#also trying out some new sharpening

[kwakjiseoks]

O.DE LITTLE THINGS 240501 SHOW CHAMPION

[cosmik-homo]

Urgh the chameleon arch thing is officially a wip file kill me.

[sunsburns]

four or five moments (ii.)

pairing: wade wilson/deadpool x fem!assassin!reader

summary: you're literally just trying to do your job, and it's going great so far, you've killed trask, all you have left is to stop that truck from leaving new york. few problems: deadpool can't stay dead, you're having a moral dilemma and why is that car getting closer? oh shit-!

—or: deadpool literally hits you with a car

word count: 4k+

warnings: fem reader, wade being nasty, flirting, sex jokes, canon violence, there isn't too much plot, blood, strange conversations about morality, wade being annoying, he also breaks the fourth wall a few times, i did not pre-read this pls bare with spelling mistakes

notes: i was peer pressured to write this. it literally strays off from the og plot so bad you get whiplash!!

part one

All you really need is four or five moments.

Four or five moments to prove that you're better than them, that you wouldn't stoop as low, to prove that an eye for an eye will only leave two people blind. No blood will bring mercy. No. But it might get you some peace of mind knowing that they can't hurt you anymore, knowing that there's one less asshole on the earth that's trying to hurt you and the people you care about. It is heartless, you're well aware, but you are not trained to have much of a heart, much less to care.

You remind yourself of that fact as lights blur into neon streaks and speeding vehicles race by. Your heart pounds in your chest, adrenaline sharpening your senses, and the stab wound on your leg becomes a distant throb.

You leap onto a motorcycle conveniently left unattended by a fleeing warehouse worker, hot-wiring it with practiced ease. The engine roars to life, and you peel out onto the road, weaving through traffic. The bike vibrates beneath you, a sleek, powerful beast responding to your every command.

Behind you, Deadpool is a persistent shadow. You catch glimpses of his red suit and mask as he commandeers a car, recklessly swerving through lanes to catch up to you. His determination is infuriating, but you can't afford to be distracted. You grit your teeth, focusing on the chase.

Your earpiece crackles to life, and a familiar voice comes through. "I've got eyes on your tracker," your handler says. "They're heading towards the docks. Be careful; we don't know if it's a set-up."

"Understood," you reply, voice steady despite the chaos.

As you near the docks, the industrial landscape looms ahead, a labyrinth of shipping containers and cranes casting long shadows in the dim light. The truck is just ahead, its taillights glowing like beacons.

You accelerate closer, and with one hand, you grab an energy gun, in a quick movement, you shoot at the truck doors, immediately regaining your grip on the handle afterwards. The doors fly open, revealing giant metal scraps and wooden crates.

You nearly curse, swerving out of the way when a pipe tumbles out from the back of the truck, crashing onto the road. The clang of metal on asphalt echoes in your ears. You slow down by the truck's blind spot, knowing you'd have to stop it, especially now that the cargo was confirmed to be in it.

You stay ready with your gun, pulling it from the holster on your thigh. You wait a beat, then another, and as the truck starts to pick up speed, you make your move and roll up to the driver's window, shooting through the glass. The bullet flies through the driver's head, causing him to slump forward, pressing on the horn. The blaring sound drowns out your second shot, which takes down the man in the passenger seat before he can shoot you.

The truck starts to slow, veering erratically before it crashes into a building with a deafening crunch of metal and shattering glass. The impact takes down a few light posts and parked cars, sending debris flying. Broken electrical wires dance and crackle around the wreck, their sparks reflected in the spray of a burst fire hydrant.

"Great job," your handler's voice crackles through your comms. "Dispose of the truck. No witnesses—"

The connection cuts off as you are violently hit from the side by a black car. The force of the impact sends you flying off your bike, tumbling across the rough asphalt. Your suit and helmet take most of the fall, tearing and cracking under the friction. Your visor shatters, the protective plastic lining breaking at the base.

You feel the sting and burn of broken skin on your arms and legs, grime and dirt mixing with the blood seeping from your cuts. Your vision is blurred, and a high-pitched ringing fills your ears. Every breath you take is shallow and painful, your ribs protesting with each inhale. Biting the inside of your cheek, you push yourself to pull off your broken helmet, tossing it aside. You blink hard, trying to focus your vision and spot a figure approaching.

Through the haze of pain and confusion, you recognize the distinctive red and black suit. Deadpool. He strides towards you with casual confidence, katana in hand, his eyes hidden behind the mask but undoubtedly filled with a mix of amusement and determination. The streetlights cast eerie shadows on his suit, highlighting the dried blood and grime.

"Please, don't be mad, honeybuns." Deadpool's irritating voice is the first thing you can hear when the ringing stops. He's standing before you, gloved hands out for you to take.

You don't move, heaving, "What the fuck, Wade?"

"Oh, are we on a first-name basis now? I think I like it." Wade Wilson hums, and when you still don't take his hands, he kneels before you. The smell of sweat and gunpowder wafts off him, mingling with the metallic scent of blood. "I know this all seems a little confusing—"

"You hit me with a fucking car, you dick!" you belt out, eyes wide with rage. The pain and exhaustion make your voice hoarse, every word a struggle.

"Well, yes. But it's only fair—"

"Fuck you."

"Listen to me." He says a little desperately, and you're glaring at him through your tears. Wade doesn't let it get to him, instead, he calls out your name, barely above a whisper as he looks at you. "You are getting innocent people killed." He tells you. "Look around. This might not be a cul-de-sac, but there are civilians, and they're hurt. We need to leave. You need to call it."

You glance over his shoulder, tired eyes scanning the area. He was right. Dock workers are running around, shouting and helping people out of the old building the truck had crashed into. It's late at night, but not late enough for the place to be deserted; people are still at work, still trying to get by.

You wince as you watch a pregnant woman being led out of a crashed car by her husband, a gash on her head. The smell of gasoline and burning rubber fills the air, mixing with the acrid scent of smoke from the crashed truck.

"Killing shitty people is one thing," Deadpool tells you, and you hate the way his voice is almost earnest. His tone is different, more serious, a stark contrast to his usual unserious demeanour. "But I'm familiar with your no-witnesses rule. This would just be mass murder if I let you keep going. Not exactly my piece of cake. Just..."

He stops, letting his head hang for a moment as if he were too repulsed to say it. You can see his shoulders slump slightly, a rare show of genuine emotion. "Oh god, I can't believe I'm about to say this," he grumbles, "Four or five moments. That's all it takes. Just stop and think. It's all it takes to be a hero."

You grit your teeth, hating that Wade Wilson is your voice of reason. The biggest asshole in New York, and here he is lecturing you on morality.

Hairs are falling out of your braid and sticking to your forehead, yet you don't care. Sweat mixes with blood, creating a sticky mess on your skin. You can only glare at him. "You're the last fucking person who should be telling me how to be a hero."

Wade sighs, loud and obnoxious, his mask wrinkling around his eyes as he scrunches up his face. "I'm sorry I hit you with a car. You kinda deserved it after killing Trask. He was my last chance at becoming pretty again. Now I have to stalk another crazy scientist." He taps his chin thoughtfully, "I always figured I'd end up chasing a mad scientist again, but not under these circumstances."

It's when you can no longer hold yourself up with your arms that Wade takes in the gravity of your injuries. He winces, watching you crumble to the ground before him. "Oh, wow, that's a lot of blood," he notes, his voice suddenly devoid of humour. The sight of your blood pooling on the asphalt seems to pull him back to reality. "Should I take you to a hospital? How many fingers am I holding up?"

He doesn't give you a chance to answer.

"Three? No. Two? Yikes. It's worse than I thought." Wade stands, and the worry in his voice is poorly masked by his usual sarcasm. "Here we go. Up, up!" When he moves to pick you up, you start turning away, your body protesting every movement.

"Wade, wait—" you rasp, trying to stop him from touching you. Your voice is weak, barely above a whisper.

But it's too late. When he reaches for you, your body phases, a faint white glow surrounding you as his hands and arms fall through your body as if you're a ghost. He recoils, jumping back while a squeamish sound escapes his lips. He stares at you, then his hands, then back at you on the ground as you try to sit up again, confusion and amazement written all over his masked face.

"Oh. My. Motherfucking. Fuckballs." Wade gasped, eyes wide behind his mask. "Did my hand just go through you or is all that cocaine finally kicking in?"

You ignore him, holding onto your side as it throbs with pain. Every movement sends sharp, agonizing waves through your body. "Fuck."

"No way, you're a fucking mutant?" His tone is a mix of awe and excitement, like a kid discovering a new toy.

It's not like you kept it a secret. You used your abilities whenever you needed to, and sure, it was useful at times, especially in your line of work when you needed to get through locked doors and hidden rooms or just for the element of surprise. But it's draining. Leaves you winded after only a matter of seconds. You've always had a hard time controlling it when you're slightly delusional though. You must've hit your head really hard. Maybe that's why you haven't shot Deadpool, yet.

"Shut up, Wade."

"Hey, no need to be ashamed of it." He reassures you while trying to pick you up again. This time, he is more cautious, his movements slower and more deliberate. When he succeeds, you can tell he's grinning like a child underneath the mask.

He carries you back to the same fuckass car he hit you with, holding you with one arm under your knees, the other supporting your back. There's a faint skip to his step as if you're not on the verge of losing consciousness. While kicking open the back door, Wade continues his chatter, and you really wish he'd killed you on impact.

"Being a mutant is great! Plus, it's not the early two thousands anymore, or whatever timeline Stewart was in. Man, they sure did hate mutants in that trilogy."

He sets you down in the back seat gently, his hands surprisingly delicate. "You know, I always knew you were different. You hit me harder than regular people. I just figured you really hated me."

"I do." you mutter.

"Oh, my little sweet buns, I'm sure you do." To your annoyance, he pokes your nose playfully. "But you can't hate me too much right now, I'm literally your knight in shining armor. See, I can be nice, especially to my fellow mercs. You'd bleed to death if I left you there."

"Only because you hit me with a fucking car," you snap, the pain and frustration boiling over.

"Good to know you're still harboring great anger towards that. Means you're still conscious. Keep being mean to me, baby, that's how I'll know you're okay." He pauses before shutting the door, looking at you lying on the backseat, bleeding and all the glory that comes from it. "And it also turns me on a little bit. God, I can't believe your suit is torn and not one bit of extra cleavage is exposed. What will it take for a guy to get some rated R nudity over here?"

And with that, he slams the door shut, the car shaking with the force of it. The sound makes the ringing return to your ears, and you bite back the urge to curse him. He takes a seat in the driver's seat, starting the engine and rushing out of the scene before first responders arrive. The car roars to life, and as he speeds away, you feel your consciousness slipping, the pain and exhaustion overwhelming you.

The two of you sit in silence for the most part, only the sounds of the engine running and Wade humming the tune of a song you think is from The Greatest Showman soundtrack. You force yourself to stay awake. Mostly because you don't trust him, but it's also because you fear that if you let your eyes close you won't wake up again. Yeah, it's mostly because you don't trust Wade Wilson.

"Where are you taking me?" you finally ask, and you hate the way your voice sounds weak, barely above a whisper.

"Just a little safe house I know." He tells you, glancing back at you for a quick moment. "Very homey, trust me."

"What about the shipment?" you murmur, your mind struggling to stay focused.

"What?"

"The truck," you repeat, fighting to keep your eyes open.

"Oh, don't worry. That's no longer our problem." He says, "We're about to enter a whole new setting. That truck is forgotten plot."

Wade takes a sharp turn, and you wince as your body shifts uncomfortably in the back seat. The pain is getting worse, each bump in the road sending jolts of agony through your body. You grit your teeth, trying to stay conscious, but it's a losing battle.

After what feels like an eternity, the car finally comes to a stop. Wade gets out and you hear his footsteps crunching on gravel as he walks around to your door. He opens it carefully this time, his usual wiseass demeanour replaced by a rare show of genuine concern. He scoops you up gently, and you're too weak to protest.

The last thing you remember, before everything goes black, is the sight of a grand mansion looming ahead, its imposing silhouette framed by the moonlight. The large iron gates creak open as Wade carries you through them, the gravel path crunching under his boots. The mansion, with its towering spires and Gothic architecture, looks like something out of a fairy tale, a stark contrast to the violence and chaos you just escaped from.

When you wake up, the first thing you notice is the softness of the bed beneath you. The second thing you notice is the smell of lavender and the faint hum of medical equipment. You try to sit up, but a sharp pain in your side makes you gasp.

"Whoa, easy there," a deep, accented voice says from beside you. You turn your head slowly, the motion making your vision swim. A towering, metal-skinned mutant sits by your bed, his imposing figure softened by a look of genuine concern. "You need to rest. You are badly injured."

Your throat feels like sandpaper as you rasp, "Where am I?"

"The X-Mansion," he replies in a soothing tone, the accent heavy but comforting. "Wade brought you here. You’re safe now. I am Colossus."

You try to take in your surroundings, your head feeling heavy as you look around. The room is vast and elegant, with high ceilings that seem to reach the heavens. The walls are adorned with rich tapestries and framed paintings, depicting serene landscapes and grand historical scenes.

Large windows let in the soft, golden glow of morning light, casting gentle shadows that dance across the floor. It’s a far cry from the dingy, rundown places you’re used to, especially that old apartment with its creaky floors and peeling wallpaper.

Your eyes finally land on Wade, who is slouched in a chair in the corner. He’s flipping through a Playboy magazine with exaggerated interest, still in his dirty suit from the night before.

When he sees you stir, he grins and waves a hand in your direction. "Morning, sunshine," he says cheerfully, his voice carrying an unnerving mix of sincerity and teasing. "You gave us quite a scare. But, I've got to say, that hospital gown is doing wonders for your figure. I love the blue. Great contrast to that black you're always wearing."

You roll your eyes, too exhausted to respond properly. The gown feels scratchy against your skin, and every movement sends sharp pangs of pain through your body.

Colossus, noticing your discomfort, shifts slightly. "How are you feeling?" he asks, his voice deep and steady.

"Like I got hit by a truck," you mutter, sending a glare in Wade's direction.

Colossus chuckles, the sound deep and resonant, like rolling thunder. "Do not worry about him. We will take care of you."

Despite the throbbing pain and overwhelming fatigue, a wave of relief washes over you. For the first time in a long while, you're surrounded by people who genuinely want to help. You close your eyes, letting yourself sink into the softness of the bed. "Thank you," you whisper, the words feeling strangely comforting. For once, you don’t feel the need to be constantly on guard.

Wade's grin widens as he leans back in his chair, stretching his legs out and adjusting his mask. "Anytime, honeybuns. Anytime."

As you drift in and out of consciousness, you feel the cool, soothing touch of a wet cloth on your forehead. The gentle pressure is a welcome contrast to the persistent throbbing pain.

The sound of soft murmurs and quiet footsteps fills the room, creating a cocoon of calm around you. At some point, you notice Colossus's massive hands, surprisingly gentle, as he carefully tends to your wounds, applying bandages with precision.

Eventually, a teenager with short hair and a no-nonsense expression enters the room. You learn her name is Negasonic Teenage Warhead. She carries a phone in one hand, handing Colossus a stack of clean bandages with the other. The faint scent of antiseptic and medicinal herbs fills the air, mixing with the crispness of the freshly laundered bed linens.

Hours pass, or maybe it's days—it's difficult to gauge. When you next wake, the room is dimly lit, the golden light replaced by the softer hues of early evening. The pain has dulled to a manageable throb, and the heaviness in your limbs is slightly alleviated. Wade is still there, his previous outfit swapped for sweatpants and a dark green sweater, though he keeps his red and black mask on. He lounges in the chair beside your bed, now engrossed in an iPad, giggling softly to himself.

"Oh, man. Instagram reels are crazy," he snorts, shaking his head as he scrolls through the screen.

He looks up and hums when he sees you're awake again. "You're tougher than you look," he comments, turning off the iPad with a flick of his wrist. "Most people would have keeled over by now."

"You wish."

"Oh, trust me, I do." Wade nods vigorously, his mask bobbing with the motion. "I tried injecting poison into your IV, but your body rejected it."

"Don't worry. My handler will kill me for you."

Wade groans, dramatically rolling his eyes as he gets up from the chair. "You’re still worried about that? I already told you, the truck and all that shit is past plot. We’re in the sequel now, babe. There are new rules. Who knows, maybe this is your redemption arc where you join the X-Men. Though, I will miss your assassin era. You were so sexy in that suit."

You make a face, "Fuck off."

Just then, the door opens with a soft creak, and Colossus enters with a tray in hand. He’s followed closely by Negasonic, who carries a stack of fresh bandages. Colossus places the tray on a small table beside your bed with practiced ease. The tray is filled with a bowl of steaming soup and a couple of slices of crusty bread, the aroma wafting up and making your stomach rumble.

"How are you feeling?" Colossus asks, his voice calm and reassuring as he sets the tray down.

"Better," you admit, managing a small smile. "Thanks to you guys."

Negasonic shrugs nonchalantly, a small smile tugging at her lips despite her usual scowl. "Don’t mention it. Just doing our job."

Wade groans, clearly troubled by the kindness. "Oh great, now you’re all buddy-buddy. What am I, chopped liver?"

Colossus chuckles, the sound of a comforting rumble. "You must eat something. It will help you regain your strength."

You nod gratefully, and with Colossus’s help, you manage to sit up enough to sip the warm, comforting soup. The broth is rich and flavorful, and the bread is soft and fresh. As you eat, you can’t help but feel a strange sense of belonging. Despite the pain and the chaos, you’re surrounded by people who care, and for now, that’s enough.

Wade, not one to be left out, scoots his chair closer, setting it right next to your bed. He stretches out, propping his elbows on his knees as he leans in. "So, what do you think of the X-Mansion? Pretty swanky, right? Lots of rooms, big kitchen, danger room for training... and other things."

Negasonic scoffs, her eyes narrowing. "Gross."

You finish your meal, feeling a bit stronger. As Colossus helps you settle back into the bed, you glance at Wade. "Why did you bring me here?"

Wade’s expression shifts, becoming uncharacteristically serious. He looks at you with sincerity. "Because you’re one of us. And because... well, everyone deserves a second chance."

You blink, surprised by the depth of his words. Before you can respond, he’s back to his usual self, grinning and turning on his iPad. "Plus, it’s not every day I get to play hero. I gotta milk it for all it’s worth. And no, Colossus, I will not join your boy band, thank you very much."

The metal man grunts, waving a hand dismissively before walking out, Negasonic following right behind him. Wade stays seated next to you, his lips curled into a wide, amused grin that seems to stretch just a bit too far was he watches you.

"You're never gonna take that off?" you ask him.

Wade's laughter is a low, rumbling sound that feels almost too bright for the quiet room. "Oh, no fucking way," he says, his voice dripping with mock seriousness. "I wasn’t kidding when I said I’m ugly under this. Trust me. You’d be repulsed. Like, horror movie-level repulsed."

You give him a look, your eyebrow arched in disbelief. "I doubt it."

Wade leans in closer, the grin on his face widening. He taps his chin thoughtfully with a gloved finger, the gesture oddly contemplative. "Maybe next time I’ll take it off for you," he says, a taunting tone in his voice as he raises his brows. "Maybe that and a little more."

"There's a next time?"

"I mean, as the famous words of Natasha Bedingfield say: the rest is still underwritten."

"God, you’re fucking ridiculous," you mutter, the words coming out with a mix of exasperation and reluctant amusement. "I can’t wait to get out of here and never see you again."

Wade's shoulders slump, the white eyes of his mask narrow at you, "What, that's it? No steamy sex? No heavy petting? Is this how it ends? Not even a kiss?"

"Fuck no. Get out."

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[thebettybook]

I, Roronoa Zoro, have a crush

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Characters: OPLA (One Piece Live Action) Roronoa Zoro x Straw-Hat-Crew-Member!gn!reader

Summary: Fluff headcanons of OPLA Zoro developing a crush on you + mini fluff scenarios

Warnings: Some OPLA spoilers ahead! Other than that, all fluff

Strawbetty’s notes: Dipping my toes into the One Piece fandom to say hello and give you my contribution to OPLA Zoro content :). Mackenyu as Zoro is fiiiiine. I finished the live action and I NEED MORE :’0. Currently watching the anime rn

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💚 Zoro didn’t like you at first when Luffy recruited you to be a part of the Straw Hats.

💚 Like how Zoro felt when he first met Luffy, Zoro found you overly optimistic and chatty—the complete opposite of himself.

💚 Zoro’s also someone who, despite being really perceptive, has a bad habit of making snap judgments against people he doesn’t know well and prefers to keep them at a distance, and he made the poor assumption that you probably never went through anything difficult in life since you seemed so happy all the time.

💚 Thus, he didn’t really go out of his way to talk to you or get to know you at first, unlike the rest of the crew, but you also didn’t mind too much. You’d greet him with a “good morning” every morning, but he’d only give you a nod.

💚 “Don’t mind him, he’s like that with all new crew members,” Nami reassured you.

💚 It wasn’t until a few days later when the entire crew was having dinner on deck under the stars—and you opened up about your life (the losses and hardships you’ve experienced despite being just a young adult)—that made Zoro change his mind about you.

💚 He surprised himself when he volunteered to help you wash the dishes after dinner, and surprised himself even more when he muttered, “Sorry.”

💚 “For what?” You raised a brow, water dripping from your fingers as you reached for a hand towel to dry your hands.

💚 “For not being so…friendly when you first joined,” Zoro’s eyes flickered up from the plates to your face.

💚 He couldn’t help but be taken aback when you gave him a smile—a smile so bright and kind it almost took his breath away. Sure, you smiled a lot at everyone, but this was the first time your smile was directed at just him up close.

💚 “It’s alright,” you chuckled, taking a plate he handed to you and placing it onto the drying rack. “I’m used to people assuming things about me.”

💚 “How do you do it?” Zoro crossed his arms, though his relaxed stance conveyed his sincere curiosity. “Smile all the time?”

💚 “Because smiling makes me happy,” you didn’t miss a beat. “And if I can do that for myself and my smile ends up making someone else happy, that’s good enough for me.”

💚 A half-smile quirked on Zoro’s lips at your words. You were a good person, and he was sorry he didn’t see that sooner.

💚 “See, you’re smiling now,” you teased, your smile growing.

💚 “Nope,” Zoro turned his attention to the utensils he had to wash, but his smile didn’t falter one bit.

💚 After that day, a friendship blossomed between you two. Some nights you’d find Zoro sharpening his blades, other nights he’d find you on deck gazing up at the stars while the others were asleep. Whatever the reasons that kept the two of you awake at night, they helped bring you two closer together.

💚 You and Zoro began your late night talks by sharing stories with each other about your childhoods and the people who helped shape your lives for the better. The two of you would even exchange banter and develop inside jokes.

💚 Zoro grew to feel safe in confiding with you about his innermost thoughts and feelings, and he made you feel safe in doing the same as well.

💚 As the months went by, Zoro would look forward to every opportunity he had to talk with you, whether that be during the day with the rest of the crew or at night with just the two of you.

💚 He had no doubt by now that he could call you someone he deeply cared for, especially when his heart would try to jump out of his chest whenever your hand accidentally brushed against his or when his heart squeezed like a towel being rung dry any time you got hurt during battle.

💚 But as someone who’s never thought about romance or had any experience with romantic relationships, Zoro didn’t really consider the possibility that he was falling for you.

💚 It didn’t take long for some of the crew members to see and realize that Zoro cared for you in a special way, though, especially as Zoro’s romantic feelings for you became more and more evident to the others through his actions.

💚 For example, Zoro would tell Sanji not once, not twice, but thrice that you didn’t like a specific ingredient in your meals because of allergies or whatnot, even though Sanji knew that already. One morning, Sanji caught Zoro making a horrible yet endearing attempt to make your favorite breakfast for you. With an amused smirk, Sanji offered to teach Zoro how to make your favorite breakfast (only after Zoro made Sanji swear to never tell anyone about it).

💚 Nami realized Zoro had feelings for you when she saw the way Zoro would protectively stand in front of you in the face of danger, or check on you if you sustained even a minor injury (even though everyone in the crew knew you could protect yourself). Nami didn’t bring it up since she didn’t think it was any of her business, but she’d have a small smile on her face whenever she saw Zoro perk up even just a tiny bit whenever you called his name.

💚 Usopp and Luffy didn’t really pick up on anything until Sanji let out an offhand comment in the kitchen about Zoro being “smitten” with you (luckily, you and Zoro were on deck practicing your combat skills with Nami).

💚 Of course, Sanji’s comment blew Usopp’s mind. Luffy, on the other hand, didn’t really listen and had his full attention on whatever dish Sanji was making for lunch.

💚 “Zoro’s got a cruuush,” Usopp sang that afternoon, slinging an arm around Zoro’s shoulders while Luffy came up next to them.

💚 Zoro turned his head to the side to check if you were nearby. Thankfully, you were nowhere in sight.

💚 “I don’t do crushes,” Zoro shrugged Usopp off at the same time Luffy asked, “Who’s got a crush?”

💚 “Listen, if you need love advice, I’m your guy,” Usopp insisted, trying to catch up to Zoro as he left Usopp and Luffy behind to go to his room. “I’ve had tons of relationships, trust me.”

💚 “Having barely one relationship doesn’t make you qualified to give me love advice,” Zoro replied coolly, referencing Kaya to Usopp, as he strode to his berth.

💚 “Ouch!” Usopp dramatically brought a hand to his heart. “My offer still stands though!”

💚 Zoro made his way into his room and shut the door behind him. He eased himself onto his hammock and his eyes flitted up to the wooden ceiling.

💚 The ocean waves beneath the ship were calm this afternoon, and the soft golden rays of sunlight shimmered onto his body through his room’s tiny circular window. Usually Zoro would take a nap by now, but he couldn’t help but wonder what stories you were going to share with him tonight or what corny jokes you were going to crack at dinner that would make him laugh despite himself.

💚 But most of all, he couldn’t wait to see you smile again. A smile began to stretch across his face as he pictured your smile—

💚 —“I don’t have a crush,” Zoro stated out loud defensively even though no one was there. He tried to will his lips into a straight line as he ran a hand through the cropped moss-green tufts of his hair and shut his eyes to take a nap.

💚 Instead, his eyes found themselves opening and next thing Zoro knew, he was already out the door.

💚 Zoro was thankful no one was with him at the moment, or they would’ve seen a grin on his face as he made his way to wherever you were in hopes of seeing your smile.

💚 I, Roronoa Zoro, have a crush.

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Important:

🍓 I don’t own any of the characters I mention or write about; they belong to their original and respective creators.

🍓 All content on this blog is created by me, @thebettybook (excluding posts I reblog that aren’t my own posts and unless I state otherwise). Do not modify, claim, repost, or translate my work onto this platform and any other platform.

🍓 Reblogs are appreciated :). Check out my OPLA Zoro fluff oneshot fic here Like my work? Support me on Ko-fi :D

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[satyricplotter]

keep on melting my paradigm (you're like candy)

pairing: jason todd x reader word count: a conservative 1.2k im extremely proud of thank you rating: mature warnings: suggestive language, vore-adjacent musings? reader is a little intense also. notes: i've had half of this on my drafts since that chapter of the juni ba dami story came out sjdfs it's a bit weird. title from this gay ass song.

"Do you think I'm creepy?"

Jason hums, hands flexing on the fabric of your jeans. He has an arm slung around your waist, thumb threaded through the belt hoop at your lower back. The other hand rests on the side of your thigh, and this you feel slide just a little as he ponders his answer.

"Pretty sure I wouldn't have you on my lap if I did," he says.

His eyes are closed. They have been ever since you climbed atop him, hands roaming over his face, neck, shoulders. His head thrown back against the swell of the couch's cushion, chest rising and falling in a serene cycle. You brush the tuft of white hair at his forehead back—if you can really call the motion that. It's cropped so short nowadays, there's not really much to brush back. But you relish in the feeling of it poking against the pads of your fingers, a newness to accompany a well-worn habit. You continue to scratch your nails against his scalp. Jason hums, huffs a little. You feel the vibration of his chest against yours. The afternoon stretches slow and syrupy, golden sunlight swallowing you both in and out of shadows. An uncharacteristic idyll broken by your particular neurosis.

"You might," you say. "You people are severely lacking in self-preservation."

"You people..." He repeats, quietly. Amused. Raises an eyebrow but doesn't open his eyes. "You mean the recently dead, or the murderous?"

"The running at night with a cape crowd, rather."

"I don't wear a cape," Jason points out.

"Of course you don't. You've watched The Incredibles."

"Number five on your extensive list of superhero media, if I recall correctly," he says, dryly. He opens his eyes slowly, gaze sharpening on you immediately. A milky grey, almost white—stunning. So stunning. You never tire of him. He jolts you out of your daze by literally jolting you, raising his knee abruptly so you careen further down his lap and clamp down on his shoulders with a yelp. You scoff, he laughs.

"C'mon." He squeezes your waist. "Out with it."

"I fear my fascination with the more... outlandish aspects of your appearance is disrespectful to you," you blurt out.

Immediately, you flush, avert your eyes. Jason has an incredible ability to dissect you open, sink his hands into you and rip out whatever you're trying to hide from him—all with some simple prompting. You hadn't meant to say the truth. Particularly because you know it's silly. You can see it in his face, the way he barely holds back from pulling a face you will most definitely resent. His consideration is heartwarming, considering he doesn't pull his punches on anyone else.

"You worry... about the weirdest shit," he says in the most annoying tone of wonderment. It makes you feel silly—which you are.

"I'm serious," you whine. "You have to take this seriously. What if I'm fetishizing your weird eyes and scarred body?"

"And my big tits?" He ventures.

"And your big tits," you agree.

"And my fat cock?"

"And your—you son of a bitch." You slap his arm as he guffaws. "Be! Fucking! Serious! This is a serious concern! It could be bad for your self-esteem!"

"I don't think you should be worrying about my self-esteem while hitting me. What if my arm falls off? Why don't you worry about that?"

"You're so insufferable." You roll your eyes. "You've been shot before. You can survive some light slapping. Now get with the program. Am I a creep or not?"

"Because you like me?" His eyebrows crawl up his forehead, a little sense of unease settling onto him. "Is it wrong to like me?"

"What? No, of course not!" You exclaim, frowning. "You're great."

"Sure," he snorts. You got a bone to pick with the incredulity, but now's not the time. Jason relaxes back into the couch in the meantime, the grip on your hip loosening. "Then what's the issue. You just like me. Simple as that."

"So much, Jay," you confess, too absorbed in making your point to feel embarrassed about it. "I like you so much. Too much? I feel like if I told you exactly how much, you'd be weirded out by it."

"Not really," he mutters. The hand on your waist slips up to rest at your nape, thumb pressing on a divot at the side that makes you shiver, burrow yourself closer. You drag against him, semi-hard all afternoon underneath you, which is all he wants, and exhale with shaky fortitude.

Jason cradles the back of your head, slowly opens up your neck to him. His lips are sweet as they mouth your pulse point, his breath hot and wet where he kisses. Sure and steady hands hold you in place, big and rough even through the layers of clothes. You want them on your skin, roaming your body. Wanna feel the jagged edge of every scar catch on your every groove and curve. He does this daily; this is no foreign feeling. Jason takes you on lap and holds and kisses you on the regular, and yet, though one may suppose it to be so, no tedium penetrates this daily ritual of affection. As ever, you feel alive and grateful and intoxicated.

You're wrong, Jason, you think dazedly, eyelashes sticking together with the dampness of your eyes, this can't be normal.

Every kiss from Jason is an attempt to suffocate you. His hot mouth closes in on you like a bruise, and you melt into the brute strength, because you, too are voracious. You bite at his lip, feel the sharp jab of lust stab through you at the accompanying grunt. At once you feel the heavy weight of desire and possession build up inside you. He makes you greedy, and selfish, and dangerous. You wanna punish anybody that has ever hurt him, and lock him up so nobody can see him but you, and beg on your knees so that he may never leave you, and it is all ugly and messy and undignified.

"Stop thinking," he rasps, half-pants into your mouth. You try not to whimper or follow after him when he breaks away, presses his temple against yours. He doesn't get it. You don't think he ever will. It's a loving gesture all the same. Your fingers curl on the hem of his shirt.

"I want to sink my teeth into you," you mutter against his cheek. So solid, so warm. Sticky flesh like a babe's. My love, my love, you chant.

His voice is hoarse. "Do you?"

"I think... if I could... if you let me..." You slip down to nibble at his ear, blood pounding on your own. "I'd eat you alive. Bite by bite."

Momentary silence. Bated breath. His skin under your teeth.

Jason laughs. He holds you closer. "Are you sure?" He sounds so playful. "It'd take you a while. There's a lot of me, after all," and this he punctuates by canting his hips up, grinding against you.

"Ugh," you huff, abruptly gripping onto his shoulders to steady yourself. He sure knows how to keep you off track.

Maybe that's enough. Maybe he doesn't need to understand. Maybe he just... knows. And accepts it. Your terrible, unbearable love.

You nuzzle against him, cheek to the underside of his jaw. Press a kiss to the juncture of earlobe and jaw, then think better of it and go a little harder, alternating between sucking and pressing your tongue soothingly over the spot. It's something of a slobber, but his fingers tighten on your waist appreciatively.

"I've got time."

Jason smirks. "Then let's get started."

[santanasaintmendes]

did you order pasta, miss?

part1! to the cosmic girl records 

!Cosmic Girl Records!

Summary: going to italy for the italian gp and getting pasta spilled all over you by a stranger wasn’t on your bingo card that year 

fc!: random girls on pinterest <3

olliebearman x reader & platonic!grid x reader

a/n: reader own a german shepherd dog called mickey. don’t pay attention to any of the dates, likes etc on the insta and twitter posts i got lazy. also this is my first post in this sort of category? u catch my drift? 😭 i do write but i rather try this out first anyways enjoy and please leave me feedback it’s always appreciated!

disclaimer: there are some sensitive comments and things said that may offend some people, they are just included for humour and feel free to scroll away any time

all photos go to their rightful owners and all of them are found on pinterest!

warnings: swearing, telling people to die (in a joking way), reader and the 2019 rookies have friendly banter where offensive things may be said idk if there’s any other ones but lmk if there is

word count!: 1.6k words i think? 😭😭

liked by landonorris, georgerussell64, alex_albon and 8,121,801 others 

view 7,632 comments 

unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve got 99 problems and going to italy has solved 98 of them 

tagged: bestie1 

 User1: Who’s she?

 User 2: She’s good friends with the 2019 rookies and the rest of the grid bit she’s been besties with Lando forever, she’s a couple of years younger than him though

 user7: she’s studying mechanical engineering though in NYC but she travels a lot to support the 2019 rookies

 Bestie1: um pic credits please 🙄

 unfortunatelyy/n: geez okay bossy 😤

 landonorris: i better get a post when i win in Monza 

 georgerussel64: as if, you’d be lucky to even finish the race with 4 tires still intact

 landonorris: @carmenmundt come and get your child. He’s escaped the psych ward again 

 georgerussel64: you’re just bitter I’ve got more wins than you

 landonorris: blocked, reported and my mom’s calling your mom 

 unfortunatelyy/n: stop fighting in my comments section girls 

 User3: she cooked ya’ll 

 user5: lando and y/n are so cute 

 user6: be so fr rn 

user4: love how she and the 2019 rookies are still so close 

liked by unfortunately/n

 alex_albon: you’ll be cheering for me in Monza right y/n? *sharpening knives 

 unfortunatelyy/n: WOAH 

 lilymhe: i don’t know him 

 alex_albon: HEY 

 unfortunatelyy/n: @lilymhe it’s always been you and me bae 🥰

 alex_albon: stop stealing my girlfriend

 unfortunatelyy/n: no.🫶

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, landonorris, bestie1, alex_albon and 6,795,973 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: shoutout to the 6ft brown haired boy who spilled pasta all over my new red dress, i hate you🖕

view 3,789 comments 

 landonorris: HAHA.

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hope you DNF this weekend 

 georgerussel64: you tell him y/n 

user1: NOT THE RED DRESS 

user2: curse you, brown haired boy 

 olliebearman: sorry for the dress 😔

 user3: OLLIE WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE 

 user4: this was not on my 2024 bingo card. 

 landonorris: don’t be sorry, I would’ve done the same 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i hate you both 🖕🖕

 user9: she's so petty I love her 😍

 user5: ollie being the boy who spilled pasta on y/n is wild 

 User6: fr like what in the multiverse is this 😭

 lilymhe: come to me and i’ll buy you as many dresses as you like 😍

 unfortunatelyy/n: omw honey 🤭

 alex_albon: I- 

 georgerussel64: you just gotta let it happen mate.

iked by landonorris, olliebearman, georgerussel64, alex_albon, oscarpiastri and 9,379,543 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: okay, what are thinking for this weekend, ya’ll?

view 8,832 comments 

 user1: not ollie in the likes

 User2: he’s down bad, maybe the pasta spill wasn’t on accident 

 user3: i mean do u blame him, i would trip over if i saw her too 

 alex_albon: “ya’ll” you’ve been spending way too much time with logan 

 unfortunatelyy/n: god bless america‼️ 🇺🇸🦅🗣️

 Landonorris: TRAITOR, IS THAT AN OSCAR CAP I SEE 🫵

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’ve always been an oscar girlie at heart

 oscarpiastri: as it should be 👍

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: i see how it is. betrayed by my two best friends, the world’s full of fake people isn’t it.

 unfortunatelyy/n: oh please stop being so dramatic, don’t pretend u only use me for my fame

 landonorris: GASP. how could you say such a thing 

 georgerussell64: pretty sure 90% of your followers follow you because of her 

 landonorris: wow. low blow mate. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: where’s the lie tho? 🤔

 landonorris: alexa, play traitor by olivia rodrigo 

user7: here for the love-hate relationship between y/n and the 2019 rookies 

 lewishamilton: roscoe says you should go for mercedes in monza  

 unfortunatelyy/n: Mercedes it is! 

 landonorris: never in my 24 years of living on earth have i ever felt so betrayed. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: roscoe’s wishes are my commands 🤷‍♀️

 georgerussel64: amen sister 🙌🗣️

 unfortunatelyy/n: get out of my comment section Russell

user4: the williams t-shirt goes hard tho 

user5: oh to be y/n *sigh 

 olliebearman: how about ferrari? 

 unfortunatelyy/n: hmm, we’ll see, pasta boy

 user9: THE GASP I GUSP

 user10: not her calling him pasta boy 😭

liked by landonorris, oscarpiastri, lilymhe, carmenmmundt and 5,773,878 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: congratulations, ig 😒

tagged landonorris 

view 13,638 comments 

 landonorris: really? you had to use those photos? 

 unfortunatelyy/n: why? What’s wrong with them? I think you look very macho, especially in the first and third pic. 

 landonorris: i think i just lost a piece of my manhood. 

user6: the three reasons i love y/n: number 1: because she’s hot and sexy, number 2. I wish I was her, number 3. Because of the lando content she gives us 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

user4: THE THIRD PIC IM DYING 

user5: always leave it to y/n to humble lando after a win 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 user9: GUYS. Y/N WAS WEARING A FERRARI JACKET IN THE PADDOCK TODAY 

 user3: WHAT

 user9: and so it begins. 

 user13: I CALLED IT.

 user17: excusez moi? 

 user32: I SCREAMED. 

 lewishamilton: i told roscoe you wore a ferrari jacket today. let’s just say that he doesn't want to be seeing  you in the foreseeable future

 unfortunatelyy/n: WAIT NOOO

 user12: not lewis exposing her 😭

 unfortunatelyy/n: ROSCOE PLEASE FORGIVE ME 

 lewishamilton: he says you can only make it up with a playdate with mickey 

 unfortunatelyy/n: omw with mickey 🏃‍♀️‍➡️

liked by lewishamilton, landonorris, charles_leclerc, alexandrasaintmleux, olliebearman and 9,736,389 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: my babies 🥰 dog playdate soon anyone?

tagged lewishamilton 

view 8,382 comments 

 charles_leclerc: leo says you have officially been demoted to 2nd favourite aunt 

 unfortunately/n: WAIT NO WHO’S FIRST

 pierregasly: bitch it’s me.

 unfortunatelyy/n: @francisca.cgomes come and get your boyfriend he’s bullying me 

 charles_leclerc: it’s actually @lilymhe

 unfortunatelyy/n: TRAITORS.

 user1: anyone else been here since Mickey was a puppy?

 user2: ikr he’s so big now its making me cry 😭

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 lewishamilton: @pierregasly @charles_leclerc @unfortunatelyy/n @olliebearman @carlossainz55 dog playdate next week?

 landonorris: can i come too

 unfortunatelyy/n: no dog no invite 

 landonorris: @oscarpiastri can we buy a dog

 oscarpiastri: what. 

 user3: i have a feeling that we should get used to seeing ollie in the likes more often now

 user4: homeboy’s whipped fr 

 user5: if only he had the confidence to ask her out 😔

 user10: GUYS RELAX THEY’RE JUST FRIENDS 

user9: mickey’s the real f1 star fr 

 olliebearman: @unfortunatelyy/n how about instead of a dog playdate, i take you out on a real date? 

 user6: MY BOY’S FINALLY SHOOTING HIS SHOT 

 user7: GO GO GO GO GO 

 unfortunatelyy/n: will there be any pasta involved? 🤨

 olliebearman: no promises 

 unfortunatelyy/n: hmmm. . . text me. 

 landonorris: nO

user8: LETS FREAKING GOOO 

user11: THIS IS NOT A DRILL I REPEAT THIS IS NOT A DRILL

user9: my life is complete, i can finally die in peace 

user10: i’m sorry i doubted yall 😔

liked by lilymhe, carmenmmundt, alexandrasaintmleux, iamrebeccad and 6,429,765 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: what do we think guys? and don’t worry, there was no pasta involved 

tagged olliebearman

view 11,382 comments 

user11: phew, no pasta, really dodged a bullet there 👍

 landonorris: WOAH WOAH WOAH HANG ON A MINUTE 

 unfortunatelyy/n: what do you want, mom? 

 landonorris: GASP. Is that grammar I see? what has he done to you 😨

 unfortunatelyy/n: seriously? 

 landonorris: @georgerussel64 and @alex_albon back me up here 

 georgerussell64: unfortunately he’s right, no boyfriends on our watch 

 unfortunatelyy/n: then look away. 

 georgerussell64: @landonorris . . .  she got us there.

 landonorris: @alex_albon?

 alex_albon: lily is forcing me to stay out of it 😔 

 unfortunatelyy/n: HA. EVERYONE LAUGH 🤣

 charles_leclerc: 🤣

 lewishamilton: 🤣

 maxverstappen1: 🤣

 carlossainz55: 🤣

 danielricciardo: 🤣

 landonorris: wow. 

 user5: all the boys being so bitter and not liking the post 😭

 user9: but them still jumping in to bully lando any chance they get 

 olliebearman: did you seriously just ask your 8 million followers what they think about me 😰

 unfortunatelyy/n: it’s actually 9 million but . . .yes 😅

user3: everyone out here wishing they had older brothers just like the grid to be protective over them 😔

liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

liked by olliebearman, lilymhe, bestie1, alexandrasaintmleux, francisca.cgomes and 2,938,282 others 

unfortunatelyy/n: italy you will be missed, where to next?

tagged olliebearman

 olliebearman: pic creds please 🙄

 unfortunatelyy/n: okay okay calm down pal 🥱

 user1: pal 😭 i can’t 

user7: “how to be as beautiful as y/n no borax no glue” 

 user2: IS THAT THE DATE OLLIE TOOK HER ON 

 user3: screaming, crying, throwing up 

 user4: i can’t decide whether i want to be ollie or y/n 

 liked by unfortunatelyy/n 

 bestie1: you’ve forgotten about me already i see. I HATE YOU, YOU’RE THE WORST.

 unfortunatelyy/n: I’M LITERALLY OUT BUYING CHEETOS FOR U GIRL 

user6: HELP THEIR FRIENDSHIP IS HILARIOUS 

liked by unfortunatelyy/n

 landonorris: hmmm, i think i dislike the first pic

 unfortunately/n: so petty geez 🙄

 landonorris: we’re literally the same person 

 unfortunately/n: die ❤️

alexandrasaintmleux: gorgeous 😍 loved seeing you in Monza! 

 unfortunatelyy/n: marry me 🥰

 charles_leclerc: 🤨 

 olliebearman: 🤨

 unfortunatelyy/n: SO JUDGY GEEZ 

 alexandrasaintmleux: they’ll never accept us 😔

 unfortunatelyy/n: killing them is always an option 😌 🔪

 charles_leclerc: that’s murder. 

 unfortunatelyy/n: i’m aware 😒 

user5: HELP SHE’S GONE CRAZY

a/n: thank you for reading if you finished it! have a lovely day xxx

[meyousing]

𝐋𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭, 𝐀 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐝

𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: you’re used to light being distant, so when he decides to lay the affection on heavy and proposes a new idea to you at the same time, you’re helplessly intrigued. 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: nsfw, yandere light yagami x reader, idk if this matters to say right off the bat but you’re wearing a skirt :] also mentions of death like always lol but none fr! alsoalso this idea has probably been done to death by now but to be fair I started this A YEAR AGO!! pls enjoy despite that lol ily <3

“What is it?” his eyes sharpened as they narrowed at you from across the room, voice laced with blatant boredom. That was what you told yourself anyway, truly hoping that it was boredom and not annoyance because the look he always gave you at times like this made you cave in on yourself, instantly regretting whatever you had done to be such a bother. All that you were doing now was laying idly on his bed, legs swinging out of habit as you were on your stomach and flipping through a magazine that he had given as a pacifier. Maybe he knew that you were actually keeping your eyes on him this entire time, rather than the sheets before you.

“What do you mean?” playing dumb never worked with Light, but you would always do it anyway. It could provide a delay of the inevitable if nothing else. 

You heard the tap of his pen as he dropped it on his desk, followed by the soft thud of his notebook closing before he stood from his chair. A regular notebook, you noticed, thankfully.

“Trying to outsmart me again?”

Right, his interpretation of your playing dumb was much less simple than what you intended to get across. Of course, he knew that you knew better, so your deception was instead seen as defiance; a flaunt of superiority. 

“Of course not,” you shut your magazine, sliding it to the side of the bed and cringing when it slid off of the bed, crumpling up in an ironically tense pile on the floor. Surely Light wasn’t too attached to it, as he merely spared it a passing glance before casting his eyes upon you once more. Then he began to approach, making you swallow a newfound lump in your throat as you scampered back to sit up on your haunches. 

“Then what is it?” he leaned over you, his hands resting at your sides with your faces inches apart. His breath was slow through his nose, soft and cold as each exhale blew onto the tip of your nose. 

How to tell him that the stupid magazine didn’t pacify you at all, that only his attention could soothe you? And how embarrassing it could get if you admitted to the exact type of attention that you needed. 

He began leaning closer as your mind raced, thinking of a different possible answer, but then it went entirely blank as he was close enough to brush his lips over yours. Tantalizingly, the gentlest nudge and he only did it once before pulling back slightly, you could have missed it had your brain continued thinking so hard. The sensation nearly made you crumble, a chill shooting down your spine as you inhaled and resisted the urge to wet your now trembling lips, focusing on maintaining your posture. He knew how to break you, you didn’t want him to see it happen this soon.

“Nothing” was all you could say without simply blabbering out every dirty thought plaguing your mind.

“You never stare at me like that for nothing,” he said pointedly, even adding a cheeky but very slight tilt of his head. Had your stare really been so obvious? You truly did try to be subtle. Either way, you found it humorous how he could go from cold with seemingly deadened emotions to a teaser within minutes. Finding it humorous helped you cope with how scary you knew he could be. 

With the lightest shove to his chest you could muster alongside a bashful turn of your head, you tried creating some space between yourselves to alleviate the fast beating of your heart.

“Really, it’s nothing. I didn’t mean to distract you from your work…” Your hand lingered on his chest after the little push, kneading the material of his shirt idly as you hoped this excuse would suffice. This mannerism alone proved the opposite of your hopes to him. 

When the full press of his lips fell upon yours in a genuine kiss this time, you knew that you had failed. Even more so when you subconsciously deepened it with a lean closer, making your grip on his shirt firmer to keep him from moving away. Though it seemed he had no intention of doing so, instead easing you down to lay your back against his mattress, crawling over you as soon as you were horizontal. 

This kiss, unlike all of his others which would be quick and half-assed–your lips barely meeting before he was already turning his head away to tend to some other matter–was compassionate. One of his hands found the side of your face and he caressed your cheekbone with his thumb, his other fingers which became entangled in your hair from the placement were massaging your scalp soothingly. The sensation lulled you and had you sinking even deeper into his bed while pulling him along with you, your fingertips meeting at the back of his neck and fiddling with the ends of his hair. While this kiss was unusual, it was not unwelcome. 

You didn’t know that there would be a catch to this sudden affection.

You could feel Light smirking against you, his entire aura darkening once he did, so much that you could feel it–and your reaction to such a peculiarity was communicated with a tensing of your shoulders. Upon sensing this, Light was quick to groan and prod his tongue against your bottom lip, which surprised you further and allowed him to invade your mouth. The intimate sound he let out and the way he just seemed so infatuated with you right now had your heart racing. 

This moment ended almost as quickly as it started though, he pulled away from you and nudged his nose against yours. You tried not to show your disappointment, but you knew that it must have been obvious when a frown graced your lips. 

“I want to try something.”

This could go in any direction. He was always so unpredictable, mood changing on a dime whether it was for better or worse. 

“What’s that?” you asked with a small voice, indicative of your anxiety about the unknown. You were already playing right into his hands.

“I want to reward you for being so obedient.”

A reward? Who is this and what has he done with your Light?!

His hand on your cheek rubbed it once more before he lifted himself off of you, steadying himself with hands on your waist as he did. You remained in your place, only watching with your eyes as he leaned over to reach into his desk and a drawer.

The drawer.

You turned your head with a gulp as you watched him retrieve his arm, now holding the dreaded notebook that you had tried to shield yourself from, trying to stay ignorant for the sake of keeping your relationship peaceful with the man you couldn’t help but love. 

“So long as your obedience remains the same, you’ll be rewarded. We’re going to test it right now.” 

He placed the book by your hand which had fallen to your side once he moved, putting his pen between your loose fingers and adjusting it until it stayed still there without tipping over. Your limbs had frozen, so it was no tough feat for him. You were shocked even further when Light’s expression altered somewhat once he actually took notice of how tense you were. Last you could remember, he couldn’t care less when your discomfort was so obvious. 

“It really is going to be rewarding for you. Don’t you trust me?”

He always had to ask you that. How much more obvious could you be about your unequivocal devotion to him, your infinite trust? You’d been by his side all this time, yet he would still ask, nearly daily, most commonly before asking you to do something that you didn’t want to do. As if anyone else would remain with him when finding out his secret, and he still doubted you.

“You know I do.” You murmured, fingers twitching around the cold pen in your grasp. 

“Then at least hear me out” he chuckled dryly, not with any sense of legitimate humour. You tried to be subtle as you swallowed the lump in your throat, having heard such an impatient laugh come from him countless times before.

“This won’t be going away any time soon,” he patted the notebook, “and I can tell that you won’t be either. I mean, as long as you keep following along with me, here.” He glimpsed at you differently then, as if his eyes were asking you to challenge that statement.

You only nodded. Light grinned.

“Good.”

His fingers moved to peel open the book, and you glanced away from it as he skimmed past so many pages that were filled from margin to margin with names. The crisp sounds of paper brushing together stopped once he found a blank one.  

Your eyes stayed on him, and you could feel some burning bile churn and slosh around in your gut as a little smirk pulled at his lips. His eyes darkened when they met yours.

His free hand, which was out of your line of sight, traced the waistband of your skirt. You flinched slightly in surprise, and Light’s smirk widened as he leaned closer to you.

“Write your name.”

Despite being unmoving already, you froze even further, stiffening like a stone and watching him desperately, trying to detect any hint of jesting in his demand. But the wickedness surrounding Light was unrelenting; he meant what he said. 

“What?” you asked quietly, needing to hear it again to really believe that he meant it.

“Start writing your name. Trust me, won’t you?” 

“I-I do–”

“I know. So do it.” Light’s tone was more firm now. 

You could only hold your breath when your eyes flitted over to your hand, your fingers readjusting the pen as you tried to point it toward the paper. The book itself felt alive, you could sense its unreal gaze–like it was taunting you, mocking and laughing at you, tempting you to write, and calling you a coward if you dared to show any hesitation because it shouldn’t be that hard. 

Having been with Light for so long now, you fully understood the notebook’s functionality. Knowing that, would it really be so crazy if you were being a coward about this? 

“Any time now, love” Light’s voice became impatient, and when you looked up at him, his kneeling posture was equivalent to being on the edge of his seat. He looked like he could implode had you made it this far and chose to back out now, he was so eager. You’d hate to disappoint him, even if his little pet name for you was clearly insincere.

Your body went cold and numb once you pushed the tip of the pen against the page, watching the smallest droplet of dark ink soak into the lines. Your hand remained stagnant following this, and you spared a short glance up at Light, noting how his eyes were stuck on the pen. You took in a breath, holding it and letting your lungs fill so you’d become a little lightheaded–a little less aware of this horrible reality–before moving further with utmost reluctance to drag the tool, lining the shape of the first letter in your name.

You could hear Light exhaling as you finally did. You couldn’t let out that breath of your own just yet. Maybe your cause of death would be suffocation, then.

Your focus was ripped away from the note in an instant once you felt a cold fingertip trace over your clit from above your panties, making your body jolt as you met eyes with Light. He wasn’t looking at you yet, only doing so once you stopped writing. 

“Go on. I’m staying true to my word.” To emphasize this, he pressed down against your clit again, his push firm but gentle–leaving you on the cusp of craving more as the sensation gave you chills, yet also sent heat through your lower half. 

So pathetically, that small second of pleasure was enough to incentivize a continuation, and you managed to finish printing that very first letter. 

“Good…”

He resumed what he had been doing, gently circling your bud and using the advantage of that added layer from your panties to optimize the friction; encouraging you. You could feel the way that you were starting to get wet, soaking the material and only making such movements smoother for Light. 

You paused as the feeling grew slightly more intense, coping, and your pause made Light do the same. You two were playing a little game, it seemed, and you obviously didn’t want it to stop–you had to keep going. You had wanted him minutes before this, after all, and you were finally getting what you craved.

Letter two manifested; your grip on the writing utensil weakened as he pulled your panties aside to touch your skin directly. 

You shuddered from the sudden cool air that brushed along your exposed skin, and he dragged some of your slick up from your pussy, using it to make rubbing into your clit that much easier, that much more pleasurable. Your limbs shuddered and you had to breathe out a more vocal huff of air in exasperation, your lungs aching while your muscles tensed in delight from Light’s direct tending to such newfound sensitivity. 

You remained paused with your eyes shut firmly as you became accustomed to the bliss that he inflicted. Light, seeming to understand exactly what he was doing to you, was a bit more forgiving now–continuing his ministrations even when you stopped, but not changing his pace or furthering the intensity enough for those feelings to grow, to bring you closer to any type of climax. It still made you moan though; still made your heart skip a beat and made your walls tighten around nothing. 

Perhaps you had been successfully swindled into playing with fire because now your mind understood a simple formula; if you wanted more, you had to keep writing. Would he let you come if you wrote your entire name down?

Would you even feel the aftershocks of your release before you died?

The prospect of death hit your lust-fogged mind like a truck, and your eyes shot open–that slowly building knot in your abdomen became a tightrope clenching out of fear rather than anticipation. This was a death note, and you were already on track to penning yourself down within it. 

Light could sense your change in stature and returned his gaze to your face once again. His hand slowed, but it was as if he could detect your worry and didn’t want to let you succumb to it–he wanted to keep you within the cusp of pleasure, to keep you malleable and submissive to his desires, not whatever lies your mind was telling you. So he kept touching you.

“You know that you can’t stop now that you’ve started, right?” He looked cocky, like he had you right where he wanted you. And it seemed that he did, because now with such confusion and so many conflicting feelings plaguing you, you weren’t sure about that–could you back out now? Was the damage already done now that your first name was almost down entirely?

Your drying lips parted as if to ask, but you couldn’t find your voice. Light let out a short, dry laugh and nodded his head, his face inches away from yours, like he fucking knew.

“Mhm. You have to keep going, now. You’d better hurry, too. You know that there’s a time limit… don’t you?”

Your lungs were burning and your hips squirmed as he traced his fingers around your core, swirling them within your copious wetness and gently prodding his fingers, hardly getting inside of you, yet you still writhed from the sensitivity of such a precise, close touch. 

You shook your head deliriously in delayed response to his words and all Light did was nod his own head toward the book again. Suddenly you were reminded of the pen in your grasp which had now absorbed the growing heat from your palm; hot to the touch. 

Noting that apparent time limit, you felt your heart thrumming as it raced and you started writing again. The pace of your fingers scraping the pen back and forth was a little quicker than before, yet you couldn’t shake that lingering hesitance even while knowing that you really should have been rushing. Light hummed as he watched, nonchalantly pushing a finger inside of you as you progressed, which made a whiny sound catch in your throat, and made your back lift slightly off the bed. 

Your arm trembled and your chicken scratch ceased again, but Light knew that he had you, because you hurried to carry on with haste once more, and he didn’t bother to stop stroking inside of you anymore. He even slid in another finger following the last time he pulled out, the added thickness made your thighs attempt to close from the new nerve-tingling pleasure that it gave, even despite the way that his body between your legs kept you nice and open for him. 

“Please,” you bartered, voice muffled and representative of the state you were in; wholly weak. He grinned and kept going, his body solid in its place on top of you, forcing you to take it even as his skilled fingers overwhelmed you so deliciously. You wanted the end result now–you wanted to come, to feel that sweet release by his hand. 

Light initiated this entire thing, he set his rules, and you knew that finishing wouldn’t happen just like that, because it wasn’t what he wanted. 

“Please what, Y/N? You already know what you have to do. Don’t play stupid.” 

The little jab at the end hurt only a little bit, making your stomach drop, making you feel as stupid as he said–but his fingertips rubbed along and pressed into your sweet spot which made you whimper, and that feeling was all you could focus on now; remedying the sting of the insult with the soothing cradle of his fingers. Oh, how successfully he was able to distract you and change the path of your thoughts once again. You could hardly bring yourself to care about such blatant manipulation, because release was getting closer and closer, and that was all you wanted.

You couldn’t even tell if the pen was pressing into the paper hard enough to leave any writing behind at all; your hand was hardly moving because your eyes remained shut in elation, and you chose to squeeze the pen in your fist as you coped with his touch, but Light just seemed content with the fact that you were resuming any transfer of penmanship at all. He was certainly rewarding you as he promised, keeping his fingers inside of you until his knuckles pushed into the plush of your pussy lips, and they rocked into you so good that you could almost feel that hard pressure in your stomach. 

It was starting to become too much–you knew how close you were getting, but you didn’t know if that’s what Light wanted. He liked to be in control of most things in his life, and you were at the very top of that list. 

“I-I can’t, I’m gonna–” 

A gasp-like mewl left you once you felt a hot, wet stroke against your clit at the same time that Light pushed rather hard against your g-spot, holding his fingers there and making you squirm. Your eyes shot open and you craned your neck off of the mattress to look down, watching as his lips closed around your clit and sucked it into his mouth, rolling his tongue over it and keeping his eyes on yours the entire time. Your entire body shuddered, it was so intense that you had to try and pull away, but he wasn’t having it, using his free hand to pin your hip down and keep you still.

“Light,” you whined, a warning to him that he was pleasing you too well too quickly, you were about to come and you were hardly finished with writing down your first name. 

His eye contact only became bolder, he didn’t relent, if anything he was trying to get more out of you; intent on making you come now. He hadn’t instructed you otherwise, so you felt safe enough to finally give in–with a weak, raspy whimper you felt yourself release that buildup of desire, your vision turning into static behind closed lids as your body writhed and churned even while he kept you down, putting himself against you with more force. Your hips rocked into his mouth to ride out every last remnant of your orgasm until you felt no more, the only sound that you could hear was your own heavy breathing and Light’s last few caresses against your audibly sopping wet pussy.

 Light moved off of you slowly, and you noted that his eyes were trained on the book rather than your body that now glistened with a light sheen of sweat. Before you could say anything to him (but even then, what could you say?), his eyes scanned over the page and your writing while he nonchalantly wiped your release off of his fingers, onto the material of your skirt. 

You followed his line of sight and looked over your work, seeing how scribbled and disastrous it was. You had probably produced better writing back in kindergarten. 

Now that your heat had finally been tended to, however; your arousal sated, you blinked a few times, then realized exactly what you were looking at: part of your name, written in the death note. 

What about the time limit? Was your first name enough to make it work either way? Your heart began to race and so did your breathing–were these the side effects of the incoming, inevitable heart attack?!

I suppose the cause wasn’t suffocation after all, a fleeting voice said so sarcastically in the back of your head, making you grimace. You propped yourself up on your elbows in a panic and your eyes flew back to Light, who was still skimming over the page with a look of maintained scrutiny. He was so… calm. Were you not about to die? Did he not care?

“That’s a good start,” he murmured, reaching out to trace his index finger (the one that wasn’t just buried in you to the hilt) along the shaky lines that hardly resembled any of the alphabet. 

“Wha–” You could only heave the word out since it felt like your heart was beating in your throat, though your body gradually relaxed as Light seemed completely neutral to the situation. The longer that he did nothing, the more time passed, and you realized that… you were still here.

When silence fell completely between both of you, Light looked over with such casualty that you felt like none of what just happened even did. 

“If we can get to your last name next time, too, maybe I’ll actually fuck you.” He slid off the bed as he spoke, his tone so normal as if he was just talking to you about the weather, making your jaw drop. He grabbed the book and closed it, walking over to the drawer and taking his sweet time ensuring that it was properly put away. 

All you could do was lay there in silent disbelief, watching him with wide eyes while he acted like nothing even happened.

“I’m fine, then?” you asked, your voice firmer and a little louder than normal, more demanding for direct answers. Light glanced over at you and laughed coldly, standing up straight once the drawer was closed once again, his hands on his hips lazily.

“I like that you’re a little dumb, Y/N. It makes things like this more exciting, don’t you think?” 

Before you could respond verbally–only able to scoff for now–Light turned to leave the room, murmuring a nearly inaudible “I’ll get some water” before the door closed behind him. His muffled footsteps became more distant as he descended downstairs, isolating you to the top floor.

Helplessly flumping back against the bed, you stared at the ceiling, reliving everything that had just happened in a mental state that you imagined neurosis to feel like. Although, you didn’t have to worry for long… you would get used to it. You understood that this was not going to be the first time something like this would happen, Light was truly only getting started with you. 

© meyousing 2023. do not share/export my work on to any other platforms. do not translate my work. 

[yunnimilk]

could u do a fyodor with sub, gn reader with dumbification, overstim, biting and choking too with a red and white theme? (( something non canon, like him being a secret vampire priest or something of the like and reader is a devoted worshipper of his Church mayhaps..)) .. drabble, or full fic for me is fine eitherway!!

「 ✦ AMAB! DOMTOP! Fyodor Dostoevsky x AMAB! GN! SUBBOT! Reader

{ sorry it was a drabble, I started my second year of college so I had a lot of work to do }

DRABBLE !!

NSFW UNDER THE CUT!

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine being a membef at a church, you've decided to devote your life to god. Collecting donations and volunteering around the chapel isn’t anything new. Sometimes it was boring, but, this was the price to pay if you wanted to show your dedication to the lord , (^ε^)♪

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | The head pastor introduces a devilishly handsome man to you, asking you to tour him around the church buldings. The stranger had fairly pale skin with reflective dark hair that contrasted with it. Deep purple eyes that suck you in, you couldn't help but blush, which was embarrassingly evident on your face ! ◟꒰◍´Д‵◍꒱◞

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | His soft smiles take your breath away, your heart being pulled out of your chest. You take every opportunity to lovingly stare at his face, and you also got caught several times, but it seemed like he enjoyed your company !

ﾍ(≧▽≦ﾍ) ♪

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | he seemed off though, sometimes his skin would turn grayer and he would avoid mirrors. It's such a coincidence, vampires aren't real, you're being silly !

('A｀*)

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | But,,, one day, you found the man kneeling over, trying to hold his composure. Fyodor was sweating profusely as his fangs sharpened when you got closer to him, letting out a meekly, “f.. father ?”. He stayed still for a moment, his back was turned so you couldn’t see his expression . ( •́ㅿ•̀ )

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Suddenly, he lunges at you! You barely had time to react, instead, you felt a sharp pain in your neck and a wet sensation going down your collarbone. Your eyes found Fyodor's head, him draining all the fluid out your neck. It was really painful at first, then it turned so electrifying, sending shivers righr down your cock . (•ө•)♡

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine Fyodor licking your neck and taking off your clothes, his moist tongue on your skin and you felt yourself getting harder and harder. Your soft moans encourage him to continue . ( ¯ ρ¯ )

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Some time later and your head is buried in your pillows while Fyodor was plunging into you, sloppy and firm. Grinding inside your guts to make sure your prostate gets bullied by his cock, your body was so sore, from the bites and especially from Fyodor's relentless thrusts . o(〃＾▽＾〃)o

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Your mind was far gone, everything was getting fuzzy and your cheeks were soaked from your tears, your tight, puffy hole making a squelching sound everytime he dug his cock into you. Your body stained from your cum and your blood, what a pretty painting ! ୧(-᷅ ہ-᷄)୨

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | He reaches down your neck as you let out a melodious whimper. Fyodor loves your pretty sounds, to him, it's the same as the church choir, so he's going to make sure you sing for him some more ! •﹏•

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Your cock was so tired just trying to pump out semen, it was throbbing so badly. You begged Fyodor to have mercy on you, "P...plEASE! I- I don't.. I CAN'T.. c-c...come anymore! ~", he tugged your hair back, so you could look at him, "then release yourself for me, one last time, my dear", he went quicker to feel your walls tightening up ! ⚆_⚆

ׂ 𓈒 🍷 ／ ⋆ ۪ | Imagine your eyes rolling back as you felt euphoria coursing through your body as you stiffen up. Your hole squeezing Fyodor's dick, him grunting as his cum intrudes inside your guts ,

"I changed my mind, actually, let's go for another hour hm?"

[rod-tf]

New Gym, New Life

*This is my first story ever and english is not my first language so if there are any mistakes, I'm sorry. I hope you enjoy it!* -Rafi💚

Daniel and Alex had been together for five years, living happily in their cozy apartment in the city. Both in their late twenties, they prided themselves on staying fit and healthy.

When a new gym opened just a few blocks away, they decided to check it out. The gym, named "Sahara Fitness", had a unique and exotic vibe, with its rich gold and deep red color scheme, intricate geometric patterns, and Arabic calligraphy adorning the walls.

As they walked in, they noticed that all the staff and trainers were Arab men; tall, muscular, and radiating confidence and masculinity. They greeted Daniel and Alex with warm smiles, their deep voices resonating through the gym. Despite the clear cultural influence, the place seemed modern and well-equipped.

"Welcome to Sahara Fitness," one of the trainers, Malik, said in a thick accent. "You two look like you already know your way around a gym, but we like to offer something special to our new members. A gift to help you get the most out of your workout."

He handed them each a small, ornate container filled with a dark, powdery supplement. "This is a traditional blend, used for centuries to enhance strength and endurance. Try it out during your workout, and you'll feel the difference."

Daniel and Alex exchanged a glance. They were a bit skeptical but intrigued. They had tried all kinds of supplements before, so they figured it couldn’t hurt to try something new. Thanking Malik, they headed to the locker room to change.

Dressed in their usual gym gear, the couple mixed the supplement into their water bottles and sipped. The taste was strong, almost spicy, with a hint of something they couldn’t quite place. Shrugging it off, they began their workout routine, starting with some light cardio before moving on to weights.

As they started lifting, both noticed an unusual burst of energy coursing through their bodies. The weights felt lighter, their movements smoother. They exchanged a surprised look but continued their sets, pushing themselves harder than usual.

After a while, they noticed something even stranger. Their bodies began to feel different—stronger, more powerful. Alex glanced at his reflection in the mirror and did a double-take. His usually slim frame was starting to bulk up, and his muscles were swelling with each rep. His fair skin seemed to be taking on a slightly tanned hue, and his facial hair usually trimmed and light, was darkening and thickening.

"Dan, are you seeing this?" Alex whispered, his voice sounding deeper than usual.

Daniel, too, was undergoing a transformation. His once smooth face was shadowed with a thickening beard, his jawline sharpening. His normally light hair was darkening to a rich, deep brown, and his skin was also taking on a more olive tone.

They both felt a strange warmth spreading through them, almost like a fire igniting from within. Their minds began to feel fuzzy, thoughts of their usual life together growing distant. Instead, they were filled with an intense, almost primal desire to lift more, grow stronger, and assert their newfound masculinity.

As they continued working out, their transformations became more pronounced. Their bodies grew more muscular, their chests broadening, arms bulging with veins as their biceps swelled. The hair on their bodies thickened, and their once soft features became rugged and masculine. The changes weren't just physical; their minds were altering too.

Daniel, now with a full, dark beard and intense eyes, glanced at a group of women working out nearby. He felt an overwhelming attraction towards them, something he'd never experienced before. The thought of Alex, his partner, seemed oddly foreign, replaced by a burning desire to dominate, to conquer.

Alex, too, felt a shift. His mind, once full of love and tenderness for Daniel, was now clouded with lustful thoughts. But he wasn't thinking about Daniel; it was women with soft curves and alluring smiles. The idea of being with a man seemed almost laughable now.

They both finished their workout, breathing heavily, sweat dripping from their now muscular, tanned bodies. The gym’s atmosphere, once just a backdrop, now felt like home, where they belonged and could be their true selves.

As they headed back to the locker room, they caught sight of themselves in the mirror. Gone were Daniel and Alex, the cute, loving couple who had walked in earlier. In their place stood two Arab alpha males, their bodies sculpted and powerful, exuding raw masculinity. Their eyes were dark and intense, their gazes filled with a new hunger.

Malik appeared behind them, a knowing smile on his face. "Ah, I see the supplement has worked well. Welcome, brothers. You are now part of our tribe, our brotherhood. The old you is gone. You are reborn, stronger, and more powerful than ever."

Daniel, now calling himself Daoud, and Alex, now Ali, looked at each other and nodded. They felt no fear, no regret only acceptance and excitement. They had been transformed, not just physically but mentally. The bond they once shared as lovers was replaced with a new bond, brotherhood. And with it came a shared obsession, a desire for women that burned within them like never before.

"Bro, I can't believe how good this feels. I don't even know why we were ever together like that," Ali said, his eyes flickering with a new, primal energy.

Daoud smirked, flexing his arms, feeling the surge of power coursing through his veins. "Yeah, man. What were we thinking? This is what real life is about. We were just... confused before." He looked at the women working out nearby, his gaze filled with hunger. "Now, it's all about the chase, the thrill."

Ali nodded in agreement, his thoughts aligned with Daoud's. "Exactly, bro. Chicks, muscles, and dominating life. That's what we were meant for."

Daoud clapped on Ali's back, their bond now one of brotherhood and shared desires. "Let's go, man. Time to show the world what real men are made of."

They dressed in new clothes provided by the gym. traditional but modern arab-inspired attire that accentuated their muscular frames. As they walked out of the gym, they felt like kings, ready to conquer the world outside. Women turned to look at them, drawn to their confidence and masculinity. And as they exchanged a knowing glance, they knew that their lives had changed forever.

No longer the gentle, loving couple they once were, Daoud and Ali were now straight, Arab studs, obsessed with their newfound masculinity and the thrill of chasing after women.

[theres-a-body-here]

If requests are open, could you do killers of your choice reacting to the new guy?

Like, the Unknown managing to lure them in by mimicking a survivor's voice

I took some creative liberty for this TW: Violence, death Characters: Trapper, Knight, Blight Male!reader mentioned

The Trapper - Evan MacMillan

Evan is working on his bear-traps in his warehouse. The realm is silent, the sounds of faint cawing and the rustling of leaves echoes through the estate.

Out of nowhere, a voice calls out

"E...van?"

He stops working immediately

That was your voice, but you'd left for a trial just a while ago

There's no way you'd be back this early

Evan sighs rubbing his temples

Maybe he's been working for way too long; starting to hear things

Before he can go back to tightening bolts, he hears it again

"Evan"

He immediately stands up, so abruptly that his chair falls over

The stomps outside, confused and a bit worried

"(Y/N)?"

He hears no response

The air is still and the hairs on his body stand stiff

Suddenly, the smell of rotting flesh and wet copper

Something was wrong

Evan notices that even the crows have stopped making sounds

Slowly, he tries to head back into the building; he needed his cleaver

He turns around to look at the entrance to the warehouse, only to see it

The Unknown was hiding, waiting for him to see it

It attacks Evan before he can react

The first thing on Evan's mind, once the Entity revives him, is to find you

The Knight - Tarhos Kovács

Tarhos was sharpening his sword in the Borgo, listening to the crackle of the fire he sat by

The peace is interrupted as a bloodcurdling scream pierces through the air

It's you, or at least it sounds like you

If Tarhos had taken the time to listen, he would've noticed how off it sounded

But he was way too panicked to think

To him, you were in danger

With sword gripped tightly, he booked it to where he heard the scream

"(Y/N)! WHERE ARE YOU, MY LOVE!?"

He's absolutely distraught

"SPEAK TO ME, (Y/N)!"

every one of his questions is answered by another screech, coming from another direction

Before he knew it, Tarhos was worn out and exhausted

It seemed that was the thing The Unknown was waiting for

Before Tarhos can even think about catching his breath, The Unknown attacks him from behind, knocking him clean off his feet

A tendril of flesh stabs into Tarhos's thigh

The Knight reacts quickly, swinging his sword and slicing the appendage through with one slice

"It...hurts... No...m-more"

It spoke in your voice, as if mocking Tarhos

His heart sunk into his chest, mind flooding with questions as to why this creature knows what you sound like

The Unknown shrieks as it feels his flesh sizzle, snapping his head around to see Alejandro pressing his hot iron into it; the rest of the Compagnia manifesting alongside him

Seeing the thing distracted, Tarhos stabs the beast through the chest

The Unknown is unnerving unaffected, pulling away before crawling away on all fours

Tarhos isn't having that, reeling his arm before throwing his sword like a makeshift spear, pinning The Unknown's hand into the ground

He grits his teeth as he stomps towards the monster, screaming at it

"WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH MY (Y/N)?!"

Durkos and Sander rush forward as well to kill the creature

The Unknown uses its axe to chop its own hand off to escape

"(y/n)... my (y/n)" it repeats mockingly as it slinks away

The Blight - Talbot Grimes

Talbot was working on his serums and elixirs when he heard your voice

"Hey....co...come over.....here"

Right off the bat, he knew it wasn't you

Talbot knows you

He knows your every scream, moan, laugh, and tone

This was something attempting to mimic that

Despite knowing whatever was calling out was trying to luring him in, he was curious to see what exactly it was

He makes his way outside, albeit apprehensively; his cane and syringe ready

The voice speaks again

"Wha...what is that...?"

It seems to be repeating something its heard previously

Were you in a trial with whatever it was?

It also seems to be getting better at mimicking you

Talbot hurries his steps to find the source of the voice

Its not long before he comes face to face with The Unknown

Talbot isn't afraid, he's downright furious

Whatever this monster was, it clearly had some contact with you

Why else would it know how you sound like?

The fight isn't pretty; both sides inflicting heavy damage on the other

In the end, The Unknown screeches as it retreats from sight, slinking away into the fog after seeing that Blight wasn't easy prey

Talbot managed to stab the syringe into the thing, acquiring a blood sample

Experimentation could wait

He needed to find you

The real you

[theonottsbxtch]

TEACHER'S PET PT.2 | CL16

an: i don't even have anything to say i'm just giggling atp, also this one is really long i apologise, i got carried away

wc: 9.1k

warnings: heavy infidelity

part one

The morning sunlight filtered through the blinds, casting soft stripes of golden light across the bed. The room was quiet, save for the gentle rhythm of Logan’s breathing beside her, his arm draped comfortably around her waist, holding her close. She blinked, the last vestiges of sleep still clouding her mind, her body warm and drowsy beneath the blanket.

But as her consciousness sharpened, the remnants of a dream clung stubbornly to her—vivid, unsettling, far too real.

Professor Leclerc.

Her heart gave a startled lurch as the images resurfaced, unbidden. His hands, firm on her waist. The soft, gravelly sound of his voice whispering her name, lips brushing her ear. Her skin felt heated under his touch, the press of his body against hers too close, too intimate. She had seen his face clearly—his dark, intense eyes focused solely on her, the way his mouth curved into a knowing, devastating smile.

The dream had felt so real, too real, and her pulse raced as she lay there, her breath catching in her throat. The weight of Logan’s arm around her suddenly felt suffocating. She shifted slightly, trying to shake the dream away, to rid herself of the guilt that came rushing in like a wave, but it was no use. The images clung to her, sticky and wrong, making her feel hot with shame.

How could she have dreamed about him? Her professor? Her much older professor.

And worse—she’d liked it. In the haze of sleep, she'd been swept up in it, wanting more, her body responding in ways that horrified her now.

This is wrong, she told herself fiercely. I have Logan. I love Logan. This isn’t supposed to happen.

Her body tensed under Logan’s arm, and she swallowed hard, trying to calm the flurry of emotions threatening to consume her. She didn’t move, didn’t want to wake him, but her mind was racing, her heart pounding far too fast for such an early morning.

How could she face Logan after this? He was lying there, holding her so gently, so lovingly, completely unaware of the tangled mess of thoughts in her head. It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair to him, and it wasn’t fair to herself. The guilt gnawed at her, twisting her insides.

Just as she thought she could push the dream aside, bury it deep enough to forget it, Logan stirred beside her. His grip on her waist tightened slightly, and his sleepy voice drifted toward her, soft and familiar.

"Morning," he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. His lips brushed the back of her neck as he nuzzled closer, pulling her tighter against his chest. "You okay?"

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a split second, her stomach dropped. Could he sense something was wrong? Could he feel the way her body had gone rigid beneath his touch, how her breathing had changed?

I’m not okay, she thought, the words screaming in her mind, but her lips remained sealed.

"Yeah," she whispered, forcing a smile he couldn’t see. "I’m fine. Just... just waking up."

Her voice sounded thin, unconvincing even to herself, but Logan didn’t seem to notice. He pressed another kiss to her shoulder, a tender, affectionate gesture that sent a new wave of guilt crashing over her. He was always so good to her—kind, loving, steady. Everything she needed.

So why was her heart still pounding with the memory of her professor? Why did the dream still linger, like an ache she couldn’t quite shake?

Logan’s arm loosened, and he shifted beside her, rolling onto his back. She could feel him stretching, the mattress shifting beneath them, and she used the moment to slip out from under the covers, desperate for some space.

She stood, her legs shaky as she padded quietly across the room toward the dresser. The early morning chill hit her skin, waking her up fully, but it did nothing to shake the feeling clinging to her chest. Her reflection in the mirror caught her off guard, her face flushed, her hair messy from sleep. She looked... guilty. Like the dream had left a mark on her that couldn’t be erased so easily.

Behind her, she heard the soft rustle of sheets as Logan sat up in bed, rubbing his eyes. "You sure you’re okay?" he asked, his voice a little clearer now, more awake.

She froze for a split second, then busied herself with picking out clothes for the day. "Yeah, just thinking about everything I have to do. I’ve got a lecture this morning." She kept her back to him, not trusting herself to face him just yet.

There was a pause, then the creak of the bed as Logan stood, moving toward her. His arms wrapped around her waist from behind, pulling her close again, his chin resting on her shoulder. His warmth was familiar, comforting, but it only made the knot in her chest tighten.

"Don’t stress," he murmured, pressing a kiss to her neck. "You’ll get through it. And if you need to talk to your professor again about your essay, just go for it. I’m sure he’ll be understanding."

Her body tensed at the mention of Professor Leclerc, and she felt her breath catch in her throat. The dream came flooding back in vivid detail, and she bit down hard on her lip, trying to shake the thought of it. She couldn’t let Logan see how shaken she was.

"Yeah," she muttered, reaching for a sweater, eager to put some distance between them. "I’ll figure it out."

Logan gave her waist a reassuring squeeze before stepping back, oblivious to the turmoil bubbling beneath her calm exterior. "I’m gonna shower. Let me know if you want to grab coffee before you head to class."

"Sure," she said quickly, avoiding his gaze as she started pulling on her clothes. "I’ll let you know."

She heard the bathroom door close behind him, the soft rush of water starting up moments later, and finally let out the breath she’d been holding.

She stood there, her hands gripping the edge of the dresser as she stared down at the hardwood floor, her mind racing. What was wrong with her? How could she have let herself dream about him? It was just a dream, she tried to remind herself—dreams didn’t mean anything. But the way her body had responded, the way her heart still thudded in her chest, told her otherwise.

This is wrong, she thought again, trying to steady herself. I have Logan. I love Logan.

But as she pulled on her jeans, slipping her feet into her shoes, her thoughts drifted to Professor Leclerc again, the memory of his voice, the way he’d looked at her during their meeting, the soft intimacy of his office. She hadn’t imagined that tension. There was something there, wasn’t there?

She shook her head, trying to clear it. She needed to focus on reality, on her relationship with Logan, and on her lecture this morning. She couldn’t afford to let her mind wander like this.

But as she grabbed her bag and headed for the door, her heart still racing, she knew that shaking off the professor wasn’t going to be as easy as she’d hoped.

-

The lecture hall was already buzzing with low chatter as she slipped inside, taking a seat near the middle, far enough back to blend in but close enough that she could still see him clearly. She hadn’t eaten breakfast, her stomach too twisted with nerves to manage food, and the coffee she’d grabbed on the way with Logan sat untouched beside her, growing cold.

Her eyes drifted toward the front of the room, where Professor Leclerc was setting up for the lecture. He moved with the same deliberate grace as always, flipping through his notes, adjusting the laptop screen, completely at ease. He was wearing a crisp white shirt today, the sleeves once again rolled up to his forearms, his blazer draped neatly over the back of his chair and for a second she wondered if it was on purpose.  He looked as composed as ever—professional, distant.

And yet, she felt it again, that strange pull tightening in her chest as she watched him. Her mind flashed briefly to the dream from the night before, and she swallowed hard, forcing herself to focus. This was just a lecture. Nothing more. She was overthinking things, letting her mind play tricks on her.

But as the hall began to settle, students quieting down as the lecture was about to begin, she could feel his attention shift. He glanced up, his eyes sweeping the room before landing on her. The moment their gazes met, her breath caught in her throat.

He didn’t look away immediately. There was a pause—just a beat too long—and it sent a shiver down her spine. The same unreadable expression lingered on his face, but there was something in his eyes, something that made her heart race. He looked at her like he knew something she didn’t, like there was a shared secret hanging between them, unspoken but undeniable.

She quickly averted her gaze, her cheeks flushing. Focus on the lecture, she told herself, but it was harder than it should have been. Her body was tense, every nerve aware of him standing at the front of the room, knowing he was aware of her too.

Professor Leclerc’s voice cut through the silence as he began the lecture, his tone smooth and authoritative, commanding attention as he spoke. He moved effortlessly from topic to topic, discussing the intricacies of Derrida and the complexities of post-structuralism, but she could barely focus on the content. Every now and then, she would feel his gaze flick toward her, brief glances that lingered just long enough to make her heart race again.

It wasn’t just in her head, was it?

As the lecture progressed, the feeling of being singled out grew. He would pose questions to the class, his eyes scanning the room, but they always seemed to return to her, as though he were waiting for her reaction, her response. Even when he wasn’t looking directly at her, she could feel the weight of his attention, like a low hum beneath the surface of everything he said. It made her shift uncomfortably in her seat, her fingers fidgeting with the pen in her lap.

At one point, he asked a question, something about Gustav Courbet’s intentions behind a painting of which the title she missed, and though several hands went up around her, his eyes locked on hers. Her pulse quickened, but she didn’t raise her hand. She didn’t trust herself to speak right now, not with the way her thoughts were tangled up, not when she felt like her face was on fire under his gaze.

He didn’t call on anyone else. Instead, he lingered in that moment, his gaze heavy on her, as though waiting—expecting something. The silence stretched out for what felt like an eternity before he finally moved on, but the tension in her chest only tightened further.

The rest of the lecture passed in a blur. She couldn’t focus, her thoughts too muddled by the quiet intensity between them, the way he seemed to be paying her special attention without saying a word. When the class finally ended, students began packing up, the rustle of papers and bags filling the room. She exhaled slowly, her body tense, her mind still reeling from the subtle but undeniable connection that had pulsed between them the entire hour.

Just as she stood to leave, she heard his voice, calm but unmistakably directed at her.

"Miss."

She froze, her heart skipping a beat at the sound of her name. Slowly, she turned to face him. He was standing near his desk, his hands resting on the stack of notes, his gaze fixed firmly on her.

"Could you come to my office for a moment? I’d like to discuss the next assignment with you."

Her pulse raced. The words were simple enough—nothing inappropriate, nothing out of the ordinary for a professor to ask of a student. But the way he said it, the way his eyes held hers, made her stomach flip. It wasn’t a request. It was an expectation.

She nodded, her voice catching slightly as she replied. "Of course."

He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, then turned away, gathering his papers and slipping them into his satchel. She watched him for a moment, feeling the weight of the decision she’d just made. This was just a discussion about an assignment. That was all. It was professional. Normal. But deep down, she knew it didn’t feel that way.

As she slung her bag over her shoulder and began making her way toward the door, her mind was already racing ahead, imagining what the next conversation would hold. The pull between them had only grown stronger, more insistent, and as much as she tried to push it away, the anticipation gnawed at her, pulling her deeper into a situation she wasn’t sure she could control.

This wasn’t over.

Not yet.

She found herself walking toward his office without hesitation, as though her feet were moving on their own. The hallway was quieter now, most students having filtered out after the lecture. Her mind raced, buzzing with too many thoughts at once—none of them clear enough to grasp.

When she reached the door, she paused, her heart thudding in her chest. His name, Professor Charles Leclerc, was printed neatly on the plaque beside the door, the same as always. Yet, somehow, it felt different now, like the air around his office held more weight. Her hand hovered above the door for a moment before she gave a soft knock.

"Come in," his voice called from inside.

She pushed the door open, slipping inside and closing it quietly behind her. The room was warm, lit by the soft glow of a desk lamp, the blinds half-drawn to block out the harsh daylight. It smelled faintly of coffee and old books, a subtle comfort in the otherwise unfamiliar space.

Professor Leclerc was seated behind his desk, but as soon as she entered, he looked up, his eyes settling on her with that same intensity she’d felt during the lecture. His blazer was hung over the back of his chair, and his sleeves were still rolled up, revealing the strong lines of his forearms. He adjusted his glasses slightly, a gesture that shouldn’t have made her stomach flip the way it did.

"Miss," he greeted, gesturing to the chair across from his desk. "Please, sit."

She obeyed without hesitation, lowering herself into the chair and setting her bag on the floor beside her. The office was small, intimate, lined with bookshelves and papers that seemed to overflow with the work of a man deeply immersed in his subject. But it wasn’t the room that made her nervous—it was the man sitting behind the desk.

He leaned back slightly, his eyes never leaving her. "I’ve been thinking about your last essay submission," he began, his voice low and thoughtful. "You’re very talented, you know."

The compliment landed softly, and for a moment, she didn’t quite know how to respond. She hadn’t expected praise. She had expected to be critiqued, corrected, told where she had gone wrong. But instead, his words hung in the air between them, warm and heavy, and she felt herself relaxing into the chair without meaning to.

"Thank you," she said quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.

"I mean it," he continued, his eyes searching hers. "You have a sharp mind. Your analysis of Toulouse-Letrec’s Rosa La Rouge—especially the way you approached strokes—was far more nuanced than most of your peers. You see things others miss."

Her heart fluttered in her chest at his words. The way he spoke, the way he looked at her—it was like he wasn’t just praising her work, but her, the person behind the words. And it did something to her, something she wasn’t prepared for.

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks, the quickening of her pulse. His praise was intoxicating, soothing something deep inside her she hadn’t even realised needed soothing. Something she realised she was starting to crave. Her anxiety about the essay, her insecurities about her abilities—all of it seemed to melt away under the warmth of his approval.

"I... I wasn’t sure I got it right," she admitted, feeling a little breathless.

He leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the desk, closing the space between them. "You did," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You have real potential. If you keep pushing yourself, I think you could write something truly remarkable. Something I’d imagine may end up in this very university’s library, on my shelves"

Her stomach flipped again, and she found herself holding her breath. The room felt smaller, more intimate, with the two of them sitting there in the quiet, his voice weaving around her like a spell. There was no one else here. Just him and her.

"I want you to take that approach further in the next assignment," he continued, his gaze still locked on hers. "Dig deeper into the painting. Trust your instincts. You have a unique perspective, and that’s something you should lean into. Don’t be afraid to take risks with your analysis."

She nodded, but the words barely registered. All she could think about was the way his voice sounded, the way his eyes seemed to see through her. Her body felt warm, too warm, and her mind was spinning in directions she didn’t want it to go.

For the first time in weeks, she didn’t feel the guilt gnawing at her. She didn’t think about Logan or about how inappropriate this was. All she felt was the rush of satisfaction, the undeniable pull of his attention. It was like nothing else mattered in this moment.

"You have a real gift," he said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I hope you know that."

Her breath hitched, and before she could stop herself, she murmured, "I... I don’t know."

His lips curved into a faint smile, his gaze softening as he leaned back in his chair. "You will."

For a brief moment, she let herself get lost in it—the praise, the closeness, the way he looked at her like she was something special. It was heady, overwhelming, but she wanted to stay in it just a little longer. She felt seen, in a way she hadn’t in a long time.

And then her phone buzzed in her bag, shattering the moment.

She blinked, her body jolting as if she had been pulled from a dream. With shaking fingers, she reached into her bag, pulling out her phone. The screen lit up with a message from 

Logan:

Dinner on me tonight?

The words hit her like a punch to the gut, and all at once, the guilt came crashing back, hard and unforgiving. Her stomach twisted violently, the warmth that had settled over her evaporating in an instant. She stared at the message, her heart sinking.

Logan. Her boyfriend. The man who loved her, who had kissed her goodbye that morning without suspecting a thing.

What am I doing?

Her chest tightened, and she quickly shoved the phone back into her bag, her hands trembling. The weight of what had just happened—the way she had let herself be swept up in the moment, how easily she had forgotten everything else—hit her all at once, and it felt suffocating.

"This is wrong," she thought, the words repeating in her mind like a mantra. This is wrong.

Her cheeks burned with shame, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet Professor Leclerc’s eyes anymore. She could still feel his attention on her, but it felt different now. Too heavy. Too close.

"Is everything alright?" His voice was calm, but there was a hint of concern laced into the question.

She forced a smile, though it felt brittle. "Yeah," she lied, her voice strained. "Just a text from... my boyfriend."

There was a pause, and though he didn’t say anything, she could feel the shift in the air. The subtle tension between them thickened, and she stood abruptly, her movements jerky.

"I should go," she said quickly, grabbing her bag and slinging it over her shoulder. "I... I have another class."

Professor Leclerc didn’t stop her. He merely nodded, his eyes still on her, watching as she fumbled with the door handle.

"Take your time with the assignment," he said softly, as she opened the door. "And if you need anything... you know where to find me."

His words lingered in the air as she hurried out of the office, her pulse racing, her mind a chaotic mess of emotions. She could feel the guilt clawing at her, sharp and unforgiving, but there was something else there too—something she didn’t want to admit.

As she walked down the hallway, her phone still buzzing faintly in her bag, she couldn’t stop thinking about him.

And that terrified her.

-

The restaurant Logan had chosen was cosy, the kind of place they’d been to a dozen times before—intimate without being pretentious, with soft lighting and the smell of fresh bread lingering in the air. Normally, it would have been the perfect setting for a relaxed evening, a break from the stress of her assignments and the constant hum of campus life. But tonight, something felt off. She couldn’t shake the tension that had followed her since the meeting with Professor Leclerc.

Logan was already at the table when she arrived, sitting near the back corner of the restaurant, his eyes lighting up when he saw her. He smiled, that warm, familiar smile that usually put her at ease.

"Hey, you," he said as she slid into the chair across from him. "Thought you were gonna ditch me for a second."

She forced a smile, but her mind was still racing, the earlier conversation with Charles. Professor Leclerc replaying itself on a loop. "Sorry," she said, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Got a little caught up with something."

"No worries," Logan said, waving it off. "I already ordered drinks. Figured you’d want a glass of white?"

"Perfect," she murmured, her eyes flicking briefly to the wine list before drifting over the restaurant. She needed to calm down, to focus on the moment. She was here with Logan. This was where she was supposed to be.

The server arrived with their drinks, and Logan launched into an easy conversation about his day—something about a project on his course, a deadline that was stressing him out. She nodded along, trying to keep up, but her mind kept slipping, wandering back to the way Professor Leclerc had looked at her during their meeting, the way his voice had sounded when he praised her. The praise had felt personal, intimate in a way that wasn’t just academic.

She took a sip of her wine, trying to drown the thought.

Logan was mid-sentence, something about his coursemate, when she heard it. A voice she recognised, low and distinct. Her body tensed before she even turned her head, as if it knew before her brain had fully registered it.

Professor Leclerc.

He was sitting a few tables away, near the window, his back partially turned toward them but still unmistakable. His hair was slightly tousled, his sleeves rolled up as usual, though this time he wasn’t wearing his glasses. He was with someone—a woman, blonde and striking, with a sharp jawline and an air of confidence that made her feel immediately inadequate. She was leaning in toward him, laughing at something he’d said, her hand resting lightly on his arm.

Her heart skipped a beat.

The air felt too thick suddenly, the warmth of the restaurant stifling. She couldn’t stop staring at him. He looked different, more relaxed, like the weight of his role as professor had been shed for the evening. His posture was looser, his smile—something she rarely saw in the classroom—came easily as he listened to the woman beside him.

Logan was still talking, but his voice felt like background noise now. The clatter of silverware, the low hum of conversation around them—it all faded into a dull hum as her focus narrowed in on Professor Leclerc. Her gaze flicked to his date, jealousy spiking unexpectedly in her chest. She had no right to feel this way—he wasn’t hers, and she had no reason to think of him as anything other than her professor. But the way he’d spoken to her earlier, the way his praise had made her feel seen, made it impossible to push the thought away.

What if she were the one sitting across from him tonight?

She imagined it—sitting in that dimly lit corner with him, his attention focused solely on her, his voice low and intimate as he praised her work again, only this time not just her work. What if he looked at her the way he was looking at the woman beside him, with that easy smile and soft eyes? What if he reached across the table, his hand brushing against hers in a way that felt deliberate, intentional?

The thought sent a shiver down her spine. She could picture it so vividly—the quiet closeness of the restaurant, the way they’d linger over their meals, talking about anything and everything, his gaze never straying far from hers. They’d share a bottle of wine, his hand eventually resting on hers, the warmth of his touch sparking something undeniable between them. The thought of it, of being on a date with him, filled her with a strange, exhilarating mix of desire and guilt.

"Hey, you okay?" Logan’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she blinked, startled, her gaze snapping back to him.

"Huh? Yeah, sorry." She forced a smile, taking another sip of wine to steady herself. "Just... zoned out for a second."

Logan grinned, leaning forward slightly. "That’s because I’m boring you to death with sports science talk huh?" He chuckled, reaching for her hand across the table. "Let’s change the subject. How was your day?"

Her stomach twisted as his hand covered hers, the warmth of his touch grounding her in reality—reminding her of who she was supposed to be with. This was Logan. Her boyfriend. The man who cared for her, who had planned this dinner just to make her feel better after a long week. And yet, all she could think about was how his hand felt so different from the one she imagined touching hers across the room.

"It was fine," she lied, her voice feeling tight in her throat. "Just, you know, busy with classes."

She could feel the heat rising in her cheeks again, and before she could stop herself, her gaze drifted back toward Professor Leclerc. He hadn’t noticed her—he was too engrossed in his date, too caught up in the moment with the woman beside him. They were laughing now, the kind of soft, private laughter that felt like a secret shared between two people. Her chest tightened.

She shouldn’t be here. Or rather, she shouldn’t want to be there—at that table with him, feeling his attention wrap around her like it had in his office earlier. But she couldn’t stop imagining it, couldn’t stop wondering what it would be like to sit across from him, to be the one making him smile like that.

Her phone buzzed on the table, and she looked down to see a message from her professor in the university’s online system. The timing was cruelly coincidental. It was just a simple reminder about office hours and the upcoming assignment, but it was enough to make her pulse quicken again. He was here, just a few tables away, and yet his presence loomed larger than Logan’s, filling her mind completely.

Logan was saying something about plans for the weekend, but she barely heard him. The noise of the restaurant seemed to swell around her, disorienting her, making it hard to focus. She could feel herself slipping, her thoughts spiralling in directions she didn’t want them to go. She wanted to be present with Logan, to enjoy the dinner he had planned for them. But every time she looked at him, all she could think about was Professor Leclerc, sitting so close yet impossibly far away, on a date with someone else.

It should have been her.

Her stomach clenched at the thought, the guilt returning in a wave so strong it made her feel lightheaded. She wasn’t supposed to be thinking like this, not about her professor, not while she was on a date with her boyfriend. But the pull was too strong, the fantasy too intoxicating to resist.

She smiled at Logan, though it felt hollow, the guilt gnawing at her insides.

"I’m really glad we’re doing this," Logan said, his thumb brushing over the back of her hand. "We’ve both been so busy. It’s nice to just... you know, take a breath."

"Yeah," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "It is."

But as she glanced over at Professor Leclerc one last time, watching the way he leaned in toward his date, his eyes shining with interest, she couldn’t help but wonder if she’d ever be able to take that breath.

Because as long as she kept thinking about him, about what it would be like to be in his orbit like that, she wasn’t sure she could.

She couldn’t remember how the rest of the evening had gone. She barely remembered what she had eaten, let alone what Logan had talked about through the main course. Her mind had been elsewhere, circling back to the professor’s presence across the restaurant, the tension between them thick and suffocating. She was painfully aware of his every movement, his every glance in the corner of her vision, but she tried to push it all aside and focus on Logan.

But now, standing outside the restaurant, a cold breeze cutting through her coat, her thoughts were more chaotic than ever.

Logan had just received a call from one of his mates—Alex, someone from his football team—who was apparently too drunk to get home on his own.

"I’m so sorry, babe," Logan had said, guilt in his eyes as he slipped his jacket on. "Alex is a mess. He’s stuck on the other side of town, and there’s no way he’ll make it home without help."

"It’s fine," she’d assured him. "Really."

Logan had pulled out his wallet, fumbling through some cash. "Here, this should be enough to get you a cab home." He pressed the notes into her hand, squeezing it gently. "I’ll see you later, okay babe?"

She had nodded, watching as he quickly waved down a cab for himself and disappeared into the night to go get his friend, leaving her alone outside the restaurant. The dim street lights flickered overhead, casting long shadows across the pavement. She hugged her arms around herself, the wind biting at her skin as she waited for her own ride.

The city streets felt empty at this hour, the noise of the restaurant fading behind her as couples walked by, arm in arm, laughing and chatting. She glanced at her phone, not knowing exactly what she was waiting for, there were three cabs on the same street. But as she stood there, shifting on her feet, she felt a familiar presence before she saw him.

"Miss," a voice said, low and smooth, and she froze.

She turned slowly, her heart skipping a beat as her eyes met Professor Leclerc’s. He stood just a few feet away, his hands casually in his pockets, the streetlight casting a faint glow over his face. He wasn’t wearing his blazer, and his hair was slightly ruffled from the wind. His date was nowhere in sight, and she felt the air around them shift, the same electric tension that had been in his office earlier tightening between them.

"You’re out here alone?" he asked, his gaze flicking to the empty space beside her where Logan had been moments before.

"Yeah," she murmured, her throat suddenly dry. "Logan had to go pick up a friend. Drunk."

He took a step closer, his eyes dark and unreadable in the dim light. "And he just left you standing out here?"

"I’m was about to get a cab," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.

His eyes lingered on her, taking in the way she hugged her arms to her body against the chill. His proximity was unsettling, too close for comfort, and yet she didn’t move. She couldn’t. She felt like a moth drawn to a flame, knowing it was dangerous but unable to pull herself away.

"You look cold," he said, his voice soft but with an edge of something else—something unspoken.

She swallowed hard, her pulse quickening. "I’m fine," she lied, her body betraying her with a slight shiver.

He stepped even closer, the space between them shrinking to nothing. She could feel the warmth of his body now, the way his presence seemed to wrap around her like a blanket. Her heart raced, every nerve in her body suddenly alive, aware of how close he was—too close. She could smell the faint scent of his cologne, the sharpness of it filling her lungs with each breath.

For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city felt distant, the noise of passing cars and pedestrians muffled in the background, as if the world had shrunk to just the two of them. Her skin tingled, and she felt a dangerous pull toward him, an urge to close the gap between them completely, to cross the line she’d been so carefully trying to avoid.

"You shouldn’t be out here alone," he said, his voice low and intimate. His eyes held hers, something heavy and unspoken passing between them.

"Shouldn’t you be with your date?" she asked, her words slipping out before she could stop herself. Her voice came out shaky, laced with nerves.

His lips twitched slightly, a shadow of a smile, but there was no humour in it. "And shouldn’t you be with your boyfriend?" he reminded her softly, his eyes locking onto hers, as if daring her to acknowledge what was happening between them.

Her stomach clenched, guilt flashing through her like a jolt of electricity. This was wrong—so wrong—but the pull between them felt inescapable, like gravity drawing her closer no matter how much she fought it. She was standing in front of her professor, her body reacting to him in ways she couldn’t control, and her boyfriend was miles away, oblivious.

The thought hit her hard, guilt swirling inside her. But it didn’t stop the way her heart raced, the way her skin burned under his gaze.

"You shouldn’t be out here," he said again, his voice a little softer now, almost tender. "Let me give you a ride home."

She blinked, her thoughts scrambling. She should say no. She knew she should say no. But the words wouldn’t come. Her breath hitched in her throat as his eyes searched hers, waiting.

"I—I can get a cab," she stammered, though even she didn’t sound convincing.

"You could," he agreed, his voice steady and calm, but his eyes never left hers. "Or I could take you home. It’s late."

There was a moment of silence, the weight of his words hanging between them. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind screaming at her to walk away, to leave before this went any further. But her body wasn’t listening. Her body was leaning into the moment, craving the intimacy she knew was wrong.

Before she could stop herself, she nodded.

"Okay," she whispered.

The word was barely out of her mouth before he turned, gesturing for her to follow him. She trailed after him, her legs feeling shaky as they walked to his car, which was parked further down the street. The city lights flickered overhead, the wind biting at her skin, but she barely felt it now. All she could feel was the heat between them, the unspoken tension that had simmered for weeks now threatening to spill over.

He unlocked the car, and she slid into the passenger seat, her hands trembling slightly as she buckled her seatbelt. The car was warm, the leather seats soft beneath her, and the moment he sat down next to her, she felt the air shift again, thickening with unspoken things. She could barely breathe.

He started the car in silence, the hum of the engine the only sound between them as they pulled away from the curb. For a few minutes, they didn’t speak, the city lights flashing by in a blur. She stared out the window, her mind a chaotic swirl of thoughts and feelings she didn’t know how to untangle.

"You’re quiet," he said, his voice breaking through the silence.

She glanced at him, her heart thudding in her chest. "Just… thinking."

He gave a soft hum in response, his fingers tapping lightly against the steering wheel. "About what?"

About you.

But she couldn’t say that. She couldn’t admit that her thoughts had been consumed by him ever since the restaurant, ever since he’d gotten too close. Instead, she shook her head slightly, looking away again.

"Nothing," she lied. She was getting really good at that lately 

He didn’t push her, but the silence that followed felt heavy, thick with things unsaid. She could feel his gaze flick toward her occasionally, and each time, her pulse quickened. She knew she shouldn’t be here, in this car, with him. She had a boyfriend. He was her professor. But none of that seemed to matter anymore. Not with the way her body responded to his presence.

The car slowed as they approached the University Accomodations, and she felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as they neared the end of the ride. Relief because she knew she was playing with fire, disappointment because she didn’t want the moment to end.

He pulled up to the curb, the car idling as he glanced over at her. She hesitated, her fingers gripping the door handle. For a moment, neither of them moved.

"Thanks," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.

He didn’t respond right away. His eyes lingered on her for a moment, his gaze intense, searching. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken things, and she felt her breath catch in her throat.

"You should go," he said softly, but there was something in his voice—something that made her feel like neither of them really wanted her to leave.

She nodded, fumbling with the door handle. "Yeah."

But even as she stepped out of the car, her heart still racing, she couldn’t shake the feeling that something between them had shifted irreversibly.

She stepped out of the car, closing the door with a soft thud, the cold night air biting at her skin. She could feel the weight of everything pressing down on her—her emotions, her guilt, her confusion. Every step toward the door of her building felt heavier than the last, like she was walking away from something that was about to slip through her fingers.

She paused for a moment at the entrance, her hand trembling as it hovered over her keys. It was stupid, but part of her wanted to look back. To see if he was still sitting in his car, watching her walk away. But she knew that would be a mistake. She needed to go inside. She needed to end this.

Just as she was about to force herself forward, she heard the car door open behind her.

"Miss."

Her breath hitched at the sound of his voice, low and firm in the quiet night. She turned slowly, her heart thudding in her chest as she saw him standing by the car, his figure bathed in the glow of the streetlights. He was holding something in his hand—her phone.

"You forgot this," he said, his eyes locking onto hers as he started walking toward her, the phone held out like a lifeline.

She hadn’t even realised she’d left it behind. Her heart skipped a beat, her pulse quickening as he closed the distance between them. He stopped just in front of her, too close—again, too close—and the world seemed to narrow, leaving only the space between them.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice shaky as she reached out for her phone, her fingers brushing against his hand. The contact sent a jolt of electricity up her arm, and suddenly, the air between them felt thick and charged, every nerve in her body on edge.

For a moment, neither of them moved. The night was still, the city around them quiet, but all she could focus on was the heat radiating from his body, the way his eyes were fixed on hers with an intensity that made her forget to breathe. She could feel her resolve slipping, the line she’d drawn in her mind fading into something hazy and indistinct.

"You should go inside," he said softly, but his voice was rough, like even he didn’t believe his own words.

She nodded, but her feet stayed rooted to the ground, her phone now clenched in her hand. Her eyes flicked down to his lips, and she immediately cursed herself for it, for even letting her mind go there. But the tension between them was suffocating, pulling her in like gravity, and the rational part of her brain was screaming to leave, to walk away before she made another mistake.

And yet she didn’t move.

He took a step closer, and her breath caught in her throat. His hand hovered near her, like he was resisting the urge to touch her, the space between them so small it felt like any second it would dissolve completely.

"This is wrong," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the words slipping out before she could stop them.

"I know," he said, his voice equally low, but there was a tightness in his tone, like he was battling something inside himself. His eyes flicked down to her lips, and for a split second, she saw the crack in his restraint, the moment where control started to slip.

Her pulse raced as the tension reached a breaking point, the air between them crackling with a dangerous energy. Her heart pounded in her chest, and she knew—knew—that she should step back, walk away, stop this before it went any further. But her body was frozen, her mind clouded by the weight of his presence, the heat of his gaze.

Then, before she could think, before she could remind herself of all the reasons this shouldn’t happen, he reached for her.

It wasn’t hesitant. It wasn’t tentative. His hand slid around her waist, pulling her flush against him, and the moment their bodies touched, a spark ignited, sending a rush of heat coursing through her. His other hand came up to her face, his fingers brushing lightly along her jaw, and the touch made her head spin. She felt like she was standing on the edge of a cliff, the ground beneath her crumbling.

"Professor—" she breathed, her voice barely a whisper, but the word died on her lips as his mouth crashed against hers.

The kiss was hard, intense, and it knocked the breath from her lungs. She melted into him before she could think, her hands instinctively finding their way to his chest, feeling the warmth of his body through his shirt. Every inch of her was on fire, her skin burning where he touched her, her mind lost in the sensation of his lips on hers, his body pressed so tightly against hers she could feel the rapid beat of his heart.

His fingers tangled in her hair, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss. Her own hands slid up to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt as if she needed to hold onto something to keep from falling. The world around them faded into nothing—no city, no streetlights, no boundaries. Just him. Just this moment.

The kiss was overwhelming, a heady mix of desire and urgency, and it felt like everything inside her was unravelling. She kissed him back with an intensity that matched his own, all the weeks of tension and unspoken longing exploding between them in this one stolen moment. Her body responded to his like it had been waiting for this, aching for this, even though her mind knew it was wrong.

It was wrong.

The thought crashed into her, and for a split second, reality snapped back into focus. She was kissing her professor. She had a boyfriend.

Her heart twisted, guilt slamming into her chest like a tidal wave, but even as the realisation hit, she couldn’t stop. She didn’t want to stop. His hands were still on her, still pulling her closer, his mouth claiming hers like he’d been holding back for too long, and her body was betraying her, responding to him in ways she couldn’t control.

But it couldn’t last.

With a sudden gasp, she pulled back, breaking the kiss. Her chest heaved as she tried to catch her breath, her lips tingling from the intensity of it. His hands stayed on her waist for a moment longer, like he couldn’t quite let go, and his breath was ragged as he stared down at her, his eyes dark with desire.

For a long moment, neither of them spoke. The weight of what had just happened hung between them, the air thick with tension, but also something else—something more dangerous. She could still feel the heat of his lips on hers, the way his body had felt pressed so tightly against her. Her head spun, her thoughts a mess of confusion and guilt.

"This..." she whispered, her voice shaky, "this was a mistake."

He didn’t respond right away, his gaze still locked on her, his breath still uneven. Finally, he exhaled, his hands slipping from her waist. His jaw tightened, but his eyes softened just slightly as he nodded.

"I know," he said quietly, though there was a reluctance in his voice, like part of him didn’t want to admit it. "I know."

She stepped back, putting a little more distance between them, though her body still ached from the loss of his touch. Her mind was reeling, trying to process everything—what had just happened, what it meant. She wanted to say something, anything, but the words wouldn’t come. The guilt was already creeping in, wrapping around her like a vice, suffocating her.

Her phone buzzed in her hand, and she looked down to see a message from Logan: "He’s home now. Be home soon."

Her stomach twisted, the guilt flooding her all over again. She swallowed hard, the weight of what she’d just done crashing down on her.

"You should go inside," Professor Leclerc said, his voice softer now, quieter. His gaze flicked down to her phone, then back to her eyes, and she could see the flicker of understanding there. He knew. He knew what this meant, what they’d both just crossed.

Without another word, she nodded, turning away from him. Her legs felt weak, shaky, as she walked back toward the door of her building, her heart still racing in her chest.

She didn’t look back as she stepped inside.

But the kiss lingered. The heat of it, the way his lips had felt on hers, the way she had wanted more even though she shouldn’t have. And she knew, even as the door closed behind her, that she wasn’t sure how to stop herself from wanting it again.

The door closed behind her with a soft click, but the echo of the kiss still buzzed through her body. She felt unsteady, her heart still racing as she leaned against the cold wall of her apartment building’s lobby. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to slow her breathing, to erase the memory of his lips on hers, the warmth of his body pressed against hers.

But it wasn’t that easy.

Her phone buzzed again, still in her hand, Logan’s new message lighting up the screen.

"Love you x"

She blinked at the text, the words twisting in her chest like a dagger. She felt sick—her stomach knotting painfully as the reality of what she’d just done sank in fully. She had crossed a line, a line that should never have been crossed. She had kissed her professor. And not just kissed him—wanted it, craved it, even as her mind screamed at her to stop.

Her fingers tightened around the phone, her knuckles turning white. She could still feel the weight of Professor Leclerc’s touch, his hand on her waist, the way he’d pulled her so close. It had been magnetic, a pull she couldn’t resist. But the guilt...the guilt was crushing now.

This was wrong.

She had a boyfriend—a good one. Logan was sweet, reliable, someone she could trust. He had never given her a reason to doubt him, never hurt her. And yet here she was, standing in the lobby of her apartment building, flushed and trembling from a kiss with another man. Her professor. A man she shouldn’t have been thinking about in that way at all.

She pushed herself off the wall and started walking down the hallway, her steps shaky. The apartment she shared with Logan was just a few floors up, and she needed to pull herself together before he got home. Her mind raced as she thought of him walking through the door, greeting her with that warm smile he always had after a long day. The thought made her chest tighten with guilt, but at the same time, she couldn’t stop thinking about Professor Leclerc. How his eyes had darkened when he looked at her, how the heat of his body had set her alight in a way she hadn’t felt in so long.

She stopped at her door, her keys fumbling in her hand. She didn’t want to face Logan tonight, but she had no choice. Taking a deep breath, she forced the guilt to the back of her mind and unlocked the door.

The apartment was quiet, and as she stepped inside, it felt almost suffocating. She kicked off her shoes and set her bag down, her mind still buzzing with everything that had happened. She went to the bathroom, splashing cold water on her face, hoping it would help clear her head.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she barely recognized herself. Her cheeks were flushed, her lips still tingling from the kiss, and there was something in her eyes—a glint of something dangerous, something she didn’t want to acknowledge.

What is happening to me?

She pressed her hands to the cool porcelain of the sink, her breathing shallow as she tried to push away the images that kept flashing in her mind—Professor Leclerc’s hands, his lips, the heat of his body.

Before she could spiral any further, she heard the sound of the front door opening. Her heart jumped into her throat as she straightened up, quickly drying her face with a towel.

"Hey, babe," Logan’s voice called from the other room. He sounded tired but happy, as if nothing in the world was wrong. "Sorry I was long. Alex was a mess."

"Yeah, no problem," she replied, her voice strained as she forced herself to smile and walk out of the bathroom.

Logan was in the kitchen, setting down a new bottle of wine and two donuts. His smile lit up his face as he looked at her, completely unaware of the storm inside her. He crossed the room, wrapping her in a warm hug.

"I got your favourite," he said, kissing her forehead. "Figured we could have a cosy night in since our nice dinner out was ruined."

The warmth of his embrace made her stomach turn, the guilt nearly suffocating now. She closed her eyes for a moment, leaning into him, trying to convince herself that this was enough. That this was what she wanted.

But then, her mind betrayed her again. She thought of Professor Leclerc, the way he’d looked at her when he handed her the phone, the feel of his lips crashing against hers. It was wrong—so, so wrong—but it had awakened something inside her she hadn’t expected.

Logan pulled back slightly, his eyes searching hers. "You okay?" he asked, his brow furrowing in concern. "You seem a little...off. Are you sick?"

"I’m fine," she lied, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. "Just tired, I guess. It’s been a long day."

He nodded, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. "Well, let’s eat these donuts. It’ll help."

They sat down on their shared bed, Logan talking animatedly about how fucked Alex was and his plans for the weekend. She tried to focus, to engage with him like she normally would, but her mind kept drifting. Every time she looked at him, the guilt gnawed at her, but every time she looked away, her thoughts returned to the kiss. She kept replaying it in her mind, the heat of it, the way it had made her feel so alive.

Halfway through dinner, her phone buzzed again. She glanced down, half-expecting it to be another message from one of her apps. But it wasn’t. It was from Professor Leclerc. A private message from her fucking University service.

"Did you get home okay?"

Her heart skipped a beat, her fingers trembling slightly as she stared at the screen. She shouldn’t respond. She knew she shouldn’t respond. But her body reacted before her mind could catch up.

"Yes. Thanks again for the ride."

She pressed send before she could stop herself, her pulse quickening as the message sent. She looked up, realising Logan was watching her, and her stomach twisted.

"Who’s that?" he asked casually, taking a sip of his wine.

"Just a classmate, she’s also struggling on Leclerc’s essay," she lied again, feeling the weight of the lie settle over her like a heavy blanket. She hated how easy it was becoming to deceive him.

Logan smiled, oblivious to the war raging inside her, and continued eating. But she could barely take another bite of her donut, her stomach in knots as she waited for a reply.

And then, a few seconds later, her phone buzzed again.

"Anytime."

Her heart pounded as she read the message, her mind spinning. She knew she was in too deep, that she was teetering on the edge of something dangerous, something she couldn’t come back from. But even now, with Logan sitting right across from her, she couldn’t stop thinking about Professor Leclerc.

She couldn’t stop thinking about how wrong it was.

And how much she wanted it to happen again.

part three

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Houston [3/?]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3.4k Summary: Things are shifting in just the ten days since realigning the campaign strategy to keep you and Steve on the trail together and to sharpen some of the policies and messaging. You're starting to hit a new stride as you make a stop in Houston, and the city also affords you a unique opportunity to meet with a former President and First Lady.

Content/Warnings: marriage of political convenience, slow burn, brief political discussion of climate change

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

POLITICAL NOTES: It's been a big week with the 2024 election. This story - while a romance - revolves around a presidential campaign, and so there will be political policy incorporated, but I am not inviting political discourse. If you don't agree in regards to anything in the brief section climate change policy, that is okay but I do not want to hear about it.

Previous Chapter | Series

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

[SEPTEMBER 17 - Houston]

The Houston heat hits you like a wall as you step off the campaign bus, the air thick and heavy with humidity. You blink against the bright Texas sun, grateful for the large sunglasses shielding your eyes. The crowd gathered outside the community center is already substantial, a sea of red, white, and blue signs waving in the afternoon heat.

Steve steps off the bus behind you, and you feel his presence at your back, solid and reassuring. You turn to him, offering a smile that's part genuine, part for the cameras you know are capturing your every move. He returns it, his hand coming to rest lightly on the small of your back - a gesture that's become second nature for public appearances, yet still sends a confusing whoosh through your stomach each time. But you push through and ignore it as you both wave to the cheering crowd.

"Ready?" he asks, leaning in close enough so you can hear over all the noise.

You nod, taking a deep breath. "Let's do this."

The two of you make your way along the line of the crowd, shaking hands and exchanging greetings as you go. You've gotten better at this part over the months - the constant smiling, the brief but warm interactions, the way to make each person feel seen and heard in just a few seconds. Steve, of course, is a natural at it, his charisma and sincerity shining through with every handshake and small bit of conversation.

As you near the entrance to the community center, you spot a group of young people holding signs about climate change and renewable energy. Your eyes meet Steve's, and you see the same thought reflected there - these are exactly the voters you've been trying to reach.

Without missing a beat, you veer slightly off course, heading towards the group. Steve follows your lead, and you can practically feel the collective intake of breath from your security detail.

"Hi there," you say warmly as you approach. "Thank you, we’re so glad you came out today.”

"Thank you for being here," Steve adds, his voice warm and genuine. "I see you're passionate about climate change. That's something I care deeply about, too."

A young woman with curly hair and bright eyes steps forward. "We appreciate that, but we've heard a lot of politician talk before. What specific actions will you take to address the climate crisis if elected?"

You exchange a quick glance with Steve, impressed by the young woman's directness. This is exactly the kind of engagement you've been hoping for.

"That's an excellent question," you begin, "and I'm glad you're asking it. Steve has developed a comprehensive plan to tackle climate change, including immediate steps he'll take in the first 100 days."

Steve nods, picking up where you left off. "We're committed to a systemic overhaul of energy sources and infrastructure along with transitions and expansion for public transportation. We know that infrastructure is an opportunity - not only to address climate change, but to transform the economy by creating job opportunities as we build and transition away from coal, gas, and oil. It will also address the severe need to update existing power grids that are failing.

"But it's not just about policy and output right now," Steve continues, his voice passionate. "It's about creating a sustainable future for your generation and those that follow instead of just talking about it. But as we talk, we want to work with young leaders like yourselves to make sure your voices are heard in shaping these policies - you’ll be living with them longer than the rest of us."

You watch as the young woman's expression shifts from skepticism to cautious interest. "And how exactly do you plan to do that?" she asks.

"Well, for starters, we're here listening to you right now," you say with a smile. "But Steve plans to create a Youth Climate Council that will have direct input on policy decisions. We want to bring fresh perspectives and innovative ideas to the table."

Steve nods in agreement. "And we're not just talking about advisory roles. We want to create pathways for young people to enter public service and take on leadership positions in environmental agencies."

The group exchanges glances, clearly impressed by the specifics and taking Steve more seriously for not brushing them off or placating them quickly in a picket line.

Steve presses further, "What specific actions do you think are most critical? What solutions have you seen proposed that resonate with you?"

The young woman looks slightly taken aback, clearly not expecting to be asked for her input. But she recovers quickly. "Well, you mentioned it, but we need to transition away from fossil fuels much faster than current plans allow. The movement for offshore wind farms should be accelerated - especially on the East Coast. And we need to protect vulnerable communities who will be hit hardest by climate change."

Steve nods encouragingly. "Those are excellent points. In fact, environmental justice is a key component of our climate plan. We're proposing initiatives to ensure clean air and water in all communities, especially those that have historically borne the brunt of pollution."

Another young man in the group speaks up. "What about jobs? My dad works in the oil industry. He's worried about losing his livelihood if we move too quickly on clean energy."

Steve turns to him, his expression thoughtful. "That's a valid concern, and it's one we take very seriously. We're not looking to leave anyone behind in this transition. Our plan includes a comprehensive job retraining program for workers in fossil fuel industries. We want to create new opportunities in clean energy sectors, so people like your dad can be part of building a sustainable future without sacrificing their livelihoods."

You nod, adding, "We're looking at ways to incentivize companies to retool their existing facilities for clean energy production. It's not just about creating new jobs, but also about transforming existing ones."

The young man seems to consider this, nodding slowly. "That sounds... promising. I'd like to learn more about that."

Sophia and Bucky begin to press in, signaling that you need to move along to get into the actual event.

"We're limited for time here, but we’d be eager to discuss more details," you say, reaching into your bag and pulling out a business card. "Here's my contact information. Please reach out soon, I mean it.”

You and Steve then get ushered inside, hand in hand.

Later that night, you get a rare opportunity, and one you’ve been excited but also nervous for since it landed on your schedule the week before.

Former President and First Lady Matt and Helen Santos have invited you to their Houston home for dinner and drinks. It’s not a public appearance, so that takes some of the pressure off, but you're still acutely aware of the significance of this meeting. The Santos administration remains widely regarded as one of the most successful in recent history, and their endorsement - even an implicit one - could be a game-changer for the campaign.

Beyond that it's a chance to learn from a couple who've been through the crucible of a presidential campaign and life in the White House.

Helen Santos greets you at the door, her warm smile immediately putting you at ease. "Come in! We're so glad you could make it," she says, ushering you inside.

The interior of the home is tastefully decorated, a blend of modern and traditional styles that feels both impressive and comfortable. You spot several family photos on the walls, reminders that despite their status, the Santos family is just that - a family.

Matt Santos appears from what you assume is the kitchen, wiping his hands on a dish towel. "Welcome, you two," he says, shaking Steve's hand and giving you a brief hug. "I hope you’re hungry! It’s humble, but I’m putting the finishing touches on my chili."

“Don’t let him fool you,” Helen says, “he’s anything but humble about it.”

“Sorry, did I forget to mention the recipe won a blue ribbon before I got into politics? Because it did, so it wasn’t a biased award,” he clarifies.

You all laugh, and the warmth and welcome these two generate in those first few minutes is remarkable, and something that truly soothes your heart in ways you didn’t know you were hungry for.

As you settle into the Santos' comfortable living room, Helen offers drinks. You accept a glass of wine, grateful for something to occupy your hands. Steve opts for water, ever the responsible candidate.

"So," Matt says, leaning back in his armchair, "how's the campaign trail treating you? I remember those days - exhilarating and exhausting in equal measure."

Steve nods, a wry smile on his face. "That's an apt description. It's been... intense. But rewarding."

"And how are you two holding up as a couple?" Helen asks, her eyes kind but perceptive. "The campaign trail can be brutal, especially on a relationship."

You glance at Steve, unsure how to answer. Your relationship is still mostly for show, but you've grown closer over the past few weeks. Before you can formulate a response, Steve speaks up.

"It's been an adjustment," he says diplomatically. "But we're figuring it out."

Matt nods knowingly. "Helen and I had been married for years before we ran, and it was still a challenge. I can't imagine doing it as newlyweds."

You smile, trying to hide your discomfort. "It's certainly been a unique experience," you say, opting for honesty. "We're learning a lot about each other very quickly."

Helen leans forward, her expression sympathetic. "I'm sure it's overwhelming at times. The scrutiny, the constant demands on your time and energy. It can be a lot to handle, especially when you're still getting to know each other."

You nod, feeling a wave of relief at her understanding. "It is overwhelming," you admit. "But it's exciting, in its own way. We're building something together, not just as a couple but for the country."

Steve reaches over and takes your hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. The gesture surprises you, but you try not to let it show. "She's been incredible," he says, his voice warm. "I couldn't ask for a better partner in this.”

Helen regards you both, her expression warm but serious. "I hope you don't mind me saying this, pulling out my First Lady moment already, but I've been watching you two. Not just tonight, but throughout the campaign. There's something there, between you. A spark, a connection. Don't lose that in all the craziness of the campaign."

You feel your cheeks flush slightly, caught off guard by Helen's perceptiveness. You wonder if she’s speaking in general or if she suspects yours is a politically arranged marriage. You glance at Steve, who looks equally surprised.

Matt chimes in, "Helen's right. The campaign is important, but at the end of the day, it's your relationship that will sustain you through the challenges ahead. Trust me, if you make it to the White House, you'll need each other more than ever."

Steve nods, his expression thoughtful. "We appreciate the advice. It's not easy to find that balance."

You squeeze Steve's hand, grateful for his honesty. "We're working on it," you add softly.

He pulls your hand casually into his lap and envelops it in both of his. You can't help but feel a small thrill at the contact, the very normal expression of intimacy that speaks of a more comfortable and normal connection, and you love the way his large hands hold yours. This feels like something that could be real, on more days than this.

Helen smiles warmly. "That's all anyone can ask. Now, who's ready for some of Matt's famous chili?"

As you move to the dining room, you can't help but feel a mix of emotions. The Santos' warmth and wisdom have touched something deep within you, reminding you of the very real human element at the heart of this political whirlwind.

Over dinner, the conversation flows easily, touching on everything from campaign strategies to favorite books. You find yourself relaxing, laughing at Matt's stories from his time in office and Helen's witty comebacks.

As the evening winds down, Helen pulls you aside while the men are engrossed in a discussion about foreign policy.

"Can I give you some advice?" Helen asks softly, her eyes kind but serious.

You nod eagerly, grateful to glean even more guidance from someone who's walked this path before.

Helen takes a deep breath. "The hardest part of being First Lady isn't the public scrutiny or the demanding schedule. It's maintaining your sense of self in the midst of it all. Don't lose yourself in the role, in the campaign, or even in your marriage. Remember who you are and what you bring to the table."

You feel a lump form in your throat, touched by Helen's words and the understanding behind them. "Thank you," you manage to say. "I... I'm trying to find that balance."

Helen smiles warmly. "I can see that. And from what I've observed, you're doing a remarkable job. But it's a constant effort, believe me."

You nod, absorbing her words. "How did you do it? Maintain your identity while supporting him and taking on such a public role?"

Helen's eyes grow distant for a moment, as if recalling a memory. "It was hard," she admits. "There were times I felt lost, like I was just an extension of Matt's presidency rather than my own person. I learned to carve out spaces for myself - my own initiatives, my own passions. And most importantly, I made sure Matt and I had time just for us, away from the politics and the pressures."

You feel a pang in your chest at her words. You and Steve barely have time alone, let alone time to just be yourselves without the weight of the campaign.

Helen smiles warmly. "This journey you're on - whether or not he gets elected - it's meant to be shared."

You nod, feeling a mix of gratitude and uncertainty. "Sometimes I feel like I'm still getting to know him, even as we're presenting this united front to the world."

Helen's expression softens with understanding. "That's not uncommon, especially given your unique circumstances. But I see the way he looks at you when you're not watching. There's admiration there, and something deeper. A lot of people in this country get married, but not every married couple has that for each other, and even some of the ones who do don’t realize the treasure they have. Don't be afraid to explore it. Grow it together."

Your heart skips a beat at her words. Could she be right? You think back to the conversation you overheard back in that hotel conference room in Cleveland, Steve's hesitation, his fear of letting you in. But also his words of praise, the gentle touches that have become more frequent lately. Could there be more there than just a political partnership?

Before you can respond, the men rejoin you, Steve taking his place beside you, and his hand comes to rest gently on your lower back. "Ready to head out?" he asks softly. "We've got an early start tomorrow."

You nod, and the four of you initiate your goodbyes.

“Thank you," you say, turning back to Helen, hoping she understands the depth of your gratitude. "For everything."

She pulls you into a warm hug. "Any time," she says. "And I mean that. Call me if you ever need to talk, about anything."

You and Steve finish your goodbyes and make your way to the waiting car. The evening has given you much to think about, not just about the campaign, but about your relationship with Steve.

The car ride back to the hotel is quiet, both of you lost in your own thoughts, but you realize it’s a comfortable silence.

Arriving at that night’s hotel, the silence lingers all the way until you enter the elevator, Steve turns to you, his expression thoughtful. "That was enlightening," he says softly.

You nod, feeling a mix of emotions - gratitude for the Santos' wisdom, hope for what could be, and a lingering uncertainty about where you and Steve stand. "They're incredible people," you reply. "So generous with their time and wisdom."

Steve hums in agreement. The elevator doors open, and you two head down the hallway to your suites, right across the hall from each other.

Normally, this is where you'd say goodnight and go your separate ways - Steve to his room, you to yours. But you hesitate, because tonight feels different.

"Helen gave me some really good advice," you say.

Steve looks at you intently, his blue eyes searching yours. "Oh? What about?"

"About maintaining my sense of self through all of this. And... about us."

"What did she say about us?" Steve asks.

You hesitate, suddenly feeling vulnerable. "She said... she sees the strong connection between us, and that we shouldn't lose sight of it in the chaos of the campaign."

Steve's expression softens, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. He takes a step closer to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body.

"And what do you think?" he asks, his voice low and gentle.

Your heart races as you look up at him. "Steve, I..." you begin, but the words catch in your throat.

He reaches out, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. The touch sends a shiver down your spine. "I know," he says softly. "I've been... distant. Guarded. And I'm sorry for that."

The truth is, you know you’ve been guarded, too. And you’re not sure you’re ready to risk anything with exploring more. Not only do you both need to be focused for the campaign, but you locked your heart in a box, and you don’t know if opening it will be a mess that you can face right now.

But you do think there’s a possibility you could have more connection without risking messy feelings.

So you ask, “We’re building a good partnership in this, aren’t we?”

"We are," Steve agrees, his voice warm. "You've been incredible through all of this. I meant what I told the Santos’s - I couldn't ask for a better partner."

You feel a flutter in your chest at his words, but you push it aside. "I was thinking," you say carefully, "maybe we could try to spend a little more time together. Not more campaign events or strategy meetings, but... just us. Getting to know each other better."

Steve's expression softens, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "I'd like that," he says quietly. "I think we could both use a friend who’s also in the eye of the storm of all of this."

You nod, feeling a mix of relief and nervous anticipation. He has Sam and Bucky on this campaign trail with him, but their roles are not the same, not giving speeches or being asked for comments.

"Maybe we could start with a meal a day? Just the two of us, no campaign staff or memos or prep."

"It's a date," Steve says. Then quickly adds, "I mean, not a date-date, but... you know what I mean."

You can't help but give a small laugh at Steve's flustered correction. It's endearing to see this side of him - the man behind the polished candidate facade.

"I know what you mean," you assure him with a warm smile.

Steve nods, looking relieved. "Good. That's... good." He pauses for a moment, then adds, "How about breakfast tomorrow? We have that early flight, but we could grab something quick before we head to the airport."

"Sounds perfect," you agree. "I'll meet you in the lobby at 6?"

"It's a plan," Steve says, his smile reaching his eyes in a way that makes your heart skip a beat.

You both linger for a moment, neither seeming eager to end the conversation. His eyes are so blue, and when you're this close, and he just looks at you like that, your chest tightens in a pleasantly uncomfortable way that you're not ready for but can't pull away from.

Thankfully, Steve clears his throat. "Well, I guess we should get some sleep," he says, taking a step back. "Big day again tomorrow."

You nod, feeling a mix of disappointment and anticipation. "Always. Goodnight, Steve."

"Goodnight," he replies softly.

You unlock your hotel room door and step inside, your mind racing with thoughts of the evening - the Santos' advice, your conversation with Steve, and the promise of breakfast tomorrow. As you get ready for bed, you can't help but feel a glimmer of hope for what's to come, both for the campaign and for your relationship with Steve.

next part: Fort Wayne, Toledo, Detroit

SURPRISE CAMEO FROM THE WEST WING! If you're not a fan of the show, I didn't think it would be a problem - they're just a former Presidential couple. But if you ARE, then I hope you liked seeing them! I'm deep into my every-few-years (every four) rewatch and haven't bumped into them yet, but I'm about to...

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[defectivevillain]

indigo

pairing: Eddie Brock/Reader/Venom Symbiote/Agony Symbiote

reader's pronouns are they/them; race and gender are ambiguous and no physical descriptors are used

summary: “You’re….” Eddie chokes out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. “Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

word count: 4.2k | ao3 version

I did some research on the wiki and watched a few clips of the movie, but that’s the extent of my canon knowledge. As such, this won’t be canon compliant.

In this fic, the reader (you) is an experiment of the Life Foundation. Dr. Drake decides to try bonding you with a symbiote. While the union works, it ultimately backfires for him—as you manage to make your escape and go into hiding with the symbiote. Without a symbiote to bond to her, Dr. Skirth ends up living… and once Eddie escapes from the facility, she introduces the two of you.

warnings: canon-typical blood, violence, gore, cannibalism, and human experimentation; vomiting and sickness

There’s someone Dr. Skirth wants Eddie to meet. He hates meeting new people, but he owes Dora a favor, so he agrees to meet up with you in the park under the cover of night. Eddie doesn’t know anything about you, other than the fact that you’re a friend of a friend. According to Dora, you’re also tied to the Life Foundation (how that connection manifests, Eddie isn’t sure). Honestly, Eddie just hopes his meeting with you will be useful. Meanwhile, Venom is, understandably, skeptical about the meeting. They make sure to complain to him several times as he makes his way to the park, and they are only satiated with the promise that they can eat you if you somehow turn out to be a villain. 

Unfortunately for Venom, you don’t appear to be a villain. Rather, you’re wearing deceptively casual clothing: a simple sweatshirt, jeans, and sneakers. Your hands are shoved in your pockets; there are dark circles under your eyes and you’re staring down at the cracks in the pavement as you stand under a flickering streetlight. There are scars marking nearly every visible part of you—stretching up your collarbone, running down your face, laced across your hands. One thing is abundantly clear to Eddie in that moment: Life Foundation has left its mark on you, too. 

If you sense him staring, you don’t comment on it. Instead, you just look up and send him a hesitant wave. “Hi,” you say, extending a hand to shake as you introduce yourself. Eddie blinks at you for a moment, before introducing himself in return. After a second, he takes your proffered hand and shakes it firmly. His eyes catch on your cracked knuckles and everything seems to fall into place. It appears you’re far more similar to Eddie than he first thought. 

“You’re….” He finds himself choking out, not wanting to get his hopes up. But he recognizes the fatigue in your eyes; the tension in your shoulders; and the hidden synchronicity stringing you together. 

“Like you?” An alien voice growls. A deep blue mass stretches across your face, seeping through your cheekbones and down your neck. You bare your teeth and Eddie is surprised to see inhumanly long sharpened teeth and a drooling tongue. The sight is painfully familiar: it appears nearly identical to Venom, save for the color. In the blink of an eye, the mass is gone, leaving you to stare at him with a sympathetic smile. “Yes.”

Eddie stares at you in disbelief, amazed by your composure. Right now, he feels as if Venom is in complete control. Yet you seem able to switch between your symbiote and your own visage at will. It’s as if the two of you are in complete agreement. “How…?” He trails off. 

Half of your face is overtaken with the alien entity. “We are Agony.” A warped voice responds, a blend of your voice and the alien’s. Slowly, the alien—Agony—drips down your face and disappears from sight. You’re staring at him with a patient expression now. “We can help you.” You state matter-of-factly. 

Eddie isn’t sure what to do with that offer. He finds himself mechanically proceeding through the rest of the conversation, just barely staying afloat amidst the realization that there may actually be someone willing to help him. A few days ago, Eddie would’ve maintained that he didn’t need help;today, he’s grateful for the offer of assistance that he knows he needs. He has no idea how to navigate this tumultuous new existence he finds himself sharing with the alien creature inside him. 

He locks eyes with you, and an unspoken understanding passes between the both of you. There is a visceral fuzzy feeling in Eddie’s chest, as he stares into the eyes of the one person who could ever truly understand his new life. You stare right back at him, evidently having similar thoughts. The two of you are tied together by fate and its cruelties; you have virtually no choice but to lean on one another, lest you both return to your loneliness. 

Eddie leaves twenty minutes later with your number in his phone and plans to meet with you the next morning. He’s fairly hopeful about it—from what he could tell, you seem like a genuinely kind person. Worn thin from the trials you’ve been forced into, but kind nonetheless. Eddie tries to puzzle out how you could still have sympathy for a world that has shown you nothing but malice. 

“Don’t trust them.” Venom growls, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. He feels the symbiote’s restless energy humming along his skin, creating goosebumps that run down his arms as he walks home.

Whether Venom’s remark is a profession of their suspicion or a warning, Eddie isn’t sure. He sighs. “Let’s give them a chance,” Eddie maintains, shoving his hands in his pockets as he continues down the street. “If they somehow turn out to be evil, you can eat them. Okay?” 

Venom is silent for a while. “Fine.” They eventually respond, clearly not happy about it. But the renewed promise of food must be too good for them to turn down. 

Eddie nods, secretly relieved. Admittedly, he’s pretty optimistic about you: you appear healthy, sane, and most importantly, comfortable in your own body. You don’t appear to be constantly at war with yourself, which is rather similar to how Eddie feels at the current moment.

“War,” Venom remarks. There’s no telling whether they possess the same spectrum of emotions that humans do, yet they’re speaking with clear sarcasm. “Very dramatic, Eddie.” Eddie just rolls his eyes. 

The rest of his day passes without much fanfare. He eats a rather bland dinner and falls asleep earlier than normal, if only to quiet his restless thoughts. Before long, it’s the next morning—and he’s freshening up before heading out to the diner you agreed to meet at. 

You’re waiting for him in a brightly-colored booth. Eddie walks over to you, muttering a greeting as he takes the seat across from you. You slide a coffee mug over to him, which he drinks gratefully. His curiosity seems to linger in the air around both of you, until you’re relenting and telling Eddie about yourself. He told you about himself when you met last night; now, it’s your turn to tell your story. 

What Eddie hears is enough to turn his stomach and effectively rid him of his appetite. Essentially, you were one of the human captives used as experiments by the Life Foundation. You describe a constant state of numbness at war with dread and fear. You explain how you were practically left to rot behind those glass walls, until it came time for you to be the next test subject. You recount how you were exposed to the blue symbiote… and how, upon your successful union, Life Foundation planned to experiment on you further. By the time you’re describing your escape, Eddie is resisting the urge to reach out and place a hand over your shaking one—desperate to provide comfort to the one person who understands what it’s like to have a parasite living inside them. 

“Not a parasite,” Venom hisses, breaking Eddie out of his thoughts. They sound strangely offended by the remark.

“Right, they don’t like being called that,” you murmur, tapping your fingers rhythmically against the table. Eddie blinks, thrown back into reality. “Symbiote is better.” Agony interjects. You seem entirely unbothered by the interruption. 

An awkward silence descends across the space for a moment, before Eddie blurts out the first thought that comes to mind. “I’m hungry,” Eddie frowns. Indeed, his stomach aches with emptiness—despite his knowledge that he ate just before falling asleep the previous night. 

“We’re hungry.” Venom corrects him. 

You’re looking at him— them, Eddie reminds himself—with amusement. The expression is fleeting. “Right,” you then say, as if you’re just remembering. A grimace rises on your face. “Well. There are two options: chocolate… and human brains.”

Eddie stares at you warily. He didn’t think you were the type to joke about things like this, but it just sounds too far fetched to be real. He must’ve misjudged you, somehow. As if sensing his doubt, you attempt to explain further. 

“I know, I was skeptical too,” you admit, rubbing a hand over your face. While your relationship with Agony seems a lot more clearly defined than Eddie and Venom’s, there’s still a lingering exhaustion written in the lines of your face. You take a slow breath. “Their species requires different nutrients than ours: namely, phenethylamine.” 

“Human brains are better.” Agony states. 

You sigh. “It’s true. Chocolate is really only a temporary fix, because it doesn’t last nearly as long. The two of us have struck up an agreement to only eat bad people, so there’s at least a bit of morality involved...” You break off, clearly sensing Eddie’s impending dread. 

There’s no way around eating humans. It takes him several seconds to process this. Eddie doesn’t want to believe it—doesn’t want to think about the feeling of human matter stuck between his hooked teeth; doesn’t want to think about waking up in the morning, sweat-soaked and stained with the dried blood of a dead stranger. 

“I’m sorry,” you say, your brows furrowed. Eddie hates how sincere you are. And he especially hates how he takes comfort from your reassurance. It shouldn’t mean anything to him—he never cares what people think of him. But the fact that you can not only sympathize with him, but also empathize with him, is rather significant. 

“We can do this,” you promise him. Eddie finds himself oddly appreciative of your choice of wording. You chose to say “we,” as if explicitly confirming your support for him. “We’ll help you.” You repeat. 

“Okay,” he responds stiffly, not trusting himself to say anything else. The two—four—of you spend the rest of the meal in silence. Eventually, the warm sunlight trickles through the windows next to you and breakfast is over. Eddie and you leave the restaurant and stop on the sidewalk outside, turning towards one another. 

“I’ll text you,” you promise. “Let me know if you need anything.” Eddie nods quietly. As if sensing how overwhelmed he feels, your expression morphs into one oddly reminiscent of… affection. “Take care of yourself, okay?” Eddie assents and tells you to do the same, at which a smile rises on your lips. Oddly short of breath, Eddie manages to tear his eyes away and utter a goodbye—though your smile remains in his thoughts for the rest of the day. 

Eddie begins to make progress, slowly but surely. With your guidance, he learns how to communicate better with Venom; fight with their assistance; and even nourish himself better. None of it seems to be important, in the face of the realization that his life will never return back to normal. But, somehow, the satisfied smile on your face when he accomplishes something is enough for Eddie to keep pushing himself. 

Since your first meeting, Venom has warmed up to you a lot more—to the point where they have started speaking to you directly, instead of just speaking to Eddie. Agony has still remained a bit more withdrawn and silent, but their presence is keenly felt regardless. 

Eddie still has moments when he feels as if the world is caving in on him—as if the faces of passerby are contorted in disgust and fear (which was an unfortunate reality in the beginning days of his union with Venom). There are nights when he wakes with dried blood flecked across his skin, but he has grown accustomed to washing it off and forgetting it in the morning. You are a constant companion during these moments, and, sometimes, your touch is the only thing that grounds Eddie to the world around him. Safe to say, the two of you have taken to staying at each other’s apartments more often than not. 

On a few rare occasions, Eddie is the one to hold you—as you remember confinement behind cold glass walls and calculating eyes watching your every move. Eddie can’t imagine what your captivity and torture at the hands of Life Foundation was like… And he’s certain he doesn’t want to think about it, because it will only make him feel even worse. While you’ve both been bonded with symbiotes, Eddie escaped the cruel experimentation that you were subjected to. He was just visiting to get information for an article; you were bound in chains and thrown behind nearly impenetrable barriers. 

Overall, though, things are going well. At least, Eddie wants to think so. But then the universe wants to spite him, and he wakes up one morning feeling as if he was hit by a truck. He’s practically stuck to the cushions of his couch, his limbs as heavy as bricks. His throat is overwhelmingly dry; there’s a bitter taste in his mouth; and, try as he might, he can’t seem to wrench his eyes open. 

“Eddie? …Eddie? Shit.” 

Eddie wakes to a frigid cold. He shivers instinctually, blinking past a strange sheen over his eyelids. It takes his vision several moments to clarify past a swirling blur. His temple is nearly pulsating with pain; his stomach aches and his skin is coated in sweat. Eddie twitches, recognizing your blurry silhouette and realizing you must’ve dumped cold water on him to wake him up. Even now, as he’s been torn from sleep, he’s struggling to stay awake. 

“Eddie?” You ask, sounding very concerned. Eddie isn’t sure he can remember the last time someone was so worried about him. The thought saddens him. Your hands move to his shoulders and you shake him slightly, your brows furrowed. “Can you hear me?” The most Eddie can manage is a weak nod in response. 

“Doesn’t… feel right.” Venom adds. This may be the first time Eddie has ever agreed with Venom.

“Eddie’s sick,” you respond to the symbiote. 

Eddie isn’t able to register much more of your conversation with Venom—not when his ears are ringing and he feels a familiar prickling nausea at the back of his throat. Eddie slowly pushes himself up. Upon realizing that the feeling is steadily climbing up his throat, he clumsily gets to his feet and stumbles towards the bathroom, just barely making it to the toilet before vomiting. Eddie can’t quite comprehend what’s happening, other than the burning sensation assaulting his throat and the sudden feel of someone rubbing his back reassuringly. You’re crouching next to him, saying something he can’t make out. Venom responds for him. 

At some point, he stops throwing up and attempts to rest his head. You put the toilet seat down and flush it, before allowing him to do so. Eddie feels a foreign gratitude for the kindness you’re showing him, despite the monster living inside him. The cold porcelain is a welcome sensation on his sweat-soaked skin. 

“Not a monster,” Venom reminds him. Even his companion’s voice is quieter, as if accommodating the headache migrating through his temple and down into his cheekbones and jaw. Eddie doesn’t have the energy to argue. He blinks slowly, the lights of the bathroom only making his headache worse. He feels rather woozy. 

“Here, let’s get you up,” you suggest. Eddie can hardly move, yet your hands bracket his arms and you’re pulling him up as if he weighs nothing at all. (That is likely due to Agony’s help, but he doesn’t exactly have the wherewithal to recognize that). Eddie lurches to the side ominously, but Venom extends a makeshift arm and rights his balance. With Agony, Venom, and you combined, Eddie makes it back to the couch easily. You help him sit down before walking into the kitchen. You return moments later to press a glass of water into his hand. 

Eddie gulps it down greedily. Or, at least, he tries to—only for you to reach out and stop him from drinking any more. “Not too fast,” you remark, taking the glass from his hand and placing it on the adjacent coffee table. “Wait ten minutes or so, just to make sure you can keep it down.”

Eddie stares at you for a long moment, frowning. He hears himself blurting out his thoughts before he can think any better of it.“Why are you here?” Eddie croaks. He is the complete opposite of presentable at the moment; the last thing he wants is for you of all people to see him looking so pathetic. Eddie isn’t exactly sure why he wants to make such a good impression on you, but… he supposes that doesn’t matter now. He can muse on the exact nature of his feelings towards you at a later date, when he doesn’t feel so uncomfortable in his own skin. 

You blink at him for a moment, evidently contemplating the question. “Alone.” Agony responds. Eddie squints at you, watching as the symbiote’s midnight blue mass crawls up your shoulders, as if wrapping an arm around you in reassurance. You don’t even flinch at the sudden presence of your companion. Instead, you take a slow breath and look at Eddie once more. “When it happened to me, I was alone. It was… an isolating experience. I don’t want you to feel the same way.” You explain. 

You then reach down, as if to touch him, only for Venom to protrude from Eddie’s shoulder and snap at you. At least, they attempt to—only for Agony to intercept them and snap threateningly in return. Eddie watches the whole scene through hazy eyes, half-convinced that he’s having a fever dream. Eventually, Agony and Venom seem to resolve their dispute and you reach out towards Eddie again, placing your hand on his forehead to check for his temperature. Eddie can’t stop himself from sighing in relief at your cool skin. You only frown, looking more worried. “You’re burning up,” you say to him. 

“Hot.” Venom adds, clearly feeling a bit of Eddie’s own discomfort. “Like flames.” 

“He has a fever,” you respond, getting to your feet and moving to the kitchen once more. You come back moments later with a towel in hand. Eddie dazedly watches as you approach, folding the towel before placing it on his forehead. He exhales slowly as the cold fabric brings a welcome sensation of frigidity trickling down his temple, fighting off the flames licking at his skin. He’s not sure how long he sits in silence until you’re breaking through it. “Here, it’s been ten minutes. Can you sit up a bit?” You ask. 

Eddie lets out a pained whimper, practically sinking back into the cushions of the couch. Venom stretches out of his back and props him up to a sitting position. Thank you, Eddie thinks. Then the symbiote rises to grasp his forearm, guiding him to grip the glass of water and take another sip. Venom and you then help him return to a reclined position. 

Eddie’s eyelids are stinging with exhaustion. He’s desperately fighting off sleep—blinking tiredly with extra effort. “It’s okay, you can rest,” you reassure him, noticing his fatigue. “We’ll be here when you wake.” 

That comforts him far more than he’d like to admit. Before long, Eddie is slipping into sleep once more. 

“Cared for you,” Venom says days later, when Eddie has mostly recovered. They’re sharing a quiet moment in Eddie’s apartment, sitting on the couch and staring at the television on low-volume. “For us.”

Thinking about his sickness last week, Eddie can’t help but feel humiliated and weak. He’s still embarrassed that you saw him in such a state; frustrated that he needed assistance with even the simplest of tasks; and… grateful, despite it all. You stuck with him in the following few days, giving him medication when needed and ensuring he had enough to eat and drink. You were a constant presence, to the point where Eddie found you asleep on the armchair in his living room numerous times. That sight will be forever burned into his brain: the peaceful expression on your face as your chest rose and fell calmly. He had never seen you look so vulnerable before; and even in the midst of his sickness and the ensuing vulnerability he was forced to show, he felt himself wanting to protect you. It was a foolish thought: Eddie knew you were more than capable of protecting yourself. But perhaps it was just the domesticity of it all—the thought of you becoming a permanent fixture in their life. 

Venom breaks him from his thoughts with a gentle tap at his wrist. Eddie recalls their prior statement and hums. “They did care for us,” he agrees. Venom crawls down his forearm, stretching to inhabit the space between his fingers in what he assumes to be an imitation of hand-holding. There’s an unsettled energy to the symbiote’s presence. Eddie feels a frown overtake his lips. “What’s wrong?”

“It was too quiet.” Venom’s confession settles in the air around him, inhabiting every nook and cranny of his dimly-lit apartment. 

“Sorry,” Eddie eventually murmurs. He’s not sure why he’s apologizing, when the sickness wasn’t under his control. But that tone in Venom’s voice provokes guilt and remorse in him, for reasons he can’t quite elucidate. 

“Don’t do it again.” Venom commands. 

“I don’t really have control over that,” Eddie huffs, attempting to diffuse the sudden tension that settled over the space. Venom lets out a threatening growling noise and he quickly caves. “Fine, fine. I’ll try.”

“Try.” Venom repeats, equal amounts of wry amusement and frustration in their voice. Eddie just hums in response, grasping the symbiote’s tendrils with renewed vigor. Now that he thinks about it, Venom seemed uncharacteristically withdrawn during his sickness: as if they were afraid of pushing him too far past the brink of his energy.

“Sorry,” Eddie whispers again. Venom tightens their grip on his hand in response, and the two of them sit there for a long time after—hands conjoined and fates lovingly intertwined. 

Eddie doesn’t get a chance to thank you until a few days later, when he’s sure his sickness is gone and can safely dismiss the thought of getting you sick. Eddie and Venom meet Agony and you as the sun sets over the horizon, in the same spot where you first met all that time ago. 

Standing under the flickering street light in the park once more, Eddie is unspeakably thankful that he took a chance on you. He can’t imagine where he would be now, without your support. The thought dominates his mind, to the point where he finds himself uttering it aloud moments later. “I don’t know what I would do without you,” Eddie says. 

“You’d be just fine,” you remark with a smile. The way you look at him only adds more fuel to the fire of Eddie’s foolish hopes. When he sees that gleam in your eyes, he can’t help but envision a shared existence: not among two beings, but among four. The thought is misguided and horribly insistent, popping up during the most inopportune of moments. 

Eddie sighs. “I’m serious,” he maintains, trying to convey his sincerity. It seems to work, because you pause and look at him with widening eyes. “I- I couldn’t have done this alone. We couldn’t have done this alone.” Eddie corrects himself, when he can sense Venom about to object. The symbiote drags a tendril down his ribs, in an approving movement that makes his heart race. 

“I’m happy I met you,” you admit. “Selfishly speaking.” Agony crawls up your skin and pops out of your shoulder; Venom does the same, and the two have a conversation in a chittering language that Eddie and you can’t hope to understand. Meanwhile, Eddie is unable to deny your magnetic presence; he can’t help but gravitate towards you. He takes a step closer—past a socially acceptable distance—and stops, trying to study your expression and ascertain your comfort. Eventually, he surrenders and decides to just speak his thoughts.

“Can I…?” Eddie breaks off, unsure of what he’s asking for at the present moment. His thoughts are quickly cascading into a territory far past platonic companionship, but suppressing them is a lost cause. He’s spent too long denying himself the life he wants. Venom crawls up his chest and stretches across his shoulders in a reassuring gesture. Comforted by the reminder of Venom’s presence, Eddie clears his throat and summons the courage to finish his sentence. “Can I kiss you?”

You take a step closer, rendering the distance between the two of you nearly nonexistent. Your hand falls to his forearm and Eddie looks into your eyes, a nervous anticipation running through him as he sees you nod in agreement. “Yes.” You whisper, so quietly that Eddie nearly convinces himself that he imagined it. But before he can second-guess himself, you’re closing the gap between you and kissing him. 

You’re standing so close together that the two of you are practically fusing. Eddie’s hands fall to your waist; your hands cradle his jaw. Agony and Venom prickle along their partners’ shoulders, dripping down your chests and mixing together. Distantly, Eddie remembers how lost and alone he felt when Venom first fused with him. He has long grown out of the feeling, and wonders if, perhaps, that sensation was trying to tell him something. Perhaps, this entire time, existence was meant to be shared amongst three others—rather than just one. 

These philosophical thoughts quickly fade to the back of his mind, as your fingers trace his jaw and slip down to the nape of his neck. Venom rises to meet your hand, just as Agony trickles down your side and runs along Eddie’s knuckles. One realization immediately takes precedence over everything else running through Eddie’s mind: 

He’s never felt so alive.

endnotes: this is definitely the queerest fic I've ever written. and I love it.

Me: I can hardly write kissing scenes with two people. My writer’s brain, cackling: Hear me out. What about… two people and two symbiotes? Me: What. The. Fuck.

thanks for reading! <3

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[elletheactualmenace]

Was it Worth it?

Pairing: Bruce Wayne(battinson) x fem!reader

Summary: A night out turns disastrous, but somehow it brings you and Bruce closer

Warnings: Bruce being unsure how to behave around you, injuries, explosions, destructed building, worried Bruce, tears, talk about your past relationship with bruce, actress!reader, ambulances and police cars

Word Count: 3.9k

a/n: Sorry this took so long to post. I hope you enjoy this next part! Looking forward to continue writing this.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

“Bruce and Y/n Wayne have arrived at the charity auction in what looks to be one of Mr Wayne’s new cars from the most recent vintage corvette catalog.”

“That car is very pretty, and I think we can say the same about Y/n. She’s looking stunning as always”

“Well of course, with a wonder like that, Bruce Wayne would be in the wrong not to spoil his wife.”

“Haha, I agree. I also heard that he has already sold some of his more expensive model cars for tonight's charity.”

“Oh yes, that's right, he's ahead of the game,” The reporters laugh as you and Bruce begin walking towards the crowd of reporters and paparazzi.

“Mr Wayne!”

“Mrs Wayne, Mr Wayne, over here!”

“On your left Mr and Mrs Wayne!”

“Mrs Wayne! Show us the dress!”

“Stunning!”

The hoard of reporters and paparazzi crowd at the edges of the red velvety rope, separating them from you and your husband.

The paved walkway holds many people of high importance and wealth in the city. The board of public safety, the mayor, and more.

Bruce never has enjoyed big gathering events. Even with you at his side, he loathes the conversations, and the passive aggressiveness of it all.

You and your husband continue walking farther along the carpet, getting closer to the doors of city hall.

“Excuse me Mr Wayne! Do you have any comments on the new rumors of you and Batman's partnership?” You can feel Bruce's body tense and his senses sharpen at the mention of his alter ego. The reporter holds out a microphone and there is a cameraman directly behind the reporter.

Since you came into Bruce’s life his publicity has gone up through the roof. Bruce has been more active in his public life and it his business. You helped him open up. And for that everyone was grateful.

“No comment at the moment.” You can hear Bruce state just loud enough for the microphone to pick up.

“Now is not the right place or time,” You speak with a sweet smile. “This is for the children. Let's leave business talk for business hours.” 

You pull Bruce away from the reporters with a furrowed brow. He can tell you are annoyed at the question. It is the only thing you’ve been getting asked about for the past two weeks.

——

“Come on,” You mumble to Bruce as you walk to the table with your names. A white sheet claiming your spots on the round table. It's a charity auction put on by the new mayor, for children in need. As an orphan himself Bruce didn’t argue about going.

Bruce pulls out your chair and you sit. Once you are settled he sits in his seat. His hand stretches out to grab yours, but he stops himself. He doesn't know if you’re both there yet. Usually at events like these you would always be right there with him, holding his hand or touching him in some way. But he's trying to learn to not expect that attention as much. So, instead he rests his hand on his thigh, it's the closest he can get to your hands which are situated on your lap.

In all honesty you almost reached over too out of habit. But it is easy for memories of her face on flashing screens to cloud your vision. So you leave your hand in your lap, squeezing the other for comfort.

As people find their seats the lights begin to dim. Someone walks on stage to the stand, introduces himself, thanks everyone for coming, and begins the bidding. Too in your thoughts to pay attention, you take a sip of your champagne. 

People begin bidding money for antiques, paintings, expensive wine, rare collectables, and more. You and your husband both agreed to begin your bidding at the end, knowing the goods offered are always more expensive at the end. More money to the children was your conclusion.

“Do I hear a 15,000?” The auctioneer asks the crowd. You lean over to whisper something in Bruce’s ear.

“Bruce,”

He turns his head slightly so you know he's listening but keeps his eyes on the front of the room.

“I'm going to head to the bathroom, won’t be long.” You quietly push your chair out. You pause wondering if you should kiss him goodbye. You always do when leaving, but because of everything, you aren’t sure if you should. But then again there are reporters everywhere. What if someone sees and twists the story? Well, you think, their story might not be so twisted. You don’t give it another thought as you lean down and quickly peck his cheek before heading to the ladies room.

Bruce could sense the hesitation before the kiss, and with all his heart he wished it was real, even if his mind knew it would never be. But, even just a sliver of the past made his heart swell and beat rapidly. A small smile formed on his lip, which he quickly pushed away trying to listen to the auctioneer.

“And sold!” The auctioneer says into the microphone as the painting rolls away. 

The further you get the quieter the halls become. Your heels make a click with every step on the marble floors.

The halls are long, and seem to go on forever. You hate to admit that you're a bit lost. But you think if you just keep walking you might be able to find someone who can help you, or, if you're lucky, the bathroom.

You’re mindful of where you are, making sure you at least will be able to somewhat recognize the halls on your way back. You hate being lost, especially in such a high status place.

Before you and Bruce got together, your parents had been friends. You two never talked much before the accident, but you knew of each other. There was no specific reason for your lack of friendship, other than the fact that he didn’t talk much and you thought boys had cootie.

When his parents died, your parents would force you to hang out with him, which didn’t take a lot of convincing because you felt terrible that he went through what he did. Being forced together all the time helped your relationship grow. Even if only platonic.

At first he didn’t trust you. You didn’t blame him. So you ignored the mess he was. You ignored his sloppiness and rudeness and were kind. Slowly you became friends, you told him about your hopes and dreams and in turn he did the same. 

At fourteen you told him you wanted to become an actress and be on the big screen. And he didn’t tell you that you wouldn’t make it like everyone else had, but he supported you, even if it was in his closed off way. 

When you turned sixteen Bruce attended your birthday party. It was so sweet, and thought full of him, especially due to the fact that you and him were going through a rough patch, which, when you were young, was something that happened a lot in your relationship. He attended with all of your other friends and even your crush at the time, though he hated talking to new people. He even offered to get you a car to make up for his cruel words during the fight, but you had to tell him a multitude of times that it was unnecessary. And that all you wanted was for you both to stop arguing.

You were beyond happy that day, but didn’t understand why he would put himself through that party for you. At the time you were too naïve to see that all he wanted was to see you smile, even if it was with the boy you liked and not him.

When you were seventeen you told him all about how you got into your dream college. He was so happy for you, that was until you told him you would have to go and live far away. But he didn’t let it show. He just smiled and waved you off at the airport with a heavy heart.

When you got your first roll in a movie he heard about it on the news. Not from you. You both had been too busy with your new lives to keep us with your old ones. It made him long for the past.

During the premier of your fourth film you finally saw Bruce again. He was older, so were you. He looked so put-together and grown up. You were impressed by his change from boy to man. When you attempted to talk to him, he shut down the conversation immediately. You learned over the next couple of encounters that it would take a lot of work to get back into his good graces.

it was as if everything you had worked for over the years had fallen. It was like you didn’t recognize him, and he didn’t recognize you. You understood that Bruce was not a trusting person, and that the time away had caused a shift in his view on you, but you were determined to get your childhood friend back. It took a lot of work to get back to where you were, but you didn’t stop, knowing that all the work would be worth it. You were right.

And slowly, he opened up again. Trusted you again. Loved you again. During your efforts, Bruce had convinced himself he didn’t need you, but, boy, was he wrong. He hadn’t realized how much he needed you in his life until you were gone. The more he opened up the more he saw that. And god, did he miss you.

After almost a year and a half of working to get closer to him, he caved and did what 16-year-old him would have pissed his pants to do. He asked you out. And long story short, it worked out in his favor.

You continue walking until you see a door with the image of a cartoon woman on it. You push the door open and step into the ladies room.

There is a large, long mirror against the wall with a lone sink under it to the right. Five faucets evenly laid out along the sink. You turn to the stalls on the left. Making pushing the door open to step in.

Once you finish you walk over to the motion sensor faucet, pumping soap into the palm of your hand.

The door opens and a woman walks in. You recognize her, but don’t feel the need to make conversation in the bathroom. But she has other plans.

“Mrs. Wayne, I’m so happy we can finally talk.” The woman says, and your eyes lift from your soapy hands to meet hers in the mirror.

“Mayor Real,” you smile politely. She had recently become mayor as far as you could tell, she was doing a fantastic job.

“I’m sorry for the inappropriate meeting place, I’ve just been anxious to get to speak to you again.” Mayor Real said, taking something out of her handbag. Makeup to touch up her face.

“No need for the apology, I’m sure if we talked anywhere else someone would bombard us.” You chuckle, and she, along with you.

“What did you want to talk about?” You ask as you rinse off your hands. 

"I wanted to make better acquaintance with you,” she said simply. The first time you had met was at the prior mayor’s funeral, the one the Riddler attacked.

“The first time we met was not the best of circumstances.” Mayor Real added lightly. You nod with a sad smile to her. 

You walk to dry your hands with the paper towel provided.

”From what I’ve seen you're a good person, and it's good to know good people.” Real puts her makeup back into your handbag.

”Mayor Real-”

”Bella, please.” She cuts you off, correcting you.

”Bella,” You correct yourself with a smile, turning to her. “If you’re asking if we can be friends, then just say that.” You chuckle lightly. Bella looks a bit embarrassed but smiles anyway.

”Right. Friends then?” She asks.

”Of course.” You grin back. “Walk back with me?” You offer heading to the door. Bella follows after you happily.

You once again begin your walk down the long echoey hall. Now the sound of heels on marble doubled. You make idle conversation, trying to make her more comfortable with you. You don’t like the fact that some people find you unapproachable, because really your husband is unapproachable, not you. But it’s really not his fault, he’s just not good with people. But you, you know how to talk to people, and you think it’s odd that people are frightened to talk to you.

“Bella?” You ask putting your hand out infront of her, stopping her from going any further. Her brows furrow as she looks at you.

“What is-“

Your body is thrown to the ground. Everything happens as if it's in slow motion. Blinding white light flashes over Bella and you. It is like the bright white of light on freshly clean hospital sheets. It stings your eyes shut.

Next comes the shards of broken marble and concrete. Like needle pricking your skin. A wave of rubble and dusty pieces of brick scatter around you. On instinct your hands reach up to protect your head. Your ears ring and the pounding of your heart is louder than ever. It's like a movie, but everythings so much more confusing. 

You feel the coldness of marble on your hot skin. And you hiss as a headache pricks your eyes. Your head, still turned toward the floor from your fall, rises. You look around, trying to understand what happened. One second you were walking with Bella the next you're on the cold floor with a pounding headache and ringing ears.

Your eyes are still being attacked by the brightness. So you squint and look around. There is what remains of a wall scattered all around you. And about 45 feet ahead of you is a giant hole in the wall.

You don’t register Bellas voice until her hand grasps your arm. You look at her, still a bit dazed.

“Mrs. Wayne! Are you alright? Are you injured?” She asks frantically. And you nod slowly, coming to your senses.

“Yes, sorry,” you wince, “god, my head is killing me.”

Bella helps you up and you lean against a nearby wall. You look down at yourself. You are covered in dust and debris, you dress ripped at the bottom, and cuts scatter your skin.

You look at Bella, she’s in about the same state. But she looks more put together. Being married to Bruce, odd and scary situations like this were not out of the norm, but for some reason, with everything that’s been going on in your personal life, you aren’t as mentally prepared for this. Your heart is pounding and your thoughts race.

You look around frantically, you both need to get out of here somehow. But your head is overcome with a rush of thoughts. Only one keeps repeating. Bruce. You are close to the auction room and you have a creeping suspicion that that explosion wasn’t an accident. 

You run as fast as you can along the rubble in your heels. Not thinking about what Bella might think. You almost fall with every step. You can’t think about anything but him. Even though you are pissed beyond what words can express, you're still worried sick. 

And all the people he was with. You realize, as your breathing becomes quicker. How would they have gotten out? They must have been terrified.

When you finally turn the corner into the auction room you see mass destruction. But no people, just a broken building. Everyone must have gotten out. But there must have been multiple explanations that went off.

You look to where your and Bruce’s table had been. Now all the silverware is scattered and glass broken on the floor.

You stand there in shock, and are brought out of your trance by Bella grabbing your arm again.

”What are you doing?! We have to evacuate,” She huffs out. 

“I'm sorry, I thought there were people still in here.” You breathe out slowly trying to catch your breath better. “I had to make sure-“

”Everyones made it out, I just got a text from commissioner Gordon. Everyone is alright, but we need to go.” She hurries out. And you nod in understanding. But still your heart races. You are worried something might have happened to Bruce, and you can imagine he is feeling the same.

You both walk hurriedly down the halls, trying to find an exit. You hate how little direction the building gives you. You and Bella hold on to each other for support as you walk.

“Bella are you alright?” You finally ask as you continue down the hall.

“Yes. Just a few cuts and bruises. Can’t imagine what would have happened if you didn’t stop us from walking further.” She comments.

“Yeah,” you agree, trying to push away the images of what could have been.

“We were lucky.” She says to you and you nod in agreement.

——

When you eventually spot an exit sign you both physically relax a bit. You push the door open for both of you. The door opens to the side of the building, you can see the lights of police cars from around the corner. And you hear the chatter of all the people.

You and Bella stammer over making sure not to trip in the dark light. As you round the corner you are met with police and paramedics at your side immediately. You brush them off, telling them to tend to the Mayor first. Stubbornly they listen.

You are both taken to an ambulance, and sat at the edge of the open truck. You are given a blanket and moment to gather yourself.

You can see the uninjured crowd of people from the auction across the street, their safe. Your eyes scan over the faces for Bruce.

“Mrs. Wayne.” A voice calls and you turn to face Gordon. You give him your attention and he takes it as a sign to continue.

“I’m sorry you and Mayor Real got stuck in the blasts.” Your breath catches in your throat at his words. So you were right. There had been multiple. Gordon seems to understand that you wanted to know more, so he doesn’t stop.

“We got an anonymous call in, and immediately called for an evaluation. We had accounted for people not being in the main auction room, but we had to focus on the larger group,” Gordon explains with a sigh.

“Yes, I understand. Thank you for your help.” You thank, with a sincere smile. Gordon seems stressed and you feel bad that he has to deal with the aftermath of the horrible people of this city. You can see the tension in his shoulders and the tiredness in his eyes.

“Commissioner?” His eyes turn up at his name. “Do you know where my husband might be?” You ask with furrowed brows. Gordon smiles softly, and nods.

“Yeah, I’ll go get him. In the meantime, stop refusing the paramedics help.” He scolds as he begins walking off. You huff out a laugh and ultimately you let one of the EMT’s look you over properly.

Looking down at your body, you finally take note of the cuts on your skin, and you can make out the beginnings of bruises.  Your new dress is ripped and dirty, just like your skin. Only now does your brain begin to register the ache of them.

Your skin stings as the EMT looking after you swipes disinfectant over your scrapes. You wince every once and a while and the EMT gives you apologetic looks.

You hear your name and your head shoots up. You see Bruce rushing through a crowd trying to reach you. He looks frantic, eyes wide and filled with worry. You look him over as he makes his way to you. He isn’t injured, you note, and a wait lifts off your shoulders. 

“Y/n!” He exasperates as he gets to your side. The EMT respectfully steps away, giving you both space. He takes hold of your arms gently, but securely. It's like the feeling of your warm body against him gives him comfort. Bruce looks over you tenderly once, twice, and a third to be safe. You're at a perfect height to meet eyes, due to sitting in the back of the ambulance truck.

“Bruce, I'm alright,” You say, trying to slow down your racing heart. You’re happy to know he too, is mostly unharmed.

“I- I thought you might have-” Your heart cracks with his voice. You see his eyes get misty and you swear you’ll cry if you stay looking at him. His face is burned in your mind. He looks so lost, so frightened. You know exactly how he feels.

Bruce wants to hug you more than anything. He wants to kiss you. To know you're really here. But he also isn’t sure you want that, with everything that has happened, that he has done, he's not sure how to react in situations involving you.

You look down to avoid his heart breaking gaze. You want to hold him, but don’t know if it's wrong to begin to forgive him so soon. It’s been nearly two months, yet still your heart stings every time you picture him with Selina. But looking at him now makes your heart ache to forgive.

“I- Im glad you're okay.” Bruce voices, trying to calm his uneven breathing. He hesitates to let go of your arms, but folds and lets his arms drop to his side.

”Bruce I-“ You stutter over your words. You can’t say what you feel. But god do you want to. “I'm glad you're okay too.”

”I- I'm so sorry. I should have gone with you, or-“ 

“Bruce, hey- baby,” You grab hold of his face with your cold hands and his eyes painfully train on you. He looks so small. “You couldn’t have done anything. Stop beating yourself up. It's pissing me off that you think you could have known, because you couldn’t have,”

He keeps his eyes on you, the tears in his eyes sparkling in the light of the police car sirens.

“Just be happy we are both here. Yeah?” You question softly, not letting him move his face from your hold. He nods as much as he can with your hands on his face. He whispers an apology as he looks down and a silent tear rolls down his cheek. Your thumb rubs over his skin and wipes it away.

”Don’t cry,” You whisper to him. 

“I'm sorry tonight was such a scare,” You hum and you continue soothing his skin with your thumbs. Bruce's eyes fall shut and two more tears slip from his lids.

”Me too.” He mumbles into your hands. Bruce turns his head to kiss your palm and for the first time in a while, you smile genuinely at him.

”Let's go home,” He whispers as he lifts his hands over yours to soothe you like you are soothing him. You hum and shut your eyes, leaning your forehead against his.

[zorosbeau33]

Working~ Sting Eucliffe Headcanon/Drabble

❖ Fairy Tail, Sting x genderless reader

❖ Headcanon, Drabble, Fluff, Romance, established relationship au

❖ No warnings for this one~

❖ wc: 843

❖ @tojiseviltwin @kimnamshiks ❖ Masterlist ❖

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

This ended up nearly becoming a imagine by accident oops? So uh headcanon/drabble. Might do nsfw headcanon if anyone is interested sometime

. ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ ⋅˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Being guildmaster is something he takes great pride in, although he knows he is only so good at it because he has the support of people like Rogue and Minerva

He already finds it very hard to concentrate on paperwork when there are so many cool things out there and his guild is having fun partying or relaxing in their new pool

Which is how he would end up holed up in his office desperately trying to get himself to concentrate on the task at hand.

Digging himself out of all the backed-up paperwork that hadn’t been deemed important enough to be a same day issue.

Funny that those projects and paperwork which wasn’t really needing to be dealt with for another two-three weeks suddenly were all due at once

Rogue had been tasked (by Minerva) with letting the guild members know he was not to be disturbed for anything, even the guild burning down (Rogue could handle that without Sting's help). 

The members were on their best behavior too! Trying so hard not to disturb but to also be helpful, like delivering the finished mail for him, or leaving snacks at the door with a tiny knock. (I think they forget about his sharpened senses because yes Orga he sees and smells you hiding behind that thin ass pillar at the other end of the hall) 

Sting feels even more determined with all of them being so kind and helpful to him, especially you

Your willingness to sit beside him and carefully help sort the paperwork, file it away or arrange it to be sent out in the mail was making this process so much faster. He could tell you had teamed up with Minerva to find out exactly what she as financial and aid needed from him because before she could do it you were already guiding Sting to the next document she needed him to address

Thus after three days with late nights and early mornings the end was nearly in sight

The budget for the festival was making his eyes swim as he tried to allot the right amounts where, and Minerva herself had stepped out to take care of a time sensitive task for him when your “help” suddenly became “hindering”

“I am working babe” He would whine and pout a bit trying to ignore you sitting on his desk and moving in closer to him, a tactic that normally had him jumping into your arms or pulling you into his lap with a laugh

Sting was such a good boyfriend he always put your needs first whenever he could, and that included entertainment or cuddles…yet another reason he may have fallen a bit behind because even after your needs were met he overindulged himself in spoiling you

Your pout and little cooes and pleas for just a few minutes made him whine louder looking distraught

How could you do this to him? Puppy pout when he was trying his best to be good and do everything so he could in fact indulge himself all he wanted in your magnificent presence? 

Did you wear his clothes too knowing how that made him melt even more for you? This had to be a plot, you waited until Minerva and Rogue had stepped away to pull this.

“Please?” He would whimper and beg, eyeing you desperately wanting nothing more than to tackle you for cuddles and a nap, or some kisses “I just have a bit more, I need to…just a bit longer…” 

It was his downfall, the minute his eyes glanced at your lips he knew it was over

Crashing your lips together in an exhausted but needy kiss Sting was quickly falling into your trap

Looping his arms around your waist, hugging you as he leaned up out of his seat to reach your lips for the kisses he’d been longing for. 

Sting's exhaustion would hit him all at once and despite kissing you like a man who would drown without air, his body went slack leaning against you to stay up. Sunken eyes closing as he surrendered to the bliss of your taste

Minerva would be fuming when she came back but right now he just needed to lean into you as you sat on his desk before him and steal as many kisses as he could before falling asleep

Her anger would melt though when she saw only a few small things left, and the soft way you were stroking his hair as he used your lap as a pillow

Maybe a small nap couldn’t hurt, she could also maybe use one

Sure enough, Sting did still finish his paperwork that night

Lastly, he made sure to pay you back for interrupting and distracting him like that too ;)

From that day on Sting however, would request your kisses as a reward and a “rejuvenating spell” whenever he needed to do paperwork

Though skeptical of the method Minerva and Rogue were both relieved that paperwork never truly piled up anymore they guess they could say it’s “working”

[restinslices]

How’d you think the Lin Kuei boys show their affection to their partner?

It’s kinda short but irl I’m actually so bad at affection, it’s stupid. They all have around 300 words👍🏾

Bi-Han

I feel like as the Grandmaster and having so many responsibilities, he'd appreciate someone who does things for him. So his way of showing affection is to do the same for them 

Handling chores, leaving you bowls of fruit, cooking for when you return, stuff like that. 

I don't think he's the type to say “I love you much” either. Words are cheap. Actions show you how much someone truly cares 

If you're a fighter, he'd also show affection by tending to you if you're harmed and checking in from time to time 

Also sparring. This may not seem like something affectionate but in his mind, him sparring with you shows he cares about you enough to try and sharpen your skills. It means he cares about your safety. 

Affection to him can be somewhat uncomfortable, so don't expect him to do huge grand gestures. His version of love is more quiet and private. Honestly you wouldn't be wrong if you felt a bit neglected 

Neglecting you wouldn't be on purpose though. He just feels that certain things are unnecessary. Constantly touching, being near each other, whispering sweet things, and all that other type of shit just isn't his vibe. It's unnecessary and it seems like it's more for showing other people you love your partner than actually loving them (his thoughts. I know y'all like to tussle)

You'd have to ask him to do those things if you're into it. Doesn't mean he'll be good at it though 

Since he's such a combat heavy, “I don't want peace, I want PROBLEMS ALWAYS” type of guy I can see him also showing affection by giving you things to improve your combat 

He'd give you weapons that he knows you specialize in. Like, if you're someone who uses a spear, he'd go out of his way to get you a new one. 

His version of affection is subtle but it's definitely there. 

Kuai Liang 

Kuai Liang is definitely more comfortable when it comes to affection 

I can see him also giving you gifts for combat. Bi-Han gives you things you specialize in, but Kuai Liang is the type to give some of his weapons 

Kuai Liang is gone a lot so I think he'd show affection by giving you things that belong to him so you'll have something to remember him, and you can give him something of yours 

I can see him giving gifts in general to make up for his absence in your relationship. He wouldn't just throw gifts at you though. It'd be gifts he specifically knows you'd enjoy 

Kuai Liang pays lots of attention to you so anything he gives you would be perfect. You wouldn't have to worry about having to fake being happy because he pays too much attention to give you smth shitty 

Memorizes very small details about you too. Does this count as affection? Depends on who you ask. 

He's also more comfortable with being physical so I can see him touching you a lot. No I don't mean sexually. I'd never write such a thing and y'all have no proof 🙄

In all seriousness, I think he enjoys casual physical touch. The type to randomly put a hand on your shoulder or place his hand on your thigh 

Compliments you a lot also. Lots of skill based compliments 

Compliments you on your fighting or hobbies you're improving in. 

I feel like his version of affection is very stereotypical, ya know? The hand holding, the walking alone, the various compliments, shit people think of when they think of a relationship 

I do however think he'd prefer some stuff to be in private. Everyone doesn't need to see you two do everything if that makes sense 

You'd feel very loved with him though 

He really gives me the vibes of a stereotypical loving husband. He's grown. Life is short. Why wouldn't he show you how much he cares?

Tomas Vrbada 

I think his version of affection would be lots and lots of quality time

He legit wants to do everything with you. Not in a toxic and obsessive way. He just enjoys your company 

He'd probably worry he's being annoying but when he's reassured that it's ok, he's on your heels 

I think he'd enjoy making things with you. Could be jewelry. Could be cooking. Could be baking. As long as it's something together and you can share it, he enjoys it 

He's probably fine with public affection too as long as it's not extremely intense. Don't try to stick your tongue down his throat in public. Have some decorum. 

I can also see him being so in love with someone that he talks about them often. So much so, word would end up getting back to you that he just won't shut the fuck up 

I think he'd be ok with physical touch. I can see him being cool with hanging out and cuddling. It'd be such a change of pace compared to the usual hostile and combat filled life he lives 

He really enjoys your presence and being around someone who's peaceful and doesn't have unnecessarily high expectations of him 

Back to what I said earlier about cooking, I think that would be his favorite thing to do with you. Food can bring people together and inviting you to cook or bake with him brings you two closer. He'd probably let you pick what to make too. 

I can see him doing corny shit too if you asked. Like if you said “hey can you write me a love letter even though we're sitting right next to each other?”, he'd probably say “umm, sure”. 

I just think he'd really enjoy having a person that was just for him and it'd be very very clear 

Similar mindset to Kuai Liang in terms of “why wouldn’t I show my partner affection when I can die at any point?”

I tried to use different gifs than usual but I probably did not😀