#When I found out the echo in the color that's when I knew I have to draw this

[dude-ihavenoidea]

HELL IS EMPTY

ALL THE DEMONS ARE HERE

Wanda is the Scarlet Witch. After going through the heartbreak of losing her perfect fake life, she cannot settle down with just a real and empty one. Wishing for all that should be impossible to have – it’s just not the most safe choice to make, or the most healthy life to fantasize about, but for her, it’s not a choice at all. Her children. Her boys. They are the last and only source of happiness remaining in her life. And Wanda want… WILL… have them back. She will destroy whatever it takes. Kill whomever is in her way.

But there’s consequences. The living and breathing embodiment of a nightmare, created by the decisions of no one other than the Scarlet Witch herself. All that Wanda should have predict, and all that she will never forget.

They are equals – with a destructive mind and the power to end it all. Two sides of the same blood stained coin.

Warning ⚠️ ⚠️ This story will contain talks of depression, anxiety, grief, gruesome murder and other sensitive topics. YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED!

A/N: DOCTOR STRANGE: MoM SPOILERS! I intend to make this a small series, after seeing the movie I just could not stop thinking about it.

English is not my native language, so there might be some mistakes. Sorry!

Part 02

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Red light pulses and flickers, dancing in the air like random drawings that float out of the tip of black fingers. Wanda stood proudly. Shadows dance in the walls around her, the darkness weakened by the glow of the candles. She found something. Ashes of the Darkhold scattered the floor around and beneath her feet, her eyes furious. The vision she just had, burning in her mind with whispers echoing all around her skull. Mocking her, and the plans she had made this far.

One possibility in millions. Destiny called for it’s rights, and now everything changed. It’s up for Wanda to figure out how the hell she will keep things in control, and angered her to no end knowing that she had just lost her vantage.

“Who is she…”, she growled through greeted teeth. Wong fisted a bunch of dust and tiny stones, trying to crawl away as much as possible. “Answer me!” the scream echoed.

The wind blew strong, bringing the scent of smoke and death that covered Kamar-Taj. Wong stopped when one of his fingers reached a hand, alone in the center of a big puddle of blood.

Magic got him by one of his legs, and pulled him all the way back to the steps that he so miserably rolled down. Laying flat in the burned stones, feeling the ground hurting his spine, air got knock out of his lungs when he landed against a wall straight after. Planks of wood falling atop of him, some parts of the sealing too.

“Who. Is. She”, Wanda growled again. Her voice deepened and distorted by raw power.

“I-I don’t… k-know”, Wong barely got out. Blood dripping from his mouth and cold sweat rolling down his forehead.

Wanda let out a grunt of frustration. She walked and walked, trying to get herself to think of something. Anything that could help, but she never had seen something like it. Not even in the Darkhold. That woman looked strangely familiar, and angry. A kind of anger that made her dangerous, ignoring it would be the dumbest idea she would ever had.

Wong let out a whimper, desperately trying to seat up, fighting the pain of broken bones and bruised muscles. Wanda watched, still thinking. When the sorcerous finally could get a breath of air without coughing, her eyes glowed bright red. Wong felt a stinging pain behind his eyes, his body tensed up like he just got electrocuted. In his mind, the image of the woman that Wanda seemed to worry about.

She was… terrifying. In a strange and confusing way. Her magic was strong, moving around like pure darkness, and her eyes were a door to the deepest void Wong has ever seen. In the vision, she looked directly at him, as if she knew Wanda would be watching. No dark color in the tip of her long slim fingers, nothing special in her clothes. Black jeans, combat boots, a heavy jacket full of pockets. The only thing that shined in her entire body was a ring. Secured in her chest by a small chain hanging around her neck. Delicate, and small. It looked out of place.

The woman didn’t said anything. She just stood and stared deep in to Wong’s eyes. Terrifying, and yet…

Wong blinked when the vision was gone from his mind and Wanda watched curiously while he stared at a random spot in the mass of rubble. Dried blood mixed with dust and ashes. The vision wasn’t for him.

Wong smiled. Bleeding and in pain – he still smiled. A big vein appeared in Wanda’s temple, and she closed her lips in a white line. A humorless nasal laugh sounding just as impatient as she felt.

Wong didn’t know who the stranger was, but now he knew that Wanda, had finally met someone strong enough to let her worried. This woman not only was waiting anxiously for the encounter, but she also was one-step forward. Sensing Wanda’s presence from other universe, and having the guts to look her dead in the eye.

Wanda had a reason for this mess, even if it was a mad one. The stranger had one too.

“I don’t know her, but… can’t wait to meet her personally”. Wong laughed this time.

Wanda slapped him with a ball of angry red magic, careful not to get him unconscious. He would be of no use then.

“Come”, she said like he had a choice, and Wong was dragged again.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

The stranger – this Y/N woman, she was… intriguing, at least. America watched as they walked through the streets of Sokovia, looking for a place to rest for a few hours. When they finally got to this small building, and the door to the last apartment was opened with a old looking spell, they were both brought inside and welcomed to get some new clothes or something to eat from the fridge.

“What is this place?”, Stephen asked.

“You’ve never been to an apartment before? Usually, this is how they look from the inside“-

“I know how a apartment looks like”, he huffed.

“Then don’t ask stupid questions”, she said back with a little smirk. Seems like she liked annoying Strange.

America watched, somewhat amused with the first look of emotion on the woman’s face and then shrugged when Strange looked at her, annoyed. “What?”.

“It’s my old apartment”, Y/n explained, watching outside the window. “Wanda and I used to live here, before we got married”.

The sadness in her voice came back quickly, America tried not to stare at the pictures all around. Strange didn’t care much, he looked, and looked some more until he decided to sit down.

“So, what’s your plan? Tag along until Wanda appears?”.

“Yes”, she turned around seeming almost bored. “Wanda already knows I’m helping you. She won’t be a problem for much longer”.

“What?”, Strange said quickly. Y/N kept looking at him, not surprised. “She knows you’re with us. Do you really think the best plan is to just… what, take a nap at your old apartment and wait for her to show up?”.

She stared again. In that strange consuming way that could make the most powerful people in the world very uncomfortable.

“You are… confident”, America said cautiously in the silence.

“You had the Darkhold”, Strange pointed. “You use magic without saying a single word or move. You said you are… a mistake in the fabric of reality. That your existence is real only in this universe”.

Y/N crossed her arms and rested her back up against the wall. Not even looking a tad bit worried. America wrecked her brain, trying to figure out what Strange was on about.

“And…”, she encouraged.

“Wife and kids… In this universe, Wanda had a wife and kids. That never… She’s always married with Vision”.

“Now, hold on a second… What?”, Y/N blinked with a disgusted look. “Wanda. My Wanda… With the stoplight?”.

“Stop…”, America snickered and coughed a bit after, trying to contain herself. “I-I mean, yeah. Wanda and Vision are totally a thing”.

“What?”, Y/N asked again and America nodded her head with a little uncomfortable smile. “That’s… I mean, he’s a robot… Kinda of a unique… relationship, that’s for sure. Uhm… were they… Was she happy?”.

America didn’t know the answer, she looked at Strange wanting to know for sure. Stephen sighed and softly nod. Y/N knew something had happened.

“They were happy for some time, I think. Until Thanos got to us and… Wanda had to destroy the stone”.

“Your Wanda killed the man she loved…”, Y/N said cautiously.

“And then watched when Thanos brought him back to get the stone, which-“.

“Killed him again”.

“Yes”, Strange nodded.

Y/N stayed quiet for a while and than sighted, running a hand through her hair in deep thought.

“I assume that’s when the Hex started. With the boys? She made everything up, because she lost the life she wanted”.

There was no need to answer, the room fell quiet. America looked at the pictures a bit more this time and Strange seem to find some entertainment in staring Y/N down for the next minutes.

“Is… Pietro alive?”.

“No”, he answered quietly. “Ultron”.

Y/N snapped her eyes at him by the name, something tense glittering in her eyes for a small second.

“Does she have anyone? Friends?”

“The Avengers were her family”.

“If they aren’t family anymore, they never deserved to be called that. Wanda has enough shit- had…enough to deal with already. Getting abandoned by her friends after losing everything she loved…”, Y/N let out a sour chuckle and walked out of the room with a sad smile. “Nothing I can’t relate…”.

“Do you have friends? Someone who can help us, I mean”, America said. Trying to cover up her curiosity and compassion with a plan.

Strange looked at her for a bit and then turned his head to the end of the living room, where Y/N had stopped to look back with a smile that didn’t seemed as sad as before.

“I do”, she said and America sighted. “But I fear that meeting them when you’re here would be… counterproductive. Some of them at least”.

“What’d you mean?”, she asked curiously.

Y/N chuckled. She would’ve found the amount of questions and nosing In her business annoying a few years back. When were still just her fiancé and her living in that apartment. Roaring twenties, with parties, hangovers and a lot of make out sessions.

The married life with twins changed her a bit. For the good. And she missed the constant curios questions, giggles and the sound of cartoons dancing through the living room of her home. Nothing felt like it again, this old apartment, the empty house. Anywhere around the city felt like nowhere at all.

Because they weren’t there. Wanda and the boys where now buried in the ground of the local cemetery. With they’re names carved into stone and still fresh dirt above their cascates.

Y/N closed her fist and dug her nails into the skin, swallowing the huge lump that burned in the back of her throat. The smile she gave out was fake, Strange hated how easily he knew the difference. It was easy when he had a similar one for the mirrors, fans and pretty much everyone else. Including the woman, that he not only loves, but is also happy with someone else.

“The Illuminati and I have not been seeing eye to eye since I got the Darkhold”.

“You’ve stolen the Darkhold…”.

“It’s mine”, Strange sensed something off about that, “it was requested of me to let it sealed and kept away for safety. They’d studied it from time to time, but I always knew where it was. I just now found a reason to take it”.

“Power”, Strange insinuated. “You got the book because you need it to kill Wanda. For revenge. This just gets better and better”.

“I don’t need an old, dusty, fucking book to destroy the woman who took everything from me”, she growled and walked forward. Stephen immediately lifted his hands, getting himself ready to fight and protect America.

Y/N stopped right at his face, looking in his eyes with a anger that burned and tensed up all the muscles in her body. Like paint dripping from the walls, the shadows around and below the furniture started to move. Whispers calling from every direction, colors fading like the darkness was feeding from the light. Crawling quickly to pool at Y/N ankles.

“Who are you…”, America whispered, astonished and terrified.

Just as quickly as everything became so heavy, it came to be… easy, and real. It turned back to normal again. Like a switch. A punch to the gut or a bullet to the brain.

Y/n closed her eyes and took a big step back, the shadows followed. The colors of the room slowly coming back. So that’s how the empty house got black and white?, America thought.

Something was very wrong with her.

Stephen had never seen that kind of magic, but still felt familiar. He was reconsidering their ‘partnership’ at this point. Having her around felt like going for a walk with a bomb tied to his body.

“Blow it up”, Y/n said and he cursed himself for letting her in. “As long as you want America safe, and Wanda away from you two, I’m not a threat”.

“We don’t want Wanda dead”, America said quickly.

“No one is perfect”, Y/n said back with a sigh. “Go, have something to eat, get yourselves ready. Ultron’s robots will be here pretty soon, I suppose”.

“Excuse me?” Stranger questioned, taken a back.

“Oh, shit” America cursed under her breath.

“Did you just set us up?!”

“No, Xavier has been spying on me for a while now. I never let him in, but you guys had no clue. And like I said, not all of the Illuminati. We can get help there, and a bit more of protection. Stand down, red thingy”, the cape flapped it’s sides a bit and Y/N smiled, amused.

“Thought you said you could take her…”, America said and quickly explained when Y/n looked her way. “Not doubting you, just… you know… curious… She’s the Scarlet Witch”.

“You’ll need help to get away while I’m dealing with her. There’s someone inside, that can help. She owns me”.

“Oh”, America sounded a little surprised by the plan. “Sounds much better than just… jumping between universes”.

Strange rolled his eyes and turned around to the kitchen. His cape making a show of flapping around a bit more then usual just to make him look better. Like suddenly this gush of heroic air had just past the living room. America frowned when her wrist was grabbed with a whoosh of fabric and she ended up being dragged away by the cape, just like a mother gets her kid away from trouble.

The next minutes were spent in silence, not something that bothered Y/n or Strange, but America was definitely uncomfortable. She bite down on the piece of toast in her plate and cleaned the few crumbs with a tied smile. Strange gulped down almost half of the water bottle. Y/n sighted, deciding to say something.

“How’s Cristine?”, America choked a bit and reached for her glass.

Stephen looked Y/n dead in the eye and answered dryly, “Married”.

Y/n frowned and chuckled on the other side of the kitchen, “Weird way of saying that but, uhm… congratulations”.

“She’s… Christine and him are not…”, America tried to ease up the tension.

Y/n open and closed her mouth like a fish for a couple of times, than she just scratched her forehead and turned to put the glass in the sink. A humorless smiled that burned in Stephen’s mind.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean anything buy it – I just… Your universe is fucking awful”, she explained and Stephen actually nodded.

Well, that’s progress… I guess, America thought and Y/n smiled a bit after blinking casually to her. The girl smiled big, and had another mouth full of the crunchy bread.

“Were we friends?”, Stephen questioned.

“Huh? Oh, here? No. We hated each other”, she answered and turned around to wash her hands.

“Well that explains the tension in the air”, America murmured.

“Yeah, definitely not friends. More like… someone I knew from work that pissed me off”, Y/n explained. “And the asshole who treated my friend badly”.

Stephen’s stomach grew heavy, he looked anywhere but Y/n’s face for a minute. “Until he redeemed himself, yeah. Then I started tolerating him more easily”.

Strange looked quickly, he could see America smiling by the corner of his eyes. Y/n had her arms crossed and a soft smile on her face. One that he felt lucky to witness. “What did he do?”, the teenager asked curiously.

“Saved Wanda’s life when I wasn’t around to help”, she answered looking down to the wedding ring that she wore with the delicate chain around her neck.

Strange took a sip of his water noticing the pain that lingered in her, like looking in the mirror. “Still an asshole though”, he said with a chuckle.

“Absolutely”, Y/n agreed. “Huge asshole”.

That was nice. Strangely nice. Like making a weird mix in the kitchen with the most random things you could get out of the fridge, and then realizing it tasted something close to your parents cooking then you could ever muster yourself too do. Or maybe, like realizing you have a few more minutes too sleep before the alarm clock goes off.

It was abnormally… comforting.

“I’m sorry”, Y/n says to him. And the truth in her eyes shined. It was like watching someone so pure reemerging front the darkness just to make someone’s day feel better.

Strange nodded, silent and a bit taken a back. But he smiled. For once in a long time, with no sarcasm or bittersweet longing – he just smiled a little. Feeling undertood.

A knock on the door made the duo freeze for a moment, Y/n only circled around the kitchen counter and walked to the front door. Opening it as if they weren’t running away from the worst psycho of the multiverse.

One thing that made them suspicious, was the anxious way she hid the wedding ring dangling in her chest under her shirt. Like it was supposed to be a secret.

“Yes? Oh, Hi-“, she got interrupted by a generous smack to the face.

Y/n didn’t make a sound, her head stayed there for a few seconds while the taste of blood surged around her tongue. Stephen got up immediately and America prepared to jump away if necessary, they couldn’t get a clear view of who was crazy enough to punch y/n’s face like that. Only the top of a redhead.

“Seriously?” Y/N questioned with a sigh and looked up.

“You deserved that”.

Stephen frowned. He didn’t knew that voice, in the five years he was away, the sorcerer never got to meet the woman who kept the avengers alive. Y/n still blocked the door. She was punched just now and didn’t even looked pissed at all.

“Guess I did”.

“Don’t you ever. And, I mean. EVER. Do that shit to me again”, the redhead ordered with a pointing finger. “When I call, you answer. That was the fucking deal!”

“Yeah, I know”.

“Do you?! Really?!”

“Yes, I-“

“Do you have any idea how much you had me worried?”, her voice wavered a bit.

A few seconds of silence got the air stuck with tension. Y/n stayed with her head hanged low, with her small voice of guilt.

“…I’m sorry. I really am, it’s just….” she gulped, “I’ve been busy“.

“Stealing the Darkhold. Yeah, I know, Y/n. And - God! Of all the dumb shit you could’ve done…”

Y/n just looked in silence. That was the stupidest idea she’d ever thought of, and one that could easily get her killed. But it was something that needed to be done. And Y/n were never one that ran away from trouble, no. Since a kid, she was the one, right in the middle of it all.

“Look, I… I won’t say I’m sorry for doing it, okay?”

“I wouldn’t believe you anyway…”

“I am sorry for worrying you though… if that even means something”.

The redhead sighed and finally came closer, hugging Y/n with a gentle kiss to her chin – just were she had punched with so much anger. “You’re a hand full, kid. Never change, okay?”

“Not a kid”.

“ Whatever”.

“I hate you”, Y/n sighted and closed the door behind them. Stephen frowned and America left her mouth hang open. “Guys, meet my friend… Natalia Romanova”.

“First of - I’m the best friend, thank you very much. And second, that is not my name. And you know it, Kid”.

“I’ve told you already, don’t call me kid. I’m not-“

“Yeah, you are“.

“No, America is a kid”. Natasha ignored her completely. “Not to be rude, but what are you doing here, exactly? Go annoy your dear Captain or something”.

“She can hear you, you know? She’s waiting down stairs, given us cover for the next five minutes. And let me tell you, she’s pissed”.

“Now, hang on a second”, Strange blinked in surprise.

“Why am I not surprised”, Y/n smirked.

“Stop that”, Romanoff pointed again with a small smile and turned around. Looking at the duo of outsiders in the other side of the room. “We’re kinda of a white flag at the moment, common ground. You know?”.

“They send you, because you can smack my face and scape alive”. Y/n explained with a sigh. She actually looked bored.

“Yeah, that’s pretty much it. Hi, there!”. Romanoff smiled.

America shuffled a bit, waving with a nervous smile. Strange looked at Y/n to try and figure out if Romanoff was worthy of trust. With all the bickering in the last minute, it was obvious that the two were close friends.

“What in the world have you got yourself into now, stupid…”, Romanoff sighed, already looking annoyed with herself for asking. Arms crossed, she turned to look at her best friend and frowned. Y/n was focused on some random spot in the covered window.

“Stupid, you there?”, Natasha asked.

Y/N stayed quiet. Fists clenching slowly up to the point where they could hear the knuckles crack in the silence. Natasha looked down, following the soft noise and her heart grew cold immediately.

“Y/n…”.

No response.

“Kid!”, Y/n blinked like she just got out of a bad dream. “You okay? What where you looking”-.

“Nothing”, Y/n casually hid her hands in to her pockets. But it was already too late, and she knew it. “Thought I heard something”.

“Why aren’t you wearing your ring?”, the tension in Natasha’s voice made Strange and America immediately worried. Y/n didn’t answer, instead she just turned around and went to the kitchen, shaking her head.

“Who says I’m not?”, a lame try but hey, her mind was still pretty confused.

“Y/n”, Natasha warned.

“It’s fine. I didn’t threw it away”.

“But it’s not where it should be… Get up here. Now”, Natasha said to the earpiece and walked fast behind her.

“Oh, come on. Seriously?”, Y/n chuckled.

“What ring?”, America asked.

“The one on her neck, probably.” Strange looked to Y/N cautiously, picking up on things pretty fast.

“Remember when I said I tolerated you? Well, you’re making It kind of hard for me, Strange”, Y/n growled. “Stay right where you are, Cap. I’m okay, thank you very much…” – the voice sounded loud and deep, echoing both on the walks and into everyone’s minds.

“Wait, what?”, America looked around trying to understand who the hell they were talking to.

“Y/n, I swear-“ Romanoff huffed, a hand moving up to the commons on her ear piece. Captain had responded.

“Yeah, no, thank you-“. Y/n denied again, her voice once again echoing in both places. America held the side of the counter, looking slightly nauseous.

“She’s coming to help! Why would you even do that?” Natasha said angrily and Y/n huffed. “We’ve been here before! We know what that kind of power does to you!”

“That kind of power… Is the only way to get what I want. What she deserves”, Y/n growled.

“She – is Wanda Maximoff. She is your wife!”, Natasha exclaimed.

“No, she’s not! You know that… Not in that universe. Or in any other than this one, Nat. I already lost my chance”, the woman opened her arms like she could hug her own miserable fate.

“Stop talking like you’re already dead!”, Natasha exclaimed. Worry clenching her chest and burning her throat. “Your still here, right in front of me! And I will do whatever the hell is necessary to keep it that way! Stop it! – Yeah! We are very fucking calm, Cap. Thank you!”, Nat snapped to her earpiece huffing.

“I’m so confused…”, America whispered.

“don’t puke”, Stephen says.

“She’s with Vision!”, Y/n argued with a humorless laugh.

“Wha- the toaster? Yeah, sure. And I dated Steve”, Natasha countered.

“Excuse me?”, Strange blinked.

“Not you, Stephen. I said Steve”, Romanoff said, looking a bit disgusted by the idea.

Strange looked at himself for a moment. He was having a bad day, somethings were more important. Is my hair messy? In the reflection in the small mirror at the corner, Stephen notice that, in fact, he could be much worse for someone on his position. His cape gave him a little tap on the shoulder, giving him some support.

“It’s true”, America said a bit after and Romanoff looked at her, not believing. “Married. With two kids…”.

“Wait…”, the redhead looked to her best friend and then America. The heavy glow in Y/n’s eyes and the uncomfortable smile of the teenager made her a bit worried. “Are you serious?”.

“Why are you so surprised? I already told you that I only exist in this reality”, Y/N shrugged.

“Bullshit. Your just annoying, and likes to hide from everyone. Like usual”, Natasha explained and Y/N rolled her eyes.

“Are you a Sorcerer?”, America asked suddenly. Trying to read the hidden story that they tried to keep a secret off. Both women looked at her confused. “A Ring, like this. You said she is not wearing it”. She pointed to Strange’s hand, showing the powerful and shiny artifact.

“What? No! Of course not!”, Y/n huffed like the question was completely insane.

“What, would that be so bad?”, Stephen asked defensively.

“Honestly? Yeah, it would be very bad considering all that you guys have done with me”, Y/n snapped back.

Natasha huffed too, already fed up with the arguing. A quick move and she got a hold of the chain at the side of her best friend’s neck. Y/n moved just as quickly – way quicker than expected –, and caught her hand firmly.

“Let go”, she ordered.

“No”.

“Natasha”, Y/n warned.

“I promised Wanda I would take care of you. That’s what I’m doing”, Romanoff didn’t back down and the lights in the kitchen flickered.

“Uh… guys?”, America called cautiously when a heavy deep sound started shaking the ground just a bit. Still under control.

It sounded like thunder. The steady and never ending hum of a storm, just starting to bloom in the horizon. But the felling under her feet was very real.

“I’m not joking around. Let… the fucking chain… go. Now”.

“I’m not afraid of you”, Natasha looked her dead in the eye, the silence between her words vibrating in her ears. Warm fingers squeezing her wrist. “You should know that by now. Let my hand go, Y/N. I’m not watching you kill yourself. I gave her my word”.

“And I gave her mine”, she said back, ominously.

Well, shit.

That’s what Natasha thought.

They both stayed put. America looked at the shadows dancing around the room. Hands reaching from the furniture and wallpaper, trying to get a hold of something and break free. The color in y/n eyes darkening, and black swimming in the corners of white.

Natasha reached for the gun slowly, eyes still focused but alerted by the shadow growing around her feet. Strange put his hand up. Yellow strings of magic shining. America closed her fists. Y/n tensed and turned her head a bit, like someone, or something, just whispered in her ear.

Do it… It’s easy, you know it is. We have been here before… do it.

Natasha felt the jolt of adrenaline and fear. She pulled the gun out, already knowing what was going on. Getting into a fight with her best friend were not her plan, and now here they were. If Y/n lost control, they were dead.

A flash of blue, red and white past through the darkness reflecting the almost completely dark room. Metal vibrated in contact with something much harder than a brick wall, catching it perfectly. Resonating a high note in the silence.

It was Y/n’s right hand. Holding the shield like it was nothing. Flames of dark fire sneaking around her fingers and wrist. Natasha pulled as quickly as she could, the chain gave in and the ring stayed in the palm of her hand.

Captain Carter herself walked in the kitchen with a sad, worried smile. The somber atmosphere gave in immediately, felt more right and true. Almost honorable just to be at her presence.

The shadows wavered a bit and Natasha felt the floor finally let go of her combat boots. Peggy came closer, taking Romanoff’s side when she backed away, a heavy step at a time. Her eyes on Y/n, not judging, understanding in an disarming way.

When she stopped, Peggy smiled. And it all came back like a tidal way. The last incident, the last time they spoke… the dread of understanding that it could all became a pattern if they weren’t careful.

Y/n felt hazardous. Flawed… alone, even though Carter was just right there. Within arms reach.

“Peggy… It’s been a while”, Y/n said quietly. Shield in hand, it’s colors looking brighter in the black aura that surrounded.

“Y/n. Still getting yourself in trouble, I see”, Carter smile a bit more this time.

Y/n closed her eyes with a sigh, and her shoulders dropped. Cautiously, the Captain asked for her shield back. Y/n swallowed bitterly. The metal felt wrong in her hand. Unworthy. She realized what was happening just as fast as it began. In a deep breath of air, the room got back it’s colors. No shadows or hands clawing at the walls, her eyes slowly got back to their usual color, and the deafening deep sound was gone.

America realized she was holding her breath, and small white spots danced around her vision when she finally gasped for fresh oxygen. But, she realized, the room smelled like… nothing. Worse then death on a humans body, or self deprecating and numbing loneliness. Just a strong, constant, absolutely impossible to understand – absence of smell that clogged up her nostrils in a quick go and go her nauseating. She oppened her mouth, so she wouldn’t suffocate immediately.

It felt like oxygen had just disappeared. Unable to be in the same room as them. When really, it was just y/n who felt like running away from herself.

“I’m sorry”, Y/n said. And it seemed like someone else entirely, she put a hand up and a little blow of air came by.

There was a little harmony of soft gasps for breath. America understood that she wasn’t the only one.

Peggy smiled softly and squeezed y/n shoulder a bit, getting the heavy shield from her old friend’s hand. Strange and America watched, confused with it all. Y/n looked even more exhausted now, she pinched the bridge of her nose, feeling embarrassed.

“I’m so… so sorry. Nat, I-“.

“It’s okay”, Natasha reached for her hand and, gently, put the ring in her cold, sweaty palm. “We brought you back in time”.

Y/n squeezed the ring a bit. The echo of Wanda’s voice, the way she said ‘I do’ in that altar once, and how the whole world felt more happy and right. The infinity of memories. Y/n loved and hated the ring at the same time. It made everything so real. Every time she looked at it, she’d remember what she’s lost and couldn’t get back.

The four just watched, hypnotized by the raw emotion put on display. Y/n’s lips trembled, and using a small amount of her power, the ring slid to her finger. Red whips of powerful magic grew in the veins under the skin, little runes shined at the sides of the jewelry.

Strange and America stared. Y/n held the tears away, now she was the only one feeling like she couldn’t breath.

“You can’t take it off again, Kid…”, Nat says in the most softest of ways.

“I know…” Y/n answered sadly, “I won’t… I-I just…”, a breath of air seemed to do nothing more than to drown her even further. “I miss them so much”.

“We know”, Peggy leaned down and kissed the side of her head like she used to do.

It got quiet after that. Stephen wanted to ask. He’s eyes followed the woman around the kitchen counter and to the living room until the bedroom door closed in the end of the hall. Immediately, he spun around looking almost shocked. America had her mouth hung open, pointing to the two women behind the counter like she just saw something out of this – every – world.

“What just happened?”

“The ring”.

Stephen and America said at the same time. Romanoff turned around and got herself a glass of water. Peggy put the shield on her back and leaned in the counter. “She needs some time”, was the answer to America. “And, yes, the ring… It’s for safety. Wanda helped create it with our Strange, and a few other people”.

“A few other… Okay, what is happening here? Who is she?”, Strange said, a bit impatient.

“Who is she?”, Natasha turned around holding the glass half empty.

“Yes”, Strange huffed when they both looked at each other. “They needed Wanda, the Scarlet Witch, Me - the Sorcerer Supreme, and a bunch of other sorcerers to do one single spell to one single person”.

“Pretty much, yeah”, Natasha confirmed.

“Yep, your spot on”. Peggy nodded.

“Why?”, Strange pressed on. “The most powerful being in the universe should be enough to perform one single spell”.

“Woah, hang on a second. Back up, mate”, Peggy said quickly. “You think the Scarlet Witch is the most powerful being in the universe? …Wanda?”.

“Obviously”, he countered and looked at the two friends when all that he got was silence. “Well, not anymore apparently. I don’t”.

“She’s not?”, America questioned and Natasha responded by taking a big uncomfortable sip. “Then who is?”.

“Well…”, Peggy smiled nervously. “You see… we’ll have to take you to a stroll at our Strange's library”.

“Sanctum”, Natasha said and looked down a bit. Letting her know that they had a much quicker way of explaining things.

“Museum. Whatever. It’s the same thing”, Peggy rolled her eyes, her British accent showing a bit more.

There was a heavy silence in the air. America sighted and looked at Strange, waiting for an answer. Peggy didn’t exactly trusted both of them, but a feeling at the pit of her stomach said it was the right thing to do. She felt the same when meeting Y/N for the first time, it was enough to at least consider.

With a look to the duo once more, and another to Natasha, she decided it was for the best.

“Well, yeah. Now I need to know what the hell even is this universe!”, Stephen pressed on.

“Okay, yeah. Me too”, America crossed her arms. She’s been jumping around universes since always, how could she not know about this?

“We’ll answer your questions the best way we can for now, and we’ll give Y/n some time to… try to figure out a way to convince the Illuminati to not kill us all, as soon as we arrive at the base at least”, Natasha sighted and turned around again.

“Richards will be a pain in the ass”, Peggy huffed and stared at her watch, touching the scream a bunch of times. “Nat, can you do it? I’m awful at this thing”.

“Already on it”, the widow turned around with her phone in hand. A small rectangular device that looked entirely made of glass with metal edges.

She put the phone on top of the kitchen counter, and sighted. A hologram was project, showing up a big file with hundreds of pages. America and Stephen got extremely focused the moment they read de “TOP SECRET” words in screaming-red up above.

Natasha decided not to say a word in the beginning. Let themselves read and absorb the basics of the history. It took a while, a few minutes of silence mumbling. Peggy and Natasha stepped back, enjoying a cup of coffee and tea while they wait.

And the whole time they did, there was not a single noise from the bedroom. Peggy said to the Illuminati that they where negotiating a peaceful truce, and she was surprised they actually bought it.

Natasha got bored not much later, and came closer to the hologram. Peggy decided to not address the obvious frown in the Black Widow’s face. Natasha cared for Y/n, just as much as Peggy did, but the Russian had been around in the worse episodes to help. Something that Peggy herself couldn’t say the same…

She’d forever blame herself for it.

“Umbrakinesis. Hmm, a very particular ability”. Stephen said, eyes locked to the pages of the document. The picture in the front page showed a face that should be much more younger than the woman who owns the apartment today. But, instead, it was exactly the same.

“She’s a Level five?”, America questioned, head tilted to the side. Reading the mess of stamps in dark, old red. DANGEROUS and VIOLENT all over the page. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That her powers are… Strong. Very strong”, Stephen sighted.

“They are more then that. Tell me. Do you know some universe, where there’s no shadow? Even if it’s a small one?”, Natasha crossed her arm’s while asking.

“Wait, she can control shadows?”, America finally seemed to understand the situation.

“Not just control. It’s like… Like they grow inside her”.

“Darkness. Not just shadows. There’s no need to exist light, she’ll make the place more dense than peach dark. It’s concrete, dark matter. Sometimes it burns, sometimes it speaks or whispers… We don’t know for sure, it’s … It’s dark”, Peggy seemed nervous just thinking about it. “Professor tried studying it with Richards. Didn’t go as planned”.

“What happened?”, Stephen asked curiously.

“The lab got swallowed in it, denser mist I’ve ever seen. It was quick, a blink of an eye, and the three of them where gone. For two full days it stayed there. Just waiting…” Stephen absorbed all the information he could, the story, the fear in Peggy’s voice and tension in Natasha’s shoulders. “It was undulating, and moving like water in slow motion. It seemed like a blanket, or something like that. Like the thing itself was asleep, and when we tried to get in, it would shrink to the size of a lightbulb, floating in the corner of the room”.

“And the whole room had no vibrating colors”, Natasha completed. “All was black and white, with no life. Faded”.

“Yeah, we… We saw something like it”, America said and shifted nervously when Natasha stared her way, somewhat surprised.

“What?”.

“Oh, when we found her? Her house? The whole place was just like that. No colors. Faded black and white”, she explained cautious.

“Is that so…”, Peggy looked to Natasha. “That’s… Interesting. How long ago was that again?”

“Uh… Just now”, the teenager pointed back. “Like, three or four hours”.

“What? We’ve seen something that shouldn’t have happened?”, Stephen guessed.

“Not exactly, no. It’s just that when they came back, Richard and Xavier… We knew something was inside that thing”.

“What do you mean?”

“Well…” Peggy inhaled, trying to get rid of the tension in her body. “ They both came back shaking… Like, Richards, God, he cried like a baby. The fear in his eyes… When the whole thing disappeared, he just fell to the ground like a puppet without it’s strings, and didn’t move. Blank stare for hours and hours. It was disturbing”.

“Read is intelligent, and brave. His not the kind of guy that would crumble like that just for anything”, Natasha explained.

“Yeah! He’s kinda of an ass sometimes, but he never runs from a fight. When he seemed to wake up from his thoughts, he just… screamed”.

America looked behind her shoulder, fearing that Y/n was there. Just listening. Even the way Peggy was acting made it seemed like it was forbidden. Something that should not be said out loud.

“Some weeks later, Richards made the file”.

“Weeks?”, Stephen asked and she nodded. “And the other one? What about him?”.

“Xavier came back injured”, she sighed and Stephen regretted asking. “He had this biting mark in his back. Not as bad as it should be”.

“Huh?” America said, confused.

“They stayed there for two days. If something attacked him… The bite shouldn’t be as heald as it looked. It was far more advanced. Almost closing actually”.

“You think they didn’t stayed there for just two days?”, America questioned.

“Yeah”, Peggy agreed. “Yeah, that’s exactly what we think. He’s chair was nothing but scraps of metal. Huge scratches and burning marks. The little of the tires that came back, had some strange kind of burned dirt in the base, that smelled disgusting”.

“Dirt? There was no dirt where we went, was just some strange watery… Nothingness”, America tried to describe.

“They both came back pale and temporarily blind”, Natasha completed with a serious and controlled voice. “You guys didn’t go blind as well, did you?”

“Nope”, Stephen responded and America shook her head. “We got dragged somewhere else, I guess. No dirt, no blindness or… Creatures”.

“Lucky you”, Peggy sighted. “I don’t know what she showed them, but… She did warned both that they should not keep going. For their own sake”.

“You think she made it on purpose?”, Stephen questioned suspiciously.

“No. I just think”-

“She couldn’t control it just as much at the time. Now she has the ring, and some more years of training”. Romanoff was quick to defend her best friend, looking sad just by having too. Stephen noticed that he wasn’t the only one who assumed that.

“She came back last. A few weeks after them. Reeking of sulfur and burning the floor with her steps.”, Peggy continued and looked to Natasha and back to the duo. “But mostly... unharmed”.

“That’s interesting”, Stephen thought out loud and America shot him a glare. “What! It is!”.

“Yeah, of course it is”, Natasha huffed and Peggy rested a hand on her shoulder, helping her to focus on the story. Not the obvious judgement.

“That day, we knew what to call her. It was…”, Peggy hesitated a bit, “it was written in cuts in her back…”.

“Penumbra”, America read in the file.

Stephen let the name sink in, eyes scanning the file once more. The details of the experience were describing something out of every world he could imagine. Read Richards had left a page wrote by hand. Shaky letters depiction dark monstrous creatures and big landscapes adorned with dead trees, a rotten smell and a feeling of uneasiness. Death on all corners, under small burned rocks and rotting soil.

His heart sank to the stomach. Eyes wide looking up immediately.

“Hmm, seen something like that, haven’t you”, Peggy laughed bitterly. “Yeah, I knew you would recognize it”.

“Wanda’s farm”, America caught up. “…So, her powers… They’re the same as the Darkhold”.

“Did she took them from it? Absorbed?”.

“No, Stephen”, Natasha shook her head. “The Darkhold took it’s power’s from her… She’s the source”.

Stephen felt the tense jolt of energy in his body. Heart racing, mouth going dry and a intense shiver creeping up his back. Now he could understand the sensation, it was the power, pouring out of her.

“I’m sorry, what?”, America swallowed tickly.

“Yes, kid. You heard it right”, Peggy sighted.

“No! But that’s impossible. How the hell could that be? Like, isn’t the Darkhold extremely old or something?! She can’t be alive for that long!”.

“A deviant”, Stephen sighted and closed his eyes. “A mistake in the fabric of reality. That’s what she told us! That’s because she’s not from- Oh shit”.

“What? Why ‘oh shit’…”, America said quickly.

“She’s the Empress of the Damned”, Strange came to conclusion.

He looked around, waiting to someone to say he is wrong, maybe having a concussion. But Natasha and Peggy nodded, and he sighted. Already exhausted.

“Damned being the… Souls of people? Or, like, a more metaphorical kind of thing”, America laughed bitterly – panicky. But she only got silence. “Hello?”.

“We’re fucked”. Stephen summered up.

“Hey, not in front of the kid. Language!”, Peggy pointed.

“Oh, really?”, America huffed.

“Yeah, Peggy. I think the kid had it worse”. Natasha smirked.

“Yes, I’ve had. Like, just for example, obviously…”, she laughed again and then got very serious, “… the woman who’s been walking with us this entire time being something like the Devil! Like literally? I mean, I’m not religious or anything, but that doesn’t mean I want to be besties with the ‘hell dude’. Like, c’mon! What the hell are we supposed to do now?!”.

“What? Nothing”, Natasha responded and America stared quickly. “Look, kid. I know, not exactly what you were expecting. I’ve been there. But there’s nothing to be done, that’s just who she is. Not something to be fixed”.

America sighted.

“That’s not what I meant”, she sounded more apologetic but still very anxious. “It’s just… She’s… Very powerful”.

“Yes. So, let’s just remember that her target is Wanda, not us”, Natasha tried to appease. “Not saying that that’s good – stop with the judging eyes Peggy –, just something to keep in mind while we figure out a way to stop her".

“And we will do that”, Captain Carter was sure of it.

America didn’t know how to feel about it all. Having Y/n around was scary, for sure, but it had became something more now. They didn’t have a concrete plan, the strange woman only said to leave Wanda for her to deal and move on. But having the Scarlet Witch and the Empress of the Damned fight, seemed pretty much like a Apocalypse – end of world kind of battle.

“This isn’t right, is it?”, she murmured to Natasha and a flash of sympathy became visible. Just enough for her to understand that Natasha was trying to figure out things too. A way to no one would die at the end of the day.

“How do you know so much?”, Stephen asked, breaking the heavy silence. “You two are obviously close. Old friends?”.

Natasha uncrossed her arms, reaching for the hologram a bit closely. She looked through it, a distant look in her eyes and heavy sigh escaping naturally red lips.

“I was on a mission the day we met. It was my second month infiltrated in one of Hidra’s biggest facilities and… She’s been there for a while”, she stopped with a little sad smile. “… Decades kinda while”.

“Decades as a prisoner?”, America said. Eyes going wide. “ How Hidra managed that?”

“They’ve got help. Hidra have a bunch of very weird weapons at their disposal, but not a single one could hold her down alone. Hell, not all of them together, they needed some backup”, Peggy was the one to smirk now, seeming a bit proud.

“Don’t bother looking in the files, there’s no name or description”, Natasha said, somewhat disappointed. “I read the whole thing more than once, not even a name, Hydra just says whoever helped them was a common ally. So, yeah. The Backup didn’t like y/n either”.

“Any chance their still around?”, America peaked in the files a bit.

“We should be ready for them. I don’t want to let any blind spots”. Stephen ignored the way America almost messed up the whole file with just one single gesture. Trying to zoom in.

“If they hold her back from scapping, there’s no way she could fight them alone. And I don’t think we could help”, Stephen commented. “Let’s hope their dead”.

“Great”, America nodded again. “How old is y/n anyways? Maybe we can start discovering who is by that”.

“By her age?”, Stephen question with little hope.

“You have a better idea?”, she questioned back.

Stephen rolled his eyes and looked to the women, expecting a answer.

“Y/n is very old. Like, older them me and Thor kinda old. She’s very very old”, Peggy didn’t have a exact number, but she could try to help at least.

“Older then Thor. The God of Thunder”, America swallowed.

“Not much, considering all of the entities and powerful beings out there”, Stephen didn’t seemed to impressed about it. “She’s a deviant, source of the power that forged the Darkhold, so… Yeah, she needs to be very old. Why don’t we ask her?”.

“Page thirty three, second paragraph”.

Stephen and America came back to the file, turning pages quickly until the small number appeared at the base of the document.

For keeping of safeness in the laboratory and surroundings of the facility, it was decided by unanimous voting that the subject should be erased of it’s memory. With the help of Backup, there will be no need of surgery or sedation.

During the procedure, please follow the instructions below:

- All the responses to pain, must be monitored and filed as already informed in page 03.

- Keep the cage closed during the experiment.

- All the lights in the environment must stay on, and second team of action in place. For safe keeping of the facility in case of further emergencies.

Kept in register for further notice:

After voting, the proposition was taken to higher ranking officials and accepted immediately. Seemly, for justice of the death of four highly qualified soldiers and the whole first Science Division on latest experiment of subject (Page 10 to 26), the lost of vast knowledge of unknown value is not to be taken account.

Luckily, Backup has agreed to share all the information gathered on the subject, and offered further assistance, if necessary, to maintenance of the experiment.

Let it be known, that I, yes, voted In favor of the experiment. But not by choice, only for the safety of my family.

In total, there where a hundred and twenty seven pages that discussed safety protocols before the actual description of any experiment.

“She killed a whole team of scientists and four soldiers. They took a vote and this Backup person… erased her memories. So now”-

“We have no idea what were dealing with”. Peggy completely.

“Yeah, great”, America sighted.

“Just awesome”, Stephen huffed. “Well I could always search in her mind”.

“Yeah, but do you want to?”, Peggy pointed and he only huffed again. “Professor and Richards tried, and they only came back with a single vision. Both scared to death. I don’t think it’s a good idea”.

“So, we don’t have a plan. Or any idea of who is Backup person. We only know that they’re very powerful, and don’t like Y/n”.

“Yes”, Natasha answered the scared teenager.

“Just like Wanda, aka the Scarlet Witch, don’t like her too”.

“Right again”, Peggy agreed.

“So, actually, we have to worry about two incredible powerful beings coming after us”.

“Yeah, but maybe Wanda knows who is and don’t like them too. I mean, she can see the memories of our Wanda in this universe. And Y/n told her wife, for sure. There wasn’t one thing in this world that the two didn’t know about one another”, Peggy comments.

“But Wanda wants me dead”, America remembered.

“And we can’t trust a single word she says. Wanda lied right to my face about America”, Stephen scratched his head.

“Will have to hope that Backup is dead, retired – very far away – not a possibility – won’t come around again – dead”, Natasha crossed her arms. “And, if they really do try and get y/n, will have to live through it first, and then… think of getting our own backup”.

“The Scarlet Witch”, America said, still unsure.

“Yes. If it comes to it”.

“If we survive”, Stephen agreed.

Silence.

“I hate this plan”, Peggy huffed. “But it’ll have to do. But, there’s a thing, It stays only between us. I’ll tell y/n later if needed too”.

“Yes, if asked, we were talking a way to a diplomatic decision”, Natasha said and America laughed a bit. “See? The kid gets it”.

“Yeah, yeah, we can be dramatic. Whatever”, Peggy brushed it off. “We still get the job done”.

°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°°

Morning. Too early. The sun, golden and warm, hitting the curtains, and the gentle breeze touching the skin of Y/n. Slowly waking up.

She blinked, looking to the green picture of the forest beyond the open window. The wild blowing leaves, the waving of branches and chirping of birds. She could still see the moon, pale and almost gone from the sky. It was so early in the morning, above only baby blue adorned with little white clouds.

It was peaceful, and very beautiful. But what really made y/n smile, was the sound of crackers. And the vigorous chewing. Y/n left out a sigh that easy turned into a chuckle when she moved around.

Wanda was half sitting, with a mess of pillows behind her back. Her red hair left loose in wild waves, a small jar of crackers open and resting atop of her huge pregnant belly. A few crumbs could be seen here and there.

Y/n didn’t mind, she knew Wanda would clean it up as soon as she’d be done eating. Too worried with keeping everything perfect, as if the babies would care about something more than getting fed or sleeping when they finally arrived.

And the doctor had said that a little snack right in the morning would help with the sickness that still would torment her from time to time.

“Morning, Love”, Y/n smiled adoringly.

Wanda stopped mid bite. She looked to the side, swallowed what she had in her mouth and smiled. Big and wide. That smile was the same one since always, and would always warm Y/n’s heart to know that it was just for her.

“Hey, baby. Good morning”, Wanda popped the cracker in her mouth and reached to put the jar in the bedside table. She cleaned up the crumbs quite quickly, already having some practice with it. And turned around again.

Y/n sit up a bit, and smiled right after the little kiss of good morning. Wanda was always a bit more needy in the early hours of the day, and that one wasn’t different. She came closer, getting herself sited at her wife’s side and enjoying the cozy warmth of her body and blankets. Y/n arm snaked around her, and with ease reached to touch the big belly.

Wanda watched, the small sliding of slim fingers atop her white shirt.

“Morning, little ones”, Y/n said.

And, like always, there was a kick to the side of her belly. Wanda smiled big and rested her hand above her wife’s.

“You love that, don’t you?, Wanda teased. “Every morning, the same silly smile appears on your face”.

“Oh, yeah. I love it, it’s amazing that they always react to it”, Y/n laughed and kissed her head.

Wanda sighted, satisfied with the peace that lingered in the air. The golden light of the day painting the whole room with so much life and the beauty outside, it captivated her for hours. She was excited for the day, like always, but that morning she wanted to stay in bed a bit more.

So she did. Moving around a bit to sit in between her wife’s legs and let herself sink in the warm embrace. Both of them just letting everything sink in.

It wouldn’t be long before the twins were born. Wanda was scared and excited at the same time, but she was sure that if she had Y/n by her side, everything would be just fine.

“Hey, Babe?”, the redhead murmured.

“Yeah?”, Y/n answer in a whisper to her ear.

“I love you”, she said in the most delicate and sweet way.

Y/n smiled softly and whispered right back to her a bit later, “I love you too”.

Wanda floated in the air, with legs crossed and open red eyes. In front of her, the whole thing passed by just like a movie. The emotion of the moment, even if it was simple, hit her like a knife to the heart. She slowly came down, blinking her eyes a bunch of times.

Wong watched from the corner he was being kept in. Wanda was terrible to him every single moment, seaming like she couldn’t feel emotion at all. But at that moment, the way she floated back down and staying at floor. Tears in her eyes that’s she obviously was trying to keep in.

Wong felt pity. Even if he shouldn’t have, that moment Wanda wasn’t at all that monster, or demon. She seemed… lonely.

The Scarlet Witch sniffed a bit and got up, quickly turning around to walk away and dry the tears that scaped her control. The room got dark again, Wong had no idea where he was, but it was cold.

She brought him to a cabin in the middle of nowhere. Mountains, plains of green grass and river nearby. The wind blew cold there, stinging uncovered skin and threatening a frostbite. Wong shivered every second since he arrived, the temperature of the backroom he was kept was unsettling. He would shift and shift, it was impossible to be comfortable.

He wasn’t even chained, but with no ring there was nowhere to be. Wanda was he’s only way back, and only chance of survival. So he’d huddle close to the small fire and hear the whistle of a tea pot.

It was awful, with broken bones and no treatment, but at least he wouldn’t die.

Outside, Wanda could swear she would.

Stomping feet in the grass, tears that kept falling down, a heavy violent beating heart that faded every other sound around and a tightening throat. She couldn’t breathe, she couldn’t talk – not that someone would listen to her. She had nothing, completely alone.

Her knees gave in, she ended up falling in a small patch of dirt by the riverside. The water kept passing by the stones, the winter blowing cold against her cheeks. She sobbed and sobbed. Wishing someone was there to help her through this. The panic attacks had been worse and worse every time now. Dark magic had a price to the mind, and a much more heavy burden in the solitary ones.

Suddenly, a figure kneeled by her feet. A hand reached out and waited for permission. It wasn’t Wong’s. Much slimmer and long fingers, with pale delicate skin. She knew that hand, Wanda was sure she even knew the pattern of lines drawn in the palm. But, at the same time, she had never gotten to meet them.

It was a lie. A trick made by her own, solitary mind, and aching heart. She knew that, but the moment was intense and the bitterness got a hold of her. She didn’t wanted to be alone again. Crying as loud as she could anywhere and having no one to listen to – to care. It was painful.

She reached her hand, slowly. Feeling the warmth of the skin, the way her fingers seemed to know the right way around the lines. Familiar with the curves in the way up, and making her remember things that weren’t hers to remember. Like just how much their hands would fit perfectly. Like she would always feel whole and cared for when touched like that.

Safe. She would feel safe.

That was all that Wanda always needed. She got lost in the feelings quickly. Even the dark magic marks in the tip of her fingers started to lose color, and became a bit less dark.

And the world got calmer. Her thoughts made sense.

Wanda looked up, and Y/n was there. Looking concerned, but ready to help. Like she knew exactly what she’d supposed to do, because it wasn’t the first time. Y/n didn’t even looked impatient or judgmental, Wanda could only see a feeling that she would’ve seen only a long time ago. When people didn’t hate her for trying to have the only thing that she could still recover.

Love.

Y/n looked at her with so much love.

“Look at me, Wanda. Just breathe, okay? You can do it. Focus on my voice, and breathe with me”, the ghost guide her hand to her own chest. Wanda could swear she could feel it. The fabric of her clothes, and the steady heartbeat. “That’s it, Love. Just like that. Come on… In and out… In… And out”.

Wanda was too scared to make the illusion go away, she needed something to ground herself back to reality. And using the memory of another version of herself wasn’t the best idea, but, strangely enough, it was working. Wonderfully even. She could feel the fear go away, the wind blowing cold in her face, and hard floor hurting her knees. Stones, dirt, leaves and branches digging up her skin.

The sound of a steady breath with a running river and singing birds. Wanda got back to herself in record time, without the voices and whispers that would torment her for a few hours later. No crying of her boys, screaming in agony for help. No feeling of complete abandon.

And no one was there to witness, just her. But, this time… it wasn’t. Not completely.

“You’re safe”, Y/n said and when Wanda shook her head, she nodded. “Yes, you are. Your safe. I’m here, and I won’t let anything happen to you. I’m right here”.

Wanda squeezed her eyes tight. Now, that was too much. The bitterness of solitude and the self-pity of accepting the help of a ghost came back like a train wreck. That’s the wife of another Wanda, not herself. What the hell was she doing? She tried and regain control.

And that’s when she felt the hug. Warm arms, embracing her. The touch was light, and cautious. Wanda had the choice to leave, all she needed to do was say a word or stand, even pushing the ghost away was an option.

They why didn’t she?

Why she accepted it, the safeness…?

Why? ...Why can’t I push it away?

Somewhere else, Y/n came out of the room stumbling. Obviously confused and nervous. The door slammed against the wall, Natasha jumped right to action and took a hold of her shoulder. Grounding her best friend with her touch.

“What? What is it?”, she asked and frowned when Y/n got back inside. Paising.

Peggy was inside the bedroom just as fast, shield at hand and eyes scanning around. In search of danger. Strange peeked around and America too, both uneasy with the situation.

Y/n ran a hand through her hair, eyes watering. She pointed to the corner of the room and breathed heavy.

“She… she was right there”, the woman let out. Shaking from head to toe, she even had a couple of tears rolling down.

“What? Who?”.

“Wanda”, Peggy looked at her worriedly. “Not the sicko Scarlet Witch. Wanda, my Wanda… She… She was right there”, her voice trembled. Her whole body got heavier and the grief was so real that she felt like dying then and there.

Stephen and America looked at one another, deciding to not make any comments. They let the ‘it wasn’t real’ and ‘maybe just a memory’ to Romanoff and Carter. The three knew each other long enough for that.

But Y/n couldn’t believe it. She swears on her life that it was her Wanda that need help. That she had finally touched her wife and heard her voice, just right there. At the corner.

And Wanda, the one alive, came back to the cabin, swearing to herself that no one would know a single thing about what just happened. She wouldn’t let anyone know that she accidentally reached and found comfort on the woman that loved her alternative self. She just went straight to Wong, blasting the door open and grabbing him by the arm.

“I’m done waiting” she growled with a hurting ego. “It’s my turn to make a move”.

[phi51]

Parallelism.

[fandomizedtrash]

I need to remmick lowkey, making turning you into a vampire like a marriage proposal like gets a ring and everything only to ruin your pretty dress with your blood as he taste it and you ruin his nice shirt by tasting his(i know it's not in the film so maybe a symbolic gesture?) Smut if you feel inspired or willing ✨️

Hope this inspires something it is a little cliche

Blood Vows

Summary: When he came into your life, everything changed. Your once tedious routines now had purpose, and soon enough, it came time for you to give yourself to him completely. Bone and blood

Word count: 1.6k

Warnings: blood, smut, some violence(?) Reader and Remmick bite each other and it gets messsyyyy

Notes: thank you anon for matching my freak

REQUESTS OPEN

The night you encountered him was like any other. The sun had just set over the rolling fields and you were walking home after a long day of serving meals and taking orders. Little did you know it would be the day you life, and your fate would change forever.

Truth be told, Remmick had no intention of finding you, or really anyone. For the first time in his centuries old existance, it was as if someone had found him instead. An odd experience to say the least.

Walking down the road you have walked down all your life, you heard a rustling from the trees. Usually it was nothing more than a squirrel, deer, or other forest critter, but it was followed by a soft moaning sound that was unmistakably human.

“Is someone there?” You called out.

No responce came but the rustling sound of leaves in the wind.

Your conscience took over and you scurried off the path behind the tree to have a look anyway. There before you laid a man who seemed as if he just spent an hour in a furnace. Skin scalding and blistering.

What followed was you on autopilot. Helping him up, trying to get him to walk to your house which laid a quarter of a mile further down the road. But by the time you got home and the sun had set, the man was completely healed, not a single sign of injury.

You’ve heard stories. Every child growing up in the Delta knew the lore and stories of the things not to be meddled with. The manevolent beings that lurked in the darkness who would lead you down a path of a fall from grace.

But he was not that. Not one bit.

You sat him down on your couch and gave him water which he sipped eagarly. Standing at the end of the couch, you looked at him with curiosity. You saw the change of color in his eye, his unhuman-like healing. I was all you needed to know.

“I know what you are,” you stated. It wasn’t a threat, merely a statement.

The man looked up at you from his position on the couch. Eyes just as curious as yours.

“Then you must be mighty brave or mighty stupid if you just let me into your home.” He echoed back.

You scoffed in response. “I guess that's for you to figure out."

“And are you afraid?” The answer to anyone else in your position would have been obvious. He was deadly. A physical depiction of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. And if any of the stories you grew up with held any truth, you ought to be running for your life.

“No.”

After that first encounter, you had him stay the night. The two of you talked for hours. Learning where he came from, how he got here, what he wanted. And you shared your Delta childhood, your tedious life, what you heard about his kind.

“Can I see you again?” He asked with caution, scared of the potential answer.

You smiled softly, “Certainly.” That was the first time he kissed you, and the devil had never tasted so sweet.

***

Your life then became a series of nights. It was no longer the day that mattered. You had your mundane routine of breakfast, work, shopping, dinner, other household tasks, and then the torturous waiting. It was completely random the hour of the night he arrived. Sometimes it was the moment the sun set, others had you up just an hour away from dawn.

The lack of sleep was difficult at first but nothing you body couldn’t adjust to. Besides, the reward at the end of the wait was so sublime, you would have gladly waited hours more. His touch, his voice, his strangely soft hands on your body, how could something damned feel so right?

“I want you to be mine.” Remmick uttered. Breathy and desperate. Hands clenched in your hair like his life depended on it, your bodies covered in sweat. He had you against a wall, not even bothering to get to the bed, your dress already half unbuttoned and hair messy.

“You know I already am.” You chuckled in response.

“Y/n.” He began, already breathless. “I want you to be mine completely.” Out of his pants pocket, he took out the finest rings you have ever laid eyes on. The women in the Delta could never imagine something so grand.

You looked back at him, eyes wide, mouth half open.

“Will you have me, forever?” By then, the air has left your lungs completely.

Unable to muster the words, you kissed him fiercely. Smathing your lips together as your hands started to grab at his clothes.

Once you finally parted, Remmick spoke. “You know what it means?” You nodded. Of course you knew. It was something you have made your peace. There was no one left for you here. No life worth saving. Remmick slid the ring carefully on your finger.

“I’m ready.” You announced, massaging his neck and shoulders.

Remmick hesistated. This was a moment he has been waiting for as long as you have, but the thought of him actually doing it now was more pressure than he realized.

“Please.” You whisphered. Taking his hand into yours, you squeezed it reasurringly.

He opened his mouth, eyes glued to the soft curve of your neck.

Your breath hitched, eagarly anticipating the bite.

And then, there it was. His fangs penetrate your skin slowly and torcherously. You breathed in deeply, taking in the sensation. Nothing in all your years of living has ever hurt so good. Blood started to spill out of you and onto the (very fittingly) white dress you had downed that morning. It trickled down your neck and onto your chest, and Remmick couldn’t get enough. He knew he had to control himself, but no blood had ever tasted as magnificent as yours.

The two of you collapsed to the ground, adrenaline practically radiating off your bodies.

It didn’t take long for his own clothes to get stained as well. The blood red steadily made its way through his shirt's fabric.

It was pure ecstasy. The venom was making its way through your veins and through your body. Venom wasn’t even the right word for it. It wasn’t painful or unwilling, it was a drug, a drug you’d be high on for the rest of your existence.

After summoning up enough will power, Remmick finally pulled his fangs from your flesh.

“I want you to taste me too.” You looked at him stunned, the thought never occurred to you, but seeing as you gave yourself to him, it was only fitting for him to do the same.

You approached his neck gradually, scared, but exhilarated to taste him.

Just as he did to you, you opened your mouth and penetraded his skin.

When his blood touched your tonge, all the chocolate cakes, the pies, the roasted chickens and steamy casserols that made up your once human diet were brought to shame. Of course you have had Remmick in, well, other ways to say the least, but this, this, was something different. More personal, more intimate. Still sitting on the floor, you continued to taste him as you got up to straddle his hips, mouth still on the bite.

As much as his flavor intoxicated you, you still wanted more.

“Remmick.” You started, detatching from his skin. “I want more of you.” You immortal lover took the cue and begain to grind his hips against yours.

You tossed your head back and groaned, already feeling his buldge against your clit. Placing your arms around his neck, you brought your faces together for a fervid kiss. Remmick’s hand supported your back as he cacrefully laid you down on the wood floor. As the kiss deepened, your hands went down to unzip his pants, your cunt already aching for him.

When his cock sprang free, he made his down and up through your dress to the hem of your panties, all but tearing them off you. After casting them aside, he aligned himself with your enterance before agonizingly burrying his cock as far inside you as he could.

The stretch was intense, perhaps it was the energy between you or your recent transformation, but the feeling you were so accustomed to felt more vigorous than usual.

Remmick started to roll his hips back and forth. Torturously, removing his dick halfway out before slamming back into you. His thrusts began to speed up as his hands roamed your body from under your dress, trying to feel as much of you as he could.

Your nails dug into his back and shoulders while arching your back. The pace was unrelenting, every movement sent a firework through your body. You couldn’t remember the life you were living before, everything was dreary and grey compared to now. A life with endless possibilities, a life with no end ast all.

Remmick’s breathing deepened as he let out a heavy groan. It wasn't long before you felt your climax approaching. A steady but sure build was leisurely growing instead of you.

One look at your lover told you he wasn’t too far either.

Soon, the pressure that was growing shattered as your orgasm hit. Your pussy fluttered around him as you felt Remmicks hot stream coat your walls. He collapsed ontop of you, chest heaving up and down.

“Y/n.” He said as he stroked the side of your face with his hand. “Mine forever.” Gentle lips kissed your forehead.

You looked up and smiled at him.

“Your’s forever.”

[woncheolisms]

i can still see it all. (joshua hong x reader)

summary: you meet joshua for the first time since he left the country as a teenager to pursue his dreams. you are sure he doesn’t remember you, despite the fact that you haven’t forgotten him for a single day in the last fifteen years.

word count: 8.4k

warnings: best friends to strangers to friends to lovers, non au, set in svtverse, idol!joshua, hairstylist!reader, some angst, nsfw, smut, unprotected sex, biting, hair pulling, dacryphilia, teasing, fingering, multiple orgasms, drunk sex, mentions of alcohol.

Sunset was your favorite part of the day.

There was something about the way it colored the ground orange, bathing everything in a warm glow, the waves glittering under the slowly fading sunlight that brought your young heart at ease. At fifteen, when every minor issue felt like the end of the world, Santa Monica pier was your escape. Every weekend you would end up on the same wooden boards, feet pattering against them and the swish of ocean waves roaring in your ears. Multiple other footsteps echoed beside you and behind you, the chattering and laughing of the teenage voices that belonged to your friends blending with the hustle and bustle of the weekend crowd at the pier. In your clearest memory, your eyes would meet warm brown ones, appearing a lighter hazel in the fading sunlight, skin tinted golden, and laugh like a melody echoing in your mind….

Your alarm is a jarring sound.

You startle awake as it cuts through the tranquility of your dreamscape, making you bite back an annoyed groan as it keeps beeping on, ripping you further and further away from the warmth of the pier and distant doe eyes that keep you company as you sleep. Your hand shoots out and slaps at your phone blindly, shutting it up. In the glare of the screen, you make out a blurred 10:00am. A heaving sigh leaves your body as it registers in your head that it’s Friday morning. You stare at the curtains covering your window, early morning light filtering through them and making your room visible. All is silent.

……. It is Friday morning.

You remember your dream, or rather, childhood memory. It’s been a while since you last thought of LA or Santa Monica, despite spending so much of your childhood in that area. You understand why you’re dreaming about it now though, considering what today is. As you stare at the ceiling, you mentally prepare yourself for the day. It doesn’t matter, though. You haven’t managed to prepare yourself in the last couple of weeks, so it hardly seems like you’ll turn it around on the morning of. Brown eyes flick through your mind again.

Showering and getting ready are a nervous affair. There seems to be a charge in the air, like static, ready to zap you the minute you make a sudden move. You contemplate stopping for breakfast, and choose to forego it when your stomach protests at the thought. Coffee would have to do. You can deal with the consequences of plain coffee on your bowels later. There’s much more important things to freak about now.

As you’re driving to the arena, you feel irritation replace your apprehension. Come on. There’s no way he remembers you. It has been fifteen years since you last saw him. You doubt he could recall you even if someone told him your name. Which, by the way, no one would have told him your name. You are sure that in his line of work, hair stylists come and go. How many had he worked with already, in his near ten-year career? You are just a blip, here to take care of the group during the American leg of their tour and then going about your life once again. That’s it.

You weren’t surprised when you were first offered the job to be the on-tour hairstylist for an idol group. You had worked with many in the past as they came to America for appearances or while on tour. In your near decade of working, you have managed to build an impressive portfolio. But you had been frozen solid when you found out who this particular client was. Of course you knew them. You had followed their careers since before they debuted. You had promised you would, just as he had promised to keep in touch before he left.

Only one of you had kept your promise.

The coffee is bitter on your tongue, and it wakes you up before it even hits your stomach. You let the GPS on your phone guide you to the location sent to you by one of the staff members. Already, you can see people outside the venue. No shock there. This was a very anticipated tour. The air feels crisp and charged, now with excitement rather than the fearful doomed feeling you experienced that morning in your room. The sun is already way up, announcing the arrival of midday.

It’s a blur of introductions inside the building. Everyone is extremely nice, and someone in a black button up and jeans finds you immediately, as if already looking for you, leading you down a corridor as they talk to you a bit about what’s happening.

“Usually we don’t have the hair and makeup staff come this early.” Her voice is cheery and light. “But the members have to film a bit before the show today so they need to get ready early.”

“I don’t mind at all.” You immediately jump to answer, eager to come off as a team player. Also, midday isn’t early at all for you, though it may be early for them considering the concert didn’t start for another six hours.

You are shown into a large room and you immediately feel at home as soon as you step in. The mirrors are large and the hair and makeup stations are well lit. There are too many chairs to count there, some facing the mirrors and others scattered haphazardly everywhere else. Towards the far end of the room, one chair is already occupied, and you can see a woman bent over the man in the chair, her hand making careful strokes with a brush over his closed eyelids. His hair is a bright blond under the glare of the lights, matted down on his head. He must have freshly washed it. Next to him, another seat is occupied, but this time with a brunette who is lazily scrolling through his phone. He looks up when he hears you shuffling about. You immediately recognize him.

His smile is bright as he pushes off the chair in favor of walking over to you. You bow courteously.

Lee Seokmin is as handsome as he always looked on screen. You would argue he is even more stunning in real life. His voice is friendly and warm, and you immediately feel at ease. He introduces himself even though he needs no introduction, and you return the pleasantries. The voices make his blond friend turn his head towards you curiously, and you recognize Soonyoung just as quickly as you had recognized Seokmin.

They are quick to make conversation with you when they learn that you are their hairstylist, talking to you as if they had known you forever. It’s slightly jarring how quickly they become comfortable with you, because while you had been staring at them on a screen for years, they didn’t know you before this at all. It is hard not to be charmed by them though, they are incredibly kind and engaging. They ask you about your job, tell you how excited they are to be there, ask for food recommendations and before you know it, you are somehow roped into dinner plans.

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea….” You can’t help but feel sheepish. Seokmin waves you off immediately.

“It’ll be our treat! We take the staff out for dinner and drinks all the time. You had to show up this early. It’s the least we can do.”

You think it’s best not to say that you are paid to be here. It’s not like you are doing this for free. Both of them are so nice about it that you really don’t think your snark has any place in this conversation. You choose to switch the topic.

“Speaking of, why are only two of you here? What about the others?” You try to sound nonchalant. Try not to let your nerves creep in again. You can’t afford to freak out now. Not when he could walk in the door at any moment.

That makes Soonyoung snicker and Seokmin let out a painful sigh. He jabs a thumb backward to point at his friend, who is just about done with his makeup. “He spoiled something important while doing a live yesterday. He dragged me along by guilting me into it.”

Soonyoung seems proud of the fact, and you can tell Seokmin doesn’t mind as much as he is pretending to. You can’t help but smile as well. It’s crazy how comfortable you already feel around the two.

You are almost done with Soonyoung’s hair when other members slowly start to trickle in. Your heart speeds up. You try to keep your face straight and all your focus on the short strands of hair sticking up between your fingers. They greet you one by one as they show up. Wonwoo first, Chan right behind him. You introduce yourself to all of them, throwing some “nice to meet you”s in there. The room slowly swells with noise, multiple separate conversations and some laughs here and there. Some time passes. Seungkwan sits down in front of you. When Joshua walks into the room, everything stills for one small second.

He looks the same. Boyish charm and doe eyes. He sounds the same too, syrupy sweet voice, slightly deeper than you remember. He is running a towel through his wet hair. Some strands stick to the damp skin on his forehead. His face is bare, just the way you remember it. When he smiles, his eyes crinkle the same way. He laughs at something Soonyoung says to him. Same laugh.

But he is so….. different. He is taller, and much broader. You try not to let your eyes linger on his arms, bare because of the tank top he had chosen to wear. Heat rises up the back of your neck, and you run a small comb through Seungkwan’s hair, parting it down the middle. He is saying something about the content they are supposed to film before the show, and you feel a bit bad for not focusing on what he is talking about. But Joshua is right there, mere feet from you after nearly a decade and a half of being apart. It is hard to focus on anything other than the boy you had given your heart to when you were so young.

It seems he has chosen to focus on you too, in that very moment. He notices you working on his friend’s hair, and then he is walking to you. You freeze.

“Hi. Joshua.” He bows a little. You reciprocate, though it’s more jerky and not as smooth as his. You immediately kick yourself. Managing to return his smile, you tell him your name. His face shifts a bit, and you freeze again in shock. There’s no way….

He repeats your name, this time more questioning. You nod slowly.

“No way!” His eyes are wide, recognition flicking through them. Beautiful brown, rich like chocolate. You are reminded of your dream. Your heart skips. “I can’t believe it! You’re a hairstylist now?”

You laugh meekly, nodding. Your face still burns. Having his eyes on you feels almost unbearable. You wish he would go away, leave you in your head again to remember only the ghost of him still living in your memory. You also wish he would come closer, hold your hand like he used to and push your hair behind your ear when the wind makes it fall into your eyes.

You wish for a lot of things.

“You two know each other?” Seungkwan swivels in his chair to look at Joshua, who only nods enthusiastically.

“We were friends. We went to the same school when I was still in LA.”

So succinct. So brief. How something that means the world to you, something that changed your young mind so profoundly, could be summarized in two sentences. You try not to think about it.

“We have a lot of catching up to do.” His voice breaks you from your thoughts. His smile is still so wide. His eyes are…. gentle. Almost admiring. You realise he is genuinely happy to see you, and something in your chest settles. The nasty voice in your head silences itself. How foolish of you, to think for even a second that someone as sweet and down to earth as Joshua wouldn’t be happy to see you, his dearest friend, after he left LA. He isn’t wired that way. You almost feel ashamed at having doubted him. You nod your affirmation.

“You should have dinner with us after the show. Maybe some drinks too.”

You chuckle a bit. “Ah, yeah. Seokmin offered as well. I guess I will be there.”

He smiles wider, if that is even possible. “Great.”

When he finally walks away from you, you turn your head to meet Seungkwan’s gaze, already trained intently on you. Your neck heats up again.

“Something wrong?”

His eyes narrow just a bit. You get a strange feeling, like you are being prodded. He shakes his head, but the corner of his lip ticks up just slightly.

“No, not at all.” He settles back in his chair, an expression on his face that you can’t quite place.

Ah, fuck.

……………………………………………………………………..

An hour later, Joshua is sitting in a chair, typing something on his phone when you finally step closer to him to get a look at his hair. He turns his phone screen off, giving you a dazzling smile as well as his full attention. You try to smile back, but it comes off more as a grimace than anything friendly. If he notices, he doesn’t let it show. You are grateful for that.

“I didn’t know you left LA.” He comments, and you hum a bit, using a comb to smooth through his hair, trying to focus on your job and not on the fact that you are touching him, or that you can smell his aftershave. It’s flowery and light. It makes you dizzy.

You also try to bite back on the fact that there is no way he could’ve known, considering you hadn’t talked to him properly since he set foot outside the US.

“I’ve been all around.“ You answer, knowing how vague you sound. You can’t think of anything else to say though. You can feel Joshua’s gaze on you, and you wonder if he sees through you.

He used to. He knew you better than anyone else. Now….. now he’s a stranger.

“Weren’t you going to become a lawyer?”

You bark out a shocked laugh at the sudden jibe, mind thrown back into the past. “Oh god, no. I don’t know what I was thinking when I used to say that.”

Joshua chuckles a bit too. “And you were so passionate about it too. Though I’m pretty sure it was just because you thought it would help you win arguments.”

You can’t control your grin. “I was a kid. I still suck at them, by the way.”

“Do you still cry when you get angry?”

You roll your eyes and give him a look. “It’s perfectly normal to cry when you’re angry.”

He nods jokingly, pretending to contemplate. “Sure. Not when you are trying to negotiate prices on the pier though.”

You gape at him, shocked. “How the hell do you remember that?”

Joshua’s mock playfulness leaves his face, replaced by something softer, more melancholic. Your fingers freeze in the dark caramel strands of his hair, soft to touch.

“I remember everything.”

You feel something strong and bitter rise in the back of your throat. Like bile, but burning worse. You remember then, the grief of Joshua leaving. The dragging hurt of waiting for replies to your emails. How his responses would get shorter and shorter every time. How it fizzled over those few painful months. And then….nothing. Like he was never there.

You clear your throat and work in silence, trying to finish up on his hair quicker. You can see from the corner of your eye how his face drops. He doesn’t say anything more. When you’re done, he gives you a tiny smile and a thank you.

He’s a stranger to you once again.

……………………………………………………………………..

The show is spectacular, as expected. You watch as much as you can between giving touch ups as the members come and go from the backstage area. It’s overstimulating and fast paced, nothing you aren’t used to, but enough to get your blood pumping. You missed working shows like this. Despite the history you had with Joshua, you feel okay about taking the job.

The members are all hyped and looking forward to dinner and drinks afterwards. Some staff members go along, including you, and it is an energetic affair. You laugh and talk with other people on the crew, who are all very welcoming and more than happy to regale you with stories of their own. The members eat like a small army, and food disappears faster than you can blink. You are grateful for the amount of people, since it meant you didn’t have to interact one on one with Joshua. It is nearing dawn when everyone starts to slowly scatter to their hotel rooms on the same floor.

Your own hotel room, booked courtesy of the company, is not in the same building, and when you announce that you should head back, Joshua offers to drive you. You can’t really find a reason to say no. He is one of maybe two people who didn’t drink. So your options are limited.

You really don’t want to talk to him. You can’t even place why, exactly. You had missed him, thought about him periodically for so long. He is here now, accessible to you, and yet you want nothing to do with him.

The truth is, your small conversation threw you off. It’s like you had never been apart. He talked to you like he had left just a month ago on a little vacation and now he had come back, catching up on life updates. But the truth is that he has fifteen years worth of updates that he missed. This isn’t a brief pause that he can just ignore, something he was clearly trying to do.

Then again, maybe you are overreacting. It’s not like you two had fought. Things just didn’t work out. It happens. Maybe you are making a big deal out of nothing while he is doing everything to be nice to you.

In any case, you have a lot to figure out. And you can’t do that with Joshua in the driver’s seat, spending a good chunk of time in a confined space with him. The silence is strange and heavy. You close your eyes and lean back in your seat, hoping he just assumes you are tired and doesn’t feel as awkward as you. When the car slows to a stop in front of your building, you give him a little smile as you gather your things.

“Did I upset you earlier?”

You hesitate, movements slowing a bit. Joshua looks worried, but he doesn’t meet your eyes, instead focusing on staring straight ahead. It’s still dark outside. You take a deep breath.

“Not- not really. I was just surprised.”

Now he looks confused, tearing his eyes away from the road to look at you. “Why?”

You blink slowly. “What do you mean, why?”

He doesn’t reply, waiting for you to continue. You aren’t really drunk, but you had a few. Enough to impair the filter between your brain and mouth just a little bit.

”We haven’t spoken in almost fifteen years, Josh.” Your voice sounds more stable than you are expecting. “But suddenly you’re acting like nothing’s wrong. Like you didn’t just…. disappear.”

Guilt washes over his features, and you try not to let it affect you.

“I didn’t mean to….”

You sigh a bit, feeling resigned. “No one ever means to. But I think I deserved a little more than nothing. For the sake of what we had.”

Your eyes meet, and this time, the exchange of looks is weighted, more understanding. Joshua nods.

”You did. I’m sorry.”

You nod slowly. You hadn’t expected such a quick and willing apology. It was almost anticlimactic. Joshua carries on.

“Training was….tough. I almost quit, you know? Multiple times. I stuck it out because of the members, and because I was determined to see it through. I know it isn’t an excuse but- I was overwhelmed and I missed home. I missed you. Talking to you just made it so much worse.”

He lets out a meek laugh, rolling his eyes. His stare is distant as he remembers the past. He runs a frustrated hand through his hair. “It sounds insanely stupid in hindsight.”

You nod. “It does.”

He laughs again, this time a bit stronger. When he looks at you, there’s something sad behind his eyes. You can’t help but mimic it. It’s difficult to put a finger on it. There’s so much you want to say to him, but at the same time, nothing comes to mind. It seems that all along, you had waited to hear just these words from him, a form of explanation, a form of remorse, and he had finally given them to you. There is a sense of finality in this moment. Your lips slowly curl up into a soft smile.

“I understand, I think. I… I don’t know what to say though. I don’t know where we go from here.”

There it is again, that curled smile which makes him look five years younger than he is. In the dim light, he looks unassuming and gentle, almost angelic.

“Maybe you can give me a chance to be your friend again?”

You appraise him a bit before nodding. “I think I can do that.”

……………………………………………………………………..

Some parts of Joshua are exactly the same.

He is still snarky and mischievous under his gentle exterior. Of course, it’s more than just an exterior. He is a genuinely kind person. But you two were great friends before because he was such a wonderful mix of caring and annoying. You loved teasing him and he loved teasing you back. It seems those parts of him haven’t changed at all. When you observe him with his members, you can see how he thrives off their energy. He is especially a pain in the ass to Mingyu, who loves to dish it right back.

And then there are parts of him that are so new it almost catches you off guard. He is a lot more mature now. And more perceptive too. He has a little bit of a flirty thing going on now, and it often leaves you blushing and stuttering, unable to reply.

God, you really should have become a lawyer.

Four shows into the tour and in your second city by now, you have grown fairly comfortable in your job. With Joshua acting as a bridge, you get integrated into the team very easily. Almost everyone is curious about you and Joshua when he was still living in LA. None more so than Seungkwan, who seems to have taken a particular interest in you two ever since you met on the first day. You’re not very thrilled by it, since he isn’t exactly subtle about it either.

“Have you considered working outside the US?”

You hum as you pull his hair down over his forehead, trying to go for more of a messy look today. “Not really. Why do you ask?”

“You could come to Korea with us.”

You laugh and shake your head. “I can’t just leave the country on a whim.”

“It wouldn’t be a whim though. You would have a job.”

You give him a questioning look now, pausing your ministrations for a second. “Where exactly are you going with this?”

He shrugs, pouting playfully for a bit. “I’m just saying. It doesn’t have to end after this leg of the tour, you know?”

His stare is meaningful. Very briefly, his eyes flick towards Joshua on your left. It’s so subtle that you wouldn’t catch it if you hadn’t been looking so intently. Realisation dawns on you and you gulp.

“Nothing will end. Because nothing is going on.” You give him a pointed look, going back to his hair.

“That’s what I’m saying. Something could.”

You sigh painfully. “Seungkwan-”

“He likes you.” Seungkwan interrupts. “Maybe you don’t see it, but I do. Joshua puts a lot of effort in for the people he cares about. And he’s making a hell of an effort to fix things with you.”

“That’s because I was his friend.”

He gives you a blank look but doesn’t say anything more. You try to ignore his words, but when your eyes flick towards the man in question, you can’t help but wonder if there is any ounce of truth behind them.

……………………………………………………………………..

“I was thinking of getting a haircut before the next show.”

You give Joshua a surprised look, placing your drink on the table. It’s show number six of eight total, and the members had scattered to explore the city. You had been in your hotel room when Joshua called, asking you to come down so you could have a drink with him. The bar you end up in is small and cozy, barely crowded since it’s a weekday, which is for the best. You lean back in the booth to get a better look at Joshua sitting next to you.

“What are you thinking?” You ask.

A thoughtful hum follows. “I’m not sure. Just something different. It’s getting a bit long and it irritates my neck.”

“Do you wanna dye it?”

He winces. “Not really. The damage takes forever to recover from.”

You think about his face shape, wondering what to do with his hair that might look good on him. Unconsciously, your hand reaches up to his head, fingers threading through the strands and pulling them upwards a bit, just to check exactly how long the hair is. Joshua just watches you. You blink when you notice the hint of smile on his face, pulling your hand back with a sudden jerk.

“Sorry!” You squeak out, feeling embarrassment crawl up your chest. “Force of habit.”

Joshua laughs. “It’s fine. You’ve done worse things around me.”

You gape at him. “Have not!”

He gives you a look, and you know what he is about to say before he even speaks. “You once peed while my back was turned to you.”

“Shut up!” You screech out, burying your face in your hands as Joshua laughs boisterously. You look around the bar, anywhere that isn’t him, trying to pat down the heat rising in your cheeks.

“That doesn’t count, by the way.”

Joshua blinks, mirth still dancing in his eyes. “And why not?”

“Because that was the old you.”

His eyes are wide with surprise and amusement now. His left hand swivels his glass, the liquid floating around in it. He leans his head on the other hand, elbow on the table. “I haven’t changed.”

“Yes, you have.” You immediately counter, downing the last of your own drink. “You’re all cool and suave now.”

He laughs again, uninhibited and bright. You grin at him, enamored by the way he throws his head back and how toothy his grin is. Liquid courage takes a hold of you.

“You know,” you lean in conspiratorially and Joshua follows your lead, playing along. “I used to have a crush on you.”

His eyebrows shoot up. “You did?”

You hum the affirmative, face still close to his, like you are telling him a long held secret. It kind of is one.

The lights in the bar are dim, but you can see the glint in Joshua’s eyes clearly. “And now?”

You pretend to think about it. You are feeling playful as well. It’s so easy to feed off his energy. It reminds you of your childhood. He’s a lot bolder now, but he used to be just as cheeky. His flowery scent enters your nose again in this proximity. You feel that all too familiar heat on the back of your neck. A frequent occurrence now, ever since Joshua has stepped back into your life. You wouldn’t change it, not even for a second.

“Jury’s still out.”

Joshua’s smile softens a bit. “I’ll take it.”

……………………………………………………………………..

It’s very fitting, for the last show of this leg of the tour to be in LA.

In the days leading up to the last two shows, you wonder about the future. While it is unpredictable, there are some well established facts you need to come to terms with. Joshua would leave for Korea right after, rest for a bit, and then the next leg of the tour would kick off. Your contract would end, and you would rest as well before you find your next gig. The thought of it feels like a lead weight in your stomach, and you are reminded acutely of the time when Joshua had told you about him leaving fifteen years ago.

“Pledis?” Your voice had been suspicious. “I’ve never heard of them. Are you sure you aren’t getting scammed?”

He had laughed. “I’m sure. They are legit, and they are eager to have me.”

“I don’t know, Josh…”

It’s the same apprehension but now under different circumstances.

Briefly, you remember Seungkwan’s offer. You don’t know how serious he was, but you entertain the thought for a brief moment. It doesn’t last, though. It’s ridiculous. The teenage you would have jumped at the chance to follow Joshua to the other side of the world, but that was naïveté. While you and him are riding the line between platonic and romantic, it hasn't gone anywhere. You couldn’t pick up everything and run off with him. It just wasn’t realistic.

The LA air seems to change something in Joshua. It’s a fairytale notion, but you swear you can see him bloom in the city. It’s nostalgic for him, you know this, and this stop means the most to him considering this is where his roots are. You bask in his glow, reminded of your own childhood with him by your side. You had spent countless weekends hanging around Santa Monica with your friends, putting together your very little money to eat and enjoy yourselves. Now here as an adult, standing in a stadium is a monumental milestone for Joshua, and you can’t believe you get to share in it with him.

The last show is even more emotionally charged for both you and him, but for entirely different reasons. You remember the days leading up to Joshua’s flight back then. You had insisted you spend every waking moment with him. Now, you are watching him close out the show to uproarious applause.

Life has changed so much. But your feelings remain the same. You had told yourself at fifteen, that you would confess to Joshua when he came back, stupidly believing that he would come back at some point. You’re a grown woman now, and you still know you will chicken out. You won’t tell him how you feel, you know this. He will leave again, this time for who knows how long, and maybe your paths won’t cross. Maybe they will, for another brief stint in time, before returning to the way they had been for so many stale years.

Maybe that’s how fate intends you to love Joshua. Little by little. In scraps. In fleeting moments of happiness before his busy life sweeps him up again. Maybe you should accept that this is how it’s meant to be.

After all, a little love is better than none.

Drinks are flowing heavily as the group celebrates the end of a very successful leg of their tour. Your staff members insist on farewell drinks for you, and before you know it, you have downed shot after shot with them, talking and laughing your hearts out. You had formed somewhat of a family here with these people, and you would miss them all terribly. Having temporary jobs is always a bummer when it comes to goodbyes. The whole experience is bittersweet.

You are reminded of your first night when you stand up and announce that you will be heading out. Especially when Joshua stands up right after.

“I’ll drive you.”

You snort. “I’m booked in this hotel too, dumbass. I just have to go down one floor.”

Joshua pouts at the smattering of laughs at your comment. You grin at him.

“Also, you’re drunk as fuck.”

He nods as if he has come to an important, life-changing decision after contemplating a little bit. “I’ll walk you, then.”

Not even five minutes later, you are struggling to get your door open. Behind you, Joshua sways a bit.

“How much did you drink?”

He giggles. “I’m just a little tipsy.”

You roll your eyes. He clearly is way more than just tipsy. You can’t judge him though. Because you are in a similar situation.

You turn to face him when the door behind you finally squeaks open. His eyes are foggy but they focus on you regardless. He still has makeup on from the show, though it’s slightly smudgy now. His hair is still in place from the hairspray. You make a face at it and reach out to tug a stiff strand.

“I hate putting hairspray on your head.” You slur. “Your hair is so soft and nice.”

Joshua hums a bit, leaning against the door frame and letting you play with his hair. “Then get it out.”

In your drunken haze, you pull him into the room, and before you know it, you’ve ducked his head under the sink of the bathroom to wet his hair. Not the best way to do it but neither of you care at this point. Not only are your inhibitions dampened, you also know you are doing all this just to keep him here for a little longer. To be close to him just a bit more. His flight is tomorrow morning. This is the last time you will see him, and you are not ready to say goodbye.

You have a multitude of products with you that you lather into his hair. He doesn’t seem to mind that you are ruining his T-shirt. He is compliant, sitting obediently on the closed toilet lid as you work your fingers gently through the styled pieces of his hair. He hums a bit when you press on his scalp, eyes fluttering. You scold him to keep them closed so they don’t get irritated by the chemicals.

By the time you’ve made him rinse off in the sink again, his clothed shoulders are all wet. His hair is dripping all over the bathroom floor. Droplets of water roll down the sides of his face and down his neck. A silver chain glitters against his skin there, disappearing under the collar of his shirt. His eyes are barely open, narrowed to slits. You crane your neck up to look at him, the scent of shampoo dense in your nose.

“Towel.” You mutter. He needs it. It’s too cold to be this wet. He could get sick.

Neither of you move to get a towel though.

This close to him, you can see the sprinkled pattern of freckles over his neck. His lips part and your eyes shoot down to them immediately. You’ve always loved his lips, weird as that sounds. Always wondered what they would feel like against your own. You don’t have to wonder long, because he leans down the next second, pressing them softly into yours.

There’s hesitation behind his actions, but you affirm him by pushing up a bit, fitting your lips into his harder. His hands brush against your sides and yours grip tight at the wet collar of his shirt. It is close mouthed and chaste, but it lights a fire in you, settling in your chest as a condensed warmth. A single droplet of water hits your cheek.

A decade and a half long anticipated kiss.

You nip a little on his bottom lip, hearing how his breath gets strangled in his throat. He squeezes at your sides. His lips part. His tongue moves languidly against yours, head tilted to get better access. You sigh into him, trying to feel as much of him as you can. The planes of his chest are firm, his shoulders are broad. Your fingers travel up his neck to his jaw, to his ear. You tug on the tiny silver ring wrapped around the helix, and he curses softly in your mouth.

“We should stop.” He gasps out, but his hands are tugging on the hem of your shirt, slipping under it to run across your bare skin. You moan at the feeling, offended by the clothes between you two now. You grip his wet hair a bit harshly, pull at it just a bit, and his reaction is instant. He groans loud and low, pushing into you until you are stumbling back. Blindly, you two shuffle out of the bathroom and towards the bed, not separating for one minute, planting a slew of messy kisses over each other’s lips. Your shaky hands fall to the button of his jeans, which you pop open, flying up under his shirt and pushing it up to his chest until he gets the hint and tugs it off. You stare at his bare torso, fingers exploring the newly exposed skin. He nips at the lobe of your ear, brushing soft kisses over your neck and jaw.

His hands are toying with the hem of your jeans, thumbs hooking into the belt loops to tug your hips closer. You feel his erection on your lower stomach, hard and insistent, and it nearly leaves you dizzy.

“Josh-” You manage to gasp out. He bites softly into the skin just below your ear and hums into it. Your eyes roll.

A flurry of hands leaves you shirtless soon, fingers tugging on the hook of your bra until the clasp is undone, discarding it as well. Joshua’s body doesn’t stay far from yours. He falls onto the bed with you, his weight insistent and reassuring on top of you. When he grinds against the heat between your parted legs, you feel electricity zip through you, back arching into him. You can feel how wet you are already, how you clench around nothing. There’s too many layers between you two.

You feel his hand unzip your jeans and slip between your thighs to where you need him the most. You can hear his intake of breath right next to your ear when his fingers make contact with the soaked cloth of your panties.

“I haven’t done anything yet, baby.”

You keen at the use of the pet name, and Joshua sighs into your neck, attaching his teeth to the skin and sucking hard. Your hips jerk. His index finger presses the fabric harshly against your clit and you cry out at the sensation.

“Stop teasing.” You whine, one hand reaching down to wrap around his wrist. His teeth release your skin so his tongue can run over the area, and you are sure you will have an angry mark there in the morning. You can’t care less.

“That doesn’t sound like me at all.” You can practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Regardless, your panties are being pushed aside, careful fingers now running up through your slit until they reach your nub. His thumb rubs a few harsh circles into you, and you gasp again.

Joshua is unpredictable, alternating between soft and rough, keeping you on your toes, figuratively. In reality, you are moaning and crying into his shoulder, hips chasing his touch with every flick of his wrist, until he finally takes mercy on you and sinks his middle and ring finger into your aching pussy. His thumb is still insistent, never once stopping its ministrations. His lips never stop moving, digging into any piece of you he can get between his teeth, a handful of kisses and licks all over your neck and chest. When the pads of his fingers finally hit your sweet spot, you nearly sob.

He quickly becomes relentless in his movements, rubbing, dragging, in and out, until you feel like you are on the brink of insanity. You can’t make sense of your own words, and you are sure it is all mindless babble, but Joshua seems to bask in it, encouraging you on until your back is arching impossibly deep, orgasm hitting you like a freight train. Your legs jerk and pulse in the air, framing his waist as he coaxes you through your high, whispering sweet praises in your ear, a stark contrast to the fire he had lit in your body. When your eyes blink open again, you are met with a glinting, lustful gaze and a soft smirk.

You wipe it right off by pressing your lips harshly into his. He hums in approval, allowing your scrambling hands to push his jeans and boxers down and off his legs along with your own. His cock drags through the mess between your legs and he curses. You buck up into him.

“You’re sure about this?” His voice is raspy. He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

You nod and wrap your legs around his hips to pull him closer, but Joshua pulls his lips away from yours instead.

“I need you to say it. I can’t mess this up with you.”

You pause, blinking up at him, startled at his words. He is a vision in the dim light, swollen lips, smudged mascara, messy wet hair and all. He looks beautiful.

“You could never mess up with me.”

His smile is tinged with something bitter. “I already did once.”

You can’t help the playful smirk you give him in response. “And yet here we are.”

He does chuckle at that, forehead leaning against yours. You give him a soft smile, running a hand through his hair. This time in a different context, a different feeling.

“I’ve never wanted anything more than you in this moment.”

His face instantly relaxes, and his lips are on yours again. You sigh into his mouth, and you can feel something hard poke insistently at you, followed by a jerk of Joshua’s hips that finally breaches you, carving through your insides as you throw your head back. He is big, and impossibly hard, and he brushes over parts you didn’t even know you had. By the time he bottoms out, you are trembling in his hold, breaths coming in choppy gasps as he starts moving, slow at first and gradually picking up speed.

Joshua lifts himself off you, supporting his weight on his hands. Your watery gaze meets his and he bites his lip hard.

“Look at you, fuck.” He thrusts especially hard, making you cry out. “Wish you could see yourself, angel. So pretty for me.”

”Joshua.” You drag out the last syllable of his name, feeling your toes curl as he keeps going. He thrusts particularly deep and then suddenly stills in you, so you can feel every inch of him. Your jaw goes slack.

“What do you want?”

His lips are a ghost touch over your cheek. He grinds slowly, his pelvis brushing your clit, adding to the assault of sensations you are already experiencing. You feel a tear roll down your face and disappear into your hairline.

You whine. “You.”

His lips curl upward. “You have me.”

He grinds again. You sob.

“Please.” Your voice is thin, on the verge of breaking. “Need you to move. Need to feel you. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t-”

Then he is shushing you, and his hips are moving again, harder and faster until stars are bursting in your vision as you come again. You barely register when Joshua stiffens and buries himself deep in you, warmth flooding your insides as he pants and groans through his own release. Your entire body feels muted and numb, like someone had stuffed cotton in your head. You blink lazily, pressing a kiss into Joshua’s sweaty forehead.

He turns to look at you in response, and you can see the sluggishness in the depth of his eyes. A small smile plays at his lips. He looks at peace. You hope your face looks just as blissful to him. Tiredness tugs at your limbs.

You don’t remember falling asleep.

……………………………………………………………………..

Giggling. The slap of footsteps on pavement. The brush of a hand. Brown, doe-like eyes.

The sun is high in the sky when you wake up with a start the next morning. You stare at the window and the harsh light infiltrating through it, trying to shake the image from your dreams. When you shift under the covers, feeling them brush over your bare skin, you discover that you are naked. The events of the previous night come rushing back.

You turn to stare at the bed behind you. Empty. You sit up and look at the window again. Long shadows are casted by the sun over your room. It is easily past noon.

No.

He couldn’t have left. He couldn’t have. Not like this. Not after last night.

I can’t mess this up with you.

Something burns behind your eyes, and you try not to focus on how hard your heart is hammering. Your legs feel sore, but you push past it and move off the bed, ignoring your discarded clothes from the night before on the floor to walk to the wardrobe where you had temporarily stored your stuff. You tug on the nearest T-shirt you can find along with sweatpants. Your focus is to be out the door as quickly as you can. You know their flight has left, but you need to see with your own eyes if their hotel rooms are cleared out. It was the only way to accept what had happened.

You bite the inside of your lip, willing yourself not to cry. You can’t believe it, genuinely cannot imagine that Joshua would sleep with you and leave the next day. It is a whole new low. You want to beat yourself up for trusting him, but your heart screams the opposite. You are reeling, still unable to believe what has happened.

You hear the door behind you open, jolting you from your thoughts. You spin around, eyes widening at the sight before you.

Joshua blinks at you in confusion, staring at your shirt clad figure, holding a pair of pants in your hands.

“What are you doing out of bed?” He asks, moving closer to you after shutting the door. “Don’t you have a hangover? You should lay down.”

You flinch back when he reaches for you, and his face twists at the action. You can see hurt flit past his eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“You-” Your mind races. “Your flight….”

He nods slowly. “I canceled this morning.”

Feeling returns to your legs again, processing his words. Your hand drops, and you let the pants fall to the floor. Your relief is so great that it makes you feel lightheaded. When you look up at Joshua again, his face has settled into a sad realization.

“You thought I left.” He states, voice small. You don’t say anything.

“You thought I-” His laugh is sharp, bitter. Something clenches at your chest. “You really think I would do that?”

You immediately shake your head. “No. No, I would never. I just…. panicked.”

Joshua heaves out a sigh, running a hand through his hair. A flowery smell hits your nose. You discern that he probably just stepped out to go shower and change. You almost kick yourself.

“I’m sorry.”

Joshua has the grace to crack a small smile, taking your forearm and leading you to the bed so you can sit. You notice a tall glass of water on the bedside table, as well as two round pills. Probably painkillers. Your heart squeezes. You hadn’t noticed them in your stressed condition. He picks them up and offers them to you, and you take them with a grateful smile.

“I don’t blame you. I don’t exactly have the best track record.”

You shake your head. “Nah, don’t blame yourself for this. These are my issues.”

He flops down next to you, leaning back on his hands. You down the water and place the glass back, turning to look at him. He’s already staring at you. You feel shyness creep up on you.

Joshua’s hand reaches up to brush over the skin of your neck, and you realize that he is tracing the scattered marks he had left there last night. Your face burns, but you have no time to react before he is kissing you, so soft you barely feel it, but you lean in regardless. You sigh into it, wishing it would go one forever, this fluttering feeling in your chest, telling you that everything is fine.

When Joshua pulls away, you can’t help but pout, eyes still closed, mentally willing him to come back. He laughs a bit, a melody to your ears, and you can’t help when your own lips perk up at the sound.

“So you’re not leaving?” You ask, letting him continue brushing his fingers over your neck and cheeks. Goosebumps rise on your arms.

“Not right now. But at some point, yes.” He looks up to meet your eyes. “I couldn’t leave us like this though. Not this time.”

His eyes catch the sunlight, small flecks of gold dancing in the deep, rich caramel. He reminds you of Bambi sometimes, when his lips tick up like this and his eyes turn into the shape of almonds. You wonder if he knows how beautiful you find him, bathed in golden light and looking at you like you hung the moon and stars. There’s a rush of emotions, and you feel like you’ve stepped into gently swishing water, lapping over your skin and enveloping you in a cool tranquility you have never experienced before.

You lean in, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “Good.”

[2hightocare]

COFFEE!

“I think I'm past obsessed at this point, there has to be another word in the dictionary that tops obsessed.”

Synopsis: in which a hopeless romantic falls in love with the man of her dreams…

Pairings: boyfriend!jeongguk x fem!reader

Genre: established relationship.. non idol au

Warnings: literally the most sappy thing I could have possibly written, was listening to ‘coffee’ by miguel while writing, they’re such a gentle love, reader is a book worm, Jungkook likes drawing (doodling) plus points when his drawings are about oc, mentions of their first time having sex, usage of book quotes (read nltm, had to use the mia and sebastian line for my own sanity) <3333333

authors note: this is so simple but my book worm hopeless romantic needed this.. wrote this while high so nothing new 🤍

They say falling in love is the most beautiful feeling in the world.

You couldn’t explain the immediate sensation, the feeling that spreads throughout your chest as if you were a black-and-white picture that suddenly starts to fill with vibrant colors anytime his eyes lock with yours.

It was astonishing how the universe works—the idea that you are destined for someone ever since you are born, and that all the hardships along the way shape you into the person you need to be to meet them.

Your heartbeat thumped loudly in your ears as you watched him laugh from across the room, an oversized hoodie and baggy jeans covering his lean, muscular figure—one you’d memorized to the tiniest detail. You knew every freckle and scar. His head was thrown back, arms crossed, as he paid attention to whatever the guy in front of him was saying.

You scrunched your nose, using your index finger to push your glasses up as you studied your boyfriend from afar. You weren’t sure whether to call it pathetic or endearing, the way you noticed every little crease on his forehead and the way he toyed with his bottom lip absentmindedly. You even took note of his long eyelashes, and nearly died of jealousy every time you counted them when he slept beside you.

It was gut-wrenching to imagine anyone else feeling about him the way you did. The thought alone made you want to puke in the nearest trash can.

You were lovesick for this man, and you could already feel the heat rising to your cheeks whenever you looked at him or heard his laugh. Not only did you want to scream and freak out over every little thing he did, but he also had you daydreaming constantly. You found yourself thinking of silly song lyrics that resonated with how you felt about him. Staring at his side profile, you finally understood the meaning behind Suki Waterhouse’s lyrics: “Oh, my good looking boy,” echoed in your mind.

Before you could form another lyric or recall a favorite book quote to describe your feelings, his eyes found yours. A small smile tugged at his lips as his gaze scanned your expressions, reading you as if you were an open book. You smiled, tilting your head to the side, trying to hide the makeshift fireworks going off in your tummy.

His gaze softened, and it made your breath waver. You had never understood the meaning of “his gaze softened” in books, but now, you understood every syllable of those words after experiencing it firsthand.

You honestly couldn’t think of a single thing you didn’t love about him. You loved everything about him, even the parts he claimed were too “broken” or “damaged” to be loved.

A few seconds passed before he finally said his goodbyes and began making his way back to you. Your eyes followed every step, catching the grin he wore.

“I don’t know, I pretty much think you’re obsessed with me,” your boyfriend teased, his straight teeth on full display as he stopped in front of you, looking down at you on the couch.

“In your dreams.” You laughed, craning your neck to look up at him.

Instead of getting mad, he let out a low chuckle, leaning down with both arms on either side of the couch, caging you in.

“Every night, baby.” He whispered softly, pressing a delicate kiss to your lips before moving to your cheek, delivering another soft kiss. You sighed in contentment as his lips ghosted over your skin, the pet name making your head feel dizzy.

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before standing up straight again, looking down at you. Your eyelids felt heavy as you looked up at him through your lashes. He was already smiling, and you didn’t even need to ask “what?”—you already knew. Anyone in their right mind could tell how obsessed you were with him, and it was no surprise to him either.

As you both walked out of the bookstore, carrying a bag full of psychological and romance books (and, of course, the box of transparent sticky notes Jungkook got for you to annotate your books without writing on the actual pages), it was clear this was one of his favorite things to do. In his free time, when he wasn’t working or with you, he loved opening one of your books and reading your thoughts scribbled in the margins. Half of his camera roll was pictures of you, but the other half was just pictures of your annotations, scribbles, and drawings.

It was as if he was inside your mind, reading every thought, and he loved it.

He could still recall the first book he opened that sent his heart racing, like a teenage boy with a crush.

“I couldn’t see him, but his laugh was unmistakable. I could close my eyes and be in so many places with that laugh. That laugh was the cohesive thread, the little recurring melody that showed up in so many scenes of my life, like Mia and Sebastian’s theme in La La Land. Always there, playing in the background.”

Those words were highlighted in the prettiest shade of pink, with two small hearts drawn beside them. But it was your handwriting at the bottom that got him: “The feeling I’ve been trying to put into words about how I feel every time I look at him has just been done for me, oh my.” He remembered feeling his heart stop for a second. And when it started again, it was for you—his heart was for you and only you.

That wasn’t all. It had become one of your shared love languages. Jungkook started buying books he thought you’d like. He even asked your little sister what your favorite highlighters were so he could buy them for both of you.

Your heart did somersaults when you opened a book on his bedside table and saw a drawing—a pair of eyes in black ink, long lashes making them look bigger and more innocent. Your breath hitched as you noticed the small freckle just below the eyebrow, realizing it was you.

It didn’t help the overwhelming sensation of adoration when you saw his handwriting in the margins.

“You remembered?” she said softly.

“I remember every second of us.”

The text was underlined, and in small letters, he had written, “Gosh, she made me fall so hard that I’m reading sappy words and thinking ‘us’ out loud. #sendhelp,” with a frowning emoji next to the hashtag. Before you knew it, you were on page one, reading every single line and note he had left.

Also, the multiple drawings on the pages where there was extra space had your heart thumping hard in your chest. There were so many drawings— each one tied to you or him. It was impossible to describe every feeling surging through your chest, every emotion racing in your bloodstream, as your fingertips traced the drawing of you.

This time, it was an image of you on your back, lying on a bed. Only part of your side profile was visible, with your hair spilling across the bed, covering most of your back. At first, you didn't want to assume it was you he'd drawn-being self-centered wasn't your style. But it was impossible to deny it when he'd sketched every freckle, even the small half-moon tattoo on your shoulder blade, matching the real one inked on your skin.

You smiled at the memory but snapped back to the present as your boyfriend instinctively switched you to the other side of the sidewalk when you two turned toward Target. You held tight to his index finger as he squeezed between people, leading you behind him with a soft "excuse me" to anyone in the way.

Automatically, you found yourself smiling as you picked up your pace to match his longer strides. He pulled you in closer, his arm snaking around your waist, his hand resting over your belly—a little lower than usual, sending butterflies flitting wildly in your stomach. You suppressed a shiver as he gently guided you to the side, allowing an older couple to pass by.

"Us when we're eighty, baby," Jungkook leaned down and whispered into your ear, making you playfully roll your eyes at him. His smile only widened at your reaction.

"Won't be us if you keep watching Young Sheldon without me," you pouted, giving him a playful glare, which only made him smile more.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked, maybe even whining a little as you walked into the store and heard the employee greet you both.

"Because you're so beautiful, and my brain goes in circles when I stare at you," he shrugged casually, giving your waist a small squeeze before untangling his arm to grab a cart.

You tried so hard not to melt, holding onto his bicep as he leaned forward on the cart, making him closer to your height.

"Don't know it you're down, but l've been wanting to learn how to crochet," you said as you glanced around the aisles. Your boyfriend immediately started nodding excitedly.

"Baby, oh my god. I'm so down. We need to make those big-ass blankets," he rambled, looking at your face for a reaction, like a puppy with its ears perked up and tail wagging.

"I think that's knitting, baby," you corrected him, smiling as his eyebrows raised before he let out a small laugh.

"Wait, are those two not the same thing?" His dimple deepened as he bit his lower lip, stopping in front of the craft aisle.

"I actually have no clue," you admitted with a chuckle, raising an eyebrow. "But I know you can crochet a blanket because you once told me about those pattern blocks you saw on your explore page.”

Jungkook's gaze softened as he made eye contact with you, his pupils dilated with so much adoration that it made your heart swell.

"And I remember because I searched them on TikTok to see what you were talking about. I saw people connecting them into blankets. Also, I remember you pretending to sleep so you didn't have to scratch my back anymore-before my one minute was up. You swear you're slick, but I know when you're really asleep," he said with a grin, teasingly biting your cheek as you tried not to smile.

"How do you know I'm not sleeping?" you teased, and he chuckled, ghosting his lips over yours.

"Because every time you fall asleep, you make this little sound, and then slowly, you start snoring," he laughed, watching your cheeks turn a shade of red before burying his laughing face in the crook of your neck.

To be loved is to be seen.

That phrase had never felt more accurate. No one else had ever seen you the way Jungkook did. He knew you so well, down to the tiniest details that sometimes even surprised you.

Your eyes practically turned into hearts as Jungkook kissed your neck innocently before turning his attention to the yarns.

This was the kind of love you had always dreamed of

-better than the movies or books. Nothing could top the overwhelming feelings of gratitude, love, and appreciation that coursed through your body whenever you looked at him. Your brain practically played the instrumental of "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey whenever you spent time with him.

It was as if even a natural disaster couldn't faze you

-so long as you could experience it with him.

The connection between you two was beyond what you ever imagined existed in real life. It felt like something out of a fairy tale. From the moment you locked eyes with him across the room, you both knew there was no turning back.

After checking out and getting to Jungkook's car, he opened the door for you, reaching over to buckle your seatbelt before putting the bags in the back.

Once he climbed into the driver's seat, his hand instinctively found its place on your thigh after starting the car. His thumb rubbed your bare skin, sending sparks flying through your body. It was such a natural gesture for him, but the butterflies never ceased. You bit your lip, trying not to whine when his hand moved closer to your inner thigh.

As he softly sang along to "Creep" by Radiohead, it was just another thing you'd become morally obsessed with-his voice. You had always known he could sing, but everything changed the night you were first intimate.

It was as if your entire perspective on love and sex shifted. Simply calling it "sex" seemed absurd now, because it was so much more. Everything felt heightened, more intense, making your heart pound wildly in your chest.

"F-fuck, baby..." he whimpered into your ear, his hips moving slowly into yours, leaving your mouth hanging open.

His little groans and moans made you dizzy, like notes of a lullaby. The feeling of skin against skin was the most addicting sensation, made even more special by the way he always checked in on you.

"Shhh, I'm sorry. Am I being too rough, baby?" His voice was strained as his hips halted, his breath heavy as he moved your hair to kiss your neck.

He resumed slowly, making your legs shake and grip the sheets, and you couldn't help but moan, asking for more. His chuckle against your skin was the same one you’d hear when he rested his head on your stomach, expecting you to scratch his back or read to him.

"You're sweaty," you pouted at him, both of you basking in the afterglow.

"I know. Do you still want me?" He smiled, mimicking your expression before pulling the covers over both your naked bodies and pulling you in as close as possible.

"Yes, I'll forever want you," you replied, hiding your face in the crook of his neck, savoring the warmth he radiated.

As sleepiness began to overtake you, you felt his fingertips tracing letters and shapes on your hip.

Just before drifting off, he began singing again. It was like entering another universe where only you and he existed

"I want you to notice," he sang softly, "when I'm not around."

"So fucking special... I wish I was special." He pressed a kiss to your temple, the sound of his voice and your matching heartbeats lulling you both to sleep.

You snapped back to reality when the car stopped at a red light.

"Is it bad that I always hope to get red lights so I can kiss you?" he asked, flashing a grin that had you laughing.

Leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his as his eyes fluttered shut, his finger lifting your chin gently.

"Not bad, but a little weird. You want to spend so much time with me," you teased, pulling back to your seat. "Some might even think you're pretty obsessed."

"I'm past obsessed at this point. There's got to be another word that tops it," he admitted, stealing another kiss just before the light turned green.

As you gazed at him, you couldn't help but wish there was another word, stronger than "love," to describe how you felt about him.

[mggslover]

Unrequited love

In which reader has been haunted all her life by the ghost of unrequited love, always reminding her of everything she could never have. That is — until she met Spencer.

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!BAU!Reader Genre: angst x fluff x smut (18+) Content warnings: spoilers for s8e12, very angsty but no worries there's a happy ending Word count: 5,4k A/n: for anyone who can relate to not having their love reciprocated, I'm hoping you'll find your spencer reid soon

It’s stupid, really, to love someone so wholeheartedly. It’s even more stupid to expect them to love you back.

Never in your life had anyone reciprocated your love — hell, no one had even accepted it. Unrequited love was a burden that has clung to you all your life, a thread of rejection woven through the fabric of your earliest memories. 

You remember the moment clearly, when as a little girl you found your mother hunched over the dining room table, furiously wiping away tears she did not want you to see. You watched from afar, making sure she left the room when you tiptoed to the table, finding a piece of paper ripped out of a notebook. Your small finger traced the letters of the handwritten note. The words were jagged, some unfamiliar, making you skip them. You experienced a rush of pride and excitement when you could make out some words: leaving, sorry, woman, goodbye. It was the first time you’d read something that wasn’t written in the large colorful books Miss Abigail assigned in school. It wasn’t until a few days later, when your mother explained that your father wasn’t coming back, that the weight of the note fully sank in. From that moment on it felt like your fate was sealed. 

In middle school you had some friends, but when the moment came to pairing up for school trips, it was you being the one left out. You always had someone you would call your best friend, but you’d never be theirs. Someone always seemed to be better, more lovable, more wanted. 

In highschool, you got your first boyfriend, Timmy. You weren’t sure you loved him, but you wanted to be seen, to be noticed. So when he asked you out, you said yes. For a while, you reveled in the feeling of someone showing you off. That was until the day you overheard his friends, talking by the lockers.

“I swear, his tactic is working!” one of them said. “Jessica dumped James the second she saw Timmy walking hand in hand with Y/N through the hallways.” 

“Oh shit, man,” another friend laughed. “If I knew that, I also would’ve used a fake girlfriend to get to Hannah.” 

A fake girlfriend. The words echoed in your mind as you started to make sense of the situation. It suddenly clicked how Timmy only showed you off in public, only kissed you in the busy hallways, where people could see. It was never about you.

You decided to give love one more chance in university, but when a night that was supposed to be the first of many, ended in a one-night-stand and a “I’m sorry, but I don’t really see you that way”, you made yourself a vow: no more chasing love. You stopped giving your love to people who would never truly appreciate it, and instead, you gave that love to yourself. The library became your refuge, spending endless hours studying to give yourself the future you deserve. You passed your exams with flying colors and never forgot to reward yourself after every small victory. And when you landed a position at the BAU, making it as an FBI agent, you knew you made the right decision to never fall in love again. That was until you stepped into the office, and you saw him. Spencer Reid. 

—

“And this is doctor Spencer Reid,” your boss Hotchner introduced him with a nod. 

He was tall, awkward in the way only someone who was brilliant could be, but he smiled warmly as he waved a hand at you. “Hi.”

You smiled back and stuck out your hand instinctively. “Nice to meet you, I’m Y/N Y/L/N.”

He blinked at the gesture, looking uncomfortable. He swallowed, his voice uncertain. “It’s nothing personal, I just don’t like shaking hands.”

You tilted your head and laughed. “That’s totally fair. Do you know how many germs your hands carry?”

His eyes widened in surprise, as if no one had ever said that before. “I-I actually do! The number of pathogens passed during a handshake is staggering. It’s actually safer to-”

“Kiss?” you interrupted, a grin spreading across your face.

The words came out simultaneously, and you both laughed. A sound that felt... easy. Like something you hadn’t experienced before.

Someone you would later come to know as Morgan, who had been leaning against a desk, looked up at the two of you, eyebrows raised in disbelief as he shook his head. 

It was then you realized — there was something special about Spencer Reid. It was something unspoken, something more than just the intellectual connection. Before you even knew it, you had fallen in love.

—

You never confessed your feelings to Spencer, but you felt like there was an unspoken understanding between you. Every morning, you arrived at work with an oversweetened cup of coffee for him, and in return, he made sure you never went without your favorite sandwich from the shop around the corner, especially on days when you were too absorbed in a case to remember to eat. On your days off, you took each other on trips. Sometimes to a museum where you would explain the art in great detail, and he would pretend not to know any of the facts, just to hear you talk. Other times, you’d go to a movie screening, where he would simultaneously whisper translations of the foreign dialogue to you, making you giggle when his breath tickled your ear. You convinced yourself that this was what love was: understanding someone to the point of not needing words.

But how foolish were you to have forgotten about the shadow that lingered behind you, always ready to remind you of everything you could never have.

—

“Y/N, Y/N, Y/N! Have you heard the news?” Penelope squealed in delight as she rushed toward you, the rhythmic click of her heels making a melody against the office floor. 

You glanced up from your desk, raising an eyebrow. “Based on the excitement, I’m going to assume you're not talking about the wildfires in California.”

“Oh no, no,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m talking about big news. The juicy kind.”

You chuckled, leaning back in your chair as you sipped your tea. “Alright Pen, bring it on.”

Penelope’s grin widened. “Spencer has a girlfriend!” She yelped, hands flying to her mouth as she realized just how loud she’s gotten.

You blink as you try to process her words. “He finally adopted a cat?” 

Penelope shook her head vigorously. “Y/N, I mean a real girlfriend. An actual human being girlfriend!”

You scrunch your forehead, the words not quite connecting. “I don’t think I understand.”

Penelope leans in closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Derek told me that Blake told him that Spencer’s been making calls... to a woman.” She glances around quickly, making sure no one can overhear. 

The words hit you like a punch to the gut. Your smile drops at the familiarity of the situation. Spencer had been leaving the bullpen often recently. You’d always assumed it was because he was still struggling with his headaches and didn’t want the team to get worried. Not in a million years would you have expected Spencer was seeing someone.

Penelope continues speaking, but her words fade into the background as your thoughts spiral. “Excuse me,” you mutter, your voice barely above a whisper as you push yourself out of your chair and rush to the bathroom.

Once inside, you lock the door behind you. Your chest tightens, the familiar weight of a panic attack settling in as if it had never left. Your breath comes short and shallow, the room spinning slightly as you grip the sink. The air feels thick, suffocating even. For the first time in years you find yourself back in this situation, fighting to breathe.

—

After a while, the whispers and giggles about Reid's love affair had died down. Still, it took Spencer some time to feel comfortable enough to share more about her — Maeve Donovan, the brilliant, lovely woman who had stolen his heart. Being his best friend, it was you who he turned to. The one who had to endure all the little details of their intimate phone calls.

And you tried, you really did. You tried to be the supportive friend, even when each word about Maeve felt like a thorn twisting in your chest. You’d joke, asking him if he was sure Maeve wasn’t some sixty-year-old man catfishing him, or teasing him about how it didn’t count as a relationship if you’d never actually met the person. The snark was the only way you could cope with the sinking feeling every time he smiled when her name came up, the way his eyes lit up when he spoke of her. But Spencer was oblivious to your remarks. No matter how hard you tried to plant seeds of doubt in his mind, it never seemed to have any effect.

It was a sad thing to admit, but on nights when anxiety kept you awake, you couldn’t help but wish for their relationship to end. You prayed for a chance to tell Spencer how you really felt. You convinced yourself there would be time, that everything was going well, and eventually you’d find the courage to speak up. But on nights like these, you deeply regret never having thought of the possibility of another girl realizing how incredible Spencer is, and making a move before you ever could. 

Those feelings of jealousy turned into big regret, when Spencer came bursting into the bullpen, panic and fear evident in his eyes. He was frantic, certain that Maeve had been kidnapped. His suspicions turned out to be tragically true, and your world crumbled the moment the gunshot rang out, taking Maeve from him. Your heart shattered into a thousand pieces as Spencer broke down in front of you, and you couldn’t even reach out to comfort him, believing it was you who caused this. That the ghost you knew as unrequited love, finally gave you what you wished for. 

You wanted to scream, to turn back time, to take back every selfish thought. But now wasn’t the time for regret. When Spencer locked himself in his apartment, unwilling to speak to anyone, you made it your mission to be there for him. You were the only person he let in, and when the door creaked open, you were struck by the sight of him — pale, hollow-eyed, and worn down in a way you’d never seen before. Without a word, he pulled you into a tight embrace. The two of you cried together, until his neighbor shouted at you both for the noise. From that moment on, you’d take Spencer to your apartment. Making sure he had a warm, homemade meal waiting for him as you’d binge Doctor Who episodes, trying to get him to smile even just a little. Slowly, he began to open up, the weight of his grief pouring out in quiet conversations. And you made sure you listened to every word as you held him close, offering whatever comfort you could.

As the weeks passed by, the weight of the situation was becoming overwhelming. It wasn’t easy hearing the love of your life talk about another woman. The way he spoke about her, like she meant more to him after just a couple of months than you ever did in all the years you stood by his side. It was almost too much to bear. When you overheard a moment between Reid and JJ, where Spencer mentioned how he would’ve had kids if it weren’t for Maeve dying, you realized you couldn’t keep going like this. You needed time to process what you were feeling, to grieve what you’d lost — even if it wasn’t really yours to begin with. So, you called in sick for the next case. Hoping you could clear your mind, while the team was out of state.

—

So here you were, experiencing heartbreak like all those times before — rotting on the couch with a pint of ice cream as you watched reruns of Love Island. 

You jumped when a loud banging echoed from the front door. Your surprise faded as quickly as it came, knowing there was only one person that would bother you this late an hour. 

“Y/N, I know you’re in there. Open up!” Spencer’s voice rang out, firm and insistent.

With a sigh, you shuffled to the front door, trying to steady yourself before facing him. The moment you opened the door, you were met with Spencer, brows furrowed in concern and annoyance.

“Where were you? You didn’t show up on the jet, and you’re never late,” he said, brushing past you to step inside.

“Sure, let yourself in,” you muttered under your breath, closing the door behind him. “I wasn’t feeling well, had a headache,” you replied, keeping your tone casual.

Spencer paused, taking a quick glance around the room. His eyes landed on the TV blaring in the background and the half-empty pint of ice cream on the coffee table. He turned back to you, eyebrows raised.

“Your TV is on full blast, and you’re eating ice cream,” he said, his tone skeptical, clearly aware of your lie.

You sighed, shoulders slumping. “I’m sorry, I just needed a break.” 

“A break?” He scoffed. “You never take breaks. We practically had to force you to stay home when you got shot. You’re always there, no matter what. I needed you, and you weren’t there.”

As much as you appreciated hearing that he needed you, this wasn’t the time to feel flattered by it. “Spencer, I know,” you started, your voice taut with frustration. “I just had my own things to worry about.”

“What things?” He stepped closer, his tone rising. “What could be more important than your work? Then being there for a friend when he needs you?” It was obvious how upset he was.

“I was worried about you,” he continued, his voice breaking slightly. “I called you every day, and you didn’t pick up.”

His words hit harder than you expected, and a bitter laugh escaped before you could stop it. “What about me, Spencer?” you snapped. “Have you ever thought about me needing a break? Or am I not important enough for that?”

“Oh, please.” His voice dripped with disbelief. “You’ve always been there for me, but suddenly you can’t pick up your phone because you need time for yourself?”

“God, you’re such an ass,” you shot back, the words slipping out before you could stop them.

“Me? I’m the ass?” His voice pitched higher, his eyes widening in disbelief.

“Yes, Spencer! I told you I wasn’t feeling well. I needed time off.”

“You could’ve just picked up the damn phone!” he yelled. “Do you even realize how worried I was?”

“It sounds like you were more worried about yourself than me,” you countered in an icy tone.

His face twisted in frustration, but then his shoulders sagged. “Is that what you think? I was worried about you. Can you even imagine what it was like for me to call and get no answer?”

You swallowed. For a split second your mind drifted to Maeve, thinking that he might’ve felt the same fear as when she didn’t pick up the phone. You quickly put the thought away, he didn’t care about you like that.

“If you’d just asked Hotch, you would’ve gotten an answer right away,” you responded, crossing your arms in defense.

Spencer’s eyes narrowed. “Oh, so Hotch knew?”

“Of course, Spencer. He’s my boss!”

“And I am your friend! I always tell you everything before I let anyone else know.”

You rolled your eyes, frustration taking over. “Well, that’s on you. Just because you feel the need to bother everyone with your problems doesn’t mean I have to do the same.”

The instant regret was written all over your face as the words left your mouth. Spencer’s expression shifted, looking completely stunned.

“Spencer, I didn’t mean-”

But the damage was done. His shoulders stiffened and his jaw tightening before looking away.

“Please, Spence, I swear I didn’t mean it like that,” your voice trembled as you reached out to him, but he instinctively took a step back.

“Spencer, I’m so sorry,” you pleaded. “I don’t know why I said that.”

He shook his head, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Oh, but you said it. And you meant it.” His voice was quieter now, but somehow it felt heavier. The anger in his eyes had faded, replaced with something worse: disappointment.

“Spencer,” you whispered, the sound barely audible. You were terrified to say anything else that could upset him.

He gaze fell down, before he looked back up at you. His expression had softened slightly, though the hurt still lingered in his eyes. “Do you really think I bother people with my problems?”

“No!” you replied in a desperate cry. “I don’t know why I said that. I don’t think that at all. I’m so glad you opened up to me and trusted me with your feelings.”

“And yet…” he trailed off, rubbing his temples in frustration. “You ignored my calls. You avoided me. And then you said that. Jesus.” His hands fell to his sides as he let out a tired sigh, exhaustion etched into every feature.

“Spencer,” you started, but he interrupted. “I don’t understand,” he said, looking at you like he was searching for answers he couldn’t find. “If you’re glad I talk to you about my feelings, why did you shut me out?”

You swallowed hard, the weight of his question bearing down on you. “It’s just… a lot to handle, Spence,” you admitted. “I’m not a therapist. I don’t know how to deal with these feelings. I want to be there for you, I really do, but it takes a toll on me too.”

“It takes a toll on you too?” His voice rose, and you cursed yourself for triggering another outburst without meaning to. “I’m the one with ‘the problem’. I’m the one with the dead girlfriend! All you had to do was be there for me when I needed you.”

You exhaled heavily. “I’m getting a drink,” you muttered as you made your way over to the kitchen. Spencer followed behind you, not willing to give up yet.

“Of course,” Spencer said, with a sarcastic edge. “Grab a drink. That’ll fix everything.”

Ignoring him, you grabbed a glass and poured a generous amount of whiskey. You raised it to your lips, savoring the burn as you swallowed.

He crossed his arms, watching you with a raised eyebrow. “You know what? Go ahead. Keep ignoring the problem. That’s what you’re good at, right? Avoiding things.”

Your hand trembled slightly as you set the glass down. “I know you don’t believe me,” you said, your voice shaking, “but I am trying.”

“Trying?” Spencer’s laugh was humorless. “You didn’t even call me. You just disappeared. I needed you, and you left. What kind of ‘trying’ is that?”

“God, Spencer, I didn’t want to avoid you. I wanted to pick up the phone, to explain everything, but I couldn’t. I knew I’d just hurt you more, and I couldn’t-” Your voice broke against your will. “I couldn’t risk ruining all the progress you’ve made.”

Spencer’s expression softened, his furrowed brow easing as confusion replaced his anger. “You’re not protecting me by keeping whatever it is that’s bothering you to yourself. You’re hurting me even more by shutting me out. I want to be able to help you when you’re struggling, Y/N.”

Your throat tightened. You bit your lip in an effort to stop the tears and confessions from spilling out.

He gently cupped your hands in his. “Please,” he whispered. “Let me in. Let me help you like you���ve helped me.” 

Your chest ached as you stared into his glistening eyes. How could you possibly tell him? How could you burden him with the truth when he was already carrying so much? But the way he looked at you, so desperate — it broke something inside you.

The words escaped before you could stop them. “I’m in love with you.”

It felt like the world had stopped. Spencer stood completely frozen, his heart skipping multiple beats. Then he loosened his grip on your hand, and you immediately regretted speaking up.

“You.. you’re in love with me?”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, guilt twisting in your chest.

He stared at you in silence, his gaze unreadable as he processed your words. After a long pause, he spoke up. “You’re sorry?”

At this point, tears were streaming down your cheeks. “I’m an awful friend.”

“No, no, no,” Spencer said quickly, stepping closer. His heart ached as he reached up to gently cup your face, brushing away your tears with his thumbs. He hated to see you cry. “You are not an awful friend — you’re wonderful.”

“Don’t say that,” you said, shaking your head. “I’m not wonderful, Spencer. I listened to you grieve every night, and still I felt jealous because she got your love, even if it was just for a second.”

His eyes widened. “Jealous?” he asked softly. “You were jealous of Maeve?”

You cringed at his words, shame tightening your chest. “I know, it’s disgusting. I get it if you never want to see me again.”

“Is that what you think? That I’d stop wanting to see you?” He shook his head. “How can you think I’d judge you for having feelings for me?”

“Because I blame myself, Spencer!” you cried. “I should’ve been happy for you, but I wasn’t. And now she’s gone, and I feel like it’s my fault.”

He closed the distance between you, wrapping his arms around you to pull you into a tight embrace. “Don’t you dare blame yourself for any of that. You didn’t make any of those things happen,” he reassured. “They were just… they were just an unfortunate turn of events. You didn’t have any control over it.” He held you tightly against him, trying to comfort you as his heart ached. 

“You shouldn’t touch me,” you sniffled, but you weren’t able to pull yourself away, needing his touch.

He pulled back slightly, just enough to tilt your face up to meet his eyes. “I should touch you,” he said firmly. “I should hold you, and comfort you, and be there for you. Because that’s what friends do. That’s what I want to do.”

“I’m so sorry,” you whispered, your voice quivering with emotion. “I did feel jealous, but please, don’t think for a second that I didn’t care. I’d do anything to bring her back.”

“I know you care,” he murmured into your hair. “I know you do. That’s why I could never think of you as a bad friend.”

You cried against his chest, as the weight of all these months finally came crashing down. His arms tightened around you, grounding you. “It’s okay,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve got you.”

You shook your head. “You shouldn’t be the one comforting me.”

“Yes, I should,” he said. His arms didn’t loosen, holding you as if he feared you’d vanish if he let go. “Your feelings matter. Your happiness matters. I don’t want you putting yourself aside for my sake.”

Something in his tone gave you the courage to lift your gaze. His eyes searched for yours, and they were filled with an emotion you hadn’t dared dreaming of. Carefully, he reached his hand out, his thumb brushing against your tear-streaked cheek with a gentleness that made your chest ache. 

“I mean it,” he firmly repeated. “You matter to me, more than you probably realize.”

It was out of instinct that you leaned into his touch, the warmth of his hand calming you down.“You can still talk to me,” you said quietly. “I just… I needed a break. But we can still have our talks.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I know. And I’ll take you up on that.” 

His hand remained on your face as he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a tender murmur. “I care about you. I always have, and I always will.”

The proximity was impossible to ignore as his thumb traced slow, soft circles on your cheek, his eyes locked on yours. “I’m sorry,” he began, his voice quiet and pained, “for not realizing sooner how you felt about me.”

“It’s fine, Spence,” you replied with a shrug. “I should’ve been more obvious.”

A quiet sigh escaped his lips, his heart heavy with remorse. “You were, I should’ve known. Penelope and JJ never treated me the way you did.” He admitted. “I wasted so much time. I could have had you, but I was too blind to see it.”

“You… you would want to be with me?” you asked, surprise noticeable in your voice.

His expression filled with disbelief. “Of course I would. How could I not? You’re smart, you’re funny, you’re caring, you’re beautiful...” His voice dropped to a tender hum. “You’re everything.” 

You looked away, as doubt crept in. “You’re just confused,” you said. “I gave you a lot to process all at once.”

“I’m not confused,” he said steadily, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Not about this. I know how I feel. I know that it’s you that I want.”

Your heart ached at how convincing he sounded, but you couldn’t stop your uncertainty. “You’re not over her, Spence.”

The mention of Maeve made him swallow, his gaze flicked downward for a moment. “I know,” he said quietly, as he looked up at you. “I know I’m not completely over her. I may never be. But that doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

Tears welled in your eyes. “It doesn’t feel fair,” you admitted. “I’ve wanted you for so long. It doesn’t feel fair that I get to have you now.”

Spencer gently urged you closer. The simple comfort of holding you in his arms felt overwhelming. “You deserve everything, Y/N. You’ve been here for me from the start. You’re one of the most selfless, most loyal, most caring people I know.” 

The warmth in his gaze, the tenderness in his touch, made it impossible to look away.

“I need you,” he said, his voice a raw confession. “Not talking to you these past days was torture. I can’t do this without you. I need you in my life, Y/N. Not just as a friend.” He paused, his next words coming out in a whisper. “You deserve to be loved, please let me be the one to do that.”

You felt your breath catch. No word in the dictionary could describe the way you were feeling. “Can I kiss you?”

His lips parted in surprise, before his eyes flashed with emotion. “Yes. Please.”

His hands cupped your face, before pressing his lips to yours. The kiss was everything — raw, urgent, and filled with years of unspoken longing. A desperate whimper escaped your throat, conveying the need you’d kept bottled up all this time. Spencer seemed to feel it too, deepening the kiss as his fingers threaded into your hair, afraid you might slip away.

He effortlessly lifted you onto the kitchen counter, his body fitting perfectly between your legs as you wrapped them tightly around his waist. The closeness wasn’t enough to satisfy your need. Your fingers found his tie, fumbling to loosen it before letting it fall to the floor.

They continued their path to the buttons of his shirt. Spencer groaned softly against your lips, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. Your palms met his bare skin, causing his grip on your hips yo tighten. The air around you grew hotter, as every inch of his body seemed to react to your touch.

“God, Y/N…” he roughly murmured. His forehead rested briefly against yours, his chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. But his hands never stopped, sliding down your sides and pulling you even closer.

You continued your exploration, your fingertips tracing the planes of his chest and shoulders as if trying to memorize him. 

You’d always imagined taking your time when this moment finally came — savoring every touch, every kiss. But now that it was happening, you couldn’t stop the rush coursing through you. The need to feel him everywhere, to prove that this was real.

“Spencer, please,” you whimpered against his mouth, your voice filled with desperation.

“I know, sweet girl,” he murmured, knowing exactly what you needed. His hands slid down to your thighs, gently parting them to make room for himself. His touches made you desperate for more, and you let out a quiet cry of relief as his fingers moved to his belt, the soft clink of the buckle filling the air.

You didn’t want to waste any time, tugging your pants down your legs in a frenzy, eager to meet him halfway. Spencer’s gaze flickered to yours, his eyes dark with need, and in an instant, his mouth was on yours again.

His kiss was hungry, all consuming. One hand grasped your waist, holding himself steady, while he used the other to hook beneath your leg, lifting it effortlessly to pull you in even closer.

You threw your head back as he rubbed the tip of his cock against your wet folds. A soft gasp escaped your lips, your mouth forming a perfect ‘O’ as he slowly pushed into you, the stretch intoxicating. Your fingers gripped his back as you sunk your nails into his skin.

The sharp bite of pain drew a low, guttural groan from him, his face buried in the curve of your neck. His breath was hot against you as he murmured your name like a prayer.

“I wish we’d done this sooner,” you gasped, as he began to move, his hips rolling into yours. 

His breath hitched at your words, and he pressed a soft kiss to your jawline. “I know, baby,” he mumbled. “We’ll make up for it,”

A soft giggle escaped you, but it was quickly swallowed by a moan as his pace quickened. 

“Oh, Spence… I’m already close,” you confessed, never having reached an orgasm this fast.

“Thank God,” he groaned, his voice rough with desperation, as his grip on your hips tightened. He guided you to meet his thrusts, the intensity of his movements growing erratic, overwhelmed by pleasure. 

Unable to resist, you cupped his face, pulling him into an open-mouthed kiss as you moaned and gasped for breath. 

Your walls clenched around him, drawing a string of delicate moans from your lips as your head fell back. Spencer took full advantage of your exposed neck, sucking and biting on the skin, claiming you. His thrusts grew deeper. He was determined to hit the spot that he knew would make you cry out in pleasure.

Spencer’s low, breathy groans filled the air, and you could tell he was close. Your legs began to shake around him, and as if perfectly in sync, your release crashed over you at the same time that he shuddered and spilled into you.

“I love you,” you gasped, the words leaving your lips over and over as your orgasm rushed through you. Tears streamed down your face, blurring your vision. You couldn’t tell if it was the sheer intensity of the feeling or the flood of emotions you’d been bottling up for so long, but what you did know is that you meant every word.

Spencer stayed close, his breaths uneven as he gently rocked into you, drawing out the shared high. Slowly, he pulled back just enough to brush your hair out of your tear-streaked face. His eyes locked onto yours, and it felt like he truly saw you — every part of you.

A soft smile tugged at his lips as he pressed his forehead to yours.

“I love you too.”

[harrysfolklore]

birthdays - cl16

summary: charles and yn's love story spans over two decades, beginning when they meet at charles' 6th birthday party, where she promised to be there for all of his birthdays. wc: 4.6k

folkie radio: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY MAIN BOY 🥹🥹 a few years ago i wrote a fic like this for harry and it’s one of my favorite things i’ve posted so i felt like doing a charles version! i hope you like this as much as i do <3

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

6th birthday

The sun shone brightly over Monaco as YN and her mother walked down the tree-lined street. The air was filled with the scent of blooming flowers and the salty breeze from the nearby Mediterranean. The little girl clutched her mother's hand tightly, her eyes wide as she took in the unfamiliar surroundings of their new neighborhood.

"Are you excited for the party, sweetheart?" her mother asked, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze.

She nodded hesitantly. "But what if the other kids don't like me?"

"Don't worry, darling. I'm sure you'll make friends in no time," her mother assured her as they approached a beautiful villa with colorful balloons tied to the gate.

As they entered the backyard, they were greeted by the sight of children running around, laughter filling the air. A large bounce house dominated one corner, while a face-painting station was set up near the house. Tables adorned with race car-themed decorations were scattered around, laden with snacks and party favors.

A warm voice caught their attention. "Welcome! You must be our new neighbors."

YN looked up to see a kind-faced woman approaching them, a welcoming smile on her face.

"I'm Pascale Leclerc," she introduced herself, shaking her mother's hand. "And this must be YN! We're so glad you could make it."

She shyly hid behind her mother's leg, peeking out at Pascale.

"Charles!" Pascale called out. "Come here, darling. There's someone I'd like you to meet."

A small boy with tousled brown hair and bright blue eyes came running over, his cheeks flushed from playing.

"Charles, this is YN. She's new to the neighborhood," Pascale explained. "Why don't you introduce her to your friends?"

Charles grinned widely, revealing a missing front tooth. "Hi! Do you want to play with us? We're having a treasure hunt!"

She looked up at her mother, who nodded encouragingly. Slowly, she stepped out from behind her mother's leg.

"Okay," she said softly, "And happy birthday."

Charles's grin grew even wider. He reached out and took her hand. "Come on! I'll show you where we've found clues already!"

For the rest of the afternoon, YN found herself caught up in the excitement of the party. She and Charles searched for treasure and bounced in the bounce house. By the time the cake was brought out the little girl was laughing and chatting with her new friends as if she'd known them for years.

As the party began to wind down and parents started arriving to pick up their children, Charles approached YN, a serious look on his young face.

"YN," he said, "will you come to my other birthdays too?"

"Yes!" she nodded enthusiastically. "We should be friends!"

Charles's face lit up. "Best friends!" he declared, holding out his pinky.

The girl linked her pinky with his, sealing their newfound friendship. As she left the party, clutching a goody bag and wearing a bright smile, she knew she had found something special in her new home.

12th birthday

The wheels of their bicycles whirred as YN and Charles raced down the winding streets of Monaco. The sun beat down on them, but the breeze created by their speed kept them cool. YN's laughter echoed off the buildings as she pedaled harder, trying to keep up with Charles.

"Come on!” Charles called over his shoulder, a mischievous grin on his face. "We're going to be late for my own party!"

She rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. "It's your fault for insisting on this bike race, birthday boy!"

They skidded to a stop in front of Charles's house, both breathing heavily but grinning from ear to ear. The front yard was already bustling with activity - balloons bobbed in the breeze, and the chatter of arriving guests filled the air.

As they walked their bikes to the garage, YN nudged Charles with her elbow. "I can't believe you're twelve already. You're practically ancient."

Charles laughed, running a hand through his windswept hair. "Says the girl who's been twelve for a whole two months. Come on, I smell cake!"

The party was in full swing, with kids from their school playing games and enjoying the sunny day. Charles's parents had outdone themselves this year, setting up a mini go-kart track in the backyard. The birthday boy, of course, was the undisputed champion, zipping around the track with a skill that left his friends in awe.

As the afternoon wore on, everyone gathered around a large table. In the center stood a cake, decorated to look like a Formula 1 car, complete with Charles' lucky number on the side. Twelve candles flickered atop the cake, their flames dancing in the gentle breeze.

Charles's eyes widened as his parents brought out the cake and the guests began to sing "Happy Birthday," their voices rising in a cheerful chorus. YN sang along enthusiastically, watching her best friend's face light up with joy.

As the song came to an end, Charles took a deep breath. With a determined look in his eye, he leaned forward and blew out all twelve candles in one go.

While Charles's mother began cutting the cake, YN edged closer to her best friend. "So," she said with a grin, "what did you wish for? To finally beat me in Mario Kart?"

Charles glanced around conspiratorially before leaning in close. "I wished to win the Monaco Grand Prix one day," he confessed, his green eyes sparkling with dreams of future glory.

YN's smile softened. Even after six years of friendship, Charles's passion for racing never failed to impress her.

"Wow," she said. "That's a pretty big wish."

"It's my biggest dream. But you can't tell anyone, okay? Or it won't come true."

"Your secret's safe with me," she promised. Then, struck by a sudden thought, she held out her pinky finger. "Hey, remember when we promised to be friends forever at your sixth birthday?"

"Of course!" Charles's face lit up with recognition, "Best decision I ever made," he said, linking his pinky with hers.

"Well, let's renew that promise. Friends forever, no matter what. That way, when you win the Monaco Grand Prix, I'll be right there cheering you on."

"Deal," Charles agreed, shaking their linked pinkies. "Forever friends."

As they sealed their promise for the second time, both of them felt the weight of it. At twelve, forever seemed like an awfully long time, but neither could imagine a future without the other in it.

16th birthday

The Italian sun was setting, painting the sky in orange and pink as YN made her way through the bustling paddock. The air smelt of rubber and gasoline, the sounds of engines filling her ears. She clutched a small, wrapped package in her hands, her eyes scanning the team garages for a familiar face.

Finally, she spotted him - Charles was standing next to his Formula 3 car, deep in conversation with his engineer. Even from a distance, she could see the intensity in his eyes, the determination set in his jaw. At sixteen, Charles was no longer the little boy she'd met at that birthday party a decade ago. He was taller now, leaner, with the beginnings of stubble on his chin.

"Charles!" she called out, waving to catch his attention.

His head snapped up at the sound of her voice, and his serious expression melted into a wide grin. "YN! You made it!" He excused himself from his engineer and jogged over to her, pulling her into a tight hug.

"Of course I made it," YN laughed, returning the embrace, "I couldn't miss your birthday, even if you insisted on spending it at a racetrack in Italy."

Charles pulled back, his eyes shining with excitement. "I'm so glad you're here. Come on, let me show you around."

As they walked through the paddock, Charles pointed out different teams and drivers, explaining the intricacies of Formula 3 racing. She listened intently, asking questions and marveling at how much Charles had grown not just in stature, but in knowledge and passion for his sport.

They ended up in Charles' team garage, where a small cake sat on a tool cart, a single candle stuck in the center.

"The team got it for me," Charles explained, looking a bit embarrassed. "They said we had to have something, even if we're not having a proper party."

YN smiled softly. "Well, then we better make it count." She lit the candle and started singing "Happy Birthday," her voice soon joined by the mechanics and other team members who had gathered around.

Charles blew out the candle, his cheeks slightly flushed. As the cake was being cut and distributed, YN handed him her gift.

"It's not much," she said as he unwrapped it, "but I thought you might like it."

Inside was a leather-bound journal, the cover embossed with Charles' initials.

"I thought you could use it to write down your thoughts, your goals… maybe even your future Formula 1 strategies," she explained with a wink.

Charles's eyes lit up. "This is perfect. Thank you." He pulled her into another hug, this one lasting a bit longer than usual.

As they sat on the pit wall, eating cake and watching the sun set over the track, YN turned to Charles. "So, how does it feel? Being here, racing in Formula 3… you're so close to your dream now."

Charles nodded, his expression turning serious. "It feels amazing, but also a bit scary. Everything's happening so fast, you know? Sometimes I worry…"

"Worry about what?" she prompted gently.

"That I might not be good enough," Charles sighed, "That I'll let everyone down."

"Charles, look at me," YN reached out and took his hand, when he met her eyes, she continued, "You are the most talented, dedicated person I know. You're going to make it to Formula 1, and you're going to be amazing."

"You really think so?" a small smile tugged at Charles's lips.

"I know so," she affirmed,then, with a playful nudge, she added, "Just promise me one thing?"

"Anything," Charles replied without hesitation.

"When you make it to Formula 1 and become a big star, don't forget about me, okay?"

Charles's expression softened, and for a moment, YN thought she saw something flicker in his eyes - something more than just friendship. But before she could analyze it, he squeezed her hand and said, "I could never forget about you. No matter what happens, you'll always be my best friend."

What YN didn't know was that in that moment, Charles was fighting the urge to tell her how he really felt. That she wasn't just his best friend, but the girl he had fallen in love with years ago.

But the timing wasn't right, not yet.

So he pushed the feelings down, locked them away. There would be time for matters of the heart later. For now, he had a championship to win and a birthday to celebrate - with his best friend by his side, just as she'd always been.

21st birthday

The Monaco night was alive with the sound of laughter and clinking glasses. Charles Leclerc's 21st birthday party was in full swing at a rooftop bar overlooking the Mediterranean.

The who's who of the racing world mingled with Charles' friends and family, all gathered to celebrate the young Sauber driver's birthday.

YN stood at the edge of the crowd, nursing a glass of champagne as she watched Charles work the room. He moved with an easy confidence, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries with team principals and fellow drivers. Yet every few minutes, his eyes would scan the crowd until they found her, and he'd flash her a quick smile before returning to his conversations.

As the night wore on, YN found herself on the balcony, enjoying a moment of quiet away from the party. The view of Monaco at night was breathtaking - the lights of the city twinkled below, mirroring the stars above.

"There you are," a familiar voice said behind her. "I've been looking for you."

She turned to see Charles approaching, two fresh glasses of champagne in his hands. He handed one to her before leaning on the balcony railing beside her.

"Sorry," she said with a small smile. "I just needed a bit of air. It's quite a party in there."

"Yeah, I think the team might have gone a bit overboard," Charles chuckled, "But I'm glad you're here."

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, sipping their champagne and looking out over the city.

"So," YN said finally, turning to face him. "How does it feel to be 21? Official adult now, Formula 1 driver… you're living the dream, Charles."

Charles's expression turned thoughtful. "It feels… surreal, honestly. Sometimes I can't believe this is my life." He paused, then added softly, "But you know what the best part is?"

"What's that?"

Charles turned to face her, his green eyes intense in the moonlight. "That you're still here. After all these years, all these changes… you're still by my side."

YN felt her heart skip a beat at the earnestness in his voice. "Of course I am, Charles. I'll always be here for you. We made a promise, remember? Best friends forever."

Charles felt his heart race at her words. "Best friends forever." The phrase that had once brought him so much comfort now felt like a bittersweet reminder of the feelings he'd been harboring for so long.

As he looked at her, bathed in the soft glow of the Monaco night, memories flooded his mind. He thought of her cheering him on at his first go-kart race, of late-night study sessions where he'd catch himself staring at her instead of his textbooks, of the way his heart had leapt when she'd surprised him at his race in Italy on his 16th birthday. He realized he couldn't pinpoint exactly when he'd fallen in love with her because, in a way, he always had been.

The weight of his unspoken feelings suddenly felt unbearable. The thought of going another day, another year, without her knowing the truth seemed impossible. Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to do.

"YN," he said softly, setting down his champagne glass and taking her free hand in his. "There's something I need to tell you."

She looked up at him, curiosity and a hint of something else – was it hope? – in her eyes. "What is it, Charles?"

Charles swallowed hard, his heart pounding in his ears. "You're right, we did make a promise to be best friends forever. And you are my best friend, YN. You're the person who knows me better than anyone else in the world. But..." he paused, gathering his courage. "But you're not just my best friend. You're the one I'm in love with. I always have been."

YN's eyes widened, her lips parting in surprise. Charles pressed on, unable to stop now that he'd started.

"I can't hold back anymore. I've been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Every success and failure, every moment of doubt or triumph – you're the one I want to share it all with. Not just as my friend, but as... as more."

He took a step closer, his eyes never leaving hers. "I know this might change everything between us, and if you don't feel the same way, I understand. But I couldn't let another birthday go by without telling you the truth. You're it for me, YN. You always have been."

For a moment that felt like an eternity, she stood frozen, her eyes locked with Charles's. The weight of his words hung in the air between them, charged with years of unspoken feelings and shared history.

Then, without warning, YN closed the distance between them. She reached up, cupping Charles's face in her hands, and pressed her lips to his in a kiss that was both tender and passionate. Charles, caught off guard for only a split second, wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her closer as he returned the kiss with equal fervor.

When they finally parted, both slightly breathless, YN rested her forehead against Charles'. Her eyes shimmered with unshed tears of joy as she whispered, "I love you too, Charles. I think I always have."

Charles felt his heart soar, a smile spreading across his face that was brighter than any he'd ever worn on a podium. "Really?" he asked, his voice filled with wonder and hope.

She nodded, a soft laugh escaping her lips. "Really. I just... I never thought you'd feel the same way. You're Charles, I'm just-"

"You're everything," Charles interrupted, his voice firm but gentle. "You're my best friend, my biggest supporter, the person I want to share every moment with. You're the one who knows all of me, not just the racer, but the boy who still gets nervous before every race and who can't sleep without his lucky charm."

YN smiled, remembering the small trinket she'd given him years ago that he still kept with him at every race. "We've been quite oblivious, haven't we?" she said, shaking her head in amusement.

Charles chuckled, pulling her close again. "Maybe. But we have all the time in the world to make up for it now."

As they stood there, wrapped in each other's arms with the twinkling lights of Monaco as their backdrop, both felt as though they were exactly where they were meant to be. The sounds of the party drifted out to them, a reminder of the celebration waiting inside, but for now, they were content in their own world.

"Happy birthday, Charles," YN murmured, leaning in for another kiss.

Charles smiled against her lips. "Best birthday ever," he replied before closing the distance between them once more.

24th birthday

The sun was setting over Monaco as YN stood in front of the mirror, putting the finishing touches on her makeup. She smoothed down her dress, a sleek number in Charles' favorite shade of red. As she fastened her earrings, she felt a pair of strong arms wrap around her waist from behind.

"You look absolutely stunning," Charles murmured, resting his chin on her shoulder and meeting her eyes in the mirror.

She smiled, leaning back into his embrace. "You clean up pretty well yourself, birthday boy," she replied, taking in his sharp suit and perfectly styled hair.

Charles pressed a soft kiss to the curve of her neck, causing her to shiver slightly. "You know," he said, his voice low and playful, "we could always skip the party. Stay here, just the two of us…"

"Nice try, Leclerc," YN laughed, turning in his arms to face him, "But your team worked hard on this party, and all your friends and family are waiting." She reached up, straightening his tie. "Besides, I put a lot of effort into your gift. I want to see your face when you open it."

"Oh? Any hints about what it might be?" Charles' eyes lit up with curiosity.

"Not a chance," YN grinned, tapping his nose playfully. "You'll just have to wait and see."

He pouted for a moment before breaking into a warm smile. "Fine, keep your secrets. As long as I have you by my side, that's all the gift I need."

YN felt her heart melt at his words. Even after all these years, Charles still had the ability to make her feel like the luckiest girl in the world. She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips.

"I love you," she whispered against his mouth.

"I love you too," Charles replied, deepening the kiss for a moment before reluctantly pulling away. "But you're right, we should get going. We don't want to be late to my own party."

As they drove through the winding streets of Monaco, the city lights twinkling like stars, YN couldn't help but steal glances at Charles. Suddenly, she noticed that they were heading away from the bustling city center.

"Charles?" she asked, a hint of confusion in her voice. "I think we're going the wrong way. The party's downtown, isn't it?"

Charles smiled mysteriously, his eyes never leaving the road. "I thought we'd take a little detour first. Trust me?"

"Always."

They drove in comfortable silence for a few more minutes, the familiar sights of Monaco giving way to a quieter, more residential area. Finally, Charles pulled up in front of a beautiful house, its elegant facade bathed in the glow of streetlights.

"Charles, what are we doing here?" YN asked as he came around to open her door.

He took her hand, helping her out of the car. "I have something to show you," he said softly, leading her towards the house.

As they approached the front door, Charles pulled out a key. YN's eyes widened in surprise. "Charles, is this...?"

He unlocked the door and gently guided her inside. The house was empty, but even in the dim light, she could see its potential - high ceilings, large windows, and an open floor plan that seemed to invite warmth and laughter.

Charles watched her take it all in, his heart pounding with nervous excitement. Finally, he spoke.

"YN, from the moment I met you, you've been my home. No matter where I am in the world, no matter what challenges I face on the track, you're my constant. My safe haven."

She turned to face him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears.

Charles continued, his voice thick with emotion. "But I realized that while you've given me a home in your heart, I've never been able to offer you a physical place that's truly ours. Until now."

He took both of her hands in his. "This house... I bought it for us. I want it to be our home. A place where we can build our future together, where we can come back to after long days or weeks apart. A place filled with our love and hopefully... our family someday."

Tears were now flowing freely down YN's cheeks. "Charles," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion.

"I know my career keeps us traveling a lot," he said, reaching up to wipe away her tears gently. "But I want you to have roots, a place that's ours. Where you can always feel safe and loved, even when I'm not there."

YN let out a watery laugh, shaking her head in disbelief. "You never cease to amaze me, Charles Leclerc. This is... it's perfect. It's more than I ever dreamed of."

"So, what do you say?" Charles pulled her close, resting his forehead against hers, "Ready to start our next chapter here?"

Instead of answering with words, she closed the gap between them, pouring all her love and gratitude into a passionate kiss. When they finally parted, both breathless, she whispered, "Yes. A thousand times, yes."

They stood there in the empty house that would soon become their home, holding each other close. The party, the guests, the whole world outside ceased to exist for a moment. It was just the two of them, standing on the threshold of their future together.

After a while, Charles chuckled softly. "You know, we're probably very late for the party now."

"I know," she said, her voice still thick with emotion, "It's supposed to be me giving you gifts on your birthday, not the other way around."

Charles chuckled softly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, I've never been very good at following rules," he teased. "Besides, seeing your face when I showed you our home? That's the best gift I could ever receive."

YN shook her head, a warm smile playing on her lips. "You're impossible, you know that? But I love you for it."

"And I love you, for as long as I can remember."

27th birthday

Charles stood on the balcony of their home, the same one he had surprised YN with three years ago. His fingers absently traced the outline of a small velvet box in his pocket, his heart racing with anticipation and nerves.

Inside, he could hear her moving about, putting the finishing touches on his birthday dinner. The aroma of his favorite dishes filled the air, bringing a smile to his face. At 27, Charles had achieved more than he ever dreamed possible – multiple Formula 1 wins, a strong contender for the championship, and most importantly, a life shared with his best friend and the love of his life.

"Charles?" her voice called from inside. "Dinner's ready!"

He took a deep breath, patting the ring box one last time before heading inside. The dining room was bathed in soft candlelight, the table set beautifully with their best china. YN stood by the table, looking radiant in a deep red dress that matched the color he wore on race days.

"Happy birthday, my love," she said softly, pulling him into a tender kiss.

As they sat down to eat, Charles couldn't help but marvel at how far they'd come. "You know," he said, reaching across the table to take her hand, "I was just thinking about my sixth birthday party."

"The day we met," she said with a warm smile. "How could I forget? I was so nervous about moving to a new place."

Charles chuckled, remembering the shy little girl who had hidden behind her mother's leg. "And now look at us. Twenty-one years later, and you're still the best gift I've ever received."

YN felt tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "I remember you asked me to come to all your future birthdays," she said, her voice thick with emotion.

"And you've been here for every single one," Charles replied, his green eyes shining with love.

The weight of the ring box in Charles' pocket seemed to grow heavier, but he resisted the urge to pull it out just yet. Tonight was about celebrating. The proposal could wait for another perfect moment.

"I don't know what I did to deserve you," he continued, "but I thank my lucky stars every day that you walked into that birthday party all those years ago. You've made every birthday since then more special than the last."

"Oh, Charles," she whispered, tears now flowing freely down her cheeks. "You've given me more than I ever dreamed possible. That little girl who was so scared of not fitting in found her home in you."

They came together in a kiss that was soft and sweet, yet filled with the depth of their shared history and the promise of their future. As they held each other close, both were transported back to that sunny day in Monaco, two six-year-olds making a promise of friendship that had blossomed into a love story for the ages.

When they finally pulled apart, Charles rested his forehead against hers, a soft smile playing on his lips. "So," he said, his voice light but filled with emotion, "think you might stick around for a few more birthdays?"

YN laughed, the sound like music to Charles' ears. "Just try and keep me away, Leclerc. You're stuck with me for all your birthdays, forever and always."

As they finished their dinner, Charles felt the ring box in his pocket once more. Soon, he thought, he'd ask her to make it official, to promise him not just all his birthdays, but every day in between.

But for now, he was content to bask in the glow of their love, celebrating not just his 27th birthday, but the incredible journey they'd shared.

[uraveragelonelysapphic]

Gentle Love

Pairing: Rio Vidal x Fem!Reader

Summary: She may be Lady Death, but to you, she is your sweet love.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: mentions of depression, panic attacks, just a lot of hurt/comfort

a/n: surprise! another fic! i know a lot of people have been wanting just rio fics, so here you go! a little hurt/comfort! the goal was to make a mental health fic where it isn't romanticized, so here's hoping i did that! enjoy!!!

Your relationship with Lady Death wasn’t one that had a spontaneous start. She didn’t save you from a painful demise, or help you realize life was worth living.

She had met you on her day off. (Yes, Lady Death gets days off. She’s not the only one working the underworld, you know.) She was wandering through a wooded area when she came across you. You were sitting under a willow tree, humming to yourself as you wove a crown of daisies.

Her heart had practically melted at the sight of you, and she found herself gravitating towards you. Before she knew it, she was introducing herself to you and you were inviting her to join you beneath the willow.

The two of you were pretty much inseparable after that. You spent countless days getting to know every part of each other; mind, body, and soul. Soon enough, you were deeply in love with Rio Vidal: Lady Death. And she could say the same about you.

You both had grown exponentially by being in each other’s presence. But a romantic relationship doesn’t mean the absence of all problems.

Rio struggled deeply with guilt. She hated that she had been bound to this calling, that she had been chosen to wear a face she found hideous and escort living creatures to a world beyond life. It pained her to take children from their mothers, sisters from their brothers, soulmates from their lovers. 

But you were so soft with her. Soft as you kissed her in her Death form, soft as you held her while she shook with guilt and self-hatred, soft as you assured her that she was doing the right thing. That you loved her always.

As for you, mental illness was something you had dealt with from a young age. After all, being a witch who was chased from countless villages and hunted endlessly, all for possessing a magical ability she never asked for…well, it tends to have some lasting negative effects on one’s mental well being.

You were proud to say you knew how to handle it, but you had your weak moments. Moments like now. And you hated them.

As you woke up, you felt a familiar heaviness in your bones. Your heart felt heavy but was racing all the same, your head ached, and your stomach churned with dread and anxiety.

You turned to the other side of the bed, reaching for your comfort, your person, only to find it empty. Your eyes filled with tears as you took a deep breath. 

You wondered if you should call her. You hated that the thought even crossed your mind. You could handle this alone.

“But you don’t have to,” your lover’s words echoed through your mind as you pondered what to do.

You and Rio had created a system for times like this. If ever you were feeling like the walls were closing in, like you couldn’t breathe, like you could barely function. All you had to do was think of a color and a name. Her name.

Yellow meant you were struggling, but could handle it alone if need be. Red meant you needed her.

You rarely tended to use red. You loved Rio, and you knew full well that her presence helped to calm you in times of discomfort and anxiety, but you couldn’t pull yourself out of your need to be independent and not rely on anyone for help. You hated admitting the need for help.

Even now, as you laid in bed, tears streaming down your face as you struggled to breathe, you refused to admit defeat. But you knew you owed it to both her and yourself to say something.

Yellow. Rio. Yellow, you thought as you brought your hands to your face, willing your breathing to calm down.

It was no use. All you could think of was how useless you were, how helpless, worthless, weak.

You choked out a sob as the room seemed to get smaller and smaller.

Until you felt gentle hands on your wrists, tenderly pulling them from your face.

“Hey there, sweet girl. Let’s sit you up, yeah?” Rio said softly.

You followed her instructions, allowing the witch to help you to a sitting position.

You met her eyes, expecting to see disappointment and disgust, but instead being met with nothing but love pooling in her brown eyes. 

Her hands moved from your wrists, gently intertwining her hands with yours. 

“There’s my girl. Let’s try and get that breathing to slow down. Wanna get some more air in those beautiful lungs of yours, yeah?” She cooed, her eyes encouraging.

You nodded, and she took one of your hands, placing it on her stomach as she took exaggerated breaths as an example.

You began to copy her, your eyes not leaving hers, feeling safe as you lost yourself in her.

She squeezed your hands softly. “Look at you go. Breathing all by yourself. I’m so proud of you, mi vida,” she whispered as you found yourself finally able to breathe steadily.

You both sat there for a few more minutes, her allowing you the space to feel whatever you may be feeling as you came back to your senses.

You opened your mouth to speak, struggling to find words to express your needs. As if she had read your mind, Rio let go of your hands to reposition herself against the headboard of the bed and opened her arms to you.

You smiled at her in gratitude, moving to sit in between her legs, laying your back against her front as she held you.

You both sat in silence for a few moments, just soaking in each other’s presence; Rio running her fingers through your hair with one hand and softly caressing your leg with the other.

Eventually, she spoke.

“I’m so proud of you.”

You shrugged against her and she shook her head.

“I’m serious, my love. I’m proud of you for calling for me.”

“Feel weak,” you mumbled as you hung your head.

Rio furrowed her brows, turning you to face her. “Quite the contrary, love. You are the bravest person I know. You can handle these things on your own. I know you can. But you knew it wasn’t what was best for you, so you called for me. And I’m so grateful to be in love with such a strong, beautiful girl who knows how to help herself,” she said, her voice full of adoration that brought tears to your eyes.

“I love you, Rio,” you choked out, your hands finding her cheeks, thumbs brushing against the skin softly.

She placed her hands on your waist, allowing you to initiate the kiss.

You brought her face to yours, kissing her with all the love you had. She kissed you back, softly, always softly, pecking your lips softly as you pulled away.

“I love you most, my precious girl,” she said, laughing as you rolled your eyes at her need to turn everything into a competition.

She kissed the tip of your nose, relishing in the way you wrinkled it at the sensation.

“Alright, I prescribe you a glass of water, some chocolate chip pancakes, and cuddles with your hot girlfriend,” she said as she got up, smirking at you.

She beamed in triumph as you giggled. “Well if that’s what the doctor herself ordered, who am I to disagree?” you teased.

“My thoughts exactly. I’ll be right back, my brave girl. I love you,” she said, her eyes softening again.

“I love you, Rio Vidal,” you said with a smile, and she blew you a kiss before exiting your bedroom.

Yes, she was Lady Death, but to you, Rio Vidal would always be your gentle love.

[drewswife]

summary — when you and drew have plans to meet up with the obx cast for game night, but you started to get an headache mid-way there you didn't tell him because you wanted him to have fun

pairing — Actress!drew x fem!reader

a/n — don't mind the summary i SUCK at them also this was requested so thank you anon! (sorry if there any mistakes i didn't edit this :/)

The buzz of excited chatter filled the air as Drew and I walked toward the restaurant. Tonight was the night – a casual game night with the Outer Banks cast. I’d been looking forward to this for weeks. But as we’d been getting ready, a familiar throbbing had started behind my left eye, escalating into the dull ache that signaled a full-blown migraine.

Each step felt like a hammer against my skull, and the restaurant's bright lights were already assaulting my vision. I plastered a smile on my face, hoping Drew wouldn’t notice. He was so excited, and I didn’t want to ruin his fun.

“Excited?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

“Definitely,” I lied, my voice a little strained.

We found the group already gathered around a large table, laughter echoing around them. Madelyn, Chase, Rudy, Jonathan, and Madison greeted us warmly. As they launched into a story about something that happened on set, the noise level seemed to amplify, each syllable a painful jab.

I tried to focus on the conversation, nodding and smiling at the right moments, but the throbbing in my head intensified. The smells of the various dishes being brought to the table were starting to make my stomach churn.

Drew, seated beside me, leaned in. “You okay? You seem a little quiet.”

“Yeah, just a little tired,” I mumbled, hoping he’d attribute my lack of enthusiasm to fatigue.

They started setting up a board game, and the atmosphere was light and jovial. I wanted to participate, to laugh along with them, but the pain was becoming unbearable. Colors seemed too bright, sounds too loud. I felt a wave of nausea wash over me.

“I’m just going to step outside for a bit,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “Get some fresh air.”

Drew looked concerned. “Everything alright?” “Yeah, just need a moment,” I insisted, forcing another smile. The cool night air offered a slight reprieve, but the relief was temporary. I leaned against the brick wall outside, closing my eyes, trying to will the pain away.

After a few minutes, the door opened, and Drew stepped out. His brow was furrowed with worry. “Hey, you’ve been out here a while. You don’t look so good.”

My carefully constructed facade crumbled. “I have a migraine,” I admitted, the words barely audible. “It started earlier.” His expression softened immediately. “Oh, baby. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I didn’t want to spoil your night,” I said, my voice thick with the pain I’d been trying to ignore. He gently took my hand. “Your well-being is way more important than a game night. Come on.”

He helped me back inside, quietly explaining to the others that I wasn’t feeling well. They were all incredibly understanding, their playful energy immediately shifting to concern.

Drew helped me gather my things. As we were saying goodbye, Madelyn squeezed my arm. “Feel better soon!”

Outside, walking hand-in-hand, the quiet of the night was a welcome change. “I’m sorry,” I said softly. “I really was looking forward to tonight.”

Drew stopped and turned to face me, cupping my cheeks in his hands. “Hey, don’t be sorry. We can have plenty of game nights. Right now, let’s get you home so you can rest.”

As we walked, he told me about a new study he’d read about migraine relief techniques, his voice calm and soothing. In that moment, despite the throbbing pain, even though the evening hadn't gone as planned, I knew I had someone who truly cared, and sometimes, that’s all that really matters.

tags, @starrii-sturns @spencerreid66 @chrepsi @drewsstars

[honeyroots]

— keep it on the down low, ft. DEAN WINCHESTER

☆ SYNOPSIS: You're Sam’s best friend, but Dean just can’t keep his hands off of you.

☆ WORD COUNT: 1.6k ☆ WARNINGS: NSFW (18+) / fem!reader / p in v / mentions of alcohol / reader is sam’s best friend / college au / frat!dean / praise (f receiving) / lowkey sam is pining for reader / reader and dean are sneaking around ☆ PAIRING: stanford!dean x reader

“You have to bounce the ball on the table and then make it into one of the solo cups,” DEAN WINCHESTER was laying the rules of beer-pong out flat. As a champion in his frat house, he was serious about playing doubles and determined to drill the rules into you prior to the start of the game. 

Your first day at Stanford, you met Sam Winchester in an introduction to psychology class. He somehow forgot a pen and leaned over toward you, cheeks red as he asked to borrow any sort of writing utensil. Naturally, a friendship formed between you and Sam, and the first time you met his older brother Dean, who was the president of Alpha Delta Phi (apparently Dean rushing the frat it started as a joke), your mouth watered and your knees went a little weak. He was too perfect, his jawline sharp, lips full, and eyes the prettiest color of green. The worst part? He knew he was beautiful, always weaponizing his pretty privilege to his advantage, and you hated to say that it worked on you.

Dean was directly behind you, one hand pressed against your waist as you aimed for the red solo cup. It was merely practice, training you up for some end-of-the-year frat party that was coming up. His chin rested on your shoulder as you threw one of the ping-pong balls toward the red solo cups positioned at the other end of the table.

Whenever Dean got too close, Sam would huff and puff, telling Dean to get his grubby hands off of his best friend. But today Sam wasn’t here, it was just you and Dean, in an empty frat house. When he texted you this morning to come over, you blinked a few times thinking maybe you were still in the middle of a dream, but when reality set in and you realized you were reading his message correctly, you nearly ran to his house.

The ball bounced off the rim of the cup, falling to the floor, the bounces echoing off the walls as you sighed in defeat. There was something about the alignment of the cups that was throwing you off.

“Don’t worry, you’ll get it,” Dean encouraged, pulling one of the balls from the pile in his right and shoving it into the palm of your hand. His chin was still nestled on your shoulder, eyes fixated on the flex of your hand as you released the next ball from the tips of your fingers. The ball landed in the front cup, earning a large smile from you.

“I did it!” You cheered, turning around to face Dean. Chests pressed together, your bodies were so close, you could be considered one entity. Dean dropped the ping pong balls, curving one of his fingers into your belt loop and pulling your lower half closer to him. As the rest of your body collided with his, you felt the halfie he was sporting against you.

With his other hand, not paying any mind to the ping pong balls bouncing awry, he grasped your chin. The room felt like it was spinning, your mind in a daze as Dean dipped his face forward. With his lips so close, they were grazing against yours as he spoke, “I’ve been wanting to do this.”

His lips were on yours in a matter of moments— gentle at first, with soft nips from his teeth tugging at your bottom lip. His hand found its way to the small of your back, fingers toying with the hem as he lifted just enough of the fabric for his calloused hands to run against the bare skin of your back.

“Fuck, tastes so good,” he hummed against your lips, jutting his tongue out to lick a stripe along the roof of your mouth. The way your lips moved together, tongues crashing against one another was natural like two puzzle pieces fitting together. “I’ve got a real sweet tooth, did you know that?”

The whole thing was a blur. How you ended up in his bedroom, and how you ended up in between his sheets, you weren’t really sure. The feel of his hands on your body, his lips against your skin created a mind fog like no other. It wasn’t like you hadn’t thought about Dean Winchester. Like you hadn’t thought about the lines of his face and the calluses on his fingers in depth, or how they might feel against you.

Dean peeled the comforter back, his mouth still on yours as he pushed you against the bed. Completely clothed, he fell on top of you, wrapping his arms over your head as his mouth pressed chaste kisses against the corner of your mouth, then down your neck until he reached the collar of your shirt. The way Dean laid into you was like he would never be able to have you again, exploring every inch of your skin as he peeled your clothes off was enough to have your skin heating.

“So beautiful,” he whispered, using one hand to reach behind and unclasp your bra; it was almost a red flag how quickly he unhooked the clasp. His lips ran down your chest, pressing kisses to (what felt like) every inch of your skin. With his teeth, he unzipped your pants, tugging your jeans off of your body at a slow speed. As soon as you were splayed across his bed, your body on full display for him, Dean stripped himself of his clothing. Rushed, like he couldn’t wait to be inside of you, he removed his shirt and jeans. Everything about him was so gorgeous, the dips in his abdomen, even the oddly shaped tattoo on his left pectoral was beautiful.

It didn’t take long for Dean to position himself in between your legs, his hand reaching down to toy with your clit. His middle finger connected with the sensitive bud, rubbing a few circles to prep you for what was to come. His face hovered above yours, eyes watching your facial expressions as he dragged his finger up and down your slit. He wanted to memorize the way your face contorted, to find the face you make when you’re experiencing the most pleasure so he could engrave the image into his mind and replay it for himself when he was alone.

“Just trying to warm you up, baby,” Dean spoke in a low voice, his eyes searching yours. Moving his fingers from your core, he brought them to his mouth to taste you. Humming in pleasure, Dean smiled against the tips of his fingers. Heat rushed through your body at the sight of him tasting you, collecting your slick like it was honey and running it against his tongue. “Tastes so sweet.”

“I’ve thought about this,” you admitted, small gasps pulling from the depths of your throat as Dean lined up the tip of his cock with your slit. Slowly, he pushed in, but not all the way, getting you used to the stretch of him. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes screwing shut as you felt him enter, the stimulation of his fingers and the girth of him almost too stimulating.

“I know,” Dean breathed against you, his lips only inches away from yours. “I’ve thought about it too. I’m a slimy guy, huh? Thinking of my brother’s best friend. You’re just so pretty, like a doll.”

Dean pushed more of his shaft inside as he spoke, a soft groan coming from him as he felt the warmth of your core clench around him. Your body was responding to him in a way you didn’t expect, just the feeling of him bringing you to a place you had never experienced, and he wasn’t even rocking into you yet. When he began thrusting, the movements gentle against you, you couldn’t help but squeeze his shoulder in pleasure. With your head thrown back against the pillow that smelled of his aftershave, you let out soft whimpers. 

“You’re doing so good,” Dean praised, rocking his hips in and out of you. It took him a second to get to know the ins and outs of your body, trying to find your g-spot, but as soon as he located it, he doubled down. In just a few thrusts, he had you squirming beneath him, begging for more as he stimulated your core.

You felt your orgasm approaching, and before you could even give Dean a warning, you were spurting around him. Whining against his shoulder, you felt the peak of your orgasm spill over. With care, Dean continued to thrust in and out of you, riding you down from the high of your climax as he reached his own. Groans that sounded like a symphony sprang from Dean’s mouth. Collapsing on top of you with your bodies still connected, you both heavily breathed in unison. Interlocking your hands, Dean pressed his head against your chest. He cleared his throat, his lips gently pecking your collarbone. “We shouldn’t tell Sam about this.”

“No,” you agreed, guilt festering in the pit of your gut as you thought of your best friend. Was this a betrayal? Hooking up with his older brother? Squeezing Dean’s hand, your fingers brushed against the hardened skin of his index finger.

“Why are your hands so calloused?” You questioned, not necessarily meaning for the question to be spoken out loud.

“From my job. It’s the family business.” Dean let go of your fingers, and with a gasp from overstimulation, he pulled himself out of your core. Using his t-shirt, he wiped the insides of your thighs, finding solace in cleaning you up. 

“What do you do?” You hadn’t realized Dean worked outside of being a full-time student and full-time frat boy. It seemed that every time you spoke to Dean, you were unlocking buried lore, and one day you were determined to put the puzzle pieces together.

He paused, collecting his thoughts. “Call it community work.”

[uramakimochi]

Little Y/N coloring on her uncle Reggie and uncle Barty's dark marks, doodling over it and eventually they got her doodles tattooed to cover the dark mark :')

STOP THIS IS SO CUTE I ABSOLUTELY HAD TO WRITE THIS😭

LITTLE ARTIST

Wolfstar!daughter x Regulus Black & Barty Crouch Jr (obviously platonic)

Wolfstar x daughter!Reader

WARNINGS: nothing, just fluff, FEM!R, use of petnames but no use of Y/n, this is more of a story between Wolfstar!daughter and her Slytherin uncles i'm sorry, slightly sad Regulus but his beloved niece is the light of his eyes.

English is not my first language so feel free to correct me.

It was another one of the usual days where Regulus and Barty were babysitting you, while Remus and Sirius went out with James and Peter for a Marauders reunion.

At that precise moment Barty was lying on the sofa, with an arm over his eyes, drool dripping from the corner of his mouth and his snores echoing throughout the living room. And even if that constant sound annoyed Regulus quite a bit, it didn't even matter to you since you were too busy listening to the words of your uncle, who was reading a book aloud to you while sitting on the carpet with you in the middle of his legs.

"So the brave prince took his sword and shield and, having mounted his horse, he went to the castle where the princess-"

"Uncle Reggie?"

Regulus froze when you called his name and lowered his head to look at you. You tilted your head back against his chest and looked up at him with your big, bright eyes.

"Yes, chérie?" he asked with a smile.

"Can i ask you something?"

Regulus nodded without hesitation.

"What is it?"

"Do you have any tattoos?"

Regulus frowned slightly, not understanding where that sudden question came from.

"No, i don't. Why do you ask?"

You moved between his legs to change position and Regulus closed the book and placed it on the floor to make more room for you, so you sat turned towards him to look at him better.

"Daddy has a lot of tattoos on his arms, his legs, his stomach and even his back" you said then and Regulus nodded, knowing his brother's tattoos well. "Dad has some too, but not as many as Daddy"

You continued to rock back and forth on his legs and with one hand you pointed to Barty sleeping on the couch.

"And uncle Barty has some too"

Regulus turned to look at Barty, knowing you were talking about the tattoos on his arms, the backs of his hands, and his fingers. Unlike Sirius, he even had one on his neck, which he personally didn't like, but it was very Barty style and suited him.

"But…" you shyly said and Regulus looked back at you. "But uncle Barty said that you and him have the same tattoo. Can i see it??"

Regulus felt his heart skip a beat when he heard those words and his body tensed, but you didn't notice. He remained silent for a few seconds, thinking about what to say to you and you continued to look at him patiently, waiting for his response.

Barty had told you about the Death Eater mark. Oh, how could he have been so stupid?! Neither Regulus nor your parents wanted to introduce you to the world of dark magic, your innocence needed to be preserved for as long as possible. And both your parents and Regulus knew what you were like: if you found out why Regulus and Barty had the Dark Mark you would be worried sick about them and they didn't want to scare you.

"I don't think you'd like it" your uncle murmured, trying not to say too much.

"Why?" you asked back, tilting your head to the side. "Is it ugly?"

Yes, it's hideous. And it burns on my skin like a hot iron. If only i had the courage i would cut it off with a knife.

"No" Regulus shook his head. "I just don't like it anymore"

After he and Barty found the courage to leave the Death Eaters, Regulus obviously regretted letting them mark his skin with that horrible figure. But years had passed and now he hardly thought about it anymore. But he never truly forgot.

"I'm sure it looks nice" you replied, flashing him an innocent smile. "Come on uncle Reggie, can i see it?? Please!"

"Chérie..."

"Just this once uncle Reggie, i swear. Pleaseee"

Regulus looked into your eyes intently, deciding what to do. He saw you making sweet eyes at him, with your hands clasped in prayer and he knew that it was now impossible to refuse your request.

So, with a sigh and his heart pounding with anxiety, he stretched his arm forward and then lifted the sleeve of his shirt, showing you the mark on his arm.

You opened your eyes wide and paused to look at the skull and the snake weaving beneath it that were tattooed on his arm, the black ink contrasting sharply with his pale skin.

Regulus looked at you silently, fearing your reaction. Not that you had any idea what that mark was, but he was still worried.

"Oooh" you murmured, then lifting your head towards Regulus. “So uncle Barty has this tattoo too?”

Regulus nodded slowly, trying to smile at you. "He has it on his arm too. Like me"

"Why a skull and a snake?"

"Because we like skulls and snakes"

"Did it hurt when you did it?"

Yes.

"No, sweetheart"

"And why did you get the same tattoo?"

Regulus looked at you tilting hid head with a small smirk.

"You are much more curious than usual today, aren't you?" he said and you giggled sheepishly.

Then he let out another sigh and he looked down at your little feet, his smile falling to make room for a sadder expression.

"We got it when we were younger. We were too stupid and now we regret it"

He wasn't going to explain that he and Barty had been part of a group of murderous dark wizards, but that was the gist of it.

"Don't say that! You and uncle Barty are not stupid!" you immediately retorted and Regulus looked back at you with an amused smile.

"Chérie, you can't understand" he tried to say, but you shook your head stubbornly and looked into his eyes intensely.

"I don't care. Just because you got a tattoo you don't like anymore doesn't mean you're stupid. So don't say that anymore, uncle Reggie. Okay?"

Regulus looked at you with a soft look and after a few seconds he nodded in surrender, knowing that it was impossible to argue with you. You had taken on all of Sirius' stubbornness and it showed.

Then a loud yawn rang through the living room and you and Regulus turned to Barty, who was slowly sitting up on the couch.

"What are you two talking about?" he muttered, stretching his arms upwards to stretch awkwardly.

You jumped up to run to him.

"Uncle Barty, uncle Barty, can i see your tattoo??” you asked frantically.

Junior fixed his hair with one hand, letting out another yawn. "Haven't i already shown you my tattoos a thousand times, little viper?"

You climbed up next to him on the couch and held onto his shoulder, shaking him slightly. "No, i mean the one with the skull and the snake. The one you and uncle Reggie have on your arms!"

Barty glanced at Regulus, who looked back silently then looked at the book he had left on the carpet. They would've talked about it later.

But unlike Regulus, Barty had no problem lifting the sleeve of his sweatshirt and showing you the mark on his skin that was identical to Regulus'. You stopped to look at him, with your hands resting on his thin arm and running your finger over the black lines.

"It's ugly, right?" Barty asked and you lifted your head towards him. "Does it scare you?"

But you shook your head.

"Why would it scare me?" you asked him, confused by his words.

Your father always bragged about all the tattoos that decorated his body. Why did Barty and Regulus seem to hate that tattoo instead?

But then an idea came to your mind.

"Oh, now i understand!" you suddenly exclaimed, making the two men jump.

You got off the couch and ran out of the living room, under the confused gaze of your uncles. A few seconds later you returned to the living room holding your trusted pack of colored markers that Lily had given you and that you were very fond of.

You returned to kneel next to Barty, who still had his arm exposed and you took out a red marker, then removed the cap. But before you could touch his skin with the tip, Barty stopped your hand.

"Hey hey hey what do you think you're doing with that, little viper?" he asked skeptically.

You smiled at him. "I want to color your tattoo, uncle Barty"

"And why is that...?"

"Because it'll become more pretty this way. So you and uncle Reggie can't say it's ugly anymore"

Barty frowned, while Regulus' eyes opened slightly in surprise. You shook Barty's arm again.

"Uncle Barty, can i color your tattoo, please?" you asked him.

Junior let out a sigh but then smirked and extended his arm towards you, resting it on your lap. "Give vent to your artistic streak, baby"

You smiled happily and wasted no time coloring his tattoo, under the watchful gaze of him and Regulus. Then you took another color and began to draw other shapes over and around his one.

"What are you drawing sweetheart?" Regulus asked you, looking at you from the carpet.

"I'm doing some butterflies and flowers" you replied in a focused tone, not looking up from Barty’s arm.

"I don't like butterflies" said the latter. "They're stupid"

You lifted your head to look at him and Regulus glared at him.

"They're not stupid" you replied calmly, not offended by his words, as you were used to Barty's language. "They are pretty and colourful"

"Nah. Better spiders and scorpions"

"Ew. I don't like spiders" you said with a grimace of disgust, then went back to work.

Barty chuckled, but made no move to stop you from continuing your job. He didn't like butterflies, but he would have had his entire body filled with stupid colorful butterflies if you had just asked him. Compared to Regulus, he was rougher and even a bit weirder, but Junior was just as protective as Regulus and would've done anything for you. Anything.

After a few minutes you were done and after putting the cap back on the marker, you took Barty's wrist and lifted his arm, showing it to Regulus.

"Ta-da! Do you like it?"

"It's beautiful darling" Regulus said with a tender smile.

"You're a real artist my little viper" Barty continued, ruffling your hair and making you smile proudly. "I can't wait to show everyone this masterpiece"

You got off the couch and walked back to Regulus, clutching the box of markers in your hands.

"Uncle Reggie, can i color your tattoo too?" you asked, rocking on your heels. "Maybe you'll like it more with some colors"

Regulus smiled as his heart swelled: he loved your sweetness and your innocence and he knew that despite the age gap that separated you, he could always feel safe with you, because you never judged him. You still couldn't realize it, but since Remus and Sirius had taken you in, you had become not only his beloved niece, but also Regulus's safe place.

"Of course chérie" Regulus nodded, rolling up again the sleeve of his marked arm.

You wasted no time in sitting between his crossed legs again and brought his arm into your lap, picking up a marker and starting to color. Regulus admired you coloring his mark, not caring that you were going outside the edges and then you started drawing something else, like you had done with Barty. But on Regulus' skin, instead of butterflies and colorful flowers, you had chosen to draw the moon, the sun and planets surrounded by many stars.

Regulus almost felt his eyes watering but managed to hold back the tears, especially since Barty was still there. So he limited himself to giving you a small kiss on the head, leaving his lips pressed to your hair for a few seconds, while you continued with your work, humming a melody invented on the moment. 

A few days later, Regulus and Barty came to visit Sirius and Remus and you and stayed for dinner (even though your parents would have preferred just Regulus to be there, but obviously they're joking).

"Come here sweetheart" Regulus called to you, inviting you to come closer with a wave of his hand. "I want to show you something"

You immediately got off Sirius' lap to go over to him and Barty, who were sitting on the other sofa, curious as ever.

Regulus lifted his sleeve, revealing his Dark Mark and you let out a gasp. Remus and Sirius frowned at the other two men, not too happy that you were aware of the mark, even if you didn't know the dark truth behind it. But before they could say anything in protest, they also noticed with shock what was on Regulus' arm.

You raised your head to look at your uncle with wide eyes. "Is this my drawing??"

Regulus nodded with a smile and you immediately rubbed your hand up and down his arm and your mouth fell open as you realized that the drawings of planets you had made on his skin weren't going away.

You didn't remember it precisely but Regulus did, and every single detail of the drawings you had done on him a few days before had been tattooed on his skin.

"It's a new tattoo, baby" Barty continued, noticing your confused eyes. "Look"

He lifted his sleeve, showing his mark and to your amazement you and your parents saw that his arm was full of colorful butterflies and flowers.

"I'm not understanding..." Remus murmured in confusion, alternating his gaze from Regulus to Barty.

"There is nothing difficult to understand, Lupin" Junior retorted. "My little viper here improved our tattoos because we didn't like them. This design suits my style much more, don't you think?"

"I love them!" you exclaimed with a toothy grin, bouncing in place. "I'm happy you like them more now!"

Regulus chuckled at your enthusiasm and leaned over to give you a hug, which you immediately returned. "It was thanks to you, chérie"

"Next time i want to get a new tattoo i'll ask you again, baby" Barty said looking at you with a smirk and you nodded frantically.

"Sure!"

Both Sirius and Remus stood up to take a closer look at what the other two had gotten tattooed. And they had to admit that both you and the tattoo artist had done a great job. The mark was hardly visible under all those drawings that came from your imagination.

"Reggie..." Sirius murmured then, catching his brother's attention. But Regulus gave him a smile when he saw his slightly sad look.

"Don't worry, Sirius. I'm fine" he said softly, not wanting you to know what they were talking about. "Thanks to what she did now i know that i can leave it all behind and forget"

Both Black brothers watched you admire the flowers decorating Barty's arm with a proud smile, along with Remus.

"I thought you hated butterflies, Barty" the latter said with an arrogant smirk equal to the tone Junior had used with him earlier.

"Shut your mouth Lupin. You cannot understand the meaning of this work of art"

Sirius placed a hand on Regulus' shoulder and squeezed it in comfort, before walking up behind you and lifting you into his arms, making you squeal in surprise.

"Ahh i can't believe my daughter did a tattoo for her uncles, especially for Barty?? Before your own dad?? This is not fair!" Sirius exclaimed dramatically, spinning in circles and making you laugh while Junior rolled his eyes.

When he stopped he looked intently into your eyes, nuzzling his nose against your soft cheek. "We need to fix this right away, young lady. You'll design a tattoo for me too now, right?"

And you nodded without hesitation.

"I'd love to, daddy!"

[xoxo-lixie]

Pretty Boy Confessions ᝰ.ᐟ

Paring-Jisung x Reader

Summary- Jisung gets flustered when Y/N calls him pretty, leading to an accidental love confession that she happily returns.

The evening sun filtered through the soft cream-colored curtains, casting a warm golden glow across the small living room. The scent of lavender lingered in the air from the candle burning on the coffee table, mixing with the sound of a soft acoustic playlist humming from a speaker in the corner. Jisung lay sprawled on the plush couch, his head resting gently on Y/N’s lap.

Y/N absentmindedly ran her fingers through his soft, locks, her nails lightly scratching his scalp. She’d found herself addicted to the way his hair felt between her fingers, and by the way his eyelids fluttered closed every time she did it, she knew he enjoyed it just as much.

“You’re so pretty,” she murmured, her voice barely louder than a whisper.

Jisung’s eyes snapped open, his lips parting slightly in surprise. A soft pink hue instantly colored his cheeks, creeping up to his ears. “W-What?” he stammered, shifting slightly, though he didn’t move far from her lap. “Why would you say that?”

Y/N tilted her head, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Because it’s true,” she said, her fingers moving to twirl a strand of his hair. “You’re pretty, Jisung. Deal with it.”

His blush deepened, and he groaned, burying his face into her stomach to hide his embarrassment. “Y/N, stop,” he mumbled, his voice muffled by her sweatshirt. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why not?” she teased, laughing softly at his reaction. She continued her gentle ministrations, her nails now lightly scratching the nape of his neck. “It’s not like I’m lying. You’re the prettiest boy I’ve ever seen.”

“Y/N!” he whined, his voice rising an octave as he squirmed slightly, still refusing to look up at her. “I’m going to melt into a puddle if you keep saying things like that.”

“Maybe that’s my plan,” she replied, her tone light and teasing. She leaned down slightly, her face hovering close to where his head was buried. “Are you hiding from me, Ji?”

“Yes,” he mumbled, his arms wrapping tightly around her waist like a lifeline. “It’s embarrassing.”

“Why?” she asked, tilting her head in genuine curiosity. Her fingers trailed through his hair again, brushing it away from his forehead. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be embarrassed around me.”

Jisung let out a shaky breath, slowly lifting his face just enough to peek up at her with his wide, doe-like eyes. “You’re really unfair, you know that?” he muttered.

“Unfair?” she echoed, grinning. “How?”

“You just…” He paused, struggling to find the words. His gaze darted to her lips for a split second before he quickly looked away, his face heating up all over again. “You say stuff like that so easily. It’s not fair.”

Y/N chuckled, her fingers now running through his bangs. “Maybe I just like seeing you get all flustered. It’s cute.”

Jisung groaned again, this time burying his face into her chest instead. “I can’t do this,” he muttered dramatically. “I’m going to combust.”

Y/N’s laughter rang through the room as she gently combed her fingers through his hair again, letting them trace soothing circles on his scalp. “You’re so dramatic,” she teased. “But I love it.”

For a moment, the room fell silent except for the soft strumming of the guitar playing in the background. Jisung let himself relax against her, his breathing evening out as he soaked in the comforting rhythm of her touch. He felt safe here, cradled in her warmth, surrounded by her scent and the sound of her voice.

Without thinking, the words slipped out. “I love you.”

Y/N froze, her fingers pausing mid-stroke. “What did you just say?” she asked, her voice quiet but laced with surprise.

Jisung’s eyes widened in horror as his brain caught up with his mouth. He sat up so fast that he nearly knocked his head against hers, his hands flying to cover his face. “Oh my god,” he muttered. “I didn’t mean to— I mean, I did, but not like that— I—”

“Jisung,” Y/N interrupted, grabbing his wrists gently and pulling his hands away from his face. His cheeks were flushed a deep red, his eyes darting everywhere but to hers. “Look at me.”

He hesitated but eventually obeyed, his gaze meeting hers hesitantly. He looked so vulnerable, so uncertain, and it made her heart ache in the best way. “Did you mean it?” she asked softly, her hands still holding his.

“I…” He swallowed hard, then nodded, his voice barely above a whisper. “Yeah. I meant it.”

Y/N’s face broke into a wide smile, her eyes softening as she cupped his cheek with one hand. “Good,” she said, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss to his forehead. “Because I love you too.”

Jisung’s eyes widened in shock, and for a moment, he looked like he was going to cry. Instead, he let out a breathless laugh, his body relaxing as a shy smile tugged at his lips. “You do?”

“Of course I do,” she replied, brushing a strand of hair out of his face. “You’re my pretty boy, remember?”

He groaned, though there was no real annoyance in it. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Never,” she confirmed with a laugh, pulling him back down to rest on her lap. Her fingers found their way back into his hair, and Jisung let out a content sigh, his eyes fluttering shut again.

“Okay,” he murmured after a moment, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I guess I can live with that.”

[uchispeach]

Killer

Dark! Bully! Rafe Cameron x Fem! Reader

Warnings: NON CON, SMUT, rough sex, manhandling & degradation, choking, breeding kink, bullying, violent & abusive behavior, Mean! Rafe, Bully! Rafe…

A/N: Sorry for disappearing, I’ve just had a shit ton of family problems. I hope I can update a bit faster from now on! ALSO lmk if you want this to become a series! 💕

A laugh, dripping with mockery, echoed through the vast room, sparking a ripple of chuckles and whispered insults from the nearby group of boys.

Rafe Cameron’s body stretched lazily in the chair, making it seem almost comically small under his heavy frame. Even with his limbs sprawled out in complete relaxation, the outline of his hard muscles pressed against his shirt, as if daring to break free at any moment. You couldn't deny he looked attractive, exuding an undeniable magnetism in that confident, almost predatory pose, his new buzz cut only amplifying the arrogance that oozed from him. But that ugly, smug smirk? It made your bones ache and your throat dry up in ways you couldn’t explain.

His eyes, the color of storm clouds, lingered on yours with a deliberate intensity, delighting in your discomfort, relishing in every flinch and subtle shift of your gaze. You turned away, hoping your disinterest would bore him eventually, but you knew it wouldn’t.

No matter how hard you focused on the lecture, his presence was like an intrusive, constant drill on your brain—his burning gaze a distraction that gnawed at your senses. How naive had you been to think he'd ever leave you alone? Every time you raised your hand in class, you could count on him to whisper some stupid joke under his breath. How foolish had you been to think he would ever stop tormenting you? This sick dynamic between you two had been a game since childhood, and if anything, he seemed to thrive on it.

His once-small fingers had grown long and strong -now covered in silver rings. Those same digits that used to tangle on your hair and pull from it until your scalp burned in pain. His legs were now far longer, but they had always been longer than yours, outpacing you as they chased you through the school halls in all infant and adolescent years, always with the aim of making you stumble and fall to your knees. But his mouth had never changed. It had only sharpened, evolving into something far more dangerous.

You’d convinced yourself you were above all of it. Charleston had felt like a fresh start, and you’d thought the Pogue curse might finally be something you could outrun. But when Rafe Cameron showed up once more, everything you’d built: your confidence, your peace of mind—began to crumble, piece by piece, until there was nothing left but the raw, unresolved tension between you.

You were studying to be a teacher, the first in your family to receive a scholarship that promised a brighter future. Your days were filled with lesson plans, textbooks, and the weight of academic expectation. Every second of your time was accounted for as you worked tirelessly to carve out a new path for yourself, one that didn't involve being brought back to the past or the memories of him. You didn’t have time for distractions, certainly not for him. But here he was, always lurking just at the edges of your life, a dark cloud you couldn’t escape.

Rafe was studying for an MBA, the complete opposite of you, and yet fate had forced you into a shared class. You would’ve done anything to avoid him, but trapped in between those fours walls, mere meters away from him - it just seemed impossible.

And there he was, at your left, staring with a look of sick pleasure every time he found you trying to focus. His presence was suffocating, like the air itself became dense with his attention. His words, the snide remarks whispered under his breath, were like a weight on your chest, making every breath harder to take.

He harassed you constantly in that class—every. single. time. Without fail. No matter how much you tried to bury yourself in your notes, no matter how hard you tried to ignore his mocking chuckles, his eyes always found you, always zeroed in on your every move. He’d challenge you with pointless questions, make stupid comments about your work, his voice dripping with condescension. But it didn’t stop there. His reach extended beyond the classroom, following you into the hallways, his tall frame casting a shadow that would make your stomach turn. He would appear out of nowhere, as though drawn to you by some sick fixation, and make his presence known with a smirk or a taunt, forcing you to look up from your books, to meet those stormy eyes full of wickedness.

He would ‘accidentally’ bump into you, making your school supplies fall over. He licked his lower lip when you bent over to pick the mess up. His front would get dangerously close to your back in any queue, sometimes getting bold enough to grind slightly against you. He would move you around like a rag doll, always putting his huge palm on your ass to push you to the side. Still, there was nothing as uncomfortable as having his dirty eyes scanning you from head to toe at any given time - he licked his lower lip in amusement, making your cheeks grow hotter.

You’d always hoped, prayed, that once the class ended, he’d disappear—vanish into his own world and leave you to yours. But you were wrong. Every time the teacher dismissed you, and you gathered your things to leave, he’d be right there, waiting. It was like clockwork. His long, strong fingers would slide into the pockets of navy trousers, the scent of his manly cologne wafting over you in an intoxicating way. His gaze would follow you as you tried to make a clumsy exit, his footsteps closing the distance between you with every passing second. You hated that you could never outrun him. Hated how he always found a way to corner you.

And just as you thought you might make it out of the door, safe, free—he’d appear at the threshold, standing in your way with that damn smirk of his, a look that seemed to promise nothing but trouble.

“Leaving so soon?” His voice would slither through the air like poison.

Your heart would pound in your chest, but you’d force your eyes to look anywhere but at him, hoping and praying, that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day he’d leave you alone. But you knew better. You always knew better.

And now, you could feel it again; the familiar pressure of his presence, creeping closer, dark and inevitable.

“What’s that I’ve heard?” He scratched his head while pressing his brows together, pretending to be deep in thought. “…Oh, right” Now, enlightened; he stepped forward. Your almost wobbly legs did their best on distancing themselves -though, they weren’t allowed much movement after hitting a desk.

The back of your knees stung against the protruding piece of wood. “You tryna leave…study abroad, right?” Your eyes peeled in horror, and you hid in yourself as much as you could when his tall frame overpowered yours. “No, no. Look me right in the eye.” He clicked his tongue in disapproval. Without any hesitation, his cold rings found their place under your chin, burying in your skin when lifting up your face. “How-how do you know?” Your stuttering made him smile -predatory grin adorning his harsh features. “Everyone thinks you’re smart…” The pain on your neck amplified at the uncomfortable position.

“…But I think you’re just a dumb bitch.” He spat at you. Tone as rough as the domineering grip on your jaw. “…Bragging left and right - you really thought I wouldn’t find out?” He shook you with erratic movement. The pain you felt under his digits distracted you from a perverted knee slowly opening its way between your legs.

His unruly eyes took a break from tormenting yours as he admired your skirt’s fabric draping over your thighs. The blond snob flashed you his hungry canines while biting into his lower lip.

The horror only amplified when a sharp thrust attacked your clothed sex. His impatient knee continued to roughly rub against the cotton underwear, cruelty reflected on the fast pace. “Ha. Would you look at that? The dirty slut is getting wet!” You whined in disgust when Rafe pressed harder on the soaked circle.

The scarce dignity you thought you held was harshly stripped from you. On his arms you were nothing but a squeaky toy he got to bite and squeeze whenever he desired, and little by little you felt victim to a raw resignation.

The next thing you sensed was his palm abandoning your neck and moving onto your meaty thighs. He gave the flesh a squeeze, followed by a lusty groan leaving his pinkish lips.

Your mind tried to wander away, but the situation was just too much; too much stimulation everywhere, too much heat coming from his larger body, too much degradation directed your way in mean words and touches, too much torturous pressure applied to your virgin cunt and too much pawing at your unexplored parts.

The next thing your brain registered was a rip. The sound of something being torn apart, and if you didn’t see the light fabric pooling around your feet, you could’ve almost swear it was the noise your spirit made when breaking in half. “And I was thinking about making it nice for you…fucking you on a bed of roses or some corny shit.” He talked with nothing but mockery, while leaning onto your chest. “But I guess you prefer it when I treat you like a cheap whore.” The Cameron boy finished it off with a chuckle, his muscles flexing hard under the rumbling laugh.

You wanted to contradict him, defend your honor and pull him off of you, but all protests got stuck in your throat when he took you by it and slammed your upper body against the desk. The rigid wood wasn’t welcoming. Your head spinned uncontrollably at the beast-like hit.

The lack of oxygen didn’t stop you from hearing him unbuckling his pants. Panic grew louder as you heard his clothes falling to the Classroom’s floor. Worries clouded you in a tumultuous storm, and you did your best to cover yourself up when the only layer covering your vulnerable hole was pushed to the side. “Open your fucking legs or I’ll break your useless skull!” He demanded in a crazied tone, ripping your limbs apart and throwing them over his shoulders.

“Please, don’t.” Your eyelids squeezed together, shielding your irises from looking at the violating scene. “That’s right, beg me” Warm breath imposed itself above your slit, followed by a warmer liquid dripping down your folds. “Gotta make it wetter…I don’t want you breaking at the first use.” Even though your sight was all black, you could imagine his satisfied grin decorating that diabolically handsome face.

You tried pulling away when a foreign limb rubbed against your sex, desperate to be let in. “Rafe, no-” You were cut short by your own screams, eyes peeled open at the feeling of his cock entering all at once.

“Fuck! Tight ass pussy.” He sounded in heaven, palms manhandling your knees to your chest while pounding ruthlessly into you.

The rest of your body went numb, being rocked up and down at the bestiality of the boy’s attack. His groans and moans overpowered your miserable sobs. Your withering form contrasted his blessed expressions, pure passion exuding from his now sweaty body.

“Your whorish cunt is squeezing the shit out of me…she doesn’t want me to leave!” He continued to talk while creating some deeply loud wet noises.

Your neck and waist’s skin burned under his cutting rings and the unsolicited friction of his grip that kept you still. Your ears got lost at the multiple pet names he called you, as well as the dirty sentences of encouragement he occasionally threw your way.

After almost an hour of feeling him impale you on his dick, you grew tired of screaming and crying, now reduced to quiet whimpers and even quieter pleas. “Stop-” He did the opposite to that, toned pelvis slapping hard against you as his tip bruised your cervix in persistent thrusts.

The cries that left your esophagus were now primal and raw, long nails holding onto his huge back. “That’s right, cry for me. You fucking deserve it!” That only made the tears fall faster down your cheeks, reaching your mouth on a salty taste.

And when his movements finally went sloppy and his member felt softer, your suffering only sharpened. “Tell me you love me” He barked at your face, drops of unintentional spit hitting your distressed face.

You thought you heard wrong, that between his chocking, and suffocating weight your brain had imagined the unimaginable. “Tell me you love me!” His features tensed, making a vein pop on his front.

Was Rafe Cameron asking for words of affirmation from you? Was the same guy who just butchered your purity asking you for your heart? Or was it just another inhumane prank? Another limit of yours he wanted to cross?

Clearly you took to much time thinking and not acting because the next thing you felt was the blond burying impossibly deeper into your core and making you know a new level of uncomfortability. “Tell me you fucking love or I’ll come inside you.” The light on the room was vast, you were sure of it. Such an elite university could only have the best illumination for its elitist students; still, his burly body completely covered yours.

His sharp jaw and eyes were enhanced by the darkness found in his stare. “I-” He trembled lightly in excitement at your shaky voice. “I love you.” You finally decreed, unknowingly sealing your fate.

His smile was like nothing you saw before, too devilish and twisted you actually doubted smiling was ever a nice gesture. And when you felt a dense liquid flooding your womb in overwhelming warmth, you swore you could see the devil in his eyes.

.

.

.

[limethefirst]

I've been reading all your recent Shadow fics and they're all SO CUTE!!! It makes me so happy to see where Shadow sort of gets to have a second chance with a new Maria, one where he can keep them safe. I was wondering though, how do you think he would react if they dyed red streaks into their hair to look like him?

Red Hair Dye

pairings: Shadow the Hedgehog x reader (platonic)

warnings: none

summary: after a trip to the store you see a hair dye that reminds you of your favorite little hedgehog

a/n: hey guys sorry i was gone this week, school started back up so slow updates and i just went through a break up so just taking things slow, here's your request tysm for your patience! (This reminds me of when I had pink highlights 😭)

The store was quiet, it was late so it wasn't very strange. You walked through the aisles, looking at all its contents. It was a small corner store no more then a 3 minute walk from your place. Light jazz music played as beeping of machines echoed through the front of the store.

You stopped in the hair dye section, taking a look at all the colors, thinking which one you liked best, not that you were sure you were even going to dye your hair. Until you spotted it, a crimson red hair dye that looked like it was on sale.

Pausing, you stared at it a bit before ultimately picking it up. You looked at the brand, knowing it was a trust worthy one when it came to hair damage and color, so without a second thought you quickly shoved it into your basket before continuing to browse a bit more.

The trip was short lived and quickly you found yourself rushing to your bathroom, excited to try the new color you'd bought. Shadow was somewhere about but didn't seem to try and find you, seemingly hearing your rush to reach the bathroom, almost paying no mind to it.

Opening the box you grabbed everything inside, basically dumping it out onto your sink as you sorted through it. The instructions were simple, so you just went with the flow, prepping your hair and sectioning it the way you wanted.

After your hair was ready, you started to mix some of the paint, making sure to add the right amount of color so that it would be bright enough on your hair. After a bit of mixing you grabbed the small brush that came in the box, as well as the gloves. You slipped the gloves on slowly and started to apply the red.

It was a tiring process, taking you over 20 minutes to finally finish. By that point your arms were tired from being held up so long. Swiftly you exhaled and sat down against the wall, making sure your hair wasn't messed up.

A small knock interrupted your waiting. You slightly opened the door, not realizing how strong the smell of paint truly was, as the hedgehog took a quick step back, his nose scrunching.

"What are you doing?" He asked, arms crossed, not being able to fully see you as you hid behind the door, wanting to keep the hair a surprise.

You let out a small chuckle before playfully responding, "It's a secret," Shadow just gave a small sigh, knowing you wouldn't tell him till later with that type of answer.

"Don't take long then" Shadow said before turning away, probably going to go sit in your room, although he'd never say it he found comfort around you more then he did most. It was nice to be special.

You closed the door quickly, and sat in the bathroom a bit longer, waiting at least 30 minutes so that the dye would set. Shadow found it a bit annoying at how long you were taking and he was very curious as to what exactly that smell was, it was like chemicals. Maybe you were cleaning, but the more Shadow thought the more he knew it would not be cleaning.

You took a quick shower, the water was cold to make sure not a lot of dye left your hair. Once you were done the bathroom was a red mess that you'd hope would be able to come off later.

Drying yourself and changing you put on some of the lasting products in the box which were supposed to make the dye last longer as you fixed your hair, excited to show Shadow the result.

Walking towards your room you found Shadow on the edge of your bed, his arms still crossed and his posture straight as he kept his gaze steady on the novela in front of him. His eyes quickly changed over to you as he saw you enter, the first thing that caught his attention though was your hair.

It looked like you had red highlights in your hair, he was shocked to see your new look.

"I thought we could match!" You cheerfully said making your way over to him as he saw bits of red.

He let out a small huff of approval, "It looks nice," He now stood up, as you sat on the ground taking in the sight.

"So you like the emo highlights?" You jokingly asked him, knowing how Sonic and his friends had called him the emo hedgehog before.

Shadow just gave you a straight face before walking past you and out your door.

Quickly you sprung to your feet, apologizing as you followed him out, "I was kidding come back!"

[crushpunky]

rafe and kook!reader go to a wedding

masterlist | kook!reader masterlist

this one's kinda long, but i was having too much fun and got carried away. oh well. enjoy <3

When Rafe found out one of his dad’s business partners was getting married, he knew he had to make a good impression. So, naturally, he called up his usual accomplice to things like these: y/n.

“You owe me big time, Cameron.” Y/n said with a sigh as she hung up the phone. While she wasn’t the biggest fan of these formal, uppity events, she couldn’t lie and say she wasn’t at least a little bit excited to get a new dress (on Rafe’s dime of course) and spend an evening getting drunk off champagne with Rafe’s arm around her.

The two of them had gone shopping on the mainland, trying to find the perfect suit and dress combo to fit the wedding's spring-floral theme.

“I’m not wearing a fucking pink suit.” Rafe grumbled from behind the curtain of the changing room, his head peeking out as y/n held up a baby pink suit and coordinating hat.

“Just try it on, please. It’ll be funny.” Y/n smiled brightly, something that quickly made Rafe’s resolve crumble away with a roll of his eyes. He took it on, muttering to himself as he pulled on the light colored suit jacket. He stepped out, moving around dramatically in the pink fabric, a giggle immediately erupting from y/n’s mouth.

“Put on the hat!” Y/n laughed, Rafe shaking his head as he grabbed the hat. He plopped it on his head, cringing as he caught sight of himself in the mirror before turning back to y/n. She quickly snapped a photo, her laughter continuing to echo throughout the shop.

“Don’t you even think about fucking showing that to anybody.” Rafe pointed before chucking off his hat.

“It’s for my own personal pleasure, boy.” Y/n smiled, looking down at her photo and taking in Rafe’s sour look coupled with his extravagant, pink ensemble.

“The shit I do for you…” Rafe grumbled to himself before returning to the changing room.

After hours of shopping, the two of them finally found the perfect outfits. Rafe found a dusty blue linen suit that y/n insisted he had to get purely because of the way it made his eyes pop. Similarly, y/n found a breezy, blue dress that had Rafe nearly needing to take a step outside because of how good she looked (not that he’d admit that, of course).

Y/n was putting the last touches of makeup on when the doorbell rang. With a huff, y/n grabbed her clutch before hurrying down the stairs, hees in hand. Like many Kook weddings, the wedding was at the Country Club, which luckily meant they were oh-so familiar with the venue, but unfortunately also meant they were likely to know everybody there.

Tugging her heels on, y/n bid her parents farewell before she opened the front door. Paying too much attention to the straps of her shoes, y/n ran straight into a broad chest and fistful of flowers.

“Woah!” Rafe said, his hand falling to y/n’s waist, keeping her from falling further off the porch. Y/n looked up, finding herself wishing she’d done a couple of shots before she left when she saw just how good he looked. His face was freshly shaven (though she didn’t particularly mind his stubble), his hair was styled a bit cleaner than its usual boyish tousle, and of course he had that same, damn, shit-eating grin that always made her cheeks flush.

“Sorry,” y/n muttered, swallowing harshly as she still struggled with the buckle of her shoe.

“Here.” Rafe said, handing her the bouquet of flowers she had just run into before kneeling down. His warm hands brushed the soft skin of her ankle as he made quick work of the buckle of her shoe. Y/n barely had a second to process what was happening before he stood back up, looking down at her with a grin.

“Thanks.” Y/n said, blinking quickly before looking over to where Rafe usually parked. However, where his Jeep usually sat was the Camerons’ Mercedes, Ward and Rose inside, their usual sour expressions visible even through the darkly tinted windows.

“Why is your dad driving?” Y/n asked, turning back to Rafe as ran a hand down his face.

“He insisted we drive together.” Rafe sighed. “Said he didn’t want us sneaking out early.”

“Having no car has never stopped us before.” Y/n grumbled as they made their way to the car, Rafe opening the door as y/n climbed inside.

“Oh, y/n, that dress is gorgeous.” Rose gushed, turning around as she looked over y/n’s dress.

“Thanks, Rafe helped me pick it out, actually.” Y/n grinned, looking over at Rafe as the Ward backed the car out of the driveway. He flashed her a quick smile before focusing his gaze forward.

“That explains the low neckline.” Ward muttered, his voice quiet, but not quiet enough for y/n or Rafe to not hear. Rafe’s head whipped over to his father, his hands immediately clenching before y/n placed a hand on his bicep.

“Good to know you like it, Mr. Cameron.” Y/n said, flashing Ward her best dramatically fake grin in the rearview mirror. Rafe sat next to her, his foot tapping quickly on the floor as his jaw remained tense, an anxiety coursing through him that often presented himself when it came to dealing with his father.

“Rafe, I’m expecting the two of you to be on your best behavior tonight.” Ward said sharply. “These are my— your— business partners, so you will not embarrass our family tonight.”

“Yes, sir.” Rafe grumbled, looking out the window as they pulled up to the Country Club. The lawn was littered with finely dressed guests and flowers and lights adorned the patio, the setting sun bathing the party in golden light. The Camerons pulled up to the curb, Ward putting the car in park as the valet began to approach them.

“Oh and just as a little insurance that my partners see how much my son has grown up,” Ward turned to look at the two of them, “I told them he would be bringing his very serious, long term girlfriend with him this evening.”

“What?!” Rafe scoffed, his voice sharp as he looked between his father and y/n, whose face was equally shocked. She felt her cheeks warm up, her mind immediately racing with a thousand questions and worries… but also a subtle excitement at the new twist for the night.

“They don’t think you’re reliable or committed, so I made sure they saw you were.” Ward said simply, him and Rose exiting the car. The two of them sat in the car in a silence, unsure of what to say or do, until the valet awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Shit, um, sorry.” Rafe scrambled, popping his door open before turning back to y/n. He offered his hand out to her as she climbed out, his touch light. The gesture wasn’t unusual, he often would open the door for her or help her out of a car, but now things felt a bit different.

“Y/n I swear I didn’t know he was—” Rafe began, running a hand through his hair.

“It’s fine, it’s fine.” Y/n sighed, smoothing the front of her dress as she looked out at the sea of guests… the sea of guests they were going to have to convince they were dating. The thought sent a shiver down her spine; imagining Rafe’s hands firmly wrapped around her all night, his eyes on her every move, his lips on hers… it was everything she hated to admit she would think about sometimes when she was alone. When she pictured her future, the person beside her always developed ocean blue eyes, a quaff of blondish-brown hair, tanned skin, a cheeky smirk… she couldn’t help it. She couldn’t help thinking about being with him in that way, even if she knew it was wrong.

“It’s just one night, ok? It… it doesn’t mean anything.” Y/n whispered as she started towards the wedding, her pounding heart betraying the lies she was telling him.

The ceremony was the same boring, Kook event the island had seen countless times: bride walks down the aisle in a dress that cost more than most people's homes, groom reads off vows very obviously not written by him, and the two of them ride off into the sunset happily ever after, prenups signed and millions in their pockets.

The reception, however, was where the Kooks really shined. Drunken guests stumbled around the expansive dancefloor, an overpaid dj playing music so loud y/n was sure the Pogues could probably hear it all the way on the Cut. Trays of small bites of food floated around the party, the food nowhere near enough to balance out the effects of the open bar. Y/n found herself standing at one of the tables, watching the partygoers as Rafe ventured over to the bar to get the two of them drinks that would hopefully make them blackout for the inevitable car ride home with Ward and Rose.

“What’s a young lady like you doing standing by herself?” A voice tore y/n’s eyes away from the sea of people, an old man with a chilling smile approaching her, setting his whiskey on the table.

“Just waiting for someone.” Y/n said simply, flashing him a quick grin before turning her attention back to the party. She swallowed harshly as she felt the guy's eyes rake over her in a way that made her stomach churn.

“A special someone or just someone?” The man chuckled, his wrinkled hand creeping across the table cloth and inching towards where y/n’s arm rested.

“Hey, baby,” Rafe’s voice cut in just before the man’s fingers could reach her. Y/n felt herself exhaling as Rafe handed her her drink before snaking his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side. His grip on her was firm, much more intense than the way he would usually rest his hands on the small of her back when they were maneuvering through a party or he was following her onto the Druthers. She took a sip of it, eyeing Rafe as he stared down the man in front of them.

“Cameron, it’s good to see you.” The old man said, offering his hand out for a handshake. Rafe raised his drink to his lips before lowering it with a small chuckle.

“Sorry,” Rafe said with a short shrug. “Hands are full.”

“Rafe…” y/n warned, looking up at Rafe sharply.

“No problem.” The old man laughed, taking a sip of his own drink. “If I had a pretty thing like her I wouldn’t want to take my hands off ‘em either.”

Y/n let out a faux, airy laugh. Between the way Rafe’s grip tightened on her side and the clench of his jaw, y/n could practically feel the tension emanating off of him. Y/n placed her hand on top of where Rafe’s rested on her waist, the cool familiarity of her touch helping reduce Rafe’s urge to attack the old creep.

“Well, it was good to see you, young man.” The old man grinned before pointing over to where the bride and groom stood. “Before you know, that’ll be you two. Have a good night.”

Y/n nearly choked on the sip of her drink she was taking, Rafe letting out a scoff as the old man finally shuffled away. Despite the man leaving, Rafe’s fingers still sat firmly on her waist, y/n’s fingers toying with the rings that adorned them.

“Those are the type of creeps I’m supposed to kiss up to?” Rafe scoffed, biting his lip as he shook his head in disbelief. Y/n sighed, before resting her head on Rafe’s chest. She hadn’t even realized she’d done it until Rafe’s other arm moved to wrap around her, holding her against his chest in a warm embrace. The two of them stood, y/n’s ear pressed to Rafe’s chest and Rafe praying she couldn’t hear how fast his heart was beating.

“I’m proud of you, Rafe.” Y/n said, pulling away just enough to look up at him. He looked down at her, his lips slightly parted. Standing this close to him, she could see the freckles along his nose and the blush that adorned his cheeks when he drank present.

“For what?” Rafe whispered, his breath fanning across her face. He found himself unable to look away from the curve of her cheekbones or the hue of her eyes he considered his favorite color.

“You’ve come so far with… everything.” Y/n said, a smile dancing across her lips. “The Rafe I knew a few years ago would’ve jumped that old man.”

Rafe let out a chuckle that shook against the skin of y/n’s arm, “the idea certainly crossed my mind.”

“Oh it crossed mine too, don’t worry.” Y/n laughed, Rafe biting his lip as he looked down at her. The two of them looked at eachother, the rest of the wedding slowly fading away until it was just them. Rafe could feel his mouth begin to dry, the blood rushing to his head. Maybe it was the alcohol in his veins, or the words she spoke to sweetly, or maybe the way she looked under the twinkle of the lights, but he felt the urge to lower his head and press his lips to hers… but he knew he shouldn’t. Couldn’t.

So, closing his eyes lightly, he pressed a kiss to the top of her head, holding her tightly against his chest. If he couldn’t be with her in the way he wanted, he could allow himself this. He could allow himself to hold her, even if every time he did he wished he could do more. He would allow himself to kiss her cheek, even if he wished he could kiss her lips. He would allow himself to tell her he loved her, even if he wished he could tell her how he thought of her every waking moment, her very presence weaving its way into every dream he’d ever had.

He would allow himself this because it didn’t cross the line. That carefully constructed line he’d drawn so firmly, pledging to never cross for risk of losing her forever… because while he could live without being with her the way he wanted, he couldn’t live without her at all.

[kabsey]

The moment the last of the Antaam fell, Rook dashed across the battlefield, hurrying to Harding's side. Lucanis shielded his eyes from the Rivaini sun to try and see what had prompted such a response, but all he saw was Harding laughing as Rook tugged her down to sit on the grass. Then Rook's gaze swept the area, and when it landed on him, she called his name with such urgency that he found himself moving just as quickly as she had.

"Keep her upright," Rook ordered as he knelt beside them, and he immediately placed a supportive hand on Harding's back.

"Rook, I'm fine. It's barely a scratch," Harding protested. "I'm not going to faint at the sight of a little blood."

Rook didn't answer; she was too busy dumping the arrows from her quiver. When they lay scattered, she reached into the quiver to her shoulder and fished out a circular leather case. When she unlatched it, it split open. One half held a set of miniature tools, and the other bristled with tiny vials in a rainbow of colors that sparkled in the afternoon light.

"Rook?" Harding's voice had gone quiet.

Rook glanced up with only a hint of her usual boisterous smile. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

She went straight back to picking at the wax seal on one of the vials. Lucanis shared a glance with Harding and then they both silently watched Rook work. He had never had the opportunity to see her perform such a delicate task or to witness her concentrate with a singular focus. In the short time he'd known her, constant movement had seemed to be her natural state. In combat, she flipped and flittered from enemy to enemy, and outside of it, she seemed to relish the simplest motions, always pacing or stretching or even dancing when the mood struck. He had found himself wondering how someone as cerebral as he knew Viago to be wound up with a protégé so steeped in the physical.

As he watched Rook's hands measure out precise dropfuls of liquid into an empty vial, she suddenly appeared as a de Riva to his eyes. Her fingers were long and elegant, tipped by shaped and buffed nails. Unlike nearly every other part of her, the backs of her hands were free of freckles. They looked pale and soft in the sunlight, though he knew they were likely as calloused as his own. Their weapons were similar. Did her calluses match his? Palm to palm, would they be mirrors of each other? And why did that thought strike him as familiar?

He hadn't intended to lapse into reverie, and it broke at the sound of Harding swallowing heavily.

"I feel a little strange," she admitted.

Lucanis glanced down at her again and was alarmed to see her face had gone white behind her freckles. He shifted closer, allowing her to lean against his side.

"You have nothing to worry about," he assured her.

"Oh, yeah?" She lifted one of her booted feet in a weak poke at Rook's side. "You could have mentioned I was poisoned."

Rook only flashed her a brief smile before resuming her work.

"Every Crow in Antiva knows that Viago de Riva is the best among us at creating poisons and antidotes, which means he is likely the best in the world," Lucanis told Harding. "You've met him, yes?"

Harding nodded, her head lolling a bit against his chest. "He trained Rook, right?" The last word came out as barely more than air as her breath ran short.

"Yes. For many years."

"But you and Rook... never met?"

Lucanis shook his head. "Perhaps he did not want her entangled with the Dellamortes. My house has many enemies."

"More likely he thought I'd embarrass him," Rook said. She held a vial to Harding's lips. "Drink."

Harding obeyed, though she seemed to have a bit of trouble swallowing whatever antidote Rook had mixed. Lucanis shifted again, trying to guide her head to tip back slightly against his shoulder. When she finally drained the last drop, he let out a soft sigh of relief, one that Rook echoed.

"Well, that was fun," Rook remarked.

She rocked back on her heels and began tucking the various elixirs and tools back in their case. Once that was safely settled at the bottom of her quiver, she scooped up her remaining arrows, dropped them in, and then swung the quiver over her shoulder. A moment later she was on her feet and stretching her arms over her head.

"Thanks, Harding. I was afraid I was getting rusty."

"Don't mention it," Harding replied drily.

Already her voice came steadier, and Lucanis thought her color was returning, though it might have been wishful thinking coupled with the ruddy light of the setting sun. Rook grinned, her usual good humor restored. She trotted off down the beach, searching the Antaam corpses for potions or coin or Maker knew what. Lucanis stayed with Harding, and they sat in comfortable silence broken by nothing but the waves, the birds, and the flies buzzing around the bodies. He took a moment for gratitude that none of his new allies were among them. They were all still reeling from the devastation they'd seen in Minrathous; Neve had not yet returned to the Lighthouse. To lose one of their number—and one with such a vital spark as Harding—might have broken the fledgling team.

Instead, thanks to Rook, Harding was getting to her feet with Lucanis's help in a matter of minutes. She scowled down at her torn sleeve and the still-bloody scratch in her arm that had nearly been her end.

"I'm gonna go wash this off," she said and headed down to the shoreline without the slightest waver in her step.

Soon after Rook returned to his side and showed him a simple but sleek-looking throwing knife that ended in a loop with a red tassel. "The Antaam's favored delivery method for poison."

"How did you know?" he asked.

"All part of a de Riva education." She tucked the knife carefully into a pouch at her waist. "Fortunately they generally use a fairly standardized compound across all their troops. Probably brew the stuff by the wagonload in Par Vollen."

She sighed, and her brow pinched in thought. "I'd love to carry the antidote premixed, but as soon as you add the reagent, the efficacy starts sliding down a steep cliff. If you wait too long to administer it, you're left with nothing but a foul-tasting tea. And it's not even hot."

Gazing at her as she pondered her alchemical dilemma, Lucanis was struck again by the feeling of familiarity. His eyes traveled over her face and caught on the little wrinkle that furrowed the space between her eyebrows. He knew she and Viago shared no blood connection, but some sort of resemblance teased at him. He remembered the summer nearly a decade before when he and Viago had worked together to track down a target who had poisoned several members of a rival family. Working side by side with the man, witnessing firsthand his intellect and confident competence, had been the first time Lucanis had ever understood the attraction his cousin seemed to feel for every woman that walked past him.

Rook tilted her head at him, and he noticed the smooth line of her neck, the way the strands of long hair that had escaped her messy bun teased at the skin there. He was surprised to find he was curious about that spot as well, how it would feel beneath his fingertips.

How it would feel beneath his lips.

Rook raised an eyebrow at him. "What?"

Lucanis blinked at her, caught with a wandering mind for a second time in a single afternoon. "What?"

"What's that look?" she asked.

"There's no look."

"Uh-huh." She smirked at him. "Hey, Spite. What's Lucanis thinking right now?"

In a moment of instinctual panic, Lucanis snapped his head to face the demon, who grinned back and crowed, "He Likes! Rook! Wants to Kiss! Rook!"

He felt a hint of warmth suffuse his cheeks as he turned back to Rook, whose smirk had widened to an open grin.

He frowned. "Why would you ask him that? You can't even hear his answer."

"No, but you can," she said. "You're cute when you blush."

He huffed in annoyance despite how one corner of his lips twitched with the urge to curl upward. "It's just from the sun."

"Uh-huh." She turned and began walking backward toward the water. "Let's go make sure Harding hasn't gotten into any more trouble."

She twirled again and then marched down the sand with a long, easy stride, arms swinging, as though she hadn't a care in the world. She moved with the grace all Crows were trained to, but on her it seemed effortless, natural.

Lovely.

"Mierda," he muttered to himself. Suddenly it didn't seem like Harding was the one in imminent danger.