#and i might have written down a prompt for a fic

[anime-grimmy]

Sooo, as has been evident from me rambling so often about it, I’ve been reading a lot of Genshin fics lately (specifically Sumeru centered ones), and it is so funny to see how headcanons and AUs change between the releases of the characters. 

Ofc, this sticks out to me especially with Haikaveh cos Kaveh got released so late for showing up so early and ppl ran far with their ideas. One of the biggest theories was (and I think still kinda is) is that Alhaitham is or at least is linked to the Scarlet King bcs his eyes have the same shape as the eye portrayed in the Forbidden Knowledge cutscene.

After the quests came out where you find out about King Deshret’s and the Goddess of Flowers’ relationship, ofc ppl started to push Alhaitham and Kaveh in the respective roles, which, ngl, I totally vibe with. Even more so cos I can only image the Goddess of Flowers with Nilou’s kinda personality (since her outfit is supposed to look like the Goddess) and the thought of her reincarnation still being good hearted beyond believe, yet also a fucking idiot with anger issues is so fucking funny.

However, the theory I personally even more subscribe to, is that both Alhaitham and Kaveh, at least in an design aspect, represent the Scarlet King. I cannot by God find the one vid that talked about it, but they laid out a lot of design specifics that rly did make sense. This ofc, made me think a lot about it too.

Alhaitham could represent King Deshret’s mind and rational side, the part of him that made him a genius and good leader. As much as Alhaitham acts as if he sucks as a leader, which from a personality standpoint might be true, his abilities and critical mind say otherwise. Alhaitham is strategic and very wise for his age, but also curious and ambitious about the knowledge he seeks. He is not without fault either, as, despite him saying he acts only out of self interest, he still does act very arrogantly and above others.

Kaveh on the other hand shows King Deshret’s soul. Clever and curious in his own right, Kaveh seeks out knowledge not only to learn and understand but because his emotions drive him to reach for it. Kaveh has a bleeding heart and follows its voice more often than his mind’s, yet that makes him empathetic to people and care about them, which we know the Scarlet King was known for as well (caring for his people, that is). His emotions and self-sacrificial nature are his crux as well, though, and lead him close to his own downfall time and time again, much as it happened with King Deshret.

Both Alhaitham and Kaveh make up the body. As is evident how haywire the theories went when the Forbidden Knowledge quest came out, Alhaitham’s eyes bear a strong physical resemblance to Deshret’s supposed eyes. Not to mention, we know Deshret is often described as powerful, so I wouldn't be surprised if Alhaitham’s body build is part of that too. For Kaveh, in that one video I mentioned they said that Kaveh’s attire seems to represent some sort of royalty. Also, in a world quest, though I don’t remember which one (i think either aranara or djini) the NPC you travel with says the traveler reminds them of King Deshret, especially the golden hair, which ofc also works for Kaveh.

(Mind you, I havent dived that deeply into Deshret lore and I did zone out during the world quests often, so pls do correct me if I say sth stupid.)

So yeah, the two sides of the same coin. We already know these two have been designed as perfect mirrors to each other, in their ideologies, personalities all the way to their colour schemes, but with regarding the headcanon they’re both aspects of the Scarlet King, it’s also an interesting analogy to think it’s Deshret’s different sides clashing with each other. 

Yes, yes they’re basically the Left Brain Right Brain meme for King Deshret.

Also, as I’ve said, I’ve read my fair share of fics with the Scarlet King reincarnation, which is usually Alhaitham. I am honestly too lazy to write a whole ass fic about it, but you can bet your ass my mind has conjured up enough stuff to fill a few pages. To finally get it outta my head tho, I will just ramble here instead.

I personally don’t think that Alhaitham and Kaveh are reincarnations of Deshret, even though it’d make sense why his body and mind would be two separate entities, as he split himself to avoid spreading more Forbidden Knowledge. I see it more as the two being “blessed” with parts of his soul or something.

Ngl, the whole thing came to me during the one World Quest where you clear up the sandstorm above King Deshret’s Mausoleum and you get to this big platform on top. I dunno, it just looked so cool and it made me think of how this could have been a ritual site or something. So, perfect place for some foreign memories to invade your brain, no?

Also, you cannot tell me the Akademiya wasn’t frothing at the mouth when the Mausoleum finally became accessible. I’d assume they’d send research teams up there after the Traveler cleared the place, and it would seem logical for both Alhaitham and Kaveh to be interested in the place, their respective curiosities spurred by the fragment of Deshret inside them.

They and a small group of scholars take it upon themselves to scope the place out, and eventually end up at the top of the pyramid. Kaveh would marvel at such a grand stage so high up in the air, being able to see into the far reaches of the desert. But he also feels trepidation in his soul, though he brushes it off.

Alhaitham and him conduct their respective researches, Alhaitham jutting down any interesting runes and scripts he finds on the podium, while Kaveh sketches the many columns and the scenery behind, his mind running wild trying to understand how such impossible structures hold. But as he stands at the edge, looking out upon the empty desert with its many ruins, a thought pops into his head.

The desert should not be dead like this.

It’s then that Kaveh feels something shift inside him. Sensations rush over him, the sun beating down on him so differently than just moments ago, the air smelling not of sand and dust but of spices and flowers, the stillness of the desert filled with the distant rush of a city well lived in and people calling him yet not shouting his name.

Kaveh stumbles back to the middle of the podium, only for Alhaitham to meet him halfway. They stare at each other with wide eyes, stare at the other but seeing reflections of themselves. Kaveh bores into Alhaitham’s intense gaze, seeing the many questions and the fierce determination to solve each and everyone of them reflect in those piercing pupils of his, and thinks:

Only a gaze as steeled as mine is fit for a king.

Alhaitham roams his eyes over Kaveh, over his golden hair reflecting the sun, making it almost blinding to look at, over proud shoulders, pushed back to straighten his stance, over calloused hands, twitching in the need to create, and thinks:

Only a presence as loud and vibrant as mine can win over my people.

The spell is broken as fast as it had come when one of the scholars of their group asks for their assistance. Kaveh and Alhaitham busy themselves with helping out the rest of the research group for the remainder of the stay to not let those intrusive thoughts resurface and really just hope that it was some weird hallucination caused by the heat or dehydration or something.

Lucky them, it wasn’t.

And really, all this fancy dressing in the form of a story just to come to the one headcanon stuck in my head:  If both Alhaitham and Kaveh are the Scarlet King, and they were to inherit his memories, I believe they’d experience them differently.

Alhaitham would have tangible memories, thoughts that’d pop into his head unbridled. He’d see the tension between Desert folk and the people of the forest and think “This is not what we fought for.”. He’d run across Cyno, discuss matters of the Akademiya with him and think “As competent and loyal as ever, just as is to be expected of my General.”. He’d meet with Nahida and think “No matter the shape she takes, her wisdom remains the same.”.

Kaveh on the other hand would experience the memories with sensations. He’d witness a fight between the matra and Emerites and be transported to a battlefield, as countless shouts and clanking metal were heard while the unmistakable taste of blood sat heavy on his tongue. He’d look at scholars disassembling a Primal Construct and his hands would itch for his tools while his heart sped up in excitement, even if Kaveh knew his knowledge of such machines was limited. He’d watch Nilou dance in the Grand Bazar and almost buckle under the mix of elation, yearning and unfathomable grief that overtook him.

(it would also be funny the other way around, as in, experience the memories with the parts “missing” from them. Though Kaveh, being the overthinker he is, would have an easier time cos his head is filled all the time with thoughts anyways. Alhaitham would have a real crisis though lmao)

At the end of the day they’d come home to each other, stand face to face and stare into a mirror of themselves, all the while the edges would start to blur and it’d become increasingly difficult to know where one of them started and the other ended.

I dunno where I’d even go with this story, in all honesty. I personally don’t like the kinda fics where King Deshret actually “awakens” and either takes over or integrates into the person he wakes up as. I think I’d push a story like this more into the territory of this experience making the two learn more about themselves and each other. As in, since they both “derive from” the same person, even if they’re steadfast in their own beliefs, they’re kinda forced to actually see from the other perspective as well. While this would probably lead to even more arguments, I believe it’d also manage to blunt their edges and while they still can’t agree with each other, they understand and therefore don’t always go on the defensive with counter points at the ready. 

Tho, if both are considered King Deshret, would that count as self-cest.

[ellewritesx]

right person, wrong address

Summary: When an envelope meant for Harry Styles ends up in your mailbox, what started with misdelivered mail might end up delivering something neither of you expected.

A/N: this is my first tumblr fic guys be gentle! i don't have any other posts lined up yet, just kinda wanted to get my first one out of the way and see what you guys thought. i'm still kind of finding my style, so don't take this too seriously. hope you like it x

Word Count: 2,416

...

Londom hums with the quiet taps of rain against your windows. It's not a storm, just the kind of drizzle that makes everything feel still and turns the world soft around the edges. You haven't quite figured out how to make the heat work properly in your new apartment yet, so you're curled up on the couch with a blanket, a chipped mug of tea warming your hands: one of your most recent thrift store finds.

There are unpacked boxes you've been procrastinating unpacking still scattered across your living room, but you're too tired from assembling the closet in your bedroom. It's a little crooked, and for some reason there were five bolts and a plank of wood left when you were done (where the hell did those come from?), but you're proud of your little handiwork nonetheless.

You nearly forget to check the mail, your package (a gorgeous flowery pillow cover set, score) supposed be arriving today.

You throw on a hoodie, walking down the stairs to your mailbox down by the entryway, the red paint chipping and the little silver slot barely budging. You wrestle the box open with a familiar clatter, sighing at the pile of papers. Junk flyers, something official-looking from your new job… and a minimalistic envelope.

Thick paper. Cream-colored. No return address. It's addressed to flat 5B. You live in flat 4B, so this envelope being accidentally delivered to you doesn't surprise you. The name written on it in sharp, slanted handwriting, on the other hand, does:

H. Styles

Your stomach dips. H. Styles?

You look again, thinking you must've read this... well, neat, handwriting wrong, but no, it's clear.

It's not that H. Styles, you tell yourself. Maybe there's a Henry Styles you're unaware of. Or a Howard Styles. Some poor sucker who's unfortunate enough to share a last name with a global popstar. Surely they're out there.

You hold the envelope delicately, as if it might disintegrate from the weight of the name alone. The paper feels… expensive. Private. You flip it over in your hands. It's sealed. Untouched. Your fingers twitch.

You're not going to open it. Obviously. That would be rude. No, illegal. Opening this envelope would be a federal crime. So you're definitely not going to. At least for now.

But you are going to look at the building's tenant list you got when you moved in, something about ''in case of emergencies'', like there'd ever be an emergency prompting you to call Greg from 4D who sits behind his computer all day, and whom you've frankly never seen besides at that one fire drill a week ago.

You pull the crumpled list out of your junk drawer in the kitchen, littered with various household items and papers you don't want to give a place but can't quite throw away. This is just out of curiosity. You're not a creep, you're... a responsible neighbour. That's all.

You chew on your lip absentmindedly as you skim over the list.

Flat 5B... Harry E. Styles.

You know enough about Harry Styles to know his middle name starts with an E. Edward, you believe. Something you've seen on social media: one of those dumb '12 fun facts about Harry Styles' videos on your For You page. What they didn't bother to give you a heads-up of, is the 'fun fact' Harry Styles happens to be your neighbour.

And for some godforsaken reason, some postal glitch or careless hand or twist of cosmic fate, you are currently holding what looks like a very important, very confidential piece of his mail.

...

You don't sleep well that night.

The envelope sits on your kitchen counter, practically begging to be opened, like an itch needing scratching. Every time you walk past it, your eyes flick to the name. You consider putting it in a drawer somewhere just to avoid the temptation, but even that feels too personal. Too nosy. This isn't your life to peek into.

Only by morning, when the initital shock has subsided, you realize you're going to have to get it back to him. How are you supposed to face him? Maybe you'll leave it in the lobby. Maybe you'll slide it under his door. Quick, anonymous, clean.

And then, around 11:00 a.m., there's a knock.

Not a timid tap. A proper, polite knock.

You freeze mid-step. No one knows you here. You've only lived in this flat two weeks. You're still the girl the neighbour across the hall calls ''newbie''.

When you open the door, he's there. Your pulse stutters like a scratched record.

Harry Styles.

Just… standing on your doormat like a fever dream in a hoodie and black beanie. Rain-speckled and wind-rumpled, holding his phone loosely in one hand, as if he only half-expected you to answer.

''Hi,'' he says, voice smooth but casual, like you're neighbors who've spoken a dozen times before. ''Sorry. Think my post might've ended up here.''

You blink. You stare. ''Right. You're... Harry Styles,'' you blurt, stupidly, like that's not exactly what not to say when you meet a celebrity.

He lets out a soft chuckle. ''That's what it says on the envelope, isn't it?'' he says charmingly, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

''Right,'' you smile apologetically. You vanish without even inviting him in, mentally screaming at yourself while you trip over the unpacked boxes in your living room to grab the envelope, cursing softly under your breath. You return quickly, trying not to breathe like you just ran a 24k. God, you need to exercise more.

He accepts it with careful hands. Turns it over once. Nods.

''Yeah, this is it. Thank you.''

His fingers linger on the seal. Then he discreetly glances past you, a little nosy. At your half-unpacked boxes. The record player tucked by the window. The steaming mug on your kitchen island.

''Would you...'' you start, then hesitate, ''would you like to come in for a cup of tea? We haven't properly met.'' You're surprised you actually managed to form a sentence.

''Love to,'' he replies smoothly, taking off his beanie by the door and ruffling his curls, that somehow fall right into place.

You make the tea with trembling hands.

He, in the meantime, wanders around, hands behind his back like he's admiring an exhibit in a museum. Looks at your books, your record collection, your useless, thrifted trinkets. Skims over your Polaroids. Laughs softly at the lopsided note stuck to your fridge: remember to call the heater guy!!! written in a panicked scribble.

''You just moved in?'' he assumes.

You nod, carefully handing him a cup of tea as he slides into a barstool at your kitchen island. ''Either the heater's broken or I've just got two left hands. Wouldn't be surprised if the latter was the case, actually,'' you chuckle.

He chuckles softly, absentmindely offering to come by sometime to fix it for you, and for a second, it feels… normal. Like he's just a kind neighbour offering a hand. Like you’re just two people talking over a cup of tea. Which you are, of course.

Except that one of the aforementioned two people is Harry Styles. Right. Just a regular Tuesday.

Conversation flows easier than you thought it would. You're quiet, simply nodding along or offering small comments on his stories, but he doesn't seem to mind. In fact, he seems to like it.

You take a sip from your mug, letting the steam warm your face. Across from you, Harry mirrors the movement, his legs crossed beneath him like he's been here a hundred times.

''So…'' he starts, watching you over the rim of his mug as he takes a sip. ''Why London?''

There's a beat of quiet, the soft, jazzy music from your record player in the background. You glance down at your tea, a bashful smile tugging at the corner of your lips. ''I guess I wanted to feel like I was somewhere where things happen, you know? Where people chase dreams. Even if I don't exactly know what mine is yet.''

He nods slowly, ''That's brave. Most people don't move cities without a plan.''

You chuckle. ''Sometimes you just have to throw yourself into the unknown, trusting that it'll work out. That you'll make it work out, y'know?''

Harry grins, and it makes your stomach flip. ''That's how I've done most things.''

''Like music?'' you ask.

''Especially music.''

...

The tea's long gone cold, but neither of you seem to mind. Harry sits in your barstool like he's in his own home, elbows on your kitchen island, mug cradled loosely in his hands. His eyes flicker toward the window, watching the early evening shadows stretching across the street, but he hasn't made a move to leave just yet.

You've been talking for hours now. About little things. Big things. Nothing at all. Weirdly, it's… comfortable. The silence between you two is the kind that invites, not suffocates.

You're humming quietly while drying and putting away the dishes, your back turned to where Harry's sat.

''You know,'' he says after a pause, voice low, ''this might be the first time in months I've been able to just sit. No schedule, no pressure. No... fans or paparazzi. Just… this.''

You glance at him. He's watching the half-full mug of tea in his hands like it holds the answer to all of his problems. There's a crease between his brows, like he's thinking too hard, the same face you'd see in interviews when he's figuring out how to answer a particularly hard question. But right now, he's not that person. He's just your neighbour sitting in your tiny, cluttered kitchen, silently admiring the trinkets that fill it like the normalcy fascinates him.

You don't say anything. You have a feeling he's not looking to be comforted. He just wants to be heard out. To be able to think out loud without fearing someone's documenting his every word, his every move, and twisting it into things far out of his control.

He looks up at you. There's something weighted in his gaze now, something warmer. You feel it stir in your stomach: not nerves exactly, but something deeper, the heavy weight of a genuine connection between two people.

And then, quietly, he speaks up. ''Can I ask you something?''

You nod, not trusting your voice, leaning your elbows on the opposite side of the kitchen counter so you're face to face.

''Would you think I was weird if I said I don't really want to go yet?''

Your throat tightens a little. ''That depends,'' you respond with a harsh swallow, ''Would you think I was weird if I said I don't want you to go?''

His mouth pulls into a small half-smile, one you've seen in countless of photos while lazily scrolling through social media. But it feels different now. More vulnerable. Less rehearsed.

''I don't know what this is,'' he says, fingers tapping lightly against the mug. ''But I know it feels... nice. Being here. With you.''

You don't say anything. Just nod.

He puts the mug down. Then, cautiously, like he's waiting for you to stop him, he leans in slightly, and if you would have blinked you'd have missed the way his eyes flick to your lips discreetly. One hand brushes against your forearm, and the other finds a spot on the side of your face, thumb barely grazing your cheek.

''Tell me if this isn't okay,'' he murmurs.

You're quick to reasssure him, shaking your head, your eyes locked on his. ''It is.''

And then he kisses you.

It's slow at first, testing. Soft. Like he doesn't want to break whatever this strange, quiet connection between the two of you is. You kiss him back, hesitantly, but then a little deeper, because you can't not, with the way he's holding you like he's afraid he won't live up to his own name, his image, the expectations. Like the way he tastes like tea and warmth and the way his lips part just slightly doesn't make something flutter wildly in your chest.

His hand tentatively shifts to cradle the back of your head, drawing you in, but there's no rush.

When you pull apart, barely an inch of space between you, he lingers like he's thinking about going back in.

Your voice is a whisper. ''Thank God for those dumb mail guys.''

He chuckles, breath warm against your skin. ''Good thing they suck at their jobs.''

You laugh, cheeks flushed. He glances toward the door, then back to you. ''I should probably go before my manager has a heart attack. I think he's been refreshing The Daily Mail since last night.''

''Why?'' you chuckle softly, your head tilting in confusion.

He grins, looking at you in adoration, like he loves that you have no idea about the possible PR nightmares, that you're not part of his world in that way. ''He was afraid you'd sell the tour schedule to a news outlet. Terrified, actually,'' he clarifies with a soft chuckle.

You blink once. Twice. ''That was an option? Damn. I could've been rich by now,'' you mutter jokingly.

He rolls his eyes affectionately, cupping your face and leaning forward to draw you in for another sweet kiss. You pull away, a frown etched on your face. ''Wait, that was a tour schedule?'' you ask incredulously, not even bothering to conceal your shock and curiosity.

''And that's my cue to leave,'' he grins mischievously and stands, handing you his empty mug as a futile attempt to distract you.

''No, wait, a tour schedule? I'm going to need you to elaborate.''

''Did I say tour schedule? I meant... well, literally anything else. Bye,'' he says quickly before he can accidentally reveal more secrets.

''Hey, you come back, mister. Harry!'' you protest, following him to your door, making him pause and turn around with a smile.

A wink. ''I'll come by later to fix your heater, love,'' he simply says.

And just like that, he's gone, but not really. He's close, he lives right above you, after all, which makes you bite the inside of your cheek to stop from smiling like a lovesick teenager.

Your phone buzzes with a text barely ten minutes after he leaves. Unbeknownst to you, Harry could barely wait until he was back in his own apartment, grabbing his phone as soon as he plopped down on his couch with a content sigh, smiling at his screen as he types.

Next time, my place. —H

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

[opossum-in-disguise]

Prompt: literally just thought of the cutest emily x reader fic ever omg. (idk if someone has already made this but—) imagine like the team wants to leave early for a team night or something, but no one wants to be the one to ask emily. (chief era emily) They know she never says no to (reader), so they send them to go ask her, and boom team night happens early😇😇

From @lcvessapphic on tumblr

A/N: this whole authors note is just one big yapping session, read it if you want to. Okay so full disclosure i have not seen criminal minds up to this part (i only watched up to season 6 because I got so mad when Prentiss left) so I watched one episode of season 13— which I don’t even know if Emily is unit chief in tbh— in preparation and tried my hardest. Also I haven’t written in so long (or watched criminal minds in a while) so this might be soooo out of character. Also, this isn’t proofread😭

Her Favorite

Emily Prentiss x reader

No warnings! This is all just fluff :)

“I think if I stare at this paperwork for any longer I might implode.” You said, abruptly breaking the silence.

It was a slow, slow paperwork day. You don’t want someone to die just for you to get out of this damn office, but if it happened, you wouldn’t be completely opposed to it. But mostly you just wanted to go home.

“I second that,” Derek said, turning his chair away from the desk behind you to face you. “Drinks?”

“I would kill to leave early to go to the bar.” Alvez replied.

You scoffed. “Like Emily would ever agree to letting us leave early.”

The rest of the team in the bullpen turned to look at you.

“What?”

“Emily tends to say ‘yes’ to you more often than anyone else.” Spencer joined the conversation.

Your cheeks burned at that. Does she, really? Knowing that she favors you out of everything else makes you preen at the thought.

Everyone knows about your tiny (so gigantic that words can’t possibly describe it) crush on Prentiss. You have all the subtly of a train, honestly.

“She wouldn’t agree to it just because I asked.” You reasoned, but you did like the idea that she would.

“Go try and ask your girl, Y/L/N.” Morgan suggested, an arrogant grin on his face.

You knew he just said that hoping that you would try and prove him wrong— and get him out of work in the process— but you had to test it. Damn profilers.

“Not my girl— but yeah, I’ll ask.” You stood up, pushed your chair in, and walking up the stairs towards Emily’s office.

You stopped by Garcia’s office, knocking twice before opening up the door and popping your head in. “Hey, Pen, you down to get some drinks with the team?”

“Who’s asking Prentiss? She loves to be downer— oo, she’ll say yes if you ask!”

“Jesus, what is up with that? She would say ‘no’, doesn’t matter who asks.” You argued, that familiar burn in your cheeks flaring up again.

“Oh, my poor, poor, oblivious friend.”

With a sigh you closed the door and continued your walk to Emily’s office.

Again, you knocked twice on Emily’s door, and opened the door, following a brief, “come in”, from Emily.

“Hey chief, the team was hoping to leave a bit early so we could go for drinks.” You said.

She paused in her task of completing her paperwork, her pen stilling. Her mouth was opened in preparation to say ‘no’, but when she looked up at you she faltered.

You attempted to lean against the doorframe, but you were an inch off and just ended up stumbling.

She chuckled and nodded her head, a soft smile on her face. “This once. Don’t get used to it.” She tried to sound stern, but it didn’t quite work— you wouldn’t tell her that, though.

“Leave with us in ten?”

“I’ll meet you guys there.”

You left the room, closing the door behind you.

You stood there a second, a stupid, lovesick smile on your face at the realization that she was going to say ‘no’ but she didn’t because it was you.

“I take it she said ‘yes’?” Morgan yelled up to you, an even worse shit eating grin on his face.

“Shut up, Morgan.”

——————————————————————————

Thank you for the prompt! I haven’t written in so long, I loved this, and it inspired me to start watching criminal minds again. Hope you like it, sorry if you don’t.

[witchywithwhiskey]

to save me from tears

pairing: DARK!bucky barnes x female reader

summary: you thought you were going on a weekend getaway to the cabin of the guy were seeing, but it turned out bucky barnes had no intention of ever letting you leave. now, one year later, it's the anniversary of an important milestone in your relationship, and he knows just how to celebrate the special occasion.

warnings: 18+ content (minors do not interact!!!), dark themes and elements, non-con/rape, abduction, drugging, imprisonment/captivity, sexual exploitation of reader, forced camgirl work, live-streaming sex, smut, rough sex, painful sex, unprotected sex, piv sex, anal sex, double penetration, oral cockwarming with a dildo gag, squirting, sex toys, bondage/shibari, sadism/forced masochism, ass spanking, degradation, objectification, dacryphilia, choking, breathplay, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names (doll, winter slut), mind break, reluctant stockholm syndrome, reader passes out during sex, DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, if i missed something please let me know!

word count: 5.6k

a/n: here's my second entry for @the-slumberparty's december daze challenge, using the prompt: Has it been a year already? my last fic was so sweet that apparently i had to balance things out with the absolute darkest, filthiest fic i've ever written. i guess i was feeling some type of way, idk!! anyway, i hope y'all enjoy ♡

december daze challenge masterlist

Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” played softly from a speaker in the corner, the chords lilting serenely through the cold basement, the choral harmonizing of the background singers becoming a soundtrack to the depravity you were forced to endure. 

It occurred to you that you might wonder how you’d ended up where you had, but you knew exactly how—you’d trusted the wrong man.

Bucky Barnes had been charming from the moment you met. The former army sergeant had wooed you with ice skating dates and trips to the book store, regaling you with stories from his childhood growing up in Brooklyn over cups of hot chocolate and herbal tea. 

He’d seemed perfectly normal, like the kind of man you’d want to settle down with, and you found yourself wanting to start a new life with him. It hadn’t been long, but you thought he was the one, and you began planning what that new life would look like in your own imagination.

Apparently Bucky had been determined to give you a new life as well, but he hadn’t given you a choice about what that life would look like. While you’d been picturing a cozy apartment in the city before buying a house and moving out to the suburbs, he’d been planning something much different.

It had all started that weekend in December, when Bucky had invited you for a weekend away at his cabin upstate. You’d been seeing him long enough that you trusted him, and you were excited, hopeful, even, that your relationship would deepen on the trip.

You were so happy about spending a whole weekend alone with Bucky that you didn’t think anything of the darkness in his voice when he’d warned you to never, under any circumstances, go into the basement of the cabin. 

Then, after a weekend filled with delicate kisses and gentle lovemaking, you’d been packing to return to the city when a soft cloth had covered your mouth and nose and you’d smelled something sweet. You hadn’t known it at the time, but that was the end of your old life, and you didn’t even have the time or the strength to fight.

You didn’t know how much time had passed when you’d woken up in the cold basement that would become your only home in the months to come. A thick leather collar had been wrapped around your neck, connecting to a chain that was attached to the heavy wooden frame of the bed you lay on. To your horror, you’d realized you were clad in lingerie that wasn’t yours, some cheap set that still managed to fit you perfectly.  

Bucky had been waiting for you to notice him at the foot of the bed, standing next to a camera aimed directly at you. 

“Welcome to your new life, doll,” he’d said, a depraved smirk spreading across his handsome face—and expression you’d never seen before. “Time to earn your keep.” His blue eyes had been glittering with dark excitement as he’d clicked a button on the laptop linked to the camera and crawled onto the bed with you.

That had been the first moment you’d seen the real Bucky Barnes, and he’d spent every day since then showing you exactly how vile and perverted he truly was. He’d kept you in the basement of his cabin and forced you to fuck him on camera, using the money he made from it to buy you more cheap lingerie and all manner of toys to use on your body.

The sharp, cracking sound of a palm meeting soft flesh filled your ears, the subsequent stinging sensation reverberating from your ass through the rest of your body effectively dragging you back into the moment of your latest debasement. 

The pain of Bucky spanking you with the full force of his strength only joined the other aches already living in your body—but you knew better than to complain or cry or whimper. You’d made that mistake early on, but Bucky had only seemed to soak in your pain like it fueled him. 

The first time he’d spanked you, you’d begged him to stop. Instead, though, he only hit you harder, grinning ear to ear while he’d told you that you had no idea what you were in for yet, fake pity dripping from his tone.

But in the present moment, your pain wasn’t only coming from Bucky’s palm. 

Your shoulders ached from the way your arms had been tied behind your back, your hands gripping your forearms and constrained by intricate knots of cords wrapped around your body. To further restrain you, your calves were tied to your thighs, leaving you bound and unable to move with your ass high in the air while your face was shoved into the bed.

In honor of the holiday season, Bucky had traded in the coarse rope he typically used for a long string of multicolored Christmas lights, one end plugged into the wall so your skin was washed in shades of blue, red, green and yellow. 

The string of lights was much more uncomfortable than the rope, even though that had burned. The wire holding the lights together was so thin, and the small bulbs dug painfully into your skin. If you didn’t know your discomfort was exactly what Bucky wanted, you might’ve let him see how unhappy you were with your current predicament.

Instead, you hid your face in the blankets of the bed, trying to focus on anything except Bucky’s big cock fucking into your cunt at a bruising pace. 

Unfortunately, it was impossible to ignore him, his hard length plowing into your body. Not even the cheery lights wound around your body or the Christmas music playing out of the bluetooth speaker in the corner could distract you from the feel of his cock inside you.

Another jarring smack resounded in the cold basement a brief second before the sting of Bucky’s spank quaked through your body. The strike was hard enough that you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from crying out. You didn’t want to give him that, even if it would’ve been muffled by the blankets under your face.

“How many times do I gotta tell ya, doll,” Bucky huffed, his voice patronizing and impatient, like he was talking to a misbehaving child. “Look at the camera when I’m fucking you.” He spanked you again, so hard you felt your entire body tremble under the weight of it, then he grabbed and groped your ass cruelly enough to leave marks. “Our audience wants to see your face—don’t ya, fellas?”

That last part was directed at the camera. You turned your head, tipping your face toward the lens just in time to catch the reflection of the rakish grin Bucky shot to whoever was watching. 

The chat box on the screen of the laptop set up just out of frame lit up, the audience for your daily stream with Bucky telling the both of you just how much they wanted to see your face while you were fucked by his fat cock. 

Your eyes caught a few of the filthy, degrading messages before looking away. You refused to believe the way your cunt clenched was in response to what you’d read. You absolutely were not getting turned on by the depraved life your captor forced you to live.

Bucky’s large body curled over your back, his hand wrapping around your throat and lifting your head from the bed so the camera could better see your face. The position shoved his cock even deeper into your cunt, ramming painfully against your cervix and, against your will, your face contorted at the twinge deep in your body.

The chat lit up, chimes dinging fast and furious as the messages came in, and Bucky reached for the laptop so he could read what your viewers had written. 

All the while, his hips kept grinding idly against your ass so his cock rubbed even harder into your cervix, making you let out a little whimper of anguish. His fingers tightened around the sides of your neck, enough to cut off your ability to breathe, and your whimper turned into a desperate, scared little keen.

You felt Bucky grin against your cheek, and you could’ve kicked yourself for giving him exactly what he’d wanted—a reaction. But at least his grip loosened, though you knew it was only because he didn’t want you to pass out too soon.

“The chat says you look like such a pretty little toy when I fuck you all tied up like this, doll,” Bucky cooed in your ear, grinding harder into your cunt. 

You sunk your teeth deep into your lower lip as your whole body trembled under the assault of Bucky’s thick cock. Despite yourself, you felt your cunt clench hard around his stiff length, wetness frothing and gushing from your hole as he made a mockery of your protests. 

Before you’d met Bucky, you would’ve sworn you didn’t like pain. You’d have said you hated it, in fact. 

But after so many days and months of being speared open by his fat cock, all three of your holes ravaged by his hard, unrelenting manhood in his need to dominate you, to conquer your body in every way possible, you couldn’t help your pussy’s response to it.

You told yourself it was some kind of defense mechanism, that your body had begun to react to pain the same way it did pleasure. It was the only explanation you could bear to endure. Because if you admitted you’d begun to like the way Bucky fucked you and abused you…

“Ohhh, listen to this one,” Bucky crooned excitedly, drawing you out of your thoughts and giving you a distraction from the way he was working your body toward its undoing. “‘Happy anniversary to the Winter Soldier and his Winter Slut!’”

The names were, of course, fake ones that Bucky had chosen to give the audience of your streams something to call you both. His was based on his past as a sergent, combined with the season when he’d taken you captive, while yours showed his ownership over you.

You hated it. You didn’t want anyone thinking Bucky owned you. 

But Bucky either didn’t notice or ignored the way you grimaced when he read the fake names aloud. He turned his eyes, filled with cheerful wickedness, toward the camera.

“Has it been a year already?”

The question was full of charm, and you could almost imagine it coming from the Bucky you’d originally met. The one who might’ve celebrated your one-year anniversary with a recreation of your first date, ending with a heartfelt proposal that the two of you move in together. 

Instead, the question hadn’t even been asked to you, but to the camera—to the audience of loyal, degenerate perverts who watched your streams. 

The quick, successive chimes from the laptop drew Bucky’s attention back to it, and he hummed in acknowledgement as he read through the messages. 

His fingers squeezed around your throat, making you choke harder for the camera, adding to the small sounds of anguish that were slipping from your lips while he kept up his merciless grinding, his cock bruising your cervix.

A new sound, one like a cash register, joined the dinging chimes of the chat message and your heart sank. 

That was the sound of people in the chat sending extra tips on top of the subscription fees they paid to get access to your streaming channel. It meant they were making requests for Bucky to do something new—and that never resulted in anything good for you.

Before you could glance at the laptop to try to get an idea of what was coming, Bucky sat back on his haunches, hauling you up with his hand around your throat. Between gravity and the change in position, it felt like Bucky’s cock pushed even deeper into your cunt, pressing against your cervix so hard it stole the breath from your lungs.

“It’s the one year anniversary of your very first stream, doll,” Bucky announced gleefully in your ear, using his free hand to slap at your tits. They were bound between two strings of the Christmas lights wrapped around your body, your soft tits highlighted by the shining, multicolored hues. “Do you have anything to say to our audience, my little Winter Slut?”

It was clear Bucky wanted you to thank them for their loyal viewership, but resentment held your tongue. Memories assaulted you of the very first stream you’d been forced to do.

Bucky had pinned you down on that very same bed, using nothing but his strong hands and large body to pin you to the mattress while he tore your cheap lingerie off your body. Then he’d ravaged you, slapping and groping your tits before biting them so hard you’d started crying. 

It had been the only foreplay he’d offered you before he’d shoved his cock deep in your cunt. He was so big and your body was so unprepared that you’d screamed, which only made Bucky laugh. He’d told you, mockingly, that there wasn’t anyone around to hear you scream—only the audience on the dark web where he was streaming your defilement for who knew how many people who were just as vile as Bucky.

Bucky’s fingers digging deep into the sides of your neck brought you back to the present moment, small gasps falling from your lips as he cut off your air again. Your pulse pounded in your head, but you still managed to notice that Frank Sinatra’s “Silent Night” had given way to another Christmas song, the festive music so at odds with the dread and fear pooling in your belly.

“I guess my Winter Slut is feeling ungrateful today, chat,” Bucky said on a laugh. 

His tone was mocking in a way that sent a shiver racing down your spine, and you refused to believe it might be anticipation. Your body quaked when his soft mouth brushed against your cheek, the gesture almost like a kiss as he turned his head so he could murmur in your ear.

“Our audience wants to see something special for our anniversary, doll,” he cooed. “They want to see me break you.” 

Unease and something else flooded your veins, the conflicting emotions warring for dominance as you struggled to make sense of the way your cunt had clenched around Bucky’s cock when he’d said he was going to break you. You pressed your mouth into a grim line, still determined not to show your reaction to Bucky or the camera, especially when you didn’t understand what was happening to you. 

In the year that you’d spent as Bucky’s personal cam star, you’d endured a lot—and if anyone had asked you, you’d have said you hadn’t enjoyed any of it. But over time, that had begun to change. You’d been fighting it, fighting your body’s responses to Bucky and every depraved thing he did to you. It was becoming so hard, and you were growing so tired of fighting, of pretending…

 “I have just the thing—but first, let’s fill this slut’s mouth,” Bucky was telling the camera, and you forced yourself to focus back on the moment to prepare yourself. 

Bucky shifted to the side, grabbing something from the basket of sex toys he kept next to the bed during streams. When you saw what he pulled out, you bit your lip against a helpless whimper.

He’d pulled out a penis gag, but it wasn’t just any normal penis gag—it was one he’d specially ordered for you. Instead of having a two or three inch dick attached to the strip of leather that would tie around your head, there was a full-sized dildo replica of Bucky’s cock. His big, thick cock.

You tried to keep your mouth closed when Bucky pressed the tip of the silicone cock to your lips, but he only tutted at you with a patronizing click of his tongue. Shifting his fingers from your throat to your cheeks, he dug them in until it hurt. Your jaw gave way.

“That’s a good little cock slut, open for your Winter Soldier,” he cooed patronizingly, shoving the fake dick into your mouth without preparation or remorse.

You gagged as the stiff dildo invaded your throat, tears beginning to flow from your eyes and spit dribbling from the corners of your mouth. Your arms yanked against the Christmas lights holding you bound, but that only forced them to dig deeper into your skin, making your struggle hurt that much more.

While you were distracted by trying to adjust to the silicone cock shoved deep inside you, Bucky secured the leather strap around the back of your head, tying it into place and making it impossible for you to do anything but hold the dildo in your mouth and breathe through the way it bulged in your throat.

Then Bucky was dumping you unceremoniously on the mattress and pulling his cock from your cunt, leaving you to fall face first into the blankets while he hopped up off the bed. You were thankful you could muffle your whimper at the loss of him in the sheets, even as you knew that whatever he had planned would be so much worse than him just fucking you while tied up and gagged.

“I was going to save this one for Christmas,” he was saying from behind a privacy screen beside the bed. It was set up to make sure the camera would only show viewers what Bucky wanted them to see—which was you, and everything he did to you. “But since it’s a special occasion, I’ll let you have your present early.”

When Bucky stepped back into view, your heart nearly stopped. 

A leather harness was strapped onto Bucky’s hips, a dildo attached so it hung below his cock. The contraption, which had clearly been specially ordered because you’d never seen anything like it, wasn’t what shocked you, though—it was the size of the dildo. 

The fake dick was easily twice the size of Bucky’s cock, bigger around and just as long. Staring at it with wide eyes, you genuinely didn’t think it would fit in any of your holes, no matter how roughly Bucky tried to stuff it in. But your cunt was between your thighs like it couldn’t wait for him to try.

Despite your dedication not to give Bucky or the audience any kind of reaction, you couldn’t help the, “No, no, no, no, no,” that came from your mouth. You couldn’t fathom the massive dildo fitting inside you, let alone you enjoying it, no matter how much your body warmed at the prospect of being fucked with it.

Your protests were muffled by the gag in your mouth, to the point that your words were indiscernible, but their meaning must’ve been understood because Bucky chuckled as he walked back to you.

“I know what you’re thinking, doll,” Bucky said conversationally while he climbed onto the bed and retook his place behind you. “There’s no way it’ll fit.” 

He grabbed the knotted string of Christmas lights where they crisscrossed between your shoulder blades, pulling your torso up off the bed so your face was level with the camera. You tried not to look at your reflection in the lens, your mouth split open around the dildo in your mouth and your eyes round as saucers, but it was hard not to stare at the look in your eye—the look of something like fear… or excitement.

“But that’s what’s so fun about it,” Bucky went on, dragging the hard length of the silicone dick through your dripping wet folds, coating the fake cock in the mess of wetness your body was leaking against your will. “It will fit—and it’s going to ruin your cunt.”

Once upon a time, you’d thought the same thing about Bucky’s cock. 

The first time you’d had sex with Bucky—before the cabin and the basement and the camera—you’d taken one look at his cock and whimpered in fear. But he’d been so gentle, promising you that he’d take it slow, that your pussy was made to fit his cock. 

He’d taken his time, kissing your lips and cheeks and all over your face while he worked his cock into your pussy, giving you another inch only when you’d adjusted to the last and relaxed in his arms. Slowly, and with what seemed like an endless amount of patience, he’d opened you up for him. 

That night, he’d made love to you in deep, toe-curling strokes that had wrecked you. He’d seemingly rearranged your body to be the perfect fit for his cock, and then he’d given you the best orgasm of your life.

No wonder you hadn’t stood a chance. 

More than a year later, the memory felt like a dream. It was so faded around the edges, aged by the months spent taking Bucky’s cock roughly, furiously, whenever and wherever he wanted, all while he streamed your debasement for the audience on the dark web.

“You’re going to be so loose that you won’t even feel my cock anymore, doll,” Bucky was saying as he dragged you back to the moment by thrusting his own hard length into your cunt, soaking himself in your juices. “You’ll have to beg me to fuck you with this massive dildo just to feel anything again.” He paused, chuckling to himself as he bent over you, pressing a kiss to your spine between your shoulder blades before murmuring darkly, “That’s your Christmas present this year.”

Then, without anymore preamble, Bucky sat up and pulled out. You didn’t even have time to beg or whine before he lined his cock and the dildo up at the entrances to your tight holes, then shoved both into you at the same time. Bucky buried himself inside you so deeply, so thoroughly, that it felt like he was pushing into the very core of your being, conquering your soul just as completely as he’d conquered your body.

The intrusion was so sudden, you never had a hope of preparing, and all you felt was the devastating sting of being stretched past your limit, the overwhelming ache of being stuffed full beyond what you thought your body could ever take. 

Pain eclipsed any semblance of pleasure you might’ve gotten from having both your holes stuffed full, and your eyes rolled back in your head, a piercing cry tearing from your throat. A white hot burn scorched through your body, and your mind went entirely blank, leaving nothing but depraved annihilation in its wake. 

“Oh fuck, fellas, she’s so fucking tight like this,” Bucky groaned, talking over your head into the camera. “I can feel the fake cock splitting her open—it’s making her ass so fucking tight.”

Humiliation and shame swept through your body at his words, turning the burn into something slightly more bearable, almost pleasurable. There was something about being ignored, being treated like nothing more than a fleshlight or a fuck doll while Bucky completely decimated your body that was so… 

You shook your head. No. You weren’t going to finish that thought.

“Fuck, I don’t know how long ‘m gonna last,” Bucky was grumbling, and you weren’t sure if he was talking to you or your audience.

The words should’ve sounded like music to your ears. You should’ve been happy the torture was almost over. Instead, you felt a pang of disappointment deep in your heart. But you didn’t have time to unpack what that could mean because then Bucky started fucking you.

His hips pulled back until only the tip of his cock and the dildo were still in your ass and pussy, then he plowed forward, shunting his entire length and the fat, massive fake cock into your holes once again. The pain of being split open was already starting to fade, an all-consuming pleasure creeping into the edges of your awareness against your will.

On Bucky’s third thrust, you moaned. 

Your mind was hazy with a mixture of pain and pleasure that was leaning more toward the latter, and with the cock gag in your mouth, you were helpless against the reactions Bucky was wringing from your body. The sound of pleasure slipped from your lips unbidden, and your face heated in shame, which only served to add more fuel to the fire burning through your body.

“Did ya hear that, chat?” Bucky crowed, slapping your ass painfully hard—hard enough that another muffled cry was wrenched from your mouth. “Our little Winter Slut is enjoying her Christmas present! She loves getting her cunt ruined, don’t ya, doll?”

He slammed deep into your body as he asked the question and you were powerless, incapable of doing anything but moaning obscenely for the camera, tears streaming down your cheeks and joining the spit that coated the lower half of your face. Long strings of drool and tears were hanging from your chin, dripping onto the bedsheets below.

Distantly, you heard the chimes from the chat log and the cash register sounds as messages and money poured in. They were coming so fast and so furious that you couldn’t even begin to fathom how much money you were making for Bucky while he broke you with his cocks.

Bucky must’ve heard the sounds too, because he doubled his efforts. He picked up the pace of his thrusts, fucking you hard and fast, spanking your ass mercilessly while his other hand still held you up off the bed by your Christmas light restraints. It meant that your face was framed perfectly in the camera frame.

It occurred to you that you should let your gaze drift off, let your mind retreat somewhere deep inside itself where you could hide from Bucky and what he was doing to your body. But you couldn’t. You couldn’t tear your eyes away from the camera’s display panel.

There, you could see the scene Bucky had constructed—your body tied up in glittering, technicolor Christmas lights; your face covered in tears and drool, lips spread thin around the base of the cock gag; your throat bulging from the fake dick buried deep in your mouth; your tits bouncing between the strands of lights.

Behind you, with a look of deeply depraved joy on his face, was Bucky Barnes. 

He was naked save for the harness belted around his hips and the santa hat on his head. His big body was on display just as much as yours, his broad chest swathed in pale skin and chiseled muscles, his arms bulging as he held you up and spanked your ass. 

Bucky’s dark hair was falling into his handsome face, but the strands didn’t hide the merry grin on his lips or the way his blue eyes glittered with wicked delight as he stared down at the place where his cock and the massive dildo were brutally fucking your holes.

It was too much to watch your defilement. It was too depraved and too…hot.

God help you, but something must’ve finally broken inside you because it was so fucking hot to watch yourself be violated on camera while jaunty Christmas music played in the background and hundreds, if not thousands, of perverts watched Bucky have his way with you. 

Your pussy spasmed and clenched around the fake cock in your hole as you thought about those people watching you. It turned you on that the audience knew Bucky was fucking you against your will and not only were they doing nothing about it, they were taking their own pleasure from watching you be ravaged. Your cunt drooled even more.

Bucky Barnes had officially broken you. 

That was the only conclusion you could reach, because when you’d met him more than a year ago, you never would’ve imagined that your pussy would be creaming all over a fat, girthy dildo while Bucky fucked your ass and held you tied up with Christmas lights for anyone on the dark web to watch. 

But after a year of being fucked hard in every one of your holes, Bucky had finally broken you down until you’d joined him on his level. He’d torn away every ounce of shame, every bit of what had made you you, and remade you in the image of his perfect toy. You were a doll, his doll, just like he called you.

The realization filled you with a sense of peace you never would’ve expected, your body relaxing as your mind went blissfully blank. It was easier this way, you told yourself, as you breathed a sigh of relief. All that was left of you was Bucky Barnes’ perfect doll—his Winter Slut cam star.

Bucky must’ve felt or somehow sensed your submission because he groaned a filthy sound of pleasure and shoved his hips flush against your ass. He paused for a moment, his hand groping your ass possessively before pulling back and ramming home again, burying himself even deeper inside you, the massive dildo bullying your cervix as he pounded into you.

“That’s my girl, take your Winter Soldier’s cock like a good little fuck doll,” Bucky purred, his voice taking on a tenor of contentment you’d never heard before. It was like he was praising you for your submission, for finally giving yourself over to him, mind, body and soul. “You’re being such a perfect Winter Slut, taking me so good and crying so pretty for the camera.”

You preened under his praise, using what little strength remained in your body to shove your hips back onto Bucky’s cocks, fake and real alike, while you sucked enthusiastically on the fake dick in your mouth. Tears flowed harder from your eyes and you sobbed your pleasure, choked sounds of enjoyment falling from your lips.

You could feel the most devastating orgasm of your life building in the core of your being, and you were eager to chase it, knowing it would rewrite the fundamental fabric of your self. 

“Fuck yeah, doll, be my perfect little cam star,” Bucky rumbled, slapping your ass in encouragement, the sting of pain swirling with the pleasure he was wringing from your body and adding to the burning bliss scorching through you. “Show the chat how good my Winter Slut can cry for their money—show them how much you love feeling me ruin your holes for Christmas.”

Bucky rutted into you, pounding into your cunt and ass so hard that the clapping of his hips against your skin was filling the basement and almost drowning out the new Christmas song that had begun. It felt so good, so fucking good to be fucked and filled in every hole, that you were close—so close you could nearly taste it.

“Fucking take it, Winter Slut, take the only cock you’ll ever feel again,” Bucky growled, curling around your body and taking your throat in his hand. He squeezed tightly, grinding his cock and dildo into your body, so deep, you could feel them in your guts. “For the rest of your life, you’re gonna do nothing but take my cock and be my pretty little cam star—you’re all fucking mine.”

Something snapped inside you and you felt liquid gush between your thighs, coating the massive fake cock in your cunt. Your squirt sprayed down to soak the sheets beneath you, and all you could do was revel in the pleasure flooding your body, every limb trembling with the force of it while you gasped and cried around Bucky’s hold on your throat.

When he realized what you’d done, Bucky whooped with triumph, crowing into the camera that he’d made you squirt, that you were his perfect little fuck doll cam star. But you were too consumed by your oncoming release, which was barreling toward you with the force of a freight train. 

Before it finally hit you, and you came so hard your eyes rolled into the back of your head and you passed out, Bucky wrapped himself more tightly around your body, his chest pressing into your back and his arms wrapping around your front. He choked you with one big hand while the other groped and played roughly with your tits.

To your surprise, he brushed a kiss to your cheek in a gesture that felt affectionate.

“You’re making me so fucking proud, doll,” he cooed in your ear, and you thought, for a moment, that he sounded just like the sweet Bucky Barnes you’d met all those months ago. “You’re the best Christmas present I ever could’ve asked for.” 

Just then, your release slammed into you and you screamed—and there wasn’t anyone around to hear you except Bucky and his camera. 

Overwhelming pleasure washed through you, darkness creeping into the edges of your consciousness as your body convulsed and you choked on the dildo in your throat while your other holes clenched around the cocks that had split you open beyond your limit.

The last thing you heard before the weight of your release dragged you under was the festive synth pop chords of another Christmas song, and Wham! singing, “This year, to save me from tears, I’ll give it to someone special.” 

Somewhere inside you, you knew that everything was going to change once you woke up. Bucky had finally broken you, and you’d given him your ultimate submission. Nothing would be the same, but you found that that didn’t scare you as much as it once might have.

You belonged to Bucky Barnes and you’d finally accepted that as fact. He’d taken everything else, but you still had your heart left to give—and you were certain it wouldn’t be long before you gave him that too. Maybe, at least, it would save you from tears…

As you came so hard you passed out, you accepted that your thoughts, your pleasure, your mind, your body, your soul—your everything—belonged to Bucky Barnes. Then, everything went black.

december daze challenge masterlist

[adverbally]

Baby, Please Come Home

Written for the @steddieholidaydrabbles prompt “together” and the @steddiemas prompt “surprise” | wc: 955 | rated: T | cw: none | tags: future fic, established relationship, alone at Christmas, angst with a happy ending | dividers by @popmilky

“All the flights out are grounded and they’re rerouting everyone coming in. We’re just hoping they can get us in a hotel for the night, otherwise we’re sleeping on the floor of the terminal.”

Eddie sounds so far away through the telephone line. He’s with the rest of Corroded Coffin in New York City, where they’re apparently stuck in the blizzard of the century. The airport is completely shut down, just in time for the Christmas travel season.

“How long do they think it’ll take for the storm to pass?” Steve asks, biting at the cuticle of his thumb. He paces back and forth in front of the phone to work off his nervous energy. It might actually be making him feel worse, moving so much but not getting anywhere, but he can’t just sit here.

Eddie sighs. “No clue. But with how many flights need to be rescheduled, it might be a couple days before I can get home.”

Today is December 23rd, which means— “You won’t be here for Christmas,” Steve realizes.

He hasn’t had a Christmas without Eddie in eight years. Even when they were just friends, they spent the holiday together while Wayne was at work and the Harringtons were in Europe somewhere. Then there were Christmases in their first apartment in Chicago, on the road with Corroded Coffin, even a memorable tropical getaway where their drinks were garnished with Santa hats.

Steve won’t get any of that this year. It was supposed to be a quiet holiday, just the two of them. Now he’ll be alone.

Eddie has clearly come to the same conclusion. “I’m sorry, baby. I’d rent a car and start driving right this second if the roads were clear.”

“It’s not your fault.” He tries hard to keep his voice level and hide any evidence of the tears he wipes from his cheeks. “We’ll celebrate when you get back. Stay safe and say hi to the boys for me.”

Eddie’s voice goes soft. “Okay, sweetheart. I love you. See you soon.”

“Love you,” Steve manages to croak before the line goes dead.

The dial tone seems to echo in the empty apartment for hours.

Christmas Eve passes achingly slowly. Steve spends half the day on the phone, catching up with Dustin visiting his mom back in Hawkins and Robin and Nancy who are snowed in at home in Boston. He waits for Eddie to call, too, maybe with some sort of update on their flight situation.

Eddie doesn’t call.

He stares out the window of their apartment and watches the snow piling up outside. It’s nothing compared to what’s bombarding the east coast, but Steve has always liked the snow. A fresh blanket of white, covering the dirty pavement and muddy slush in the streets with something beautiful. He wishes Eddie were here, complaining about the cold and the ankles of his pants getting wet. Even better, snuggling up with Steve on the couch to watch It’s a Wonderful Life, just like they do every year.

Steve doesn’t try to watch it alone. Instead, he chokes down a frozen dinner and goes to bed at six o’clock so he can have a few hours where he doesn’t have to think about how much he misses Eddie.

It’s very late– or maybe very early– when Steve wakes up to the bed shifting beneath him.

In the dull blue light of the pre-dawn hours, he can only make out shapes. A dark silhouette with messy hair on Eddie’s side of the bed, looking just like Eddie does when he sits to unlace his boots.

Steve thinks he might choke on the wave of emotion that rises in his throat. It’s Eddie, undeniably. He can tell from the exhaustion in his shoulders and his quiet mumbles of frustration when he can’t undo the knot in his shoelaces.

Without thinking, Steve reaches out a hand to settle at the small of Eddie’s back.

Eddie looks at him over his shoulder, an apologetic grimace on his face. “Sorry, I was trying not to wake you up.”

“You—” Steve can barely get a word out before his vision starts to blur and his chest gets tight. The tears he hadn’t let himself shed all day are hitting him hard now, like the shock of Eddie making it home knocked them loose.

“Oh, baby, don’t cry.” Eddie shifts until he’s lying next to Steve, still wearing his jeans and an old henley of Steve’s. He smells like recycled plane air.

Steve doesn’t hesitate to roll into Eddie’s waiting arms. He needs the comfort, the reassurance that Eddie is real and solid and here. “I can’t believe you made it,” he mumbles into Eddie’s shirt.

“Me neither,” Eddie sighs. Already, his fingers are combing through Steve’s hair, trying to soothe both of them at once. “A seat opened up at the very last minute. I didn’t even have a chance to call and tell you I was leaving.”

“Remind me to be mad about that later.” He can feel Eddie’s quiet laugh rumbling through his chest. Steve smiles along with him. “God, I missed you.”

Eddie kisses his temple. “I’m taking you with me next time, I don’t care if it’s only for two shows.”

“Sounds good.”

“And no more holiday concerts.”

“Nuh-uh.” It comes out a little slurred, Steve’s voice feeling as heavy as his eyelids now that he’s comfortable and Eddie is with him.

Eddie is still stroking his hair in long, slow movements. “Go back to sleep, honey. I’ll still be here in the morning.”

Steve hums in agreement. “Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Just before Steve drifts off, he thinks that Eddie might be the best Christmas gift he’s ever gotten.

[tinytalkingtina]

Who could not be happy?

Written for the February @steddiemicrofic prompt, using the word "rose" and 367 words

Rating G | Ao3 link

Tags: language of flowers, Eddie has a crush on Steve, love confessions, first kiss

See under the cut for some notes on flower language, and thank you steddiecameraroll-graphics for the lovely divider!

Eddie stared at the book clutched tightly in his hands. There was a rose carefully tucked away among its pages. The color had faded a bit, but a pink hue still delicately tinted the petals. And that wasn’t all. Fragments of other flowers were also dried and wrapped in protective layers of wax paper: camellia, columbine, gardenia. Under the last page, a green carnation peeked out.

Steve came back into the room juggling a few more empty boxes.

“This should be the final load, if we add anything else the Beemer won't make it to Chicago without tipping over. Hope you don't mind us driving up without the rearview mirror.”

Steve grinned, but Eddie didn’t respond. The grin faltered a little.

“You okay man? Not getting cold feet now.” Wordlessly, Eddie held out the book.

“Oh, thanks, this one needs to be packed flat.” A tiny smile crept over Steve's face. “You know how people used to decorate their crush's locker for Valentine's Day? My senior year there was this whole bouquet tucked in waiting for me. Dunno who put it there, Nance and I'd broken up months ago. They're nice though, right? I mean you never see green flowers. Wish I could've thanked them, whoever it was.”

A tiny spark of hope bloomed in Eddie's chest. Before he could swallow it back down, his brain blurted out:

“I had perfect attendance in Spanish that year.”

Steve's eyes squinted in confusion.

“Huh?”

“My second-go around at senior year, and I was still stuck in Hawkins, then freaking King Steve sits behind me in Spanish 3,” Eddie barreled on. “You never used to pay attention to anyone who wasn't in your inner circle, but in that class you'd mutter to yourself about how cool my doodles looked, and told folks to knock it off when they called me trailer trash. So I found a book on flower meanings and did something incredibly stupid.” He didn’t dare look at Steve as he finished his confession.

The kiss caught him off-guard.

“Guess I've got three years worth of dates to make up for. Prepare to be romanced off your feet Munson.”

That February, Eddie gave Steve red and yellow tulips.

Author's notes

-The fic's title comes from a quote by Victorian playwright Oscar Wilde: "With freedom, books, flowers, and the moon, who could not be happy?" The green carnation is associated with Oscar Wilde himself, and wearing a green carnation on ones lapel might have been a code for gay men at the time to identify one another. Wilde was famously convicted for homosexual acts in 1895. Let's say Eddie picked up a copy of "The Picture of Dorian Gray" and learned about the symbolism from a coded forward written for it.

-The meanings within the original bouquet were "happiness" (pink rose), "longing for you" (pink camellia), "foolishness/folly" (columbine), secret love (gardenia), and homosexuality (green carnation). Eddie was being very dramatic putting together the original bouquet for his forbidden love, and definitely dyed the carnation himself.

-Red and yellow tulips represent passion/declaration of love and sunshine in your smile respectively.

[street-smarts00]

Complimentary Colors

Spencer Reid x BAU!Reader

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

WC: 7.3K

Summary: After recently joining the team, you and Spencer could never get along. What started off as you two ignoring each other turned into bickering at work. What happens when a stressful moment for you turns into an opportunity to get to know this fascinating coworker of yours?

tags: enemies to lovers, fluff, brief mentions of crime/murder at the beginning (talking about cases/kidnapping), reader is shy and anxious, reader looks young for her age. (reader might be female but i don’t think i specified)

A/N: I haven’t written anything in years and I’ve been on a criminal minds kick for a while. I had this idea loosely based off a prompt I saw on cai by (ApolloTheBoykisser) so thanks babes ;) also for once I had a fic of mine beta read lol my bestie beta read this for me. This is also posted on my AO3 page.

You had been working at the BAU for the last few weeks. You tried to get to know most of your coworkers and it seemed like you were making great progress. You had heard a lot about the team before you joined and were pretty intimidated by them at first. Okay- you were still pretty intimidated by them. But you pushed through your quiet exterior little by little and slowly but surely tried to get to know them. 

All except for Spencer Reid. It seemed like he was trying to avoid you. He was always very quiet and would barely talk to you. Being a shy person yourself, you thought maybe he was just shy or a quiet guy. However, he continued to ignore you except for when he had to acknowledge you for work. 

His coldness towards you was increasingly annoying as time went on, and your perception of him had slowly warped. The things about him you once found endearing, you now forced yourself to hate about him. If he rambled for too long, it could potentially make your blood boil. However, you could never stop paying attention to when he rambled on about facts or statistics. You didn’t want to admit it, but you found him fascinating.

It didn’t take that long for him to start acknowledging you, but this soon turned into the two of you bickering like children. When you were discussing cases or profiles, you both would argue over motives, victimology, crime scenes- literally anything about the case- you two could turn it into an opportunity to contradict the other. You both still kept a level of professionalism to not let your rivalry affect your job. 

But there was always this tension between the two of you when you were in close quarters for too long. 

And at some point you both reached your boiling point. 

Last week, while the team was on a case, you and Spencer had gotten into a little spat once again. This time it went beyond the slight bickering or contraction. In the middle of the local precinct, you two were at each other's throats. 

“What was that?” You asked after you and Spencer left the interview room that held a victims family. 

“I was working off of the profile . . .” 

“You mean the profile we haven’t finished?” You interrupted. “The one we are still currently working on and have yet to disclose?” 

“That doesn’t mean we can’t work off of the information we already have,” he objected. 

“You told her information we are still unsure about. We don’t know for a fact how long he keeps them alive,” you accused while placing your hands on your hips, trying to conceal your frustration but failing.

“Guys.” Someone tried to tone things down. Neither of you heard who and you weren’t backing down.

“If I remember correctly, I heard you discussing this very subject and inputting your thoughts  . . .” 

“You still shouldn’t have told her! Especially when you don’t know for sure if her daughter could be alive,” you seethed stepping closer.

“Would you rather me hide everything from the mother who’s suffering from the disappearance of her daughter?” He asked, matching your tone and taking a step forward. 

“I didn’t say that!” 

“It sure sounded like it.” 

“Reid. Y/N.” The two of you turned your heads to your boss like two deer caught in headlights. 

“With me, now.” Hotch demanded and led you to an empty interview room. 

You could tell how angry he was- despite the fact that his stoic face represented almost every emotion in the book. But by the tone of his voice, you knew you and Spencer had messed up. 

“You two do not only represent this team, you represent the bureau. These cops are already not pleased with the idea of their boss calling us in and I do not need you arguing in front of them and giving them a reason to take us off this case. You must learn to respect and cooperate with one another or I will take you both off this case. Do I make myself clear?” He lectured. 

You both replied with a monotone “yes.”

“Good” 

Ever since your argument, you both had been relatively quiet towards one another. Like it had been in the beginning when you were ignoring each other. But that didn’t stop you from letting him invade your mind at every waking minute. It almost saddened you in a way there was no more bickering or quick remarks with him. With how much it annoyed you, you never thought you would miss it. 

The team had just finished a case and before everyone packed up and went home, Rossi announced that tomorrow everyone should come over for a little ‘get our minds off work’ get together. Your coworkers all thought it was a great idea to relax after the last few very stressful cases. 

As excited as you were to finally go to one of Rossi’s house parties, you were also scared shitless. Parties with relatively new people in your life were hard. You were so quiet around new people and were scared to approach others; you often waited to be approached. To you, being a profiler was easier than having a social life. 

But, maybe this time would be different. There’s not that many people on the team and you’d already started to familiarize yourself with them. 

The next day, you were pulling up to Rossi’s house. If there was anything else to be intimidated by with this man- besides his years of experience in the BAU- it was this giant house. You were greeted by the man himself at his front door. 

“Y/N, glad you could make it.” He opened the door and welcomed you in. 

He led you inside to where everyone else was gathered. Everyone was cheery at your arrival. Penelope with her clicky heels ran up to you and greeted you with a hug. It was refreshing to be around people who were so welcoming. It made it a little bit easier to really let your walls down. 

Well, almost everyone. Spencer gave you a small wave from where he stood. 

The night continued on and you would occasionally engage in conversation with the team. At this point, you were off to the side- standing in the kitchen and occasionally sipping some wine that Rossi had been bragging about and was just so excited for everyone to try. You were a bit too overwhelmed to go back to talking. The music was getting a bit loud and the lights seemed to be too bright. You opted for sitting on the barstool next to the counter and observing everyone around.  

They were all off in small groups or pairs around the house. All except for you and Spencer. He was another outlier and standing away from all the commotion. You looked over in his direction and he caught your eye. You both glared at each other and you quickly averted your gaze away from him. Your thoughts started to race and you began playing with your hair. 

After a moment, he glanced over in your direction again when you weren’t looking. He was unintentionally profiling you and noticed you getting overstimulated. Your eyes laser focused like you zoned out, your foot tapping against the chair, and your hand anxiously playing with your hair. 

While he wasn’t exactly your friend, he did understand what it felt like when social gatherings got overwhelming. He made his way over to you, careful not to make you more nervous or uncomfortable. 

“You okay?” He asked you. You were pulled away from spacing out. His voice sounded a bit concerned- which took you by surprise. You were partially relieved someone approached you to help bring you back down to earth. That someone noticed something was off. What confused you was the fact that person was Spencer. 

“I’m fine.”

He was well aware of what it meant when someone was “fine” and you were clearly not fine. He felt bad that you were so quick to shut down his attempt to check on you. After all, it was his fault and he knew that. 

“Do you wanna step outside?” He asked. 

You were conflicted. You didn’t want to be outside alone with him, but at the same time, you needed some time away from everything. Maybe it would help calm your nerves. 

“Maybe for a bit.” 

You followed him outside onto the back patio. You took note of the fresh air and the muffled sounds from inside. It all felt like a weight lifted off your shoulders. Pretty soon though, you realized how awkward it was to be outside alone with him. 

Spencer cleared his throat and spoke to break the silence, “Sometimes these parties can be . . . a lot.”

“A little bit. I was doing fine for a while but I think my social battery is running low.” You confessed to explain your discomfort. 

“Yeah” he replied. He appreciated the fact that you felt comfortable enough to express this with him. He tried to relate to you. “It’s the same with me. Sometimes I just need a moment to collect myself.” 

“Exactly.” You were relieved to hear that he felt the same way. “Plus it doesn’t help that I'm so new to the team.” You crossed your arms and slightly closed yourself off.

“I was the same way when I first joined.” He told her to try and ease your concerns. You were just like him at some point. The new guy and just trying to figure out how you fit in. 

“It’s difficult at first, but you settle down after a bit. Once you get to know everyone.” 

“Yeah it’s just the whole getting to know them part is a bit . . .” You abruptly stopped, hesitating to reveal too much to him.  

“A bit what?” 

“Intimidating,” you confessed, avoiding his eyes.

He obviously noticed your hesitance and avoided his usual behavior with you. You were always so strong and quick to banter with him. But now you seemed vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. 

“It’s not just you, I promise.” He was being honest. This was the calmest and most genuine conversation the two of you had ever had. “I find them all pretty intimidating.” 

Your eyebrows raised at his confession. How could he possibly be intimidated by these people?

“Really? But you’ve known them for so long. You all are so close.” 

“Close doesn’t mean you can’t be a little intimidated,” he replied. It might not make much sense, but it was the truth. 

“I mean Hotch is always stonewall and silent, no matter what you say to him. And don’t even get me started on Morgan.” He joked, knowing you would understand. 

You lightly chuckled at his joke. “I get what you mean.” You were starting to understand him more. You thought it was ironic that one of the team members you were first intimidated by was also intimidated by the team. Now he was starting to seem less intimidating or annoying and more approachable. You kinda liked seeing this new side of Spencer. 

“I guess I’ve always been like that. Worried to get to know people or open up.” You weren’t entirely sure why you were telling him this, but you knew he would understand. 

"I think when you're afraid of being hurt or judged or misunderstood by people, you try to keep your guard up." He told you, speaking from experience. From a young age until now, he's always felt misunderstood. 

"And I think...maybe that's why you're on edge with me? You're not sure what to expect from me."

“Are you profiling me?” You asked jokingly. Spencer however thought you were serious and you noticed him tense up. 

“I’m kidding.” Your expression softened to let him know you weren’t actually accusing him of profiling you. “I’m gonna be completely honest, I’ve been on edge with you cause I thought you didn’t like me.” 

He was a bit taken off guard by your statement. But at the same time, he couldn't deny it. He didn't dislike you now, but at first, he wasn't exactly fond of you. And now he was ashamed of that.

"I didn't like you." He admitted. "I thought you were pretentious, too eager to be accepted. I think I saw you as competition." 

Spencer’s comment did sting. It was never sunshine and rainbows to hear someone doesn't like you. However, you did take note of his language. He said “didn’t,” “thought” and “saw,” all past tense. Does this mean he doesn’t dislike you now? What you did appreciate was his reciprocated honesty. You both were making some progress in your relationship and you wanted to continue it. 

“I was eager to be accepted. I wanted to feel like I belonged.” 

“I know how you feel.” He expressed his sympathy. “I regret not giving you a chance. You’re not like I thought you were.” He also appreciated seeing this different side of you.

“You’re not like I thought you were.” You admitted. 

A little smirk tugs at his lips, “So I’m not as pretentious and selfish as you thought?” 

You lightly chucked, “I never thought you were selfish, but I did think you were a ‘know-it-all’ and trying to show off.” 

Spencer really didn’t want you to think he was a show off. Sure- he had a vast amount of knowledge, but he never wanted you to think he was bragging or that he knew better than you. “I do know a lot but I promise I’m not trying to show off. I just have all this information in my head and I want to share it with people or I’m really passionate about something and want to talk about it.” 

You understood that feeling all too well. There were so many times you wanted to ramble on about things you cared about or had knowledge on, but for the most part just stayed quiet. Meanwhile, he didn't keep quiet. He would go on and on. And while almost everyone else was either rolling their eyes or trying to shut him up, you were listening intently. You didn’t want to admit it back then, but now you were feeling up to it. 

“I will admit, while I did think of you as a know it all, I found a lot of your tangents interesting.” You admitted. 

His eyebrows raised in surprise. He was so used to people dismissing him. It was nice to hear you often would listen. “Really? You didn't mind me babbling on?" He asked, relieved with your response. 

"I mean, it is something I have trouble with. I tend to talk too much.” 

“Oh Dr. Reid I am very familiar with rambling and being worried about talking too much.” You paused for a moment- considering how much more you wanted to share with him. “I know it may not seem like it because I’m always quiet around the team but.. once I get comfortable around people, I actually get very rambly”

"You do?" He asked, sounding surprised. “About what?”  

“Really anything. Mostly things I’m passionate about like you. I’ll also tend to go on tangents about memories or just things happening in my life.” 

You made your way to a bench on the patio as you spoke. Spencer followed and sat down on a chair adjacent to you. You brought your attention back to him and noticed his focused gaze on you and he quickly licked his lips, a habit you noticed he did all the time.

"You really are a lot like me. You're just quieter at first." He added, teasing you a little. While he was not one for social cues, he had the sudden urge to be bold and make a joke. "Maybe next time I see you rambling, I won't immediately contradict you." 

You dramatically dropped your jaw and placed your hand over your heart. “Wow, you really know how to give a compliment,” you said, pretending to be offended. 

He laughed with a bright grin. "I'm sorry. Let me rephrase. The fact that you're so silent and reserved makes it that much more thrilling when I find out how much of a chatterbox you actually are." He joked, being playful as before.

Your cheeky smile slightly falters for a moment. You hoped he wouldn’t notice but he did. “I think you won’t be so thrilled once I actually turn into a chatterbox around you.”

"Actually I think I would find it intriguing." He told you, looking directly into your eyes. "The quiet ones tend to be the most interesting and complex when they do end up talking."

“I’m not that interesting.”

“I beg to differ. You’re very interesting. Probably the most interesting person on the team.” 

Did he really say that? Did he mean it? Or was he just being nice? You tried not to profile him, but couldn’t help it. His body language expressed he was being honest. Uncrossed legs and arms, open palms, eye contact. The only thing you didn’t notice when studying his body language was his dilated pupils. 

“Thank you,” you smiled at his compliment, “I doubt I’m the most interesting though. You maybe, Mr. Three PHDs and can read 20,000 words per minute.” 

He smiled back at you, “Just because I'm well educated doesn’t mean you can’t be as interesting as me, if not more.” 

You couldn’t believe he was saying such nice things to you. This was the first time you guys were actually making some kind of connection.. and it felt wonderful. 

“I still can’t believe we’ve known each other for this long but are just now talking. And by talking, I mean not getting into a spat after speaking for more than 3 minutes.” You confessed with a hint of playfulness in your voice at your joke. 

“Yeah, I feel like I barely know you.” 

“What would you like to know?” You asked. 

He thought for a moment trying to think of a question to ask. You noticed once again that he licked his lips, trying to concentrate. 

“Let’s start with something simple. What’s your favorite color?” He asked. 

“Wow, I think that’s a bit too personal.” You said, voice laced with sarcasm. You tried your hardest to contain your amusement but started to smile. He smiled back at you. At first, he was always confused with sarcasm and social cues. To be honest, he still was. But he could just tell with you. He knew when you were joking and when you were being serious. He found your sense of humor amusing. 

“Yellow.” You answered. “What’s yours?” 

“Purple.” He replied. 

You intended to leave it inside your head- but a quiet “huh” made it past your lips as an idea came into focus. 

“What? Is it my choice for my favorite color?” He tried to joke with you but was also a little bit serious. 

“Oh no, it's just I thought it was interesting because those are complementary colors. You know how they are opposite on the color wheel?” You asked even though you figured he knew. 

He nodded his head, “Yes! Because they are on opposite ends of the color wheel, when they’re used together it creates a vibrant contrast and enhances visual appeal. The two colors almost balance each other out and support each other's intensity. Complimentary colors are a key component to color theory.” He suddenly noticed how long he was talking and his posture stiffened. He pressed his lips into a thin line and avoided eye contact. “Told you I talk too much.”

“And I told you that I find your rambling interesting.” 

His head perked back up at you. You genuinely wanted to listen to him. It was refreshing to talk to someone that didn’t cut him off or zone out. 

“That’s kinda like us though, don’t you think?” 

“What’s like us?” He asked confused, still thinking about the fact that you actually enjoy listening to what he has to say. 

“How our favorite colors are complimentary colors. Like you said, they support each other's intensity. When you first see them they’re opposites, but the more you look the more they compliment each other.” 

He softly smiles. “That does sound like us. The more we learn about each other, the more we find we have in common.” 

There was a short pause where you both considered his statement. You did want to know more about him. You wanted to know all of him. 

“Can I ask you a question this time?” 

“Of course.” 

“So, you're always reading. Like everywhere you go, you carry a book with you. I wanna know: what’s a book you could read over and over again and never get tired of?” You wanted to know beyond his favorite color. You wanted to get to the various  building blocks that made him the way he was. 

Spencer considered your question for a moment. Trying to go through the near infinite list of books he’s read in his life. You could tell he was concentrating on his answer because licked his lips. “Oliver Twist by Charles Dickens.” 

“Is he one of your favorite authors?” 

“Yes.” He said almost immediately, confident in his answer. 

“How come you like that book so much?” You asked.

You could see this sort of spark enter his eyes the more you asked about it. Giving him the chance to share his passions. ”Oliver Twist was one of the first books that used satire to deliver social commentary. Particularly in this book the social commentary was aimed at poverty in 19th century England. The book also quickly gained attention after its publication due to the scandalous subject matter in which crimes, such as murder, were depicted in detail.” 

Spencer finally stopped rambling and almost looked as if he caught his breath from the endless talking. But what he was met with was your undivided attention.

”That sounds really interesting, maybe one day I should give it a read.” You say with a soft smile.

“You should,” he matched your smile, but it seemed a bit more sheepish due to his brief tangent. “Have you ever read Charles Dickens before?”

You shook your head in response. “I’ve never read anything by him. I actually don’t read much. But I used to in high school.” You revealed. 

“What have you read?” He asked. He leaned slightly forward and unconsciously mirrored your body language and placed his right hand on his leg like you did yours.

“Pretty much the same books everyone else had to read for school.” You paused and tapped your fingers trying to refresh your memory.

“To Kill A Mockingbird, The Great Gatsby, 1984, um.. a few Shakespeare books.” You answered with the few books you could remember. 

“Which one did you like the most?” 

“I’m not sure”, you sighed and thought about his question, wanting to give him a genuine answer. “Maybe.. Macbeth. I remember finding the story interesting and I did a group project on Macbeth and Lady Macbeth's descent into madness. Like the scene where she’s hallucinating the blood on her hands.” 

Your voice started to pick up speed and volume ever so slightly. He could tell you were getting more passionate the more you spoke. Subtly displaying how you could ramble once you opened up to someone. He smiled as you continued, happy to see that you felt comfortable enough around him to let a hidden part of yourself out into the open. 

“I guess that kinda explains why I wanted to be a profiler and learn about psychology and forensics. I was interested in how Lady Macbeth's guilt manifested and caused her delusions. I wanted to understand why people did the things they did.”

“I can tell, you have this curiosity. You want to understand. Know the ‘why’. He mentally recalled the times you would express your curiosity during work. 

“Yeah, pretty much.” 

He pressed his lips in a line. “Is it- is it my turn to ask you something now?” He stuttered slightly. 

“I mean you don’t have to. It’s nobody’s ‘turn’ but you can if you want.” 

“I do.” He replied immediately. The corners of your mouth perked up into a small smile. He mirrored you.

“I may be stealing your previous question. Like you said you don’t read much. But I have noticed you listen to music a lot. I want to know a song you could listen to over and over again.” 

He was right, you often listen to music. Mostly on your way into work or on the jet, you would be wearing your signature headphones and have some playlist on. It was your own way of coping with the stress of your job. You looked down at the ground as you recalled the songs in your favorite playlist. 

“Dreams by The Cranberries.” You brought your eyes back up to face him. But what you saw was confusion in Spencer’s eyes. He tried to hide it but you knew better. “Have you heard that song?”

He did that little sideways pout you often saw him doing when he was in awkward situations.

“I’m not sure,” he replied. Spencer broke eye contact, embarrassed he didn’t know something from pop culture. 

“It’s okay. Remind me next time I have my headphones and I’ll show you.” You spoke calmly to reassure him there was nothing to be embarrassed about. 

He brought his attention back to you. Relieved to hear your gesture instead of a quip about his lack of pop culture knowledge like he was used to. 

“I will.” 

“Alright my turn.” You shifted your weight and brought your legs up to your side so your whole body could face him. “Um, it's kind of a personal question though. I’m curious about something.” 

“Go ahead. What is it?” He asked, giving you his whole undivided attention. 

“Does it ever bother you when people question your age when you say how educated you are?” 

He was somewhat thrown off by your question, but something told him you've wanted to ask him this for a while.

He furrowed his eyebrows, “I wouldn’t say it bothers me. Considering I have had such an extensive education so early in my life, it’s completely understandable that someone would question how I did it at a young age.” 

“Hmm,” you hummed in response. He knew that wasn’t the answer you were looking for. 

“Can I ask you something personal?” He asked before asking his real question. He appreciated your concerns about potentially pushing a boundary and he reciprocated it. He didn’t want to break this newfound friendship- if he could call it that- by making you uncomfortable. 

You nodded your head, silently telling him it was okay.

He slightly fidgeted with his hands. “Did you ask me that because people question your age?” 

“Yes,” you answered hesitantly. “I’ve never looked my age.” 

He thought about his next question before asking. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, I’m just trying to understand. Why does that bother you?” 

“It bothers me when people don’t take me seriously. I mean I’m in my late 20s and some people still think I look fresh out of college. It hasn’t happened as often since I joined the BAU but so many people in law enforcement don’t take me seriously. People tend to think I’m too innocent to have a job like this.” You confessed to him as you avoided looking him in the eyes.

"I wouldn't say you're innocent.” His comment brought your eyes back to him. 

“But you do have a soft demeanor. It makes you approachable. If anything, those qualities are an incredible asset to this job whether it be when you're speaking to victims or their family members.” 

Even though he would often throw snarky retorts to you in the past and try to get under your skin, he always admired how good you were at your job. Of course, you were an amazing profiler and had no trouble standing against dangerous unsubs. But the way you handled incredibly sensitive situations with such calmness and comfort with others was admirable. During cases with children, you were able to ease their worries and provide a safe space.

“While you are very sweet and shy, I would never call you innocent.”

“Thanks,” you smiled at his compliments. You felt understood hearing his affirmation. It also warmed your heart to hear that he thought so highly of you. Especially since the last few weeks, you thought he hated your guts. Although- his comment did make you more curious about how you were perceived. “Half the time I don’t realize how shy I am or how I present myself,” you weakly chuckled.

“There were actually a lot of ways to deduce that you're shy,” he matched your lighthearted tone but also kept a sense of seriousness to prove he was being genuine.

“Was it the fact that I was sitting by myself and scared to talk to them?” You half joked as you figured that’s what he was going to imply.

"That was part of it, yes. But besides that, it was the way you often avoid direct eye contact, and the tone of your voice. It's gentle and low, as if you're afraid of coming on too strong.” He was too caught up in his thoughts and observations to realize how much he was divulging. “You keep your distance and your words are always measured or not overly assertive. Almost like if you do come off assertive you will receive backlash." 

When he met your eyes again, he noticed how frozen you were. On the outside you didn't reveal much, simply had a stoic expression. He knew you better than that. He knew that he had hit a nerve and started to panic that he went too far. He had finally wrecked this slowly growing friendship like he thought he would, by being himself. 

“Wow, yeah that sounds pretty spot on,” you agreed. You sounded soft spoken and played with your hair again, of course without your knowledge.      

“I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” He abruptly spattered in a panic.

“No it’s okay really,” you interrupted trying to reassure him. “I just didn’t expect you to be so ... correct.” 

He pressed his lips into a thin line, relieved he didn't mess things up, but still slightly worried he had left you feeling exposed. "I guess I'm just good at noticing things about people,” he shrugged.

“You forget, we get paid to notice things about people,” you joked with him, trying to make him feel better by lightening the situation. Of course, it worked. 

"That's true." He chuckled and paused for a moment to consider. Then he continued with his profile of you. 

"It's just the way your voice softens whenever you become uncomfortable, almost whispering or lowering in tone. Or your nervous habits, like when you play with your hair." It was a gesture he was pretty keen on catching.

You suddenly were very aware of the fact you were playing with your hair. You quickly dropped your hands and crossed your arms. 

"It's not bad that you do that, you know,” his voice had a slight crack in it. “It's just something you do subconsciously." He told her, trying to be comforting.

“Do you wanna know something you do subconsciously?” You asked, your voice with a hint of teasing. You decided that if he was going to profile you, you were going to profile him back. 

He noticed your tone and that you had gained a bit more confidence. "Sure, hit me." He said as he awaited your reply with curiosity and interest.

“You poke your tongue out a lot or lick your lips. Most of the time when you’re concentrating or lost in thought. Which means you definitely need to start using chapstick. I’ve seen you do it a lot since we’ve been out here.” You explained.

"So, are you telling me my lips are dry?" He replied playfully, his grin widening.

“They probably are,” you lightly laughed at the silliness of his question. He laughed along with you and subconsciously went to lick his lips again, but caught himself.

“I'm gonna be thinking about this so much more now,” he confessed. 

“Consider it payback for pointing out how much I play with my hair when I'm anxious. I don’t know what to do with my hands now,” you remarked as you dramatically waved your hands in the air.                                 

“Sorry,” he awkwardly apologized.

“I already told you it’s alright. You're not the only one who analyzes behavior. I’ve noticed plenty of things you do and why you do it.” 

“Like what?” He furrowed his eyebrows, curious what particular things about him you had profiled. He noticed something though. The confidence you once had, had washed away after you collected your thoughts.  

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable,” you stated.

"You won’t make me uncomfortable,” he responded almost immediately. “I promise. I really want to know.”

You took a deep breath before explaining your observations. “You desperately want to be heard. You love to share the endless knowledge you have, but when someone walks away or cuts you off your reaction is almost that of deflating. And when someone does show a bit of interest in what you have to say your voice perks up and almost cracks with excitement. Then you talk a lot faster, probably a mixture of excitement and as a way to keep the other person engaged and to not lose their attention.” 

Spencer carefully listened to every word you said. Not a single deduction was false. You had read him like a book in the short time you knew him. You noticed something about him that most of the team couldn’t pick up on. 

"You're right about everything,” he said with a soft tone. Almost everyone interrupted him, you never did. This got him thinking. Of course everyone on the team made observations about each other, they’re profilers of course. However, he wondered why you had made so many about him. 

"Are you always this observant about everyone? And I mean everyone. Or is it just me that gets the special treatment?" He asked his last question with a hint of a teasing tone.

You scoffed, “yeah right, like you get special treatment.” You thought about your response, not wanting to reveal too much.

“I guess I might have paid attention to you because you were the only one who was so closed off to me. I wanted to know why. I wanted to know who you were even if you weren’t going to tell me.” 

He was right, you were paying him special attention. The fact that you wanted to know who he was despite his closed off nature revealed enough. 

“So you admit it, I get special treatment?" He cheekily asked. 

“Oh shut up,” you retorted. 

“Make me.”

Your lips pursed, holding back a smile. 

Spencer noticed you were trying to hold back a smile and found it endearing. He also noticed something else about your reaction. You were blushing. You blushed as a result of his taunting. He got lost in the thought of you blushing from him. 

“Something you wanna share with the class?” You teased. 

He didn't want to admit it, not yet at least. He wanted to make you sweat just a little bit and get a reaction out of you. 

"I'm curious about something. Could you tell me what would cause someone's cheeks to flush?" He tried to seem genuine but of course he came off with a hint of cheekiness. 

You furrowed your eyebrows. You were completely oblivious to your red face and were confused by his random inquiry. 

“Are you questioning my profiling skills?” You lightly scoffed, not knowing what his true intentions were.

"No, not exactly. I just want to know what you think.”

Your expression changed to one of confusion but also amusement. You decided to play along with his little game.

“Well psychologically blushing could mean a multitude of things. Embarrassment, stress, anxiety, attraction.” While your voice stayed consistent, he noticed the change in your breath and how your eyes darted away from him. It was a brief expression, but he caught it. He got the answer he was looking for.

"And which one of those can explain why you’re blushing?" He raised an eyebrow and smirked as he leaned closer to you.

Your stomach dropped and eyes widened. You shifted your weight in your seat and touched your cheeks. “I’m not blushing..” You ignored his question.

"You are.”

You sighed and stood up, “Well if I am it’s probably because you just pointed it out and I’m embarrassed.” 

"Oh, really?" He taunted and followed you. "I think that you might be blushing for a different reason."

You bit your lip out of frustration and crossed your arms. “Are you profiling me Spencer?” 

"Maybe I am,” he smirked. "I would say that maybe you've been so interested in me that you've been paying a lot of attention. That's why you took note of so many of my habits and behavior." 

Your face got redder and you started playing with your hair again. You huffed, “I told you before, the reason I paid attention to you was because I didn’t know you.”

"Sure, but you pointed out how you kept noticing I licked my lips. Why were you looking at my lips in the first place?"  

You were caught between a rock and a hard place. “Why are you so interested in why I’m blushing or looking at your dumb face anyway? Why do you care so much?” You asked defensively. 

He couldn’t respond, he froze up. 

“I mean, you question why I pay so much attention to you but here you are doing the same thing to me. Trying to read me like a book,” you accused. 

He cleared his throat and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I guess we're both curious about each other."

“I guess we are,” you responded. You saw his cheeks turn pink in reaction to your questioning. “Look who’s red now.”

If his face could even get redder, it did. For a man that could probably say a thousand words a minute, it seemed like none of them could fall from his lips. 

It was your turn to smirk. “I can’t believe I’ve managed to leave you speechless. Never thought that would happen.”

"Shut up,” he sheepishly scoffed. 

“Make me.”

Spencer felt his stomach flutter, he smiled bashfully at your mimicking his own teasing. The seconds passed and neither of you spoke, neither of you had words. Both of you in your own heads. In your head, you got a stroke of confidence. You didn't know where it came from, maybe the teasing, maybe the fact that you had him speechless. But you took it and ran with it.

”Maybe the reason you wanted to know why I was blushing so badly, is the same exact reason I was blushing,” you mumbled. 

The realization hit him in waves. You just admitted to the very thing he was trying to get out of you in the first place. He was speechless once again, but this was different. He stared at you with a stunned look, not knowing what to do. 

You took his blank expression as a negative reaction, thinking you came off too strong. You slowly backed away from him, regretting putting yourself out there. 

“Sorry. I don’t know why I said that. Just forget it.” You turned around to go back inside but felt something on your wrist. You turned around and saw Spencer had grabbed your wrist to stop you. His eyes wide and breath heavy.

"No. Don’t,” he begged. 

"Really?" You whispered softly. 

He smiled, "yes. Please don't take it back."

You smiled back at him bashfully. Spencer’s reaction make your stomach do backflips, but it made you wonder. 

"Can I ask, why did you pay such close attention to me? 

He released his light grasp on your wrist and instead placed your hand in his. "I couldn't stop analyzing every single detail about you. I wanted to know you inside and out. There was something about you that felt intoxicating. After every time I spoke to you, even if it was just us bickering or arguing, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.” 

He looked down at your joined hands and started to rub his thumb over your hand. You looked up at him and smiled, glancing at his lips. “Well you definitely must be thinking about something now, you licked your lips.”

He couldn’t help but feel a little embarrassed. You made him feel like he was on full display, like he was a book that only you could read. 

He slightly blushed at your comment. “I am. Can you guess what I'm thinking about?"

You grabbed his other hand with yours as a smirk grew on your face, “How close we are. How it’s probably driving you crazy..” You nearly whispered the last part as you leaned closer to him, “how I’m making you crazy..”

"You do.” Spencer wrapped one of his arms around your waist and placed his hand on the small of your back. A shiver ran down your spine as his hand touched your back. Of course, he could tell and was light headed by the effect you had on him. He’d never felt so intoxicated by someone before. “You’ve made me a mad man ever since I met you.” 

Your heart was beating so fast it felt like it was going to burst out of your chest.

“What about you?” He asked. “Do I make you crazy?” 

You glanced between his eyes and his lips. 

“Yes..”

It was like you both were on the exact same wavelength. You both dove in at the same time and slammed your lips together. Both of you just so desperate to get a taste of the other. The kiss was tender and passionate, with no single person in control. You both moved together in synced motions. All of the arguments, all the tension that had been slowly building up could be released.

When you finally parted, Spencer rested his forehead against yours. You felt his airy breath as he tried to come back down to earth. You placed a hand on his face and stroked his cheek with your thumb. 

“I’ve been wanting to do that for weeks,” he breathed. 

“I can tell,” you chuckled. “what’s stopping you from doing it again?”

“Do you want me to?” He asked desperately. 

You placed your other hand on the back of his neck, “I love hearing you talk.. but shut up and kiss me.

Before today he never liked the idea of you telling him what to do. But now, he was at your mercy. He didn’t hesitate and locked your lips with his once again. You both melted together like lovesick teenagers. But moments like these of course don’t last forever. 

The sound of the patio door opening fell deaf on both your ears. It wasn’t until you heard Derek Morgan that you both pulled away from each other. 

”What’s going on out here?” Derek questioned with a smirk. 

You and Spencer couldn’t speak, too frozen to react. 

His grin only grew, “My man,” he chuckled as he glanced at Spencer.

“Don’t kill each other while you're out here.”  Derek left the way he came and closed the patio door. 

You sighed, “He’s gonna tell someone isn’t he?”

“Yup”

~

He made his way back to his coworkers with a cheeky grin plastered on his face. “What’s got you all happy?” Emily asked. 

“Looks like our two angry birds are now two love birds,” he answered. 

“What? What are you talking about?” Penelope sprinted over as fast as she could with her heels. 

“How I just caught Reid and Y/N making out.”

The room exploded with chaos at the reactions to his news.

JJ, who was standing off to the side with Hotch, furrowed her eyebrows, “I thought they hated each other?” 

Hotch glanced towards the patio door and saw the light shadow of two figures. “No they don't. Not really.” 

[hedwig221b]

Do you have recs for omegaverse? Or some of your favorites on hand? I've read and loved everything you've shared and written so far and I just can't get enough! :D

I love abo so much and I'm proud to say it. Here's probably the longest fic rec list I've made...

Feral Formalities by Aleandri

"There was silence as no one seemed to breath at the table. Derek had just gifted Stiles, an unmated Omega, with food. Right in front of another Alpha. Who he was on a date with. To discuss being heat partners…." In which, Stiles presents as Omega, and everyone wants a piece of the alpha-baby-making ass!

Hung The Moon by BurnItAllClean (nrnyx)

Slowly Stiles got control of himself again. His heart calmed. His breathing evened out. The anger was gone. In its place, a bone-deep weariness settled. He couldn’t do this. He wouldn’t survive this.

Meant to be One by sunhazeheart

His nerves felt like a live wire was running hot beneath his skin, hands fidgeting with the silken material of his robe. If he had the concentration to spare, he might had worried about tearing it. It was all he could do to sit there at the vanity, eyes squeezed shut, and try to give in the constricting pressure around his chest that said that he was about to fall into a panic attack. Breath in. Breath out. His own heartbeat rushed in his ears. Being mated to the reclusive king with a frightening reputation to his name, bundled away from his home and father, and then surrounded by underwhelmingly distant faces hiding secrets was not how Stiles Stilinski imagine spending his life soon after turning eighteen. He can only remind himself that it is for the good of his people, both old and newly acquired. But, perhaps first assumptions are made too hastily and a fated match can be made, even surrounded by threats of war, revenge and death’s waiting embrace.

My Wolf by Dexterous_Sinistrous

“If he wants to mate Stiles, why not let him?” Jackson asked, ready to part with Stiles if need be. “Because if I did that, I’d be demoting Lydia,” Alpha Stilinski replied. “We don’t even know how good of a Beta he is,” Lydia countered, bristling some that her status was being challenged. “That’s because he’s not a Beta,” Alpha Stilinski stated. “He’s an Alpha.”

Love's Violent Delights by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Derek caught the way the man’s eyes looked over Stiles before lingering on his ass. He waited for the clerk to place the key on the counter before he reacted. Stiles startled at the loud noise, turning away from the pamphlets in the display box to see Derek pinning the clerk’s head against the counter. He drew in an even breath, looking between the struggling man and Derek. Derek briefly looked at Stiles, hesitating before he saw the gleam of excitement in Stiles’ eyes and the hint of lust in his scent. “Ever look at him, or any other Omega, like that again, and I’ll slice your eyes out with my claws.” He shoved the man back, not caring of the commotion that was made as he snatched up the key from the counter.

All Derek Ever Wanted by Dexterous_Sinistrous

Stiles knew Derek always wanted a big family. And, for the longest time, he thought he'd be the one to give it to him. Life, devastatingly, has other plans. Prompt: "I've been thinking about omega stiles n alpha derek. They're trying to hav a baby. But one day stiles go to the doc, n he imply that stiles can't get pregnant. Stiles keep it secret and try to make derek divorce him."

Summer Contest by kits_lightning

The moment Derek stepped into the fighting ring and faced Stiles he remembered why he was doing all of this. The omega gawked at him and barely paid attention to the other competitors Talia was mentioning and Derek smiled at the thought of having all of his attention. Stiles blushed from the tips of his ears to his neck and began to run his fingers through his hair while looking away. Derek began to wonder how far down that blush traveled when he shook his head and tried to focus on the imminent battle. He caught the last of what his mother was saying. “—have a good fight and good luck.” More clapping and the horn that signaled the beginning of the fight sounded.

The Alpha and his Spark by sandyde03

Stiles is pregnant. Derek is perpetually horny and possessive. Stiles is confused. Not by Derek sexing him up. He loves that. It’s the fact that ever since he started to show that he was with pup everyone has been avoiding his eyes.

The Best Things in the World Must be Felt with the Heart by solostsobroken

The Argent family had been kidnapping and illegally selling omegas for years. When FBI Agent Derek Hale and his team go and raid their home, they find, rescue and free dozens of omegas. That was ALL Derek had expected to be doing. What he hadn't expected was to find his own mate, Stiles, chained up with the rest of them. Seeing the omega severely sick and injured, Derek is determined to nurse him back to health. As he slowly learns more about his mate, he stumbles upon a mystery from Stiles' past that may just turn into the biggest case of his lifetime. Derek is determined to figure it out, no matter how long it takes.

The Hills Call

Five years ago, Prince Derek of the Hale Empire had fallen for the son of a Baron, Genim of Stilinski. His mother had not approved, and after some time imprisoned Genim escaped to the Dukedom of the Shore, where he was taken in by Duke Christopher and Lady Allison. Now, Prince Derek is on his deathbed from a poisoning and it is up to Genim, now called Stiles, to nurse him back to health. Wary of the Hale Empire, Stiles returns with their young son to see if he can heal Derek of his illness and escape the threats he still feels from the Empress herself.

Waiting Games by Jerakeen

Being an only child and heir to the throne, Stiles had always known he may not have the luxury of marrying for love. When he’d realized he was an omega to boot, things had taken an even more uncomfortable turn for him. Omegas are rare. An omega as the heir apparent is almost unheard of. Which is why there is no wiggle room when it comes to the tournament.

Wants & Needs by MadcapRomantic

Derek Hale has been participating in the Beacon Hills Mating Run for a decade, each year coming up without a mate. His mother, convinced this is his lucky year, persuades him to run one last time. Enter Stiles, a young Omega with an unwanted Alpha nipping at his heels. Family or not, Peter is determined to have Stiles. But convinced they are True Mates, there isn't anything Derek won't do to keep Stiles safe.

When All the Pieces Fit by NARKOTIKA

"Does he even realize? With the cooking and cleaning andandand—now this fucking baby?" Isaac fumes. Said baby waves its fist in the air, and Stiles bends to haul him onto a hip. The baby babbles something and Stiles nods his head with complete seriousness, as if everything out of its mouth is perfectly sensible and coherent. Then the kid starts mouthing at Stiles' nipple through his dress and everyone goes dead silent. "I'm going to wife him so hard," Ethan announces, and they all break out into argument over who has the best chance at mating the boy in the river.

Under the Golden Moon by NARKOTIKA

Derek doesn't know how long he sits in his wolf skin, on his haunches, observing Stiles as the sunbeams slant through the trees and cast slashes of light across the omega's willowy form. The boy has his feet in the water, a babe on his hip, a bright smile on his face as the other younglings splash around and soak his garb. The creamy skin of his thighs peek out from the slits running down the sides of his draping skirt, and Derek has never wanted anything more than he wants this beautiful being of the woods.

Angel Choirs and Magic by LadyDrace

Derek has been very, very patient, and has shown frankly incredible self-control in the face of brutal teasing and flirting for two months. But now it's time for the mating run, and he's about to get his reward. Except for how maybe it's actually Stiles getting a treat. Win/win.

Where the Shadow Ends by Green

Derek goes undercover to Delphi to figure out what's wrong with the oracle. He doesn't mean to fall in love.

Pride and Place by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Derek Hale, Earl of Osterbrook, has inherited, following the death of Lord Montfort, a run down house in Yorkshire he neither needs nor wants, convinced his staff are robbing him, and with the mystery of a missing ward, he manages to get himself talked into a ridiculous bet, that he cannot pass as a steward until Midwinter, nearly two months away. So can he maintain the charade? Find the missing child? and manage to turn the shambles of a house around, or will he give up and let Peter take the thousand pounds he bet.

Are You the One? by Venrajade

Derek's sister works for a television network with a dating show that claims that they are able to find someone's True Mate. Cora steals a scent sample from Derek and matches him to an Omega applying to the show with a 99% chance of them being mates. Which means Derek is now a reality dating show star. Shit.

And the Cold Pulls You Down by blacktofade

“Do you believe in ghosts?” Stiles asks Derek one night after he’s settled into bed, listening to the sound of Derek brushing his teeth in the bathroom. “Ghosts?” Derek asks, voice muffled by toothbrush and paste as he stands in the doorway to stare at Stiles. Or, the one where Stiles is 99.9% sure their house is haunted and no one believes him.

Build Us a Home by Sourwolf and Stilinski (Kitsune_Moonstar)

When it came time for Stiles to take his tour, he hadn't expected that many alphas to try and court him with the houses they built. And he hadn't dreamed Derek Hale might build him a home that suited them both.

Made Your Mark on Me (A Golden Tattoo) by writteninthewolfstar

Beacon Hills High and Lycan Heights High are well-known enemies. Derek Hale, Lycan Heights' star quarter-back, is well-known for being aggressive and arrogant. Imagine Stiles surprise when he discovers that Derek Hale is actually his soul-mate.

Knot Thinking With Your Head by KnottheWolf

The first time Sam met Stiles he had no idea who the Omega was, nor did he have any clue that the Omega was already in a series relationship. When he met Stiles, he was hungover and had a massive pounding headache that was killing him to have his eyes open. The Alpha instantly ran to the nearest bathroom to puke in the toilet, before splashing cold water in his face and sighing with relief when the pain was barely there anymore. Flushing the toilet he left the bathroom so he could make himself a cup of coffee, and then start figuring out how to make the best first impression with the other Alpha’s in the fraternity. Now all he wanted to do, when he spotted the Omega was get all up on that cute ass. A 5 + 1 things kind of fic

Empty by modestfuckup

Stiles stops listening to the words the doctor is saying, a stream of tears rolling down his face. His training taught him he has to remain calm. He uses a tissue to blot at the tears as his mind already turns to what is going to happen now. The doctor is talking about his options, and treatments he could undergo, but Stiles knows none of that will work. He’s infertile. With no way to supply his alpha with an heir, he is practically useless. Or the one where Stiles is an infertile omega, and society dictates that if an omega is unable to carry on the alpha's lineage, an alpha is allowed to take another omega. Stiles hides his condition from Derek while he copes and starts the process of finding a new omega for him.

Elskende by DarkAthena (seraphim_grace)

Stiles is an omega concubine, kept sequestered away in the city of Beacon Hills, waiting for his lord Gerard Argent when the Wulver take the city and the alpha takes the omega.

Sex and Violence by halcyon1993

Derek is a feared mafia boss. Stiles gets turned on watching him work.

The Spoils of War by halcyon1993

Alpha Derek is a commander in the Roman Army, tasked with pillaging settlements to claim them for his own people. When he comes across a pretty young Omega during his latest conquest, he can't resist taking him as his personal prize.

Cut to the Bone by standinginanicedress

“Not that it’s any of your god damn business, but my name is Stiles. Do you need something?” The alpha grins. All teeth, shiny white, straight as an arrow. He’s got this sculpted perfection to him that Stiles is sure has worked on all the omegas he’s ever encountered before, but Stiles stands his ground and narrows his eyes. “A date.” Stiles looks him up and down, slowly, from the black shoes on his feet, to his uniform khakis and blazer littered with pins, to his face. He frowns, makes a face, and says, “pass.”

Helen of Troy by standinginanicedress

Stiles can fake laugh, fake smile. He can play coy and he can be demure and barely eat anything in front of them, and he can sit still and do his little song and dance of feigning interest. But this is a little out of his scope. They want him to fully become someone else. They want him to be who everyone wants him to be, and it scares the shit out of Stiles, because he doesn’t know if he can do it for hours and hours while cameras watch his every single move. It’s a lot. It’s more than he bargained for.

And, for a cherry on top:

Yes To Heaven

Stiles ruined him. The damage was irreparable. He didn’t want the food that wasn’t made by Stiles or shared with him; the water tasted stale; the clothes were asphyxiating and scratchy; the air was wrong, wrong without Stiles’ scent in it. Fuck, what was wrong with him? How could that pretty little thing change him so much? He had an iron grip on his control before, being in tandem with his instincts, but within weeks, all of it was gone. As soon as he thought of Stiles, though, of his scent, his moans, and the little wrinkle on his forehead as he orgasmed, his mind settled. What was life before Stiles? Everything was somewhere far, far away, forgotten, bleak, and meaningless. Derek thought he knew what light was as he looked at the microscopic dots of the stars above. Then Stiles came into his life and showed him the sun.

Take Me Away From Here

Derek Hale looked terrifying. With his broad frame and muscles, with his wild black hair and thick beard, with his eyes the color of blood and fangs of a killer. Despite his kindness and his apparent attraction to Stiles, he was still a stranger, a predator, a wolf. The thing is, Stiles would deal, but others might not. People found Lord Hale horrid, monstrous and unapproachable. If Stiles stood behind him, no one would touch him. He’d be safe with the wolf. If not from him, then definitely from everyone else. And that was enough.

[masterlist link]

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 1. tags: dubcon

-

You duck behind a stack of boxes when you hear Johnny come whistling into the warehouse.

He shouts your name out somewhere off on the other side of the warehouse, voice echoing through the building. You keep absolutely still, fingers clamped around the clipboard that’s pressed close to your chest. Even your breathing slows, open-mouthed so as to keep it almost soundless. It’s strategic. You’ve gotten good at making yourself invisible back here, practically melting into the stack of boxes. 

A minute or two goes by with repeated calls of your name, echoing from different parts of the warehouse like Johnny’s making the rounds. Searching for you. He’s probably been looking around the store for ages, with his track record. Someone must have let it slip that you were assigned to inventory today instead of being out on the floor. 

You only let out a sigh when it’s been long enough that any reasonable person might have given up on trying to find you in the loading dock.

“Hiding from someone?” a deep voice asks from behind you.

Your gut all but self-ejects. When you turn around, he’s standing there in the same bright blue shirt that you also wear. His is stretched tight across his chest though, like it’s a size too small. You wonder sometimes if it’s on purpose. It’s hard not to let your eyes wander, but by now you’ve trained yourself to keep your eyes level when speaking to Johnny. 

“Nope,” you squeak. “Just…you know…counting. Counting boxes and…stacks.”

He laughs, loud enough to make you startle. It’s far too enthusiastic, like you told a particularly funny joke instead of stumbling over your words and you still don’t actually know if he finds you funny or not. 

“Cool,” Johnny says, taking a step closer to you. The clipboard doesn’t feel sufficient enough to put any real distance between the two of you. “Thought I could maybe come hang out with ye back here. Dinnae want ye to feel lonely.”

“Nope, not lonely at all. Totally peachy. Actually glad I could catch a break from…everyone.” You take a step back.

He follows you, another step forward. “Aye, dinnae worry, I get what ye mean. Some of the others—” he whistles, “—right buggers. Glad to catch a break myself as well.”

A bead of sweat rolls down the back of your neck. “Aren’t you supposed to be…out in the front? I, uh, don’t want you to get in trouble with Jeff—”

“Ah, Jeff’s fine, kitty, dinnae worry about me,” Johnny coos, sounding pleased as punch. He takes you at face value instead of reading into the set of your jaw and the way you keep inching away from him as he gets closer to you, convinced that you genuinely in your heart care about whether he gets written up or not. “They fuckin’ love me, ye ken? Think he wants ta take me out for lunch tomorrow, but told him I’d only go if he invited ye as well.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” you whisper instead of screaming. You’re doing that a lot these days. Talking through the scream bubbling behind your front teeth. 

“Would ye want ta then?” he asks, suddenly in your face, three quick steps bridging the gap between you in barely a second, hardly enough time for you to blink. You blink and it’s just Johnny, in startling definition. Thick eyebrows and scar across his chin, the bridge of his nose perfect like he’s never broken it before. “Grab some lunch with me?”

“I, uh…I brought my lunch from home.”

“It’s a’right, I’ll buy it for ye, hen. Dinnae need ta waste your money.” Sometimes when he talks to you, he gets like this, fervent and almost desperate. He seems only half aware of it. “Ye like that mediterranean place nearby, right? Seen ye go there once or twice; wanted ta tag along, but dinnae want ta alarm ye.”

“You saw me go there?” you repeat. 

“Aye, happened ta glance out the window when ye were on your lunch break. Back before management changed my break time. Cheers for that as well because it was really startin’ ta bother me, ye ken? Not being able ta eat with my favourite coworker.” 

You never know how to respond when Johnny lets on a bit too much about how he feels about you. Sometimes he slips up and it comes rushing out, a big spool of thread unwinding in front of you.  

“Yeah, well…I don’t know about today but maybe…” you say, trailing off. There’s a danger in just brushing him off, you feel. 

“Tomorrow then,” he decides, grin still splitting his face. “I’m no’ on the schedule, but I can drop by at your lunch break and go with ye. How’s that sound?”

“Well, you know…it sounds…” He’s close enough now that if you lean forward, you’ll faceplant in between his pecs. Despite everything, you have to slightly fight the urge. Sometimes you think it’d be easier if he weren’t so absurdly gorgeous. It doesn’t make any of his actions okay, it doesn’t excuse his behaviour just because he’s pretty, yet still he pulls you in somehow, magnetic. “It sounds—you know, actually, I think Jeff wanted to talk to me about something, so if you don’t mind—”

Johnny tries to say something, but you manage to duck around him and scurry off, disappearing into the stacks of boxes before pressing forward until you burst out the main doors out of the warehouse. It leads to a hall that goes towards the store, but you haul it to the women’s washroom instead. The one place he can’t follow you inside. 

In the washroom, you can finally breathe. Resting your hands on either side of the sink, you look into the mirror where haggard eyes with deep circles underneath stare back at you. 

You flinch when one of the toilets flush and the stall door opens, another coworker stepping out. 

“Did I hear Johnny outside?” she asks, taking the sink beside you to wash her hands. You nod, still tongue tied. “He really follows you everywhere, huh?”

For a second, your shoulders relax. “God, I know, he’s always just hovering—”

She cuts you off, sighing dreamily. “You’re so lucky. He’s so hot, it’s unreal. I can’t believe he works here, like that’s insane. I’d kill to have him as obsessed with me as he is with you.”

“He’s—he’s not into me, he’s just…you know, he just hovers.”

The water shuts off. Your coworker shoots you a dubious look, almost mocking. “Yeah, alright. Sure. Not into you. Not like he hangs off your every word. You don’t have to be humble—we’re already jealous. It’s like rubbing it in when you pretend like it’s totally normal.”

You slump, defeated, when she leaves without drying her hands. It’s moot to try and commiserate with anyone. They don’t see him the way you do, not for who he is. Your coworkers love Johnny; you’ve seen someone genuinely fistpump after being scheduled with him. 

They don’t see any of the weird shit though. They don’t see the way he insists on walking you to your car well into the evening after a closing shift together. They don’t notice the way Johnny laughs a little too hard and with too much vigour when someone calls him your shadow, his eyes just a little too bright and fervent. 

They’re never around to see him ask if you want to sit on his lap while he shows you how to use the forklift in the backroom. They’ve never seen him beg management to let him take his breaks with you and doesn't let you have a moment of peace, just sits with you in the breakroom or follows you to your car when you say that you're going out for lunch. 

Sometimes you look at him and think, this guy should not be in the Appliance section of a big box store. Johnny should be on the front cover of magazines, in commercials for toothpaste, acting in Hallmark movies, or maybe hand modelling for obscenely ornate watch companies that cost the equivalent of a mortgage—not handing out free samples of sliced cheese.

That was then.

It starts like this: an overeager sales associate who butts his way to the front of the line on your first day. 

You think at first that you’re golden. It seems like a sweet deal—an easy enough job, maybe not what you went to school for, but still something to pass the time and not too backbreaking. Plus, the guy shaking your hand and chatting up a storm in front of you is making you melt inside. He’s easy on the eyes—all bright smiles, effortless charm, either just brushing or exactly six feet, and built. Broad shouldered and lean. 

Johnny’s a model employee as well—knows the handbook inside and out, and shows you the ropes on your first day along with the assistant manager giving you a tour of the store, which is helpful because there’s at least three floors that you could easily get lost on. He walks elderly customers to their cars with their bags, shows up to work early for every shift, always with a smile and a positive attitude, and you find out early on that management loves him because of his frankly incredible sales record. 

(And you get it too; you can’t imagine anyone looking into those gorgeous blue eyes and turning him down.)

He's also a spokesperson for the company in all of their internal training videos because he was hired through some “Jobs for Vets” program that they just rolled out. The guy can also stack things on a shelf like no one's business, products lined up with military precision (hence the ex-military status). 

All in all, you can’t help feeling like for once in your life, you didn’t draw the short stick. 

Then one day, you’re alone with Johnny in the breakroom early in the morning before the store has opened yet and he turns to you with a wide, boyish grin and says apropos of nothing, “Named my fleshlight after you.”

You think your brain skips a couple tracks like a record player. You rewind and replay what was just said to you. There’s no two ways about it—you must have misheard him. Of course you did because surely your coworker of two months didn’t just look you in the eyes and say with a sweet sunshine smile that he named his sex toy after you. 

He doesn’t laugh, just stands there and smiles while stirring sugar into his coffee. He takes it black. You take note of that because the brain still has to work when the mind shuts down momentarily, so you use it instead to catalogue things around the breakroom. One of the motivational posters hanging near the door is hung a bit off-centre. The fluorescent lightbulb on the far side of the room is dimmer than the others. Johnny’s eyes have a little light spot in them like the tip of an ocean wave.

“Excuse me?” you ask, dumbfounded. Your voice sounds hollow even to you.

“I named her after ye,” he repeats, not a trace of shame in his voice. “Used ta not have a name at all, but figured since I say it so much when I’m enjoyin’ her, she might as well share it with ya.” 

He stares at you after saying that, letting it hang in the air. Your brain chooses that moment to come back online and all it can do is load that image of Johnny home alone with his fleshlight, toes curled in his sheets and the muscles of his legs straining as he moans your name. All you can do is give a little awkward laugh, growing more uncomfortable by the second the longer he stares at you without blinking. 

Then, something passes over his eyes and suddenly he's back to normal, laughing and clapping you on the arm before wandering off to the men's apparel section. 

It leaves you reeling for the rest of the day, sure you imagined it. It recontextualizes a few things for you though. He’s always been on the handsy side, verging on inappropriate, but skirting just enough around the edges of it that you usually brush off Johnny’s weird behaviour. Chalk it up to annoying little brotherly tendencies. You know he has a few older sisters anyway; you figured it was just how he related to women in his environment.

Not so. 

It escalates after that initial escalation. Not that things started off on an appropriate note, but at least before you could rationalize most of his quirks.

Now it’s this: his hand on your lower back during work hours when you’re busy helping a customer and he sidles up next to you, pinkie brushing so low on your back that you worry for a second that he might slip it down the back of your pants. Lifting you up by the hips whenever you have a hard time reaching something on a shelf instead of just reaching up and grabbing it for you. A complete misuse of his height. He digs his fingers into your sides and never lets you go right away when he puts you down. 

“Aw shit, bonnie,” he coos when you complain about it hurting you. “Dinnae mean ta hurt ye. Want me to give ye a little massage in the breakroom?” 

You learn quickly that there’s no point in complaining about his behaviour to anyone. You can't complain to any of your coworkers because the second you so much as criticize his work, they bark at you to be nice to him. He's just re-acclimating to civilian life, of course he's not perfect at his job yet, they say. They defend him almost viciously; the real jealous ones even tell on you in front of him, leaving you to stand there embarrassed and on the spot until Johnny just smiles and says that it's alright. That you'll just have to teach him better. 

There’s not much you can do besides grin and bear it. You can hope one day that you'll get transferred; you don't have much hope for him being transferred. Not with how endeared he is to management.

When you finally open the door, ready to leave the bathroom and get back to work, you nearly scream when Johnny lurches off the wall across from the bathroom door where he’s been leaning. Waiting for you.

“C’mon, hen,” he says, all teeth. “Lemme walk ye back ta work.”

[ttturnitup]

as it turns out | kwon jiyong x reader

summary: You and Jiyong hate each other’s guts (even if Seunghyun says otherwise). When things get out of hand, there’s only one solution to the drama.

word count: 2k

warnings: minor miscommunication/lack of communication , angst

author’s note: This fic was written for day 12 of the BigBang April challenge! Not sure if I technically met the prompt, but I guess that’s why they call it a prompt? In any case, I hope you get some enjoyment out of this fic! And massive thanks to my girl @loveesiren for all the feedback and help whilst finishing this up!

“And then he had the audacity to call my outfit bad. My outfit! As if he isn’t clashing colours and prints just because he can.”

Seunghyun laughs, topping up your wine glass before settling back on the couch.

“Did it ever occur to you that he’s doing it to get your attention?”

“I don’t want him to have it.”

“Your constant rants say otherwise, Y/n.”

You glare at Seunghyun, grabbing a pillow from behind you and holding it up as a threat. He quickly holds a hand up in surrender, the other moving his wine glass away from the couch. A moment passes before you lower the pillow, satisfied that your friend is properly cowed.

“I just don’t get what his problem with me is.”

“He doesn’t have a problem with you.”

“Seunghyun, last week he walked out of the studio as soon as I stepped inside. That kinda feels like he has a problem with me.”

Seunghyun winces. It’s impossible to deny your statement; he was there to witness the whole thing, after all. But still, he presses on, trying to convince you.

“Okay. I’ll admit that wasn’t his best move. But, Y/n, I promise you he doesn’t have a problem with you.”

“No, he just hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“The day I believe that is the day you stop loving space - never going to happen.”

You hear your friend sigh, and you gear up for another argument. It wouldn’t be the first time; you understood as his best friend, Seunghyun had a better understanding of him, but you just couldn’t bring yourself to believe him. Actions speak louder than words and all that. But Seunghyun doesn’t push, instead pivoting to asking about your latest role. You’re grateful, and the rest of your wine night continues without bloodshed - or a ruined couch.

————————————————————————————————

The thing was, there was a time a few years ago where you knew he didn’t hate you. There was a time where you might have considered Kwon Jiyong a friend. Being trainees at the same time forged a connection that few understood. Being leaders of your respective groups only deepened that bond. The long hours, the pressure, the uncertainty of what the future held - all of it was was the focus of stolen late night conversations, in the moments between YG breathing down your necks and getting whatever sleep you could. It was during that time that you got to know the person behind the G-Dragon persona; it was then that you grew fond of Jiyong.

The groups debuted, and that connection only seemed to strengthen. You remember being in the crowd, cheering loudly as BigBang took to the stage for the first time. You can recall Jiyong and the others swarming you and your group, hugging you tightly after your first performance. For a year, your groups chased each other, prompting a friendly rivalry, pushing each other to do better. It was fun, exciting.

But as BigBang continued to grow, your group started to flounder. You worked hard, trying to fix every problem that came up. Better choreography, extra vocal lessons, thinking up brand new concepts. Nothing worked. Your group disbanded, your friendships frayed from the pressure you put on them. While you still loved music, it hurt to see it all fall apart, and so you pivoted towards acting.

You kept in touch with Jiyong, determined not to lose any other friendships. You felt the distance between you growing, but you pinned it down towards your busy schedules. Being invited to star in their latest music video felt like a sign, and so you jumped at the opportunity. Spending time with Jiyong, being able to reaffirm that connection, while also being back in the scene you used to love so dearly? It felt too good to be true.

Filming went longer than anyone expected. Everyone was at their limits, tired and grumpy, yet Jiyong kept pushing. You recognised his need for perfection; you had it, too. It played its part in your group’s disbandment, and so you spoke up, hoping to diffuse some of the tension.

“Maybe try having Daesung move over here?”

He turned to look at you, frowning. “I’ve got it, thanks.”

“Will you at least give it a try? I think you’re overlooking things because you’re tired.”

“I’m not.”

“You are! We all are! You don’t need to be G-Dragon all the time, you know.”

“I don’t need help from a failed idol!”

Jiyong might as well have slapped you for how much his words hurt. You were no stranger to his outbursts when he was stressed, but they had never been this personal, and they were always followed with an apology. Not this time. All he offered was a dumbfounded stare, as if he couldn’t believe what he said, either. You turned away from him, rapidly gathering your belongings.

“My scenes are done for today, right? I’ll be back tomorrow. If you need me, I’m sure G-Dragon here can figure something out.”

You walked out, refusing to look back.

————————————————————————————————

Staying friends with BigBang meant crossing paths with him. Some days, you could get by with giving him the cold shoulder. Most of the time, though, you traded insults at best, and had yelling matches at worst. The others did their best to diffuse the tension, but sometimes it spilled over with no way to stop it. It wasn’t fair, and you knew it. You didn’t want to give them up over whatever this rivalry with G-Dragon, because that’s what it was. But either way Jiyong? That was harder to determine. There were moments where the boy you grew fond of came out: when he was relaxed with his friends before he saw you, when something he had been puzzling over worked out, when your fighting was more playful and brought a different kind of heat.

You wished that you weren’t jealous of the boys, but you were. You wanted Jiyong, but all you had - all you knew how to do - was fighting with him.

————————————————————————————————

“I’m telling you the blocking doesn’t work.”

“And I’m telling you that it will. I know what I’m doing!”

“Oh, do you, G-Dragon? Who has more experience with film shoots?”

“Me, because this isn’t a film shoot!”

“Enough!”

Seunghyun’s voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it, and you know you’ve gone too far. Taking a step back, you’re startled by how close you and Jiyong had gotten during your argument. It leaves you off-kilter, but you push the feeling down. It was just to get in his face, to push his buttons and get him pissed off; that’s your story if anyone asked. Foolproof.

You turn to apologise to Seunghyun (and Daesung and Youngbae), but a hand held up in front of you stops you in your tracks. The oldest member looks unimpressed. You feel chastised, and Seunghyun hasn’t even said a word. You don’t look over, but you know Jiyong is feeling the same.

“Jiyong, Y/n, with me.”

Seunghyun’s voice left no room for argument. You follow behind, quiet, not wanting to upset your friend further. You hoped that wherever he was taking you, you’d have a chance to apologise properly, to fix the mess that you had a hand in making. The silence as the three of you made your way down the hall was overbearing, but you didn’t dare break it.

It was only a couple of minutes later when Seunghyun came to a stop, and you almost crash into him, taken aback by the suddenness of it. You look around, confused. You’re nowhere special; in fact, you’d probably describe it as nowhere at all. Just a hallway with a door in front of you. He opens the door, and before you can protest, he’s pushing you both inside. The door closes, and the click echoes through the tiny room.

“Kiss each other, or kill each other, I don’t care. But this door isn’t opening until you sort your shit out.”

You can just about hear the footsteps as Seunghyun walks away. You don’t even bother trying to check the door; you know without a doubt that Seunghyun wasn’t lying.

You try to create space between you and Jiyong, not that there’s much to create. Your eyes cast around the room, finally acknowledging that your friend shoved you into a supply closet. Bastard.

Minutes pass, though it could have been hours for all you knew. Silence stretches between you, both too stubborn to make the first move. It would almost be like admitting defeat.

More time passes. Seunghyun hasn’t returned. You’re about to plan a jailbreak when Jiyong finally snaps.

“This is your fault, you know.”

“What did you just say?”

“The room’s not that big. I know you heard me.”

“No, I did. I want you to say it again.”

He scoffs, as if he can’t believe your attitude. You can’t believe his.

“This is your fault, telling me what to do, not showing me respect-”

It’s your turn to scoff, and it’s loud enough to interrupt him.

“Respect? You’ve got to be kidding me.”

“You call Daesung oppa and he’s younger than you! You’ve never called me by any titles!”

“Yeah, because he’s actually deserving of one!”

“And I’m not?”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, I’ve been told.”

A finger jabs into his chest with enough force to make him rock back in his heels. You crowd his space, just like before.

“This is not about your goddamned ego right now.”

“Why shouldn’t it be? I’m G-fucking-Dragon!”

“You don’t get it! I don’t like G-Dragon. I never fucking cared about G-Dragon! I cared about Jiyong!”

Your confession echoes throughout the supply closet, accompanied by the sounds of heavy breathing, the weight of it threatening to crush you. You can’t move away. You try to at least avert your gaze, but Jiyong’s confused noise draws your attention. Your heart hurts at his expression.

“You… what?”

You can’t look at him. Your gaze drops. There’s an apology on your lips, but what comes out is, “I care about you. I always have.”

There’s no response.

It’s weird, being in silence, when you were so used to the fighting. Jiyong always had a comeback, always knew just what to say. Often, it would only serve to piss you off. Wasn’t that a little bit messed up to miss that?

Your eyes started to sting, and before you could stop it, tears were falling down your face. You can hear Jiyong curse, clearly uncertain on how to help you. Years of animosity and buried feelings have created a chasm between you that he doesn’t know how to cross.

There’s so much unsaid. So much hurt that he can’t ever take back. He’s confused and scared and apprehensive, but he can at least do something in the moment. He just hopes it doesn’t backfire.

Slowly, as if he’s worried about hurting you, he wraps his arms around you, only hesitating for a brief moment before pulling you into a tight hug. It’s embarrassing how the sobs seem to ease immediately, but you find that you don’t care. You lean into his embrace. It was everything you never let yourself of. Just for a moment, you could pretend that Jiyong cared about you, too.

You could pretend that the kiss he pressed to the top of your head was real.

challenge taglist; @wcnderlnds, @ldydeath, @loveesiren, @bluesunss, @emmiesoverthemoon, @eru-vande, @berfgrimm, @gdinthehouseee, @infinetlyforgotten, @petersasteria, @currentloser, @makeitworse, @sherxoo, @aizshallnotbefound @breakmeoff♥

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - the price of desire (part six)

warnings ; he’s on his knees for her <3, oral (f recieving)

prompt ; in which you learn that your dignity has a price, and unfortunately, it looks a lot like Jeon Jungkook in Calvin Klein boxers.

note ; two things. 1) this is the LONGEST part of tpod i think (might also be longest piece ive written in a fic so far.) and 2) if you don’t listen to guilty as sin on repeat while reading you are depriving yourself of an amazing reader experience. i don’t even know how we got here. one second she was yelling at him in a hallway, and the next she’s sleeping on his chest. godspeed to these idiots. they’re not surviving this. (also!!! there are a ton of nods to korean culture in this part, and i consulted some of my korean friends for this but please excuse any inaccuracies, i am just a wee little hispanic girl)

playlist here

series masterlist here

You feel sick.

Not like, “Oh no, I need electrolytes and sleep” sick. This is existential sick. Your organs are staging a coup and your soul is clenching in protest. Sure, your body aches, your temples are pounding, your limbs feel like wet cement, and your eyes burn from lack of sleep but that’s the surface-level stuff. That’s the kind of sickness you can fix with ibuprofen and a nap.

This ailment seeps into your bones. It hits you every time you close your eyes and see him again: his mouth, his hands, the way you let it happen not once but twice, like you had no self-respect or higher brain function whatsoever.

It’s that part that makes you want to unzip your skin and crawl out of it.

The first time was a fluke. A stress-induced catastrophe you swore you’d bury six feet under.

But then you did it again with full awareness and zero hesitation, like a woman possessed.

Now it’s as if your inner compass has spun a few degrees off course. You’ve crossed some invisible, irreversible line, and no amount of denial can rewind the tape.

You haven’t slept or eaten. Every time you try to focus on an email, a pitch deck, even something as simple as drinking coffee, your brain decides, “Hey, remember that time you moaned his name in a trailer?”

You actually haven’t seen him since that day. You’ve been dodging him like a coward, like some freshly heartbroken intern who can’t handle a one-night stand.

If you were smart like your two higher education degrees said you were, you would strut into that next meeting like nothing happened, as if he were just another brand ambassador. Like your panties didn’t hit the floor faster than your standards.

But every time you try to channel that version of yourself, the one who takes no shit and always wins, something inside you flinches.

You try and go back to your default setting. You sit through meetings with a frozen smile and fraying nerves, pretending like you’re not unraveling at the seams. You even let your team drag you out for drinks, which frankly, should’ve won you an Oscar for pretending to be fun.

Recently, being around people makes your skin itch. The laughter is too loud, lights too bright. All you can think about is how to not think about him.

Late at night, the guilt creeps in. Mostly because deep down, you know this isn’t just about you. For all the ways Jungkook is reckless and infuriating, you know he doesn’t deserve to be treated like some regrettable error code in your system.

Yet, that’s what you did when you left that trailer with no explanation. You ghosted him like he was the mistake, as if it wasn’t you who wanted him just as badly.

Somehow, that realization stings more than the memory itself.

It’s fine. You’ll figure it out. You have to. Otherwise, if it goes on a second longer, you’re not sure there’ll be anything left of you to come back to.

All this to say — you should’ve known this day was coming. Should’ve seen it cresting on the horizon like a storm you pretended wouldn’t reach you.

The second you step into the sleek, glass-walled conference room, Calvin Klein execs already seated, you go still.

Jungkook is seated in one of the chairs in a black T-shirt, silver rings, the glint of his bracelets catching in the fluorescent light.

You swear when your heels click across the floor, his fingers pause on the rim of his water bottle.

You don’t dare look at him. For one long, silent, bone-melting second, no one says a word. Then, as if summoned by the gods, Daniel drops into the seat beside you. His expression: the human equivalent of a side-eye emoji.

You ignore him, letting out an exhale and flipping open your laptop like this is just another Tuesday (It actually is.)

The meeting starts, the campaign rundown begins… and your body is here physically. But your mind is trying not to flinch every time Jungkook shifts in his chair and failing not to notice how quiet he’s being.

“Jungkook,” one of the execs says, flipping through mock-ups, “we wanted to confirm, you’re still comfortable with the shirtless set for this shoot?”

It’s a standard question. Practically in the brand guidelines at this point.

Jungkook doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he turns his head and looks at you.

You don’t meet his gaze, you really don’t have to. It feels like heat crawling up your neck, threading beneath your skin, sparking every nerve that has spent the last few days pretending he doesn’t exist.

“Yeah,” he finally says,“I don’t mind.”

You hate yourself for the way your heart reacts like it’s just been told a secret. Daniel shifts beside you as if he just got confirmation of a theory he’s been waiting to prove. Like he’s watching a house of cards start to tremble.

You grit your teeth, returning your attention to the presentation. Focus on the words, the charts, the goddamn revenue projections.

“I do have one concern,” Jungkook says.

Of course he does.

“I’m not sure the creative direction for the final set is the right call. It feels kinda stiff.”

One of the execs frowns. “Stiff?”

Jungkook’s tongue presses to the inside of his cheek, and you genuinely consider stabbing your pen through your own laptop just to escape.

“I think we could push it further,” he claims. “Make it feel more natural. Less staged.” He glances toward the campaign boards, then right back to you. “More real.”

You know exactly what he’s doing. Seeing if you’ll crack.

You press your fingers against the cool surface of the table, and speak without even blinking. “If it were any more real, Jungkook, we’d be selling porn, not denim.”

A snort comes from where Daniel sits.

Jungkook blinks and there’s a gleam in his eyes like you just gave him exactly what he wanted.

The conversation shifts, and the meeting rolls forward and suddenly, every damn thing out of his mouth sounds like it belongs in an 18+ warning.

“We just need the right amount of tension in the shot,” he muses, “So it doesn’t feel forced.”

“It should build naturally,” he adds. “Slow. Like… foreplay.”

Okay, he didn’t technically say that last part, but your body hears it anyway.

“We want the final shots to feel… intimate,” the creative director chimes in, flipping through references. “Jungkook, how comfortable are you with that?”

You hold your breath and beg every god to spare you. Jungkook hums thoughtfully, as if he’s considering it.

“Oh, I don’t mind getting up close,” he says. “In fact, I think it works better when there’s a little resistance first.“

You keep your face blank, posture perfect. You will not give him the satisfaction. Then, deadpan as ever, you say, “Yes, Jungkook, we all know how much you like resistance.”

The creative director chokes on his water so violently you’re certain he is thisclose to calling HR. Daniel claps a hand over his mouth and one of the managers goes wide-eyed.

“I don’t know what you’re implying,” Jungkook retorts,”I’m just a professional. I take direction very well.”

Your grip tightens around your pen, not enough to snap it in half but the threat is present.

This exact scenario is what you didn’t want. The not-so-subtle slide from professional sparring to something laced with all the things you refuse to untangle mentally. Once upon a time, you could bicker with Jungkook without consequence. Once upon a time, it was just sharp words with no bite.

“Oh?” you inhale slowly. “Is that so? Because I was under the impression you didn’t take direction at all.”

One of the executives mutters something that sounds suspiciously like Jesus Christ.

He shakes his head, a lock of dark hair falling into his eyes, and when he looks at you again, it’s with a quiet intensity that makes your skin feel too tight. “I think you’ll find I’m full of surprises.”

You hate him with the force of a thousand campaign deadlines and every broken rule you swore you wouldn’t cross. You hate that it’s starting to feel easy for you, too. He’s not just a threat. In a way, you almost like the way he matches you and pushes back.

You force yourself and your colleagues to turn back to the agenda, but Jungkook’s still watching you out of the corner of his eyes, a small smirk on his plump lips.

After all, he’s the one who set the trap.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You tell yourself you’re counting down the days. The days until the final shoot wraps, the campaign boards come down, and Jungkook is no longer orbiting your every waking hour like some satellite with boundary issues.

You should be relieved, thrilled even. Practically dancing in designer heels down the halls of your career triumph.

There’s something off about it though. Kind of like you’re hurtling toward the finish line of a race you no longer remember signing up for, only to realize you might not like what’s waiting on the other side.

This campaign is a career-defining achievement, an international spectacle you crafted. It is a global masterpiece. You are exhausted over it, and not just jet-lagged. You are cosmically, soul-deep spent. Every fiber of you is stretched too thin like a rubber band pulled tight and desperate not to snap.

You know exactly what the problem is, if you put your finger on it. It’s Jungkook, with his stupid eyes and stupid mouth. He is a glitch in your meticulously controlled system, a variable you didn’t plan for. And no matter how many spreadsheets you bury yourself in, how many mockups you sign off on, how many creative calls you reroute just to avoid being alone in a room with him, he refuses to stay in the box you need him to fit inside.

So yes. You need this to be over. You need to get him out of your sight, out of your schedule, out of your brain where he’s taken up residence like an overconfident squatter who refuses to pay rent.

The hotel lobby is quiet at this hour. A soft hum of jazz leaks from the overhead speakers, and there’s a faint murmur of laughter spilling from the hotel bar, but it all blurs into the background.

Meanwhile you’re drowning in deliverables and deck revisions and approval threads that have turned your inbox into a graveyard. Your laptop screen glows against the dim, gold-toned lighting. Your fingers fly over the keyboard, mechanical and joyless. You haven’t looked up in at least an hour, probably longer. Your hair is a mess, twisted into a knot that started off intentional and devolved into chaos.

This is the version of you that never stops; the one who doesn’t get the luxury of rest and who runs on cortisol and cold coffee.

Your team had gone out earlier, and they begged you to come for one drink. One hour.

“You need to breathe,” they had said, like it was that simple. You told them you didn’t have time (you really didn’t.) Not when your brain is a warzone and the enemy wears silver rings and makes your knees feel like glass.

So there you are, hunched in a stool at the bartop, your spine begging for mercy, your wine glass sweating beside you, half-finished and entirely forgotten.

Your phone buzzes beside your laptop, the screen lighting up with a name you haven’t said out loud in weeks. Eomma. You glance at it once, jaw tightening, and then flip it over without answering. It’s muscle memory at this point, hitting decline or letting it go to voicemail. The call fades to silence, but the tension lingers, settling beneath your skin with something you don’t have the time or emotional bandwidth to unpack.

Your fingers return to the keyboard, determined. You don’t look up when voices murmur near the bar. Don’t flinch when the elevator dings in the distance. You don’t even care when some kid starts running around the hotel lobby being chased by overwhelmed parents.

Clearly, you have a knack for calling your own fate.

A shadow slices across your screen and your fingers stop mid-sentence, stomach dropping like it’s suddenly remembered how to feel.

When you look up, despite already knowing exactly who it could be, you see Jungkook, hands shoved into the pockets of his sweatpants, eyes half-lidded, dark hair disheveled.

You’re a little shell-shocked, because he’s supposed to be somewhere else. Specifically, at the bar, with the team you said ‘no’ to.

Your eyes flick to the wine glass, then back to him. “What are you doing here?”

He shrugs like he didn’t just appear in the one place you swore he wouldn’t. “What are you doing here?” he counters.

You gesture vaguely toward your laptop, fingers sweeping across the chaos of open tabs, spreadsheets, and campaign briefs like it’s all self-explanatory. Because it is (or it should be.) “Working,” you say flatly.

Jungkook tilts his head slightly, gaze flicking from your screen to the half-drained glass of wine beside it, then back to your face. “So this is what you do for fun?” he questions, “Sit alone in hotel lounges at midnight, buried in spreadsheets, slowly becoming one of your Google Docs?”

You exhale sharply, shoulders aching from hours hunched over this chair. “I don’t really have time for fun.”

He watches you, expression unreadable, trying to parse the subtext between your sentences. He then shifts his weight lazily from one foot to the other, eyes still locked on you.

“Why aren’t you with everyone else?” you ask, frowning like he’s broken some unspoken rule by appearing in your safe zone.

He shrugs again, “Didn’t feel like going.”

Your frown deepens. “You? Skipping drinks?”

“I know. Shocking,” he says, lips curling slightly. There’s humor there, but it’s quiet.

You glance back at your screen and try to refocus. Try to pretend his presence doesn’t shift the entire room two degrees warmer.

He pulls out the chair beside you and sits down. “Have you eaten?”

Goddamnit.

Your fingers stop mid-sentence. You blink once, eyes still on your screen. “What?”

“Food,” he repeats. “When was the last time you ate?”

You shift in your seat and glance at the time on your laptop: 11:43 p.m. That tells you nothing, because time stopped meaning anything after 8pm. Maybe 7pm.

You think back and try to remember, but then your stomach growls, as if it remembers. You refuse to give him the satisfaction, so you shrug, fingers already hovering back over your keyboard. “I’ve been busy.”

Jungkook lets out a breath, somewhere between a scoff and a sigh. “That’s not an answer.”

Your fingers move again, faster now, as if typing at warp speed might drown out the sound of his voice.

He lifts his hand. Flags the bartender down with two fingers and an easy nod.

Your head jerks up. “What are you doing?”

He turns to the bartender, all calm and goes, “Can we get a plate of whatever’s still warm back there? And another glass of wine.”

“Jungkook,” you snap like a warning, like if the idea of ordering food is so preposterous he needs to be scolded like a child.

He ignores it. “Thanks,” he smiles, nodding toward the bartender before turning back to you with that maddening, infuriatingly smug expression.

You glare at him. “I don’t need you to order for me.”

Jungkook leans back in his chair, arms crossing lazily over his chest. He looks like he’s settling in for the night. “Clearly, you do. Since you seem completely incapable of basic survival.”

You resist the very real, very violent urge to slam your laptop shut just to make a point. “This isn’t necessary,” you mutter, reaching for your wine. You don’t know what unnerves you more: the fact that he ordered you food without asking or the fact that he’s probably right.

“Neither is skipping meals,” Jungkook retorts, shrugging like he’s merely stating a fact and not casually inserting himself into your personal life. “But here we are.”

You sit there, blinking at him. What the actual fuck is this? Jungkook has spent time out of his days making your life hell. Willingly and gleefully. It’s practically his part-time job.

And yet now he’s sitting next to you, body plopped in a stool like it’s something he does often. Not because he cares, obviously not. Right?

You stare blankly at your screen, face bathed in the cold blue glow of your laptop, brows pulled in like they’re shielding you from the audacity radiating off the man to your left.

Jungkook drums his fingers against the table, light and absentminded, but you can feel the rhythm of it anyway. You haven’t really looked at him since he sat down. Not even when he forced you to acknowledge that the last thing you put in your body was probably a coffee you forgot to finish six hours ago and some white wine.

Normally, your stubbornness would amuse him. Your compulsive need to be in control. Your single-minded obsession with perfection. The way you pretend you’re made of steel, even when your body’s clearly crying out for rest.

Still, he tries. “What are you even working on this late?”

You exhale through your nose like he’s an annoying notification popping up mid-presentation. “Contracts. Final reports. Things you don’t need to worry about.”

He hums. “You ever stop working?”

“No.” Your shoulders slump even more.

He lets out a snort, “That’s depressing.”

You keep typing like the fate of the free world hinges on your ability to update a pivot table. Jungkook eyes you for a beat, then shifts forward, forearms resting against the marble bartop.

“What’s left on the campaign?” he asks, “Last shoot is this week, right?”

You make a noise, something between a hum and a sigh, and click through to another document. “Yeah.”

“And after that?” he presses.

You pretend to be oddly interested in adjusting a cell in a spreadsheet. “You know the deal. Press tours, magazine exclusives, and then launch.”

“And after launch?”

That makes you pause. He should know how this works like the back of his hand. You glance up, brow raised, annoyed. “What is this, an interrogation?”

He grins, unbothered. “Just trying to figure out when you’ll finally relax.”

You scoff. “I don’t relax.”

“Yeah,” he says, lips twitching, “no shit.”

You roll your eyes and go back to work, but he’s still watching you, fingers tapping idly against the wine glass the bartender brought out for him, gaze thoughtful.

For the first time since this campaign began, for the first time since your constant sparring became something else, seeing you like this doesn’t give him that same satisfaction. You look like you’re one poorly worded email away from full collapse, and that… doesn’t feel like a win.

The bartender returns quietly, placing a plate in front of you. A burger, fries, and a glass of water with more wine. The scent alone breaks your focus; crispy potatoes, buttery toasted bun, something grilled and undeniably American.

Your fingers hover mid-keystroke. You blink at the plate and let out a laugh. “Really? A burger? In Korea?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Hey, I asked for anything warm. Plus, you needed something quick and easy. Not too complicated.”

He pauses for a second, “Kind of like you.”

You shoot him a look, utterly unimpressed. “Ha. Ha.”

Jungkook grabs a fry off your plate like it’s his, gesturing for you to follow. “Eat.”

You cross your arms, “I don’t have time.”

“Yeah, you do,” he says, motioning at your food. “Besides, I’m not leaving until you do.”

You make a face, a full-body grimace of indignation and something dangerously close to a pout. You roll your eyes so hard it nearly counts as exercise and mutter something under your breath, but just as you’re about to double down on your disdain, your stomach growls. Your own body has betrayed you completely.

Jungkook raises an eyebrow with quiet delight, and barks out a laugh, entirely too pleased with himself.

You glare at him like you’re deciding whether prison time is worth it. Painfully and dramatically, you grab a fry. It’s an exaggerated, defiant motion. You nibble at the end of it like it’s a hostage negotiation.

Jungkook hums, “There we go. Not so hard, was it?”

You don’t dignify that with a response. You just take another bite with the same energy as someone doing squats at gunpoint, while your other hand keeps typing, eyes locked on the glowing blur of your spreadsheet. If you don’t look at him, it doesn’t count.

And then because he’s a menace and a flirt and apparently clinically incapable of shutting up, he leans forward. “You know, pouty looks good on you.”

Very slowly, very deliberately, you lift your gaze. To him, it finally feels like you’re not truly ignoring him.

From there, the conversation doesn’t happen all at once. It unfolds gradually, kind of like rain soaking slowly into the sidewalk. You’re still typing, still pretending to work, your attention split between whatever meaningless data is on your screen and the man next to you who won’t stop peeling back your armor with casual little flicks of conversation.

Somehow, between reluctant bites of fries and the low hum of hotel jazz, you start talking. Just… regular conversation that isn’t heavy.

“So,” he begins, fingers tapping the side of his glass. “Calvin Klein. How’d you end up here?”

You click through some Excel sheets. “Hard work, a few miracles, a lot of people underestimating me.”

He tips his head. “Didn’t you say you started in New York?”

“I did. But I had internships in Seoul during university. They were smaller houses. Luxury branding though. I moved to the U.S. after I got the global marketing position.” It’s all now rolling off your tongue so easily.

“And now you run the whole thing.”

You acknowledge him, arching a brow. “Surprised?”

Jungkook smirks, snatching another fry. “Not really. But you’re younger than most people in your position, right?”

You sigh through your nose. “Yes, and most of them don’t let me forget it.”

Jungkook nods slowly. He gets it; the pressure, the eyes, the constant need to prove you belong in a room they never built for you in the first place.

“People underestimate you a lot, huh?” he asks.

“Always.”

“And you love proving them wrong.”

That makes you take a pause. You don’t rush to fill the silence, mostly because you don’t have to. It hangs there, soft and strange and long enough to feel like the truth.

“What about you?” you ask, shifting the conversation, not because you’re particularly curious, but because he’s looking at you too closely and you need a second to breathe.

Jungkook leans back in his chair, “What about me?”

“You became an idol when you were, what…12? 13? That couldn’t have been easy.”

His expression flickers briefly. A shift too subtle for most to notice, but you do.

“No,” he says quietly. “It wasn’t.”

You study him now, less like a challenge or a puzzle. But more so… as a person.

“Do you ever regret it?” You take a sip from your wine.

Jungkook tilts his head, gaze drifting somewhere else. “No. But…” He pauses. “I wonder, sometimes what it would’ve been like to be normal.”

You weren’t expecting the honesty. The way he says it with curiosity, like he’s asked himself the same question in the quiet of his own head a thousand times and never said it out loud until now.

“To be normal?” you echo, placing your glass down.

He nods. “To be anonymous. To go to school like everyone else. To have weekends. To do dumb shit without it ending up on some gossip site three hours later.”

You sit with that. You need a moment to let it rearrange the version of him you’ve built in your head. This is someone lonelier, someone who has been living in a fishbowl since he was a kid and still managed to become this.

“I get that,” you say, and it surprises you how much you mean it.

Jungkook turns back to you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You do?”

“I’ve spent my whole life working. I was always the youngest in every room, and every board I’ve ever had to sit on. I had to prove I belonged there. And sometimes I wonder… what if I didn’t? What if I’d taken my time and let myself be young?”

He leans forward again, resting his arms on the table, “Would you change anything?”

Your mind flickers to the sleepless nights, the overexerted ambition, the girls you once knew in Busan who married young and stayed put, your childhood apartment with the leaky sink and cheap wallpaper. To the version of you that never left.

You shake your head, “No. But I think about it sometimes.”

Jungkook nods like he understands. The conversation doesn’t end. It just… shifts. The sharpness between you remains, but it’s dulled, like a knife put back in its sheath. You talk about Busan, about the beaches, the old seafood stalls, the sleepy summers that felt longer when you were kids.

Jungkook grins when you mention the accent, eyes lighting up like he’s been waiting for this part. “Ah, so that’s why I heard you mutter ssibal under your breath the other day,” he teases. “Sounded like it came straight out of 2012.”

You roll your eyes, feigning offense. “It only comes out when I’m stressed.”

“So… constantly?”

You throw a fry at him. He dodges it, laughing.

For a moment, it feels simple. Like you’re not two people who should absolutely not be sitting here at midnight, eating fries and sharing childhood wounds.

“Be honest,” he muses, “When’s the last time you actually went back to Busan?”

And just like that, the easy feeling catches in your throat. The question lands soft but inside, it cracks something. Busan isn’t just a city to you. It’s a memory you’ve kept sealed shut, a version of yourself you’ve outgrown but never quite buried. For all the years you’ve spent running away from it, there’s always been that quiet fear gnawing at your ribs: that if you go back, even for a second, you might not know who you are anymore. Or worse, you’ll remember. You’ll remember the girl who left because staying felt like failure. Some days, when you’re too tired to lie to yourself, you wonder if that’s why you haven’t been back. Not because you can’t, but because you’re terrified you don’t belong there anymore.

You hesitate. For some reason, your fingers are still hovering over your keyboard, mid-sentence, mid-excuse, the cursor blinking like it’s waiting for you to remember who you are.

And then, without thinking, without looking at him, you reach up and close your laptop.

You have unconsciously waved a white flag of surrender.

“I try to go back at least once a year,” you sigh, “For Chuseok, if I can swing it.”

Jungkook hums warmly. “Big family?”

You nod. “Very.”

He smiles, already picturing it. “So you were one of those kids with fifty cousins sprinting around the yard, screaming over food and stealing snacks from the kitchen?”

You can’t help it; the memory makes your mouth twitch a little. “Yeah. My mom used to cook like she was feeding the entire peninsula. And every surface in the house would be covered in something, rice cookers, trays of fried food. It was chaos.”

Jungkook grins, “Let me guess. Seafood pancake the size of a steering wheel, enough kimchi jjigae to fill a kiddie pool, and at least one auntie bringing her secret homemade makgeolli in an old Sprite bottle?”

You laugh, tipping your head back slightly. “God. You really are from Busan.”

He shrugs proudly. “Born and raised.”

“The second I walked through the door,” you say, a little more softly now, “they’d shove rice balls and hot soup at me like I’d just returned from war.”

“That’s how you know you’re truly home,” Jungkook reminisces. “You’re not allowed to be hungry.”

Your stomach flips at that word. Home. It lodges itself beneath your ribs before you can stop it.

You clear your throat and shift in your seat. “What about you?” you question, redirecting the spotlight. “Big family?”

Jungkook plays with the stem of his wine glass. “Not as big as yours, probably. But it was enough. Me, my parents, my brother. We always spent the holidays together with food, board games, my mom yelling at us for eating before the table was set.”

“Did you ever get to do the normal Busan teenager thing?” You giggle lightly at the thought of it.

He raises a brow. “What, like sneaking out to Haeundae with your friends to watch the sunrise?”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “So you did?”

“Once or twice.” He shrugs again,. “You?”

You scoff, waving a hand in the air. “Please. I had it down to a science. Out the back door at 11:30. Home by 5:00, bed made, face washed, phone off. My mother never knew.”

Jungkook chuckles amusedly. “You were the responsible one, huh? The one dragging everyone else out of trouble?”

“Somebody had to be,” you say, lifting your glass for a slow sip.

“So serious,” he teases. “Even back then.”

You set the glass down, mouth curling. “You don’t get to where I am without a little discipline.”

His gaze drifts over your face, thoughtful. “I bet you still were rebellious though”

You raise a brow. “Oh yeah?”

He nods, lips curling. “I think you like breaking the rules more than you let on.”

You know he’s not talking about Busan or teenage rebellion or barefoot sprints down side streets with your shoes in your hands and curfews already blown to hell.

He’s talking about you and him. About how you keep drawing the line and then stepping over it. About the trailer, the conference room. About the fact that every time you say it’s the last time, whether it’s to yourself or to him, you never really mean it.You refuse to give him the satisfaction. There won’t even be a hint of agreement that shows. You roll your eyes and reach for another fry like it’s a mic you’re about to drop. You bite into it with the kind of pointed defiance usually reserved for toddlers.

“You think you know me, Jungkook?” you ask flatly.

He grins. “I think I’m getting there.”

The smart move, the safe move, the version of you that has this conversation under control would be to disagree with him.

Instead, you stare at him. Fingers still pressed against the slick condensation of your wine glass, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and indignation.

He says it so casually like he’s peeled back the first few layers and now he’s just waiting for you to stop pretending there’s nothing left underneath.

You need to remind him exactly who you are and exactly why you never let people get close. There’s this unfamiliar discomfort curling at the edge of your confidence.

What the hell is this? This slow, winding conversation that isn’t bait or bravado?

You pull your walls back up tightly. “Getting there?” you echo, “That’s optimistic.”

“I like my chances.”

You roll your eyes again. “You would.”

“I mean,” he says, mouth quirking, “you did close your laptop.”

Oh god. You hadn’t even noticed.

Jungkook watches it register and the way your posture stiffens. You shake your head quickly, a breath sharp through your nose, and reach for your laptop again with renewed purpose. “Don’t flatter yourself,” you mutter. “I was just—”

“—taking a break?” he finishes for you,“Talking to me?”

“Admit it,” he keeps going, “I’m growing on you.”

You scoff instinctively. Shake your head like the idea is laughable. “You’re insufferable,” you say.

You really don’t know when it happened but you feel like you might be losing ground.

You tip your wine glass back, draining the last sip like it’s going to grant you strength, or clarity or at the very least the illusion of control. The warmth settles low in your chest, dull and steady, a quiet reminder that you’ve let this go on longer than you meant to. You exhale and push your chair back with a soft scrape against the floor.

“I need to go to bed,” you say, clipped with finality. “And so do you. Big shoot tomorrow.”

It should land like a period. A closing line.

Jungkook just sits there, no surprise and no protest.

Running is your specialty, isn’t it? Especially when things start feeling real.

You stand, smoothing your wrinkled hoodie tucking your phone into your pocket, gathering your laptop like it’s a shield.

Just as you turn, his hand finds your waist. It’s not demanding or aggressive. It’s simply there.

God, you hate how your breath stutters. Hate how, for one traitorous second, you almost lean into it. It’s not even the touch itself — it’s what it implies. The fact that he knows exactly how close he can get before you break.

You glance down at his hand, then up. He’s already looking at you, eyes dark, lips parted.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself, “Don’t.”

His thumb drags across the hem of your hoodie but you step back before you can fully indulge in it.

He lets go, hand falling back to his side. “You’re no fun,” he says matter-of-factly.

You exhale through your nose, shaking your head. “Go to bed, Jungkook.”

You turn on your heels, fingers tight around your laptop. You’re ready to walk away, to build distance, to pretend none of this ever happened—

“Wait. Hold on.”

You freeze. Clearly this is what he does. He gets you to stop.

Slowly, you turn back. Jungkook is still in his chair, spread-out limbs. “You’re wound up so tight, I’m surprised you can still breathe,” he notes.

You go stiff instantly. He just reached under your skin and found the part of you that you keep duct-taped shut. “Jungkook—”

“You’re stressed about tomorrow. The shoot. The campaign. Your never-ending checklist of things to fix, control, and solve.” He tilts his head, gaze locked on yours. “I can help you relieve some of that stress.”

Your feet are already pivoting away from him. “Shut up.”

“What? I’m being helpful. Offering a solution,” Jungkook’s shit-eating grin is a mockery of you.

You spin around so fast your hoodie sways with you. “A solution?” you snap. “You are the fucking problem.”

“Am I?” He stands up, shoulders relaxed. “Because from where I’m standing…”

He steps forward.

“…you look like you need me.”

Your stomach flips violently.

No. Nope. Absolutely the fuck not.

You straighten your spine, square your shoulders, roll every ounce of professional restraint back into place. “You’re delusional.”

“You push yourself too hard.” His voice is low, careful, almost maddeningly calm. “You skip meals. You forget how to sit still. You act like rest is something you have to earn.”

He’s not accusing you. Which somehow makes it worse. He’s just stating facts.

His gaze skims over your face like he’s cataloging every reaction, checking for any signs of a flicker of resistance.

Finally, after a minute, he says,”Let me take care of you.”

It doesn’t sound like seduction. It doesn’t sound like pity.

Maybe it’s the wine still buzzing low in your veins. Maybe it’s the exhaustion clawing at your spine. Maybe it’s the fact that you’ve spent weeks holding yourself together, and he’s the first person to see it.

You don’t care or know.

Because when he extends his hand, rings glinting under the amber hotel lights, palm open like he’s not asking, but offering, you take it.

No quips. No eye rolls. No fight left to give.

You let him lead you through the quiet, cavernous lobby, past the sleeping concierge, into the elevator. The doors slide shut behind you with a soft click. Jungkook stands beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, jaw set. His reflection in the mirrored elevator wall watches you, even when he doesn’t turn his head.

You don’t look at him. You can’t. Somewhere between floor two and three, your mind flickers briefly to the last time you let someone in like this. The only man who ever got you to close your laptop without a fight. The only one who made you believe, for a second, that you didn’t have to choose between ambition and affection. You never really recovered from that, never fully trusted anyone not to resent the parts of you that needed to keep working. But now here’s Jungkook, pulling you away from your work without asking you to apologize for it.

Your skin is still humming from his touch, heart unable to stop tripping over itself.

The trailer was supposed to be the end. The final lapse. A mistake you could file under temporary insanity and bury beneath a mountain of brand deadlines and executive reports.

Now you’re here again. The numbers above the elevator door tick upward like a countdown to disaster.

Your grip tightens around your laptop, fingertips aching. In between the hotel bar and the lobby and this elevator, your resolve went quiet.

The elevator dings and you two shuffle out. All you can hear is the hush of carpet under your shoes, his steps right beside yours.

Jungkook stops in front of his door, pulls out the key card with one hand, swipes it through the reader, and the lock clicks open.

He doesn’t say anything. He steps aside, holding the door with one arm like he’s letting you decide.

You do.

You walk past him, cool air rushing out to meet your flushed skin, goosebumps blooming across your arms like your body already knows what’s coming.

When you turn around, he’s already looking at you. It’s not the usual look he wears. It’s not the push-your-buttons-and-watch-you-crack gaze he’s mastered. This one is quieter like he’s waiting for something to fall apart and praying it’s not him.

Before you can reason with yourself, before the part of you that’s still pretending to be composed can scream what are you doing, you move.

Your laptop slips from your hand, thudding softly against the carpet. Your phone tumbles after it. You don’t give a fuck.

Because your hands are already on him.

You push Jungkook back against the door, hard. He hits the wood with a quiet thud, breath knocked from his lungs in a sharp exhale, surprised, but not resisting.

And then, your mouth is crashing into his.

It’s not anything a sober, clear-headed version of you would allow. It’s reckless.

Your hands fist in his hair, dragging him closer like you’ve been aching to rip him apart. His lips part under yours, a groan caught between his teeth, his hands already on your waist, dragging you closer.

This isn’t like before. It’s not like that moment you swore you wouldn’t think about again and then did, over and over. It’s all the tension you’ve swallowed for weeks snapping like overstretched wire.

You moan into his mouth, and that’s it — he’s done pretending. His grip tightens, hands sliding down over the curve of your hips before curling under your thighs.

He lifts you up and your legs wrap around him on instinct, a breathless sound leaving your throat as Jungkook turns you, your back slamming against the door. His mouth drags down your jaw, down your neck.

“Fuck,” you whisper when his teeth scrape against the delicate skin beneath your ear.

His tongue flicks over your pulse point. His mouth sucks just hard enough to make your toes curl. His grip is bruising into your thighs, breath ragged against your skin.

“You’re been driving me insane,” he mutters. Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, pupils blown wide.

You want to ruin whatever’s left of his self-control. You want to be the reason he snaps. If anyone’s going to unravel in this room, it’s going to be both of you.

Jungkook doesn’t even pretend to go for the bed. He sinks to his knees like worship comes naturally to him when it’s you he’s looking at. The door is still biting into your spine, but you barely notice it over the way his hands are already dragging your sweatpants down, knuckles brushing the bare skin of your waist. His breath is hot, lips swollen from the kind of kiss that could’ve shattered glass. Without hesitation, he yanks the sweatpants clean off your legs and flings them somewhere behind him. You’re ninety percent sure it lands on a lamp.

Maybe it’s the wine or the week you’ve had or the fact that you haven’t slept in days, but seeing him on his knees for you, hands splayed on your bare thighs, eyes hungry, does something catastrophic to your sanity. It really shouldn’t make your pulse skip like this.

His hands drag down your sides, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch he’s about to unveil. Fingers slipping just under the waistband of your underwear, knuckles brushing skin that’s already hot to the touch. He doesn’t rush. He takes his time, sliding the fabric down inch by torturous inch, watching it fall past your thighs, over your knees, pooling at your ankles.

And suddenly, you’re standing there completely exposed in nothing but your old hoodie and the heat of his gaze that burns straight through you.

His breath is uneven, jaw tense, eyes locked on your face. You try to stand still, to play it cool, but your chest is rising too fast and your hands are twitching like they don’t know where to go.

You opt to thread them into his hair instead. Your fingers tangle at the roots, nails scraping softly against his scalp, and that’s when he moves. Leaning in, lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

You suck in a sharp breath.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groans. His grip tightens around your thighs, anchoring you to the door, to him, to whatever this is rapidly becoming.

He mouths at your skin, hot, open-mouthed kisses trailing higher, higher, his tongue swiping gently, teasing, sending shivers up your spine so violently you nearly buckle.

When you look down, he’s already staring up. Like he could spend hours like this and still not get enough. Like you’re the answer to every sin he’s ever been tempted by.

“You look so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, hands skating up again, fingers curling just beneath the hem of your hoodie.

His teeth graze your skin enough to make your breath catch in your throat. You jolt instinctively, hips flinching forward.

“So pretty. So perfect,” he breathes, voice unsteady, like he means every damn word and hates how much he does. Before you can protest, before you can say anything about how close you are to the door, how thin the walls are, how anyone walking by could hear, Jungkook shushes you. “I want to take care of you.”

His hands spread you open. He licks up your slit as if he’s starving for it. That earns him a gasp from you, your head falling back against the door with a soft thud, fingers tightening in his hair so hard he groans into you.

Soft flicks of his tongue. Pressed kisses. A slow, slick circle around your clit that has your knees damn near giving out.

“Jungkook—” you whisper.

His hands grip tighter, holding your thighs open, making you take it. He looks up, eyes black with hunger, lips glossy with you, jaw set.

“Taste so fucking good,” he marvels, voice hoarse, lips hovering as his breath ghosts over your skin.

You can’t even answer. Can’t do anything but feel the drag of him licking into you like he’s rewriting your anatomy with his mouth alone.

He moans right into you, the sound vibrating straight through your core, and you cry out. “Oh my god,” you choke, nearly sliding down the door as your thighs start to tremble.

But Jungkook doesn’t let you go. He presses in deeper, groaning into your cunt like he’s home.

Jungkook is a goddamn menace. A man on a mission. On his knees like he’s praying, only you’re the altar, the sermon, the divine intervention he’s set on worshipping until you forget your own name.

His grip on your thighs tightens, fingers digging in like he’s trying to leave fingerprints behind. His palms press you wider, firmer, anchoring you against the door with nowhere to run.

His tongue is merciless, flicking over your clit, lapping you up like he’s dehydrated.

You’re past the point of composure or pride or anything that resembles logic.

“Fuck, Jungkook—” you choke out, the words punched out of your lungs in gasps.

Your head slams back against the door again as your thighs clench around his head, muscles spasming with every flick of his tongue.

He moans like he likes it when your legs shake. Like your desperation turns him on more than anything.

“That’s it,” he rasps, lips brushing against your soaked skin. “Fuck, baby. Give me more.”

He sucks on your clit, his mouth sealing tight around you like he’s trying to drink you dry.

The sound you make isn’t human. It tears from your throat, your core clenching around nothing, desperate for relief, for anything to ground you in the middle of how fucking good this feels.

You’ve never had someone so eager to fall apart between your legs. Had someone so content to stay there.

Jungkook groans again and it vibrates through your entire body like a shot to the spine. If anything, he goes harder. Two of his fingers, thick and deft, slide into you with devastating ease, like you were made to take them.

He doesn’t give you time. He just finds you already soaked and trembling and opens you up without mercy. Jungkook curls them upwards, knowing exactly where your sweet spot is, which normally would concern you that he knows your body well already, but instead you scream “Jungkook, oh my god.”

Your back arches clean off the door, fingers yanking at his hair like you’re trying to keep yourself from flying apart. His fingers pump into you at a brutal, perfect angle, dragging over that spot again and again and again.

His mouth wastes no time, already back on you, tongue flicking and sucking. “That’s it,” he pants, voice guttural, his mouth gleaming, his tongue ruthless. “You taste like fucking heaven.”

You moan out like you don’t care who hears, like you want the whole damn hallway to know. You’re too far gone to be embarrassed. You grind into his mouth like you’ve lost your mind, chasing the high he’s dragging you toward with no intention of letting up. “F-fuck, I’m gonna cum, don’t you dare stop.”

“Like I’d stop when you sound that pretty.“, he growls, “I want you to cum in my mouth.”

His fingers piston harder, his mouth sliding up and down with. You can’t take it. You can’t.

But he gives you no choice.

The orgasm hits you like whiplash. A cry tears out of your throat, your legs locking around his head, your hips jerking helplessly as you come undone on his fingers, on his mouth, on him. “Oh my, fuck, I’m cumming —“

You’re sobbing now, barely coherent. Your release gushes out of you, soaking his hand, his wrist, his lips and he moans like he’s grateful for it.

His tongue licks up every drop. His fingers move slower now, coaxing the last waves of pleasure from your twitching body. His hands never let go, one on your hip, the other buried inside you, keeping you still.

“My perfect girl,” he murmurs almost to himself, lips dragging over the tremble in your leg. “So perfect like this.”

And that’s when your knees finally give out. The second his fingers slip free, the second his mouth leaves your oversensitive skin, your body surrenders. You collapse onto the carpet and he catches you, strong arms sliding under your thighs and around your back. He eases you down to the carpet with him like you’re made of glass.

There’s sweat cooling on your neck, your pulse racing in your throat. He doesn’t dare say anything cocky or ruin it with a joke.

He’s not sure if he went too far. He almost knows he did and is waiting to see if you’ll push him away.

But you don’t. You physically can’t. Right now, in this moment, you don’t want to.

His breath is shallow, lips parted, glistening with you in the dim light. His eyes are dark, blown wide, barely human. Hunger carved into every line of his face. Like he’s weighing the options between dragging you back onto his tongue or flipping you over and fucking you from a new angle.

His hands sit idle on his thighs, slick with your release, itching to touch again. To finish what he started, even if you’re already wrecked. Even if he already knows you’d let him.

Your hands find his face, palms hot against his skin, and then your lips are on his, desperately and messy.

You kiss him like he’s oxygen. Like he’s the only way back to Earth. Like you’ve never tasted anything like yourself on someone else’s tongue and didn’t know it could make you need them more.

Jungkook groans into your mouth, and his hands fly to your waist, yanking you down into his lap like he’s been waiting for this permission.

You taste yourself on his tongue, feel how his chest heaves against yours, how his body is burning beneath you. His cock is straining, pressing into you with enough pressure to make your breath catch mid-kiss.

You just keep kissing him, tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, licking into his mouth, gasping into every moan.

“Fuck, baby…” he pants. His hands grip your thighs again, “Can’t even stand after I’m done with you.”

Your nails drag down his back, scratching through the cotton of his shirt, your hips twitching against his, legs wrapping tighter around his waist like your body’s forgotten how to let go. “Shut up,” you mutter, catching his mouth again, nipping at his lip.

You could slap him. You could kiss him harder. You opt for the second thing.

Jungkook’s hands slide lower, groping your ass and his hips roll up slightly, a soft grind that leaves your mouth parting in a broken gasp. He’s still hard. Painfully so.

But he doesn’t ask for anything, doesn’t move to unzip his jeans. He’s not making it transactional. He wraps his arms around you and breathes. The two of you lay on the carpet in a tangle of limbs and oversensitive skin and sweat, and this time, there’s no urgency. No rush to get dressed. No nervous backpedaling.

Your head drops to his shoulder, your cheek resting against the curve of his neck. He smells like you now with a hint of whatever subtle cologne still clings to his shirt.

You don’t remind him of boundaries you never actually set, don’t shove the moment back into the safe, distant box where you normally keep your feelings.

You just stay, fingers idly toying with the edge of his tattooed wrist. Breathing him in like he’s not the exact reason you’ve spent the last month losing sleep.

You’re not thinking about campaign briefs or product shots or the three urgent emails Daniel probably sent while you were pinned to a door. You’re not thinking at all.

“Feeling better?” He wonders out loud.

You dare to lift your head. “Mm. A little.”

Jungkook makes a noise of satisfaction, “So I was right.”

You scoff. “Don’t make me regret coming up here.”

His laugh is low, rumbling beneath your cheek. “Noted.”

Your fingers trace along the edge of ink on his skin like you might find answers in the lines. You tell yourself it’s still nothing. Another late-night lapse in judgment you’ll shove into the archives tomorrow.

It really doesn’t feel like nothing, though. And that scares you more than anything.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

You wake before the sun.

The room is silent, painted in that hazy, blue-gray light that only exists for a few short minutes before the world remembers it has things to do. Sleep still weighs heavy in your limbs, but your eyes are closed.

You don’t remember when he carried you to bed. There was a vague, dreamlike sensation of being lifted off the floor, of something warm pressed against your back, of fingers adjusting a pillow beneath your head.

Now you’re here, cheek pressed against a solid chest, arm draped around your waist, fingers curled loosely in the edge of a hotel sheet you definitely didn’t tuck in yourself.

For one suspended, silent moment, you don’t move or panic.

And… reality floods in like a dam breaking. Your eyes snap open.

Jungkook. Sleeping soundly beside you.

Breathing slow and even, one arm still heavy across your waist. His hair is tousled, his entire face relaxed. He looks younger like this. Less like the Jungkook who flirts just to get a rise out of you and more like someone you should not be this close to.

You never sleep over at a man’s house. Not after the first time. Not after the second.

You bolt upright like the bed’s caught fire. There’s a moment of untangling, sheets twisted around your legs, hoodie riding halfway up your torso, laptop halfway across the room. You scramble through it all, adrenaline laced with embarrassment, stomach clenching with the kind of shame that only hits after you’ve slept beside someone who shouldn’t make you feel safe.

Jungkook doesn’t move while you cause noise. He lies there, all golden skin and easy breath, completely unbothered, as if you didn’t just crawl into his mouth last night and fall asleep on his chest like some kind of walking red flag.

He looks… peaceful.

You hate how different he looks when he’s not awake enough to be cocky. Hate that for a second, you wonder what kind of man he is in the morning.

You shake off that thought like a wet coat, pull on yesterday’s sweatpants with practiced indifference, and snatch your phone off the nightstand.

You don’t glance back, or hesitate or wait for him to wake up and say something that might make you stay. You walk out of there with your laptop in one hand, your dignity dragging behind you, and your heart pounding a little too fast for your liking.

By the time you make it back to your own hotel room, your pulse has calmed down enough. You shower, get dressed, do all trivial human things that deserve your attention rather than jungkook . You bury yourself in your inbox like it might dig you out of the mess you made.

And when you finally walk onto set, coffee in one hand, tablet in the other, a perfectly tailored blazer slung over your shoulders, you’re never been more ready to pretend last night never happened. Ready for him to smirk as per usual and say something infuriating about how you’re obsessed with him. Ready for the back-and-forth, the teasing.

Except, that’s not actually what happens and your brain turns into mush.

Jungkook says nothing when you walk past or when you call out instructions. When he catches your eye, you brace for it. The smirk. The too-obvious stare that always lingers just long enough to piss you off. You wait for him to play the game — whatever little game this is.

Instead, he just nods at you so goddamn normally it makes your skin prickle.

“You look pretty today,” he says.

Simple. And then he’s vanishing far off to his team without a wink, follow-up or a trace of the man who had you trembling under his tongue last night.

Almost as if you didn’t wake up on his chest and forget, for one stupid moment, that you’ve spent your entire life keeping people exactly where they belong; at arm’s length.

You stand there, frozen mid-step, your coffee suddenly tasting like battery acid. This is worse than the incessant flirting, than the smug comments, thsn every heated, too-close, too-loud argument you’ve ever had with him.

Somehow, you’re still calling the shots but something feels off, and you can feel it in every bone of your body.

Jungkook moves quietly across the set, present but distant, on the edges of your world like smoke.

What really fucks with your head is you keep waiting for a comment to be made, some annoying little thing about how you can’t keep your eyes off him. Because at least when he’s pushing, you know what to do. At least then, the fire feels familiar.

By the time lunch break rolls around, your jaw aches from clenching, shoulders welded to your ears. You make your way to the break station, clutching your empty coffee cup.

This is fine. You are fine. This is nothing.

You roll your shoulders back and breathe deep, try to reset.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Coffee sloshes dangerously close to the rim as you jerk around, already scowling.

Daniel.

He’s standing beside you, arms crossed, eyebrows arched like he’s just been waiting to pounce. You glare at him over your shoulder. “What the fuck do you want?”

Daniel grins, completely unphased. “You tell me. You’re the one acting like you’ve got a body buried under the set.”

You roll your eyes and force your voice flat. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The words leave your mouth quickly, in a way that’s soaked in a guilt you haven’t even admitted to yourself yet.

Daniel doesn’t buy it. He hums under his breath, gaze drifting casually across the studio until it lands on Jungkook.

Standing with the creative team, listening intently, nodding along like he’s never had his mouth on you. Like he didn’t pin you to a door and make you forget your own name. Like he didn’t let you fall asleep wrapped around him like it was easy.

And Daniel, that sharp-eyed little fucker, catches it immediately. A smile spreads across his features slowly, “You and Jungkook.”

That’s all he says.

Your hand slips. Coffee cup flies out of your palm. It falls to the floor with a crash, loud and sharp, echoing off the walls like a warning shot. Hot liquid splashes across your shoes, soaking into the hem of your pants. You stare at it, stunned, like your body forgot how to move.

Daniel blinks. “Okay…”

You’re already clenching your jaw, chest rising and falling way too fast.

Daniel tilts his head like he’s looking at a puzzle piece that just clicked into place. “I was kidding, but —”

“Shut up.”

He lifts his hands in surrender, but the smirk in his eyes is brutal.

You inhale through your nose and manage to grind out, “I need to change.”

And before Daniel can say another word, you walk away. Straight to the bathroom. Straight away from the fact that Jungkook has completely thrown you off your axis.

You have no idea how to fix it.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

taglist ; @lovingkoalaface @maybetheproblemisme @mimi1097 @mar-lo-pap @mysjammy @yooniepot @tinytan-gerine @ashslight @sky-23s-world @myzzysstuff @elinaki92 @7fever @munchkin-kitty7-blog @uarmygguk @jjkluver7 @coletaehyung @jkxlvrr @amarawayne @kooslilhoe @bangchanwantsmesobad @kpopslur @senaqsstuff @sugakookies77 @tteokbokibyjk @emmie2308 @neurospicynugget @prxdajeon @majesticjung-97 @jksusawife @rkivesarchive @hyunjinswifetingzz @bjoriis @nan4rf @parkinglot-nights @travelgurrl @softhaes @bexxs @magicalnachocreator @wisebouquetbarbarian @futuristicenemychaos

[styxwanderer]

Hey you can ignore this if you don’t want to answer that. This is an idea to a reaction for the Twst cast to Yuu/Reader being mad at Crowley.

But IMAGINE Yuu/Reader getting told by Crowley that they can’t actually return to their own world because either it wasn’t possible to begin with or had some kind of time limit to which they could return home. And what if Crowley knew for a long time and just didn’t tell Yuu for whatever reason. Now they are so mad and want to commit arson.

I, at least, would ask Ortho, Epel or Floyd to help me empty out Crowleys office and pile it up outside making a big bonfire. (I wold make copies of all his Documents, (I’m not that cruel) I would just hide them to see the look on his face) I would also add things like magnesium, sulfate and other tings to make pretty colored flames.

I love your writing style and I hope you could write your ideas about this.

NRC Tales: No Way Home |

〖Twisted wonderland〗

Dear Neufra darling, I love that brain of yours. i want to kiss it! Sorry it took a while, my brain just kept on generating new ideas for this prompt. I hope you enjoy this fic.

•´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•♪♫•¨•.¸¸❤¸¸.•¨•♫♪ •´¨*•.¸¸.•*´¨•.¸¸.•

“HOW COULD YOU?!” You screamed at the face of the old crow. All respect and calm demeanor to the side. 

“N-Now now..” Crowley was taken aback at your outburst. He  would have never expected these reaction coming from you, the usually calm and nice you. Yet here you are, vein threatened to burst out of your skin.

Why had this happened? 

It is simple.. 

You had discovered that this bastard of a headmage of yours could’ve actually send you back home a month ago, but since he missed the exact timing and all, he decided to cover up his mistake hoping no one would noticed. 

You went to report the headmaster of the progress you made and clues you have regarding a passage for you to went back, yet the crow was not in his office. 

Then you discovered the letter and a piece of paper explaining how the passage mirror works in regard to traveling through dimensions. The next possible time for a dimension travel is approximately 1000 year after the last one. This enough had make your heart clenched. You noticed the date written for the next possible time for dimension travel is a month ago.

Everything was blank for you, “no.. its cant be.. no no no..” 1000 year?! Is this a joke? Human can’t even live past 200. You ears ring as you have difficulty to breathe air. 

Admist of your panic the door turn revealing Dire Crowley. 

“Oh! You surprised me! You should’ve waited outside if i am not in the office .. well? Are you alright?.”

“You… am i alright?” You scoffed. As it clicked to you, the paper was in crowley desk, He knew, he knew but choses not to tell you anything, he knew but chose to pretend and leave you with your meaningless tedious investigation.

“What’s the matter?” 

“How could you…”

“Sorry?”

“HOW COULD YOU!!” You screamed pointing at the paper, you felt blood rushing up your head as tears build up your eyes, you can never see your parents again. Your siblings, your beloved pet, your friends. ‘I am now truly as good as dead to them.’ 

“A—ah.. now.. now..” 

“NOW WHAT?! I can’t.. i can never see my family… why? I can’t… HOW COULD YOU!” myriad of emotions blast through your nerves, but most of all the pain in your heart. You can’t breathe. If you can’t breathe then might as well scream. 

“YOU KNEW. YOU KNEW ABOUT THE DATE! WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME? Why?! “ you could feel your salty tears rushing down your face.

“I am sorry.. but..” Crowley was taken aback by your outburst. Sure he felt guilty but at the same time, he couldn’t reverse time. 

“It was in your desk.. it was in your desk all along. The solution.” You vision has now blurred its view. You tried to wipe it but it kept flowing.

“I am sorry.. there is nothing i could do.. on the plus side, you have a new family now in twisted wonderland you see, new friends too, so don’t feel so disheartened.”

You could not believe your ears. You lift your face from your hand as you stare at his smiling face.

I want to punch that.

“ARGHHHHHH” You grab the nearest lamp stand as you pulled it off the switch as you lunged to this bastard. 

“AAAAAA!!” The crow screamed

‘BOOM!’

‘Crashhh!’

Your body was hurled into the desk by an explosion, landing you to the inside of the desk. Everything ache, you felt that you might have cracked or broken a bone, but you are too numb to notice.

“Headmage!” The door slammed open as the red haired man walked in as he rushed towards Crowley side.

“What happened here? We heard shouting.” The man in a fancy business suit follow in tow.

“Somebody finally have enough of your shit huh old man.” The lion werebeast too walked in.

“Now who would’ve done that?!” The white hair man 

“No matter we need to dispose such unruly person, tch.. it’s always violence first.” The actor draw his Grimoire wand. 

“Hii.. is this an assassination attempt? That’s scary.” A flying tablet walked in.

“Whatever it is, such matters could be solved instantly.” The man with two black horned too entered.  It is rare for Malleus to be present the dormleader meeting, this time Lilia had kept his eyes glued and tell him to go to the meeting hence the rare occurrence. 

They all have just finished their discussion in the dormleader meeting and were heading back to their respective dorm before hearing a loud shout and noises coming from the office. They decide its best to investigate. 

In a glimpse riddled saw somebody was about to attack the headmage and hence the explosion spell. 

The lightbulb of the lamp shade has shattered upon impact. Some of the shard had managed to pierce your hand. But no matter , you could not feel the penetrating shards nor the flowing blood. You were driven by rage, rendering you senseless of others. You did not even noticed who had entered the office. All you want to do is to get back at Crowley the way you know to do. You can’t do magic, but you sure can cause physical harm. 

A loud slam brought the dormwarden attemtion to you. You whom had felt your shoulder dislocated, decided that it is an obstacle, hence you slam your shoulder back in place by slamming it to the desk. You felt no pain, just a hollowing despair.

“A monster…?”

“No thats..”

“Y/n!!!”

The housewarden could only gawk at the sight of your furrowed eyebrow, vein popping out on your side. A clear fury drenched your face.

“no no no no….DONT GET IN MY WAY” an anguished cry came from your mouth as you eerily stood up and charged towards the headmage. Your bloody hand leaving trails as you shove Kalim and Vil away so you could get to the headmage. 

‘Y/n?!!’ 

Just as you were about to get a hit of that masked bastard you felt two strong arms holding you under the elbow, dragging you away from Crowley.

“Unhand me! I SAY UNHAND ME!” You struggle through Leona’s grip, kicking both your legs. You are manic.

“Eugh, calm down! Calm down, Y/N!” Leona whom had managed to snapped out of his shock tried to reason as he struggled to keep you in his hold.

“NO!! Please!! LET ME GO! Let me go!” Your eyes starts to blur once more, this time you can’t wipe the tears away, you don’t bother to do so, you had one goal to achieve. Tears are pouring freely from your manic eyes, eyebrows scrunched up marring your face. There is blood coming out one side of your face from the explosion. You are bruised all over, your clothes ripped and untidy, your hair a chaotic mess. 

Your appearance brought all of them to agape.  

Malleus upon snapping out rush to your side, helping leona to contain you.

“Y/n, please calm down.”

“Erkh, oi stop gawking start helping.” Leona snapped 

“You are bleeding!” Vil run to clasp your hand that hold the lamp shade tightly. 

“Let go.. your hand is injured.” He tried to pry it off your hand but you hold still. 

Your bloodshot eyes still focused on Crowley as you try to shake these obstacles. 

Kalim and Idia are staring blank to afraid to move. The gentle sweet you all gone replaced by your rage.

“Y/n! Im.. im so.. in sorry..im sorry” riddle stammered, he was ridden with guilt for casting the explosion that caused your injury, he hurt his precious person. 

“Whatever the fuck did  you do to rouse this reaction?” Azul turned to Crowley. Unable to stand the sight of your despair. 

“Uhmm..” crowley hated the attention that was instantly directed to him. 

“TELL THEM WHAT YOU DID! TELL THEM!! You.. YOU BASTARD!” You shouted still in their grasp unable to move further.

“I might have missedthetimelimittosendthembackhome. And the next possible date for it to happened again is 1000 year after last month Its not my fault—“ 

“FUCKKK YOUU!” With a new found power you try to pry those latching to you.

“Oii!” You manage to stagger Leona as he lost his grip, letting you slip. as much as Leona think you deserves to beat the crow to pulp he noticed your injured state, not wanting to worsen your condition he held on.

“Stop it! Stop it y/n. You will injure yourself.” Kalim rushed to hug you on your waist allowing Leona to keep his grip on you. 

“How could you missed the date for such important event?!” Riddle shouted to the headmage.

“And you don’t think to tell them!” Azul turned to shout.

“MOVE! AAAAARGHHH!!”  Frustrated by your inability to move you wailed.

If the housewarden were to be asked years after of the events that happened today they will always remember your anguish filled scream. Its deafening yet they could only feel their hearts cracking, as if they were hit by a hammer that let the pain vibrates through their whole body. 

It lasted not only for 5 second, you were screamed continuously for how ever long it takes for your lungs to be a depleted balloon. It is relatively a short time, but it felt like hours for the housewarden. At the end of your screamed you slumped down as those surrounding you lowered you to the ground slowly, vil finally taking the lamp shade out from your grip. 

“I… im… im never going to see them again.. im never going to see my family again… im never ..” you are interrupted by a sob before fully bursting into tears. Placing both your hand to your face. 

You felt yourself being wrapped in an embrace of the lion and a leathered hand patting your head. Kalim still holding you from the waist was moved to tears too. 

“Its not fairrr..” you squeek between sobs.

“ How could you be so irresponsible?” Vil shouted towards crowley.

“God help me im about to smash this lamp shade to your head instead!” Vil shouted

“Now now c-calm down.. lets talk about this.”

“What is there to talk about? Look at the pain you have caused!” Azul glared

“This is totally unacceptable! How could you?”

Riddle felt his head starting to colour red.

“This is enough, you have proven to me that you do not deserve to stand by them, now perish !” Malleus lift his hand up from your head as he walked towards  crowley, he himself felt enraged for what he did to you.

“Wa.. Wait wait wait!” Crowley stepped back, he sure wasn’t expecting the dormwarden to gang up on him, more the king of briar to be involved.

Malleus got close and closer as he clasp his hand on his neck.

“Eekh.”

“What is going on here.” The red robe man walked in inspecting the office, he was followed by the dog loving professor who too had been alerted by a heart wrenching scream. Behind both of them the big gym teacher too, follow them inside. 

The teachers sure wasn’t expecting the headmage to be choked by one of the student more over Malleus, they too wasn’t expecting the headmage to be surrounded by the other housewarden who had looked enraged. 

“what is the meaning of this” crewel demanded. 

Just as the teacher rushed in, the door opened for another trio.

“MYEH! What’s all the noises!” Grim rushed inside of the room

“We heard a commotion. Is everybody alright?”The spade boy rushed in with the heart.

The three of them were in their way to pick you up, since they were informed that you are going to report to crowley about the first year group hard-found investigation. They were planning to walk you back to the ramshackle dorm and have a midnight hang out with you and the others. 

Upon seeing the sight of malleus choking the headmage and the wrecked office they froze.

“Uwah.. what’s will all these mess..” ace surveyed the room. 

Crewel too observed the room before his eyes trails to another group in the room, he found you bruised, bleeding and sobbing into your hand as leona hugged you protectively  from behind and kalim, who is also crying, apologizing to you as in condolences, hugging your waist. 

“Crowley what did you do to my pup?” He spits. He won’t take shit from the man, looking at how broken you are not to mention the scream. He could feel the despair from your form. 

“I demand answer now!” Trein who had think of you as a stepchild, steps ignore the state of crowley who was still in the hold of Malleus. 

“I, i accidentally well.. miss the date in which the is the only possible date to open a transport to another dimension and the next date would be 1000 years from last month.” 

“And how are they in a ragged state?”

“Uhm.. that is my fault i thought the headmage was being attacked by an stranger so i cast an explosion spell resulting them to be thrown to the desk and landed behind. I am sorry.. im sorry y/n” riddle face was painted with guilt.

The silence given by the teachers is foreboding.

Crewel pull out his phone as he dial a number. “Hello I’d like to report a child neglect. Yes from NRC.”

“Wait wait wait! Please! Its a simple mistake, we living being made mistake.” 

“Not as crucial as this, this is just pure idiocy, that comes from me who doesn’t really understand much.” Vargas said.

“This is truly despicable.” Trein shouted

“Thats so fucked up!” Ace shouted

“No shit!” Deuce continues. 

“I knew we should never trust this bastard!” Grim snarled. Grim then rushed closer to where you slumped. Concern painted his face. “Henchmen…. are you alright.” 

The commotion starts again as the teachers too started to bash the neglectful headmage.

“… What.. what's the point..” you whispered a sob , slowly you put down your bruised and bleeding hand.

“What?” Kalim asked between sobs.

“What’s the point of living… everything… everything that i do is meaningless…” as the last word spout from your mouth your eyes rolled to the back, with your rage calmed into despair the extend of your injuries soon begun to catch up on its effects resulting your consciousness to fade. Its most likely from when you hit your head on the desk and then the floor resulting a blood injury on the side of your head.

“O-Oi… wake up. Y/N WAKE UP!” Leona stern voice laced with concern has alerted 

“Y/N! Y/NN!!” Kalim and grim yelled trying to wake you up. 

All attention turned to your limped body as they rushed towards your side. Crowley being dropped to the ground with a loud thud.

“Move movee!” Riddle shoved through the crowd.

“Leona lay her down and slightly elevate their head. Kalim let go.” Riddle shouted.

The sobbing Kalim of course refused to let you go, he is concerned for his dearest friend. Vargas had to pry Kalim off your waist as he clung to you. Leona comply because he know better.

Riddle begun a quick check up on your breathing. 

“They are not breathing!!” Riddle cried

“Move away give them space” Crewel pushed back the crowd as they all step back. 

Riddle then begun to do CPR on you.

The others watched with anxiety running course their veins. Dread filled their system as they thought of the worst possible outcome. After a while riddle managed to get you to breathe. Even if its faint at least you are breathing. With leona pressing on the wound in your head to stop the bleeding.

“We need to bring her to the infirmary hurry!” Riddle yelled.

Leona being the most athletic picked you up in an ease and rushed towards the infirmary. The others followed agreeing that there is a more precedented matter at hand and decide to deal with crowley after the matter is settled. 

Once they have arrived to the infirmary the nurse rushed towards you, ripping you away from leona’s arm asking them all to wait outside as they perform their knowledge to treat you. 

Leona stared at his bloody hand, it is not often that dread filled his guts, usually its a bitter annoyance, yet not all he could feel is anxiety amd dread. 

The rest was no better, they all thought of what they could’ve done to prevent this, what they regretted. None of them are prone to wishing, since a wish are for children. But now they found themselves wishing that all of this is a nightmare. Wishing that this would be over soon. Wishing for you to just open your eyes.  begging and praying for you to be alright, and for the you whom would embrace them in a warm hug with a gentle smile on your face to return not the lifeless ghastly you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Ignihyde dorm,

For once idia wished he is present in that office instead of observing from the comfort of his room. His room felt chilly, shivers run down his spine, he was left speechless, so was ortho, who had been brought to attention by the commotion could be heard from idia’s monitor just as he was about leave to the ramshackle dorm gulped.

“Brother… what should we do?”

“I.. I dont know ortho..but we can’t leave them like this.”

Idia rushed as he and his brother rushed to the infirmary.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

in the infirmary,

The nurse finally were able to give you proper care as they patch you up, all that rest was for you to wake up.

Those do not settle well for any of the teacher nor the housewarden and your precious trio. They decided to keep you take turns to keep you company. Not knowing when you will wake up. 

The first is grim since he insisted so hard and refuse any other attempts to debate him. This meant of course that ace and deuce too to insist. And hence they got the first 5 hour to company their injured friend. Ortho insisted to stay with the group as well. Saying he is able to detect vital signs as the hours near the time of your collapse a crucial hour. So he wanted to check in you. 

Second goes to Kalim who is persistent about being any help to you what so ever. Kalim felt hopeless and useless. He wished he could’ve done something for you. And he blame himself for not being able to prevent this event. 

The third is Idia who had come in a rush with ortho, he volunteered to everyone surprise.

The fourth goes to Malleus, whom had  insisted since “he could stay up late than any other”. 

The fifth goes to vil whom had insist that since it would be in the break of dawn he is the most eligible guy for this because he woke up early. 

Sixth goes to Leona who snapped out of his trance.

Seventh to Azul, who was looking pale as if a shark was tailing him from the dark depths, he felt powerless like he was when he was a kid. And he loathe that. 

And last but not least to riddle. Whom still feels guilty for casting the explosion spell.

The days in which you are laid unconscious were tense and restless. An eerie silence has swept NRC. The dormwardens who were not on their shift returned to their dorm bringing the news to those who knew you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Heartslabyul dorm,

When Riddle was rigid, he was devastated of the fact that he himself was the reason of your injury. He was greeted by trey and carter who upon noticing his face was concerned amd ask him what happened. 

When Riddle finished with the news, both thought that riddle was playing jokes at them, it is after they noticed Riddle tearing up that they realized how dire the situation was. The both of them are shocked to find that their friend bawling from guilt.

Trey and Carter calmed Riddle down and talked him out of his guilt, it truly wasn’t Riddle’s fault. 

The two of course wanted to give the crow a piece of their mind. Carter was about to make a video cancelling the headmage in his magicam (he was stopped by Riddle, even though he himself wanted Carter to post it.).  

Trey hastily walked to the kitchen to bake a lot of baked goods for their injured friends, having nothing to do Riddle and Carter helped Trey gladly, and so the three of them spent all might in the kitchen making fantastic delicious food for you. but of course they can’t forget a tart for the crow, a tart that shall be name ‘the pest killer’. Carter and Riddle too gladly help with his ill intent baking. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Savannaclaw dorm,

Upon noticing the smell of blood on their housewarden who looked grimmer than he usually was Ruggie and Jack rushed for answers. 

“Eugh so noisy…” 

With a sigh Leona begun the story, recalling the previous incident. 

Jack rushed to the infirmary, disregarding Leona’s attempts to stop him, leona could only sigh and let Jack be. 

Ruggie was in shell shock, he cannot believe the headmage! Just what kind of headmage neglect his duty?! He pity you, he wanted to go along with jack but he decided its best to do so later. Now he will plan the demise of a crow with the lion. That’s what he gets for messing with their pack.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Octavinelle dorm,

Azul was staggering back into his dorm, noticing the arrival of their friends Jade and Floyd. Noticing the pale they tease their friends but in actuality they are curious and concerned about the thing that made their friend so disheartened. Azul share the story, he felt himself going back to his overblot personality. 

Jade and floyd were silent, their face grim, their eyes were flashing dangerously. They looked to each other, and then a eerie smirk painted their face, 

“we can’t let that slide can we.” Said jade.

“We are going to give this crow the tightest squeeze ever!” Said floyd.

“Yes.. maybe a bot of a waterboarding action would make the crow realized that he fucked up.” Azul joined in.

But of course they find your well-being to be the outmost importance, so they will busy themselves watching over you until you wake up.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Scarabia dorm,

Jamil was surprised to find his ‘friend’ come back to Scarabia a crying mess, when Kalim notices Jamil water begun to pour once more from his eyes as he rushed to hug his friend. 

“What happened?” Jamil sigh asked patting Kalim back. He was no surprise of Kalim

Burst of tears, his childhood friend are prone to waterworks since he wear his feelings by the sleeve. It is the reason that shocked him. 

‘That damn bird brain!’ He hissed internally. Jamil wanted to go to you directly, but Kalim cling to him making him stuck. 

They did get their turn on the shift and so the snake waited patiently. He decided to cook a recipe from his mother for when he was sick hoping that would help you with recovery even if you. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Pomefiore dorm,

“Why so grim Roi du poisson?” Rook questioned, noticing the slight slump in his overall perfect posture as vil walked back to his dorm. 

“Of course i should’ve expected from your ever so vigilant eyes…” vil begun to tell the tragic tale of yours. 

The french boy could feel his smile dropped 

“oh what a tragedy. How the most beautiful rose are the most prone to be picked first. They would wilt in the dirty hand of such a scum. Such a greedy hand doesn’t deserve to hold such pretty flower on their blooming days.” 

His face was slowly casted with the shadow of his bangs. As malice run course his vein. He was not a fan of violence but to protect such a rose he wouldn’t mind to get his hand dirtied on. 

He decided to listened when vil started planning the demise of the dirty crow. He supported Vil cruel method to the fullest. 

Epel who was eavesdropping on the conversation rushed to the hospital wing of NRC, he wanted to this is a mere talk, but he knew Vil would never fuss himself over meaningless gossip. He still wished it was not real and you are fine and awake and will greet him with a smile on your face. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Ignihyde dorm,

Upon returning to his room Idia slumped in defeat, he is useless powerless once more, 

“I can’t… I can’t lose another person..” 

He begun to bury himself in work, he wanted to make sure you recovered well and Crowley to get what is coming to him. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

In Diasomnia dorm,

The briar king arrival was greeted by his vice leader and his two peers, but to him it was just his family greeting him back.

“Waka-sama! Thank you for your hard work!” The booming voice snapped Malleus put of his rage trance. He didn’t even notice the ice trail he was living behind. 

“Oh uh… yea.” Malleus answered 

“Its.. cold isn’t.” The silver haired boy softly spoke. 

“Malleus is thought i thought you to better control of your emotion. Look at the ice trail.” The bat fae man scolds.

“Ah i did that. Im sorry.” With a snap of his finger the trail was gone. But now he was faced with the concerned faces of his family. 

“Malleus what exactly happened..”

“I guess i need to tell you this as well.” Malleus sigh in defeat as he share the tale of how Crowley absolutely messed up your mental capacity.

“I should’ve crush his throat when i got the chance.” 

The room seemed to dimmed. When the shock was broken Lilia was cursing the damn crow. Silver who was angry stayed eerily quiet. ‘Unfair’ he thought. ‘Thats unfair!’ He felt dreadful sorrow for you enough to filled hos eyes with tears. After all that you done for them, they could not help you. 

Sebek who was in a silent trance excused himself in a hurry. His pale face is apparent. ‘No you have to wake up… i still have some stuff i haven’t get to say to you’ he thought as he rushed out of his form into the infirmary. He may sound rude or strict but he do truly cares about you and his friend. He regretted not being frontal about his feelings. 

The rest three of them could only do what villains do best. Planning to absolutely crush the crow with a wretched smile on their face. Even silver was in on the plan, without the wretched stained smile of course, he believe just was needed for you, he will become your knight in shining armour. Afterall, the damned bird had attacked their family, and there is a dire consequence to pay. 

All of them regretted that they couldn’t protect your from this event, they wished they were aware of what Crowley did. This includes the other teacher who wished they to participate in the investigation to find your way back home so that they could at least be aware of Crowley and his neglectful behaviour. If only they are apart of the investigation, they would be able to prevent this event from going. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The infirmary was cold and quiet. Ace, deuce and Grim all looked sullen. Grim was teary, crying for you to wake up soon. Deuce was praying for you to get better, to open your eyes at the very least. 

Ortho was observing you diligently monitoring your vitals and looking for a sign in case your symptoms worsened. Though that doesn’t mean he was not haunted by the event. 

Ace was deep in his thoughts how he regretted not coming with you to the headmage office.

All of them regretted not being with you in the office. The image of your hollow dull eyes was imprinted in their memory. Your scream ringed in their ears. A shadow casted the infirmary.  

First was jack who came in,

He was taken a back by the sight of your limped body, the visible bandaged wrist and arm a sore to his eyes. He felt rage for whoever made you like this. 

Epel was next, 

He looked as surprised as as jack muttering “its a lie.. its a lie no way..” before going mad himself  he wanted to cuss and find Crowley right then and there, but he stop himself for the same of you. 

The last to come was Sebek, 

Who had come with a teary eye. Seeing you so broken, fragile like glass he turned away to wipe the flowing tears. How sad your fate were. He find himself mad to the perpetrator. ‘How dare they.’

They all wished to have been there to inform the investigation  they all did to help you to go back home. They wish they are in the office comforting you rather than leaving you alone to discover such secrets. And to be there to prevent you from spiraling into a despair manic breakdown. 

When their turn is up, they exchange their shifts, the sneaky first year get to company you twice since they insisted to go with their perspective housewarden when it is their shift.

 Grim was there all the way, and if he wasn’t, it meant that he was dragged away from your bed by just anybody to get himself fixed and have a proper meal. 

All of them begged for the little miracle they could have. They know miracle does not happened at all for the likes of them, but this time, just this once they wishes and pray to the great sevens to bring you back, to make you open your eyes. 

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your eyes could finally flutter on the dawn of the fourth day since the incident. You noticed that the sky was still dark. You tried to look around but a sharp pain ring your head causing you to winched. 

“Mon cheríe!” The hunter, whose eyes were fixed on you relaxed as he rushed towards your side. 

“Thank heaven! Please lay still.. you don’t want to further the damage in your head.” Vil sternly reprimand, he was sitting on the other side with a book in his hand.

“Y/n! Y/n!!!” You are awake!!!”  You see feel a soft furry friend rushed to hug you from your bedside. 

“Thank heavens!! Hey grim! Give em sum space would’ya!” The purple haired boy half shouted, 

They felt a part of their anxiety evaporating from them. But that is not enough

“Hnn.. what.. happened?” 

“…..”

“You…” vile stammered

“Y/n!! What's my name?”

“Epel, of course your name is epel..” you croak, your throat dry. 

The three people plus direbeast in the room sigh a heavy breathe, your memory is intact. 

“Here drink some water. He gently prop your head with his hand as he gently tip the glads of water into your parched mouth. 

Licking your dry lips you felt yourself weakly placed back to the bed.

“I.. i passed out…”

“Yess.. you have a concussion from the explosion.” Vil explained.

“The explosion…..” you muttered.

“I… i can’t go back… i can’t.. my family… i .. i can’t see them anymore.” You sobbed . Large bulb of tears spill from your eyes as quickly as it had pooled. 

The room was blurred by your tears and your sobs filled the room. 

“.. in sorry..” you hurriedly bring your hand to cover your face. You felt embarrassed to cry like this but you can’t help the tears that is pouring. 

“No stop that.. it’s not your fault mon cheri.”

He brought your hand back to the bed. Rook took a handkerchief from his pocket as he wipe your tears gently and carefully. Rook doesn’t find it disgraceful to see you in tears, in fact he thought your eyes looked like a jewel. 

He wished to comfort you very much, to take away the pain from you, but all he could do now was simply wipe your tears. 

Grim was silent. He could only lay his head on your chest as he try to comfort you with his padded paw. 

In all honesty Vil and Epel too doesn’t find you disgusting or messy for crying, rather they want you to cry on their shoulder, to comfort you the best they could. Same as Rook, they wished to wipe that tears away from you.

“Whatda’ya mean?! If its anybody fault its that damned bird!” Epel half screamed in his thich accent.

“YES YES! If i meet that crow! I’ll bite em for you!” Grim enthusiastically said.

“Epel is right! Never apologize to something that is not your fault!” Vil sternly advice. 

“.. thank you.. guys..” You try to suppress your hiccup and sob 

You were driven back to sleep because of your little breakdown much to the dismay of your friends. Your body and mental was too exhausted after the sobbing mess. 

They were all relieved that there doesn’t seem to be a sign of your physical damage to worsened but they could not bring them to be happy because you are so broken mentally. The little breakdown you have made a painful sting in their heart. 

“Rook inform the others that y/n is awake.” Vil ordered.

“Yes, Roi du poisson.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

The others soon rushed to the hospital wing upon hearing the news. Their excitement was crushed to see your sleeping red tear stained face. 

“Hey, i thought you say she was awake?” Floyd lowly muttered, irritated.

“she fell back asleep.” Vil said

“Don’t mean with me?!” Leona growled 

“And who asked you to urgently come to infirmary?”

“Y/n really woke up!” Grim argued

“Yes! And she fell back to sleep from.. crying.” Epel continued.

A commotion starts, They were being loud, and accidentally waking you up. 

“Uhmnn…” 

“Oh she really is awake!” 

“Hey! Great now you woke her up!”

You were rubbing your eyes. As you begun to slowly sit up ignoring Vil insistent to get you to laugh down. 

“At least lay here,” he grab another pillow from a nearby empty bed and he prop them up to make a comfortable sitting cushion.

“Thank you, vil.” You smiled. 

“uhm.. i made everyone worry.. im sorry.” You attempted to bow, you meant to only hurt crowley but here you are bai g a burden to everyone. 

Everyone protested. Vil grabbed unto you shoulder and prop the back to the pillow stack.

“What did i just tell you about apologizing for a mistake that isn’t yours?”

“Ah but i did made a mistake.. i become a burde-“

“Don’t finish that word! You are everything but a burden! And it was me who cast that blasted explosion spell, i caused your injury, i am very sorry you/n” Riddle felt shame as bow for forgiveness to you.

“After all you have done for us! It is us who could do nothing to help you. We are the one who should be sorry.” Lilia affirmed.

“ you have always been here for us, yet now…” Ace uncharacteristically said.

“We are sorry..” Kalim who was bought to tears again and were being held by Jamil as to not rush as hug you.

“No.. no.. please, Riddle i don’t blame you at all everybody in the bright mind would do that, and all of you are never a burden to me.” 

“Then don’t ever say you are a burden ok” silver spoke.

“Yes don’t you dare utter such blasphemy to your name!” Sebek yelled

“If its anyone fault! Its that damn birdbrain, don’t worry shrimpy I’ll give him a hugee squeeze for you~”

“Yes a punishment is at due.” Jade joined in.

“With no charge of cousse don’t worry yourself!” Azul smirked.

“Now here you muct be hungry, i made you my mothers recipe.” Jamil brought out a warm stew for you to eat.

“Yes! Jamil food always healed me when im sick!” 

“Ah yeah! After that you could have all the cake, tart, cupcakes, scones you’d like!” Trey add. Showcasing the whole baked goods he mentioned. Some of them are made in a cute animal shape.

“The heartslabyul bois made them with love~” Carter giggled.

“ whoa they bought the whole bakery to the infirmary!” Ruggie gawked

“Heh such a beloved spoiled herbivore you are.” Leona mused.

“You need to eat well y/n, for recovery!” Jack reminded.

“Yes that is true! A high nourishing food is good for a speedy recovery!” Ortho beamed. 

“Ah ok.. you went to pick the spoon up as the stew was placed in front of you, only to feel a the sun-kissed skin gently slap

It away.

“Don’t be ridiculous.” He scolded. Jamil then picked up the spoon and scoop the stewing stew from the bowl, then he blow on them gently before moving it close to your mouth.

“Eh…” you blushed upon realizing what happened.

“C’mon the stew is spilling.”

“Ah ok..” you stammered. You hesitantly open your mouth allowing Jamil to feed you.

You felt quite embarrassed as you chew away the meat in your stew. 

“Oi…” 

“Why does it have to be you who feed them?” Ace grumbled.

“Because he made them.. don’t worry we will get out turn soon” deuce grinned.

“We should’ve bring them food too! Don’t worry next time i will cook a delicious meal for you!” Lilia announced.

“Oh uhm.. hahahha no.. i dont want to burden you hahaha.” You panicked.

The rest of them reminiscence the day they get to eat lilia food, the lot of them turned green.

You glanced at Tsunataron, Sebek, and Silver for help.

“Ah uh don’t worry we will help too!” Sebek boomed.

“Yes we would be the outmost help!” Silver joined.

“Yes we will keep a close watch!” Malleus continues.

“Hahaha thank you guys” you giggled.

“I too have a mushroom soup in mind! They are very nutritious you see!” Jade beamed as he always does when he talk about his mushrooms.

“Eughh stopp! Dont feed just mushroom to little shrimpy! They might get stomach pain!” Floyd complained 

“I agree with floyd, though the best of monstro longue food is at due!” Azul promised.

“I too have a recovery recipe for you, you will be healed in no time!” Vil said

“Oh! The great roí du poisson cooking for you, how luck must you be mon trickster.” 

“ big brother and i could come up with aomet too right, big brother!”

“Yes leave it to big… maybe not food hahaha.” 

Idia stammered at the end

The lot of them seeing this begun to have an idea to bring you food in the idea to get to feed you. Leona despite not saying anything brought you meat to eat, he said meat is very important for recovery. It was a very delicious meat, 

“Of course i bought them from only the best restaurant.” Leona smirked. 

…Rich guy.

Ruggie brought you his grandma ultimate recipe.

Idia unable to cook decided he will just made you a gaming console for when you are bored. You thanked him. He put a multiplayer game and other game too so the three of you could play together.

Occasionally the faculty member come to visit, 

Crewel would come bringing a potion for your health, he did scolded you for letting your anger control you. But at the same time, he understands why. Mainly he was concerned for his child pup

Trein would check up on you occasionally sneakily giving you treats, anything for his ehem favorite adopted grandchild student. 

Vargas patted you on the back trying to console you and occasionally visit you too, he noticed how small you look and can’t to want to protect you. “Next time there is any problem just call daddy! And i will be there in an instant!” He boomed with his white shining teeth. He really could an actor in a toothpaste commercial.

Sam was filled in on what’s happening after crewel came in eyebrow burrowed, smelling of tabacco and demanding the finest bottle of wine. He felt pity for his favorite child costumer. He visited you bringing you trinkets and candies from all around the island, he said its free of charge and that not to mind it since he was giving the candies away anyway, though you suspect he lied about that part. He often patt your head as you pop the snack or candy he brought for you.

The first year would visit you for hours after class it seemed like it has become their hang out place. Right after school ended, they rushed to go to the infirmary. They bring snacks with them and of course the famous Felmer apple juice. They would bring today's notes to you and do homework together, play game together, or any other stuff to cheer you up. 

The lot of them made you feel better though you are still saddened about not being able to see your family, you have to agree with Crowley that the family you have in NRC is heavenly for you.  

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Finally come the day you are discharged. 

The dorm planned a party for your recovery of course with the permission of the teachers. They bring all sorts of food and drinks. You enjoyed everything, their laughter, their pranks, the way they joked, the way they care for you and one another. Everything made the hollow in your heart to fill up.

“Now are we ready for the main event!” Azul announced.

“Eh main event?.. what is that.. i was not aware..” you whispered to grim.

“Hehehe! Just wait and see henchman!”

“We sure are!” They cheered, their eyes were glinted with mischief and wickedness.

“Introducing the flaming pest!” Lilia cheered as he flew above and lifted the sheet covering the stand.

It was Crowley tied to a wooden pole as stack of hay was stuffed in his surrounding. 

“What.. what!! HEY!! Released me this instant!!”  He screamed. 

“Whats the meaning of this! I expect better from you housewarden!! Crewel! Trein! Vargas! Sam! Save me!!”

He was meet with a smirk. Crewel raised the wine glass to his mouth as he sip the succulent wine. “ may you rest in pieces.” The two other laughed. Trein just smirked silently and sip his wine ready to watch the beautiful flaming pyre. 

“NOOOOO!!!” 

All of them jeered and laughed. You could only find your self in a state of shock amazed of house brilliant and caring your friends are, you are brought to tears.

“Ah y/n is crying!”

“Why are you crying dearie.”

“It must’ve because of that bird!” 

“I DID.. Nothing .. at least now.” Crowley defended himself.

“No it’s not it, it’s just.. I'm just touch at how caring and lovely you are.” You are meet with couple embrace from the first year group whom had stayed by your side. 

“What a heartfelt sight you truly have a gift to bring people together. BUT NOT THE RIGHT TIME NOR THE RIGHT CAUSE! C’mon i am Sorry alright!! Pleasee!” 

“Thank us later once the show has begun, now be amazed!” Jade beamed from your behind holding your shoulder as he lifted your chin up to see the stage. 

“Alright!” 

“Pull the lever!” Ruggie howled.

‘Click!’ 

“No nooo!!” Crowley shouted, he was so very sure he was going to die burning to the death, yet no fire ball come through. A bunch of hay fall through from nowhere, a summoning spell.

Then followed with tons of bags, robes, and coat. Another batch comes tons of hard worked documents., and a sofa.

“Eh..”Crowley was confused about the whole thing, until he realized that all of those stuff was taken from his room and office. 

“NOOO!! My Dioz branded coat! My Guzzi Bagg! MY VALENTINE ROBEE!!! I worked hours for that document pleaseeee. my 8 million thaumark couch!

“Set them on fire!” Kalim cheered

“YEAYYYY!!” 

Carter was filming the whole thing. He will send the video to idia to render for high quality and will distribute them to those attending including the teachers. 

Each dorm were given a chemical to throw into the fire,

The Heartslabyul were given Lithium to turn the fire colour red.

The Savannaclaw were given Sodium to turn the fire colour yellow.

The Octonaville were given Caesium to turn the fire colour bright purple.

The Scarabia were given Radium to turn the fire colour bright red.

The Pomefiore were given Potassium to turn the fire colour darker purple.

The Ignihyde were given Indium to turn the fire colour Blue

The Diasomnia were given Boron to turn the fire colour green.

This of course is conducted safely. The idea comes from both Rook and Trey with the approval of Crewel who is also supervising them in this event.

“NOOOOOOOI!!!!!! Stop stop!! Burn me instead nooooo!” Crowley struggle two times the effort but to no attempt. Leona and jack had made sure that the ropes tightly dig into the headmage body. 

“ARGHHHHH!!” The headmage felt utterly despair as he too faint from shock.

You are mesmerized by the different colour that flashed by the pyre.

The whole party cheered. The bags, coats, and robes completely turned to ash.

Everybody had the same thought in their head. 

‘Serve him right for messing with y/n.’

You grow silent again for a after cheering as reality seep in on you.

“Hmm what’s wrong, are you not satisfied with the display?” Jack concerned voice brought attention from the rest of the group. 

“No it’s just.. since i will be here forever i don’t know where to go after i finished with my studies. I can’t do magic so i am practically useless in this world.”

“What are you saying henchmen! You and i will be together forever i am the one who could cast magic and you shall be the brain!”

“Yes and besides I wouldn’t mind if you take the last name Roseheart if you would allow. I will forever protect and i will provide you with anything you want. I will be a lawyer you see! You will be living the best of your life with me. And grim too of course. Besides i need to take responsibility for giving you, your first kiss.” Riddle instantly offered.

Your brain short circuited. “Huh… eh..” 

Did you just got proposed?!

No way right?!

“NO WAY! Y/N you should take Ashengrotto instead you see i will be the next biggest billionaire! You wouldn’t need to worry about penny of what you want to spend, unlike a lawyer who need to rely on a client to earn living. And frankly, CPR does not count as a kiss!” he sneered

“What do you mean by that huh?!”

“No, y/n you should come to briar valley instead! You could marry one of my son, i have options anyone you choose would guarantee to provide you with the best, Malleus will be king of briar, my other two will become a royal guard! Although i wouldn’t mind if you want to spend your days with my last years.” Lilia claimed.

“F-father.. but y/n its true i will provide you the best I could.” Red tint his cheeks.

“YES! I don’t care if you are a human, you are truly the best of best, i would be honoured if you are willing to spend your days with me.” Sebek blabbered blush. 

“Y/n would you consider, you shall be the queen of briar valley and i your king. We shall spend our moment with joy, i guarantee your safety and riches.” Malleus confidentially proclaimed red tinted his ears.

“Hah, and what lock her up in that dark gloomy tower of yours? Y/n you should ignore these guys. Come with me and become y/n kingscolar, your good friend ‘Tsunatarou’ are not the only one with a royal blood. Come with me, i will ensure twice what they offer. Be my queen herbivore.” Leona smirked extending his hand. He might sound pompous but the red tint on his face says otherwise.

“No, you might be royalty, but the al asim family possess riches compared to a royalty! And Kalim is the heir of al-asim! You should come to scalding sands instead!”

Jamil shouted, yes he just promoted his best friend, but who to say you can’t have an affair with him. 

“Yes! Yes!” Kalim agreed

“No way! Your family is riddled with murder attempts the leeches are guaranteed to be veryyyy secured! Shrimpy won’t need to be cautious when eating their food nor do they need to sleep with one eye open.” Floyd smirked. 

“Yes you could chose the either of us, but in all honesty i dont mind sharing with my brother you see, we always share out stuff anyway.” Jade laugh into his hand like a proper gentleman he was.

You never would have thought to see the leech brother blushing but here you are, 

“I am a renowned actor! The number one barchelor in the entire island! You should take my hand instead! I will promise you fame and glory! You will be rich and beautiful, you shall be my queen.” Vil too joined in with a blush to his face.

“Heh all actor have expiry date you know.” Leona tease

“What do you mean by that?”

“He meant when you are all wrinkly and old!”

Ortho tease, the gremlin inside of him seemed to have awakened.

“I am still far from that age! I am not old!!”

“But you depend on it.” Ortho teased again.

“Oh truly marvelous! But y/n I wouldn’t mind if you choose to go as Schoenheit, I too have to propose for you to take the name hunt, I promise to protect you and guide you till the day we have to separate naturally.” Rook proclaimed.

“Rook.. you dare betray me..”vil was once again shocked.

“You shouldn’t shock since you saw what was under my room wallpaper, and me as your supplier.”

“Huh.. that made perfect sense.” Vil sigh.

“Y/N .. w-would you go to S.T.Y.X with me! I know i might not be much, but i assure you! Styx have the best protection, they even manage to beat all of these housewarden. I want to rule styx with you… uhmm thats too cheesy!! The point is!! I would like to offer the shroud last name if you allow me to be with you!!!” Idia stammered. His hair tip turned pink as he fiddle with his fiddle with his fingers out of nervousness.  

“Yes y/n! We would have a lot of fun adventuree!” 

“Absolutely not.. not in a chance i’d let that happen.” The overblot boys yelled.

“SHADDAP!! It's not your choice its theirs!” He yelled.

“ARGHHH… ya kno, the bunch of ya! Not everythin is about richesss! Y/n! We could build our Felmer farm together! And I will take care of ye for the rest of ma days! I vowed to ya!” Epel declared! Face flushed red both from anger and rage.

“The Bucchi name would look good on you y/n. I promised to find any means to provide for us! And even if you don’t I don't mind if you want to have an affair with me, i can share!” Ruggie assert himself.

“Or me in that case! I promised to protect you as long as I can breathe, I may not have a mountain of riches but i will ensure a peaceful calm life for the both of us. What do you say y/n would you take the howl name?” Jack continued. 

“Y/n I may not have much as well, but I can ensure you a fun and on going life! I will provide for you! All you need to do is give cay- cay lots of love ok? And I promise you everything and the name diamond.” Carter too extended his hand.

“My family have a bakery and my sibling, and my parents are a very lovely and warm people! My parents and siblings loved you already! I will vow to be there for you always to the end of days, to provide for you in sickness and in health.” Trey fixed his glasses in nervousness, yet he delivered his message perfectly. 

“NO! Y/n! MY MOM LOVED YOU ALREADY! She kept going on and on about when you are going to visit! You don’t need to worry about horrible mother in law!! She adored you just as i have come to adore you… i-if you are willing to take the spade name.”

“No way! They would not last with somebody with the brain of a peanut! Y/n i will climb to the top of top! And provide you with everything there is in the world! How about that? Will you take the Trapolla name.” Ace too declared.

“So who would you choose?” 

“LIKE HELL I’D GIVE MY PRECIOUS PUP TO YOU BRAT! Wolves! STAY AWAY! Y/n will you become my child instead! Here you can sign your name here and here! I will provide you! And if you want a job you could be my exclusive model for my brand!” Crewel wave his riding crop to shoo away your barchelor as he hovers you and adoption paper.

“Teacher we too can find y/n a promising job! Away, no harrassment shall befell them!” Some of the students argued.

“I jest, y/n you should come with me! I have experience with kid. You shall be taken care of with the outmost dignity. I have enough to provide for everyone.” Trein claimed.

Vargas and sam are satisfied to be the strong protective and the spoiling uncle, yet they found themselves offering you the same offer.

“I own a family business far and wide and mysterious, i will tell you all about it if you sign here and here.”

“I will protect you from all the troubles amd boys! Over my head body!” 

“Whoa, you manage to make the students fight one another and the teachers too! Such power you have, henchman.”

You are left a blubbering mess.. 

“Huhhhhh!!!!!!” 

“Don’t worry the great Grim will choose the most perfect eligible barchelor for you! You don’t mind anybody right?!”

“A..AA ….”

“Okk! such trouble this henchman brough me" Grim smirked

And hence the chaos ensued.

Though, it is safe to say that Crowley would not dare to pull something as such or mess with you again. Reports said he had become more diligent and responsible to his work. Such trauma you caused him.

So, whose hand will you take, my dear?

[Words 9219]

» End «

•┈••✦ ❤ ✦••┈•

[A/N]

This is by far the longest fic I had written 9219 words?! YIPPEE

taglist: @neufora @shironakuronatasa

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddiebingo.

Midnight Rain

Countdown to Midnight Prompt: Midnight | Word Count: 1062 | Rating: T | CW: Alcohol, Language | POV: Eddie | Tags: Future Fic, Famous Corroded Coffin, Post Break-Up, Eddie's Going Through It, Gareth's a Good Best Friend, Angst, Hopeful Open Ending

Eddie's sprawled on the couch of the fancy hotel, in a room overlooking the city, literally at the top. He tilts back the bottle, downing it. The show tonight was great, another sold out arena. The crowd, the lights, the whole show, electric. 

But now it's midnight, and he's alone as the rain pelts against the floor to ceiling windows.

When they walked back into the hotel, there was a group of friends in the lobby, coming in from their night out, still in their fancy clothes, celebrating a birthday. Soaking wet, but happy.

Singing to Steve. 

A Steve, not his Steve, not that he has any Steve these days.

Just the mention of someone that shares his name was enough to send Eddie into a spiral. It's hard to reflect back on his mistakes. On the life that he gave away. Steve Harrington. Sunshine personified, while Eddie's a storm cloud, midnight rain.

He's haunted.

Eddie decided to chase that fame, while Steve stayed the same. Comfortable where he was, while Eddie could only chase more pain. He was damaged after that spring break, damaged after his mother's death, damaged after it all. His whole life. It's all he knew. He didn't deserve anything better. He wanted to punish himself, then, and forever.

He deserved the pain of the music business meat grinder chewing him up and spitting him out.

Except it didn't. 

They made it. The tide turned. Something good, finally. He got just what he wanted. 

And he's tried to tell himself that it was worth it. Most days he believes it.

Then, he thinks of Steve Harrington.

But Eddie knows Steve never thinks of him, except maybe when he's on MTV, right in his face.

Eddie tries not to think of him either, except for midnights like this. When he's slid into the regret, the sorrow, the pain that he might have sold his soul to the devil, losing the best thing he ever had in the process.

Hawkins was a wasteland. A prison. And Eddie had to go. 

But Steve thought it was home, and wanted to stay. Wanted a life, a family. The house, the two-car garage, the kids. 

Eddie wanted to make a name for himself.

And he fucking did. Eddie Munson is a household name, a brand.

Eddie, himself though. He's hollowed out. The spark, gone.

The door opens, closes, and Gareth is tossing his jacket on the chair. 

"You should have seen her tits–" he starts, then stops, when he sees Eddie, his tone changing immediately, "What happened? Eddie? Talk to me."

"I broke his heart 'cause he was nice," Eddie slurs. 

"Goddamnit," Gareth says, sitting down next to Eddie, prying the little bottle from the mini bar from his hand. There's a half dozen more scattered across the coffee table, already empty.

A menagerie of liquors that are now mixed together, churning in his stomach.

The band can afford it.

But he's not sure he can. 

"I left you alone for an hour," Gareth accuses, but it's not harsh. It's sad. 

"I left him alone for a decade," Eddie counters, scrubbing the back of his hand across his eyes. But he didn't. Steve's not alone. No way. Luckily, these nights are few and far between, but when they steamroll him, it's like he's been hit by a truck.

The last time it was that Christmas card pinned to Wayne's fridge. Steve, a girlfriend and dog. No babies. No ring. Not yet. But smiling wide, looking perfect. Happy.

Wayne hadn't realized what it would do to him. Wayne's never mentioned Steve again, not ever, and if he's still on the Harrington holiday card list, Eddie will never know about it.

"Steve Harrington is fine," Gareth says, as if that's reassuring. Eddie isn't worried that Steve isn't fine. He knows he is. Knows he landed on his feet, is happy out there, somewhere. Probably with his bride, his dog, and now kids. A whole happy life.

There's no other option.

Eddie's unbearable loss was someone else's infinite gain.

"I'm not," Eddie says, reaching for one of the unopened bottles, and Gareth snags it first. 

"You're not what?" 

"Fine." 

"You are fine. Go to bed, it'll be better in the morning," Gareth says, pulling him up off his ass, and stripping him down to his underwear, forcing him onto his side in the bed.

Not his bed, never his own bed. The last time he had one of those, Steve was next him.

At least this one is comfortable, and he nuzzles into the pillow, his stubble scratching against the soft pillowcase.

Gareth's standing there looking at him. 

"'m fine, go." 

"I just need a shower. Then I'll bunk in with you tonight. Go to sleep. I'll be right back."

Eddie nods, and it feels like seconds later when the bed dips. The mattress shifts with the weight of Gareth. 

Gareth slings his arm over Eddie's back, being the big spoon. His wet hair tickling the back of Eddie's neck.

"You're not doing this anymore," Gareth says, and Eddie doesn't have it in him to argue, so he just goes back to sleep.

Eddie has a hangover from hell. His head is throbbing and he refuses to open his eyes for the longest time. Just laying there, regretting last night. Regretting a lot of things. But last night especially.

He hates when he gets that way. Steve is long gone. There's no taking that back. He ruined them, and he has to live with it. 

When he finally swings his legs over the edge of the bed, hanging his head, eyes downcast, he sees that there's a note on the nightstand. Gareth's familiar handwriting scrawled across the hotel stationary:

He said to call him.  S.H. - 765-555-0385

Eddie looks up, and Gareth's on the couch, staring at him. Cup of coffee resting on his knee, his foot braced against the edge of the coffee table. The same table that's now clean, no traces of his bender last night.

"You talked to him?" Eddie croaks, voice dry and scratchy.

Gareth nods. 

"He's…he's still…?" Eddie questions, not even sure of the rest of the question he was starting to ask. He has too many.

Gareth nods again.

Eddie picks up the paper, clutching it tight in his fist.

And he finally feels something he hasn't in years:

Hope.

If you want to sign up for a future bingo event or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddiebingo and follow along with the fun!

Notes: Inspired by the Taylor Swift song Midnight Rain.

[favefandomimagines]

Peter (a.b)

Summary: the past has a funny way of ruining the greatest things

AN: I really hope this made sense 😂 I was all over the place

Request: @talkativecarnation hi! omg i looove ur Anthony Bridgerton fics SO MUCH! can i request 10, 9, 13, 12 from your angst prompt list. preferably in that sequence in an arranged courtship/marriage scenario but it's all up to you if you have a better vision for it 🤍 can't wait for this!! TYSM!!!

The estate of Aubrey Hall shimmered in the soft light of dawn, the golden hues of sunrise spilling across the sprawling grounds. The chirping of birds and the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze brought a sense of serenity to the outside world, but within the grand manor, an air of tension lingered.

Anthony Bridgerton sat at the edge of his massive mahogany desk, his head bowed and his hands gripping the edges as though they might anchor him. His study, a room that had always served as his sanctuary, now felt oppressive.

The neatly organized stacks of correspondence and ledgers stood as a testament to the responsibilities he carried as Viscount, yet today, those duties paled in comparison to the turmoil in his heart.

His gaze lingered on the letter before him, the ink slightly smudged from the number of times his fingers had traced its words. Y/N had written it weeks ago, with no intention of it seeing the light of day. A heartfelt plea for understanding, for connection, for something more than the strained coexistence they had settled into since their wedding.

Anthony found the letter in between two large books he had never opened until that day.

Her words were full of vulnerability, and that was what made them so unbearable. She deserved better than the coldness he had offered her.

A marriage born of duty was nothing unusual among the ton. Anthony had entered the arrangement with the pragmatic mindset he applied to all aspects of his life—an advantageous match, one that would bolster both families and secure his legacy.

Y/N was everything he could have hoped for in a wife: poised, intelligent, and well-matched to the demands of her new station. Yet for all her perfection, he felt the weight of failure pressing down on him, a failure to be the husband she deserved.

The truth gnawed at him, an ache he couldn’t ignore. His heart, traitorous and stubborn, remained tethered to a past he could not undo. A past named Siena Russo.

He had loved Siena with a passion he had not known he was capable of. The fiery opera singer had consumed his every thought, her voice and presence filling every corner of his being.

But their love, as wild and all-encompassing as it had been, was doomed from the start. Siena could never fit into his world, and Anthony’s duty to his family had forced him to end it.

Or so he told himself.

The reality was far less simple. The end of his relationship with Siena had not been entirely his decision, and the bitterness of that unresolved goodbye haunted him.

He told himself he had done the right thing, the only thing he could do, but the weight of her absence still lingered, like a ghost he could not exorcise. And now, it threatened to destroy the fragile bond he might have had with Y/N.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration mounting. How could he move forward with Y/N when Siena’s shadow still loomed so large? How could he pretend to be the devoted husband she longed for when his heart was so fractured?

Every time he thought he had steeled himself to let the past go, a memory of Siena would creep in—a laugh, a touch, the sound of her voice. It was as if she were etched into his soul, an indelible mark he could not erase.

The creak of the study door startled him, and he quickly folded the letter, tucking it into the drawer as though hiding it could also conceal his guilt. Turning, he saw Benedict standing in the doorway, a cup of tea in hand and a knowing look in his eyes.

“You look as though you’ve seen a ghost, brother,” Benedict said, stepping into the room and setting the cup down on the desk.

Anthony forced a tight smile. “Just tired. The estate requires more attention than usual this time of year.”

Benedict snorted, crossing his arms. “You might fool the rest of the family with that excuse, but not me. What’s troubling you?”

Anthony hesitated. He and Benedict had always shared an unspoken bond, a willingness to confide in one another when the burdens of their respective roles became too much. But this—this was a vulnerability he wasn’t sure he could voice.

“Nothing of importance,” Anthony said finally, turning away.

Benedict studied him for a moment before shaking his head. “You know, Anthony, ignoring a problem doesn’t make it disappear. Whatever it is, you should deal with it before it festers. For your sake. And hers.”

Anthony stiffened at the mention of Y/N, but he said nothing. Benedict left without another word, his parting advice hanging in the air like a challenge Anthony wasn’t ready to face.

Alone again, Anthony let out a long sigh. His brother was right, of course. Avoidance would solve nothing. But how could he face Y/N when he couldn’t even face himself? How could he explain the tangled mess of emotions inside him when he barely understood them?

Anthony leaned back in his chair, staring up at the high ceiling of his study as if searching for answers in its ornate design. He had married Y/N with the intention of fulfilling his duty, of honoring his family’s expectations.

But somewhere along the way, he had begun to see her as more than just his wife in name. She was kind, perceptive, and endlessly patient with him—a patience he knew he had done nothing to deserve.

And that only made it worse.

Because the more he came to admire her, the more he realized how much he was failing her. And every time he looked at her, he couldn’t help but wonder if she already knew. If she could sense the part of him that still belonged to someone else.

He clenched his fists, the guilt and frustration bubbling to the surface. He couldn’t keep living like this, caught between the woman he had lost and the woman he was supposed to love. But no matter how much he tried to convince himself to move forward, Siena’s voice echoed in his mind, whispering reminders of what they had shared and what he had given up.

Anthony closed his eyes, a single thought running through his mind.

How can I give Y/N my heart when it still belongs to someone else?

And in that moment, he realized the answer was one he wasn’t ready to face.

||

The glow of twilight bathed the grounds of Aubrey Hall in hues of amber and rose, casting long, soft shadows across the manicured gardens. Inside the grand estate, Y/N stood by the window of the bedroom she and Anthony now shared, her hands loosely clasped before her.

Her gaze wandered over the sprawling fields and dense woods beyond, but her thoughts were far from the picturesque view.

She had spent much of the afternoon in quiet solitude, walking the gardens to clear her mind and steady her heart. The beauty of the estate, though breathtaking, did little to soothe the ache that had grown within her since her marriage to Anthony Bridgerton.

Theirs had been a union forged not by love, but by expectation. Duty. Obligation. At the time, she had told herself it would be enough. She would fulfill her role as Viscountess, and in time, affection would blossom between them, as it often did in such arrangements.

But now, months into their marriage, Y/N found herself yearning for more—more than the polite exchanges and careful civility that defined their interactions. She had entered this union willing to give her heart, yet Anthony seemed unwilling—or perhaps unable—to meet her halfway.

The truth of it cut deeply. Anthony was a good man, of that she had no doubt. He was protective, devoted to his family, and carried the weight of his responsibilities with a strength that few could rival. But there was a distance in him, a wall he had built around himself that she couldn’t seem to breach. And worse still, she knew why.

Siena Russo.

The name was never spoken between them, but it lingered in the spaces where silence stretched too long. Y/N had heard whispers of Anthony’s past with the opera singer before their engagement, though she had dismissed them at the time. After all, many men of Anthony’s station had dalliances before settling into respectable marriages. It was a truth of their world, one she had prepared herself to accept.

But this was different. Siena wasn’t merely a part of Anthony’s past—she was still a part of his heart. Y/N could feel it in the way his gaze sometimes drifted when he thought she wasn’t watching, the way his smile never quite reached his eyes when they were alone. She could see it in the way his body tensed whenever a mention of the opera or a familiar tune from the stage drifted through a drawing room.

It wasn’t the existence of Siena that hurt Y/N; it was the hold the other woman still had over Anthony. A hold that no amount of duty or propriety could seem to sever.

Y/N’s thoughts were interrupted by the soft creak of the door opening behind her. She didn’t need to turn to know it was Anthony—she had memorized the rhythm of his footsteps, the sound of his breath when he was near. He hesitated in the doorway for a moment before stepping fully inside, the tension in his posture palpable.

“Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tentative.

She turned to face him, her expression carefully composed, though the effort of keeping her emotions at bay felt exhausting. “Anthony.”

He lingered by the door, as if debating whether to stay or retreat. Finally, he crossed the room, stopping a few paces away from her. His dark eyes met hers, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something vulnerable in his gaze. But it was gone as quickly as it appeared.

“I owe you an apology,” he began, his voice low. “For how I’ve been—how I’ve treated you.”

Y/N’s heart ached at his words, at the sincerity she could hear beneath the surface. But apologies, however genuine, wouldn’t erase the months of loneliness and doubt. “You’ve been distant,” she said quietly, her tone steady despite the emotions swirling inside her. “I’ve tried to understand, to give you time, but it feels as though no matter what I do, you keep me at arm’s length.”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, unable to hold her gaze. “I’m sorry,” he said again, his voice breaking slightly. “I wish I could be the person you want me to be. But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be.”

The words hit her like a physical blow, stealing the breath from her lungs. She had suspected as much, had felt it in the coldness of his touch and the distance in his eyes, but hearing him admit it was a pain she hadn’t prepared for.

“Why?” she asked, her voice trembling. “Why won’t you let me in?”

He hesitated, the battle within him playing out across his features. When he finally spoke, his words came in a rush, raw and unfiltered. “You think I don’t notice? You think I don’t see how much I’m hurting you by staying? But I don’t know how to let go.”

“Let go of what?” Y/N pressed, her frustration bubbling to the surface. “Your past? Siena?”

Her words hung in the air like a challenge, and the way Anthony flinched told her all she needed to know. She had tried to avoid speaking Siena’s name, tried to be patient and understanding, but she could no longer ignore the truth.

“You loved her,” Y/N said, her voice soft but steady. “I know you did. And I know that love doesn’t simply vanish. But Anthony, you’re married now. To me. I cannot be a shadow in my own marriage.”

Anthony’s shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “Every time I think I’ve moved on, you pull me back in,” he admitted, his voice thick with emotion. “But every time, you leave again. I can’t keep doing this.”

Y/N felt tears pricking at her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. She had cried enough in the solitude of her room, in the quiet hours of the night when Anthony lay beside her but felt a thousand miles away. Now, she needed answers.

“Do you think it’s fair to punish me for what you lost with her?” she asked, her voice rising slightly. “Do you think I don’t feel it every day, the way your heart isn’t truly here? The way it belongs to someone else?”

Anthony didn’t respond, his silence speaking volumes. And as Y/N stared at him, her heart breaking anew, she realized she was at a crossroads. She could continue to fight for a man who seemed determined to hold onto his past, or she could let him go and preserve what little of herself remained.

But deep down, she knew she wasn’t ready to give up. Not yet..

||

The Bridgerton family was known for its lively breakfasts, a time when the entire household gathered to share stories, tease one another, and strategize for the day ahead. But this morning, Y/N had no desire to face the endless chatter of the Bridgerton siblings, nor the weight of Anthony’s brooding presence. She lingered in the garden instead, letting the cool morning air soothe her frayed nerves.

She hadn’t slept. The argument with Anthony had replayed in her mind endlessly, his words like daggers carving into her chest. The rawness of it left her feeling unsteady, as though the ground beneath her feet might crumble at any moment.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she didn’t hear the soft footsteps approaching until Eloise’s voice broke through the stillness.

“There you are. I was starting to think you’d run away.”

Y/N turned to find Eloise standing a few feet away, her arms crossed and an eyebrow quirked in that familiar, no-nonsense way of hers. Dressed in a casual morning frock with her hair only half-pinned, Eloise looked as though she’d just rolled out of bed—but her sharp eyes and quick tongue betrayed that she was, as always, entirely alert.

“Good morning, Eloise,” Y/N said, her voice betraying none of the turmoil she felt inside.

Eloise tilted her head, studying Y/N with a perceptiveness that was both comforting and unsettling. “Don’t ‘good morning’ me. You look as though you’ve been crying, which is entirely out of character for you. What’s he done this time?”

Y/N’s lips parted in surprise, and Eloise smirked. “Oh, don’t look so shocked. I may not spend my days gossiping like the rest of the ton, but I have eyes. And I’ve known Anthony far too long to be fooled by his brooding act.”

Y/N hesitated, unsure how to respond. She and Eloise had grown close in the months since the wedding, their shared disdain for the more superficial aspects of high society fostering an easy camaraderie. But there were certain things Y/N had never discussed with her sister-in-law, and the state of her marriage was at the top of that list.

“It’s nothing,” Y/N said finally, attempting a weak smile. “Really.”

Eloise scoffed, stepping closer and plopping unceremoniously onto the stone bench beside her. “That’s the worst lie I’ve ever heard, and I’ve heard plenty. Come on, then. Out with it. I promise not to repeat a word, unless it’s to berate my dear brother for being an insufferable idiot.”

Despite herself, Y/N let out a soft laugh, the sound surprising her as much as it seemed to please Eloise.

“That’s better,” Eloise said, giving her a small smile. “You don’t have to tell me everything, but you do realize you’re allowed to be angry with him, don’t you? Anthony has a way of making everyone believe he knows best, but trust me—he’s as clueless as the rest of us, especially when it comes to feelings.”

Y/N sighed, running a hand over the folds of her skirt. “It’s not just that. I… I knew what I was getting into when I married him. Or at least I thought I did. But he’s so—he’s so closed off, Eloise. It’s like he’s locked himself away, and no matter how hard I try, I can’t reach him.”

Eloise frowned, her expression softening. “And let me guess—he’s too busy wallowing in his own guilt to notice how much it’s hurting you.”

Y/N looked at her, startled by the accuracy of the statement. “How do you know?”

“Because I’ve seen him do it before,” Eloise said simply. “With our family, with himself, with anyone who gets too close. Anthony carries the weight of the world on his shoulders, but he refuses to ask for help because he thinks it’s his job to handle everything alone. It’s infuriating, really.”

Y/N’s throat tightened, and she looked down at her lap. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep trying, Eloise. I want to love him, but I don’t know if he’ll ever let me.”

Eloise was quiet for a moment, her gaze thoughtful. Then she reached over and placed a hand over Y/N’s. “You don’t have to do it alone, you know. Loving someone like Anthony is exhausting—believe me, I’ve tried for years as his sister. But you’re not the only one who can knock some sense into him. If you need help, I’m more than happy to remind him that he’s being a complete fool.”

Y/N let out another laugh, this one tinged with relief. “Thank you, Eloise. Truly.”

“Of course,” Eloise said with a grin. “Now, let’s go inside before breakfast is over. If we’re lucky, we might catch Anthony before he disappears into his study to brood. And if he looks even slightly smug, I’ll spill tea on him.”

Y/N smiled, the tension in her chest easing slightly. For the first time in days, she felt a glimmer of hope. Eloise was right—she didn’t have to face this alone. And perhaps, with a little help, she could find a way to reach Anthony after all.

||

The parlor was dimly lit, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. The air felt thick, heavy with the weight of unspoken words and lingering tension. Anthony sat on the edge of a high-backed chair, elbows resting on his knees, his head in his hands. Across the room, Y/N stood by the fireplace, her arms wrapped tightly around herself as if warding off a chill that wasn’t there.

Neither of them spoke for what felt like an eternity. The silence was oppressive, broken only by the faint crackle of the fire and the distant ticking of the clock. Y/N’s mind raced with fragments of their earlier argument, the pain of Anthony’s words still fresh and raw.

"I wish I could be the person you want me to be."

"But I’m not. And I don’t think I ever will be."

How was she supposed to move forward after hearing that? How was she supposed to reconcile the man she had vowed to love and honor with the man who now admitted he might never be able to give her his heart?

“I can’t do this anymore,” Y/N said finally, her voice trembling but firm. “I can’t keep pretending everything is fine when it’s not.”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, his dark eyes locking onto hers. For a moment, he looked almost startled, as though her declaration had caught him off guard. But then his expression softened, and he let out a long, weary sigh.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I’ve been selfish, Y/N. I’ve been holding onto something I shouldn’t, and in doing so, I’ve hurt you. I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/N’s lips pressed into a thin line as she fought to keep her composure. “You say that, Anthony, but do you realize what it feels like? To share a life with someone who won’t share themselves in return? I’ve tried to be patient. I’ve tried to understand. But every time I think we’re moving forward, you pull away again.”

Anthony rose from his chair, crossing the room in a few long strides. He stopped a few paces away from her, his hands hanging limply at his sides as if unsure whether he had the right to reach out. “It’s not because of you,” he said, his voice rough with emotion. “It’s because of me. I don’t know how to let go of the past, Y/N. I don’t know how to let go of her.”

There it was. The truth they had danced around for months, laid bare in the dim light of the fire. Her name wasn’t spoken, but it didn’t need to be. Y/N had always known she was competing with a ghost, but hearing Anthony admit it aloud was a different kind of pain—a sharp, searing ache that stole her breath.

“Then why did you marry me?” she asked, her voice breaking. “If you’re still in love with her, why didn’t you fight to be with her?”

Anthony’s jaw tightened, and he looked away, his gaze fixed on the flickering flames. “Because I couldn’t,” he said after a long pause. “She made her choice, and I made mine. I thought… I thought I could move on. That I could be the man my family needed me to be. The man you deserved.”

“But you can’t,” Y/N said bitterly. “Can you?”

His silence was answer enough.

Y/N turned away, tears stinging her eyes as she stared into the fire. “Do you think I don’t see how much this is hurting me? How much it’s breaking me to stay in a marriage where I’ll never be enough for you?”

Anthony’s head snapped up at her words, and he took a step closer, desperation etched into every line of his face. “You are enough,” he said fiercely. “You’re more than enough, Y/N. This isn’t about you.”

“Isn’t it?” she demanded, turning to face him. “I’ve given you everything I have, Anthony. My love, my trust, my patience. And what have you given me in return? A shadow of a husband who’s still in love with someone else.”

His shoulders slumped, and he raked a hand through his hair, his composure unraveling before her eyes. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he said, his voice breaking. “I need to fix this.”

Y/N stared at him, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. She wanted to believe him, wanted to believe that he truly wanted to make things work. But how could she, when he hadn’t yet let go of the woman who still held his heart?

“I don’t know if you can,” she said softly, her voice trembling. “Not until you decide what you really want. Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?”

Anthony opened his mouth to speak, but no words came. For the first time in his life, he was truly lost, torn between the ghost of what once was and the promise of what could be. And as Y/N turned and walked away, leaving him alone in the flickering light of the fire, he realized he might not have much time to decide

||

The door closed softly behind her, but to Anthony, the sound was deafening. It echoed in the empty room, a final punctuation to her words that left him rooted in place. His chest felt tight, constricted, as though the air had been sucked out of the room. For the first time in years, Anthony Bridgerton—the Viscount, the eldest son, the steadfast leader—felt utterly powerless.

He sank back into the chair by the fireplace, his head falling into his hands. The warmth of the embers did little to thaw the chill settling deep in his bones. Y/N’s words replayed in his mind, each one sharp and piercing, cutting deeper than any wound he had ever endured.

"Do you want to stay in the past, clinging to something that’s already gone? Or do you want to build a future with me?"

It was a question he didn’t know how to answer. He had spent so long building walls around himself, convincing everyone—including himself—that he was fine, that he had moved on from Siena, that his marriage to Y/N was enough. But tonight, those walls had come crashing down, and he was left exposed, vulnerable, and unmoored.

The truth was, Anthony didn’t know how to let go of Siena. He had loved her once with a reckless passion that consumed him entirely. But it wasn’t just the loss of Siena that haunted him—it was the idea of love itself. He had seen what it could do, how it could destroy a person. He had watched his mother fall apart after his father’s death, her grief so overwhelming it had nearly crushed her. Anthony had sworn he would never allow himself to feel that kind of pain.

And yet, here he was, on the brink of losing the one person who had dared to love him despite all his flaws, his scars, his mistakes. Y/N had given him her heart, and he had squandered it, too afraid to truly let her in.

His jaw clenched as he stared into the dying fire, frustration and guilt warring within him. He had married Y/N because it was the logical choice, the responsible choice. She was everything a viscountess should be—graceful, intelligent, kind. But somewhere along the way, she had become more than just his wife. She had become his anchor, his light in the darkness he had long resigned himself to. And he was losing her.

The sound of the clock striking midnight jolted him from his thoughts. He couldn’t sit here any longer, wallowing in self-pity and indecision. He had to do something, to find a way to fix the mess he had made. Rising to his feet, he left the parlor and made his way to Y/N’s room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet halls.

When he reached her door, he hesitated, his hand hovering over the doorknob. What could he possibly say to her? How could he make her believe that she was enough, that she was everything, when he hadn’t even been able to admit it to himself until now?

Steeling himself, Anthony knocked softly. “Y/N,” he called, his voice low but steady. “It’s me.”

There was no response. For a moment, he considered walking away, giving her the space she clearly needed. But then the door creaked open, and Y/N stood before him, her expression guarded. She was still in the same dress she had worn earlier, though her hair was loose now, cascading over her shoulders in soft waves. Her eyes, red-rimmed from crying, met his, and the sight of her broke something inside him.

“What do you want, Anthony?” she asked, her voice tired.

He swallowed hard, struggling to find the right words. “I don’t know how to fix this,” he admitted, his voice raw. “But I can’t lose you. Please… tell me how to make it right.”

Her lips parted in surprise, but she quickly schooled her expression, crossing her arms over her chest. “It’s not that simple,” she said. “You can’t just say you don’t want to lose me and expect everything to change. You have to mean it, Anthony. You have to show me.”

“I do mean it,” he said, taking a step closer. “I’ve been a coward, Y/N. I’ve been so afraid of opening myself up, of losing someone I care about, that I didn’t realize I was pushing you away. But I see it now. I see how much I’ve hurt you, and I hate myself for it. I don’t deserve your forgiveness, but I’m begging you—give me a chance to prove that I can be the man you deserve.”

Her eyes searched his, as though trying to determine if his words were genuine. “And what about her?” she asked quietly. “What about Siena?”

Anthony’s heart clenched at the mention of her name. He had spent so long holding onto the memory of Siena, convincing himself that he could never feel that kind of love again. But standing here, looking at Y/N, he realized how wrong he had been. His feelings for Siena had been fleeting, intense but ultimately unsustainable. What he felt for Y/N was different—it was steady, grounding, and terrifying in its depth.

“Siena was my past,” he said, his voice steady. “You’re my future, Y/N. If you’ll let me, I want to build that future with you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, and for a moment, Anthony feared he had said too little, too late. But then she stepped aside, opening the door wider, and he knew she was giving him a chance—a chance to prove that he could be the husband she needed, the man she deserved.

And Anthony vowed to himself that he would not squander it.

[misguidedswagger]

little dove (anakin skywalker x reader angst)

a/n: hi! welcome to my first anakin fic! i saw that he won the poll so im ngl i hit the bowl and closed my eyes for a second and now we have this!!! this was originally based off a prompt: "why are you lying to me?" and it ended up taking me about four days to complete this! i really really hope you guys enjoy this! this has become my favorite piece i've ever written. lmk if you'd like to see more <3 warnings: f!reader, angst, swearing, padmé is NOT nice in this, god forgive me i'm so sorry padmé. it hurt my heart to write her in such a way lowkey , forbidden romance, broken promises,

masterlist

w/c:8.5k

“little…dove?”

“i think it suits you. don’t you realize the symbolism of doves?”

“i’m afraid that i don’t, master.”

“to me, my young padawan, you represent peace, love, and freedom: some things i’m afraid the galaxy is lacking.”

—

y/n was laying on anakin’s lap and feeding him grapes on her balcony, the duo basking in the sun’s warmth together. neither one spoke, more than comfortable in the silence of each other. their shared time together had become habitual, but only recently did the pair realize that they felt more towards each other, more than simply padawan and master.

the sun shined brightly through anakin’s hair, the sun illuminating his blond curls and almost making them appear golden. streaks of sunshine broke through anakin’s loose curls, highlighting y/n’s beautiful e/c eyes in the bright sunshine. y/n lost herself in the jedi’s features for a moment, unable to form any other coherent thoughts besides wow, entirely unaware that anakin was thinking the same about her. 

"what? is something on my face?" his voice a low rumble, disturbing y/n from her reverie, that signature smirk of his spread wide across his cheeks. she only smiled warmly in reply before speaking,

"beauty." it was y/n’s turn to smirk now, at the sight of anakin's cheeks flushing pink right before her eyes. it was the cutest thing y/n had ever seen and she wanted to be sure to commit the sight to memory. “you’d think the almighty chosen one would recognize my honesty through the force,” y/n teased, lightly prodding anakin’s chest, still adjusting to his new uniform.

anakin leaned down and kissed y/n’s hand that held the grapes softly, before stealing the grape from her fingers with his lips, eliciting a soft giggle from the padawan. “I think you might be feeling under the weather if you truly believe that,” anakin teased back lightheartedly. 

a familiar sequence of beeps and boops interrupted y/n before she could reply, watching as the droid that was always at anakin’s side approached the two from inside the woman’s quarters. it had been on y/n’s to do list to commit herself to fluently learning binary, but alas, she once again had to turn to her master for the translation of what r2 said, just as always.

with a loud groan, anakin’s head dropped and his body nearly folded in half, his arms wrapping around y/n tighter so as to not knock her over from the sudden influx of weight she had to bear. based on his annoyance, y/n frowned and finally replied, 

“you’re being summoned again, aren’t you?” y/n spoke, the frown on her face only deepening upon noticing anakin’s subtle nod. she pushed the jedi upward off herself, sitting up to give him a tight hug. she forced herself to smile hopefully as she spoke, reaching a hand up to push a stray, golden curl behind his ear, “will i see you later?” 

“of course you will, my little dove. i’ll be back before you even know it, then we can have a lovely dinner together before evening training.” anakin promised before he placed a gentle kiss on her forehead, his gloved, metal hand on the back of her head to maintain some semblance of intimacy as long as he could. y/n closed her eyes and enjoyed anakin’s presence while she had it, leaning into his touch. 

“i hate having to hide how much i love you, ani.” y/n said dejectedly, hoping that she'd finally be able to hear the words from him. anakin starting to rub the apples of her cheeks in a soothing manner, his gaze softening as the pad of his thumb continued to rub comforting circles on y/n’s cheek. the nickname she’d created for him made his heart skip a beat, his smile only widening. 

“i promise you’ll see me later, okay?” y/n reluctantly motioned to stand with a soft nod, watching as her master stood. anakin extended his hand to help y/n stand, the woman gladly taking any opportunity to touch her secret lover and master.

y/n tugged anakin down by his shoulders, her hands resting on his new armor. she let her fingers run over the plate, in awe of anakin and his achievements. he never failed to disappoint or surprise her. 

“i don’t think i ever had the chance to tell you, but i’m so proud of you for becoming a general, master. i knew you could do it. i can’t wait for what’s to come.” y/n said, a warm smile across her face despite how sad she was to see him leave. she let her hands rest on the armor for a minute, her eyes meeting his. she looked into those bright blue eyes of his, feeling herself melt into a puddle at that gaze,  the one reserved for her.

anakin only smiled, pulling y/n into his arms, holding her tight—-so tight that it seemed like she would float away if he let up in the slightest. y/n pulled away slightly to hold the general’s face in her hands, connecting his lips with her own. 

—

y/n was in her bedroom, pacing back and forth anxiously. even when he couldn’t immediately return to her, she always heard when anakin left and returned from missions, whether it was through 3po, r2, or gods, even obi-wan! it was driving her more than a little insane crazy that it was deep into the hours of the early morning and she’d heard nothing from her anakin. he promised that’d he’d be back in time to have a nice dinner with her before their nightly training, yet here she was, pacing back and forth, alone, in the darkness of her quarters.

the walls felt suffocating, as if she were confined in them. y/n felt her master’s presence on the planet, but she hadn’t heard from him. was he hiding from me? she couldn’t stop the anxious thoughts that had begun to swirl in her mind and abdomen, anxious nausea filling her body. no. she reminded herself, closing her eyes to steady her thoughts. she forced herself to remember her training, how to balance emotions as they came and letting them go before they fester after acknowledgment. it was beyond difficult and her optimism was starting to lose its spark, despite her hopeful nature wanting to assume this was simply anakin testing her. she was fighting herself to not spiral, which was seeming to be a difficult battle for the young padawan.

arguably, the worst part of being in a secret relationship with anakin was how y/n could never openly be his. she could never be whisked away on dates, never be kissed or hugged in public, she would only ever be viewed as general anakin skywalker’s padawan. she was a secret as far as she was concerned.  the anxious thoughts continued to violate her mind before a memory from before she began her training with the general hit the back of her eyelids,

“y/n, trust me! being my lady in waiting would be so much fun! you wouldn’t have to do anywhere near as much as you’d think! you could leave behind all the fighting and rough housing, you could live lavishly with me! can’t you imagine how great it would be to have an official position next to your best friend? especially as a force-sensitive person, oh you’d be perfect, a force to be reckoned with.” padmé held y/n’s hands tightly, her eyes searching her best friend’s for what emotion she was feeling. “can’t you just imagine it?!” the older encouraged excitedly, her grip on y/n’s hands tightening ever so slightly before her expression faltered at the sight of y/n not sharing her reaction. “i’ve gathered more of an understanding of how things work after a full term as queen, and y/n, i feel you would really thrive by my side.”  

“padmé, it’s not that i don’t wish to be your lady in waiting, really, I think it’d be grand, but, how i wish you’d asked me just a day sooner. as of yesterday, i’ve been invited to become general skywalker’s padawan.” y/n admitted, the excitement in her eyes prompting a storm of emotion in the queen. but, instead of speaking her mind, like she always did, padmé decided to withhold her true opinion, unbeknownst to her best friend. the queen forced a smile, remembering the day she’d met skywalker as a padawan, the day her own life had changed and he had stolen her heart.

jealousy coursed through the queen’s blood for the first time in her life. she’d never envied anyone, nor had she ever acted in her own self interest. it almost hurt her to be jealous of y/n, someone she’d known longer than she’d been queen of naboo, her childhood best friend. padmé’s mind raced with thoughts she knew she shouldn’t have had and instead of stopping them, for once, she let herself be selfish and indulge in them.

“wow, y/n! i’m so excited for you! the general is truly one of the most lovely jedi i’ve ever met. you’re going to become one of the strongest there are, especially at anakin’s side!” padmé wrapped her arms around y/n, her grip similar to that of a fully grown python. “i’m so proud of you, y/n/n.” 

y/n smiled, squeezing the queen back tightly, relieved that her friend wasn’t upset at her. “ to tell you the truth, i’m ecstatic about this opportunity. thank you for being so understanding about this, padmé.” y/n spoke, her relief palpable. the queen’s grip only tightened at her thanks, a smirk making its way onto her face as she rested her chin on y/n’s shoulder.

“you have nothing to thank me for, y/n. i promise.”  

as the memory faded away from the forefront of her mind, y/n had half a mind to close her eyes and let the force guide her to anakin, but as soon as the thought crossed her mind, the door swung open to reveal just the man who had been consuming her every waking hour, thoughts, and feelings.

“maker, anakin, i was so worried about you.” y/n approached her master, extending her arms in the direction of him for a hug. the general happily indulged in the contact, pulling y/n into his warm arms. she fought the urge to nuzzle her face into his chest, letting his presence alone soothe her anxiety.

“you’re shaking.” anakin observed, pulling away slightly to look into his padawan’s e/c eyes, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. it was his own quiet way of telling her he expected an answer to his statement. he was worried, y/n could gather that  much from his tone. 

“i just missed you is all,” y/n answered a little quicker than she intended, hoping her master wouldn’t catch onto how she’d already had an answer prepared for his question. 

“your words tell me one thing, yet your body language defies you. why are you lying to me, y/n?” anakin asked, nudging her chin with his forefinger and thumb, her chin balanced in the empty space in between his fingers to make her look him in the eye. his words extracted the breath in her lungs, y/n’s head hanging in shame as she realized she was caught.

“what happened tonight? why were you so late? what about our plans?” y/n fought the tremble in her voice, though she wanted nothing more than for anakin to hold her close and reassure her as she fell apart in those strong arms of his. 

guilt cast over anakin’s face like a shadow, “i’m so sorry, little dove. i was escorting the queen to a…” hearing the first half of anakin’s explanation sent a wave of nausea through y/n’s body. it seemed as of lately, her best friend wanted nothing to do with her, and only her master. it made her feel sick to her stomach, especially because padmé had reassured y/n that nothing was going on between the two of them, and the girl still felt this bothered by it. 

but, she saw the way padmé looked at him. it was the same way y/n looked at anakin. but, she said nothing. its not like she would jeopardize her second term as queen, just for him, right? y/n was anxious, she was only falling victim to her emotions, right? anakin would remain loyal to her, there was no way he wouldn’t.

right​?

“hey.” there was anakin’s sweet voice again, ringing through the chaos of her mind, the only thing she could see and hear clearly, “tell me what’s on your mind.” anakin leaned down a bit, trying to catch y/n’s dancing gaze before ultimately sighing quietly and tilting her head to look into his eyes again. 

“you left me all alone, no contact. i could feel that you were here on the planet, why didn’t you immediately tell me when you came back like always? you were late, its early morning now, and you promised to be home before dinner and our lesson. can you really blame me for being so upset, anakin?” y/n gently breathed through her emotions, remembering her training despite her anxious and heavy heart. she pulled away from anakin’s touch, electing to cross her arms over her chest instead.

the general took a step forward, grabbing y/n’s wrist and tugging her forward, spinning her into his arms before he leaned in and cupped y/n’s face. he rested his forehead against her own, his free hand on her waist, “i’m sorry for being late, my love. will you let me make it up to you?” he whispered sweetly to her, placing gentle kisses all over her face. “let me make you something to eat, then i’m all yours for the rest of the day. i promise.” anakin ran his hand through her hair gently, being careful to not tug on her hair too harshly as he awaited her answer. y/n almost melted at the action, closing her eyes for a moment to enjoy the calming sensation. after a few moments, before she let herself be lulled to sleep while standing, y/n finally conceded,

“fine. but make my favorite.”

—

“what do you mean you’re stepping down from a third term? padmé, the people are advocating to change the law for you to be allowed a third term–” y/n asked her best friend in disbelief, her brows knitted together tightly as she processed what padmé was saying. 

“i mean, that i feel like i’d be more helpful to my people if i were involved in more of the political side of things,” she answered, her tone unnecessarily rude. it almost startled y/n, as padmé was hardly ever short with her. but then again, y/n had noticed that the nature of their relationship started to change when she had become anakin’s padawan. but there was no way that was the reason their over ten year long friendship was rocky, absolutely no way at all. 

y/n reminded herself of her training once more. only siths deal in absolutes, the words of master obi-wan kenobi as fresh in her mind as the day he’d drilled them into her brain, over two years ago: an off-the-cuff comment the day she was inducted as general skywalker’s padawan. 

“what’s wrong, padmé? i feel you and i have been drifting apart, especially as of your last term. you never talk to me anymore, are you okay?” y/n asked, her tone concerned as she placed a gentle hand on the queen’s senator’s shoulder, the worry in her gaze evident. y/n’s worry was soon replaced with shock and a lightning strike to the heart as she watched padmé’s previously neutral expression be overtaken with disgust at y/n’s touch. 

the padawan dropped her hand as if she had been burnt from padmé’s shoulder and she forced her heart to harden. the woman stiffened as padmé finally answered her question, “perhaps we simply don’t fit into each other’s lives anymore.” padmé being uncharacteristically rude and distrusting became something y/n could no longer bear. the pain of her friendship with padmé splintering became unignorable.

“what? what are you talking about? where is this coming from?!” y/n’s eyes were widened in shock at padmé’s ‘explanation’ of her sudden coldness towards her. “padmé, this doesn’t even make sense, talk to me like we’re still those little girls picking flowers in the garden together!” y/n pleaded, taking a timid step towards her childhood friend. the poor padawan sounded like she was close to tears, a heart-wrenching contrast to the queen who wore a blank slate as her expression. 

padmé only remained silent, taking a step back as y/n attempted to close the distance in between them. y/n could feel her heart shattering into smaller and smaller pieces as padmé drowned her in the sound of silence. the young padawan let her hurt fester in her chest for a moment or more, storing the pain deep inside her mind as she’d be able to use it later in her training, hating that she had to treat the loss of her life long friend as a lesson. 

“p-padmé…? are you not even going to say anything at all?” 

y/n couldn’t take the silence anymore, regretting all the times she’d taken her friendship with padmé for granted. after a moment, y/n finally offered a simple, single nod to padmé. 

“right, then. i can clearly sense you’ve made up your mind about this. i don’t know what i did to you, or what i could’ve possibly said, but, i wish you well, padmé. i hope we can one day fix this.” with that, y/n left padmé’s room, blinking back tears that begged to be set free from the prison that were y/n’s tear ducts. 

later, y/n found herself in the training room, a bead of sweat starting to form at the edges of her scalp as she practiced using the force on the heaviest weights in the room. she’d been training for nearly an hour now, and once again, anakin was nowhere to be found. she checked his quarters, the council room, and not even the council knew where he was. reluctantly, back she traversed to the training room, electing to do something useful with her time instead of anxiously pacing around her quarters for hours at a time again. 

she couldn’t even stay focused on her exercises, anakin’s absence weighing on her heavier than she was comfortable admitting. for a moment, she’d zoned out, staring at the tan wall across from her as images of her and padmé growing up together raced through her mind at several miles per hour. y/n felt a strike through her chest at the loss of padmé, letting out a loud grunt as she force pulled the weights about an inch in front of her foot from across the large training room. y/n let out a noise of disbelief, shocked at her new achievement. momentarily forgetting she was the only one present in the room, she grinned and turned around. disappointment washed over her in waves, the weight heavy enough to hold her down on the ground. her master wasn’t there, he hadn’t seen how much she had been improving.

anakin sighed, annoyance starting to spread through his body. of course, last minute, as he was on his way to train with y/n, master yoda had summoned him to the council room. he entered to see mace windu, yoda, and queen padmé present. “what’s going on here? why was I summoned?” the young general asked, fully aware of the fact that he was now running late. he hoped to the force that y/n would forgive him this time.

“there has been an attempt on queen amidala’s life.” mace windu’s words resulted in anakin narrowing his eyes. the jedi’s eyes found the queen’s, surprised to find her already looking at him. anakin’s eyes found master windu’s again,

“i see...but what does that-” anakin’s question was cut short as master windu spoke over him,

“it means you are assigned to be the queen’s bodyguard until further notice. you are to tell no one where you’re going, nor are you allowed to tell anyone your mission. the less who know, the better.” anakin’s eyes widened at the thought of being separated from y/n, his heart starting to race,

“surely my padawan will be invited along so i can continue her training in the meantime, right? and besides, she and the queen are lifelong friend-” queen amidala interrupted anakin this time, another wave of displeasure washing over him at the constant interruptions,

“we are not,” anakin took notice of padmé’s tone, not liking it one bit. he thought of how y/n would speak of padmé, her attitude not matching y/n’s kind descriptions of her. once again, he narrowed his eyes,

master yoda spoke now, anakin’s heart sinking at his words, “your padawan, continue her training with master obi-wan she will. worry, you must not, in good hands will she be." anakin wanted to argue but he knew it would only push him further from his end goal. with a sigh, he turned to padmé once more,

“tell me what happened in the attempt.” anakin crossed his arms over his broad chest, not even bothering to hide his obvious displeasure over his new assignment. he had to find a way to communicate with y/n before she thought he was abandoning her and forgetting about her again.

padmé seemed to be caught off guard by anakin’s demand, obvious from the way her breath caught in her throat and the way her eyes widened ever so slightly. the queen cleared her throat delicately before speaking, “well...i was in my bed room and i saw someone aiming at me with a blaster through the window.”

“that’s it…? nothing actually happened and now i'm being given the task of protecting you-?”

“watch your tone and remember who exactly you’re speaking to, young skywalker,” windu spat angrily, shaking his head at anakin’s blatant disrespect of the queen. anakin sighed loudly at the correction, rubbing his temples as he processed what was being said to him. he finally snapped his head up after a moment,

“when do we leave? can i at least tell my padawan that i-” yet another interruption, causing anakin to nearly roll his eyes. nobody ever let him express himself, not like y/n did, and quite frankly he was growing tired of it.

“you both leave tonight, we on the other hand will let your padawan know of your surrender of her training.” windu groaned, annoyed that like always, the young skywalker questioned everything instead of a simple nod and ‘yes, master.’ anakin’s eyes widened at windu’s words,

“i can’t have her thinking i willingly abandoned her.” his brows furrowed, his body growing more and more tense. “you’ll let me at least say goodbye…” he trailed off, almost surprised he hadn’t been interrupted this time.

“i think it would only benefit you to remember that jedi are not to form attachments to anyone, general. not even their own padawan.” mace windu’s words were a warning, or maybe a challenge, anakin thought to himself, before simply turning around and storming off towards the doors of the council room. “anakin!” mace windu called after him, soon realizing it was to no avail as the young jedi only continued to walk towards the door faster with no intentions of turning around.

padmé followed after anakin, lifting her dress to jog after him. as she approached him, they exited the doors together. anakin still hadn’t turned to look at padmé until they were at their assigned ship. something felt wrong about this whole thing, but then again, when didn’t anakin question the choices of others around him?

anakin stepped into the ship padmé led him to, his mind racing as he thought of y/n, closing his eyes in an attempt to communicate with y/n through the force. as soon as he felt y/n’s energy, the ship started to take off. his eyes shot open to the sight of padmé having booted up the ship, immediately noticing she typed in the coordinates to naboo.

“hey, wait a minute, I wasn’t ready yet!” anakin argued before he realized the ship was moving already, just slightly out of range of his padawan now. it almost seemed like something was trying to keep anakin and y/n apart. anakin swore he could feel it and he suppressed a growl,

“padmé.” anakin spoke her first name, “i told you I wasn’t ready yet.” with an annoyed sigh, padmé turned to anakin,

“well, maybe if you hadn’t stormed out of the council room like that, you would’ve heard that naboo is expecting us within the hour. why are you acting like this, ani? you’re never this disagreeable about an assignment.” padmé said with a frown, her gaze attempting to peer into the windows of anakin’s soul. with a scoff, anakin broke eye contact before shaking his head, the use of y/n's nickname for him for once igniting an angry blaze within his heart, disgust etching itself across his face,

“don’t look at me like that. i don’t like it, not one bit.” anakin insisted, ignoring padmé’s question. "and don't call me that, that isn't what i go by to you." a war was raging inside anakin’s mind, several smaller battles creating a mass conflict inside him. he felt like he was going to explode any minute.

he worried for his young padawan, he knew exactly how this was going to look to her and he despised it. he was furious he couldn’t explain to her what was going on, he could only imagine how much this was hurting her.

the thought that someone had found out about his and y/n’s secret caused him to stiffen before he forced himself to relax. he’d been on several missions protecting padmé as of recently, and before today he almost considered them friends.

anakin let his thoughts encase y/n, his lovely padawan. he hadn’t yet noticed that the queen was staring at him. his heart stung from the lack of y/n, his right side cold without her. he refused to tell padmé his feelings, he couldn’t. sure, his new assignment was to protect padmé, but his first priority was to keep y/n safe. he knew they’d both be forced into exile if anyone were to ever find out about their secret relationship, and that was anakin's worst nightmare.

padmé hated the silence she was met with and thought of some way, any way she could break through the jedi’s walls, get him out of his head and pay attention to her. padmé could tell what, or rather, who was on anakin’s mind, “if this is about me interrupting you earlier, i'm sorry. y/n and I had just gotten into a terrible fight shortly before you had arrived, my mind has been everywhere and nowhere all at once.” she spoke with an anxious chuckle. to her satisfaction, anakin finally looked her in the eyes at the sound of y/n’s name,

“what happened? is she alright?” anakin asked, his worry for y/n only growing. there it was, anakin’s weak spot, y/n.

“she’s been so different lately,” padmé lied, forcing a sad expression as she spoke about the woman she’d began to resent, “i’m sure its that man she’s been around lately, but she wouldn’t even listen to me, her childhood best friend!” anakin’s heart stopped at padmé’s words,

“what?” was all anakin could muster in reply, nausea rising into his stomach and chest. “what man?” anakin said almost bitterly, tasting the bile in the back of his throat.

a look of shock crossed padmé’s features as she covered her mouth, as if she could take back the words that she had already spoken, “she wouldn’t tell me who, but...she had mentioned to me that when she wasn’t with you or me, she was with him.” anakin almost vomited from padmé’s truth, having to force himself to take deep breaths.

anakin didn’t know how much time passed until padmé landed the ship, his eyes finally refocusing on the sight ahead of him, naboo.

—

“no, I refuse to believe that. anakin w-wouldn’t have left without at least saying goodbye, or telling me. something had to have happened.” y/n shook her head, unbelieving of the news she was being told. frostbite exploded across her chest, the warmth of shame and the icy truth of betrayal prominently battling within her, a moment’s weakness reminding her of the secret she had been forced to be, forced to keep. she felt like her heart was being ripped out of her chest.

mace windu narrowed his eyes at the young padawan, “master skywalker, for your information, has surrendered responsibility of you to master obi-wan,” he extended his hand to the side where obi-wan sat, a much less jovial than normal tone as he greeted y/n with his usual,

“hello, there.” he waved awkwardly, deciding for himself to take over the explanation from mace, knowing it would be less harsh of an explanation to y/n if he told her himself. he took a step forward to be closer to y/n’s line of sight, “don’t fret, young one. this wasn’t due to anything you may or may not have done, you can relax. i can almost feel your fear,” obi-wan said lightheartedly, accompanied by a chuckle in an attempt to soothe the padawan’s nerves. “this was a decision made by the council, as anakin was sent away on a new assignment.” obi-wan’s eyes were soft and caring as he spoke, worried for the younger jedi in training, noticing her extreme upset.

obi-wan noticed she had little to no reaction at his attempt at a joke and he turned to windu, a nod in his direction, “anakin had told me of the plans he had for y/n’s training, i'd like to get a head start on that if you wouldn’t mind, master windu,” obi-wan watched as he mulled over the thought momentarily before waving the two off,

“you’re both dismissed.” as master windu spoke, y/n flipped around and stormed toward the door, the resemblance of her master’s actions mere hours prior not lost on him. windu clenched his fists before standing up from his seat and turning away to look out the window.

the doors to the council room flew open with a nod of y/n’s head as she channeled the force to swing the doors for her. obi-wan quickly gained on her, following her back to her quarters, “i don’t get it obi-wan,” y/n let out dejectedly, before he placed a hand on her shoulder,

“quiet now. we shall discuss this in private.” obi-wan communicated through the force, the sensation almost foreign to her, only used to this form of communication with anakin’s voice on the other side. y/n stiffened, only nodding gently. her fists were clenched by her sides and obi-wan pretended not to notice as he took the lead, walking them towards y/n’s quarters. together they entered, obi-wan shutting the door behind him as he entered her living space.

“so, what happened?” y/n asked, her words flying from her mouth before she could stop them, “why did he leave? where did he go?” y/n’s heart hadn’t stopped burning since she’d found out, the loss of anakin weighing heavily on her mind and body.

“the council seems to have sent him away on a mission to protect the queen. there was an attempt on her life. so with anakin, the queen is hiding on a different planet until we find who attempted to bring her harm.” obi-wan explained, his gaze sympathetic, “i know you’re upset because your training is going to be different now, perhaps you even thought it would be halted until anakin came back--”

you couldn’t be more wrong about what i'm thinking, master. y/n thought to herself.

“your abilities came to you later than most.” obi-wan spoke, his hands folded together in front of him. it was true, y/n hadn’t realized she were a force sensitive individual until she was roughly fourteen. despite that though, she’d always been playing games in the garden with sticks as weapons, pretending she was a jedi. it was what padmé was referencing when she told y/n she wouldn’t have to fight anymore, when she had been invited to be padmé’s lady in waiting.

with a single nod, y/n looked up at obi-wan, waiting for him to continue, “well, young padawan, come with me. the next part of your training comes now, as per request of anakin himself.” her eyes lit up,

“anakin’s request…? have you spoken with him? is he okay?” y/n forced her voice to remain steady despite her frazzled state, why hasn’t he reached out to me? y/n thought hopelessly.

“anakin’s fine. though, he is far more worried about his little padawan rather than the queen,” obi-wan said with a smile, clapping y/n on the shoulder, “he’s just fine, as is the queen. he wanted me to apologize on his behalf for being unable to explain his circumstances, but to trust him and me, and everything will be alright.”

the pit in her stomach that accompanied her anxieties returned in full force at the thought of anakin no longer being her master, and the fact that padmé’s life was threatened after their big fight. y/n hoped and prayed to the force for her emotions to stop warring within her. upon seeing the distress on her young face, obi-wan gently took her wrists in his own,

“y/n, you must relax. your emotion is radiating off you in waves. calm down, he’s going to come back after this assignment and be your master again, he promises.” obi-wan smiled at her reassuringly, “now come with me, the next step in your training comes now.” y/n’s brows furrowed in confusion and maybe a little worry,

“the next step? master obi-wan, what’re you-hey!” obi-wan only kept walking towards her door and out of her quarters. the young girl chased after him, following behind him quietly. y/n called after him again from the base of his ship before she walked up the ramp, following him inside “master obi-wan!”

obi-wan finally turned to face y/n now, inviting her to take a seat. for once, she followed orders without questioning them and sat down next to obi-wan as he began to start up the ship, “tell me, y/n, have you ever been to the planet lotho minor?”

her brows furrowed at obi-wan as the spacecraft lifted off, flying towards the sky and away from coruscant, “lotho...minor? the wreck planet?” y/n asked, perplexed as to why the planet was relevant. “never. master anakin always told me that only crazy people would go there, that’s where most, including naboo would leave their waste. why? what’s going on, obi-wan?”

“well, your master had plans to bring you there himself, as no one would visit to disturb you, but unfortunately since plans changed, now i'll be bringing you there myself.” y/n wasn’t sure she approved of this, only trying to focus on the fact that this was what anakin had planned for her next.

obi-wan and she didn’t really talk much during the ride there, mainly because obi-wan hadn’t known how to talk to the padawan, really. as obi-wan landed the craft, he then finally turned to y/n, “how have you been enjoying your training? has anakin been good to you?” from the tone of his voice, y/n could tell that he was being lighthearted, trying to get a smile out of her. y/n smiled and nodded softly in response,

“yeah. he’s always been great, in all senses of the word. i never realized how much i was ignorant of, he’s taught me so much.” y/n allowed herself to gush over him, glad that someone had finally given her a reason to praise her master in a respectful manner. obi-wan smiled, finally having something to talk about with his apprentice’s padawan.

“you should be careful when you use words like ‘never’ and ‘always’, padawan. things are rarely so absolute. you should be more precise. clarity of mind is important for a jedi.” obi-wan lectured her.

y/n mentally groaned before obi-wan spoke again, “yes, yes, i know only sith deal in absolutes,” must everything be a lesson? she thought to herself

with a nod, obi-wan folded his arms behind him, “come on now, young one. we have things to do, things to learn,” he barely gave y/n a chance to reply before standing and walking towards the exit of his ship. “anakin wanted to bring you here for a reason. as you know, you should’ve found and forged your kyber crystal for your lightsaber many, many, years ago, but due to your late blooming, you were never able to make it to ilum.”

y/n raised a brow at the recollection of her past and simply nodded, “right… and what does lotho minor have to do with kyber crystals?” the young padawan asked, keeping up with obi-wan’s quick pace, following him into a den carved into the side of a dirt mountain.

as y/n followed obi-wan inside, she looked around and realized that there wasn’t much, other than a plethora of what she could only assume were kyber crystals, never having seen one in person before. y/n raced over to the group of crystals on the dirt, her eyes blown wide with excitement and joy, the first good news in a while, the padawan thought to herself.

she reached down, closing her eyes and let the crystals call to her. as she made her choice on the crystal in the middle, obi-wan chuckled softly,

“gods, you look about as excited as anakin does when queen padmé enters a room, or when he gets sent away on a mission with her.”

y/n’s head flicked up to obi-wan as he spoke, her grip suddenly tightening on the crystal in her hand, “what?”

—

anakin was staring into the fireplace, his mind still racing. it hadn’t stopped, not since yoda had pulled him to the side on his way to training with y/n. it started to cause him extreme discomfort, leaving him with the feeling of being unable to catch a full breath. the young jedi’s mind was bouncing back and forth between right and wrong and what defined each. he found himself starting to question the jedi code, something that had been becoming increasingly more and more common for him. he missed y/n, even though he knew he shouldn’t have. 

why did he have to be sent on this mission now? why did his training have to be interrupted? all he wanted was to be with y/n, hold her in his arms. he wanted to-

“anakin, you’ve been quiet since we’ve gotten here, since i told you about y/n.” padmé sat on the couch next to anakin, curling her legs onto the cushion underneath herself. “what are you so worked up about?” padmé shuffled a bit closer now, but anakin’s eyes were still on the flames crackling atop the logs in the stone fireplace. 

“padmé, i’d really appreciate some alone time to think right now.” anakin grumbled, not once looking away from the flames ahead of him. 

padmé frowned, moving a hair closer to him, “anakin, whatever it is, i’m here for you. if y/n can have someone like him to confide in, you’re certainly allowed to, too.” the queen almost pleaded, watching as anakin stood from the couch, now starting to pace in front of the fireplace. 

“i said i’d like some-” 

with a soft, annoyed, sigh, padmé stood as well, grabbing anakin by his wrist and pulling him close enough to take his face in her hands, pulling anakin’s lips into her own. she was smiling as she kissed him, but her smile quickly diminished and was replaced with shock when the jedi pushed her away from him, 

“padmé, what have you done..?” anakin sounded horrified, wiping her kiss off his lips with his sleeves, fear filling his eyes and heart. y/n. his thoughts were only of her, his young padawan, who was going to be devastated when she found out. 

“i have to go.” the jedi said worriedly, his eyes flickering around every surface in the room until his eyes landed on the spacecraft key. 

“anakin, wait, i’m sorry, come back! wait!” the queen called after him. as 3po finally began to clamber back up the hill from the market, a basket of food in his arms, he saw his very angry master storming towards the spacecraft they'd all arrived on, the wind flapping his robes behind him. anakin was a threatening presence right now, even the droid could sense it. 

“sir, i have returned with the--oh, where are you going?” the droid asked, turning to direct his question to his master as anakin stormed past the droid,

“3po, stay here with the queen until i or another jedi comes back.” was all that anakin said, quickly throwing himself into the ship's cockpit.

in that moment, anakin had made a decision. 

he would no longer standby and let the jedi code dictate his every move, thought, and action. he was the chosen one, it was time to choose something for himself and what he held dear. he was done being a weapon of the republic.

he had to find y/n, fast. 

—

“it was…always her, wasn’t it…?”

“y/n, what have i told you about always and never, the more time passes, the more i swear you’re just like-” obi-wan’s eyes finally met the glowing crystal in y/n’s hand.

he drew his lightsaber out of pure instinct, his breath caught in his lungs, “y/n…” obi-wan whispered in disbelief. 

y/n’s racing heart was ignored as she looked down at the red kyber crystal in her hand, her body on autopilot as she placed the crystal into the hilt of the saber, as if she had repeated the process multiple times in her life. the red of her lightsaber illuminating her face in the darkness of the cave.

y/n realized that obi-wan wasn’t breathing, her hand raised to use the force to expand his lungs out of pure habit, an action she'd learned from her master who had used the method on herself when she was panicking and couldn't breathe. she hadn't thought twice, fear overtaking her mind and body, “m-master? what does this mean?” the young girl was terrified out of her mind.

obi-wan powered off his lightsaber, the hilt of the saber placed on his side once more when he realized y/n wasn’t going to hurt him. 

“run. run while i’m extending to you compassion that i shouldn’t.” obi-wan’s tone was sad, his heart pained for the young padawan. “i won’t tell anyone where you’ve gone, but you must run, y/n. i can no longer protect you.” y/n looked up at obi-wan, attempting to make eye contact with him, but he kept his gaze on the ground, unable to look at her. 

“obi-wan, i-” y/n pleaded out softly,

“GO!” obi-wan yelled, turning his back to y/n, his fists clenched at his sides. 

devastation filled y/n as she stood, forcing herself to her feet, “tell…tell my master i’m sorry i couldn’t say goodbye.” she mustered out before taking off deeper into lotho minor. 

obi-wan heard her run off, his back still to her as she spoke. he found himself turning around to watch her frame disappear into the distance, swallowing his feelings. he watched for another moment more, even after she left his line of sight before heading back to his spacecraft, 

alone.

when obi-wan returned to coruscant, he did not immediately report back to the council, instead electing to go straight to his quarters. he stared at his reflection in the mirror of his bathroom, unsure if he was proud or scared of the man looking back at him. 

—

upon anakin’s return to coruscant, he immediately found himself at the door of his padawan’s quarters. he knocked on her door, calling out her name quietly. he received no answer, only making his heart race faster. he closed his eyes, using the force to sense her, but he didn’t feel her presence at all, not on this planet.

had obi-wan and she already gone to lotho minor? he hadn’t even been gone a full week, and obi-wan had already taken her to forge her crystal. he was distracted from his thoughts when he heard footsteps behind him. 

it was grand master yoda approaching him. 

anakin walked towards the grand master, not even remembering to nod his head respectfully towards yoda, the worry for y/n entirely consuming all of his mind, 

“where’s my y/n? where’s my padawan?” the young jedi’s voice was laced with worry. he ignored the taken aback expression on yoda’s face at his words, his fear only monsooning at the grand master’s words, 

“heard from her, we have not. master obi-wan the last to see and hear from her, he was.” yoda answered. 

“how long has it been since you’ve heard from her?” anakin asked, trying and failing to remain calm. he couldn't stop his voice from trembling.

“the day her assignment under obi-wan began, saw her, last we did.” the day anakin left coruscant? 

i’m going to lose my mind, the jedi thought to himself. 

as anakin ran off towards obi-wan’s quarters, the jedi ignored the grand master’s calls for him, only focusing on finding obi-wan as fast as he could. fear threatened to swallow anakin whole, the fact that no one had heard from y/n terrifying him. 

everything anakin was doing was for her.

anakin didn’t even knock when he found obi-wan’s quarters, using the force to swing the door open as he stepped inside, “obi-wan!” he called out for his master, stepping deeper into the room. 

obi-wan had been on his balcony, leaning on the railing and staring out at the sky as he heard anakin approach. he didn’t turn around or even acknowledge the young jedi until anakin stood at his side. 

“where’s y/n? yoda said you were the last to hear from her, you were the last to see her! where is she?” anakin was a mixture of anger and anxiety, a fiery ball of emotion that scared obi-wan. 

“anakin, please calm down.” was all the older jedi said before turning to face anakin, his face troubled. seeing the burden that obi-wan carried on him and feeling the weight of obi-wan’s stress in the force only forced anakin to speak, needing confirmation that his worst case scenario wasn’t coming to fruition, 

“obi-wan, tell me where y/n is.” he said after a breath, his hands on the banister of the balcony, squeezing so tightly that his knuckles turned white, as he gazed at obi-wan pleadingly.

“she…" a pause. "is no longer with us, anakin.” obi-wan said quietly, his gaze still not on anakin. anakin thought he was going to be sick, a cold sweat beading at the back of his neck and down his back. 

“what do you mean, no longer with us, obi-wan? now really isn’t the time for jokes, i’d like to see my padawan and her new lightsaber that you two were supposed to go retrieve.” anakin's tone was one of deep denial, despite not knowing exactly what obi-wan meant by his words.

for a moment, obi-wan considered telling the young jedi that his padawan had died, to save him the pain of knowing that y/n was no longer a padawan, but a sith apprentice. 

“she…” the words were stuck in obi-wan’s throat, unsure of where to begin in his explanation, “i think you should take a seat, anakin, perhaps we should go inside and-”

anakin slammed his hand down on the banister, the metal reverberating with a soft whine, “damnit, obi-wan, tell me what happened!” 

“she belongs to the dark side, now, anakin.” obi-wan finally lifted his gaze to who was once his own padawan. “i brought her to the cavern on lotho minor like you asked of me, she picked up her chosen crystal, and i made a silly joke and laughed… by the time i looked up, she was wielding a red light saber. i’m so sorry anakin.” 

“did you kill her…?” anakin asked, his chest constricting painfully as he looked away from obi-wan, “what did you say to her?!” it took all of his restraint to not grab obi-wan and throw him over the edge of the balcony, 

obi-wan was silent for a moment, “no. i didn’t. i let her go, anakin. i couldn’t. she wasn't going to hurt me, that's why i let her go.” he took a deep breath before continuing, “she looked excited, beyond it, to set her eyes upon the crystals. i said something along the lines of her expression was similar to how you looked when the queen walked into a room, or when you were assigned on a mission with her, i thought she’d laugh. i still don’t understand what happened…” obi-wan shook his head, entirely oblivious that his poorly made and timed joke cost anakin everything. 

anakin couldn’t stop himself before his hand found the hilt of his lightsaber, a desolate look on his face as he flicked the power button, the blue energy buzzing and whirring in the air alongside him.

anakin heard y/n’s laugh, pictured her smile in his head, his anger towards obi-wan only growing, i never even had the chance to tell her i love her.

“you turned her against me…”  

obi-wan’s heart shattered at the sight before him, his hand hesitantly finding his own lightsaber, the blade still powered off as he spoke, “anakin, don’t do this. don’t let her twist your mind with the dark side!” anakin’s former master pleaded with him, his heart heavy already with the loss of a powerful padawan like y/n. he couldn’t bear to watch his own former padawan fall to the dark side too. “you’re my brother anakin, please-”

“don’t lecture me obi-wan, i see through the lies of the jedi, i do not fear the dark side as you do.” 

obi-wan finally powered on his lightsaber, his own emotion threatening to consume him as he took on a defensive stance,

“then i will do what i must.” obi-wan whispered, unable to stop his emotion from breaking through.

"you will try."

[silentium-symphony]

A Lamb in Wolf's Clothing (Link x Reader) SMUT

(a/n) hey ya'll! i'm so sorry for going MIA for a few months--as some of you may know, I have just recently graduated from college, so there are a lot of big changes happening in my life right now! i appreciate your continued patience with me :) this fic was commissioned by the lovely @mistressofdeathsblog! thank you for giving me such a fun prompt, I had a lot of fun trying smth new and I hope you enjoy it too!

before you start reading, please take special note of the cw below. also, please remember that this is not a healthy relationship you want to emulate and is written for the sole purpose of entertainment. if you are in a relationship that strips your autonomy and you feel unsafe bringing this issue up to the offending party/parties, please reach out to someone you trust. there is no power in staying if there is no freedom to leave. stay safe out there.

and ofc, since this is smut, minors do not interact with this piece.

cw: dubcon, afab!reader, ooc!link since i highly doubt Hylia's Hero would be so life-alteringly possessive of their lover, tp!link, reader being chased, reader being held against their will, blood, tight spaces, swearing, name-calling, dumbification kinda??, cunnilingus, doggy, mirror/standing sex

wc: 5k

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Sweat and blood dribbled down your forehead, stinging your eyes with a salty, metallic bite. Thorn-kissed hands grasped and blindly waded through thick patches of bramble. The dark, bristling whips that surrounded you worked every exposed piece of skin into a raw, bloody mess quivering from the forest's cruelty.

You couldn't care less.

The birds overhead guffawed at your efforts as splotches of pale moon danced mockingly, titillatingly along the cold earth. You chased every moon patch with the frenzy of an escaped convict a morning away from freedom.

Because that's what you were, really.

The beginnings and ends of thoughts knotted and frayed into each other, flurrying your head into a cohesive garble. Just how big was this forest? It looked like a sprawling mess from the fortress you were locked up in, but it was absolutely impenetrable now that you were in the thick of it. It was as if the very woods were enchanted to keep you from ever escaping.

A ring of pain hooked the topside of your foot, propelling all of your momentum downwards and towards the forest floor. You couldn't even scream before you bashed your cheek through a thin layer of crusted mud. The cold soil caked your flushed cheeks--the only shred of relief you've felt since your mad sprint to freedom.

Your spine slinked up into a curl--a pathetic attempt to get up, to begin your chase again, but your battered body refused to endure further abuse. (E/C) eyes flitted about you, trying to interpret the shadows that danced and weaved through the trees.

Running in this state would be pointless. You dug your forearms and elbows to crawl towards an ivy overhang that promised hidden refuge and curled into as tight of a ball you could muster. The silky white dress he gifted you had been ripped past recognition. The airy fabric that once brushed your ankles now clung tightly to your blood-laced thighs, soiled from the toils of flight. You pulled your legs closer; your lungs fought for precious breath against your pounding heart.

What a shame. If only it weren't beating so fast, you might have heard the crack of a single twig located too close for comfort.

From several paces into the unseen was a pair of blue eyes misted over with sinful hunger; your quivering, shorn form was scintillating to watch and feasted his mind with imaginations more heart-racing than the last. Your blood, sweat, and tears mixing with your natural scent proved to be the most tantalizing olfactory cocktail, scattering his thoughts into overdrive.

He hated the rush he got from seeing you like this--lost and confused without his guidance through these nested thorns, yearning for warmth and safety he knew he could provide (and had been providing since you stumbled into his castle that fateful day).

Why did you leave him? Was he not enough for you? But he'd given you everything! Everything! Freshly made home-cooked meals, tailored clothes that hugged your form, a bed warmed by him, his body...

He could still feel the soft plush of your flesh sinking and dimpling in his hands as he thrust into you with the faux tenderness of a starved man. Your beautiful eyes locked with his own, only leaving to disappear into the back of your head. Your mouth agape to let the cutest sounds escape...

If you were happy with him, why were you leaving him?

Not waking up to your face smooshed into his pillows, not beholding you in all the pretty silk and ribbons he had lying around, not fucking you in every position you could possibly think of, not spending every waking moment with you...

Why, he'd rather die.

If it made you happy, he'd allow the ambrosial drippings of freedom to bead your lips.

If it made you happy, he'd let you delude yourself into thinking you were far enough from the castle to be away from him.

But only for now. Link prided himself on his chivalry and patience, but even that was growing thin from your incessant attempts of escape. He was going to have to show you why it was such a good idea to stay here with him, forever and ever and ever.

You were nodding off now, it seemed. The way your head kept dipping and rising in a futile attempt to stay wary was so adorable, he just had to ravish you right then and there! He had barely managed to stave off his intrusive thoughts as he stalked closer to you, still clinging closely to the dark cloak that hung off twisted branches.

You saw something shift from the corner of your eye; your neck snapped up and a croak clawed out of you.

"Who's there?!"

Silence.

Silence.

Silence.

Why was it so quiet?

Had it always been so quiet?

Where have the birds gone?

A familiar silhouette emerged from the trees.

"L-... Link..." Your throat, parched and scratched from heaving the cold night air, rang a voice unfamiliar to you.

Azure eyes that once beheld you with all the love in the world now stare back with deadpan coldness. Words need not be exchanged here; his presence alone blew any hope of escape in the next breeze that ruffled his fur.

A calculated step towards you retreated you further into your little alcove, a prayer that the ivy could take you in as one of its own on your lips. There was no telling what he was thinking, or how close to the edge he was. But that look, that hunger.

That familiar, craved look your body knew too well pulsed anxious tingles through your fingertips.

Another step.

Then another.

Another.

Finally,

He was here.

You could feel him, all of him--his hot breath against your arms, his fur bristling against your thigh, his warmth freezing your blood where it ran. You hadn't realized how much you were shaking until you heard the rhythmic shifting of ivy buzzing into your ear.

He pressed his head into your lap, prying you open to make way for him. And you sat there, obeying him like the perfect little doe you were. As he lazily dragged a tongue across your thigh, lapping at the dried blood that crusted your flesh, he looked up. Relief, adoration, love. That stifling comforting, possessive protective obsession love that he had so readily wrapped you in the moment he met you. For a moment, he looked like a lamb in wolf's clothing.

So many thoughts swirled inside you, your brain numbing to prevent overstimulation. But amongst the chaos, a single thought backdropped every complicated emotion you were feeling.

He had found you.

Had it not been for the blood drumming through your ears and temples, you would have thought time had frozen in this purgative state. He was splayed atop you now, seeming to rest from his hours-long stalking; he wasn't crushing you, but it was clear he had all the control in this dynamic. Any undesirable shift away from him, to preserve your own personhood, would most certainly have led to a 'gentle' nudge toward him.

A single cobalt eye lazily cracked open after a million years ticked by. His piercing gaze, though fringed with some life, made it abundantly clear that your race to freedom was placed at an indefinite standstill. He had never once snapped at you, but the fear lodged in your chest informed you not to test him further.

He hauled himself up, joints locked from inactivity popping to life as he arched into a long stretch. His carefree pose hinted at obliviousness--borderline forgiveness--to your impertinence, but you knew better.

Link never forgets.

He eyed you again with a sort of child-like excitement that twisted your gut into a sickening pattern. His tail arced to and fro, painting his excitement in broad strokes. He wedged his snout between the small of your back and the wall and firmly pushed you forward, scooting you a couple inches toward your prison home.

You knew better than to anger him.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Link's skillful navigation through the thorns was unimpeded by your clinging onto him. It had taken hours to get to where you once were, but a quarter of that time for the wolf. The gloomy castle you had called your home for months (years?) broadened into view until you could clearly see its spires puncture through occasional clouds. The moon, basking in its celestial sovereignty, jeered at your return.

Link slipped through a tiny crack in the iron-clad door, made by the wolf confident in its tracking and retrieving abilities. You slugged off him with practiced movements; a sound akin to obscene magic asundering flesh preluded your captor's transformation. Grisly black fur gave way to sand-blonde hair; the worn, patchwork shirt which heralded his humble beginnings as a rancher ran taut against the back you had spent several minutes clambering onto.

He continued looking ahead unblinkingly as you idled a few paces behind him, your chest constricting and mind frenzying with murky anticipation. Your nerves, frayed from adrenaline and brain-altering fear, now swam in the heavy nothingness of silence; you were a breath away from weeping before a tenor tone disturbed the still.

"Let's get you cleaned up."

Silently, you both moved through the halls, paying the torchlit shadows the special type of attention one gave to the mundane in moments choked with awkwardness. Worn, freshly torn hands bunched the hem of your dress until your knuckles whitened. A part of you wished to never reach your destination, preferring thickened stillness over the unpredictable inevitable. You rounded a familiar corner and gathered the shreds of your sanity to brace yourself for whatever may come.

The sullen wooden door gave way to the man's heave and you followed him in. A large bathroom decorated only with the essentials filled your view. As Link ran the faucet, your eyes absently glazed over the rickety plumbing he had installed to transport hot spring water to the tub. For the first time since his transformation, he turned to you.

"Strip."

His clear, authoritative tone cut sharper than any thorn that had shredded you. Eyes downcast, your fingers wrought the straps of your dress further, further down your shoulders. Your skin burned from your clammy fingers; you blamed it on the steam that had begun filling the corners of the room and ignored the heavy, heated stare placed on you by the male.

Link followed your dawdling, hooking his fingers under the hem of his shirt and lifting it to reveal a stomach sculpted by years of farm work and adventuring. The straps of your dress coiled close to your elbows before settling by your ankles. Your hands immediately scattered to cover your exposed parts as Link finished undressing himself, his fully erect length blurred by warm mists and (eventually) a deftly wrapped towel.

He reached over to squeak the faucet shut; the comforting, monotonous lull of running water now halted to scant droplets. After pulling out the small basket of rags and soap, he sat on a bar stool and beckoned you with a lone finger.

"Come here. You're filthy."

You shuffled out of the shredded dress and forward, keeping your eyes trained on the end of the tub where he sat.  The wanton desire for a hot bath waived your concerns over the situation, dulling your fears enough to throw a leg over the edge and sink everything but the top half of your face below the water.

The warm panacea cloaked you in an elixir of ease, and a satisfied groan unintentionally lapsed your lips; your hand figuratively slapped over your mouth when the air honeyed into something...

Sinful.

Link dipped a small bucket into the bathwater and slowly poured it over your head, calloused fingers expertly combing through knotted, crusted strands. The hardened skin tenderly brushing the back of your neck jolted heated memories to the forefront of your mind.

You could still feel the harsh, almost desperate grip laced in your hair as he pounded you from behind, panting sweet promises to give you more for the rest of your lives. Your face, buried in his pillows, blindly nodded along to the specifics of what he had said, your mind too blurred to focus on much else aside from your umpteenth high of the night.

The warm water felt like a cold deluge and a noticeable shiver ran through you. Soapy hands stopped caressing your scalp.

"(F/N)?"

"H-Huh?"

"How about we play a little game?" Link murmured suddenly, absently twirling your locks in his fingertips. Had it not been for the taut fingers interweaved through your hair, your surprise would have been more apparent.

"What... What game?"

"A little game similar to hide-n-seek." He started languidly, as if savoring every vowel that lisped his tongue. "If you can evade my capture until dawn, I will guide you to the forest's edge so you may leave. However..."

Rough fingerpads traced up the side of your bicep as darkened ears caught your quiet, involuntary gasp.

"If I catch you... You're mine. Deal?"

Throat tightening and heart palpitating, your mind fought to keep its last ounce of calm as your captor's hand circled to your front to cusp and knead your--

"What's the catch?" You breathed, somehow managing to divert your attention away from Link's sinful reaches.

"There is no catch, but there are rules." He pecked your cheek, his lips curving into a soft smile that thinly veiled iller intents.

"You are allowed to hide anywhere in the castle grounds and use whatever means necessary to hide from me, so long as neither of us gets seriously injured... The moment you step foot in that forest, I will claim you where you stand. Is that fair?"

Was this a trick?

A sick joke meant to dangle tonight's failure in your face?

Surely it was... But what if it wasn't?

His steady stare that peered shamelessly through your soul conveyed a degree of seriousness and sincerity required to make a truthful statement.

"How do I know that you won't go back on your word?"

"I have never lied to you." He gritted his teeth. "Can you say the same?"

The genuine hurt masking his eyes ached your chest, but the tiniest shred of dignity you had left netted the apology that almost escaped your mouth.

"Is there anything else I should know before I make my decision?"

"No. I have told you everything you need to know and will uphold my end of the deal. The final decision is yours."

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

Moonlight masqueraded through the gaping windows, streaking drab grey pillars with hints of alabaster. The halls which you have called home for what felt like time immemorial now crowded your vision with a foreign bite, sinking into your flesh an unnerving uncertainty around every corner.

Your neck swiveled on all axes, one eye trained in front of you and the other separating the benign from foe that hid in every dancing shadow. Bare feet pattering against olden stone filled the gaps in between each racing heart beat, drumming your ears in a never-ending symphony of chase.

Legs aching, quaking, begging for proper rest are promptly ignored, outcompeted by the more urgent matter at hand.

Your final gambit for freedom.

You cursed under your breath as you ascended a spiraling staircase, your lungs burning with the rage of a thousand suns from heaving in the cold, arid air. The stone floor kissed knicks into the soles of your feet as you skidded around a corner and madly dashed down the hall, shifting down a narrow crawlspace that branched off from the main hall.

Whispered hisses and curses bounced off the tightening walls as rough-hewn stone jagged into your skin, reopening recently closed wounds from the brambles. You could only pray that Link was far enough away to not pick up on freshly streaked blood.

A familiar carpet--the one from the main hall--filled your view and you slowed your shimmying into a momentary pause. You fought to see through your grimace to peer around the corner and hoped that your heart wasn't beating loud enough to mask the signs of your stalker.

All good...?

You scooted out of that uncomfortable position and ducked towards the exit.

The private gardens opened up to you. Trails of ivy found residence in the cracked grey of decayed walls and the fountain was spewing the most delicious water your parched throat had ever seen. You circled the mini courtyard, your frenzied mind shunting the garden's haunting aesthetics in search of a practical hiding place. To your right was the more open space of the main courtyard, and to your left were the untrimmed topiaries of Hyrulian heroes commemorated only in flora.

Streaks of morning were just beginning to tip the horizon.

Your feet teetered toward the right, but a certain non-human shadow slinked past the threshold. All color drained from your pallor as you scurried around the topiary's wide base and hid behind the cloister's stone pillar. The sounds of flesh ripping and reanimating shot through the air; tears began to freely flow as a carefree whistle ambled closer to you.

"My, my... It's almost daybreak. I must find my beloved soon, or else I'll lose her forever."

The sky was just beginning to tinge a magenta-red.

"Is she... Hiding by the door?"

Boots clicking against stone rang like a departed's dirges. Your clammy fingers dug into the side of your face--a feeble attempt to muffle your whimpering.

"Is she... Behind these topiaries? No? Hm... But I'm getting close, aren't I, (F/N)?"

All strength, all hope, had been sapped from your body; your knees locked and buckled.

"Oh? Have we always had a little walkway back here? What a wonderful surprise! I know my darling would love it here."

Your vision darkened.

Leather nestled softly into your face as the heat of another poured and mingled with the cold stone pressed to your back.

"Guess who?" He sang.

You felt all your muscles simultaneously release their tension; your legs folded in on themselves, but secure arms hooked them under and hoisted you bridal style.

As you were carted inside the dark fortress, the morning sun greeted you in its soft-rayed glory.

♤♢ ~~ ♡♧

The stale castle air flooded your lungs as your body was unceremoniously tossed onto the bed. A hand tightened around your wrists and hot, agitated lips locked with yours before your brain could register the cotton plush of your sheets. His other hand feathered up your thigh, learned fingers grazing all your tender spots and teasing your thoughts into a foggy mix of want.

Your figure writhed uselessly under him as he flattened you further into the bed, using his full weight to keep you pinned where he wanted. The hand that carried out its sinful ministrations below shot up to seize your cheeks. Rough fingerpads bruised the softer flesh as he craned your neck to make way for his lips, flushed with a feral red and coated with soft proclamations of domination.

"You're mine... All mine..."

Hot breaths ghosted the surface of your neck, tickling a heated whine out of you. Your needy noises hitched into a gasp when you felt moistened lips lock onto your skin, suckling and teething the flesh into discolored patches. Rich vermilion fringed with a sinful violet bloomed below your jawline, trailing down and darkening with each claim closer to your chest.

He yanked the noisome dress down, exposing all of your chest to him. The snaps of cloth ripping from its handles and the sudden whip of cold air across your most sensitive parts pierced a jolt through your body. He pulled away to admire the shades of purple and red marring your fair complexion, a visual reminder to the dust haunting old halls and courtyards lost to time that you were his, and his alone. A lone tongue swirled around an irritated bud.

Trembles quaked through you--from heated anticipation or disgust, you were unsure. He hooked his fingers back into your cheeks and pried your face to look into his own. Sky-blue eyes, which once beheld you in crinkled happiness, had dimmed into a hazy navy clouded with lust.

"So pretty... My gorgeous, gorgeous girl."

Soft lips brushed your forehead, ambled down to your nose, and finally settled on your lips.

"My good girl."

Lips warmed with depraved whispers silenced around your bud. Starved suckling backdropped the more apparent whimpers scratching your throat, dredged in pleasure with a dulling edge of resistance. Scarred skin delicately cusped your mounds, tweaking and flicking your perkiness until it was a rosy red.

Your growing sensitivity stung tears into your eyes. Achy hands, now free from his grasp, grappled onto sinewy shoulders but did little to convey genuine discomfort. A deep groan purred from his chest as Link balanced your sore bud in a soft knead between his teeth. A pop filled the room.

"Let me see those eyes."

Your eyes wedged open to see blown-out blues taking all of you in. Your heart pounded a flush into your cheeks and christened an unholy flame to spread through your core.

"That's it... Now watch me..."

He dragged his body lower and lower, his eyes unwavering from yours for even a second. Steady hands balled into the collar of your dress and tore through the silk, the symphony of rips bouncing off the walls and knocking coherence out of your head. His lips matched the pace of the ragged unveiling and chased progressively exposed flesh with soft kisses, down, down, and farther down. Feverish breaths along your inner thighs sent chills up your spine.

"Watch me as I make you cum for me."

Hands gnarled from knighthood knotted into the delicate lace separating him from his prize, tearing it apart with ease.

"Link, hold--ah!"

Your eyes shot to the back of your head as your mouth gaped into a silent 'O.' An orchestra of colors, conducted by a madly indulgent maestro, symphonized into a crazed, otherworldly experience. His tongue coiled and stretched into you with the practiced precision of many amorous nights while his thumb circled the space around your clit, teasing the nub until agony. It was only a matter of time before your impassioned gasps and pleas competed with the downright sinful wetness Link lapped below.

"Tell me you love this--that you love me."

"Link, please! Just give it to me please, please, please...!" The top of your head rolled further into your pillow when the painful prick of a pinch shot too much for too short a time.

"Don't look away. Don't you dare look away, you filthy slut." Deft fingers plunged into you until pleasure fried your brain. "You'll cum when I tell you to."

Your whines and whimpers hiccuped into full sobs for release, whistled with pleas and promises you both knew you wouldn't keep.

"You'll love me forever, right? You'll be my good lil' cock slut forever, right?"

"Yes! Yes, I promise! Please Link, just let me cum already, please!"

You damn liar.

He pulled away, coldly gazing at the weeping, quivering, gasping mess of his beloved.

"Link...? W-why did you--"

"Your heart may have forgotten, but your body remembers..."

His sweet lips, tinted with a hint of bitter longing, moved with yours in a desperate, crazed dance. Every lust-filled, haggard groan ripped from his lungs masked the quieter crack running up his heart.

The bed creaked from the sudden redistribution of your weight as he spread you on all fours. He aligned himself to your entrance and, in a single motion that he had done hundreds of times, completed you. A wail, colored in pleasure and streaked with pain, contrasted Link's blissed-out groan. Tears brimmed the corner of your eyes; each droplet slipped down your cheek in time with his frenetic pounding until it had thickened into a steady stream.

He wasted no time in his pursuit for pleasure, hitching his pelvis to your ass, pulling away, and slamming back in with the gentleness of a starved wolf ripping into a lamb. His fingers dug crescents into your hips as he adjusted himself, propping one of his legs up to angle himself deeper and faster into you.

He was stretching you past your limits, and every thrust was accompanied by a heated flash of pain. Your upper half sunk towards the bed as he moved your hips higher, closer to him. Helpless (E/C)s stared at the creaking bedpost while your whitening knuckles dug through the sheets clumped in your hands. A salty mixture of tears and saliva pooled on your pillow as honeyed cries haunted your walls.

"What, is my princess not having a good time?" He jeered, reaching over to give your engorged clit a cruel flick and your ass an even crueler slap. "What does my baby want me to do to her? Huh? What do you want me to do to your tight pussy?"

"L-Link, It hurts! It's too--!"

The side of your quivering hips slammed into the mattress and forced you on your back. Your face snapped into the pillow when his writhing tongue replaced his thick cock, tonguing and lapping at your dripping pussy as if your ambrosia would be the last thing he was to taste. He pulled out and spat on your entrance, pressing his tongue flat against your pussy and swiping up towards the clit that he coiled.

"Mmph... Fuck, I love you... Give me more... Gods, give me more."

A bruising ache pressed into your hips as his frenzied circling spurred faster, faster, faster. Pleasure dizzied your senses towards a dark void; the familiar knot in your stomach that ached to unravel popped with the abrupt re-emergence of Link.

"Mm, tight as ever... How're you feeling, my dove?" He husked, ragged breaths encapsulating the shell of your ear.

"Too b-bi--Link, you're too big!"

"Shhh... You can take it. You've taken it hundreds of times. C'mon, squeeze my cock like a good girl."

"It's so--Link, you're stretching me out, I need to--"

"Not yet. I'm not done fucking you yet." He swiveled you back on all fours and pounded you into the mattress, your cries and pleas be damned. Slender fingers snarled through your tresses and strained you away from the pillows that held your screams.

"When I'm ready, I want to watch you cum all over my cock." His erratic pounding slowed for a split second, enough time for a certain thought to come and go. "I want you to see it too."

Your abused cunt finally had a moment to breathe and process; if only your brain had that same luxury.

The bed sighed a relieved groan as Link crawled out and wrapped his arms about your lower abdomen to hoist you up. When it was evident that this pathetically limp curl was the best you could do, toned forearms hooked under your knees and spread your legs in the most vulnerable position you've ever been in. With a huff, Link brought you front and center to the mirror. You both watched breathlessly as he lowered you onto his slicked cock, sinking every inch into your gummy walls.

"Fuck, you're so tight... I need you, (F/N)..."

His crazed pistoning began once more; the sensations that ransacked your body were unlike anything you'd ever experienced before. The tip of his cock so easily, so effortlessly rammed into your sweetest spots; every thrust he slammed into you turned you into a shamelessly shaking, overstimulated mess.

"Look at you," he hummed darkly, "look at all the sin running down your legs."

Link's voice was so far away now. The way he kept disappearing into your sopping cunt and your juices dribbling over your thighs consumed your every thought. The only tangible you could feel was the building pressure coiling in your gut, tightening with each passing second.

"So beautiful... So tight... Don't you want to do this forever? Hm? Don't you want to be ruined by me forever and ever?"

His teeth sunk into your neck, adding to the carnal collection and ripping a hoarse cry out of you.

"You're my good girl, aren't you? My good girl... You're all mine--all fucking mine."

Veins marbled his arms and forehead as he nuzzled into your neck, tongue tracing the edge of every bite. The labored grunts that occasionally wheezed out of him, along with his stuttering hips, signaled that he was teetering closer and closer to the edge. Hooded blues stared piercingly into your own, weighed down by mindless intoxication. His lips brushed a flame through the curve of your ear.

"Look at me..." He purred. "Look at me and confess your lust to me."

A shattered cry, followed by a wave of profane heat, collided with your system. Winced eyes lolled to the back of your head while you spasmed and twitched in still arms. Your violent clenching and knowledge of your release strained a guttural growl through Link's chest as he spurted his cum as deep as it could go. Thin, white threads coated your walls and trailed out your still-plugged hole until drips of sin stained the stone below.

Link tripped to the foot of the bed, his body folding into the sheets the second his foot made contact with the wooden post. With arms wrapped comfortably around you and the familiar presence of your spent lover, you passed out the moment your body recognized blissed finality.

As you commenced your near-immediate foray into the realm of dreams, a familiar voice--soft yet broken--rang through your last layer of consciousness.

"Sleep well, my dove. If eternally precarious possession is the closest thing we will ever have to love, I will gorge myself on it."