#and they just left Wash there lying on the ground

[tinytinyblogs]

You really scared me, sweetheart.

The moment they realize you're not where you belong

Hyung line, Maknae line

💬 Thanks so much for sending this! I hope this version hits just right for you. So… who’s reaction hit hardest for you? I’m always here to talk more if you want! Sending you good vibes today and always.

Stray Kids Masterlist 1.0 & 2.0

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Chan

His hand reaches across the sheets in search of your warmth, expecting to find the familiar comfort of you lying beside him. But instead, all he finds is cold, empty space. Chan freezes, his breath hitching as dread begins to settle in his chest. Slowly, he sits up, heart already beating faster. His mind starts to spiral. Did you leave? Did he do something wrong? Was he not enough for you? Had you finally decided to walk away from him? His chest tightens, a wave of panic rising and clawing at his throat. He throws off the blankets in a rush, driven by fear more than reason. His bare feet hit the floor with a thud as he storms out of the bedroom, the pounding of his heart loud and urgent in his ears. The house feels too still, too silent, like the calm before a storm or the absence of something important. Then he hears it. Faint, but unmistakable. A soft humming. It’s coming from the kitchen. His feet move before he even has time to think. He follows the sound, driven by instinct and desperation, until he sees you standing there with your back turned. You are pouring coffee into two mugs. One for you, one for him. A simple, everyday moment—but to him, it feels like the most important sight in the world. The relief that washes over him is so intense it steals the air from his lungs. In just a few steps, he is behind you.

Without hesitation, he wraps his arms tightly around your waist, pulling you into his chest as if to prove to himself that you are real, that you are still here. He buries his face into the curve of your neck, breathing in your scent, grounding himself in your presence. "You scared me darling," he murmurs, voice hoarse with sleep and the raw edge of fear. You pause, slightly turning your head toward him. "Chan? What’s wrong?" His arms tighten around you, holding on like he’s afraid to let go. "Don’t disappear like that," he whispers, his lips brushing against your skin. "I thought you left me. I really thought… you were gone." There is a deep vulnerability in his voice, something so rare that it makes your heart ache. The strong, confident man reduced to soft pleas and trembling arms. You turn fully to face him and gently cup his face. "I was just making coffee," you say softly. "I’m not going anywhere." He searches your eyes, needing to believe your words. Then, with a shaky sigh, he presses his forehead to yours, holding you close like he never wants to let go. "Promise?" he asks, voice almost a whisper. You smile and press a kiss to his lips. "Promise." He exhales slowly, the tension in his body easing—but his arms remain locked around you. Because next time, he might not be so lucky. And he is not ready to take that chance again.

Minho

The moment he feels the cold emptiness beside him, Minho’s eyes fly open. His hand reaches out, searching blindly across the sheets for the warmth of your body. But there is nothing. Only the cool impression of where you once were. A wave of dread crashes over him, freezing him in place for just a second. Then rage flares, sharp and hot, mixing with pure fear. Where are you? Did you leave? Did someone take you? Or worse, did you finally decide that you did not want him anymore? He is out of bed in an instant, moving through the house like a storm ready to break. His steps are silent but heavy with purpose. Every shadow in the hallway feels like a threat, every creak in the floor a cruel reminder that something is wrong. His jaw tightens. His hands curl into fists at his sides, itching for something to grab, to break, to fight. The worst thoughts spiral in his head, until.. A small sound cuts through the tension. The quiet clink of a cat bowl. His head snaps toward the kitchen. He rounds the corner, muscles tense and breath shallow, ready for anything. What he sees brings him to a halt. You are kneeling on the floor, gently petting one of the cats as it eats. The soft hum of your voice floats through the air, completely unaware of the chaos he just fought through. It should calm him. It should bring peace. But it does not.

He stands in the doorway, chest rising and falling with slow, deliberate breaths as he tries to keep himself grounded. The panic is still there, sitting like a weight on his chest. For a long moment, he just watches you. Alive. Safe. Still here. And yet the image of waking up without you lingers like a nightmare he cannot shake. Then he moves. You only have time to gasp before he scoops you into his arms. One second you are on the floor, the next you are held tightly against his chest, weightless in his grasp. "Minho?!" you exclaim, startled. He says nothing. His silence is louder than any words. He carries you back to the bedroom with steady steps, not letting go for even a moment. When he sets you down on the bed, his voice finally breaks the silence. "You are not allowed to leave without me." His tone is calm, almost quiet, but his eyes burn with something fierce. He climbs into bed beside you, pulling you tightly into his embrace. One arm wraps around your waist like iron. "Go back to sleep baby," he murmurs, his lips brushing your ear. "I need you beside me." You do not argue. Not when his body trembles ever so slightly. Not when his heart pounds against your back. You sigh, letting yourself melt into his hold. He exhales a shaky breath and presses his face into your hair. But he does not let go. Because next time, he may not forgive so easily. And he will never risk losing you again.

Changbin

A deep growl vibrates in his chest before his eyes have even fully opened. His body reacts before his mind catches up, and his arm stretches across the bed, instinctively reaching for you. He needs the comfort of your warmth, the steady rise and fall of your breathing, the quiet proof that you are still there beside him. But his fingers grasp nothing but cold sheets. "You swore to me" Changbin growls under his breath, the words coming out rough and sharp. He sits up with a sudden jerk, his body tense with anger and confusion. His fist slams into the mattress, shaking the bedframe as frustration pours out of him in violent waves. You swore you would not leave. You promised. A thousand thoughts race through his head, each one more painful than the last. Had he scared you away? Had his possessiveness finally pushed you to your limit? Or worse, had something happened to you? Had someone taken you from him? The uncertainty drives him into action. He is on his feet in seconds, storming out of the bedroom with the force of a brewing storm. His shoulders crash into the edges of doorframes. His footsteps echo through the house, loud and angry, shaking the floor beneath him. A chair nearly topples over as he brushes past it without care. His breathing is ragged, furious, desperate. Where the hell are you? Then he hears it. The soft, low murmur of the television.

He freezes, his entire body going still as his head snaps toward the sound. His heart thunders in his chest. There you are. Curled up on the couch, dressed in your pajamas, a blanket thrown carelessly over your legs. You are lazily flipping through channels like it is just another peaceful morning. Like you had not just torn his heart in two by not being in his arms when he woke. He stares at you, unmoving, his pulse pounding in his ears. And then he moves. You barely have time to look up before he is standing over you, his body towering in front of the television, blocking the screen with his presence. His face is a mixture of fierce relief and simmering anger. "Changbin?" you begin to say. But your words are cut off as he pulls you into him with sudden force. His arms lock around your body, crushing you against his chest. The breath is nearly knocked from your lungs, but all you can feel is the desperate way he holds you. "God," he breathes, voice shaking as he buries his face in your neck. "I thought you were gone." He holds you like a man afraid to lose again. His grip is tight, trembling with leftover panic. "Binnie, I was just-" you begin softly. "Don’t," he whispers, tightening his hold. "Don’t scare me like that." The fear in his voice is raw, something vulnerable buried deep beneath his usual strength. It tugs at your heart. You bring a hand to his hair, stroking gently. "I’m not going anywhere," you murmur. He exhales slowly, the tension easing just a little. But he does not let go. Not yet. Maybe not ever. Because next time, he might not be so gentle.

Hyunjin

The moment his eyes blink open, Hyunjin’s hand automatically reaches across the sheets, seeking the warmth that always waits for him. But there is nothing. Just the cold press of empty space where you should be. His heart slams against his chest. You are gone. He sits up in a flash, a chill crawling down his spine. The blanket is tangled around his waist, the pillow beside him untouched. Panic begins to twist its claws into him. Did you leave? Did someone take you? Did you finally decide that loving him was too much? His thoughts spin out of control, every scenario worse than the last. He throws himself out of bed and tears through the house. Doors fly open. His gaze darts through rooms, scanning every dark corner like danger might be hiding there. Each breath feels harder than the last, and every second without you only tightens the grip around his lungs. "No, no, no" Then he hears it, the soft hum of an electric toothbrush. He stops. For a beat, he simply listens, stunned by the ordinary sound. Then he moves fast, footsteps silent but determined as he makes his way toward the bathroom. And there you are. Standing at the sink, completely unaware. Your toothbrush is in your hand, foam gathering at the corner of your mouth, your eyes still sleepy.

You do not see him at first, and for a fleeting moment, he watches you, chest heaving from the wave of emotion that just hit him. The relief comes fast, but something darker comes faster. In two long strides, he is behind you. His hands grab your waist firmly, spinning you to face him before you can react. "Hyunjin?" You barely get his name out before he crowds you against the counter, his body pressed flush against yours. His eyes are wild, dark with intensity, and his voice drops to a dangerous whisper. "If you ever make me think you left me again.. if you ever make me feel that fear.. I swear I will not let you leave my side," he says, voice low and fierce. Not even for a second. His grip tightens slightly as the words leave his mouth. You blink up at him, confused and startled, the toothbrush still held awkwardly between you. He does not wait for a reply. Without hesitation, he leans in and kisses you. It is not soft. It is not careful. It is raw and consuming, a clash of mint and desperation, of fear and fury. He kisses you like he is trying to brand the memory of you into himself, so he never feels that emptiness again. When he finally pulls back, his breath is uneven and his eyes still burn with emotion. He brushes your lip gently with his thumb. "Now finish up," he murmurs. "And get back to bed. Where you belong."

[cuntyji]

HOW TO LOOSE YOUR DIGNITY IN FIVE SECONDS: A HOLI SPECIAL ౨ৎ JJK MEN HEADCANONS

synopsis: holi, the festival of colors, love, and inevitable regrets, has finally arrived. you’ve been waiting all year for this, but the real highlight of the day? your boyfriend’s first holi. whether he’s excited or absolutely dreading it, well… that depends on which one you’re talking about.

content warnings: gender neutral reader, jjk men headcannons (gojo, nanami, geto, toji, shiu, choso, no sukuna this time rip). mentions of hemp. lots of crack, based on many true stories <3

author's note: tell a friend she's back!! thank u for being patient with my break. happy holi if you celebrate, stay safe and have fun :)

gojo’s white hair is a warzone. not a single strand has been spared from the riot of colors that have taken him hostage. you can practically map out the battlefield on his head—electric blue from nobara’s ambush, a blotchy green courtesy of megumi’s grudge, streaks of pink and yellow from random kids who saw an opportunity, and, of course, the deep purple near his roots that is just part of him. his blindfold was a victim early on, ripped away in the opening skirmish, which left his poor six eyes to fend for themselves.

but does he regret it? absolutely not.

“this is the best holiday ever,” he announces, lying on the ground, looking like a pack of expired skittles. he’s positively beaming, grinning wide enough to blind anyone who still has uncolored vision left. “i am beauty. i am art. i am suffering.”

he sits up, running a hand through his hair, then pauses when some of the color transfers onto his palm. his grin falters for half a second before he recovers with a nervous chuckle. “this’ll come out, right? right?”

you don’t have the heart to tell him that some of these colors might have permanently altered his hair. it’ll be fun when he washes it and realizes his shampoo is an accomplice in ruining his life.

nanami thought he was prepared. in his mind, he had planned the ultimate holi defense strategy. crisp white shirt (because nothing says class like a man in white), sunscreen slathered on every inch of his exposed skin (because he would rather die than let the sun and colors double-team him), and a last-minute decision to invest in contact lenses because, well, the alternative was his glasses being held hostage by a bunch of lunatics.

big. mistake.

he comes back looking like a broken man. his shirt? unrecognizable. the white fabric has been violated in every color of the rainbow, some areas more aggressively attacked than others. his hair? streaked with color despite his best efforts to avoid it. and the worst part? the contacts.

nanami rubs his temples, his face twisted into a deep frown. “never again,” he mutters, looking like he’s reliving chapter 120 in real-time. he blinks rapidly, eyes irritated beyond belief, and you realize his biggest mistake was trusting those flimsy lenses to protect him.

you try—really try—to hold back your laughter. “so… the contact lenses?”

he lets out the slowest, most exhausted sigh. “i thought they would protect me.” a pause. then, bitterly: “i was wrong.”

you take in his utterly defeated state, the way he looks more emotionally drained than physically tired, and pat his arm sympathetically.

“on the bright side,” you offer, “you don’t have to worry about wearing white ever again.”

nanami closes his eyes. inhales. exhales. then, in a voice heavy with regret, says, “i miss my old life.”

toji fushiguro is that guy—the one who shows up to holi in all black like he’s at a funeral, fully aware of what’s about to happen to him but too stubborn to dress accordingly. maybe he thought he’d intimidate people into leaving him alone. maybe he thought the dark clothes would somehow hide the damage. either way, he thought wrong.

his face is mostly untouched, purely because no one can reach him. at his height, the average holi enthusiast doesn’t stand a chance. the few who dared to aim for his head either missed or got that look—the one that made them rethink all their life choices up until that moment. but his torso? completely massacred. the black fabric of his shirt has been ruined by every color imaginable, soaked through and weighing him down like a second skin.

toji tugs at his drenched shirt, scowling. “this is bullshit.”

you raise an eyebrow. “it’s literally holi. what did you expect?”

“not to be walking around in clothes that feel like they weigh twenty kilos,” he grumbles. he shifts uncomfortably, flexing his arms like that’ll somehow shake off the moisture. “shoulda just taken my shirt off.”

you glance at his utterly destroyed torso, streaked with a chaotic mix of colors, and smirk. “probably wouldn’t have helped. they went straight for your chest.”

toji knows. he can smell the disaster on himself—especially that horrible silver paint someone had the audacity to slap onto him. it’s clinging to his skin like a bad memory, and the worst part? it’s shiny. he feels like a failed art project.

he huffs, rubbing at a stubborn stain. “if i gotta be drenched, might as well be in red. at least then i can scare the little brats off and tell ‘em it’s blood.”

you give him a look. “so your solution is to traumatize children?”

toji shrugs, unapologetic. “ain’t my fault they’d believe it.”

geto approaches holi with the grace of a man who thinks he can organize chaos. he is all about class, aesthetics, and, most importantly, justice. while others run around like feral animals, flinging colors with reckless abandon, geto has meticulously arranged brass plates filled with neatly piled color powders. the water? prepared in large buckets, not for anarchy, but for people to responsibly fill their water guns. everything is meant to be orderly, beautiful, a functionable and fun holi experience.

he forgets that during holi, no one cares about any of that.

the moment he turns his back, all hell breaks loose.

one person—an absolute menace to society—takes a single look at the perfectly filled water bucket and dumps the entire thing on him. and just as geto is still processing the betrayal, the rest of them follow suit, overturning the entire mountain of color onto him like an avalanche.

it’s a spectacle.

he is left drenched, color clinging to every inch of his soaked clothes, dripping down his face in thick streaks. his once dignified, elegant aura? gone. instead, he’s standing there, utterly stunned, spitting out what can only be described as liquid rainbow.

you approach cautiously, trying—failing—to suppress your laughter.

geto wipes a hand down his face, looking at the sheer amount of color that comes off. he then glances at you, eyes filled with the weary realization of a man who should’ve known better.

“i’m going to have blue teeth by the end of this, aren’t i?” he mutters.

you nod, absolutely delighted at his suffering. “at least you made holi… functional.”

he exhales sharply, color still dripping from his chin. “never. again.”

shiu kong is the epitome of holi with class. while others are running around like headless chickens, he’s standing off to the side, nursing a drink that could only be described as delectable. a perfect mix, smooth, refined—enhanced, of course, with a liiiiittle hemp, because holi is about tradition. he’s not here to get drenched like some peasant. he’s here to enjoy himself.

or so he thought.

he doesn’t even realize the impending disaster until it’s too late. a horde of parched, wide-eyed kids approach him, looking up expectantly, their little hands outstretched. and shiu, in his blissfully buzzed state, barely registers what’s happening before he just hands over the drink with a lazy flick of his wrist.

there’s a beat of silence. then, chaos.

within minutes, he has unleashed the apocalypse. half the kids are suddenly hyperactive, screaming like banshees, running at inhuman speeds with fully loaded water guns, soaking anything and everything in their path. the other half? slumped against walls, swaying slightly, looking like they just saw the secrets of the universe and were not prepared for it.

shiu blinks. realization dawns. he looks down at his now-empty glass.

“…ah, shit.”

you stare at him, half-horrified, half-amused. “tell me you did not just give bhang to an army of children.”

shiu drags a hand down his face. “…i was feeling generous.”

a high-pitched, manic shriek cuts through the air as a color-streaked child launches a water balloon with the accuracy of a trained assassin. shiu watches it fly in slow motion before it smacks a poor soul across the face.

he exhales, stepping back like a man about to abandon ship. “alright. time to leave.”

choso is excited. painfully so. he’s that guy—the one who stations himself in a corner of the arena (or wherever the battlefield of holi has been set) with mountains of snacks and drinks, ready to distribute them at a moment’s notice. hydration is key, he insists. everyone should be well-fed. he’s got an entire system set up, like some kind of holi hospitality committee operating out of sheer enthusiasm.

but when people call him over to actually play, he gets all bashful. he waves them off, shaking his head, mumbling stuff like, "i’m good! you guys have fun!" like he’s some self-sacrificing monk who exists solely to ensure the well-being of others.

that is, until he joins in.

the second he steps into the fray, it’s like something possesses him. the bashfulness? gone. the gentle, food-distributing guardian? replaced. choso goes feral. suddenly, he’s dual-wielding a water gun and a hose pipe, simultaneously, with the skill of a trained marksman. he’s unstoppable. entire groups of people scatter in sheer terror because how is he this accurate?! even those his age shriek and flee for their lives when he mercilessly drenches them.

“WHAT HAPPENED TO BEING SHY?!” someone screams, barely dodging a ruthless stream of water.

choso, entirely deadpan, reloads his water gun. “i changed my mind.”

it’s absolute carnage. colors flying, people falling, screams ringing out—until the moment food is announced.

the instant he hears the words "lunch is ready!" the switch flips right back. suddenly, he’s all smiles again, cheerfully walking toward the food like he wasn’t just waging war seconds ago. he’s even helping people up, brushing color off their faces, offering them a drink like he didn’t just personally destroy them.

you stare at him, still catching your breath, completely drenched. “you’re insane.”

choso beams, already stacking his plate with food. “want some snacks?”

[firelilyfox]

I will always rescue you

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x avengers female reader

Summary: While being in a fight, Bucky looses sight of his girl. When he finds her being hurt he won't hold back to save her.

Warnings: sfw. mentions of trauma. death (not Bucky or reader). killing. physical pain (reader). established relationship. kissing. anxiety. hurt/comfort.

Wordcount: 1,3k

___________________________

The gun felt heavy in his hand. 

Bucky sweared that he would only use it to scare the enemy and won’t pull the trigger to kill someone. Just incapacitate them. He was done with taking lives but he was still a fighter for a good cause. Him and the Avengers were on a mission to rescue citizens from a terrorist attack in the city. And everything went just like planned.

Until he lost his girl in the crowd. 

She weren’t supposed to be there. She was supposed to be with the Maximoff Siblings. But when Bucky turned to look for them, he could only see Wanda and Pietro helping to get the people off the road and to safety. 

„Where is she?“, Bucky barked at them. 

Pietro looked up in confusion. His brows jerked upward when he realizes who he meant. „I don’t know, man. She was right behind us. Over there on the market place.“ He pointed his finger at a destroyed pavilion. 

Wanda slapped his hand down. „No she was already on her way to Barton. He helped a family out of a collapsed building.“ 

„And where is Barton now? Why haven’t they returned yet?“ He tried not to sound too anxious. Bucky knew you were capable of protecting yourself if things get rough, but he still needed to see for himself that you were safe. 

His chest tightens when Wanda shrugs. „Don’t know. But we can help find her.“ 

He was annoyed by himself that he was mad at them for loosing his girl out of their sight. At the end it was their job to protect the innocent citizens and not babysitting her, but still … he was mad. 

Bucky nodded and turned on his heel to jogg over to the market place, wich wasn’t more than ruins by now. Bullets lying around, stone walls broken into pieces and blood splattered on the ground. He wanted to throw up … what if … what if this blood came from her? 

„Barnes!“ The voice came from Natasha through his earpiece. „I heard your looking for someone.“ 

He held his breath, pressing the button on the earpiece to talk back. „Tell me where she is. Is she safe?“ 

Cracking sounds made it through the connection. „Not really. I’d see her getting dragged into a basement near the fountain. Have lost sight of her just now but …“ Natasha paused. 

„What is it? I swear to god if you won’t start talking …“ 

„There were three man. And they are heavily armed, Bucky. I think they want to use her as bait.“ 

„Send me the location. Now. And stay the hell back.“ Bucky put his gun into his belt, rotating his bionic shoulder. „This just got personal.“ 

They weren’t far from him. Just about two blocks on the north. Bucky made his way there, sneaking through the narrow side streets to avoid getting caught by the enemy. His training over the years made him hyper focused and perfectly prepared for any dangerous situation. Bucky can deal with any threat that came up. 

But he wasn’t trained to deal with the storm of uncontrollable emotions, that washed over him like a tidal wave the moment he saw his girlfriend lying on the floor. 

And she was crying. 

Bucky was hiding in the shadows, scanning the room for the men and their weapons. Two of them pointing guns on her and smirking in sick pleasure. His blood began to boil. He wanted to rip them into pieces. The third guy crouched down beside her. 

„You know these fun little gadgets, don’t you?“ He pointed at her temples and Bucky narrowed his eyes to see what he means. 

Two little metallic plates.

"This will hurt like hell sweetheart. Even on an Avenger. After all we got one without superpowers. Just another meaningless Widow, hm?"

He gave a sign and the guy on his left operated a remote. The plates began buzzing and she screamed like a feral animal in terrible pain. 

And Bucky snapped. 

He throws two knifes with an outer worldly accuracy. The blades cutting through the armor of the soldiers and came to a sudden stop when they stuck deep in their throats. Leaving them drop to the ground while gurgling on their own blood. 

Bucky stepped out of the shadowed corner and grabbed the third man by the neck. He yanked him away from her and slamming him head first against the ground. The plates on his bionic arm shifting, building an immense pressure on his grip. Bucky could hear the face of the soldier break as soon as it made contact with the concrete beneath his feet. 

With a quick twist he broke the mans neck. 

Bucky looked up to see his girl still cramping in pain. Her whole body shivering and twitching. He found the remote laying on the ground and crushing it with feet. 

A cry of relief escaped her mouth. „Bucky!“ 

He tugged her into his arms. Holding her until the electric shivering stopped to torture her body. Bucky knew this kind of feeling. Electric impulses rushing through the veins, a painful heat building up inside the bones. Making it hard to breath. Years and years of torture but nothing felt as worse, as seeing her suffering this pain now. She felt so breakable in his arms that he got terrified all over again, even if the threat was gone. 

„I-I’m so-so sorry!“, she cried. Her shaky hands wandering up his shoulders and wrap around his neck tightly. Searching for safety. Holding on to him just as he does to her. „I’m sorry, Bucky.“ 

He leaned his head back, but didn’t let go of her. „What are you talking about?“ He mumbled. His voice sounded strained and his vision blurred with tears. 

Her face was contorted in pain. Bucky swear he could hear his heart break seeing her like this. But when she spoke his whole world fell apart. 

„I wasn’t careful. I’m sorry!“ She sobbed with eyes haunted by fear. „I should’ve been more carful… I-I..“  

„Stop.“ 

„But it’s my fault. I should’ve fight back.“ She tried to get away from him but Bucky kept on holding her close.

„Love, stop.“ He insisted. But she couldn’t hear him. 

„It’s my fault you had to kill them!“ She was hyperventilating and her voice got strangled with her tears. 

So Bucky did the only thing that came to his mind to shut her up. He pressed his lips on hers. Rough and a little impatient. Maybe Bucky needed this more than her. He wanted to show his own nervous system that she was here. She was alive and well. And she was talking absolute nonsense. 

When he ended the kiss, she looked at him surprised. Skin pale as a ghost and lips parted in shock. „Aren’t you mad?“ She asked. „You can be mad… You should be m-…“ 

„God, doll. Please shut up“, he chuckled with a teary smile. „I’m not mad.“ 

„But why?“ She reached out to cup his face with her palms and Bucky leaned into her touch, closing his eyes to remember this feeling. „You said you never wanted to kill someone. And today you were forced to do it anyway.“ 

He wanted to laugh, but didn’t. Was she really that clueless? How could she be? Bucky would burn the world down to save this girl. Including killing some really bad guys. He would rather die than let anything ever happen to her again. 

„I don’t want to be the Winter Soldier again. He killed innocent people. And he wasn’t in control.“ His jaw tightened as glimpses of memories crossed his mind. „I want to be Bucky Barnes. And I want to be in control to protect the ones I love.“ 

He kissed her again. Soft and reassuring. „Especially the girl I love most.“ 

A shy smile pulled on the corners of her lips. „I love you too, Buck. With all my heart.“ 

Cracking sounds. „I hate to interrupt your foreplay guys but we need to get out of here before the press arrives, or our faces will be on the news again.“ Natasha insisted through Buckys earpiece. „And tell her that I’m happy she is still alive, Barnes.“ 

Bucky grinned and looked down on his whole world. „We should get out of here.“ 

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Thanks for reading! 💙 All interactions are appreciated (but please do not copy my work!)

Bucky Barnes Masterlist 🦾

[seiwas]

₊˚⊹｡ see me through the morning glow | gojo satoru

wc: 1.0k summary: you and gojo have a slow morning.  contains: f!reader in mind, suggestive if you squint, food descriptions. a/n: unedited, i honestly dk what this is i just really needed to get this out of my system! this is how i cope with 236.

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

You slip out of bed faced with the promise of sunlight. 

The curtains in your bedroom radiate a glow that bounces off the man lying next to you; it’s soft, near-white, almost ethereal, the color of his skin, hair, and bones. His back is exposed, arm reaching out over the (now) empty space beside him—the crinkles and folds where you once were. 

You’ve always thought your bedroom had good lighting, and now you can confirm why: in the shadows, deepening the line that runs down his spine; in the highlights, guiding your eyes to the pockets of muscle behind his shoulders. 

You look away, trying your best not to stare; the only reason he’s undressed is because of a cold sweat, from the nightmares—and the very need for skin-to-skin, to ground him in your touch. 

On mornings like this, you let Gojo sleep in. 

(Because you’re lucky if he can fall back asleep again). 

It’s slow today—no work, no missions that need you or him. It’s your favorite kind of day, and Gojo’s too (once he wakes up and smells the waffles you’ve prepared, double topped with whipped cream and maple syrup—his special, of course). 

A steady stream of warmth flows through the window to your kitchen countertop, the marble glimmering as light hits. The material was his choice; you don’t care much for glamor but Gojo likes pretty things—you especially, he likes to say. 

The batter is quick to prepare, a recipe you’ve done many times before, so you ladle it into the waffle maker before letting it set on its own. Then, you grab a pan to heat up, spooning in last night’s leftover rice, some soy sauce, and mirin, adding salt to taste, as needed. A standard fried rice breakfast, with a yolk to mix in later. 

The sound of his footsteps are concealed by the sizzles of the pan in front of you, but you’re caught off guard by arms wrapped around your waist, and his chin nestling itself into your shoulder as he nuzzles you. 

He’s still shirtless, you notice, so you inch backwards in case of any oil spatter. 

“Good sleep?” you mumble, certain that he heard you. 

He hums, before whispering, lips tickling the edges of your ear on purpose, pouting, “Not anymore when you left.” 

This man—a giant baby, puffed cheeks with long limbs hunched over you. 

Your big baby. 

Despite his whines, he’s telling the truth, you know, and you feel warm because of it, affection seeping in the cracks between his arms and the kitchen stove. 

You blow on a spoonful of rice before lifting it up to his lips. Gojo’s breakfasts are always sweet, but every time you cook, he looks forward to this: waiting right behind you to be fed over your shoulder.

His review will always be the same, of course, everything you touch turns out good. 

He reaches for the waffle maker with one hand while the other keeps you close, and you plate his little breakfast for him, whipped cream with little hearts drawn in maple syrup. 

You grab a bowl for your rice and sit by the counter, Gojo sitting thigh-to-thigh beside you despite the abundance of space around you. 

You realize then, that Gojo tends to hover. 

Not necessarily in a bad way, just that, he does it all the time—always wanting to be near.  

And for someone so perceiving, practically all-seeing, he doesn’t really have to for him to know what you’re up to, but with every opportunity he has, he never misses a moment to be close to you.

When you wash the dishes by the sink, he stays beside you, shoulder-to-shoulder, even when the sink is wide enough to accommodate him a few inches farther. 

Even the walk to the bathroom has him tailing you, following your footsteps as he traces the footprints of slow mornings with you. 

Your bathroom counter has two sinks, but of course, today, he chooses to stay by yours. 

“Skincare?” you raise a tub of face mask. 

He doesn’t need it, but you love pampering him, so he nods, whatever you want. 

You struggle for a bit (he’s just too tall), so he picks you up by the waist and rests you on the bathroom counter, against the mirror.

He stays in the space between your legs, hands flat against your thighs. His thumb kneads your skin gently, and any other time, this position would end very differently, but there’s a look he’s giving you—all words without speaking. 

And—

“Quit staring,” you mumble, turning shy. You’re about to rub the product onto his cheeks, under his eyes. 

“What, I can’t look at you?” he moves closer, keeping his eyes locked on you as he rubs circles on your thighs. 

“No, you can, but,” you swallow, “you’re looking at me like that.”

“Like what?” his brows furrow. 

“Like that.” you sigh, gesturing to his face. 

“Like I love you?” 

And it is like that. Like he loves you. That’s why he says it so casually. 

Because he does. 

You stay quiet, stunned, before you clear your throat and finish up the final area on his face. 

“Yeah.” you mumble, reaching over to wash your hands on the sink. 

Gojo waits for you to finish before he takes a small towel to dry your hands with it. 

“As if you don’t know.” he scoffs, pulling you closer to the edge of the counter. 

He’s right—it’s been said before, but there’s something else in his eyes right now, shiny and devoted, as if this is all he could ever want. As if you, on this slow morning, in this too-big bathroom is all he could ever need. 

But he doesn’t say anything. At least, not what he really means. 

“Not my fault you’re so pretty today,” he adds on, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

It should be funny, that he’s telling you all this with a mask slathered all over his face, but his compliments always speak to the depths of you, even when you don’t expect them to. 

His fingers mold against your cheek, to your ears, down to the back of your head, bringing you closer until he kisses you softly, a gentle peck. 

Bits of the face mask transfer to your nose and you giggle, wiping it off. 

“Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, they say.” you joke.

Gojo smiles, that look on his face, “Good for you then, you’re the only one I see.”

re-uploaded because i accidentally deleted!

comments, tags, and reblogs are greatly appreciated ♡

[woso-dreamzzz]

Flag IV

Frida Maanum x Emma Lennartsson x Child!Reader

Summary: You're hurt and scared

Your head throbs as you wake up, the pitter-patter of rain falling on your skin.

The rain is cold but your tears are hot, scorching your skin as they roll down your cheeks.

The butterfly you were chasing is missing, flown away to hide from the spring storm that you now find yourself trapped in.

You don't know how long it has been raining but you're soaked to the bone and shivering.

Two Jordans whine at you, both blurry around the edges as you sit up.

There is a sharp rock where your head was, blood being washed away as the rain gets heavier.

The Jordans whine at you again and you reach out for one of them but your hand passes right through.

"Jordi?" You ask as the second Jordan nudges you with his snout," I'm tired. Where's...Where's Mama and Mummy?"

Your eyes slip closed for a moment. It's easy to nod off even though you're very cold and your head feels icky.

Jordan barks and you jolt awake again, head throbbing.

Hot blood runs from your forehead down your face as your gaze goes blurry again, Jordan just a weird dog shaped blur.

You want Mama and Mummy. You don't know where they are.

The rain turns to snow quickly and the temperature plummets, your clothes freezing on your body.

Your breath comes out in a puff in front of you.

Jordan barks again, lightly nudging you under a little ledge. It does little to stop the cold but it keeps you out of the snow that clings and melts in your hair.

Jordan is warm against you and you shiver, little hands burying themselves into his fur.

"Mama an' Mummy," You say through cracked lips," Jordi...Where Mama an' Mummy?"

You don't remember much, not really.

You were playing in the forest with Frida earlier and she let you run ahead with Jordan a little bit, as long as you stayed in sight at all times.

There was a fork in the path. Usually, you swing right but Jordan got distracted by a butterfly and went left.

You followed after him, distracted by the butterfly too.

You'd tripped on something. You're not sure what it was, maybe an upturned root or tree branch. You'd tripped though and went tumbling down into the ditch.

You must have hit your head on that rock because your head is all sticky with blood.

"J-Jordi," You say, shivering," 'm cold. Mummy an' Mama be here soon?"

Jordan doesn't answer you, patting his front paws on the ground as you lean more heavily into him.

"'m tired too," You say," Havin' a little nap."

Your fingertips are freezing. You can barely move them as they go from their usual colour to a little purple. Your lips are the same colour but you can't see them.

"Jus' a little nap. A little one, Jordi."

Your eyes slip closed again as you lean your head against Jordan's body.

He whines a little, shifting around before he's curled fully around you.

Jordan's nice and warm like your blankets at home, when you're wedged between Mama and Mummy in front of the fire with a little mug of hot chocolate that Mummy makes special for you with whipped cream, chocolate shavings and marshmallows.

You don't know how long you nap for or even if you nap at all.

It's like one long blink as Jordan shifts away from you, barking and snarling.

You've never heard Jordan snarl before so you try to wrench your eyes open. It's hard going though, frozen shut by all your tears, but eventually, you get them open.

There's another dog shaped blur in front of Jordan, lying down on the ground nonplussed.

There's a human shape too and you puff out a big breath.

"Mama?"

"No, sweetie," The blob says," I'm not your Mama. But I'm here to take you to her. Can you come a bit closer?"

You try to get closer but you don't have much strength to get to your feet, all shaky and weak.

Jordan whines when you fall over and snaps as the strange woman comes closer.

"Easy," She says to your dog," I'm here to help her. That's a nasty cut you've got there. Can you tell me how it happened?"

"I...I hurted myself when I fell. Big ouchie."

"Yeah, it is. I've got a little bandage here, can I put it on you?"

"Bandage? Like-Like a plaster?"

"Like a big plaster."

You lean forward and the woman gently presses the gauze over your bleeding head.

"And what about your eyesight? Can you see me properly?"

"Like-Like a blob," You answer," Saw two Jordi's earlier but now only one."

"Okay, sweetheart, thanks for telling me." She reaches for her radio. "I've got her here. Skipper tracked her and her dog down. I've got a serious head wound and a likely grade three concussion. Complaints of blurry vision. Likely loss of consciousness. Difficulties with balance and speech. I've got early symptoms of hypothermia but it seemed her dog helped stave the worst of that off."

You reach out for Jordan again, who presses into your body.

"Got it, boss. Bringing her in now."

The woman reaches for you and you go willingly.

She'll take you to Mama and Mummy.

Jordan pads after you, still wary.

Emma sits at the entrance of the forest next to the ambulance. Frida sobs at her side, both of them wrapped in a blanket as they wait.

They know the paramedic has found you now, her and her dog Skipper have tracked you and Jordan down but it doesn't quell Emma's worry for you.

Not until the high-vis jacket pokes out from the forest and the search and rescue team swarm.

A blanket is wrapped around you tightly and the gauze is gently pulled away from your face to see the extent of the injury.

"Squish?" Frida calls, trying to fight through the crowd," Is she okay? Will she be alright?"

You're loaded into the ambulance, awake and talking as Emma and Frida crowd around you.

"Mama. Mummy," You say," Found me."

"Yeah," Emma says, blinking away tears," Of course we found you, squish."

You shiver. "Stayed put like you told me if I got lost. Stayed with Jordi."

Emma glances down at her feet. Jordan's covered in snow, streaks of blood drying on his fur.

"Jordi, good boy."

"The best boy."

Frida takes Emma's place talking to you, cupping your cheek as Emma reaches down for Jordan.

"You're such a good boy, Jordi," She tells him," For looking after her. The best big brother in the world."

"He almost attacked Skipper for trying to get to her," The search and rescue paramedic that found you says," He was very worried on the walk back. You've got a good one there. Both of them. She didn't run off. She stayed exactly where she fell."

"Thank you, for finding her."

"It's my job. We've got a hospital nearby that will take care of you all. They'll take her for a scan, sew up her head and put her on concussion watch. She'll be fine."

Emma can't help but repeat it again. "Thank you."

"Go," The woman says," Be with your kid."

You won't remember much of this experience. You'll never really remember the fall or the crack of your skull against the rock. You'll never really remember the nearly three hours you spent missing, huddled under the ledge with Jordan, who was desperately trying to keep you awake as your breathing got shallower and shallower and your got colder and colder.

You'll never remember the trip to the hospital but you will remember the paramedic that found you and her dog Skipper.

You will always remember her high-vis jacket and her body against yours as she carried you out of the forest back to your mothers.

You will always carry that memory with you, even when you're out in your own high-vis jacket with your own tracking dog and your own emergency medicine kit.

[illyrianbitch]

An Education in Malice — Part Two

Pairing: Vanserra!Reader x Azriel

Summary: With the sharp tongue of your notorious family, you are Azriel's most tantalizing challenge yet. It only takes one small meeting before you both realize that the line between hate and desire is dangerously thin.

Warnings: 18+ SMUT /sexual content (not reader and az this time tho), swearing, eris having a soft spot for his sister, some low-blow comments and jokes about experienced trauma, mentions of sex, slut shaming if you squint

Word Count: 5.9k

← Part One | Series Masterlist | Part Three

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

It was night by time Eris returned home.

The room was capped in a comfortable silence, only the crackling of the fire next to you and the soft breaths of the two hounds that surrounded you— Laney at your feet, Flint lying on the floor nearby. The couch was soft below you as you lay comfortably on it, fingers absentmindedly tracing the paper edges of the book in your hands. Despite the peace of the room, something not often found in Forest House, your mind sat heavy with racing thoughts. 

Every single one seemed to drift back to Azriel. 

You had already bathed, had already spent time delicately rubbing your skin raw of any scent, of any traces that might connect you back to your earlier decisions. It was a blessing, truly, that Eris had spent the day with his own affairs. You made a note to thank The Mother for the grace given to you— if you had returned home to your brother in the state that you had been, there was no doubt in your mind he would have made a decision even more rash than yours. 

But it didn’t seem to help. You weren’t able to wash it off as well as you’d hoped. There was something that still lingered, something ingrained into you, into your bloodstream itself. You weren't a stranger to questionable decisions— but this, this was perhaps your worst to date. 

Because there was something deep in you that now felt powerful. 

Azriel was driven by duty— by a devotion to his little family that made you angry, a devotion that left him blind and prone to defensiveness. The thought that he would have to return home, to face his family knowing he’d broken some boundary, some sense of trust…. It warmed you in a way that the fire next to you never could.  

A small creek echoed and from below you, Flint perked up, head lifting in alertness, ears perched and engaged. A moment later, Eris emerged, his eyes meeting yours instantly as he offered you a small, tired smile. He took in the scene before him as you closed the book in your lap. 

“Eventful day?”

He let out a small sigh, perching himself on the edge of the couch opposite you. Flint laid on the floor still, watching him closely as his tail thumped lightly against the ground in greeting. "I suppose.”

There was a pause as he ran a hand through his tousled hair. "And the Shadowsinger?" 

You glanced down at the book in your hands, fingers running along the edges of the pages before responding with a casual shrug. "Uneventful,” you replied, “He gave no updates.”

Eris only let out a breath in response, a single eyebrow raised momentarily.

"He’s very…reactive for a Spymaster," you added, a wry smile now playing at the corners of your lips. “You would think they’d be more collected.”

"They’re all reactive," Eris chuckled softly, his mouth turning up in a smile that mirrored your own. His gaze flickered towards the hound at your feet, and you followed his line of sight, reaching down to scratch her head gently.

"Almost more reactive than sweet Laney over here," you teased, earning a soft huff of agreement from her wet nose as she leaned into your touch.

Laney was one of the only female hounds your family owned, a true vision of regal elegance. Eris had trained her specifically for you, a hound just as stubborn and reactive as yourself— and loyal to a fault, as he had told you. 

Eris chuckled once more, a sound more gentle and quiet than his normal tone. When you turned to look at him, you were met with a face lost in contemplation, eyes glazed over as his gaze remained fixed on Laney. You frowned, feeling your brows furrow as you took him in, taking notice of the dark circles below his amber eyes.

“Go rest,” you said quietly, giving him a smile as his gaze snapped to yours. 

Eris gave you a small nod as he rose from his perch on the couch. Flint followed the motion instantly rising up from the floor to stand at his side. Your brother crossed the room to where you sat, taking large strides to the hallway behind you. There was a playful gleam in his eyes as he passed you, his hand reaching out to tousle your hair affectionately. 

"Goodnight, sister," he said softly, hand lingering on your head for a moment before he continued walking.

He made it a few more steps before you called out to him. 

"Eris," you began, turning your body to place your hands on the couch and rest your chin upon them. "I want to come to more meetings."

He turned to face you, brows furrowing in mild confusion. "Why?"

"I want to be informed.”

His eyes scanned your face. "I tell you everything I know.”

You let out a sigh, casting a quick glance toward the cracking fire. Then you looked at your brother with a small frown. “I want to be more than just a recipient of passing messages."

It was true. Although you did all the favors Eris asked of you, which extended to taking his place in meetings, he tended to avoid involving you unless it was necessary. You knew that it came from a place of protection, a sense of comfort knowing that he could perhaps save you from hurt so long as you never came near it. But you felt useless, and you wanted to do more. Collecting intel from your father’s acquaintances and listening for news was the most you’d been able to do. You didn’t want to admit that you’d been offered the taste of a newer freedom today— and you suddenly had a craving you weren’t able to smother. 

The next words that came from your mouth weren’t needed. It was wrong to guilt Eris, to take advantage of the soft spot he held for you and your power. But you did it anyway.

"I am more than just a pretty face,” you told him, “Prove to them that not all of Autumn believes females to be weak."

He hesitated for a moment, lips twitching in thought. 

"Okay," he conceded, "But not too often. We still need to avoid suspicion."

You gave him a smile. "Thank you," you said softly.

Your brother stared at you for a moment, his hand absentmindedly rubbing at the hound that stood next to him. 

"Thank you for taking my place today," He finally said, his tone sincere. "I know that meeting must not have been entertaining, with the brute and all."

A flicker of guilt sparked in your stomach, but you shrugged it away. Quickly, it was replaced with a sense of pride. What Eris didn’t know surely wouldn’t hurt him, and despite how questionable your decisions may have been, they weren’t dangerous— and certainly wouldn’t be repeated again. You gave him a grin. 

"I know how to tame beasts." 

As if on cue, Laney perked up from her position at your feet, her extended neck looking over to where Eris stood behind the couch. He let out a chuckle.

"Indeed you do.” You offered you the small, almost sad, smile once more. “Goodnight.”

With a nod of acknowledgment, you watched as he exited the room, the soft sound of Flint’s paws padding after him. 

You waited until it was quiet again, until the a distant creak of Eris's door closing reached your ears, before you turned yourself around on the couch. You brought a hand to rest on Laney’s head, leaning in closer as you gently rubbed your thumbs on her coat.

"Well that was fun, huh?" you murmured softly, the words directed more to yourself than to the hound in front of you. Laney nustled further into your touch. 

For a moment longer, you lingered in the quiet of the room, the weight of your thoughts mingling with the gentle warmth of the fire. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Azriel was going batshit crazy— this he knew for certain.

He was a sick male. A male now plagued with a disease he worried had no cure. He was on the brink of a certain madness that was driven by you, and you alone. 

A part of him wondered if your sudden involvement had anything to do with your latest encounter with him. But it made no sense— you were at every meeting with Cassian, causing him to come home grumbling about how he was forced to deal with not one, but two pretentious cunts. Yet, it was only ever Eris when Azriel was free to receive updates. 

You had always been some sort of mystery— a fact that used to drive Azriel crazy. He didn’t like unknown factors, didn’t like not knowing his threats properly. You were often shrouded away in the shadows, hidden in the affairs of the Autumn Court. In line with the Vanserra philosophies, as Azriel saw it, you, as a female, truly had no place outside of your court. The times that he did see you were all the same— some snarky comment made from your lips, a sneer at him or anyone from his family, usually Mor.

Yet, you had been there with him three weeks ago. And Azriel hadn’t been able to read you. Not properly anyway, not even when he was inside you, not even as he pushed you to completion.

And he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he enjoyed it.

You were the perfect middle ground. Not exactly an enemy— Azriel would never betray his family so deeply. But you weren’t exactly an ally either, weren’t someone he owed even an ounce of respect to— weren’t a person he needed to keep a face with. And gods did it feel good to think about how he could ruin you— how furious your brothers would be at the idea of him enjoying such intimacies with you. Eris, especially. Azriel couldn’t kill the pretentious fucker, but he could damage him in other ways. Fucking his sister seemed like a good place to start. A wonderful place for him, at least.

Not much scared Azriel. Not much at all. But this, this hunger he felt, the enjoyment he got from experiencing you, it scared him enough to instantly seek out something to distract him. 

But there was an itch he wasn’t able to scratch.

And that itch looked like you, smelled like you, sounded like you–

Azriel blinked hard, trying to shake off the haze of his thoughts. His attention snapped back to the present, finding himself gazing down at the blonde kneeling between his legs. Her blue eyes met his as she sucked on him, tongue swirling around the head of his cock as she worked the base of him with a perfectly manicured hand. 

She removed her mouth from his tip, hand still pumping the length of him as she looked up at him with wide eyes. A seductive smirk danced on her lips as she bit down on them. "I love sucking your cock,” she whispered huskily, “Does it feel good?"

Azriel stared at her for a moment, eyes still slightly glazed over. He bit the inside of his cheek as he hesitated. Then he nodded. 

"Keep going.”

He wrapped his hand in her hair, guiding her movements as he took control, bucking into her mouth with urgency. But every thrust, though pleasurable, felt unsatisfying. 

He tried for a few more minutes, tried to readjust himself on her blue velvet couch, tried to lean his head back and close his eyes as he bobbed her head on his cock— nothing worked. The image of three weeks ago was seared into the back of his eyelids, staring back at him every moment he blinked. He was stressed, frustrated, and had a boiling anger that had only continued to build up recently. Nothing seemed to be working for him, not in his duties, not in his life, not even in his sexual activities. 

He tried to focus on the sensations coursing through his body, on the pleasure the female before him was offering so freely to him. But every noise she made, every movement she made, only served to remind him that he was too on edge to enjoy it. And fuck, Azriel couldn’t even remember her name. With a frustrated growl, he pulled her off with a pop, his breaths coming out in ragged gasps. She frowned as Azriel’s hands left their place on her scalp.

When he wouldn’t reach her eyes with his own, she climbed up on him, her voice a seductive purr as she offered herself to him. 

"Use me however you want. Let your frustrations out."

For a moment, Azriel hesitated, his mind torn between desire and something else, something deeper. He could do it— and he could probably enjoy it. So long as she wasn’t facing him, so long as he could pretend it was...you?

With a sudden surge of energy, he pulled himself up, his hands gripping her tightly as he threw her onto the bed. She let out an excited sequel as he moved towards her, positioning her at the edge of the bed for him to slot himself behind her. As he entered her, a low groan escaped his lips, the sensation sending a jolt of pleasure coursing through his body. 

Her high-pitched whine echoed in the room, mingling with his grunts of exertion as he pounded into her, his grip on her hips firm—  almost bruising. She let out breathy moans in response, her body arching against his as he began to move relentlessly, beginning to buck his hips into her fast and hard.

It was then he felt a cool sensation trailing up his body, disembodied whispers drowning out her words of praise.

She walks along the mortal lands, his shadows whispered, deep in the forest.

The female below him gave another whine. 

Alone, Alone, Alone. 

Quickly, Azriel pulled out of her, leaving her gasping for air and reaching out for him in confusion. But he was already moving, hastily gathering his clothes and rushing towards the door.

Without a word, he threw some money onto the nearby dresser, barely sparing a glance as he made his way out of the door. She turned herself around to stare at the scattered payment on the counter, a frown marring her features. With a frustrated grumble, she fell back onto the bed.

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

Eris hadn’t told you much.

Beron’s men were thinly spread these days— running in and out of the court, falling into hushed whispers behind your father’s private quarters. Eris’ soldiers told him as much as they could, but with their low numbers, there wasn’t much they could do, not many places they could sneak to without notice. 

Eris was still recovering from the loss, from the men he lost to Azriel and Cassian’s slaughter— to Briallyn and her ability to render them mindless attackers. Your brother wasn’t only mourning his forces, but his friends as well. All of them meant something to him, their loyalty, the bond he had formed to gain their trust. But he would never admit it, not to himself, not even to you. There was no time for mourning in the Autumn Court. 

So you found yourself along the border to the Mortal Lands now, seeking out any sign of where your father’s men may be hiding out. From what you’d gathered so far, they had some areas of rest in the moral lands, areas that were hidden far enough to where they couldn’t be trailed, but close enough to Koschei if it was needed— and that was your fathers entire plan. He was getting desperate, he was getting paranoid— scared of his future, scared of Eris. 

You paused, a prickling sensation crawling up your spine. There was a bristle behind you and you lifted your chin in response, taking a deep breath of the air. Something flickered within you. Without turning around, you spoke into the stillness of the forest.

"Do you always stalk the females you fuck, or am I just special?" 

A voice, hard as stone, responded from behind you. "I'm not stalking you."

You turned slowly, your eyes meeting the shadowed figure emerging from the depths of the trees. Azriel stood before you, his expression flat as usual. His shadows spread out from his form, floating around him like a faint black outline. 

"Then what do you call following a lady into the woods from afar?" 

Azriel’s face remained stoic, save for the slight raise of an eyebrow. 

 "Show me a lady and then maybe I'll tell you," he said, voice dripping with a sardonic wit that set something inside you alight— something deep in your gut.

You let out a sound of surprise before you were laughing at the snark, lips curving into a smirk. Azriel tensed, his jaw tightening as the sound reached his ears.

"Oh, someone's feeling playful," you remarked with a teasing lilt, a mischievous glint in your eyes. "Rhysand give you a longer leash?"

Azriel said nothing in response, his gaze locked onto you with an intensity that made you unable to stay still. A moment passed as his eyes continued to bore into yours. And then he spoke, a tone cutting through the air like a finely sharpened blade. “You’ve been avoiding me."

There was a tinge of irritation in his tone that made you want to grin. 

So he’d noticed.

It was unintended at first, truly. Things were difficult in Autumn recently, with all the whispered rumors of your father planning something questionable. You found yourself only able to attend the meetings in which Eris met with Cassian and his, now, prized mate. 

But in the back of your head, a part of you was amused at the idea that Azriel may begin to overthink— that a part of him would get frustrated that you were just out of reach. You weren’t exactly sure why that reaction would be warranted, but you knew it would happen nonetheless. You had an idea, now, how that pretty little mind of his worked. After all, he was a paranoid, anger-prone insomniac. Those types rarely made sane decisions. Seeing him before you now, on edge, irritable, it made it worth the wait. 

You raised an amusement eyebrow.

“Have I?"

The feigned innocence in your tone burned deep with annoyance in Azriel’s gut. He grit his teeth in response. 

"Yes," he replied.

You scoffed lightly. "You have a mighty inflated sense of self. I don't decide my activities based on the likes of you."

Azriel's expression remained impassive, but you swore a flicker of something passed through his darkened eyes— a hint of frustration, perhaps. It was delicious. 

"You've begun to join Eris in our meetings.”

Your eyebrow quirked up in response. You said nothing. Azriel continued.

 "And yet, never the ones with me.”

You tilted your head at him, eyes in a narrow-squint as you ran your tongue along your teeth. Azriel’s eyes dropped to your lips, tracing the motion. A grin grew on your face.

"Have you missed me, Shadowsinger?" 

“No,” Azriel responded swiftly, “I’m suspicious of you."

"Yeah?" You crossed your arms across your chest. Once again, Azriel’s eyes fell as he took in the motion. “And whys that?” 

His eyes seemed to narrow at the playfulness in your voice, but he gave no further physical reaction, simply continuing to hold your gaze as he responded. "I don't trust you.”

You rolled your eyes. "Get in line."

"You are bordering the mortal lands," Azriel stated, his voice a low rumble. "If there are updates regarding Koschei, we should be informed."

"Why?" you challenged, a note of defiance now coloring your tone. Azriel’s jaw clenched, light pouring through the trees in a way that made the shadows on his face even harsher. His own moved around him in an uneasy dance. 

"Because we have an agreement." 

"Uh uh," you retorted, shaking your head. "You have an agreement with Eris, not me. I don't owe you shit."

His self-control was wearing thin now. Azriel hadn’t forgotten how much you tested his patience— but the past three weeks had somehow softened the aggravation he felt around you in his own mind. He was being reminded now, in real time, why it was a good idea for him to keep his distance. 

"Careful," he growled. You didn’t miss the slight twitch in his wings, still carefully tucked between his shoulder blades.

You raised an eyebrow.  "Is that a warning or a threat?" 

Azriel's gaze hardened. Without breaking eye contact, he shifted his weight, a predatory grace in his movements as he took a step closer.

"Both." 

"Let me guess,” you said mockingly, “If I'm not an ally, I'm a threat.”

Azriel narrowed his eyes, shadows swirling around him like a storm brewing. “Yes.”

You pursed your lips, taking a step towards him. Azriel’s eyes widened slightly, a small crease forming between his brows as he traced the movement. A heat stirred within you. 

"Do you fuck all your threats?" 

He clenched his jaw, a muscle ticking in his temple as his shadows danced with a restrained bite. You paid it no mind as you continued to step closer to him, closing the distance between you.

"That's why you're really here, isn't it?" 

Your voice was a low, sultry taunt. You were inches away from him now, looking up at him through your lashes as you reached a hand out to touch his chest.

He tensed beneath your touch. With a smirk playing at the corners of your lips, you slowly trailed your fingers up his chest. It took Azriel a moment too long before he grabbed your hand.

Your smirk widened, eyes flickering to where his scarred hand wrapped around your wrist. You met his eyes next, a deep, angry, brown that bore into yours. 

"How did it feel?" you said, voice dropping to a low purr, "When you went home and looked your brothers in the face, knowing you'd done yet another thing to disappoint them?"

The remark hit Azriel in his gut, twisting in his stomach with a burning intensity that he wasn’t used to. Whether it was anger, guilt, or annoyance as the vulgarity, he wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. His grip tightened almost painfully on your hand, eyes narrowing with a dangerous flame as he stared down at you. 

You didn’t flinch, didn’t tear away from his gaze. There was an addicting sense of satisfaction at having struck a nerve with him once more. You took a second to revel in the discomfort you provoked, in the way his muscles tensed at your voice– in the scent change you smelled in the air, now thick with unspoken desire and heady arousal. 

Azriel leaned down, voice dropping to a heated whisper. "I've done a lot worse than you."

He released your hand from his grip. You let it fall to your side.

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you said with a knowing grin. "And it eats you up the same, doesn't it?"

Azriel didn’t move, didn’t so much as bat an eye at you. A moment passed. And then another. Something flickered across his face. You could have sworn his eyes were now adorned with an amusing glow, that the corners of his lips tilted upwards. 

"How was it when you returned home covered in me?" he challenged, voice edged with a sweet, sweet, bitterness. “In my scent, filled with my cum?”

Shivers rippled across your skin as a cool sensation cascaded over your body. You glanced down, watching as dark shadows slithered up your form.

You took a deep breath, ignoring their ghostly touch as you raised an unphased eyebrow in response. "No one batted an eye," you replied coolly.

The shadows continued to move in Azriel’s silence, now wrapping around your neck with a possessive grip that made your heart race. You gritted your teeth at the sensation, pushing back the rush of memories that were now flooding into your mind— memories of the last time his shadows had caressed your skin, tracing every curve and dip of your body with intimate knowledge. Your eyes met Azriel’s.

"Guess you didn't leave that much of an impression.”

A low snarl escaped Azriel's lips. "Or perhaps they're used to you carrying a male's scent.”

You mocked him with a smirk, taking a step back to maintain your distance. His shadows fell from their position around your neck swiftly, rushing back to his body as Azriel's jaw clenched.

 "Well now I'm getting mixed signals. Last time I was deprived of a male’s touch, now I'm a whore?"

Azriel said nothing. His teeth seemed to grind against each other with such force that you half-expected them to break under the pressure of his frustration.

"For someone who is so sensitive about his delirious crush being called a slut, you're sure eager to throw such terms around to me." 

Your words dripped with a sense of sarcasm, a sense of mockery, that Azriel could almost feel. His wings flared out slightly in response. 

"I never said that," was his only reply. 

It wasn't an apology. No, Azriel wanted to make sure that whatever words he said were the exact ones he meant. A memory tugged at the corners of his mind, a reminder of the last time you’d stirred such a response in him, of when he had called you those very words in the heat of passion— if he could even call it that. And you had responded in kind, your body yielding to his touch with a fervor that belied any notion of innocence.

Before he could stop himself, he felt himself speak once more. "Although you seemed to enjoy it quite thoroughly when I did."

Deep in your chest, there was a flicker of flame, his words igniting a spark of something within you. You bristled at the insinuation, but dutifully ignored the comment— ignored the connotations that came with it. Instead, you hummed in response, shaking your head. 

"That's the thing with you hypocrites. You never just own up to it, do you?”

With a faint smirk still playing on your lips, you took a few steps backwards, eyes trained on him and the shadows coiling around his arms. 

“Always a displeasure to speak with you, Shadowsinger.”

As you turned around and began to walk away, there was a queasy feeling in your stomach, a realization that you'd do something to be in this position again, to find a way to rile him up. The thought of igniting that volatile spark between you, setting off sparks like last time—it was too tempting to resist. 

But as you felt the burning of his gaze into your back, you couldn’t ignore the nagging truth. He wasn't just a fun toy to play with. Azriel was obsessive, that much you could gather from him— from his history with Morrigan, from his methods of interrogation, from his pride as a spymaster. And the way he was before you now, with the intensity that he regarded you with, it would surely prove to be a problem; a hindrance to being able to help Eris to the best of your ability. 

And before your fun— before any amusement you found in Azriel— came one thing. Your loyalty to your brother. 

With a steadying breath, you paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. "Oh, and one more thing," you called out, "If you follow me again–"

You turned around completely to face him. With a hand wreathed in flame, you lazily pointed to his hands, fisted at his sides. 

"I'll pick up where your brothers left off.”

Azriel's gaze flickered down to your hand,  down to his own, and then back up to meet your eyes. 

You brought the same hand near your lips, blowing a kiss in his direction. Azriel watched as a flame danced in the air, swirling and twirling in the shape of a small heart. 

Then, without another word, you turned and left, disappearing into the forest. 

His gaze followed the flickering flame as it dissipated into the cool breeze. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

You found Eris in his room, seated at his desk as he wrote on one of many scattered papers.

Eris’ room was more full of life than one would expect, adorned with a carefully curated selection of artwork that perfectly showed his refined tastes. Various books lined the shelves of his walls. He had always been quite the scholar at heart, with a keen eye for art and literature. It was a side of your brother that few outside the family knew— a facet of his personality that he shared with Lucien. It was one of the things they shared so closely, but they never talked about it, never truly had any chance to bond beyond the trauma of existing in your family. 

The thought of it made your heart hurt. You pushed it away as you moved to sit at the edge of Eris’ bed, watching as he put his papers together before turning to look at you. When he met your eyes, you shook your head. 

 "Nothing,” you said, “But I wasn't able to get far, anyways.”

Eris lifted an eyebrow in response. “What do you mean?”

"That Shadowsinger sure knows how to keep himself busy.”

There was a tick in Eris’ jaw that told you he was more than annoyed— and that he had a few choice words he was fighting to say. But, instead, Eris simply rolled his eyes. 

“Of fucking course,” He said as he leaned back in his chair. He ran a hang along his face. "Are you able to handle him?"

You resisted the urge to snicker, at both your brother’s irritation and the experiences you’ve had with Azriel. Your mind replayed the subtle giveaways that Azriel’s body had given in response to your taunts— and then continued to pour in images of how those taunts had led him to succumbing to a primal desire. 

You met your brother's gaze with a smug shrug. "Yes,” you responded, “Very well, I’d say. He hasn’t killed me yet.”

Your words were a simple joke, but Eris seemed to tense at them nonetheless. You frowned, but the reaction was short-lived as he nodded in thought. His eyes flickered to yours. 

"Good, because I need you to take my place.”

You blinked, your brows furrowing as you leaned forward. 

"What do you mean, ‘your place'?" 

Eris met your gaze casually. "Meeting with them," he clarified, his voice steady and unwavering.

“You want me to go in your place permanently?”

You knew for certain that the look on your face was nothing short of annoyance and disgust. 

"For now," Eris replied evenly. "If they’re suspicious of you, give them a reason not to be."

You paused. Your mind raced with countless disembodied thoughts and images, the realization that you’d be around Azriel once more– and much more often; that you'd have to deal with them all. Deal with them and their blinding arrogance. Eris, for all of his outward appearances, had an ability to be diplomatic— to a certain extent at least, given his bite. But you wouldn’t be able to handle that. Not all the time, not without your brother. Your previous meeting with Eris, Cassian, and Nesta proved your point— one more comment from you, and you were sure the brute or his death-bride would have killed you on the spot.

You tilted your head at Eris. 

"And you’ll follow the leads with your men."

He nodded.

He needed your help. And if you weren’t able to keep Azriel at arms length, the least you could do was keep him occupied enough so his wandering eyes wouldn’t travel to your brother. Now that— that was something you could do. You could ruin him.

With a deep breath, you squared your shoulders and lifted your chin.

“Fine,” you said, “I’ll do it.” 

Eris gave a laugh. “How sweet that you thought you had a choice.”

You rolled your eyes as Eris stood up, brushing himself off slightly as he walked towards you. 

"But you do know that I will have to tell them our suspicions eventually.”

You scrunched your face, looking up at him with a distasteful, frustrated frown. 

"Why?" 

He lifted his brows, baring a facial expression that mirrored that of an exasperated parent. 

"Because we have an allian–”

You interrupted him with an annoyed flick of your hand.

"Alliance, yes, I know," you muttered. "Which I still don’t understand."

Eris sighed. "Y/n—"

A pent-up frustration bubbled beneath you, a simmering heat in your stomach that made you feel antsy. You did your best to bite it down, to swallow the annoyance that was suffocating you, but it was no use. You were never good at holding back your outbursts.

"No, actually, doesn’t it bother you?" you asked, your voice rising slightly. "That they think they're so much better than you, than us?"

Eris clenched his jaw, but he remained composed. This was a conversation you’d had many times before, a frustration that you’d voiced and struggled with since you learned what the emotions of hate, of contempt, truly were. 

"I don’t worry myself with what night-dwellers think of me.”

You let out an angry breath. 

"Yet you're put in a position to constantly defend yourself.”

Eris was losing his temper now, his voice growing strained as he fought to keep composure for your sake.  “I don’t enjoy aligning myself with them, but it's what's needed.”

"I would kill Beron tomorrow if you’d let me. We could do it alone."

Eris shook his head firmly. "No," he stated, his tone left no room for argument. "That is a risk I’m not going to take. Not with you, not with our mother."

"They will never see you as anything worthy of respect, Eris.”

“Their respect is not something I need,” he snapped, "When I’m fixing this court, it won’t matter.”

"It matters to me.”

There was a strain in your voice that you didn’t notice until Eris’ eyes softened. And then he was letting out a deep breath, looking at you with the hint of a frown. 

"Don’t let it.”

His voice was softer now. The same voice he’d used to soothe you during thunderstorms, the same voice that coached you through learning how to control your fire. 

"I hate them. I hate that we have to cater to them because they're our only aid right now."

"The feeling is mutual. That’s what makes this work.”

“But we have reasons to hate them," you countered, “Very valid reasons.” 

Eris sighed, a tired resignation in his tone. “They believe they have reasons, too.”

You fell silent, shaking your head in disbelief as you bit the inside of your cheek. That simmering anger still boiled beneath the surface—  the anger of feeling wronged, of being backed into a corner and then being punished for biting. 

Eris watched you closely, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"They do not matter," he reassured you. "They will never matter— not truly. We use them now, and you will never have to be near them again."

You nodded as Eris brought you into his chest, giving you a small hug as he held your head in his hand.  

But a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. Deep within the corners of your mind, deep within your chest, something told you that his words were wrong. Something old— something strong. 

✹ ✶ 𖧷 ✶✹

PART THREE

a/n: who is ready for some nasty slutty feral enemies with benefits… 😋😋 ME YALL ITS MEEEE

i was worried about writing a part w no smut but these dynamics need to be built up first 😮‍💨 its so funny to me that both her and az are like ya... i have the upperhand here.... i am winning....

enemies who actually don’t like each other >>

enemies who didn’t “always love” each other >>

enemies to forced proximity trope >>

the future of malice! az & malice! reader going from no respect towards each other to playful flirting banter >>

permanent tag list 🫶🏻: @rhysandorian @itsswritten @milswrites @lilah-asteria

malice series tag list: @going-through-shit @sidthedollface2 @justasillylittlegoofyguy @mal-adaptive-dreams @alainabooks143 @mybestfriendmademe @sfhsgrad-blog @marina468 @wonderwomanlovesyou @the-darkestminds @circe143 @starsandsins @acourtofdreamsandshadows @ysmtttty @mendes-bae

azriel tag list: @thisiskaylin

[applejusue]

ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁˙🧷 ̟ ! .ᐟ sevika ── counterfeit 01

tldr; you're down on cash, she's down on adrenaline, the most notorious hooker and the bar's most hated card dealer? a match made in heaven

`# cw drinking, gambling, cursing, sexual themes

𖤐.ᐟ ─── 𝔄𝔯𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔐𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔭𝔞𝔯𝔱 ⅠⅠ

── It suited you both perfectly.

You needed protection and steady customers, Sevika? She needed cash and a pretty face to use as bait. That's how you found yourself drawn together. You were traversing by the bar, buttering up to anyone who looked like they had a penny to spend. Sevika was sat back near the corner, legs spread with a cigarette between her lips, splaying cards across a table.

She was making her way over to the bar when you bumped into her, tits colliding with a broad chest that half knocked the air from your lungs. Sevika caught you by the hip before you hit the ground, knowing exactly what you were just from the look of you. A huff of amusement left her lips, cigarette still dangling between her wry smile.

"My apologies, ma'am.."

She basically manhandled you out of the way, setting you aside so that she could push forward to the bar before you could even process what just happened. You weren't against going after ladies, though, especially burly ones like that who could give you a pretty penny if you rubbed them right. You swayed yourself through the masses of people.

Once you came up to the bar, you pressed yourself against it, close enough to not be subtle. Sevika's eyes flickered down to your breasts, not a damn hint of shame in her as she took a sip from her whisky glass.

"Don't know what kind of game you think you're playing at, sweetheart, but I'm not interested.."

Sevika's upper body was leaned against the bar, slinging some coins across to the bartender with big hands. You weren't so convinced. Your gaze trailed over her broad frame, that rough face and the way she swung her body around like it owned the place. You let out a grumble of irritation.

You hadn't found a single good contender tonight; all the men with real money were too busy betting it away on decks. It was frustrating to no end, made worse by the guys who did want you. The ones that stalked you around the place, with no money and a delusion that they could charm you into knocking for free. You dropped the act, ordering a whisky and wiping that sensual grin off of your face. If anything, Sevika thought you looked more sexy pissed off.

"Slow night, huh? Surely a woman like you has no issue getting some dick.."

Sevika chuckled, finding herself surprisingly curious about the woes of a bar laundering escort.

"Trust me, dick isn't the problem.."

Your sarcastic, almost exasperated comment was washed down with the cold burn of whisky. Sevika got a good look at the curve of your neck as you tilted your head back to drink, and she'd be lying if she said you weren't fit for the job. You were quite popular amongst the regulars here, your services highly praised, though not without an air of caution.

"You got a reputation on you, peach, ain't no wonder they're steering clear.."

Sevika spoke, her voice low as she took a deeper drag from her cigar, not giving a damn about the smoke that she was pushing further into the crowded bar.

If your eyes could roll any further, you'd need an exorcist. You were in it for the money; what else did they expect? Most of the men here thought you were a con, ripping them off for a cheap blowie and a pisstake of a screw out behind the bar. It wasn't exactly untrue, not like they paid extra for you to look like you were into it. Still, their fragile egos be damned, they constantly stared you down despite being too penny-pinching to bother paying for you.

"Trust me, they all want it.. they'd just rather waste their cash on bets.."

The bar had become known for the gambling, pickpocketing lowlifes desperate for some sort of adrenaline that they can't find anywhere else. Every night they'd risk it all on chips and petty promises that they'd never get. You thought it was ridiculous.

Sevika let out a soft huff. She liked you, you were fussy and she could handle a woman like that.

"Yeah? You don't like cards huh.."

She was closer than before, that damn cigarette still hanging between her jaw as she glanced around the packed bar. Even she was no different, still trying to eye up her next game. She couldn't deny the allure of betting, the anger, the risks and the satisfaction. Sevika knew how to play the game; that was what made her different. Poker, Texas Hold'em, you name it and she'd beat you at it. Still, this skill made her a frustrating opponent, and so she faced a similar predicament to you. She wanted bets; you wanted cash.

That's when it clicked.

You nearly sank under the weight when Sevika slung a strong arm around your shoulders and pulled you into her side. Her breath was thick with whisky and tobacco, and she pushed her mouth to your ear. Already, people were staring. The two most notorious people in this damn bar were a match made in hell.

"If it's money you need, angel, I think I've got something in mind.."

The two of you became inseparable. She'd guide you to the playing table, having you sit up on the edge or across her spread lap. You were her perfect little distraction with your low-cut bustier and a hiked-up skirt that tempted even her. You were everything that Sevika needed: eye candy, leverage.

And Sevika was exactly what you needed: protection. She made you desirable to all those frothy gambling addicts that couldn't differentiate between you and a bag of coins. Sevika would sit wide, head tilted back with cards in one hand and the other up your skirt. You'd watch the game, men betting horses worth just to get a chance to sleep with you.

That wasn't to say Sevika was any better. It was a complicated relationship, work flushed with lust and alcohol. There were times when men wanted to do you on the poker table, to hand Sevika straight cash so she'd let them at it. It tempted you, but she would have none of it. She was like a giant bouncer, even when you badgered her that this was your job.

She'd make up for it.

Whenever she'd win, Sevika stuffed half the winnings down your shirt right in front of them, and it only seemed to make their mouths water more. It was easy work, really; you'd be red in the cheeks and drunk off your ass sitting on a warm thigh. Sevika never let you stray far, and there had been times she'd walked out mid-game, dropping a clatter of coins and carrying you out because you'd fallen asleep.

Sevika rarely lost, especially when the men were too busy staring at your breasts. Most of the time they'd be too busy thinking with their dicks rather than their brains, causing stupid mistakes that ultimately crashed their hand. Most of the time, you'd stay on her lap the entire night. But sometimes, she'd get you to act.

It was always something simple, like getting you to fetch her more whisky from the bar or pulling you back by the hair so she could whisper into your ear. It was a show, most of the time. Though sometimes she could get a little carried away with her hands all over you. You too were in it for the love of the game, though, the love of the money. You'd leave the bar with your tits stuffed full of coins, most of the time having Sevika follow you back to your room.

It was only inevitable that Sevika had grown possessive of you; how could she not? You were her bargaining chip, her prize. On the very rare occasion that she did lose, she'd watch through gritted teeth while the victor led you out back. It was a struggle not to sock that smug smile straight from his face. You always insisted that you'd be fine, and she knew you were well able to handle yourself.

That didn't mean she liked it.

Tonight was one of those nights, a stupid slip-up that allowed her opponent to get the upperhand over her. When he won she almost considered just dragging you out, but she knew that it'd be a bad look to not follow through. She was more guarded of you tonight, especially because of how drunk you were. You all but staggered after him when he dragged you out back.

Sevika folded her arms, downing another whiskey in one gulp and trying to push her head into focusing on another round while you took care of her end of the bet. She didn't even think about it, her lips in a tight line as she stared down the poor souls who were stuck with her for this round.

You were taking your damn time; the deal was thirty minutes, but it'd already gone past forty-five. The thought occurred to her that maybe you were enjoying yourself out there, something that made her jaw tighten. She threw her cards down flat, ignoring the complaints of the other players. Sevika practically shoved through the busy bar, heading to the door round the back.

Sevika was almost relieved when she found you alone. You were sitting on the ground by a dirty barrel, tits out and a cigarette between your lips. You were a little too drunk to stand up, and your chest was covered in god knows what. Sevika felt a flicker of anger trickle down her collar, and if that gentleman that decided to just leave you out here had decided to stick around, she probably would've broken his neck.

Tossing her cigar aside, Sevika approached you with heavy footsteps. She cursed under her breath at the sight of you, uncomfortable looking purple blotches on your skin and filthy from being pressed into the dirt. She knew you preferred coming out back rather than letting them up to your room, but it certainly didn't make her feel any better. Sevika grabbed a flask out from her trousers, dumping the cold alcohol onto your breasts so she could drag a ripped cloth over you.

You grunted in annoyance, rolling your head stubbornly and trying to make out who this broad figure was. Sevika's rough hands rubbed at your skin, trying to clean you off as best she could. You began to bat away her hands, trying to wriggle.

"No more, seriously.. not interested.."

Your voice came stubborn and you folded your arms, as if you had any sort of authority right now. Sevika huffed in response, dragging your face up to meet hers. You were drunk eyed and cranky from whatever you had to tolerate for the last hour, and it might've amused her if she wasn't still irritated.

"Yeah, I can see that.."

Sevika grumbled in response, dragging your corset back up with a firm tug to cover up your chest. He'd made away with your skirt too it seemed, and god if she ever found that sorry excuse of a prick he'd never get to use it again. Your thighs were dirty and grass mussed, a faint shiver to you from the cold night air. Sevika slung off her cape, wrapping it tight around your body and picking you up into her arms.

Sevika carried you back through the bar, keeping you covered closely to her broad warm chest. You didn't protest, you knew by the smell that it was her. Some of the men were still searching for a rematch, pissed off that they'd lost both their money and the chance to get laid. Sevika barked them off, pushing them out of her way with one arm. She didn't give a shit about them, or the money.

She was bringing you home.

[seozii]

── ❝ ꒰ TIRED .ᐟㅤ ៸៸﹙ Jay ﹚ ᶻ𐰁

He came home tired, so you thought it was a good idea to treat him with cuddles rather than adding to his stress.

⸝♡ fluff, 586 WC,so sorry for missing days of fictober, been busy due to some personal issues but yeah. Will try to make up for the days that have been missed (day 11 & two more I think) 𝐅𝐈𝐂𝐓𝐎𝐁𝐄𝐑

“Welcome back jay!” You greeted A wide grin spread across your face when you saw the door fling open and jay stepping into the apartment.

He had been long gone, away at the company to work on somethings the manger had tasked them to do. You couldn’t deny how long the entire day felt without him.

Rising up from the chair, you stood up to give him a big hug.

It took you by surprise when you felt jay wrap his arms around you even tighter, which was something not so usual. It only happened on days like this when he was tired and stressed.

He finally pulled out looking at the ground with an embarrassed expression. “I’m sorry if I hugged you too tightly” he apologized not breaking eye contact with the ground.

“Hey you don’t need to be sorry, you needed it anyways” you reassured gently using your hand to Pat his shoulders.

“C-can you please cuddle with me?” He asked getting shy at his own request.

He was never the type to speak up whenever he wanted something from you. It was either you guessed or unintentionally do it. You were always the one initiating for cuddles.

“Sure!” You beamed smiling at him, carefully taking his hand in yours as you led him up the staircase.

You laid on top of the bed rolling and tumbling, sinking into the softness of the duvet. While jay washed up, changing into his pajamas after.

He climbed onto the bed, lying not even up to an inch away from you. He wasn’t All too Familiar with how cuddling works, so he left all the work for you.

Seeing no action had been taken place you turned back to look over at jay. “What’s wrong? Didn’t you say you wanted to cuddle?” You asked a hint of worry in your tone.

“I-I do but…..how do I put this” he stammered avoiding eye contact with you. “I don’t know what to do” he blurted out.

You giggled at his reaction, understanding what he meant. “I get you. Don’t worry then”

With your full body facing him, you leaned in closer.

His heart was racing with his mind running with thoughts of what you could possibly pull off next. The distance from your face to his was enough to make him nervous.

He was a bit startled and disappointed when all you did was wrap your hands around him, snuggling into his chest like a bear.

It wasn’t like he didn’t like it, he was just expecting something more, like a kiss or does things that happen at that moments in a Wattpad story.

But there was something about the warmth of your body that made him feel comfort.

He slowly melted into your arms, shrugging off his previous thoughts and disappointment. It was better to enjoy the moment now that occupying his mind with thoughts he knew would rarely come through.

Everything about your body felt so soft, and comforting, it made him feel at ease. He didn’t even notice that he was already drifting off to sleep, constantly closing and opening his eyes trying to fight the urge to stay awake.

After minutes of trying to fight the urge to fall asleep his eyes slowly closed, his breath became steady.

“Aww so cute” you squealed lightly pinching his cheeks as you took in the sight of his cute sleeping face.

[ashthesalamipiece]

“The Original Disaster Talk”

Teen!Bakugo x Mitsuki Bakugo (his mom)

Tags: Humor, Embarrassing Parenting, Family Chaos, Origin Story

---

There are a few moments in every man’s life that leave a permanent scar.

For Katsuki Bakugo, age 13, that moment came on a random Tuesday afternoon.

He’d just gotten home from school, stormed upstairs like he always did, and was about to open incognito mode for very educational purposes when he heard the knock.

“Oi, Katsuki,” came the voice of Mitsuki Bakugo, aka his mom, aka a hurricane in heels. “We need to talk.”

Bakugo blinked, suspicious. “About what?”

She opened the door before he could protest.

“You’re gettin’ taller. You’re smellin’ worse. And you’ve been hogging the bathroom like you’re hiding a whole-ass relationship in there,” she said, arms crossed.

Bakugo’s soul left his body. “W-what?! No, I haven’t—what are you talking about?!”

“Puberty, dumbass,” she snapped. “It’s happening. I’m not letting your sweaty little teenage man-hormones wreck this house without a warning.”

He turned bright red. “I DON’T HAVE MAN-HORMONES!”

“Bullshit,” Mitsuki said, tossing a pamphlet onto his bed titled “So You’re Growing Hair There, Huh?”

Bakugo stared at it in horror. “What the hell is this?!”

“Your dad was too much of a coward to have this talk with you, so now it’s my job,” she said, sitting on the edge of his bed like this was a normal Tuesday. “Let’s start with the basics. Boners happen. Deal with it. You’re gonna get them at the worst possible times. Don’t point ‘em at people.”

“OH MY GOD,” Bakugo howled, grabbing a pillow and screaming into it.

Mitsuki continued unfazed. “If you’re gonna, y’know, touch yourself, do it in private. Wash your hands. Don’t get weird with socks. Don’t break the plumbing. Don’t google anything that ends with ‘hub’. And if I ever catch you lying about what you’re doing in the shower—”

“I’M NEVER SHOWERING AGAIN,” Bakugo yelled from under the pillow.

“—you will be grounded, and I will tell Auntie Inko.”

“PLEASE STOP TALKING!”

She stood, patting his head like she’d just taught him how to tie his shoes. “You’ll survive. Just remember: if something’s leaking or growing and you don’t know why, talk to a damn adult.”

Bakugo peeked out. “You’re the worst.”

She smirked. “You’ll thank me when you’re a dad and your kid starts cryin’ because of a math test and a surprise boner.”

He would not thank her.

Not for a long, long time.

---

End Scene

Thus began the generational trauma of Bakugo men being emotionally damaged by The Talk. And so, the legend lives on…

[spider-stark]

SWORN PROTECTOR

Criston Cole x Targaryen!Reader

Summary - After sneaking back into the Keep from a night spent out in the city, you find your sworn protector, Ser Criston Cole, waiting for you in your room.

Warnings - fem!reader, targtower!reader, not edited, reader has mommy/daddy issues, duty turned devotion type bullshit, criston can't just guard a woman without falling in love ig, yearning

Word Count - 2k

!MINORS DNI!

// masterlist // send me your thoughts // comments & reblogs appreciated! //

Soft footfalls echo in the narrow corridor of Maegor’s passages. You keep a palm cupped around the candle in your other hand, protecting the flame so it won’t gutter out. Secret doors are scattered throughout the corridor, each leading into bedchambers or solars or other forgotten passages. Having already left your brother, Aegon, at the secret door leading to his room, you keep count of your steps. 

One, two; seven, eight; thirteen, fourteen; twenty, twenty-one.

At just over twenty-five paces, the exact distance between his room and yours, you stop, turn to the left and blow your candle out, setting it on the ground for next time you go sneaking through to passages. 

Cold stone bites at your palms as you press them against the aged door. You cringe with every scrape and groan as you push it open. When there’s a gap just wide-enough, you turn sideways and shimmy inside. 

You’re greeted by warm light, candles flickering from all around your room, chasing the shadows of dusk into faraway corners. If you weren’t so preoccupied with heaving the door back into place, adjusting the tapestry that hides its seams from view, you may have noticed that there are more candles lit now than when you slipped out earlier, having abandoned the Keep in favor of a night spent in the city lying below Aegon’s High Hill. 

When all is as it was, the secret door shut and covered, you turn around. Heaving a sigh, you shrug your cloak from your shoulders, letting it fall into a heap on the floor. Gooseflesh immediately forms along your arms, kissed by the chill breeze blowing in from the open balcony. 

You walk to the vanity on the far side of your room, rolling your neck and shoulders, muscles sore from hours spent dancing among the smallfolk in a Flea Bottom tavern. Exhaustions made your bones weary, fantasies of crawling into warm sheets plague your mind. They tempt you, urging you to forego your nightly routine in favor of sweet, sweet sleep. 

Your footsteps falter, casting a wistful glance down your shoulder to your bed when—

Seven Hells! 

Your pulse jumps, a scream threatens to rip from your throat at the sight of a figure sat on the foot of your bed. You react quickly, clamping a hand over your mouth to muffle any sound, not wanting to raise alarm amongst the guards. Recognition washes over you in a matter of seconds, taking them in one detail at a time: their weathered boots and polished armor, tanned skin and ever-present frown. 

Lowering your hand, you have half a mind to curse Criston for frightening you like this, for not announcing himself as soon as you snuck in—

Rational thought trumps what remains of fear. 

He had to have seen you—sneaking in from the passages, hiding the door upon entrance. 

Fuck. 

The air turns thick. Every breath is like sucking treacle into your lungs, slow and suffocating. Criston’s stare is heavy, his expression like weathered stone. Armor grinds against itself as his arms cross over his chest. “Where have you been?” 

There’s some relief that he doesn’t first question you about the passages. Does he already know about them, you wonder? After all, before Criston became your protector, he was sworn to your half-sister, Rhaenyra—who, in your youth, was said to be quite rebellious. 

A trait Criston finds to be alive and well within you. 

You look away from him, continuing to your vanity. “I was out,” you answer, purposefully curt. “Obviously.” 

Nudging the vanity stool with your foot, you take a seat upon its plush velvet cushion. Criston pushes off your bed, and you fight a smirk at the sound of his footfalls, heavy and fervent as he strides to your side. 

“Out where?” 

You pull your neatly plaited hair over your shoulder, watching yourself in the mirror as you untie the ribbon binding it. “In the city,” you tell him, tossing the scrap of silk onto the vanity top. “Where else would I go?” 

“Were you alone?” 

You reach for your brush, begin combing. “What does it matter?” Before he can answer, you catch his gaze in the reflection, eyes playfully narrowing as you ask, “If I said that I wasn’t, would you be jealous, Ser Criston?” 

He certainly looks jealous. 

The knight’s breathing is shallow, tanned cheeks flush with frustration. At your question, a muscle feathers in his jaw, clenched so tight that you can nearly hear his teeth grind together. There’s a dark gleam in his eyes, a shadow of rage—not at you, you don’t think. But at whoever may have been graced with your presence tonight, showered with your favor and affection. 

“As your sworn protector,” Criston says, voice strained, “I have a right to ask if you were escorted by another member of the Kingsguard.” 

There’s such emotion in it—the way he said: Your sworn protector. A trembling betrays his fraying restraint, revealing the raw nerve beneath and exposing Criston’s desperation, a desire to not only be sworn to you, but to be wholly possessed by you. 

Your sworn protector—no longer a title, but an identity. 

Your sworn protector—no longer an oath, but a sacred devotion. 

You set your brush down, holding his stare with a faint smirk. “I’m afraid that doesn’t answer my question, Ser.” 

Something snaps. His mouth twists into a scowl. 

“Are you truly so thoughtless, princess?” Criston asks, his tone maintaining a delicate balance between respect and disappointment. “Do you understand it’s your very life you play with? And that it’s not only you who would suffer the consequences of this… this utter lack of duty! This wanton negligence!” 

You could have him dismissed from the Kingsguard for this. 

For speaking so freely. For interrogating a princess. For trespassing in your rooms. 

Criston continues, “If something were to happen to you, my life is forfeit. The king would–” 

He’s interrupted by wood screeching against stone, the vanity stool thrust back as you rise to your feet. You turn to stand toe-to-toe with the knight, chin tilted to lock eyes with him. “The king,” you hiss with a sickly smile, contradicting the venom in your voice, “would do nothing—just as he’s done all my life.” 

The energy shifts. Criston’s scowl morphs to a pitying frown. 

“He is your father,” his protest is a tentative breath, laced with underlying uncertainty, “if something happened to you, he would seek justice.” 

You laugh, low and bitter. Shake your head and shove past the knight. “If he mistook me for Rhaenyra, perhaps,” you say, kicking off your shoes as you head to the wardrobe next to your bed. “If not, then I imagine he wouldn’t even notice I’m gone. My life—the lives of my siblings—has never meant anything to him.” 

Criston redirects, facing you now. He argues, “It means something to your mother.”—And to me, he holds back. 

A scoff, throwing the wardrobe open. 

Your mother loves you, of course—but it’s the kind of love that hurts. It’s cold distance and piercing scrutiny, violent words and stinging cheeks. If you were to die, she would certainly mourn. But it won’t change that she failed you. It won’t make her a good mother. 

When you don’t respond, mindlessly digging through a drawer of nightgowns, Criston knows better than to broach that particular topic any further. 

With a hesitant breath, he says, “It’s my duty to protect you. To keep you safe.” He takes several steps, decreasing the distance between you by coming to stand at the foot of your bed. You stay facing the wardrobe. “It’s true that I cannot tell you what to do—if you wish to fraternize with common-men—” such distaste laces this word—“then that is your will.” 

There’s a pause. Your hands falter, swathed in a mess of silky fabric as you wait for him to continue. 

“I only ask that you heed caution, princess. For you to allow me to accompany you and do my job—to safeguard your life, your virtue-”

Genuine amusement floods your chest. It spills from your lips in a string of vivacious giggles. “Is that what this is about, Ser Criston? My virtue?” You settle on a nightgown, turn around and toss it onto your bed. You glance to the foot of it, at Criston and his ever-present frown. “You truly are a jealous man,” you muse, smiling, “aren’t you? Thinking I go into the city to fuck common-men.” 

His fists tighten at his sides, the blatant mockery in your voice having invited a wave of embarrassment. 

“It was not my intention to imply that—” 

The words catch in Criston’s throat as you turn the opposite way, slip your shirt over your head and shimmy out of your trousers, leaving the smallclothes beneath. All he can see is your back—the smooth column of your spine, brushed by tendrils of long, silver hair—but that’s enough. 

Enough to make his heart jolt, hammer against his ribcage. Enough to make his knees weak, threaten to buckle beneath his weight. Enough to light a fire inside him, flames licking at every inch of his skin. 

Grasping at the final shreds of his restraint, Criston averts his gaze to the floor. 

He swallows on a too-dry throat. “King’s Landing is full of vile men, princess,” he tells you, a sense of guilt pricking at his conscience. “And vile men are known to commit vile acts.” 

You reach out an arm, grab the nightgown and pull it over your head. Silk glides over your skin, covering the exposed flesh that tempts the knight so. 

Whirling to face him, you ask, “And what about you?” 

Criston doesn’t answer, still studying the rug beneath his feet with a staggering intensity. You catch his brow furrow, though, a small wrinkle forming there. You elaborate on your question. 

“You’re a man in King’s Landing,” you tell him, leisurely placing one foot in front of the other, gliding to where he stands at the end of your bed. “Are you as vile as the rest of them, Ser Criston?” 

Again, only silence. 

You take another step. Less than a foot of space separates you, close enough now to scent the earthy musk of his armor. “Some might think it vile,” you continue, taunting him, “for you to be here right now—hiding in my bedchambers well after dark.” 

Criston stammers, his words broken-up by serrated breaths, “I merely wished to know that you were safe, princess.” Dark eyes flutter up from the floor, drawn to yours. “My intentions were pure.” 

“Were?” 

His blood thrums. His lungs ache. 

You continue, “Do you mean your intentions have changed, Ser Criston?” 

Criston tells the truth. “No.” With you, his intentions are always pure. It’s his desires that complicate things. “My intentions are the same,” he tells you, clearing his throat, “I only wish to know you’re safe. That you’re well-protected.” 

Your mistrust in his answer is evident. Lips pursed, your eyes scan his face, searching for something. At this moment, he feels every bit like prey. A cornered animal trapped beneath the searing gaze of a dragon, left entirely at your mercy. 

A part of him is terrified. Another, utterly entranced.

Finally, you click your tongue. Reaching out a hand, you place it against his chest. His gaze falls, staring at where your palm is pressed to his armor. He wonders how it might feel against his skin. “You’re an honorable knight, Ser Criston,” you tell him, smiling. “A good man, too.” 

Criston doesn’t remember the need for oxygen until your touch falls away. 

Turning your back to him again, you stride back around your bed, pull the blankets back, and sit on the edge of your mattress. His mind is still reeling when you next speak.

“I was with Aegon.” 

Criston blinks. “What?” 

“You asked if I was alone,” you say, reminiscing on his earlier question, “I wasn’t. I was with Aegon—who was accompanied by Ser Erryk.” Sliding your legs beneath the blankets, you lean back against a stack of plush pillows. “So I was well-protected from those vile men you speak of.” Chewing on your lip, fighting a wider grin, you add, “I just thought you might like to know—despite how unjealous you are.”  

Criston’s own lips twitch, curving upwards. 

“Good,” he says, a bit awkward. Then: “And about that secret door…” 

You groan, tossing your head back against the pillows. Criston softly chuckle, another lecture already poised on the tip of his tongue. 

It’s going to be a long night.

a/n - idk man. I randomly decided at 8pm that I needed to write 2k words about this man after never writing for him a day in my life, and this is the product of that. any and all feedback is welcome and much appreciated!

[scarnatlover]

Could you write a Natasha x reader fic where reader gets back from a mission and is really sore so Nat gives reader a massage and reader lets out a little moan then things get heated?

(If not it’s fine)

(Also do you write G!P? If you do can this be a g!p story?)

A little bird told me...

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x G!P Reader (romantic)

Warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT. sexual themes, smut, Reader has a cock, sensual massage, mommy kink, mention of punishment, light choking, cowgirl, missionary, lingerie, nipple piercing, handjob, blowjob but not really, alcoholic parent (mention), murder/death (mention) blood (mention), talking about trauma.

A/N: I'm sorry if anything is spelled incorrectly, but English is not my first language. I apologize in advance for my grammar and spelling. If you have any request, I will try and write them.

It was late when the Quinjet finally landed. The mission had gone very well. You, Clint, and Sam had retrieved the information Fury had requested, but not without struggles. You had promised Nat that you would return to her without a scratch, when in reality you were not entirely without injuries. A few cuts here and there, but still nothing to worry about; at least in your opinion.

Nat was waiting for you at the bottom of the ramp, arms crossed and a big smile plastered on her face. You slowly approached her, then put your bag on the ground to hug her, resting your head on her shoulder as one of her hands scratched the back of your neck and the other caressed your back.

"So? How did it go?" she asked, kissing your head before cupping your face in her hands and giving you a kiss that probably lasted longer than it should have. "Any injuries I should know about?" You just shook your head, not wanting to admit that you were actually hurt. But Nat could see right through your lies. "Hey, hey, what did we say about lying? We don't lie to each other, and I know for a fact that this cut wasn't there when we saw each other this morning," she said, referring to the cut on your eyebrow. She then slid her hand from your face to your hand, taking it in hers, and walked with you to your room.

Once inside, she helped you take off your shirt, tended to your wounds, scolded you for not being careful enough, and then left you in the bathroom alone to shower.

"Babe?" you heard her call from the other side of the door as you washed your hair. "Do you want me to give you a massage? I know how relaxing they are, especially after a mission," she continued. You said yes of course, without even hesitating. You've always loved the feeling of her hands on you, even before you started dating. From the way she'd comfort you by placing a hand on your back when a mission wasn't going well, to the way she'd accidentally caress your cock when you were sitting next to each other.

Once out of the shower, you dried yourself, body and hair, then wrapped a towel around yourself and left the bathroom, only to see the lights in the room off, except for your table lamp, which was the only source of light in the room, and Nat sitting on the bed dressed only in her underwear and at that sight you felt your cock harden.

You went to your underwear drawer so you could cover yourself, but Nat stopped you before you could. Turning to look her in the eyes, you noticed that she had already pulled out some boxers for you. Her favorites, to be precise. That black pair of Calvin Kleins she bought you a few months ago. The same pair that you know she completely loses her mind over.

"Put them on and then lie on your stomach. I can see how tense your back is," she said, occasionally biting her lower lip, her gaze never leaving your body, focusing mainly on your eyes, your abs, and the outline of your cock, which was slowly getting harder.

Without hesitation, you did what she said, putting on your underwear and then lying on your stomach. You heard her get out of bed and go to the bathroom, then return and set down a bottle of massage oil. 

"It's your favorite. Now, relax and let me do all the work." 

Her hands hovered over your skin, just close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from her palms. She started at your shoulders, her touch gentle, teasing. She pressed her thumbs into the tense muscles at the base of your neck, working slowly in firm, circular motions. You sighed softly, your body melting beneath her touch With each stroke, you could feel yourself getting harder, she let her hands glide lower, tracing the curve of your spine. Her fingers spread, following the natural lines of your body, applying just enough pressure to unravel the knots of tension wound tight beneath your skin. You arched subtly, groaning, responding instinctively to the pleasure coursing through you as her hands worked magic, easing away the day's stresses.

She paused, dipping her hands back into the bowl of warm oil, letting it drip languidly over your back. It cascaded in slow, lazy streams, pooling at the base of your spine. She spreads it evenly with her palms, kneading your flesh with a mix of tenderness and control, the friction building a steady, delicious heat. As her hands ventured lower, her thumbs pressed into the small of your back, eliciting a soft gasp and a light hump against the pillow under you. She moved deliberately, savoring every inch of you, reading the subtle shifts of your body like a map. She could feel you breathing slow, your muscles loosening under her touch. Each stroke was an invitation, a promise, lingering just at the edge of something deeper.

Her touch grew bolder, exploring the curve of your body, tracing patterns that left your breath hitting. You turned your head to the side, your eyes fluttering closed in pleasure, surrendering completely to the rhythm of her hands. She leaned in, her breath warm against your ear as her fingers danced along your skin, every touch deliberate, every movement a silent conversation. And just then, from the immense pleasure you were feeling and from the contact between her pussy and your hips, making you feel how excited she was too, you let out a moan.

“Did you just-? God, turn over, on your back. Now,” and you did just that. She got off the bed, standing in front of you with her arms crossed and a smug smirk on her face, giving you the chance to turn around. Once on your back, she could clearly see your erection and the stain of pre-cum. “Oh baby, look at it. You got all turned on, just because Mommy was giving you a massage, hm.”

She slowly moved closer to you, swaying her hips, and sat on your lap, making you moan as her soaked panties touched your erection. She started grinding back and forth, moaning, while you could only whimper, throwing your head back. She gripped your jaw, looking into your eyes.

“A little birdie told me,” she began, her hips never stopping to move, “that today isn’t the first time you’ve lied to me this week,” she continued, increasing her speed. She moved her hand from your jaw to wrap around your neck, choking you and making your eyes roll to the back of your head. “You know how much Mommy hates lies. Normally this would mean you'd be getting punished, but not tonight. But I'll take my time with you,” she concluded, kissing you hard.

At this point, you couldn't even think clearly. Her hand on your throat, applying gentle pressure, her violent kisses, her hips that kept rocking above you didn't allow it. For this, you just nodded without even really understanding her statement. And suddenly, everything stopped. She got up, leaving you alone on the bed, and stood in front of you. You sat on the bed and wrapped your arms around her waist, resting your chin on her sternum.

“I missed you so much, bunny,” she whispered, kissing your forehead and running her hand through your hair repeatedly. She definitely missed you judging by the lack of underwear in the drawer, snack wrappers in the bin, and sweatshirts thrown around the room.

You smiled sweetly at her and she immediately smiled back and kissed you softly. She sat down on you, but not before pulling down your underwear, presenting your hard cock, and taking off her panties in turn, which you only now realized were your favorite and that they matched the bra she was wearing, the pink color almost the same as her pale skin given the dim light in the room.

She grabbed your cock, raised herself slightly, and slowly slid your cock inside her. She sat on you, still, enjoying the pleasurable sensation of being full. She took your hands that were on her hips and slowly placed them on her breasts. “I have a surprise for you,” she said, moving her hands behind her back and quickly unhooking her bra. She threw it somewhere in the room, but you didn’t notice because what you were focused on were the jewels attached to her nipples. “Do you like them, bunny? You know, they’re much more sensitive now,” she commented, bringing your hands to her globes again. You started to gently massage her boobs, her mouth making the shape of an O. But when you finally teased and pinched her nipples, she couldn’t help but moan loudly.

She finally started to move back and forth on you. You started thrusting, to help her reach climax before you. Usually in these moments she's the one trying to make you come first, but tonight you decided to let her take precedence. Moving a hand from one of her breasts to use as support, you quickly changed positions, with you now on top of her.

You increased your thrusts, moving your other hand to her clit and making tight circles on it, occasionally applying a little pressure. She cried out in pleasure, her movements slowly stopping just like your thrusts, but continuing long enough to allow her to prolong her orgasm as much as possible. She only stopped completely when she started to feel overstimulated.

She let you slide out of her, but still remained sitting on your lap. “You didn’t come?” she asked, but it was less of a question and more of a statement. You shook your head and she sighed, a little disappointed that you didn’t finish inside her. She stood up and slowly walked over to your nightstand, where you kept the various bottles of lube. She grabbed one and walked back to you. She fell to her knees in front of you and squirted some onto her hand. You watched her every action, every move with apprehension.

She finally closed her hand around your length, making you throw your head back in pleasure. Natasha started moving her hand up and down your shaft, slowly at first to get you fully hard, then gradually faster. “Mommy is making you feel good, mhm?” to which you quickly nodded, letting out moans and groans. “Are you close? Do you want to come for Mommy? Want to be a good little bunny for me?” she asked in vain, because she already knew the answer.

“Please Mommy” you started thrusting too, trying to find the right speed to make you come faster.

She squeezed her hand a little tighter while with the other she gently massaged your balls. Seeing you so close to her peak, she engulfed the tip of your cock, tracing the outside with her tongue, and she started sucking. Feeling the sensation of her lips and her tongue on your sensitive tip finally made you cum in her mouth.

She swallowed it all, but when she looked at your face instead of a happy look, she saw only tears. She took action immediately. She laid you down on the bed and ran to the bathroom and started filling the bathtub. Once she was done she came back to the room, this time seeing you face down. She sat down next to you and placed her hand on your back, offering you silent comfort. She gently took your face in her hands, making your eyes meet.

“I have a hot bath ready. Do you want to come with me?” she whispered, giving you a big smile.

You followed her without hesitation, wanting only to be with her in that moment. She went in first, making sure your back was against her chest, and left soft kisses wherever she could reach. Despite her attempt at silent comfort, your tears wouldn’t stop falling. “Do you want to talk about it?” Nat asked, noticing the river of tears.

“I saw something while I was on a mission” you whispered, your voice cracking with almost every word. Nat continued to kiss you, waiting for you to tell her what set you off. “It was like I was in that house and I was reliving that night all over again.” Nat stopped suddenly.

During your relationship, surprisingly, you were the one who had the hardest time opening up. You grew up in a toxic environment and she knew it. “Nothing compared to what you went through,” you told her every time. But Natasha always responded, comforting and reassuring you, saying that her traumas were just as important as yours and that they shouldn’t be compared. Of course, you told her, briefly and without much detail, what you went through.

How you grew up in a toxic environment. Your father was a workaholic, who would get irritable whenever he wasn’t at work or if he didn’t have full control over things. Your mother was an alcoholic, who could only go a short time without drinking alcohol. They never hit you or hurt you physically, but the scars remained. You saw things a child should never see.

One night things got particularly bad. You had just come home from spending the day at a friend’s house. As you entered the house, you noticed that the lights were off, except for the kitchen ones. You walked towards the light, thinking that one of your parents had accidentally left it on before going to bed, but instead, when you entered, all you saw was your father’s inert body on the floor, a pool of blood all around him, and your mother was nowhere to be seen. After that, your memories are all hazy, as if your mind had shut down. You only remember Nick Fury sitting in front of you while you're at the police station.

Natasha placed her hands on your shoulders, massaging them and tightening her grip, as if to reassure her. "I know it was hard. But you're strong. Stronger than you think." You opened your eyes and looked at Natasha, a look of gratitude in your eyes. "Thank you, Nat. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Natasha smiled at you, stroking a lock of your damp hair. "We're a team, remember? Always and no matter what." The two of you were silent for a moment, listening only to the sound of the running water.

You rested your head on Natasha's shoulder, feeling protected and safe. Tears slid down your face, but this time they weren't tears of pain, but of relief. Natasha gently wiped your cheeks with her thumb. "It's okay, my love. I'm here."

[levigarden999]

love or heaven ₊ ⊹ levi x reader fluff ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

theme : fluff , healing , you get levi to open up about his late mother, levi misses his mother words : 1,5 k notes : this was heavily inspired by the theory where the white 'scarf' around levi's neck is actually a piece of fabric from his mother's dress. i just love kuchel and levi so much omg

the night was serene at the head quarters. as you walked through the training grounds, the moist grass and the cold gravel under your feet made you feel more vulnerable than in a long time. you held your arms firmly crossed, attempting to warm yourself up despite the fact you were wearing a warm set of pajamas, the edges of the pants so long they got slightly wet from the frosty grass. you looked around, it was awfully quiet with only the sounds of occasional crickets filling the cool night air. it was chilly and the sky was dark, covered with stars that reminded you of a distant mystery. a distant mystery of a man called levi ackerman, who your eyes finally landed on.

he was lying on a small cliff near the edge of the forest, a cliff which was mainly used to train the scouts. once a week levi kept a tough training session for the youngsters and one thing it included was uphill running on this very same cliff. you could barely see in the dark, but the moon allowed the reflected light of the sun to cast blue shadows on the ground and light up the world enough for you to see.

as you began to walk the cliff upwards, your eyes focused on levi. his hair was a little disheveled and pushed back, exposing his face in its’ full glory. you walked next to him, your eyebrows arching in concern. he was keeping his eyes closed, his beautiful thick lashes resting on his soft cheeks. his skin looked nearly white under the moonlight and for a moment, you wondered if he was asleep. however, you recognized his usual frown between his eyebrows, telling you he was wide awake and acknowleding your presence.

he was wearing a pair of black slacks and a gray shirt with a black coat. he almost looked like he was resting on his damn grave with how little he moved, but the small movement of his chest revealed that he had some sort of life left in his body. your eyes focused on something else too – he was holding a white cloth against his chest. his hands gripping the material, almost clutching it.

”levi?” you asked quietly as you crouched beside him. you knew that levi often left your shared bed in the middle of the night to come here and just be. you figured it was one of those moments in his life that he desperately needed to function, to carry all the pressure and trauma he had. however, tonight you felt different. he had been disappearing a lot more lately, which worried you.

”what.” he asked, his voice raspy and barely audible. his eyes didn’t open.

”what are you doing here?” you asked gently, even though you knew the answer. it was surely a stupid question, but in your worry you couldn’t come up with anything better. you didn’t want to touch him, you didn’t want to rip him away from whatever daydream he was having. you had to see if this man would finally, finally, not push you away.

”go back to bed.”

you sighed, your heart feeling heavier again. you so desperately wanted to know the right words to say, to know the right way to approach him. to know how the hell to reach this man.

you looked back at the piece of cloth in his hands. it was white and washed, you wasn’t sure what it was but it reminded you of the cloth levi often wore around his neck.

”what’s in your hand?” you asked, still not touching him. however, you noticed his fingers twitching just the tiny bit. his grip on the fabric got tighter, as if he was seeking for something.

it was silent a few moments, a gentle breeze of cold wind making the trees whisper to each other.

”my mother’s dress.”

you fixated your gaze back to him, and to your surprise, his eyes were open. the look in those dark glossy marbles made your skin shiver. it was longing. desperation.

you knew he had a mother who had passed away when he was only a child, but that was practically all you knew about her. you wondered if he often stared at some particular distant star that somehow drew him in, a star that reminded him of his mother, a star he was afraid that would disappear some day.

”it’s a piece of her dress?” you asked, nearly as a whisper. you were testing the waters, afraid that he would close in again and flee from your love.

”yes. she died with this dress on. i needed something to remember her about, so i took a piece just before kenny took me.” levi explained. you noticed the way a desperate arch had formed on his eyebrows. his eyes were wetter than before, his usual dagger looking eyes were now similar to a small boy’s. a boy’s who was afraid and seeking for something unknown.

you inched closer and sighed softly, but you were still too afraid to touch him. you looked down at his face, hoping he would look at you and not the distant memory that was no longer here.

”can i touch it?”

that made levi’s eyes shift to you and he blinked. for once it really seemed like he didn’t have much to say and that made you worry that you had said something wrong, but no. something about his eyes changed again as he looked at you, as if he was looking hopeful. a glimmer of the moon’s light flickered in his irises, before he handed you the cloth carefully with his delicate fingers.

you took it in your hands, gently holding it and feeling it between your fingers. the fabric was clearly worn out and a little rough, but it was clean. levi probably washed it regularly. you could imagine levi’s mother wearing the dress, even though you had no idea what this woman had looked like. you bet she was a bright, strong women, someone beautiful who never stopped loving her son.

as your eyes flickered back to levi, your heart swelled and nearly burst. you saw tears. tears on those beautiful, white cheeks of his, a lonely blow of wind making a strand of raven black hair fall on his forehead. levi was staring at the cloth in your gentle fingers, his gaze filled with unknown sorrow, but also relief. as if he had given a piece of himself to you, a piece of his memories and dreams – and he had done just that. the cloth held a piece of his past, his emotions, his murderous doings but also heroic acts. the fabric had his whole life in it, which you now lovingly held – you had touched levi’s heart.

”levi..” you whispered and quickly laid beside him, holding a hand on his cheek. you bruhed his tear off with your thumb, looking at him with so much sincere love and affection. you could feel his emotions, all the pain and suffering he had kept inside all these years. all this love and devotion he felt for his late mother made him who he was and you realized that his mother had raised him and loved him, even if she was dead.

levi turned on his side and took the cloth back from you, which you allowed. he held it against his chest once again, like a baby boy holding he’s first plush toy. you wondered if levi ever even had toys in his childhood, beside a knife.

”thank you.” you whispered, looking at his wetted eyelashes and eyes that currently stared down at your neck. he was too afraid to meet your gaze, because he knew it would make all this real. it would make it real that he really had allowed you to truly see him. he didn’t want to allow himself to accept your love or sympathy.

”thank you for letting me meet her. it means a lot.” you continued and smiled softly. levi glanced up at you, more life in his eyes than ever before. it surprised you that you somehow enjoyed this sad, pained and vulnerable look on him more than you did his usual stoic, cold look. even if it was because of pain and suffering, it made his eyes look more human than ever before. and you believed it was a tough spot for levi, since he wasn’t used to be seen as a regular human.

but that was what he was. a human. an emotional, feeling being.

”sometimes i… miss her.” he admitted, his voice only a shaky whisper. you pulled his head closer to your chest, your hand slipping into his black hair which was now damp from the moist grass under us.

”you’re allowed to do so, levi. it would be odd if you wouldn’t.”

levi was quiet for a moment, but you felt his calm breath against the crook of your neck.

”do you believe one of those stars represent her?” you ask, after another breeze of wind passes past you.

”those stars were the same before and after she died. those stars remain the same after you and me die, too. so, no.” his voice was quiet and hoarse.

you remained silent.

”so you don’t believe in a soul? reincarnation? after life?” you eventually asked.

”no. i believe in emotions and memories that we have left from the people who were taken away. believe it or not.” he let out a small huff.

”and it’s enough for me. to love her, to remember her presence, is enough. it’s enough for me to keep going for another day and live.”

　　 

[4linos]

already gone pt. 2

kim seungmin x f!reader

synopsis: to the world, you’re the perfect couple: the rising athlete and the woman who stood by him. but behind closed doors, something is shattering. the MLB offer. the agent. the betrayal you never saw coming. now your home is no longer a refuge, but the battleground where truth and love fight for survival.

warnings: angst, emotional distress, implied infidelity, trust issues, miscommunication.

wc: 8086

[already gone part 1]

The ache in your head was the first thing you noticed when you opened your eyes. A deep, dull pounding, as if your thoughts from the night before had hardened into something physical, a weight pressing against the inside of your skull. You winced, pulling the blankets tighter around you, wishing for a moment that you could sink into the mattress and disappear.

But reality wouldn’t let you.

You didn’t know how long you’d been awake, just that the light creeping in through the window was gray and cold, that strange shade that comes just before sunrise. It felt too early, and yet too late. Sleep hadn’t come easily the night before. You remembered lying there, turning from one side to the other, tangled in sheets soaked with quiet, bitter tears.

The confrontation with Seungmin kept playing in your head over and over, like a broken reel. His voice, raised. Yours, breaking. His lies, half-formed and crumbling the moment they left his lips. And then the door, slamming shut behind him. The silence afterward had been deafening.

You sat up slowly, careful not to make too much noise. The last thing you wanted was to wake Minjoon or Iseul, not yet. You needed a moment. Just one moment to yourself. Some air, some quiet. Some clarity.

Your feet hit the cold floor, grounding you instantly. You moved on instinct brushing your teeth, washing your face, tying your hair back. Each motion was mechanical, like your body remembered how to go through the motions even when your mind didn’t. You tugged a hoodie over your tank top, one of Seungmin’s old ones that still smelled faintly like his cologne, and padded softly toward the nursery.

First Iseul.

You peeked into her room, and there she was, your baby girl a bundle of calm in her crib, her chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. Her tiny fists twitched now and then, as if she were dreaming. You stepped in just long enough to check her temperature with your palm, to make sure she hadn’t kicked her blanket off. Satisfied, you backed out slowly.

Then Minjoon’s room.

He was on his side, one leg flopped over his stuffed tiger, his chubby cheek pressed into the pillow. The nightlight cast a faint orange glow across his small face, and you felt your chest twist in that quiet, aching way it always did when you looked at him. So small. So unknowing.

So safe, for now.

You shut his door with the care of someone handling glass, and only when you were back in the kitchen did you finally exhale.

You brewed your coffee in silence. No background noise. No morning show, no baby monitor, no cartoons. Just the drip, drip, drip of the machine and your breath, slow and steady. You sat down at the kitchen table, wrapping both hands around the mug like it was the only warmth left in the world.

Then you opened your phone.

You didn’t plan to. At least, you told yourself that. But your fingers moved like they already knew where to go. The browser opened. You typed in her name.

Madison Lee.

You stared at the results, heart thudding a little too hard, a little too fast. The headache throbbed behind your eyes, but you ignored it.

Her LinkedIn was the first link. Clean, professional. UCLA graduate. Top-tier agency in L.A. Negotiated major sports contracts, specifically with international athletes looking to transition to the MLB. All of it lined up.

You moved to her Instagram next. Public profile.

Your breath caught the moment her photos loaded. She was beautiful sharp-jawed, clean lines, bright white teeth. She wore heels and tailored blazers like armor. Her captions were neat, professional. “Proud to represent some of the best in the game.” “Another day, another diamond.” Posing with athletes. Posing at dinners. Posing at events.

You scrolled faster.

The deeper you went, the more your stomach curled in on itself. There was one photo, taken two months ago that made your blood run cold. It was from a private dinner, tagged in Busan. Madison was smiling, wine glass in hand. The caption was simple: “Celebrating hard work paying off.” The comments were vague. But one of them… one of them was from Seungmin’s teammate.

“You two make a good team.”

Your throat went dry.

You stared at the comment for far too long, your mind rushing to connect dots that weren’t supposed to be connected. You remembered Seungmin’s deflections. The way he tripped over his words. The quiet “it wasn’t like that” before you’d even asked him what “that” was.

You hadn’t accused him of cheating, not then. Not even now. Not really. But somehow, he had still gotten defensive. Still shaken. Still ready to deny something before you could name it.

And now this.

The way he never told you about her. The way he downplayed everything. The way he didn’t mention the U.S. deal until it was practically out in the open, a secret dragged into the light by a journalist.

And this woman. This sleek, powerful, picture-perfect agent. She was everything Seungmin never mentioned.

Your thumb hovered over the screen. You told yourself to stop. Told yourself to close the app. To let it go. But your heart had a different plan. Your fear did. Your instinct, the one you had learned not to ignore since becoming a mother.

You clicked on Madison’s tagged photos.

One showed her seated next to Seungmin at a conference panel, his body angled slightly toward her. Another, taken from behind, showed them walking together through an airport terminal, not holding hands, but close enough. Too close, maybe.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until your vision blurred and you blinked, chest tight.

Your phone nearly slipped from your hands when a tiny voice broke the silence.

“…Mommy?”

You froze.

Minjoon.

You turned slowly, eyes finding his small figure at the edge of the hallway. He stood there in his blue dinosaur pajamas, rubbing one eye with his fist, his hair a messy puff. His voice was barely louder than a whisper.

“What you doin’?”

You blinked again, your phone dropping face down onto the table with a soft thud. The sudden reality of his voice so innocent, so real was like cold water down your back.

You swallowed the lump in your throat and stood, wiping your face quickly with your sleeve, hoping he hadn’t noticed your red eyes.

“I’m just… having coffee, baby,” you said softly, crouching down to his level. “Did I wake you up?”

He shook his head. You nodded, reaching out to cup his cheek. His skin was warm. Solid. Comforting.

He looked at you for a moment longer, his eyes filled with a curiosity you didn’t know how to protect him from.

“You sad?”

Your heart splintered.

You didn’t answer him. You just pulled him into your arms and held him close, your chin resting on the top of his head.

“I’m okay,” you whispered, your voice thick. “Mommy’s just tired.”

He didn’t respond. He just curled into you the way he always did when he knew something was wrong silent, present, offering comfort in the only way a two-year-old could.

You held him like that for a long time, your coffee growing cold on the table behind you. Madison’s face still staring out from behind the locked screen of your phone.

But in that moment, none of that mattered.

Because your little boy was watching.

And you didn’t want him to learn what it looked like to fall apart.

Not yet.

The knock-off hotel alarm clock glowed dim red in the half-dark, the numbers shifting sluggishly from 5:41 to 5:42 while drops of water slid from Seungmin’s hair and pattered onto the threadbare carpet.
He had taken a five-minute shower on the coldest setting the rusty pipes could manage, hoping the bite of frigid water would shock the exhaustion and the shame, out of him. It hadn’t. His head still throbbed, his eyes still burned, and every breath still tasted like the silence that had filled the house after he slammed the door.

He toweled off in jerky, impatient motions, the towel snagging on the thin chain of the wedding band he’d looped around his neck at some foolish hour of the night. Too raw to keep it on his finger, too terrified to take it off completely.

The room smelled like industrial soap and last night’s cheap coffee. His duffel bag lay open on the bed, half-packed: a spare pair of jeans, two t-shirts, a hoodie that still smelled faintly of your laundry detergent. He shoved his travel-size toiletries kit on top, then hesitated, palms braced on the mattress, head hanging.

Go home, he told himself.
Say you’re sorry, really sorry, no excuses, no half-truths. Just beg her to let you talk.

But every time he tried to picture the conversation, Madison’s name pushed in like static.

Three months of avoiding her calls, her emails, her marketing decks promising “seamless transitions” and “lifetime earning potential.” Three months of pretending he could outrun that night in the Los Angeles hotel bar, pretending the almost-kiss hadn’t happened at all.

It had happened. Quick, sloppy, drunk on victory and adrenaline after scouts bought a round of champagne. She’d leaned in, laughing at something he barely remembered saying, and before he could dodge, her lips grazed the corner of his mouth. He’d flinched back so fast he nearly toppled his chair. She’d apologized smooth, professional, but the gleam in her eyes told him she wasn’t sorry at all.

He should’ve fired her on the spot.
He should’ve called you from the lobby, confessed everything.
Instead he buried it because you were six weeks postpartum, surviving on ninety-minute sleep cycles and sheer determination. He told himself you didn’t need another worry. He told himself it was one slip. It would blow over. He could fix it later.

Only later never came. And the silence turned into omission, and the omission into a lie so sprawling he’d lost track of all its edges.

Seungmin scrubbed both hands over his face, then yanked the zipper of the duffel shut. He slung the strap over his shoulder, grabbed his phone and room key, and headed for the door.

The screen lit up just as his fingers closed around the handle.

Madison Lee – Incoming Call

The name glared at him like a warning flare.

His thumb hovered over Decline.
Then stupid, reckless curiosity he hit Accept and lifted the phone halfway, not bothering with the speaker.

“Seung? You finally picked up.” Madison’s voice was syrup-smooth, a practiced mix of concern and authority. “I was starting to think you’d ghosted me for good.”

“It’s six in the morning,” he said, voice rough.

“In L.A. it’s one p.m.,” she answered breezily. “Look, I know things exploded online yesterday. I wanted to check in, see how you’re handling the press.”

Press. As if the fallout were a headline problem and not a marriage imploding.

“I’m fine,” he lied. He rubbed the knot forming at the base of his skull. “Nothing to talk about.”

“Seungmin.” The shift in her tone was almost imperceptible, businesslike turning coaxing, coaxing turning possessive. “We had momentum before you went dark. The Padres and the LA Dodgers both asked for new videos. If we get them preseason tapes this week, your offer numbers stay strong.”

“It’s over, Madison.”

A pause, a single beat where he could almost hear her recalibrating.

“Over?” she echoed, polite disbelief layered over steel. “The KBO is wrapping. You’re twenty-six, you’ve got prime velocity, and you’re about to start losing leverage. Over is not a strategic—”

“My marriage might be,” he snapped. “The contract can wait.”

Another pause, this one brittle.

“You told me she supports your career.”

“She does.” His throat closed. She did. Before I broke it. “But she also deserves the truth, and I haven’t given her that. I’m not signing anything until I fix what I can at home.”

“Seung—”

“She’s more important than baseball,” he said, and the second the words left his mouth he realized how painfully, perfectly true they were. “And she’s definitely more important than a contract built on secrets.”

Madison exhaled, an annoyed puff disguised as a sigh. “I understand you’re emotional right now. But you need to think long-term. Opportunities like this don’t sit on shelves.”

That familiar, silky persuasion the same tone she’d used that night in L.A. before leaning in. Guilt flared hot in his chest.

“This call is over,” he said, and hit End before she could respond.

For a moment he stood motionless, phone slack in his hand, heart hammering. Then he shoved the device into his back pocket, yanked the door open, and stepped into the hallway.

6:07 a.m.

The corridor smelled of disinfectant and stale cigarettes. His sneakers squeaked on the cheap vinyl tiles as he jogged toward the elevator, duffel thumping against his hip. In the chrome doors he caught his reflection, hair still damp, eyes rimmed red, hoodie askew. He looked like a man who’d spent the night running from ghosts and found them all waiting in the morning.

No more running.

He thumbed a rideshare request with shaking fingers. Twenty-four minutes to the house. Long enough to practice the apology again and again until the words stopped sounding useless.

But words, he knew, wouldn’t be enough. He would have to show you, prove with every action that the silence was finished, that the truth, unvarnished and ugly, was finally on the table.

The elevator dinged. He stepped inside, pressing L, knuckles white around the strap of the duffel.

As the doors slid shut, he whispered into the empty space, half-prayer, half-promise:

“Please let me still be her home.”

He rehearsed the truths, over and over, until the rideshare pulled to the curb in front of the house quiet, blue-gray in the dawn. Lights were off except one faint glow in the kitchen window. He imagined you there, a mug between your palms, the kids still asleep upstairs.

Please open the door, he prayed silently, stepping onto the walk.
Please let me tell you everything.

The sun hadn’t fully risen when Seungmin stepped inside your home.

The door creaked slightly as he opened it, just enough for the morning light to creep over the threshold and land across the living room floor in narrow slants. He held his breath for a beat as he closed the door behind him, the silence of the early hour wrapping tightly around him like gauze. There was no welcome. No warm light. No scent of breakfast or soft hum of music like there used to be when things were okay.

But the house wasn’t silent.

The first sound that hit him was the tiny, sharp cry of Iseul raw and distressed, unmistakably the kind of cry that had lasted more than a few minutes. It had that edge to it, the exhausted kind that said she had been fighting sleep for a while now. The second sound, softer, more familiar, was the rustle of Minjoon on the couch, feet kicking at the blanket around him as his favorite cartoon played on low volume. The third sound unspoken, invisible was the throb of emotion in his own chest.

Seungmin set his duffel bag quietly by the door, his movements slow, deliberate, like approaching a wound he wasn’t sure how to treat. His eyes found you immediately.

You were pacing the living room, hair pulled back hastily, dark circles beneath your eyes, one hand clutching Iseul against your chest while your other rubbed her back in practiced, instinctual circles. Your lips moved every now and then hushed words, gentle reassurances, but your eyes looked blank. Not empty. Just… spent. Like a body operating entirely on instinct. On routine. On the kind of fatigue only a mother running on fragments of sleep could understand.

He wanted to crumble then and there. He didn’t deserve to walk into this into you, carrying the weight of everything on your own again. And still, you did. You always did.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice breaking the stillness.

You didn’t flinch. You didn’t even look up right away.

But when you finally did, your eyes flicked to him in a way that made his heart ache. Not startled. Not angry.

Just… tired.

“Iseul’s been crying for over an hour,” you said, your voice thin. “She keeps waking herself up.”

He nodded, already moving toward you, his arms out. “Let me.”

You hesitated, gaze locking with his for a fraction of a second longer than he expected. Not because you didn’t trust him with her. But because this was the first time he was this close to you in days physically, emotionally. After everything. And he knew you were wondering whether you’d even be able to stand it.

But finally, wordlessly, you passed Iseul into his arms.

The baby girl fussed as the transfer happened, her cry catching in her throat, but the moment she settled into his chest, the crying slowed. His hand cradled the back of her tiny head, and he swayed slightly on instinct, rocking side to side in that barely-there rhythm she liked. Her hiccuping breaths began to slow.

“She missed you,” you whispered, voice fraying around the edges.

Seungmin pressed a kiss into Iseul’s forehead and closed his eyes.

“I missed her more,” he whispered back.

He glanced at Minjoon, who hadn’t moved from the couch but had clearly noticed his dad’s arrival. The little boy looked over with sleepy, cautious eyes, milk bottle in hand, stuffed tiger tucked into his lap. His cartoon was still playing in the background, but Seungmin could see the tension in his small shoulders.

Guilt rose again like a wave.

“Hey, Min,” he said gently.

Minjoon gave him a half-hearted smile but didn’t speak. Seungmin wanted to go to him, to kneel down and wrap his boy up in his arms too, but this moment wasn’t about repair with the kids, not yet. First, he needed to repair what had been broken with you. The children needed stability. Trust. They would get that once he gave it to you again first.

“Can we talk?” he asked quietly, finally looking at you again. “Please?”

You looked at him then, really looked. The dark shadows under your eyes, the exhaustion carved deep into your features, the subtle bite of suspicion still lingering behind your gaze, it all told him exactly what kind of damage he had done. You didn’t nod right away.

You looked back at Minjoon. At the clock.

Then back at him.

Finally, you said, “Okay.”

-

He followed you to the bedroom after he handed Iseul back to you, now dozing lightly against your chest, still sniffling now and then. You laid her down carefully in her bassinet by the window and checked twice to make sure her pacifier was in place before turning back to him. You sat down on the edge of the bed, your hands resting in your lap, unmoving.

He stood for a long moment, unsure where to begin. The truth was ugly. The silence, worse. But nothing could be worse than watching the way your fingers were trembling now as you waited.

So he sat, hands resting on his knees, and breathed once before diving in.

“I didn’t cheat on you.”

You didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. But he saw your shoulders tense.

“I know,” you said after a pause. “I never said you did.”

“I know,” he said back, guilt crawling into his voice. “But I acted like someone who did. And I need to tell you why.”

You looked away, staring out the window.

He continued.

“Three months ago… after a showcase game, Madison tried to kiss me.”

You flinched this time subtle, but real.

“I didn’t let her,” he said quickly. “I swear. I pulled away, told her it was inappropriate. But I didn’t fire her. I didn’t tell you. I didn’t come clean, and that’s where I screwed everything up.”

You inhaled sharply, but still said nothing. Your silence screamed louder than anything.

“I didn’t say anything because I thought I was protecting you. You were still recovering, you weren’t sleeping, the kids were barely giving you a moment to breathe—”

“And you thought I couldn’t handle the truth?” you interrupted quietly, looking at him now, eyes sharp. “You thought I’d break?”

“No,” he whispered. “No, I just… I thought if I told you, you’d see me differently. Like I’d let it happen. Like I’d opened that door. And I didn’t. But I—, I still didn’t tell you. And that’s just as bad.”

The words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy.

“I felt like I was being pulled in two,” he went on. “One side of me wanted that contract—so badly. I wanted to prove I was good enough. That I could play with the best. But the other side of me…”

He trailed off, voice cracking.

“The other side of me didn’t know how to chase that dream without hurting you. And instead of being honest, I started lying by omission. I thought I could balance both. But the second I hid Madison’s attempt to cross a line, I was already letting it fall apart.”

You looked at him then, really looked at him, and he could see the pain etched deep into your features.

“She wasn’t just your agent, Seungmin,” you said, voice shaking. “She was part of a secret you were keeping. That’s what hurts. Not the kiss that didn’t happen. Not the job offer. It’s that you made choices without me when we promised to do this—life—together.”

His eyes welled up. “I know.”

“Do you?” you asked. “Because you left. You didn’t talk. You didn’t fight for us last night.”

“I didn’t know how,” he admitted. “I was ashamed. I kept thinking… if I didn’t say anything, maybe it would fix itself. But I’ve been lying to myself too. And I can’t anymore. If you hate me, if you don’t forgive me, I’ll accept that. But I had to tell you. I have to be the man you and the kids deserve.”

You didn’t respond right away.

You stood up slowly, walked over to the window, and wrapped your arms around yourself as you looked out at the pale morning sky. He didn’t follow. He just waited.

Finally, you said, “I don’t know what this means yet. I don’t know what comes next.”

Seungmin nodded slowly, his voice almost a whisper. “Whatever you need. However long it takes.”

He stood, stepping closer, slowly, like you were a cliff edge he was terrified to fall from.

“Let me help again,” he said, gently. “With the kids. With the house. With you. I don’t want to be a visitor in this family. I want to come home.”

Your breath hitched.

You turned toward him, tears brimming now, but still not falling.

“I want that too,” you whispered, voice cracking, “but I need to believe you again. That’s going to take time.”

He nodded, one tear finally slipping down his cheek.

“I’ll wait,” he said, softly but with conviction. “I’ll wait for as long as it takes.”

And for the first time in days, maybe longer, you nodded back.

The off-season came with quieter mornings, slower afternoons, and a noticeable shift in the atmosphere of the house. Not peaceful, exactly because healing wasn’t immediate, and the weight of everything that had happened still lingered in the walls like a draft you couldn’t quite seal up, but there was space now. Space to breathe. Space to try again.

And for Seungmin, that space meant relearning his role in his own home.

He was always a good father. Attentive when he was around, gentle, patient. But “when he was around” had become a luxury during the season. Days blurred into flights, games, hotel beds, away stadiums, and practice fields. FaceTime calls with Minjoon that ended with the toddler smashing the screen in frustration because it wasn’t the same as a hug. Missed milestones, first steps, first words that you had recorded and sent to him with a bittersweet caption and a quiet ache behind your smile.

But now, the Lotte Giants were done for the year. The glove had been hung up. And for the first time in months, he wasn’t just a guest who dropped by with gifts and apologies. He was home.

And he was trying.

You noticed it right away. The way he hovered behind you during breakfast, watching how you made Minjoon’s pancakes into small shapes to make eating fun. The way he squinted when you measured out Iseul’s formula and checked the temperature of her bottle on your wrist. The questions that followed you around the kitchen like a soft echo:

“Do we cut the apple slices like that so he doesn’t choke?”
“How many ounces is she drinking now?”
“Does Minjoon still hate that one blue cup?”

There was hesitation behind all of it, a nervous energy that said he didn’t want to screw anything else up. Not even the smallest task. And even when you didn’t answer too tired, too wary, too heart-heavy, he found ways to try.

It was endearing, if not occasionally clumsy.

One particular night, you had just put Iseul down in her crib after a feeding, and the house was finally quiet except for the faint sound of Minjoon’s toothbrush scraping across his tiny baby teeth. You leaned against the hallway wall outside the bathroom, arms crossed loosely, head tilted as you listened.

Inside, Seungmin was kneeling on the bath mat in his hoodie and sweatpants, sleeves pushed up to his elbows, watching Minjoon brush his teeth with great concentration.

“Okay, buddy,” he said gently. “That’s good! You got the top teeth. Now get the bottoms. Can you say bottoms?”

Minjoon garbled a half-word around the toothbrush and grinned.

“Yeah? Okay! Cool. Um—after this, what do we do next?” Seungmin asked, clearly unsure but trying to make it sound fun. “Do we put your pajamas on now?”

Minjoon frowned like Seungmin had asked if he wanted to eat spinach for dessert.

“No,” the toddler mumbled, pulling the toothbrush out dramatically. “Mommy do face.”

Seungmin blinked. “Mommy… what?”

“Mommy,” Minjoon repeated very seriously, pointing to the towel hanging on the hook. “Mommy wash face. First. After brush. Then jammies.”

You bit back a laugh and pressed a hand to your mouth.

Inside the bathroom, Seungmin stared at the towel like it was a final exam question in a language he didn’t study.

“She washes your face?” he repeated. “After brushing?”

“Yah,” Minjoon replied, nodding with the unwavering confidence of a two-year-old whose world made perfect sense.

Seungmin let out a soft, amused huff and reached for the towel. “Okay, okay, little boss. Face wash it is.”

You heard the soft sound of water running, then a wet towel being wrung out. A moment later, the giggle of Minjoon as Seungmin dabbed the warm cloth over his cheeks.

“Is this how Mommy does it?”

Minjoon nodded again. “Warm, warm.”

“Warm. Got it. Anything else, Mr. Routine Expert?”

“No soap,” Minjoon added decisively.

“Noted,” Seungmin said, and your heart ached just a little. He really was trying.

The small exchange warmed something in your chest that had long been locked in ice. It didn’t erase the tension. It didn’t undo the past few weeks. But it added a softness to the air. A reminder of who Seungmin used to be and who he was still trying to become again.

He carried Minjoon out of the bathroom a few minutes later, the toddler now wrapped in spaceship-themed pajamas, holding tightly to his little stuffed tiger. When he saw you standing by the wall, Seungmin gave a sheepish shrug, like he’d been caught cheating on the test by asking the kid for the answers.

You smirked, arms still folded. “You let him boss you around?”

Seungmin met your eyes, and for the first time in days, his smile came with no walls. “If it means doing it right… yeah. I’ll take the help.”

Your smirk faltered slightly as your gaze lingered on him holding your son with such care, with such openness. You nodded, voice quiet. “That’s good. He’s… routine-oriented. He likes things a certain way.”

Seungmin shifted Minjoon in his arms and gave you a slow nod. “Just like his mom.”

And the look you gave him in return wasn’t soft, exactly. But it wasn’t cold either.

Progress, in its rawest form.

He carried Minjoon off toward the toddler bed without another word, and you heard him whispering a story about a dinosaur who played baseball and forgot his bat. It was silly and charming and full of nonsense, but Minjoon was giggling by the end of it. It filled the quiet of the house in a way that you had missed more than you’d realized.

You stayed leaning against the wall long after the house had gone quiet again. Long after Seungmin had tiptoed back down the hallway and passed you with a tentative glance. Neither of you said anything. He didn’t try to reach for your hand. He didn’t try to fix everything all at once.

But that night, he didn’t sleep on the couch.

Not because everything had been healed.

But because you’d left the bedroom door open.

-

The room was dim, bathed in the soft, amber glow of the bedside lamp. Outside, the early winter wind tapped against the windows rhythmically, brushing dried leaves along the glass like it was trying to soothe the tension inside.

You were propped up against the headboard, knees tucked under the blanket, phone in hand but not really reading anything just scrolling through article titles, social posts, bits of news that couldn’t quite penetrate the fog in your head. Your mind was elsewhere. Stuck somewhere between the memory of Madison’s name on that leaked article, Seungmin’s broken explanations, and the sharp echo of your daughter’s cry the morning after it all came crashing down.

Beside you, Seungmin sat on his side of the bed, legs stretched out under the covers, a respectable distance between your bodies as if he was afraid even the smallest touch might rupture the fragile stillness you’d managed to build over the last few days. He’d just come out of the bathroom in his familiar gray cotton pajamas, towel drying his damp hair like he always did before bed. It used to be a comforting routine, watching him pull the towel away from his head, ruffle his still-wet hair, and crawl into bed beside you with a sigh of relief and whispered complaints about practice. But now, even that normalcy felt like borrowed nostalgia.

He hadn't said anything yet, and neither had you.

But he was watching you.

Not the way he used to, when he'd sneak glances because he couldn’t help it, because loving you had always come as naturally as breathing, but in the way someone watches a candle flicker in the wind, terrified of the moment it might go out.

And when he finally spoke, his voice was low. Raw. The weight behind it made you stop scrolling before he even finished the sentence.

“What happens next… with us?”

You didn't move. Not right away. Your thumb hovered over your phone screen before you let the device slowly drop to your lap, its glow disappearing into the folds of the blanket.

He turned more toward you, though he didn’t close the space between you. His gaze dropped briefly to his hands fingers fidgeting, like he needed to do something with the nervous energy. When he looked back up, he exhaled through his nose and said, “Because I can’t keep pretending like we’re okay when we’re not. And I know it’s my fault that we’re not.”

You swallowed, jaw tightening.

“I was wrong not to tell you,” he continued, his voice thick. “About the MLB talks. About Madison. About… everything. I just—” He paused, eyes glossing over for a second before he caught himself. “You’d just had Iseul. You were barely sleeping. You were already carrying everything. I didn’t want to add more weight to your shoulders.”

“That’s not your decision to make,” you finally said, voice hoarse and sharp around the edges.

He nodded quickly. “I know. I know that now. I was trying to protect you, but I wasn’t honest, and I made it worse. And when everything blew up, I—” His voice cracked slightly. “I didn’t know how to fix it. I’ve never been this scared before. Not even when I tore my shoulder. Not even when I thought I’d never pitch again. This… you and me… the kids… this is what matters.”

Silence stretched, thick and heavy between you. His words hung in the air like a trembling branch.

“I don’t want Minjoon and Iseul to grow up in a broken home,” he added softly. “I know I’ve already cracked the foundation, and maybe you’ll never be able to forgive me for lying, but if there’s any way to fix what I’ve broken, I want to try. I need to try. Because I don’t want to lose this.”

Your chest ached at his words. There was desperation in them, but there was something else, too earnestness. A sincerity that you recognized. A part of the man you married that had been buried beneath months of silence, distance, and secrecy.

You pulled your knees closer to your chest, the blanket sliding with you, and looked at him for a long time.

“You weren’t just protecting me,” you said, voice quieter now. “You were protecting yourself. You were afraid I’d leave you if I knew what she did. You were afraid to look like the bad guy, even if it was just a kiss that she tried. You didn’t cheat, Seungmin, but you lied. You let that woman stay in our life after she crossed the line, and then you covered it up like it wouldn’t matter.”

He winced at your words. But he didn’t deny them.

“And what hurt the most,” you continued, blinking back the sting behind your eyes, “was that you made that decision alone. You stopped trusting me to handle the hard things with you. That’s what broke me.”

The room went silent again.

You looked down at your hands, turning your wedding ring absentmindedly on your finger.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered. “I don’t have the answer. I know I love you. I know I don’t want to lose what we built. I don’t want our kids to feel this tension either. But I can’t just… go back to normal like it didn’t happen.”

“I’m not asking you to,” Seungmin said, voice low and steady. “I just want a chance to rebuild. Even if it takes time. Even if it’s slow. I’ll do whatever it takes.”

For a moment, you didn’t say anything. Then, after a long pause, you slowly shifted your weight and lay back against the pillow, turning to your side to face away from him.

“Then don’t leave again,” you murmured. “Even when it’s hard. Even when I’m angry. You stay.”

He nodded, even though you couldn’t see it.

And after a minute or two, the bed shifted gently as he lay down too. Still not touching you. Still giving you space. But he was there. In the dark. Quiet and present.

It started with a note.

Folded twice, written in Seungmin’s tidy handwriting, and left by your favorite mug on the kitchen counter one early, quiet morning. You found it while reaching for your coffee, your eyes still heavy from sleep and your arms sore from holding Iseul during one of her longer crying spells the night before.

You stared at it for a long second, cautious.

Then you opened it.

“Take the morning off. Dress warm. No kids. I’ll handle breakfast, diapers, tantrums, and all. Please. just trust me.
– S.”

You blinked at the page. Once. Twice. Your first instinct was suspicion, what was he doing? What did he plan? Could you trust it?

But it was followed, surprisingly, by a quiet sigh of curiosity.

It had been weeks since he started rebuilding slowly, like a man afraid of stepping on glass. Weeks of learning the kids' routines, of showing up even when you were too angry to acknowledge him, of sleeping on the edge of your shared bed and never asking for more than what you were willing to give. You saw it in the way he watched you with exhausted, apologetic eyes. You saw it in how he parented: fully, wholly, learning how to care for Minjoon and Iseul like he should have all along.

Maybe… maybe he was ready now to do more than apologize.

You moved through the motions of the morning cautiously, your heart beating too loudly for the silence of the house. The kids were already downstairs with him, Minjoon’s giggle echoing faintly from the living room, Iseul’s soft baby babble cooing in between. You trusted him with them, of course you did. It had never been about the kids.

It was about you.

You took a shower. Got dressed in something warm, a long wool coat, scarf, your gloves tucked in your pockets. Then, stepping carefully through the kitchen, you spotted another note next to your keys.

“There’s a driver waiting. Just follow the instructions. I’ll see you soon.”

You raised an eyebrow, but curiosity won out.

The driver was polite, quiet, and refused to tell you where you were headed. You stared out the window as the city passed you by, watching the buildings give way to open spaces, the grey of winter brushing along every surface like a forgotten memory. Thirty minutes later, you pulled up to an empty baseball field.

A public park, technically, but the field was immaculately maintained. You stepped out of the car slowly, hesitant, confused.

And there he was.

Standing near the pitcher’s mound, bundled up in his hoodie and warmup jacket, hair ruffled by the wind. A single bench sat nearby with a small thermos of coffee on it. Yours. The same hazelnut syrup you loved. The same milk-to-coffee ratio he had memorized long ago.

He waved when he saw you, and you didn’t wave back. But your feet moved anyway.

“What is this?” you asked, as you came to a stop a few feet away.

Seungmin’s breath fogged in the cold morning air. “A place I come to when I need to remember who I am. And… who I could’ve lost.”

You stared at him, unsure what to say.

He took a deep breath. “This is the first field I ever threw a ball on. Before the scouts. Before the league. Before the Giants. My dad used to bring me here. Just me and a bucket of balls. He’d stand where you’re standing now and say, ��Show me who you are, Seungmin.’” He chuckled softly. “I never knew what he meant back then.”

Your lips parted slightly, but the words still wouldn't come.

“I lost myself this season,” he said quietly. “In the pressure. In the silence. In trying to be everything for everyone except the people who matter most. I thought I could control it all what to hide, what to protect you from. But the truth is, I was afraid. Of failing. Of losing you. Of not being enough for the kids.”

The wind blew gently, carrying the soft scent of pine and earth.

“I’ve been talking with the MLB agent,” he said, not flinching this time. “Madison was out of the picture the moment she crossed that line. But I should’ve told you. I should’ve come to you first. I didn't, and I will always regret that. I’ve declined their offer. Formally. I told them I wouldn’t uproot our life, not without your trust. Not without your voice in the choice.”

Your eyes widened. “You… declined it?”

“I did,” he nodded. “Not because I’m giving up on my dream. But because I forgot the first dream I ever had, us. This family. You and me. Minjoon, Iseul. I don’t want to go anywhere they can’t follow.”

You felt your hands tremble slightly in your pockets.

“I’m not trying to win you back with some big gesture,” he continued, stepping a little closer. “I’m showing you that I meant it. When I said I’d do anything to rebuild this. I’ll work as hard as I did to become a pro. Every single day. I’ll be here. Not just for the kids. For you. Because I love you.”

Tears welled up behind your lashes before you could stop them.

The wind, the cold, the weight of everything, it all collapsed into that one still moment. And you realized: he meant it.

Not just the words.

The action.

The choice.

For so long, you had been the one to make the sacrifices. You had been the one to carry the weight of parenthood, of loyalty, of silence. And here he was finally choosing you, even if it meant risking his own legacy.

“I hate that it took this for you to get it,” you whispered, voice shaking. “But I believe you.”

He didn’t move. He didn’t touch you. He waited.

And then you took a step closer. Just one. But it was enough. Enough for him to know he was forgiven, if not fully, then at least with the promise that one day, you would be.

And for the first time in a long time, you saw your future again.

Together.

-

The house was still when you both got home. Not quiet in the lonely way it had been in the days after the team dinner no, this was a different stillness. The kind that settled after a storm had passed. The kind that let you breathe again without choking on the silence.

Minjoon was fast asleep in his little bed, the soft hum of his nightlight casting gentle blue shadows on his blanket. Iseul had tired herself out after a long afternoon with Seungmin’s mom, and she lay curled in her crib, the tiniest fist tucked against her cheek, her chest rising and falling peacefully. You stood for a long time in the doorway of her room, your arms folded against your chest, watching the little miracle you had brought into the world, twice now and wondering how your life had shifted so drastically in such a short time.

Seungmin stepped behind you, careful not to make a sound. He didn’t touch you, but his presence was warm, grounding. When you turned your head just slightly and caught his eyes in the soft light, something unspoken passed between you mutual exhaustion, yes, but also something tender. Fragile. Real.

When you both made your way to the bedroom, neither of you turned on the main light. Just the small lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in amber glow. You took off your coat slowly, the weight of it replaced by something heavier in your chest. You felt raw. Exposed.

Seungmin changed quietly into a plain white T-shirt and sweats, moving through the room with an uncertain hesitance, like he didn’t want to do anything to break the calm that had settled between you.

You slid under the covers, and after a moment, so did he. For the first time in weeks, the distance between you was gone. Your bodies weren’t pressed together, not yet, but there wasn’t that cautious gap anymore. You were facing each other. Close enough to feel each other’s breath.

Seungmin looked at you the way he had when you were young and newly in love like you were both everything and the thing he could never quite believe he deserved.

“I meant what I said,” he whispered. “About rebuilding. About choosing us.”

You nodded, your fingers curling into the blanket. “I know.”

He reached for your hand beneath the sheets, and this time, you didn’t pull away. Your fingers threaded together with his slowly, and a soft breath left him relief, maybe. Or hope.

“I don’t deserve how much you’re still willing to give,” he murmured.

“You broke my heart, Seungmin,” you said softly, your voice shaking despite your best efforts to hold it steady. “But you’ve always held it, even when I didn’t know you were.”

His eyes welled, and before either of you could say another word, you leaned in and pressed your lips to his.

It wasn’t desperate. It wasn’t perfect.

It was real.

Warm and aching and full of tears that escaped down both your cheeks. His hand cradled your face gently, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he held too tightly, and you kissed him like the ache in your chest could be healed by the shape of his mouth. It was the kind of kiss you give when words have run out, when all you have left is the truth inside your chest and the hope that the other person still wants it.

And then, suddenly, you broke away sniffling, crying harder now and smacked his chest with the side of your fist.

He blinked. “W-What—?”

You hit him again, softer this time, frustration and heartbreak rolling off you like a wave.

“You gave it up,” you cried, your voice cracking. “Your dream. You gave it up, Seungmin. For me.”

His brow furrowed in confusion, mouth parting in protest. “But I thought—”

“I never asked you to do that!” you snapped, even as more tears ran down your face. “I was mad you didn’t tell me, I was hurt, but that doesn’t mean I wanted you to give up everything you’ve worked for. You love baseball more than anything, and you were finally about to reach that next level. And you just—” Your voice faltered. “You gave it up like it didn’t matter.”

He sat up, slightly, hand still gripping yours as he searched your eyes. “It does matter,” he said, his voice soft but firm. “But you and the kids… you matter more.”

“I don’t want to be the reason you let go of that dream,” you whispered, tears falling silently now. “You’ll regret it. One day, maybe not tomorrow, but eventually you’ll look at me and wonder what could’ve been. And I can’t live with that. I won’t.”

For a moment, the room was silent. Just the sound of both your uneven breaths, the way your hands trembled together.

Then he reached for your other hand and held both in his, warm and steady.

“If I call them,” he asked gently, “if I tell them I made a mistake, if I take the offer… would you come with me? Would you follow me?”

The question hung in the air like a single note.

You stared at him, wide-eyed, your heart pounding with something new and terrifying. You opened your mouth and closed it again, trying to form the words. You imagined the move. The packing. The loss of familiarity. The kids adjusting to a new world. You imagined yourself in a place where you knew no one, far from your support system, away from the life you built together.

But then you imagined him on the mound, beneath the bright lights of a stadium you’d only ever seen on TV. His name on a jersey that echoed the legacy he’d worked so hard for. And you standing in the stands with Iseul in your arms, Minjoon bouncing on your hip, cheering for their father.

You saw it.

You saw him.

You saw you, a different you, maybe, but a braver one.

And you nodded.

“Not at first,” you said, voice soft and sure. “I’d stay here with the kids while you got settled. But I would come. Once we’re ready… I would follow you.”

Seungmin stared at you for a long moment, something deep in his chest breaking open with relief, with emotion, with love that hadn’t diminished despite all the cracks.

He leaned forward slowly, brushing his forehead against yours. “That’s all I need.”

And in that quiet, broken, slowly-mending space, the two of you sat, still holding hands, tears still drying on your cheeks and for the first time in weeks, you felt something other than fear.

You felt hope.

//

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[the-oblivious-writer]

With Her I Die |17|

Past J.T to Eventual S.S x Female Reader

Chapter Seventeen: Delayed Motion Sickness

warnings: graphic depictions of cannibalism and discussion of consuming human flesh, severe psychological trauma and mental health issues , graphic descriptions of vomiting/illness, discussions of grief and death, brief mention of potential suicidal ideation, emotional distress, and existential horror.

note(s): tai: "so where the hell are we gonna get food?" lottie: "we're gonna dig up y/n's dead girlfriend!" y/n: "yeah, dumbass, we're gonna dig up- dig up y/n's dead girlfriend?!?!??"

taglist: @morganismspam23 @slutforabbyanderson @serendippindots

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The world returns in fragments—voices filtering through darkness, the sting of cold against your face, hands gripping your shoulders. You register movement, being half-carried back toward the cabin, someone murmuring reassurances that don't penetrate the fog of horror enveloping your mind.

"Get her inside," Tai's voice cuts through the haze, authoritative even in crisis.

Your stomach lurches again as they maneuver you through the doorway. You twist violently in their grasp, desperate to avoid fouling the cabin floor.

"She's gonna be sick again," Mari warns, just as you double over.

Someone thrusts a bucket beneath your chin just in time, and you empty whatever's left in your stomach—bile mostly, burning your throat and bringing tears to your eyes. A hand holds your hair back; another rubs circles between your shoulder blades.

"It's okay," Travis murmurs from somewhere above you. "Get it all out."

When the heaving finally subsides, you're guided to your sleeping area, hands gently pressing you down onto your makeshift bed. A cup appears at your lips—water, blessed water to wash away the acrid taste. You sip gratefully, hands trembling too badly to hold the cup yourself.

Through tear-blurred vision, you make out faces hovering around you—concerned, wary, exchanging glances loaded with meaning you can't decipher. The cabin has gone unnaturally quiet, everyone waiting for whatever comes next.

"What happened?" Tai finally asks, her voice uncharacteristically gentle.

You open your mouth, but the words lodge in your throat. How do you articulate the horror unfolding in your mind? The memories bursting through barriers you didn't know you'd constructed?

"Jackie," you manage, the name barely a whisper.

Something passes between them—a look, a silent conversation flowing above your head. Confusion crawls through your fog of panic.

"She remembered," Lottie says from somewhere to your left, her voice strangely calm. "What we did."

You turn toward her voice, finding her perched on the edge of a nearby trunk, her expression serene despite the tension crackling through the room.

"What are you talking about?" you rasp, though part of you already knows—the part that's been drowning in repressed memories since you stepped outside.

No one speaks. The silence stretches, taut with unspoken truths.

"Someone fucking tell me," you demand, voice gaining strength born of desperation. "Tell me I didn't... that we didn't..."

"You really didn't know?" Natalie asks, incredulous. "This whole time?"

"Know what?" The words tear from your throat, edged with hysteria.

Another exchange of glances, another silent communication from which you're excluded. Then Van steps forward, crouching beside your bed.

"After Jackie died," she begins carefully, "things got pretty bad. Food was scarce, and we were all starving, and—"

"No." You shake your head violently, as if the physical motion can dispel the horror taking shape. "No, we buried her. We waited for the ground to thaw and we buried her."

Van's eyes are soft with pity. "We didn't bury her, Y/N."

Your name in her mouth somehow makes it worse—makes it real in a way nothing else has. You pull away, pressing yourself against the wall.

"You're lying," you insist, gaze darting from face to face, searching for someone to contradict her. "We wouldn't... I wouldn't..."

"It was your idea," Lottie says, the simple statement falling like a stone into still water.

Your breath catches. "What?"

"Not exactly," Tai interjects quickly, shooting Lottie a warning look. "It wasn't like that."

"Then what was it like?" The question emerges as a plea, begging for an explanation that could somehow make sense of the fragments surfacing in your mind.

Tai sighs, settling on the floor beside your bed. "We were starving. Really starving. The hunting had failed for days, and the last of our rations were gone. Jackie was... she was already gone. Her body was just—"

"Meat," you finish, the word tasting like poison.

Tai nods once, her expression grim. "It was about survival. We all agreed."

"Including me." It's not a question anymore.

"You were... different after Jackie died," Travis offers hesitantly. "Not really yourself."

"Different how?" Despite the dread pooling in your stomach, you need to know.

Travis looks to Tai, clearly uncomfortable with being the messenger. Tai meets your gaze steadily.

"You were obsessed with her body," she says bluntly. "You wouldn't let us move her at first. You'd sit with her for hours, talking to her like she was still there. You'd arrange her hair, fix her clothes."

The memory surfaces unbidden—Jackie's frost-stiffened fingers in yours, combing through her tangled hair with a makeshift brush, carefully braiding the strands while chattering about nothing, everything, as if she could still hear you.

"You'd dress her up," Mari adds softly. "Change her outfits. Put that lipstick we found in her bag on her."

Your stomach lurches again, but there's nothing left to expel. "Oh god."

"When we finally decided to... use her body," Tai continues carefully, "you were the one who volunteered to... prepare her."

The knife in your hand. Blood on snow. The weight of flesh being carved from bone. Your breath comes in short, painful gasps as the memories assault you.

"Stop," you plead, pressing your palms against your eyes as if you could physically block the images. "Please stop."

A hand touches your shoulder—Lottie, moved from her perch to kneel beside you. "The wilderness provides," she says softly. "Jackie provided. There's no shame in that."

You recoil from her touch, something primal and panicked clawing at your insides. "Don't. Don't fucking touch me."

Lottie withdraws her hand but remains close, her eyes locked on yours with that same unnerving intensity from the forest. "You didn't do anything wrong."

A bitter laugh escapes you. "I ate the woman I loved, but sure, no big deal, right?" The words hang in the silence, your declaration of love for Jackie spoken aloud for the first time. "Where's Shauna?"

The question seems to catch them off guard, heads turning to scan the cabin. Shauna is nowhere to be seen.

"She was just here," Van says, frowning. "She helped bring you in."

The realization dawns slowly, a new horror layering over the first. "She knew," you whisper. "She knew I didn't remember."

No one contradicts you. The silence is confirmation enough.

"Why didn't any of you tell me?" Your voice cracks on the question. "Why let me go on thinking—believing—"

"We thought you knew," Natalie interrupts, looking genuinely confused. "You were there. You participated. You ate the same meals as the rest of us."

"I don't remember!" The shout tears from your throat. "I don't remember any of it! The meals, the... preparation. None of it!"

"That's not possible," Tai says skeptically. "You were functional. You talked, you worked, you—"

"I don't remember the first few weeks after she died," you insist, desperation lending strength to your voice. "It's all... fragmented. Blurry. I thought it was grief, or shock, or..." You trail off, the implication of your words sinking in.

"Dissociation," Lottie supplies calmly. "Your mind protected you from what you couldn't handle."

"Until now," you finish bitterly. "Until I fucked you in the same shed where we..." You can't complete the sentence, nausea rising again at the connection your mind has made.

Lottie doesn't flinch at your crudeness. "The body remembers what the mind tries to forget."

"Jesus, Lottie, give it a rest with the fortune cookie wisdom," Natalie snaps, then turns to you. "Look, this is fucked up. The whole situation is fucked up. But none of us knew you'd blocked it out."

You shake your head, trying to reconcile their version of events with the gaping holes in your memory. "I thought we buried her," you repeat, softer now. "I had this... this mental image of us digging a grave when the ground thawed. Saying goodbye."

"We did have a ceremony," Van offers gently. "After. We said words for her, thanked her for... for helping us survive. It was Lottie's idea."

"A ritual," Lottie corrects. "To honor her sacrifice."

The door opens before you can respond, a gust of cold air preceding Shauna as she slips inside. Her eyes find you immediately, widening slightly at your conscious state. She looks different somehow—younger, vulnerable in a way you rarely see.

"Hey," she says awkwardly, hovering by the door. "You're awake."

"Where were you?" The question comes out sharper than intended.

Shauna shifts uncomfortably. "Just needed some air."

"Right," you reply, a bitter edge creeping into your voice. "Me too."

A tense silence falls. Tai stands, motioning to the others. "Let's give them a minute," she suggests, though it's clearly an order rather than a request.

One by one, they filter away to various corners of the cabin, providing the illusion of privacy in a space too small for secrets. Only Lottie lingers, her gaze flicking between you and Shauna with undisguised interest.

"Lottie," Tai says pointedly. "Come on."

With visible reluctance, Lottie rises, her fingertips brushing your arm as she leaves—a touch so brief you might have imagined it. Shauna watches the interaction, her expression tightening before she approaches, taking the spot Lottie vacated.

"You knew," you say without preamble, keeping your voice low enough that it won't carry to the others. "You knew I didn't remember."

Shauna doesn't deny it. "I suspected," she admits. "The way you talked about Jackie, about... after. It didn't line up."

"And you didn't think to mention it?" The hurt in your voice is unmistakable. "To say, 'Hey, by the way, we ate your dead girlfriend'?"

"Your relationship wasn't exactly public," Shauna replies automatically, then winces at her own tone. "Sorry. That wasn't... I didn't mean—"

"Whatever." You turn away, facing the wall. "Just go away."

"Y/N, please." Her hand lands on your shoulder, gentle but insistent. "I thought I was protecting you."

"Protecting me?" You twist back to face her, incredulous. "By letting me live in a fantasy world where my biggest crime was leaving her body in the snow?"

"You were broken after she died," Shauna says quietly. "You'd sit with her body for hours, talking to her, brushing her hair like she was a doll. You weren't eating, weren't sleeping. We were afraid you'd—" She stops, swallowing hard.

"Kill myself?" you finish for her.

Her eyes answer you, never leaving yours. "Then the food ran out. Everyone was getting desperate. Lottie suggested that Jackie... that her body could..."

"And I volunteered," you supply, the memory surfacing like something dead rising to the water's surface. "To cut her up."

Shauna flinches at your bluntness but doesn't contradict you. "You said it should be someone who loved her. That she'd want to help us survive."

A hysterical laugh bubbles up your throat. "That's rich. I'm sure she'd be thrilled to know we treated her like a fucking Sunday roast."

"It wasn't like that," Shauna insists, her voice dropping even lower. "It was... respectful. As much as it could be."

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" The tears you've been fighting finally spill over, hot trails down cold cheeks. "That we said grace before tearing into her like a bunch of paganists?"

Shauna's hand finds yours, gripping it tightly despite your half-hearted attempt to pull away. "We thought you'd processed it."

"I forgot it," you correct bitterly. "Locked it away in some dark corner of my mind where I wouldn't have to look at it."

Shauna's thumb traces circles on your palm, the gesture achingly familiar. "Why tonight?"

You close your eyes, seeing again the congealed stew, feeling the texture on your tongue. "The food. Something about tonight's dinner just... connected."

Shauna is quiet for a long moment, her hand still holding yours. "The way you talked about Jackie... it was like you had this whole narrative in your head about what happened after she died. A story where we honored her properly, buried her, moved on naturally."

"And you just let me believe it." The hurt resurfaces, sharper now.

"At first, I wasn't sure," Shauna admits. "I thought maybe you were just... I don't know, coping differently. But then that fight we had yesterday, when you asked about the baby..." She trails off, shaking her head. "I realized you really didn't remember. But by then, you were already so angry with me, and then with Lottie, you were—"

You pull your hand from hers, a new memory surfacing. "The baby."

Shauna's expression shutters. 

"You still never told me what happened..." Your words hang between you, loaded with implications neither of you is ready to face.

"Please don't," Shauna whispers, echoing your own plea from earlier. "Please don't ask me that. I can't go through this conversation again. Not tonight. Not when you're already dealing with..." She gestures vaguely, encompassing the situation, your breakdown, everything.

The refusal should anger you—another secret, another piece of truth withheld. Instead, an odd calm settles over you, a numbness that's almost comforting in its completeness.

"Okay," you agree, surprising yourself as much as her. "Not tonight."

Relief flashes across her face, quickly followed by wariness, as if she doesn't quite trust your acquiescence. "Are you... how are you feeling?"

"How am I feeling?" You repeat the question with a hollow laugh. "I just found out I ate someone I loved. Processing that might take a minute."

Shauna winces but doesn't back down. "Do you need anything? Water? More blankets?"

The normalcy of the offer—its domestic banality in the face of your horrific revelation—strikes you as absurdly funny. A giggle escapes you, then another, building quickly into semi-hysterical laughter that you can't seem to control.

Shauna watches with growing alarm. "Y/N? Hey, it's okay. Just breathe."

"It's really not okay," you gasp between fits of laughter that are rapidly transforming into sobs. "It's so far from okay that okay isn't even visible from here."

Arms wrap around you suddenly—Shauna pulling you against her chest, holding you through the storm of emotions. You should push her away, maintain the anger that's been your shield since returning to the cabin. Instead, you collapse into her embrace, sobs wracking your body as the full weight of reality crashes down.

"I ate her," you choke out against Shauna's shoulder. "I ate Jackie."

"We all did," Shauna murmurs, her hands making soothing motions across your back. "We survived because of her."

The distinction feels meaningless in the face of your guilt, but you cling to Shauna anyway, desperate for any anchor in the storm of your fractured memories.

"I loved her," you whisper, the admission worn smooth with repetition in your mind but rarely spoken aloud.

"I know," Shauna says softly. "She knew too."

Something in her tone makes you pull back slightly, studying her face. "And I love you."

Her eyes meet yours, something vulnerable and raw in their depths. "You should get some rest."

The dismissal hangs between you, neither reciprocation nor rejection but something in between. 

"You're right..." you say, exhaustion suddenly washing over you. 

Shauna's hand finds yours again, squeezing gently. "Don't disappear again. Please."

The plea in her voice tugs at something in your chest. "I won't."

"Promise?"

"Promise." The word feels binding in a way few things have since the crash upended your world.

Shauna nods, seeming satisfied. She starts to rise, but your hand tightens on hers, keeping her in place.

"Stay?" The request slips out before you can reconsider it. "Just... I don't want to be alone with my thoughts right now."

She hesitates only briefly before settling back beside you. "I'll stay."

Across the cabin, you catch Lottie watching, her expression unreadable in the firelit shadows. She inclines her head slightly when your eyes meet—acknowledgment without challenge. Whatever existed between you in the forest, in the meat shed, feels distant now, overshadowed by the horrors unearthed from your own mind.

You lean against Shauna, allowing your eyes to close, hoping for the oblivion of sleep without dreams. The memories will still be there tomorrow, waiting to be examined, processed, somehow integrated into your understanding of yourself. For now, though, there's just the warmth of human contact, the steady rhythm of Shauna's breathing, and the fragile promise of not facing the darkness alone.

"You'll be okay," Shauna whispers, her lips brushing your hair. "We both will."

You don't answer, don't point out the hollowness of such assurances in the face of your collective trauma. Instead, you let yourself believe it, just for tonight—a comforting fiction to cling to while the truth settles its weight upon your shoulders.

Outside, the wind howls through bare trees, a sound too similar to human keening. Inside, wrapped in Shauna's arms, you finally surrender to exhaustion, sliding into darkness with Jackie's name on your lips and the taste of memory like ashes on your tongue and you can't help but feel a wave of deja vu wash over you. 

[futbolfatale]

Injury

Pairings: Leah Williamson x Reader, Katie McCabe x Reader, Kyra Conney-Cross x Reader

Tags: Broken Bones, Minor Angst, I think thats all

Summary: You convince your partners to come to the trampoline park only for there to be a "minor" injury.

WordCount: 1.0K

It’s taken months of constant nagging to get all of your partners to agree to go the the trampoline park together. You hadn’t been since your childhood but when one opened up down the street from you it was almost certain you would be going. “These waivers are intense.” Leah scrolls through the paragraphs of rules for her to sign. “But it will be so worth it just think of all the fun.” Leah rolls her eyes but signs the waiver. “Alright let's do this.”

“Come on Ky let's go” You snatch Kyra’s hand and the two of you race off towards the trampolines. There are rows and rows of square Trampolines. You jump onto the one closest to you and let out help as Kyra joins you. “Ky that’s against the rules. You're gonna get us kicked out already” You laugh as you too jump in Union. “They aren't even watching” Ky gestures to the teen who is supposed to be keeping an eye on you but instead has an earbud in and is mostly likely watching TikTok. “Hey, what do you suppose you're getting at? Follow the Rules” Leah gives you her signature captain glare and Kyra quickly moves to the trampoline next to you.

“Look they have a fucking rock wall we have to go and try” You jump off the trampoline and run to the wall but quickly slow to a jog after yet another warning look from Leah. “Katie I bet I can get across before you” You tease sticking your tongue out in a way that you know pisses her off.” you two have to go one at a time,” Leah calls after you. “Will you at least time us” You can’t help the annoyed look on your face she is kind of being a buzz kill. “Yes let me get it pulled up.” Leah smiles and god your heart melts a little. Maybe she isn't such a buzzkill after all. You press a kiss to her cheek before hurrying to the rock wall. “Do you want to go first” you question Katie. “I'll wait I want to find out what the time to beat is” She teases. “You ready” You nod in confirmation. “Ready, Set, Go”

The rest of your hour there passes in a blur of laughter and light scolding from Leah. “Five minutes then we need to get going so we can pick up our takeaway.” Leah reminds you. “Thai” you question as you head over to the question. “Yep, I going to go and order it now”. ‘Have I told you how much I love you?” you press a light kiss to her lips. “Not today”. You yep as Ky pulls you back to the square trampolines. “ Hurry we only have five minutes left”

Yet again Kyra is jumping on the same tramp as you but this time her logic is that Leah has gone to the waiting room to order your takeaway. It only takes one wrong-timed jump and suddenly you are lying on the ground clutching your ankle in pain. “Holy Shit are you okay” You can’t bring yourself to respond as a wave of pain washes over your body. You let out a scream as Ky kneels down next to you. “ We were gone for bloody two minutes what happened” Katie shouts the anger clear in her voice. It only stresses you out more and you let out another cry of pain. “Shitttt Leah is going to hang me” Katie pushes the hair from her face before kneeling on your other side and gently prying your ankle from where it was clutched in your hands. A whimper escapes you as she prays away the sock to show your already swollen ankle. “That's really bad” You cry out throwing yourself back into the ground. “ Girls What is going on” Leah shoots the urgency in her voice clear. “It's broken” Katie explains. “You two were fucking jumping together after I told you not to weren’t you.” Ky at least has the good sense to look sheepish.

“Okay, I will pull the car around Katie carry her outside gently. Kyra go get the last of our stuff and meet us at the car.” Leah orders before taking off. “Here Babe” Katie leans over scooping you up and effortly standing up. It’s so annoying how strong she is but good it's also so hot. “Do you think we can still pick up dinner?” You ask as Katie carries you out of the building. “I doubt Leah would go for that.”. “Do you think if I started crying more she would say yes” You question watching as Leah pulls up in front of the building. “You can try” Katie laughs

So there you are lying in a hospital bed eating thai food and about to get a cast on your ankle. Katie sits next to you on the bed playing some dumb YouTube video on her phone while Leah’s dragged Kyra out to the Hall to lecture her about rules or something.  You can’t help but giggle as the girl on her phone pushes herself down a flight of stairs in an attempt to make an at-home roller coaster. “Hello, they” The doctor startles the both of you so badly that Katie nearly falls off the bed. She lets out a muttered “Bloody hell” before standing up. “Good news it's a clean break and it should heal in the next couple of months as long as you stay off of it.” The doctor explains their eyes barely leaving their clipboard. “ How much longer till we can go,” Katie asks her annoyance quickly growing. “At least an hour possibly two depending on how long it takes to get the cast on. I have to get going know so many patients and all. If you have any questions feel free to ask the nurse.” they leave as quickly as they came.

Three hours later you sat in the car driving home. The air is so thick you could cut through it but you're too hopped up on pain meds to really care. “Soo… Can we get a milkshake on the way home?” You ask. “Are you sure that's a good idea? The doctor said you shouldn’t have milk for a couple of hours.” Leah reminds you from the front seat. “Fuck that doctor let's get milkshakes” Katie pipes up. “Ya milkshakes” Kyra shouts pumping her fist excitedly. Maybe the day wasn't a total disaster after all.

[girliism]

dodge mason x reader

-

it was a hot texas saturday, and you’ve been out here since early watching dodge at one of his rodeo competitions. he had place high enough in the other two getting him to the final.

the final that you didn’t bother to stay and watch.

you already knew he was gonna win the whole thing, he was too good at this stuff not too. so you dipped out just as the starting gun went off.

you had a couple minutes to get your surprise ready. shimming your jeans off at the door, and hooking your panties on the door knob. you shed the rest of clothes on the way to the bathroom. you showered to wash off the sweat that had accumulated on your skin from being out in the sun all morning, before picking out one of the many cowboy hats dodge had in his closet.

the cool air coming from the fan by the window had goosebumps growing on your bare body, and your nipples pebbling.

you were restless laying there waiting. you played games on your phone to pass the time, snooped around in his draws, and was on the verge of falling asleep when you finally heard the front door opening.

“babe?”

you perked up at the sound of his voice. fixing yourself so you looked somewhat sexy and causal lying on the bed.

dodge picked up the stray panties you left behind on the door knob confused, before taking in the other clothes scattered along the hall floor.

“baby?” he creaked open his bedroom door, one hand full of your clothes the other holding his trophy. “you left a bunch clothes in the hall-” he stopped in his tracks at the door, the sight of you on the bed had his jeans tightening.

he dropped the clothes in his hands on the floor, and place the trophy on the ground.

“what’s all this?”

you shrugged, “mmm, just a little extra prize for winning.” dodge hummed, waling to the edge of the bed. “this why you left me so early?” you let out a gasp when he took hold of your ankle and yanked you down to edge. “wanted to wait out for me?” you nodded his hands were rough along the skin of thigh, and you were getting wetter from the touch alone.

“been waiting so long.” you pouted. dodge let out a rough sigh, you looked like his wet dream come true. laid out naked, wearing only his hat that was obviously too big for you.

not wanting to keep you waiting anymore he was quick to tug his off shirt, unbuckle his jeans and slide them down his legs.

you scooted back towards the top of bed with dodge crawling after you. he kissed up your body from your foot to your neck.

“don’t even wanna think about what would have happened if i lost.” he muttered against your jaw. “would have still done this to make you feel better.” you sigh out a moan when his cock brushed up against your core.

“need you now. please.” you whined.

dodge sat up taking hold of your waist, and then ran his hands further up your chest to twist and tug at your nipples. “dodge.” you bucked your hips up with a pout on your face and a furrow in your brows.

“so impatient.” he tsked, sliding two fingers into your cunt. he pumped and scissored them to stretch your out. “ready baby?” you didn’t get an answer out cause he was already pushing his thick cock into your pussy.

“oh fuck.” you hooked a leg around his waist which only pushed him deeper. “s-so big.”

dodge fucked you hard and fast. your moans got swallowed by his lips on your in a rough kiss. “squeezing me so fucking tight.” he grunted, coming up for air. he lifted up his head to look down at you.

your tits bouncing from the force of his thrust begging for his attention, your face screwed up and flushed, his cowboy hat half falling off your head.

he stopped his movements earning whines of protest from you that he ignored. dodge moved to sit back, pulling you up on top of him.

“wha-” you were cut off.

“been working all day, in tired. want you too ride me.” you nodded pushing yourself up on knees then dropped back down setting right back into the fast pace that dodge had previously set.

from the new angle the tip of his dick hit right into g-spot causing loud moans and whines to fall from you. “oh my fuck, god you’re so deep.” dodge bucked his hips up to met yours, placing a thumb on your clit and working circles on it.

“look so cute getting fucked in my hat, babe. should wear it all the time.” he groaned in your ear, before taking one of your tits into his mouth. his tongue twirling around your taunt nipple.

you treading closer and closer to the edge, and dodge’s thumb flicking right under the hood of your clit got you there.

“dodge, cumming!”

your nails latched onto the skin of his shoulders as you trapped him in a tight bear hug. your body shook for your orgasm against his. the feeling of your walls tightening and throbbing around his cock had him cumming right after you. thick ropes of white filling you up and leaking out.

he released your tit from his mouth to kiss you. his hands running up and down your back as he presses you closer to him.

“gotta start winning more often.”