#and even if you only tag one of us the other one will see it don't worry fhdkdj the dclcu our beloved 🥺

[venomvalley]

NEON CARNIVORES

dom!sevika x fem!reader x pathetic!vi | 5.9k words

SUMMARY: You're Sevika's long-time girlfriend. Vi is Sevika's new roommate. What could possibly go wrong?

TAGS: 18+ only! smut (porn w/ plot, voyeurism, fingering, oral, threesome). angst, addiction, mental health issues, sex as therapy. modern!zaun au. complicated character dynamics.

NOTES: been working on this for so long and i just hope its good. split this into two parts btw so.. look out!!

-> READ ON AO3 | ARCANE MASTERLIST

Saturday morning rolls around with a blare of your work alarm—an early shift to cover for your sick coworker, with the added bonus of overtime for this pay period.

Sevika isn’t too happy about seeing you go, arm wound tight around your waist, grumbling out a throaty protest when you try to wriggle beneath her hold.

You spend every weekend at your girlfriend's new apartment. Twice the size of her last, with an extra bedroom neither of you ever use outside of temporary storage. She’s been weighing the idea of getting a roommate, with the recent hike in rent by her scummy landlord, and you would jump at the opportunity, if not for her insistence that you take things slow.

(You’ve been dating for two years. In Zaunite terms, you might as well be married already.)

Ten minutes later, after wrestling for your freedom from the cage of her bed, you shuffle into the kitchen with a loud yawn. Wearing nothing but a long shirt and a pair of random underwear.

You freeze at the sight of an unknown woman stood at the sink, scrubbing a dish. Pink hair, broad shoulders, intricate tattoos. Dressed similarly to you.

Who the fuck…?

“Uh, hi,” you say, hid half-behind the wall to conceal your state of undress. The woman turns to look at you, and—

(Pot of boiling water, meet frog.

Inevitability is a crazy, crushing thing when combined with your power of extreme denial. One moment, you're sitting in a jacuzzi, and the next, your skin is peeling away from the bone.

A slow, sanguine death.)

“Oh, hey,” she replies, reaching to dry her hands off on a nearby towel. “You're Sevika's girl, right?”

You nod your head and offer up your name, stepping out to stand behind the lip of the counter.

“Name’s Vi. I'm the new roommate.” Ah. Would've been nice if Sevika had warned you beforehand. “I'm just gonna,” a thumb points to the once-spare bedroom, “crawl back in my hole now.”

“Right. Good morning, Vi.”

“Yeah. Morning.”

You return to Sevika’s bedroom with a scowl on your face and a complaint on your tongue, shutting the door a bit harder than you meant to. Her shape beneath the sheets jolts at the sound, head popping up from the pillow.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a new roommate?”

She blinks, swiping her palm over each eye, jaw dropping to make room for a loud yawn. “Oh, her.”

“Yeah. Her.”

“Relax. Vi stays in her room all day,” spoken mid-stretch, her lone arm reaching for the lip of the headboard.

“That’s not the point. What if I had walked out there naked?”

“Then she’d get one hell of a show.”

You physically deflate, shoulders curling inward, and shuffle over to the bed. Sevika scoots over to give you room, then lifts the sheets in invitation.

“You know I'm joking, right?” she asks, the curve of her nose brushing against your cheek.

“I know… ‘m just embarrassed.”

“Don't be. Vi has three braincells to her name. No chance she even noticed.” Sevika pauses a moment, then gives a lazy shrug of her shoulder. “Probably.”

Thus begins a new era of your relationship: Roommate Woes. Except, Vi isn't the problem here. She keeps to herself, does her chores, pays rent on time via her night shift job (whatever that is). Sevika, on the other hand, never learned subtlety, and coupled with her insatiable libido, you experienced PDA on levels previously unknown to humankind.

But gone are the days of her bending you over the kitchen counter, or fucking you on the couch, or being as loud as she wants—just to spite the cantankerous old lady living next door. While Vi works, Sevika sleeps. Opposite schedules that leave you no room for sexual intimacy. As such, both you and Vi share in this odd stall-state of perceived encroachment. Her, encroaching on your relationship; you, encroaching on her home.

So. In an amiable show, you decide to talk with Sevika about inviting her to your weekly movie night.

The two of you stand in the kitchen mid-discussion, making food to much on as the television plays the movie's menu screen on repeat.

“But why do I have to ask her?”

“Because this was your idea in the first place.” Sevika steps away from the counter with a sigh, hand adorned with a sickly-pink, heart-patterned oven mitt (she swore when you bought it for her that she would never wear it, and now it's the only one she uses). “She won't bite.”

“I think she hates me.” At the crook of her brow, you scoff, voice veering toward whiny. “I’m serious. Every time I come over, she scurries off to her room and I don't see her the rest of the weekend.”

“She does that anyway.”

“It's different, though.”

“… Just knock on the damn door.”

Against your better judgement, you trundle off and away, stopping before the looming pane of wood that separates you from Vi's bedroom.

Really, it's not a big deal. It shouldn't be. But your girlfriend's roommate is a pink-haired enigma, a puzzle stuck in a perpetual state of unsolvable. A disappearing act that, you gotta admit, hurts your ego a bit. You don’t recall saying anything wrong, but maybe, given the circumstances, you should double check that your presence is even wanted. Vi lives here, after all.

So you knock on the door—a few quick raps of your knuckles, just loud enough to grab her attention. You wait for a beat, then another, then another, and just as you turn to leave, the door swings open in a rush of cool air.

Some sort of fan whirs a steady noise from inside her bedroom, the floor strewn with clothes, room dark except for the blue-light halo emanating from her computer. She starts at the sight of you, jolting half a step backward before collecting herself.

“Oh. Sorry, I thought you were—”

“Do you wanna watch a movie with us?” The question comes out in a rush, your synapses a live-wire of anxiety.

Shit. You just want her to like you. Better for all parties involved when you show up every week without fail.

She blinks the kitchen light from her eyes, hand slipping beneath her shirt to scratch at a hip. “What?”

“A movie? Neon Carnivores just came out, and Sevika picked up the DVD after work. It's supposed to be this noir-horror filmed in the Lanes. Thought you might like it.”

“Uh,” a quick shake of her head, “yeah. I'll be there in a minute.”

Then she slams the door in your face.

You shuffle back to the living room, head emptied of all thought. Bewildered. Sevika sits on one end of the couch sans prosthetic, munching on a slice of pizza fresh from the oven. Carefree and oblivious.

“How'd it go?” she asks, bumping her shoulder into yours when you sit down beside her.

“She slammed the door in my face.”

Sevika has the audacity to laugh. To say, “Oh, she's got it bad.”

You land an admonishing smack on her thigh. “Stop, Sev.”

“It's true.” Another bite of her pizza. “You’re all she talks about.”

“What, about how much she hates me?”

“Do you want her to hate you?”

“No.”

“Then shut up.”

Your mouth drops open in half-serious shock, but she continues to eat her stupid slice of pizza and stares at you like she said nothing wrong.

Vi's bedroom door creaks open. A beat of awkward silence passes before she appears in the corner of your eye, weighing her choice of couch or recliner. One glance at Sevika makes up her mind, and Vi takes the cushion beside you. She offers up a tight-lipped smile when you meet her gaze, turning away before you can reciprocate.

The rest of the evening follows a similar pattern: Vi curled up against the armrest while Sevika cuddles you against her side, the movie you chose bathing the room in colors of neon velvet. An indie-arthouse flick hallmarked by practical effects and unusual cinematography.

Sevika spends the last thirty minutes of the movie with her head tucked to her chest, vehemently arguing against the idea of exhaustion every time you wake her up and tell her to go to bed.

When the credits roll, Vi excuses herself, and your girlfriend finally succumbs to your prodding. Kisses you goodnight and shuffles off to bed.

So here you sit, stretched out on the cushions, cold and lonely and mourning the loss of Sevika's weight against you. Some game show continues in the background as you scroll through your phone, leagues away from the exhaustion that usually sends you to bed.

“Hey.”

The sudden greeting jolts you, and you turn around to find Vi stood at the entrance of the small hallway, housing her bedroom on one side and bathroom on the other. Scarred knuckles curled over the wall's edge, almost skittish in her stance.

“Oh. Hey.” You sit up against the armrest, elbow denting the back cushion.

“Where's Sevika?”

“In bed.”

“This early?” A click of her tongue, arm swinging a lazy rhythm as she steps into the living room. “Somebody's getting old.”

The first conversation you've ever had with her, aside from the greetings-in-passing on your way to Sevika's bedroom. But those don't count, right?

“Yeah, I tell her that all the time.”

Then silence. Vi remains awkward behind the couch, glancing around the room as if seeing it for the first time. Your teeth tug at a piece of stubborn skin on your bottom lip. The show drones on, forgotten in the wake of her presence.

“So. How long have you two been together?” she asks, hands finding comfort in the pockets of her sweatpants.

“Two years tomorrow.”

She exhales a sound halfway between a hum and a grunt, brows lifting clear to her hairline. “Shit. Practically married, huh?”

“Something like that.”

Sevika doesn't believe in marriage. A piece of paper solidifying love? Bunch of bullshit, far as she's concerned. And it isn't that you don't agree, but… well. It would be nice to have the option this deep underground. That useless piece of paper is only reserved for pilties.

“She’s happy with you.”

You blink, and she's circling around the couch. “You think so?”

She plops down in Sevika's recliner, one leg thrown over the armrest. (Sevika would kill her if she knew, but you swear yourself to a vow of silence. An olive branch for a budding friendship.)

“Definitely. She helped me out a few years back. Less of an asshole now, with you in the picture.”

So, they know each other. That makes more sense than Sevika inviting some random stranger to live with her. She's made too many enemies to consider such an idea.

“How'd you two meet?”

Her foot jitters back and forth, shaking the armrest. “She knew my old man when they were young, and when he died a few years ago, she kinda… took me under her wing.”

Vi says nothing else, and you don't intend to pry. But you're curious. Who wouldn't be? Sevika stays tight-lipped whenever Vi’s name comes up in conversation, and she’s the only person you know to answer all your burning questions. Aside from the woman herself.

But you're not there yet. Your nosiness will have to wait.

So you smile and say, “Yeah, that sounds like her.”

When she smiles back with a lopsided quirk of her mouth, you think you might be kind-of-halfway friends.

—

A simple text changes everything.

Hey. Turn your tv up.

Sender: Sevika. Recipient: Vi.

A heat-of-the-moment decision from a brain fogged by hormones and the sight of your bare tits in the mirror while changing into pajamas. Post-anniversary date, mid-makeout in her bed, she grabs her phone and sends The Text.

What follows is a marathon of impressive proportions. A box of sex toys, a bottle of lube, and two very insatiable libidos. You expected this after teasing her all night—kissing her neck on the drive to the restaurant, groping her ass during the post-check bathroom break, babbling about your ideas for sex after the two of you make it home.

She fucks you like she's trying to leave a scar in the mattress, maybe carve your body into the wrinkled sheets. Heavy and hot. Angry. Staking her claim. A routine of feeding you her cock until you cry, then soothing the ache with her mouth, then flipping you over and doing it again.

Then, a shadow under the door, shifting its weight. Sevika doesn't notice, too busy lapping at your wet cunt, but you do. Head tipped upside down over the side of the bed, that little patch of inky darkness is all you can look at.

For a moment, you contemplate saying something. You should say something, but you're selfish, and the looming orgasm that numbs you down to the bone steals away every braincell capable of thought.

You know Vi's been listening. Sevika and subtlety mix as well as oil and water. That fucking text. Her shadow lingers under the door like a spilled-ink stain as you whine and whimper through orgasm number three. Even when your world shifts, and Sevika kneels over your prone form, your gaze remains on the shadow beneath the door. A constant, an anchor to the real world.

Strap buried inside your cunt, Sevika flattens herself along the expanse of your back. The soft plush of her lips ghosts over the shell of your ear.

“We have a visitor,” she mutters, and you shudder beneath her. “What do you say? Should we ask her to join?”

The scary part? You actually think about it. Not exactly crossing the line to consideration, but you entertain the idea. The width of Vi's shoulders spreading your thighs, the softness of her mouth against your skin, the layers of her mullet caught in your fist—

Okay. So you consider it.

“Seriously?” you ask, voice a hissing breath of disbelief.

Sevika mouths along your pulse, the cold metal of her prosthetic hand smoothing up your spine. “She's standing outside for a reason.” A sharp bite to the curve of your shoulder, and an inhale catches between your teeth. “That reason isn't me.”

“I—”

Her posture softens, and her voice along with it. “Just think about it, okay?”

Sweet and tender, a facet of Sevika that she reveals only to you—almost comedic given the circumstances. Dangling the idea of a threesome in front of your face, so blasé about the whole thing that you're afraid to take her seriously. No, it's nothing more than dirty talk. Fantasy.

(The disappointment that knots in your gut doesn't actually exist.

Right?)

Things become… weird after that night. Tense as a band waiting to snap. Vi avoids you like you've caught the plague, lurking at the corner of your vision but never daring to approach. No more late-night conversations on the couch, or sharing the burden of dishes, or trading memes back and forth during the week. Like she never even existed at all.

You fucked up. You don't know how, but you did.

Her absence shouldn't bother you so much, but Sevika obviously cares about her to an extent. Why wouldn't you want Vi to like you? And yeah, maybe you enjoy her being around. She's easy to talk to. A comforting presence that reminds you a lot of Sevika.

Given her indefinite absence from your life, you don't expect your phone to blare with her ringtone on a typical Wednesday night (three thirty-two a.m. to be exact) long after you've fallen asleep. You paw at the nightstand for the familiar rectangle of your phone, bleary-eyed and frustrated at the interruption.

At the sound of her voice when you answer the call, you bolt upright in bed.

Slurred and trembling, weak:

“Fuck, it's late, I know, but my boss won't let me walk and I can't call Sevika like this. Can you just—” rustling on the end of the line, a muffled exchange between two voices that you can't quite hear, “I need a ride home.”

Before she can finish her last sentence, you’re throwing a coat on and snatching your keys from the coffee table. “Where are you?”

“Um,” she sniffles, “Apex Eleven. It's this club near the apartment.”

“I'll be there. Wait for me inside.”

She mumbles in agreement then hangs up.

You know that place. Sevika took you there when you first started dating, and though the night started out awkward in that new-romance-learning-curve way, you eventually coaxed her onto the dance floor after a shot or ten. You shared your first kiss in the parking lot outside, right before throwing up all over her pants.

In the heart of the Lanes, the streets awaken at night. Traffic thickens as you near the strip of bars and clubs and brothels, neon signs blinking in rhythmic disorder. Crowds of people stroll down the sidewalk on either side of the street, a jumble of conversation and thumping music intruding on the silence inside your car.

You pull into the club's parking lot then beeline for the front door. One ID check later, and you step inside the club to meet a thick wall of smoke and the smell of sweat-masking body spray. The floor sticks to your shoes as you skirt the outer edge of the dance floor, pinballed between drunken bodies. A party of overstimulation.

Vi sits slumped at the bar, her pink hair a stand-out amongst the sea of clubgoers, undeterred by the lights that cloak her form in multicolor strobes. The tattoos branching up her bare arms ring familiar.

You sidle up beside her, shaking her by the shoulder. “Hey.”

She sits up at the sound of your voice, eyes squinting in confusion, body drawn tight and angular—preparing for a fight.

After a long, breath-stilling moment, she relaxes. “Oh. Hey.”

You nod toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”

“Whatever. This place sucks anyway.”

Now, the hard part: dragging her to the car. A task she makes no effort to help you with, still sat at the bar, eyes never leaving your face. Low-lidded and darker than you’ve ever seen them.

“What is it?” you ask, shifting back and forth on your feet. The atmosphere of the club renders you drunk by proxy.

“Fuck, you're pretty.” A hand reaches out to touch your face, palm sweatslick against your jaw, fingers ice-cold as they follow the curve of your skull. “Anybody tell you that lately?”

You grab her wrist and step away, a suggestion written in the tug of your hand. “Sevika. Ya know, my girlfriend?”

She slithers out of the chair, balance precarious as her brain struggles to command her feet. One step, then another, until her shoulder collides with yours. You steady her with an arm slung across her back, wincing beneath the drag of her weight as you begin to walk.

None of your Vi-shaped puzzle pieces fit together. No red string to connect all the details. During all your conversations, she kept topics shallow, information casual: likes the color blue, and exercise, and video games; grew up rough; has a sister and a nameless ex. Harmless breadcrumbs to leave behind.

And now there’s a brand new tidbit, filed away under ???????

Fuck, you’re pretty.

She’s far from sober. People say anything when they get a few drinks circulating in their blood, and she passed that threshold a while ago. Mystery solved.

Vi climbs into the passenger seat of your car and curls up against the console. When you buckle her seatbelt, she barely stirs. Something tender and aching rises at the sight of her, impossibly fragile and motionless, just before you close the door.

The drive back to her shared apartment is silent. She adjusts her position every few minutes, grumbling something under her breath—thankfully, still breathing.

Dragging Vi over to elevator is another mountain to climb. She stubs up once she recognizes the run-down shell of her apartment building, slurs something about Sevika and disappointment, and you don't understand the issue. There's no way you could drag her up four flights of stairs to your elevator-less apartment.

“Besides,” you continue, “Sevika's asleep. It'll be alright.”

It takes even more reassurance before Vi finally agrees to walk. You lead her through the small hallway, into the elevator, and up to the third floor.

Before you can find the key in one of Vi's many pockets, the apartment door swings open, and there stands—

“Sev. I didn't think you'd be awake.”

You find no anger in her features, but they contort all the same. Behind her shines the kitchen light, a small halo that cuts through the empty shadows plaguing the small living room.

Her eyes cut to Vi, sharp and piercing. “Women's intuition.”

"How'd you know?” Vi asks, head lowered, unable to meet the gaze of the woman before you.

Already, she stands a bit straighter, weight easing off your shoulder. No doubt sobered up by shock.

Sevika shrugs. Takes a drag of her cigarette. Says nothing, but steps aside to allow you both entry. And once inside, she takes Vi by the arm not slung over your shoulders.

“I got her, honey,” she says, stepping forward in silent request for you to take the cigarette from her mouth.

They disappear into Vi's bedroom. You take a seat on the couch and pass the time by chewing on the filter and watching the paper burn with each lung-filling puff. A fitting end to a night of self-destruction.

A few minutes later, Sevika comes back. Worn down to the bone, wet around the eyes.

“Is she okay?” you ask, scooting over to give her room to sit down.

She collapses beside you, head tipping back against the couch. “I don't know.”

A bad sign. Whatever they talked about, Sevika can't immediately fix, and the worry carves wrinkles into her brow.

Your fingers find the soft thickness of her thigh, comfort stamped in the press of your lips to her shoulder. She's warm, impossibly so. Worked up. Angry, even.

“The deal when she moved in was that she stayed sober.” She scrubs her hand over her face, frustration tangible, thickening up the air that surrounds you. “I told her that job was a bad fucking idea.”

“Is that what you helped her with a few years back?” you ask, voice never daring to rise above a whisper. “Getting sober, I mean.”

“She told you about that?”

“She just said you helped her with a situation.”

A stretch of tense silence, where nothing you say can fix the situation, and Sevika has no interest in wasting the energy on words.

“She wants to talk to you, by the way. You don't have to, but… Vi's a good person, she's just…”

“Been through a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

You're not angry. Worried, yes, but angry? Your Vi-shaped puzzle sharpens into view: a bad childhood, a sister she either doesn't talk to, an ex she refuses to name, a struggle with addiction. One awful event after another, woven into bone and muscle and joint and tendon. Staining everything she touches.

(Really, you don’t know why you care so much.)

When you open the door to Vi's bedroom, she’s laying in bed, tucked beneath the sheets. Staring up at the ceiling, she wipes her face on her shirt.

“Feel like company?” you ask, offering up a smile when she cranes her head to look at you.

The room lay dark, her form a deep splotch of shadow against the wall as she sits up. “Yeah.”

You sit down on the edge of the bed and wait for her to speak.

“I just wanna say that I'm sorry for tonight. I know I should've called Sevika but I was terrified that she would,” she shakes her head, “kick me out.”

“She wouldn't.”

“Well, I know that now, but… sorry for being trouble.”

You shrug. “Better you call me than something bad happen.”

She snorts, pillows creaking beneath her weight. “The worst already has.”

Your jaw aches from the force you exert to keep it shut. Curiosity rears its ugly head once again, but now isn't the time for indulgence.

“You can ask. If anybody deserves to know, it's you.”

“When Sevika helped you a few years ago, what was that about?”

“Oh, that? Funny story, actually.” A sharp sniff. “I was living on the streets at the time, going to bars and clubs every night, fighting for money. Literally, by the way. And one night, this woman walks up to me and says she knew my dad, Vander, before he died.

At that point, I’m ready to knock her out and go back to drinking, but she starts giving me details about his old life that nobody would know. So we go back to her apartment and she’s an asshole about the whole thing, but she helps me get my life straightened out.”

“And after that?”

“I move out on my own. Things are good for a while, but… life always catches up with you, I guess. I start thinking about Vander and my sister and—and Cait, and I start to spiral again. Go back to my old ways.”

Cait. A name for the unforgettable.

“It’s easy, isn’t it?”

The shadow moves, and you think Vi nods her head. “Yeah, it is.”

In a stroke of courage, you move from the end of the bed to its head, and after a bit of searching, you find Vi’s shape beneath the sheets. You lean into her, throwing your arms over her shoulders in an awkward hug. The smell of vodka leaks from her pores, skin sweatslick and sticky, and you can only hope that this brings her comfort.

“You’ll be okay. Maybe not for a while, but horrible things don’t last forever.”

Her hands press against your back, following the curve of your spine. “I’ll take your word for it.”

—

Vi loses herself for a while. She regresses back to some younger, weaker version of herself; back when everything was too much and too big and too scary. She quits her job at the club and starts sharing Sevika's bed at night. Another presence to drive out the demons that plague her.

It happens in the dark.

You're trapped between two very warm, very clingy bodies after a long conversation about boundaries and adaptation and how Vi fits into your life. Sevika tells you that you don't have to stay, that she isn't your responsibility, but you aren't gonna just leave her like this.

(You don't know why you care so much.)

“Can I kiss you?” Vi asks, whispered against the shell of your throat.

The world stops turning. She leans back and rests her head on the pillow, bright eyes wide, bottom lip sucked between her teeth.

Sevika lay right behind you, fitting perfectly against the curve of your spine, arm slung over your waist. That arm tightens, tugging you impossibly closer.

“It's okay,” she says.

Her hips grind against your ass, soft enough that you almost believe it an accident. Soft enough to jump-start the pulse between your legs.

You can't come back from this. Once your lips meet, it's done.

Does Sevika really not mind? Watching you kiss her… whatever Vi is? Friend, responsibility, something inbetween?

Fuck it.

You meet Vi's gaze and nod your head, and her smile flickers beneath the light of the television. As she leans in, her nose brushes yours, and Sevika's buries her face in your shoulder.

Vi kisses you like she loves you, all passionate and needy. Like you mean something to her, for all the ups and downs of your short relationship and her isolating tendencies.

Before Sevika, you never experienced love as a universal truth, giving or reciprocal. No butterflies, or fuzzy feelings, or giddiness at the sight of a lover. But when Vi kisses you, it feels… right. Comfortable. She licks into your mouth and she's warm and soft and impossibly sweet. Tender and careful and savoring.

She pulls away with a sigh, and the hand on your belly moves to cradle your jaw. A turn of your head, and Sevika sucks Vi's taste off your tongue.

It happens quick. The pulse between your legs sparks a fire that threatens full-body consumption. The women that sandwich you in take turns stealing the breath from your lungs, over and over and over again. A competition brews between the two regarding who can turn you into the biggest mess, and while one kisses you, the other nips at your neck and gropes your tits and teases at the seam of your underwear.

You don’t know how things turned out this way, but you aren’t complaining. Not when Vi rucks up your shirt and sucks a nipple into her mouth, and Sevika's lips feel like home against yours. Too much yet not enough, brain dizzy from overstimulation.

“Wait, fuck,” you gasp in a breath when they both part from you, “I just—I need a second.”

So horny you could honestly cry. If Vi wasn't here, you'd be begging Sevika for the strap, face buried in the sheets, ass in the air. They give you time to calm down, and you mourn the loss of their weight and warmth, skin buzzing from the ghostly stamp of their hands.

“Are you okay?” asks Sevika, nosing at the divot of your temple.

“Yeah, just…” you try and fail to suppress the stretch of your lips, “I didn't think you liked to share.”

She exhales an unamused breath, eyes darting to Vi when the latter drapes herself over your middle, hair tickling your chin.

“I'm a special case, right?”

Sevika shoves her off by the shoulder. Says, “Shut up. At least I don't listen in on my roommates—”

Vi stutters a moment then holds up a defensive finger. “Okay, that happened once. Once.”

“Porn exists.” A beat of silence, and Sevika laughs under her breath. “But you don't want porn, do you?”

You're definitely missing context for this conversation, but they argue like you don't even exist in the room.

“Don't,” Vi hisses, rising onto an elbow to glare at Sevika through squinted eyelids. “Seriously, I'll kick your ass.”

“Just ask her.”

Finally, you chime in. “Ask me what?”

Vi's glare turns to pleading, but beside you, Sevika remains stalwart.

“Ask me what?”

“Vi wants to fuck you.”

You blink. The neurons in your brain short-circuit. “For how long?”

“A while,” Vi grumbles, turned on her side, facing away from the two of you.

It's not the idea that surprises you, but the verbal admission. You know how to take a hint, and Vi's slip-up at the club cemented what Sevika already told you as fact.

“It doesn't bother me, if you're worried about that. Brat wants to feel good and she trusts you.” A lazy shrug that jostles your shoulder. “Your choice, honey.”

You look over at Vi to gauge her reaction, and find her already staring at you with pleading eyes. Tender as a healing wound.

It's an easy decision. Easier than your conscience allows. Your memory returns to the night Vi stood outside the bedroom door, when Sevika teased you about inviting her in. She recognized your own attraction before you did. That soft spot on your heart for an unsolvable woman.

“Let's do it.”

The once-playful atmosphere thickens into something anticipatory when Vi crawls between your legs, and your nerves might fray to breaking if not for Sevika’s presence at your side. Always doing what she does best—why you stayed despite her every effort to snuff your relationship out.

As Vi's hands find your inner thighs, Sevika kisses you soft and slow in an effort to tame the wild buck of your pulse.

“Go easy on her,” Sevika says to you, lips stretched in a teasing smile. “I'm sure it's been a while.”

“Fuck you,” Vi mutters, but says nothing in her own defense.

As if it even matters. Your girlfriend serves as the warden of your pussy, and she loves to bark an order or ten. You’re in good hands.

Off come your clothes while the other two remain dressed, a feeling of stark vulnerability that seeks to fry the white matter of your brain. Sevika rubs a comforting hand over your belly, while Vi shoulders your thighs apart.

The first thing you do is reach down to run your fingers through her hair. Soft as you imagined.

She dives in tongue-first, licking you from hole to clit, and groans when your thighs close around her head on instinct. It's all soft, wet heat. Messy from her spit. What she lacks in technique, she makes up for in enthusiasm. Moans so loud against your pussy that you almost believe she can feel your pleasure.

Sevika doesn't let you forget her. She murmurs praise into your ear, teases you for being so wet, asks you how good Vi's mouth feels. You've made it clear how her voice affects you, and she wields dirty words as a weapon any chance she gets.

Good girl.

You look so pretty like this.

How's it feel, honey?

You kiss her just to shut her up. The burn in your belly turns to a blaze embarrassingly fast, and when Vi slides a long finger into your cunt, stars burst behind your closed eyelids. There's no holding back your orgasm when her tongue circles over your clit, slick and hot and—

You turn away from Sevika's mouth and fist Vi's hair in both hands, the muscles in your thighs twitching. "Fuck, please."

"Come on, honey." A pair of plush lips trail down the line of your neck, nipping at your drum-beat pulse. "Let her make you feel good."

That's all it takes. Permission. Weeks without so much as a finger on your clit leads you to a breath-stealing release, and your hearing blots out as you grind against Vi's face. So selfish, needing more, craving the impossible: inevitability.

When the pleasure breaks, you sink into the mattress with a heaving sigh. Each lobe of your brain makes a slow return to normal, and when you blink your eyes open, Vi's face sharpens into view.

Wide-eyed and nervous, she smooths a hand up and down your thigh. "Was that okay?"

All you can do is giggle and nod your head. Too fucked-out to form words.

To your left, Sevika wraps a thick arm around your ribs and pulls you to her. She knows you too well. A long cuddle is neccessity after an orgasm, and she's warm and soft and her chest makes a great pillow. And if you fall asleep for a few minutes, you're none the wiser.

You open your eyes again to Vi gently cleaning you with a washcloth. Sevika sits beside her, nursing a glass of water.

"Hey, Vi." They both look down at you. "Want me to return the favor?"

She shakes her head, slick lips stretching into a dopey grin. "No. I got what I needed."

When Vi moves to lay back down, Sevika catches her by the shoulder. "Wash your face."

"Why don't you clean me up?"

You watch the exchange half-lucid and half-listening, until their voices filter through a lens of fading lucidity. What they both fail to realize is how alike they are, and suddenly everything makes sense.

That's why you care so much.

[mullermilkshake]

An unreadable measure

Part 10 <- Part 11 -> Part 12

You and Jinwoo try and get the twins ranked, courtesy of the hunter's association.

Yandere!Jinwoo Sung x Fem Hunter!reader Tags - Pregnant reader, talks about pregnancy, mentions of medical tests/ needles, pet name, hormonal reader,

<<< For more Dark/Yandere content, click this link to go back to the Masterlist! >>>

<<< Or back to this fic's Master list. >>>

You never agreed to meet Jinwoo’s mom and sister until your twelve week scan. Anxiety no doubt.

Jinwoo’s system quest clocked over at thirty out of one hundred. 

Still early into your pregnancy, the twins were growing at the same rate as Hae-in’s pregnancy. Despite a month and a half apart, according to the doctor, Jinwoo was sure she shouldn’t have mentioned that. Odd. You didn’t speak on it though, despite her baiting it like it was some sort of competition. You never bit.

That day, after the scan, you were scheduled to test the mama of the babies in a ditch effort to get some sort of a reading instead of guessing.

Chairman Go’s idea of course.

“This is stupid… how is this even going to work?” Your hand absentmindedly rubbed your visible baby bump, your other lazily pressed to your back.

A short, little man dressed in a smart suit adjusted his glasses and wrote notes on his clipboard. “Well, based on the aura your pregnancy is producing, the Chairman is curious to see if you can produce a score other than your own unreadable measurement. It will give us an idea of what kind of rank your children will be once they are born.”

You huffed and flicked your hair out of your face. “That’s if it actually works, what if it just reads my own score?”

“Block off your aura and only make contact with the sensor using your stomach.”

“How the hell do I do that- oh my god!” Jinwoo lifted you onto his shoulder, high enough so that you didn’t need to reach the meter.

He smiled and ignored the cursing under your breath. You were as light as a feather, and each time Jinwoo levelled up again, he would need to lift you with caution as to not overdo how easy it was.

The man stood back and watched the screen closely, he fiddled with some dial knobs. “Okay, we’re ready. Go ahead and touch it- only with your stomach, nothing else.”

Jinwoo edged towards the meter, holding his breath with each inch. He’d taken note of the babies mana as they were growing even if you couldn’t, and it was only getting more intense with each passing week.

Right now, Jinwoo could sense that if the twins were born with their current mana intact, they were easily upper B-Ranks right now, Maybe even A-Ranks, but that was only a guess.

“We’re going to start the test now, so please hold still.”

You sat upon his shoulder with ease, remaining as still as you could with comfort. Jinwoo stopped as soon as he felt the resistance of your little bump on the meter.

And then it turned on.

The machine hummed and made whatever noises were expected for Jinwoo’s third time standing in that room, and something shifted.

“What? T-That can’t be right…” That man fiddled and spammed the controls. “It’s- it’s unreadable!”

You didn’t react the way Jinwoo expected, more of a slouch if anything. “It’s probably just my mana level you’re reading.”

“N-no… the meter's detecting four separate energy sources…”

“If there’s four, just ignore the two S-Ranks.” It was that simple, Jinwoo didn’t understand his hysterics.

“That’s the thing, Mr Sung… all readings are S-Ranks. I-I can’t tell them apart- it’s making the system overheat, they’re all unreadable!”

“Oh shit.” It was meant to be under your breath, but it wasn’t.

The systems alarm whistled and beeped, airing a warning in the room. Jinwoo set you down and pulled you over to the side getting in between you and the mana meter.

“Turn it off.” He said, commanding the room to the effect of making the man panic further, flicking all kinds of switches. “I said, turn it off.”

“I’m trying!”

The alarms groaned, making the meter tremble and shudder in an invisible icy breeze, emitting smoke from the top of it.

“We have to get out of here.” You left his side and stormed off towards the door that didn’t open. “Why won’t this open?”

“It’s in a system shut down- the whole system’s fried! The room shuts itself off if there’s a fault, it’s to stop further damage to headquarters if the fault causes a fire hazard, it won’t open until the system either cools down or erupts completely!”

“Iron.” Jinwoo called upon his shadow.

He chose Iron due to his raw, tanked strength but also to your own familiarity having met only Igris thus far. He, appeared in his brute fisted glory and hunched over watching you instead of Jinwoo. 

"Who is- What is he doing?" You asked, neither backing away or getting closer.

Jesus… he’s always so distracted. 

Jinwoo pinched the bridge of his nose. “ He's insufferable... Iron. Go and disconnect it before it blows up.”

The shadow nodded and trudged over to the thickened power cable, pulling at it and ripping it out of the wall. 

But the meter didn’t let up.

“It’s still going, it’s going to rupture!” The man ducked and cowered behind the console.

Jinwoo got a hold of you. “I can shadow exchange, keep ahold of me-“

He wasn’t in the room anymore, a split second and the room had disappeared, so did you. The experience was weightless, without any effort and kept him in suspended animation. You had pulled Jinwoo into Royal’s Gatekeeper, floating inside a mana made portal flat against the wall with a viewing hole back through to the room. Iron trudged about the place and covered his face when the meter blew up, casting bits of hard metal and singed plastic everywhere. By some miracle the man by the console survived and Iron morphed back to Jinwoo.

“We should be safe now.” You said, sitting in a position that you almost floated, weightlessly watching.

So beautiful.

He would have told you that too if your nose hadn’t started bleeding right in front of Jinwoo’s eyes. He called out to you, but you’d already stepped back out in to the destroyed and charred plastic covered room. The entire window had blown out, emitting a high pitched winded whistle zipping past on the high floor. The scattered papers from the clipboard were ripped and torn and singed on the edges. 

He said your name again, yet you spoke first. “We didn’t have time to think, so I just acted off of instinct… what is it?”

“Your nose, what’s wrong? Are you feeling alright- are the babies doing something? You used your ability, has it drained your mana?”

You batted him off and wiped your nose, your eyes widening in shock at the red across your hand. “What is… what’s happening?”

“It appears that your babies are using your mana to grow, hence their S-Rank status at three months gestation.”

Jinwoo looked up just as startled as you were. “Chairman Go.”

“I see you’ve destroyed my meter, that was quite a show.”

“It was an accident, Chairman. I think the equipment read it wrong.” You tried to even the playing field, taking accountability.

The Chairman entered the room with his hands hidden behind him, Jinwoo naturally flocked to you, pulling out a tissue to wipe the red from your nose and got in front of you. 

He and the Chairman both mirrored each other, unknowingly sizing the other up in a way that animals did, being in favour of the one who was strongest.

And that was exclusively Jinwoo.

He could obliterate the Chairman quite easily if he wanted to, and he wanted to for not-so-clear reasons. Even so, he also wanted to see how this played out, finding hidden secrets and things in plain sight. There was something bigger at play here, Jinwoo could tell from the jittering in his bones.

“Please, stand down, Hunter Sung. Although the meter will be down for a week or two, I’m thoroughly pleased with the result.” He smiled sweetly, clasping his hands together as though to say, this is just perfect for me.  

“What does that mean exactly?” You asked, emerging from Jinwoo’s guard. “The twins are using my mana- they’re draining me. Is that why I can't sense them? How do you know all this, anyway?”

So you picked up on that too? Jinwoo knew this was all too well thought out, he just never asked the questions until he had something more concrete to go on. You jumped ahead of him once again, a reason for why he was in love with you. Your somewhat dominant side.

“We’ve only seen this once before in Japan. It was the same case there for the mother, and apparently they can use the mother's mana. It disguises their own mana as they'll use the more accessible mana to their disposal. That being said we only have observations to go on, we’re all still pretty much in the dark. it's purely anecdotal... But I think they’ll be some people who’d like to meet you both, but for now, I think further tests are essential.”

You scoffed. “What sort of tests? You’re not prodding me or these babies with needles.”

“No needles, I assure you. Some mana tests and other observations once they’re here. That’s all.”

Tests and examinations needed for Jinwoo’s children? Poking and prodding them while they’re so tiny and vulnerable just to see the rare genetics passed down from their mother? Not to mention anything they could inherit from Jinwoo.

Like hell would anyone treat them like guinea pigs.

“Not a chance.”

“Jinwoo?”

He maintained eye contact with the Chairman, not you. “I said no. No testing those babies, they’re babies . Leave them alone and observe them from afar.”

“Jinwoo-“

“We can discuss this at a later date, for now, go and get some rest.” The Chairman addressed you directly. “You look exhausted. A mother-to-be needs plenty of rest.”

You didn’t respond, not at first, anyway. Not until the Chairman left. “What the hell did he say? I look tired- what does that even mean?”

“W-well-“

“He means nothing by it.” Jinwoo eyed the man from behind the console, emerging back into the room.

“What? What does he mean, Jinwoo?”

Jinwoo knew better than to offend someone who was exhausted and pregnant. This man however, was too honest. A fucking idiot.

“The Chairman meant that you look…” His voice trailed off, stepping back from Jinwoo’s narrowed eyes.

“He meant… nothing by it.” 

“O-Of course! I meant nothing by it- she- you look healthy and glowing!”

“Good man.” 

You sighed heavily, rubbing your stomach before cursing something under your breath. Then, you walked right out of the room in a stomp, leaving the weak little man in Jinwoo’s company.

And that compulsion came back.

Jinwoo grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and clenched his fist tight around the material. “Think before you speak. If you speak out of turn and upset her again, you’re going to wish you died in that explosion.”

“Y-Yes, Mr Sung- I won’t say anything at all, I promise!”

Jinwoo dropped him on the floor and left the room to follow you, skipping a step of the stairs up towards the apartment. Igris was nearby, hovering around up there as near to you as your aura would allow. By the time Jinwoo arrived, he noted how your energy still hadn’t changed, he could sense it from the front door all the way to the en-suite bathroom.

You were really emotional.

Jinwoo called your name softly, hoping it might change your mindset or do literally anything else besides upset you further.

It didn’t. Well, you didn’t respond.

He called out to you again and waited, edging closer to the bathroom until the sound of your stifled sobbing permeated the bathroom door through the crack.

“Baby, what’s wrong?” The pet name slipped out.

You didn’t react to it. “I’m exhausted!”

Little black streaks dribbled down your cheeks from the waterlogged mascara, eyes swollen and puffy, nose all pink and adorably blushed. Jinwoo rubbed the marks away from your cheeks the best he could, moving the slick strands of hair from your damp face.

“You could have fooled me.” He said. “I happen to think you look beautiful.”

“No. You’re just saying that. I look horrible and bloated and I’m a big mess!” The flood gates opened and you couldn’t stop crying.

Jinwoo wanted to say something had the babies aura not spiked, it stopped him in his steps. Like they were reacting to you, but it could have been an array of reasons, maybe they were moving about or kicking and you couldn't feel it? Despite that, he monitored it with each passing moment, but never said anything to you.

I guess I’ll be dealing with this a lot for the next seven months. 

“You don’t look bloated, or horrible. But I think it has been a long day, and I think we should leave seeing my mom and go lay down. I can get you whatever you want, or everything for you,” Jinwoo took it a step further and ran his hand over your baby bump. “And whatever these two need, you’re going to have cravings soon, right?”

“I am…” It didn’t stop you crying, but took your mind off things. “I’m getting cravings already- I just wasn’t sure what-“

“Shh, shh…” You let him embrace you, stroke your hair lovingly to soothe you. “We can trial it. See what you like and don’t like, then I’ll buy one hundred of it, okay?”

“Okay…” Sniffling into his shirt, you clung to it. “Okay… that sounds good.”

Just like that, you were starting to rely on him. Jinwoo wanted to give you the entire world, to you and the babies.

All he wanted from you was that love in return, eventually. The rest of the world could leave for the day, including the chairman and whatever intentions he had.

Jinwoo could sort it later. You and his babies were the top priority.

Part 10 <- Part 11 -> Part 12

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DISCLAIMER - Crossposted from my AO3 - I do not own any of the characters or anything from the anime or manhwa. This is a work of fan fiction and is absolutely not representative of the views or intentions of the original creator(s).

Also please don’t post any of my work without permission thank you!

[fangirlfied]

It's so late at night (almost 4 a.m.) but as I was on TikTok after watching hours and hours of videos of my favorite KPOP and JPOP artists from when I was a fan of those industries, I found myself upon the Korean Hip-Hop tag, just to see what was new (nothing much for what I've seen) and suddenly I found an edit of IRON, a Korean rapper who wasn't probably the best person, but who, for what I remember, people hated on too much for stating facts on his music.

Coming from the original line-up of BTS (when they were supposed to become a Hip-Hop group in the Epik High way instead of an idol boy group like they are now), and low-class of South Korea, this man had INSANE talent as a lyricist and a rapper, I don't care how horrible you think he was, the things he proved he could do on 'Show Me The Money 3' were AMAZING!

He used to tackle poverty in South Korea, the corruption of the country's goverment and the hypocresy and easy pass idols got compared to non idol citizens, which leads me to remind everyone most rappers, as much of a baddie image they try to pull are almost all (I literally can only think of one that isn't) rich boys acting like they're from the hood when none of them know what it even feels to not have enough money to survive day by day, and IRON, or Jung Hunchul understood that, because he came from the side of the society that Bong Joon-Ho portrayed on 'Parasite' (2019).

Some of his songs, if translated say some of the most heartbreaking things I've ever read in Korean, nothing from K-POP can compare, the only things on that level of honesty, unfairness and a broken system that works for the rich, are the 90's hip-hop that 2Pac and Nas came up with along with other bunch of black kids trying to survive in a broken system, just like IRON did in his home country, South Korea.

In no way I'm defending his actions, but there are certain vile comments I've seen about him and his death just because he's not faking a perfect personality that the public might love (like most idols do, trust me, they're rich kids in a very socially unaware country. Like my guys, I've seen from cultural appropiation issues yearly to ACTUAL nazi scandals on KPOP, come on!) that at some point I had to write this down, because quite frankly, IRON deserved better, sure he did horrible things, but he wasn't evil, just like many loved rappers from the USA aren't considered evil for doing horrible things....I just wished people knew the IRON I had the chance to see:

PS: He said FACTS about BigBang's T.O.P and G-DRAGON's drug use and how they should have gone to jail if the avarage citizen had to go to jail, and I say this as a V.I.P, and as someone who has BigBang as their favs...The dude spill facts about how horrible South Korean society was and still is today.

[saltnsugarbear]

i see you’ve tentatively opened ur inbox for bob requests lmaoo, may i TIMIDLY request a fox that flips the whole “bob has a breakdown reader comes to help” narrative? ITS A GOOD NARRATIVE but there’s soooo many fics of that, give us some protective bob! some bob with emotional weight!!

shyly putting this on the Robert Reynolds x reader tags doorstep

thank you for the idea, my love! I wanted to see how I felt writing for Bob and if I could find his voice in myself,,,,, I wanted to contribute and I want to give him kisses so thank you thank you <3

I went a bit,,,, idk not like a meltdown but I wanted Bob to be the one that had hope and whimsy!!! Bob is the one to banish the doubt and sadness!!! I feel unsure about this piece and if I like it but here you go Bob enjoyers <3

word count: 1.8k

content warnings: gender neutral reader, 🍃 smoking to cope with existence/trauma/thoughts, reader and Walker have a non-descript past, post Thunderbolts*, existential dread,

side note: did you guys know Bob might have photokinensis (control/production of light) which is pretty cool idk also he dropped out of high school and his addiction started in middle school :( his wiki made me sad

Bob takes care of you in little ways. Quiet ways.

You've learned that he loves quietly. He does your laundry, folds your clothes neatly, and puts them away. He knows your coffee order better than his own, what meals you prefer depending on the restaurant when the team orders out. Bob knows it's easier for you to fall asleep around the team than by yourself, and despite warnings from Walker, how violently you could wake up.

That's how the team first found out Bob could... Well... Glow, for lack of a better description.

Bob's photokinesis was jarring for the whole group. Ava and Yelena whispered softly as they put away blankets while Walker and Bucky picked up leftover trash, snacks, and dishes. Alexei was the only other person asleep on the other side of the couch, so Bob was left hovering near where you rest. No one was paying attention to his silent turmoil, not wanting to turn on the lights in the room and risking a disgruntled group of half-awake Avengerz but not wanting to risk catching an elbow to the stomach like Alexei had earlier that week.

He was so wrapped up in his own thoughts he hadn't noticed that Ava and Yelena had stopped talking. Bob didn't notice the soft glow even as your brows scrunched together, and you grumbled an annoyed "Walker.."

"What?" He chirped defensively, not bothering to look in your direction as he stacked cups in a bowl.

"Turn off the light," you complain, burrowing further into your blanket.

"What ligh-" Walker cuts himself off when he looks over.

Bob misses the way that the girls glance to Walker, who looks to Bucky. None of them had seen Bob display any other powers after the Void's fit over New York. So the soft glow emitting from the man's skin gave them pause, unsure if they should intervene or stay silent. Finally, after a few minutes of staring and your quiet grumbling, Walker makes a choice.

"Bobby-" The sharpness of John's voice makes Bob startle, a bright flash of light blinding him before the room is dark again.

"What the hell," you grumble, finally opening your eyes, officially awake after that. "Why are you yelling at him?"

"I didn't yell-" Walker starts.

"You raised your voice."

"I did not raise-"

"And you know he doesn't like when you call him Bobby." You tack on.

"I know, I forgot." John huffs, glancing at Bob. "Sorry, kid."

"It's fine.." Bob assures him passively, tangling his fingers together as his softly drags a nail over his skin. "I- I didn't turn on the lights, though?"

"You were the light." Ava says bluntly, and Yelena can't help but nod.

"You were glowing, Bob." She says it the same way she would tell him that he was wearing a grey sweater or he had done the dishes.

"I.. I was?" He asks, glancing at each of his housemates for confirmation. Ava huffs with an endeared roll of her eyes while Yelena nods solemnly again. Bucky and John look the most put-off but the revelation, so Bob is unsure if he should be alarmed or not.

"Next time you decide to glow, Bob," You start collecting your blanket as you prepare to get up. "Do it when I'm awake. And when I have sunglasses on, in case you decide to blind Johnny again."

"O-Okay.." He nods, shuffling back so you can stand up.

"Thanks, bub," you say softly, nudging him with your shoulder as you pass. He hums shortly, watching as you make your way down the hall.

The rest of the supers watch Bob quietly before Yelena speaks up.

"We will be talking about this tomorrow.." An easy dismissal that the others agree on, different noises and hums from them. Bob nods, shifting as he watches everyone else clear up. Ava sighs quietly and gives him a pitying look.

"We're not upset, Bob, just surprised. Go get ready for bed." The reassurance settles something in his stomach. He feels like he's can let out a breath again. Bob carries those words with him when he climbs into bed.

Not upset. Just surprised.

Bob can live with that.

Being in an apartment full of people in different stages of recovery from varying substances can be... Stifling, for when you want to let loose. You, Ava, and Bucky all made a vote to keep any form of alcohol or drug stronger than Tylenol out of the house. For the sake of the remaining Avengerz. The three of you also agreed your votes counted as more, as the people least affected by the ban, when the other four tried to argue against it. Not that Bob had much reason to fight it. It was for the better, really.

Except, you didn't realize how horribly this plan backfired until you wanted to smoke or have a glass of wine after an annoying day with Valentina or reading a particularly gruesome article. Or dealing with the most recent, Sam's copyright lawsuit.

As such, your only options were drinking in the dark of your bedroom or standing on the balcony and smoking. The latter is the more appealing, letting you watch the streets with a level of detachment you only got when you were high. The rest of the team had dispersed to their separate night activities, watching TV or sparring or training.

So, you're surprised when you hear the door open behind you. You turn to look out of reflex, and your curiosity peaks when you spot Bob in the doorway. He sniffs softly, and you remember the joint between your fingers.

"Oh, fuck-" You scramble to put out the joint, stubbing it out against the railing. "Sorry."

"It's fine, never really liked pot.." He laughs softly. Bob watches silently as you tuck it away in a small tin and shove it back into your pocket. "What are you, uh.. What are you doing out here?"

"Needed some quiet to... Well..." You sigh. "Like you guys and everything but.."

You let out a deep breath, leaning against the railing heavily. Bob nods behind you, taking a few steps closer to where you stand. He took the stubbing of the joint as the silent invitation it was to stay out with you.

"Alexei is a little loud... Ava and Walker are always fighting." Bob shares quietly.

"Not fighting," You muse before you look back at him. "Maybe bickering?"

"Bickering.." Bob agrees quietly, nodding a little. You hum before turning back to the city lights.

"C'mere," you call him over, glancing back at him when you don't hear him move. "I'm not gonna let you fall."

The assurance makes Bob's stomach twist with an emotion he can't name but is finding himself familiar with the longer he's a part of the team. He muses over it long enough that eventually you hold your hand out to him, not bothering to turn to him. Bob tugs at the cuff of his sleeve before putting his wrist in your grasp.

He doesn't miss the huff you let out, but it follows as you gently tug him closer to the railing. He can feel a flush making its way to his face when you cradle his forearm against your side like a football. Your hold on his arm is gentle but firm, keeping him in place beside you.

"Those people will never know what we go through..." You say quietly, watching people jay-walk, honk their horns at one another, and pass each other in fleeting steps.

"Isn't that the point?" Bob asks, keeping his eyes on the buildings, watching people walk the halls and live their lives. You make a noise beside him, contemplating it silently. You dwell on it for a few minutes before you speak up again.

"Do you ever... Regret signing up for that Sentry serum shit?" You ask Bob softly, eyes tracing the cars as they wind around the city. Bob hums softly, tilting his head this way and that as he thought.

"I wouldn't have met you guys... Probably still doing meth and signing spinning... So this is probably better?" He says it like it's a question, and then he nods. "I don't think I regret it."

You nod, letting that sit in the air, wishing you could cling to that feeling he had. You can't find it in yourself tonight, grabbing around for something that isn't there.

"Do you regret yours?" Bob asks in turn. You turn it over in your mind for a couple of minutes, listening to the city noise.

"I was a kid..." You tell him. "I didn't know... I didn't-"

You cut yourself off, letting out a breath. "I'd stop myself if I could go back."

"Then you wouldn't be here, and we wouldn't be here.." Bob protests quietly.

"You guys could still do this without me," you counter, crossing your arms over the railing. "Be the New Avengerz... Deal with Valentina, play dress up every now and then..."

"Who would fix Walker's shield?" Bob asks quietly, and you can't help but scoff. It's not a mean scoff, more of a huff of exasperation and fondness for the man.

"He can still fight crime with a taco," you tell him. "Sometimes the doubt and the pain is just...."

"All consuming," He fills in. You nod. It's the only way to describe it on nights like tonight.

"Guess you would know something about that." You sigh, having forgotten who you were talking to. He shrugs beside you, making a sound of indifference.

"It's not always like that." Bob reminds you. "Like a wave or- or Ava. It comes and goes."

The comparison makes you snort, ducking your head to hide your grin. Bob sees it, though, adopting a small smile of his own.

"You guys made it better, though."

"Even Walker?" You muse. That keeps Bob quiet for a moment.

"Not always, but... It has to be better than dealing with it alone?"

You hum softly, mulling over his words. Apply them to the pit gnawing at your stomach and climbing at your throat.

"It eventually goes away... Even if it's just for an hour or a month." Bob says. "Like the seasons..."

His words settle over you like a blanket, soothing the doubts in your brain.

"You should become a therapist," you tell him. Your words surprise a laugh out of Bob. You sigh softly, feeling the light buzz behind your eyes.

You lean against him but just enough that if he pulled away, you wouldn't fall over. Instead, Bob finds the pressure comforting. The feeling of his arm cradled against your body and your weight beside him fills Bob with an overwhelming sense of peace. He doesn't even release he's leaning against you as well.

You hum quietly, taking the small victory of him pushing against you. He's warm, even through his sweater, and it bleeds into your own being, taking that warmth and holding in your chest as you look at the city. There's a soft glow in your periphery, and you can't help but grin.

"You're glowing again."

[thegingerwriter]

You Seem Familiar - Bob Reynolds x reader - Part 1 of Thunder and Lullabys

Warnings/Tags: Bob and reader both throw up when they wake up, no details, future smut, not in this chapter, idiots in love, first chapter

Words: 2.2k If you wanna be tagged lemme know x

A humming noise jolts you awake, and you have barely any time to get any words out before you’re exposed to a bright light in your face, retinas feeling like they’re on fire.

“B-Bob…” You croak, your voice hoarse from lack of use, trying to remember the last events that lead to…where are you? You don’t even know why you say it, the name just coming to your brain immediately like it was the last thing you said before you passed out. When did you pass out? Your skin tingles everywhere, ears ringing from the humming noise that awoke you, pins and needles stabbing your hands and feet from lying down so long. How long had you been in here? God I’m fucking starving, you thought.

The humming noise is getting louder, and suddenly the top of…whatever you are in flies open, and you can’t help but sit up immediately, the urge to throw up everything in your insides strong.

“Oh god-.” You manage to get out, right before jumping (closer to falling) out of the box and throwing up on the cold hard floor you land on, other noises around you telling you to stay alert, but your body needs more than 10 seconds before it’s even fully awake.

You hear what you assume is gunshots, and you look up frantically to see multiple pairs of eyes on you, none of them look like a “Bob”, a name you remember without a face.

“What the hell?!” A man with a faded shield with colors that have been faded (or maybe painted?) speaks up, and suddenly there are guns pointed at you. Three guns.

“Woah, woah woah!” You exclaim, throwing your arms up, finally realizing you are barefoot. “What the hell! Peace! I come in peace!” Your voice is still croaky from…however long you were not using it for, and the others in the room look at you, visibly confused.

As you look at them, you begin to realize only one of them seems likely to shoot, the man with the shield, while the others seem more confused and curious.

“Who are you? How did you get in here?” The women with white-blonde hair slicked back onto her head speaks up, lowering her gun only slightly as she speaks with a mild Russian accent.

“I don’t even know where I-.” You start but you are cut off by the same humming noise you heard barely a minute ago, and whooshing sound, like a seal being broken. You barely move out of the way in time before a man in the same pajama-like clothes as you is leaping (again, more like falling) out of the box before pushing past you and collapsing to his knees to hurl the contents up in his stomach, same as you just moments ago.

“Woah hey are you alright?” You reach down to touch his arm, still wobbly yourself from throwing up and you see him look up through his shaggy light brown hair. His eyes are bright blue, and for a second something flashes in them. The bright lights, you tell yourself.

You reach a hand out for him to grab and he does with a small, exasperated smile. “Thanks,” he says, his voice just as croaky. Something about you is familiar.

“Okay, now what the hell IS GOING ON!” The man with the shield yells, and you both flinch, confused why you are being yelled out when you are equally confused by the current situation.

“I’m…Bob.” The man beside you puts his hands up in surrender. Bob. Why is that name familiar? You remember it. You said it when you woke up. But no part of him seems or looks familiar to you. Other than the fact you are both wearing the same clothes.

The four of them look at you expectantly and you shrug lightly, hands raised again. “I’m Y/n. And I don’t know how the hell I got here.” You admit.

The other woman in the room, in a black mechanic suit with long brain hair speaks up next, her British accent smooth. “Sorry, we were just discussing the fact that we were all sent here to kill each other. What the hell are these two doing here then?”

“Good question,” The man with the shield raises his gun directly at the two of you, and you stumble back into Bob, his face going red when you turn to look at him and apologize.

“Walker, enough.” The woman with the white hair says.

“Easy for you to say Yelena, I’m a decorated veteran, why would Valentina want to kill me?” The man- Walker- replies, dropping his gun but refusing to holster it as he looks at everyone accusingly.

You look at Bob as they continue arguing- he’s staring at the ceiling as his feet seem to just wander backwards, looking around the room with curious wonder you can’t help but look at in awe. You do the same though, looking around the giant metal room, full of desks, tables, cargo boxes and…whatever the hell you woke up in.

“Hey, you two! Don’t wander off!” Walker yells out, and you jump again, turning to look at him.

“Stop yelling at them-.” The woman who you now know as Yelena tries to defend you both, clearly understanding you both have absolutely no idea what the hell is going on, but a loud beep (almost like an alarm?) fills the room, echoing off the walls loudly as one by one, the four walls with the only open doors shut. The metal door slams down, sending heavy vibrations through the floor. You look frantically around the room, spotting all exits cut off before staring directly upwards at the four square holes in the ceiling, heat seemingly radiating from them. You want to say something, bring it to people’s attention, but you are terrified.

“What the hell was that?!” You yell, bumping into Bob again.

“It’s Valentina. It’s not a shredder. It’s an incinerator.” The British woman replies, more to herself than anything else. “I’m not sticking around to find out, let’s get out of here.”

“Ava, don’t!” Yelena yells out as Ava presses a button on her collar, and her helmet covers her head, suddenly making her disappear.

“Woah…” Bob says in awe beside you.

You both watch as Ava reappears at the closest solid metal door, and she runs into it head first, her body flickering as if a lightbulb running out of battery, and a high pitched squeal fills the entire room. Everyone throws their hands over their ears to try and block it out, your ears ringing and body aching from pushing hard against them. It’s a couple seconds before it stops, and when it does, you struggle to find your breathe again.

“Jesus Christ.” Ava says, seemingly the most affected, pulling herself up from the ground from where she collapsed, her helmet now off and no longer seemingly flickering in and out of existence.

“Can we stop with the incredibly loud noises?” Bob pleads quietly, shaking his head slightly after removing his hands from his ears.

“I second that.” You agree, and you look back at Bob as you say it, and he breaks the eye contact quickly.

“We have 2 minutes.” Yelena says, pointing at the digital timers on the walls behind all of you, counting down from 1:58. Shit.

“Until what?” You say, but one look from Yelena says it’s not something you want to find out.

“Hold on. We don’t know it’s bad. It could be 2 minutes before they come to pick me up. I’m a valuable asset.” Walker cuts in, and before anyone else can even disagree, Ava gives him the nastiest look.

“I’m sorry, were you dropped on your head as a child? Do you not feel the temperature in here rising dramatically as the room physically heats up?” Ava says, voice dripping with sarcasm and heavy annoyance as she replies, Yelena already looking frantically around the room for a solution.

Walker looks surprisingly defeated. “Yea okay it’s an incinerator.”

Ava throws up her arms in exasperation.

The room begins to heat up and you sweat immensely as the both the temperature and the atmosphere begin to rise.

“We need to find the power source for the vibrations that stopping Ava from getting through the wall. We figure that out- she can ghost through the wall and open up the door from the outside for us. It’s the only way we get out of here alive.” Yelena commands the room and thank god, because everyone else looks (understandably) incredibly lost.

You jump into action with everyone else, panic setting in and your heart racing fast inside your chest. You follow along behind Bob, something about him making him feel like the safest option out of everybody else in the room. Where did you both come from? The boxes? Where were you? Who were all these people? Hundreds of questions swirled in your head as your ran around the room, looking for…whatever it was you were looking for.

Bob wrings his hands out, pushing them together nervously as he plays with his fingers.

“You okay?” You ask, and he looks startled at your question. As if on constant alert and acknowledging you is showing weakness.

“Oh- um- aside from about to die? Fine.” He gives you a small smile, and your heart skips a beat for just a moment. You take in his state, so similar to yours. Frightened, messy hair, clammy skin. But Bob stands out to you- his smile pulling at something in your chest and your brain. It’s just the adrenaline and the fact that you think he is familiar! The voice in your head yells at you, but you can’t shake it. His blue eyes look at you as if directly through you- almost like he’s reading every single thought inside your head.

“Are you?” Bob surprises you by returning the question, continuing to look around the room, his hand idly touching boxes as if he hopes something will scream at him ‘bingo!’ if touches it and listens hard enough.

“Uh, like you said. Pretty much the same.”

Bob is silent, and you feel he is about to say something, but you beat him to it.

“Hey, I feel like I might know-.” You begin, but are cut off by Ava shouting, “Over here!”

You shake your head, ignoring the way Bob is tilting his head curiously at you as you run towards the noise, him right behind you.

You both catch up to the group, seeing them crowded around a tall metal box, Ava pushing her ear to it. You hear a soft humming sound, assuming it’s the box.

“It’s this. It’s the power source.” Ava confirms, and Yelena pushes her out of the way as nicely as one can, pulling out a device from her pocket.

“I can override this-.” Yelena reaches her hand up to touch it, but Walker is quick to push her roughly.

“I got this.” Walker says, barely giving anyone enough time to either move out of the way or protect themselves as he throws his shield into it, sparks flying dramatically as the entire thing explodes with a loud noise- electrically sparking and the humming noise coming to a halt.

“Jesus Christ, I had it!” Yelena cries, but she dismisses it quickly, looking at Ava expectantly as we all do.

There is a beat of silence, and she looks at us expectantly.

“GO!” We all yell in unison, running towards the closest door, stopping halfway between the middle of the room and the door, letting Ava go forward as her helmet comes over her again- her entire body disappearing as we watch her phase through the wall, her body flickering again just like before. But this time, she disappears instead of the load screeching that resulted the last time.

You wait, it is hot in the room now, the squares above you bright red as you watch the timer tick down in silence. 20 seconds.

“Is she… she’s coming back…right?” Bob says, and there’s something emotional in his voice that makes me want to grab his hand.

“I should have seen this coming.” Walker admits, exasperation and disappointment clear in his voice.

“No she’ll… she’ll come.” Yelena promises, and we all instinctively look at the clock. 10 seconds.

Out of fear, and… something…else, You grab Bob’s hand. He jumps slightly, but surprisingly grabs it back, lacing his fingers with you awkwardly as you squeeze his sweaty hand. You don’t look at him, because you’re worried you’ll burst into tears at the situation if you do. You close your eyes, breathing in through your nose carefully.

5.

4.

3-

The sound of the metal door opening jerks all of you, and you see the door ahead rise at a steady rate, but there’s no time. Yelena is the first to move, and you are right behind her, not letting go of Bob’s hand as you push forward, the timer reaching 0 behind you as you sprint to the door, a beep and the heat exploding in your body telling you that you are all out of time.

You wear Walker swear, Yelena in front of you and Bob looking back to see if you’re going to make it.

A sudden explosion behind you has you being propelled forward, ears ringing as a loud boom rattles through your body. You scream, accidentally letting go of Bob’s hand in the process of being flung forward by the explosion, heat radiating through your entire body.

Everything hurts all at once when you crash into the floor on the other side of the door, hearing it slam, not knowing if Bob is with you or if anyone is even alive. You have no time to ask as the crash catches up to within seconds, and you black out.

Part 2 is here.

[crowsofdarkness]

The Void: One

-gif not mine. credit to owners-

Pairings: Thunderbolts!Bucky Barnes x BlackWidow!Enhanced!Reader

Content Warnings: violence, language, blood, angst, and 18+ smut.

Summary: Hydra used her as a weapon, then, becoming one of the original widows, Zima was ready to live the rest of her days in hiding. When someone from her Red Room past comes looking to cash in on a favor, she has no choice but to strap up to face this new enemy threatening New York. Even if one of the people asking for her help was the one who trained her in Hydra, the one whom she swore she would kill the next time she saw him. The Winter Soldier. The only problem? Bucky doesn't remember her.

Authors Note: this series will take place during Thunderbolts*, so I don't think it will be a long series. It is a reader insert, but "Zima" is the name she went by in the Red Room and Hydra due to her white hair. according to Google Translate, Zima means winter. tags are open!

Tags: @lisiliely @muchwita @tellybearryyyy @fries11 @multifandomgirl2018

Bucky let out a long sigh while pinching his eyes shut, the background chatter nearly grating on his ears. This was supposed to be a quick pick up and then he could bring this group of people back home so he could use them against Val in her trial. The jet was set to land in about five minutes but part of him feared he wouldn’t make it that long with all the chattering. Not to mention, his phone conversation with Mel and what Yelena had just finished telling him, Bucky’s mind was heavy with a new plan. 

“Alright, so explain this plan again,” Bucky said after freeing everyone. 

“Val has plans on using Bob as a new weapon. You didn’t see what we did, Bucky,” Yelena said with a voice thick of regret. “We need to stop Val and save Bob.” 

It was evident that she felt this need to protect Bob which is why Bucky ended up agreeing to this. Out of everyone in this new group, he only knew Walker and even then he was a bit hesitant to work with him. But he couldn’t simply walk away from this. Unfortunately for all of them, they were a group of rejects compared to the other heroes that had been attempting to save the world since The Avengers went their separate ways. At the thought of Steve, Bucky’s heart sank knowing that he would never see nor talk to his best friend again. 

It had been nearly five years since Steve left him and it was something Bucky was still dealing with. Yes, he had Sam but with him busy being the new Captain America, Bucky always found himself alone. He’d go home to his nice house in the quiet suburbs, stay in an empty house, and try not to let the past memories drag him down to the darkness. 

Bucky was so tired of being alone. So fucking tired of walking into an empty house with no one to talk with about his day. The cold bed and even colder atmosphere often reminded him of when Hydra would keep him frozen for long periods of time. Bucky wouldn’t admit this to anyone, let alone the Thunderbolts, but he was exhausted from pretending to be okay when the past began haunting him whenever he slept. 

For a long time, the nightmares of what he did in Hydra stopped. Until recently. About a month ago, they started up again only this time it wasn't what he did but more so, who he was with during that. Never once did he see a face, the only thing he saw was a shadow figure with white hair and piercing eyes. Every time he dreamed of this figure, their name would be on the tip of his tongue only never getting the chance to utter it because he woke up right before. There was this feeling of familiarity filling his heart whenever he awoke from one of those nightmares but whenever he tried to remember who this figure was, it was as if the memories locked themselves up into a vault. 

“How sure are you that we can stop Val and this Sentry?” Bucky asked with his hands low on hips, forcing himself not to think more of his lonely life at home. 

“Bob,” Yelena corrected. 

He rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Bob.” 

“He’s strong,” Ava said, everyone agreeing with her. “It’s going to be hard for all of us. If I’m being honest, I don’t think we’ll be able to do it with the five of us.”

“What do you mean? This is a team of super soldiers,” Walker said with a smug smile. 

Ava rolled her eyes. “Oh don’t flatter yourself.” 

As those two bickered with each other, Alexi couldn’t stop hiding his grin while he stared at everyone in this makeshift team. Yelena on the other hand, wore a frown so deep Bucky was afraid it would etch into her skin. She was pacing the length of the abandoned gas station garage while running a hand through her hair. 

“What’s wrong?” Bucky questioned. 

“We need someone else, someone that can help us to save Bob,” she held up a finger, not stopping her pacing. 

“Do you know anyone? Maybe an old Avenger or something?” Walker asked, joining the conversation after bickering with Ava. 

Yelena shook her head. “No, not an old Avenger. But someone else.” 

Everyone waited for her to say who but Yelena kept pacing while muttering something under her breath. 

“The thing is, I haven’t spoken to her in years, not since I was in the Red Room. She was the only one of the widows that were enhanced which made her useful in certain situations. Not only that, she was the original widow. Dreykov brought her in after her old organization threw her out.” 

Something inside of Bucky fluttered but he quickly pushed down the unknown feeling as Alexi and Yelena shared a look, making Bucky shift on his feet. 

“What is it? What was her old organization?” 

Alexi ran a hand over his beard with a long sigh. “Maybe you should sit down, Bucky.”

“Who was her old organization?” He asked again, this time staring directly at Yelena. 

“Hydra,” she answered with zero hesitation. 

Bucky’s body went rigid as his vibranium arm began to burn at where the old, matted scars were on his shoulder. Granted some of his memories during his time in Hydra were still a jumbled mess inside of his head, he couldn’t ever recall someone else being held there with him so it had to have been on another Hydra base. One he wasn’t held at. 

Everyone fell silent for a moment before Alexi broke the silence. “Yelena, we’d be wasting time chasing a ghost. Zima has not been seen in over ten years, not since Dreykov died.” 

Zima. 

Bucky flinched at hearing the name, flash images of the shadow figure with white hair appeared in his line of vision, nearly knocking him on his ass. He held out a hand against the wall to his left to steady himself. He’d never heard of this name before so why did it feel like someone had been repeatedly stabbing his brain over and over again? With clenched teeth, Bucky rubbed his temples hoping that would ease away the growing headache. But the burning didn’t go away, it only got stronger the more they talked about Zima. 

“What’s to say this Zima chick will even help us?” Walker raised a good point, placing his shield over his back. 

“She owes me a favor,” Yelena shrugged as if she already knew this Zima would agree. 

When the burning finally subsided for a moment, Bucky slowly opened his eyes. “Do you even know where to find her?” 

“According to another widow, they saw her in a market square three weeks ago. Seems like she traded being a serial assassin for being a gardener.” 

Just then, their attention had been pulled to the large jet that landed right in the middle of the desert about twenty feet away from their hideout. Bucky chewed on the inside of his cheek, debating on if this plan was a good idea. Even though he didn’t know who this Zima was, there was a pestering voice in his head telling him not to do it. 

“Do we even have time for a side quest?” Walker asked. 

“We have to make time if we want to stop Val and save Bob,” Yelena said as if we didn’t really have a choice. 

Opening the garage door, Bucky and the others gathered all of their things before walking towards the jet. 

“Back to D.C, Congressmen Barnes?” The pilot asked as he opened the ramp of the jet, allowing them inside. 

Bucky glanced over to Yelena who simply patted the pilot's chest. “Change of plans. We’re headed to Greece.”

READER A.K.A ZIMA

On a remote part of Gavdos island, south of Crete, Greece. 

I hummed a soft tune to myself as I worked tirelessly in my garden, the setting sun burning against my bare shoulders. My skin and clothes were covered in dirt and sweat. Thankfully I’d tied my long white hair back in a tight braid so it stayed out of my face, albeit a few strands had fallen free due to my constant work all day. The idea of washing away today’s filth and then sitting in front of the fireplace with my kindle brought a smile to my tired face. 

It’s the same thing I’ve done almost every day since I moved here about two years ago. Work on my small cottage style home on this hidden part of the island then reward myself with a good book. Every so often, I would venture out to the town whether it be to buy groceries or get a cup of coffee. But given where I came from and who I was, I opted not to be seen in public unless absolutely necessary. 

I’d been in hiding for the last ten years, moving every two so I wasn’t in the same place for long. I had a very heavy past, I hurt and killed many due to Dreykov’s orders, so I was sure someone would want revenge. Not to mention I’d run from Hydra before my time in the Red Room but with Dreykov, I’d been protected. When he died, that wasn’t the case anymore so I knew I needed to hide. I knew Hydra fell years ago but I couldn’t be too sure. 

By now, I would have moved to a different country to start a new life but as time went on here, I found myself building a life and a home. Something I hadn’t done in previous places. 

Rising from my garden, my old bones popped back into place as I stretched my tired limbs. Staring off into the distance, I could see the waves of the ocean lapping up against the beach that was just below the cliffs edge at my property. I was the only one living on this part of the island which while it did make for some lonely times, it was a peaceful solace. 

“Maybe I’ll go for a swim tomorrow,” I told myself before dusting my dirty hands on my grey overalls and began packing up all of my gardening tools. 

As I stepped out of my shed, something in the air felt off causing me to stiffen, the tips of my fingers burnings. Electricity charged then sparked to life creating lightning at my fingertips as I whirled around on my heels, coming face to face with someone I hadn’t seen in a very long time. 

“Well, good to know those still work.” 

I blinked with parted lips, trying to gather if the person in front of me was actually here. 

“Yelena?” I asked, still unsure. 

The blonde, with much shorter hair since I saw her last, smiled brightly at me. “Long time no see, Zima. How are things?” 

I shrugged, still letting the lightning charge my finger tips. “Can’t complain.” 

“Oh, I love fresh bread!” 

Snapping my head to the right, I glared at the person who stalked out of my house with a mouthful of fresh bread, the red leather suit three sizes too small for him. 

“The Red Guardian,” I clicked my tongue. “I didn’t realize this was a Red Room reunion. 10 years goes by so fast, huh?” 

Alexi sat down on one of the chairs on the front porch while Yelena took a tentative step closer towards me. She looked like she’d been through absolute hell and the exhaustion weighed heavy on her shoulders. 

“We need your help,” she said. 

The lightning charged even more now in my finger tips, crackling into the air. “Why the fuck would I help you?” 

“You owe me a favor and you were always good at returning those favors,” she stated matter of factly. 

I cursed, knowing exactly what she was talking about. Back when we were in the Red Room together, Yelena helped me with something I refused to talk about even to this day. I told her if she ever needed my help, I’d be there no questions asked. 

I just didn’t think it would take her ten years to cash in on that favor. I thought she’d forgotten by now, given everything that happened with Natasha. Even though I’d been in hiding, I still kept up to date with current events like her sister dying and the snap. Thankfully, I’d been one who survived the snap. 

Letting out a breath, I curtly nodded, ready to agree but halted for a moment. “You said we. As in you and Alexi?” 

“No,” Alexi chuckled, wiping the crumbs off his lap. “We as in the Thunderbolts.” 

I raised a brow, looking back at Yelena, who was trying her hardest not to hide her face behind her hands. 

"The Thunderbolts?” I questioned. 

All of a sudden, the lightning at my fingertips seemed to have intensified when an all too familiar presence loomed behind me. I knew this presence anywhere. I’d spent countless nights with this presence during my time in Hydra. My powers were created in order to bring this presence his deepest pain. This presence was the sole reason why I ran from Hydra. 

Turning swiftly on my heels, I locked eyes with the familiar pair of blue ones that belonged to The Winter Soldier. 

“Hi,” he gave me a small smile. “I’m Bucky-.” 

Before he could finish his sentence, I shot him with a large strip of lightning, it bouncing off of his vibranium arm and lighting up the now dark skies. 

[sempiternalmuze]

Running Through the Halls of Your Haunted Home

Jack Abbott x doctor!Reader who has some problems being loved

tags: dr. jack abbott x female!reader, hurt comfort, reader runs away for a bit (story takes place when shes back), Robby being Jacks best friend, age/jobs not really established, implied not great childhood for reader, jack loves her ohmygod??, jack would never leave her tbh, a bit more flowery than i'm used to writing so let me know, let me know if i missed anything!

word count: 2.3k

Five months. That was the timeframe Robby had laid out for you when you'd came to him a few days after Christmas, explaining that you needed a break, need time away from the Pitt, the city, the state. He'd been kind enough to not ask too many questions, but you knew he'd hear it sooner than later directly from Jack during one of their therapy sessions.

So three days after Christmas you packed your bag, grabbed your passport, and changed your number. From one day to the next you had gone from Pittsburgh Trauma Medical Center to Portel, Brazil with Doctors Without Borders.

And you lived. You took the time you needed to find your peace again, to pick up the pieces that you had left behind in the dusty apartment Jack and you had shared.

But now it was May-- and Robbie was calling your number every few days. And today when you answered he'd sounded at about wit's end.

"Time's up kid, we need you back here." He sighed, and you could almost see his hand running over his face, tired and no doubt thinking about a fourth—fifth—coffee.

You had stayed silent for a moment, playing with the sheet of your hammock. You glanced at the tents set up by the river, kids running around in a game of tag, parents watching from the sides as they spoke to the other doctors on your crew.

"What if I told you I liked it here more? Then what?" You said, glancing back at the water.

Robby lets out a throaty laugh, one that pulls you away and forces you back to the shuffle of the Pitt. "Because if you did, you would've just said that."

It's a valid point— and true. You wouldn't be asking, wouldn't be hoping he'd tell you any different. You probably would have blocked him, sent an email to Gloria and moved on with your life.

"And I also know what you've got waiting." He whispered. And he was right. You wouldn't just leave like that and not tell Jack. The only reason you had been able to do it the first time was because you knew it was temporary, and small fold in the story you two shared.

"How is he?" The weight was heavy on your shoulders, an invisible force that only left in the depths of night and that was if you were tired enough to fall asleep as soon as your head hit your pillow. Jack was strong, and smart. He'd been through so much worse than a girl who was afraid.

"Well...he visits the roof a lot more now. The first few weeks were...well they were real bad kid." He pauses, like considering what would be too much to tell you. "I offered him to come stay with me, get away from the apartment, but he said he liked it. It gave him a reason to hold on."

Reasons to hold, how very Jack Abbott of him. To want to have hope, to find the reasons even though he wasn't sure where any of it would lead.

"He'd doing better now, I don't have to act like a hostage negotiator too much these days. He comes out to the park with us after work and he makes jokes with the new med students. But he misses you, a lot."

You nodded with a hum into the phone. The sun was so peaceful this time of day, it bounced off the water and on to your skin. You let your eyes close and let your mind drift back to those months ago, from even before the fight, to when things were still solid between the two of you.

Walks in the park after a long shift, hands intertwined as he poked fun at you for your decisions during a shift. The nights spent in bed, room slightly too cold because otherwise you'd burn up with his body heat. Even on the days when it was hard, when his active duty days caught up to him, there was still something to have, because he'd let you hold him, let himself talk and talk about the people and the days of roughing it, of the bad things he saw, of the pain of a leg that was no longer attached to his physical being.

"Kid, I gotta let Gloria know by tonight. Are you back?" Robby's voice broke through the speaker with a crack of static.

"Of course I am Robby."

Now you were running through the airport, hair a mess, sanity hardly in tact. Cassie had been kind enough to come grab you after dropping off Harrison with Chad for the weekend. Today and tomorrow would be your days to get settled, then straight back to it on Monday.

"I've missed you so much!" She squealed, arms wrapped around your center tightly. "You have no idea how much it sucks to have to take on that waiting room with myself and Javadi." She laughs.

"Oh I bet, what would you ever do without me?" You laughed. You held her tight before you both crawled into the car. She started the engine, waving off some security yelling at her and took off.

"How was it?" She asks, face covered in excitement.

"It was amazing Cassie. The people, the pace, the location, all of it was just-perfect." You sigh and throw your head back. "I think it was exactly what I needed."

"That's great." She says. Her tone tells you that there's something else, something on her mind that she isn't saying out loud.

It takes about three minutes of uncomfortable silence and a red traffic light for her to turn to you. "Have you talked to him?"

Cassie was one of about four people who definitely knew what was going on between you and Jack, one of a few who knew lengths you'd go for one another. Her tone is soft, prodding but not overstepping.

"No, Cass I...I didn't want to do anything that might...I don't know, hurt more than it already would?" You sighed. You covered your face with your hands. "I felt horrible, for taking off on him the way I did. But I just...I knew that he'd make me stay."

Cass nods along, listening. She takes your hands in hers, holding it softly over the center console. She doesn't push or try to interject her own thoughts about the whole thing into your mind. She knows you well enough to know that no decision you made came lightly, that it took hours and hours of thought and careful planning.

The light turns green and the car starts moving again. "You don't have to go back so soon. You can stay with Harrison and I if you want to." Cass offers, a small glint in her eyes.

You take a moment to consider before looking out the window. "I need to go back Cass. To my home, to my stuff. I need to go back to him. I ran once but I'm ready. I finally feel ready to face what we left behind." You smile, hands gripping the door handle a bit too tight.

Cass nods and hums. "Just know I'm there. If you need me."

And that's what the conversation is left at. Fifteen minutes later your left staring at your building. Cass offered to go upstairs with you, but you'd elected to face it all yourself.

There were two options that stood in front of you. One, Jack was home, asleep, getting ready to head to bed and face another grueling night shift. The blackout curtains would be drawn and the apartment quiet. Would the floorboards remember your steps or creak under the unfamiliar weight of your long lost body? Maybe they would, and then they'd wake him, and you'd have to explain the last five months of your life to him while he was half asleep.

The other option was simple, he wasn't home, maybe getting groceries before he inevitably came home to crash out on the couch. It had irked you so much when you first started dating. The way he'd get off a few hours before you and offer to do the shopping, just for you to come home and find him asleep in the most neck sore position possible, jacket barely off, jeans twisted too tightly across his legs. But eventually it became a comfort, the way you could rouse him and make him follow you to bed, where you'd help him take off his prosthetic, rip off his scrubs in return for a clean shirt and pj pants. Or sometimes when you were both so tired after a rough day you could snuggle yourself between his arms, him hardly waking up, but still opening his strong arms so you could press against his chest.

And you find yourself hoping it can be like those distant couch sleeps. That he'll be there, asleep on the couch, and you can just lay with him, head pressed against his chest, snuggled right below his chin as his fingers splay over the middle of your back, gripping you as to not let you disappear again.

So when you turn your key into the lock, you take a deep breath. With the click sounding, you push the door open. You roll your suitcase in first, setting it to the side. Then you pause, listening. There's silence, and for a moment you think you're safe. The buzz of the AC when it clicks on startles you, but not as much as the man standing before you.

Jack stands near the couch, hand holding on to it, like he might fall over. He wears a tight black tee, some washed jeans and his tennis shoes. When you finally meet his eyes you see something, a glint of pain? Maybe sadness, maybe shock. His hair is slightly longer along the sides, his facial hair a bit more clean shaven than the stubble you had last seen him in. He doesn't move, neither do you. Its like the saddest cowboy stand off you've ever witnessed.

The click of the door behind you finally breaks the silence. You take a step forward, placing your keys down on the entry table. You can't tear your eyes from his. You wish you could read his face, know where to start on the long list of apologies and begging of forgiveness.

"I know you probably hate me. I know you maybe wish I would have never come back. And I know when I left we were in a bad position, a position that I never wanted to be at with you." Jack opens his mouth to say something, but you're quick to silence him with a raise of your hand.

"But I'm here. I'm here because I love you. Because I never wanted to leave in the first place. And you are the first stable thing I've had in my life since med school." A sudden hiccup burst from you, followed by tears. You couldn't stop it. In an instant your face was crumpled, warm, tears spilling from your eyes.

"Sweetheart..." Jack mutters, marching towards you until his arms swaddled your frame, arms pressing tight around your ribs, fingers grasping at your hair. His face pressed deeply against the crown of your head, and his chest pressed perfectly against your ear until you could hear the thumping of his heart.

"Jack Abbott you— God you fucking took my life and put it back together in ways I didnt think possible. You showed me that I could be loved. I was worthy of love and attention."

You pulled away, Jack's arms still resting across your waist, fingers digging in, as though fully releasing you would mean you walking out the front door forever this time.

"And I ran. I ran because I was so fucking scared that you'd wake up and decide that I wasn't worthy, that you didn't need to be here. And I wouldn't be able to handle that." You glanced at him, and while your vision remained slightly blurred, you found that he was already looking back at you. For a moment you thought pity might be the thing coursing through his dark eyes, but you realized it wasn't even close. It was more like concern, fear.

"I picked that fight because I thought it was the only way to get you to leave. But you didn't. You refused to leave, to give in. And that made me mad." You laugh, wiping your face. Jack cracks a smile, followed by a small chuckle of his own.

"You made me mad because instead of doing what everyone else has done, you planted your feet. And that made me the most scared." You said, staring down at the ground. Jack gave you a moment to collect yourself, and when it seemed your breathing had finally calmed a bit, he took your hands in his, fingers intertwining with his own, his calloused palms pushing against yours.

"I planted my feet because I knew exactly what you were doing." He says, soft, speaking more into your hair than into the open space around you two.

"It was a stupid battle, and you're not stupid, so of course I knew what you were doing. Because I know you, sweetheart." he chuckles a little, the sound vibrating in his throat. "And more importantly, I planted my feet because I wanted to stay. You have never ever been anything short of the most beautiful, loving, smartest, strongest woman in my life. You are the best thing I've had in years." He sighed, his hand lefts yours as it moved up your arm, until it fell onto your jaw, guiding your eyes to his.

"And you put me back together. And I love you for that." He finishes. Neither of you two move, letting each others words swell around your embrace.

Your eyes drop to his lips, soft and kind. He doesn't hesitate, pulling you against him, letting your lips grace each others for the first time in months. You sigh, pressing your body against his. He holds you close as you two drink each other in.

Eventually he pulls away, rests his forehead against yours.

"I've missed you."

ϟ.·:¨༺ ♡ ༻¨:·.ϟ

[spiicii]

boy toy | chapter two

jey uso & seth rollins x fem!reader word count → 7.3k summary → you were pleased to learn that jey made an adorable submissive, but seth wants to see what other tricks your new boy toy has up his sleeve. you quickly learn that jey is more dominant than you realized. and more strict. links → masterlist / taglist  tags → sugar daddy au, prostitution au, dom!seth, switch!jey, switch!reader, threesome (f/m/m), daddy kink, sir kink, dom/sub, objectification, unprotected piv sex, oral sex, fingering, voyeurism, exhibitionism, choking, spanking, humiliation, dirty talk, begging, edging, orgasm denial, brat taming, spit roasting, hair pulling, crying, aftercare at the end

“You okay?” 

You reached out to pet Jey’s hair, your gaze at him concerned. While he wasn’t the gift you were expecting tonight, you had to remind yourself that he was yours now. He belonged to you. And Seth would want you to take care of your things. 

Jey offered you a lazy smile, still reclining on the couch as you straddled his lap. “Yeah, m’good.” He slurred, almost as if he were drunk. “You got a wicked tongue, girl.”

You couldn’t help but grin, scratching gently into his scalp just to watch him relax further into the cushions.

“Plan to use that wicked tongue of yours for anything else tonight?” Seth’s tone was teasing, his hand resting on Jey’s shoulder as he looked down at you. “I’ve already got a few ideas.” 

“Oh?” You raised a playful eyebrow at him. “Tell me.” 

Seth considered. “I know I want this mouth.” He reached out to trace the shape of your lips and you shivered. “But I also want to see what else your boy toy can do. Hunter promised me he was the best.” 

“You want to make sure you got your money’s worth, Daddy?” you asked cheekily. “I already said I liked him.” 

Seth let out a huff of laughter. “Just want to make sure your little plaything can deliver, sweetheart,” he replied, a cruel glint in his eye. “For a whore as expensive as this one, he’d better.” 

You felt like Seth was testing him, trying to see what buttons to press to get a reaction. But Jey was a professional. He seemed unfazed by Seth’s antics, his body still relaxed even as Seth’s thumb pressed warningly against his windpipe. 

“Daddy,” you chided. “He’s my plaything, not yours. And you’re not being nice.” 

Seth’s mouth was curved into a mean smile, though you were happy when he eventually released Jey’s neck. 

“You’re right, sweetheart. He’s yours to play with.” Seth leaned down and brushed his lips across the shell of your ear and you felt goosebumps explode across your skin at his light touch. “So what do you want your little toy to do next, hm? Tell me, baby.” 

You met Jey’s curious gaze, still petting his hair like you would a puppy. You couldn’t deny that you were also interested to see just how dominant Jey could be in the bedroom. After so long with only Seth - beautiful, chaotic, unstable Seth - you wondered what it would be like to be with another man. And while Jey made an adorable submissive, you had no doubt that he could take control if you wanted him to. 

“What do you think, pretty boy?” you murmured, scratching behind his ear just to watch his eyelids flutter. “It sounds like Daddy wants to see you perform. But what do you want?” 

Jey opened his eyes to look at you, seemingly amused by your question. “I want whatever you want, honey,” he rumbled, one of his large hands resting on your hip. “I’m here for you.” 

Seth chuckled low in your ear. “He’s here to do as he’s told, baby. So go on, tell him. Tell him what you want.” 

You suddenly had trouble meeting Jey’s eyes. You knew what you wanted. You knew exactly what you wanted. But you felt unsure. 

You chewed on your bottom lip in nervousness, suddenly very interested in Jey’s hair as you continued to twirl it around your fingers. “It’s just… I’ve never let anyone else take control, Daddy. It’s only been you.” 

Seth hummed in agreement, moving around the couch to stand behind you. You felt his hand creep around your neck and your body immediately relaxed at the feeling. 

“That’s right,” Seth crooned. “It’s only ever been me. I’ve never shared you before, have I?” 

You shook your head, leaning back against Seth as he cradled your jaw. The dominant hand on your throat felt so good, pleasure simmering low in your stomach. 

“Look at you. Already so obedient and submissive for me and I’ve barely even touched you. Love it when you get like this, sweetheart.” Seth’s tone was teasing, but his words betrayed his fondness for you. He did love this. He loved it when you gave up your control and allowed him to call the shots, more than happy to have your Daddy take care of you. 

You could feel Jey watching the scene with curiosity. He hadn’t moved, still keeping his hand on your hip even as Seth leaned down to press a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Don’t worry, baby. You don’t have to worry about a thing. Daddy’s already taken care of everything.”

The pleasure was beginning to settle over your mind like a fog and it took you a moment to digest his words. 

“Taken care of what?” You asked, staring up at him through long eyelashes. 

Seth’s cheshire grin widened, showing far too many teeth. “I’ve already talked with your pretty boy toy, sweetheart.” Seth’s voice was low and syrupy. “Already told him exactly how you liked to be fucked. What you like and don’t like. Had to make sure he knew what he was getting into before I brought him home.” 

Your cheeks suddenly flushed a violent shade of red, now avoiding Jey’s eyes like the plague. Had Seth told him everything? 

“Aw, don’t be embarrassed, sweetheart. It’s not like you’re the first needy slut he’s fucked.” Seth’s grip on your jaw tightened and you whimpered. “Hunter said he had plenty of experience dealing with spoiled little brats like you.” 

Despite your embarrassment, you wanted to protest. You wouldn’t call yourself spoiled. Well cared for was a more appropriate term. Seth never let you go unsatisfied, always giving you anything and everything your heart desired. How was that your fault? 

“So I intend to get my money’s worth and watch him teach you some proper manners.” Seth’s eyes sparkled with amusement. “And you’re going to be a good girl and do as he says, aren’t you, baby?” 

You nodded, though you felt a little confused by his words. You weren’t sure why you needed to be taught anything - you thought you already had pretty good manners - but you wanted to be obedient so you didn’t argue. Seth’s smile was wicked, his eyes now glinting with that familiar mischief when he turned to Jey. 

“She’s acting all sweet now, but she’ll get mouthy if she doesn’t get her way. Sure you can handle her?” 

You turned and saw that Jey was watching the two of you with dark eyes, his lips twisting into a confident smirk. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Seth chuckled, offering you one last condescending pat on the cheek before moving away. “We’ll see.” 

Before you realized what was happening, Jey’s hand shot out to enclose around your throat. You gasped in surprise though your body didn’t fight him. Instead, you went limp in his grasp, allowing Jey to pull you close to meet his simmering gaze. 

He still had that confident smirk on his lips, continuing to recline against the couch as if he had all the time in the world. He seemed relaxed and at ease, completely in control as he kept that dominant hand around your neck, his eyes sparkling with amusement at your easy submission.

“Your Daddy wasn’t kidding when he said you liked it rough,” Jey’s words were teasing, his gold teeth glinting in the light. “You like being manhandled like this, baby?” 

You felt your cheeks flush again. You’d never had another man speak to you like this before and it felt equal parts embarrassing and arousing. It didn’t help that Jey was already breathtakingly beautiful, his eyes so dark that you felt lost in them. 

“I asked you a question, slut,” Jey’s free hand came down to smack one of your ass cheeks and you yelped in surprise. “I said, you like being manhandled like this, don’t you?” 

You quickly nodded, the flesh of your ass stinging from where his palm had connected. But Jey still wasn’t satisfied. He tightened his grip around your neck and you whimpered again. 

“Nah, you gon’ use your words when you talk to me. I wanna hear you say it.” 

You struggled to maintain his gaze, still impossibly embarrassed. Why was this so hard? You said you wanted to be good, but the words felt lodged in your throat, your pride holding you back. 

Jey brought his hand down on your ass again and you couldn’t help but whine, now struggling in Jey’s tight hold. 

“I ain’t gonna ask again, slut. Use your words or I bend you over my knee and spank your ass raw.” 

Your entire body flushed at his words, your pussy spasming at the thought. In all your time with Seth, he’d never spanked you. Still, you weren’t sure that now was the best time to push Jey’s buttons. You decided to swallow your pride. 

“I like it.” You breathed, though the words scraped raw on their way out. “I like being manhandled like this.” 

Jey seemed satisfied. “Better.” He grunted, loosening the tight grip he’d kept on your throat. “Though you still ain’t got proper manners. When you talk to me, you call me sir. You understand?” 

You were more familiar with this. One of Seth’s few rules was that you call him Daddy. 

“Yes, sir.” 

Jey smiled at you, now pleased. “Good girl.” 

Jey massaged the stinging skin on your ass, his gaze at you considering. “Your Daddy don’t give you a lot of rules, does he? No wonder you spoiled, girl. He just give you everything you want, huh?” 

You wanted to protest but you didn’t think Jey would appreciate it. He’d already proven that he was much more strict than Seth had ever been, so you wisely stayed silent, allowing Jey’s hand to run appreciatively across your body. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed, his hand moving up to cradle your jaw. “Gotta be the prettiest I’ve ever seen. And I’ve seen a lot. Your Daddy is a lucky man.” 

You heard Seth chuckling behind you, though Jey’s hand on your jaw made it impossible for you to turn to look at him. 

“But your Daddy wants you to learn some manners tonight. You think you can be good for me and let me teach you?” 

You were again confused about what kind of manners you needed to learn, but you still obediently nodded. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good.” 

You gasped when Jey suddenly stood up, using his strength to keep you in his arms as he carried you to the bedroom. You threw your arms around his neck to keep from falling, though Jey’s firm hands let you know you weren’t going anywhere. 

“I gotchu, pretty girl,” he murmured, his breath warm in your ear. “Just relax for me.” 

You quickly obeyed, allowing him to carry you as you buried your face into his neck. He smelled like coconut and spice, the scent intoxicating. You were almost sad when he laid you down on the bed, already missing his touch. 

“Hush, sweetheart. I gotchu. I’m not leaving.” You didn’t even realize you were whining, your hands reaching out instinctively to pull him closer. You were pleased when he joined you on the bed, leaning over you to press a gentle kiss to your cheek. 

“Such a sweet girl,” he praised, reaching up to brush some of the hair from your forehead. “You always this sweet? Or is this just for me?” 

You weren’t sure how to answer that. You sometimes got mouthy with Seth, but it was all in good fun. For the most part, you were happy to be obedient - a pretty toy for your Daddy to play with. 

“She’s usually sweet, though I told you she’s got a mouth on her.”  You hadn’t realized Seth had followed the two of you to the bedroom, already taking a seat in the chair near the window. You glanced over at him and saw that he was watching the two of you with interest, his mouth still curved into that knowing smile. “But I supposed it’s my own fault. I can’t say I’ve ever punished her for it.” 

Jey’s chuckle was low, the sound causing a small shiver to run down your spine. “Well, that’s why I’m here, isn’t it?” 

Seth didn’t respond. Instead, he just watched as Jey leaned forward to finally capture your lips in a kiss. 

His lips were impossibly soft and you couldn’t help moaning into his mouth, the sound desperate and needy. Jey tasted sweet, like candy or licorice, his tongue eager to claim every inch of you that he could. It wasn’t until he broke the kiss, a thin string of saliva connecting the two of you, that you realized how slick your mouth has gotten. Jey’s plump lips were shiny with spit, his eyes dark as he stared down at you. 

The room suddenly seemed very quiet and Jey’s eyes seemed to grow darker, his gold chain dangling in front of your face as he leaned over you. You weren’t sure what you looked like, but Jey’s expression seemed almost… hungry. 

You jumped in surprise when he leaned back down to claim your lips again, his kiss urgent. You felt Jey’s hand drift to waistband of your panties and you were quick to lift your hips and allow him to remove them, still keeping your mouth open as he fucked his tongue past your willing lips. You could feel the weight of Seth’s eyes on you, a small thrill running through you at the thought of your Daddy watching you make out with another man. 

Jey pulled back again, his dark eyes staring at your now swollen lips. “Listen to me, pretty girl.” Jey’s voice was strained, though when he reached a hand up to grab your chin, you knew he was serious. “If you want to come, you beg me for it. You don’t come without my permission. If you do, not only will I spank your ass raw, but I’ll make sure you don’t come again for another week. Do you understand?” 

Yor blinked up at him in surprise, your mind struggling to keep up with his words. You couldn’t finish without permission? That didn’t seem fair. 

Jey must have noticed your pouting because his grip on your chin tightened. “I mean it, slut,” he growled. “You don’t come without permission. That’s a rule. You gonna listen?” 

“Yes, sir.” You tried to keep the sullen tone out of your voice, but you knew you failed when Jey’s large hand wrapped around your throat again. 

You couldn’t help but moan. God, why had Seth told Jey how much you liked to be choked? It was clear he was going to use this to his advantage, his long fingers squeezing around your delicate windpipe to cut off your air supply. 

“You better check that attitude, sweetheart,” Jey’s voice was close to a snarl. “I ain’t yo’ Daddy. I don’t have a problem punishing spoiled little brats who can’t do as they're told. You understand me?” 

You felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, but you still had enough sense to nod. “Yes, sir.” Your words came out as nothing but wheeze and Jey quickly released you, though he still kept that dominant hand beneath your jaw. 

“That’s what I thought.” Jey’s mouth was curved into an arrogant smirk and you hated how much it suited him. “Don’t take much to keep you in line, does it, baby? Just needed a firm hand, didn’t you?” 

You nodded obediently, though you quickly used your words when you saw his smirk shift into a frown. “Yes, sir.” 

Jey smiled again, this time more pleased. 

“Good girl.” 

You watched with wide eyes as Jey wasted no time to move further down your body, his broad shoulders nudging your thighs apart to make space for him between your legs. You felt your body flush again when Jey’s eyes caught sight of your leaking hole, his pink tongue darting out of his mouth to involuntarily lick his lips. 

“Just as pretty as the rest of you,” Jey breathed, his large hands reaching up to grab at your thighs to pull you close. “You gonna let me taste you, pretty girl?” 

You couldn’t respond - not with those big brown eyes looking up at you and stealing your breath. It wasn’t until Jey’s fingers curled deeper into the soft flesh of your thighs that you finally nodded, your mouth open as small puffs of breath escaped your lips. Jesus, he had barely even touched you and you were already panting for him. 

“Need to hear you say it, baby,” Jey rumbled, his breath warm against the inside of your thigh. “Be a good girl and use your words for me.” 

“Please.” The word came out quick and desperate, your hips already jerking forward in a silent plea for him to touch you. “Please, sir. I need it.” 

Jey grinned and his golden teeth sparkled in the light. “That’s a sweet girl. Knew you could do it.” 

Before you could reply, Jey leaned down to drag his tongue up your slick folds, his movements slow and syrupy. Your eyelids fluttered shut at the feeling, your head falling back into the mattress as Jey’s arms wrapped your thighs to keep you close to him. This was nothing like Seth. 

Seth ate you out like a starving man, his tongue sloppy and wet as you made a mess on his expensive sheets. Jey wasn’t like that at all. He seemed content to keep his movements slow, his tongue flicking out to tease at every sensitive nook and cranny he could find. Every swipe of his tongue felt purposeful, already circling your clit with devastating accuracy. 

You struggled to hold back your moans, your hips bucking forward into his mouth to feel more more more. 

“Greedy girl,” Jey’s words were mocking, his arms tightening around your thighs to keep you still. “You’ll take what I give you and nothing more. This ain’t about you. This is about me. Now be still and let me taste what’s mine.” 

You tried. You really did. You wanted to be good and obedient for him, fighting every urge to grind further onto his face and chase your own pleasure. You hadn’t realized just how much leeway Seth had given you before. He’d always allowed you to move at your own pace, uncomplaining even as you dragged your wet folds across his nose and mouth to please yourself. 

Jey’s lips closed around your clit and you couldn’t help but moan again. Warm, gooey pleasure was unfurling beneath Jey’s talented mouth. Your hole was spasming and clenching around nothing, practically begging to be filled even as Jey continued to suckle at the sensitive pearl he’d found between your legs. 

You made the mistake of glancing over at Seth from where he sat by the window. His eyes were impossibly dark, his lips still quirked into a smile that looked a little too devious. Did he know something you didn’t? 

Jey’s movements stayed slow and consistent. You could feel your orgasm approaching now, your thighs beginning to shake around Jey’s head. You felt tempted to drop over the precipice of pleasure, but you remembered his warning. Would he really spank you if you came without his permission? Or worse, not allow you to come for a week? Would Seth even allow that? You decided you didn’t want to risk it. 

“Please, sir,” you gasped, struggling to keep your eyes open. “Please, can I come?” 

Jey didn’t answer right away, continuing to eat you out slowly. Leisurely. As if he had all the time in the world. It took all of your willpower to stave off your finish. 

“Sir, please!” Your hips began to wriggle pathetically beneath his large hands, your fingers twisting in the expensive sheets to try to keep it together. “Please, I can’t hold it.” 

Jey removed his mouth and you whined at the loss, your hips still bucking forward to chase his soft lips. “I was right there!” 

Jey’s hand smacked the inside of your thigh and you jumped in surprise, letting out a hurt sound. 

“That’s your last warning, slut. You talk back to me or complain one more time and I’m bending you over my knee. Got it?” 

You had a protest on the tip of your tongue, but you kept it to yourself. “Yes, sir.” 

“That’s what I thought.” Jey’s tongue returned to your clit and you moaned again. “Keep begging, sweetheart. Lemme hear it.” 

It wasn’t hard. You were still so close that your body was tight as a wire. “Please, sir. I need it so bad. Please, can I come? I’ll be good, sir. I promise. Just please, please, please let me come.” 

Jey chuckled darkly, his tongue still dragging against you. “No.” 

You stared down at him in confusion and desperation. No? You’d done everything he’d asked and more. Your hips were moving on their own accord now. You couldn’t control them just like you couldn’t control your own impending orgasm. 

“Please, I can’t…I can’t hold it.” Your voice was desperate now, your hips now beginning to buck wildly in his grasp. If you didn’t dislodge him, you were going to come right now. 

“Yes, you can.” Jey sounded far too amused, his strong arms still holding you with ease even as you tried to move away. “You can and you will. Because it’s what I want. Because for once, this ain’t about you, little girl.” 

He wasn’t being fair. You were trying your best, but you’d never been told no before. Your entire body was shaking, your thighs clenched so tightly that you were certain you were going to pull a muscle. And then right when you thought you couldn't take it anymore, Jey finally released you. 

You let out a relieved gasp, your head falling back against the mattress. You’d never tried to hold back your own orgasm before and it was much harder than you thought it’d be. Maybe Seth really did spoil you. 

“See?” Jey’s grin was devious. “Was that so hard?” 

Yes, it was, thank you very much. But you wisely stayed silent. 

“Don’t think I’ve ever heard her beg so sweetly before.” You heard Seth say, your eyes flickering over to watch as he slowly rose from his chair and adjusted his suit jacket. “Honestly didn’t know she had it in her.” 

Jey looked over his shoulder at him and gave him a lopsided grin. “Nah, you spoil her too much, uce. Gotta get her worked up and desperate.” 

Jey’s fingers suddenly entered your dripping hole and you couldn’t contain the moan that tore from your throat, causing both men to chuckle. 

“If you want her to beg, you gotta give her something to beg for.” 

Jey’s fingers curled and you nearly sobbed in pleasure at the feeling, his fingers now aiming for your g-spot with the accuracy of a trained professional. 

He hadn’t given you enough time to recover and you felt your orgasm approaching again, your body still on edge from his earlier ministrations. 

Seth approached the side of the bed to watch as Jey continued to massage that sweet spot inside you, his wicked gaze sweeping over your trembling form. 

“Hm, maybe I have been going too easy on her. She does look pretty like this.” 

Jey hummed in agreement, watching you from his spot between your legs. His fingers were incessant and you struggled to breathe, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he bullied you back to the edge of pleasure.

“Please, sir.” The words sounded pitiful but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. “Please, can I come? Please?” 

“No.” Even though you couldn’t see him, you could still hear that infuriating smile in his voice. ”Not yet.” 

You groaned in frustration, tears now pricking at the corner of your eyes. You’d never been teased this much before and it was miserable. 

You looked over at Seth with pleading, heartbroken eyes. “Daddy, please.” You begged, reaching out a hand to him in the hopes that he’d take it. “Please, can I come? Please let me, Daddy. Please.” 

Seth cackled loudly at your words, ignoring your outstretched hand as he settled on the edge of the bed to watch the show. “Oh, no. Don’t look at me, sweetheart. Your pretty boy toy is in charge now. I thought you said you were gonna be good for him?” 

Jey’s fingers began to pick up the pace and the pleasure was nearly overwhelming you now. 

“Please, Daddy.” You whined. “I can’t hold it. Please, let me come.” 

“Yo’ Daddy can’t help you, little girl,” Jey drawled, his fingers unforgiving. “If you wanna come, you have to beg me for it.” 

You pressed your palms into your eyes to hold back your sobs, your entire body shaking like a leaf as you used every ounce of self-control to hold off your finish. 

“Please, sir. I’m sorry. I’ll do whatever you want, just please, please let me come.” 

“Whatever I want?” Jey’s words were teasing, his free hand still gripping you tightly even as you continued to squirm. “That sounds dangerous. You really that desperate?” 

“Yes!” And you were. You were ready to promise him anything. 

“That’s too bad.” 

Jey removed his fingers and you sobbed out loud, the tears beginning to spill from your eyes in desperation. 

“Sir, please…” 

“Shut up.” Jey smacked the inside of your thigh again and you groaned in response. God, Seth had never been this rough with you and it was quite possibly the hottest thing you’d ever experienced. 

You felt Jey moving and you realized that he was sitting up now, his dark eyes glinting with mischief as he smirked up at you. 

“You really thought I was gon’ let you come from my mouth? Or my fingers? Nah, I knew you was a cockslut the minute I set eyes on you. That’s the only way you wanna come, isn’t it, sweetheart? When your legs are spread wide and you’re pumped full of dick.” 

Your cheeks burned at Jey’s filthy words and it didn’t help but that he was right. Your hole felt empty, an itch that normally only Seth could scratch causing you to writhe uncomfortably against the mattress. You couldn’t deny that your body was aching, practically begging for a good fuck. 

Jey laughed and the sound was mean, his large hands now pushing your legs further apart to make more room for him. He leaned over you and you could feel his erection nudging at the inside of your thigh, your eyelids fluttering when he pressed a sweet kiss to your cheek. His beard was still wet, the smell of your own arousal now in your nose. 

“I know, baby. I know.” Jey’s words were mocking. “Daddy was right. You ain’t the first needy slut I’ve fucked. I can see the signs. I know how badly you need it. But it’s okay, sweetheart. Imma give you what you need. I know you spoiled, but we gon’ get you right.” 

Jey dragged the tip of his cock through your wet folds, but he didn’t press into you. Instead, he paused, glancing over at Seth. He seemed to be waiting for permission. 

You were reminded that although Jey was calling the shots for now, Seth was ultimately the one in charge. He wouldn’t fuck you unless your Daddy allowed it.  

Seth seemed pleased that Jey was professional enough to double check with him before moving forward and he gave Jey a permissive nod from where he sat on the edge of the bed. 

Jey wasted no time pressing into you in one long slide, his spit and your wetness easing the way as he bottomed out. You were already so open and desperate that there was no burn or stretch, your body practically singing with pleasure at finally, finally being filled. 

“Yesssss,” you breathed, throwing your head back against the pillow. Jey was right. You did need this. You needed it like you needed air. Which is why when he didn’t move you let out a small whimper, your gaze up at him pleading. 

Jey grinned. “What is it, baby?” 

“Please.” Your voice was small, your words barely a whisper. He was so beautiful at this angle, his muscles rippling and his eyes dark as he stared down at you. His smile made you feel like he was stealing oxygen from your lungs. 

“Please what?” he teased, running his hands appreciatively down your sides. He seemed unhurried and calm, even as his dick twitched from where it was balls deep inside you. 

You were too horny and desperate to be embarrassed, even as Seth watched you in amusement. “Please fuck me, sir.” 

Jey ran his tongue across the grill on his bottom teeth, his gaze at you considering. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me and beg to come?” 

God, you would do anything he asked you to. “Yes, sir.” 

“Are you gonna have good manners and thank me for dicking you down like this?” 

“Yes, sir. I’m so grateful. Thank you for fucking me, sir.” 

Seth cackled in delight, shaking his head in disbelief. “Jesus,” he breathed. “You might be the best investment I’ve ever made, boy toy.” 

Jey grinned over at him, still keeping his hips flushed against you but refusing to move. You experimentally shifted your hips, trying your best to be obedient and good but also wanting more than anything for him to just give it to you. 

Jey chuckled at your antics, but he didn’t seem upset. If anything, it finally motivated him to move, beginning with a few shallow thrusts that had you moaning. 

You couldn’t help but relax further into the mattress, your body unwinding and relaxing as that itch was finally scratched. You felt like you were coming up for air after being underwater for so long. You felt like you could finally breathe. 

You felt a hand in your hair and you realized that Seth was leaning over you now, his voice low as he cooed sweet words of praise in your ear. You were having trouble fully understanding him as electric sparks shot up your spine with every sinful twist of Jey’s hips. It was already so good and he was just getting started. 

Jey landed a harsh swat to your ass and you gasped at the feeling, struggling to keep your eyes open to look up at him. 

“Where are your manners, slut?” Jey growled, one of his large hands reaching up to clasp around your throat again. “You ain’t learned a damn thing, have you? Maybe I shoulda put you over my knee after all. Since you ain’t wanna listen.” 

“I’m sorry, sir,” you whimpered, your pussy spasming at both the degradation and the hand around your neck. “Thank you for fucking me, sir. I’m so grateful, thank you.” 

“We gon’ get you trained so that I ain’t gotta remind you, baby,” Jey promised, his gold chain now dangling in front of your face as he leaned over you. “Yo’ Daddy can spoil you all he wants, but with me you gon’ be obedient.” 

He set what felt like a brutal pace, leaning more and more until he had your legs bent, your knees pushed towards your chest. You let out a strangled noise at the feeling, your body thrumming with pent up energy as Jey continued to pound into you. You opened your mouth, trying to form some kind of coherent thought, but nothing came out. Instead, all you could do was lay there and take it, your eyes glazing over in pleasure.  

“She looks so fucked out, boy toy,” Seth sighed, brushing a few stray hairs from your sweaty forehead. “So fucking pretty. I could get used to seeing her like this.” 

He reached out to trace your parted lips and you stared up at him, feeling completely helpless as Jey kept you pinned beneath him. 

“I want her mouth,” Seth said suddenly, his eyes flashing over to Jey. “Get her on her knees.” 

Jey obeyed immediately, pulling out of you so suddenly that you let out a choked gasp. You were having trouble understanding what was happening and when Jey’s hands tangled in your hair to yank you up, all you knew how to do was go limp and allow it. 

“You heard yo’ Daddy,” Jey growled, flipping you onto your stomach and tugging you back by the hair until you were on your knees. “But remember, I still ain’t letting you come until you beg for it. I don’t care if you got a dick in your mouth or not.” 

Jey finally released your hair only for Seth to take his place, his fingers digging into your scalp as he forced your head up to look at him. 

“Such a pretty girl,” he cooed, his cock already slapping you across the mouth. “I just couldn’t wait any longer. You look so sweet like this. I just have to fuck your throat, baby.” 

You opened your mouth obediently and allowed him to push inside you. Seth didn’t seem particularly interested in giving you any time to adjust, his hand already reaching up to cradle the back of your skull as he rolled his hips forward into your waiting mouth. You relaxed your throat on instinct, allowing him to push deeper and deeper until he had fully bottomed out. 

You felt another swat on your ass and you jumped in surprise, moaning low around Seth’s cock. Jey’s hands were tightening on your hips, his cock already nudging against your dripping hole again before slipping back into you with ease.  

At this angle it felt like he was in your guts, your eyelids fluttering as you continued to swallow everything Seth had to give you. 

“There you go,” Seth praised, his hips beginning to pick up speed. “Always take me so good. You suck dick like an angel, sweetheart.” 

Jey was quick to resume his brutal pace, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hips so hard that you knew they’d leave bruises. The pleasure was still simmering low in your core, but it wasn’t until Jey shifted his hips and hit your g-spot that you nearly screamed, the sound muffled around Seth’s massive cock. 

Seth let out a low moan, the vibrations from your choked noises massaging his length as he continued to fuck your throat. 

“Such a good girl,” Seth breathed, his voice now strained. You could tell he was close. “God, I love seeing you like this, baby. You look so pretty when you’re full of cock.” 

Your face was burning, tears streaming down your face from the humiliation of Seth’s words, the stretch of your lips, and the incessant pounding of that sweet spot inside you. Your senses were overwhelmed, your mind melting as they both continued to use your holes to chase their own pleasure. 

That familiar tingling returned to the base of your spine and your body started to shake, your thighs trembling even as Jey kept that unforgiving grip on your hips. 

“I can feel this slutty hole clenching around me,” Jey groaned. “I know you’re close. But you better not come without my permission or you’ll regret it.” 

You knew he wanted you to beg, but how could you with Seth’s cock threatening to choke you? Jey gave you another painful swat against your ass and you were quickly reminded of what awaited you if you disobeyed. 

“Please,” You tried to beg but Seth’s cock only allowed a muffled sound to come out, an embarrassed sob hitching your chest in response. Your hole spasmed at the same time, strangling Jey’s dick as he continued to rail you. 

“That’s not good enough,” Jey smacked you again and you could barely keep your eyes open through the tears. “I know you can do better, slut. Use your manners, even with Daddy’s cock in your mouth.” 

Your entire body burned in embarrassment and shame, but it only stoked the flames of your pleasure more. So you obeyed. 

“Please, sir. Please, can I come?” Your pleas still came out as a garbled mess of sounds that only forced out more spit around Seth’s length, making the blowjob even sloppier. Seth groaned in appreciation, his long fingers tightening in your hair as his hips began to stutter out of rhythm. 

“That’s it,” he gasped. “Fuck, take it, sweetheart. Take it all.” 

With one final, brutal thrust, Seth finally spilled down your throat. You tried to take as much of it as you could, but some of it still ended up dripping down your chin and onto the mattress below. Seth kept himself there, still buried balls deep in your mouth even as he began to soften. It isn’t until you started squirming from lack of oxygen that he finally released you, his laugh just a little maniacal as he watched more come and drool drip down your chin. 

“Good girl.” 

With your mouth now free, you could finally beg for what you’d been so desperate for. 

“Please, sir.” You sobbed, uncaring of how ridiculous you sounded. “Please, please, please let me come. Please!” 

Jey laughed at your tears, his hand pressing between your shoulder blades to shove your face down into the mattress. This new angle had your ass up in the air and your back arched, completely at his mercy as he continued to drill into you. The pleasure was coiled tightly inside you like a spring, ready to snap at any minute. It took every ounce of willpower to hold it off. 

“Please!” You were practically screaming now, his fingers clawing at the expensive bedsheets as you tried so hard to fight the pleasure threatening to overwhelm you. “May I please come, sir? Please?” 

Jey seemed to finally take pity on you. “You beg so sweet, honey,” he praised, though his voice sounded strained, as if he were close. “Such good manners. You can come, sweetheart.” 

The tension snapped. 

The pleasure that rolled through you was like nothing you’d ever felt before. Fireworks exploded across your vision, your entire body trembling as your pussy convulsed around Jey’s dick. Your mind went peacefully dark, every nerve ending in your body singing as Jey continued to fuck into the sweet spot inside you. It felt heavenly. Blissful. Transcendent. 

Jey wasn’t far behind. The feeling of your silky walls fluttering around him had him spiraling towards his own release, his hands still gripping your skin tightly until he finally spilled inside you with a moan. 

His hips finally stilled. You could feel your hole continuing to pulse around him, greedily milking whatever it could from Jey as he twitched inside you. It wasn’t until he slowly began to pull out that you let out a broken sound, the noise spurring Seth into action. 

“It’s alright, pretty girl,” he soothed, resting his hand on your back to urge you back down onto the mattress. “Just relax. Lay down for me, okay?” 

You hadn’t realized that you’d locked your knees to keep from collapsing while Jey had been fucking you. Not until you tried to move and found that your joints were stiff and your muscles were numb. It took all your strength to force your legs to work, slowly easing yourself down to lay on your stomach as Seth kept murmuring sweet words of praise.

“You did so good, baby,” You heard him say, his hands careful as he urged you to sit up. “I gotta take care of you now, okay? Can you let me do that?” 

All you could do was nod, allowing Seth to sweep you into his arms and whisk you away to the bathroom. 

Your brain was having trouble processing everything, but next thing you knew you were in a warm bath, Seth pressing a warm washcloth into your hand before kissing your forehead. “I’ll be right back, baby,” he murmured, his eyes kind. “Just give me a second.” 

You were sad to see him go, but you soon realized why when he returned to the bathroom with Jey. 

He was taking care of both of you.

“You okay? Talk to me.” Seth seemed worried, his hand on the small of Jey’s back as he led him to the shower. 

“I’m good.” Jey’s smile was tired, but genuine. “Thank you, sir. For the shower.” 

“Of course. Let me know if you need anything.” 

You heard the water turn on and Jey stepped inside, Seth quickly returning to kneel by the tub beside you. 

“Are you okay? I need to hear your words, baby.” 

You smiled too, though you imagined it looked just as tired as Jey’s. “Yes, Daddy. I’m perfect.” 

Seth smiled back, taking the wet cloth from your hands to wash you himself. “Good. Can you tell me what hurts?” 

You shook your head, your brain slowly coming back online. “It’s not pain. Just sore. I’m okay, Daddy. Really.” 

You relaxed as Seth ran his suds-covered hands over the mess they’d made, washing away the stickiness from your sore body. It wasn’t until the water grew tepid that you finally got out, allowing Seth to wrap a fluffy towel around you and usher you to the bedroom. 

He must have called one of the housekeepers to change the sheets because they were fresh and clean when you arrived. You barely registered Seth pulling one of his oversized t-shirts over your head, feeling exhausted and sleepy as he helped you crawl under the covers. 

“I’ll be right back.” he murmured again, no doubt heading back to the bathroom to check on Jey.

You felt your eyes grow heavy, your body relaxing deeper into the soft mattress before Seth and Jey returned. Jey had his own towel wrapped around him, his eyebrows raised when Seth handed him a set of pajamas. 

“Thank you, sir.” He replied automatically, though he seemed bewildered by Seth’s gift, his hands running over the soft fabric before finally tugging them on. 

You noticed that he didn’t immediately join you in the bed, even though his eyes flickered over to where you laid snuggled beneath the sheets. He seemed to be waiting for a specific command, unwilling to climb into bed with you if it wasn’t what Seth wanted. 

Seth, however, didn’t notice that Jey was waiting for him until he’d already gathered his own pajamas and made his way to the bathroom, presumably to shower as well. 

“Oh.” He stared at Jey in confusion. “Everything alright?” 

Jey nodded. “Yes, sir. Just…where do you want me to sleep?” 

Seth raised an eyebrow. “You’re here for her, remember?” He pointed to you. “So that’s where you’ll stay. Unless you’d rather sleep somewhere else?” 

“No, sir.” Jey was quick to shake his head. “Just wanted to make sure.” 

Seth softened. “Right. Of course. Well, just…make yourself comfortable, okay?” 

Jey nodded and Seth retreated to the bathroom, leaving Jey to quickly cross the room and climb into bed with you. You instinctively reached out for him and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you close to his chest. 

“You did good, sweetheart,” he rumbled, pressing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “You feeling okay?” 

“Mm hm.” You snuggled deeper into his arms, appreciating that he still smelled like coconut and spice - a scent that was uniquely his. “Are you?” 

Jey seemed amused by your question. “Yes, pretty girl. I’m okay.” 

You didn’t say anything after that, but you could feel yourself nodding off, the feeling of Jey’s strong arms around you making you feel safe. It vaguely occurred to you that you had just met this man tonight. He was a stranger to you, yet here he was in your bed, cuddling with you and making you feel secure. It was strange, but not unwelcome.

The bed dipped and another warm body was pressing itself behind you, a familiar pair of lips pressing gentle kisses into your neck. You felt Seth’s arms and legs tangle with yours and Jey’s beneath the covers and that was the last thing you remember before falling asleep.

____

previous chapter: chapter one

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[firewasabeast]

So He Waits

a little tommy/bucktommy (sort of) fic. tags: implied child abuse, a terrorist attack, blood/injury, mourning/grief, Buck and Tommy are still broken up, Tommy is reaching out. Read below or on ao3.

Tommy is eight when he moves to a new city with his parents in the middle of the school year. He’s anxious on his first day. He’s been going to the same school all his life. But this one is bigger, and scarier, and kids look at him funny.

After he’s introduced by his teacher, he takes a seat, pulls out his math book, and listens as the teacher starts the lesson.

He ignores the snickering happening behind him. Pretends he doesn’t hear the whispers.

He’s known kids can be cruel since kindergarten. He tripped and fell on his first day, his chin bled, and kids called him Trip from that day on.

But he’s Tommy here, and that’s exciting! The kids might be whispering about him now but, once they get to know him, they’ll like him.

That’s what his mom told him anyway.

When it’s time for recess, he follows behind the rest of the class. He thinks about heading for the swings, but when he sees a group of boys running toward the field with baseballs and bats, he smiles and runs to catch up.

“What are you doing?” one of the boys, he thinks his name is Matthew, asks.

“I know how to play!” Tommy exclaims. “I love baseball!”

Matthew looks back at the other boys. Tommy spots a few of them roll their eyes.

“We’ve already got enough players,” Matthew says. “You can just go and sit over there. We’ll tell you if we need you.” He uses his bat to point to an old, rotting tree stump at the edge of the field.

Tommy licks his lips, then hides his disappointment behind a smile. “Okay,” he says. “Just let me know when you need me!”

He walks over to the stump and sits down.

The splinters poke through his pants, right into his skin.

He doesn’t move though. They might need him soon!

So he waits.

*

Tommy is fourteen when his dad pulls up to the house in his truck, a beat up Honda Accord in tow. It looks like a piece of junk.

Scrap metal at best.

But Charles Kinard smiles wide, gives Tommy a smack on the shoulder, and tells him, “We’re gonna put this thing back together, piece by piece.”

“R- Really?” Tommy asks. He’s been wanting to learn about cars for a couple years now. He’s been excited about starting auto shop class next semester. He’d always hoped his dad would teach him; Charles had been a mechanic since he left the marines. But the interest to teach had never been there before.

Maybe, Tommy thought, maybe that was changing.

The car sits untouched for two weeks.

Tommy’s been doing research though. He went to the library and checked out books. Even rented a VHS tape called Auto Mechanics 101. He’s pretty sure he’s watched it ten times over the last few days.

Another week goes by.

He comes home from a friend's house to see the Accord being towed away. His dad is standing just outside the garage, counting cash.

“What… What’s going on?” Tommy asks.

“I just made three hundred dollars, that’s what going on, Tomboy.”

Tommy can smell the booze, strong on his breath. It seems to seep through his pores more and more each day.

“I thought we were gonna fix it?”

Charles scoffs. “I can’t let something like that just sit here, you idiot! I’m the only one working in this damn house! We needed the money, I got the money!”

Tommy knows there’s no point in talking about it right now. It’s not worth the pain.

He walks into the house, goes straight to his room, and scoots his dresser in front of the door.

Just a precaution, in case his dad decides to drink more tonight.

He takes a look at his calendar. Counts the days.

It’s a little under two months until auto shop class starts. Then he’ll learn everything he’s been wanting to know.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is twenty-one and he’s pretty sure he’s not going to make it to twenty-two.

He decided to fly in the army because he loved the freedom of being in the sky.

He didn’t think about the fact that he couldn’t live in the sky.

He’s asleep, on base in Iraq, when there’s an explosion so loud he goes deaf before the world starts to cave in on him and he falls unconscious.

He’s not sure where he is when he wakes up. Doesn’t remember what happened either.

Was he in California?

Did he get in a car accident?

Was there an earthquake?

There’s a grumbling sound beside him. He blinks a few times, wipes the dust from his eyes, looks over to see Warrant Officer Daniels a few feet away from him, eyes wide as he gasps for breath.

It takes Tommy a few more seconds for his brain to come back online. When it does, he flips over onto his belly and starts to crawl closer to Daniels. That's when he sees that his legs are gone. Sees that blood is gushing out of his body.

“Dan-” he coughs, his throat feels like sandpaper. “Daniels. D... Daniels, hey-”

Daniels takes his last breath before Tommy’s able to get out another word.

There’s noises, yelling. In the distance he hears the sound of a language he doesn’t understand.

He takes a radio from Daniels’ lifeless body and keeps crawling.

He ignores the way his leg burns. The way he can feel something thick and wet soaking his socks.

He doesn’t know how, but he makes it through the rubble and outside.

He keeps going and going until he reaches a bunker, a good distance from the base.

His hands are shaking when he turns the radio on.

“Colonel Franks, do you copy?”

There’s a few seconds of silence, then, “Kinard? That you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Your barracks took a direct hit. Where the hell are you?”

Tommy takes in a short, stunted breath. It hurts like hell.

He gives the colonel his position.

“You hurt?”

Tommy looks own at his leg. Notices for the first time that the bone is popping through his skin. He’s pretty sure some ribs are broken too. “Ye- Yes, Sir.”

“You stay put, you hear me. We-” there’s static, briefly, "-et to you as soon as we can. Until then, keep quiet. Radio silence.”

Tommy sits there, thinks about Daniels, tries not to take a breath.

He listens to the screams in the distance, hands clench into fists with each new explosion.

But there’s nothing he can do.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is thirty-four when he decides to blow up his entire life.

He’s just transferred stations, a change he knew he needed for a long time, and he thought that would be enough.

But it wasn’t enough.

Because changing stations doesn’t change who you are.

And what Tommy is, is very, very, gay.

He’s waiting for his fiancée of two years at their favorite restaurant, going over the conversation he’s about to have as soon as she gets there.

“Abby, I need to tell you something. I know I’ve been stalling, since we got engaged. And you- you’ve been so patient with me. Thank you for that. I know you didn’t want a long engagement from the start, and I keep making excuses, but there’s… there’s a reason. Not another woman! It- No, it’s not that. It’s… I- Abby, I’m gay.”

His phone vibrates in his pocket and he nearly jumps out of his chair. He pulls out and stares at the message.

Sorry, running a little late. Work was crazy. Sally gave me a few bridal magazines though and I thought we could look through them during dinner. Start making plans, you know? Be there soon! Love you!

Tommy takes a deep breath, swallows down the bile in his throat.

He takes the opportunity to order himself a second beer.

Goes over the speech again, omits some unnecessary parts that are only there to waste time.

When Abby arrives she’s a ball of excited energy, flipping her hair and pulling the magazines out of her purse to set them on the table.

And he’s ready to do it, ready to tell her the truth, but he also knows what's going to happen as soon as it’s his turn to speak.

So he waits.

*

Tommy is halfway to forty-two when Captain Nash dies.

It hits him harder than he thought it would.

Miraculously, he doesn’t get in any trouble for stealing another helicopter.

But, after the funeral, he does take two weeks off.

He doesn’t trust himself in the sky.

He doesn’t trust himself on the ground either.

He sends Buck a text that doesn’t get a response.

He sends another.

He tries for a phone call instead.

Nobody picks up.

He doesn’t stop trying, not for awhile at least. He’s not sure if it’s more for Evan or for himself.

But when it gets to the point that seven texts have gone unanswered, and four phone calls have gone straight to voicemail, well, he’s not sure what else to do.

He leaves a message.

“Evan, I- I don’t want to keep bothering you. I know this has been hard and I… I feel like I’m just making it worse by calling and texting. I want you to know I’m here for you though. I know what it’s like t- to need people and I-”

��I need you,” he wants to say. He doesn’t.

“I just want you to know that I’m here. I won’t keep bothering you. I… Yeah, I get the hint. But I’m here. Whenever you need me, Evan, I’m here.”

He hangs up the phone and drops it down on the couch beside him.

He closes his eyes, the image of Buck collapsing on the ground still fresh in his mind.

A tear falls down his face, then another. He needs someone to talk to.

He doesn’t have anyone else to call.

So he waits.

[nervoushottee]

Casual | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader

Summary: To you, what you and Steve had felt like coming home but to him? It was only just casual.

Warnings: 18+ MNDI, S1 King Steve (asshole), implied sex, descriptions of sex but not in detail, ANGST, Steve being a piece of shit, I think I gave Carol the wrong last name?

Notes: I love Chappel Roan’s “Casual”. Always have and always will. One day a few months ago when listening to the song I literally thought about this fic and just wrote crap on paper and forgot about it. Months later and here it is! I haven’t wrote for Steve in a long time so please bear with me if it’s rusty. This fic is inspired by a oc fic that I’m writing for a Canon Stranger Things store but Oc’s are always so hardddd to write compared to Reader. So there are some plot points used from that story to add in this story because it just felt right.

please enjoy! Not edited

(I know I know! This isn’t what you want for me to post! The Jesse fic IS being worked but very slowly due to my feelings with the S2 potrayal so bear with me on that!)

You and Steve have always been around each other—like a tether or an invisible string guiding you together. You live two houses down and one across from him, you’re in the same friend group. You’re a cheerleader and he’s on the basketball team. The both of you were causally and unintentionally tied to the hip.

So it only makes sense when the two of you fuck one night when Steve’s parents aren’t home.

Steve was bored—that’s what he told you over the phone a couple hours before. With a playful groan and a promise of a joint, you shove some sweats and sneakers and make the short walk to his house.

Another thing that the two of you so casually have in common—being an abandoned child.. Father kicked it years ago with the stupid and overused milk scene; Mother drowns herself in liquor that when she’s sober it’s scary. You should hate her, want her to show up more in your life but you’re not…not really.

When she slurs her speech with how much she loves the man who left her years ago and tries to find him again and again in old rich men—you can’t help but feel bad for her. You can’t help but hope and pray that you’ll never be like her: a shell of a woman constantly heartbroken from the one that got away.

Despite her absence and the (many) rich boyfriends in a suit that she drags to meet you—then cry her eyes out when it’s over, you have a roof over your head and money in your pocket. The last guy she dated was able to upgrade the television set in the living room. The guy two guys before that one fixed the pool that hadn’t been working for three years straight (you would use Steve’s anyways). That is what’s different between you and Steve.

Steve’s parents are rarely ever home. Business trips or vacations is what they call them but from what Steve told you, he knows it’s mostly his father having a business meeting or whatever and his mother tagging along be every time she didn’t, his father would go and cheat with a younger version of her. Despite Steve’s nonchalant attitude toward it whenever it’s brought up with Tommy and Carol, you know Steve better than that.

It was nights like these when Steve “bored” out of his mind and calling you to come to his or he’d go to yours—Steve would whisper out the feelings that were hidden inside of him. When the joint was down to its last hit or the beer too warm to drink anymore on a warm night. Or even if it was just a little too quiet and a little too comfortable. The two of you would bring out all of the skeletons you kept deep in the closet.

It was a mutual understanding between you both to keep it to yourself. Despite not being more than good friends, the weight of the conversations you shared meant more to you than just that.

Shaking your head, you scoff playfully as you see Steve already standing in the drive. His hands placed on his hip and his foot tapping on the cement. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought Steve was a disappointed mother rather than your cute friend.

Of course you think Steve is cute—who fucking wouldn’t? You still keep it to yourself though.

He taps his hands on his wrist, his eyebrows furrowed in disappoint, “Do you know what time it is young lady? For you to go out this late and come to a boys house of all things is just unacceptable.”

You roll your eyes as you walk toward him. “Sorry mom, it won’t happen again.”

“You bet your ass it won’t.” he says sternly, as you stop a foot or so in front of him, you can already see the playful and fond gleam in his eyes. Sometimes you wonder if he only saves that look for you.

Steve opens the door for you and once you step inside, it’s like you never left. You know Steve’s place like the back of your hand and you won’t be surprised if Steve knows yours just the same. Following him up the stairs to his bedroom, the two of you get into a routine that has honestly warmed your heart since it started.

Steve goes slides his desk to corner of the wall as you open the window that it was faced toward. You can hear the crickets chirping in the night and the faint sound of trees rustling from the night wind. The air warm from summer being just a blink away, so you unzip your jacket after pulling out the light you had shoved into it. Steve sits on the other side of window as he pulls out the joint that was promised. You chuck off your shoes with a groan an wiggle your sock covered toes as you hear the scrape of the lighter against Steve’s thumb.

He doesn’t take the first hit, he never does. Not with weed or even cigarettes—he simply lights it for you. You don’t remember when it started but you do remember the curt remark from Carol at a party once. Steve had got a couple beers, had opened one, handed it to you and pull one for him out of his pocket. Carol (drunk and little jealous) had asked “Who is she, your girlfriend Harrington?”

You and Steve had both shrugged off the comments, not really taking to heart the words that your friend had slurred out your mouth. But as Tommy dragged her away for some air, and you watched Steve light the cigarette just to give to you, the words were replaying in your mind for the rest of the night.

Months later and here you are, sharing the small joint with Steve. Fingers brushing against each other as you exchange it back and forth. You blow the smoke out the window with your arm rested on the windowsill. Your cheek squished against your arm, you look out at the night sky. You don’t know if your eyes are playing tricks on you but you can only see two stars in the sky. They stand in the blackness of the night parallel to you and Steve.

You’ve got to be super high already. You clear your throat and rub your eyes against your arm. “Mom’s got a new guy.”

“Oh yeah?” Steve asks as he hands the small joint to you.

You hum. “Yea he’s,” you inhale warm smoke, “He’s some guy up from Indianapolis. Works at a lawyer firm or accounting something.” You shrug your shoulders, you never really give a shit about the who and what of your mom’s new flavor of the month.

“Think this one’s gonna stick?” Steve accepts the last bit of the joint.

You shake your head and smush your cheek back on your arm. “They never do.”

Because from what your mom tells you whenever she drinks vodka—that all of them can never hold a candle to your father. She tells you that with tear in her eyes, mascara smudged and lips quivering. You always exchange her vodka out for whatever after a while when she’s not looking; Usually she’s too drunk to even notice the difference.

You snap out of your daydream at the touch of Steve’s warm hand against your waist. His skin on yours makes your breath hitch silent. Your shirt had ridden up with how you were leaned against the window sill, so you know it wasn’t his intention to place his hands on you like that but he doesn’t move it. Instead you feel his thumb softly move back and forth. Faint baby strokes against your skin that sends goosebumps up your spine.

You try your best to look casual as you direct your gaze to Steve. He’s smoking the last bit of it, the roach looking tiny in his big hands. You let out a whine, “You’re hogging it Harrington.”

Steve shrugs, “Not my fault you were lost in a daydream.”

You use your unoccupied hand to reach out for the roach but Steve takes the little thing and extends his arm out of your reach. Orangey red ember staring back at you as you squint and pout. “That shit probably only has one hit left. ‘S not fair, I was just enjoying my high.” You lie.

Steve debates it for a second, you see how his face changes from playful to thoughtful to fond in the bright moonlight.

Fuck, you really like the way he looks at you.

“Fine. How about this?”

Steve takes the last and final hit of the joint and you gasp in shock— slightly annoyed that he didn’t share it. But once Steve gets into your personal space, his hand still on sliding from your waist, up your back to softly cup your neck—you realize that Steve Harrington is actually fucking sharing it.

You lean to meet him as suck in the warm smoke that Steve blows into your mouth. His gaze low and heavy as he leans back a bit to watch you lick your chapped lips.

You can’t really tell who pulled in first but all you know is that night you and Steve had sex for the first time.

The morning after, when you woke up to the sun on your skin and the sound of birds chirping. The bed is empty when you turn around. Your naked underneath the sheets and you shove Steve’s shirt over your head and shrug on your sweats as you make your way out of his room.

You follow the sound of pots and pans and walk downstairs to see Steve in the kitchen. His back toward you as he places a pan on the stove. There’s a cup of coffee next to him and a mug empty right next to his.

“Hey.” you mumble out.

Steve turns to the sound of your voice and with the same fucking in his eyes that makes your heart jump—he smiles softly at you. “Morning. Coffee?”

Warmth and relief flutters inside of you as you let out a deep sigh, “Yeah that’s perfect actually.”

The two of you don’t talk about what happened last night. Neither of you ask the what are we question and it makes you happy and anxious at the same time. But as you laugh at some stupid story he’s telling, you remind yourself that it was only one time and it won’t ever happen again.

Until it happens a second time and then a third time. Then it turns into something so continuous that Tommy and Carol catch on.

“Are you guys fucking or something?” Tommy blurts out at your table in the cafeteria. You nearly choke on your Coke. Carol eyes you both as she blows the biggest bubble of gum she’s done so far. You keep the soda can up against your lips—an act of not speaking, blaming it on drinking soda.

“Don’t try to deny it either,” Carol states with a pop of her gum. “Those hickeys conveniently placed blow your neck is peaking out of your collar.” She tells you. Your mouth slightly gaped like a fish, you reach to adjust your shirt collar as Steve clears his throat.

“It’s nothing serious. We’re just hanging out.” Steve says like it’s whatever.

You ignore the pang in your chest when the words come out of his mouth. But, you’re in no mood to make a fool of yourself, so you do what you do best—push down those unwanted feelings and agree. “Yeah,” you shrug your shoulders. “We’re just-”

“Casual.” Steve finishes for you and like the stupid girl you are—you nod. You take the multiple blows he sent your way with the five letter word and the look on his face that’s nothing like how he looks at you in private.

With the ring of the school bell, you watch as Steve wipes his mouth with a napkin, toss it on his tray and leave the lunch table. Tommy follows after him like a lost puppy while leaving his girlfriend in the process.

You almost don’t see the small look of shock and disappointment in Carol’s eyes with how fast it leaves. She pops her gum and in a blink of an eye it’s gone. Her usual bored stare takes its place as she locks eyes with you.

“Bathroom?”

Going to the bathroom with Carol Jenkins means more than just going to the bathroom. No, it doesn’t mean making out in the stall—even though you did do that one time when the two of you both turned sixteen; Just to see how kissing girls felt. It meant what every other group of girls did when going to the bathroom at Hawkins High.

To Reapply lipgloss, smoke out the window and gossip.

The highschool bathroom window only opened three inches on every floor for safety reasons and to prevent kids from smoking. But all you had to do was stick your hand out and let the smoke trail out side.

So hear you stood by the window, cigarette in the hand extended outside. You take a puff and watch the track team do laps on the yard.

“You know, if what you and Steve have isn’t as casual as he thinks it is—you need to tell him like now.” Carol says out loud. You nearly break your neck with how quick you turn to the redhead who is reapplying her lipgloss for the second time since you lit the cig. She meet your eyes yet, giving you time to save face as she primos and fluffs her hair before finally turning to you.

You shrug, “He’s right. We’re just—having fun.”

She nonverbally asks for the cigarette and you hand it to her. Watching as she walks to the window and blows the smoke she just inhaled out the tiny open space. Carol’s a bit shorter than you, something you made fun of in a cute way whenever you’re too drunk. But now, for some reason, you’re the one that feels small. Almost as if she can read right through your bullshit lie and knows that what you want and what Steve wants are two different fucking things.

“Well,” she taps the ash of the on the window sill. You wipe it off in annoyance. “Make sure you remember that and have fun.”

The thing about Carol Jenkins—she wasn’t always a bitchy mean girl. No, before status and highschool popularity and even Tommy, she was a pretty good friend. As time went on, she changed and you did too. But probably not in the same direction though.

Carol doesn’t say anything to you about the matter ever again after that. And you continued on with the facade of being okay with being just causal with Steve.

Because the thing is, it wasn’t casual. Steve can go about and say that the two of you were just casual but it doesn’t feel casual and it never has.

Not when he kisses your hand when the two of you take long drives and especially not when you hold each other so close at night.

You know how many freckles Steve has on his back. You’ve counted them on one lazy Sunday morning. The wind blowing through the open window of your bedroom, curtains light and flowy with the sun peeking through. Steve, chest bare, sleeping on his stomach with hands underneath the pillow. You on top of him, cheek smushed against his back and your legs tangled together.

You had woken up before him. Eyes a bit blurry and mouth dry as you glide your fingers up and down his back. M Dancing around his spine as you count all the small dots that were scattered across his body. Twenty three of them.

He knows where all your birthmarks are. Could find them blindfolded with nothing but his wandering hands.

You’ve moaned his name against his mouth and he’s grunted out yours. In his room and yours. In the front seat of his car and the back seats. At Lover’s Lake when the sun is gone and the moon is bright. At Skull Rock, a place you both found after too many close calls getting caught by the cops at the lake. On his bathroom counter and underneath the warm shower water. At his parent’s beach house and at parties when you are able to ditch your friends.

None of that felt fucking casual to you.

You wished and prayed not to be like your mother. But here you are, drunk out of your mind in the corner of the room at Tina’s Halloween party. Black eyeliner smudged against your eyes and fake blood dried against your mouth. You can taste the nasty artificial taste of it as you lick your lips. “Pure Fuel” nearly finished in your stained and sticky solo cup; you watch as Steve and Nancy walk through the crowd of dressed up teens—in their own couple’s costume.

He’s wearing the same sunglasses he had at the beach house. The same ones you took off his face to see his pretty brown eyes and kiss his lips afterwards.

Drink in hand and eyes blurry with tears, you painfully watch the couple dance to the music.

What you and Steve had wasn’t casual. You knew that deep within your bones. But Steve doesn’t speak to you, not like he used to, not after that night and not since Nancy. Because he’ll see it tightly in his mind that what you had was causal when it was nothing of the sort.

So, as you watch Steve follow Nancy to what you assume is the bathroom to go fuck like you used to do with him, you follow in your mother’s footsteps. Hips swaying and mind fuzzy as you tangle your warm tongue with Billy Hargrove’s.

He’s a mistake. He isn’t Steve. But he’s just enough to make you forget how the boy you loved was never your boy begin with.

He made that very clear.

[solifloris]

≡;-꒰ 𝐗𝐀𝐕𝐈𝐄𝐑 ꒱₊˚ ପ⊹ I  𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒒𝒖𝒆𝒆𝒏 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟐

╰┈➤ ❝ xavier x afab!reader | 18+ only

tags : long fic, porn with plot, prince!xavier x knight!reader, separate from the lightseeker era we know and more of a different royal au, slight angst, hurt/comfort, slowburn ish, mutual yearning, slight miscommunication (well it's xavier…), still has soft fluffy moments though, use of "my prince" "my liege" "your highness" from reader, kisses, first time, oral (f. receiving), heavy petting, vaginal sex, overall soft sex and very vanilla moments, slight use of pet names "angel" and "my queen" towards the end from xavier.

IMPORTANT - this is part 2 because apparently tumblr has a 1000-block limit that won't let me post the entire fic in one whole post...... so please see this link for part 1, or the full fic on AO3 !!

wc : 19.8k total / part 1 - 12.3k / part 2 - 7.5k

an : a tumblr continuation; this is still for @xavmc-week days 1 (knight x royalty), 2 (firsts), and 3 (moon/stars)! note that this is not really a standalone, and does work better with the context from part 1 <3

taglist to be reblogged : SIGN UP HERE

ko-fi jar / commissions

With a single word and a gentle touch, you turned a moment into forever.

Like many things between the two of you, it became routine.

One kiss, and then the second—it happened just the next night. Just as quiet, just as soft, just as gentle.

You hadn’t expected it, not really. You'd wished for it, sure, but you fully believed it to be a one-time-thing—

It wasn't.

Because that next night, he'd invited you in again. Another cup of tea, more idle chatter, something normal—

And then he walked you to the door.

Again.

He stood a moment long, and then you knew, and when his lips brushed yours in another sweet, sweet kiss, you could feel your heart soaring.

Again.

That night, there were still no words exchanged. Just a small, shy, mutual smile, and then the door closing softly behind you.

And after that, it became a rhythm. A routine. He would find you in quiet hallways with an unspoken glance; you would fall into step beside him without hesitation. Sometimes your hands brushed as you walked—accidental at first, then not so accidental. A ghost of a touch. A curl of fingers, before either of you would still remember to pull away.

And some nights, you'd wait by the door, unsure if you'll be invited in again But every time, the door still opened before you could knock.

Some nights, he would still be dressed in formal attire, a little disheveled, a little distracted, a little tired. Other nights, he was comfortable to be in less—a simple linen shirt, maybe even sleep clothes. His sleeves were always rolled to the forearm; gaze was always more relaxed.

Still, always handsome.

And you never really quite talked about the kisses. About the affection, the comfort, the—whatever this was.

They just happened. Folded into the end of each evening, like clockwork—like punctuation.

A kiss by the door. A hand brushing your wrist. A touch on the small of your back as you passed him a folded report.

It took 21 days to form a habit, but sometimes you'd think that this even took less—that was how natural it was. You could breathe, and you would breathe him in. Enough so for you to dream lighter, now. You'd to sleep with the tingle of his lips; wake up with the memory of it.

Naturally, of course, the court remained unaware. In whatever had pulled you close like this, you were still able to keep a straight face around the others. The guards still spoke of it as nothing, and if anyone noticed the way your gazes lingered longer than they should, then they didn't seem to dare touch on the matter in the first place.

It was enough, at least. For you. For him, hopefully.

And then night after night, as the castle settled into quiet and the corridors dimmed to a warm glow, you returned to him.

Always to him.

And you wished, deep in your heart, that it would always last forever.

&—

Of course it didn't.

A bond built in secret—how long, truly, could that last?

You kept your head down when you first heard it.

The palace walls were thin—decidedly so. You'd never cared for it, not before, but now it meant something. Words seeped through the cracks; like vines on a wall, winding, and winding, and—

Choking.

Two noblemen lingered in the corridor. Their voices were low, but not low enough. You could make out, still, what they were saying.

“A match with the House would secure the borderlands for a generation.”

“Well, I believe he’ll fall in line. He has no choice, if it's for the Kingdom.”

“But they say he’s taken to spending time with his knight, that woman. I'd heard she was his personal guard."

"Goodness! Then what would that look like, come delegation day?”

It stung.

You felt the bile build up in your chest, in your throat—

You could throw up.

You almost did.

And you turned, left—your hands clenched into fists at your sides, your limbs tense as you walked. You couldn't bear to hear any more.

It had been weeks.

One, or two—but more than enough for you to live in that pretty little illusion, and now it was time to stop it.

Xavier hadn't told you.

Just last night, you'd shared another soft little kiss—that one was longer than most, you almost stayed.

Almost.

Almost.

But he hadn't told you.

And how long had there been talks of this? How long had he been betrothed to a noble girl? How long had he known? Could he kiss you, still, despite all of this being said? Could he be with you, nightly, despite the arrangements being made for his hand?

When you entered your room, you went straight for your bed. Sat in it in silence, hung your head down in disdain.

Tears pricked at your eyes. Even in its absence, your armor weighed heavy. Right on your heart.

It was the weight of what you were.

You didn't go to him, that night. Not this, not the next, not the nights even after. And each evening that you'd steeled yourself not to knock on his door, a part of you ached like you'd gone too long holding your breath.

Because you'd never even spoken of what you were.

Never defined those soft, goodnight kisses, the brushing of fingers when no one looked, the stolen moments of laughter, of shared glances—things that warmed you, comforted you, made you feel… safe.

For you, it had been enough.

Just spending time with him like that, it had been enough.

Until it wasn't.

And still, you couldn't quite pretend that you hadn't seen it coming.

Xavier moved differently, now. His shoulders were tense in court, his eyes flicking towards you from across the room more often, as though checking to see if you'd still be there. You noticed it. It was hurting him as much as you, you could see it. You knew him well enough. Still, despite the secrets, you knew him well enough.

But this distance was necessary.

If 15 centimeters had shortened into 5, had dissolved into nothingness—

It had grown, since even longer.

15 centimeters to 20, to 30. To one foot, then two—a meter, then more.

The space between you had grown, even when physically, you were only just a few paces apart at all.

And it just had to be that way.

It had to be that way.

So why were you crying?

Why, then, where you turning down this corridor—were you heading to his chambers—

Why, then, was it so difficult to leave?

It was the fourth night, like this. Habitual movements. Heart thrumming with an ache that pulsed at your throat.

You were there before you could think; in front of the door, closed, that you were so familiar with.

Your hand lifted—

You didn't knock.

"This is stupid," you murmured, a pained whisper beneath your breath.

And then—

"…Is that what you think?"

Your heart stopped.

You didn't need to turn to see who had spoken, but—

You did, anyway.

Slowly, guiltily. You turned, let your eyes fall onto his figure, immediately falling into those blue, blue eyes…

Immediately finding that they weren't, now, as bright as you had known them to be.

"I… I wasn't…"

You tried to speak, but your words fell short. You'd forgotten how, almost. 21 days to form a habit, and it had been even less for it to break.

He stepped forward. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

"I didn't mean to…"

"But you’ve barely looked at me.”

Because I can't.

Taking a deep breath, you glanced away, let out a bitter exhale.

“Because… Because if I do, then I’ll forget what I’m supposed to be. A-and I can't do that."

A knight shouldn't…

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched as his brow knit, as something flickered in his eyes like a candlelight caught in the wind.

You knew that look.

Pain.

“So, what are you supposed to be?” he muttered.

Like he didn't know, or— like he couldn't admit it.

You hung your head, then. Refused to answer.

Because what were we, then?

"They said something, didn't they."

His tone was softer this time when he tried again, but it was not a question, not this time.

It was a statement.

Yet, still you couldn't raise your head.

“You think I care what the court says? About what they expect of me?”

"That's not it, I just…"

You shut your eyes tightly.

Well, you had to speak, didn't you?

"I think," you whispered then, slowly, "that you were born with a crown on your head, and I… was born to guard it. And it makes all the difference, Your Highness. Because roles like that… really just don't overlap."

When you say things out loud, it feels a little more real.

Unfortunately for you, that was exactly the case with even this. And maybe, then, it was why things had to fall apart so quickly.

You'd never spoken what you had out loud.

Xavier stepped closer.

Tentative.

The smell of him, then—clean sheets, warm parchment, something grounding—it hit you like a memory.

“You’ve kissed me every night for a week,” he murmured. “You’ve sat beside me in silence, you’ve laughed at my terrible impressions of the court’s musicians, you’ve been more than just duty—more than any of it, long before either of us dared say it.”

You held your breath.

“And now you look at me like you’re afraid to hope.”

"…Because, Your Highness. I am."

In that moment, your voice broke.

“Because this—whatever we are, I— i-it won’t survive a noble’s daughter, with silk hems and land attached to her name, and… and peace."

You still couldn't look at him. You closed your eyes, again, tried not to think about throwing up, tried not to think about how tense you were.

“I'm just a knight, Your Highness, and I serve you. You’ll have to marry. You’ll be expected to bed someone else, kiss someone else, share everything with someone else and pretend like I was nothing but a childish indulgence—”

"Is that… Is that what you think I see you as?"

You shook your head, but you couldn't trust your words to be of any use.

Your throat closed. Your vision blurred; a stray tear fell away.

You could feel yourself trembling.

And then he reached for you, slowly. His hand brushed against your glove, not taking, but—offering.

Hoping.

Without another word, another beat, you felt him lift up your chin, felt him lean in—

He didn't kiss you, not quite. But he pressed your foreheads together, searched your gaze, pleaded you, if only through actions alone.

"I want to choose you," he said quietly. Barely a whisper, barely a breath.

And somehow, you knew that he did.

But wanting something did not always mean that you could.

Now, at least, you knew that.

"But you can't," you whispered.

And you pulled away, took a step back, and bowed.

"Goodnight, my prince."

&—

Another week.

The corridors of the castle always sounded different at night.

Quieter, yes. But emptier, too. Like something had been there, and left, and taken all the warmth with it.

By now, you'd been avoiding his hall entirely. Formed a new habit—walked the longer path to your quarters, kept your head bowed more respectfully during meetings, left before he could catch your eye.

It simply had to be this way.

And, sure— you missed him.

You missed him in ways you didn't have the language for, in ways you wished you could described if only losing a piece of your soul was easy to describe. Because it wasn't just the shared looks, wasn't just the touches, the kisses goodnight—

You missed his voice. His smile. When they weren't meant for anyone else; when he said your name when no one was listening. These things—all of them—that soon, you knew, would belong to someone else.

That he would belong to someone else.

That he would marry someone else, and— and what could a knight do?

What could you do?

You'd heard it now through whispers, then through the official talks. A name had been floated; a political match that made sense.

And you told yourself that it was always going to end like this. That your role in his life was temporary. Just a secret, soft, guarded secret he'd kept while you both waited for the inevitable… soft around the edges, to be kept and folded away without too much pain.

But it did hurt.

Gods, it hurt.

Everytime you laid to sleep, you pressed your fingers to your lips like an idiot, and wondered if he remembered the last kiss like you did.

If he regretted it.

If he thought that things had stepped too far.

And then one evening, you lingered longer in the armory under the guise of inventory.

The space was dim, your hands were idle. You sat in the corner—you had run the inventory, but that was over now. And in this quiet space, your thoughts were louder than they should have been.

Because fuck it all—it hurt, and you missed him.

You wondered—should you have fought for him?

Should you have dared, even?

So little you could do in your position; so much that you could dream.

You groaned, head in your hands as your knees drew to your chest, and you barely even noticed that the door had opened.

A quiet pad of footsteps.

You raised your head, half-expecting a squire or a steward, but—

It was him.

Xavier.

You swallowed thickly, eyes frozen—

Then, quietly:

"There you are. I've been looking all over for you."

You could see his shoulders slump in relief a little, as if the mere sight of you had calmed him, as if he'd waited—desperately—for another moment to share with you. While you could do nothing. You watched, stayed still when he moved to sit beside you, a few paces away, respecting the boundary that he knew you'd put up, letting his words hang in the air a little.

"You… stopped coming to say goodnight," he added after a while. Not looking at you, but looking straight ahead.

As if he could scare you with another glance.

"…I, um. Didn't want to be a burden."

"You aren't, though."

You swallowed. You could feel your heart thudding painfully against your ribs. "…Well, they… They said you were meeting her. Next week, right? The… the noblewoman. Your betrothed."

Out of the corner of your eye, his expression flickered.

"Mn, they've arranged a meeting. But she isn't my betrothed. None of this means that I've agreed to anything."

"But you will."

Silence.

You turned.

"You… will, won't you?"

And then your eyes met, again you held your breath, and he gave you a slow, strained smile.

No.

"Your Highness, please, I don't want you to—"

"Do you know?"

He whispered, but it was enough to cut you off.

Your mouth clamped shut.

"Do you know how many times I've looked at the throne room, full of all these people… and only wanted to find your face?"

Your breath caught.

"I never wanted to stop what we had," he mumbled. "I thought you just needed space, so I gave it to you, I didn't mean…"

"But that's not the point, Your Highness. You're to marry, I can't just—"

"I thought you regretted it."

You exhaled slowly. "…Never."

Never.

And this time he drew closer; reached for you, as if so desperate, now, not to have you leave his side again.

How could you ever have it in you to pull back?

"Please," he whispered, "I— I haven't been sleeping."

His voice felt raw; you heard it strain like the way he was trying to keep it together in front of you.

"You… You're my knight, and you've protected me all this time,but you don't have to protect me from heartbreak. Not like this. I don't want it like this. I need you to believe that I can choose it, even if it hurts, and that I'll…"

You closed your eyes. In that moment, listening, you resigned—allowed yourself a moment of selfishness, allowed yourself to lean in, bury your face into his chest.

You heard it, the way his breath hitched.

Slowly his arms wrapped around your figure, questioning, unsure, but so… hopeful.

"I never thought I could belong in your world," you murmured. Your voice was muffled by his clothing. "I still don't know if I do. You're meant to belong to someone else, and I—"

"I don't want someone else."

"…I don't want you to want someone else, either."

He leaned down to rest his chin on top of the crown of your head then, and then there was silence.

Neither of you moved, neither of you said another word.

Right now, you thought you could enjoy it—just another quiet moment for the two of you, another illusion that everything was fine.

&—

The castle had never been louder.

“Did you hear?” said one.

“He turned her down," said another.

“It's a royal scandal!” "What will the court think?!" "Does this mean something for our Kingdom?!"

Word spread fast, as usual.

You'd borne the brunt of it before, but now you were a spectator—curious, at that.

It was today; earlier. Xavier had journeyed to meet up with his betrothed, and you'd purposely kept away from him, but he'd returned with nothing but silence.

You hadn't seen him.

He hadn't sat through his duties, hadn't offered a word to anyone… Not the King, nor you, nor—anyone. Just ridden straight through the gates and disappeared into his chambers without even an escort.

And you had heard all of this in fragments. Snatches of gossip, pieces and bits, a part of the vine that crawled, and crawled, and crawled…

Even your captain had to look up from his reports to ask, "Did you know anything about this?"

You didn't.

You knew nothing.

You didn't know why he’d done it, or what it meant, but—but you had hope that you did. The kind of hope that had you freezing; foggy. Something lodged in your throat, something unspeakable and trembling, and—

You could tell yourself to leave it alone.

You could.

You could.

But you didn't.

And in all manners predictable, by nightfall, you'd found yourself standing right in front of his door again.

It had been so long.

Your fist hovered, uncertain, still—

He'd said no, to a future. A future set out for him, a future that would've made sense, a crown-sanctioned bride that should have been—

He said no to the wishes of his Kingdom.

It was a risk, one unimaginable, even for you.

And you needed to know why .

So you knocked, once.

The door opened almost instantly, as though he’d been waiting, and he looked…

Tired.

Rumpled.

He had no cloak, no gloves, and his shirt remained half-unbuttoned at the collar, like he hadn't even bothered changing since he'd gotten back hours ago. So when your eyes met, for a moment neither of you moved.

Then, quietly, he stepped aside.

“You heard,” he said.

You entered, keeping your gaze on the ground. “The whole castle's heard.”

"… Of course."

He exhaled. A small, tired laugh escaped his lips. And still you wouldn't look at him, but you grasped at his sleeve, and tugged.

"Why?" you whispered.

“Because I couldn’t lie anymore.”

You drew in a breath.

“I thought I could do it,” he muttered. You could hear a dry smile in the way that he spoke. “I thought I could be what they needed, marry who they wanted… But I sat across from her, and all I could think was—she isn’t you.”

He took a slow step towards you; broke that distance in an instant. 15 centimeters? No more.

And every word, every breath, they would still you in your own movements, render you frozen to the spot, but he—

This time, he wouldn't let you.

“I tried to forget. To be noble. To be dutiful.” Another step. “But I’ve been in love with you for so long, and now I know that I wouldn’t know how to stop. I don't know."

You looked up, this time. Slowly, as he drew you in. A hand at your waist, a touch you didn't refuse—a gaze you couldn't look away from.

And, god, you were weak.

"…I like it, when you name things," you whispered back finally. A line that was familiar; memories drawn to that balcony, late at night, but a line you would repeat for yourself to hear. "It makes them feel more real. It makes you feel more real. Not like… Like a star, up in the sky, far too high that I can't dream to reach."

Like, you... have always been too far from me. But, I...

It began with trembling lips.

His hands rose to cup your jaw, and yours fisted gently into the fabric of his shirt—clinging, like you didn’t trust the moment to stay if you let go.

"It is real," Xavier breathed. "It's very, very real. This moment, and us."

And he kissed you.

Your lips met with the soft, inevitable gravity of two people who had always been drifting toward each other; like he had waited for years; like you had only a single remaining language in your heart that existed in the shape of him.

So when his hands began to roam—slow, careful, unhurried—you didn't stop him. You basked in it. The finality of it. It sent a heat heat skimming beneath your skin, and immediately your body responded before you could think, pressing into him as he guided you backwards.

And your name.

God, your name.

You'd never heard it sound so sweet, so loving, not like the way he whispered it between your lips. Every kiss, every movement—your name fell still, like a sigh; a quiet chant, and it made you weak.

The backs of your legs hit his bed, and you let yourself fall.

Into him, and the mattress—into everything and anything that this moment was building up to.

And he kissed you, and kissed you, and kissed you—barely spent a second away from you, even as he unfastened your tunic with slow fingers, each button undone like an unspoken confession.

Only when it was off did he pause, sitting back.

You watched his eyes. Saw the awe in them.

Devotion.

Reverence.

"So beautiful," he whispered.

And as you flushed at his response to you, he kissed your jaw, your shoulder, the hollow of your collarbone. Soft, fluttering kisses, down your body, almost enough to have you weeping from the way he did it—like every part of you was worth loving. You'd barely even choked back a sob when he pulled away to undress. Clearly every bit as eager as wanting as you.

And so you froze a moment, drank him in—every golden line of his chest, the way candlelight haloed over the silvery strands of his hair.

You watched, still, as he came down over you. He placed both forearms on either side of your head, and a small smile played at your lips;

He said it again.

"You're so beautiful," he sighed. "Like… an angel."

You didn't know if you wanted to hit him or burrow in embarrassment, but even as your face reddened, that lovesick look on his face rendered you silent.

And this time, he took his time.

He trailed your jaw, your neck, your collarbone—feeling, this time, with the tips of his fingers, as if carefully wanting to leave on you a mark of his own touch.

He moved lower.

His gaze followed where his hands went, dipping down your sides, sliding over to brush beneath your breast. When he stroked over to your belly, you held you breath; when he held your hip and nudged your waistband down, you arched in permission.

And despite how the situation was—despite the way he'd leave you completely bare, despite the inevitable, then that this was leading to—you found that his touches were devoid of any ulterior motive.

His eyes, when he raised them back to yours, were so loving. As if, he wanted to say—even this, now, feels like coming home.

And maybe it was.

Maybe it was, in the way he seeked to explore every little inch of you. The way he traced your skin, meant to memorize every curve. The way every touch, now, built warmth right into you, slow, and steady, and tender, until he knew that you ached for him—possibly, then, in ways you'd never dared to explore before this.

So when he kissed you next, it was gentle.

Intentional, but gentle.

You could feel years of unspoken yearning behind the way his mouth moved against yours, the way he cupped your cheek and dipped the tip of his tongue into your parted lips.

Immediately, naturally—your legs parted, raising to cradle his hips.

Against your bare sex you could feel the friction of his bulge, and you tugged at his hair.

Off, you seemed to plead.

He only looked at you with a smile.

There was a sparkle in his eyes—love, still, and this time a little hint of teasing.

He nuzzled your cheek. "Do you need something?" he murmured.

He'd play the oblivious, innocent rabbit, even now.

"…Xavier," you whispered.

You closed your eyes, brought your lips close to his ear.

"Xavier."

And you had never said his name before. Not without titles, or formal address—

Never just his name.

You heard his breath hitch; felt his grip tighten around your arm.

"You…" He sounded like he was struggling to breathe. You could have sworn you felt him grow, against you.

And perhaps you felt daring, perhaps this was that unabashed, bolder side of you again—

You raised your hips and ground yourself against him, and you nearly trembled at the sound of his moan.

"Xavier," you repeated again, barely even a breath. "Please…"

There was a moment of parting, a moment where he stared, still, before he chuckled and complied. Slowly, articles of clothing bared him to you in turn, and you keened at the way he pressed himself against you once more. Firmer, this time. More sure.

"My angel…" he whispered, running a hand down your cheek before he kissed the place that he'd touched. "You're still here."

"I'll always be here. I don't want… to leave you ever again, Xavier, I…"

"Shhh. You're okay. I have you."

You gasped then, as you felt it.

The head of his cock rubbed deliciously at your entrance—not quite entering, but teasing, so, so, teasing.

Another roll of his hips drew a whimper from you this time, and his eyes glinted with mischief.

"You're enjoying this…" you whined.

He smiled. "Immensely."

And then he raised your hips, slot himself right at your hole, wrapped your legs at his waist—

"Breathe, angel."

The stretch was exquisite.

You felt yourself arching into him, trembling as he took you whole. Inch by inch he slid inside you, rubbing your hips in circles, bringing a hand up to his lips for him to kiss.

You were startled, almost. You could feel every vein, every ridge—every perfection as he filled you, and, all be damned—you wanted him. So, so, incredibly bad.

His hand moved, then, to stroke your side, a gentle, soothing motion as you pulsed and wrapped around him. He leaned in to kiss your temple, your cheek, your lips—as though trying to anchor you there with him.

"Are you okay?" he murmured against your skin. "Still with me?"

You could only nod, your voice too thick with emotion to answer.

His forehead rested against you, fingers threading with yours beside your head.

“You’re shaking,” he nuzzled you.

"I…"

Am I?

You marveled. You hadn't noticed, but you supposed that you were.

"I-I'm just—" You swallowed. “I'm really happy. I didn’t think I’d ever get this… you… us…"

He chuckled, kissed your cheek. "But it feels good, right?"

"Mhm. Real good."

"Can I move?"

You paused, then wrapped your arms around his neck— "Please."

And he did.

He fell against you, braced slightly on his arms, yet when his weight settled—it was grounding.

It was real.

So real, even if you felt you could float, because you felt him.

In, and out. In, and out.

He moved slowly, giving you time, watching your face with every shift of his hips. Every glide sent shivers through you. Every grind of his hips sent a heat sparking your skin.

"Xavier…" you whispered again; moaned. "Oh, god… y-you're so good…"

"Mh? Do you like it?"

He kissed you again, and you breathed him in.

And then you didn't realize you were crying, not until he pulled his lips away, brushed a thumb across your cheek.

"Am I hurting you? Is it too much?" He stilled, a moment, cupped your cheeks to get you to look at him. "You're crying…"

"No, I…"

You sniffled, a little, had to bite your lip a moment before you could continue.

You pulled him close, lifted your hips for him once more.

"D-don't stop, please," you breathed. "I'm just… so… in love with you…"

His eyes, already so tender, seemed to drown in your words, to overflow at the same time with a sense of love that only you could understand in turn.

His hips snapped—jerked, a little, as if spurred to action by the heat of the moment. Deeper, this time, so wonderfully deep. It drew a single, broken gasp from you—half sob, half moan, and he knew.

He did it again.

"…Like that?" he whispered.

Again.

You gripped his shoulders, drew your nails down to his back. "Yes. Yes, please, just like that, Xavier."

And then you had found your rhythm.

Steady, deep, and perfect.

His hands framed your face, kissed your cheeks where the tears had fallen… so much tenderness, and reverence, and devotion, and you believed—

This was how it was supposed to be.

This was how it was meant to be.

And your hands roamed his back, down to his hips, pulling him deeper. "More, please, my prince…"

"Mnnh, but you can't… s-say my title, like I'm not—"

"Xavier."

You moaned his name to placate him, but snuck in a cheeky smile.

"Xavier, my prince, my liege, my—"

You could have squealed at the way he kissed you then.

In a rush to shut you up, perhaps, his kiss had lost much of the gentleness with which he'd been treating you. Deeper, rougher, messier—his tongue found yours, and he wasn't breathing you in, he was drinking you in.

Dizzy.

When he pulled away, you forgot how to breathe, and still his hips continued to move at his rhythm.

"I dare you," he spoke through gritted teeth, panting, "to say that again." A challenge. "Do you wish so badly to be reminded of our differences when I'm inside you?"

And though his words made you flush, you only shook your head.

"It feels… ah… I-it feels more real when I s-say it out loud—" You gasped, trying to take the pleasure he was giving you. "Th-that despite everything— Even if you're the prince, and I'm the knight, we're — oh, god— w-we're both still here… In this moment… Together..."

He gripped your hips, rocked into you in a way that made you breathless.

"…You're right," he murmured. "That isn't going to change what we feel. Not anymore."

The pleasure built further, then. Gradually. Quiet moans became harder to keep in check, especially not when you could feel him pulse the way he did.

"I-I'm…" you choked out, trying to hold back a cry. "C-close… Xavier…"

"Mhm. I am, too. L-let's… cum together…"

He held your hands, gripped them tightly as he stilled.

He throbbed; you felt it. And a warm, sticky sensation filled you, enough for you to tremble, enough for you to still—frozen, captured—

He kissed you, again. Whispered your name onto your lips, a soft gasp, a prayer.

And even afterwards, he didn't dare leave you.

He gathered you into his arms, not minding the mess, not minding the way you'd tangled together in the passion you'd shared just then.

And he kissed you over, and over, and over again—

"Xavier, I love you," you sniffled.

"And I love you, my angel. For you… have always been mine."

And in the quiet that followed, as you drifted into sleep… You felt that you finally believed it.

&—

You woke slowly, the sunlight filtering through the heavy curtains in soft strips of gold. Yet, the warmth that cocooned you wasn’t just the sun—

It was him.

Still, always, him.

Xavier, half-asleep, lay with one arm lazily draped across your waist, his breath steady against the back of your neck.

For a moment you simply lay there, smiling quietly to yourself. The memories of last night came back in waves—his touch, his voice, the way he’d held you like you was everything...

You'd cleaned, before you slept, but you still felt every little sensation so vividly. Even now your body still hummed from it, a quiet, satisfied ache in all the right places. And you thought, foolishly, that you really might just lie here forever, suspended in the hush of a private morning.

Until you felt the press of his lips at your shoulder.

Soft.

Then, again—lower, this time.

You blinked sleepily, shifting under the sheets. “You're awake?” you murmured, a smile at the edge of your lips.

He hummed. "I wouldn't be, but you're distracting."

You huffed a laugh, turning your head slightly to peer at him over your shoulder. “I’m not even doing anything…”

“You exist.” His mouth trailed down the curve of your spine, slow, purposeful. “It’s more than enough.”

And before you could react, really, you felt the last shape of his smile against your back before he moved even lower, slipping under the covers.

“Xavier…” you warned gently, though your voice had little conviction. A thrill had already started curling in your belly—anticipation, excitement. “You’re insatiable.”

“But I’ve shown restraint for years,” he murmured from somewhere near your hips. “I’m just making up for lost time. Besides…"

You squeaked as you felt him lick right above your mound, sending tingles all over your body.

"I didn't taste you last night. Don't I get a taste test of my beloved queen?"

Beloved queen.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Another kiss; inside your thigh, nuzzling into you like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"X-Xavier—!"

His tongue was soft at first, teasing. Coaxing you awake in ways that had nothing to do with the sunlight. Your body arched of its own accord, slow and easy, thighs parting to grant him better access— You felt his hands hold you steady, and then he began to devour you with that same kind of reverence that made you feel drunk on him all over again.

You reached down blindly, fingers threading through his hair. “You really don’t have to—ah—Xavier—!"

“But I want to,” he said between kisses, between licks, with his breath still hot against you. “You taste really good, I wish I'd done this sooner.”

A moan spilled from your lips as his own closed right around your clit. It turned into a laugh, almost—you trembled, it was a little high pitched. “You—! Y-you're ridiculous,” you huffed, but still affection pooling in your chest as much as the heat searing between your legs.

This time, he didn't reply, not quite.

Just a groan—either from your words or the way you bucked slightly against his mouth, you couldn't really tell.

But oh, did it feel fucking good .

You felt him part your folds, add in a teasing lick at your entrance. He'd dip the tip of his tongue inside before gliding it achingly close to your clit—a few repetitions of the movement before it swirled over your bud, flicked it to the side.

"Oh, god—!"

Spurred on by your sounds, he only continued. Moaned against your skin, mixed in shamelessly with the lewd, slick sounds of your arousal. When his tongue slipped in, you cried—bucked, writhed, almost. Your fingers dug into his hair, and before you knew it, you were grinding into him, finding your rhythm.

"Xavier!" you whined. "Oh, god… oh, god, fffu—hnng—"

Your legs seized.

You felt him press you open, pushed onto the mattress, never daring to allow you any escape—

"C, c-cummin—ngh—!"

Your orgasm rushed to the surface as your back arched, curling into him with no more control over your movements.

But, greedily, he continued. Lapped you up, flicked at your clit. Enough so that by now you'd kicked at the covers, whined and tugged him up.

"Xavier… Xavier!" you huffed, panted.

When he stopped, finally, you sank weakly into the pillows, already drawing up one of them to cover your flushed face.

Not that he'd let you, of course.

He rose up to meet you with a smug, warm grin, crawling up to pull the pillow away and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Good morning,” he hummed.

Cheeky.

So, incredibly cheeky.

Donning a pout and feigning upset, you tilted your head to look at him, “Good morning, you menace.”

He only chuckled again and pulled you against his chest. “You like it, though.”

"You're lucky I do."

Your body was still warm, skin humming with the afterglow as you gave in and draped your arm across him. He was cozy, still. Despite the way you felt like you were already spent, you wouldn't turn away more cuddles from him. And in turn, he brushed his fingers up and down your bare back, slow and absent, as though touching you had become second nature.

You sighed contentedly.

"You know… most people start their mornings with tea."

"Mmm." A squeeze on your arm. "But this is better."

"You're going to spoil me."

"Good, I want to."

You felt him stir, then, and your breath caught—he ground against your thigh, just enough to earn you that delicious, delicious little groan.

"Your Highness…" you huffed.

"Mn, I know… But you're just so…"

Another grind, and you felt him tremble.

And it was so, so hard to resist, even for you.

"Please?" he murmured, nuzzling your neck.

"…Again? But you just…"

"I need you…"

And he rolled you gently onto your back, settled over you with a practiced ease.

A beat.

You looked at each other.

And now, like this, his eyes were so pleading, that you eventually broke out into a barely-contained smile of your own.

You were so weak.

He made you utterly, completely weak.

"Fine," you rolled your eyes, "last one, and then we get ready."

And it was so natural.

There was no urgency this time, only a warm familiarity as he slid into you. Still you felt the stretch, and still you felt yourself drawn in to take him all. And then you kissed, and gasped softly against his mouth, hands rising up to cradle the back of his neck.

“My prince,” you whispered, breath hitching as he began to move, “you’re impossible.”

He gave another peck to your lips, grinned as your hips lifted to meet his rhythm. This time it wasn't so deep, or hungry, or too much, it was just—

Right.

So right.

And kisses turned to giggles, and somewhere between slow thrusts and quiet moans, a conversation bubbled like the most natural thing in the world.

“I… still have meetings later,” he murmured against your neck. “Dull things. Reports, schedules. Nobles who love the sound of their own voices.”

Laughing softly, you arched into him again with a little hum. “And so I told you we mustn't take too long."

"But I want to spend the morning with you."

"You can't spend the whole morning…"

"Mn…" His hips moved with a slow roll then that made your eyes flutter, grinding against your sweet spot so perfect. “Still, it would be better if you were there.”

You grinned.

“As your knight or as your lover?” you teased, though something in your voice was soft. Wondering.

He looked at you then, his rhythm pausing just long enough for the weight of his gaze to settle. He brushed a strand of hair from your damp forehead.

“Both.”

You pulled him back into you, clung to him as you nuzzled into your neck.

"Ah, hearing you say that… feels almost as good as this…"

"This?"

He nudged your head, nipped at your cheek. You could feel him grin—another particularly angled thrust had the head of his cock kissing at your g-spot, and you shuddered.

"Mhm… just like that."

And he chuckled, timing every movement of his hips to hit that spot just right, just the way you liked it; only one time before and he'd already memorized every spot that made you cave so much.

He voiced it out. Poked his tongue out to make kitten licks at your neck, absolutely cherished the way that you groaned for him. "I already know what you like, angel. You like it here…"

His hand moved down, brushed against your nipple.

"And, here…"

With a grin, he dipped his head to nip at your collarbone.

"And, here…"

His hand moved lower down still, slid between your tangled limbs, and pressed against your clit.

You gasped, eyes wide, and he dared to grind against you, rubbing against your clit so perfectly that you nearly weeped again.

"X-Xavier!" you whimpered. "Y-you're so unfair, that's— ngh—"

Again he moved up your body to nuzzle your cheek affectionately, but his hand stayed at your nub and moved in slow, steady circles to match his hips.

“Today,” he said, breath warm and steady, “I’m going to tell them. The court. The council. Everyone.”

Your eyes widened, lips parted in pleasured puffs.

“I’m going to tell them I want to marry my knight,” he continued, fondly. “That I will.”

And you felt as if your heart could burst.

The world, around you, seemed to sway. Not from the motion of your bodies, even—but from this, this rush of emotion, the disbelief that settled into an overwhelming sense of love.

You didn't think you could love him any more than you did.

But he was very good at proving that notion wrong.

"You… you mean it?" you breathed.

"Mhm."

"You… I… I-I'm going to be your… queen?"

"Mhm."

He leaned in to kiss you again—that same gentle, soft kiss, followed by little fluttering ones all over your face until he reached the corners of your eyes.

Despite yourself, a little giggle fell from your lips, one that easily turned into a squeal as he flipped you over.

Now, with your face into the pillows, you felt his breath tickling your neck, as he gave you more kisses—down your back, along your spine, before he entered again.

Deeper this time. Much deeper than he had before.

"Oh, my god—Xavier, fuck— I—!"

He chuckled, raked his fingers through your hair. "Language," he murmured, "you're not being very classy today."

"Uh, it's your fault that I—!"

You barely got your words out before he slammed back into you, a motion causing your body to rock forward with a gasp. His weight pushed into you, laying like a weighted blanket, allowing you to feel just how deep he could take you.

"It's okay," he breathed, hot against the shell of your ear. "You're being such a good girl for me, my queen."

You could barely process his words, already dizzying at all these delicious sensations.

"You'll be the death of me, my liege."

When he moved again, it didn't take long for the both of you to reach your high. Similarly, still, to just the night before—his hips stilled, moans muffled into the nape of your neck, filling you wholly and completely and perfectly.

He'd turned you over then, pulling out slow, cradling your head in his hands.

"…I mean it," he whispered. "I want to marry you."

"…You're proposing to me after sex?" you laughed softly.

"Well… then do you accept?"

"Of course I do, Xavier."

He smiled. "I'm going to make you my queen. Just you wait."

"If… they don't accept?"

"We can always elope. You'd still be my queen."

You laughed again.

How odd it was, you found, that even in this situation you could still find humor, and comfort. But you supposed that was what it was like—when things felt right, when things felt settled enough.

In your heart, you knew that everything was going to be alright.

The promise lingered, settled in the quiet that followed. Here, in this room, you had everything you needed—you lay with tangled limbs, your hearts so open and tethered, and a world of hope waiting on the other side of the door, but you had each other.

That was the most important part.

You had each other.

© solifloris. all rights reserved. do not: steal, copy, repost, reupload, modify, or claim any of my works as your own, regardless of credit given. absolutely do not use my works for AI training and other related purposes.

[wandascrush]

The Aftermath

Part 12 of the DIWK series

Pairings: Sharon Carter x f!reader, Phil Coulson x f!reader, Avenegrs x f!reader, Natasha Romanoff x f!reader

tag list: @ayrtonwilbury @esposadejoyhuerta @kissesfornat @caffeine-pup @seventeen-x @heliotropeheart @so-to-aqui-pelas-fic @womenarehotsstuff @nuianced-tck-enby

A/N: thank you for the continuous support <3 Summary: Sharon finally brings you some place safe- some place… familiar. The Avengers get the shock of their life.

You didn’t trust her at first. Even after the escape. Even after she dragged you through the forests of Eastern Europe, evading HYDRA pursuit for four days straight. Even after she stitched up the wound on your shoulder and fed you with her own goddamn hands because your body still wasn’t yours yet.

You didn’t trust anyone.

But Sharon didn’t flinch.

She took your coldness, your silence, your empty stares, and never once hesitated. She talked to you like you were still you. Like you weren’t just some broken piece of a past life.

Because she remembered—even when you didn’t.

And for the first time since HYDRA carved you open and filled your veins with their poison—

You wanted to remember who you were. Desperately.

You sat in the backseat of a SHIELD suv, arms crossed tightly over your chest, Sharon’s jacket draped around you. Silent. Unreadable. Your friend drives without pushing. Not one question. Not one word out of place.

Something funny happens as soon as you cross the Brooklyn bridge. The city goes dark- the car radio turns off and lights vanish all across the city. They come back a moment later.

Only Sharon notices.

Your tired eyes meet her blue ones in the rearview mirror.

“Do you remember anything?” she asks quietly.

You shake your head.

A long pause.

Then: “Do you trust me?”

A beat.

“With my life,” she replies.

Silence again.

But something softens in your face.

———————-

Sharon Carters Apt. - Bronxville, NY

The door creaks open. Sharon supports you gently, her arm a steady presence as you limp inside. You’re walking now, barely—but it’s enough.

The apartment smells like cedar and lemon. Lived in. Safe. Something tugs at your chest.

Your gaze sweeps across the space.

Bookshelves. A worn couch. A coffee mug left by the sink. Papers scattered on the floor.

“Is this…your place?” you ask quietly.

Sharon hesitates.

“It’s ours,” she almost says. She wants to remind you that your bedroom is just down the hall from hers.

Instead, softly, “Yeah. It’s mine.”

You touch the edge of a photo frame. You don’t see what it holds—two girls, 16, arms slung around each other, laughing against a skyline. You and Sharon. You- your memories.

You remember your childhood. SHIELD. The training. The cold discipline of survival. You remember your trauma.

But love? Connection? The happy memories?

Those were so hard to remember. So…fuzzy?

And everything with the Avengers, Natasha, Wanda- that’s what HYDRA rewired. Dipped in poison. Corrupted to its core.

——————————

Avengers Tower - NY, NY

The tower feels cavernous now. Hollow. A ghost of what it used to be.

Natasha sits in a corner chair by the window, nursing a half-empty glass of whiskey, her gaze distant. Wanda curls into the opposite side of the room, hugging her knees, staring at the muted flicker of the television like it might tell her something she doesn’t already know.

The TV hums low, late-night news providing static comfort. Nobody listens—until a headline cuts through the white noise:

“BLACKOUT INCIDENT ON BROOKLYN BRIDGE”

Wanda glances up, blinking slowly. The footage begins to roll—grainy, jerky. A black SUV merges onto the bridge. Nondescript. Harmless.

Until it isn’t.

A flicker through the tinted glass. A profile. A shape. A face. The camera zooms in clumsily, but it’s enough.

That shape.

That familiar tilt of a head.

The sharp jawline.

The haunted eyes, staring out at a world that had long since forgotten her.

“It can’t be,” Steve says from behind them, stepping into the room, drawn by the sudden energy. “She’s…we looked for months. She’s dead.”

But he doesn’t sound convinced. Not a fucking bit.

Wanda feels bile pool into her mouth and she knows she’s going to be sick all night.

Tony appears a second later, phone in hand, already trying to track traffic footage. “Cross-check every camera in a fifteen-mile radius,” he mutters. “If that’s her—”

“If?” Natasha snaps, spinning on him. Her voice is razor sharp. “That was her.”

———————-

A dim glow spills from her desk lamp. Papers scatter across the table—HYDRA files, maps, decrypted intel. A mission board, red string crisscrossing in patterns only Sharon understands.

She’s hunched over her laptop, eyes burning, hands trembling. Exhaustion clings to her skin like a second layer. The adrenaline of what she’s done has finally hit her like a punch to the stomach.

Across the room, you toss fitfully on the couch, a blanket half-slid to the floor, breath shallow. Your sleep is never peaceful.

The news murmurs in the background.

Another headline.

“UNMARKED VEHICLE LINKED TO BRIDGE BLACKOUT”

Sharon’s eyes snap to the screen.

She sees it before they say it.

That SUV. A discontinued model famously assigned to Agent Coulson. The shimmer of light on tinted glass. The faint silhouette of a familiar jawline. Her stomach lurches.

It’s you.

She doesn’t move at first. Just watches.

Still breathing. Still alive. Clearly.

But the rest of the world would see this too.

The Avengers.

SHIELD.

Ross.

They’d be coming. But they can’t come yet- not before you’re well enough to decide what happens next on your own.

Her hand fumbles for the burner phone.

You shift on the couch but don’t wake. She dials fast.

“They’re coming,” she whispers, almost to herself.

A voice answers immediately: “I’m already on my way, kid.”

[heldhram]

How to run The Sims 3 with DXVK & Reshade (Direct3D 9.0c)

Today I am going to show you guys how to install Reshade and use Direct3D 9.0c (D3D9) instead of Vulkan as rendering API.

This tutorial is based on @nornities and @desiree-uk's awesome guide on "How to use DXVK with The Sims 3", with the goal of increasing compatibility between DXVK and Reshade. For users not interested in using Reshade, you may skip this tutorial.

If you followed nornities and desiree-uk's guide, it is strongly recommended that you start from scratch, meaning you should uninstall DXVK AND Reshade completely. Believe me when I say this: it will save you a lot of time, frustration, and make your life so much easier.

For the purpose of this tutorial, I am on patch 1.69.47 and running EA App on Windows 10, but it should work for version 1.67.2 on Steam and discs, too. This tutorial does not cover GShade.

Before we start

Backup your files, even the entire folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin) if you want to be extra safe; you will thank yourself later. If you do not wish to backup the entire folder, at least backup the following:

reshade-presets

reshade-shaders

Reshade.ini

Options.ini (Documents\Electronic Arts\The Sims 3)

Keep them somewhere secure, for your peace of mind (and sanity).

Done? Great stuff, let us begin!

Step 1:

If you installed DXVK following nornite and desiree-uk's guide, go to the bin folder and delete the following files to fully uninstall DXVK, we are starting from scratch:

d3d9.dll

TS3.dxvk-cache

dxvk.conf

TS3_d3d9.log (or TS3W_d3d9.log)

Step 2:

If you already have Reshade on your PC, uninstall it using this: https://reshade.me/downloads/ReShade_Setup_X.X.X.exe (replace X.X.X with version number)

Step 3:

Perform a clean install of Reshade (I am using the latest version - 6.4.1 at the time of writing). Please note that you need a version no older than 4.5.0 or this method will not work. Choose DirectX9, click next.

Once the installation is complete, you should see a "d3d9.dll" file inside The Sims 3's bin folder (Program Files\EA Games\The Sims 3\Game\Bin):

It may all seem familiar thus far. Indeed, this is how we installed Reshade in the past before using DXVK, but here comes the tricky part:

Step 4:

Create a new folder outside of The Sims 3's game folder (I created it on my C drive), name it "dxvk" or whatever else you like. Remember where you saved this folder, we will return to it later.

Step 5:

Now we need Reshade to load the next dll in order to chain Reshade with DXVK. Click on the search bar, and type in "View advanced system settings".

Click on "Environment Variables..."

Under "User variables", click "New..."

In the new pop-up window, find "Variable name:" and type in:

RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE

for "Variable value:", paste in the directory that leads to the folder we created earlier. Once you are done, hit OK, and then hit OK again to save the changes made.

You can use Command Prompt to check if this new environment variable has been registered by entering:

echo %RESHADE_MODULE_PATH_OVERRIDE%

It should return you the folder's location. If not, make sure you have typed in the variable name correctly and confirm the folder's location.

Step 6:

Download DXVK (version 2.3.1) from here: https://github.com/doitsujin/DXVK/releases/tag/v2.3.1 and unzip "dxvk-2.3.1.tar.gz" (I use 7-Zip, but winRAR works, too). Remember to choose x32, and move only "d3d9.dll" to the folder we made earlier.

Now we have two "d3d9.dll" files, one from Reshade (lives in the bin folder), and the other from DXVK (in this new folder, outside of The Sims 3 game folder).

Step 7:

Download "dxvk.conf" here: https://github.com/doitsujin/dxvk/blob/master/dxvk.conf delete everything inside, and enter the following:

d3d9.textureMemory = 1 d3d9.presentInterval = 1 d3d9.maxFrameRate = 60 dxvk.hud = devinfo

Ctrl + S to save the document.

The first 3 lines are taken from @nornities and @desiree-uk's guide.

The last line is only for debugging purposes. Due to the inconvenient location occupied by the HUD (top left corner of your screen), it should be removed once the installation is successful.

Step 8:

Drag "dxvk.conf" into the bin folder, where Reshade's "d3d9.dll", "TS3.exe", and "TS3W.exe" all live.

Step 9:

Now fire up the game and check if both are showing up:

Lastly, check for “TS3.dxvk-cache” in the bin folder:

If it is there, congratulations! You have successfully installed DXVK and Reshade utilising D3D9 as API! You can now go to "dxvk.conf" and remove its last line "dxvk.hud = devinfo" and have fun! :)

Hope this tutorial isn't too confusing, the last thing I want is to over-complicate things. If you still need some help, comment down below or send me a DM/ask, I'll try and troubleshoot with you to the best of my ability.

Credits:

@nornities and @desiree-uk for their fantastic guide.

@criisolate for promulgating the usage of DXVK in TS3 community.

reddit user folieadeuxmeharder for helping me troubleshoot and informing me of this workaround.

doitsujin for creating DXVK.

crosire for creating Reshade.

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

butterflygirl738 (7)

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, power imbalance, sickness, medical bills, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You love butterflies and your mother, but life isn’t that simple. As life gets complicated, and expensive, you find yourself in need and an unexpected miracle presents itself.

Characters: Steve Rogers (CEO/Sugar Daddy)

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

“You were right about the mac and cheese,” you say as you wipe your mouth with a napkin. 

S glances over with a smile. “You liked it?” 

“Sure do,” you tap the side of the plate. “But it’s too much for me. I could save the rest.” 

“Sure,” he gets up and crosses the room. He moves the cover back over your dish. 

“Oh, thank,” you say as you set the used napkin on the tray. You quickly catch a yawn in your hands. “Oof, I’m sorry. Woke up early for the doctor.” You rub your eyes and blink at him. “I’m not very fun company, am I?” 

“You’re... calming,” he says. “All the people I deal with... they’re always performing.” He tilts his head and gives a sardonic look. “It’s been nice to get away.” 

“Must be. Even to somewhere like here,” you swallow another yawn, blinking big until your eyes water. You flick away the moisture. 

“You made it worth it,” he lingers close. “If you’re tired, lay down. I don’t mind.” 

“That’s not fair,” you try not to show how tempting the offer is. “Coming over just to knock out.” 

“Go ahead. I’ve barely used the bed,” he points to the open French doors that lead to the bedroom. “I tend to sleep in intervals.” He clucks. “Buddy calls it strategic napping.” 

“Can’t be very restful,” you say. 

“Guess not but sometimes I don’t have eight hours to spare,” he taps his toe. “Please, go lay down. You look beat.” 

You give a sheepish smile. Why does he care so much? Another thorn digs in. 

“S?” 

“You been caring for your mom. Let me care for you,” he puts his hand on your shoulder and squeezes. He slowly draws away. 

You look down, “twist my arm.” You stand up slowly. “Don’t let me sleep too long. Just an hour or two.” 

“Alright,” he agrees. “I’ll get some work done.” 

You hesitantly move around him. It’s awkward. It’s just another thing you’re taking from him. His bed, his time... Won’t he get tired of that sooner than later? 

You stop and turn back to him. 

“S?” 

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he glances at his phone, his eyes crinkling at what he reads. 

“Can I... give you a hug?” 

He puts his phone on the table and faces you. “You don’t gotta ask.” 

He opens his arms. You slowly unfold yours and step closer. It felt like a good idea but now it’s a bit... tense. You wrap your arms around him and he closes you in his. You shiver at the warmth seeping from him into you. 

“Thank you,” you press your cheek to his chest. “Really, I can’t say it enough.” 

He keeps one arm firmly hooked around you as his other hand rubs your back. The soothing motion makes your skin prickle. He squeezes. 

“No problem, sweetie.” He rocks you slightly. 

You stay like that, too embarrassed and too afraid to break too soon. 

“Alright, I think... I might fall asleep on my feet,” you ease from his hold and his hands brush along the robe as he pulls back. 

“Yeah, go, sleep,” he pivots away. “I gotta answer this before he sends another damn email.” 

He snatches up his phone and turns away. He mutters under his breath. You back up and watch how his shirt tautens across his shoulders. You spin and tiptoe into the bedroom. 

You can worry when you wake up. Right now, you’re just too tired to keep track of all your doubts. 

🦋

You wake with a start. You’re on your stomach, arm beneath the pillow you have your face buried in. Your head is cloudy as you lift it and your lashes stick together before you can pry them apart. You roll over and the sight of the dark window sends you into a panic. 

You kick away the blankets and scramble out of bed. You hurry to the doors, the left one left open just a crack, and you pull it open. S sits at the table, a pair of glasses on as he has a laptop open. You have no time to process the seen as you scurry out. 

“S, it’s late,” you cheep. “Why did you let me sleep so long?” 

He calmly looks up and smooths the creases from his forehead. He pushes his shoulders wide and takes of his glasses. He puts them beside the keyboard of the table. 

“I tried to wake you up,” he says. “You were so tired. I could get you to do more than roll over...” 

His voice trails off as his eyes fall down. You follow his gaze. Shoot. The robe hangs open, exposing your naked legs. You quickly pull it around you, hot from your accusation and accidental flash. 

“Um, I’m sorry to... I didn’t... I...” You sputter. 

“You slept heavy. Probably a bit disorienting waking up here. You’re not used to it,” he shrugs. “I really did try but... seems like you needed the sleep.” 

“Right, I... it was nice but...” 

“You can call your mom. Let her know maybe you got backed up at your new job?” He suggests coolly. He’s a fast thinker. You’re a terrible liar. The type that adds too much detail when a simple explanation will do. 

“Sure, I can let her know I’m gonna be home soon.” You agree and look around. 

You find your phone on the arm of the sofa. You don’t remember leaving it there but you can’t really remember when you last had it. You take it and head for the bedroom. 

“You can always stay. It’s pretty late.” 

“What would I tell her? I’m working overnight?” 

“You’re an adult, aren’t you?” He challenges. 

You flinch. 

“Sure, but... no, I should go home. She needs me.” 

“Uh huh,” he picks his glasses back up and exhales. “Well, now she’s not the only one that does.” 

You blink as your brow crinkles. You turn away before he can catch you chagrined expression. You go into the bedroom and lean on the bed as you dial out. 

Your mom doesn’t pick up. You sniff as the tone for the voicemail beeps. “Hey mom, sorry I didn’t message sooner. I got tied up. Anyway, I’ll be home soon...love you.” 

You hang up and drop your arm. You stare at the window. You don’t remember anything, not even your dreams. Not even him trying to get you up. You’re embarrassed to hink about that. 

You go back out. 

“Um, I’ll need my pants,” you say sheepishly. 

“Hung them up in the bathroom,” he says without looking away from the computer. His posture is tense. 

“Look, I’m sorry if... i wasn’t meaning to accuse you--” 

“I’ve been really honest with you,” he says. “I’d say extremely. Not a lot of people would be so transparent. You know, a guy like me, he’s supposed to have an easy life. Well, it’s not.” 

“I’m... I’m sorry.” 

“You don’t need to be sorry, I just wish you would trust me.” 

You stand in static silence. The guilt ripples over you. Not only has he been honest, he’s been so generous. You think of today and how he so easily promised all of that money. Even after when you showed him the pamphlet, showed him how tedious it would all be. He said yes. 

“I will. I do,” you say at last. “Um, one sec.” 

You cross the room to the bathroom and dip inside. You open the robe and hang it and pull on your pants. You can still feel the residue of rain in them. Oh well. 

You come back out. “I can call a cab. You seem busy.” 

“I’ll drive,” he assures you as he closes the laptop. “Told you, I’m taking care of you. Of everything.” 

“I know. Thank you so much.” You clasp your hands together. “Really, S, I can’t say it enough.” 

He slides his glasses off again and stands up. He puts them in the case behind the computer and snaps it shut. He stretches his arms over him. 

“Come back tomorrow,” he says. “I made us some reservations.” 

“Reservations?” You repeat. “Well, S, I... I’ve been calling in and... if I keep doing that--” 

“Quit.” He looks agitated. “You don’t need those jobs. That’s the deal. I’m gonna cover everything.” 

You nod as your stomach stirs. “Oh.” 

“Oh?” His mouth slants. “It’s what we’ve been talking about. You working all the time, well, I got a lot going on. We’d never get to see each other and I mean, I’ve already missed a lot too.” 

You chew your lip. “I’m sorry. I misunderstood.” 

“It’s new. For both of us. I get it,” he softens his tone and comes closer. “You’re so used to working and doing everything, it’s hard to let go. I’m the same way.” 

“Yeah...” you murmur. “I’m really sorry if I upset you, S."

“You didn’t,” he assures you as he reaches to caress your arm. “You can’t. I just... I get in work mode and the boss face comes out.” He chuckles and slips his hand across your back and angles you toward the door, “let’s get you home. I promise, I’ll try to get more than just a few hours before tomorrow.” 

🦋

You watch the streetlights pass, the glare tinging your eyes, tweaking the fatigue still nestled behind them. You yawn as the car whirs softly. It’s almost peaceful in the empty streets. 

S drives smoothly through the town. He knows it better now. He keeps to the speed limit, taking his time. Or maybe he’s just tired. 

He rolls up to your building and shifts into park. He sighs. “I’ll miss you.” 

You look at him, “really? I feel like I kind of overstayed my welcome.” 

“Trust me, you can’t,” he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he twists in his. “You not having fun?” 

“No, of course, it’s just new and... I guess I’m not used to it yet. The... trying not to worry part.  My mom is still...” you shake your head. “I’m going to stop that.” You look at him. “S, thank you. Really. I did have a good day even if I slept for most of it.” 

“You needed that,” he says as his hand slips onto your shoulder. “You, more than anyone, has every right to be tired.” His thumb rubs you. “Sweetheart, we’re just adjusting to each other and that’s fine.” 

“Sure,” you flutter your fingers in your lap. “Right, just... gotta be patient.” 

“Yeah, patient,” his hand inches closer to your neck. “Sweetheart... can I ask you something?” 

“Okay,” you try not to focus on his touch but your skin is all speckly from it. 

“Can I have a kiss?” 

Your lips part slightly. You close them quickly. You’re surprised but you shouldn’t be. Deep down, you know it’s inevitable. Despite what he says, you have that gnawing certainty in your head. You can’t just keep taking. And it’s going to be more than just a kiss, isn’t it? 

Right now, you can do a kiss. 

“Um,” your cheeks tauten and burn. “S-sure. I can--” 

“Only if you really want to,” he pets your neck with his knuckles. “But I can tell you I really, really want to.” 

You take a breath and undo your seat belt. You’re slow and deliberate in your movement as you angle around in the chair. His hand opens and cradles your jaw, fingers framing your ear. He leans in and you meet him across the space between your sets. 

Your lips meat and his heat floods into you. His fingers curl against your head and he hums. His tongue pokes out gently and you resist. Your chest is somersaulting. 

You part and sit back in the chair. You put your hand to your chest. “I’m sorry, it’s just—been a while.” You look down and cover your mouth. You drop your hand. “Was that... okay?” 

“It was... great,” he rasps. “And uh, been a while for me too.” 

“Really?” You glance at him, face alight with self-consciousness. 

“Oh, sure. Like I said... haven’t been out on the dating scene much. When I’ve tried, well, It’s just not... genuine, you know?” He clucks and pokes his tongue into his cheek. He smiles and looks you in the eye. “That was perfect. I’ll be thinking about it all night.” 

“You will?” 

“Of course,” he winks. “What about you?” 

Your cheeks pinch and you smile. It’s been a long time since you felt anything but anxiety and doom. That was something else. You can’t quite explain what. It just wasn’t as scary as you thought. You need one thing that isn’t utterly terrifying. 

“Yeah, I think...” you look away. “It’s... it was nice.” 

“Good,” he drags his hand down your arm. “Well, have a good night.” 

“You too,” you grab your purse and pull on the door handle. “Oh, what time tomorrow?” 

“Let me know, sweetie, I don’t need you til noon,” he answers. 

“Cool, um, bye.” 

You get out and walk towards the yellow light above the building entrance. You stop to look back. He’s still there. You’re glad. You hate being out this late. 

You enter the apartment quietly. The front room light is on. You put your stuff down and sanitize your hands. You find your mother on the couch, sleeping as she hugs a pillow. 

You hope she wasn’t waiting up for you. All that fuzziness fades. The dull weight settles back into your chest. 

You tiptoe around, careful not to wake her. You know she doesn’t get as much sleep as she should. You retreat to your room and flick on the light. 

You plug in your phone as the battery flashes. As you pull off your shirt, you hear something. A soft whisper. You go to the hamper and peer through the mesh. The butterflies. Two of them have hatches and they’re happily fluttering around inside. 

You smile. A real smile. They’re so beautiful. Black, red, and white. And they’re alive. It was taking so long, you thought they wouldn’t break free. 

You’ll have to find some fruit in the fridge to leave in there for them until you can release them. First, you’re going to take a photo. Everyone will be so excited to see. 

You get a good shot through the top before they try to escape. You’ll have to go down to the cafe to post in the morning. You really can’t wait to show S. 

You sit on your bed and watch the butterflies. It’s a sign, isn’t it? Not everything is dead. It’s not over. Maybe, things are just beginning. 

[zoomup07]

𝑰’𝒗𝒆 𝑪𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒀𝒐𝒖

~ 𝑯𝒆𝒊𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒓𝒂!𝑺𝒖𝒌𝒖��𝒂 𝒙 𝒇𝒆𝒎!𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒅𝒆𝒓 ~

𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: After being sold to the King of Curses to have a chance at being one of his ever-coveted concubines, you decide that you have other plans. You’ve heard about his reign of terror and you want no part of it. You attempt your escape, but unfortunately for you, Sukuna loves the chase.

𝑻𝒂𝒈𝒔: NSFW/18+, cat and mouse dynamic, fear, sukuna is a menace, non-con elements, future angst, future smutt, future fluff, toxic (but he changes), slowww burn, sukuna and reader are both stubborn as hell

𝑾𝒐𝒓𝒅 𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕: 1320

This is just a teaser! I’m still finishing the fic, but let me know if you’d like to be tagged for when I post it!

Your heart is beating out of its chest. A row of women, you included, all kneel in the throne room, waiting for your fates to be sealed. One of you will become an ever-coveted concubine for the King of Curses. The rest? Probably dead. Or eaten. Or chased for sport. Or whatever the cruel king wishes to do.

You almost laugh at the thought. A king? No no no, more like a demon. The terror he’s inflicted upon countless lands is immeasurable; only something a devil could do. No human could be capable of his power, his glory, and his unabashed cruelty, at least, not any human you know of.

Proof of this is shown in the evidence of violence all around you. It seems the demon enjoys using the corpses he collects as “furniture”. “Furniture” is a generous word because the throne before you has no structure, only consisting of a huge pile of bones, many of which are still bloody or charred. Because of the dim lighting, it’s hard to tell if there is anything else making up his throne but you decide that it’s best if you don’t know. How could someone live like this?

If the stories you’ve been told are true, you want nothing to do with this place. You want nothing to do with him. More like an it. He just can’t be human. He can’t be, but you’re not sticking around to find out. You need to find a way out of this. Your parents may have given up on you and sold you to this demon king, but you haven’t given up on yourself just yet. You’d rather die than be sold to him or anyone else.

Looking around, you see the women beside you gazing down at the floor with solemn eyes. You look to your left to find…nobody. You glance to your right, past the women and also see nobody. The fact that nobody even guards this room is telling enough. The king doesn’t expect anyone to defy his orders. He’s fully aware of the paralyzing fear he inflicts and he uses it to his advantage. However, you’re not one to succumb to intimidation. You have nothing to lose.

Slowly, you stand up. The women kneeling immediately whip their heads to you, confused and terrified. They must know what you’re about to do.

“What are you doing?” one of them asks.

“I’m leaving.”

“No! He’ll catch you! He has eyes everywhere!” another one whispers-yells.

“I’m not staying for this. He’s just going to slaughter me anyway!”

You turn, quickly trying to find an exit. Finding one, you run as quietly as you can, which isn’t an easy feat. You’re desperate. Desperate to get out and never return.

You run through endless halls. Endless chasms of blood red walls and no exits until finally, you find what looks to be the entrance. You’re about to run out until you hear a voice.

“What are you doing?” The voice, ice cold and unfeeling, belongs to someone with hair like blood in the snow. You can feel yourself shiver, whether that be from nerves or them.

“I-“ Your words are caught in your throat, but you muster up enough courage to speak. “I’m leaving.”

They look at you with an unreadable expression. “You’re leaving?” they ask, but it sounds more like a statement.

“Yes. Are you going to stop me?” you question with mock confidence. They look at you with an analyzing and calculating look. You pray that they can’t see the way you’re shaking like a leaf.

After a pause that lasts too long, the corners of their mouth slightly twitch up, as if they’re trying to hide their amusement. “I won't stop you.”

Suspicion overwhelms you, but you keep up your act. “Good,” you say. You look back to the entrance and hesitantly step out, then turn your head back to them. They nod their head, signaling that it’s okay. Without a second thought, you bolt.

You run and run and run, the adrenaline making you faster. You laugh like a madman, ecstatic to be free. You’re out and you’ll never go back. What a stupid king! His arrogance saved you. You don’t know what you’d do if he had soldiers wandering about. It doesn’t matter now. All that matters is that you escaped.

Eventually, you make it to a forest filled with vines and shrubs. Sunlight is nonexistent here except for the small rays that show through the gaps in the leaves. The darkness may shield you, but it also shields potential enemies. You tread slowly and carefully through the countless obstacles, swiping away the branches that scratch your skin.

This place is never-ending, just like that damn shrine. You’re growing exhausted; you just want a place to rest. A place to start a fire for when it gets dark, a place to catch your breath, a place to just be for a minute. However, that feat seems impossible at the moment, which makes you curse in frustration.

Then you hear it. The snap of a twig. A lot of twigs actually. Your heart jumps and you freeze. However, you find nobody around you, so you decide to keep walking.

Another snap of so many twigs makes your anxiety skyrocket. Normally, you would contribute it to some animal but your exhaustion is clouding your judgement, making you paranoid. What do you do? Do you stay here frozen in place? Do you scream? Play dead?

Run! your mind screams. Run!

Your legs move without your permission and you rush forward. You’ve significantly slowed down due to your fatigue but you don’t let that stop you. However, you’re forcefully stopped anyway when you trip and crash onto the forest floor. Pain explodes throughout your body, especially from your knee. A groan escapes your throat as you sit up. Your knee is bloody and raw. You blow on it to dry the blood, but your knee suddenly feels like fire. “Fuck!!!”

You immediately cover your mouth. Any noise could alert your surroundings of your presence.

You hear a low laugh from a distance. “Stupid girl, hiding like a little mouse.”

You stay deadly silent, afraid to even breathe.

A moment passes.

Then, you see him.

He’s tall. Unnaturally tall. His chest is broad and there is not one inch of him that’s not sculpted by muscle. He has…four arms. No…no it can’t be him. You hesitantly bring your gaze to his face. Half of it is distorted by some scar? A burn? The scar holds two large eyes that are pinned on you. The other side of his face looks relatively normal except for the fact that he also has two eyes on that side as well. Tattoos adorn his face and his body, some covered by the kimono tied around his waist since he couldn’t be bothered to put it on fully.

You recognize him, and your face must show it because his face morphs into a toothy grin.

“You know who I am?” His voice rumbles.

You can’t answer because all words die from your throat. You know who he is. He knows that you know.

“I know who you are,” he says as he gets closer. “I know that you thought you could get away. I suppose nobody told you that I like a little chase.”

The realization dawned on you. That snow-haired person must’ve said something. Of course they wouldn’t just let you go. Why would anyone who serves that demon ever defy his trust? Especially when the consequences of that would be dire.

The demon king kneels down, though he is still impossibly tall, and gently grabs your face, squishing your cheeks and making your quivering lips pucker. He brings his face down until his nose is practically an inch away.

“None of that matters now. All that matters is that…” he mutters with a sneer.

“I’ve caught you.”

Ask in the comments to be added to the tag list!

[ven0moir]

Clearing the air on the “Bychance vs Byler Civil War”

Bylers vs Bychancers? More like Bylers & Bychancers vs The Miscommunication Trope ( something like that ).

Why this is what i think is actually going on:  

This is NOT Mileven vs Byler 2.0 at all because bychance has not ONCE been proposed as a replacement for Byler, at least not from myself or @cypherheartnokey which are ( as far as im aware ) the main people theorizing about it right now. I personally don’t even see it as a real ship, but that’s just me. 

HOW THIS WHOLE THING STARTED ( as far as i know )

So a few days ago, i made this post:

I used the Byler tag and have continued to do so bc skeptic ( and even full on anti-bychance ) Bylers were my intended TARGET AUDIENCE for this. I knew there was a risk I would get some hate for taking it seriously since Bychance was never supposed to be more than just a silly and fun crackship that the fandom made up. (😭im not even gonna pretend I don't go into laughing fits over how absolutely bonkers I sound to myself most days. cypherheartnokey and others --you pookies know who you are <3-- who See The Things Im Seeing keep me sane istg my ride or die fr ) 

It was just supposed to be a fun writing exercise to see if my current ideas held up under scrutiny from bylers. To test myself, basically. 

MY INITIAL ASSUMPTION 

Before I posted, I thought the risk of getting dogpiled on & getting called 'delusional' & whatever else was worth it bc, to my surprise, my earlier Bychance analyses had been well received–even though some of the Bylers engaging with them don’t really think Bychance will happen, they still think the theories about it are entertaining and fun to read and offer input on. This has led to some interesting conversations about Mike and Will’s arcs, and it’s been nice through this content drought. 

However, what i did NOT anticipate was to cause a ‘ship war’--I really didn’t think this would cause harm and that anyone would stoop so low as to send death threats over differing opinions on hypothetical ships that may or may not even happen in the show & even if they do, nothing guarantees they’ll happen in a way we’re perfectly happy with, let’s please be real about our expectations here since we have 0 control over the creative direction the duffers will actually take. 

All we can hope for is that us Bylers truly are amongst their intended target audience and that the show delivers a satisfying closure.  

MY INTENTIONS & WHY I WILL CONTINUE TO USE THE BYLER TAG ( with discretion )

Using the Byler tag allows like-minded Bylers to find my theories–without the tag, it'd be harder for them to find them. 

However, I WILL be extra thoughtful with my use of the tag going forward, and make sure I'm using it when the conversation centers Byler/Mike/Will and other themes pertaining to Byler.

MY CURRENT STANCE

for anyone receiving death threats or insults on behalf of “bychance shippers”, you DO NOT deserve that. Please report and block, if possible. these people are saboteurs, and just want to stir drama without caring about the harm they cause to the community. In fact, they probably enjoy it tbh. 

i do also have to say that i am no authority here and cannot be tone policing other bychancers. i also can’t pretend i am entirely neutral in this scenario since from what I've observed, my bychance mutuals and anons are REACTING to hate we’re getting from bylers. And whereas I'm aware that type of hate is only coming from a handful of people in the community, not all of us will be patient and graceful at all times, we’re human after all.

I dont care if a mileven calls me delusional, i laugh. But when bylers i have admired and learned from for years call one of us stupid for thinking/suspecting X theory might be hinted at and getting stomped on for trying to bring the conversation to the table, yeah I can't guarantee that's not gonna trigger a defense mechanism over time.

Do you personally have to like Bychance or agree? Absolutely not, nobody is saying that. And good faith critiques of the theory are always welcomed and I actually encourage it in my space as long as we keep it civil and follow fandom etiquette, since it keeps fandom alive.  

FINAL THOUGHTS 

The very message of the show we’re discussing is to choose love in the face of fear, and to not let it drive our choices and unawarely continue to feed the cycle of abuse and trauma. Let's do our best to not keep repeating, amongst each other, what we have already been subjected to by the most hateful parts of the ST fandom. 

i'm here to learn and have fun, not to cause wars, discourse or division--bychance as a theory is just the jumpstart and can change over time and maybe even become something else entirely. the goal is just to open the door for those curious enough to investigate, share and discuss any findings. Whether or not you go in, it's up to you. Just don't be mean to the ones that do.