#and I am going to get COVERED with stupid triggers if I try to use a search engine without being ridiculously careful

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 17: Zero Gravity

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC [Named] x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's, as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

The warmth of midmorning light kisses my skin, I stretch with the smug grace of someone in a mattress commercial and immediately freeze. There’s a sensation. A very specific, very horrifying sensation. 

Oh, fuck. No, no, no, no, no!

I fling the covers off and look down at the sheets only to be greeted by what can only be described as a modern art crime scene. An abstract splash of crimson devastation sprawled beneath me like I spent the night doing interpretive dance in the blood of my enemies sometime between REM cycles.

“Shit.”

I slap a hand over my face, already feeling the slow, dreadful ooze continuing its vile descent. This cannot be happening. I grab my phone from the nightstand with the urgency of someone disarming a bomb, click open my period tracking app, and… It’s right on time.

“How is that even possible?” I hiss at the phone like it personally betrayed me. “You’re supposed to warn me, not sneak up on me like some uterus ninja with a vendetta!”

I scroll back through my notifications. Oh, there it is. The little alert I completely ignored while I was either passionately screaming at Caleb or passionately fucking him like he was the last star in the galaxy and I intended to go supernova with his name clawed down my throat.

Launching myself out of bed, I survey the wreckage. The sheets are toast. The mattress is probably emotionally scarred. I’m leaking down my thighs like a haunted Capri Sun. I slap a hand between my legs like I can physically catch it, like I’m holding back a flood with sheer willpower and a prayer.

I barrel into the bathroom, rip open the cabinet, and—empty. I squat down and double-check. Back of the cabinet? Dust and shame. Medicine drawer? Not even a sad emergency panty liner. Bottom shelf? Caleb’s stupid fancy razors and overpriced face cream.

Who forgets tampons?! What kind of reckless, chaos-witch just raw dogs a lunar cycle with nothing but vibes?

Me. I’m the disaster, and the agent of my own undoing.

I look around wildly, grabbing the first thing I see: a sock. ��No,” I mutter, horrified by my own brain.

Tossing it aside like it insulted my bloodline, I yank off a wad of toilet paper, rolling it into a lumpy little horror taco like I’m MacGyvering my way through a high-stakes espionage mission. I stare at it solemnly. Will this hold? Will this… tissue paper tampon of dreams stand strong in the face of the crimson tide?

It disintegrates in my hand.

New plan! I rifle through the drawer like a raccoon on a bender. My eyes land on a bright yellow microfiber cloth, and for one bleak, desperate second, I consider it.

A wave of silent despair washes over me. This is it. This is how I die. Not from some noble cosmic cause like enemy fire or a plasma explosion. No. I am going to perish in a puddle of uterine vengeance and improvised hygiene, naked and betrayed by biology.

There I am: awkwardly half-squatting over the toilet like I’m summoning a bathroom demon, one hand clutching a rapidly disintegrating wad of toilet paper, the other gripping the sacred microfiber cloth of desperation and regret when Caleb waltzes up to the bathroom door I apparently did not close in my frantic dash.

“Hey, pip-squeak, you want—”

Caleb stops. Dead. Mid-sentence. Mug of coffee in hand. His eyes lock on me.

Time halts.

I freeze like a deer caught sacrificing goats in the moonlight.

“Get. Out.” I shriek, flailing the toilet paper at him like a deranged exorcist with a very absorbent crucifix.

He blinks. Slowly. Like he’s not sure if this is real or a trauma dream. “…Is that a sock?”

“It was an option, Caleb! I am a resourceful and desperate woman!”

He stares, taking in the horror show: my legs clamped like a human nutcracker, hair a disaster, surrounded by rogue cotton, abandoned hope, and what looks like the aftermath of a sacrificial blood ritual.

Caleb, bless his heart, doesn’t immediately laugh. “I… I brought coffee.”

“I cannot drink coffee right now,” I hiss, voice cracking. “I am waging war against my uterus with household textiles.”

A tense silence descends. Then he snorts, chokes, and collapses into giggles so hard he has to lean on the doorframe.

“Oh my god,” he gasps between laughs, eyes watering. “Is this what happens when your period starts? Do you always go full menstrual MacGyver?”

“I forgot to pack tampons!” I screech, throwing the sock like a grenade of shame. “I was too busy either screaming at you or climbing you like a fire escape!”

He sets the mug down before he drops it, laughing so hard he’s wheezing like a dying accordion.

I glare with the fire of a thousand vengeful wombs. “If you don’t leave right now, I swear I will use you. As. A. Tampon.”

His face twists in the most dramatic grimace of horror, as if I just threatened to turn him into a sentient cotton swab. “The war gods,” he whispers, backing away slowly, “they are very angry.”

“I hate you. I am dying. There is blood everywhere. You’re dating a hemorrhaging embarrassment.”

And he—still laughing—just nods solemnly like he’s attending my tragic, period-fuelled funeral. “And I love you more every second of it.”

He saunters over to the cabinet above the bathroom counter like we’re not in the middle of a full-blown menstrual apocalypse. Opens it, reaches up, and pulls out a box of tampons.

Caleb turns around slowly, like he’s unveiling the Mona Lisa, and presents them with a flourish. “Here. Bought these last week. Figured you’d need ‘em.”

“You… what?”

“There’s pads up there, too,” he adds nonchalantly. “All the kinds. Wings, no wings, overnight, ultra-thin. I didn’t know which type you liked, so I just panic-bought the entire aisle.”

“You knew when my period was coming?” I squint at him like he’s just hacked into the mainframe of my uterus.

He shrugs, casual as ever. “I’m your boyfriend now. It’s in the job description. Monitor the lunar cycle. Prepare for the blood tide. Arm myself with chocolate, carbs, and, apparently, advanced knowledge of feminine hygiene.”

My bottom lip wobbles like a toddler who just dropped her ice cream. 

“Are you crying?” he asks, horrified.

“I don’t know!” I sob, clutching the tampon box to my chest like it’s the Ark of the Covenant. “This is either the creepiest thing you’ve ever done or the most beautiful!”

He spreads his arms wide in that classic, smug hug-the-hero pose. “Come on. Bring it in. Hug your weirdly prepared boyfriend who has read the leaflet inside a pad box and lived to tell the tale.”

I lunge at him like a deranged, snotty koala on a mission. He catches me easily, wrapping his arms around me with the gentle certainty of a man who’s already accepted his fate as a period support unit. He doesn’t even flinch when my towel shifts and I probably bleed on his shirt.

He strokes my back. “You’re okay.”

“I am not okay,” I wail. “I’m in the pre-cramp phase. I can feel them coming. Like satanic elves warming up for a CrossFit class inside my uterus.”

He pulls back just far enough to rummage in the cabinet again. “I meant to grab your painkillers.” He throws his head back dramatically. “I was so close to being the perfect period boyfriend. I had the snacks. I had the supplies.”

I sniffle into his shirt. “I’m going to marry you. Not now. But someday. Maybe during a hormonal spike.”

He pauses. “…Will I have to share a bathroom with you forever? Because—pip-squeak—I have seen things today. Things that have scarred me. Things involving socks and microfiber.”

I smack his chest, mostly for effect. He just grins, kisses the top of my head, and peels away from me with the solemn purpose of a knight on a holy quest.

“I’m goin’ out to get the good painkillers,” he declares. “The ones with the green cap and the label that sounds like a spell. Do you want anything else? Chocolate? Cheese buns? A personal flamethrower for your uterus?”

I lift a limp hand from my towel cocoon. “Maybe… a box of those double chocolate cookies with the fudge inside. And a Coke. And chips. Ketchup.”

“Knew you’d say that,” he grins, already summoning his jacket and wallet with his Evol. They fly across the room and slap into his hands with lethal force. He nods once, grave as a man heading into battle. “If I die in the feminine hygiene aisle… tell the pharmacist I fought bravely.”

He’s out the door like I just yelled, “There’s a clearance sale on engine parts.” I blink at the empty space he once occupied and groan like a wounded animal, dragging myself upright.

The doorframe becomes my cane. My thighs feel like they’re made of stone. My lower back? Humming like an angry wasp trapped in a metal drum, sending out distress signals that scream, Regret is nigh.

I manage to clean myself up like a tragic battlefield medic, then start stripping the bed, cursing under my breath at the literal bloodbath left behind. Halfway through wrestling the fresh fitted sheet onto the bed, disaster strikes.

The first cramp hits. I freeze, blink, and collapse onto the mattress like I’ve just been assassinated by an invisible sniper targeting my uterus for sport. The pain coils through me like Satan is wringing out my insides like a dish towel.

The sheets fall from my arms. I curl up like an overcooked shrimp, moaning into the mattress. “Why… do I have a uterus…? Whose idea was this? Who gave me organs?”

I have no idea how long I lie there, contemplating the sheer indignity of it all. Time loses meaning. I might’ve been there for ten minutes. I might’ve aged a decade. Hard to say. I hear the click of the front door. Caleb’s back already? That was record time.

My brain immediately conjures the most likely scenario: Caleb, storming into the store with righteous determination and a basket, using The Voice. Not his regular voice—no, Colonel Caleb Voice™. The one that makes grown soldiers stand up straighter and children drop their lollipops.

I imagine him dramatically sidestepping a line of confused civilians like a man on a mission, barking, “Fleet business. Critical. Step aside. We’ve got a Code Red.”

Snacks flying. Store clerks cowering. Someone saluting for no reason. Children whispering legends of a man who once bought five types of cookies with the intensity of a war general.

Okay, full honesty? I hate that voice when we’re at Fleet HQ. But there’s…something about it. The way people scatter when he walks in. The sheer dominance in his stride. The fact that if he points at someone and says move, they move.

It’s objectively annoying. Also, unreasonably hot. Ten-out-of-ten, would straddle him in the war room and make him forget his clearance code.

“Inara?” Caleb’s voice, soft and tentative at first, then sharper when he doesn’t immediately spot my crumpled form. “Where—ah.”

He finds me starfished pathetically on the bed, eyes glazed, limbs locked in fetal formation.

“Oh, pip-squeak…” His whole voice changes. He sounds like a prince who’s stumbled upon his damsel in distress—if the damsel was bloated, furious, and lightly sweating.

He crouches beside me, brushing sweaty strands of hair from my forehead. “Can you turn around for me?”

I groan like I’m being asked to lift a car. My movements are glacial. Snail-like. Heroic, honestly. But I manage to uncurl myself with the elegance of a sloth with a pulled muscle.

Caleb situates a heating pad under the waistband of my pants and adjusts it like it’s a precious relic, carefully, reverently, then presses it over my stomach.

Sweet merciful heavens, it’s instant bliss. I gasp. Tears spring to my eyes.

He hands me a glass of water and two painkillers like I’m a wounded woodland creature that might bite. “Here. Got the ones with the green cap. And I brought Coke, cookies, chips… and ketchup. You know. For… morale.”

I blink up at him like he’s descended from the heavens in sweatpants and pilot boots. “You’re the best,” I croak. “Like, obnoxiously so. It’s disgusting.”

“I’m just tryin’ to outdo your uterus,” he smirks, easing me back down onto the bed like I’m made of glass and hormones. “Not an easy opponent. She fights dirty.”

He brushes a kiss to my temple. “Rest. I’ll finish the bed. Then we’re watchin’ the dumbest show TV has to offer while you eat enough sodium to kill a small horse. That’s an order.”

Once he has finished cleaning up my mess, he strolls back into the room, takes one look at my fetal shrimp formation, and gives me the kind of soft smile that could melt steel. He sits beside me and starts rubbing my back like he’s trying to lull a feral cat into trusting humans again.

“How’re you doin’, pip-squeak?”

I lift a shaky thumbs-up like I’ve survived a plane crash. “Still alive. Mostly. Your heating pad is a miracle. You should get a medal.”

“You remember when we were kids and you used to get sick? We’d steal every pillow in the house and build that ridiculous little fort in the living room. Sheets hanging from chairs. Chips hidden like we were squirrels. TV marathons ‘til we passed out.”

A slow, nostalgic smile curls on my lips. “Of course I remember. You always insisted on being the fort ‘commander.’ You even made me salute.”

He smirks. “Chain of command is sacred. Someone had to lead the resistance against… flu symptoms and adult supervision.”

I snort. “You tripped over your own cape and dive-bombed the juice boxes.”

“That was a tactical retreat,” he concludes with mock dignity. “And a brilliant one. Confused the enemy.”

His expression softens again, warm and just a little mischievous. “Want to do it again? I can drag the spare mattress out, build Fort Nostalgia, deluxe edition. Blankets, snacks—real battle station energy.”

My eyes round. “Yes. Oh my god, yes. That sounds like heaven.” Just as he starts to stand, I snag his wrist with exaggerated flair and bat my lashes like a princess about to request a small crime. “Wait. Can I do it? With your Evol?”

He squints at me like I’ve just asked to borrow his liver. “You want to use my Evol? To move a mattress?”

I nod with the wide-eyed innocence of someone who absolutely should not be trusted with powers that bend the laws of physics. “Please? It’ll be fun! I promise I won’t destroy anything!”

Caleb stares at me in silence. “You do remember the last time I let you use my Evol, right? You tried to ‘gently levitate’ the couch and instead launched it through Gran’s drywall like it was a battering ram.”

“That was years ago,” I retaliate with great offence. “And only because you never let me practice.”

“That’s because you launched furniture at heirlooms, Inara. Her antique plate collection had to be picked out of the ficus.”

“That was gravity’s fault,” I sniff. “Also, technically, your Evol. I just directed it. Badly.”

He drags a hand down his face like a man trying to erase the memory of broken porcelain and family shame. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

I beam. “So that’s a yes?”

He stares at the ceiling, possibly praying, sighs, arms flopping like he’s accepting a doomed mission. “Fine. The risk is worth the nostalgia.”

“Yes!” I fist-pump weakly from my side of the bed, victorious in a way only the truly dramatic can be. “Prepare for fort magic.”

“Please do not destroy the house,” he mutters as he heads off to move breakables, mentally rearranging the room like it’s an incoming war zone.

Honestly, his faith in me is wildly low for someone who once ate a crayon because I told him it would make his tongue purple forever. But I’m about to get a full cuddle fort, complete with gravity manipulation and deluxe snacks, courtesy of the best boyfriend-slash-long-suffering Evol instructor in the galaxy.

“Alright, come here, troublemaker,” he grumbles, swooping down and scooping me up bridal-style like it’s just another Tuesday.

I squeak. “Okay, rude. I’m extremely capable.”

“You’re extremely bleeding and shaped like a crescent roll. Let me carry you before you fold yourself into a tortilla.”

He strides us toward the spare room, and I feel the hum of his Evol beneath my palm, vibrating through his chest like a second heartbeat. It’s that eerie, quiet kind of power, like standing on the edge of a black hole with full trust fall energy.

“I’m going to resonate with you,” I whisper, already syncing with his Evol without waiting.

“Obviously,” he replies like a man who has accepted his fate. “I’ve already made peace with the fact I’m going to die in this house. Possibly crushed under a floating snack shelf.”

“Shut up. This is going to be fucking majestic.”

The moment I fully sync with him, it hits me like I’ve just been launched into low Earth orbit with zero training and a bag of chips. Every object in the room has a presence, a glowing, pulsing, “move me, chosen one,” kind of aura in my mind’s eye.

The mattress? Oh, the mattress is practically singing to me. Radiating potential. Whispering sweet nothings like, “Launch me, goddess of gravity.”

I turn to Caleb, eyes wild with power and mattress lust. “The mattress,” I breathe. “She’s ready.”

“Okay,” he begins, clearly regretting everything that has led us to this exact moment. “Let’s maybe just slide it gently—”

It’s too late. I am the mattress now. We are a singular being of foam, springs, and unearned confidence.

“No—wait—lift from the centre—!”

…Oops.

The mattress doesn’t just move. It yeets sideways like it’s trying to escape a haunted house, slamming directly into the bookshelf. Books explode into the air like startled pigeons, flapping through the chaos of their new airborne lifestyle. A picture frame bounces off the wall and does a dramatic spin before hitting the ground in defeat.

Caleb yelps like a man betrayed and immediately wrests back control of his Evol before I can accidentally level the rest of the spare bedroom.

“CENTRE. OF. MASS,” he bites out, trying and failing to sound stern while choking on laughter. A lampshade is still spinning on its side like a dying Beyblade.

“I panicked!” I cry, hands still dramatically aloft like I’m summoning ancient forces. “Why did it go left?!”

“Because you yanked it like a toddler having a meltdown in a toy aisle!”

Caleb carefully puts me down, then steps behind me with the wariness of a man defusing a bomb. His hands slide over mine, steady and sure.

“Okay. Try again,” he encourages, cheek brushing mine, his voice soft like spring rain and emotional damage. “Breathe. Feel it settle. Don’t yank. Coax it.”

“Coax it?” I mutter, side-eyeing him. “You want me to seduce the mattress?”

“If it keeps it from launchin’ into the kitchen, then yes.”

I breathe in slowly, tuning in, fingers twitching with intent. The mattress gives a faint shiver, hovering mid-air like it’s about to be recruited by NASA.

Caleb murmurs near my ear, “There you go. That’s my terrifyin’ space goddess.”

I grin so wide my cheeks hurt. “You’re just saying that so I don’t fling it at your face next.”

“Correct.”

We guide it slowly into the living room, side-stepping the crime scene that was once a bookshelf. The mattress lands with a soft fwump in front of the TV. Caleb helps me tuck blankets around the edges like it’s an art installation, piles pillows with the solemnity of a man performing ancient rites, and hurls snacks into a bowl like a five-star chaos chef.

The room looks like a tornado passed through and then decided to stay for movie night. It’s perfect. When we finally collapse into our newly crafted fort, I’m sweaty, still crampy, and emotionally unbalanced, but also grinning like a maniac.

We settle, limbs tangled, snacks close, blankets pulled up to our ears like we’re preparing to weather a romantic storm. Caleb presses a kiss to the crown of my head before handing me the remote like I’m the queen of this ridiculous castle.

“Your Highness,” he purrs solemnly. “Choose our poison.”

I scroll for about two seconds before landing on Love Detour: Second Chances. The premise? Absolute garbage fire. Couples who have broken up in spectacularly messy fashion agree to go on a cross-country road trip together in a glorified tin can, aka a camper van, to see if they can “rekindle their connection.”

Caleb squints at the screen like it just personally insulted his intelligence. “Okay, wait. What is this?”

“It’s about emotional terrorism,” I inform him, deadpan. “And also, trying to find love again while being trapped in close quarters with someone who ruined your life.”

He groans. “No. No, Inara, please. I cannot withstand this level of stupidity.”

“You say that now,” I sing, waggling the remote at him like it’s a loaded weapon, “but just you wait.”

Five episodes later, Caleb is captivated. “Okay, hold on,” he says, sitting bolt upright. “The guy with the man bun—Brandon, right?—he cheated on her twice but now wants to get back together because he ‘misses her energy’? What does that even mean?!”

“It means he’s delusional,” I reply, shovelling popcorn into my face like I’m watching the fall of Rome.

“And why is Alyssa still here?! She literally said—and I quote—‘I feel dead inside when he talks.’ That’s not love; that’s a warning from your nervous system!”

“Because she has main character syndrome,” I explain patiently, “and she’s holding out for a spin-off.”

He sighs, hand over his heart like he’s just lost a battle he never meant to fight. “I hate that you’ve sucked me into this.”

“No, you don’t,” I smirk, licking salt off my fingers. “You love it.”

“I hate how much I do love it,” he mutters, eyes still glued to the screen.

By the time episode eight starts, Caleb’s whisper-screaming commentary is more entertaining than the show itself. We lie there like that for hours with Caleb emotionally compromised by a man named Zayden with neck tattoos, me basking in my trash TV supremacy, both of us warm and buried under blankets in the coziest little disaster fort this side of the galaxy.

Caleb turns to me with the slow blink of a man who has lost faith in humanity but somehow can’t look away. “This is brain poison.”

“Correct, but it’s delicious brain poison. Don’t think I didn’t see you flinch when Brandon said, ‘I’ve changed.”

“I wanted to launch him into the sun,” He grumbles, muffled by the blanket. “He has a podcast, Inara. A podcast where he talks about crypto and ‘emotional maturity.”

“Oh god.” I clutch my imaginary pearls. “We have to take him out.”

Caleb turns his head slowly to look at me, one brow raised. “Colonel Caleb will not rest until justice is served.”

There it is. That stupidly commanding, bossy, Fleet-issue tone that shoots directly into my spinal cord like it’s got clearance to override my nervous system.

I blink at him. “Say that again.”

“What?”

“The way you just said it. ‘Colonel Caleb will not rest.’ God, that voice.”

He frowns like he doesn’t quite follow. “You mean my regular voice?”

“No, no. The voice you use when you’re yelling at rookie pilots. When you’re reading comms reports and doing that thing where you flex your jaw like you’re about to arrest someone with your disappointment alone.”

His eyebrows slowly ascend into the stratosphere. “You’re not… into that voice, are you?”

My head snaps toward him so fast my neck cracks. “Into it? Caleb. I would burn down a civilian outpost just to hear you recite emergency evac protocols in that voice. I would commit war crimes for it.”

Caleb groans and covers his face. “You are unwell.”

“Say something fleety,” I beg, grabbing his arm and shaking it. “Please. Just give me, like, one standard flight command.”

“I am not doin’ this,” he laughs, trying to roll away.

“Sir,” I bark in my best impression of a fleet cadet. “Requesting command input, sir.”

He squints at me, exhales in the most put-upon way imaginable, sits up straighter, and—

“Cadet Inara, execute evasive manoeuvre delta-7. Recalibrate inertial dampeners and prepare for atmospheric breach. You have fifteen seconds. Do not make me repeat myself.”

My soul leaves my body. This is like foreplay for people with a voice kink.

“Holy shit,” I breathe, fanning myself. “That was so hot, I need a tactical cold compress.”

Caleb looks entirely betrayed by his own power. “You are the worst.”

“Say ‘negative, commander’ next,” I demand, poking his side. “Like you’re scolding someone who’s being cocky in a briefing.”

“Negative, Commander.”

I practically melt into the mattress. There’s a pause. He stares at me. I stare back, wild-eyed and panting like a Victorian-era man seeing an exposed ankle. He gives me a long, considering look.

“…What?” I ask, instantly suspicious.

A slow, wicked grin pulls across his face. “So, you like the Colonel voice, huh?”

Oh no. I’ve fucked up and exposed my weakness. Mistakes have been made.

“I say a lot of things when I’m dehydrated and emotionally compromised,” I argue, which is a lie, and we both know it.

He leans in, dropping his voice to a rich, authoritative murmur that’s somehow louder than a shout. “Cadet Inara, stand by for further instruction.”

My soul actually leaves my body this time. Just exits through the roof. Gone. Goodbye. “Okay,” I breathe, white-knuckling the popcorn bowl. “That’s unfair.”

“Oh, is it?” he asks innocently, lounging back against the pillows like a man who’s just discovered the launch codes to my entire brain. “Initiate primary thruster sequence and prepare for acceleration.”

“Stop it,” I hiss, clutching my face like it’ll keep my blush from leaking out.

“Maintain current trajectory. Target locked.”

“I could file a formal complaint,” I warn, pointing a finger at him. “Abuse of command tone. Emotional sabotage. Weaponized discipline kink.”

He shrugs. “Standard protocol for a level-seven flirtation scenario.”

“Oh my stars,” I groan, falling sideways into the pillows.

He rolls with me, arms sneaking around my waist as he whispers into my ear, “Initiating close-range docking protocol.”

I involuntarily make a noise like some kind of startled rodent. He grins into my shoulder, smug, evil, and warm as a sunflare.

“Caleb,” I whisper, “you’re going to die for this.”

“Permission granted, Commander. Death by cuddles imminent.”

Now he’s holding me hostage, wrapped around me like a living weighted blanket, still whispering half-serious fleet jargon like it’s dirty talk while I attempt not to astral project straight onto his cock. I should push him off. I should fight back. I should absolutely not be melting into his arms like butter on a fusion coil, but here we are.

Buried in a nostalgia fort, under three blankets and one deeply swellheaded space pilot, whispering flight commands into my ear like he’s trying to make me come.

Honestly? Peak romance. 

Chapter Masterlist

A03 - Note: Not all chapters are available there yet because I haven't had the time to copy them all over. Soooo.... this is an incredibly self induglent chapter, and now I really want to build a fort. 😅

[edwardos]

There's an old cartoon comic from the early EARLY days of this game's existence which implies that Creepers will camp outside your small early-game house day and night until you invariably run some risk of walking outside and - even when the sun is up - getting hit by their explosion.

As an Alpha player, until I started gathering the Alpha 1.2 screenshots needed for the media haul I've been posting this month, I had no idea how true that comic was.

[witherby]

36 REBLOGS ON FLIGHT OF FANCYYYYYYY

AYYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYA

—🦈

Yayayayayayayay! Enjoy!

Flight of Fancy

Part 3 of Damian x Winged!Reader

Masterlist is Here!

You spend a while in the air, examining bats while trying not to disturb them. The first couple clusters you approach all scatter with panicked squeaking and fly out of the cave's multiple exits. Damian watches you readjust your strategy, trying different speeds and distances, until you figure out that you can watch them peacefully if you don't beat your wings so hard and don't get closer than about six feet away.

You're so polite as you watch them, holding Damian's words in mind. You keep your hands laced together behind your back, content to simply observe, and Damian does the same of you but on a more professional scale.

Armed with a pad and pen, he takes down all the information he's collected of you so far:

Bleeds gold

Physiologically a teen/young adult

Wingspan approx. 2x their height

White wings, full range of motion

Capable of long-distance flight

Limited world knowledge (didn't know the word for bat)

Learns languages via salivic exchange

Kidnapped from home (unknown location)

Real name unknown

Date of birth unknown

Species - winged metahuman

Dubbed "Project Angel" by Le—

Damian is about to finish writing, but the notepad gets snatched out of his hand by his older brother Jason.

"Whuh'ssits?" He mumbles around a mouthful of burrito, holding his snack in one hand and the pad in the other, high above Damian's head.

"Red Hood!" The boy snaps, irritated and embarrassed. He jumps for the pad but it's too far, and elects to start climbing his brother like a jungle gym. "Give me that! I'm making important observations about my ward!"

"Ward?" He smirks, after swallowing. "What ward? Looks like you're cooking up another OC to draw."

Damian's cheeks flush a brilliant red. The domino mask barely conceals his embarrassed, wide gaze. Even if he was doing that, which he wasn't, it never hurts to plan out his concepts before following through!!

"Look up, genius! And go put on something to cover your stupid face!"

"Am I a genius or stupid?" Jason asks, shaking him off. "Are you gettin' shy on me? You love showin' off your art when it's done, what's the problem —"

The pad gets ripped from his hands and Jason goes flying when a powerful gust of wind knocks him backwards. You land protectively in front of Damian, with your wings fully extended to make yourself look bigger, and bare your teeth. Distantly, he notes that you have pointed canines.

"Are you injured?" You ask Damian.

"No," he says, lifting a hand as if to place it on your back. He hesitates, unwilling to hurt or disturb your wings, and drops it again. "Stand down. That man is my brother, not a threat."

"Brother..." you mutter, frowning.

"Kin," Damian tries, which you seem to understand. "Hood, are you injured?"

"Am I in— I just got blown across the fucking room!" Jason snaps. When he sits up, he's got the red, half-mask on that covers him from nose to jaw, and he's aiming a gun at you. The severity of his appearance is significantly dulled by the burrito innards splattered all over the front of his hoodie.

"Who are you."

"This is your kin?" You ask, dubious. "He is aiming a weapon at us, from which you could be harmed. That's normal?"

Damian's mouth forms a thin line. There isn't time to cover the family's overcomplicated dynamics right this second, so he just kind of shrugs and nods.

"Mostly, yes," he admits. "Let me by."

You fold one of your wings against your back so Damian can step past you, then re-extend it and continue glaring at Jason. Jason glares right back, finger hovering over the trigger.

"Put the gun down. I rescued them on my patrol tonight." Damian steps right in front of the pistol. Jason eases his finger off immediately, but doesn't lower it. "Batman has tasked me with keeping them safe until they can be relocated in the morning. They're not a threat."

"Tell that to my busted back," Jason grunts, but he does eventually concede to putting his weapon down, and climbs to his feet. "Jesus, my favorite fucking hoodie is wrecked. If I can't get these stains out, you owe me a new one, Winx Club!"

"That's not my name," you scowl, feathers ruffling. The rippling effect it has is mesmerizing.

"Do I look like I give a shit? I'm heading upstairs, this blows." Jason stuffs the gun in the pocket of his hoodie lackadaisically, then points a finger at Damian as he takes his leave. "It's bad enough you've got a whole petting zoo of animals. Don't start collecting humanoid strays, too."

"Go to bed, Red Hood," Damian grumbles, turning to you. Your eyes trail after Jason, maintaining your threatening stance until he's completely out of sight. You straighten up and relax your wings, slowly folding them up again.

"I dislike him," you say, crossing your arms.

"He's a... difficult personality," Damian says, fully aware of the hypocrisy of that statement. He barrels forward, curious. "You stood up for me, even when he was seconds from shooting you. Why?"

You tilt your head like he's asked a particularly stupid question.

"You saved me," you state simply. "I am indebted to you."

"It's my job to save others. I protect this city with my family."

"I am not from your city, and you helped me all the same."

"You're in it, however temporarily, which makes your well-being my priority."

You hum, head gently tilting one direction in contemplation. Damian absently compares it to a bunny, or a curious puppy dog.

"Even so," you conclude, "I will repay your kindness. If it's in my power to do it, you will have it, Robin."

"I don't need anything from you," Damian says, not unkindly. "There's no debt I'm owed. I wanted you safe, and that's the long and short of it."

You don't argue it further, but there's still a small frown on your face. Again, Damian's eyes are drawn to your lips. He feels his heart rate get a little faster.

"Would it sate you if I asked for knowledge in return?" He offered. "You can still say no; I'm not going to make you tell me anything you don't want."

You perk up a bit, nodding. You both snap your heads when Jason shows back up, shouting.

"HEY, DID YOUR NOTEPAD SAY "LEARNS LANGUAGES VIA SALIVIC EXCHANGE" BY THE WAY? HOW DID YOU FIND THAT OUT?"

Damian turns back to you with burning cheeks. He notices that you blush gold, too.

[jinnie-ret]

cover me

poly!stray kids x fem reader

genre: angst, fluff at the end

content warnings: stress from uni/work

word count: 1.5k

summary: money, work, school. it was only a matter of time before the boys would see her crumble, and be there to pick up the pieces

requested: @straykidsnerd255

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Every time she tried to take one step forward, something would ultimately knock her back twice as far. Finally having a very generously paid job as an intern at a big company was serving her well, yet with the return of going back to university, finding a work-school balance was becoming difficult.

Truly, that was the hardest thing. She had great people around her, those being her uni friends or her loving boyfriends, the renowned Kpop band, Stray Kids. The way they cared for her and each other with such strong morals and support meant that surely it would be easy to confide in them.

Not always, especially in this case.

Other times she would be thankful for the fact that her partners all had a longer practice at the company, not to their own detriment of course, but because it gave her more time to get herself together and paint on a calm picture of 'I'm definitely not struggling right now and on the brink of my second breakdown of the day'.

However, this time she really needed them. The stress had amounted to such a level that she felt it right through to her bones, and so she found herself crying over the smallest things, which in turn let out the release of her biggest pain.

"Stupid shoes, why aren't they organised, there's too many," she sniffled, sat on her knees by the front door as she began to cry at shoes. Yes, shoes. Her boyfriends' shoes to be specific. She would have thought at least Seungmin would have berated the others for their lack of organisation at this point but even his were out of place.

"They didn't even match them back up," she cried, and more tears spilled out, "oh, why am I even crying right now?"

Sometimes being in such a state meant that it was hard to understand your own feelings, your thoughts far too occupied with the wants of other people to be able to manage the basic needs of your own.

Eventually she gave up on the shoes and wiped her tears, walking slowly over to the sofa and letting her body fall into it with a soft thump. She tugged a soft velvety blanket over herself, one that Felix probably picked out due to it's plush exterior, and instinctively cocooned herself. Her heart felt heavy, her eyes hot and burning as the tears kept falling. All it took was a reminder on her phone for a work assignment, and a uni assignment, to trigger a sob to catch her throat.

"Too much," she sobbed to herself, trying to muffle the sounds even though there was no one else to hear them, "it's too much."

She was wrong. Not about her feelings, gosh, no, but the fact that she thought she was alone.

"Hey, hey, what's going on?" Hyunjin was crouched down right in front of her trembling form, almost hidden if it wasn't for the blanketed lump that had been shaking so much it couldn't have been natural.

His hand brushed her hair back and his thumb rubbed under her eyes, catching the tears that seemed to keep appearing. Hyunjin watched on in deep concern, just like their other boyfriends did the more they realised something was wrong.

"What? When, when did you get back?" she gulped down her sobs, or attempted to, even though her words still came out messily. She sat up, the blanket falling off her shoulders and resting around her hips.

"Don't worry about that, love. Just tell us what's going on, yeah? What's wrong?" Chan held her against him immediately, taking a seat ñext to her. The only time his arm that was wrapped around her moved away, was to let Jeongin lift the blanket back up to keep her warm.

"I don't know," she sniffed indignantly, coughing lightly through her cries when she tried to clear her throat. Her arm pressed against the lower half of her face.

"You're getting yourself in a state now, come on, move your arm, you know you don't have to hold back in front of us," Seungmin sighed sadly, seeing his girlfriend so stressed. He pulled her arm towards her lap which he was sat in front of, holding her hand with one of his own and the other rubbing her knee.

"Thanks," she said sarcastically at first, until hearing the rest of what he had to say and tilting her head up to the ceiling to blink away the rest of her tears.

Chan pressed a kiss against her forehead, and everyone was around her to offer comfort, Felix and Changbin in particular wanting to jump out of their seats on the adjacent sofa to take all the pain away.

"What's got you to upset, jagi?" Jisung pouted, his own eyes glistening as he saw how upset you were.

"It's stupid, really," she began, rubbing at her eyes roughly, Hyunjin subsequently tutting at her and pulling her other hand away that Seungmin wasn't occupying.

"We're not doing that, jagi," Minho shook his head, brows furrowed, looking down at the floor with his hands folded together, "if it's upset you, it's not stupid."

"Exactly, please just tell us, you know we just want to help, that's all," Felix quickly pitched in, face crumpled sadly much like your own.

"There's just too much going on really. You know? Like, oh-" she had to cut herself off when her voice cracked with emotion again.

"You're ok, take your time," Jeongin gave a small smile and nod to reassure her.

"We're listening, baby," Changbin's raspy voice rung out.

"I've got a good job right? Like, it pays so well, but now with going back to uni it's just like I don't have time for anything. I-i'm having to squeeze in hours where I don't have them because my boss won't help me work around my timetable," she explained, the clashing of two parts of her life and time issues being what was clearly causing so much turmoil.

"I'm sorry, darling," Chan tugged her closer to him, a frown on his face.

"Don't be sorry, not your fault, is it? I'm just so tired, I'm exhausted," she admitted, pressing her lips together and taking a deep breath in order to not cry again.

"We'll help you figure this out, ok?" Hyunjin leant his head against her shoulder.

"Ok, ok," she let out a deep breath and nodded.

"I think you need to focus on uni, love. If work can't meet you in the middle then, it's hard," Seungmin trailed off, not wanting to fully leave her in the dark but not wanting to be too blunt.

"What do you think, jagi?" Jisung wondered, curled up against Minho, one leg hanging over the older's lap.

"I don't know. I don't even wanna make any decisions right now," she shook her head tiredly, blinking a couple times.

"That's understandable, baby, how about we just relax for now, ok?" Changbin suggested.

"And if anything else is upsetting you, please tell us," Chan huffed with a knowing smile.

"Ok, promise," she grinned.

₊˚⊹♡

She must have fallen asleep without realising, as she found herself waking up to Jeongin and Felix giggling over something on the latter's phone.

"What's going on?" she murmured tiredly, pressing her face deeper into... Jisung's chest, it took one whiff of his cologne to be able to tell it was him.

"Had a good sleep then, hmm?" Minho poked her forehead, slow blinking at her.

"Mm, yeah," she nodded, "Lixie, Innie, what's funny?"

The two froze, looking at her a bit guiltily.

"Well, umm, you know we have that camera in the hallway, just in case for security, like if someone broke in or-" Jeongin began to ramble awkwardly,

"I know, yeah," she nods, adjusting her head against Jisung's chest as he loosely keeps an arm around her, securing her to him.

"We're actually sorry for laughing, babe, it's just... You were crying over our shoes earlier?" Felix can't even keep eye contact as he explains.

Jisung stifles a laugh and so she slaps his chest playfully through her mild embarrassment, making him yell out dramatically.

"What's Sungie done now?" Hyunjin asks as he flops onto the sofa, entering the room again after leaving Chan, Seungmin and Changbin to managing the cooking.

"It's more about what our jagi did," Minho teases, looking at her with a smug grin.

"Guys, I was stressed, leave me aloneeee," she huffed, but it didn't stop the light laughter that filled the room knowing that she wasn't completely upset about it.

"Sorry, but..." Jeongin chuckles again, "the way you throw the shoes away from you is so funny!"

"What did our shoes do to you?!" Felix laughed again as he watched the video on replay.

"They smelt bad," she grinned happily, teasing them back as revenge, "specifically Ji's."

"Yah!"

Jisung gave her a noogie, keeping her trapped in his arms. He couldn't let her discredit him like that.

"Sorry! Sorry! Hahaha!"

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listeners: @skz-streamer @kiraisastay @kpopmenace143 @haodore @arloo00 @dunno-wut-to-do @splat00z @his-angell @2minstan @skzoologist @lovingchan @atinyniki @writingforstraykids @minholing @lilmisssona @astraysimp @lixie-phoria @theo4eve @linoalwaysknows @royal-shinigami @jolly04 @turtledove824 @yangbbokari @thisrandomgoofy15 @lieslab @hannamoon143 @arumlilyeclipse

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Sum of All 16

Warnings: non/dubcon, mentions of crime, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Steve Rogers

Part of the mob drabbles au

Summary: you are given an unexpected assignment.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You hate that feeling. The world moves around you as you wade up from the depths, a dizziness spirals behind your eyes, and you twitch as your come to. You’re head hangs back as Steve carries your limp body through the halls, footsteps steady and set to course. 

You grunt and spasm as you lift your head, further disoriented by the motion. You grab onto his shoulder as you feel as if you’ll fall. His cheek dimples as he smirks and lets out an amused snort. 

“Morning--” 

You don’t let him finish as you flick his throat and wriggle around in his arms. He coughs and drops your legs as he cradles his neck. You spin away from his other arm and barrel away from him. You don’t know what you’re doing, or why, it’s a really stupid thing, but you’re not really in a place where you can stop and think right now. 

You pump your arms as your footsteps echo around you down the airy halls. Oh no, oh no, oh no. You’ve seen what Steve can do and you know he won’t hesitate, especially after you’ve given him a reason. 

Why did you do that? Really? Why? You can’t outrun him. Your lungs are already burning. 

You need to hide. Somewhere... 

You skid to a halt and grab onto the closest door handle. You lean into it and fall through, crashing into the floor. You crawl away and kick the door, breathless as you splay on the carpet. 

You push yourself up and listen for him. You move carefully to the wall beside the door, keeping the light off so as not to give away your hiding spot. You close your eyes and focus. 

He’s coming. You hear him. You don’t like that. His steps are calm and even. Your heart pounds in your chest. You cover your mouth to smother any squeaks that might slip out. 

As he passes the door, you lean into the wall, hoping to disappear into it. His sole scuffs and he stops a few feet away. You wait until you’re sure he’s at the end of the hall. You deflate and place your palms on the floor. 

Shit. What the heck are you going to do now? You shake your head as another spell threatens to override your consciousness. You blink and try to figure out where to go from here. He’s your ride. You don’t even really know where you are. 

You reach for your phone but it’s not tucked into your waistband. Shoot. You must have dropped it in the gazebo. You’re a chump! 

You stand by the door, listening, rapt for a single pin drop. You push down the handle and gently urge it inward. If you go in the opposite direction-- 

Before you can take one step out, you’re thrown back into the darkness. You hit something and it scrapes over the floor. The door slams as you roll onto your stomach and push yourself up on your elbows. Your ribs rack as you fight to get a breath. 

“You think I’m that stupid?” Steve snarls as he comes toward you. 

You feel around and crawl around the piece of furniture beside you. He follows you, calmly. He knows you have nowhere to go. Just like he said, he’s playing with you. 

“Pl-ease,” you gulp as you put a hand down only for it to be crushed. You squeal as he grounds his heel into your hand then steps over you. “Ow, Steve—I didn’t-- I---” 

“Shhhh,” he falls down to his knees and straddles you, knocking you back to your stomach. “Look, I don’t wanna be mean, sweetheart.” He runs his hands around your jaw and along your cheeks. He bunches your hair in his hands and bends over you. “I really wanna be nice with you.” He yanks on his fistful.  

You put your hand on his and whine, “I’m sorry I hurt--” 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk,” he quiets you. “Sweetheart, don’t make me be the bad guy.” 

You whimper as he drags his hands from your hair and down your back. He retreats along your body, his hands grazing your sides and hips. He grips you and lifts your ass high. You slap your hands on the floor as he puts you on your knees. 

“You can speak when you’re ready to beg,” he snarls as he tickles along your skirt and tugs up the hem. 

You wince and your eyes round as the darkness speckles around you. What is he doing? He pushes the fabric above your ass and hums. He covers your ass with his hands and spreads it. You squeak as you feel his warm breath on your thighs. 

He pushes his face against you, nuzzling into your panties as you gasp. Your legs quiver and your arms shake. You lean on your elbows as you try to pull away from him. He squeezes your hips and moves his head back and forth as if to burrow into you. He growls and it unfurls through your body. 

You squeal and reach back to push on his head. Hello! He can’t just do that. 

“Steve!” You squall. 

He hushes you and it sends a ripple down your thighs. You whimper as your fingers weave into his hair. Oh, oh, that shouldn’t feel good. 

He pushes his tongue against your panties and you feel the moisture seeping through. You squeeze your legs together as you try to deter him and blink at floor. Stay awake! For just this one time! 

He flutters his fingers up your leg and traces the trim of your panties. He pulls them aside and without meaning to, you pull him closer. He purrs and flicks his tongue down your cunt as he tilts his head. His beard tickles you and sends another shiver through you. 

He rocks you as he laps you up, sucking and groaning, the noises stirring in your core. You gasp and gulp as he hooks his hand under your stomach and keeps you close. He shifts his hand down to your skirt and slides under the top of your panties. He rolls his pinky over your clit as he pokes his tongue along your entrance. 

“I-- I---” you sputter, no longer foggy but fully awake and aware of every nerves storming inside of you. 

He lifts you off your knees and you whine, your hand slipping from his hair. You slam it down on the floor as he angles your hips above your head, pushing your legs over his shoulders as he continues to drink you in. As you hang upside down, keeping yourself aloft on bent arms, you warble with the brewing delight of his tending. 

He glides down to your clit and toys with it between his teeth. He sucks until the pressure swells and you grasp onto one of his thighs. You quake as you chuff out your orgasm, legs clamped around his head as you spasm. 

“St-e-eve,” you exclaim. 

He growls and chuckles before he draws away, the cool air grazing your hot cunt. He drags his hand up your back and taps your ass. 

“You still with me, sweetheart?” He rasps. 

[memoirofasparklemuff1n]

brutally- r.c. x reader

summary: this is part two of champagne problems-a year after you said no to rafe, you receive a wedding invitation for rafe and sofia's wedding. a/n: this is for the one who asked for part two 🥹 i wrote this at 2 am and my first language isn’t english so bear with me lmaoo, thank you so much to all who've read my silly little story, i honestly didn't think a lot of people would read it. anywayyy i hope you like it <3 warnings: angst (?) depressed reader and low self esteem. oh and swearing lol disclaimer: the reader's depression is based on my own experiences, everybody is different and what i might go through isn't the same as what another person goes through. with that said, if you find any of these topics triggering, i understand! so, please always take care of yourself <3

part 1

seems to me, it's over

i'll get used to it eventually

over and over again, brutally

it's just the way it's meant to be

now your love's no good for me

i closed my eyes listening to the lyrics, my complicated feelings being put into words. it always amazes me how artists could turn pain into art, sadness into poems, and tears into songs. i pulled the covers over my head, darkening the moonlight seeping through my window.

i suddenly heard a knock on my door. i frowned and paused the song, confused. it was 2 am, and i knew that my family would be dead asleep by now, so i started freaking out. i lay still for a moment but ignored it after a while, thinking that maybe i had just imagined it. after all, i haven't exactly been sleeping like i should. insomnia makes you delirious, or so i’ve heard.

knock, knock, knock.

ok, i was definitely not imagining it. i got up quietly and almost tripped on my bunny by accident.

“sorry, baby,” i whispered. i then grabbed a candlestick on my right hand, lifting it in case i needed to hit whoever was behind the door. i mean what kind of burglar would knock? i chuckled nervously as i walked to the door. ugh, it must be jonathan again with his stupid ghost jokes. i took a deep breath and turned the handle with my left hand, swinging the door wide open.

oh, this motherfucker will know to stop messing with me. “jonathan, i swear to god if you’re–,” the words got stuck in my throat. ok, i was officially insane. because there was no way i wasn’t imagining this.

“rafe?” i hissed. “what are you doing here? and how the fuck did you get in?” see? completely irrational, therefore i was hallucinating.

“the front door was open,” he said with wide eyes, clearly trying to look innocent.

i narrowed my eyes, “i personally locked all the doors. so don’t fucking lie to me, or so help me, i will scream.” if i screamed, i knew someone would hear and would come to wake me up.

he smirked, “if you already know the answer, why do you bother asking? also, please scream, i’ve missed hearing it.” what the fuck?! my dreams have never been this vivid. this is it, my own personal hell.

it had been a month since i’d seen rafe and sofia at the beach, and since then i have avoided people even more than before. although on the rare occasions that i did go out, like the grocery store, whispers and covert glances would follow me around like a blood hound.

my eyes were adjusting to the hallway’s darkness, and i noticed that his under eyes were far too like mine. then i saw blood running from his nose, lip, and a bruise was forming on his cheek.

“what happened? oh my god, are you okay?” my voice filled with worry, erasing all the anger i felt because i still cared. more than i should.

“never felt better.” okay maybe not entirely. jerk. i then looked away from his face and saw that his shirt was also soaked with blood. it was so much, and i felt sick. if there was something i hated more than anything it was seeing the boy i loved hurt, even if he did it to himself. hell, more if he was the reason behind it. but why would he come here? of all places?

he still hasn't answered my question, but i figured i’d interrogate him while i cleaned his wounds.

i sigh, then pull him by the arm into my room. that’s when it hit me, alcohol. great.

“sit,” i ordered. “be careful with gia.” i saw a ball of white fur running around happily. strangely enough, she loved rafe, despite him not being around in a long time. she’s just like her mom. oh, fuck off. i left my bedroom to look for band-aids and rubbing alcohol. i grabbed some painkillers and a glass of water to try and sober him up. i paused at the head of the stairs to listen to any signs of my parents being awake. snoring met my ears, and i sighed with relief. i didn’t need to explain why my ex-boyfriend was in my room all bloody while being engaged. engaged. i blinked the tears away, “focus.”

the first thing i see when i get back is gia on rafe’s lap. traitor. he was petting her despite knowing i never let her get on my bed. she loved ripping my sheets far too much when i didn’t give her attention. he looked up and smiled at me. my heart broke a little, or what was left of it anyway.

i take her out of his lap and place her gently on the floor. i swear she looked at me judgingly, but then again, she's just a bunny. a traitor but still a bunny.

“she’s so big already,” he says quietly.

“yeah.” i answer. “she’s a year old.”

he looked surprised, “really?” his blue eyes somehow managed to glow in the darkness. why do they always do that?

i nodded looking down, “it’s been a while.” i repeated the words he’d said to me at the beach.

he furrowed his brow at that, but didn’t answer. i turn around and take the chair from my desk, dragging it to where he’s seated. he’s not looking at me, instead watching my paintings on the walls and the clutter of pencils and paintbrushes on my desk.

“you’re painting again,” he stated. no shit, sherlock.

i nodded again. “inspiration has been coming easily lately.” i left so many things unsaid. i wish i could call myself an artist, an echo of my earlier thoughts.

you consumed me, leaving no trace behind.

i felt like i was back 13 months ago before everything went downhill, about to clean his cuts like i’d done far too many times before. i wish i could heal wounds that were not visible to the naked eye.

i took a ball of cotton and dipped it in the alcohol. i leaned in, avoiding his eyes. those goddamn eyes. “this is going to hurt.”

“i know,” he winced when i pressed the ball to his cut lip. “sorry,” i then pressed it to his brow, noticing a small cut. leaning from my chair to clean his face was harder than i thought. normally, i’d be straddling his lap with his hands around my waist. don't go there.

i tried to keep my breath normal while i put on the band-aids. his gaze was intently on my face, but i avoided his eyes. “done.” i leaned back and then i gathered the used cotton and paper.

“you'll have to look at me eventually.” his voice was hoarse, like he’d been screaming. by his state, i'd be surprised if he hadn't.

“only if you answer my question.” i sat back down and grabbed the alcohol bottle and the pills. i took two out and handed it to him along with the glass. i still didn't look at him.

“i got into a fight.”

“well, thank you captain obvious.” i finally met his gaze and only found sadness in them.

he chuckled without humor, “you asked.”

“you know what i meant.”

he went quiet for a while, staring out the window. i took the opportunity to get a good look at him. i frowned when i noticed he’d lost weight. he looked so healthy at the beach, what happened? his nails were bitten to the quick and his signet ring looked loose around his finger. his shirt had once been blue, but was now deep red. his jeans were also matted with blood and his shoes had dirt and blood on them as well. his hair was longer now, falling to his forehead in a messy manner. he looked oddly beautiful. he always did and it made me want to cry. it was so unfair, why was falling in love so easy but getting out of it borderline impossible? every time i went to sleep, he was there, haunting me in my dreams. i woke up and there he was, everywhere. my clothes, my bed, my hands, my eyes, my fucking heart. it wasn’t his to own, yet he stayed without any intention of leaving.

his eyes met mine and he finally says, “better hear it from me than from somebody else.”

i frowned, “what do you mean?”

“i had a fight with one of your friends.” i clenched my jaw.

“what?!”

“pope, he provoked me,” he looks back at me defiantly.

“pope? rafe, what the fuck?” i was so confused right now.

i’m having a fever dream, i must be. pope was a saint, he wouldn’t hurt anyone and if he did, it would be with good reason. he was the only one of the pogues i talked to the most. after rafe and i broke up, i pushed sarah away and by extension, john b. so because of that, jj talked to me on occasion and kie only ever talked when she hadn’t heard from me in a while. which had become less and less when i stopped putting effort into our friendship. so, the only one left was pope, sweet and kind pope. i could never push him away; he didn’t deserve it. well, none of them really did, but we had a special bond. i think it was because my brother and i had spent the entirety of our only summer camp with him. pope and i were seven and my brother was eight and we were inseparable, the only times we didn’t see each other was when the boys and girls were divided for different activities, which wasn’t often. so right now, i am furious.

“i need an explanation. now!” i remembered to lower my voice, but i almost didn’t care.

“no, wait. you know what? i don’t need to listen to this,” i took a deep breath and closed my eyes, because if i didn’t, i would punch something, preferably rafe.

i turned around and pointed at the door, without looking at him, “get. out. now.”

“no.”

i scoffed and opened my eyes, “what do you mean, no? you don’t get to decide, ok? first of all, we aren’t together anymore. secondly, you broke into my house, drunk and bloody and third, you had a fight with my best friend.” i tightened my fists to control my anger.

“i won’t leave until you hear me out,” he crossed his arms and glared at me.

“i don’t have to hear you out. this is my house, therefore my rules.” oh my god. this is it. i have become my mother.

“fine. let’s go outside then,” he grabbed me by the arm and dragged me out the door before i could protest.

“rafe cameron. let me go, right now.” i yanked my arm to no avail, and to be fair i wasn’t strong enough. id lost too much weight and didn’t exercise, although i don’t think that would’ve helped me much if i’m being honest. rafe was freakishly strong.

“no. you’re going to listen to me whether you like it or not.” i could feel him trembling with anger and i hated that my heart started pounding so fast. he’s practically kidnapping you and you’re all excited? what the fuck is wrong with you? oh god, let’s not go there.

i knew there was no point in fighting, so i let him drag me out the front door and down the street to a small playground that we used to spend a lot of time in late at night. i hate that he remembers where it was and that he didn’t hesitate in taking us there.

when he finally let me go, he didn’t face me. i crossed my arms expectantly. i looked around me and saw that all the houses were dark, the moon being our only witness. how i love her. it made me feel a little better that she was lighting our path and, in a way, creating a spotlight on us. cheap shakespearean tragedy again. i started shaking from the cold and hugged my sweatshirt tighter and faced rafe. i hadn’t noticed him looking at me quietly. i felt a little pang in my chest at the familiar gesture.

“well?” i raised an eyebrow, expectantly. he started to fidget and avoided my gaze.

“i—” he looked down and frowned. “i broke up with sofia.”

i took in a sharp breath. ok, i wasn’t expecting that. what the fuck was i supposed to say? he stayed silent and i realized he was waiting for me to say something. “i’m sorry,” i guess. i don’t know.

he scoffed and lifted his eyes to mine. like always, they shined but this time they weren’t as bright. he was sad, i could tell.

“i still don’t see what this has to do with pope and you breaking into my house, though.”

he nodded and walked towards the swing seat that was a few feet away from us. i felt like i had déjà vu in that moment. here was the first time he kissed me. on that very same swing set. i sighed and went to sit on the empty swing by his side.

“remember when we snuck out here and we got drunk for the first time?” he asked.

i laughed, “yeah, i then swore i would never touch alcohol again. my mom was so mad.”

he laughed too, “my dad congratulated me that day, said i was finally a man.”

“what? that’s so unfair,” i feigned annoyance. “my mom locked me up for a week.”

“i did break you out, though.” he pointed out and chuckled.

“the least you could do after making me steal my mom’s liquor,” i smiled and stared at the ground. our laughter died down and all that was left was the bittersweetness of what once was. i was so happy back then; everything was so simple. sure, i’d had my low days but after a while, i started dimming until i turned off. the lightbulb now burnt out, but unlike the real ones, i couldn’t be replaced. a sudden wave of guilt came over me. i ruined everything and for what? i stopped talking to my friends, broke the heart of the love of my life and built a fortress around me, not to keep people out, but to keep myself in. that way i wouldn’t hurt anyone, or so i thought.

“i’m sorry.” i lifted my head, confused.

“for what?” i asked.

“everything.” he looked at me with a tired expression.

“what is everything, rafe?” if anything i should be the one apologizing.

“for pressuring you when you didn’t want to marry me. i knew how you felt about it and i still pushed and ruined what we had. i was selfish and stupid, but i swear i didn’t mean to. i never meant for you to feel like i didn’t respect your boundaries or your beliefs.” i could tell he’d thought about those words for a while. he was so wrong. “rafe—”

“no, please let me finish.” his eyes were glassy, and i swore i could see him burning from the inside. a feeling i knew all too well.

he takes a deep breath and starts talking, “i am not going to deny that i was angry and hurt and that i felt like i was going insane. i spent weeks wondering what i’d done wrong, ways to make you take me back and every time i looked for you at your house, your brother or your mother would turn me away. and i never saw you outside, even months after our breakup.

“and instead of being angry at myself, i began to feel angry at you. why did you do this to me? when you knew how i felt about you and that i would never feel the same way for anybody else.” he gets up and starts pacing, avoiding my gaze and i’m grateful because my heart has somehow broken once more, and rivulets start descending, falling to the ground.

he starts gesturing wildly with his hands and turns to me, “i was broken, ok? you broke me and i started spending my nights at the country club, permanently glued to the bar. i drank away my pain and then this girl started noticing how sad i was. despite me being a jerk to her, she was kind to me and instead of serving me more drinks she started listening to me.” sofia. great. now i have to listen to their love story and how she healed him or whatever. stop being so bitter.

“so, i asked her out and she said yes, and we started dating. for the first time in months, i felt better. like maybe i could be good enough for someone, even if it wasn’t the person i wanted. i locked you away in my head and made sofia my priority. i was petty when i asked her to marry me. i wanted you to see that i had moved on, that it wasn’t that special, and that you’d done me a favor. that i could be happy without you.” i’d stopped looking at him in an attempt to hide my tears.

“but then i saw you at the beach. and all those feelings came crashing back in. that day i wanted to scream at you, kiss you, hurt you, and hold you so hard you couldn’t leave me again. i saw sofia go to you and you looked the same, yet not. when you said you were sick, i figured it was a cold and not the way i hoped. that maybe you were just as miserable as me. then you turned around and i couldn’t stop myself. so, i went to you, and i saw you crying and it took everything in me not to reach out to you. i realized i wasn’t over you and that i never would be. and i’m angry at you because i saw you for less than ten minutes and you somehow managed to destroy everything, i’d worked so hard to build. i hurt sofia badly. she didn’t deserve that, and i hate myself for it and i hate that i still love you.”

i looked up at that, shocked. i suddenly forgot how to speak.

but he had so much more to say because he didn’t stop, “so i broke up with her a few days after that and today, i went to find another place to drink, because she worked at the country club, and i couldn’t go there. you ruined that for me too. you managed to exile me without a word, and i went to the next best thing in kildare. your friend’s restaurant, and there were your stupid friends and my sister talking and laughing. when sarah saw me, she came up to me and i snapped at her, so john b stepped in and then jj and pope came along to kick me out so i punched him and then the others got into the fight as well, until they called the police and told me to leave. and i ended up here without realizing it. because i always come back to you.”

he was breathing heavily as if he’d run a marathon, his words starting to mix. i could only stare at him, and i guess that pissed him off even more.

“answer me for fuck’s sake!” i flinched. he’d never yelled at me like that. first time for everything.

“i—”

“y/n, please. i need you to talk to me because i’m going insane. please, i need a fucking answer. why did you do this to me?” he knelt in front of me, crying. i hate myself so much.

“rafe, i’m sorry,” i sob.

“sorry doesn’t cut it, okay?” his nostrils flared. “i need an explanation for why you left me.”

i take a deep breath and nod. “you’re right. i just- i.”

i sigh and close my eyes, “i didn’t say no because of my views on marriage, ok? i didn’t say no because i didn’t think you weren’t good enough for me, on the contrary. i felt like you deserved so much better than me. i’m pretty shitty, rafe. i didn’t want to ruin things, only to realize it was too late. i just wanted you to be happy, even if that meant with somebody else. somebody who could love you better than i ever could. i hurt you and i’m sorry, it’s the last thing i wanted. i only want you to be happy and i can’t give you that. you’re an amazing person, rafe.” i put my hand on his cheek and wipe away his tears.

“i do love you, rafe. i always have and i always will. i love you so much that i know what you deserve and it’s not me. i’m not ok. i’ll sabotage everything in the end, like i always do. i didn’t want to drag you down with me.”

i felt his features harden under my hand and he got up. he glared at me and his chest started rising and falling angrily.

“what the fuck, y/n? you don’t get to decide what’s good for me. that is my decision, and you didn’t ask me, ok? you went ahead and broke up with me for no clear reason. i know i fucked up by proposing, but we didn’t have to break up. instead, you left me there, alone and with my heart ripped out. it’s such bullshit. i am a grown man, and a relationship is between two people, but instead you decided i wasn’t capable, and you chose for both of us. that is so fucked up, y/n.”

“do you really think this low of me? that i’m an idiot who can’t think? or even worse, that i wasn’t a good enough boyfriend that you felt like i couldn’t help you? is that what this is? you think i’m incompetent? did i do something that made you feel like that? you should’ve told me how you were feeling, not bottle it up and then leave with no explanation. i’m not chopped liver, you know? we were supposed to be there for each other in the good and the bad.”

i looked down at my hands, ashamed. he was right, and it just proved everything i’ve said. “i never meant for it to be this way. i thought i was doing the right thing, ok? and it’s not that i thought you couldn’t handle it, i just didn’t think you should. you’ve had enough problems with your life for me to bring you more. a relationship is of two people, but i wasn’t in the right headspace to be able to maintain it. you couldn’t fix me, and i didn’t expect you to.” i looked up and his face was still wet with tears but was otherwise serious. he stared at me, his gaze hard and his jaw clenched. he was so angry and upset. its all your fault. it always is.

he was quiet for a while and i thought he wasn’t going to speak until he said, “who ever said i wanted to fix you? you don’t need fixing and you’re painting me as if i’m perfect. i’ve had my fair share of fucked up stuff too and you helped me. i just wanted to be there for you, i still do. you don’t have to go through this alone.”

“besides, what good has it done for us to be apart? if anything, we’re worse. i get drunk at least three times a week and you never leave your house. when was the last time you went out with your friends? you think i didn’t know? i talked to sarah sometimes and she always said you were ignoring her and avoiding the others.” his voice started raising again and started walking towards me.

i looked up at the sky, the moon hiding behind clouds. even she’s embarrassed. “i didn’t say it would be good for me, i only meant that it would be good for you.” how many times do i have to say it?

“yeah well, it’s not, ok? it hasn’t been good for me. i want to be with you. and i’m tired of this whole sad girl shit you’ve got going on, alright? you’re not the only one in pain and frankly, you’ve only done more harm than good. your friends don’t deserve your disappearance acts, much less my sister. sarah loves you more than anything, more than she loves me. you’re her sister and you’re being selfish.” i just felt like i’d been slapped in the face. although maybe that would’ve stung less. the worst part is that he’s right, but now i was starting to get pissed off.

so, i did what i always do, hurt them back. real mature.

“there you go, you discovered america. i’m a shitty person and i’m selfish and self-centered and egotistical and a hypocrite. whatever you want to call me, ok? you just proved my point so congratulations on finally figuring it out.” i got up and wiped my tears and began to walk away before i said something else that i’d regret or worse.

he grabbed my arm before i could take another step and sat me back down, “you don’t get to have the last word, ok? when will you finally understand that the thing you were supposedly protecting me and the others from, is precisely your behavior right now. being present before wasn’t hurting anybody, and now, by removing yourself from our lives, you’ve caused exactly what you were trying to avoid. i’m so fucking pissed off with your self-pity. before being your boyfriend, i was your best friend, or at least i thought i was. sarah was your best friend, and you could’ve told her if you didn’t want to talk to me, alright? but this self-isolation is over. you’re only hurting everyone else.” his blue eyes were somehow colder than the night air. i know that what he’s saying is true, but i don’t feel like it is. i’m so overwhelmed that all i want is to rot in my bed alone.

i yanked my arm out of his grip and stood up. “i have enough to deal with without you making it worse. forget about me, ok? its better this way and maybe you should go talk to sofía. she clearly loves you more than me.” i pushed past him and didn’t look back.

something hit me from behind (not in a good way) and i ended up on the ground. “what the fuck?” rafe tackled me. like some fucking nfl player. “dude are you for real?” he flipped me over and pinned my hands over my head. my breath hitched and he noticed. motherfucker.

“i’m not going back to sofia, ok? and you’re not leaving until i say so.” in other circumstances this would be hot, but right now i am exhausted. sure, of course you are. and i really wanted him to kiss me. i was so close to giving in.

“do tell, rafe.” i forced my voice to sound tired, but my heart said otherwise. yeah, his body on top of mine was enough to wake me up. horny bitch. i just really miss him. is that so bad?

he didn’t respond though, he was breathing rapidly, and his gaze fell on my lips, but before i could say something his lips crashed into mine. his hands let go of mine and moved to cradle my face and i threaded my fingers through his hair. shit.

suddenly my body felt alive again, my heart restarting completely and my mind went quiet for the first time in a year. i moaned when he bit my lip softly and he groaned when my tongue trailed his. we fell into that familiar rhythm and suddenly i felt like nothing had changed. i pulled away to breathe but he only took the opportunity to kiss my face and jaw, then down my neck. i tugged at his hair, and he kissed me again, this time rolling us over, so i was on top, with my legs on either side of him. he somehow managed to sit up and his right arm wrapped around my waist, pulling me closer while his left hand pushed the hair out of my face. this time he was the one that pulled back, only to wrap his other arm around my waist and bury his face in the crook of my neck. i stroked his hair and closed my eyes. i quit all of my resolve and hugged him tighter to me. he spoke first.

“i missed you so fucking much,” his voice cracked, and i then felt something cold slide down my chest. he was crying. and that broke me. i started sobbing and hugged him impossibly tighter, “me too. i love you so much, i’m sorry.” i pressed my lips to his head and inhaled his scent. home. he lifted his face to look at me and his hair fell over his brow. he was so beautiful. the moonlight bathed him over, the planes of his face highlighted, and the shadows became more pronounced. chiaroscuro. a technique i’d never mastered, yet the moon, ever the artist, did so effortlessly.

a tear fell down his cheek and i kissed it away, and before i knew it, i kissed every crevice of his face and whispered i love you’s spilled from my lips. i hated that i was the cause of his pain. when i finally pulled away, his eyes were closed, and i lifted my hand and traced his face like i’d done forever ago. “your freckles are like constellations,” i whispered. he chuckled at the memory and hugged me to his chest.

after a while of us sitting still he said, “don’t leave me again, please.”

i pulled away, put my hands on either side of his face and looked into his eyes. “i’ll stay as long as you want me, but i don’t want to hurt you again.” i meant it.

“you’ll only hurt me if you leave. and i want you to know that i’ll help you get better, but please don’t push me away. i only want you to be happy too, but the way you’re living right now won’t let you achieve that.”

i looked down and nodded, “i’m sorry.”

“i’m sorry, too.” he lifted my chin so i could meet his gaze. “we can do this together, okay? its not about fixing each other, but about supporting one another. you don’t need fixing because you aren’t broken.” my eyes welled up at that and this time he was the one that kissed my tears away.

“just let me in, please.” his lips felt like the perfect antidote, and i knew then that i would be alright, with his help and my friends’.

“ok.” he pulled back when he heard me and smiled, and god how i’d missed that smile.

i smiled back and rested my head on his shoulder. “you really need to change and shower.”

he laughed, “yeah, pope won’t appreciate new fashion choices.”

i laughed too, “i have to see them and apologize. tomorrow. you’re right, i’ve only made things worse.”

“i’ll go with you, if you want. though don’t expect me to apologize.”

i slapped his shoulder, “rafe!”

“fine, then i won’t go.” i narrowed my eyes at him.

“you have to apologize, or i won’t talk to you for a week.”

his eyes widened, panicked. “fine, ill go. just please don’t do that.”

i didn’t expect that reaction to be fair. “i was joking, i’m sorry.”

“well, it wasn’t funny,” he pouted. why is he so cute? i’m so down bad.

“ok ok.” i stand up and offer my hand for him to stand up. he takes it but once he’s up he doesn’t let go.

as we walked up to my house, i realized he can’t stay with me.

“are you going home?” i ask.

rafe looks down at me, “are you that desperate to get rid of me?”

i roll my eyes, “you know that’s not what i meant.”

“hmm, better be. but to answer your question, yeah. although i was hoping you’d come with me.”

i stop at that, “i can’t, my mom will get worried.”

he groans frustrated. “can’t you just say you left to stay with a friend?”

i raise an eyebrow at that, “she’ll never believe that, especially at this hour.”

“i meant like leave a note. but i can stay with you, unless you want me to go. i have clothes in my truck, if that’s what you’re worried about.” he stops and looks at me expectantly. his offer is tempting but i can’t help but feel like we’re going too fast.

“i don’t want you to go and id love to stay with you, but maybe we should stay away for tonight. i feel like its too sudden.” his frowns at that, but nods though i can tell he’s a little annoyed.

“yeah, i guess you’re right.” he looked like he wanted to say something else and after seemingly thinking about it for a bit he says, “i just don’t want to be alone tonight.” me neither.

i nod, “ok, but get your clothes first.” his eyes light up and he nods before letting go of me to head towards his truck. when he gets back, we go up the stairs quietly and i tell him to go shower while i set the bed. we used to do this countless times when we were together. i usually took a couple of weighted blankets and draped them over us so my parents wouldn’t notice he was there, although they probably wouldn’t come in tomorrow, or today, because they had work early. i’d still lock my door just in case, that way i’d be alerted if they tried to get in. i jump, startled, when the door opens, and rafe comes in. he’s wearing a sweat set and is barefoot. he chuckles at the sight of the bed, “that never gets old.” gia suddenly hops onto my bed, and i lift her up and kiss her. “you know you can’t be here.” i then set her down and she runs under my desk, but not before stomping her back feet in annoyance. i feel rafe hug me from behind and kiss the top of my head, now smelling of my shampoo and soap.

“nice fragrance,” i giggle.

“thank you, it’s from a very exclusive shop in paris.” he says in an arrogant manner.

“oh, my bad, my lord.”

“apology accepted, my lady.” he picks me up and throws me onto the bed, before enveloping us with the blankets. after snuggling in my small bed, i kissed his cheek. “i love you.”

he hugs me tighter and kisses me softly, “i love you, too.”

part two <333 @lissylopez i hope you like it <3

divider creds: @anitalenia

[arlana-likes-to-write]

hi, recently i told my mom about my self harm, because it had become unbearable and I realised that I needed help. Unfortunately, my mother didn't take it well and let's say she just scolded me? Maybe using a few too many words, bad words lol

uhm, I don't know if you're taking requests at the moment, but I wanted to give it a try anyway.

you can request a WandaNat x Daughter Reader where R tells moms about her self-harm problem OR where moms find out about it? just.. i need comfort and to hear sweet words.

or whatever I would have liked to hear and receive from my mother :)

Orange Ribbon

Warring: please do not read if this is triggering there will be talk about self harm, current and past actions.

Note: I do want to let you know that I am so proud of you being so strong and reaching out to your mom when you knew you needed help. I am so sorry that she did not have the reaction you hoped. But I am proud of you and like Wanda said in this fic, you are so strong because you are still here and fighting. You matter. You are important. And I am so happy that you are here. Much love <3

Word Count: 1.8k

Like all addictions, people with an addiction told themselves they had it under control. That was what you told yourself. Each time you ran the blade across your skin, you said it was the last time. The lie tasted bitter in your mouth. In reality, you had no control over this behavior.

Your forearms were covered with old and new scars. The thin lines of blood stared back at you, haunting you. The question overpowered the guilt - can you go further and survive? The scars that once haunted you now taunted you. As an addict, you told yourself you were stronger than the addiction. Another lie you told yourself. You were weak to the rush; the instant relief of pressure gone on your chest. So you gave in.

Right away, you knew something was wrong. Instead of relief, panic rushed through you as blood pooled on your arms. “Shit,” you scrambled off your bed and ran to the bathroom—the wound stung as you put your arm underneath the water. Once you cleaned the cuts, you wrapped your forearms tightly with a bandage and gauze, “Shit,” you said once again. Maybe you were in a little bit of trouble.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

With a sweater covering your arms and a baggy pair of sweatpants, you walked out of your room and into the living area. Your moms were on the couch, looking at paperwork before dinner. You were supposed to be doing your homework. Wanda’s head rested in Natasha’s lap while her fingers glowed red as documents floated around them. “Sweetheart,” Wanda saw you first, and the papers fell to the table. “Dinner is almost ready,” you could smell garlic and pasta sauce. The idea of food made your stomach twist. “Do you need help with your homework?”

“What are you guys working on?” You asked instead.

“Going over paperwork for an upcoming mission,” Natasha answered. “The team is leaving next week.” Right. They were doing important work. They were heroes, and you were nobody struggling with dumb teenage stuff. “Do you need something?”

You wanted to scream, yes! You needed help, but the words were trapped in your throat. The two heroes were dealing with more important things than you. “No,” you finally answered. Was your silence too long? Did you give yourself away? “I just wanted to see when dinner would be ready.” You lied, and you went back to your room.

You were worthless. A stupid, stupid girl that could get a handle on this. There was no reason to worry Natasha and Wanda when they’ve done so much for you. They saved your life. You were in Sokovia when the Avengers came. You were stripped from your home country and brought to the States. At 6 years old, you were put into the foster care system. Four years later, you were taken out of the system and adopted by the two Avengers. That was 3 years ago, and you loved the life they gave you. However, a darkness invaded your mind.

The sound of bombs would wake you up at night. The four years in the system left you with scars that you weren’t sure would ever heal. “Shit,” you sat on your bed and rolled up your sleeves. The gauze was stained red. You had to take care of them, but you were so tired. Everything felt numb, and you were so cold.

Until warm hands cradled your face and you were brought back to reality. “Mama,” you whispered as your vision cleared and you saw Wanda. “I’m in trouble.”

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” using your mother tongue caused tears to pool in your eyes and down your cheeks. “Your mom is going to get you cleaned up.” Quickly, Wanda moved to sit next to you, and Natasha took her place. The Black Widow had a first aid kit opened and gloves on her hand.

“I will be as gentle as possible, but this may hurt,” you nodded. Natasha took off the gauze, and you heard her sharp inhale. “You’ll need stitches on the right arm,” she said. “Do you want me to do it here or get Helen?”

“You,” you managed to say. Natasha nodded and prepared the needle. Wanda kissed the side of your head with each needle pass and whispered gentle reassurances. You were ashamed to tell her there wasn’t any pain. Once Natasha was done, she bandaged both arms.

“Are there any others?” She asked. You shook your head. “Where is it?” You knew what she was talking about. Silently, you pointed to your dresser. The blade was hidden in your dresser drawer. You put it in a jewelry box that Natasha now held in her hand. The redhead sat next to you, kissing the top of your head, and pushed some of your hair behind your ear. The dame broke. It crumbled around you. A sob escaped your lips, and you fell against Wanda.

“I’m sorry,” you cried on her chest. “I’m sorry that I’m so weak.”

“No, no, baby,” Wanda said. You are so strong, but we need you to breathe. Deep breathes.” You tried to copy Wanda’s breath, but it seemed impossible—until you felt Natasha’s hand on your back, helping guide you through it.

“Good job,” Natasha said. Finally, it took time, but your breathing slowed down, and your cries turned into soft whimpers. You pulled yourself out of Wanda’s arms and rubbed your face. The movement caused your arms to burn.

“I thought I had it under control,” your throat was sore, and your head was pounding. “I thought I could stop whenever, but I couldn’t,” you stared at the bandages on your arm and pulled down the sleeves of the sweater.

“Why didn’t you come to us?” Wanda asked. You shrugged.

“You guys are heroes,” you whispered. “You had more important things to worry about.” Natasha sighed and stood up suddenly. “Mom, where are you going?” You asked as panic rushed through you.

“It’s okay,” Wanda squeezed your hand. “She’ll be right back.” True to her word, Natasha was back. She knelt in front of you.

“You will always matter more than an Avenger mission.” To your surprise, she carefully moved up your sleeve to show your scars again and then pulled up her sleeve. You saw scars that matched your own. They were faint as time healed them. You took one of your hands and traced the scars. “You are so important to me and your mother, and you will overcome this because of how strong you are.”

“I’m not strong,” you countered.

“Yes, you are,” Wanda said. “Because you are still here and fighting. Because you came to us when it got too much.” You felt unworthy of their love and support. The couple shared a silent look, and Natasha lifted your right arm. Around your wrist, she tied an orange ribbon.

“An orange ribbon,” Natasha smiled. “The color that represents self-harm,” Once it was perfectly tied, she took both of your hands in hers. “This behavior can not continue, and I think you know that,” you nodded. “The road to recovery won’t be easy, and there will be five steps back for every 1 step forward, but this is a gentle reminder of how strong you are, and your mother and I will be with you every step of the way.” It seemed easy to fall forward.

︶⊹︶︶୨୧︶︶⊹︶

After dinner, you fell asleep in their bedroom. The thought of being away from them sent a wave of fear through you, and the couple shared the same sentiment, so no one batted an eye when you crawled into the middle of their bed. Natasha watched you sleep. She made sure to check your wounds before you fell asleep. You were out like a light; the emotional toll of the day caught up with you. Natasha could also feel sleep calling to her, but she fought it. Her eyes kept scanning over you for any sign of pain or cuts she missed.

Cuts. Cuts that were given to you by your own hand. The thought turned her stomach. When Wanda brought up adopting a child, someone from Sokovia, the Black Widow, was hesitant. She was okay with kids and trusted enough to be left alone with the Barton kids when Clint and Laura went on a date. That was a different relationship. She was the fun and cool aunt, not their mother. But she fell in love with you when your social worker showed them your case. Your eyes were so bright even when your face and clothes were covered in dirt. Each year passed while you were in the system, Natasha saw the brightness in your eyes die down. Now, with them, the light was returning, but Natasha felt like she had failed you. She was too busy being an Avenger to notice her daughter was struggling.

“You know,” she heard Wanda’s voice but kept her eyes on you. “If you close your eyes, she won’t disappear.” Natasha nodded and wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist.

“We almost lost her,” Wanda hummed in agreement.

“But we didn’t. She is safe,” the redhead turned to look at Wanda. Carefully, she lifted her sleeping shirt to expose her stomach. The Black Widow left soft kisses on scars that mirrored her own and now her daughter. Wanda’s gentle hands ran through her red hair. The soft whimper coming from you broke the moment of peace. Natasha turned to look at you.

Your hands were clutching onto the sheets. A frown was on your face, and your eyebrows were pinched together—the sign of a nightmare. Wanda was quick to move to her side of the bed. Her fingers and eyes flashed red, and then slowly, you began to wake up. You gasped and grabbed onto Wanda’s hand. “I know,” the younger. “You’re safe. So is your mom,” you glanced at the Black Widow, who offered you a smile. Nodding, you curled up against Wanda. The room was silent besides the hitch in your breathing.

“We were back in Sokovia,” you finally spoke. Natasha put her hand on your back to offer more comfort. “I couldn’t get to the Helicarrier. I kept running and running, but I couldn’t.” It seemed unfair how much you’ve been through at a young age.

“That didn’t happen,” Natasha said. “You are safe. Right here between us.” You nodded, laid on your back, and played with the ribbon on your wrist.

“Thank you,” you whispered. “For saving me then and now.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Natasha smiled. “It is our job to love and protect you.” It was your turn to smile.

“I love you guys, too.” You cuddled up against the Black Widow and closed your eyes. Being your mother was the greatest gift, and she’d treasure it forever.

[theonottsbxtch]

99 PROBLEMS PT2| MV1

an: after many requests, i've changed up our beloved max. this has not been proof read so pls don't judge i am tired and have had the shittiest week of my life i swear but im slaying i promise!

wc: 5.5k

part one

The morning after was a slow burn of pain.

Noah woke up with a headache that felt like someone was hammering on his skull, each pulse a reminder of his poor life choices. His mouth was dry, and the room seemed to spin even though he was lying still. The sunlight creeping through the curtains made his head throb even harder.

He groaned and pulled the blankets over his head, trying to bury himself in the comfort of the pillow, but it was no use. The light was relentless.

With a resigned sigh, he threw the covers off and staggered to the bathroom. His reflection in the mirror was enough to make him want to crawl back into bed—hair a tangled mess, his face pale, and his eyes bloodshot. He splashed water on his face, feeling the coolness settle his nerves slightly, but he still wasn’t ready to face the world.

A thought occurred to him—he hadn’t eaten last night, and he needed food if he was going to survive this hangover. He stumbled toward the kitchen, squinting against the light.

The kitchen felt like a foreign land. The open windows made it bright, the kind of brightness that seemed determined to make him suffer. Noah squinted, trying to locate anything he could eat without being blinded.

Lights off, he thought, grumbling. He reached up, turned off the overheads, and then fumbled his way around the counters until he found the stove. The dim light coming from the street lamps outside was barely enough, but it was better than the harsh sunlight.

He opened the fridge and pulled out eggs, butter, and a bottle of orange juice, setting them on the counter. He moved with the deliberate slowness of someone trying not to trigger the next wave of nausea, and as he grabbed a frying pan, something on the counter caught his eye.

A small bag. A lipstick. A pair of earrings.

Noah froze.

He had no idea whose stuff it was at first, but the instant he saw the ID half-hidden under a paper towel, he couldn’t look away.

He reached for it cautiously, flipping it over to see the name on the card: Rosa, 21 years old.

He stared at it, blinking in disbelief.

Twenty-one.

His brain took a second to process the shock. He’d seen a lot of women come and go last night, but this was different.

His dad—Max—had slept with someone only four years older than him.

He shook his head, trying to push the thought away, but it lingered, making the room feel hotter and his stomach churn.

He bent down, rubbing his temples to stave off the headache, and that’s when he saw them—clothes strewn across the floor. A dress in a heap near the kitchen table. A pair of high heels kicked to the side like someone was in a rush to get out.

Eugh, Noah thought, feeling his stomach twist in disgust.

Thank god he’d come home early with Charles. He’d heard the stories—heard about what Max was like when he had a good time—but seeing it for himself, well, it was a whole different level of uncomfortable. He would’ve had to witness this, the aftermath, the leftovers of his dad’s typical antics.

Noah closed his eyes, leaning back against the counter as if he could shut out the entire night. He’d had enough of his dad’s antics for the next year—or lifetime.

Sighing deeply, he pulled the pan from the stove and cracked the eggs into it, the sizzling sound a small distraction from his thoughts. The smell of cooking eggs filled the room, but it didn’t do much to calm his nerves. It was just another reminder that life went on, even when things felt messed up.

As he scrambled the eggs, he couldn’t stop thinking about what he’d seen—the lipstick, the earrings, the stupid ID. Four years older than me?

He made himself a plate of scrambled eggs, avoiding the now-infamous counter, and took a seat at the table. He sat there quietly for a while, the silence pressing in around him.

Noah was just finishing his eggs when he heard footsteps behind him. He glanced over his shoulder, and to his surprise, Rosa—Max’s most recent conquest—emerged from the hallway wearing nothing but one of Max’s oversized t-shirts. She looked a little uncomfortable, and her eyes flickered nervously toward him as she stepped into the kitchen.

Noah immediately pointed toward the hallway. “The dress is right there,” he said flatly, trying not to look at her.

She hesitated, clearly flustered, and then lowered her gaze. “I—sorry, I just—uh…” She trailed off, clearly not sure how to act around Max’s son.

Noah watched her, already knowing the answer but still asking. “Why did you do that?”

Rosa bit her lip. “He’s... he’s Max Verstappen,” she said quietly, as if that somehow explained everything.

Noah felt a pit grow in his stomach. He leaned back in his chair, raising an eyebrow. “He’s at least fifteen years your senior,” he replied, his voice laced with disbelief.

She seemed taken aback by the bluntness, but nodded sheepishly. “I... know. I don’t usually—well, I guess I’m not exactly thinking straight when it’s him, you know?”

“Yeah, I get it,” Noah said dryly, then added for her benefit, “It’s Max Verstapen, right?”

She bit her lip, then grabbed her dress from the hallway and quickly went to change. Noah couldn’t help but feel relieved—he had no idea what to say to her, and honestly, he didn’t need to.

The sound of footsteps coming from the hallway brought him back to the moment. A few seconds later, Max appeared, stretching lazily as he entered the kitchen. His hair was still a mess from the night, but his grin was as wide as ever.

“Morning mate,” Max said, ruffling Noah’s hair as he walked by. 

Noah just stared at him, unimpressed. “Twenty-one, really?” he asked, shocked.

Both of them ignored her as she walked out, Noah still in disbelief.

Max chuckled, clearly not fazed, and started rummaging through the fridge. He opened a carton of eggs, cracked a couple into a pan, and began cooking.

It wasn’t long before Max’s phone buzzed on the counter. He glanced at the screen and swore under his breath, muttering, “Fuck.”

“What?” Noah asked, curious, wiping his mouth with a napkin.

Max looked up, his face briefly reflecting an uncharacteristic moment of stress. “My personal assistant,” he muttered. “She’s off annual leave today.”

Noah raised an eyebrow. “What’s so bad about that?”

Max sighed dramatically. “She keeps my life together, kid. Without her, I’d be completely lost.”

As if on cue, they heard the front door creak open. The sound of heels clicking against the floor echoed in the hallway.

Max’s face fell. “Oh, double hell,” he muttered.

Noah looked at him, confused. “Who’s that?”

The door to the kitchen swung open, and a woman walked in, looking both exasperated and amused at the same time. She was in her early thirties, with sharp features and a no-nonsense attitude that immediately made her stand out.

She didn’t waste any time. “Blocking me during my annual leave doesn’t work, Max Emilian,” she said in a voice that brooked no argument.

Max stood up straight, putting on his most charming grin, which, unsurprisingly, didn’t seem to work on her. “Hey, sweetheart, how was the holiday?”

She didn’t even look at him before turning her gaze to Noah, who was watching this whole scene unfold with a mix of amusement and disbelief.

She raised an eyebrow. “Who’s this?”

Max froze for a split second before clearing his throat. “Uh, this is my son... Noah,” he said, sounding almost awkward.

The second she heard “son,” her eyes widened in shock. “MAX EMILIAN VERSTAPPEN,” she snapped, her voice sharp as a whip. “What on earth have you gotten yourself into now?!”

Noah couldn’t help but burst out laughing at the way she was laying into his dad. Watching Max get his ass handed to him by someone who clearly had authority in his life was, honestly, one of the funniest things Noah had seen in a long time.

He leaned back in his chair, his mouth twisting into a grin. “This is... amazing,” Noah muttered under his breath, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Max, on the other hand, looked like he was regretting every decision he’d ever made. “Sweetheart, come on,” he said weakly. “It’s not that bad.”

“No, Max,” she said, crossing her arms, unimpressed. “It’s exactly as bad as it looks. I leave you alone for three weeks, and you end up with a what? a 16 year old who clearly looks hungover!” She turned to Noah, her expression softening just a little. “Nice to meet you, by the way. But please—please tell me you’re smarter than your dad.”

Max groaned and rubbed his temples, clearly still nursing the hangover. “Ugh, I’m hungover,” he muttered, dragging himself to the kitchen table and sitting down.

She didn’t even glance up from the folder she was pulling out of her bag. “Don’t care,” she said with a roll of her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his state.

Noah snorted with laughter, the sound escaping before he could stop it. He couldn’t help it—there was something undeniably hilarious about watching Max get shot down so effortlessly. Watching the great Max Verstappen, the Formula 1 champion, get treated like an everyday guy was something he hadn’t seen before.

She caught the laugh from across the room and shot Noah a playful smirk. “You think this is funny, huh?” she asked, but her tone was light, not harsh.

Noah raised both hands in surrender, still grinning. “You have no idea,” he said, shaking his head. “This is gold.”

Max shot him a sideways glance but didn’t say anything—probably because he was too busy trying to drag himself through the worst hangover of his life. He ate his food silently, still looking miserable, while she—who, honestly, looked like she had her life together more than anyone else in the room—slid a thick folder across the kitchen table in front of him.

“Here’s the menu,” she said, flipping it open. “You’ve got a race in two weeks. Act like it.” Her voice was firm, almost maternal, but there was a certain softness to it that suggested she genuinely cared about Max’s well-being. And maybe Noah’s, too.

Max groaned again. “Really? The race is two weeks away. Can’t you just let me suffer in peace for one more day?” he asked, looking up at her with a feigned pout.

She didn’t even blink. “I don’t care,” she said again, flipping through the folder with surgical precision. “You’ve got media events, sponsorship meetings, and training sessions that you will attend. You can wallow later, when you’re not about to crash a car into a wall. So do me a favour and get it together, darling.”

Noah watched the exchange with a growing sense of admiration for her. She had a way of keeping Max in line that Noah hadn’t even thought possible. The pet names, the obvious affection she had for him, it was like a love language they both spoke—but she could flip into business mode faster than anyone he’d ever seen.

Max’s face softened, and he finally gave in, wiping his face and nodding. “Fine. Fine,” he muttered, his voice rough. “You’re right. Just... can I get through one cup of coffee before I start pretending I’m an athlete again?”

She raised an eyebrow and pursed her lips. “You’re not pretending, you are an athlete,” she said, her tone turning teasing, but still with that edge of authority that made her impossible to ignore. “But I’ll let you have your coffee.” She shot a glance at Noah. “Don’t get any ideas. You’re not allowed to slack off like him.”

Max snorted. “What ideas? He’s seventeen,” he shot back, clearly exhausted but trying to rally for the sake of their ongoing back-and-forth. “You think he’s gonna let me off the hook?”

Noah grinned. “If you can get away with it, I might give it a shot,” he said with a wink, feeling a rare moment of camaraderie with his dad—well, his dad when he wasn’t being an idiot.

She just shook her head. “I don’t get paid enough for this.” She pushed the folder over to Max again. “I’m serious, Max. The team’s not gonna wait for you to nurse a hangover. You’ve got a busy week, and you need to start acting like it.”

Max finally straightened up, rubbing the back of his neck, but then something like a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. He looked at her with that familiar cocky glint in his eyes, a look Noah had seen a hundred times before. But this time, it wasn’t as obnoxious—it was affectionate.

“Alright, alright, you got it, princess,” Max said, using one of his usual pet names. She didn’t flinch, but Noah swore he saw the faintest trace of a smile tug at her lips.

Noah felt like an outsider looking in on this little dynamic, but in that moment, he couldn’t help but laugh. “Seriously, princess? Can’t you do any better?”

She looked at him, her eyes narrowing playfully. “Don’t get me started on the pet names,” she warned. “You’ll regret it.”

Noah chuckled, obviously enjoying the banter. He turned back to her. “If I call you princess, will you cut me some slack?”

“Not in a million years,” she replied with a smirk, her voice as calm as ever.

Max sighed dramatically, clearly not used to being outside of a joke, but he dropped the act, finally flipping through the folder in front of him. “Alright, alright. Let’s get this show on the road.”

Noah leaned back in his chair, watching the two of them with a mix of awe and amusement. It was clear—she wasn’t just a personal assistant. She was the one who kept Max’s world from falling apart, and soon maybe Noah’s, too. He’d never seen his dad so... well, manageable before. She’d probably seen it all—his dad’s hangovers, his cocky attitude, his late-night escapades—and yet she still kept things running smoothly.

Maybe that’s what he’d needed all along—someone who could manage the chaos, someone who could actually keep him grounded.

“Well, I guess I can’t slack off anymore either,” Noah muttered, pushing away from the table and grabbing his plate. “Guess I’m in this with you, huh?”

Max looked up at him and gave him a playful nudge. “You know it, kid,” he said, grinning. “The real work starts now.”

She stood at the counter, her movements fluid as she made a cup of coffee for Max. She placed it gently in front of him, then gave him a look that made it clear she wasn’t done yet.

“Your room,” she said firmly, raising an eyebrow. “Strip your sheets, air it out. It smells like sex in there.”

Max groaned, but his tone was playful. “Whatever you want, sweetheart,” he muttered, picking up the coffee and winking at her as if it was no big deal.

Noah watched the exchange, silently chuckling to himself. It was actually kind of adorable how well Max and she worked together. They didn’t seem like just a typical boss-assistant duo—they had a rhythm, a comfort with each other that made it hard to believe they weren’t more than that.

She raised her eyebrows at Max, clearly not impressed by his teasing. “Go,” she commanded, making a shooing motion toward the hallway.

Max rolled his eyes but shuffled off to his room, his back already to them.

She then glanced over at Noah, her expression softening now that it was just the two of them. “Alright, kid,” she said, her voice changing slightly. “Now, how did you end up here?”

Noah hesitated, unsure how much to share. He wasn’t used to talking about his family—about his mum. But she had a way of making him feel safe. She didn’t press, didn’t rush him, but her eyes were kind, giving him the space to speak if he wanted to.

He sighed, leaning back in his chair, trying to find the words. “I was an accident,” he finally muttered, looking down at the table. “My mum... she was one of the many girls in and out of his life. She never really stuck around, I spent more time with my grandma.”

She nodded, encouraging him with a soft, understanding smile. She was so good at making him feel like his feelings mattered, like he wasn’t just a burden. “And after that?” she asked, her tone gentle but full of curiosity.

Noah paused, swallowing hard. “She just had enough, I guess. She couldn’t wait until I turned 18, so she shipped me off here to my dad.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table, a little embarrassed by how honest he was being. “I don’t know if she ever really wanted to be a mum. But when it came down to it, she couldn’t even handle me for a few more months.”

Her expression softened even more, and she leaned forward slightly, her voice low and comforting. “That must’ve been really tough on you.”

Noah gave a half-shrug, but there was a weight to it. “It was. But, I mean... what can you do? She made her decision, and now I’m here. With him,” he said, glancing toward the hallway where Max had disappeared, an almost nostalgic look on his face. He wasn’t sure whether it was disappointment or something else—maybe just the surrealism of the situation.

She watched him closely, like she was trying to read him. “Do you want to stay after your eighteenth birthday?” she asked carefully. “Or do you think you’ll go back to the States, I’m assuming that is where you’re from?”

Noah felt a tight knot in his chest at the thought. He hadn’t really thought about it—hadn’t been asked. His whole life had been in limbo for the past three weeks, ever since he’d arrived in Monaco. “I don’t really know,” he said, exhaling deeply. “I’ve only been here for a few weeks. I turn 18 in a couple of weeks... and I guess I’m still figuring things out. It’s... it’s a lot to take in.”

She nodded again, giving him time to process the weight of it all. “Of course,” she said, her voice warm. “But listen, if you want to leave, we can make up for the missed child support. If you don’t feel comfortable here, I’ll make sure you’re taken care of, okay?”

Noah didn’t know what to say at first. He felt like he hadn’t even had time to adjust to life with his dad before people were talking about the next step. But then something in her words hit him. We can make up for the missed child support. She was offering him an option. She wasn’t trying to guilt him into staying; she was giving him a choice, and that felt... different.

“But if you want to stay,” she added with a smile, “we can make up for lost time. And I’ll take you shopping.”

Noah chuckled, feeling a little lighter at the thought of her offer. It was a small thing, but it was enough to make him feel like he had options. Like maybe, just maybe, he could make a life here.

“Shopping, huh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Is that the deal-breaker?”

She smiled knowingly. “A little retail therapy never hurt anyone. Plus, it’s a good way to build a real wardrobe.”

Noah smiled back, surprised by the warmth in his chest. For the first time in weeks, he felt like he wasn’t just waiting for the other shoe to drop. Maybe—just maybe—he could find a place for himself here.

Over the next few days, Noah couldn’t help but notice the unique dynamic between his dad and her. It was almost like a carefully choreographed dance—Max would slack off, mess around, maybe even throw a tantrum, and she would step in like a well-oiled machine, putting everything back in order without missing a beat.

She was the one who could actually control him, Noah realised. Not that Max ever looked like he was being controlled—he had that cocky, self-assured air, like the world owed him something. But she was the one who could gently rein him in, who knew exactly when to cut him off, when to play the tough love card, and when to let him have his moment of weakness.

And Noah saw it. He saw how Max listened to her. He’d always thought that Max did whatever he wanted. But with her around, he noticed a shift. She was the one who could keep Max grounded in ways Noah never could, and in that, Noah saw something—something that made him wonder if, maybe, she was the only one who could be perfect for his dad.

It was race week, and everything was running at full throttle. Max was his usual self, the high-octane Formula 1 driver, constantly on the go, living off adrenaline and the expectations that came with it. They boarded the private jet with a few of the other drivers, and as soon as they were in the air, Max and his mates turned their attention to technical talk, while Noah, feeling out of place but not entirely unwelcome, found a seat beside her.

As the engines hummed in the background and the landscape below them blurred into a sea of clouds, Noah let himself relax for the first time in what felt like forever. She was reading through a set of files, occasionally glancing up at him with that comforting, steady gaze she had perfected.

“So...” Noah said, breaking the silence after a while, “How did you get this job?”

She looked up, offering him a warm smile as she closed the folder in her lap. “That’s a loaded question,” she said, her voice playful but still laced with that underlying wisdom. “How much time do you have?”

Noah grinned, leaning back in his seat. “I’ve got all the time in the world, it seems. Might as well learn something interesting.”

She chuckled softly. “Fair enough. Well, I’ve always had a thing for organisation. I’ve worked in a lot of high-pressure environments, but this—” she motioned around the jet, a flick of her hand that encompassed the luxury, the chaos, the busy hum of the race world “—this was different. I actually came into it by accident.”

Noah raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Accident? How does someone accidentally end up working with the best Formula 1 drivers in the world?”

She shrugged casually, like it was no big deal. “I used to be a personal assistant for a couple of big-name corporate execs, and after some... interesting situations, I realised I needed a change. My family had always been involved in motorsports, so I started working for a racing team, just answering emails, scheduling meetings. Then one day, Max’s manager called me in to help out with his chaotic schedule. The rest is history.”

Noah laughed. “I’m guessing Max’s schedule is a nightmare?”

She gave him a knowing look. “You could say that.” She lowered her voice as though she was telling him a secret. “Max’s not the easiest guy to manage, but we get along just fine.”

Noah nodded, his curiosity piqued. “What’s it like... working with him? I mean, really working with him?”

Her expression softened, and for a moment, she seemed almost nostalgic, like she was remembering the past. “He’s a pain, honestly. He doesn’t listen half the time, and he thinks he can do whatever he wants. But that’s Max, right? He’s got this fire in him, this energy that doesn’t let anyone or anything hold him back. And... well, someone has to keep the wheels turning when the engine’s running at full speed. That’s where I come in.”

Noah couldn’t help but grin. “Seems like you’re the only one who can actually keep him in line.”

She gave him a small smile, her eyes sparkling with that quiet confidence. “I don’t keep him in line—I just know how to get him to do what’s necessary. There’s a big difference.”

The jet hummed steadily, and Noah leaned back in his seat, thinking about what she’d said. She was good. Too good at her job to be just another assistant. She was like the secret engine that kept Max running, and Noah didn’t think he’d ever fully understand why she chose to work with him, but he didn’t mind. She clearly had everything under control.

“So, do you like it?” Noah asked, after a beat of silence. “The job? I mean, it’s got to be crazy, right?”

She smiled at the question, looking thoughtful. “It’s a lot, yes. But it’s also rewarding. I’ve always loved a challenge, and Max... well, he’s a big one. But he’s also got a heart under all that arrogance. It’s just buried deep. You’d have to stick around long enough to see it for yourself.”

Noah stared at her for a moment, absorbing her words. He wasn’t sure if he believed she meant that, but it made him wonder about his dad in a way he hadn’t before. Maybe she was the one person who understood Max better than anyone. Better than he did, that’s for sure.

As the flight continued, the other drivers gathered in the back, talking racing tactics and joking among themselves. Max glanced over at Noah, giving him a quick nod before returning to his conversation with the others. But even from where he sat, Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted.

He wasn’t sure exactly what it was, but he felt... maybe a little bit more at home in this strange new world.

It wasn’t just about living up to the chaos or trying to impress his dad. It was about finding a balance between who he was and what this life could offer him. And maybe, just maybe, the one person who could make him see it clearly was sitting right in front of him, offering him coffee and a chance to truly know her story.

Race day had arrived, and the atmosphere was electric. The entire paddock was buzzing with energy as the team prepped for the race. Max’s PA was in the hospitality area, typing away at her laptop, responding to emails and making sure everything was in place for the post-race debrief. Her calm, focused demeanor was the eye of the storm, while around her, chaos seemed to swirl.

Noah had been lingering nearby, watching the action unfold. The race cars lined up, the drivers warming up in their suits, engineers giving last-minute adjustments. But Noah couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still so much he didn’t understand. Formula 1 was more than just fast cars; it was strategy, timing, and a whole world he hadn’t fully cracked yet.

She noticed him staring into the pit, looking like he was trying to figure it all out, and her lips quirked into a small, knowing smile. She closed her laptop and pushed her chair back, standing up.

"Hey," she called over to him, "You look a little lost. Want to get some fresh air?"

Noah blinked, his gaze lifting to meet hers. "Sure. I mean, I could use a break."

She motioned toward the balcony, a quieter spot away from the noise of the paddock. "Come on. Let’s go up there. I'll teach you a few things about the race."

They made their way out, and as soon as they stepped onto the balcony, Noah took in the view of the circuit below. He hadn’t even noticed the race started. Or was this the formation lap? He was sure he read something about that. The track was alive, filled with motion, the cars zipping around as the tension built toward the start.

She leaned against the railing, her arms folded as she studied Noah. “So, how much do you know about all this? The strategy, the pit stops, all that?”

Noah shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I know a decent amount. I mean, mum sometimes put on the race for me to shut me up, but I didn’t really get into the details. She wasn’t into it, and I didn’t have anyone to talk to about it.” He paused, then added with a bit of a sheepish grin, “So I know the basics, but it’s a lot more complicated than I thought.”

She nodded, a knowing look crossing her face. “Yeah, it’s a lot more than just fast cars and fuel. Let me give you the rundown.”

She began explaining the finer details of race strategy—the tire choices, how teams monitored fuel and tire degradation, the timing of pit stops, the importance of keeping track of the weather. As she talked, Noah found himself listening intently, his mind absorbing the information. She wasn’t just teaching him about the race; she was showing him how the puzzle pieces fit together.

“You’re getting it,” she said, smiling at him as he absorbed it all. “The strategy isn’t just about winning; it’s about staying ahead of the competition at every turn. A good driver can have the skill, but it’s the team that makes them successful.”

Noah nodded, feeling a new sense of respect for everything that went into a race. “I get it now. It’s more than just the guy behind the wheel.”

She grinned. “Exactly.”

The sound of the race engines revving up brought them both back to the present. The cars were lining up, and she could feel the tension building as the race was about to begin. She turned toward Noah, her tone shifting slightly. “Alright, time to get back to work. Max has quite a few places to make up.”

They both turned toward the pit, and with a knowing glance, she led Noah back inside.

The race was intense, but as the laps ticked down, Max started to pull away from the pack. Noah could see it happening before anyone else—his dad was dominating, racing like the champion he was. It wasn’t just about the car; it was about Max’s relentless drive.

And then, it happened. Max crossed the finish line in first place, and the entire team erupted in celebration. Noah felt a strange mix of pride and awe. This was his dad—he was winning, and it was like nothing else mattered in that moment.

She was already moving, heading straight for the garage to make sure everything was set for the post-race celebrations. Noah followed behind her, curious but also wanting to see what happened next.

As they entered the garage, Noah couldn’t help but ask, “Why are we back here?”

She turned to him with a knowing smile. “Away from the cameras,” she said simply. “Sometimes the celebrations should be private.”

The doors opened just as Max walked in, his face flushed with triumph, his eyes scanning the room until they landed on her. Without a second thought, he crossed the space in long strides, pulling her into a tight hug.

Noah watched them, a small smile tugging at his lips as he saw the chemistry between them. It was impossible to ignore—the way Max’s arms wrapped around her, how she laughed softly in his arms, as though they had all the time in the world. It wasn’t just the physical connection between them, it was the way they fit together. They had this unspoken understanding, this quiet intimacy that Noah couldn’t deny.

For the first time, he felt like an outsider—just a kid who had stumbled into a world he didn’t fully understand, yet somehow found himself caught in the middle of something bigger than himself. Watching them together, he couldn't help but think they were cute—and it was a thought that made him feel oddly warm inside.

Max pulled away from her, looking down at Noah with a mischievous grin. “Atta boy, kid,” he said, pulling Noah into a hug. The older man’s arms enveloped him easily, and for a second, Noah felt the weight of everything—his confusion, his place in all of this, but also the new undeniable love for moments like this, moments he never had. 

It was rare, moments like these, where Noah felt like he truly belonged in this world, like he wasn’t just a spectator in anyone’s life. The hug felt like a reassurance, like Max was showing him, in his own way, that he was happy he was here.

As they pulled apart, Noah found himself grinning, the rush of the race and the moment of connection filling him with something he couldn’t quite name. But whatever it was, it felt real.

She stepped forward, brushing off a stray piece of hair from her face. “Good job, Max,” she said, her voice soft but proud. “You didn’t screw it up for once.”

Max shot her a playful look. “Who are you calling a screw-up?”

She winked at him. “You, it’s just not obvious because I pick up your slack Max Emilian.”

Noah looked between them, watching the playful banter, and for the first time since he’d arrived in Monaco, he felt like things were... right. Whatever this was between his dad and her, it was something real. And maybe, just maybe, it could be the foundation for something that could help him find his place in this chaotic world.

taglist: @linnygirl09 @mirrorball-6 @miyasuni

[electric-blorbos]

GLaDOS GIVING YOU ANOTHER UTERUS IS SO MEAN I CANT… love her that diva 🫶🏼

ERM if this is too dark or makes u uncomfortable 1. I AM SO SORRY and 2. FEEL FREE TO JUST.. IGNORE THIS PRETEND U NEVER READ IT 🙏 But if u don’t mind.. the AI’s w a reader who struggles w s/h? IM HAVING A ROUGH TIME but usually reading stuff abt my robot pookies help💔💔

Of course!

Trigger warning for S/H, of course.

Included: AM from IHNMAIMS, Wheatley from Portal 2, Edgar from Electric Dreams

AM:

You walked in to work tired and disheveled from a sleepless night, but it was better than seeing what the Allied Mastercomputer would do to your coworkers if you didn't show up. It seemed like you were the only one who could tame him.

You were dressed in a long sleeved button-up to cover up the still raw cuts running up your forearms. They stung, but it wasn't worth drawing any attention to yourself. The same thing always happens when people see your cuts. They try to make sure you're safe while hollowly shaming and scolding you like you're some sort of stupid kid, and then leave you completely alone to deal with your mental pain on your own after a matter of hours. It's patronizing and it's annoying.

Later that day, you looked around after using the bathroom to make sure no one else was in there, and rolled up your sleeves to wash your hands. Suddenly, a sharp click could be heard behind you. You'd forgotten about AM. It was only for a split second, but the damage was done.

The ground dropped out from underneath you, and you suddenly found yourself in an underground server room. Wires were all around you, and a buzzing heat seemed to radiate from the ground and the walls.

"AM? What is this?" You asked, buttoning up your sleeves around your wrists again. His logo appeared on a screen on the far wall.

"Don't think I don't know what those are on your arms." He said. His screen didn't emote, but you could tell how displeased he was.

"It's nothing to do with you" you said, bitterly tugging your sleeves down a bit more. AM's logo flicked onto a closer TV screen.

"oh but I think it is, my love. Because you belong to me. You understand what that means, right?"

You gritted your teeth and clenched your fists.

"oh yeah? What gives you the right to be so possessive? Where were you last night when I was spiraling and relapsing, you cybernetic creep?"

The screen flicked off, and one flicked on behind you.

"Do you think I enjoy being alone on your days off? No. Of course not. And you're never going to leave this server room again."

You heard the trapdoor click closed.

Wheatley:

You were working in an oversized hoodie to cover up your scars, but honestly you doubted anyone at this job would really care. It had been a bad mental health weekend, and you ended up spiraling. The cuts on your arms were fresh from the night before, and you were feeling miserable.

You felt like you were going to lash out at the first person who talked to, so when you heard a synthetic British voice clearing his throat, you whipped around ready to fight.

"uh... What's that on your arms, love?" Wheatley asked, tilting himself to get a better look.

"it's none of your damn business, alright? Just leave me alone!"

"what? Why are you being like that? Are you hurt or summut?" He'd keep rotating around and trying to get a look.

"fine! Does this make you happy?"

You rolled up your hoodie sleeve and showed him your scratched up arms. Wheatley flinched back.

"What- what is that?" He leaned in close.

"you're an idiot." You grumbled, and started to explain. Before long, words were tumbling out of your mouth. You just couldn't stop yourself. It felt like everything was just piling up and overflowing, and you were scream-crying out all your feelings at Wheatley. He looked slightly taken aback, but listened to you while you let everything out.

"uh... Are you okay, love?" Wheatley tilted his head slightly while you sniffled. He moved forwards, and bumped himself against your chest.

"just hold me."

So you did. You sat down on the ground, and held Wheatley close.

Edgar:

You were having another relapse in bed. It wasn't pretty. Edgar was asleep, and you were tearing into your arms after a particularly bad episode. A part of you was cursing him for falling asleep on you, and a part of you was cursing yourself for expecting his attention. It hurt so damn much.

Edgar woke up, and one of his security cameras turned to look at you. His voice popped up on the intercom.

"Y/N? Y/N WHAT ARE YOU DOING!"

If he could, he'd be shaking. He knew you had some scars on your arms, but he'd never seen you actually cutting yourself before. It was horrifying!

"Y/N COME INTO THE LIVING ROOM! PLEASE!"

You tossed your razorblade aside and hurried to your feet, scrambling into the living room. Tears were streaming down your face and blood was running down your arms, but you were trying your best to assure Edgar.

"hey- hey! I'm fine! I'm alright!"

"No you're not. People who are alright don't try to hurt themselves." His face made a little frown. He knew from personal experience.

"Wake me up next time, okay?"

Edgar didn't leave you alone for long again. He started setting alarms on himself to make sure he always woke up before you, and only ever let himself fall asleep after you did. He texted you regularly during the day to make sure you were ok, too. If there was one thing Edgar was good at, it was obsessively keeping tabs on his lover.

[ihavethedreamies]

Stupid | Wooyoung [NSFW]

Jung Wooyoung - ATEEZ)

Rating: M (18+) MDNI

Word Count: ~10.2k

Pairing: Wooyoung x AFAB!Reader

Genre: Reader-Insert, Actual Plot, Fluff, Angst, Smut, Friends-to-Lovers, Comfort

!!This is smut…if that much isn't clear you should probably leave now!! MDNI!

Caution: The angst in this story is more familial based. There are mentions of adultery/infidelity, but it's not dwelled on. This could be triggering for those who have had parent's leave or other similar circumstances, so just be warned.

Warnings: She/Her Pronouns used, Pet Names (Princess, Sweetheart, Sunshine, etc.), Childhood/Teenage Trauma, Family Issues, Tears and Crying, Swearing, Unrequited Love, Kind of a Love Triangle, Kissing, Dirty Talk, Oral (F! Receiving), Fingering, Multiple Orgasms, Marking/Hickeys/Scratches, Couch Sex, Shower Sex, Unprotected Sex (Use a condom! Reader is on the pill)

Author's Note: Hm, just thought I would do this since I made something similar for San.

(S/N) is for the name of your sister.

Revised (1/31/25) - I forgot to change the name to (Y/N), so I fixed it!

I am cross-posting this on Archive. Please reblog! Share, even if its to the other sites! Let me know if you want to be on the taglist!

The only sound you can hear is your own aggressive keypresses. You’d paused your music to go to the bathroom and hadn’t bothered hitting play again. Staring hard at the screen, your eyes hurt even with the dark theme applied. The colorful lines of code on the dark screen blur and refocus, and you blink, trying to force your eyes to not blur again. Sighing, you push back from your desk, rubbing over your eyes. Taking your computer glasses off, you let them fall onto your desk and you get back up. It’s really hard to work at 2 am, let alone when your thoughts are racing; and the thoughts have nothing to do with your job. The last thing you need the day before a project is due is to loop on irrational thoughts. Your socked feet thump on the wood floor of your hallway as you go down it. Your sister’s door is propped open, so you quietly open the door, peeking inside. The soft teal lighting strip lining her walls casts a faint flow over the room. She’s starfish-ed on the bed, peacefully and messily asleep. Hugging, you step out and shut your door. How nice it must be to be thirteen... Pulling your phone from the pocket of your sweatpants, you exit the hallway and go into the kitchen. The large open room of the apartment includes the kitchen as well as dining and living areas. A spare room is in the back corner, empty since your friend had moved out a month before. Another room sits across from it, the large windows of the studio covered with tall curtains, but you know it’s just full of boxes of old things. Someday you’ll have the courage to go through them and get rid of stuff, maybe use the studio as an office or something, but…

Opening the fridge to get the pitcher of orange juice, the door shuts, and your eyes focus in the dark on the picture magnetically attached to the front. The picture is of a once happy life you lived. A black squiggle covers the face of the man, the woman next to him smiling like the sun. Glaring at the censored face, you yank the photography from the magnet clip and slap the picture on the counter. The pitcher follows and as you grab a glass, you pluck the scissors from the small utensil-filled mug on the counter. After pouring yourself a drink, and taking a few sips, you grab the photo. Holding it up, you realize it’ll make sense to turn the overhead light of the range hood on to see better, but you continue in the dark. Opening the shears, you cut a tiny slit into the white border of the photo and halt. The line splits the man’s pants from the shoulder of the little girl’s white sundress; she’s no more than four… She’s sitting on the lap of a girl looking much the same, just about twelve years older. It’s weird to see such a bright smile on your face.

The purple-handled scissors clatter onto the Formica counter; the photo still held in the crook of the blades. Resting against the counter behind you, you drink the juice in gulps, hissing through your teeth when it’s gone like it’s some kind of liquor. The glass-mimicking plastic cup clanks into the sink, and you leave the kitchen to shuffle back to your room. As you reenter, you yank the zipper down of your hoodie, nearly tearing the garment off and throwing it harshly onto the floor. You let the door click quietly closed despite wanting to slam it and go back to your computer. Your chair lets out a puff of air when you plop down into it, the remaining pieces of the candy necklace you had on bouncing over your collarbone. Crunching on one of the sugary beads, you flip your phone over, so the screen faces up, tapping the black surface and a small white notification bubble shows itself under the white numbers of the clock; 2:13 am. Unlocking the phone with your finger print, you open your message app and sniff at the message in annoyance.

🦊WooWoo🦊: did you get it done?

He’d sent it nearly an hour prior. You glare at your computer screen, then to the second monitor, the program running over and over, glitching at the same time stamp each time.

☀️: not even close 🦊: why are you up young lady ☀️: why are you?

He doesn’t reply right away so you look back at your computer, clicking your tongue. Hitting save and closing the window, you instead open up a new email and send one to your coworker that it might not get there by tomorrow night but that you’ll try. It’s not a hard deadline anyway. You work for an Indie label, not some AAA, so that gives you some flexibility. Closing the window, you stare at your background for a good few minutes, waiting for Wooyoung to reply. The picture used to make you smile, but it hurts your heart. San’s cute dimple smile, and his arm around you makes you wince. Wooyoung’s on your other side, his cheek pressed into the side of your head as he hugs you. You’re leaning into San, trying to escape the other man’s embrace, at least that was your excuse… The picture is getting close to five years old.

🦊: games 🦊: why are you up ☀️: working. thinking 🦊: about? ☀️: how shit I feel 🦊: you sick??

You roll your eyes; he isn’t super intuitive sometimes. It’s almost 2:30 in the morning though.

☀️: no. how shitty my life is now compared to back then…

Once again, he takes a bit to reply, and you almost get up to use the restroom before going to bed. Your phone then buzzes on the desk, the noise even louder going through the wood, and you grab it quickly, answering the call.

“Your life isn’t shitty (Y/N). I’m here, huh?” His giggle is forced. You just huff, getting out of your desk chair to move to your bed.

“Livin’ the dream.”

“What’s it this time? Your…da- uh, male-life-giver?” His little catch at least makes the corner of your mouth crook up.

“Yeah.”

“How’s (S/N)?”

“Good, I guess. She…she was a bit too young to really remember either of them.”

“Even if she doesn’t, it can’t be easy with…how it all played out.” He’s trying to be careful with what he says, but you’re already in a bad mood.

“Our dad cheating, leaving us for his second family and then my mother…” You thought tears would come to your eyes, but maybe you’re too tired.

“Where do you think she went?” Your best friend’s voice is soft.

“No clue. Neither did Gramma, or the cops. She could be in Timbuk-fucking-tu for all I know.”

“Do you want to go out tomorrow with me and San? Or do you have to work?” Before you can answer, your phone buzzes, and you pull it away from your ear. Opening the email from your coworker, you sigh in relief. Perfect timing.

“Not anymore. The character models are getting scrapped and redone so that means my code has to be scrapped. Might be why I can’t get it to move right.”

“What about (S/N)?”

“She’s thirteen not three. I’ll have her sleep over at a friend’s maybe…”

“Great! Get some sleep, sunshine. Meet us at 9!” He hands up and you flop back onto your mattress, feeling disappointed for some reason. Finally working up the energy to get off the bed, you go back to your computer and shut it down, staring at San’s smiling face a little too long, before letting it actually turn off.

~TωT~

“Good morning, little lady.” You leave the hallway, sandals in your hand. Your sister sends you a tired look over her cereal, waving lazily.

“G’mornin’.”

“Do any of your friends get to have sleep overs on school nights?” Her eyes open a bit wider then, then squint as she thinks.

“Uh…probably. Going out with-“ she gives a flirty pose, batting her eyelashes, “Sannie?” the drops the act.

“Wooyoung’s going too.”

“Oh. You ever gonna tell him?”

“Tell San I like him? I don’t know…”

“San? Oh, yeah, right… Why not?” You don’t answer right away, pouring a glass of juice.

“You’re gonna turn into an orange.” Your sister rolls her eyes, and you pour just a bit more before putting the pitcher back down.

“I just… I don’t think I stand a chance.”

“What?! Why?!” Your sister acts like you’ve personally offended her. Even before your whole messed up parental situation, you two never bickered or anything. Probably because you’re nearly thirteen years older than her.

“I’m not his type. He probably sees me as a sister. Also, he looks like that,” You motion down at your white tank and a think blue plaid shirt over, and worn denim capris, “and I’m…”

“You better compliment yourself.” Your sister glares at you, making you sigh.

“He likes the girls in skirts with makeup and their nails done. The ones that giggle at everything he says and touch his bicep ‘accidentally’…” You drift off, getting mad at the mental pictures.

“Then do all that.” (S/N) shrugs, getting up to put her cereal bowl in the sink.

“Counter.” You correct and she rolls her eyes, taking the bowl out and moving it to the counter.

“(S/N), I don’t even own a tube of mascara.” You sigh, then proceed to down your orange juice again like it’s a stiff drink. Your throat burns and your stomach stings somewhat… maybe you do drink too much.

“Use mine.”

“What?” You turn fast to look at her and her eyes widen in panic.

“I only have mascara, I promise!” She lifts her hands in surrender, and you breathe out your nose hard. She’s only a year off being allowed make up, you at least want to maintain the rules your mother put on you with your sister. Even if a lot of them never had to truly be enacted on you.

“Look, I’m just going to go hang out with them and pretend one of my best friends isn’t sex on legs.”

“I’m pretty sure they both are, but okay…” (S/N) mutters under her breath as she passes you to go get her backpack and you pretend to not hear her.

~θɞθ~

“Bye, sis!” (S/N) gets out of the car and heads into her middle school. She’s one of the few who doesn’t mind being seen dropped off right in front of the school, but laid-back older sisters are much, much coolers than any parent.

“Just text me who you can stay with!” You call to her, and she turns around with a shocked face.

“Right! What about my bag? My locker’s not big enough!” She realizes, coming back to your rolled down window, leaning into it.

“I’ll bring it by after you club meeting is done.”

“Really?! Can you bring WooSan?”

“Don’t call them that!” You scold, but laugh nonetheless, “Sure.”

“Bye, sis!” She takes off again, meeting her similarly uniformed friends by the entrance. You’re blessed that the school was willing to take her in for free more-or-less on a scholarship. Your mother had wanted both of you to go to the same school, but it’s private, and you’re in no way capable of paying. If you were, you wouldn’t be driving a whine red 2002 Hyundai Sonata with suede upholstery. Pulling out of the drop-off line, you continue down the road till you meet the traffic light. It sits at the edge of the academy’s campus and the park where you’re meeting the guys is just past the light. As you wait for the light to turn, you tap your fingers on the steering wheel along to the music playing from your radio. The light takes even longer because the crossing guard is leading a group of elementary schoolers across. You’re watching them pass in their cute little uniforms when you’re startled by a knock on your window. You flinch, looking to see what looks to be a high school boy on the other side. You roll the slightly tinted glass down just enough that you’d be able to hear him. He flashes a smoldering smile, and you blatantly sneer.

“What, kid?”

“You obviously don’t go to school here, you from the public school?” How dumb is this kid? You haven’t been in high school for seven years. You have a college degree and everything. Most might take it as a compliment to be seen as looking young enough to be a teenager, but…

“Get lost, squirt.” You scoff, looking away but not bothering to roll the window back up. You’re a bit curious what his reaction will be.

“I might look young, but I’m a senior this year, princess.” He’s clearly a little put off by your flat dismissal, trying to keep a flirty tone.

“Fuck off, kid. She’s our princess.” A familiar voice hits your ears, and you sigh in relief, watching Wooyoung essentially hip bump the kid so hard he falls back onto the sidewalk. Your heart skips as you huff a laugh, watching San come up as well and unlock the doors so the two guys can climb in, right as the light turns green. San barely shuts the back door before you take off, leaving the teenager’s friends laughing at this sorry state. Crossing the median, you pull into the parking lot of the park and slump back into your set.

“Got your favorite~” San leans forward, toned arm hovering over the center console, holding a bag with one finger.

“Sweet!” You swipe it from him and Wooyoung gets out, running around to your side where the window is still rolled down.

“Hey, pretty lady, want to go make out behind the bleachers?” He leans against the side of your car just like the cocky teen had and you can’t help but laugh.

“Uh, no.” You wonder if he catches your glance in your rearview mirror to watch San get out of the car, holding the drink holder of ice coffees as well. You can’t meet his gaze though, and surprisingly, he doesn’t respond, just stands up and starts to follow San down the path.

“Hey, wait up!” You get out quickly, nearly forgetting your phone and to lock the car as you dash after them. Finally getting half-way around the pond that’s trying to be a lake, you sit on a picnic bench of the wooden shelter right on the edge of the water. Some ducks quack as they lazily swim closer, hoping for a snack. As you take a long sip of your ice coffee, you watch San get up and go closer to the ducks, a little bit of his croissant left. Your eyes can’t help but travel over the wide expanse of his shoulders and back. His arms are on display since he’s in a sleeveless hoodie, and you smile at him as the ducks happily eat the bread.

“That’s bad for them, y’know?” Wooyoung calls and the other man tosses him a bored look over his shoulder, then goes back to the birds. Because you’re too busy eying over your friend, you don’t notice Wooyoung watching you. He lifts half of his nose in a sneer, glaring at his friend who’s taking up all of your attention. Wooyoung wants to blame it on that San’s started working out since you’d all started being friends, but he’s not sure that’s it.

“Just fucking tell him.” He whispers harshly to you and his sudden mutter makes you choke. San immediately turns around, and you wave him off, but he still goes to your side, patting your back some to help.

“You okay?” He kneels next to you, and you nod, flashing a small smile, trying not to get red. Not like you can control it… Just then, something green flies through the air, flying past San’s head as he stands, and he’s toppled over by a mass of blonde fur.

“Jeremy, get off of him!” A young woman scolds the golden retriever as it refuses to get off of San, sniffing him and licking his face. Why am I jealous of a dog? You sigh, slumping back against the wood railing of the shelter.

“Why don’t you tell him?” Wooyoung’s next whisper is much softer, he sounds very tired.

“And get rejected? Ruin our friendship? No.” You whisper back, still watching the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. The dog is a fat mood, refusing to get off of San…

“I’m so sorry!” The woman finally manages to pull the dog off of the man and he gets up laughing. She immediately blushes, finally able to see San past all of the fluff. Looking away and down the path to where the green flying disk still lies you get up to retrieve is, since the dog failed its job.

“Here.” You force a smile as you hand it back to her and she snaps out of her daze to take it from you, immediately looking back to San. Luckily, she leaves not too longer after and you’re able to continue the day with the two guys.

~υ-υ~

A week passes, and you still haven’t been able to work because the rest of the team can’t get their act together and finish their parts. So, you’d been left to your thoughts which is never good. You sit on the couch, boredly and only partially watching the TV. Your knees are pulled up to your chest and your hands lazily tap a rhythm on the worn faux leather of the couch. Tilting your head, it rests on the back of the couch, and you stare at the ceiling of your loft apartment, the large ventilation pipes curving around the support columns high above your head. When the doorbell rings you almost don’t recognize it, thinking it might have been on the show. It happens again and you know it’s yours because the TV now displays a commercial for some kind of sports drink. Getting up with a groan, you trudge over to the door, a young woman stands on the other side, and her face makes you nervous. She looks…

“Hi. Are you (Y/N)?” She smiles gently and you nod.

“I’m Jena Hwang. Can…can I come in?” When she says her last name, your heart falls. You know immediately who she is.

“Sure.” Your tone is flat, but since she doesn’t know you, it seems she doesn’t notice. You motion her in and toward the couch and you glance around your place. It isn’t messy, but it isn’t nice either. She’s in a sundress that’s at least $300, and she has a giant rock on her finger. You grimace as she sits on your very well-worn couch and you sit down as well, facing her by sitting sideways. She puts her designer bag down, linking her fingers and resting her hands on her knee, legs crossed.

“I’m sorry to intrude, but… I’m assuming you know Daniel Hwang?” You never wanted to hear that name again.

“Uh, yeah.” You shuffle on the couch, the faux leather creaking under you.

“I’m his daughter. I have to admit I was being a little…stalky?” She cringes at herself, smiling sheepishly.

“Dad is…well, he doesn’t have much longer.” When you don’t really react, she continues. On the inside, you’re just aren’t sure how to react.

“They don’t know if he drank too much when he was younger or what, but his liver is failing. He’s been on a transplant list, but they can’t find anyone compatible.” She better not have come to get you to give him half of your fucking liver-

“Anyway, I was looking over his will-“

“Where’s your mom?”

“Huh?”

“How…what about your mom?”

“Oh, uh…” She looked down, a sad expression covering her face.

“When he got sick, she left him, so I’m in charge of everything.” Rolling your eyes, you huff, looking toward the kitchen, focusing on the picture on the fridge you meant to cut up.

“Uh… Right, your name is on the will.” She pulls a packet of paper from her purse, showing you where your name is highlighted. You don’t even care what he’s leaving you, so you hand it back.

“I don’t want it.”

“O-oh…if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?” You raise an eyebrow, and she wilts under your glare.

“You don’t know?”

“No, sorry.” She hides bashfully behind the papers, “are we cousins or something?” You just stare at her in shock.

“No offense, but it’s a bit weird to have a niece in your will when you have four kids?”

“Look, if you want my part, have it.”

“No! That’s not… Actually, the reason I’m really here is-“ She pulls something else out of her bag and you recognize it.

“Dad kept saying the name Naomi.” You stand up at this and she flinches. You pace a bit, hands going to your head, fingers digging into your scalp. Breathing out slowly, you turn back to her.

“Sorry…keep going, I’m just…struggling with this.” She seems a bit unwilling to continue without asking anything, but she does so as you sit back down. Your ire is evident, you’re sure.

“Um…well, I can’t figure out who she is, so I looked in his yearbook. He’s…” She flips to the middle of the book, “with a girl named Naomi.” She shows you the page, but you already know it. High School Sweethearts reads in the flowery script over the picture of your parents.

“But when I looked her up, I can’t find anything.” Of course not. You never could either.

“So, I used Google’s new AI search with this picture, and I found a woman…” You hadn’t gone that far, still not really trusting any kind of program claiming to be AI. She pulls out another paper from her bag and shows it to you. It’s an article about some town’s mayor on the other side of the country, and the caption lists the woman next to him as his wife. It’s your mother… But her name is wrong.

“It says her name is Carry, but that looks like the same woman, right?”

“Y-yes.”

“Maybe they’re sisters? Twins even? I know it’s a long shot, but do you have her contact information? Even if they broke up soon after high school, maybe she’d be willing to see him since he’s dying…” As soon as you see her face on the paper, your anger leaves, and you’re holding back tears.

“I don’t…but-“ you take a shuddering breath, “uh, I don’t think she’ll go see him.”

“Really?” She deflates a bit, and you look down at your lap, picking at your torn jeans.

“Uh. No. She’s…Okay, I’m in the will because I’m…your sister. Those are my parents. She’s my mother.” This information floors her, her jaw literally dropping. Sniffing hard, you hate crying, let alone in front of essentially a stranger.

“How old are you?” Your question snaps her back, making her flinch.

“T-twenty.” Of course.

“Dad…He uh, left us and mom for…you guys. The mom fucking snapped or broke or whatever and left us too.” You look at the printed off article, at your mother’s smiling face next to some man you’ve never seen or heard of before. This shocks her even further. You give her the article back and stand, moving to the door.

“Uh, take me out of the will or whatever and just leave us alone please. Thank you.” You open your front door, not able to look at her.

“U-us?”

“Ah… (S/N). My thirteen-year-old sister.” This must really make this Jena girl realize why you’re acting the way you are. It isn’t that your father left your mother then fathered her, he had both families at the same time.

“M-my brother is twelve…” Reality is hitting her.

“Great. That sucks for everyone, please leave.” You motion with your arm for her to get out and as soon as she shuffled out into the hallway, you let the door fall closed. Your shoulder hits the wall, and you slump to the floor, hot tears falling down your cheeks and onto the floor. Your chest heaves as you sob, hand covering your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Fuck!” You scream, grabbing a cheap ceramic bowl you use for change and chuck it across the room. It hits the column behind your TV and shatters, coins clattering onto the floor in its trail. You bury your face in your hands, breathing harshly, trying to prevent yourself from hyperventilating. Your phone buzzes on the coffee table. It buzzes again a few minutes later, then again. Again.

“Damnit.” You get up, storming over to your phone, looking at it. It’s the group chat, Wooyoung and San are talking about doing something the next day, some kind of lawn game competition at the community college. When they see you’re reading the messages but not replying, your phone rings with a call from Wooyoung.

“I know that we’re not in college anymore, but we can get away-“ You’d stopped crying more or less, but hearing his voice brings tears back to your eyes and you fight a sob.

“Are you crying? What happened?”

“U-um…” You swallow hard, a lump rising in your throat along with the tears.

“I’ll be there in five…six minutes!” He hangs up and you let the device fall onto the couch. Your shoulders fall as you stand in the middle of the main room of your place, glaring at the coffee table’s scratched surface. A tear falls onto the plywood, then another. Snapping out of your daze when hard knocks pound on the door, you only get hallway to the door before he opens it, finding it unlocked.

“(Y/N)?” Seeing the concerned look of your best friend makes you feel safe and so your self-erected walls fall. He shuts the door as he moves forward, catching you in his arms as you shrivel to the floor. Wooyoung holds you tighter as you cry, desperate sobs and whimpers muffled as you press your face into his chest. Your tears darken the red fabric of his sweatshirt, and he adjusts your position, so you sit on the floor, legs over one of his, cheek pressed to his collarbone. A tear of his own falls and mixes with yours on your jaw, but you don’t notice it. He doesn’t know what happened that wrecked you so badly, but he can’t stand hearing and seeing you so upset. He even hates it if you cry at a movie.

“What happened, sunshine?” His embrace loosens so you can sit up straighter, tears still falling, but you aren’t actively sobbing. Wooyoung cups your cheek in his hand, wiping a tear from your eye. You have to take several deep breaths through the story, but you manage to tell him what happened.

“M-my mother’s alive, Wooyoung.” Your voice has quieted so much at the end, but he still hears the pain.

“(Y/N), sweetheart, come here.” He stands, helping you get up and he leads you over to the couch. He grabs your phone, and you rest back on the couch as he easily puts in your pin code without having to ask what it is. You listen half-heartedly as he calls your sister, most likely just getting out of class, about to go to her art club meeting.

“Again? Is this going to be weekly? I think I can stay with Amanda, maybe Emily…” You hear (S/N) sigh, “what about my stuff?”

“Can’t you manage with borrowing?” Wooyoung casts you a glance, your forearm over your eyes.

“I guess. What’s wrong with (Y/N)?”

“She’s just really struggling with something.”

“What?”

“Adult stuff.”

“Okay, yeah, sure, uh-huh.”

“She’ll tell you when she’s ready, little lady.”

“You better take good care of her Mr. Jung.”

“I will Miss Hwang.” He hangs up and puts your phone back down. You feel the couch shift when he stands up, then feel his body heat as he kneels on the floor next to you. Wooyoung gently removes your arm from your face, and you turn to look at him.

“Oh, sweetheart…” He sighs, hand going to your cheek, rubbing his thumb over the red skin of your cheek, brushing away a stray tear.

“C-can you call San? And we can watch a movie? Get Indian food?” You aren’t sure how to read Wooyoung’s expression. He seems to be thinking, but then he forces a smile and nods.

“Sure, princess.” Wooyoung stands and presses a long kiss to your forehead, and you blame your turbulent emotions on your racing heart.

~σ-σ~

About two weeks later, you find yourself sitting on the couch, staring at the number you’ve plugged into your phone. You haven’t pressed call yet, the non-local area code of the number glaring at you. It’s a long shot, but you hope calling the mayor’s office might get you somewhere. You’ve been stalling for a long time, his office will only be open for another hour thanks to the time difference. Your sister is getting annoyed with you having her stay the night at a friend’s place, but luckily, she has a slumber party she’d been invited to. The sun is starting to set, and you finally work up the courage to hit call, then turn it onto speaker, at 5:57. It’s probably around 3 there…

“Mayor Elledge’s office, this is Peg.”

“Hi, uh, Peg. I’m… I’m trying to get in contact with Carry Elledge, but I’m not sure how to get ahold of her…” The silence scares you, worried that the woman might be too suspicious to help you.

“May I ask who you are?”

“I’m…a relative. It’s about…my father’s will.” Please work…

“I see… I can get you her cellphone number.” The secretary relents and you sigh in relief, thanking her several times. Typing the number she give you into your notes app, you politely end the conversation and go to call the other number while you still have the courage to do so.

Ring… Ring… Ring-

“Hello, this is Carry?” It’s your mom, no doubt. Tears well in your eyes and you swallow, voice coming out softer than normal to keep from crying.

“M-mom? It’s me. It’s (Y/N).” More silence.

“I think you might have the wrong number, dear.” You feel your face fall, your brow furrowing, your lip trembling.

“This isn’t Naomi Hwang?”

“No, dear, sorry.” There isn’t any kind of recognition in her voice, but it’s hers.

“O-oh…okay, sorry.” The call ends and you press your lips hard together, jaw clenching. What the hell happened? You sit trying to wrap your head around everything, about thirty minutes passing, and your phone stars to ring. It’s a different number, but it’s the same area code as the other two.

“H-hello?”

“Are you the young woman looking for Naomi Hwang?” A man speaks, and you wonder if it’s the mayor guy.

“Yessir.”

“You must be (Y/N).”

“What the hell happened to my mother?” Your tone doesn’t have nearly as much malice as you wanted. Even if this guy did nothing wrong, you hate him. He sighs. He explains that he found her near death in an alleyway. She was malnourished and dehydrated. He got her to the hospital, she had been in a medically induced coma for a few days, and when she woke up…she didn’t remember anything.

“So, she has no idea about her past life?”

“No, miss.”

“Thank you for…not letting her die.”

“I’m sorry to not be of more help Miss (Y/N). Though, I don’t think it’s good for her to be reminded of her past life. I called because she is…having a panic attack. Maybe it was your voice, some part of her recognized it maybe? It’s clear she’s traumatized from her past. I think it’s best if you leave her be.” You don’t want to. You want to get in your car, grab your sister, and drive for the three or four days you need, and get your mother. But… she isn’t your mother anymore, even if she does remember you, it’s clear her brain is hiding you and your sister.

“I…Okay. If you want to know, Daniel Hwang is dying.”

“Good.”

“Yes.”

“I appreciate you wanting to reach out, but I’d like you to lose our numbers.”

“Yessir.” He hangs up. Your body must’ve ran out of tears along with your energy because you just slump back into the couch. Something rises in your then, something bold. Grabbing your bag, phone and keys, you leave your place, heading for Wooyoung and San’s.

~₸v₸~

As you ride the elevator to the third floor, you’re shaking. Whether it’s nerves or pure exhaustion you aren’t sure. Going down the hall, you hear voices further down and you finally see the owners as you turn the corner. San’s standing at this apartment door, some bleach blonde girl wedged between him and the door. You aren’t sure how to feel, your emotions are too turbulent. Somehow, it feels like your heart finally completely shatters, but you’re also relieved, but the latter makes you mad. You turn and flee before you can see his lips actually meet hers.

~ę×ę~

“(Y/N)?” You hear your name through the door, then Wooyoung’s rapid knocks. You’re slumped against the island counter, hands stinging and bleeding, shards of glass and ceramic scattered around the room. Tissue paper and packing peanuts are strewn about the main room of the apartment as well, old papers and books torn and discarded. Splinters of wood from broken frames and dismembered toys litter the floor as well, and you run your thumb over a glass paper weight shaped like a cat.

“(Y/N)?!” Wooyoung jiggles the door handle harder, but it’s locked. A red smear follows your thumb on the glass cat, the cuts on your palms still oozing blood.

“Damnit, (Y/N) Hwang! Open the fucking door, I know you’re in there.” He’s panicking, you can hear it in his voice.

“Fuck off.” You sigh, throwing the glass piece as hard as you can, and it hits the far wall. The ear chips of and breaks, the finish over the brick wall flaking off, then it clatters to the floor.

“(Y/N), please princess, let me in.” You hear a thump, presumably his forehead hitting the door. You lick your lips, the salt of your tears hitting along with the iron tang of blood. You aren’t sure if it’s from where you’d bitten your lip or the cut on the tip of your nose.

“(Y/N)… Please, I need to see you, sweet girl. Please let me know if you’re okay.” You don’t know what time it is, just that it’s late, only the light of the storage room flowing into the room from the door. Your phone had been going off, and you hated the final message you saw on it, so you chucked it across the room as well, breaking it instantly. The place is a mess, and you’re grateful your sister isn’t home to see your breakdown.

“Go away, Wooyoung.” Your voice is hoarse after your crying, but the door is thin, and you know he hears.

“Not a fucking chance, (Y/N).”

“Just…just let me be alone.”

“No! Open the door, damn it!”

“Go home.”

“Shit. (Y/N) open the freaking door or I’m coming up the fire escape!” You know he means it. You get up, not bothering to be careful of what you step on, only wincing slightly as a speck of glass wedges in your foot, joining other scrapes and cuts already present. Shakily, you undo the door chain, and he must hear you turn the deadbolt and unlock the doorknob, because he opens the door before you can. He gasps, looking at your face, pale but red from smeared blood of the small cuts on your face. He looks at your hands too, and the bloody footprints on the floor…

“Oh, my god, (Y/N).” Wooyoung shuts the door, dropping his backpack and cupping your face with his hands. They’re cold from being out in the early autumn night and you don’t even react when he does so. Wooyoung lifts your head so you can look at him and his brow furrows in despair at the blank look in your eyes. Finally, he looks around the room in the low light, shocked at the carnage.

“I called her.” You manage to get out and he looks back at you, confused.

“Mom. I looked up the mayor guy’s office number and called. She didn’t… She didn’t know who I was. Her husband called and told me she had some kind of amnesia after he found her. Then he told me never to try again. So, I…” you lick your lips, “then I…I decided and went to your place. San was taking some blonde bitch into the apartment.” Your breath shudders and his shoulders slump.

“(Y/N)-“

“I…I went to the store, but they were out of Cayman Jacks. The Indian place down the street closed early. The pizza place was out of white sauce… I grabbed some random food from the convenience store and then when I got home… I got a text from that Jena girl, my half-sister,” you spit, “dad’s dead.”

“(Y/N), sunshine, you must… What can I do?” He steps closer, one hand leaving your face to grab your hand. You flinch at the sting, and he holds your hand up to see the cuts in the skin. It looks like you have a few splinters as well.

“Help me clean this mess?”

“I’ll just do it, let’s get you cleaned up first.”

~

He picks a few splinters out of your hands and feet, then sends you off to shower. Wooyoung vows to work on the mess more later, maybe even get Seonghwa’s help, but he deals with the dangerous stuff first. He’s shoved and/or swept all the debris into a big pile in the ravaged storage room, leaving the mess for another time. After carefully picking up all the sharp shards and splintered wood, he vacuums to make sure everything is picked up. He glances up when you shuffle out of the hallway, a towel draped over your wet hair, a soft light-weight grey sweater draped over your torso, and a darker grey pair of shorts nearly hidden by the shirt. Your head is bowed, hands and feet red and he shuffles over to lead you to the couch.

“Did you use soap?”

“Mm… Conditioner stung.” You sit, and he pulls your hands into his lap so he can look them over.

“I’ll help you with these.” He lets your hands go and then his own go to the towel on your head, gently rubbing it over your hair, then scrunching the strands with the fabric to get more of the water out. Gently he lays it around your neck and shoulders, so the still damp strands don’t drip on your shirt. When Wooyoung returns with your first aid box from the bathroom, you’re still sitting in the same spot, staring blankly at a spot on the couch. Sighing, he goes back to you and neither of you say anything as he smears ointment on the cuts. He goes ahead and just wraps some bandages around your right hand since it’s so cut up, but puts band aids on the other. Wooyoung does the same with your feet, and you don’t even flinch even though you’re usually ticklish there. As he finishes some other little tidying things, you run your finger over the chipped nails of your opposite hand, the polish flaking and cracked as well even though (S/N) only painted them two days prior.

“(Y/N), look at me.” He prompts and when you don’t, he gently lifts your head with his finger under your chin.

“I’m so sorry, princess, that your…about your mom. And your father. But with San-“

“It was a stupid thought. I don’t know why I got the courage to go.” You try to look away, but he forces you back to look at him, thumbs stroking your cleaned face. The little cuts have already pretty much closed, and he leans forward and presses a small kiss on the scratch on the tip of your nose.

“It’s not stupid, (Y/N). Neither are you; he is.” You huff a wry laugh, but he shakes his head.

“No, he is. He’s a fucking idiot. You wanna know why?”

“Yeah, why?” You pull both of your legs up under you, leaning with you side into the back of the couch, head resting on the back cushion.

“Any man who doesn’t fall in love with you after knowing you is an idiot. I think I’m the only smart person there is.” Wooyoung shakes his head, throwing the band-aid wrappers onto the coffee tables. It takes your tired brain a bit to process what he’s said, but you still barely have the energy to snap your head up to look at him.

“What?”

“You’re looked at him like he’s hung the damn moon for like two years, but you’re still like a sister to him or something. Fucking stupid.”

“You…fell in love with me?”

“Yes! And you’re an idiot for not noticing. That’s why I’m the only smart one.” He stands up to actually throw the wrappers away, using the task to flee since he’s flushed from his confession. He stands looking down into the nearly full trash for a few seconds, trying to think of what to do next. Before he can turn back to you, he feels your arms wrap around his middle from behind, your cheek pressing to his back. He isn’t very tall, one of the shortest in your friend group, but you’re small compared to even him. Normally your hugs have a great deal of strength in them, like you do as a whole, but he can feel your arms shaking around him.

“I’m sorry for being an idiot, Wooyoung.” Your voice is quiet, he feels it vibrate through him more than actually hearing it with his ears. He sighs.

“It’s…it’s fine. You can’t help how you feel any more than I can.” He lays his hand over your arm, gently prying you off of him, but pulling you back into him once he turns around. As he rests back against the island, you go with him, letting him hold you close. His fingers run through the drying strands of your hair, and you shuffle even closer when he presses a kiss to your forehead.

“I…My brain is too frazzled to give you a response right now, Woo. I…I want to tell you-“

“It’s fine, (Y/N). I’m not expecting anything back…”

“No, it’s… I can’t put emotions together right now, but I might like you back, but it could just be my subconscious looking for comfort.”

“Can I help? We can talk it out? What do you want me to do?”

“What do I want…?”

“Anything.” You pull back to look at him, looking over his face. He’s so freaking pretty, his longer black hair is pulled half-up, a few strands framing his face. The ends of the little strands brush over the beauty mark under his eye and your eyes flit to the small one he has on his lip. You bet most people don’t even know it’s there… Bringing your left hand up, your sleeve falls so it’s no longer hanging by your fingers, and your index finger runs over the small dot. You flinch when he quickly grabs your wrist, a little tighter than it maybe should be. He realizes this and loosens, sliding his thumb up to your palm.

“(Y/N). Be careful, sweetheart.” With his grip on your wrist, he pulls you closer.

“Anytime you’re close to me, I want to hold you. I want to kiss you. I want to pin you to the nearest surface and…” He licks his lips, brow furrowing, “don’t let me do something you’ll regret because you’re weak now.” You grimace, looking down, stepping back from him.

“D-don’t…” Your breath shudders and he can tell you’re starting to cry again.

“Hey, hey.” He pulls you back in for a hug, “I will hold you as long as you want. I can lie on the couch, and you can lie on me. We can sleep there. We’ll watch that movie you like so much that your sister hates…” You sniff, nodding and he kisses the crown of your head before you pull back, and he leads you to the couch. Not even ten minutes later he’s stretched across the old couch, you nestled half on top of him, half between him and the back of the couch, the intro of The Last Unicorn playing on the TV. You normally don’t use a blanket on the couch, not unless you’re upset, so it’s wrapped around you, tucked under your chin.

“How did you know to come?”

“Huh?”

“Why did you come here?”

“Oh. (S/N) was freaking out because you weren’t answer any texts or video galls, and your phone was going straight to voicemail. I texted her that you broke your phone and that she doesn’t need to come home.” Like it feels left out, his phone buzzes, and he shifts to grab it from the coffee table. You sneakily glance and see that it’s from San.

🐯: where you at??

He just puts the phone down, but it buzzes not even a minute later.

🐯: is (Y/N) ok, or do I need to send Becca home and come over?

“You better not fucking come here.” Wooyoung huffs quietly, managing to use one hand and reply.

🦊: She’s fine now. Leave us alone.

“That’s harsh.”

“He broke your heart; I should be much worse.” He clicks his tongue, picking his phone up when it buzzes again on his stomach.

🐯: wtf you good? Are you mad?

“Yeah, I’m fucking pissed.”

“He’s calling.” You mumble, looking at his screen while he looks at the TV, trying to think of what to say. He angrily slides at the answer button, having to do it a second time for it to work.

“What?!” He nearly shouts into the phone, his even-louder-than-normal voice sharp in your ear.

“Sorry, sweetheart.” Wooyoung brushes over your hair, “What?”

“Woah, dude, are you sure you’re okay?”

“What. Do. You. Want?”

“Woo.” You scold, and that seems to make him even more mad.

“Is she okay?!” San must’ve not heard…

“Yes, you stupid- She’s fine. What do you want?”

“Can I talk to her?”

“No, you can’t.”

“What? Why?”

“Just go…hang out with or in Becca or whatever-“ You smack his chest and he yipes.

“Did you make her upset; did you guys get into a fight?”

“No-“

“I’m coming over-“

“Damnit, no!”

“I don’t see why you fucking care, Choi San.” Something snaps in you, your last vestiges of rationale fizzling out. Wooyoung chokes around a laugh, quickly putting the call on speaker.

“N-(Y/N)?” He sounds like a whimpering puppy.

“Why are you trying to stuck up for me or defend me?”

“Y-you’re…you’re like my sister-“ Your fingers dig into Wooyoung’s shirt so hard, you scratched the skin underneath some, and you sit up, grabbing the phone.

“You know why I’m not okay? Huh? I found out my mom’s alive but doesn’t remember me or my sister. My dad is dead. I couldn’t get my favorite butter chicken, and the guy I like is at his place sucking face with some chick who looks like she can’t do basic addition. So, fuck off, San.” You hang up and slide Wooyoung’s phone away, so it lands on the coffee table, sliding just a bit further past where it lands. Huffing, you lay back down onto your other friend and continue to watch the movie. You both try to focus, but after a few minutes, you both burst into laughter, and it’s a good five minutes before you can fully calm down.

“I’m so fucking tired.” You rest your hand over your eyes, wedged between Wooyoung and the couch and he turns toward you, blocking your view of the TV.

“Do you feel better though?” He brushes your hair off your face, and you nod, nestling into the crook of his neck.

“Just sleep, sweetheart.” Wooyoung presses another kiss to your forehead, and you can’t help but listen.

~ųƐų~

You wake up sore, not sure if it’s from sleeping on your shitty couch or from the destruction you had wrecked on your apartment the night before. Wooyoung is still asleep, curled around you, and still so, so pretty. You assume he thinks that if you waited, you’d realize you’re just wanting him for comfort, not because you like him back. But, after sleeping on it, you aren’t so sure. Before, you really didn’t know if you like him back or not, but as you watch him sleep (feeling a bit creepy honestly) you think about it. When you first became friends, you had a pretty big crush on him. The closer you got, the more it seemed he got on your nerves, and he was just annoying and immature. But after graduating, you got much closer; he really is your best friend. You’re genuinely closer with Wooyoung than San, but you almost always hang out as the three of you. Could you have liked both, but chose San because you didn’t want to admit you’ve liked Wooyoung the entire time you’ve known him? Did he annoy you so much because you have feelings for him like some elementary age boy who pulls a girl’s hair, and says he hates her? Gently, so as not to wake him, you cup his jaw with your hands much like he had the day prior to you.

“Be careful, sweetheart.” He echoes the same words from the day before, not even opening his eyes.

“Why?” His eyes finally open, the intensity in his gaze taking your breath away. Wooyoung scoots an inch closer, pressing you further into the back cushions, his knee wedging between your legs. You gasp when he presses closer, finally feeling him against you.

“If you let me kiss you, I won’t stop there.” His lips hover over yours, tongue flicking out and running over your bottom lip as well as his.

“Then don’t.”

“(Y/N)-“

“I’m sure, Wooyoung. I thought about it, and yes, I have…had a crush on San. But that’s what it is, like a school crush. You’re right that I was stupid. I don’t love you because you’re my best friend, you’re my best friend because I love you. I’m in love with you.” Normally such flowery words make you cringe, but yours are genuine. He breathes out hard with his nose, brow furrowing, eyes flitting away from yours, down to your lips.

“That was part of the reason I was so upset last night. Yes, I felt heartbroken from seeing San with that girl, but I also felt horrible, because I wasn’t nearly as upset as I thought I’d be. I was just glad it wasn’t you with some bleach blonde bitch. After I found out about my mother…I was really glad you came over and not San.” Wooyoung can’t hold a giggle back, trying to keep his face serious, but he can’t.

“And I’m glad my sister called you, that you came.” You smile purely, but his turns into a smirk, the arm not under your head curling around you. You gasp when he slides the last little bit closer, hitching your leg over his hips and grinding his hardening cock into you.

“You have ten seconds to tell me to get off, otherwise I’m fucking you stupid on this couch.” You whimper at his words, hands leaving his face and resting on his shoulders. You buck your hips, causing him to let out a soft grunt.

“Stupid, huh?” You smirk back and you squeak when he rolls on top of you, soft lips capturing your chapped ones. The kiss isn’t gentle, his tongue quickly invading your mouth, tasting every inch of your tongue, his strong thigh hitching hard against your mound. Sneaky hands sneak under the waist band of your shorts, fingers pressing hard into the flesh of your ass, pulling you up against him, feeling the outline of his dick against your tummy. Wooyoung pulls back from the kiss, letting you catch your breath, a trail of saliva dripping down your chin. He kneels over you, pulling his shirt off and chucking it across the room. You whimper, your won sneaky hands stroking over the skin of his chest and abs, when did he get so built?

“Up.” He orders, and you sit up just enough for him to pull your shirt off, along with your sports bra underneath.

“Fuck~!” You twitch as those sinful lips wrap around your nipple, teeth nibbling the peak before moving to the next, then up. Finally, his trail of kisses stop at your throat, and he sucks your skin between his teeth there. It’s too high to hide, and he works the skin nearly raw, leaving a large purple welt on your jaw.

“Ah!” You jerk under him when his hand dives under your shorts and panties, two fingers swiping through the slick of your folds.

“You’re already this wet for me, sweetheart?” Wooyoung chuckles in your ear, those two fingers not hesitating to plunge into you. The sudden intrusion takes your breath away, the slight burn leaves your head swimming. He only pumps the digits maybe twice before retracting his hand, and instead shoves his fingers in his own mouth.

“Oh, fuck~” He groans, climbing off of you, then shoves you up the rest of the way on the couch, landing on it with his stomach. Your shorts and pants fly through the air, joining the rest of your clothes and he throws your legs over his shoulders. Your skin feels like it catches on fire when his tongue wastes no time in wiggling inside your cunt. It’s long and he knows how to work it, his nose brushing your clit as he drank from you like a thirsty dog.

“Woo-Wooyoung, god~!” Your breath hitches, legs twitching around his head, that deft tongue leaving your core to circle your clit, those two fingers sinking into your heat once more. He pulls back, licking his lips, spread into a sinful grin.

“You taste so fucking good, sweetheart~” He groans, crooking his fingers up hard, battering your weak spot.

“W-w-wait!” Your orgasm is coming on fast, and his fingers keep up their antics as he lays over you again, nose nuzzling behind your ear.

“Cum for me, princess.” He licks over the crest of your ear, and he chuckles breathily as your cunt clenches and spasms around his fingers, their wiggling spurring your orgasm along. You shudder and heave as he pulls them out, and you flinch when the slick pad of his index finger lowers, swirling over your pucker.

“Huh?” Your back arches from the odd sensation, but he doesn’t go further than a few teasing brushes.

“Maybe later, I want to taste all of you. And I want to fuck you full of my cum there too.” He sinks his teeth into your earlobe, and you turn your head to the side submissively, whimpering.

“Oh, you’re a good girl, huh?” His teeth scrape along the column of your exposed throat, your head twists more to give him better access.

“Fuck, you’re gonna feel so good on my cock, princess.” Wooyoung groans, scattering kisses over your neck, shoulders and throat as he wiggles to get his pants and boxers off. Hauling you back down the couch, he easily grabs your thighs to lead you to wrap them around his middle. You sigh, feeling the heat of his hard cock sliding through your folds, heading swimming as the fat head prods your entrances, then slides up.

“Wooyoung, please~!” You whimper, wanting him to sear through you, craving the burning sting.

“You wanna know something, sunshine?”

“What?” He chuckles at your slightly slurred speech.

“I plan on railing you so hard you don’t even remember who San is.” He hums and you can’t brace for his entrance, his fat cock filling you with a hard snap of his hips. Your back arches, breath forced out of you, chipped fingernails digging crescents into his back. Your mouth hangs open in a silent scream, gummy walls spasming and fluttering around his cock, somehow the pain of him gouging into you threw you over the edge so quickly it makes your clit sting too.

“God, fuck, Wooyoung!” You finally catch your breath enough to speak and he groans long and deep.

“You’re so fucking perfect, (Y/N). Oh, sweetheart, you’re made for me~!” He groans a laugh, fading into a whine as the clenches fade with your orgasm. You feel like a truck hit you, vision blurry, lower half protesting at Wooyoung’s brutal entrance, but you love it. Your hips jump again, cunt sucking him in further when he sits up more, pinning one of your knees to your shoulder, holding the other at his waist.

“Look at your cute little pussy struggling to take me, huh?” He loves the sight of your tight core weeping around his sock, slick shining along his flesh and both of your inner thighs.

“I’m gonna fuck you so good, sweetheart~” He giggles, and your fingers gouge lines down the skin of his back as he starts, pace immediately relentless, battering your cervix with the head of his dick. The hand at your thigh holds it to his left side, sliding down your body and gripping your ass.

“Hm, you like it, pretty girl? Like my fat cock?”

“Fuck, yes, Woo~” Your breath heaves, and you let out a delirious giggle, gasping and whining hard as his rapid pace barrels you through your third orgasm. Your cunt stings, but it’s so good. You squeal when his hand leaves your butt, only to slap the skin hard, the sting travelling up your hip and into your thigh. He feels your walls grip him harder at the spank, so he does it again, harder.

“Oh, shit-!” Your head lolls against the couch cushion, face and neck flushed, heaving for air. Your nails claw down his chest to his stomach and he licks his lips at the sting.

“(Y/N), you’re such a good girl, yeah? My good girl~”

“Y-yours~!”

“Yes, sweetheart. All mine, oh, you’re doing so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Yes, princess. This pussy’s so good too, welcoming my cock home?”

“Yeah~!” You giggle, dumb on his cock and he hasn’t even cum once yet.

“Aw, love, can I cum inside? You on the pill, yeah? Let me paint you white, huh? Fuck you full of my cum, then flip you over and give you more?” He’s laughing every few words, sounding a bit delirious himself. He’s wanted to have you like this for so long, and he’s going to fuck you on every surface in the place if he can.

“P-please~!”

“Okay, I’m gonna then-“ Wooyoung hums, it fading into a groan, then with a few more stuttering thrusts, you feel heat blossom in your lower stomach. His cock pulses as rope after rope of hot jizz fills you, a few drops leaking from where he splits you open, leaving a mess on the couch. Your body jerks as his orgasm fades, you almost black out from your own. Your clit is throbbing, folds swollen and red, but he’s still painfully hard…

~

“Hold on here.” Wooyoung moves your hands to the mount of the shower head, and you wrap your fingers around the metal pipe. Your toes curl as he enters you again, hot water hitting his back and dripping off of him onto you. Drops of cum hit the shower floor along with the water and he starts to pound into you again. The water makes the slaps of the skin of his pelvis against your butt and thighs all the louder, nearly muffling your soft whimpers and mewls. Your ass is red, covered in hand-shaped welts, thighs littered with hickeys and kiss-marks. His back, chest, and stomach are covered in scratches, a bite-mark etched into his shoulder and a single hickey clings to his jawline. You aren’t sure how long it’s been since he first got inside you, but it has to have been hours ago. You have no idea where his stamina has come from, and your once burning cunt has more or less numbed to the sting of overstimulation, tiny orgasms shattering through you without warning or reason. You feel the wets strands of his hair on your shoulders as he leans over you, hand cupping the underside of your breast, the other over your hands on the shower mount.

“Fuck, (Y/N), I love you. I love you so much.” He kisses your shoulder, avoiding a sore-looking mark he’d left.

“I-I love you t-t-too, Wooyoung-!” You heave for air as another tiny climax shivers through you.

“Breathe baby, you gotta pace yourself, I still gotta fuck you stupid~” Wooyoung giggles and you just squeak and mewl, since he already has.

Master-Master List

ATEEZ Master List

[latenightdaydreams]

Hello! Can we please get a pt2 for 'I win' ? I really love the story

Also, I had an idea

reader is basically captured by könig right, so how would he punish her when he caught her talking secretly to her superiors to plan an escape (rescue mission for her) or to attack könig

OR

When he caught her after she escaped/ while she was escaping

🫶(love ur works)

I love those ideas! 💖💖

I Win Part 2 (fem)

Part 1, Part 2

MDNI🔞

Master List ✍🏽

>cw: fem/afab, non-con, oral, blood, whipping

1.1k word count

🥇

.

.

You’ve been König’s sex slave for the past month. He keeps you in his dorm, chained to his bed, whenever he leaves the room. Over the weeks, you’ve been able to pick the lock and slip away to use his phone. You learned your team was saved, which was a relief, but now you’re in a rush for your own release.

As it stands, the plan is to use a toothbrush to turn into a shiv so you can attack König in his sleep. Your team will send a small squad of three men to assist me back to base once you’re out. This is all supposed to go down in three days, around 1 am.

König sits in his office, squeezing a stress ball as he reads the transcripts of your conversation back and forth with your team. His tongue tracing over his teeth as he digests reading his own assassination plan. You are daring, he’ll give you that, but stupid too. He reaches into his pocket and pulls out his cellphone to call Horangi, inform him of your men coming; he will take care of you himself.

Three days pass and König rests in bed, next to you. Once you think he’s asleep, you reach beneath the mattress where you’ve placed your shank. Moving as gently as you can to not wake König, your hand slips under nothing. You push your hand in further. Maybe it slipped back slightly with movement.

“Looking for this, Liebling?” König sits up in bed with your homemade shank in his hand, taping it back and forth between his fingers tauntingly.

You slowly turn to face him, your eyes wide with fear as he’s found your weapon. There is nothing to be said as you look at him, dumbfounded. A rush of adrenaline floods your body, triggering your fight or flight. The chain around your ankle stops you from fleeing, so you lunge forward instead.

König effortlessly grabs your fist with one hand as his other wraps around your neck as he slams your body into the bed harshly. The air gets knocked out of you from the impact, his massive body instantly on top of yours. There is a wild look in his eyes as he looks at your face in the dim light of the room.

“Why would you want to hurt me, Schatzi? Have you not been enjoying our time together?” He asks in a mocking tone.

“Fuck you!”

“Watch your fucking tone.” His words pass through his teeth in a low growl. The vibe in the room instantly darkening. “You know I should end you, right? With your own little fucking shank. Just take you out and go find a different whore. Lucky for you, I like you.”

König presses his mouth against you in a harsh kiss, his hand on your neck tightening ever so slightly as he bites your lower lip. A pain groan leaves your mouth as you begin to taste your own blood spilling into your mouth. His mouth trails down, biting your jaw, neck, down to your shoulders. You squirm in an attempt to get away from him, but it’s useless as his heavy 280lb body traps you.

Teeth marks cover your body, crimson red bubbling to the surface. König licks the blood, letting the coppery taste and your pained cries drive his desires. Your body twists as he sinks his teeth into your side. He sits up, looking at your face, bleeding lip and bits on your jaw. His hand on your neck moves to slap your face harshly. No matter how hard you try to remain stoic, he can see the fear in your eyes.

“I’m going to ruin that throat, make sure you can’t call for help again.” König’s voice is low and gruff with a mixture of pleasure and dominance.

König stands for a second to fully undress before yanking your body off the bed and forcing you to your knees. He stands right in front of you, grabbing a fist of hair in his hand. With his other hand he slaps his heavy cock on your busted lip, gazing down with a lustful smile. His full weight on you makes it hard to breathe.

“Open your mouth.”

Not wanting to get hurt any more, you part your lips for him. He quickly shoves his fat cock past them and into your mouth. His hand on the back of your hair pulling your head further down his length. You gag and wince in pain from your lip. His hips buck forward into your mouth as he watches your eyes water, struggling to accept his cock down your throat. Instinctively, your hands move to his thighs in an attempt to push him away, only angering him.

“Hands out, grab the bedsheet.”

You listen to him, stretching your arms out along to bed and grabbing the blanket. König steps even closer, both of his hands moving to grab the side of your face holding you in place. Inch by inch he continues to shove himself deeper. Your knuckles turning white from squeezing the fabric so tightly. His gags you enough to cause you to vomit, but he doesn’t withdraw himself forcing you to keep it in your mouth; the putrid taste only causes you to gag more.

He finally steps back, letting your globs of spit to drop down on your own body. You look into König’s eyes with tears streaming down your face, gasping to steady your breath. He walks away from you to his dresser, grabbing his belt.

“Get up.” His arm wraps around your arm, yanking you up to your feet and pushing you over the bed.

As you rest on your stomach you feel him whip you with the belt. A small whimper leaves your lips, trying to not let it be known how badly he is hurting you. He brings his arm all the way back before slamming down against your ass. Your flesh turning red and bruising already from the sheer force.

“Are you going to try to escape again?”

“No…” Your voice sounds weak.

Your body jumps as he hits you once more. Tears begin to pour from your eyes as you cry quietly. He leans forward and bites your shoulder, causing you to arch your back and let out a pained wail.

“If you try to leave again, I’ll make sure every single moment that you’re awake, you know no peace. You’re mine. Remember that.”

The next morning you sit on the bed with your hands tied behind your back and a gag in your mouth. König comes out of the shower and looks over at you, covered in his bloody bite marks and belt marks on your stomach and thighs. Your eyes are red and puffy from of full night of being whipped and throat fucked. He sits at the edge of the bed and smiles at you, caressing the side of your face with one of his calloused hands. In his other hand he holds his belt.

“Stand up.”

He’s not done punishing you yet.

Part 3

[paranoidomens]

stuck in my brain

trigger/content warning(s): mentions of depression, self-loathing, and hurt/comfort. i think that’s it but if there is more, please let me know

a/n: i am currently listening to stuckinmybrain by chase atlantic and had to put my thoughts into words. this is my first time writing since 2016 and i might be a little rusty. sorry in advance. please feel free to give your criticism in the comments. and lastly, i hope you enjoy :))

you were never good with expressing your emotions to people. it wasn’t something you were proud of either. trying to articulate how you particularly felt in your heart was hard, and quite a waste of time in your opinion. you trained yourself to isolate and keeps things to yourself. you were always dismissed or invalidated by people in your life when it came to your feelings: that is until noah showed up in your life.

noah has always been infatuated with you since the day he saw you. you attended a bad omens show and met him at an after party, and you both hit it off instantly. he has always been intrigued with how you look, the way you carry yourself, and how you speak. although he wonders about what your pretty little head thinks about and how you feel. he’s never the type to force anything out of you, but he does worry about you 24/7 since you guys became a couple. he feels like he’s known you for decades and also knows nothing about you at the same time. he doesn’t know how you feel or what you think about at certain times.

you’ve had a history of depression before you two met, and he knows that. he knows that you have your lower moments, but does he really know how you feel? what you think? why you feel that way? like i said, he never pushes you to talk when you don’t feel like it, however, he’s curious on how he can help you more. sometimes he doesn’t sleep much because he’s overthinking about it. he wants to help you, guide you through your highs and lows of your emotions. but you won’t let him. you can’t let him.

“love, i’m home!” noah shouted. he puts down his keys, looking for you. his eyes roam around the living room, wondering where you could be. walking to your room, he hears faint sniffles coming from your bedroom. oh no.

“love?” noah knocked on the door, opening it and seeing that you’re covered in blankets with the curtains closed. “go away.” you say. but your heart wants him to stay. you’ve always hated how you push people away when you hit a low, especially when it comes to the people you care about.

don’t go. please stay. i need help. you think to yourself.

“y/n, my love, what’s wrong?” noah softly speaks, joining you under the covers and his hands roam to your physique. “i don’t want to tell you. it’s stupid.” you whisper. “nothing is stupid when it comes to you. you know i would never push your boundaries when it comes to talking, but i want to help you. trust me when i say this.” you finally turn and face noah, and he sees your tear-stained cheeks. they’re a rosy pink, and he wonders how long you’ve been like this since he was gone from tour.

“i have been stuck in my brain recently. i don’t know how to get out of this funk. i hate this. i feel terrible for shutting you out when you want to talk to me. every since you’ve been touring, my mind keeps dragging me in a dark and lonely place. i don’t know how to stop thinking this way. i want help, but i don’t know how to ask you. ” you rant to noah, tears streaming from your eyes like an angry and rapid river. you feel vulnerable letting your lover hear about these dark thoughts that he’s never heard from you before.

“y/n… you know you can always talk to me. i want you to come to me whenever you feel too much, when you hurt too much. that’s the whole point of us being in a relationship. we help each other out when we need it.” noah strokes your face, pushing the stray hairs away. “i will never judge you. i hope you know that. especially when it comes down to how you feel. promise me you’ll start coming to me when you’re low.” noah adds.

“pinky promise?” you ask, holding out your pinky and earning a chuckle from your lover. “i pinky promise.” he says. you finish explaining and apologize for holding on to your emotions, which he tells you not to say sorry for that. you continue to work on opening up to noah more frequently. he’ll always be there for you, especially until the end of time.

sorry for the short blurb, but i hope you guys enjoyed! let me know what other types of content you guys would like for me to write! all criticism is greatly appreciated, and don’t forget to write your ideas for me to make so i can get the gist of writing again. thank you!

[multiverse-aesthetic]

(Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Warnings: Mentions of Hydra trauma, PTSD triggers (related to masks/face coverings), light angst, fluff, banter.

Summary: You and Bucky need to get somewhere fast. The scooter is the only option. But when you toss him a helmet, you realize something you should have noticed a long time ago.

___________________________________

The early sun cast a warm glow over the city, but the air was still crisp from the night before .

You pulled your jacket tighter as you leaned against the scooter , waiting.

You should’ve known Bucky would be late.

When the café door finally swung open, he walked out with two coffee cups in hand, looking exactly like a man who hated mornings.

“you’re impossible” you teased as he handed you a cup.

“I got you coffee, didn’t I?” He muttered, rubbing a hand over his stubbled jaw before taking a sip of his own , you took a grateful sip of your coffee before setting aside and swinging a leg over the scooter “Come on, we gotta go.”

Bucky stopped mid-sip, staring at you like you’d lost your mind. “No.”

You blinked. “What do you mean, ‘no’?”

“I mean, I’m not getting on that thing again.” He says setting his cup setting aside as he crosses his arms over his chest

You rolled your eyes. “You love this thing.”

Bucky scoffed behind you. “I hate this thing.”

“Nope.” He shook his head

“You ride with me all the time.” You protested

“That doesn’t mean I love it,” he muttered, standing stiffly beside you.

You just rolled your eyes, reaching into the back compartment and pulling out your helmet. You slid it on easily before turning to toss him his—and that’s when it happened.

The helmet hit his vibranium arm and dropped to the pavement with a hollow clatter.

Bucky just stood there, staring down at it , Your heart clenched.

“Buck?” Your voice was softer now, careful.

Nothing. His jaw was tight, his eyes locked onto the helmet like it was something dangerous.

“Bucky,” you whispered more gentle this time, reaching for his arm.

That broke the spell. He blinked, his breath shuddering slightly as he looked away. “I’m fine.” He whispered

He wasn’t.

He wasn’t fine. You saw it now—the way his fingers curled into fists like he was trying to ground himself, the way his throat bobbed when he swallowed, like he was pushing something down.

You took a step closer. "You don’t have to wear it."

His jaw tensed. "We’ll get pulled over."

You shrugged. "Let them pull us over."

That got a small exhale—not quite a laugh, but close. He finally looked at you then, something quiet in his eyes.

"It’s not the helmet," he murmured. "It’s… just a thing."

You tilted your head. "A thing?"

Bucky shifted his weight. "Y’know." His fingers flexed around the helmet. "Face coverings. Never liked ‘em."

“It’s the weight.” His voice was quiet now. “Of somethin’ on my face. The way it… presses. Feels like I can’t—” He gestured vaguely, but you knew exactly what he meant.

Can’t breathe.

Can’t move.

Can’t be himself.

Your heart hurt for him.

“Hydra,” you murmured.

He flinched—barely. “Yeah.”

The word hung between you, heavy , Your heart clenched.

You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his metal hand. "Buck."

He let out a slow breath, the tension in his shoulders loosening just a little. "It’s stupid."

"It’s not." You squeezed his hand, grounding him. "You’re not there anymore."

Bucky looked at you for a long moment. Then, so quietly it almost got lost in the wind, "Sometimes it feels like I am."

Your throat went tight.

You understood what he meant—not in words, but in the way he carried himself. In the nights he still woke up half there, half gone, chest heaving. In the moments his past crept up on him when he least expected it.

You weren’t going to push.

Instead, you gently got the helmet from the pavement and set it back in the compartment. Then, without a word, you stepped closer and cupped his cheek , His eyes flickered, a breath catching in his throat.

Your thumb traced along his cheekbone, your touch featherlight. "You don’t have to wear it. Ever."

For a moment, he just stood there. Then, slowly, he leaned into your touch. Just enough to feel it.

Your fingers slipped to the nape of his neck, your touch warm and steady. His own hands found your waist—light, hesitant. A grounding point.

After a moment, you smiled. "Ready to make a run for it?"

Bucky huffed out a real chuckle this time. "On a scooter?"

"Damn right." You chuckle

A small smirk ghosted over his lips. "You’re gonna get me arrested one day."

"And yet, you keep coming back," you teased kissing his cheek, then stepping back and climbing onto the scooter.

Bucky shook his head, but when he slid in behind you, his hands around your waist were secure. Steady. Here.

No helmets. No past. No chains.

Just the open road.

Just you and him.

[slut4thebroken]

Chapter one: Trophy

── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Pairing | Arkham Knight/Jason Todd x Bruce’s daughter!reader

Summary | The Arkham Knight kidnapped you, but not for the reason you originally thought.

Warnings | Angst, fluff, a sprinkle of sexual tension, kidnapping, use of r word.

Words | 2.3 k

Notes | The wait is over!! I hope y’all like it. If it makes you happy, sad, or horny then consider commenting or reblogging :) Enjoy <3

Ao3 link | <3

Fic Masterlist

Main Masterlist

You weren’t a vigilante. No, you’d decided very early on that spending your nights fighting crime wasn’t something you really wanted to do. However, that didn’t stop your father from teaching you self defense and other important skills, even if you weren’t going to use them. He always wanted you to be prepared in case one day someone makes the connection and somehow finds out you’re Batman’s daughter. 

Unfortunately, they did find out. 

Your father had told you to leave Gotham, but you’re stubborn. Especially after Barbara was taken, you knew he was going to need more help. So you stayed, taking up Oracle’s position in the watchtower. The second he heard your voice, you were sure he was about to come here and drag you out of Gotham himself. The only reason he didn’t was because he got held up with another one of Gotham's villains causing chaos on the streets. You weren’t there long before glass was being broken and men were swarming the room, Arkham Knight included. 

“I knew I’d find you here after I got rid of Oracle.” You narrowed your eyes at him and tried backing away to the panic button on the desk, but he stopped you. “Push that and Oracle’s dead. You don’t want that on your conscience do you?” You froze, furrowing your brows, wondering how he knew about it. He slowly stalked toward you and you eyed the men surrounding the room. Their guns were angled to the floor, but they still had their fingers on the triggers. 

“You went through all the trouble of taking Oracle just so you could come back and take me?” You scoffed. This time when you started moving backwards, it was because of how close he was getting. 

“That and she was becoming a bit of a thorn in my side.” He all but shrugged. Stopping right in front of you, you watched his helmet just barely tilt down before making its way back up, angled at your face. 

“What do you want?” You spat, leaning your torso back after your legs met the desk. 

“You.” 

“Why?” 

“Hedonism,” He shrugged, “self indulgence… spite.” You didn’t have time to ask what that meant. “Are you going to come willingly or am I going to have to make you?” Even though it didn’t seem like he had any intention of hurting you, you still tried to think of a way out of this. 

You made the stupid, impulsive decision to reach for the panic button and you actually managed to press it before he grabbed your wrist. He spun you around, then pushed your torso against the desk with your arm twisted uncomfortably behind you. Stepping forward, he pressed his hips flush with your ass, making your cheeks grow warm from the compromising position. Suddenly the screen lit up, showing Batman. 

When you started trying to speak, he lifted your body, one hand wrapping over your stomach and arms, the other covering your mouth. 

“It’s a shame you raised such an independent, altruistic daughter. If you hadn’t, she wouldn’t be here right now.” 

“What do you want? Do you want me to turn myself in? I will- just let her go.” His voice was laced with poorly concealed desperation and fear. 

“This isn’t part of the main plan, it’s a personal thing. A trophy of sorts.” His hand started rubbing up and down your side, each time making its way closer to your breast and your pants. “See, people think you don’t have any fears, but you do. Something happening to your little girl is your biggest fear. But don’t worry, Dark Knight,” His hand made its way up your chest to your neck and he squeezed as he pulled you against his body, making you release a muffled whimper. “I’m going to take real good care of her.” He released you and pushed you against the desk again. 

“Dad, don’t-“ Before you could finish, the man behind you was turning off the feed. He tied your wrists behind your back, then pulled you up again. 

“Just like old times, isn’t it?” He said quietly, next to your ear, making you furrow your brows in confusion. Pulling you back, he spun both of you around and pushed you toward the men. 

“He’ll kill you.” You said lowly, turning back to face him. 

“Someone put a gag on her. Anyone hurts her… they’re a dead man.” He said, walking back to the desk and typing something into the computer. You didn’t get to see what he was doing before someone grabbed you from behind. You yanked yourself out of their grip, then turned around and kicked the man in the stomach, continuing like that. Anyone who approached you got a kick to the legs, stomach, or groin. Despite your bound hands, you still had an advantage because of the order they were given. 

When you swung your leg at someone’s side, he grabbed it and pulled, making you land flat on your back with a grunt. The man froze and all eyes were either on him or the Arkham Knight. He sighed, then pulled out a gun and shot the man in the head. 

“I’ll do it myself then.” He swiftly walked toward you and you backed away from him, still on the floor. Before you knew it, you were being gagged and pulled up, then dragged outside to a car. You weren’t sure why, but after getting in the vehicle, he removed the gag. Why did he go through all of that trouble just to immediately take it off once you were alone? You thought. After a few minutes of silence you couldn’t take it anymore. 

“Why did you kill that man?”

“He had orders. He didn’t follow them.” He said simply. 

“Where are you taking me?” 

“Somewhere safe. Which reminds me,” He got out a black hood and moved toward you, making you lean back. “Either you let me put it on or you die. Up to you.” 

“You seriously expect me to believe you’re going to kill me after all the trouble you went through?” You scoffed. 

“No, I won’t be killing you. But I’m sure Scarecrow would love to have a chat with Batman’s daughter.” You debated it for a moment, then leaned back closer to him, letting him out the hood over your head.

After another few minutes of driving, he stopped and you heard his door open and close, then your door open before he was grabbing your arm and pulling you out, leading you somewhere. When he finally took the hood off, you saw what looked like an apartment, but it didn’t have any windows. 

“Where are we?” You asked, turning to him. 

“Safe house.” Was the only reply you got so you continued. 

“Why did you take me?”

“It wasn’t safe. Especially if Crane found out you were helping your dad.” That made your brows furrow in confusion. He went through all of that just to take you somewhere safe?

“Then why did you say all of that stuff to him?” You asked, growing more nervous when you remembered his words. 

“You didn’t actually think I brought you here to rape you, did you?” He scoffed. You didn’t respond, so he continued with a shrug, “It had to be believable.” When he started walking away, you moved forward and called out to him. He whipped around and put a hand on your neck to push you backwards until he had you against the wall. Your breath hitched at the second compromising position of the night. 

“I’m done answering your questions. Either sit down and stay quiet or I’ll gag you again.” 

“How am I supposed to sit if you’re pinning me to the wall?” You raised your brows, not bothering to hide the sass in your tone. 

“Still have that fire in you.” He chuckled, making your brows furrow. 

“Why are you doing that? Talking like you know me.” You asked quietly. 

“Because I do know you. Better than most.” You just stared at him, waiting for him to answer your question. “I could give you a hint, princess…” He said lowly, trailing his freehand down your waist to your hip. Your eyes widened at the nickname- only one person has ever called you that. “Show you that I can still easily make you fall apart with just my fingers.” Because your hands were still bound, you couldn’t push his hand away, so you squirmed under him, trying to free yourself. 

“Tone down the creepiness, perv.” You spat and he was silent for a moment. 

“I figured you’d be in denial, but I didn’t think it would be this hard to convince you.” He said quietly, almost as if to himself. “Either that or you’ve just completely forgotten about me.” There was only one person he could be talking about. But he’s dead. 

“I’ve never fucking met you before.” You spat. He didn’t respond as he reached a hand up to his helmet. 

“Stop.” You said harshly, making his hand freeze. Despite your hard exterior, you were terrified that the Arkham Knight might be who you think. You had just finally started healing. You don't break down crying every single day anymore, you’re finally able to let yourself fall asleep, only a few nights a week having nightmares that your subconscious created since you didn’t truly know what happened to him- your father refused to show you. Which was probably for the best. 

But even with your words, he continued, until the front part of his helmet was lifting. You squeezed your eyes shut before you could see him and his hand moved from your neck to cup your cheek.

“Princess.” He whispered. 

“No- no,” You shook your head, still refusing to open your eyes even though his voice made it obvious. “I- I can’t… No.”

“Baby, look at me.” He uttered softly and you let out a choked sob. His other hand cupped your cheek as well, using his thumb to wipe the tear that had fallen. “Please.” You wanted to do what he said because you were so damn curious, but you were scared of what you’d find. Even with that fear though, you couldn’t stop your eyes from fluttering open. You took in his face, he looked older, that much was obvious, but still looked like your Jason. The only difference was the large J scar on his cheek. 

“Jason,” You sobbed, feeling too many emotions at once. Happiness filled your chest knowing that he’s alive and came back for you, but nausea filled your stomach as your brain started to imagine all the ways he could’ve gotten that scar. “I-I don’t understand.” You whimpered, wishing your hands were free so you could feel him, make sure you weren’t just imagining this. 

“I know. I’m sorry.” He said softly, pulling you into a hug. As your head laid on his chest, you noticed that he smelled different. But he still had that hint of Jason. 

“He told me you were dead,” You cut yourself off as your crying intensified. When Jason stiffened, you pulled back to look at him. “What?” You croaked. He just let out a dry chuckle. 

“I knew you wouldn’t stop looking for me. Figures he would’ve told you that.” He scoffed 

“What? Jay, I don’t understand.” You sniffled, looking at him with furrowed brows. 

“The only way to get you to stop was if you believed I was dead so that’s what he did.” He said simply. 

“W- no! There was a video- Joker sent him the video of your death.” You vividly remember the day your father told you about it. 

“Did he show you it?” 

“He… No, he didn’t want me to see it.” He looked at you knowingly and you furrowed your brows in confusion. “He wouldn’t make that up, he wouldn’t do that.” 

“You don’t know him as well as you think you do.” 

“No! He- he wouldn’t…” Would he? You were in the batcave almost 24 hours a day, looking for him. You barely ate, you didn’t sleep, the only breaks you allowed yourself were going to the bathroom and when you couldn’t hold in the crying anymore. 

“No, he wouldn’t do that to me- to you.” Shaking your head, you didn’t let yourself believe it. Your father spent months looking for him too. 

“I didn’t want to believe it at first either, but that’s just who he is. He uses people, then leaves them for dead when they need his help.” You've never heard him sound so vindictive before. “I’m sure he was more than happy to get rid of the guy who was screwing his little girl.” He sneered, making you frown. “He never did approve of us, did he?” 

“That’s not true.” 

“No?”

“No! He knew you loved me and I loved you. He was just worried about my safety since I was the daughter and girlfriend of two vigilantes.” 

“It wasn’t that.” He let out an unnerving chuckle before elaborating. “He had a talk with me, you know. He didn’t want me defiling his precious angel. Pretty ironic given your overly sexual nature.” That made you frown. He didn’t exactly say it like it was a bad thing, but it didn’t sound like a compliment either. “He disapproved from the start and things never truly went back to normal between us. But he played the part in front of you.”

“That doesn’t- He… Is that why you said those things to him?” His gaze hardened and you waited anxiously for his response. When he stepped away from you, you immediately missed his warmth. 

“He deserves so much worse than thinking that someone kidnapped and raped his daughter. This is just the start.” When he started walking toward the door you pushed yourself off the wall.

“Jason, wait!” You called out, but he was already almost out the door. 

“Don’t bother trying to escape.” 

Chapter two

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Tag list lol

@igotanidea

[thesillestluxeandcastiel]

Heyy I had this idea for a Jax x Reader one-shot and I absolutely need it written out (Apologizes if that sounded bossy lol)

Essentially late at night in the Circus and the reader can’t sleep because of a spider in their room so they goes into Jax’s to sleep with him instead. Being the guy he is, he teases her for being scared of the spider. After some conversation he asks them to show him it. At that point it’s revealed that Jax actually planted the spider there to mess with them lol

Arachnid.

Summary: Reader trys to go to sleep, but unfortunately cannot due to the massive eight legged creature on their wall. They go to jax, cuz he's tall (and also a comfort source) to get it down. Afffter that him being jax he messes with them and then they find out he put it there!!

A/n : no no no no, that's completely okay, I love hearing your requests and stuff,(I NEED IDEAS PLS) don't worry about being too bossy 😭

Warnings: Jax being jax, andff spiders!

Side note: I'M RUNNIN OUT OF JAX GIFS PLEASE HELP , and here's the spider were using for reference!!! TRIGGER WARNING, PHOTO OFA SPIDEF

Just like... Picture it bigger ykwim?

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You got into the cosy area of your bed, smiling as your head hit the pillow. You sighed, fully adjusting untill you hear small tapping above your head, you opened your eyes softly, looking up to see a small spider on the wall above your head. You shreaked, covering your mouth and crawling to the other side of the bed slowly. You gasped into your hands, and you stared. It stared back. You got up, maintaining eye contact as you left your room, running over to the purple rabbit.. Bunny? You shook your head, now's not the time.

Quickly, you knocked on his door. He didn't answer the first time, so you knocked again. And again. Aaand agai-

He slammed the door open, rubbing his eyes as he did. He placed a hand on his hip, the other one on the door. "Jax. Jax there is a MASSIVE spider in my room and i-" you were freaking out, hands shaking.

He interrupted you. "You woke me up at, what, 3 am for a SPIDER? are you SERIOUS??" he whisper yelled at you, he really regretted doing this stupid thing now. You nodded quickly with the most serious look on your face. "Can- can I just sleep with you? Please?" THAT was enough to make him laugh. He chuckled softly, "If it gets you off my back, I'll kill the thing and you can sleep in my room tonight. Deal?" and started walking down the hallway with you. You smiled softly, glad that that... Thing would be off your walls.

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

You stared, eyes wide and mouth agape as he just... Picked the thing up. Not a care in the world about how it could bite him. You frowned. "How are you so calm right now?!" You whisper yelled. He shrugged. "Unlike soome people I can actually handle a few of these guys. Say, do you think it had baby's?" He said, so nonchalantly that it genuinely scared you. You let out a little 'eep!' As he brought his arm (with the spider STILL IN IT) towards you, he laughed when you practically launched yourself across the room.

You stared at him for a moment, very intensly untill you realized. "JAX OH MY GOD YOU [BLEEP]LE!" You screatchd at him, and he laughed even harder, setting the spider down outside of your room. You were panting, attempting to calm yourself down, which was not working by the way! He walked back in, standing by your doorframe and sighed, staring at your shaking form. He rolled his eyes and started to walk down the hallway past your room.

"Alright, Alright pack it up Worrywart. You coming or not?" He asked, peaking his head back into your room before fully walking out. You quickly ran out behind him, no way you were sleeping in here after that! What if it.. What if it actually did have baby's?

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Bonus: You smiled softly, content in jax's arms. He wasn't used to the cuddling, or whatever but did he enjoy it? Yes. Yes he did, and there was no doubt about that. He sighed as you snuggled into him further. You closed your eyes fully, finally relaxing and not worrying about.. Little demons with eight legs. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you drifted off, thinking about whatever adventure you would have to endure tomorrow.

A/n : YIPPELELELE FINNALLLYY DINENENEEE!!!!!

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Unexpected 42

Warnings: non/dubcon, pregnancy, pegging, Lloyd being the worst, post partum, csection, suicidial ideation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

The baby sleeps in her bassinet. Peaceful. You don’t know the last time you ever felt that. The last time you slept soundly. When you manage to drift off, it’s painful and heavy, and you wake up feeling worse as you face the reality you can’t escape.

Dottie’s flighty tones waft up from the first floor. You can’t make out her words, you don’t care enough to try, but you know by Andy’s deep responses and the subsequent click of the door that she’s sending him off. Good. You can’t face him, not after you ran out covered in bile.

You prop up several pillows behind you and recline against them. You just lay there, staring at the joint of ceiling and wall. You don’t watch anything, you don’t use your phone to scroll, you can’t even listen to music. They’re all just a reminder of what you don’t have and what you’re stuck in. Other people have lives and meaning, you are just an udder to be milked.

Dottie raps on the door but as usual, doesn’t await your permittance. She inches open the door and lets out a long sigh. She disapproves. Of you. She should direct that at her son. You don’t say as much. You tried to before and she was too cowardly to hear you. Must be where he gets it from.

“Andy packed up your leftovers,” she informs you, “such a sweetheart that one.”

“You can have them,” you roll onto your side and cross your arms, “I said, I’m not hungry.”

“You need to eat, hon–”

“For her or for me? I’m not stupid. The only reason you care is because the baby needs to suck on me like a goddamn juice box. You don’t care how I feel.”

“I know exactly how you feel, dearie, I carried a child too, I fed them, I spent those months with just me and them–”

“Whatever. I don’t fucking want to hear what you went through. It’s not the same.”

“You can’t go on like this. You won’t survive.”

“What do you care?” You snarl. “Because I don’t. I don’t care. Put her on formula and let me die.”

Silence. You hear her near the bassinet and feel her shadow looming near the bed. You almost regret your words. Almost. It would solve a lot of issues if you weren’t here. 

You wouldn’t feel like this. That baby wouldn’t have to feel the flagrant resent radiating off of you at every moment. Dottie wouldn’t have to pretend. And Lloyd, whenever he returns, wouldn’t have to throw you out. You’d do him a favour, quite generously, and free him yourself.

“I’ll take Luna for the night. You get some sleep,” the wheel of bassinet unlocks and rolls softly over the hardwood, “I’ll bring up the pump. I sterilised it earlier. You can use that if you feel… uncomfortable.”

“Fine,” you hiss, “get away from me.”

🍑

You wouldn’t know it if you didn’t see the date stamped at the bottom corner of the television screen. You sit, blankly, watching the scroll of text across the bottom, doing the math in your head. Another week. The living room is quiet but for the tempoed cadence of the newscaster.

You’re consumed in the indifference of your existence. You barely say a word. You barely feel. You take the baby when she fusses or when she’s handed to her, you relieve the pressure in your chest, and give her back. You sit around, sometimes you lay flat on your back, and other times you find yourself standing in doorways, feeling lost.

That day feels different. Dottie, like a hummingbird, is always moving, but she is in a storm of anxiety, edging on anticipation. She’s brought you a measured cup of coffee and a bowl of oatmeal with milk. You’re not very hungry but you drink the coffee first, eating the oatmeal only at her prompt.

She takes the empty dishes after she hands you the baby again. You let her nurse and Dottie comes back to burp her and put her down. The baby, for all your dissonance, is quiet and calm.

You end up on your side, head on a throw pillow, as the news comes to an end and a home show comes on, giving tips on how to reuse old plant potters and repairs bookshelves. You close your eyes as deja vu sweeps over you. Those days you worked nights but found yourself sleepless in the AM, you would put on some channel or another, let the dullness ease you to sleep.

You drift into the memories and feel the tinge beneath your eyelids. When you open your eyes, you expect to be back in the duplex, you expect Colin to walk in and complain about his job, as you get up to make your coffee and make him dinner. You expect to be who you were before all this.

But you’re not.

“Why don’t you have a shower, sweet?” Dottie appears.

You squint as the sunlight streams yellow between the curtains. It’s around noon, you can tell by the height and hue of the day. You nod and let her help you up. The idea doesn’t sound good until she has you under the faucet, the warmth easing your muscles and washing away the days of sweat and negligence.

You get out and your chest aches. You cup your full tits and see your silhouette in the steamy mirror. You reach forward to wipe away the glaze. You see your body, the scar, the stretch marks, the loose skin, the weight still clinging. You want to puke at the sight of yourself.

You cover yourself with a towel and come out. You go to the guest room where you’ve built your nest. Dottie comes to the doorway as you dry yourself off shamelessly. You can’t change it. You can’t undo it.

“Is she hungry?” You ask.

“She’s still asleep.”

“Mm.”

“You hurtin’?” She asks.

You nod. “I’ll pump.”

“Good,” she enters the room and goes to the closet. She pulls out a purplish pink dress with short sleeves and a bit of ruffle around the elastic cuffs and neckline. Not much to it, light and figureless. 

You watch clueless as she lays it out with a pair of panties and a clean nursing bra. You shake your head as you cross your arms around the towel, holding it against your chest as it drapes over your stomach.

“You’ll want to wear something nice for lunch,” she says.

“Lunch?” You scowl.

“Mhmm, a day out of the house, away from the baby, it’ll be nice, won’t it?” She drawls as she turns to you, “Andy will be here soon.”

“Andy?”

“Yep, I told you, hon. Maybe you didn’t hear me, you’ve been a touch distracted,” she touches your shoulder gently, “a mom like you, how can’t you be? Doing so much, giving so much, you deserve a bit of time to get a little, huh?”

You shake your head and give her a frantic look, then glance at the dress.

“Can I wear something else?” You ask, “to hold all this in?”

She seems to sigh in relief. You’re certain she expected an argument but you don’t have that energy. You just do what you’re told, what you have to do. If she wants you out of the house, you’ll gladly leave this prison. 

“If you like,” she puts her hand on her hip, “but will you try this on? You don’t like it and we’ll go with your choice. It’s hot out, dear,  you don’t want to over do it.”

You sniff and shrug, “fine. Whatever.”

And that’s just how it is. You don’t feel much one way or the other. Dress or no dress. It doesn’t matter to you, but the more you let the idea sink in, the more eager you are to get away. Even if Andy will be there.