#and one of them trusts that the other is behind them

[reysdriver]

Apple Of My Eye | E.M.

You and your coworker Eddie finally do something about your longtime mutual crush when he asks you out after a wild day at work — line cook!eddie x waitress!reader fluff

warnings: customer service nightmares, reader cries over it, I think that's it actually

words: 4.8k

The last thing you heard before shutting the walk-in freezer door behind you was a pan dropping to the floor and Eddie cursing loudly at no one in particular. You sat down with your back against a sack of potatoes beside the vegetable shelf. 

The tears that pricked at your eyes were free to run down your face now that you were in the privacy of the walk-in. It’s always been a good place to cry or scream if you were frustrated at work. 

You were slightly startled by the heavy door opening, but you knew you shouldn’t be; other people worked here too, of course. 

It was Eddie walking in, looking frustrated, though his expression softened when he locked eyes with you. 

“Are you okay? What happened?” He asked, letting the door close as he sat down next to you.

You scooted a bit to make more room for Eddie, but still brushed him off.

“I’m okay.” You sniffled, looking down at your feet. “Don’t you have a whole bunch of orders to fill?”

“You know I’m never too busy for you.” He replied, which earned a smile from you. 

It was a true thing, Eddie would always take the time, even in the busiest of rush hours, to compliment you, or make you a special plate of fries, or just let you know that your makeup had smudged in all the haste. 

He never did it with anyone else, not to the same level, at least. All your coworkers used that as proof that he had a thing for you in the same way that you did for him, but you never believed them. 

“So, what’s wrong, sweetheart?”

There he goes, using that nickname that makes your heart soar. Now how could you not answer him after he asked as nicely as that?

“Some asshole got mad at me ‘cause I forgot he asked for no vegetables on his burger. He was calling me dumb and saying I’m a bad waitress and—”

“You’re not.” Eddie told you. “Don’t listen to him.”

 One look at Eddie’s pretty brown eyes told you he was being completely sincere, but you were still upset. 

“He was so mean, and he was kind of right.” You protested. 

Eddie shook his head. “Trust me, he’s not. You’re the only coworker I can stand, so you must be doing something right. Plus you just got your degree, so you’re not dumb.”

“It was community college, Eddie.”

“More than I have. Are you calling me dumb?” He nudged you slightly as he teased, and he was finally cheering you up. 

“No.” You shook your head, a bashful smile starting on your face. 

“Good.” He smiled too, happy that his mission of cheering you up was complete. “Now, I would wipe your tears, but my hands are probably covered in oil so I’m gonna need you to do it for me, okay?”

You nodded and used your index finger to wipe the tears under your eyes and on your cheeks. 

The line cook had his eyes trained on you when you looked up back at him, your eyes still glossy but your spirits higher. 

“How are you feeling now?”

“Better.” You admitted with a soft smile. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“Anytime, princess.” He attempted to stifle a groan as he stood up, then stopped before opening the metal door. “I’ll tell Robin to cover your tables for a bit, so don’t worry about getting back to work. You can stay here as long as you want.”

After thanking him again, he flashed you a smile before exiting the freezer room. 

You stayed sitting there, replaying the conversation you just had once over in your head. Once you felt you were composed, you dusted off your clothes and reentered the kitchen. 

Though, as soon as you left the freezer, you could hear shouting coming from the front of house and you knew exactly who it was. 

See, after Eddie left the freezer, when you were busy wiping your tears, Eddie rifled through the receipts to find exactly the guy who made you cry. Not that he needed it anyways, it was obvious who the asshole was when he walked out to the tables and saw some angry looking loser picking at his french fries. 

Now Eddie was in the middle of shaming the man in front of the whole diner. 

Customers had their heads turned to watch the public scolding, and all the staff had paused their duties to stare from the sides of the room as well. 

“What the hell’s the matter with you? You’re a grown man and you can’t even bear to pick some tomatoes off your burger? You need to whine about the lingering taste of fuckin’ lettuce and make your poor waitress feel like shit?!” Eddie shouted at the guy you were serving. “You better give her one hell of an apology, you hear me?!”

The man nodded pathetically, clearly shaken by the cook’s rant. He probably couldn’t muster up an agreement even if he tried. 

Robin, who you had stood next to while watching Eddie chew that customer out, turned to you. She hardly looked flustered at all, since she was used to the diner’s usual activities. 

“And you still doubt that he likes you back.” She whispered with a smugly raised eyebrow. 

Eddie looked around the room for a moment and noticed you were there. With an outstretched hand and a soft voice, he beckoned you towards him and the man at the booth. 

“Sweetheart, can you come over here for a second?” He asked, ever so politely. 

You obliged and walked over to him, holding your breath as the threat of crying again was still there. 

Standing at the end of the table, Eddie’s gaze panned from you to the slightly terrified man sitting down. 

“Now’s the time for that apology, dickwad.” Your coworker gritted. 

The man struggled to look you in the eyes as he stuttered out some words of regret. “I’m sorry— Er, I’m sorry for complaining about the burger and saying all that rude stuff, too. I shouldn’t have taken out my anger on you.”

The line cook looked over at you, gauging your reaction. “How was that?”

You nodded and flashed him a tiny smile, then told the customer that you accepted his apology. 

“Good.” Eddie declared. “Now I’ll go make you a plain, boring burger. And if you’re really sorry then this pretty girl better see a damn good tip when you finish your meal, got it?”

The man nodded meekly once again, and Eddie seemed satisfied with that. He walked back on over to the kitchen while you made your way to your other tables, and the rest of the diner resumed eating and conversing—definitely discussing what just happened.

For the rest of his meal, the man was nice to you. Avoidant for sure, but nice nevertheless. And when he paid, he left a whopping twenty dollar tip and left in a hurry. 

Now that the lunch rush was over, you checked the kitchen for Eddie, then Jonathan informed you that he was out back taking a smoke break. 

You thanked him, and headed to the back exit of the building where you knew the cook spent a part of every shift. Sure enough, he was standing right next to the door with a cigarette in hand. 

“Hey, princess,” Eddie said, exhaling a cloud of smoke away from you. “what are you doing back here?”

You smiled at him and fished the twenty dollar bill out of your pocket to display it. “That guy you yelled at left me a pretty nice tip. Here, it’s yours.”

He shook his head and held out a hand to gesture that he couldn’t take it. “No way, you deserve it. Fuckin’ least you should get after having to deal with that asshole.”

You laughed at his dismissal and tried offering again. 

“Come on, you practically mugged that guy to get this money, you have to take it.”

He looked at you with a slight grin, but you couldn’t decide if his expression was that of smugness or entertainment. 

“You can hold out that cash until your wrist falls off, I won’t take your money.”

You let out an exasperated sigh, sincere but still purposefully overdramatic. You put the bill back in your apron and quickly counted out ten ones that you had earned from other tables, then held those out instead. 

“You should at least have half. I can’t let you leave with nothing. If you don’t take it now, I’ll follow you around all day, begging you to take it.” 

Eddie cocked his head to the side and smiled. “As tempting as that is, sweetheart, I can’t steal you away from your job like that. I’ll take that money, but I’ll be spending it on you.” 

Your heart fluttered at Eddie’s flirting, which was far less subtle than usual. You had to bite the tip of your tongue to prevent yourself from grinning ear-to-ear. 

He reached out to take the cash, but he was still grinning mischievously. 

“With my half of the cash, I wanna take you on a date, if you’ll let me.”

Holy shit. You never thought he’d ask. And you had expected even less that he would ask in such a gentlemanly manner. Eddie was the type of guy to accidentally tell his boss to fuck off after coming into work hungover, not use the phrase ‘if you’ll let me’. 

“I’d like that.” You responded, way more chill than you had expected your reaction to be. “Anything you have in mind?”

“You trying to expose the fact that I’ve thought about this before?” Eddie smirked, which in turn caused you to blush even more than before. “What time do you get off work tonight?”

“Seven, and you?”

“Same. We can rent a movie and I can make you dinner at my place?” 

Shit, Eddie thought, I don’t remember the state I left my trailer in. 

He tried recalling how messy he left his home, quickly so he could take back the offer if needed. 

“Yeah, sounds great.” 

Too late now. But as nervous as he was for you to walk into his trailer and see a bunch of dirty dishes and laundry piles, the feeling of glee he felt because you said yes was trumping that a hundred times over. 

“Perfect.” Eddie said, stamping out his burnt cigarette. He opened the door back to the restaurant and held it open so you could go first. “After you.”

“Thanks.” You said, barely able to hide your giddy grin. “I gotta get back to my tables, but I’ll see you at seven.”

You both parted ways with matching smiles, hoping the rest of your shifts fly by faster than usual. For the rest of the day, you seemed to have an extra pep in your step while you waited tables. 

As seven o’clock approached, you passed off all your tables to other coworkers, told Steve and Robin you wouldn’t need a ride home, and headed to the washroom to fix your hair and touch up your makeup. 

Once you were satisfied, you headed to the locker room, where Eddie was standing casually against his own locker. His bored expression morphed into a bright look when he saw you walk in. 

“Hey.” Eddie said as you opened your locker and put away your apron. “Ready to go?” 

You nodded, and he opened the door for you once again. Such a gentleman when he wants to be. 

“So, any movie ideas?” He asked as you both got into his van. 

“Something fun.” You told him. “Maybe something like Ferris Bueller's Day Off or Splash?” 

“Anything you want.”

For the ride over to the video store, you listened to the radio—a station with both pop and rock—and chatted about everything under the sun. 

Once you got to Family Video, you headed towards the comedy section whereas Eddie got distracted by a display of staff picks near the front. He called your name, and you turned around to see him holding up The Texas Chain Saw Massacre with a simper. 

“This can be fun, don’t you think?”

You shook your head. “Not if we’re eating tonight. I’ll throw up everywhere. And that’s not the kind of thing that earns a second date.”

He put it down and walked towards the aisle you were standing in. “So you’re already thinking about a second date, huh?” 

You rolled your eyes and went back to browsing the shelves. Your eyes landed on a familiar favourite, so you grabbed it and held it up to show Eddie. 

“Clue, huh?” He raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said you couldn’t do murder movies?”

“No, I just said I couldn’t do that one. This one is hilarious and agreeable.”

“Alright. Hand it over, I already promised to pay for whatever you want.”

You give the tape to him like he asked and you both walk over to the cashier, a teenager who looked extremely disdainful about his job. Eddie pulled out some of the cash you had made him take earlier and placed it on the counter. 

Once the transaction was over, you thanked both Eddie and the bored worker, then you headed back out to Eddie’s car. 

“So, what meal are you going to spend the remaining five dollars and something cents on?” You asked him, buckling yourself as he rolled out of the parking lot. 

Eddie always hated his seatbelt, but he put it on after you—’cause of that damn new law they put in last year.

“I’ll put that in my pocket and save it for the next date. I already have all I need for dinner at home.”

You hummed, slightly surprised. 

“What?” 

“Nothing.” You shrugged. “I just wouldn’t have pegged you as a chef outside of the diner. You always seem like you’re done with cooking forever when you clock out.”

“You’ve got me there.” Eddie responds. “I only cook at home when it’s for someone else. When I’m alone, my meals are mostly toast and canned pasta.”

“So who else were you planning on cooking for? You said you have all those ingredients.” That was half teasing, half genuinely curious about Eddie’s personal life. 

“My uncle, actually. I cook him dinner once a week, mostly ‘cause it proves to him that I can eat healthy.”

“That’s really sweet.”

“What can I say?” Eddie shrugged dramatically. “I’m just a sweet guy.”

Once you arrived at Eddie’s trailer, he was relieved to open the door and see that his place hadn’t been left in shambles. The place wasn’t as neat as he would like for a first date—especially one with you—but it was good enough. 

“So, this is it.” Eddie said, arms outstretched like a real estate agent. “You want a tour or is that just for stuffy old people?”

“I’ll take a tour.”

Eddie was kind of hoping you didn’t say that. The trailer was small and he was a little embarrassed. But he supposed it was his own fault for asking in the first place. 

“Alright. Here’s the living room, it’s where I smoke and watch TV.” 

You let out a giggle at the bluntness of his tour. He was glad his joke (half-joke) didn’t fall flat. 

“And you can follow me three feet to the kitchen, which is where I make good meals for others and crap for myself.”

He opened a cupboard full of canned food and snacks for the realtor effect, then did the same with the fridge. He waved a hand near it like a magician showing off a box that no longer contains a woman in a sparkly leotard. 

“We can then move on to the bathroom. It’s got a shower with mediocre water pressure, a pretty average toilet, and a sink that’s covered in toothpaste—don’t look at that, actually.”

You kept walking to the only other real room in the trailer, his bedroom. It was about the size of the kitchen area, and it was very distinctly Eddie. All the walls were covered floor-to-ceiling in posters for metal bands and movies he likes, every surface was covered in snack boxes and ashtrays, and he had one incredibly cool guitar hanging in the middle of his wall. 

After staring at the room for so long that you probably had at least one wall memorised, you and Eddie both realised you hadn’t spoken in a while. 

“This is where the magic happens.” Eddie said, not quite as smoothly as he was going for. 

“The magic?” You teased. 

He thought for a second, then clarified. “Not that kind of magic. I just make music and write Dungeons & Dragons campaigns.”

“That can be pretty magical.” You shrugged. 

“Yeah, but not as magical as the dinner I’m about to make for you. If you’re not excited already, you should start.”

You both left his bedroom and Eddie instructed you to relax in the living room and turn on the TV to something you could use as a backdrop while Eddie cooked. 

While he made dinner, you sat comfortably on his couch and chatted with him from the other room. You got to know each other, more than you do at work. Eddie told you about his band and how they play at The Hideout, you told him about your time at community college and your friends outside of the diner. 

“Alright, soup’s on.” Eddie announced, setting two plates on his kitchen table and inviting you over. “Actually, it’s not soup, it’s chicken parm.”

“I appreciate the clarification.” You sat down in the seat closest to you. “It looks good. Smells amazing too.”

And it really was as amazing as it seemed. Although you were no stranger to Eddie’s cooking, all you’ve ever had made by him was diner food. Of course, the diner food was great, but this was another level. You weren’t sure what set it apart; maybe it was just the quality ingredients and lack of yelling while cooking. 

Once your plate was almost empty, Eddie asked if you wanted dessert too. You were slightly confused as you hadn’t seen him make any dessert to go along with the meal, but you agreed anyway. 

“Did you make dessert?” You asked after he stood up. 

“Nope, but I’ve got all the ingredients, so I can make it now.”

“Oh.” You suddenly felt bad, even though he already offered and went through with making you food. “Well, I don’t want to put you out. We can just watch—”

“It’s okay. I don’t have the ingredients for anything fancy. Just the simple stuff.”

That made you feel a little better. You were still curious, but for a different reason now. What could Eddie make quickly to pair with that fantastic dinner. 

You watched as he pulled out Oreos and gummy worms. Was he making a child’s favourite snack as your dessert?

“What are you planning there?” You asked him. 

Then you saw him open the fridge and pull out chocolate pudding cups, then it all clicked in your head. 

Holy shit. Worms and Dirt. 

That was absolutely not what you were expecting, but it was definitely a welcome surprise. 

“I was thinking about just serving up sliced apples and peanut butter along with some cheesy pick-up line like ‘you’re the apple of my eye’, but I figured that would scare you away.” 

“I don’t think that would scare me away.” You told him. “In fact, I would have found it cute. But I’m happy with the pudding.”

Eddie was quite flattered by that, though he tried hard to not let it show. You could definitely see a blush on his cheeks and the corners of his lips turning upwards, as much as he covered it up.

“You ever had Worms and Dirt?” He asked, opening up the Oreo pack. 

“Yeah.” You answered from your seat at the table while he scraped off the cookie filling. “My mom used to make it for me when I was a kid.”

Eddie stopped preparing the food for a second as he turned and gave you a genuine smile. 

“Me too.” 

After that, Eddie went back to making the dessert, the happy expression still lingering on his lips. 

“I’m almost done, do you want to pop the movie in while I’m finishing up?”

You nodded, then waltzed over to the living room to start up Clue. While the opening credits rolled, Eddie took a seat next to you on the couch and spread out a couple bowls and several pudding cups on his coffee table. 

He handed you a spoon and gestured to the setup in front of you two. 

“I figured we could do like a make-your-own thing, just ‘cause I always find one is never enough, and then you can choose your portions, you know?”

You hummed in agreement. “It’s a pretty good idea.”

Eddie then pointed to the bowl in between the cookie crumble and gummy worms. Inside that one was the creme filling he had just scraped out of the Oreos. 

“Oh, and that’s for you.” 

Just like Eddie earlier, you were super flattered but didn’t want to show your cards. You thanked him for saving you the best part, and then the two of you made your desserts and brought your attention to the movie. 

Somewhere along the way while watching it, you and Eddie had moved from your spots on opposite ends of the couch to meeting somewhere in the middle, wrapped up with each other. 

You were pressed against his side with a hand on his back and an arm around his abdomen. He had his arm slung around your shoulder, and you liked it. He liked it too. And truth be told, you had both pictured yourself before in this exact position—among others. 

As Wadsworth dramatically ran through each murder and event of the night, Eddie subtly looked down to see your entertained expression trained on the TV screen. 

Even though Eddie quite liked the movie you were watching, he liked you more. He was trying to think of a way to make a bigger move on you instead of actually paying attention. 

He was about to do it too. Just as his hands started to wander, there was a knock at his front door that caused you both to back off of each other and turn your heads that way. 

“It’s probably just some kid looking for weed. I’ll be back in a second, you don’t need to pause it.” Eddie told you as he stood up.

“Okay. Hurry up or you’ll miss the ending!” You told him. 

He opened the door and sure enough, it was a kid looking for weed. Some high schooler, maybe seventeen years old. In one hand, he had a couple crumpled bills, and the other one was in his pocket. 

“Someone told me to come here for… stuff.” The kid said to Eddie. 

“Okay, how much do you want?” Eddie replied. 

The boy looked confused, thinking it through. 

“I don’t know.” He finally answered. “I was just told to bring money.” 

“Okay, well I’ve got someone over and you’re wasting my time a little bit. How about you just hand me that money, and I’ll bring you whatever that’s worth?”

“Okay.” 

The kid handed over the cash and Eddie told him to stay at the door while he counted the money and walked over to his bedroom. 

He came out with a small baggie in his hand and flashed you a quick apologetic grin before facing the kid again. 

“There you go. Enjoy.” 

Eddie shut the door behind him and walked back to the couch to sit with you again, just as the movie was wrapping up. 

“I’m sorry about that. I was hoping tonight could go interrupted, but that’s never the case, right?” 

“Yeah, it’s alright. I didn’t know you still dealt.”

The staff at the diner was pretty close-knit, and you had heard lots about Eddie selling drugs in high school, but you had figured that was in the past. You weren’t judging, though. People do what they can to pay the bills—you were both working in a diner at the edge of your crappy town, you know all about that. 

“I don’t really. Just from time to time, I guess.” Eddie shrugged. “Does that bother you?”

“No. Everyone’s gotta do what they can in life. I don’t have a problem, as long as you’re okay with it.” 

“Cool.”

You both just looked at each other for a second, not sure what to say now. Eddie missed the perfect opportunity to make the move he wanted to make on you earlier, and now the movie was over. 

You both silently cursed yourself for not doing what you really wanted to do earlier, but the mood was interrupted by a kid at the door wanting to get high. 

Although you wanted to stay at Eddie’s place for longer, you knew the night was coming to a natural end. 

“I should probably get home soon. I have work in the morning.” 

Eddie was mentally kicking himself for not doing anything earlier, but he definitely wasn’t going to try and convince you to stay since he was aware how that could make him seem. 

“Yeah, okay. I can drive you home.” He stood up and grabbed his car keys from the counter. “You know, Steve’s probably already getting his beauty sleep or something.”

You thanked Eddie and strolled over to him, who was holding the door open for you. 

The two of you walked out to his van, and you slid into the same seat where you had begun the evening. Eddie sat down next to you and flashed you a quick smile before starting the car. 

The ride back to your place was, for the most part, quiet and awkward; it was a sad change from the chemistry you were feeling just an hour ago. 

When you arrived back home, Eddie stopped the car, but you spoke before you got out and the night would be officially over. 

“Thanks for tonight, Eddie. I think we should do this again.”

He looked flustered for a moment. It was no more than a second, but you caught it anyway.

“Well, thanks for saying yes, sweetheart. Are you doing anything Sunday?”

“I have a shift in the morning, but I’m done by the early afternoon.”

“Perfect.” Eddie smiled. “I’ll think of something for us to do then.”

You unbuckled your seatbelt as you badly masked a grin. 

“Okay. It’s a date.”

Eddie opened the door on his side, and so you followed suit. 

“You want me to walk you back?” Eddie offered. 

You stood a foot and a half away from Eddie beside his van and looked back to your apartment building. 

“Steve and Robin are probably pressed against the peephole right now, so I don’t know.”

Eddie ran his hand through his hair and shook his head amusedly. “Ah, I see. You’ve already got people looking out for you?”

You hummed, biting your lip softly. 

“So…” You trailed off. 

“So?” Eddie raised an eyebrow. 

That’s when you finally took your chance. You leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Eddie’s cheek, just by the corner of his mouth. 

You backed away, and Eddie seemed flustered but happy, so you knew it went well. 

“Thanks again. I’ll see you at work, yeah?”

“Yeah.” Eddie said quietly. “See you.”

It wasn’t often that Eddie flustered like that. Usually he was calm and collected, or at least yelling, if we’re talking about being in the kitchen at the diner. But very rarely did Eddie blush, and that’s exactly what he did after you kissed him. 

He guessed that it made a lot of sense that you could be the one to make him feel things that no one else can. 

Eddie watched as you walked over to the front of your building and gave him a wave before going inside. His thoughts were moving so fast, he can’t even remember if he waved back. Damn, he hopes he waved back. 

Then, as soon as you were inside and you were both out of each other’s sight, Eddie had to let out his excitement. He took a step out and threw his head forward, shouting at the top of his lungs. 

He stopped the moment he realised you might be able to hear him, and quickly went back into his van. Then he started shouting inside the privacy of those metal walls. 

Eddie was really excited about seeing you tomorrow. 

Little to Eddie’s knowledge, you were just as excited as him, if not even more.

[yolli-es]

you should do jinx giving reader a tattoo of her name 🙏

That's much better, isn't it?

Tags: possessive, jealousy, manipulation.

You are so active omg, is it because of season 2? I also have to say that this is quite proprietary and reminds me of a Yandere!Jinx.

This is starting to get annoying. Everything was going so well, and now?

Usually, you were always closely connected to each other, not just emotionally. It was so long and constant that it became an unspoken rule of Zaun. You've done many things, from having dinner together to revolution.

But now you've suddenly started going out "on business" too often. How could Jinx not worry?

Jinx followed yours next time. It's only for your safety, of course. A couple of hours, and she saw the root of the problem—the weird girl you were discussing with. A small, about 20 years old. It was annoying that she caught your attention like that. Weird, painful, and absolutely unbearable. It took all of Jinx's strength to contain herself. These meetings continued, and, in fact, there was nothing too close about them. On the contrary, you kept your distance and spoke absolutely calmly. Which could not be said about this girl. She was strangely leaning towards you, constantly fixing her hair and trying to touch you all the time. Jinx was really nervous, waiting for the right moment to ruin everything.

The moment when you give in to her.

This did not happen, and the truth came to light.

Luckily, it was much more prosaic. You were sneaking off to meet a jeweler for a cute hair clip. It was a gift for Jinx for your third anniversary. With all the running around, she forgot about it. How awkward...

"So... this is for me, huh? It's very beautiful," her fingers slid over the chilling metal of the small pin. The shape of the curved cross suited her. She didn't know what kind of metal it was, but it shimmered blue and pink in the light, remaining chillingly black in the shadows. Beautiful.

"Cool, huh? I had to work hard to get this, but... whatever. It was worth it." You seemed happier than Jinx herself, leaning over in front of her as you picked up her right braid and wondered where to put it, "It might not be very practical, but I'm sure it's really cute. Don't worry if it gets lost, okay?"

You finally looked at your girlfriend and understood her mood. She shrank, looking tensely at the floor and picking at her pants with her nails. Stuck in her dark thoughts right now. However, having anticipated your next move, Jinx spoke up: "I have a gift for you too." It suddenly dawned on her; her eyes lit up, and her back straightened. Jinx was ready to flare up with impatience. "M.. yeah? I'm so glad it is. I like it already, trust me," you giggled, sitting down next to Jinx as she grabbed your hands in anticipation. The hairpin would wait on the table for now. "Oh, something unusual," Jinx sat you down with your back to her, stood up, and rushed over to a huge box of art supplies.

You sat quietly, expecting something like a painting or a painted gun. The same one you got last time. Two is better than one!

Jinx will always be unpredictable.

When the noise became more than an explanation, you finally turned around. There was a small table behind you with colorful bottles on it and... a tattoo machine? This can't be.

"Ta-dam!" Jinx sat down on a chair on one side of the table, gesturing for you to sit opposite. "What? Wait, wait, you want to give me a tattoo?" Your voice wavered. You loved Jinx and trusted her in many ways, but let her give you a tattoo? "Oh, come on!" Jinx rolled her eyes, slamming her head down on the table, "You think I can't do it? Don't tell me you didn't check out my tattoos. I got them myself, you know!"

This didn't give you any confidence.

"No, you know... I just don't know what kind of tattoo I want," you turned away, shrugging awkwardly. Jinx chuckled, propping her head up in her hands and licking her lips. "I already decided, toots. What could be cooler than your girlfriend's name, hm?", Her voice sounded confident. So you didn't take it as a joke. However, Jinx didn't let you answer, grabbing your hands and not very carefully sitting you down opposite. "You know, I saw you with that girl... I was worried," she started slowly and from a distance. "You did nothing wrong, and I didn't doubt you. And yet, people are very tricky," she paused, gently taking your hand and looking into your eyes, "So I would like you to have a small tattoo; how about you? I promise it will look stylish." That stumped you for a minute. Yes, you wanted your tattoo, and yes, you love Jinx. But getting one for that reason? "Please," Jinx looked at you with her doe eyes, and that huskiness in her voice was driving you crazy. "Oh, maybe just one, huh? A small one," you chuckled. 

Of course, Jinx was manipulating you for what she wanted. In the most childish and stupid way, you just couldn't help but sneer. Was it a double game, and Jinx knew about your understanding from the start? It doesn't matter; She has already started working.

Pink is the most beautiful color, isn't it?

Despite her obviously selfish desire and rather daring start, Jinx did everything carefully. After all, it was your first time doing it, and she couldn't make you feel anything other than excitement and admiration. She was spinning around you, unable to sit still, turning on music, telling all sorts of nonsense, and taking breaks to relax. She just didn't want to make things worse than she probably already did.

It all ended quickly.

"That's much better, isn't it?", Jinx couldn't help but smile as she looked at the fresh tattoo on your skin. "You look your best, as always, toots." You liked it no less; it actually looked sweet. And very possessive. You liked this display of her love; this affection gave you a strange strength.

You smiled as you took her hand and said with a deliberately innocent look, "Okay, now it's your turn."

The problem is that you love her no less.

Still, there is not a word about yandere in the request, so she's just super jealous and possessive. I hope that the person who asked was thinking about something like this 🙌🏻

[izvmimi]

cw: fluff. alcohol.

You’re starting to think Nami must have known something you didn’t, when she whispered a couple weeks ago that Zoro didn’t drink around people he had found attractive into your ear out of the blue, swiveling in her barstool once before sauntering off, leaving you with that information to do what you will. 

Confused, you turned back to Robin and she smiled, knowingly, before she went back to enthusing you about a classic novel you’d both read as children. You remembered the smile, the apples of your cheeks warming slightly, most likely from the cider you’d taken hardy sips from without a sufficient snack (clearly not for any other reason at all), and went back to discussing the plight of your favorite side character. 

But by the end of the night, a furtive glance over your shoulder located him at the opposite end of the pub, focusing on keeping up with the men in the corner.

The longer you look, the more you realize he’s trying to not look in your direction.

Or perhaps you’re simply imagining it.

—

Perhaps you weren’t.

Two weeks later, you decide to test out this theory, shifting from your usual commiseration with the crew’s women and unwittingly Sanji to sidle up close to Zoro, who is four drinks in and the type of stoic that comes with a man trying very hard not to reveal that he’s at least a bit tipsy. He’s near the dart board, having ignored Franky’s demands to play pool despite Franky having destroyed at least two pool tables between grazing them with his cyborg forearms and leaning too hard on the table, instead opting to challenge a few of the bar’s regulars.

Playing darts while drunk is probably a dangerous affair, but it will probably take more than that to kill anyone in the immediate vicinity. 

Tapping his elbow gently to get his attention is possibly one move too far.

“Hey, you won’t hit anything that way,” you joke, adjusting his aim ever so slightly with a careful maneuver.

Zoro freezes for a moment at your touch, a soft pink suddenly painted over his facial features. For a moment you worry you’ve embarrassed him, until he slowly clears his throat.

“Move around me to my other side,” he says.

Surprised, but figuring he just wants you to be careful, you do so, and to your surprise, his hand slips around your waist gently, pulling you close before he throws the dart. 

Taken aback, your heart skips a beat.

“Bullseye,” he says under his breath, leaning into you. He hasn’t let go,in fact turns you towards him so that your noses are inches apart, and his voice is lower, smooth like the top shelf liquor he’s too unrefined to drink.

Your heart catches back the beat, and doubles its pace.

Zoro’s eyes are heavy lidded and immediately desire-filled, and he is so far from his usual self it actually startles you. Turning your gaze quickly to confirm the dart landed in the place where he says, you turn away from him but he resists for a split second, not enough to truly impede your motion but enough to communicate he liked holding you.

“Yeah, that seems about right,” you say, lamely, flustered. He trails behind you a couple paces, coming to a stop when he places his hands on your shoulders.

Again, too close.

“You don’t trust me?” he asks again. He chuckles slowly under his breath and you turn quickly to look him in the eye.

“Are you making fun of me?” is your first go-to response, hostile to overcompensate for your jarred response to his sudden affection.

He raises both hands in front of him in the guise of defeat.

“Would never,” he says, the stupid smile on his face an unnatural replacement for his usual scowl.

You open your mouth to say something else, unsure of what’s going on, when he pulls you into his chest suddenly, and you shriek; a dart whirs past you just behind your head.

“Sorry!” Luffy yells from a distance.

You would yell back for him to be careful, but your heart is pounding again. Zoro looks up at Luffy, and you expect him to revert back to his normal self and yell, but instead he gives him a disapproving look, then looks back at you. 

“You okay?”

He’s still looking at you like that again, like he both wants to keep you in his pocket but also may decide at some point to devour you, still deciding on which one.

Nami is right.

Zoro doesn’t drink around people he finds attractive, and for good reason.

[a-spes]

| DEVIOUS LIES — Part three (8.929 words).

| Summary — Anon Request — When your friend asked you out for a drink, you didn't think much about it. Yet, maybe you should've, because that night ruined your life. It may have been two years since the events, but you still can't stop think about what you've lost. Your job, your friends, your lover, and even your mind was left in that motel room.

“I am a hero,” you whispered in your breath, “and that’s what heroes do,” you added, repeating the sentence once more. You were trying to find a little bravery in this mantra, the one you needed to push your limits a little further.  Yet, all you find in these words is deep despair, because a part of you knows that they are not true — and you are not a hero. Not anymore. You tried to believe Fury’s lies. You wanted to believe them, and deceive yourself because it gave you a bit of hope, a reason to carry on, but the illusion couldn’t last for eternity. What’s a hero when they are hated by the whole world? A villain.

| Tags & warnings — Avenger!Natasha Romanoff x Avenger!Reader, Wanda Maximoff x Reader (platonic), Other Avengers x R. Angst with comfort, mental health issues, suicidal ideations, self depreciation, mentions of SA&SH, manipulation, severe injuries, no happy ending.

| Author's notes — This is the last part of the "Devious Lies" serie, and I really hope you all enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it <3

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

Many people would say that you are not a hero, not anymore. You have lost this title years ago, the day you revealed your true face to the world by cheating on Natasha —; how could they trust someone with their lives when that person can’t even remain loyal to their girlfriend? A hero is not a human, it is a perfect being that exists for the sole purpose of saving the world, and making children dream. You exist only to give hope to the population, but there is none once they discover that you are just like any of them, someone full of flaws, and failures, just a mess —; just human. 

Who knows the horrible things you might have done in the past, or the numerous lies you could have said to twist the reality? Not them, because they know nothing of the truth behind your departure, but they were still convinced that you were a monster who had been lying to them all this time, and it was too late to undo their hatred. A few days had been enough for rumours to spread, suddenly everyone had a story to share that proves how wicked you were. These stories have slowly replaced those of your greatest achievements, the many times you saved the world now forgotten in favor of all the little things you did wrong.

And you know these stories by heart because you have read about them in newspapers, heard them on television and in cafés. Wherever you go, these rumors follow you, they stick to your skin like an obsessive ex that won’t let you go, even after several years. The people never forget, nor they forgive.

Yet, none of them had the courage to hate you to your face. No, it was always behind your back, a bunch of glances they thought were discreet and whispers as soon as you turned around. You might not be their hero anymore, but you haven’t lost your abilities, and they are aware that you could easily kill any of them in less than a minute. But, instead of letting the anger consumes you, you pretended to not see the fear in their eyes, mixed with hatred. Except that, the longer this situation lasted, the more difficult it became for you to ignore their hostility. You would lie if you said it didn’t bother you to see these emotions replace the admiration that used to sparkle in their eyes.

If you are being honest, you have thought about it, about killing some of them. These thoughts come to your mind more times that you care to admit —; it would be so easy to snap their necks so you will never hear their hateful whispers again.

What do you have to lose anyway?

Nothing you haven’t already. At worst, they will send you in prison, but to your exhausted mind the idea sounded more tempting than repellent. Sometimes, you think about it as a sweet dream, and it brings you some peace —; if you were in prison, you would be blessed with ignorance. If you were in prison, they would have a real reason to use these slurs. If you were in prison, you would eventually be where you deserve to be. But, no matter how many times you thought about it, you couldn’t bring yourself to do it and so, instead, you shut yourself away in your crappy apartment, where you could no longer harm anyone.

—   —   — 

“But you are still a hero,” the man told you. It was months ago, almost a year, and it was the first time you had seen Fury since the events that led you to take a break. 

A break that was coming to an end, and that you were desperately trying to prolong. Unfortunately, the man is as stubborn as you are, and he is determined to convince you to return to the field. He needs you, and that is obvious, even though those words haven’t crossed his lips. You can feel his desperation. 

You disagree with him. 

You are not a hero, and he definitely doesn’t need you. There are dozens of agents more talented than you are, dozens of promising, and less controversial, souls who deserve a chance. He should better abandon you now, and let you rot in your apartment, because he will be disappointed sooner or later. But you didn’t tell him that. Instead, you stayed quiet, because the words were stuck in your throat.

“Don’t tell me that you are that kind of agent?” he asked, to fill the silence. The tone of his voice had changed slightly. There was something petty about it, something that is crawling under your skin —; it is the disappointment that his words carry. Yet, you have no idea what he is talking about —; “that kind of agent”? The worlds held no meaning to you, but you could still feel that they didn’t bode well, and that you didn’t want to be that kind of agent. You can see his eyebrows rise in anticipation of an answer you can’t give him.

“What kind?” you asked back, without any conviction, just because you know that is what he expects. You accompany these words with a sigh.

You are not in the mood for this kind of game. You only want one thing, and it is to go back to your apartment, to slip back into the comfort of your sheets and stay there for days to come. In fact, you may never leave them ever again. That is the only place where you can ignore the world, where all your worries disappear along with the rest. The only place where you do not need to be human, or pretend to be strong, where you can be a mess, and no one would be here to judge.

You were really not comfortable at the idea of coming here, to Fury’s office, at the S.H.I.E.L.D. 's headquarters, and being there makes the feeling even worse. He promised you that no one would know, but how could he be sure? The mere thought that one of them could see you there makes you nervous, and prevents you from concentrating.

What if it happens?

What if, despite Fury’s promises, you run into one of them?

You have no idea what you might tell them if it happens. Is it better to beg for their forgiveness, or would it be too much? You bet they wouldn’t even listen to you, anyway —; they haven’t in the past, why would it be different a year later?

Maybe they won’t even acknowledge you, and you should probably do the same —; but wouldn’t it be worse? You are not sure that you could handle this possibility, that you could walk by the people that once were your family as if they were complete strangers.

Maybe it is better if they decide to scream —; that is what a part of you is craving for, no matter how twisted it can be. Because, if they scream, if they still hate you, it means that they care, right? No one would take some of their time and energy to yell at someone they don’t care about, right? Because it wouldn’t make sense.

“The kind that does it for fame,” he replied, and you could feel the weight of his gaze. It was so intense that it made you want to disappear. You hate it, the way he looks at you, as if he knows all the secrets of your soul, and so you are fidgeting in your seat, unable to stay still because of your nerves.  

“No, I am not,” you sighed the words that you knew the man was expecting you to say, falling right into his trap. You are conscious of it, but you are too exhausted to fight, and it is way much easier to give the man what he wants.

Yet, your voice is full of uncertainty —; does it make you a bad person to want to stop helping people? At least, that is what he seems to be suggesting, and maybe he is not wrong. Maybe the only reason you want to stop is because you are selfish —; anyone with your skills wouldn’t hesitate to save the world. But not you, not anymore. Why? When did you become one of the bad guys, one of those who don’t care about others?

You want to tell him — to yell at him — that it is not about lost celebrity, that it was about being hated by almost every soul living on earth, but the words get stuck in your throat —; what’s the difference, after all? Are you really gonna let people die because they do not like you, is that the kind of person you became? No, it is not, and it will never be.

“Does that mean I can count on you?” he asked, and you answered with a murmured yes, because that is what he wants to hear, and because you only want this conversation to end. From the very moment you sat on this chair, you have been eyeing the exit, and you are more than willing to give the man what he wants in exchange for the right to leave.

—   —   —

“I am a hero,” you whispered in your breath, “and that’s what heroes do,” you added, repeating the sentence once more. You were trying to find a little bravery in this mantra, the one you needed to push your limits a little further. 

Yet, all you find in these words is deep despair, because a part of you knows that they are not true — and you are not a hero. Not anymore. You tried to believe Fury’s lies. You wanted to believe them, and deceive yourself because it gave you a bit of hope, a reason to carry on, but the illusion couldn’t last for eternity.

What’s a hero when they are hated by the whole world? A villain. It has been several years since you lost the title of hero. It is not about your great successes anymore, it is about all the mistakes you have ever made, the ones that make you detestable in the public’s eyes. Now, you are just an agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., and a controversial one at that. You are the rotten apple that the direction doesn’t really know what to do with. They might desperately need you — or, more accurately, your skills — but they do not want the world to discover that they didn’t fire you despite what they had announced to ease the minds.

Nevertheless, you had agreed to pretend, and to play Fury’s little games, because you didn’t know what else to do. You have been a little lost since you left the team, and the missions you were regularly sent on were a good distraction, but it has been months now, and you do not have the energy to pretend anymore.

Once this mission is over, the first thing you are going to do is to tell the man that it is over, you are quitting — yeah, you are going to leave the agency, and start a new life. The idea sounds appealing, and warms you heart with an emotion you thought you had forgotten; a will to live. You have waited long enough. You are not sure what you are going to do yet, but you know that it will be better — anything would be better than your current life. It will be a second chance, and a real one this time. Maybe you will change your name, and your face, and so you could be anyone you want to be — someone that no one hates. 

But, for now, the only thing you want is some rest. Slowly, your limbs become numb and, soon enough, you are not able to walk anymore, the ground disappears beneath your feet and you collapse into the snow, your legs unable to support the weight of your body. 

Maybe that is your second chance, you thought. Maybe the afterlife will be gentle.

It is so tempting to just close your eyes, to let the cold soothe your pain, and take all your worries away. You don’t know how long you have been walking, wandering around, waiting for help that may never come — probably for days. Days that seemed like an eternity. You were trapped in a landscape that you would surely have found magnificent, had the circumstances of your presence here been different.

The snow falling from the sky covers everything, and not an ounce of greenery escapes it. Yet, the sight wasn’t comforting — it was threatening, and scary. It was so cold that you couldn’t feel your fingertips. Everything was white, and all looked the same, turning the forest into a maze with no way out. The trees rose up, mocking and oppressive, as if they were only waiting for the moment you would give up.

Be patient. It will be soon, you thought, as your body hit the ground in silence.

You hardly notice you’ve fallen. You don’t even have the strength to try and get up, but maybe you don’t want to. The snow forms a gentle embrace, and you feel it begin to cover you in white too. Soon, you are going to disappear, and you’ll become a part of the landscape — How is it going to take, for nature to hide your body, to make it seem like you have never been here? A few hours? And how long would it take for them to find you? Probably more time. Who is “them”, anyway? You are not sure someone is coming from you, and despite your hopes, it is more likely that they won’t come. Did you forget that you have no one? If people do not care enough to show up at your funerals, do you really think that they would go to the trouble of looking for you in the middle of nowhere? What an idiot you are, you should know, by now, that there is no hope.

No one is coming. 

Even though the idea might sound sad, it brings a small smile to your face, as well as a weird sense of comfort — The peace you’ve been looking for is eventually within your reach. Soon, the world is going to forget your name, and your story. Maybe they won’t even know that you died here, alone in the woods, where no one can find your body.

You have tried to warn them about the situation. A last desperate plea for help to be sent, but you never found out if they got your message because your broken radio had died before they could confirm. Despite being an experienced agent, you have been caught out of guard by the situation — Should you wait for them here, or should you try to find a way back home on your own? The decision was made for you when the enemies started looking for you, there was no way you could escape them by staying in their base. Outside, you could hide more easily, and maybe even find a way out of here.

Yet, the days went by, and all you have done is get lost in the forest, a labyrinth made deadly by the snow and very low temperatures. There is no room for life in this place, and the fact that you survived for a few days is a miracle in itself.

You were perfectly aware of the risks when you accepted the mission. There are always high risks in this profession, and you were prepared to take them all, even the most irrational ones because nothing scared you — That’s your strength, you’ve never shied away from a mission. You knew that it wouldn’t go on forever, and that the risks you were taking would eventually lead to your demise — But who cares? Not you, nor Fury. Maybe it was exactly what you were both looking for-; the man wanted a soldier, and you wanted a way to die with dignity, which is exactly what he offered you.

And so, you accepted every mission he presented to you, worked on every file that was put on your desk without thinking twice about it. There was always a good reason to accept, many lives to save, and countless threats to the world, and for that, you were willing to take the risks that nobody else wanted to take. That’s what heroes do, right? They put their lives in line, for the sake of the population. 

So far, you have done surprisingly well, successfully returning from each of your missions. Yet, you knew it was only a matter of time before you ran out of luck. Maybe your current situation is solely your fault, for thinking that you could keep pushing your limits indefinitely — For forgetting that you are not a hero, only human. The blood between your fingers is there to remind you of that. It is red, as the one of all the people who live on this planet, and you can pretend all you like that you are a hero, but you’ll never be able to escape your condition, that of being human.

Yet, there is something oddly comforting in watching your blood staining the snow. Something that cradles you until your eyes close, something that helps you accept your destiny. These bloodstains are the silent promise that peace will soon arrive, the peace you have waited patiently for for years.

—   —   —

“Are you fucking kidding me?!” the woman screamed, her voice echoing throughout the room. No one dared looking at her, everyone avoiding her gaze. The team had just returned from yet another search mission, one of their last hopes of finding you, only to inform her that they had lost track of you — Again. 

The woman knows that she should not have listened to Clint when he told her that she’d better stay in the Quinjet and rest, something she has clearly been lacking in recent days. He even promised her that he would do his best. They all promised, but it was just lies. 

Natasha has waited for them for hours, obviously unable to rest because she was so consumed with anxiety. She had walked the whole length of the Quinjet more times than she can count, waiting for their return. When they came back empty-handed, she was furious. Not only they didn’t find you, but above all they had lost the only hint of your presence that they had managed to find since the search began, almost a week ago.

If she had been with them, things would have been different. She would have found you, she is sure of it — because she would have refused to come back before that happened.

Everything now seemed hopeless, and everyone was aware of this. That probably explains why they are abiding her gaze, not to escape her anger, but because they do not want to witness the pain they could read in her eyes. The spy had always been good at hiding her emotions, and no one had ever been able to read her — even after you left, two years ago, she remained composed — but her mask had started to crack in the last few days, and everyone could now see her worries. 

Natasha was the one who insisted for the Avengers to come for you, and although she insists that this decision is only motivated by her duty, everyone knows there is more to it than that — Feelings that the years had not erased, strong ones that she had buried, but which were resurfacing since she learned that you were in danger. You are her weakness, you are the only one that can make her lose her temper that easily, it is as if she was suddenly a child again — One with emotions too big for his understanding. It is like two years ago, when she saw the pictures and felt her heart being shattered.

“It is okay, I am sure that we are going to find her,” a voice raised, and it was Fury’s. The man was the only one to be brave enough to do such a thing, the only one who didn’t fear the redhead, even though he was the one who should be most wary. The man is standing on the opposite side of the room, leaning nonchalantly against the wall, his arms crossed — They could have been talking about their next meal, and he would have had the same fucking attitude, she thought. “She is strong, and smart. I am sure she will find a way to survive, do not underestimate her, Romanoff,” he calmly added, but his disastrous attempt to calm the atmosphere has the opposite effect — All she wanted to do was to violently rip the expression on his face, she couldn’t stand the overconfidence she could read on it, and the calmness that didn’t fit with the seriousness of the situation. 

“You know nothing,” she replied through gritted teeth, the only way she had found to not scream at him, “you are just trying to make yourself feel better about what’s happening because it is your fault. One of your agents is going to die, and it is all your fault!” she yelled the last sentence, unable to keep her voice low as she felt the rage building inside her. The man didn’t even care, he sees you as an asset, not as a human.

“She is an agent, Romanoff, and one of the best. It is her job to take risks, and she knew them before accepting the mission. This regrettable accident is no one’s fault,” he said, unimpressed by the redhead’s outburst.

“Oh, please!” she exclaimed with a bitter laugh, “this mission wasn’t risky, it was suicidal, and you are perfectly aware of that. No one in their right mind would have accepted it, but she was vulnerable, and you knew it, and took advantage of her state to get what you wanted!” she had moved closer, until she was almost spitting in his face, until the accusing finger she was pointing at him almost touched his chest. She knows the man and his tricks, she knows that he always finds a way to get what he wants. “I hope it was worth it because, if we don’t find her alive, I’ll make sure to bury you next to her grave,” she spitted, not even trying to hide her threat — No, not a threat. It was more than that, it was a promise. 

Those are the last words she said before leaving the Quinjet.

They have been looking for you for days, and everyone is painfully aware that the chances of finding you are diminishing with every passing minute. Yet, the woman is not ready to stop, not until she has hugged you one last time, dead or alive. Looking for you was no easy task, and every clue they have found eventually led to a dead end — You are too skilled for your own good, she thought, and it was almost frustrating. If it wasn’t for your skills, and your ability to disappear without leaving a trace, they would have found you days ago. If it wasn’t for your skills, Fury would have never sent you on this mission alone, and he definitely wouldn’t have waited for so long before sending a rescue team.

The woman had to beg him, to scream, for him to accept to give in some pieces of information about how you were doing. He said that you were fine. He said that you were fine, but it was just a lie. He looked at her, promising that nothing would happen to you, but he only said that to get her out of his office. As she later learned, the man had no idea of how you were doing because it was a no-contact mission, and if you gave them news, it would only be to share bad ones.

She heard the message you sent, a plea for help playing on a loop in her mind. Despite the poor quality of the transmission, and the cut words that prevented them from understanding your situation clearly, she could feel your fear, one that made her blood run cold — The woman has never heard you being so scared before.

Fury has waited two days before sharing the message with her. He said that he was positive you would find a way out on your own, and it would be too risky to send a team there when they had no idea how the situation was, but she hadn’t listened to him. All the woman could see was how he almost ruined every chance to rescue you for some ego problems, and foolish confidence — Everyone knows that after two days the chances of finding a missing person alive are slim. 

She hates him for that. She hates him for allowing you to die.

Or maybe it is herself that she hates, for letting you down years ago, when you needed her the most — If she hadn't, none of that would have happened, you wouldn’t have taken such risks in the hope of achieving some kind of redemption.

“What do you want?” she asked curtly to the person that was following her. She didn’t need to turn around to know who it was — Steve. In recent years, the man had developed the bad habit of following her wherever she went, convinced that she needed him.

“You forgot that,” he said, and she looked over her shoulder at the jacket in his hands. A wry smile appeared on her lips at the sight of the garment.

“Because I don’t need it,” she sighed, her tone as cold as the forest because of how exasperated she was by the way the man was trying to play hero. Maybe he was one for the rest of the world, but the woman definitely didn’t need to be saved, and especially not by a man that is convinced he knows everything better than everyone else.

“And, how exactly, do you expect to be able to help her if you are freezing to death?” He asked, trying to coax her into taking the jacket — But only someone who doesn’t know her well could imagine having any chance of convincing the woman.

“Did you forget where I am from, Roger?” She asked back, stopping in her tracks to face him, the sudden act surprising the man who almost ran into her, “If you are cold, then you can go back to the jet. No one asked you to follow me. So now, shut up or leave me alone,” she warned him before resuming her journey, the man at her heels. Natasha wasn’t walking in the forest for pleasure, and she couldn’t afford any distraction.

The woman has to concentrate to make sure she doesn’t miss any traces of your presence. These are rare, almost imperceptible, and easily hidden by the snow. She needs to be sure that she won’t miss anything, and that is something she can’t do if the centenarian doesn’t stop rambling in her ears.

Fortunately, the message seems to have got through because not a word was spoken for the next hours, and the two Avengers just walked in silence. Only the snow crunching under their feet broke the heavy silence. It had been hours, and the landscape didn’t seem to change, giving the impression that they were walking in place, or that they were going in circles. No matter where her eyes landed, all she could see were snow-covered trees, but that was until she spotted it. It was almost invisible, but there was no way she was going to miss the only thing that wasn’t white in the landscape — A red stop. A spot of blood, probably caused by a few drops, but that was leading to a trail staining the forest’s perfect white coat.

“Wait! Where are you going?” the man exclaimed when he noticed that his partner had run off, but he got no answer. His eyes weren’t as sharp as hers, and so he didn’t notice the stains straight away.

When he finally catches up with the woman, he was so taken aback by the scene that he was unable to move, or speak. It was so unexpected that he felt like he was daydreaming, and wondered if it wasn’t the cold that was causing him to hallucinate.

There, a few meters away from him, the redhead was kneeling in the snow. She was close to a body whose identity was in no doubt — You. Suddenly, all he can see is the rigidity of your body, the bluish tint of your lips, the snow that is covering your face, but above all the scarlet puddle that is staining the snow, so big that no one could miss it.

“Give me the jacket,” she asked him, her tone firm despite the obvious tremor in her voice. Her eyes never leave you, even for a moment, perhaps because she was afraid that you would disappear, and that she would lose you, again. “Steve. The jacket,” she asked again, but more urgently this time, “give me the fucking jacket, and go get the others!” she repeated, and the shout seems to shake the man out of his torpor because he eventually hands her the jacket before running off, in the direction of the jet. 

Natasha didn’t look back, but she heard his footsteps in the snow as he walked away. Now alone, she gently lifts your body, wrapping you in the jacket, and even pulling the hood down your face to protect you from the snow and wind. She can’t help but let her hands linger on your visage, her thumb gently tracing your features, then brushing past your now blue lips to eventually follow the wound on your cheek.

For a few seconds, she allows herself to get lost in the familiarity of your face, but the blood that is left on her thumb after she ran it over your cheek brings her back to reality — You are dying. Maybe you already are, dead. Yet, there is not much she can do before the arrival of the rest of the team, except praying to all the gods whose names she knows, even though she has never believed in them — Please, if you exist, it is the moment to do something good, she thought, and the woman was so deep in her thoughts, trying to keep the last shred of sanity she had, because the last thing you need is for her to lose her temper, that she missed it at first, those words that came out of your mouth.

“What?” she asked, a little abruptly, as her eyes fell on your face. Your expression hadn’t changed, your eyes were still closed, and so were your lips, giving the impression that she had imagined the whisper. “Did you say something?” She nevertheless asked, and several seconds passed in silence. She felt the hope that had made her heart beat being replaced by despair, until she notices the trembling of your lips as they try to come to life. At first, no sound escapes, only a whimper that breaks her heart. “Shh, it is okay, take your time, baby. You can do it,” she quietly encouraged you as she noticed your struggles. 

Her hands cup your face, and the warmth of the contact, accompanied by the circles her thumbs are tracing on your cheeks, is comforting. It helps you to ignore the pain for a moment. The gesture even gave you the strength to talk.

“You..,” you started, but this simple word requires so much effort that you need to catch your breath before continuing. “ ..came..,” you eventually added, the second word coming out as a broken whisper, and the woman has to be close if she wants to understand what you are saying.

“Yes!” She exclaimed, “yes, I did. W- We are all here, baby,” she softly replied, her voice trembling slightly because of emotion, just like her hands as she continued cradling your face. 

They are here? All of them? You thought, and the realization brings tears to your eyes. The woman can also feel tears welling up in her eyes, and you can see them. Yet, she should not cry. She has no right to cry when you need her to be strong and calm your fears. The woman knows it and yet, she can’t stop the tears from rolling down her cheeks. For so long, she had hoped to see you again, prayed for a second chance even though she knew she didn’t deserve it, but she hadn’t imagined that life could be cruel enough to offer her what she most wanted under the worst circumstances — Once again, she was about to lose the most important person in her life.

“Is.. that.. end.. ?” You painfully asked the woman. 

You have once heard a belief saying that the Angel in charge of helping a soul to travel to the other side always takes the appearance of the person the deceased loved the most during their life. You wouldn’t have expected anyone but the redhead to be yours. You may have tried to hate her for years, but the truth is that you have been unable to stop loving the woman.

“Because..,” you continued, but were stopped by a violent coughing fit. “Am.. ready.. now..,” you eventually managed to say. You want nothing more than to touch her face one last time, but your body refuses to listen to your desire and, as you try to move your hand, all you manage to do is to wiggle your fingertips — But it is okay, you thought. You are content enough with being able to see her one last time, and knowing that her comforting touch is the last thing you would feel before Death wraps its arms around your body, taking you somewhere where pain does not exist. 

“The.. end?” The woman repeated after you, a bit confused at your words, and you can tell because of how her eyebrows are knitted together. “Oh no, honey, it is not,” she whispered, trying to bring you a bit of comfort. “You are going to be fine, I promise,” she said, repeating those words a few times, unsure if they are really meant for you.

“I.. know.., I.. believe.. you..,” you whispered back.

“Then stay with me, baby, okay? Keep your eyes open for me, please. Just a few more minutes, and then everything will be fine, I promise. Do you think you can do that for me?” She started rambling when she noticed that you were struggling to keep your eyes open. Yet, it doesn’t seem to work as she watches you slowly slip into unconsciousness. “Tell me, love, where does it hurt? Could you do that for me?” She attempted, hoping that the question would be enough to ground you, to keep you here, with her, until the others arrive.

“Everywhere..,” you whispered, and it was the last thing you said. You were in so much pain that your whole body was numb, and you could barely feel something, unable to tell the difference between your arms and legs.

You are not sure what happened next, or how long it was before the rest of the team arrived, because despite Natasha’s attempts to encourage you to stay awake, you ended up losing consciousness. The last thing you were aware of was the sound of a vehicle, along with a few words that were yelled, and even if you couldn’t understand what they were saying, you were able to grasp the urgency in their tones. The last thing you remember was being lifted. That is when you knew you could do, before the arms that were carrying you were comforting, they were the promise that everything would be fine now.

After all, she promised. Didn’t she?

—   —   —

It was all a lie, when she promised that things would be okay now.

Since the very moment you have opened your eyes, after a few days spent in a coma, the world has been nothing but pain. She had promised you a world where suffering doesn’t exist, but had given you the exact opposite, every day being worse than the one that preceded it. Your wounds won’t heal, and despite the weeks that had passed, you were unable to walk properly, or anything without help. Every step you make, every breath you take, are the reminders of what was taken from you.

You had wished for Death. You had waited for the moment you could leave this world almost impatiently, but when the time eventually came, you were brutally ripped from Its arms. When the woman wrapped her arms around you, wrapping you in a comforting embrace, whispering the promise that everything would be fine now, you naively believed her. It is not before it was too late that you realized your mistake. You have thought that the woman you saw was your angel, but it has only been Natasha, a human, with her flaws and mysteries.

Why did she even decide to come?

The question has not left your mind since you opened your eyes. It raises a feeling of confusion, and anger, because there is no explanation you could think of that would make a bit of sense.

You have not talked since they brought you there, at the compound. It is a place that you’ve never thought you would ever see again, but mostly a place you never wanted to return to. At first, they thought that you just needed a bit of time to adapt, but the days soon became weeks, and you remained locked in your silence despite their many attempts to encourage you to say a few words. The only sounds they have heard coming from you are the whimpers of pain that sometimes fall past your lips.

Natasha has tried to speak to you, but you would always ignore her questions and ramblings. Yet, it has never stopped her from trying. Even though she is not sure that you can hear her, even though whenever she enters your room, she finds you looking out of the window, staring blankly. The woman had stopped closing the shutters a while ago, so you would always have something to look at, but you probably didn’t even notice the difference. It seems that your mind is somewhere else, somewhere she can’t reach.

You are far from here, from this room you hate with your whole heart but that you can’t leave despite your desires. A room that is not yours, and certainly not home despite what they may say, and you would rather be anywhere else, even if it means locking yourself in your thoughts. 

It is something they would have known if they had asked you, but apparently they didn’t think to ask for your opinion when deciding your future. The Avengers Tower is quiet, and comfortable. Somewhere you are familiar with, and where you would be able to get the care you need — The perfect place. The only place. You have no family, no friends, that could have agreed to take care of you until you are back on your feet. The Avengers may not be your family anymore, but they are the only ones who have agreed to bear this responsibility — Or most likely they felt like they had to. You probably want to be here as much as they want you to be there, and you know that they are silently praying that you will go away soon. You are the constant reminder of what they want to forget.

And so, you have slowly found comfort in your own mind. The only place where they can’t bother you, where suffering and time does not exist. Except that, as the days go by, it gets harder to ignore the woman. She is the only one who has never given up, always trying to talk to you when she comes to your room, even though you have never replied once. Whenever she comes to bring your meal, or your medicine, or help you to change, she would stay a bit longer, rambling about anything that comes to her mind — And you hate it. You don’t care about her last mission, nor do you care about the last movie she has seen. 

When she is here, time seems to flow slowly, minutes becoming a painful eternity. You wish the woman would understand your silence as the sign that you don’t want to talk, but it is apparently not a sufficient clue because she has never stopped talking.

The last thing you want is to get out of your caparace, because you don’t want to see what is outside, but it becomes almost impossible to ignore the world when the woman keeps invading your bubble. Her voice, her soft touches,.. they held a new promise — Everything will be fine, she continues saying, but now you know it is not true. You have fallen for her lies one time, and promised to yourself that you wouldn’t make the same mistake twice. These touches didn’t bring you any comfort, only frustration which then turned into anger. You have felt it boiling inside you for days now — Until you couldn’t bear it any more.

“Why?” You whispered. The woman was helping you to put on clean pyjamas, and you think she was rambling about her day when you cut her off with your question.

You are not sure why you have decided to talk that day. You are not even sure that it was your decision, the broken whisper falling past your lips before you could realize what was happening. You wish you could take back your word, but it was too late. The woman was as surprised as you were, judging by the expression on her face. Her lips are moving, but it is her turn to be at a loss of words.

Somehow, the hesitation you could read on her face made yours disappear instantaneously. Suddenly, you didn’t want to stay silent anymore. You wanted to be heard, to get the anger out of your body because you couldn’t bear the weight of it anymore.

“Why?!” You repeated, but this time you yelled the question. At least, it was the intention, but after so much time without talking, the word was nothing like a scream, only a strangled cry. Yet, despite your voice being weak, you realized that you didn’t want to stay quiet anymore — Not now, when you just got it back. Not when there are so many things you want to say, to scream in their faces.

“Why what?” She softly asked, stopping what she was doing for a second. Her hands were resting on your knees as she was talking. You were sitting on the edge of the bed, and had to lower your head a little to meet her eyes. Yet, she doesn’t dare to hold your gaze for more than a few seconds.

You scoff when she looks away, doing the same thing as you can feel tears coming in your eyes. She must not see them. “Playing games, are we?” You said back. Your tone is venomous, your words rude, and meant to hurt the woman, even though she took care of you the past few weeks.

It may sound unfair to treat the woman after all she has done for you — After she saved your life. Yet, she is still the one who dumped you years ago, the one who broke your heart, ruined your life, and made promises she couldn’t keep. The truth is that, if you can’t handle her presence, it is because you know that you don’t want her to be really gone — You shouldn’t, but you want more of it, more of her and her reassuring presence. Her sudden gentleness, after she pushed you away so violently, is building your hopes back up. A feeling that is painful when you know that they would never become a reality.

“Listen,.. I-,” she sighed, but before she could find the right words to answer your questions, you cut her, again. You already had enough, wanting this conversation to end, and now.

“If you can’t give me an honest answer, then I don’t want to listen to you,” you abruptly said, warning the woman that she should carefully choose her next words.

The woman may want to say something, but when she opens her lips, no sound comes out — Because she has no idea what to say. The truth is that Natasha is as confused as you are, the same unanswered questions occupying her mind. She doesn’t know why she went after you, and the lack of response keeps her awake at night. 

The woman simply knew that she needed to be there, that her place was by your side, and no word was strong enough to describe how worried she had been about you all this time, a feeling that has lingered inside her since you left. She pretended not to care, tried to bury these feelings as she had been raised to do, but it never really left.

You had poisoned her soul, her heart.

But you know. You already know the answers to your questions, you only asked because you wanted to hear them from her mouth. You want her to admit that her actions were only guided by her guilt, not by the love she pretends to bear for you, because that is the only way you would be able to get rid of the painful hope that, maybe, things could go back to the way they used to be.

But obviously she wouldn’t say that. 

The great Natasha Romanoff would never admit that she is selfish, and imperfect. 

That she is far from the hero everyone thinks she is.

“Get. out,” you eventually asked the woman. She has hesitated, and missed her chance to say something. “GET OUT,” you yelled when you noticed she was about to protest, “LEAVE ME ALONE,” you added, pushing the woman who was kneeling in front of you with all your strength. When she didn’t budge, it only added to your distress.

For once, she listened to you, and left the room. The door closed behind her with a soft thud, and just like that you found yourself plunged into the silence you’ve been longing for — Yet, it didn’t feel as comforting as you expected it to be.

Somehow, since that day, you have only felt worse. Since you have found your voice again, you only used it to express your anger, yelling at anyone trying to get into your room. It has been several days now, that your cries have been echoing in the tower, making it clear that you wanted to be left alone. If the past few weeks you have been bearing Natasha’s presence, it wasn’t the case anymore, and now the woman couldn’t even do something as simple as knocking at your door without you screaming. You do not want to see, hear, or feel her — Even the mere thought of the redhead was too much.

All of them had tried to step in your room, convinced they would be the one able to calm you down, but everything they achieved was to worsen the situation. Eventually, they stopped coming, giving you the loneliness you thought you wanted — Then why are not feeling better, now that you have what you asked for? 

You are torn apart by contradictory feelings and needs, unable to quite understand what is going on in your mind — It is obvious that you don’t want to see Natasha. And yet, everytime someone other than the woman opened this door, you felt disappointment filling your heart. Maybe that is why you yelled, why you were so angry. 

When they eventually stopped knocking at your door, you caught yourself hoping for them to come back. Your days are now an endless succession of hopes, built up at every sound of footsteps in the corridor, and disappointments, when you eventually hear them going away. She has proven you right, you thought. She has proven to you that she doesn’t care, and you have used up all your tears crying over this idea, days and nights. 

You wish you hadn’t said those things, that you hadn’t screamed at the woman, because you were now missing her presence. Her gentleness may have been annoying, but it has been so long since the last time someone has been this gentle with you, that now it was gone, you were craving to get it back. She gave you a second chance, and you have thrown it away for what? Nothing.

It took a few days before you eventually decided to leave your room. It was not by choice, obviously, and you only agreed to leave the comfort of your bed because of the hunger that was slowly gnawing at your insides. The last meal you got was the same day as the last time you saw Natasha, and you knew you couldn’t go much longer without eating. At first, you told yourself you would endure the pain, that you deserved it for what you did to the woman, but it didn’t make it more bearable, and you eventually gave in.

The plan you made in your mind was easy — Waiting for the night to come, make sure that no one is awake, and then quickly getting down to the kitchen. Only a few minutes, only time to grab some snacks before making it back to the comfort of your room. Yet, you should have known that things never go as they are meant to.

The journey to the kitchen was everything but easy. You have probably been a bit too optimistic about your ability to walk when you thought about your plan. The pain in your leg was so intense that you were only able to take a few steps before collapsing, and had to almost drag yourself down there. Every step felt like running miles, leaving you short of breath. And yet, despite all your efforts, despite your strong will, you were eventually forced to give up when your legs have once again shifted under your weight, leaving you on the ground, unable to get up despite your attempts. 

When even crawling felt too demanding, you were left with no choices but to wait for someone to rescue you. Suddenly, you were submerged by an overwhelming feeling of hopelessness, and shame, that only worsened when you heard footsteps. You didn’t say anything, and only closed your eyes, hiding your tears behind your eyelids. You were softly praying that whoever is here would ignore your limp figure, scattered on the living-room’s floor, and do whatever they came here for as if you weren’t here. 

“Oh sweetie, no.. I won’t do that,” a feminine voice softly said, and you immediately recognize it as Wanda’s. It holds a gentleness that is unique. 

Your suspicions are confirmed a moment later, when the woman kneels beside you. For a second, you thought about pushing her away, especially when her hand brushes your hair out of your face. The witch is aware of that, but she also knows that, deep down,  behind the walls that you’ve built to protect yourself, you were craving for her attention. That’s why the woman didn’t remove her hand right away, a sad smile stretching her lips when she realized how you were leaning into her touch.

“Are you hungry?” She eventually asked, and you opened your eyes, a bit surprised by the sudden question. You blink, twice, unable to give the woman a verbal answer — But she doesn’t need one. She is perfectly aware of why you came downstairs, and she doesn’t need to use her mind-reading abilities to know that, already aware of how you have been refusing to eat anything for the past few days. “Good,” she whispered, careful with her words. She couldn’t risk you shutting down, again. “Because I was cooking, but did way too much for one person,” she explained, smiling.

It is a lie, and you both are aware of that. 

It is past midnight, and the woman was probably just looking for some water. She definitely wasn’t cooking, and is probably not even hungry, but she knows that this innocent lie would help you to feel less guilty. The woman knows how stubborn you can be, and how you would probably have refused if she had proposed to cook you a meal, scared of wasting her time. Yet, she couldn’t let you go back to your room with only a snack. You need energy, if you want to get back on your feet as soon as possible.

“Come here,” she said when you hesitantly nodded, “let me help you,” she added, and you didn’t protest when the woman wrapped her arms around you — Her embrace was soft, and comforting. 

“I got you,” she whispered in your mind, “everything will be fine now,” and, this time, the words felt true. It has been a long time since you felt as safe as you did in the Witch’s arms, the woman being the only one who has never treated you differently, or hated you for what happened years ago. She was the hope that things could work out. 

THE END. —

| MOODBOARD — ✧ — MASTERLIST — ✧ — TO SAY SOMETHING

| Part one. Part two. Part three. the scars in our hearts (bonus part).

| Taglist — @cd-4848, @chocolatestrawberrykryptonite, @gemz5, @jusnough, @liasxeatt, @m0nsterqzzz, @marvelwomenarehot0, @mrsrushman, @riyaexee, @takeyaki, @taliiiaasteria.

[lunaritex]

𓏲࣪ ִֶָ ︎ִֶָ BEHIND CLOSED DOORS 𖤐. — nishimura riki.

(๑>◡<๑) ৎ୭ nishimura riki + fem! reader established+secret relationship inspired by the boxing scene in no doubt mv brief appearances of the other members 𐙚 warning suggestive content, kissing, blood, violence, implied suggestive ending, . . . !? & 1706 — navigation

note. i have NO idea why this nearly hit the 2k wc but here we are... also trust ill work on the jungwon AND heeseung version soon haha COUGHS. @riekiss ur welcome!

“And that’s all for the meeting. Are there any questions?” You asked the students once you finished your presentation. 

Today was the monthly student council meeting and as per the routine, it was your job to give a brief summary of the things everyone had done, along with taking in suggestions from the student body on how you could improve on certain aspects of the school.

Everyone shook their heads in unison, all eager to be dismissed so they could go home. After all, it was Friday and they were desperate to spend their weekend in the comfort of their homes. You sighed as you shut down your laptop, lightly closing the device. You rested one hand on the table while the other on your hips. 

“If there are no questions, then you may go. Enjoy your weekend,” you smiled, bidding them farewell as they wasted no time in scrambling out, not after they wished you a pleasant weekend. It did not take them long to leave and the council room was silent after thirty seconds, leaving you to pack up before leaving. 

“Why are you still here?” 

You raised your head, pausing in the midst of your packing to see it was none other than your boyfriend; Nishimura Riki, standing by the doorway. His backpack was casually slung over his left shoulder and from where he stood, you could see the multiple piercings on both ears. Your heart never fails to skip a beat whenever he appears in your sight. Clearing your throat, you tore your eyes away and continued your task at hand. 

“We were having our monthly meeting and I could ask you the same thing; why are you still here?” You retorted, hearing his approaching footsteps. 

“I was waiting for you to finish,” he replied, moving so he could hug you from behind. Riki had to bend forward so he could rest his chin on your left shoulder, arms snugly wrapped around your waist. 

“Riki, don’t do this. Anyone could walk in and see us,” you warned him, moving to elbow him and he whined as he moved away. 

“That’s not how you should treat your boyfriend!” He protests. 

You rolled your eyes at his antics, zipping up your bag and was about to pick it up but Riki was faster. He snatched it away from your grip and tossed you a grin. “Come on, hurry up so we can get going. Or else we’re going to be late.” 

You shake your head, chuckling at his evident excitement as you leave the room, locking it up with the key provided and slid it into the pocket of your skirt. “Alright, let’s go then. Are you nervous for tonight’s match?” 

Riki hums, walking beside you as he swung your intertwined hands back and forth. “Nah, I’d win.” 

~ 

The venue was filled with countless people when you arrived. You were greeted with the strong stench of sweat, dust and blood the moment you pushed through the metal doors once you were granted permission from the security. You scanned your surroundings, noticing how there were two men fighting it out in the middle of the ring. The audience were hooked onto the match, everyone cheering for the both of them as the match was starting to reach its peak. 

“Looks like there’s a crowd tonight. Think you can handle it?” You asked, moving closer to your boyfriend as he expertly guides you through the room. 

Riki placed his hand on your back, pushing you forward slightly to keep you in his view. It was always the same things like these that made you fall harder for him. You know that the school sees him in a negative spotlight for he was known for being the troublemaker. Riki was always causing trouble no matter where he went, engaging in fights and he became a frequent visitor to the principal’s office. The fact that he was able to get excellent grades infuriates some of the students, resulting in them being jealous of his academic abilities. 

Your boyfriend shoots you his signature confident smirk once you are out of the crowd. “Of course I can, and I think the crowd should think if they can handle me or not.” 

“Right, my bad,” you dryly replied. 

The two of you managed to locate your group of friends; Jungwon, Heeseung, Jay, Jake, Sunoo and Sunghoon. They were seated in a corner, all ready for their respective matches. Today however, Riki will be going first and his competitor is a college student. You greeted the guys, taking a seat in between Heeseung and Sunghoon as they started talking to you while Riki went to change out of his uniform. 

You approached him when he was out, watching as he was adjusting the tape of his left glove. You decided to lend him a helping hand when you saw how he was struggling. Riki stops, allowing you to help him and he pressed a chaste kiss on your cheek. The sudden display of affection made your friends gag as they pretended to vomit. Riki flips them off, resulting in a round of laughter from the group. 

“Go get them and be safe,” you wished him luck when his name was announced via the sound system. 

Riki smiles, nodding and steps onto the ring. The smile was wiped from his face the moment he entered, his entire demeanor changing as he glared at his opponent, who smirks and said something that must have pissed him off, judging from how Riki was about to pounce on him before the round even started. Their brief exchange did not go unnoticed by you and the others. You shared a glance amongst yourselves and could only pray that the fight will not end in someone being on death’s door or even worse, dead. 

Ding! 

The moment the match starts, Riki’s opponent lunged at him at lightning speed. You watched with bated breath as he was forced to be on the defensive side. You could tell it was taking all of his strength to either dodge or block the barrage of attacks the other was throwing at him. You flinched; startled when someone rested a hand on your left shoulder. Turning, you made eye contact with Heeseung who gave you a reassuring smile. 

“He’ll be fine, just believe in him and wait,” he comforts you. 

You could only weakly return the smile, not trusting in yourself to speak at the moment. You turned your attention back to the match, watching in nervousness as Riki finally breaks through the attack. This time, he starts to fight back, throwing every punch with all of his strength put into it. Some of his opponent’s attacks managed to hit him as you took note of the blood dripping from the corners of his mouth and some on his forehead too. The crowd grew louder and louder, everyone roaring at the top of their lungs as they cheered for him. 

Riki dealt the final blow by delivering a swift but powerful punch right to the poor man’s face, effectively knocking him out on the spot. He left the ring, walking past everyone as he headed to the changing room located at the back. Heeseung gestured for you to follow him and you obliged, waving at him before going in the same direction that your boyfriend took. Entering the dimly lit room, your eyes immediately located a figure seated on the long seats, his back facing you. 

“Riki,” you called out his name, walking closer. 

Your footsteps echoed throughout the quiet room and eventually, you stopped beside him. You reached out your hand, wanting to touch him but you held yourself back, unsure if he even wanted your presence in the first place. You were about to withdraw your hand but Riki’s hand shot out, grabbing your wrist. With a gentle wordless tug, you complied with his request and sat beside him, your knees touching. You frowned when you could see the dried bloodstains on his handsome face. 

“You need to get those wounds treated before they get infected. Wait here,” you murmured, rising to your feet to grab the first aid kit from his bag and return to his side. 

None of you spoke a word and silence began to take over the room. You were focused on your task, gently dabbing the moist cotton wool on his wounds, muttering an apology under your breath whenever Riki flinched or hissed in pain. You could feel his piercing gaze on your face and as the minutes passed, it was slowly getting to you. 

“Riki…” You groaned, dropping your hand and he grins, knowing he had won. 

“Yes?” He owlishly blinked, acting innocent when you knew better. 

“Stop looking at me like that. I’m trying to help and—!?” 

You could not finish your sentence when Riki leans in to crash his lips against yours, cutting you off. You gasped, not expecting him to kiss you out of nowhere; not that you were complaining in the first place. You dropped the cotton wool you were holding when he pulled you closer and closer until you were forced to straddle his lap in an awkward position. The first aid-kit fell to the ground with the content spilling but none of you care. You whimpered when Riki bit down on your bottom lip and you obediently parted your lips, granting him entrance.

The faint taste of metallic drips into your mouth when you return the favor, reopening the wound on his lips. He smiles into the kiss, amused with your reaction. You felt the temperature rising when you felt his tongue explored your cavern with one, slow but thorough lick. The kiss was filthy and bloody, a mixture of spit and blood exchanged between the two of you. As much as you wish to continue kissing him, the need for oxygen desperately rises and you have to break the kiss. 

You breathlessly chuckled when Riki chased after your lips and you had to stop him by covering his lips. “Stop, we can continue this later.” 

Hearing the promise made him smile and he planted a few kisses on your face. “I’m very much looking forward to that.” 

“Riki!”

[moonselune]

Bg3 companions and a reader who is ridiculously into them? like can't be around them without blushing, stuttering over words, etc.

Love your writing ♥️♥️♥️

ahhhhh thank you so much, this was a pleasure to write !

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

Breakfast in camp had become a small but daily ordeal. Sitting across from Karlach was as thrilling as it was nerve-wracking. She always looked so effortlessly radiant—her wide smile lighting up her face, her hair messy from sleep, and that laugh that came from deep within her chest. You, meanwhile, were a nervous mess, barely able to lift a spoon without fumbling it in her presence.

This morning, you were attempting to slice an apple while also trying to sneak glances at her, as usual. But, distracted as you were, you barely noticed when she caught you looking. She grinned, that flash of teeth making your heart skip about five beats.

“Hey, you want some?” she asked, holding out a plate piled high with a variety of fresh fruits. You stammered, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Uh—y-yes! I mean, no! I mean—” You fumbled for the right words, your voice a bit too loud in your panic. Karlach looked at you, mildly confused but amused.

“Alright then, you let me know if you change your mind,” she said, winking, before going back to her breakfast. The little wink nearly killed you on the spot, and you dropped your apple, which rolled dramatically across the table and plopped off the other side.

Wyll, sitting beside you, tried to hide a snicker behind his hand. He’d been noticing your flustered behavior around Karlach for days and had clearly reached his breaking point. As Karlach turned away, Wyll leaned in close to you, smirking.

“Oh, this is painful to watch,” he muttered, barely containing his laughter. “When are you going to do something about it?”

You gave him a quick, desperate glare, feeling the blood drain from your face.

“Do something?” you whispered, panic lacing your voice. “Wyll, I can’t even string a proper sentence together around her without sounding like a fool!”

Wyll rolled his eyes, still grinning.

“Trust me, I can see that,” he said, raising an eyebrow. “But if you keep this up, it’s going to get unbearable for both of us. You’re absolutely lovesick, and she’s completely oblivious.”

“Lovesick?” you whispered, trying to keep your voice low but also scandalized by the word. “That’s… that’s not…”

Wyll arched an eyebrow, giving you a pointed look that read, Really?

You sighed, knowing he was right. Every time Karlach entered the room, you either found an excuse to leave or wound up a blushing, stumbling mess. Just this morning, she’d brushed a crumb off your shoulder, and you had nearly collapsed on the spot.

Wyll laughed, patting you on the back a little harder than you would have liked. “Look, if you don’t do something soon, I will. Maybe I’ll tell her for you—‘oh, by the way, did you know you’ve got someone so smitten with you, they can’t even eat breakfast right?’”

Your eyes went wide. “You wouldn’t.”

“Try me,” he smirked, raising an eyebrow with challenge.

“Fine,” you whispered, heart racing at the thought of actually doing something about it. “What do I… say?”

Wyll shrugged, his expression softening a bit. “Just talk to her. Be honest. If there’s one thing Karlach respects, it’s bravery. And if there’s one thing she loves, it’s someone who cares as much as she does.”

But as you mulled it over, you looked across the table and saw Karlach laughing at something Astarion was saying, her eyes bright with amusement, her entire face aglow with the life and warmth she carried effortlessly. You swallowed, trying to imagine how you’d ever muster up the courage to tell her anything.

The rest of breakfast went by with your heart hammering and Wyll occasionally sending you smirking looks. You felt like you were on fire, thoughts racing as you considered his words.

Finally, as camp was beginning to break up and everyone was scattering to their daily tasks, you decided to follow Wyll’s advice. Taking a deep breath, you gathered every bit of courage you could find and made your way over to Karlach, who was busy folding up her bedroll. She looked up, surprised, as you approached.

“Oh, hey! Need something?” she asked, her grin warm as always.

You cleared your throat, feeling the words get caught. “I… um…”

Karlach tilted her head, watching you patiently. “Everything okay?”

And there it was, the opening. The chance to say something. Be brave, you reminded yourself. You took a deep breath and tried again.

“I just… wanted to say…” you stumbled, unable to look her in the eye. “I really… enjoy spending time with you.”

The corners of her mouth turned up in a soft smile, her eyes studying your face, but still, she seemed blissfully unaware. “Well, good! Same here! You’re a lot of fun, you know. Brave in your own way, even if a bit shy,” she teased lightly, giving your arm a light squeeze.

You couldn’t help but laugh nervously, feeling your cheeks burn. Maybe Wyll had a point—Karlach appreciated bravery, and here you were, looking like a fool again. But as her hand lingered just a moment longer on your arm, you felt a surge of determination. This was only the beginning.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

You’d found Minthara’s sword on the outskirts of camp that morning, half-buried beneath some tangled roots. It was unmistakably hers—dark metal with a wicked curve, and elegant engravings tracing the hilt. You’d only seen her use it from afar, but even then, there was something mesmerizing about the way she wielded it, about the way her gaze sharpened whenever she held a blade. You were already a bundle of nerves at the thought of returning it to her, and that only got worse the closer you got to her tent.

She was sharpening a dagger when you approached, her expression focused, so much so that for a moment, you thought about turning back. But then she noticed you, her eyes snapping up to meet yours with a glint of curiosity.

“You’re looking rather… tense.” Her eyebrow arched slightly as she took you in.

Your heart thudded painfully, and you swallowed, forcing yourself to hold up the sword without dropping it. “Uh, I… found this for you. Your sword, I mean. It was… um, outside camp, and I thought you might want it back?”

Her gaze softened, a small smirk playing on her lips as she reached for the sword, her fingers brushing against yours. You nearly jumped at the contact, face burning, feeling like you might explode from embarrassment. You tried to say something else, but the words came out as a strangled squeak, and you practically forced yourself to look at the ground to avoid those piercing eyes of hers.

“Hmm,” she murmured, glancing over the sword, and then back at you. “Thank you. It's… refreshing to see someone with a sense of respect.” She held your gaze for a moment longer, and then, with an amused nod, she went back to her sharpening.

You quickly walked away, all but stumbling as you escaped, only to find yourself practically nose-to-nose with Shadowheart, who looked far too amused.

"Gods above," she snorted, crossing her arms. "I've never seen someone turn so red while returning a weapon."

You stammered, looking anywhere but at her. "I was just… trying to be polite!"

"Polite? If that's your version of polite, then I’d hate to see you actually try flirting," she teased, unable to hide her grin.

“Oh, please,” you huffed, looking away and trying to calm the blush still heating your face. “It's just… I don’t know. I like her, alright? Even if she’s… well, she could probably kill me without a second thought.”

Shadowheart raised an eyebrow. "Good to know you’re aware. And yet you still act like a lovesick fool around her, it's almost like you want her to kill you."

“I would die happy!” you blurted out, throwing your hands up. “Minthara could do anything she wants to me—absolutely anything at all—and I’d thank her. She could stomp me into the dirt, call me a fool, hex me, curse me, make my life a living hell, and I'd still probably thank her with my last breath!”

Shadowheart laughed, shaking her head in disbelief. "You’re hopeless."

But you were too caught up in your rant. "I’d let her do anything—anything at all! She could make me fetch her supplies every morning, have me clean her sword every night, stand guard for her at dawn and dusk, and I’d still think it was the best thing to ever happen to me!”

"Ahem."

You froze, mid-rant, and turned slowly to find Minthara standing directly behind you. She looked deeply amused, one eyebrow raised, her eyes glittering with dark humor. Her smirk was even more wicked than usual, and her gaze held you captive as she stepped closer.

“Good to know,” she said, her voice smooth and cool, her smirk only growing. “I may have to test that loyalty sometime.”

She winked at you, and then, just as easily as she’d come, she turned and sauntered away, leaving you standing there completely speechless, your face redder than ever.

Shadowheart burst out laughing, clutching her side as she watched you sway in shock. “You really have a gift for making a fool of yourself, you know that?”

You sank to your knees, stunned, still processing that Minthara had heard every single word. Shadowheart’s laughter rang in your ears, but you were simply too dazed to care. Perhaps that death would come quicker than expected - if your own heart didn't give out first.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

Every time Lae’zel looked your way, you felt like a live wire, a rush of heat filling your face. She seemed to command every space she entered, her presence sharp, unapologetic, and utterly captivating. But whenever you were around her, every sentence became a tangle of stammered nonsense, and all you could do was blush helplessly. Today was no different.

You were fumbling with your supplies near the fire when Lae’zel walked over, her gaze scrutinizing as always.

"You’ve been acting strange,” she declared, crossing her arms and eyeing you critically. “Weakness of any sort is unacceptable. Are you unwell?"

Her bluntness only made you more flustered, words tripping over each other as you tried to respond. "No, I… I mean, yes, but not in that way. I mean, I'm fine. Completely fine.”

Lae’zel’s eyes narrowed, unconvinced. “You are not fine. You stammer, you lose color and gain it again. See Halsin or Shadowheart—this weakness needs mending.”

Desperate to reassure her, you tried to explain further, but each attempt seemed to make it worse. “I’m not… it’s not that kind of weakness, I just—well, around you, I—uh…”

She fixed you with a glare, her frown deepening. "Enough. Your words make less sense with every second. Perhaps you’re more ill than you realize.”

Your cheeks burned as she turned sharply to fetch Halsin, all but barking his name across camp. He arrived quickly, taking in the scene with a look of amused understanding.

“She is in poor health,” she said, gesturing at you. “They are losing control over their words and show clear signs of a fever. You will attend to them.”

Halsin’s brows lifted slightly, and with a knowing look, he glanced from you to Lae’zel. He gave a slow, considering nod. “Yes, I believe I see the trouble. An ailment, certainly… though it appears to be more of the heart than of the body.”

Lae’zel scowled, gripping her weapon as if ready for battle. “Explain this ‘heart ailment.’ What creature has inflicted it upon them?”

Halsin chuckled softly. “They’ve been bitten by a lovebug, Lae’zel. That’s all.”

Lae'zel let out a string of sharp Gith curses, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. "A lovebug. Where does it lurk, this creature? If it is preying upon our camp, I’ll hunt it down myself and crush it beneath my blade."

Her fierce determination, though absurd, only made your heart race more. Halsin stifled a laugh, giving you a sidelong look of utter amusement.

“I think you’ll find that hunting it will be… difficult,” he said, barely hiding his grin. “The lovebug often prefers stealth, hiding within feelings rather than form.”

“Feelings, a psychic offender,” she repeated, her brow creasing in thought. After a moment, she nodded decisively. “It is trickier prey, then. But I will find it nonetheless.”

And with that, she strode off, muttering to herself about unknown threats to the camp. As soon as she was out of earshot, Halsin let out a laugh, clapping you on the shoulder. “You know, I think you may have just made a miraculous recovery.”

You let out a groan, pressing a hand to your flushed face. “Do you think she’ll ever realize?”

“Not any time soon, I’d wager,” he chuckled. “But watching her hunt for a creature that doesn’t exist… that’s something we’ll all enjoy.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

Shadowheart’s approach had been so unassuming, yet it immediately set your heart racing. You’d been minding your own business by the campfire, trying not to glance her way too much, when she’d walked over, looking perfectly calm and utterly oblivious to the effect she had on you. She needed help with a spell—one that apparently you could explain better than anyone else at camp. You tried to play it cool, managing a quick, slightly-too-high “Sure!” and hoping your pulse wasn’t visibly hammering in your throat.

Standing beside her, you began explaining the spell, hands trembling ever so slightly as you demonstrated the incantation.

“So…uh…you’ll want to focus your energy here, at the core…” you muttered, gesturing to the focus stone. You held it out for her to see, only to have her fingers brush yours, sending a jolt through you that nearly made you drop the thing.

“Like this?” Shadowheart asked, her gaze flicking up to meet yours. Her dark eyes held that same thoughtful curiosity, and your voice caught in your throat. It was hard enough trying to form sentences with her this close, let alone explain a complex spell.

“Y-yes. Like that,” you managed, each word coming out slightly unsteady. “And, uh, then you just…channel it gently, but with intention.” She tilted her head, leaning closer, following along with perfect focus.

Meanwhile, just behind her, Karlach was all but dying, barely containing her laughter as she watched you fumble. Her amusement was clearly at your expense, and it took every ounce of willpower not to glare at her. Your attention drifted back to Shadowheart just as she turned her attention to the final gesture of the spell.

Her hand rested over yours for a second too long, her voice soft as she asked, “Does this look right?”

You nodded dumbly, your brain too overloaded to form a coherent reply, and somehow muttered, “It’s, uh…very…graceful.” Internally, you cringed. Graceful?

Shadowheart, apparently too engrossed in the spell to notice your red cheeks, gave a small, content nod. She released your hand, oblivious to the way you quickly hid your trembling fingers.

“Thank you,” she said with a rare smile, her voice calm and warm. “I think I understand it now.”

She turned to leave, casting one last glance over her shoulder, which made you feel simultaneously light-headed and weak in the knees. You stared after her, still processing, trying to shake off the ridiculous butterflies. You hadn’t realized you were holding your breath until she was already out of earshot.

The second she was gone, Karlach burst out laughing, dropping her head back in utter delight.

“Gods! If I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were spellbound yourself,” she teased, unable to wipe the grin off her face. “That was one of the best things I’ve ever seen. Hopeless,” she declared, shaking her head at you with a mischievous gleam.

Heat flooded your face all over again as you groaned, rubbing the back of your neck.

“I know, okay? It’s…utterly hopeless,” you admitted, voice thick with defeat. Before you could second-guess yourself, you grabbed her mug of beer straight from her hand and downed it in a few quick gulps, hoping it would somehow wash away the mortification you felt. Setting the empty mug down, you sighed deeply. “She didn’t even notice anything.”

“Oh, that’s where you’re very, very wrong,” Karlach countered, her smile twisting into something sly and secretive. She crossed her arms, leaning in as if sharing a precious secret. “Because she was definitely checking you out while you were showing her that spell.”

You froze, turning slowly to look at her, heart skipping a beat.

“You’re joking,” you muttered, voice barely above a whisper. There was a spark of hope, ridiculous but undeniable, blooming somewhere deep in your chest.

Karlach grinned wider, shaking her head. “Oh, no. She was stealing glances at you the entire time,” she said, sounding far too pleased with herself. “She’d peek up at you just when you weren’t looking, trying to act all serious, but she couldn’t quite pull it off. You might be as oblivious, but I’ve got eyes.” She winked, patting your shoulder in encouragement.

Your mind raced, playing the whole interaction back. You remembered how Shadowheart’s gaze had lingered, her voice soft, her questions coming slower, almost careful… Could Karlach really be right? Was it possible that Shadowheart had actually been…interested?

“Maybe there’s hope after all…” you mumbled, feeling that glimmer of excitement grow.

Karlach clapped you on the back with a laugh, nearly knocking the air out of you. “There you go! Just keep stuttering and blushing—seems to be working like a charm.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Guess I’ll just have to keep embarrassing myself, then,” you said, grinning despite yourself.

Karlach’s laughter echoed across the camp, but her eyes held a genuine warmth as she said, “Well at least it’s a start. You’ll get there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Jaheira:

Jaheira's gaze was focused, unrelenting as she adjusted your grip on the scimitar. Her hands, warm and confident, guided yours over the hilt, showing you the correct angle, the precise strength you should use. Every time her hand brushed yours, you felt your heart stammer. You hoped she didn’t notice your flushed cheeks or the way your breath caught every time she leaned closer.

“Here,” she said, her voice calm but commanding. She moved to your side, adjusting the angle of your stance with the barest brush of her hand along your back. “It’s not about brute force,” she murmured, her voice so close it felt like a whisper. “It’s about control, understanding where the balance lies in every movement.”

You nodded, barely able to find your voice, managing only a stuttered, “Y-yes, of course.” But you were far more focused on her proximity than any of her advice.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Astarion lounging a few paces away, arms crossed and a devilish grin spreading across his face. He had noticed, of course—there was no hiding it from his all-too-keen gaze. Before you could silently beg him to go easy on you, he stepped closer, feigning a helpful tone.

“Stick your rear out more,” he suggested, his voice laced with amusement. “Helps with balance. And I’m sure Jaheira would agree.” He flashed you a wicked grin, clearly enjoying the spectacle.

Your face flamed, and you shot him a withering look.

“Thanks, Astarion,” you muttered under your breath, attempting to ignore him. But his smirk only widened, and he continued to watch, pleased with himself.

Jaheira, still adjusting your stance, gave you a quick nod, oblivious to your flustered state and Astarion’s antics.

“There you go,” she said, stepping back just enough to observe your form. “Much better.” She gave a satisfied nod and went on to demonstrate a quick series of strikes, her movements fluid and sure, each slash a picture of precision and elegance.

You could barely pay attention, completely distracted by the grace with which she wielded her weapon, the easy strength in her every move. As she looked back at you, catching you gawking, you fumbled to regain focus.

“Uh—yes! Right, like that!” you stammered, hurriedly attempting to mimic her motions.

Jaheira gave a small, amused smile before nodding approvingly. “Keep practicing that sequence. It’ll help build your control.”

As she left the clearing, giving you one last nod of encouragement, you could hardly breathe. You waited until she was out of sight before collapsing against Astarion, running a hand through your hair with a groan.

“I’m hopeless,” you muttered, shaking your head. “She probably thinks I’m a complete mess.”

“Oh, she definitely does,” Astarion said, his grin impossibly smug as he gave you a playful shove. “But she won’t have to wonder about it for long.”

You shot him a look, eyebrow raised in confusion. “What do you mean by that?”

Astarion’s smirk deepened, his eyes glinting with mischief. “I may have left your journal in her tent. You know, the one with the little poems in the margins?” He waggled his eyebrows, feigning innocence.

Your eyes went wide, horror settling over you as you gaped at him.

“You didn’t,” you whispered, dread turning your stomach. The journal held every embarrassing thought, every scribbled confession, every starry-eyed rant about Jaheira that you hadn’t dared speak aloud.

“Oh, but I did.” Astarion’s voice was light, mocking even, but his eyes held a teasing warmth. “Look on the bright side. At least now she’ll know how much you ‘admire her scimitar technique.’ among other things..”

You shrieked in exasperation, though a traitorous part of you couldn’t help but feel the faintest spark of excitement at the idea. You shoved Astarion, who merely laughed, delighted with himself, as you stood there in helpless anticipation, wondering how you’d ever face Jaheira again.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

Trying to stay composed around Gale was becoming increasingly impossible. You could barely string together a coherent sentence whenever he was nearby, your cheeks burning and your heart racing so loudly you were sure he could hear it. It had gotten to the point that, during one of his magic lessons, you’d accidentally projected a very vivid thought about kissing him far into the Weave—and while he hadn’t directly addressed it, you had felt your face go scarlet the moment it happened.

Yet, despite that blunder and all your clumsy attempts to communicate the depths of your affection, Gale remained completely oblivious. And this state of suspended longing, this fruitless crush, was starting to drive you mad.

After another awkward lesson with Gale where you stumbled over your words and blushed at the mere brush of his hand over yours, you found yourself venting to Minthara, though you knew her to be an unlikely confidante. Her eyes held little sympathy, her arms crossed as she gave you a hard, skeptical look.

“Just grab the wizard and use him for your pleasure,” she suggested bluntly, as if it were the obvious solution. Her gaze was sharp and impatient. “You’re a warrior, not a blubbering fool.”

You shook your head quickly, horrified. “No, no, it’s not like that! I don’t just want him in some shallow way.” You sighed, your heart feeling tight. “I want to… to adore him. To look after him. To treasure everything about him, every small thing, every story he tells and every spell he casts. I want to worship him like he deserves.” You leaned into your words, almost forgetting who you were talking to in the rapture of your lovesick confession. “I want to make him feel like he’s the most cherished person in the world.”

Minthara recoiled as if you’d offended her sensibilities with such sentimentality, looking visibly revolted by your romantic ramblings. Her lips curled in distaste.

“By the darkness, are you even listening to yourself?” She gave an exasperated huff, then, with a roll of her eyes, she called across the camp, her voice clear as a bell. “Wizard!” she yelled, her tone commanding and fierce. “They want to go on their knees for you—are you going to do something about it, or will I have to rip out their tongue to stop their endless lovesick whining?”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and before you could process the horror, Gale turned, an expression of curiosity mixed with surprise crossing his face as he started to walk over. You immediately whacked Minthara on the arm, panic rising as you whispered, “What are you doing?!”

Minthara looked at you with a smug indifference, ignoring your frantic scolding as if she’d done you the greatest favor.

“A strange way to show your gratitude,” she remarked drily, “given how much assistance I just rendered.”

By then, Gale had reached you both, his brows lifted in confusion, a hint of pink on his cheeks.

“What’s all this about… someone going on their knees?” he asked, looking between you and Minthara, though his gaze lingered on you. His voice was gentle, though you could see the glimmer of curiosity—and something else—in his eyes.

You shot Minthara a glare, your face flaming, then took a steadying breath, turning to Gale.

“I—um,” you stammered, realizing there was no dignified way to explain this away. “I think… what Minthara was so eloquently trying to say is that I… might, uh, harbor feelings for you.” You paused, swallowing. “Quite a few of them, actually.”

Gale’s face softened, and a warm smile played at his lips, his hand reaching to touch yours with a tenderness that made your heart flutter.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping low, “it’s wonderful to know I’m not the only one who’s felt that spark.”

Minthara turned away, clearly satisfied, muttering something about lesser beings and their foolish emotions, but you hardly noticed her departure as your heart beat out of your touch, your greatest fantasies finally coming true.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

Dinner had been an ordeal. Astarion sat beside you, closer than usual, his presence a tangible, almost overwhelming warmth. Every time he reached for something or murmured a comment, you felt yourself freeze, stumbling over your responses, blushing so furiously you’d started to worry it was noticeable. You could barely bring yourself to eat, much less speak, and by the end of the meal, you were sure you’d only embarrassed yourself.

That might have been manageable if it ended there. But just hours later, as the party approached a fortress with heavy guards stationed at the gates, Astarion took the lead, slipping into his charming, roguish element. He approached the security with a smooth, confident swagger, flashing that insouciant smile of his, every word a practiced melody of flattery and wit. He left them captivated, helpless to deny him as he led the party in with ease, his charm so intoxicating it almost felt like magic.

And while the others chuckled at his skillful maneuvering, you felt an unexpected ache in your chest. Watching him sway them so effortlessly stirred a pang of jealousy you hadn’t expected. Did he even notice the way you pined for him? The way every stray touch or knowing look from him seemed to linger long after he’d moved on?

Caught in your thoughts, you didn’t realize Gale was watching you with a raised brow. He leaned over, studying your expression with mild amusement and maybe a bit of pity.

“You look,” he began in a soft murmur, “like someone just killed a displacer kitten right in front of you.”

Startled, you forced a tight smile, trying to wave him off. “It’s nothing, Gale.”

“Nothing?” He crossed his arms, unimpressed. “Please, you’ve been fawning over Astarion for ages now, your heart practically on display.”

There was a pause as you grappled with the admission, your face heating up, but at last, the dam broke, and you began to pour out your feelings in a quiet, hushed ramble.

“It’s just… my heart beats for him, Gale. Every time he speaks, I hang on his every word. I want nothing more than to just reach over, brush his hair back, and listen to him talk about all his little grievances—his so-called ‘inconveniences,’ his charms, all of it.”

Gale nodded, looking thoughtful for a moment. And then his lips curled into a wry smile as he leaned in conspiratorially. “Well, I suppose your dilemma is solved, then.”

Confused, you blinked, feeling a twist of dread. “What do you mean?”

“Oh,” he said, chuckling, “just that you happened to be projecting that over the tadpole connection. Quite eloquently, I might add. The entire party heard every word by my predictions.”

You froze, horror dawning as you processed what Gale had just said. Every word, you realized, echoing faintly through the magical thread you shared. You dared a glance at the others, only to see Karlach giving you an encouraging thumbs-up and Shadowheart hiding a smirk behind her hand.

Then, to your ultimate mortification, Astarion strolled past, pausing just long enough to catch your eye. A sly grin played on his lips as he gave you a long, lingering look, his gaze glinting with amusement.

“Not to worry, darling,” he murmured, a teasing warmth in his voice, “I have plenty of inconveniences—and a few conveniences—to tell you all about. Shall we start tonight?”

His words sent a rush of heat up your spine, leaving you speechless as he gave a little wave, disappearing down the hallway. Gale patted your shoulder with a grin.

“See?” he said cheerfully. “All handled.”

You were left rooted to the spot, barely able to breathe, knowing that somehow you’d been caught, exposed—and that Astarion was, indeed, fully aware of the fact that your heart belonged to him.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Wyll:

Wyll’s presence seemed to have a gravitational pull all its own. Every time he smiled at you, every chivalrous gesture—offering his hand to help you up a steep path, or casually brushing a stray lock of hair out of your face—felt like a dream. A warmth filled your chest, so intense you could hardly look him in the eye, your words dissolving into stammered half-thoughts that trailed into silence. Each interaction left you breathless, embarrassed, and wondering if maybe, just maybe, he noticed how flustered he made you.

Training, however, was another story. Lae’zel was as intense as ever, barely giving you time to catch your breath between strikes. She was quick, sharp, and relentless, and it would have been more manageable—if you could actually focus. But each time she demanded your attention, your eyes kept wandering back to Wyll, who was a few feet away, talking to Shadowheart as he polished his sword. The way he moved, the way he spoke, that disarmingly warm smile…

It was only a matter of time before Lae'zel had enough.

She stepped back, arms crossed, leveling you with a look that could freeze lava.

“You’re distracted. Useless,” she declared, throwing down her sword with an exasperated sigh. “You pine like a hatchling, and it disrupts our sparring.”

You flushed, scrambling to come up with an excuse, but Lae’zel was already stomping off toward Wyll. You moved to intercept her, knowing she was the absolute last person who should reveal any of this. “Wait—Lae’zel, don’t!”

Lae’zel ignored you, her voice booming as she closed in on a bewildered Wyll.

“You,” she pointed at him, “this one wants to share their body with you.”

Wyll blinked, his eyes widening as he looked between you and Lae’zel, clearly trying to make sense of what she’d just said.

“I—what?” He looked at you, a blush rising to his cheeks as he fumbled for words. “I mean, I didn’t—wasn’t aware—”

Mortified, you didn’t think, you just acted, flinging yourself at Lae’zel with a force you hadn’t known you possessed. You tackled her to the ground, landing with a clumsy thud, and slapped a hand over her mouth.

“Not…what I meant!” you stammered, trying to laugh it off to Wyll, who was still looking down at the both of you in complete bafflement. “What she means is—uh, we’re just, um, sparring partners! She’s…dramatic.”

Lae’zel raised an eyebrow, and with her typical stoicism, she bit down—hard—on the hand you’d used to cover her mouth. You yelped, jerking your hand back, and Lae’zel smirked, a silent satisfaction in her gaze as she sat up, looking entirely unapologetic.

Wyll was still staring, one eyebrow raised, lips quirking slightly in what looked like a restrained grin.

“I’m… not entirely sure I understand what’s going on here,” he said, his eyes bright with amusement. “But whatever it is, I’m flattered.”

You scrambled to your feet, rubbing your bitten hand, and tried to put together a coherent explanation, but every time you met his gaze, words seemed to fail you.

“Well… right,” you mumbled, feeling heat rise to your face as you threw a quick glare at Lae’zel, who simply shrugged, as if completely innocent of any wrongdoing.

Wyll’s expression softened as he watched you struggle to speak, and he smiled gently.

“It’s alright,” he said, stepping closer. “I didn’t mean to make things difficult for you and Lae'zel.”

That simple gesture—his kindness, the warmth in his voice—made you feel as if you’d forgotten how to breathe. You managed a nod, barely holding onto your composure, while he looked at you with that disarming sincerity that always left you reeling.

Lae’zel, watching the exchange with an air of smug victory, dusted herself off. “There. See? Problem solved. Now maybe you’ll stop sparring like a weakling.”

You shot her a glare, but Wyll chuckled softly, meeting your eyes with a spark of curiosity.

“If you ever want to train together,” he said, his voice low and warm, “you need only ask.”

And with that, he gave you a wink, leaving you in a breathless, heart-pounding daze as he walked back to his gear.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Halsin:

Every time you were around Halsin, it was like the ground slipped out from beneath you. His voice, that low, warm rumble, made your heart pound, and every casual touch seemed to ignite sparks across your skin. He was utterly unaware, of course; his gentle smiles and steady hands never betrayed a hint of understanding that he sent you reeling. You were sure that was the only reason you hadn’t completely given yourself away.

So when you returned to camp with an injury—a jagged cut on your arm from a goblin's arrow—you hoped it might go unnoticed. Shadowheart was busy, deep in her meditation as she restored her energy, and you thought you could handle the wound alone. But Jaheira spotted the blood trailing down your arm almost immediately. She arched a brow, her eyes flashing with a mix of annoyance and amusement as she approached.

“Let’s have a look,” she said, but as she examined your arm, she shook her head with a soft sigh. “This needs a proper healer. Come on.”

Before you could protest, she’d already begun steering you toward Halsin’s corner of camp. Your heart dropped to your stomach, and a familiar warmth crept up your face. “Jaheira, no, really, I’m fine. It’s not even that deep. You could probably just—”

“Are you afraid of a little attention from the First Druid?” she teased, smirking as you stammered. “If you’re so sure you can handle it alone, why is your face turning as red as a blood hawk?”

You barely managed a protest before she’d called out to Halsin, who looked up from his work, his eyes sharpening with concern the moment he saw the blood seeping through your sleeve.

“Come here,” he said, his voice a blend of calm authority and quiet worry. He rose to meet you, his eyes never leaving the wound as he reached out, guiding you to sit down on a low stool beside him. His hands were warm, gentle but firm, and you felt heat flush up your neck and into your cheeks as he examined the wound.

Jaheira, leaning against a tent post with her arms crossed, watched the scene unfold with an amused glint in her eyes, a smile curving her lips as you struggled to steady your breathing. But Halsin didn’t notice; his focus was fully on your arm, his brow furrowed with concentration as his fingers brushed softly along the edges of the wound, checking its depth.

“It isn’t too deep,” he murmured in his gentle, rumbling voice. “But we don’t want to risk infection. I’ll clean it and make a poultice to help it heal.”

You swallowed hard, trying to keep your composure, but the feeling of his hands—steady, reassuring, and just a little too close—sent your mind reeling. “Y-yes, of course. Whatever you think is best.”

Halsin gave you a soft smile, the kind that seemed to reach into your chest and make your heart skip.

“Are you feeling alright otherwise? You look a bit flushed.” His eyes studied your face, brow creased in genuine concern. “Are you feverish?”

You blinked, thrown off by the question, and felt your face grow impossibly hotter. “No! No, not at all. I’m… I’m perfectly fine. Really. Just, um… It’s just… the wound.”

Jaheira couldn’t contain her amusement any longer; she snorted softly and rolled her eyes, muttering, “It’s certainly not the wound that has you blushing.”

You shot her a quick, desperate glare, but she only smirked, clearly enjoying your struggle.

“A shame that our healer here clearly can’t see that particular ailment,” she added, just loud enough for you to hear.

Halsin looked between you and Jaheira, a slight confusion flickering in his eyes before he turned back to you with a gentle, almost affectionate smile. “Well, you should rest nonetheless. Even a small wound can bring on a fever if not treated with care.”

He placed a comforting hand on your shoulder, his thumb tracing light circles just above your collarbone as if to soothe you. It was a simple, instinctive gesture, but it sent a wave of warmth through you, and you fought the urge to lean into his touch, to linger in the quiet strength he offered.

“Let me just…” His voice was soft, his attention focused on preparing the poultice as he worked with deft hands. But every so often, he’d glance up, catching your gaze with that calm, reassuring smile that made your heart race all over again.

Beside you, Jaheira leaned in close, her voice dropping to a whisper. “He truly has no idea, does he?”

You felt a flicker of panic, but there was no use hiding it now. You muttered, barely audible, “Not the faintest clue.”

She chuckled, shaking her head with a mix of sympathy and sarcasm. “To be fair, you’re not making it particularly obvious.”

Before you could retort, Halsin returned with the poultice, carefully applying it to your wound with practiced gentleness. The sensation of his fingers brushing against your skin, his hands steady and warm, sent another wave of nervous energy through you. He worked in silence for a moment, his gaze focused, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

“There,” he said softly, finishing the bandage. “That should hold for now. And I’ll make more of the poultice tonight to ensure it heals properly.”

You managed a shaky nod, trying to form words but only managing a faint, “Th-thank you.”

Halsin’s smile deepened, and he placed a final, reassuring hand on your arm. “It’s my pleasure to help. But if you do start feeling feverish, promise you’ll come to me immediately.”

“Yes. Of course,” you stammered, hardly able to meet his gaze. Jaheira watched you, her smile widening as she shook her head in mock exasperation.

“I think it’s safe to say you’re sick with something,” she muttered, just loud enough for Halsin to hear.

Halsin’s brow furrowed in mild concern, and he tilted his head toward her, curious. “Sick with what, precisely?”

You shot Jaheira a desperate look, but she only shrugged, that teasing glint in her eye.

“Nothing a nice cold dip in the river can't fix.,” she said, her voice laced with amusement as she turned to walk away, leaving you to face Halsin’s warm, questioning gaze.

“If you’re certain you’re well…” he said, his thumb brushing lightly along your hand in a final gesture of reassurance before he let go. “But do take it easy tonight. I’ll check in on you later, just to be sure.”

As he stood and walked away, you sat there, still reeling, the warmth of his touch lingering on your skin. You wanted to stay in that moment forever. Perhaps during his check in later, you would actually do something about it.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

This was actually so cute to write aha, I hope you guys enjoyed this ! - Seluney xox

If you want to support me in other ways | Help keep this moonmaiden caffeinated x

Check out my redbubble shop here !

[mywritersmind]

ALL’S FAIR IN LOVE AND WAR - LN4

↳ pt.3

summary : Feelings are complicated and you and Lando aren’t a great mix to express them. A tension filled boat that leads to sexual chemistry so thick that you end up in the same bed.

og summary : Its the vacation of your dreams! With your best friends, rich men, live music, and flowing drinks, nothing can ruin it. Even if a certain Formula 1 driver (who seems to have an affinity for annoying you) is there every step of the sandy way.

listen up : ho this is long. suggestive comments!! hope you like part three!!! muah! previous part

word count : 4142

⋆｡‧˚⋆

“Boat day! Boat day!” Alex chants while walking down the dock with Lily on his shoulders. I woke up to over a hundred texts to get to the dock with a swimsuit and sunscreen.

Charles’ friend doesn’t just have a boat he has a fucking yacht. It’s not gigantic but it’s definitely the nicest boat I've ever seen. “Uh Charles… you do know how to drive this, right?”

Alexandra shares my worried stare as Lando and Carlos race each other onto it. Kika throws her arm around me and grins as we walk onto the back. There’s four steps and my jaw drops as we go ‘inside’.

There’s a huge couch that turns into a dining area, a TV, followed by a small kitchen. Kika and I hurry to the front where there’s one day bed that shaded and one in the very front that’s for tanning.

Apparently there’s three bedrooms and two bathrooms! “I think I need a yacht.” I say to Kika as we check out the table and chairs on the side.

She looks like a mermaid today, in a bright blue bikini and sparkly nail polish. I’ve taken more of a siren route in dark red.

I’m all for woman doing things in ‘male’ fields, but I let the men figure out how to get the boat working. Alexandra, Lily, Kika, Rebecca and I, put our things down in one of the rooms and make our way to the Bow where the sun is hitting us perfectly.

Rebecca pulls off her shirt to reveal a light pink one piece while Lily runs over with a speaker in a multicolored bikini. We start blasting Dominic fine as Charles evidently figured the boat out, and we start to leave.

The moment we only see clear blue water, the girls turn to me. I’m laid out on the tanning bed, sunnies on and fully ready to take a sunny nap, but Rebecca pokes me.

“So, you and Lando are still alive!” She says the obvious as I sit up and lean against my arms, “How’d it go!?”

I want to tell them everything. I want to tell them that It was genuinely fun and I had a great time and i’ve never laughed harder, but I can’t. I shrug, “It was okay.”

Alex eyes me, “Just… okay?”

I nod, “He fucked up my plan so we didn’t go anything crazy and we got kicked out of a pottery place.”

Kika perks up at this, “Pottery? Did he do that thing like how the movie stars do it?” She gets behind Lily as they start to recreate those weird sexual pottery scenes.

I roll my eyes, “No. Like I said, we got kicked out. Then we just went to the hotel and split up.”

Lily frowns, “Lando said you two got a drink.”

Shit. “Oh right, I went to sleep pretty early.”

Kika groans and falls down next to me, “So nothing happened at all? No flirting, no kissing?”

Lots of flirting and fuck yes kissing!

I love my friends, and I trust them! I just don’t trust them to not tell their boyfriends. “Did you have this ‘couples day’ just so Lando and I would have a chance of hooking up?”

Lily leans in, “So is there a chance!?”

I look at all of them to make sure everyone is listening, “No chance! I told you I wanted to have a fun vacation which does not include you trying to set me up!”

Rebecca slouches a bit, “You’re right.”

“Sorry.” Alex mumbles, “We just feel bad.”

“It’s not your fault i’m single and you’re not.” I stand, “I’m going to get some water.”

My plan to hide away on the couch is immediately ruined by Lando taking up the whole thing. He’s scrolling on his phone, shirt and shoes off.

I turn quickly and go downstairs, running into Pierre, “Hey Y/n! Looking for something?”

“Uh… water?”

There’s a little mini fridge that he pulls a bottle from, “You okay?” Pierre is sweet and it makes me happy for Kika.

“Yeah!” I open the bottle and drink.

“Just that… Lando told us what happened.” I choke on the water, coughing as his eyes get panicked, “What!?”

“Are you- Uh… He just said that you two ended the night weird. We all thought it would magically turn you into friends but I guess not.” Fucking hell he just scared me so bad.

“Oh! Right… I guess some things just aren’t meant to be.” So everyone was rooting for us to become friends yesterday?

Pierre just shrugs and moves past me, walking up the stairs without another word.

⋆༺

LANDO

I’m playing poker with my friends while the girls dance around the front deck. We’re anchored on the water and after an hour of swimming, we all needed to pause.

I’m shit at poker but it doesn’t matter because i’m already distracted by the shadow of a girl through the window.

I kissed her. I kissed her and she’s avoiding me.

I think i’m an idiot but I know i’m not because anyone smart would fall for her. Not that I'm in love or anything, I’m just… intrigued?

“Lan?” Alex kicks me under the table, “What’s got you so uninterested in money?”

I just shake my head and look back down at my cards, “Something happened, didn’t it?” Pierre asks, clocking my weird mood. “With Y/n.”

“No.” She would kill me if I told, and I already said too much by drunkenly explaining that the night did not end well to Alex and Lily.

They would definitely tell their girlfriends, so I keep my mouth shut, “You’re a shit liar.” Carlos says, “But whatever, None of my business.”

Charles frowns, “Totally our business! We all love Y/n and want to know what happened!”

“Nothing happened.” I shake my head, taping a chip against the table, “Drop it.”

Just then, Y/n walks in while clutching her hand, her face scrunched up, “I need a bandaid asap.” Charles stands quickly and grabs the first aid kit from a cabinet, “Your girlfriend pushed me off the boat!” She points to Pierre who cringes.

She’s soaking wet, her hair dripping water onto the floor as she crosses her legs. She's in a red bikini and I think I might faint.

I instantly feel bad when I remember her hand is bleeding and i’m just checking her out. Kika runs in, “I’m so sorry, Y/n!”

Y/n just shakes her head, walking over to the kitchen and washing off her hand, wincing at the pain, “Don’t worry It’s just a scratch, i’m just joking.”

I stand and walk over, looking over the sink to get a better look at her hand. She’s got a cut along the side of her hand, bloody and sort of gross. “You sure you’re okay?”

She nods without saying anything, just turning to Charles who has his kit ready.

I bite my lip and sort of awkwardly walk towards Carlos who’s already watching me. “The fuck did you do?”

⋆༺

YOU

Besides my little incident with my hand, I’m having a great time.

Charles drives us to a secluded area with caves which you can swim in. I personally stay out in the open air but Rebecca, Pierre, Charles, and Alexandra check them out.

I sit in a tube with my head tilted back and my hair floating around me. My stomach and chest are warm while my back is cold against the water.

Someone dives in near me and I can hear my laughing as they jump and flip off the boat. I regret opening my eyes as soon as I do because I catch Lando back flipping off the boat.

It’s one of those moments where I don’t remember why I don’t like him. I suppose that’s not as true now, but seeing him flip off is still hot as hell.

I end up dunking and swimming back to the boat, sitting on the back where my feet dangle in the water. I know Lando’s the one walking down and sitting next to me before I see him.

“Hey.” He sounds nervous and quick.

“Hi.” I stand and walk up the stairs, screwing up my face and mentally yelling at myself. I hide in the kitchen, grabbing some fruit before venturing out to sit with Lily and Alex.

They’re all cuddled up and giggling so I spare them my company and sit at the table on the side of the boat.

The music is quiet and I can hear my friends talking across the boat. I bite into a strawberry and stare at the water below.

My anxiety is through the roof and i’m on a boat in fucking turkey. I’m annoyed that Lando just being near me is making me on edge.

As if he heard me, his head pokes out from behind the door, his hair wet and his eyes shining. “We’re gonna take off soon. Might wanna hold on cause of Charles’ driving.”

“Ok.” It’s like I can’t control my feet. I just stand and walk past him, giving him a quick smile and leaving him.

I then interrupt Alex and Lily, loudly stepping down the steps so they sit up. I hear everyone else getting out of the water and Lily can tell something wrong immediately.

“Could you get me some water?” She turns to Alex who gives her a quizzical look.

“You can’t do it yours-” She gives him another look which he immediately understands. Alex leaves quickly and Lily hurries over to me. I sit with my knees to my chest as she puts her hand on my arm.

“What happened? For real this time, what’s wrong?”

I look up at her, our friends walking past and up to the kitchen. I try to say it but I just groan and shove my face into my knees, “Y/n!”

I mumble it but she pokes my face so I look back up at her. I take a breath and force it out, “Lando kissed me.” And then she screams.

I shove my hand over her mouth so fast that her scream is muffled. We practically wrestle as she tries to get my hand free, “Lily!” She licks my hand and I gasp, pulling it off her.

“I’ll stop! I’ll stop!” She shuts her mouth and sits on her feet, staring at me, “We saw him last night… He looked drunk and completely in a different world.”

I groan into my hands, laying back on the cushion, “We were drunk! Sort of… We had a great day and it was actually fun like the type of thing friends do.” she nods at my words, “But then we were on the beach drinking and joking and he just… kissed me.”

Lily leans in, whispering, “Did you kiss him back?”

I bite my lip at the memory, nodding slowly. She screams again. I lay face down on the cushion as she taps my shoulder repeatedly and the boat starts to move. “Was it like a peck or make out?”

My cheeks get red so she already knows the answer, “Who stopped it?”

“Me? I think.”

“Did you like it?”

“Yes… God, Lily!” she’s smiling at me again, “He’s a good kisser. Also please don’t tell anyone! Especially the girls. I just don’t want it getting around or making anything awkward.”

“Of course I won’t! Even Alex, I promise.” she attaches her pinky to mine and grins, “I have so many questions and we will talk about this later but I have one thing I need to ask.”

I sigh, “Go ahead.”

“Do you want it to happen again?” I think I'm going to be sick.

⋆༺

LANDO

I find Lily and Y/n at the front, Y/n looks panicked at my appearance. “Can I talk to you?” She looks at me, then Lily.

I actually think she’s going to jump off the boat to avoid talking to me. But instead she goes for a quicker route, “I gotta pee.” I roll my eyes as she runs inside, slipping a bit at the wet deck.

Lily and I both watch her run, she just blinks and shrugs, “Good luck with that one.” She probably told Lily and it’s making me ultra aware that she knows I kissed her friend.

I settle back inside on the couch, listening to Charles tell a story while my eyes are completely distracted by Y/n laughing with her friends and eating raspberries.

I need to talk to her. She’s got a good poker face when she isn’t blushing and it’s practically impossible to get her alone.

“What about you, Lando? The only single one left!” Alex laughs and nudges my arm.

I laugh awkwardly, “Right.” I know the girls can hear this and I don’t want it to continue.

“So… how many models are you talking to?” Carlos asks as I scratch the back of my neck.

I shift my gaze to Y/n, who’s looks frustratingly good with her back arched, her elbows on the counter, and her eyes trying not to meet mine.

I run my tongue over my teeth and look back at Carlos, “You really wanna make that joke when your girlfriends a model, Sainz?” His face drops immediately and he punches my arm.

Charles and Pierre are crying laughing, “You two really wanna laugh?” They shut up real quick which makes me hear Y/n’s laugh.

It makes me smile and as soon as I realize why, I stop. “What about that girl you were debating on bringing?” Pierre snaps back fast.

“Hey, I was drunk and-”

“Pussy whipped!” Pierre coughs as Kika throws a raspberry at his head.

My friends start a new conversation (per the girls request) and move it out to the deck, Charles and Pierre arguing in french while they drive. I watch Y/n excuse herself and slip inside, and I follow.

I corner her outside the bathroom, her hands brushing through her half dried hair. She freezes, “Excuse me.”

She tries to walk past but I don’t let her. “Did I overstep?” She looks at me confused still, “Because I feel like an asshole.”

“No… You didn’t overstep.”

I groan, placing my hand next to her head against the wall, “So then talk to me.”

She crosses her arms, “I don’t want to.”

“Tough shit. You kissed me back.”

“I wish I didn’t.” She’s not looking me in my eyes and I haven’t been able to forget how she kissed me so I know she’s lying.

I step closer, “Try again, pretty.”

She looks up at me, her mouth pouty and her eyes big. “It was a mistake…”

I frown, “Mistakes can happen more than once.”

“Not this kind.” She lets out a breath, “I can’t stand you.”

“So use me.”

She opens her mouth, then shuts it. Y/n bites her lip and it takes everything in me not to physically whine. “You’re not mine to use.”

“I’m offering.”

“I’m rejecting.” that hurts way more than I expected.

“I’ll get on my knees.” Her hand goes to my arm that’s braced against the wall, her touch is soft and makes me weak.

I swallow and she clocks it instantly. “Go on, then.” I think I'm dreaming, but I’m not one to pinch myself.

I slowly sink to my knees, my hand trailing down the side of her body. I didn’t think she’d say yes. Right here? Where anyone could find us? I’ve never been more down for anything in my entire life.

She smiles, cute and innocent as if i’m not kneeling in front of her. God she’s beautiful. Her tanned leg moves to my shoulder and just as I think she’s about to pull me in, she shoves me back down.

I stare at her from my new place on the floor, her smile much wider now. She gets down to my level as I try to pull myself back up, she pushes me back down. “In your dreams, Norris.”

I breathe out as she walks up the stairs, my view cushioning the embarrassment I feel, “Trust me, you will be.”

⋆༺

YOU

My lovely friends have decided to have another lovely couples night. I honestly am excited to have a moment of peace after today's day.

I get all dressed up in my favorite outfit. A red cocktail dress that fits like a glove, white heels, and my hair wavy and salty.

I’m in a great mood, it’s the type of mood where i’m avoiding everything but am by the ocean so I can’t be sad! Everything is nice and well until I get turned away at the restaurant.

It’s the one place close to the hotel that I haven’t been, “I’m sorry, there just isn’t any table for tonight.”

So it appears that every single person has decided to settle down and wallow in self pity at this restaurant, “Please!”

“I’m sorry, we just can’t have you sit unless you have another-”

I hear him swear before I see him. He’s dressed up too, arguing with another waiter as he sets eyes on me, “Great.”

Lando’s face below me flashes in my mind as he looks at me as if he wishes I was anybody else, “I’ll eat with her.”

“Don’t seem so happy.” I cross my arms, my clutch in my hand as he walks closer.

“My beautiful date.” The word beautiful makes me drop my annoyed expression and I'm lucky he’s looking at the hostess, “One table, for two, please.”

We’re shown our table, given water and ordered drinks, but I refuse to talk first. Lando seems to have the same idea, sipping his drink and looking out at the dark water.

Still, He clears his throat and looks at me. His jacket is hung over the chair, a curl falling just perfectly down, and with his green eyes in the moonlight, he looks like a prince.

“Have a good day, pretty?”

“Are you small talking me now, Norris?”

His brow quirks as he brings his glass to his lips, “You’ve been ignoring me all day, what else am I supposed to say? Would you rather me beg?”

Maybe I would. “I saw Kika push you into the water today. You hit your head?” I fake pity, pouting.

“I must have because suddenly I'm imagining a very pretty girl run her very pretty hands through my hair.” He sits up straighter, “Hm… must be the head injury.”

I thought I would be more upset because of our dining situation. But I find myself smiling as he teases me. We order and he does the oddest thing… he starts asking me about my life.

“I know you. I’ve been around you. I’ve kissed you. Yet I don’t even know where you live.” I’m surprised but should I be? Just because I didn’t like him, doesn’t mean I didn’t laugh at his jokes.

So we start talking. And for about an hour and a half, it’s all we do. We talk with a side of food and a beautiful view. We talk about Formula 1, we talk about my work, we talk about my hair, we talk about his family.

He asks me about my pets and he doesn’t complain when I make a jab at his food which is plain as can be.

It’s the first time that I really believe we could be friends. It’s when I truly see the potential that my friends have seen. “We were too alike.” I snap my fingers together, swirling my pasta, “That’s why I hated you.”

“So you hated yourself? That’s quite harsh, pretty.” He’s finished his food, and is lounging in his chair. The restaurant is almost empty, we could sit wherever we’d like and leave too, but I keep talking.

“No. I mean you just clashed with me because two of the same personality is too much.”

“I think I think ‘too much’. Has me enjoying our date.”

I shake my head, “Not a date.”

“Totally a date.” He winks and I drop the subject.

“I think I didn’t like you because I liked you.” He says it so casually that I almost don’t understand it.

“What?”

“I really like you.” He nods and I wonder how many glasses of wine he’s had, “Y/n, i’m not drunk. I’m just honest. Don’t freak out i’m not gonna get down on one knee…” this makes him smirk, “Or two!”

“You can’t just dislike someone because you fancy them!”

“I don’t fancy you! I just… like you. I like the way you are around me and I really liked messing with you. You’re easy to frustrate.”

“I am not!” He raises a brow and I shut my mouth.

“Let’s get going… everyone’s party already at the beach club. You wouldn’t want to miss your local lovers.”

“Um… are you dining and dashing? We have to pay.” He scoffs. Actually scoffs at me!

“I already did. Come on.” He takes my bag and walks out.

At my request, Mamma mia plays from his phone as we walk down the path next to the beach. I spin around with my heels in my hand and my hair in my face. “Why can’t I live on an island!?”

“Why can’t you?”

I eye him, “I’ll live on an island when you buy me one.”

“Woah- I bought you dinner and you just started to tolerate me… Save the island for next week.” I smile and almost trip over something that hisses.

“Aw!” I practically scream and kneel down to it. It’s a tiny cat, orange and brown and rubbing against my outstretched hand, “Oh my god!”

“It’s gonna bite you.” I just roll my eyes and tug at his pant leg to join me.

The cat takes to him immediately, rubbing up against his leg and clawing up to his chest. I laugh as it falls off and comes back to me, “Cutie…”

I scratch its ear with my nicely done nails which he clearly appreciates. He starts licking my hand and I wish I had something to feed him. A small smile settles on my lips as the cool breeze brushes back my hair.

I look up to see Lando staring at me. “I really did mean it, when I said you were beautiful.” I feel a little sick at his words. The good kind of sick. The butterflies kind of sick.

The cat runs away when someone joins us on the path and I stand with him, “We should hurry, party time.”

⋆༺

LANDO

She left her purse in my room. We were heading back and I had to put down my jacket so we stopped in my room.

She left her bag which explains why she’s standing at my door in a matching pajama set and hotel slippers on her feet

“I need my mints.” She pushes past me and looks around for it. I help her because I have no idea where she put it either.

She had guys buy her drinks all night. You have no idea how much it killed me to see them all over her as if she wasn’t having dinner with me an hour before.

“Your room is a mess.” she says as she tears apart my nicely made bed.

“You’re tipsy, huh?”

She giggles as I lean against the door frame. She falls on my bed and looks up at the ceiling, “Guys love me!”

I shake my head and yawn. I finally find her bag, it’s in the bathroom for some reason and when I come back into my room to hand her it, she’s passed out on my bed.

“Y/n!” I shake her a bit but she only slaps my hand away, “You are so close to being in the correct bed! I found your purse.”

Her eyes open slightly, then she rolls over and moans louder, “Shh!” Then she’s out like a light. I hear her soft breathing and rustling around as I give up and sit next to her.

“I’m not sleeping on the couch!” I tell her but I know she’s already asleep.

She looks oddly peaceful. She looks tan and happy, even asleep on my bed. I accept my fate quicker than I probably should have, “Goodnight, then, pretty.” Flipping off the lights and pulling the blanket over her, I slip next to her and push a pillow in between us.

I don’t want her to wake up screaming after all.

I see her outline in the dark, the weight of someone sharing my bed, and the smell of her perfume I know is going to be there tomorrow. I see her, and curse myself.

She really is beautiful.

[p0orbaby]

Lia wälti x surgeon reader , reader gets home after an exhausting day at work where she lost two patients as well as being over worked. All she wants is to crawl up and cry but Lia helps her by cute little gestures

TW: brief mentions of death

-

You’re exhausted. No, beyond exhausted. The kind of exhaustion that lives in your bones, in the tender ache behind your eyes, in the weight of your limbs as you drag yourself up the stairs to your flat. It’s been a brutal day. Two patients lost on the table, back-to-back surgeries, and a surgeon’s lounge that ran out of coffee by noon. You’re too tired to even feel angry about that last part, which, on any other day, would’ve been unforgivable.

All you want is to collapse onto the sofa, bury your face in a pillow, and let the weight of the day crush you into oblivion. You unlock the door, barely managing to toe off your shoes before Lia appears in the hallway.

“Hi, love,” she says, her voice soft, careful. She’s in joggers and an old hoodie, her hair up in a messy bun. She looks like the epitome of calm, a far cry from the tornado of chaos you feel inside.

“Hi,” you mumble, not trusting yourself to say more without crying.

Her eyes scan your face, taking in the dark circles, the droop of your shoulders, the way your scrubs are wrinkled like you’ve been wearing them for days (you basically have). “Bad day?”

You nod, biting your lip to keep it from trembling.

She steps closer, gently prying your bag from your hands and setting it down. “Okay,” she says, in that steady, grounding way of hers. “Shower first. Then food. Then we’ll talk, if you want”

You don’t argue. You don’t have the energy. She nudges you towards the bathroom, and you let her.

The hot water does wonders, even if it doesn’t fix everything. When you finally emerge, wrapped in one of the ridiculously fluffy towels Lia insisted on buying, she’s waiting with a plate of toast. Not a gourmet meal, but toast. Buttered just the way you like it. It’s the perfect balance of effort and comfort.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d want a full meal,” she says, handing you the plate. “But I figured this was safe”

You nod, taking a bite and almost sighing at how good it tastes. Toast shouldn’t be this emotional, but here you are.

Lia settles next to you on the sofa, her hand resting lightly on your knee. “Do you want to talk about it?” she asks gently.

You shake your head, swallowing another bite. “Not yet”

“Okay.” She doesn’t push.

Instead, she leans over to the coffee table and picks up the remote. “I queued up your favourite episodes of Bake Off,” she says, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Figured you could use something soothing”

“Mary Berry era?” you ask, quirking an eyebrow.

“Of course. I’m not a heathen”

That gets a small laugh out of you, which feels like a victory. She hits play, and for the next hour, you sit together, watching Paul Hollywood destroy the hopes and dreams of amateur bakers.

At some point, she tucks you under her arm, her fingers threading through your damp hair. “You’re allowed to feel it, you know,” she murmurs. “The bad days. The losses. It doesn’t make you weak”

You nod against her chest, tears slipping out despite your best efforts. “I just feel like I should’ve done more”

“You did everything you could,” she says firmly, her voice steady like she’s anchoring you to reality. “And you’ll keep doing everything you can. That’s why you’re incredible”

You don’t say anything, but you curl closer, letting her warmth seep into you. For the first time all day, you feel a little lighter.

Later, as you drift off against her shoulder, she whispers, “Tomorrow will be better. But tonight, you’re mine”

[barcaatthemoon]

drives me crazy || laia codina x reader ||

Laia trusts you, but that doesn't stop her from getting jealous.

18+

"I need a night out." You never could have imagined where that one sentence would take you. A bye week for Arsenal meant that when the weekend rolled around, some of the girls were more than happy to go out for the night with you. Somehow, Laia had managed to talk friends from other teams into going as well, and that was how you ended up sandwiched between two Spanish women who were definitely not your girlfriend.

You had known Leila for long enough to know the woman was handsy. You came to Arsenal from Manchester City, transferring after the Spanish woman's first season. The two of you were friends, so you didn't bat an eyelash at the way that her hands gripped your hips.

Laia Alexandri seemed to just follow Leila's lead when it came to dancing with you. Both women were getting a bit handsy with you, but you reminded yourself that they were naturally much more affectionate. You remembered the way that your own girlfriend had been early on your relationship. These two were even more naturally friendly and affectionate than your girlfriend seemed to be, so you were kind of letting a lot slide.

Your girlfriend, however, simply put, was not. Laia had been getting a couple of drinks at the bar, one for herself and one for you, when she looked over to see Leila tilt your head back. She had noticed you sandwiched between the two women earlier in the night, but now it genuinely looked like Leila was making a move on you. You seemed oblivious, and Laia had to remind herself that you weren't letting them do that because you were interested.

"No intervenga!" Laia shouted over the music. You felt yourself getting pulled away, and you opened your eyes to see Laia staring at Leila with murderous intent. Laia pushed you behind her towards the bar to collect the drinks while she pulled Leila off to the side. You watched them argue, knowing damn well both women were speaking Spanish too quickly for you to understand it if you had been close by.

"She does not look happy mate," Katie commented as she watched the exchange.

"I don't know if I should go over there." You were biting your lip, slightly worried that one of them would cause a scene. "What do you think?"

"I think that if Caitlin had let two other women touch her like that, we wouldn't be speaking for a while," Katie said. You suddenly got much more afraid of the situation. Laia and Leila parted ways, Leila going right back to the dance floor and finding herself someone else to dance with. Your girlfriend briefly stopped by the bar to grab you on her way out, not saying a word until the two of you were nearly halfway to the car.

"Laia, babe, I'm sorry," you apologized. Laia glanced back at you, but only briefly. "Laia, please talk to me."

"Are you doing that on purpose?" Laia asked you. You tilted your head at her, puzzled by her question. You hadn't done anything intently, things just got a little out of hand with Leila.

"No, I'd never knowingly put myself in a situation like that. I mean it, I'm sorry about the thing with Leila. I shouldn't have let her get that handsy with me." Laia put her hand up to stop you from rambling. She placed her hands around your waist, tugging you flush against her.

"You drive me crazy sometimes," Laia whispered, as if she was afraid of anybody else hearing her words. Her gaze was fixed on your lips, but she didn't kiss you. Laia only walked with her arm around your waist for the rest of the way. She was still a perfect gentlewoman, opening your door and shutting it for you before she made her way around to the passenger's side.

Laia didn't let anything take her attention away from you. She acted as if you'd cease to exist the moment that she did. Still, Laia waited until the two of you were safely inside of her apartment to do anything.

You shouldn't have been surprised, but you were caught off guard by Laia pressing you up against the door. Her hands made quick work of undressing you, only breaking the absolutely bruising kiss to toss your clothes away. Laia backed away only when you were naked, leaving you to feel a tiny bit exposed with Laia still completely dressed in front of you.

"I should never let you out of my sight. If I had my way, we'd never leave the bedroom," Laia told you. She grabbed you by the hand and walked you over to the couch. Laia sat down first, making herself comfortable before she pulled you onto her lap.

You landed with your knees on both sides of her lap. Laia kept you raised slightly as she ducked her head down to bury her face in between your breasts. You could feel her pressing kisses to the skin there, going back and forth between your breasts as her fingers came up to tweak and tease your nipples.

"Laia," you whined, hips canting forward, but not enough for any friction. Laia seemed to like the sound of you whining for her, so she pinched a little harder. You tried once again to seek out friction, only to come up with nothing. "Laia, please."

"Keep saying my name, I love to hear it. I don't ever want to hear anybody else's name. Only mine, just us," Laia told you. She didn't tease you for much longer. Her hands fell from your breasts and trailed down your sides until they met between your legs. It wasn't exactly what you wanted, but you could grind against the palm of Laia's hand now. "Tell me how much you want me, and I'll give you everything you want."

"Laia, please. I need you so fucking bad," you told her. Laia made you repeat yourself again andd again, just barely giving you more each time you asked. You felt like you were on the verge of crying before you finally felt her push two fingers inside of you.

"You're making such a mess on my lap. I can feel you dripping onto me," Laia said. You believed her, not having felt wet like this in weeks. Laia wasn't normally one to tease, but tonight, she was putting you through it. You knew that it was a punishment for letting her Spanish teammates touch you like that.

You knew that every moment you had to wait while Laia's fingers moved so close to where you wanted them was your fault. It gave you a bit of a rush, being punished like this, but you also hated it. You hated whining and feeling needy like this because you weren't used to it. Laia had never really driven you crazy like this, but you could see that she loved it.

"Cum for me, I can feel that pretty little pussy of yours trying so hard. You don't have to hold back. Stop thinking and just cum, that's all I want. Am I not good enough for you anymore? Do you need Leila for that now?" You didn't want to cum while Laia questioned you about Leila, but that was just how it went. Every rational thought flew from your head as Laia's thumb pressed against your clit. The pressure from that had you spilling out into the palm of her hand. "You're such a fucking dirty girl, but nobody is ever going to know it. That's a secret for me and you."

"Fuck Laia," you swore as you fell against her body. Laia wrapped her arms around you, holding you in a tight embrace. "Only us, just you and me."

[grendil5]

Still by far the creepiest thing that happened to me so far on this site. My instincts were on fire and still are.

To start it was one of my worst worded posts when there were other, way better ones of the same length. Funnier too and more relevant than a two billion year old comic.

But I’m expected to believe my shadowban was magically lifted for this post alone? And a swarm of people were summoned to mock and torment and judge and humiliate me for it?

None of it feels likely, unless there’s a knowing hand behind it: “This is the post, not too relevant, not too well written, send it.”

This was too far. Genuinely one of my least accurately or impactfully worded post.

Also you can tell people are terrified to engage with me which is good I guess.

If they’re non-golems that means they aren’t being slow-killed as quickly under lies and false beliefs. I shook them. Hopefully. Perhaps shaken them out of one altogether in Jesus name. Slowly they’ll start to see the truth, maybe it saves them from evil.

If they are golems then they didn’t engage because they’re just too stupid, and they don’t trust themselves to argue correctly against the truth. They’re not creative enough, they’re flesh, and like most golems they’re used to their Skeksis handlers doing everything for them. They really are just dumb objects that grow increasingly useless and doomed as the Skeksis’s enemies disappear.

what the fuck

[mascdestr0yer]

CAN I BE HIM

Knight!paige x princess!reader

Warnings: nobody’s dying this time, trust

Synopsis: The tension between you and Paige is building, driven by secrets and expectations, with both of you caught between duty and desire. The atmosphere remains heavy and uncertain, hinting at deeper conflicts and emotions that will only grow as the story unfolds.

A/N: i finished the other chapters, i’ll post them in moderation

The castle had always felt too big. Its halls, lined with tapestries depicting ancient wars and victories long past, echoed with the heavy footsteps of guards and the murmured conversations of nobles. Outside your window, the sun cast the last rays of the evening over the dark silhouette of the forest, stretching shadows across the stone floor like tendrils reaching out to pull you from the warmth of your chambers.

But warmth was an illusion here, you’d come to realize. A castle of cold stone can only hold so much heat before it slips through your fingers like water, leaving you clutching at something that was never really there. Just like people.

You sighed, running your fingers over the edge of the windowsill, chipped with age and flecked with dust. It had been three days since Vincent and his family had left, three days since your father and his advisors began their quiet, tense deliberations about what your future might hold. Three days since Paige had pulled away—again—leaving you alone with your thoughts, staring down at the flowers Vincent had brought. You had kept them in a silver vase on your dresser, though they were already beginning to wilt.

The petals were soft under your fingertips as you absently brushed one of the roses, its once-vibrant red now fading to a dull maroon. There had been a time when you would have pressed them between the pages of a book or tucked them into a drawer to keep them close, but you knew better now. Roses, like promises, were fragile things.

“Princess,” a voice came from the doorway, breaking the silence. You turned, and your heart twisted when you saw Paige standing there, her figure half-hidden in the shadow. Her armor glinted in the dying light, a stark contrast to the softness of her dark hair that curled around her neck. She looked hesitant, like she had something to say but couldn’t find the words.

“Yes, Bueckers?” you asked, deliberately formal. It was a barrier, a shield. Something you could hide behind, just like the heavy silk curtains that draped your bed.

She took a step inside, the usual swagger in her step absent, replaced by something… uncertain. “Your father requests your presence in the great hall,” she said, her voice clipped and businesslike, though her eyes were darting to the flowers on the dresser, the barely-there frown tightening her lips. “It’s about Prince Vincent.”

“Of course it is,” you replied, your tone light, almost flippant. It was easier to pretend, easier to deflect with humor than to acknowledge the strange knot in your stomach when you looked at her. Paige’s expression didn’t change as she turned to leave, but something flickered in her eyes—a flash of something raw and vulnerable that disappeared so quickly you wondered if you had imagined it.

You followed her down the corridors, your footsteps barely making a sound on the cold flagstones, but Paige’s armor clinked with every step, a steady, distant rhythm. You knew that beneath the armor, her shoulders were tense, and her hands—those hands that had so often held yours in secret—were clenched tight.

The great hall loomed ahead, the heavy wooden doors shut tight, and you swallowed the knot of unease that had lodged itself in your throat. Your father was waiting, along with his advisors and the knights who always seemed to lurk in the background like silent sentinels, watching your every move.

Paige stopped before the doors, her back straight as she faced you. “Go on,” she said softly, and for a moment, the coldness in her gaze softened. “I’ll wait here.”

You wanted to reach out, to say something that would ease the tension between you, but the words stuck in your throat. Instead, you gave a short nod and pushed open the doors, stepping into the cavernous hall where your father, King Alaric, sat upon the throne with a solemn expression.

“Ah, there you are,” he said, his voice carrying the weight of authority and exhaustion. “Come, sit. There’s much to discuss.”

You took your place at the long table, feeling the weight of everyone’s eyes on you—eyes that saw a princess, not a girl; a future queen, not someone lost in her own castle. The fire roared in the massive hearth at the far end of the room, but it offered no warmth, only casting shadows across the faces of the court, making them look hollow and distant.

“We’ve received word from Héroux,” your father began, and your heart sank. This was about Vincent, then. About the future that was slipping away from you like sand through your fingers. You listened as your father outlined plans, negotiations, arrangements—details of a life that felt more like a cage with each passing moment.

But your thoughts kept drifting back to Paige, standing just outside the doors, waiting. You wondered if she felt as trapped as you did, bound by duty and expectations neither of you had chosen.

When the meeting was finally over, you excused yourself with a polite bow, your face a mask of perfect composure even as your mind swirled with confusion and doubt. You had to find Paige, had to make sense of the distance that had grown between you in the past few days, ever since Vincent’s visit had stirred up things you hadn’t been ready to confront.

But when you stepped out of the hall, she was gone.

Later that night, you found her in the training yard, a lone figure in the moonlight, her armor piled neatly to the side as she ran through drills with the precision and grace of someone who had done it a thousand times before. You watched her move, the way her muscles tensed and released with each fluid strike, the way her breath formed small clouds in the chill air.

“Paige,” you called softly, and she froze, the sword hovering in mid-swing before she lowered it and turned to face you. Her expression was guarded, the easy smile she usually wore nowhere to be found.

“Shouldn’t you be inside, princess? It’s cold out,” she said, sheathing her sword with a harsh, metallic clink.

“Shouldn’t you?” you countered, taking a step closer, feeling the weight of her gaze settle on you like a physical thing.

She shrugged, but the movement was stiff. “I’m used to the cold.”

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me?” you asked, the question coming out sharper than you’d intended. You bit your lip, regret already welling up inside you, but Paige didn’t flinch. She just looked at you, her dark eyes searching yours, and for a moment you thought she might tell you the truth.

But she just laughed, the sound bitter and hollow, echoing off the stone walls of the yard. “Avoiding you? Don’t be ridiculous. I’ve been busy. Training. Preparing. You know… knight things.”

You took another step, closing the distance between you until you could see the flecks of gold in her eyes, until you could smell the faint scent of leather and sweat clinging to her skin. “Don’t lie to me,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper. “I know you better than that.”

“Do you?” she asked, her voice dropping low, almost desperate. She looked away, her jaw tight, and you knew then that whatever walls had been building between you, they were higher than you’d realized. “Maybe you don’t know me at all.”

“Paige—” you reached out, your hand brushing hers, and she pulled away, turning her back to you with a sharp, angry motion that left you cold and aching.

“Go back inside, princess,” she said over her shoulder, her voice flat. “It’s late.”

You wanted to argue, to tell her that you didn’t care about late or propriety or the future your father was planning for you. But the look on her face stopped you—something broken and fragile that you didn’t understand, not yet. So you stepped back, wrapping your arms around yourself as if that could hold you together.

“Goodnight, Bueckers,” you said softly, using her last name because it was safer that way, because it was easier to pretend that you were still just a princess and she was still just your knight.

She didn’t respond, and you walked away, feeling the weight of her silence pressing down on you like a winter sky, heavy and endless and unbreakable.

But you knew you couldn’t stay away forever.

sorry if it's too short, hope you guys liked it taglist:@aerinaga @dancingqu33n @darlindayss @secretlifeofmarii @aavasstuff @ajcuteee @naipoohh @theendofevangelionnn @mrsengstler @thebignunfun @tired-duckling @julienbakerloverr @mrsarnold @slut4uconnwbb @abbyswif3 @svudetective @liviiyyy @hellokittyfeenie @paigeslanyard @latenighttalkinqwp @ashortyluvsports @kittykatz1227 @paulamdm @patscorner @addil244 @1-800-fantasy

[nikki0606]

my best | Bakugou X reader

reader; quirkless midway | part 1 (had this published back in 2021- which is why the storyline is just dramatic, some parts were just cringe to read (near-death-experience-cringe-level)-- and have edited it now, used to be a reader-favourite)

"Don't you dare, Bakugou Katsuki!" you barely manage to push him back and hurry to help Midoriya.

"Fucking bitch, who the hell do you think you're pushing, eh?" it's always the boys around in his gang who begin the retaliation, not even Bakugou himself.

"Oh, did I put a scratch on your pretty little boy? Run off if you don't intend to have broken bones before you reach home!" your eyes narrow dangerously and you step forward.

Many of them scoff. Bakugou's gaze stays deadset on your face, however.

"A quirkless bitch on you can barely lay a finger on me." one of the boys steps towards you pushing his sleeves back but you're quick to kick his shin hard and land another one in his abdomen.

If there's one thing living alone has taught you, it's being quick with your reflexes and actions because that in itself is the sole way you can overpower people in danger.

"Looks like a person with a pitiful quirk doesn't get a say." your words are a lot more vicious than intended– quirks has always been a sensitive topic for you to begin with.

Your parents put you up with quite the torture when you didn't inherit either of their quirks.

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes Bakugou's lips, he turns away.

"Dude– did you see that?" the others turn to him in frustration, "She pushed you and even hurt Makoto!" the boy speaking opens his mouth again but lets out only a hiss when you stomp his foot.

The reason they don't fight back is because Bakugou told them not to, you're aware of it.

Bakugou doesn't want anything on his record before he joins U.A. and so he wouldn't ever physically hurt you, a girl, although he does have quite sharp of a tongue himself.

"And?" his head turns back to you momentarily, you find an odd twitch behind the blood-red orbs.

"Does mister wannabe hero want one too?" you sugar-coat your words with venom.

"I could kill you in a second." he says coolly.

Internally, you're amazed by the sheer confidence and power in his voice as well as with the odd, rigid tenderness he can word his power in but like every single time, you don't show it.

Because no matter how admirable the rest of his personality is, Bakugo Katsuki is only a bully to you. You'd never let him be more.

"Mh?" you let out a challenging hum, "Go on then, try."

Bakugou stares at you for another moment before lightly shaking his head and turning to the other boys, starts shouting, "The fuck sort of extras are you to be beat up by a fucking stupid little quirkless shit like her, huh?!" his head turns back to you, "And you, cheeky little bitch," he grabs your arm, "come with me." and drags you along too fast for you to stop him.

"What the fuck?" you pull yourself away the moment he's slowed down and notice only now that the both of you are behind the school building.

"Try, huh? You think you'll fucking survive a blow of mine?" he closes in angrily making you step further and further back until you're against the wall, then lets his lips tug upwards in some sort of a smirk.

"A-And what makes you think I won't?" you try your best to keep composure despite the shock from unexpected behaviour from him.

Truth be told, Bakugou can kill you. Whether he will or not, you don't know.

You may find him really cool at times, but then again, he's only just a bully and your trust for him lies in the negative.

"You're quirkless, bitch. You go running your little shitty mouth around like this and someday someone's going to punch it shut." his eyes narrow, "You think you can defend yourself from people with quirks like mine? The only thing you can do is let someone protect you– "

His words pinch you in the wrong spots.

A sheath of clear fluid fills your eyes, "So says the big old bully– well here's the truth for you, Bakugou– " words fall out of your mouth before you can process them, "you will never become a hero! I'll tell you if I have to– a fucking bully like you is already a stupid, mean villain and you can't ever change that!"

The only thing I can do is– ah.

Living alone has taught you another thing; no one can do anything without a cost. This protection would be at cost of every ounce of life left in you.

Your parents left you because you didn't inherit their quirks– what phase in life they were in to need you to have it, you don't know. All you are sure of is that those responsible for your origin didn't "protect" you.

The only one who has ever protected you is you yourself.

"You think U.A. will ever like an asshole like you to ruin their reputation? Wake the fuck up, Bakugou Katsuki, you're already walking down a villain's path– you're already torturing and hurting your own childhood friends. Who in their fucking right mind would trust you as a hero?"

Bakugou's eyebrows have furrowed, his lips twitch but not a sound escapes them.

"I keep running my mouth around? Fucking blame me– there's shitty excuses for human beings like you walking around as if they actually mean anything to any fucking person and you expect me to shut up and sit quiet?! Let me get punched if that's what'll happen, I'm not having a stupid fucking villain's bullshit bullying at my watch!"

Pure silence echoes in the air for a moment, only the sounds of your long, irregular breaths fill this gap.

"Big words." Bakugou's voice has never been smaller, you barely can make out how he's processing your words, "Really big words.. "

"You're a dick." your lips tremble, eyes venting through rivers of tears, "I fucking hate everything about you– you're so pathetic, Bakugou. You're such a.. disgrace."

Something twirls in his eyes again. This time, it's an emotion you've never before seen him have.

"Only you and your little puppy Deku aren't disgraces, everyone else is, no?" his characteristic hostility is absent, you don't know what to make from this but barely care at the moment.

"Izukkun is already more of a hero than you can ever become." you try to push him away from you, "You fucking bastard, all you do is bully him like any cheap street thug– "

On instinct, Bakugou push you back.

What he doesn't realise is that you're much more frail than you look, and that he's much stronger than he does.

His push is strong, you're rammed into the wall hard and hiss out in pain clutching the back of your head and losing balance instantly to fall onto your knees.

From this position, you see his feet take him away.

That's the last time the both of you exchanged any contact at all that month.

Every time you'd look his way, Bakugou would avert his gaze. Everytime you'd pass by him in a corridor or require to approach him for classroom chores, he would pull up a perfect act as if you'd never existed in the first place.

An odd feeling of uneasiness keeps growing inside you by the passing moment and you barely know how to handle it let alone handle this odd situation with Bakugou.

Of course, all thought lead to only a single solution– confront him.

You've come to accept you spoke too much that day and that maybe his warning of not running your mouth too much was indeed something you should have thought upon.

Bakugou Katsuki may be a bully but you don't think of him as a villain at all. You know for a fact that nothing can take him down that line.

Words said that day were aimed to hurt him and the past month proves that they did.

All you did was under influence of your anger and naturally, you find yourself regretting everything.

You catch him leaving school the next day.

He doesn't turn on your call but his gang of boys do. They look more annoyed than ever– you know at this point they all hate you more than anything, especially considering how they keep on getting kicked by you and are unable to respond because of Bakugou.

"You're going to pay for being such a cheap little bitch." one of them hisses out, "You've got Bakugou mad now, he's going to blow your head to bits."

"A kick each isn't enough for you all?" you hate them all equally, "Looks like I'll have to do overtime handling a bunch of bratty kids with no shame."

"Shut that trap of yours, you little hoe." another one seems too far fed up with you, "Go suck your boy Midoriya's dick– he's the only one who wouldn't be able to handle your shitty self."

Bakugou stops at that and turns to the boy. There isn't an expression on his face.

An odd hope in your finds yourself wait for a minute to see if he replies to the guy by at least saying he's going too far but Bakugou does nothing.

A frown settles on your lips as the other boys start talking shit too.

"Looks like you're really enjoying this." your gaze and words are directed solely on Bakugou's face.

He doesn't bother turning to you at all but you can tell he knows who you're talking to and intentionally keeps his expressions turned away.

After your words however, a ghost of a frown mimics yours on his expression but he turns his head back too quick for you to see and starts walking off.

His minions walk off too though they keep on muttering cusses along the way.

"Yeah, go away, coward!" you hear yourself call out to him, "Fuck off!"

And this worsens your original purpose of the interaction– Bakugou doesn't talk to you for another week.

Midoriya has been noticing things being awry with you since some time now. It took him barely a moment to figure out this concerns Bakugou too.

He could tell you've noticed his observations and so have begun to avoid any sort of confrontation from his side about the chronic sour mood you've had.

At first, Midoriya was only just concerned. He'd assumed you'd eventually figure it out like you figure out most stuff but this didn't happen.

When this didn't seem to happen, he tried asking you but you wouldn't tell. Slowly and gradually, you began avoiding him to avoid the confrontations.

This made no sense to him, you'd never do anything of the sort in even the worst of situations.

Midoriya knows only one other way to understand what has happened and that is Bakugou Katsuki.

Bakugou Katsuki thinks not.

"You damned Deku–" the boy is slammed against a wall in an alleyway, "You think you're fucking something? You think you're gonna be a hero, eh?"

"K-Kacchan– I.. " Midoriya can't stop trembling under the sparks going off over his head, "I-I.. I just want to know– (Name)– " but the boy seems to only get madder at your mention.

This confirms Midoriya's observations.

"You think you're fucking better than me?" there is more than the usual twinge of emotions in Bakugou's words as he says this every time. Midoriya wonders through his panic about what all could have gone wrong.

"H-He is.. " a small broke voice makes the both of them snap their necks to the side only to instantly freeze in shock.

"(Name).. ?" it's Bakugou who manages to call you out and not Midoriya whose shock is prolonged, "What.. Wh-What the fuck did you do.. ?" he begins towards you.

You barely manage to stand straight and look at them with the bleeding leg and swollen eye. There is a haywire of messages of pain in your brain from all throughout your body and you can barely process anything.

"What.. " Midoriya's foot takes a first step, stopping once again at the sight of the shirt you're wearing almost torn off, " .. Hey.. "

Bakugou clearly doesn't know what to do– he's reached you already but is just examining every one of your wounds, his eyes and hands twitching in urge to do something.

"Asshole.. " the word just rolls out of your tongue as Midoriya approaches and you let yourself fall against him, "Why.. Why'd you let them do this?"

Bakugou doesn't understand. Midoriya doesn't either.

"I.. th-thought you told them not to hurt me.. " you cough out some blood but this isn't because of the violence you've gotten yourself into.

The boys both stand in shock for a moment now having realised what happened to you. Bakugou's eyes thunder with an odd mix of guilt and something you can't identify.

Midoriya's expressions change too– it seems your words are enough to give both the boys an idea of what happened.

Bakugou in particular looks shaken, you assume because he was aware of how much his group of lackeys hated you.

"I.. I'm sorry.. "

You're surprised hearing the words, you'd never thought he had it in him to let them out.

The look on his face alone proves all they said was bullshit– Bakugou Katsuki did not allow them to hurt you, they did it on will and only used his name.

All the things they said about him are probably untrue too.

A massive boulder lifts from your chest, the knowledge of Bakugou not actually thinking of you as the terms they said he did is a massive relief.

Flickering red orbs contrast against flickering green. Your hazy gaze knows not to focus on either.

"I.. should've.. " Bakugou looks peaky.

If you didn't know better than to hope from him, you'd assume he's guilty for not being able to protect you against the others.

"W-We," he swallows drly, "will be going to the doctor right away." he swiftly picks you in his arms, and struggle to hold you as you protest, "You're fucking bleeding all over– just calm down, (Name)– "

"Please.. " Midoriya has tears in his eyes, "Just do as he says.. we're going to a doctor right away!"

For this once, you decide to listen to him.

.

"You have visitors." the nurse comes in, an odd pity in her eyes.

You nod shortly not at all interested to know who would come to meet you. All you care about is meeting Midoriya and Bakugou once more before time runs out.

Maybe some words before you leave the world forever might stick by Bakugou and he stops bullying Midoriya?

You'd always been pretty tough against everything in life not at all bothered about what consequences will follow because of one sole fact.

Ever since you were little, you've been diagnosed with some terminal illness which your parents never cared to get treated because you were no use to them.

A bunch of boys beating you up didn't matter– what had hurt you back then was when they had said Bakugou allowed them to.

It was only later when you actually ran into Midoriya and Bakugou that the realisation surfaced that he, in fact, would never hurt a girl let alone hurt you of all people.

Bakugou Katsuki for some reason doesn't dislike you, not even the way he dislikes Midoriya.

This is odd considering you're the one annoying him more mostly.

You're not complaining, however. It's good living in this delusion of partially believing he probably is kinder to you than most people, that's the most care you're getting out of him.

Ah.. him of all people.

People often realise things they've been in denial with for ages once on the deathbed. You have too, only, this "realisation" for you is acceptance that maybe admiration for Bakugou Katsuki wasn't just admiration.

Maybe, the reason why it hurt you as much when he bullied was because you internally constantly are pleased by the few kinder moments from him.

"May we come in?" a man you don't know but find oddly familiar opens the door. Bakugou entering right after confirms your doubts.

"Hello (L/n) (Name). I'm Bakugou Masaru, Katsuki's father. We couldn't find any method to contact your parents." he lets Bakugou sit on the chair by your side, "Can we get any of their numbers or something else?"

A moment of silence precedes your words, "I don't live with them anymore.. they left me when my quirk didn't develop."

You've never before told anyone this part but it doesn't matter anymore if you're not going to live anymore. You wonder if the doctor has yet told Bakugou Masaru about your illness– there shouldn't be a reason for him to questioning anything from you then, no?

He nods at you, then tells Bakugou to take care before he walks out to talk to the doctors.

You turn to the boy once he's out of sight, " ..Bakugou.. "

He doesn't look up at you but lets out a small hum acknowledging your call.

" ..I'm sorry.. " you hear yourself say, mood shifting within the fraction of a second and eyes brimming with tears now, " ..for everything."

"Don't act like those stupid extras.. " the words are way too calm and low from his words to sound offensive in any way, " ..don't cry."

But you can't stop crying now.

It's the end of your life and a guy you unknowingly developed a bunch of feelings for is the one who would bid you off. The only desire you'd have is to meet your best friend Midoriya but that's not too tough to get managed but now as you sit on the bed covered in bandages and waiting for the end to draw near within a few weeks as predicted, you can't help but want to live.

The world looks so beautiful all of a sudden.

It's such a waste to die this way.

"Oi.. " Bakugou is shifting in his seat. He has lifted his head up finally and you can see his expressions– he looks distressed.

You've never before seen the ruby-red orbs flicker with such a broken gray behind them, it's almost painful to watch.

"I told you to not cry, didn't I?" his voice is butter-like, it complements the sweet fragrance swimming in the air around me, "Quiet down now."

"Bakugou.. " your breath hitches several times when you turn you him, "I.. " but it seems he already knows must of what you'll want to convey.

"You're going to be okay.. " there's an unusual heaviness in his voice, "You're.. Y-You're going to make through this."

Your eyes twitch, "What.. are you talking about?"

"Ah fuck.." his hands clutch his head, he shifts forward and leans closer to you, "Don't die on me, (Name).. I– " Bakugou Katsuki's lips quiver, "I don't know what I'd do."

The words take a moment to settle in his head. You stare at him with eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"What d-d'you mean what would you do?"

The distressed expressions on his face seems to worsen.

"Don't die on me." you've never before heard someone sound as broken, "Please.. "

Years and years of knowing him, years of observing everything he'd do, years of developing feelings for him an yet this one moment tells you more about him than any time of your life has.

"You know.. " he does know about the illness. He doesn't need to confirm it for you to know.

You swallow, "It will bother you if I'm gone?" you doubt this is a question to him. It sounds more affirmative to your own self.

For a moment, he only just stares into your soul through bleeding red irises.

"You know it will."

But you want to know, "Why?"

"You know why."

"No I don't, Bakugou– " he cuts you off before you can complete your words.

"Call me by my first name, for God's sake, (Name). Th-There's no knowing if.. " his eyes tremble, " ..you'll.. make it though the surgery."

Something melts in your heart only to freeze the very next instant.

"Wait– what surgery?" despite all the wounds, you manage to push yourself straight, "What do you– no.. wait a fucking second you son of a– that's.. "

Something between a scoff and a snort escapes his lips. Bakugou leans back in his chair and rubs his eyes harshly.

You can tell by the irregular breaths that he's feeling much more than what he expresses.

"I-I.. " he clears his throat, "I called my old man. He's getting the surgery done, he only came in earlier for legal permission from your guardian but there probably is no guardian."

A "y-yeah" from a dry throat replies to him.

Bakugou snorts a few tears out, "That explains you being mannerless as shit."

"You're mannerless too." your eyes fill up to the brim, "You don't get the right to point me out, Bakugou."

"Katsuki." he breathes out airily, "And.. just.. "

You know what he wants to say, "Okay, Katsuki." a moment of silence passes before the words fall out of your mouth themselves, "I won't die on you.. I promise."

He blinks a couple of times then rolls his eyes back to you, "I don't like people who break promises, (Name). You.. better not join that list."

"You know me, don't you." so many years of fighting each other and yet still bonds formed underneath all that are stronger than one would imagine, "I don't ever give up.. I'll try my best."

For a moment, Bakugou just watches you.

You could be wrong about it but the look he has on his faze is of someone who wishes to print something into their mind– he's trying to save the moment into his memory forever.

Bakugou doesn't want to see you go.

Whatever this indicates to, you wish to hear out loud.

Whatever this indicates to, Bakugou wishes to say out loud too.

Because he knows, he might just never get a chance later.

He opens his mouth but shuts it immediately and funnily, it's not because he is at loss of words. Bakugou Katsuki always knows what to say deep inside, him not letting that out on tongue ever before is a different story.

He doesn't speak because there is more than just words to be spoken from his side.

Getting up from the chair and sitting on your bedside, he leans in, hand grabbing your chin ever so gently and pulling your face closer, "This is to all the times you wouldn't stop staring at me throughout the whole fucking day.. " and before you can deny his words in embarrassment of being caught, a gentle contact on your lips sends down a cloudburst of sparks through your body.

"This is to being just so.. " he seems to love the awed look you have on your face, " ..fucking hot." his lips meet yours once more and they press more that they did before.

"This is for all the time we've had.. though I'm still pretty mad you'd chosen that shitty Deku over me." and he finally stops with the teasing kisses.

For a brash guy like him, Bakugou Katsuki is a feather-like kisser. Even the rough, passionate movements feel cushioned and elating.

When he parts away, there's a loud ringing in your ears and all blood has settled in your face and ears.

After another moment of silence, Bakugou inhales deep, "I've.. always only.. bothered you because I don't fucking understand what that Deku has over me. I don't get why you'd choose him when you could just.. be with me."

His ears resemble his eyes in colour, you'd never thought you'd see his cheeks as ripe.

"I like you.. so damn much. Don't leave me hanging like this, (Name)."

The smile that slips onto your face wouldn't come under control despite all efforts, your hands cover your face in embarrassment.

Ages of arguing against this boy over everything and now you've lost all sense to him shamelessly.

"I really like you too, Katsuki."

"I really like the way you say my name.. " he adds, voice hurried as someone seems to be standing outside the room's door, "Oi.. say my name once more, and promise me.. "

"I promise you, Katsuki.. " adoration fills in your eyes, "I'll try my best to get through this.. plus I'll have to pay your dad back later too so I better live."

He snorts tearfully, "Cheeky little bitch, you've always been."

And before the doctors can step inside, "Be kind to Izuku, okay. I never chose him over you, I chose him over a bully. Don't be that bully, Katsuki. Tell him he's the best friend I can ever have."

"And then what the fuck am I?"

A smile adorns your face, "What are you, Katsuki?"

The doctors step inside, Bakugou Masaru follows them closely. You're told the operation begins within an hour and then you have to be taken away from preparations.

"How about we talk about that once you're back." Bakugou gathers all courage within him to let the words out without a hitch.

"Let's do that." you smile.

.

__________________________________________________________

Part 2 will be out a little later.

[ponyosmom35]

ghost

simon ghost riley x reader

synopsis: simon goes after reader

Link to master list:https://www.tumblr.com/ponyosmom35/733401347573088256/simon-ghost-riley?source=share

The air inside the warehouse was thick with tension, the sound of heavy boots echoing against the concrete floor. The team had already split into two groups: Price and Simon at the front, their weapons at the ready, and Gaz and Soap taking the rear entrance. Every step felt like it could be their last. The dim lighting barely illuminated their surroundings, but they knew their objective.

Get her out. Alive.

Simon's heart pounded in his chest as he and Price moved forward through the narrow corridors. Every shadow, every movement, set his nerves on edge. He was close now—so close. He could feel it. She was in here, somewhere, and he wasn't going to let anything stop him from finding her.

Price, who had been his mentor and leader for years, was silently moving beside him, eyes scanning the area. They were a well-oiled machine, a team that trusted each other implicitly. But Simon couldn't help the pit of dread that had settled in his stomach. If anything happened to her... 

They turned the corner and came face-to-face with their first group of enemies. Without hesitation, they opened fire, their shots precise and deadly. The men didn't even have time to react before they were dropped, bodies hitting the floor with sickening thuds. 

Price signaled to Simon, and they moved forward, clearing the room in swift, ruthless movements. Simon's focus was razor-sharp as he scanned for more threats, his mind on one thing only: her.

Meanwhile, Gaz and Soap were at the back, clearing the hallway of enemies with brutal efficiency. Soap's massive form was a blur of force as he stormed through the rear entrance, taking out men one after the other. His size and strength were unmatched, each punch landing like a freight train. Gaz, moving with more calculated precision, was quick to cover his teammate, dropping anyone who dared to challenge them.

The team moved through the warehouse, fighting their way through ten armed men in total. There was no mercy. No hesitation. They all knew what was at stake.

And then, Simon heard her. The unmistakable sound of a woman's scream, echoing through the warehouse, sending a jolt of panic through his chest. Without a second thought, he sprinted toward the source, his weapon gripped tightly in his hand. He turned the corner and there she was.

She was slumped against the wall, blood dripping from her body, her hands bound behind her. Her face was bruised and battered, but her eyes—despite the fear and pain—were still defiant. 

The sight of her like this made something inside Simon snap. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the man in front of her—the one who had been torturing her. The man was laughing, a twisted grin on his face, but Simon wasn't listening anymore. All he saw was red. He rushed forward, his vision narrowing, and before the man had time to react, Simon had him by the throat, lifting him off the ground. The sound of his skull cracking against the concrete echoed through the room, but Simon didn't stop. He punched him again and again, brutal and unrelenting, until the man's body went limp.

It wasn't enough. Simon wasn't done. He picked the man up again, slamming his head against the ground in a final, violent motion. The man's face was unrecognizable, blood pooling around his head. Simon's hands were covered in it, his knuckles raw and bloodied. He stood over him, chest heaving, rage consuming him.

Price grabbed Simon by the shoulder and pulled him back, snapping him out of his frenzy. "Ghost, you need to focus." Price's voice was firm, but there was a hint of concern in it. "We don't have time for this. She needs you."

Simon stood there for a moment, his breathing ragged, eyes locked on the man he had just killed. The weight of the violence was sinking in, but she was alive. She was still here, and she needed him.

With one last, shaky breath, Simon turned and rushed to her side, kneeling beside her. Her pulse was weak, but it was there. She was alive. Simon's hands shook as he gently cradled her face, brushing her hair out of her eyes. His fingers moved to her neck, pressing lightly, feeling the faint beat of her pulse. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to her skin, a silent promise to never let anything happen to her again.

"baby, I've got you," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He could feel the heat of the blood on his hands, the reality of her injuries setting in, but he wasn't about to lose her—not again.

He wrapped his arms around her, lifting her carefully, her limp body heavy in his arms. Every step felt like an eternity, but he finally got her to the truck. The door slammed shut behind him, and he gently placed her on the seat, leaning over her to apply pressure to her deep stomach wound. He wasn't sure if he was applying enough force, but he had to. She couldn't lose any more blood.

The others piled into the vehicle, the urgency of their mission clear in their movements, but Simon's focus never wavered. He ripped off his mask, his face a picture of exhaustion, panic, and guilt. His hands were trembling as he continued to hold her, his heart beating loudly in his chest. 

His fingers brushed her face, wiping away the blood from her cheek, and then he held her close, cradling her in his arms as he desperately tried to keep her alive. His breath hitched as he felt the weight of the situation bearing down on him.

The team moved quickly, discussing their next steps, but all Simon could hear was the sound of her shallow breathing, and the pounding of his own heart in his ears. Every minute felt like an eternity. 

As they drove toward the safehouse, Simon's thoughts were consumed with her—wondering how long it would take for her to wake up, if she would even survive this, and whether he had failed her. But he couldn't afford to think about that now. There was no room for doubt. He had to stay strong for her.

Finally, when they arrived, Simon was still cradling her body in his arms, refusing to let anyone take her from him. Price helped Simon carefully lay her down on the table inside the safehouse. They worked quickly, patching up her wounds, but Simon never left her side.

When they finished, he wrapped her up in gauze, careful not to expose her injuries to the others. His eyes were constantly on her, monitoring her breathing, watching for any sign that she was slipping away.

Hours passed. Simon remained by her side, not once letting go of her hand. She was alive. She was still alive.

Eventually, he walked downstairs to meet the others, but even then, his mind was still on her. He didn't want to talk about Makarov. He didn't want to think about their next mission. All he could think about was her—and how he was going to keep her safe, no matter the cost.

Price met him at the door, his expression serious. "You ready to move, Simon?"

Simon's gaze hardened as he looked back toward the room where she rested. "I'm ready," he said, his voice hoarse but resolute. "But I'm not leaving her again. Not until this is over."

And with that, they began to strategize their next move, knowing that they would have to take down Makarov once and for all to ensure her safety.

But for Simon, the fight was just beginning.

[saintzweig]

poly boyfriends!artrick x reader headcanons

– THANK YOU FOR 500!! ily guys thank you for your support, i appreciate every single one of you truly 🥹 this is pretty simple, just fluff and domesticity. barely proofread because i'm me :p also feedback (on all my works) is appreciated so please feel free

ꢾ꣒ everyone knew that patrick and art were best friends, they were always together. tennis matches, classes, parties, you name it. it was nearly impossible for them to be apart for longer than an hour.

ꢾ꣒ but nobody knew they were together together. behind closed doors, hands were all over each other and lips locked. soft 'i love you's' whispered into each other's ears.

ꢾ꣒ patrick didn't care about people knowing but his partner did, it was something art wasn't ready for and he respected that.

ꢾ꣒ when patrick left for tour, art had a hard time adjusting. he didn't really have any friends aside from his boyfriend and tashi, who was always busy with tennis.

ꢾ꣒ so patrick encouraged him to join extracurriculars aside from the tennis team, convincing him that it would help broaden his network and all that stuff.

ꢾ꣒ that's how art ended up at your baking club, he didn't know how to bake but it was either this or the robotics club. you assured him that that's okay, he's here to learn anyways.

ꢾ꣒ it was you, him and a few more people that would meet up atleast twice a month at the assigned members' house. not his, seeing as he lived in the dorms.

ꢾ꣒ you were patient with him which he appreciated, you didn't make him feel dumb for struggling to follow even the simplest instructions neither did you make him feel out of place for being a man learning how to bake. (it was the 2000s, ok)

ꢾ꣒ one night, he dreamt about you in a way that made his heart race until he woke up. he was in a mood for the entire day after that, feeling so guilty because you were his friend and well, he has a boyfriend.

ꢾ꣒ he talked to patrick about it, not wanting to keep anything from him but he was surprised to hear his boyfriend be so casual about it. "it's fine, it was just a dream, it'll pass. plus you're allowed to find other people attractive."

ꢾ꣒ and art hoped it would pass, until it had been two months since and all it did was grew. into a real, stupid crush on you. he couldn't help the way his cheeks grew red or the way his heart skipped a beat whenever you would come near him during your club meetings.

ꢾ꣒ when patrick came back from tour, art couldn't stop himself from tearing up out of guilt. clutching the latter's shirt tightly and furiously apologizing for feeling this way.

ꢾ꣒ that's when they opened up the conversation about the possibility of art being polyamorous.

ꢾ꣒ the next club meeting, which was held at yours again, art brought patrick with him. and when patrick saw you, he understood almost immediately why art was so into you.

ꢾ꣒ despite your disheveled hair, dirty apron and streaks of flour on your cheek, you were the prettiest girl he'd ever seen. even surpassing his previous crush on tashi duncan.

ꢾ꣒ when art saw his reaction, he felt a burn in his chest. not out of jealousy but rather at the idea of extending their love to you, if you accepted.

ꢾ꣒ you and art decided to bake a cake together while patrick spectated, he's not to be trusted in the kitchen (they learned that the hard way)

ꢾ꣒ art stood on your right while patrick on the other, you were in the middle of them whisking the cake mix.

ꢾ꣒ patrick dipped a finger into the mixture before placing it into his mouth, causing art to softly glare at him for his lack of manners but the look was disregarded.

ꢾ꣒ "so... has my boyfriend been a good club member?"

ꢾ꣒ you couldn't help the way your breath hitched, glancing between the two of them with wide eyes. "boyfriend?"

ꢾ꣒ "aw, you don't talk about me, artie?"

ꢾ꣒ you stood there silently as embarrassment creeped all over your body. you had this idea that maybe art was single and into you, but now his boyfriend was right there, telling you all about their relationship.

ꢾ꣒ patrick immediately clocked your reaction, grinning down at you. "you like him, don't you?"

ꢾ꣒ you swear you nearly died from choking on your own saliva.

ꢾ꣒ "don't worry, sweetheart. he likes you too, a lot"

ꢾ꣒ things escalated quite quickly from then on, the three of you spending most days together at your house or on the tennis court, art walking you to your classes almost everyday and going out whenever patrick is home from tour.

ꢾ꣒ art slept over a lot at yours, his arm tucked under your head and the other draping around your waist while your laptop was on your bedside table, camera on and patrick sleeping on the screen.

ꢾ꣒ it was a little hard to navigate because you made sure to tread carefully as to not leave anyone out but for the most part, it was comfortable and sweet.

ꢾ꣒ patrick was loud and outgoing, art was more introverted and gentle while you were the one that kept the balance between their somehow similar yet contrasting personalities.

ꢾ꣒ you kept patrick in line and helped art learn how to put himself first.

ꢾ꣒ everyone thought that you were dating only one of them, which was fair seeing as how they saw you the most with art

ꢾ꣒ you didn't mind, although it was a little disheartening because you wanted people to know that patrick was your boyfriend too.

ꢾ꣒ and because no one knew patrick was in a relationship, he had a lot of people coming up to him and asking him out.

ꢾ꣒ art had enough one day when the two of you overheard a group of friends objectifying talking about patrick.

ꢾ꣒ when patrick walked up to the two of you before his game, their conversation only got more loud and obnoxious in hopes to catch his attention and art couldn't stop himself from pulling the brunette in for a very passionate kiss. "you're cute when you're jealous, donaldson"

ꢾ꣒ patrick played the entire game with a smirk on his face while art had his head nuzzled into your neck in embarrassment, "why did i do that?"

ꢾ꣒ after graduating university, art joined patrick in going pro, often travelling together.

ꢾ꣒ you opened a small baking business that you would often operate inside your shared apartment until you've saved up enough to rent a place for a small bakery.

ꢾ꣒ when the two boys are home, art, being the sweet boy he is, would help you with orders while patrick is in charge of choosing a movie and what to get for takeout.

ꢾ꣒ although patrick gets bored pretty easily especially when you two were taking long in the kitchen, he'd sneak in and try to distract the two of you. snaking his arms around your waist and trail kisses down from your jaw to your neck.

ꢾ꣒ of course he doesn't want art to feel left out so he'd remove one arm around your waist to reach over and squeeze art's behind, earning him a handful of flour thrown onto his pretty face.

ꢾ꣒ it's a little unconventional sure, but you wouldn't have it any other way.

[goblinontour]

Obsession With Death

part 2 | series masterlist

sickness or just human nature?

warnings: mentions of death, implied age gap, intercourse, exhibitionism, daddy’s back, inappropriateness

word count: 6.9k

Obsessed.  

It wasn’t an easy word for him to come to, much less admit. He’d never been one to dwell – well, he was but not like this, not to the point of ruin. But for days — days — you’d been stuck in his head, stitched into the fabric of his thoughts like a stray thread he couldn’t unravel.  

From the moment you’d walked away that first evening, your shape lingered behind his eyes. In the hours that stretched between dusk and dawn, when sleep came grudgingly and with little solace, you were there. And when morning dragged him back into the haze of routine, it was as though you’d never left.  

It’s only a crush, he tried to tell himself. It’ll go away. It’s just like all the others.  

But that was a lie. There were no others, not really. Or if there had been, none of them lingered in his chest the way you did, pressing against his ribs like something trying to claw its way out. Maybe this wasn’t a crush at all. Maybe it was danger.  

He knew it. But you didn’t.  

At first, he prayed it away, kneeling in the spaces between gravestones, the dirt still caked beneath his fingernails. He tried to will it smaller, to clip its wings before it took flight. But whatever this was — it grew.  

It consumed him slowly, a creeping vine winding its way through his thoughts. By the time he realised how deep it had taken root, it was too late. It was the way you moved, the way your voice wavered, the way you leaned into him on the hill like trust had been inevitable, like he hadn’t even had to ask for it.  

Every day he told himself, at the right place, the right time. That was how these things worked.  

Maybe tonight, he thought each evening, his chest tight with anticipation that never seemed to find its release.  

But the days stretched long, and the nights heavier still, and the right moment never came.  

Until it did.  

He wasn’t ready when he saw you again. He should have been. He’d told himself a thousand times to prepare for the moment, to practise how he’d act if you returned, if you dared step back through the gates.  

And yet, when you did, he froze.  

The sight of you felt like a slap to the chest, like breath pulled too sharply through his lungs. He didn’t expect it to feel like this — like fright.  

You walked in slowly, almost cautiously, like you weren’t entirely sure you belonged here. But you came anyway. He watched from the shadows, from the edge of the path, his body rooted in place as his mind swirled.  

What were you doing here again? What had brought you back to him?  

He prayed for something to say, some easy line to carry him through the moment. But his thoughts spiralled, and his hands felt like someone else’s, twitching by his sides.  

You didn’t see him at first. Not yet. But the way the dying light caught the outline of your face, the way your breath hung faintly in the chilled air — it undid him all over again. He thought about running, about disappearing into the rows of tombstones before you spotted him. But he stayed.  

He stayed because you had come back, and that had to mean something. Even if he didn’t know what yet. Even if it scared him more than he cared to admit.

“I can hear you this time, Alexander.” you called out, your voice cutting through the quiet like a soft blade.  

To his disadvantage, the leaves had fallen dry to the ground, betraying the faint carefulness of his steps. They rustled with every subtle shift, giving him away. You’d been ready this time — alert, listening.  

He didn’t answer right away, but when he wanted you to see him, he made it known. Stepping from behind a nearby tree, he was met with your gaze, and the smile on his face seemed involuntary, almost sheepish. When he noticed the faint curl of your lips in return, something in his shoulders eased.  

“Got me.” he said, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his coat. His voice carried that dry, self-effacing humour, but his eyes told another story. They lifted from the ground to meet yours, and you caught something hanging there — something you almost wanted to call shyness.  

“Always here.” you muttered.  

“Surprised?” he asked, shifting his weight to lean against the tree nearest him. It stood at the perfect midpoint between the two of you, a deliberate placement that felt calculated. He might’ve come closer, if not for the way he wanted you to come to him. So badly it almost ached.  

“Not at all.” you said, stepping toward him. “You’re much more predictable than one would think.”  

“Really?” he asked, the faintest hint of genuine surprise colouring his tone.  

It wasn’t a challenge. He didn’t believe you — not fully — but he didn’t seem offended either. There was no sting in his words, no edge. Instead, he seemed…amused. Like he might let you be right, just this once, even if you weren’t. Like he might let you think you’d figured him out.  

For now.  

“Well, you’re-” you started, only to be cut off by him.  

“Always here.” he said, finishing your thought as his lips curved upward into something sly, knowing.  

You laughed lightly, just a soft breath of sound, and kept moving closer. The space between you felt fragile, as though neither of you wanted to close it too quickly, to risk breaking whatever strange rhythm you’d found yourselves in.  

“And why are you always here?” you asked, stopping just shy of him.  

“Why are you?” he countered, tilting his head slightly, his gaze flicking over your face like he might find the answer written there.  

You opened your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, not to silence you but to pause you.  

“No, don’t answer that.” he said. “Not yet.”  

The weight of his words settled over the moment, heavy but not unwelcome. You wondered if he was asking for your silence or your patience. 

He leaned forward just slightly, the barest tilt of his body, enough to catch the faint chill of your breath in the air between you.  

“Maybe it’s the same reason.” he added, his voice softer now, almost careful.  

The same reason.  

His words stayed with you, even as the rest of the cemetery seemed to fall away, and you couldn’t decide if the thought was thrilling or terrifying. Maybe both.

You stilled before leaning closer, and the world seemed to follow suit, freezing in a moment suspended between what was and what could be. Alexander barely breathed, his body wound tight like a string pulled taut, vibrating faintly with an energy he was struggling to contain.  

Your hand — fingers chilled and trembling — brushed against the wool of his coat before landing on his shoulder, tentative but firm enough to hold your balance. A lifeline, or so you pretended, though you both knew the truth. He flinched — not away from you but within himself, the muscles beneath his skin jumping at the contact. For a moment, you wondered if you’d startled him, but no — he wanted this. He wanted it too much, and that was what unnerved him.  

He caught himself, of course, but you saw it. And he saw you see it. It was pointless to pretend now, but the pretence only made the moment heavier, more dangerous.  

His breath hitched again, catching on something deeper, and you felt it pass over your cheek as the cold air curled between you both. The atmosphere pressed in from all sides, close and heavy, as though the cemetery itself was holding its breath, watching, waiting.  

Your breath drifted upward as though summoned by the closeness, soft and visible in the chilled air, and he could feel the warmth of it mingling with the cold that clung to his skin. You leaned even closer, close enough now that he could see the faint dampness gathered under your nose, the faint condensation, a telltale sign of the biting temperature. The detail startled him with its intimacy. It was so small, so human, and yet it felt monumental in this moment.  

His eyes caught on it, lingered there as though to anchor himself, but it wasn’t enough. His gaze fell, unbidden, to your lips. The crack in the armour he’d tried so hard to maintain. He didn’t want to look. He knew once he let himself, he’d fall. There’d be no stopping it.  

Still, he looked.  

And there it was — his undoing.  

They were dry, cracked at the edges, with faint lines of redness where the winter air had worn at them. He noticed the faintest trace of dried blood there, too, caught in the creases of your lower lip like the aftermath of a small wound, so subtle it seemed almost imagined. Had you picked at them? Had the cold done this to you, or had your own hands contributed? Perhaps the former had caused the latter. The thought stirred something sharp in him, something protective and possessive all at once.  

You tilted forward, and your noses barely grazed, the faintest brush of skin, and it was like touching an exposed wire. His chest tightened, his breath snagged, and he couldn’t stop the soft gasp that escaped him — a mirror to your own. The sound mingled in the air like a single breath shared between two bodies.   

The sound of your gasp was the end of him. He wanted to pull away, to stop this before it became too much, but he couldn’t. Instead, he swayed closer, as though drawn by a force he didn’t fully understand. The faintest traces of your breath warmed his skin, and he swore he could taste it already. His tongue pressed to the roof of his mouth, the phantom of your presence lingering on it. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. He wanted more.

Your lashes trembled faintly, blinking in the space between his skin and yours. He could feel them brushing against him like whispers, fragile and fleeting. Your eyes held something unreadable that made his stomach twist in ways he couldn’t name.  

Everything around you seemed to fade into a haze. The trees stood still, their bare branches scratching against the dim grey sky like veins on pale skin. The ground beneath you felt solid but distant and the crunch of dead leaves underfoot muffled, irrelevant. 

“Please.” you whispered, and the word shattered the moment.  

It hit him like a jolt, a crack of electricity splitting the air between you. His eyes fluttered shut, as though closing them might lessen the weight of what you’d just said. But it didn’t. If anything, it made it heavier, more visceral. He felt it sink into his chest, nestling there like a seed he couldn’t uproot.  

Your lashes brushed against his again, and it was maddening, the soft flicker of them against his skin. It was almost cruel, the way you seemed to lean in, barely moving yet pulling him closer all the same.  

He should resist.

He told himself this, over and over, even as his resolve crumbled.  

“Pleasure is an art of resistance.” he murmured, his voice low and frayed, so quiet it barely escaped his lips. He didn’t dare speak louder. Not here, not with the possibility of unseen ears or spirits lingering in the periphery. If they existed, he didn’t want them interrupting now. Not now. Not ever.  

He didn’t know why he said it — perhaps to remind himself, perhaps to warn you. But it sounded hollow, even to him.  

“Is it, Alexander?” you asked, your voice soft and steady, though the tilt of your head brought your mouth so close to his that he could feel the shape of your words against him.  

His body trembled faintly, every muscle locked in place, as though moving even an inch might shatter him. His lips parted, not to speak but simply to breathe, to take in the faint, intoxicating warmth of your proximity.  

“It’s hard to resist sometimes.” he admitted, a confession torn from some deep, hidden place.  

“Then don’t.” you whispered, sinking into him and pulling him forward, letting the words fall directly into his mouth. 

And he didn’t.  

His lips brushed yours, tentative at first, like testing the edge of something sharp, unsure if it would cut. But the softness of it undid him completely. There was nothing cold about you, nothing distant. You were heat and breath and something wild that burned through the frost lingering on his skin.  

The world fell away entirely. There were no trees, no gravestones, no brittle leaves — just the faint, undeniable press of you against him. Just the sound of your breaths mingling, the electric pull between you that he had fought for so long but could no longer resist.  

And he thought, in that moment, that perhaps resistance had never been the point at all. 

The moment your giggle broke the stillness, it cracked something open between you — something both electric and unsettling. It wasn’t loud, your laugh, but it was enough to remind him of the world beyond the thin veil you’d created. You pressed your face against the collar of his coat, nuzzling into the rough fabric like a cat seeking warmth, your nose brushing against his throat with every shift. He shivered at the contact, but he didn’t move. He didn’t know how to move.  

He felt your breath seeping through the layers, warming his skin beneath, and his pulse thrummed in response. It was as if your touch was slowly rewiring him, reconfiguring what it meant to exist in his body. He swallowed hard, uncertain what to do with himself, until instinct took over.  

His hand found yours, tentative at first, his fingers brushing against your knuckles like he wasn’t sure they were allowed to be there. Then he intertwined them, threading his fingers through yours with a deliberate pressure. Your palms warmed each other almost instantly, and it was such a simple gesture, yet it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.  

“Come with me.” he said suddenly, his voice firm but low, the words carrying an urgency that felt out of place in the quiet. He didn’t give you time to hesitate, to question him, though his pace was slow enough to ensure you kept up.  

He walked like a man who knew exactly where he was going, though his steps were measured. His grip on your hand tightened briefly as if to anchor himself to you, to be certain you wouldn’t slip away before he could allow it.  

You could sense the shift before you understood it — the way the air grew heavier, the way his silence seemed to stretch taut like a thread on the verge of snapping. His steps slowed, the deliberate cadence faltering. You glanced sideways, catching the faint crease in his brow, the tension in the set of his jaw.  

“What is it?” you asked, the words softer than you intended, as though trying not to disturb whatever was unravelling in his mind.  

He didn’t answer immediately. Instead, his gaze moved ahead, past you, drawn to something unseen yet inevitable. It was like watching someone step over the edge of a precipice.  

“Have you ever noticed,” he began, his voice quiet, almost contemplative, “how some names linger in your head like a melody you can’t shake? Not because you want to remember, but because forgetting feels impossible.”  

The question wasn’t for you, but it hung between you like frost, delicate and threatening to crack.  

You didn’t respond, unsure of whether he wanted an answer. He took another step forward, then stopped. His hand rose, brushing along the edge of a tree trunk as if grounding himself to the present moment.  

“It’s strange.” he continued, his tone darkening. “How a place like this makes you feel closer to something — someone — and yet further away all at once.”  

You frowned, unsure of where he was going. “I suppose,” you replied carefully, “it depends on who you’re here for.”  

His eyes met yours then, sharp and searching. “Does it? Or does it just depend on what you can live with?”  

You wanted to ask what he meant, but the look in his eyes stopped you. He wasn’t seeking answers — he was seeking something else entirely.  

And then he stopped, completely still. The clarity of the moment hit you like a jolt as your gaze followed his.  

You stood in front of it — the name etched into the weathered stone as familiar to you as your own reflection.  

“Do you miss him?” Alexander’s voice broke the stillness, as though the question wasn’t one that could shatter you.

Your gaze lingered on the stone, the name, the years carved there like a timeline you didn’t want to acknowledge. “Why-”  

“Do you?” he insisted, cutting you off.  

You turned to him, confusion and something sharper flickering across your face. He shifted, his boots scuffing the ground until the tips of them touched yours. He blocked your view of the gravestone, his hands sliding down to catch yours by the fingertips.  

“Sometimes.” you admitted. “Less now.”  

“Interesting.” he said simply, his head tilting as if he were cataloguing the information, filing it away for some unknown purpose.  

Your brows furrowed. “How is that interesting?”  

“I’ve always been interested in how what we can see and what we can’t see plays with our psyche and perception.” he said, his tone thoughtful, almost detached. “Barriers to gratification unlock the mind in a new way.”  

“What are you trying to say, Alexander?” you asked, your tone sharpening.  

You didn’t wait for his response. Instead, you pushed forward, your knee knocking into his, forcing him to take a step back. The motion caught him off guard, and he stumbled until he was sitting on the cold concrete of the raised plot.  

The wind picked up, tugging at your skirt as you stepped closer. The hem danced just beneath his nose, and he caught the faintest trace of your scent — something warm and almost sweet. He leaned back on his arms, trying to regain some semblance of control, but his eyes betrayed him, lingering on the way your stockings stretched over your knees as you bent down. The fabric framed the barest hint of skin above them, a teasing glimpse that made his breath hitch.  

You climbed over him, settling onto his lap with a confidence that made his pulse pound in his ears. His gaze flicked upward, catching the glint in your eye, the knowing curve of your lips.  

“That you’re interesting.” he managed to say, remembering to answer your question, his voice low and strained.  

You smirked faintly, leaning in until your face was inches from his. “I’m just a girl with daddy issues.” you said, your tone laced with irony, but the truth beneath it wasn’t lost on either of you.  

His eyes flicked to the stone right behind, then back to your face. “Don’t you think it’s disrespectful? On your daddy’s grave?”  

He wasn’t sure where the words came from, but they were barely more than a breath, spoken into the curve of your neck as your hips shifted against him.  

And then it hit him — this was bad. Not the act itself, though the taste of wrongness lingered faintly in the back of his mind, mixing with the sweetness of you. No, what was bad was the fact that he wanted this too much. Wanted you too much.  

At first, it was simple — a small, flickering crush, like the faintest ember. Harmless. Something he could let burn out if he ignored it long enough. But now…now, it wasn’t a crush. Now it was like. Heavy and burning and uncontrollable, clawing its way up his chest and tightening its grip around him, making his pulse race every time you so much as shifted closer.  

He wanted you, that much was undeniable, but it was the kind of want that made him feel crazy, like his mind was coming undone in your presence. He wanted to do things to you, for you, things he shouldn’t let himself think about in a place like this, but he couldn’t stop. His thoughts spiralled faster than he could pull them back, and each one left him dizzier than the last.  

Your scent, the faint rasp in your voice, the way you tilted your head just enough to give him a sliver more of your neck — it was making him lose his grip on whatever composure he’d managed to hold onto before this moment.  

It wasn’t just physical. It couldn’t be. If it were, he could’ve brushed it off, left it behind in the cemetery along with every other moment of fleeting desire. But you weren’t fleeting. You were lingering, like the cold in the air, seeping into his skin and filling the cracks he didn’t even know he had.  

You tilted your head back slightly, your lips parting just enough to let out the softest gasp, and he swore his chest caved in.  

This was bad, he thought again. Bad, but too bad he didn’t care. Not anymore.

His hands, which had been braced against the concrete, moved instinctively to your thighs, his fingers pressing against the thick fabric of your stockings.  

“Maybe.” you whispered, your lips brushing against his ear, your voice a soft, dangerous thing. “But maybe not.”  

And in that moment, nothing else existed — just you, the weight of you against him, the press of your bodies and the unrelenting pull between you that neither of you could deny. 

The cold air bit at the exposed parts of your skin, but it couldn’t touch the heat building between you. Alexander’s hands lingered on your thighs, his fingers curling slightly into your flesh. His chest rose and fell in shallow breaths, each one a struggle to steady himself.  

“I could get up.” you teased, the corner of your mouth quirking into a faint smile. “If it’s too disrespectful for you, Alexander.”  

His gaze darted to yours, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Do you want to?”  

Your laugh was soft, almost breathless. “No. I don’t think I do.”  

“Then don’t.” His voice was quieter now, less steady, though his fingers betrayed him by pressing a little harder into your thighs. You leaned in closer, your nose brushing against his cheek. Intoxicating, like the moment before a storm.  

“Do you always think about what’s respectful?” you asked, your breath ghosting against his skin.  

His eyes flicked upward, meeting yours with a sharpness that made your heart stutter. “Not always.”  

“No?”  

“Not when I’m with you.”  

The confession lingered between you, weighty and unspoken in all the times before now. You tilted your head, considering him, and he looked back at you like you were the most fascinating thing he’d ever seen, like he couldn’t decide whether to study you or let you consume him.  

“You don’t seem the type to care about rules.” you teased, fingers tracing the edge of his coat collar, testing the waters.

He tsk-ed softly, the sound carrying a mix of amusement and reprimand. “Now that’s where you’re wrong, love.” he said, tilting his head. “I’m very strict about rules.”  

“Not all.” you countered. “Obviously.”  

His dark eyes narrowed slightly, though the ghost of a smile played on his mouth. “I care about some.” he admitted, his voice tightening, edged with a restraint he was fighting to maintain. “But you…you make me forget them.”  

Your chest brushed against his as you leaned in closer, close enough to see the flicker of something in his eyes – something wild, barely contained. “And what happens when you forget?”  

His breath hitched, the tension between you taut. “I don’t know.” he whispered. “That’s what scares me.” 

You didn’t answer him immediately. Instead, you shifted slightly in his lap, feeling the tension ripple through his body beneath you. His hands tightened instinctively, moving up just slightly, fingers brushing over the edge of your skirt where fabric met skin.  

“Scares you?” you repeated, your voice soft but teasing. “You don’t seem scared now.”  

“I’m good at hiding it.”  

“Show me.”  

The challenge hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he exhaled shakily, leaning forward until his forehead pressed against yours. The gesture was intimate, almost tender, and it made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t sure you liked.  

“I can’t.” he said finally, his voice barely more than a murmur.  

“Can’t what?”  

“Show you what scares me.” His eyes opened, meeting yours, and they were endless. “Not yet.”  

You let out a soft hum of acknowledgement, your fingers finding his and guiding his hand up to rest against your waist. “I’m not scared of you, you know.” you said, your tone light, but there was an edge of truth that made it land heavier.  “Should I?”  

His thumb moved in slow, deliberate circles against your waist. “No…maybe,” he admitted, “but not for the reasons you think.”  

You shifted again, leaning back slightly, enough to let your weight press into his legs. The concrete beneath him was cold and unforgiving, but he barely noticed it. His focus was entirely on you — the way your eyes watched him, the way your lips parted just enough to invite him closer.  

“Tell me something real.” you said, your tone suddenly more serious.  

“What do you want to know?”  

“Why you’re always here.”  

He hesitated, his grip on you tightening slightly before loosening again. “I don’t know.” he said after a moment. “It feels like…like this place is the only thing that makes sense sometimes.”  

“And me?”  

“You don’t make sense.” he said quietly. “But I don’t need you to.”  

You blinked, caught off guard by the honesty in his voice. Your lips parted as if to say something, but no words came. Instead, you leaned in again, your forehead brushing against his as your fingers found their way to the back of his neck.  

“You’re strange, Alexander.” you whispered.  

“And you’re trouble.” he replied, his voice low, almost a growl.  

“Maybe we’re both.”  

“Maybe we are.” he admitted. His eyes stayed on yours, steady, calculating, but less guarded.  

The silence stretched between you, not uncomfortable but charged. Then he spoke again, his voice quieter, almost pensive, like he was voicing a thought he hadn’t meant to share.  

“Sexuality is powerful,” he said, his gaze flicking downward for a second, before locking onto you again, “and difficult. Morally ambiguous. Rarely easy or safe.”  

You tilted your head slightly, considering him, and then asked, “It’s just a sexual reaction?”  

He studied you for a moment, the corner of his mouth twitching, as if he was weighing whether to answer you honestly. “You and me?”  

You nodded, feeling something twist and coil in your stomach as you waited for him to respond.  

“That’s…” he began, his voice dropping lower, rougher, like gravel sliding over silk. “Animal attraction.”  

“Yeah?” you asked, the word slipping out of you, softer than you intended, like a challenge laced with curiosity.  

He paused, his lips parting as if to say something else, but then he shook his head slightly, leaning forward, closer than ever before. “You can shut up now.” 

Before you could respond — or disobey — he closed the remaining distance, his mouth capturing yours in a way that left no room for questions, only answers whispered through the heat between you.

His hand slipped to the small of your back, pulling you closer, and the motion sent a shiver up your spine. You let out a soft sound against his lips, and it was all the encouragement he needed to deepen the kiss, his other hand threading through your hair as though trying to memorise the feel of it.  

He let the strands curl between his fingers, pulling just enough to draw a gasp from you. The noise unravelled him further, and his grip tightened for a moment before he forced himself to stop, his breath uneven as he tugged lightly instead, teasing the edge of his own restraint.  

“You want me to fuck you here?” he whispered against your ear, the words raw and low, sending a spark through you.  

Your nod came fast, almost desperate, as you melted into his touch. His hold shifted, steadying you, his hand slipping from your back to your throat. His fingers curled around it like a collar, possessive but not cruel, applying just enough pressure for you to feel his strength and his control.  

“Do you want me to be your Daddy?” he asked, tilting your head back until your eyes locked with his. There was no escaping him, no escaping the intensity in his gaze or the sheer weight of the moment. He was everywhere, consuming every piece of you.  

“Please.” you whimpered, your voice trembling as it escaped, the sound vibrating against the palm of his hand.  

He felt it — felt the shiver in your tone, the fragility in your plea — and something inside him shifted. He let out a soft, dark chuckle, his thumb brushing over your jaw.  

“I can be your Daddy.” he murmured, his lips grazing the shell of your ear, soft enough to contradict the roughness of his grip on you. The contrast made your knees feel weak, but his hold kept you steady. Kept you his.

The tension between you seemed to hold the entire world still, time itself pausing to watch. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing your ear as he added, “But if I am, you’re mine.” 

His free hand drifted to your hip, the rough pads of his fingers digging in just enough to make you gasp. He guided you against him, letting you feel how much control he was losing, how much he wanted to lose it.

“Say it again.” he demanded, his voice more forceful now, less a suggestion and more a command.

“Please, Daddy.” you whispered, a soft plea that sent a surge of heat through him, making him bite down on his own restraint.

“Good girl.” he growled, and his lips crashed against yours again, rougher this time, more desperate, as though every kiss, every touch was sealing the words you’d exchanged in something far darker than a promise.

“Fuck, I need you.” he said, his voice breaking as though the admission cost him.  

“Show me how bad.” you whispered, your breath shaky, barely audible.  

His eyes darkened further, a flicker of something feral flashing across his face. “Get on your knees.” he ordered, sliding out from beneath you.  

You obeyed without hesitation, sinking to the cold, unforgiving concrete. The loose gravel bit into the bare skin of your knees through the stockings, but you didn’t care. His hands were already on you, pulling your skirt up, exposing the flushed skin underneath. You felt the sting of the cold air, but it was fleeting, because his touch followed, hot and insistent.  

Your heart thundered in your chest as one of his hands moved to tug your panties aside, the fabric stretched taut against your skin. The other worked quickly, fumbling with his belt, the clink of metal sharp in the still air. His zipper hissed as it came undone, and then his pants were lowered in haste.  

There was no pause, no hesitation. He pushed into you all at once, a sudden, overwhelming invasion that knocked the air from your lungs. You gasped, a sharp, desperate sound that echoed faintly around you. 

“That’s it.” he groaned, his voice thick with want. “Take it all for me, princess.”

Deeper. He pushed deeper, his hands gripping your hips like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. Your knees scraped against the concrete as he pulled you back onto him, setting a punishing rhythm that left no room for thought, only feeling.  

You dropped further, your forearms pressing into the cold as your body yielded to him completely. He seemed to take it as permission, his hips snapping harder, his breathing ragged. Somehow, impossibly, he sank deeper still, the stretch of him almost unbearable, almost.  

He paused for a moment, stilling inside you, his chest heaving against your back. You felt the heat of his breath on your neck, but it was drowned out by the pounding of your pulse in your ears.  

Something wet dripped beneath you, darkening the grey concrete. You blinked, trying to make sense of it — drool, tears? It didn’t matter. Your face was too cold, too numb to tell where the wetness was coming from, but the sensation of him inside you burned hot enough to block out the chill.  

“You’re perfect.” he murmured, almost to himself, his voice low and reverent as his fingers dug into your hips again. He started moving once more, slower this time, like he wanted to brand the feeling of you into his very bones.  

He shifted, his knee pressing firmly onto the grave ledger, unbothered by the risk of scuffing his trousers. His hips rolled, steady and deliberate, and you felt every ridge and vein of his cock dragging against your walls. The sensation was overwhelming, electrifying. He hissed through his teeth, his grip tightening.  

Reaching forward, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand back to your own body. “Hold yourself open for me.” he ordered, his voice low, raw, each word laced with possession. He pressed your palm against the soft curve of your ass, forcing you to pull yourself apart. His eyes darkened as he stared, transfixed by the sight of himself disappearing into you, again and again, his thrusts deep and unrelenting.  

“Fuck-” he groaned, his words roughened by desire, his gaze glued to where your bodies joined. His movements became harder, more erratic, driven by the wet, obscene sounds of skin slapping against skin — hips against yours, balls slapping against your soaked pussy. The sharp cadence of it echoed in the cold stillness, a lewd symphony that made your stomach tighten and your legs tremble.  

The intensity built faster than either of you expected. You gasped, trying to shift forward, to pull away even slightly, but his grip was iron.  

“No, no-” he groaned, the sound almost desperate, his voice breaking with need. His hands caught your wrist again, both of them wrapping around it, his fingers engulfing it completely. Your hand looked so small, so fragile in his grasp, and the sight sent a new wave of hunger coursing through him.  

“You’re not going anywhere.” he growled, pulling your hips back toward him, sinking deeper, harder. “You hear me? You’re staying right here, taking everything I give you.”  

You whimpered, and the sound only spurred him on, his hips snapping forward with a force that left you breathless. His control frayed with every thrust, every cry you made, his nails pressing into your skin, leaving half-moon imprints as he held you steady.  

“Look at you.” he rasped, his voice full of dark admiration. “You’re mine, aren’t you?”  

You nodded, barely able to form words, your body pliant and trembling under his relentless pace.  

“Say it.” he demanded, his voice sharp now, desperate, as though he needed to hear it, to solidify the bond between you in this moment.  

“I’m yours-” you managed, breath hitching. “Yours, Alexander.”  

The last fragile thread of restraint snapped. Whatever boundaries might have existed between you dissolved completely, leaving nothing but raw need in their place. He moved faster, harder, until your chest slammed against the cold, hard surface beneath you. The impact sent a dull ache spreading through your body, but it was quickly drowned out by the intensity of his presence — his hips slamming into you, his hand claiming your mouth.  

“Shh…” he murmured into your ear, pressing his lips against the curve of it as his palm muffled the sounds spilling from you. “Quiet, princess. Let me hear it. Let me hear how wet you are for me.” 

Your muffled cries were swallowed by the graveyard silence, but the obscene, slick sounds of his cock plunging into you were deafening. His hand covered your lips tightly, his thumb brushing against your cheek. The other hand gripped your hip, holding you steady as he buried himself deeper with every thrust.  

“You hear that?” he rasped, his voice low and hoarse, more to himself than to you. “That’s you, soaking me. Taking me. Every. Fucking. Inch.”  

You whimpered against his hand, the vibrations travelling through his palm and shooting straight to his core. The sound drove him crazy, made him lose control, made his hips snap forward faster and harder, chasing the feeling of your body clenching around him.  

“I can feel you shaking.” he growled, his lips brushing against your temple. “You like this, don’t you? You like being used like this?”  

You tried to nod, but his hand kept your head pressed down. Instead, you whimpered again, and he chuckled darkly.  

“Say it.” he demanded, pulling his hand away just enough to let you speak.  

“I-” you gasped. “I love it. I love the way you feel.”  

He groaned, his head falling forward until his forehead rested against your shoulder. “Fuck, you drive me insane.”  

His free hand left your hip, sliding up your stomach and under your shirt to palm your breast, his fingers teasing your nipple through the thin fabric of your bra. “So soft,” he muttered, as if the sensation overwhelmed him. “So fucking perfect.”  

You clenched around him at his words, and he cursed, his pace faltering for a moment before he recovered, thrusting into you even harder.  

“Al-” you whimpered, your voice breaking as his hand slid down, pressing against your stomach, holding you in place as he drove into you.  

“I’ve got you.” he said, his voice rough and possessive. “You don’t go anywhere. You don’t get to pull away. You’re mine.”  

You turned your head slightly, enough to meet his eyes, dark and burning with something primal. “Yours.”

He cursed again, leaning down to bite at your shoulder, his teeth sharp even through the thickness of the barriers. “Say it louder.” he demanded, his voice barely controlled.  

“Yours.” you cried, louder this time, and it was all he needed to lose himself completely. His grip tightened on you, his movements growing erratic as he chased the release building between you, pulling you with him into the abyss.

The shiver that ran through your body had nothing to do with the cold anymore. It was from him — his touch, his voice, his weight pressing into you. Every part of him surrounded you, consumed you. When he felt you tighten around him, his control finally gave way.  

“Come on, come on Daddy’s cock.” he muttered, his voice breaking into a rasp as he moved with deliberate, devastating slowness now. “Just like that- shit-”  

Then came the stillness. Blissfully thundering toward death in a stampede of his fumbling green gentleness. An inexplicable poetry to the moment, as he buried himself fully inside you. You felt him tremble against your back, his breath hot on your neck. His hands, once so demanding and possessive, now softened their grip on your body, lingering reverently. His body tensed, every muscle trembling as he let himself go, spilling into you with a groan that sounded like surrender.  

“Stay still.” he commanded, his voice softer but still firm, his hands keeping you in place as his chest pressed against your back. He lowered himself over you, wrapping you in his warmth.

“Okay.” you whispered, though your voice cracked, rough — whether from the cold or from the aftermath of your cries, you couldn’t tell.  

One of his hands slid under your cheek, cradling it gently, cushioning it from the hard surface beneath you, as if it had suddenly become intolerable for him. The gesture was tender, almost jarringly so after the intensity of everything else.

“Close your eyes.” he murmured. His words were a request, not an order. There was a softness now, something stripped raw and quiet in him. He stayed inside you, unwilling to move, unwilling to let go. His body still pressed against yours, his arms bracing you, holding you close.  

“You’re so lovely,” he said, his voice barely more than a breath. His lips found your hair, pressing against it softly, an excuse to inhale your scent, to keep you closer than he’d ever thought he’d need to.  

His hand smoothed over your hair, tracing the curve of your jaw before resting on your shoulder. “Stay with me a little longer.” he added, almost pleading. You understood.

You nodded against his hand, the tension in your body melting under the warmth of his. 

“Do you feel safe?” he asked finally, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it.  

“Yes.” you whispered, barely audible but enough for him to hear.  

He sighed, a sound heavy with relief and something else — something you couldn’t quite place. Then he pressed another kiss to the crown of your head, lingering there as though reluctant to part from you, even for a moment.  

“You make me crazy.” he muttered against your hair, and though it sounded like a complaint, the warmth in his voice betrayed him.  

“I think I like it.” you replied, your lips curving into the faintest smile.  

“Yeah?” he asked, tilting his head just enough to catch your eyes when you opened them.  

“Yeah.” you murmured, and his smile mirrored yours, soft and secret, meant only for you. 

a/n: Heavily based on the She Wants Revenge songs in the playlist, you can tell :) I think the smut went a bit too long, but I still have a hard time knowing how much to describe things. Like, I want to make sure you can envision exactly what I had in my mind. And yes it ends a bit abruptly, I guess, but I think it’s a good point. The birds will return in the next part. And it won’t come as fast as this part because I haven’t even started it, but I don’t have self control so I’m just going to post this one and go with it.

[dissapointu]

I hope you are doing well, can I request headcannons from the arcane cast + mel and hemmerdinger with a reader who is a mage (like the one who saved Jayce and his mother) and the reader faces a lot of criticism for using magic but also wants to be very helpful to help those who need it and not think that they are all evil

I think something platonic would be better for this, but feel free to modify it however you want 😘

Of course! And I'm doing well annon<3

Ekko

• Ekko is protective of anyone who is unjustly criticized, and he knows all too well what it’s like to be misunderstood. He’d never judge you for your magic, knowing that your intentions are pure and that not all magic is inherently evil.

• He’s the first to defend you when others make harsh comments, using his quick wit and clever words to shut them down. He might not say it outright, but he believes in your cause.

• Despite his laid-back attitude, Ekko admires your resilience. He sees the way you fight for the greater good, despite the struggles you face from others, and respects you for it.

• He may even ask for your help with certain projects, knowing that your abilities could make a difference, though he’d keep it casual—he never wants to make you feel like you’re being exploited.

Vi

• Vi would be one of the first to stand up for you. She’s been on the receiving end of prejudice herself, and she knows how hard it can be to be judged based on something beyond your control.

• She’d never trust anyone who looks down on you for using magic—especially if they don’t understand it the way you do. If she sees someone being too harsh, Vi won’t hesitate to throw a punch or two in defense.

• There’s an understanding between you and her; she knows what it’s like to be misunderstood, and you share that bond. She’d be the one to sit with you when things get overwhelming, offering a quiet moment of solidarity.

Jinx

• Jinx, in her own chaotic way, would probably find your magic fascinating. She doesn’t understand the rules, but she’d be the first to encourage you to keep pushing boundaries—after all, she knows what it’s like to be an outcast, so she wouldn’t judge you for being different.

• However, she might get overly excited and inadvertently draw attention to your powers, which could make things worse for you at times. Still, her intentions are always to support you, albeit in her unpredictable way.

• If anyone criticizes you too harshly, Jinx might end up causing a bit of a scene, perhaps in a reckless or mischievous way, to protect you from the negativity.

Jayce

• Jayce can relate to the criticism that comes with using technology that people don’t fully understand. He’d empathize with your struggle, often offering advice on how to navigate the challenges you face.

• He’d be a strong supporter of your cause, often speaking highly of you in public and sharing your belief that magic can be a tool for good.

• However, Jayce would also worry about you, knowing that the world is filled with people who may not see the same potential in magic that you do. He’d try to protect you from harm by using his status and influence to help shield you from critics.

• But sometimes, his concern could be overwhelming, especially when he sees how much you’re taking on yourself.

Mel

• Mel is a bit more reserved than the others but has a strong sense of justice. She would respect your dedication to using magic for good, even though she is often cautious about how it is perceived.

• She’d offer advice on how to be strategic about your magic use, ensuring that you can help others while also protecting yourself from backlash.

• Mel may even take a more diplomatic approach, using her influence and connections to help clear some of the misconceptions about you, though she wouldn’t make a big show of it.

• Her method is quieter and more tactful, preferring to operate behind the scenes, but she genuinely respects your determination and your desire to help those in need.

Heimerdinger

• Heimerdinger would be deeply fascinated by your magic, especially if it’s connected to a scientific or mechanical purpose. He would be more interested in the potential of magic to complement technological advancements.

• While he understands the fear that comes with magic, he is not quick to judge. He believes that it is not the magic itself but the intention behind its use that matters.

• Heimerdinger would try to offer guidance on how to use your powers responsibly, emphasizing caution and preparation, especially in a world that fears what it doesn’t fully understand.

• He would be the kind of mentor who tells you that knowledge is power, encouraging you to keep proving that magic can coexist with progress. He might even help you develop ways to make your magic more accessible and accepted by society.