, you would notice those brain gears turning, she's thinking ahead. it's as if she gets inside her opponents brains and studies them. she knows exactly what their next move will be, and when the balls in-between her legs, her kicks are precise and calculated. while everybody else is chasing the ball, ellie already knows how to score the next goal, and a minute later? she does. oh— and it's her third one in the game already.

ᥫ᭡ when ellie scores, she can get a little cocky, but it took her some time and practice to get this comfortable. when she scored the first goal on her very first college game, she stood frozen in front of the goalie. her eyes narrowed in confusion, “did i…?”— and in a matter of exactly five seconds, her teammates were all over her. dragging her across the field, picking her up and cheering her on. ellie was so exultant and excited she swore she stopped breathing for a moment.

ᥫ᭡ now? when ellie scores... yeah, she knows exactly what she's worth. she points her finger to her ear, signals at the audience; "let me hear you", and nods her head when the chanting gets louder. when they shout; "williams! williams! williams!" her ego inflates in her chest, and she almost feels like a god— albeit, she's not annoying about it. it's just fun when people scream her name, you know?

ᥫ᭡ sometimes, ellie spots a cutie in the audience and hands her her sweat drenched tee with a shy smile. speaking of tee? her kit is a black shirt with blue stripes, and a royal blue, golden crown symbol. her nike socks are pulled up to her ankles, and when she jacks up her shirt to wipe some sweat off her sheeny forehead, she reveals her mouth watering abs, and a firm v line right on her lower abdomen. no wonder girls swoon over her, and no wonder she likes it.

ᥫ᭡ when ellie saw you in the audience, the last thing on her mind was handing you her tee. honestly, what she wanted to do was hide under a bench and bite the ball between her teeth. you made her too nervous, what could she say? you weren't just a cutie in the audience, you were drop dead gorgeous, you wore that cheerleading outfit and you cheered for her— well, for her team, and for some reason she couldn't quite recognize, you paid her no mind. you were the only one who didn't flash her flirty, playful smiles after the won a big game, and you were the only one who made her heart feel like it was dropping right to her pants.

ᥫ᭡ after scoring three goals, she finally spotted you. you had your pom pom's in your hands, and you were talking to two of your friends. after you noticed she was looking, practically staring, you raised her a small, shy smile, and her breath quickened. right when she waved at you, you turned around. then— she pretended to wave at someone else. that, led her blush to creep down to her chest. she fumbled the ball twice, almost tripped on her shoelaces and received one yellow card, that turned into two yellow cards— when she decided that arguing with the referee wouldn't be a stupid decision.

ᥫ᭡ ellie has access to her teams instagram account, so she stalks you from there. obviously, she doesn't follow you on her personal account because at the end of the day she's a terrified loser, hence why she's right here, at 9pm, on her best friends bed, logged on to the jackson's tigers. she comes across a picture of you from december. she groaned at how pretty you are, dropped her phone right on her forehead and... double tapped. "oh fuckfuckfuckfuck" "fucking hate this fucking phone... DINA! HELP" ᥫ᭡ when you asked her teammate about it the next day, ellie was near, and she turned her head to the other direction so swiftly her neck almost cracked. then, that night, she concluded that the smartest thing to do was to spam like all of the jacksons tigers cheerleaders posts and comment "out favorite cheerleaders!" on one of your pictures from practice.

you were so freaking confused.

ellie thought she was a genius.

ᥫ᭡ clearly, ellie talks about you with her teammates. she talks about you so much they practically call her a “fucking idiot” for not asking you out already. it always begins with “that one cheerleader…” and then, they immediately roll their eyes, because they know who she’s talking about, and for some reason— she refuses to use your name. she says it's because she doesn't remember it. they think it's because she's a loser. “one cheerleader”, as if there were truly any others on her mind.

ᥫ᭡ when she asked you out for the first time, it was right after a game. a 6:1 game. she felt so triumphant and the adrenaline rushed through her veins, it was almost a given. she was going to ask you out. today. right now. she walked over, fanning herself with her tee, absentmindedly flashing her abs, you looked at her and smiled so softly she felt as if she was going to choke. “good game, williams” you bubbled, and now, what fucking game and who’s fucking williams? so flustered, all she wanted to do was join the water polo team and drown herself in the pool. “hey… you want my shirt?” she muttered, could you tell she was breathless?. right, her shirt, this is the move.

“for…?” you responded, tilting your head.

she stammered, and toyed with the hem of her tee. “for um…” for? for? for? “for the…” she huffed, scratching her neck.

“for our date?”

ᥫ᭡ for your first date, she took you out for milkshakes. although they were two dollars each, she insisted on paying and nearly dropped her wallet on the floor. "no, really, let me… please?", and who could say no to that? you two practically talked about nothing and everything at the same time. she teased you about being a cheerleader; "all you do is jump around" (she knew it wasn't true, she just wanted to see how cute you'd get when you're pissed) and somehow, you weren't pissed. you responded with a grin.

"and all you do is run around and chase the ball like a dog"

ᥫ᭡ she truly felt like if she didn't kiss you right now she might die, so she did. she crawled under the booth like an idiot, and sat directly next to you. her eyes darted form your lips to your eyes, to your lips again.

"are you gonna ki—"

ᥫ᭡ the next moment you knew, her hand was on the back of your neck, and her lips crashed into yours. when she pulled away, cheeks flushed and lips still parted, she whispered a breathy "yeah, gonna kiss you".

after that night? you two were inseparable, glued by the hip.

ᥫ᭡ ellie gets incredibly in her head before games. she's slightly anxiety ridden, paces in fast circles around the room just huffing under her breath about different strategies, and what her opponents will do. "if i get a penalty kick..." she begins, and she looks so angry and pouty you have a feeling that you know exactly what's gonna help. the best remedy to her nerves? you. it's as if a comically large lightbulb appears over your head. "wait, what's a panel kick?" you question, tilting your head. you give her this pout, like you're stupid— but you know exactly what a penalty is, you've been to about ten games already. she chuckles softly under her breath and shifts her body towards you. "penalty, babe, it's penalty kick" then, you ask her to explain. she sits down on the bed, pats her thigh and signals you to sit on her lap. when you do, it begins. all she does is elliesplain soccer to you, and suddenly all of her nerves are gone. she doesn't know what you're doing, or maybe she does, but truly, she doesn't mind. your touch light as a feather, you caress her arm as she rambles on and on, and at one point— you're not even listening. you fully are just staring into her eyes, focusing on making her feel good. you get off from her lap, and signal her to place her head on your thighs. "keep going, els" you softly hum. "and then... on that one game, messi and ronaldo, like—“ then, she yawns, and her voice has that sweet, lazy raspiness to it, gets breathier and softer. she dozes off right on your thigh. when she wakes up, she huffs a small "thank you", and you know it's sincere. she kisses your jaw, gently holds your wrist, brings it up to her chaste lips, and pecks it softly. "you're too cute, you know that?"

ᥫ᭡ once you two started dating, you no longer felt like the teams cheerleader, you felt like you were ellie's, and ellie's only. obviously, you dont make it clear to them, but when you cheer— you keep your eyes glued on her. you sneak extra glances, and sweet smiles just for ellie. when the chant ends with a "go team!" you mouth her a small "go... ellie" and to that, she grins, and cocks her head.

you give ellie her final hug, before she has to go on the field. "go ellie?" she whispers in your ear. "yeah" you bite your lip, swallowing a giggle, and her hand pinches your waist. "oh yeah?", and it's so raspy and teasing that it makes your knees nearly give up on you. "good luck, williams" you kiss her on the cheek, but she tsk's, grabs your jaw and kisses you hard, in front of everybody.

"don't need luck when you're right here"

ᥫ᭡ when ellie scores, she dedicates the goal to you. she’s scanning the audience, and when she finds you, jumping up and down, clapping your hands and screaming her name, she points at you, and only at you. "this one's for you" she mouths. truthfully? all of them are. as soon as the game ends, her teams all over her. picking her up, carrying her around— that's until she spots you, sucking on your bottom lip and smiling so big it's making her heart practically melt. "wait a sec, guys..." she walks off, and when they groan, she shrugs; "gotta say hi to my girlf—" before she even finishes her sentence, you're jumping in her arms. she picks you up, spins you around and giggles so loud even her teammates can't help but join in. "you're my fucking champion, ellie" you praise, looking deep into her eyes.

"you're my champion" she won. and yet, you still are.

"but you won!!" you argue, fuck— your heads starting to spin.

"only won cause you’re here, only fucking reason" and maybe, it is.

ᥫ᭡ you made her a good luck charm bracelet, and decorated it with blue, black, golden beads. she wears it on her her left wrist, to every single game. she doesn't exactly believe in luck, but she believes in you, and she believes that somehow, every game she won was because of that charm.

nsfw 💗:

ᥫ᭡ the no sex before a big game policy her coach had forced upon the team popped like a little bubble when you two met. one time, one of her friends talked about it with you. you had no idea that was even a thing. the only sentence she said afterwards, was "if coach finds out, she's toast" oh.

ᥫ᭡ one thing about ellie is that she's obsessed with fucking you in your cheerleading outfit. makes you do a little spin, and then takes your top off. when it comes to the skirt? "leave it on, babe". she thinks it has to be a kink or something, because when she watches you cheer, your skirt slightly hiking up and revealing a little of your upper thigh, she loses her mind. she has to bite on her tongue and her face goes all red, you’re killing her— did you know that?

she's sat comfortably on the bed, dressed in her grey sweats and sports bra, whilst you demonstrate your cute little dance. "first, i have to kick my leg up" — and when you do, your panties poke through and she has to swallow hard. "yeah? what else" she places her palms on her thighs, spreads them, and keeps her eyes glued on your body. "then... a little spin" you twirl, and the air lifts your skirt up. to that, she mutters a curse word under her breath.

"do that again"

"ellie…” you whine, and before she has time to respond, you just do it again.

she nods her head up and down. "take your panties off"

you don't listen, do you? deciding on giving her that bratty attitude, she tells you again. "i said... take those panties off"

you stand in front of her, lifting your brow. she gets on her knees, places a soft kiss on your inner thigh, pats it lightly, takes them off for you and stuffs them in her pocket.

"now, do that spin again"

ᥫ᭡ when you take her strap while wearing your skirt, she truly goes crazy. makes you bounce on it as the fabric flaps around, fully just teasing her, and she's just as close to cumming as you are. "fuck! mmmph-ellie!" you wail, incoherently so, and it sounds like pure gibberish. "again, say my name again" she hisses, and now— she's practically fucking it into you, rolling her hips so you don't even have to move a muscle. the only thing you do, is spread your puffy folds open for her, hiking up your skirt so she gets a good view of your pussy and your erect little clit, pumping just for her. "i said... fuck— again" "ellie!" you gasp, and the look on her face is a look of pure bliss, of pure smugness, cocky satisfaction. "that's it…”

ᥫ᭡ when she has a big game coming up, truthfully, so do you. cheering might not be as intense, and it's not a damn competition, but you work just as hard. which is why... she makes you chant those cheering athems while she's inside of you. maybe, it'll make you remember them better.

"what comes next, huh?" she croaks, circling your clit with her thumb whilst deliciously splitting you open with her strap. "then its... it's... oh— ellie" you sob, clenching around her as if she might run away if you won't. "it's...?" she teases, and takes your cheeks between her fingers. "it's... go t—t—team" you whimper, squeaking like a dog's chew toy. "i dont think that's quite right" she manages to keep her voice steady, but her movements are anything but. she's panting, and encourages you on. "c'mon— gotta remember it f'me, you can do it" she grunts, gives your ass a little slap that makes you squirm. she grabs the fat between her palms, and nods her head. you can truly do it, you know you can. "it's... it's go el— go ellie" with the sound of her name, she fastens her pace, both inside of your achy cunt, and right on your clit. "el— el— gonna c—cu!" you cry out, holding on to her wrist while she hovers on top. "you're gonna what?" now, her voice is just as unsteady, with the base of the strap hitting her puffy, wet clit. "c—cum" when you manage to cry, it washes over you, mind boggling, makes your entire body jolt till you're shaking beneath her. she helps you ride it out,

"take it— fuck— take what's yours, take it.”

“that's my girl"

ᥫ᭡ anyways, ellie is obsessed with the way her name sounds as it leaves your mouth. obsessed with hearing you scream it, whimper it, whine it, obsessed when it comes out shaky, and obsessed when it's crystal clear. her favorite one though? "go... ellie!"

ᥫ᭡ if she loses a game... oh, what a sore loser. she puts the blame entirely on herself, especially with her new role as the teams captain. but oh, how lucky she is, to have such a considerate girlfriend. when you two got home from the game, you laid on the bed. she gave your hand a little squeeze;

"gonna shower" and she lifts her body or of the mattress. “dont wait up, babe— go to sleep"

she opens the bathroom door, and the water start streaming. you really won't go to sleep though, would you? what you do instead, oh...

you go through her bag, aimlessly looking for something... something, that will make her feel better. something that will show her she's the boss, whether she loses or wins.

her tee. "WILLIAMS" on the back, with the number "7" right below. you can't help but chuckle, grin— even, and do a little dance before you put it on. it's sweaty, damp, but you don't seem mind. you take off your shirt, your bra and your panties, and you wear it. it smells like her and it caresses right over your nipples, you almost have to stop from being so nasty and touching yourself with whilst she's showering. you're wearing her tee, her name— williams— you're hers. williams fucking girl. you sit pretty on the bed, legs wide open, and you wait. you wait and you wait and you wait— till you no longer hear the water streaming. she opens the door, and if your heart skipped a beat, ellie was pure having heart palpitations. she groaned loudly, and you almost felt the air she let out on your skin. "what is... what—“ she moves closer, and her eyes look hungry, ravenous.

"m'showing you.." you purr, in an attempt to hide the nervousness in your voice. you turn around, on all fours, purposely flashing her your ass and your cunt when the tee rides up. you point at your back. "who i belong to...”

ellie's never moved so quickly in her life, not even when she's chasing the ball. she yanks you by the tee, and pulls you closer to her chest. "yeah?" she whispers, as if she doesn't already know the answer. she nibbles on your neck, and you whimper.

"all yours... captain"

oh fuck.